#i am thinking entirely too hard about this..

[dollesung]

thinking about overstimulating hee for the first time . . <3

he’d gasp, trying so hard to move away from your hands as you relentlessly stroked his cock, grabbing your wrist but having no strength to push you away entirely.

“n-ngh, noona, p-please—“ he’d beg. “too much—!”

“too much?” you’d mock, laughing at how he would arch his back every time you twisted your wrist at every upstroke.

he’s nodding so aggressively. “‘m close!”

it’s so easy to make him cum, ropes of his seed decorating your wrists as you use his release as added lubrication. usually, you’d be slowing down by now, but you don’t stop, hell, your hand moves faster as you keep stroking the poor boy’s spent cock.

“o-oh, what?” heeseung starts convulsing, his body trying to keep away from the sudden onslaught of pleasure. “n-noona, stop! i c-came! a-alre— fuuuuhnck, came!”

you’d laugh, pushing him down by his chest to keep him in place. you don’t stop your strokes, being pushed by heeseung’s delicious moans.

“noonaaaa—!” he cries, tears streaming down his cheeks. “t-too muh, much! i can’tttt.”

“you can.” you tell the boy. “you’re my good boy, aren’t you?”

he’s nodding so aggressively again, trying his best to prove to you how good he is, even when he can barely talk.

“i am, i-i am—!” he shouts, “g-gonna cum ag— ah! a-again!”

you squeeze your fist down on heeseung’s cock, feeling the organ throb as a telltale sign of his orgasm.

“cum, heeseung.”

you didn’t have to tell him twice as he climaxes on command, ropes of his cum shooting from the tip. his back arches, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he does so. then, after a moment, he wilts and collapses on the mattress, absolutely spent.

you pause for a second, letting the boy catch his breath. then, the hand, still on his cock, starts to move ever so slightly.

“h-hn, noona, n-no more, please—“ he tries to beg.

“but i thought you were a good boy?” you fake pout.

“i-i am.” he responds. “b-but—“

“no buts.” you cut him off. “wanna see how many times my good boy can cum.”

NOTE. my first thirst post! lmk what you think.

© dollesung 2025

[pboogerswbb]

DON'T KNOW HOW

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige is high off a great game and wants to celebrate by fucking you in her jersey. Warnings: sexual content (SMUT, FILTHY FR BEWARNED), strap, slight humiliation, breeding kink, language, etc etc Wordcount: 4K A/C: this is my 1K followers surprise for y'all! YOU FINALLY GET STRAP ik you guys been begging for it (freaks). anyway thank you so much for all of you for supporting me and reading what i write, i appreciate it a lot more than you guys even know. never thought i'd have 1k followers on here so tysm, ily all <3 now go have some fun reading (ok especially to my moots ilysm, i am so fucking happy i met all of you i love each and every single one of you so bad and i always always always got your back, ty for being the best people in the world)

-

“And it’s good, another three for Bueckers.”

“She's on fire. Been hitting those all night and making it look effortless too.”

“Seventh three of the night wow.”

The entire evening Paige had been like a sniper, shots going in with even more ease than normal. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her blonde ponytail, the wide shoulders nearly too big for the navy Uconn jersey, glistening with sweat as the fourth quarter comes to an end. 31 points. You couldn’t be prouder to call her your girlfriend.

The crowd stands up, you jumping up and down and clapping with them, the white jersey tucked into your bra to crop it, proudly carrying your girl’s name on your back. Another victory for Uconn, as your girlfriend allows herself a small smile after the extraordinary game she just played. You wait patiently. What feels like close to an hour of the blonde shaking hands, signing jerseys and giving out interviews she finally meets your eyes from the opposite side of the court, jogging towards you.

“Babyyy!” You gleam as she wraps her strong, sticky arms around you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Seven threes is crazy,” you praise your girlfriend.

“Yeah?” Paige asks, a smug grin on her face as she pulls back and looks at you. “Missed two cause my girl look so fine.”

An involuntary blush spreads to your face as the girl’s blue eyes scam your body up and down.

“You like?” You ask with a sly smile, twirling for her. Paige lets out a low whistle, hand coming to hold your waist.

“Fuck you look hot in that jersey,” she murmurs, eyeing the way it sits on your body. You can see it in your girlfriend’s eyes - the way they were darkening in the way they always did when she needed you. 

Feeling flustered, you decide to change the topic, knowing she shouldn’t be eyefucking you in front of these cameras and fans. “So are we still going out with the team tonight? We should celebrate your big win baby.”

Paige laughs hoarsely, in that fuckboy way she does. “We ain’t going out mama, we going straight home.”

You know exactly what she means. Exactly what would happen when you get home. The idea is already making your stomach flip.

“Paige… It was a big night for you, we sh-”

“No disrespect but you need to shut up,” she sternly silences you. “You really think you’re gon’ look like this and not be folded in half in about an hour? Baby, c’mon.”

-

 “Paige stop!” You giggle, her hands holding your waist underneath the jersey, fingertips against your bare skin squeezing as she kisses your neck hungrily. Your hands are fumbling with the key, attempting to open the door to your apartment. Something you were finding extremely hard as the blonde behind you presses her hips into yours, sucking a dark red mark on your neck.

“Open the door,” Paige pants, her voice breathy and hoarse. It’s more a command than a request. Finally, you turn the key and the girl pushes you in with urgency, closing the door behind you.

Before you can say a word, the blonde is throwing you over her shoulder, making you squeal and giggle. 

“Put me down!”

“No ma’am,” she laughs, long strides heading towards the bedroom fast. With a grunt your girlfriend lowers you onto the bed, landing you on the soft mattress. Both of you are giggling as she eyes you on the bed, licking her lower lip.

“Wait here baby,” she coos, disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe. Once she returns, there’s an apparent bulge underneath the grey basketball shorts. Your imagination begins to go wild, heat growing between your thighs at the idea of what she had strapped on underneath. Paige had done it before, coming up behind you, the strap poking into your ass under her sweats to let you know what she was in the mood for. It drove you completely wild each time.

“Take your clothes off,” the blonde commands from the doorway, pulling her hoodie off and throwing it on the floor. You know what happens when Paige wants something and doesn’t get it, so you kick off the boots and denim skirt you’re wearing. Your girlfriend follows every move with watchful eyes, tutting once your fingers begin to tuck the jersey off.

“Leave that shit on,” Paige says, walking over to you on the bed. You lie on your back, watching up at her in the sheer white panties and white jersey and an unbearable ache between your thighs.

Paige’s shoulders look broad and filled out in the black sports bra she’s wearing, lower lip trapped between her teeth as her fingertips brush against the soft skin of your thigh.

“Look so fucking sexy,” she murmurs, her voice low and raspy. You needed her, badly. So you bring your hand to her core and just as you expected, feel the thick, purple strap underneath the fabric. Wrapping your fingers around the bulge, you rub it as if it’s her actual dick, just like the blonde liked to imagine.

Paige lets out a low groan, squeezing the skin on your thigh. 

“You want it?” She asks. It’s not a genuine question, she knows the answer. She can tell by the way you’re squirming, rubbing your thighs together. The way your brows are furrowed in desperation.

“I do,” you whimper, biting your lip and blinking up at the girl with round eyes in the way that drove her crazy. Works every time, and this is no exception, your girlfriend letting out a breathy sigh and throwing her head back.

“Yeah? How bad ma?” She asks, hand slowly inching closer to the edge of your panties, fingertips nearly sliding underneath.

“So bad baby,” you whine, arching your back, hand still working the strap through her shorts. “Just feel,” with a whimper, you grab the blonde’s hand teasing you and slide it inside your panties.

Both of you moan, your wetness covering her fingers the second she feels you.

“Fuck, you this wet just for me?”

“All for you baby,” you whimper. “Love watching you play.”

Paige grins, rubbing gentle circles on your clit already growing puffy and sensitive from how bad your body aches for her, the idea of her strap buried deep inside you making you eager, the wait nearly unbearable.

A sigh spills from your lips as the blonde pulls her hand away, her fingers coming to your mouth and slipping past your lips making you taste yourself. Your eyes flutter shut, lips wrapping around her long digits. Paige hisses, watching closely.

“That shit ain’t fair, I need to taste you too.”

With that, Paige is pulling you to the edge of the bed by your legs, kneeling on the floor face to face with your core. With a swift movement, the blonde’s fingers hook onto your panties and pulls them down.

“Holy shit baby I ain’t even fuck you yet, why you this wet?” Paige groans at the way your cunt glistens in the light, her arms wrapping around your thighs to hold you still for her. You could feel just how wet you were, your slick spilling out of you right under your girlfriend’s gaze.

“Couldn’t help it,” you whimper, attempting to buck your hips but for nothing. You weren’t going to be touched until Paige decided so.

“Yeah couldn’t help it cause you’re such a slut huh?”

The blonde’s lips roam your inner thighs, nibbling and sucking on the skin leaving behind little red marks as a reminder of the night for later. 

“Answer me,” she demands, but it barely registers, her hot breath on your core forcing goosebumps to form all over your skin. It’s driving you wild, every inch of your body on fire for her.

Suddenly a hand reaches to your jaw and firmly grabs it, Paige tilting your face towards her.

“Answer me.”

Suddenly even more flustered, your face turns red, needing her even more. “Only for you Paige.”

“Good girl, now lie down.”

The girl lets go of your jaw and suddenly her mouth is on you, tongue everywhere in your folds, licking you up like she’s been starved for life. A loud moan escapes your mouth, hands immediately flying to the blonde, soft hair of your girlfriend. 

She’s hungry for it, the victorious game leaving her starving. Her lips wrap around your clit and suck harshly, making you gasp and yank on her hair. But she won’t quit, hands coming to spread you further apart, trying to find a way to get closer in a moment of desperation.

“Oh… fuck baby,” you whimper, legs already shaking as she eats you, tongue swirling in your folds, moving from side to side. Paige hums against you, the sound vibrating against your cunt. She has you leaking like a faucet, not wasting a single drop as she kisses her way down, circling your entrance before her tongue slides in.

“P-paige,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the pace she was moving at, not giving your body time to adjust, leaving you breathless. But she couldn’t care less about your protest, eyes rolling back as she presses closer to you, the bridge of her nose pressing against your clit.

You’re squirming, legs shaking and eyes rolling back as you tug on her hair, whimpers quickly turning more high pitched.

“Perfect pussy,” she groans, practically just to herself. Her tongue presses flat against you in long licks along your slit. Biting your lower lip you look down at the blonde girl kneeled on the floor between your legs and for a moment your eyes meet hers.

With an arrogant smirk Paige brings her tongue flat onto your clit and shakes her head back and forth skillfully, knowing it drives you crazy each time. The glimmer in her eye doesn’t help, making your back arch and head tilt back against the mattress.

“Gonna fuck this pussy,” the girl murmurs against you, the tip of her tongue speeding up on your clit, flicking it back and forth. She’s determined to make you cum. And when Paige was determined, there was nothing that could stop her.

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes and your entire body’s writhing under Paige’s mercy. She’s desperately eating you up, taking turns working you with her tongue and mouth, sucking and licking everywhere. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, right there,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as her tongue circles your clit.

“You gonna cum ma?”

“Yes, yes, fuck baby.”

Your hands are tugging on her hair hard, but the blonde doesn’t mind. The moans spilling from her mouth reveal quite the opposite. The familiar pit somewhere deep in your gut begins to burn, forcing your back to arch off the bed. The jersey on your body hikes up, Paige’s hand scratching on your lower stomach as she keeps working tirelessly, like the strain in her jaw wasn’t there.

“Paige I’m go-”

“Cum for me mama.”

And that’s enough, the coil in your stomach snapping the moment her words register in your hazy mind. The heat from your core spreads all over your body, waves of pleasure washing over you. The room is filled with the sounds of your high pitched moans, and the satisfied hums of the blonde between your legs sucking on your clit. Sweat drips down the back of her neck but it doesn’t matter. She’s not even close to done. 

Paige stands up from the floor, leaving you trembling before her, still getting over your orgasm.

“Cmere,” Paige says, licking her lips hungrily and sliding her hand into her shorts to stroke the strap as if an extension of herself. Body still recovering, you do as you’re told knowing the blonde didn’t like waiting. Kneeling on the bed, your eyes flicker from the bulge under the fabric to her blue eyes looking down at you. They’re heavy and dark, her jaw prominent and chest heaving with need.

“Take em off,” she demands, your hands wasting no time finding the band of her shorts and pulling them to her ankles, revealing the purple strap underneath. Paige’s hands wrap around it and stroke, tapping the tip all over your face. Without much thought your mouth parts, eyes locked onto your girlfriend’s. 

“Push your tongue out, be a good girl,” Paige groans, brows in a deep frown as she tries to catch her breath but it seems impossible with the way your big eyes stare up at her with your mouth open. She’s dizzy with want.

The moment your tongue slips out of your mouth, Paige is slapping the tip on it and moaning as if she could feel it herself - your warm mouth wrapping around her cock.

“That’s it, fuck ma,” Paige hisses, watching your tongue circling the length of the strap. “Get it wet for me.”

Bopping your head forward carefully, you take more of the strap into your mouth, saliva quickly building up and dripping down the corners of your mouth. 

“Look so pretty baby,” the blonde coos, gathering your hair into her fist and holding it back for you. “You like sucking my cock?”

With a slight smile you nod with the strap still filling your mouth. The sight is enough to make your girlfriend moan, and her grip in your hair tightens as she forces the strap down your throat, making every inch disappear into your mouth. 

“Mmph,” you whine, tears quickly welling up in your eyes. The sound of you gagging mingle with Paige’s low grunts, your nails digging into her muscular thighs. Paige can’t look away, you look too pretty to look away. Finally pulling on your hair, she allows you a second to gasp for air before returning and guiding your mouth on her cock, never breaking eye contact until your eyes roll back. Surely the strap was wet enough already, spit spilling from your mouth all over its length. But Paige is enjoying this too much to stop.

“You wanna get that pussy fucked huh?” The blonde grunts, pulling your head back with a string of saliva dripping down onto your chest.

“Please,” you whimper, your cunt throbbing, begging to feel the plastic inside you.

“Think you deserve it? Think you deserve my cock?”

“Baby need it,” you cry out, letting Paige rub the soaked tip against your lips and face, messing up your makeup. She always thought this was the best you looked, desperate, eyes red and glossy, mascara flaking underneath your eyes and begging for her. She couldn’t resist any longer.

“Turn around,” she murmurs and you do as she says, facing the other way on your hands and knees.

“Should I take the jersey off?” 

“Keep that shit on ma,” Paige says sternly, hissing as she rubs the tip of the purple strap against your soaked folds. Already whimpering, you grip the soft sheets tightly, feeling the blonde’s hands caressing your ass and waist, lifting the jersey just enough to see your lower back. “Fuuuckkk baby,” she praises, watching as the strap begins to glisten just from the sheer wetness spilling out of you. “She crying for me huh?”

“Yes,” is all you can muster to say, stomach flipping as the tip teases your entrance, everything you wanted so close yet so far. Your slick is already dripping on the plastic, Paige letting out a shaky moan behind you at the sight. 

“Shit, this pussy loves me,” she groans, gripping your hips and at last sliding the length inside you. A loud gasp escapes your body, the stretch so intense and powerful. 

“Oh shiiiit,” Paige hisses, watching the way your cunt stretches around the strap, swallowing her up. The trembling of your body is immediate, the blonde leaning down and kissing over your shoulders and neck. “Feel good mama?”

“Y-yeah baby,” you’re still breathless, body slowly adjusting to the size. 

“You tryna get fucked?”

“Mhm,” you hum, needy for your girlfriend to begin moving behind you. But she remains still.

Her big hand grips your ass harshly, slapping the skin leaving you with a slight burn. “Work for it mama, show me how bad you want it.”

You immediately know what she wants, craving to have you whimpering and pleading before she’ll give you what you crave. Paige always had to tease you just a little further than you could handle.

So you begin to move forward and back again, slowly pressing your ass against her. The strap slips in and out easily, but the size keeps you overwhelmed, slick dripping onto the sheets as you throw it back for your girlfriend, arching your back just right.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, legs already feeling weak, hands balled into fists as your girlfriend’s hand slaps your ass again, the sound echoing around the room.

“Look at that,” she praises, letting out a shaky low moan as the vibrator against her clit buzzes. But you can barely hear, mind spinning and not a single coherent thought in your head anymore. “Such a fuckin’ slut.”

The nickname makes you whine, craning your neck to see the blonde behind you, eyes locked onto where your body is swallowing her strap up. Her mouth is wide open and cheeks burning red, she wants it just as bad as you do.

Her blue eyes travel up your spine to the jersey, grabbing a handful of your hair to hold up. To allow her to admire the way the jersey fits your body. Her name, her number on you as she fucks you. It’s enough to get her bewildered.

Meeting your eyes the blonde smirks, chest heaving with need. “You like that? When I call you that?”

You nod, maintaining eye contact as you grind your hips back into her.

Paige shakes her head in disbelief, hissing again as the vibrator angles against her just right. 

“Course you do, fuckin’ slut.”

Your upper body crashes against the bed, too tired to hold it up, ass remaining in the air.

“Paigeee,” you whine, begging for her to take control, legs too shaky to continue.

“What’s wrong mama?”

It’s almost sadistic, her tone. She knows exactly what’s wrong. But it wasn’t enough, Paige had to hear you say it, getting off on humiliating you just a little longer.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You whine again in frustration, wiggling your ass in the air. But Paige remains stern.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, making the blonde smirk and lick her lower lip.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

You nod in desperation, letting her pull your face up from the sheets by your hair, other hand coming to hold your hip.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” she leans down and groans into your ear. “Gon’ fuck you until you cry.”

With that, her hips slam into you, the intrusion so intense you can’t help the way your eyes roll back. You gasp, Paige letting go of your hair and standing back up behind you, both hands on gripping your waist, fucking her hips into you at such a pace it’s making you see stars.

“Ohhh shit,” the blonde grunts, watching the way your ass jiggles as her hips slam against you. The sound of skin clapping and the squelching of the strap deep inside you fills the room, only thing cutting through are your joint moans.

“Baby fuck-” you cry out, part of you wanting to push her away from how crushing her thrusts are, the strap buried deep inside your soaked pussy.

“Look at you takin it, fuck baby,” Paige groans, right hand smoothing over her last name on the jersey. Over the number she wears each game.  “Takin’ my dick while wearing my name. So fucking good f’me.”

Your cunt is throbbing, squeezing the strap making it hard to think clearly. You wanted more, wanted less, you weren’t sure. But you could feel your eyes growing wet against the sheets. Paige’s hand travels all the way up to your hair, grabbing it harshly and shoving your face into the mattress.

“You take it like a slut huh?” 

You moan, feeling your slick dripping down your thighs, surely covering Paige’s legs now as well.

“Your slut baby,” you whimper, upper body pressed snug against the soft cotton as the blonde pounds her strap into you.

“Aww fuck- good girl,” Paige gasps, the vibrations having her legs shaking. With a swift movement, the blonde manhandles you onto your back, placing your legs onto her shoulders, sliding the purple strap back inside you.

“Need to see your face,” she groans, eyelids so heavy they’re barely open as she keeps fucking you. “Need to see you cum on my cock.”

“Baby, so big,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the blonde kneels on the bed and leans forward, folding you over with ease.

“Take it so well tho,” Paige coos, bringing her face to yours, hand wrapping around your neck as she keeps slamming her hips into you. That athlete’s stamina could have her going like this for an hour. “Gonna cum inside this pussy.”

Her words leave you a moaning mess, your hands scratching at her shoulders leaving red marks behind. “Fuck,” you whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fucking you so hard you’re gon’ have my kids.”

The squelching becomes louder, wetness dripping out of you as Paige’s strap hits deeper than before, making you gasp and scratch her soft skin harder.

“Aw- fuc- shit, ma that’s it. So deep in your guts,” she rambles, eyes beginning to roll back, trying to hold back on her orgasm. She brings her fingers between your legs, thumb beginning to rub lazy circles on your clit as the strap slips in and out of you, fucking into you at a rapid pace.

“P-Paige feel so good,” you cry out, gushing around the plastic desperately. Paige’s head lulls back and forth, fighting her orgasm. 

“Mama I need to cum inside you, needa fill you with my cum,” the blonde whimpers, voice growing more high pitched as she nears the edge, fucking her hips into you with such force you think you might black out. The familiar burn ignites at her words, pussy throbbing around the plastic, muscles beginning to coil in your stomach.

“Shi- baby I need you to cum on my cock,” she gasps, eyes squeezing shut, grip around your neck tightening enough to make you lightheaded.

“Paige I-” You cry out, Paige’s thumb pressing into your clit and the tip of the strap hitting the perfect spot with each stroke. 

“C’mon ma, lemme fill you up,” she whimpers desperately, legs shaking but never easing the pace. You can’t hold it anymore, letting go and allowing the fire to take over your body.

“Paige I’mma cum,” you gasp, the blonde letting out a moan of relief.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Paige grunts into your neck, as you lie underneath, helpless. Your back begins to arch off the bed, the blonde squeezing the sides of your neck and pinning you down, hips slamming into you. “Gonna fill this pussy aw- up- fuck.”

With that you’re both gasping, rolling over the edge as your climax takes over, pussy squeezing the strap tightly and gushing around it, all over the sheets and Paige on top of you.

“Oh shit-” Paige gasps, breath hot in your ear as she finishes, your mind blank as the ecstasy takes over your body, leaving you trembling underneath the girl, eyes shut tight.

“Holy shit,” the blonde murmurs, trying to catch her breath. Your chest is heaving and your face flushed. As your eyes flutter open, they’re met with the blue of Paige’s irises. She scooches both of you up the bed, crashing on top of you, the plastic still inside you, almost soothing. You wince as she pulls it out carefully, leaving you with an uncomfortable emptiness.

“You’re so great baby,” Paige sighs, resting her head in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms and legs around your girlfriend, pressing a gentle kiss onto her forehead. “My number one girl.”

“You really like this jersey huh?” You chuckle as her pink lips kiss your collarbone, neck, jawline and finally your lips.

“Let’s everyone know you mine,” she coos, nuzzling her nose into you and rubbing the skin on your midriff where the fabric has hiked up.

“All yours baby,” you hum, body worn and tired but heart fluttering with love.

“All mine ma.”

-

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @bueckersfive @d3arapril @bueckersbitch @rosemariiaa @makethemhoesmad @xxloveralways14 @omg-imtumbling @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @thelightknight21 @vamptizm @ohmybueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @avvwritesstufff @authentic-girl03

[kwoniele]

from behind - csc

synopsis: your innocent picnic date with seungcheol escalated fast, but you can’t find yourself complaining about it.

genre: smut. porn w some plot lol

warnings: jealous scoups (we cheered!), clueless mingyu who ruined their date lol, hard!dom scoups, pillow princess!reader, angry cheol but not really?, overstimulation, edging, doggy, mention of mingyu during sex, dacryphilia but theres no extreme crying happening, oral (f receiving), fingering, hands are tied, unprotected sex, birth control but it’s not mentioned, that’s all i think… not proofread! i hate reading my work 😊

this was not how you expected the date to go.

in your mind, you imagined a quiet park with the breeze flowing through your hair as you and seungcheol were chilling on a plaid blanket on the grass. you prepared chocolate covered strawberries, a cake to celebrate your anniversary, iced tea to quench your thirst, and snacks to munch on as the two of you talk.

but goodness, were you wrong.

mingyu was walking his dog when he saw you and seungcheol and figured it’d be nice to greet the both of you. except, he didn’t stop talking. he kept telling stories about his recent fashion show he attended in paris—clearly oblivious to the fact you and seungcheol were on a date.

it only got worse when mingyu started to tell a tale of how you and him were absolute best friends in highschool. his hands mindlessly caressed your back and his smile (which he deemed was a friendly one) was a little too wide for seungcheol’s liking.

“it was so much fun! remember sports day? ms. kang really enjoyed the marathon.” mingyu laughed, not paying attention to how seungcheol’s jaw clenched, how the veins on his forearms were bulging, and how his neck and ears looked as if he painted them red.

“yeah! i- of course i remember!” you lightly chuckled, glancing at seungcheol who was clearly uncomfortable. he’d already eaten the entire container of strawberries, chugged down two water bottles, and even dared to open up the chips you bought.

“ah, fuck. sorry y/n. i have to go, shua hyung needs me at the shop.” mingyu abruptly stood up, putting bobpul’s leash back on her collar and waved goodbye to you and seungcheol.

the silence after mingyu left was deafening. suddenly the children playing at the playground were louder, the bushes swaying were rustling a little faster, and you can hear your pulse thumping.

“i’m sorry. about, y’know.” you scooted closer to cheol, resting your chin on your palm as you tried to meet his gaze. “ah~, what can i do to make it up to you?” two of your fingers nudged his chin to force him to look at you.

“make it up to me? you really want to make it up to me?”

“yeah! i’ll do anything. you can even be mad at me. actually, you should be mad at me! i’m sorry, hm?”

“fine. okay. i’ll be mad at you, but, you still have to do whatever i say. got that?”

and that’s how you ended up on the satin bed sheets, thighs spread apart as your hands were tied up with a random tie from his suits. you couldn’t touch him, pull his hair, scratch his back, you couldn’t do anything.

“fuck- cheol..” your back arched from the bed, bucking your hips into his mouth as his tongue rapidly inserted in and out your pussy. his thumb was circling your clit mercilessly, pushing you closer to the edge until he decided to halt all his movements.

“you think i’m going to let you cum just like that?,” seungcheol sucked on your neck roughly, putting pressure on the hickeys he already made prior. “want to cum so bad huh? what if i get that mingyu to do it for you? hm?”

“no.. not mingyu.” you breathed heavily as his chuckle tickled your neck.

“seemed like you were just as happy to have him right there earlier. am i wrong?” his middle finger slipped into your hole again, earning a hitched breath escape from your throat as he felt your walls twitch around his finger.

“i’m sorry, ch-cheol. haa~ please.. please fuck me.” your desperate tears pricked your eyes, making seungcheol smirk as he notices your glassy eyes.

“do you deserve it?”

“yes! yes yes yes! please, cheol.”

his gaze on you felt like he was staring at you for ten years. he slipped his finger out of your pussy and reached for your hands—slowly untying them from the bed frame. you immediately rubbed your wrists, easing the pain his tie caused.

“on fours, baby.” he unbuckled his belt and threw his pants across the room as you obeyed his words—putting your ass on display as you patiently wait for him to give you your next instructions.

you could feel the mattress dip as seungcheol positioned himself behind you, gripping your waist with one hand as the other teases your cunt with his tip. you knew he was grinning when you let out a whine once he got his head inside.

as soon as his entire cock was inside your hole, he rested there for a few seconds before slowly sliding into your cunt. “hngh~ faster.. please.” he didn’t say anything. instead, he gripped your waist tighter and thrusted into you aggressively without warning.

your hand reached for the pillow in front of you to grip onto as seungcheol fucked you as fast as he could from behind. your hips began to match his rhythm as you met his thrusts, causing seungcheol to groan inside you.

your walls began to twitch around him which told seungcheol your high was nearing. you thought he was going to slowly ease his thrusts, but god where you wrong. if it was even possible, he began to fuck you even harder than before. his tip kissed that spot multiple times which pushed you further to the edge.

“fuck, cheol, i’m close.” you warned.

“cheol— hngh! cheol i’m gonna cum!” you warned again.

“i’m cumming!” no answer.

he didn’t stop. why wasn’t he stopping? “i’m not going to stop fucking your pretty pussy until i cum, okay? we’re going to make sure everyone here knows my name.”

and he meant it. he didn’t stop at all. whenever a second passed, he only got rougher. faster. you already came multiple times at this point—but he wasn’t stopping.

seungcheol’s groans began to get louder, and louder. he chanted your name as if it was a mantra, and his grip on your waist tightened. he was near.

“baby. inside or no?” he urgently asked, confirming with you what you wanted before he came to his release.

“inside! please- please!”

you felt ribbons shoot inside you as his cum painted your pussy white. all his movements stopped. he pulled out of you to watch his cum ooze out of your cunt, smiling and taking his phone from the bed side table to document his artwork.

you plopped down on the bed, hair sticking to your forehead and chest heaving. “you should get jealous more often, huh?” you joked, pulling him by his neck to plant a kiss on his lips.

“piss me off one more time, i’ll do even worse than today.”

[wolvietxt]

𝓢ILENT 𝓣REATMENT.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment  summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car. wc : 4.5k a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest

the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.  

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.  

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”  

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”  

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”  

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”  

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.  

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”  

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”  

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.  

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”  

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”  

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”  

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.  

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.  

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.  

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.  

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.  

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.  

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.  

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.  

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.�� 

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?  

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.  

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.  

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.  

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.  

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.  

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.  

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.  

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.  

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.  

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.  

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.  

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.  

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.  

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.  

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.  

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.  

you had said yes because it mattered to him.  

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.  

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.  

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.  

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.  

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.  

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.  

he didn’t notice.  

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.  

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.  

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.  

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.  

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.  

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.  

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.  

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.  

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.  

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.  

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.  

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.  

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.  

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.  

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.  

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.  

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.  

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.  

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.  

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.  

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.  

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.  

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”  

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.  

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”  

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”  

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.  

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.  

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.  

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.  

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.  

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.  

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.  

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.  

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.  

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.  

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.  

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”  

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”  

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”  

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.  

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.  

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.  

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.  

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.  

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.  

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”  

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”  

“frank, i’m fine - ”  

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.  

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.  

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.  

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.  

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.  

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.  

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”  

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.  

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.  

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.  

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.  

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.  

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.  

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.  

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.  

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”  

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.  

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.  

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.  

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[housecow]

seeing you outright mention you have death feedism tendencies is like a shotgun to the chest (positive)

i have a medical phobia that’s somehow twisted itself into death feedism ngl. also, evil feeders. 😳

someone hellbent on keeping me as fat as possible for as long as they can—knowing what cocktail of drugs keeps my heart pumping, dumbing me down and keeping me pliant with edibles hidden in my food, waking me up every few hours for feedings and funnel sessions instead of letting me sleep so the weight piles on faster than it should..

somewhere deep down i know it’s not good for me. maybe my feeder tells me about all the health problems i have while the feeding tube is in my mouth and i can barely think, but i can’t focus on what they’re saying without getting overwhelmed. if i don’t remember later, it doesn’t really matter, right?

maybe occasionally i’d “come to my senses,” during a lull in the feedings. when my feeder is busy and away for a while, after i’ve made my way through a small mountain of snacks and the mini fridge (full of shakes laced with THC to keep me docile) is just out of reach. maybe i’d try to get up, only to collapse back down because my knee problems finally caught up to me and fuck, it hurts to even try to walk. maybe then i’d finally take a look at where i am, how i’ve given up my life for someone’s (and my own, let’s be real) sick pleasure.

i’d have to deal with that realization for a while. maybe i’d start to cry, unable to handle the reality. eventually, though, my feeder would come back. they’d find me in this state and console me, getting the funnel ready because they can hear my stomach rumbling and it’s been too long since i’ve eaten. they’ll coo into my ear about how it’s all okay, how i asked for this and it’s what we both want.

they’d give my belly a shake, grasping the lowest roll in their hands and enjoying the way it makes my entire body wobble. they’d press a kiss onto the vast expanse of fat above my belly button, an area they were so excited to see expand under their care. they’d struggle a bit to lift one of my tits, eager to see how my breath hitches at the thought of their mouth on me. these are all distractions. they’ve mastered this game of manipulation and there’s no way i’d be able to find my way out of their control. their touch, the food they offer me, even those moments when i’m not high or in a haze of fullness and pleasure, were meant to further ensnare me and ensure i’m theirs for as long as i live.

my health, my life, is in my feeder’s hands. they know what’s best. as long as i keep eating, keep taking the pills they hand me, keep ignoring how hard it is to move and breathe, it will all be fine. or, that’s what i’d tell myself.

[muletia]

ugh the optimus ruining your garden ask makes me wanna be mean to him. just a little 🤏. maybe he's being extra clingy when you're trying to get smth done or he accidentally breaks smth again. so you're scolding him while jerking his spike and he's trying to make a cohesive apology, but it's the 5th time you've made him cum and words are starting to be harder and harder to find. then you can tease him about how someone who's given so many inspirational, articulated speeches to his fellow autobots now can't even sob out a "sorry" :(

-💕

cw: sub!optimus, dom!reader, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, teasing

word count: 750

thank you primus for the existence of overstimulation and for allowing me to torture my favorite characters with it 🙏

"Really, darling, twice in a row is just too much." You click your tongue a few times.

Your hand moves steadily, gripping and tugging at the swollen but valiantly enduring spike. Your skin, slick with pink transfluid, glides smoothly over the impressive length, maintaining the same irritated rhythm, channeling your frustration caused entirely by Optimus.

"I already explained to you, don’t step on my flowers. And don’t even try to tell me it was an accident. I’m absolutely certain you did it on purpose just to get me to punish you a little."

"A little" is quite the understatement when you’ve forced him to overload multiple times in a row. You’ve completely worn him out. His processor is fried, helm’s insides reduced to mush, leaving him incapable of thinking about anything other than the pleasure flooding his entire frame. How exquisitely stupid and helpless he felt, to the point where he kept pushing his hips into your hand, desperately trying to match the rhythm you set. Syncing his movements with yours, chasing another overload. And then another. And another, if it meant more of your touch and your attention focused solely on him.

"I-I a-am so sowwrhy!" he stammers, barely capable of forming words anymore.

"I don’t know, I just don’t see any remorse on your face, Opti. Are you sure you’re truly sorry?"

With his optics rolled back and his intake hanging wide open, coolant dripping from its corners, all you can read from his expression is that he’s having the time of his life. Not a single trace of guilt, no regret for your poor, trampled flowers.

Which is why you don’t believe the dramatic nodding he’s offering you. Especially not when his spike spasms, already preparing for another overload, even though Optimus doesn’t have any more transfluid left to give you — not even a single drop. That doesn’t stop him from shooting blanks, still thrusting his hips without pause, while you relentlessly and methodically jerk off his hard spike.

"Well? Use your words, darling. Are you sorry?"

"Ah, hah!"

"Moans aren’t words," you sigh, propping your elbow on his overheated thigh and resting your head on your outstretched hand. "Try again."

"Y- ah! Yew... mmMm!"

"Should I stop milking your spike? Would that help you find the words?"

He shakes his head frantically. You can’t help the slightly sadistic smile that creeps onto your lips.

"Then keep trying, sweetheart. I won’t let you go until you properly apologize to me."

"A-ah, so-sowwhry!" he sobs.

Your grip tightens around his spike, your hand firmly pressing against the living metal. He knows he’s being punished; understands that he’s failing to accomplish this one simple task, but he’s no longer capable of forming coherent words — nothing more complex than moans.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?" you scoff, the sharpness in your tone drawing a quick yelp from Optimus.

"Sow-Sowrhy!" he repeats, once again. He tries, programmed to obey your every command, but the result is pitiful and pathetic as he fails, breaking down when he can’t manage even one simple word.

Not when his entire frame is focused solely on chasing the next overload. On your soft hand milking his spike, your elbow digging into his trembling, oversensitive thigh. On your voice, icy and cutting against his spark. On simple, easy-to-understand directives, because anything more complex is far beyond the capacity of his poor, overworked processor right now.

"Oh, Opti. Is that the best you can do?"

"Ah! So-hah!"

"The great Prime, gifted with the talent for composing beautiful, inspiring speeches, and he can’t even string together a single simple apology."

He scrapes his servo against the floor as another empty overload wracks his spent spike. Yet you don’t stop moving your hand, forcing him to prepare for the next one.

This time, he doesn’t even bother trying to use his vocalizer, reduced to mindless whimpering.

"I expected more from you. A full essay on how sorry you are. I thought you’d rise to the challenge. You’re Optimus Prime. Prime! The gift of stirring oratory runs through your circuits!"

"Hah, so-sowwh..."

"And you can’t even manage a simple ‘sorry’?"

"S-sorwh... AH!"

You sigh and subtly slow the pace of your hand on his spike. Playtime is one thing, but you don’t want to accidentally kill him.

Though, knowing his submissive tendencies, he wouldn’t have any objections to dying by your hand.

"Let’s try again. And this time, I want an apology worthy of a Prime."

[sgiandubh]

Prophetic

Every single time things look hard to decipher or farcical (and this is one of those farcical times), I remember a long post by @hardblazesong, dealing with BTS aspects and the intricacies of this cesspool of a fandom. I am yet to read something more clear and more bravely stated than the things she wrote almost eight years (!) ago, even if I do not necessarily agree with everything. Especially as far as SC's sexuality is considered and examined, for example - but that is secondary, to me.

Every word in this quoted passage was confirmed by what happened next, for example. And then, some more, if at all possible:

This is exactly what happened, rinse and repeat to oblivion. 'No one above D level status', with the odd lap dancer/Hooters waitress thrown in, for variety. Gross? Effective on the short term perhaps, to quench thirsty/insistent/too close to the real thing rumors and found tidbits, yet damn penalizing on the long run. MPC's dwindling subscription figures are testimony to it, as are the mediocre projects coming his way. And now he sorely needs a seriously good one to keep his rep at a decent level. You see, the entire kilt-cladded, warrior daddy imagery/fantasy is also quietly wearing off, as OL is coming to its merciful end. But believe it or not, S will survive even this life-changing experiment with fame. The key question here is 'how' and I have no definitive answer to it. But I am confident, and this Soroptimist approach of mine will always be my guilty pleasure, as far as S is concerned. Perhaps the only one, since the guy won't ever make me turn my head for him in the street. Not even sorry about that. But as I have already told you, I do like an underdog and know how to spot them, when I see one.

Now, as far as C is concerned, the 'low key thing' turned into the perfectly artificial farce we all know about. It is my sincere belief at least 85% of her Taliban Stan crowd is simply paying lip service to what they chose to believe and are constantly being reminded of by their trolling Sopranos. So much so, in fact, that it all reeks rather of Pollyannaism than critical thinking, no matter how brutal or self-assured they may sound. And at this point in time, with zero communication on the topic and C who apparently DGAF about narrative continuity when it comes to this, it's only fair to say more oil is being quietly, constantly thrown onto those embers of suspicion and legitimate, logical doubt.

As for going political, we all saw what happened with S's Gaza comment, didn't we? Case in point to never cross obvious red lines and allow your own emotions get in a mix you cannot control and which must not have been addressed, to start with. Especially when you are, above anything else, a media product manufactured on purpose for reaching the widest potential audience. MAGA Mommies crowd included.

Also, this:

Again, this is exactly what happened, and consistently so. Proof of this are the multiple times I had to excuse myself to powder my nose in the middle of a Zoom call or meeting, whenever my cellphone was blinking with concerned messages about this or that insignificant turn of an apparently endless, boring and disingenuous AF narrative. Shippers are worried and potentially even hurt every single time a Fitness Harem representative shows up on the roster. S knows that - how could he not, he is part and parcel of it? Trolls know that: in fact, this is their bread and butter in this fandom. And the reason this happens is an unnecessarily cruel and by now pathetic bout of schizophrenic trivia deliberately being thrown in, from time to time, for... eh... for reasons. Whether this is for 'protection' (complete quiet would be way more decent and effective, I think) or diversion, or remaining relevant, or even shits and giggles is entirely secondary, one more time. These allow to address all the factions of this fandom at once, using what are by now some lazy, well-tried and accessible plot devices (SM twisting reality, cheap pap walks, timeline innuendos, etc). Again, this is wrong and harmful, in the long run. It is refusing to see the forest for the trees and completely ignore the fact this is building the wrong persona and the wrong brand. Back to that sore need for a really good project I have mentioned before and own reasoning nicely tied in, thank you.

As for how SC feel about us, shippers, I suppose things are clear. I don't think they like us, and to be blunt, how could they? Mistakes have been repeatedly made, especially when it comes to projecting going completely, tastelessly out of control, the hyper sexualization and objectivation of both S and C (naively dirty fanfic, anyone? come on, we all read it!) and the liberties some took with decency, as far as C is particularly concerned. And by this, I don't mean stalking - that is pushing Covfefe Pics really too far and being a perfect hypocrite about it, when we know the entire faction was demanding proof, on many tones & in many ways and kept on pressuring for something along those lines to happen. To me, however, the most toxic part of it was definitely Jess' unfortunate drooling all over someone else's love story. It definitely had an impact and it was definitely been used as such, until it wasn't. The rest of all that obsessive approach are just spin-offs, but the bad seeds were gleefully planted there and then.

Before landing here, I carefully weighed in my options. And I chose to be primarily interested in business and legal paperwork simply because it so happened that an irritated reaction while on an Athens taxi ride prompted my arrival here. Then I realized it was the only way to bring something new to an already stalling body of public lore and keep it simple and real. What I did discover and what the trolls across the street chose to dismiss as trash is, in fact, evidence enough of the chasm that exists between what people are being served and supposed to gobble up, no questions asked, and a reality that certainly is more nuanced. This is what really makes me tick and this is why I am still here, while there are so many more useful and enjoyable ways to keep myself busy.

Rest assured, though: I am not going anywhere, even if from time to time life and a very strenuous job take precedence. I hope you can understand this. In the meanwhile, you have been so many witty, kind and warm people coming along my path, that I would feel like betraying you (and myself!) if I went away. And no, I have never felt more sure about SC than probably now, even if this 'SC' doesn't necessarily coincide with your own version of that saga.

Newbies can read the entire @hardblazesong's post here: https://www.tumblr.com/hardblazesong/678440162606350336/the-time-has-come-shipsters-to-write-a-lengthy?source=share

Thank you for reading this very long comment, summing up all the thoughts that nagged me while I was simultaneously translating and slaloming between my two mother tongues, while in Tunis. I am rather good at compartmentalization, you see. This post is also a clumsy homage of sorts to all the brilliant, brave and bold women, past and present, of The Shire, who have tried and managed to see beyond the thick veil of deceit this entire #shitshow is. The fact so many of us, across so many cultures and personal circumstances, saw the same damn thing and questioned it with integrity and wit, should be arresting evidence there are more things.

PS: I think we can all agree on the fact the Biggest Troll in this fandom is 'Erself, the Flip-Flop Blue Nailpolish Goddess. But that's a different story.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 12.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: So, we got to see a bit into the world of (Y/n) (L/n), and now we get to see how the Avengers are dealing with the information that they have recovered. Also, thank you so much for all of the birthday wishes!!! 25 doesn't feel any different RIP ;asldfja;sdflk Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 10 / chapter 11

When Steve and Clint arrived back in Wakanda, they were eager to tell the Avengers what they had found. However, when they arrived back at Shuri's lab, Tony looked as though he had seen a ghost. Steve frowned, and Natasha whispered to him.

"It's not looking too good right now. Shuri and Tony found the calling card for the creator behind the chip. Turns out that Tony's got a bit of history with the creator."

Steve and Clint walked into the lab where Tony was watching over the soldier with a hand to his chin in thought. Despite Steve greeting the man, Tony didn't seem to hear him. After a moment, Tony stated.

"You ever get this feeling that you're being haunted by something? No matter how much you try to get rid of it, it just keeps following you? Somehow, someway?"

Steve couldn't help but to think of Peggy, nodding solemnly before he turned to look at (Y/n) (L/n).

"Some things haunt me, some things just follow. I don't think they're entirely the same."

Tony scoffed, shaking his head as he quipped.

"Yeah, well it is in this case. You see, I just took apart that little chip that made MC 2 go haywire, and you know what I found? The calling card to a scientist that used to work closely with my father...someone that my father used to recall as a very good friend."

Steve was confused for a moment before connecting the dots, and he asked.

"Was his name Robert (L/n)?"

Tony nodded, and Steve couldn't help but to shake his head.

"Well, that explains a lot, actually."

"Why do you say that?"

Steve wordlessly handed Tony the file, and Bucky's eyes shot wide open.

"Wait, is that her file? You found her?"

Steve nodded, but his jaw was clenched so hard that Bucky was afraid to ask about it. Tony slapped the paper down onto the table roughly after a few moments of reading and walked out of the room wordlessly, and Bucky snatched the paper up.

(Y/n) (L/n).

The last name sparked a bit of recognition in Bucky, but he couldn't place the familiarity of the name just yet. Bucky was perturbed about the way Tony had reacted, and he asked.

"What's his deal?"

Shuri sighed and revealed gently, pulling up some documents of Robert (L/n).

"Robert (L/n) was a close friend of Howard Stark's up until Project Rebirth. After Erskine was assassinated and Heinz Kruger attempted to steal the serum, Robert continued HYDRA's work under the guise of a fellow scientist that wanted to defeat HYDRA."

"A double agent? How do we know all of this about him?"

Natasha raised a hand, stating.

"I found some files about him on the databanks that you and Bucky downloaded from the facility that the soldier was found in. I didn't think it was relevant at the time cause the files didn't include pictures, and we didn't know the name of the soldier yet."

Shuri nodded and she brought up a few pictures and files, the pictures of Robert and his unfriendly sneer. The man was overwhelmingly tall and quite lean, hair greased and combed while a mustache adorned his top lip. There was a woman next to him, looking happy as she held a hand to her pregnant belly; seemingly naive to the sinister gaze within Robert's eyes.

"This here is his wife, Doris (Y/n). We don't think she knew anything about Robert's double life with HYDRA...but she was also good friends with Maria Stark before Maria married Howard. She helped to deliver Tony when he was born."

Steve's eyebrows shot up, and Clint groaned gently, rubbing his head.

"Man, this is starting to hurt my head. So, Robert was with HYDRA, befriended and used Howard's trust to gain information on the serum...yet some other guy tried to snatch it? Why do that?"

Natasha replied, pointing out.

"If the attention isn't on you, you can get a lot more done."

Clint's expression changed to one of understanding, and Shuri nodded in agreement.

"Yes. Though, with Heinz being unsuccessful, Robert attempted to copy Howard's serum to the best of his ability. Robert was unsuccessful. In reports that he had made, almost all of the subjects that he experimented on did not survive any trial serums he made."

"So, how was he able to make (Y/n) into a super soldier?"

Shuri pursed her lips and brought up a newspaper article that went into detail about (Y/n)'s supposed death.

"While (Y/n) was on the way to Baltimore with her mother, they crashed into another vehicle after hitting ice. Their car caught fire, and both Doris and (Y/n) were announced dead at the scene."

"I'm guessing (Y/n) wasn't actually dead, and Robert or HYDRA picked her up."

Clint scratched his head, asking.

"Why go after her though? What made (Y/n) special?"

Natasha shrugged before offering with a slight wave of her hand.

"Robert must have used blood samples to specifically cater the serum to the subject, and (Y/n) was the only one that was successful."

Bucky grumbled, shaking his head.

"Hello, super soldier."

Steve nodded, and he turned to Shuri, asking her.

"Is Robert still alive?"

"No. Robert passed away from natural causes in 2008. I assume that this is when Rollins took over as her Handler, but we won't know for sure until (Y/n) wakes up."

Bucky suddenly felt bad, wondering if there was anybody else that might have been family for (Y/n), and Steve sat down next to Bucky, stating quietly as Shuri began to work on deprogramming the soldier.

"We found her, Bucky."

"We haven't found her yet. She's still trapped beneath that rubble somewhere...we just know her name now...know that she had a family...a career...a mom and dad..."

Steve pursed his lips, and Bucky revealed to the captain, giving him an intrigued expression.

"She somehow knows Meltzer Woods, and it's bothering me that I don't know why. You remember me telling you about how my folks and I would go on walks there often?"

Steve nodded, chuckling.

"Oh, yeah. I remember you telling me about how you terrorized Rebecca to the point your mom was livid with you one time while your dad was at the camp."

"Not my fault she had a fear of bugs and agreed to go into the woods."

The two men chuckled, and Bucky sighed, shaking his head. Steve muttered gently, patting Bucky on the back.

"It could just also be nothing...a huge coincidence."

Bucky shook his head, muttering.

"There are no such thing as coincidences when it comes to HYDRA."

Steve gazed long and hard at Bucky before looking back at the woman, watching as a machine carefully and slowly reconstructed the bone and tissue of her skull before it seemed as though she had never been operated.

"Am I interrupting?"

Tony walked in, hands in his pockets, and his cheeks and eyes were slightly red. It seemed as though the man had been crying, but neither of the super soldiers commented about it.

Tony stood at the end of the bed and stared at the woman, a neutral expression on his face before his shoulders fell slightly. Steve asked the man gently, sparing a look at Bucky before looking back at Tony.

"Do you want us to give you some space?"

Tony looked perplexed then, as if the question was one that he had never heard before, and he wasn't exactly sure how to respond. While Tony preferred to be on his own and do things on his own (minus Pepper, but she was a different case), Tony knew that there had to come a point when he stopped ostracizing those around him.

'Solitude and isolation are two completely different things, Tony, and I know that you struggle a lot with that because of your childhood with your dad,' his therapist had said.

'Why don't you try to reach out and be a little bit more open? You don't have to reveal everything at once, but take it a step at a time. Choose what you want them to listen to or help you with. With what you've told me, I think the Avengers just really want to be your friend, and that's okay.'

"One step at a time," Tony muttered to himself before he huffed, glancing down at the ground. Tapping his foot with anxiety, Tony crossed his arms and began to speak.

"There's this feeling that nags at me every time I look at your stupid perfect faces...this feeling of just...trying to understand why my dad was apart of something as big as this."

Steve and Bucky both sat back in their seats, almost at attention as Tony began to open up to them.

"It's because of my dad's work that led to you being Captain America, that led to your torture and time as Winter Soldier, and now...now he's directly linked to her. Granted, it wasn't really him directly...but he sure did have a big hand."

Erskine's face crossed into Steve's mind, and Steve looked away, replying.

"Howard wanted to ensure a way that we could fight against HYDRA and the Nazis so that the Allied forces could win the war. I don't think he meant for things to turn out like they did."

"Sometimes I wish I could go back into time and just choke the bastard. All that goddamn intellect and look where it got us."

Bucky was quiet, glancing down at his metal arm before he looked at Tony. He wasn't really sure what to say; if anything at all. How could you comfort the man whose parents you killed? That wasn't exactly a can of worms that Bucky wanted to open. Instead, he stated.

"I think what is important now is that we give this woman a life and finally eradicate HYDRA once and for all. If not for her, then...for you and Howard."

He gave Tony a gentle but shy look; hoping that the man wouldn't lash out at him, and Tony looked as though he wasn't sure what to say. Placing a hand over his chest and the other onto his chin, Tony hummed.

"If Rollins already knew that she had been awakened and thought that she would be a liability, then that means there has to be a main line to the chip. If we can trace that, then we should be able to find Rollins."

Natasha suddenly plopped down beside the soldier, throwing a thumb drive onto the table with a haughty smirk as she kicked her feet up.

"Did I really outsmart Iron Man? I think I should add that to my resume."

"You don't have a resume. You legally can't."

Tony quipped back with a roll of his eyes and he snatched the thumb drive as Natasha just grinned wider.

"Listen, miracles happen all of the time, but that doesn't mean they happen again in the same lifetime. Don't get your hopes up, spider-granny."

"Did you just call me old?"

Tony shrugged before uploading the files that were onto the drive into his computer, and he brought up a hologram of the earth, a beacon of light shooting up from the main source of the signal. Tony sighed gently, tilting his head.

"You know, I was dreaming about Morocco last night."

"Fez, Morocco?"

Steve questioned, looking a bit confused before he turned to Natasha.

"What's there?"

"If I had to guess: another secret base for HYDRA?"

Steve pursed his lips as Natasha just shrugged, and Bucky crossed his arms as he stood tall.

"We should get there as soon as possible. The faster that we catch Rollins, the better off we'll be."

"Slow your horses, MC 1, we need to be smart about this."

Tony gave Bucky a firm look, and Bucky just squinted his eyes as Tony began to explain.

"It's possible that Rollins knows that we know about the chip. We want to stay ahead of the game here. Luckily, we have the answers right here."

Tony brought up another hologram that pictured a document with a list of names.

"FRIDAY, you wanna read this out?"

The AI immediately answered, zooming in on each city she named out.

"Of course, Mr. Stark. After scanning through all of the documents that were recovered from liberated and abandoned HYDRA bases, as well as scans through the black book and red book, I have compiled a complete list of all mentioned HYDRA bases, as well as a list of possible locations as well. Here are the locations."

Isle Trinidad, South America. (Liberated, NLA.)

The Shelf, Antarctica. (Location Unspecified. Possible operation.)

Himalayas (Location unspecified. Possible operation.)

The Red Room, Russia. (Destroyed. NLA.)

Swiss Alps, Switzerland. (Directly mentioned. Possible operation.)

"There were many more locations mentioned, but since they have been destroyed and are no longer active, I have elected to leave those out. There has been no indication of a base in Fez, Morocco. It is possible that Mr. Rollins has planted the main communicator in order to escape."

Natasha hummed, nodding.

"That's the smart move. Rollins seems to already know that we're after him. The best thing that he can do is plant the communication device then get the hell out of dodge while we're on a wild goose chase."

Steve shook his head, huffing deeply.

"We can't investigate a possibility without having concrete evidence of his presence. If we go in somewhere blind, we're not only giving Rollins the upper hand, but we open ourselves up to risk as well."

Bucky added while glancing back at (Y/n).

"There's a possibility that Rollins knows that we're here. If we're all busy with a mission trying to find him, he could come here to retrieve her."

Tony shrugged, offering.

"Okay, then let's wake her up. See how bad her brain is scrambled and see if she knows where Rollins could be."

Steve became stern, shaking his head.

"Tony, that's not possible. (Y/n) needs time to recover and heal. If we overwhelm her, we're only going to hurt her."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, and Steve said carefully.

"We're going to bring Rollins to justice and we're going to eradicate HYDRA once and for all. I promise you that."

"Oh, don't you go all patriotic on me. It's not even the fourth of July yet."

Bucky pursed his lips to keep from chuckling as Steve glared at Tony, and Natasha just rolled her eyes.

"So, why don't we compromise? We have a whole team of people back at the compound that we can send out to each location to cut any and all possibilities. I can already think of some teams to get together."

Tony's eyebrows raised, a skeptical look on his face as he asked.

"Yeah? What you got, Romanoff?"

Natasha hummed, shrugging her shoulders.

"FRIDAY gave us three locations, Wakanda being a possible fourth because of the soldier being here. King T'Challa, Shuri, and Bucky can stay here to watch over her since they're already here. Since you and Pete have heated suits, I think you two and maybe Banner could go to the Shelf. Clint, Wanda, and I can go to the Swiss Alps. Steve, Thor, and Sam Wilson can go to the Himalayas."

Steve made an expression of approval, but Tony shook his head, stating.

"I really don't want to involve the kid in this."

"Tony, he's an Avenger too."

Tony snapped, standing up straight as he glared at Steve.

"Yeah, and he's still a goddamn kid, Cap. I'm not involving him. End of discussion. I'll have Vision go instead."

Bucky offered, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay, so what if he came here? He'd still be safe, and we could benefit from his webs in case something happens or (Y/n) freaks out. He's not in as much danger as he would be out in the Shelf."

Natasha muttered, looking off to the side.

"Or you could stop babying and let the kid be a hero. He's got the neighborhood under control, I hear."

Tony whipped his gaze towards Natasha, a look of betrayal on his face, and Natasha stared right back. Tony huffed and gave Bucky a harsh look.

"Fine. I'll have Underoos come here, but you're responsible if something happens. Do you understand?"

Bucky nodded, and Tony muttered to himself.

"I'm going to regret this somehow. I know it. Let's just get everyone suited up."

Tony stalked off, and Natasha patted Bucky's arm, making him slightly recoil and give her an unamused look as she walked by.

"Nice thinking on your end."

Bucky grumbled to himself, and Steve asked Bucky with a gentle voice and kind expression.

"You gonna be okay?"

"As much as I wanna kick Rollins' face in, I wouldn't be any help to the team. I'll lose control if I see him...so it's best that I stay here."

Steve nodded before he embraced the man, Bucky tensing slightly before awkwardly hugging the man back.

"I'll keep you updated and let you know if I find anything. First thing."

Bucky nodded, and Steve saluted Bucky with a shit-eating grin before walking off. When Bucky was finally alone, his shoulders dropped, an exhausted look coming across his face before he sat down next to the soldier.

(Y/n) (L/n) looked peaceful. There was no pain, no indication of dreams or nightmares, and she looked even younger without the fear and anger on her face. Despite the horrific scars that lined the bottom half of her face and the grease within her hair and the oil on her skin, Bucky had to think that she was pretty.

'You were right...she is pretty.'

-

STORY NOTES: Steve and Clint have arrived back in Wakanda. Despite the success of their mission, they come back to Natasha warning them that Tony is not in a very good mood after he and Shuri successfully took the chip apart and identified the creator, who is revealed to be Robert (L/n). Tony asks Steve if he ever feels as though he is being haunted, which Steve replies accordingly.

Steve then gives the file containing information about the soldier and her father, and Tony becomes upset and walks out of the lab. Bucky is elated that Steve was able to find out who the soldier was, and when Bucky is finally able to know her name, he is perturbed by a feeling of familiarity from it. He asks what was wrong with Tony, and Shuri goes into depth about the history Robert and Howard Stark had together, as well as (Y/n)'s mother and Maria Stark.

Clint is confused by Robert playing a double agent while another HYDRA agent attempted to steal the serum, which Natasha explains that 'if the attention isn't on you, you can get a lot more done,' implying that Heinz was just a useful distraction. Steve asks how (Y/n) was able to be turned into a super soldier, and Natasha theorizes that Robert had used blood samples to test the serum with, and (Y/n) was the only match out of all his experiments.

After a few more minutes of discussion and Bucky is left alone with Steve, Shuri, and (Y/n). Steve attempts to comfort Bucky, reassuring him that they had been able to find her, but Bucky does not agree that she is completely saved yet. He reveals that he is still bothered by the soldier knowing about Meltzer Woods, and Steve suggests that it is a coincidence.

Tony enters the lab, and though he is uncomfortable, he reflects on the advice his therapist has given him about being more open to vulnerability and depending on others. He begins to reveal the way he is feeling to Steve and Bucky and how he is angry at his father for being apart of Project Rebirth while knowing how dangerous the work he was doing was. While Steve comforts Tony, Tony is too upset to understand what Steve is saying. Bucky offers comforting words as well, and Tony is unable to reply.

Instead, Tony begins to talk about Rollins and the main signal for the chip. The signal is traced to Fez, Morocco, and Bucky jumps the gun, wanting to leave. However, Tony refutes Bucky's thinking, stating that the Avengers need to be smart about this mission. Tony theorizes that Jack Rollins might already know that the Avengers know about the chip. Instead, he has FRIDAY bring up a list of known HYDRA bases that were mentioned or alluded to in the data they had recovered.

FRIDAY indicates that Rollins could have planted the main communicator since there is no known HYDRA activity at all within Fez, and Natasha agrees that it was a smart move. Natasha then suggests that the Avengers split into teams to go to or stay in each respective location (Swiss Alps, Himalayas, Antarctica, and Wakanda). She suggests that T'Challa, Shuri, and Bucky stay in Wakanda; Tony, Peter Parker, and Bruce Banner go to Antarctica; Clint, Wanda Maximoff, and Her go to the Swiss Alps; Steve, Thor Odinson, and Sam Wilson go to the Himalayas.

Tony immediately refutes involving Peter Parker because he is just a kid, but Steve and Natasha both tell him to stop 'babying' him and let him be an Avenger. Bucky decides to alleviate the issue by suggesting letting Peter come to Wakanda since he could be a big help, and Tony relents, making sure to tell Bucky that if something happens to Peter, he would be responsible. After a bit of conversation with Steve, everyone begins to gear up, and Bucky is left alone with the soldier. He begins to think that despite the scars and unwashed hair and skin, the soldier was right that the woman she had seen, (Y/n) (L/n), was pretty. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

None

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10

[howdoyousleep3]

Looking back and reflecting through prayer and journaling, Steve realizes it was his fault. 

The long looks that could have easily been interpreted as yearning, the unsuitable timing of said looks, the tone in his voice when he knew for a fact it was Bucky on the other side of the confessional and he did nothing to shift said tone of his voice to a more appropriate one.

It’s his fault and he’s admitted it. He’s spent his evenings praying—begging— for forgiveness, spent his nights on his knees until they’ve been left bruised, ruined the pages of his Bible from the tears he’s wept over it. 

None of it has come close to quelling the consuming feelings he has for Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky Barnes has ruined his goddamn life. He’s made Steve question his purpose, his past, his life, his future. 

Everything. He’s ruined it all. 

But Christ, Steve can’t stay away. 

The feeling he receives from being the reason such a beautiful being cries from pleasure or otherwise make him feel like—

Like God. 

Like God.  

Steve was horrified when Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him in his office that fateful evening, couldn’t believe his eyes when Bucky began to weep and grab at the obvious bulge at his crotch and fist at his hair. 

“I don’t know what to do, Father. It hurts. It has to be a punishment for the things I can’t stop thinking about. Please, help me. Please…” 

Steve may have been possessed. 

When he reached for Bucky, out of his own mind and unable to grasp reality or his purpose, he knew the moment his fingertips came in contact with the moist skin of Bucky’s cheek he was about to enter into a world of inevitable and eternal damnation. 

“Tell me where it hurts, son. Tell me what you think about.”

An entire life dedicated to God couldn’t stop his own traitorous cock growing so full, so painfully fast that he nearly doubled over when Bucky uttered the words— 

“I can’t stop thinking about y-you, Father.”

And then Bucky had shuffled forward on his knees, letting out a pitiful noise with each jerky movement, and pressed the bulge of his crotch against Steve’s shin, through his robe.

Lucifer was described as beautiful, the seal of perfection. He was an angel before he was cast out. 

Bucky is Steve’s personal Lucifer. 

“I want to know everything you think about. You kneel here and tell me. I will help you, my son.” 

Steve had never heard such filth, such utterly disgusting filth:

“I can’t look at you without getting hard. I look at you and I want to let you inside of my body, want to put you in my mouth. I come to service and look at you and listen to you and get so hard I have to go to the bathroom to…to touch myself. I’ve never done anything, nothing– I swear I’m a good boy. But I look at you and I want to be so so bad, Father. What am I supposed to do? How do I…do I stop feeling this way?” 

It was seeing the young man’s tears that made Steve feel the most arousal, he realized. Not that Bucky was sobbing as he spoke and practically humping Steve’s leg; it was the tears. How beautiful he was when he wept before Steve, on his knees.

Steve reached for his rosary the moment he came back to his body enough to realize he too was hard. 

“You must repent, Bucky,” he heard himself say, tone hushed and reverent. “You must ask for forgiveness.” 

And God damn him, God damn him, he closed his eyes as he laid his hand in Bucky’s hair, softer than silk, and whispered, “You must give into temptation to be forgiven in full…” 

Steve never stood a chance against being faced with his own temptation.

Neither did Bucky, it seemed.

Weeping while he rubbed his erection against Steve’s leg was nothing compared to weeping with his mouth stretched lewdly around Steve’s cock.

Steve had not once felt pleasure like this in his life, had never come close to experiencing something of such bliss. Feeling the inside of Bucky’s mouth, his tongue, was otherworldly.

His pleasure growing tenfold hearing and watching Bucky struggle to take him, to suck on him, made him question whether or not he was made for a secular life instead.

Steve prayed for their two souls anyway. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son…” 

Bucky sobbed and sputtered, gagged and sucked, whimpered and sniffled.

“...has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins…”

When Bucky’s hands came up to grasp Steve’s hips, when he leaned forward to shove Steve further into his mouth as if he were starving and desperate, Steve fisted the hand that held onto the rosary into his hair, holding Bucky in place as his hips took on a mind of their own.

“...through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace…” 

Bucky’s sobs blended with moans as Steve fucked his mouth, noise so sweet Steve closed his eyes once more to memorize the noise of it.

“...and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit…” 

Steve’s last bit of self-control was used to not let out a ferocious groan as he came down Bucky’s throat, teeth gritted as he forced Bucky’s mouth further down on his cock, until he felt Bucky’s tongue on his balls. 

“Amen…” 

It pulled Steve back to reality, that amen. He shoved at Bucky’s shoulder, pushed him back and away from his still-twitching cock, from his trembling body. 

The sight of a dizzy and hungry Bucky, mouth slick with cum and lips and cheeks cherry red, rubbing pathetically at his crotch from the outside of his pants while crying out, “Amen! Amen!” as he obviously came in his pants on the floor of Steve’s office is an image that will be branded in Steve’s brain until the day he sees the pearly gates. 

That’s if this doesn’t send him to Hell instead.

Bucky leaned down then, pants wet and still sniffling, and pressed his lips against Steve’s shoes. His feet. 

“Thank you, Father. Thank you…” 

Steve was indeed going to hell. 

[onerockandroiitoomany]

my thoughts after seeing stex wembley :D

I saw the 25/1/25 Matinee!

We had a few swings/understudies on- Scott Hayward as Rusty, Lara Vina Uzcatia as Greaseball, Asher Forth as Electra, Jamie Cruttenden as Lumber, Jessie Angell as Slick, Red as Green Arrow, Charles Butcher as Orange Flash, Sam Gallacher as Killerwatt, Bethany Rose Lythgoe as Wrench and Gary Sheridan as Volta. They all did incredible!

I adore the little remixes they have of cut songs from the show that play in the lobby! I didn't notice them at first but I swear my ears pricked up when I realised I could hear the melody of There's Me! I think the full list of remixes were There's Me, Next Time You Fall in Love, A Lotta Locomotion and Right Place, Right Time (Please tell me if I've missed any!)

This is the first show I've ever been to where there's been a safety briefing beforehand! The staff are all incredibly professional although they aren't miced up, so if you are hard of hearing you may want to grab one beforehand to ask them to run you through everything.

We had a show stop! I was actually pretty hyped about this because I'd heard about them happening a few times and as someone with the tiniest experience running theatre tech I wanted to see how it worked! Everything was fine and it was sorted quickly. The stop happened right at the end of Crazy since the house lights kept flicking on and off.

The show sounds so much better in person! I've listened to the cast recording and seen a few bootlegs and the criticism that it's hard to understand is definitely because people are watching recordings of the show. I have auditory processing issues and was realising what some of the lyrics were mid-song when I was in the theatre!

I was sat trackside in the locomotive seats and I'm so glad I didn't buy a cheaper ticket because I could see the entire track, and so much happened directly in front of me! The crash during race 2 happened right where I was sitting, and Dinah and Porter were cheering for the final race in the aisle. At one point, Lumber skated right into the barrier and when I jumped, he turned around and said "Didn't see you there!" which I thought was so cute!

If you want cast interactions and you're near the track, cheer during the races! clap along to songs! of course, being trackside helps, but simply show how much you're loving the show and it pays off. The cast are absolutely incredible with interacting with the audience mid-show as well as during the megamix, and I was so happy with how many little moments that I got to see so close up! If you're recording the megamix, look up at the performers and not at your phone, too!

The only downside of this is that sometimes your view will be blocked- I missed a bit of one of the songs because Tassita was positioned directly in front of me and I couldn't see past! However, the cast are almost constantly moving, so you'll be alright.

I truly can't recommend the locomotive trackside seats enough- there's never any turning around and craning your neck during the races to see what's going on!

During the races, there are live camera feeds which show up on the screens around the theatre. I didn't notice it for a while, but it's the marshalls with the cameras, and it really makes you feel like you're watching a race!

Speaking of the marshalls, they're absolutely incredible! Some of the tricks they pull off are insane to see, and sometimes I felt like I was cheering for them more than the skate stunts!

There have been a few little tweaks made since the recording of the bootleg that was floated around. They're mostly just a few words changed in lines, but there's still new things to see!

Seeing all the tech live is breathtaking. It's one thing to see a video, but so many moments completely took my breath away, especially I Am the Starlight.

I've got so much more appreciation for Pearl and the Freights as characters now. Not that I didn't like them before, but I definitely love them more after the show!

By the end of Act 1, I had already decided I needed to see the show again! I felt like everything could have taken twice as long and I still would have loved it.

In short- if you can see this show please do! It is entertaining, thrilling, and absolutely worth your money no matter where you're sitting!

[riptides-n-roses]

Hiii! First I want to say I love your posts and one of the best! Second I Would like to request a Roman X Reader when he lost at WrestleMania 40 and how he would be like with reader backstage? If not it is fine!

GGRRAAAHHH! OFC OFC! I CRIED SO HARD THAT NIGHT OMFG! THIS ONE SHALL BE FLUFF FOR ONCE! ♡

changes - roman reigns

⛧ pair: roman reigns x reader

⛧ tags: @88changemymind @cyberdejos2 @reigns-prophecy [huge thank you to anon]

⛧ no warnings/smut this time. Just an emotional roman after an incredible match and reign.

⛧ writers block is the absolute worst omg. I'll go ahead and be honest, sometimes smut gets a little too hard to write and I don't really want this blog to just be smut. This will be my first fluff since most of my drafts are smut related. Also again this one is short but I hope it's a fun little read.

⛧ after an incredible title reign, things will be different but right now all roman can ever need right now is you.

⛧ word count: 588

Wrestlemania.

The biggest night in WWE. All superstars have an amazing opportunity to make a change or write history for the books.

This was also a night for some big title cards. One of which was your partner, Roman Reigns. He is the Trible Chief, The Head of The Table. The main event was when he takes on Cody Rhodes, for the Undisputed WWE Universal Championship.

It was a match everyone was talking about that sparked a lot of debate on TV and social media. Tonight's main event was going to be talked about all year regardless of the outcome.

You held Roman tight in your arms, giving him a big hug before his match.

"You're going to do great out there" you started, "it'll be a night to remember."

"I know it will." Roman replied, gently stroking your hair. "I made a lot of history with this title"

After a warm embrace for what seemed like forever, you let him go, giving him a kiss on the cheek as a signal for good luck.

.•°☆.⋆｡⋆☆•˚｡⋆｡˚•☆˚｡⋆.☆•°.⋆

1...

2...

3...

Cody had finished the story. The new champion held the newly claimed title high as the audience roared.

"Here is your winner...and the NEW Undisputed WWE Universal Champion...The American Nightmare: Cody Rhodes!"

You watched the screen in the guerilla with tears in your eyes. This was one of the most beautiful moments in WWE storytelling. A lot of stories have been written and not just for Cody but for everyone involved.

You couldn't imagine how Roman feels in this moment. He's successfully held the title for an incredible reign of 1,316 days. 3 years. That was already impressive on its own status.

After the pay per view went off air, Roman was desperately looking for you.

"Y/N!" You heard him call out for you. You immediately went to go look for him, needing to give him the most well deserved love he needed.

When Roman saw you, he immediately rushed into your arms, holding you tight.

"Hey baby...I saw" you started, "Are you okay?"

It took Roman a bit to respond, knowing the entire match was a lot to take in.

"Tonight was a moment..." His tone was soft "I've made a name for myself, including my in ring career..."

You listened to him, allowing him to state how he felt in this moment.

"What I'm trying to say is...I'm happy. Not because of my reign but because of what it meant for wrestling. For this company..."

You felt him shiver, you think he was caught up in his feelings.

"I love you so much, y/n... you truly have helped me with everything for the 3 years I've held that championship."

Roman looked into your eyes, small tears forming in his eyes. You smiled and gave him a soft kiss on his lips.

"I love you too, Roman. I'm happy I can be there for you..."

He smiled when he heard how you loved him.

"I know everything will change now...but you're still you, Roman. You've made an impact for WWE. You should be proud of yourself."

"Don't worry I am" He laughed, "Would you...like to get something to eat before we make it to our hotel room?"

You smiled, giving him another kiss "Sure. I think that'll make you feel better. We can get food and laugh about good times."

"Sounds like a plan"

The two of you kissed one more time before going to your dressing room, holding hands on the way there.

"I love you, y/n."

[maxdibert]

Hi, regarding your "People who defend James’s stripping Severus in front of the entire school" Post. I am struggling with this from time to time, but I also like to ponder and discuss so:

I really like the fandom version of the Marauders, and I honestly do not really care for Snape because in the fics and art I interact with he is usually not part of. (I also read a lot of Muggle AU etc.. And I think another huge part is that I never really thought about how young he technically still was as a teacher because of Alan Rickman´s age. As a child I simply disliked him and never had an opinion on the Marauders as they appear so little in the movies. I guess it´s hard to move on from that?) What the Marauders did in Canon to Severus, and probably other students, was horrible. I agree. I also think Snape has his faults too, but the abuse against him shouldn´t be excused "because he was mean too". If you abuse and abuser, it´s still abuse.

I guess my question is what´s your opinion on the take to like the fanon version but not the canon version?

"The lengths some people go to twist facts and canon to conveniently excuse their favourite characters’ actions because they can’t accept them as they were is honestly incredible. Or maybe they just need to tell themselves they’re not fans of a couple of rich, abusive bullies because deep down they’d feel terrible about it—who knows."

To take the potential the Marauders have, the idea of a tight friend group in a magical school, explore different family dynamics... I like to play around with that and what was made of it. I think I can do that while acknowledging that what they did in canon was bad. It´s why I struggle with canon compliant stories, like their behaviour sucked. If I only knew the canon version I would not like them because I wouldn´t like "rich, abusive bullies". But changing the characters and their actions is, to me, part of what makes fanfics fun?

And of course I could do the same for Snape. But I didn´t and there is probably a lot to unpack on why I mostly ignore him. But. ultimately, to like him I would have to change him a lot from canon too. What the Marauders did as kids might have actually been worse (?) but how he became later makes me dislike him and for the Marauders we have more freedom to interpret how they turned out as adults. (Even though I just said changing the story is part of fandom and I could just make Snape nice... There are so many contradictions in all my thoughts on this topic)

Okay, this got really long and aybe a bit all over the place. You don´t have to answer this. But if you have any thought´s I´d be interested in hearing them :) This is also my first ever anon ask and I really don´t want to fight on this topic I just have a lot of thoughts.

My problem is precisely that the characters this new generation of the fandom has invented are unbearably boring. A bunch of normie kids who dress like Zendaya and her friends in Euphoria and have average teen drama issues that seem straight out of a cheap Netflix series. I mean, where’s the appeal in that? Where’s the appeal in turning Sirius into a whiny twink who just goes around pining for Remus Lupin—who, by the way, has suddenly become some sort of sassy alpha male—when their canon dynamic is way more interesting? When Sirius in canon is a guy with temper issues who thinks that just because he went to Gryffindor and has the “right ideas,” he’s managed to shake off the stigma of being a Black, yet remains as arrogant and violent as the rest of his family? When he has good intentions but has never really confronted who he is, where he comes from, and how ignoring that won’t make his behavior any less problematic? When he’s willing to do anything for James but simultaneously capable of deliberately ignoring Remus’s well-being? When he’s a rebel but still falls into the same abusive, hegemonic behaviors he was raised in? When it seems like his opposition to his family is a conscious choice, but it’s actually just the result of his mommy issues? He’s an incredibly complex character in canon, full of contradictions, and there’s so much interesting psychological exploration to be done with him. And you’re seriously telling me you prefer an OC with his name invented by the fandom who just cries over his non-canon boyfriend and feels validated because he paints his nails? Seriously???

Are you seriously telling me that James from the fandom—the goofy puppy dog protagonist pulled straight out of every cliché teen movie—is more interesting than canon James Potter, who is blessed with the wonderful depth of class hypocrisy for analysis and exploration? Are you really saying that a flat, soap-opera-level stereotype is better to write or develop than a rich kid who had every reason to be a Cedric Diggory but chose to be a Draco Malfoy? Are you really telling me it’s more interesting to write about the feminist girlboss icon of the 21st century that you’ve turned Lily Evans into rather than a complex, contradictory female character like the one in canon: a girl from a working-class town, spoiled and adored by her parents, who finds herself for the first time in a world that makes her feel even more special but where she doesn’t quite fit because of her background? Someone who, in her effort to fit in and be recognized, creates an image of herself as moralistic and perfect, yet in truth doesn’t stand up for or care about anything unless it directly affects her? The bullies target Mary Macdonald, and she doesn’t lift a finger or say a word until it suits her to end her friendship with Severus. She’s supposedly Severus’s best friend, but at the same time, she downplays the bullying he endures and even flirts with his abuser. She’s supposedly the epitome of morality, yet she marries a bully. Do you know how much room there is to flesh out those gaps? The things that aren’t clear? The sheer depth you can draw from that? And you seriously prefer a character ripped out of a 2012 Taylor Swift song over that? Is that honestly more interesting to you?

Do you really think that the sassy alpha-male version of Remus Lupin, full of quick-witted one-liners, is more compelling than the kid who disapproved of his friends’ actions but stayed silent out of desperation to preserve the safe space they represented for him? Who felt consistently left out of the bond James and Sirius shared? Who, even when what they did seemed utterly immoral, stepped aside because deep down he was so afraid of rejection that it made him a coward and a hypocrite? Who eventually drifted away from his entire group of friends because of his inferiority complex to the point that they even thought he was a traitor? One of his supposed friends nearly used him as a weapon to commit murder, and he forgave him without a word because he knew that standing up to him might mean losing everything. Are you really telling me that the cheap romantic drama version is more interesting than all of that in terms of exploring a character and the dynamics of dysfunctional friendships within that group? Really? Are you seriously saying you’d rather pretend Peter was just “there” than delve into how they treated him like a pet because he went along with all their mischief and they underestimated him so much they never realized they had a sadist among them? You prefer a convenient, nice Peter over a dark, deeply flawed one? Really?

Yes, the dynamic among the Marauders is fascinating, but it’s fascinating because it’s dysfunctional, full of power imbalances, clear differences in the relationships within the group, and a ton of things that don’t make sense unless you provide a coherent and in-depth explanation. It’s in that dysfunction where the intrigue, the plot, and the character exploration lie—not in creating an idyllic, problem-free group of friends whose drama arises from stereotypical romantic relationships. Not in creating OCs with canon names who bear no resemblance to the actual characters and have the depth of a sheet of paper. Sorry, but no.

And sorry, but I’m not buying the argument that the Marauders are “easier to explore” just because Sirius and Remus made it to adulthood, and Thewlis and Oldman were already in their 40s when they played their characters, making them middle-aged like Rickman. And Snape was their same age and spent the same school years with them.

So yeah, it’s fine if you’re not interested in a character, but the excuse is always, “I haven’t seen much of that character to be interested in them.” Well, if you only move in your own echo chamber, and that chamber happens to be full of haters, obviously you’re not going to see much. There’s a huge Snape fandom with tons of headcanons, people constantly creating and writing all kinds of content with all sorts of pairings and perspectives on him—you just have to look for it. I mean, literally, everything we know about the Marauders is because of Snape. Their youth only exists to enrich and explain Snape’s character. If we know anything about Lily and James, it’s because they serve to fill in Snape’s backstory. Otherwise, we would have only had the adult versions Harry imagines or knows (Remus, Sirius, and Peter), and we’d know nothing about what happened before. There is no Marauders fandom without Snape, because the concept of the Marauders as teenagers exists because of and for Snape’s backstory.

So honestly, my problem isn’t with the fandom but with the new fandom and its vision of the characters. Characters that don’t exist because they don’t resemble canon and instead feel like self-inserts with canon names. And I find it a waste because canon is so rich, and its characters are so unexplored, yes, but if explored coherently, they’re far more interesting than if they’re just turned into inconsistent projections.

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 5

Sgt Gadriel x Childhood Friend OC

Good news! Gadriel and Ellie finally have a moment to talk alone.

Bad news! That quiet moment is taking place in a Drukhari ship.

If you missed part 4, you can catch up here :)

I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point, but I am so grateful for all the support this series has had so far. So, all you lovely people, thank you for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting <3

Once again, I've butchered the lore a little bit. But tbh I've been doing that this entire series so hopefully you guys are used to/expect that from me by now 😅

Violence and 40kness under the cut, as well as some light ellusions to some nsfwness at the start. Apologies for spelling and grammar errors, and thank you for your support :D

Love, Memestrider xoxo

When Gadriel walked through their bedroom door, Ellicent had known right away. She'd been dreading it. Praying that it wouldn't happen. But the moment she saw the look on his face, she'd known.

"You've been accepted," she said.

Gadriel closed the door behind him. He let out a tired sigh before turning to face her once more. "I asked if I could return home to say goodbye. They were reluctant, but said yes."

Ellicent closed her eyes. Her knees felt weak, and she sat on the bed lest they give out on her entirely. "Have you told your mother yet?"

Gadriel visibly recoiled from the question. "She said she was happy; that she was proud. But I could tell it was a lie. She wants me to leave about as much as you do."

"Can't say I blame her," Ellicent said.

Gadriel gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. It only infuriated Ellicent more. Taking a seat next to her, he clasped his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on the floor as if ashamed.

"I leave tomorrow," he said quietly.

Ellicent looked at him "Seriously? When?"

"First thing." Still, he refused to meet her gaze. "You and Mum probably won't even be awake yet."

Ellicent bit her lip as a wave of tears threatened to overwhelm her. She was so angry with him. So angry. Why did he have to be so selfless? Why did his heart have to be so noble that he would do something like this for the mere chance of making her and his mother's lives just a little bit better?

"So... What happens next?"

"Well, assuming I pass all of my trials and actually become an Astartes, I can request to have you both transferred to someplace in Ultramar."

"You can request? You mean, it isn't guaranteed?"

"I don't know. It's... It's not a commonly done thing, apparently." Chewing his cheek, Gadriel clenched his hand into fists. "But I'll make it happen. I promise I will."

"You better," Ellicent whispered. "If you can't, then this whole thing would have been for nothing."

They both lapsed into silence. Heavy, tense and melancholic. Tears were flowing freely down Ellicent's cheeks now. The grief she'd been anticipating for months now had broken free of its cage, and is now sewing painful knots in her belly and chest.

Why? She continued to ask herself. Why did it have to be like this? Why did he have to go?

"Ellie?" She felt Gadriel's hand wrap around hers. "Talk to me. Please."

Ellicent sniffed, wiping her eyes with her free hand. She met his gaze and found that he, too, had started to weep.

Her body moved without thinking. Throwing one leg over him, she straddled his lap before pulling him into the fiercest, most passionate kiss she thinks she's ever given him. It took him off guard. So much so, he almost fell backward onto the bed. But he didn't hesitate in returning it. Sliding his hands up her back, he gripped her nape hard, pressing her into him and working his mouth against hers.

The taste of him was wonderful. His scent and touch, the closest things to bliss Ellicent had ever had. And she was about to loose him. The world was trying to take him away. A sob rises into the back of Ellicent's throat. She had to break the kiss in order to let it out. Gadriel cradled her cheeks in his hands, pressed his forehead to hers. He let her take all the time she needed to catch her breath. His own, soft exhales were warm against Ellicent's lips.

Ellicent intertwines her fingers in his hair. It's tangled and coarse, and slightly damp from the humid air outside. But to Ellicent, it's as soft and beautiful as silk.

"I want more, Gadriel," she whispers.

She feels his brows furrow against her forehead. "Do... Do you mean?"

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

She'd expected him to be hesitant. While they had shared a bed for as long as Ellicent had been living with Gadriel and his mother, they'd never slept together. Not for a lack of attraction, of course; Gadriel was easily pretty enough to pass as a high lord's son, and even before he'd started training for the Astartes, his body was a well-sculpted work of soft muscle and olive skin; and while Ellicent is less certain of her own physical attributes, Gadriel has told her time and time again how stunning her figure is, how her eyes reminded him of falling stars.

But even so, their relationship had always been built on emotional intimacy- sex was a line they were yet to crossed.

But Ellicent couldn't wait any longer.

"I am," she said in reply to his question. "I want you, Gadriel. I love you. And if the world is so determined to take you from me tomorrow, I want to have you tonight." Gently, she covers his hands with her own, brushing her thumb across his knuckles. "But of course, all of that is moot unless you'll have me too."

Gadriel's reply is instant. "Of course I will."

"Then please," Ellicent whispered. She pressed her palm against his chest. Felt his now-racing heart beating against her skin.

"Take me."

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

"Welcome to the Dark Star," Ellie says quietly. She hugs her legs a little tighter, resting her temple on her knees so she is facing him.

It's only then that Gadriel notices she's missing her left arm.

"Where's your prostethic?" he asks.

Ellie glances at her empty shoulder socket. Her expression, like her voice, is totally flat. "They took it. Weren't keen on the idea of locking me up with my hyperphase sword." She raps her knuckles on her right knee, making a soft clanging sound. "Let me keep my leg, though. So that's something, I guess."

"But why?" Gadriel asks. "I mean, why are you even here? I thought these xenos were allied with you."

Ellie meets his gaze. Something hot flashes behind her eyes. "They're allied with Severus. Not me."

"But do you not work for him?"

Her next words come out laced with poison. "More like I'm indentured to him."

Despite himself, her words leave Gadriel feeling relieved. I knew it, he thinks. She's not here by choice. She's not a traitor."

"But I see your point," she continues. "And typically, it'd be right: Severus does keep the Dark Eldar off me. But then I fired off that flare and..."

She lapses back into morose silence. Gadriel feels a twinge in his chest unrelated to any of his wounds.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Don't be," Ellie replies. "It's not your fault. I knew what I was doing, how he would react. I'm just sorry you got hurt because of it."

Gadriel swallows thickly. "I... I'm not just talking about that."

Ellie cocks her head for a moment. "What are you..." Her face suddenly drops. "Oh. Right."

The sad silence returns. Ellie's eyes drop to the floor as she fiddles with a crack in the floor. Small ribbons of light catch her cheeks; tear streaks, Gadriel realises.

He forces himself to take a breath. From the moment he'd seen her again, the same terrible question has been plaguing his mind. But he can't hide from it any longer. Not when they may be so close to death.

"What happened to you, Ellie?" Gadriel asks. "How did you end up involved with... with people like this?"

Her reply is sharp as a blade. "It wasn't willingly. I can tell you that for nothing."

"I'd already guessed as much," Gadriel says gently. "But, truth be told, that only makes me more desperate to know how it all came to pass."

For a long while, Ellie is silent.

"Are you sure?" she finally asks.

The way she says it makes Gadriel's throat close over. "Yes," he answers. "Please."

Ellie goes quiet again. Her gaze returns to the cold, dank floor. "About six months after you left," she says. "Your mother died. Same sickness that killed my Dad. I couldn't stay in the house after that. Too much loss. I swear I could feel it coming out of the walls."

A twinge of grief pangs in Gadriel's chest. He'd already assumed that his mother was likely dead by now- if not from disease, then certainly from age. But nevertheless, the confirmation from Ellie still stings.

"I lived off the streets after that," she continues. "You know, stealing from topsiders, raiding trash piles, fighting for the best abandoned building to sleep in for the night; all the standard type stuff." She lets out a sigh. "Then Severus showed up.

"I don't know how much you know about him, from your mission briefing or whatever, but his main shtick is that he's a slaver. A trafficker. He and his cronies zip around the galaxy, visiting feral hive worlds and plucking healthy-looking vagrants off the streets to... Well, to do whatever he wants."

Gadriel swallows the lump in his throat. "And he..."

"Yup."

"Throne, Ellie."

With her one remaining shoulder, Ellie shrugs. "Wasn't just me. He probably took about a hundred people in the end. I was taken in my sleep. Hit over the head, woke up in the belly of some disgusting cargo bay." Briefly, she looks around her cell. "It wasn't too dissimilar to this, actually. Except a lot less roomy, with more people crammed inside. Most of the people Severus takes are to sell- that's what he's allied with the Dark Eldar for. But sometimes, he'll come across someone he takes a liking to, and he'll keep them as his own."

Once more, Gadriel's mouth fills with acidic bile, and the corners of his vision turn from black to red. When Ellie sees the look on his face, she forces a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it wasn't like that. Not with me, anyway. Only reason he liked me was 'cause I could handle myself in a fight. He saw a killer in me, not a play-thing. Probably the only stroke of luck I've had during this whole thing."

The only thing Gadriel can think to do is nod. "How about your arm and leg?" he asks. "How'd you loose them?"

"I didn't loose them," Ellie says. "Severus took them."

"He took them?"

She nods. "He'd have taken the others too, if he'd had enough necron parts lying around. But he only had a left arm and right leg, so that was all he could replace." She touches her empty shoulder socket. A soft, harsh laugh slips from her lips. "Another stroke of luck on my part, I guess.

"He made me his hit-man," she continues. "His errand girl."Defend this cargo, Ellicent. Kill this officer, Ellicent. I've got a pack of space marines coming after me, so set a trap for 'em and kill them for me, Ellicent. If you refuse me again, I'll let the Drukhari have you, and you'll be begging me to take you back." That was my life. For fifty years. And the cybernetics, they affected the rest of my body. Hardened my bones, slowed my aging right down. Meant death was hard to come by; even when I wanted it to."

Her voice is so full of emotion, it almost sounds devoid of it. Like an overloaded fuse, there is so much pain in her words, she can't possibly express it anymore. Gadriel's eyes well with tears. He can't stand this. All of these things happening to Ellicent. His Ellie. The girl he's loved from the moment he was old enough to understand what love even was.

All these things have happened to her, and I didn't save her. I didn't even try.

The silence that falls between them is a physical presence, one of hurt, foreboding and grief. Gadriel's wounds continue to scream at him, but compared to those coming from his hearts, they're little more than whimpers.

"So," Ellie mutters. "Now that you know all of that, I have to ask..."

Gadriel closes his eyes. He waits for her next words he were waiting for an executioner's axe to fall.

"Do you still remember the night before you left?"

The question takes him completely off-guard. And the memory it brings... Gadriel can't help but smile. "Of course," he says.

Ellie nods. "Do you remember what you said to me? When it's was all over?"

As quickly as it had come, his smile dies. "I said I loved you."

"Before that."

Gadriel averts his eyes. "I said I'd come back."

"No," Ellie replies. "You didn't just say it. You promised me. You looked me in the eye and you swore it."

"... I... I know."

"So why didn't you?"

Gadriel goes to chew the inside of his cheek, but winces as his teeth grate broken, bleeding skin. Seems the Dark Eldar's poison has kept even that wound from closing, too.

"And don't lie to me, okay?" Ellie adds. Her tone isn't accusatory; instead, it's almost a plea. "I don't want... poor excuses or anything like that. I just want the truth. No matter what it is. Surely I deserve that, at least."

"Of course you do," Gadriel says.

Ellie doesn't reply, but her silence indicates she's waiting for him to continue.

Gadriel looks down at his hands. Already, they're slick again with his own blood.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the pangs of protest the movement sparks from his wounds, and clenches his hands into fists. "Do you know what re-education is?" he asks.

"No," she answers.

"It's the psychological aspect of Astartes' creation. Just as thorough and invasive as the surgeries and the physical training. But, arguably, it's more important than both."

He hears Ellie shift in her seat. "I don't think I like where this is going," she mutters.

Gadriel exhales hard through his nose. This time, the spike of pain that follows is enough to make him grimace. "I didn't even know it was a part of the process until it was happening to me," he says. "But if I did... I don't think I'd have joined."

The astonishment is Ellie's voice is tangible. "Do you really mean that?"

"I told you I wouldn't lie, didn't I?"

For a while, Ellie is quiet. "What did they do?" she asks softly.

Gadriel closes his eyes. His thoughts suddenly don't feel like his own. The very thing he's trying to tell her about, it doesn't want him to. It's fighting him. Filling his lungs with stones so he cannot speak, hijacking his thoughts to he cannot remember. But Gadriel refuses it. Pulling his eyes up from his fists, he looks at Ellie's face, takes in her scarlet hair and twinkling eyes. He uses them as anchors. As lifelines. For fifty years he's let this thing stand between him and the one he loves. He'll be damned if he's going to let it happen again.

"We were hypnotised," he says. "Then for days, we were fed these pict-casts and vox-recordings. I don't know what they were, but they had been developed by psycho encoders. They were meant to indoctrinate us, I suppose. I don't really remember much from those weeks, only that it was... unpleasant. I remember my throat being very sore after the end of every session. Like all I'd done the entire time was scream."

"You probably did," Ellie says quietly.

Gadriel doesn't respond to that. He doesn't know how. "After that," he continues, dropping his gaze again. "They let Librarians- psykers- into our minds. Again, I... don't really know what they did. But as I think about it now... It was after I'd had those sessions that my life before the Astartes became difficult to recall."

"Difficult how?"

"As in, it felt like a dream," Gadriel says. "Like a fantasy. You and Mum- you were... figments of my imagination. You weren't real. Nothing that came before my becoming an Astartes was real."

"Until you saw me again," Ellie whispers.

Gadriel feels tears prick his eyes. "Until I saw you again. After that, everything came back with startling clarity."

He musters the courage to look at her again. The expression he finds on her face almost breaks him.

"So..." she whispers. "So you never abandoned me."

It's not a question, so much as a statement. Tears roll down her cheeks again, but there's a smile on her face.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Gadriel pushes himself off the wall. He crawls up to the bar wall on his knees, collapsing against it as consciousness threatens to leave him once again. Grimacing, he clutches one hand on the hole in his stomach. But the other, finds Ellie's hand. "If I had known I would've been forced to forget you," he rasps. "I'd have never joined the Astartes. I mean that. From the bottom of both my hearts, I mean it."

Ellie chokes on a stifled sob. Bringing his hand to her lips, she kisses his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Gadriel. I'm sorry I doubted you. I never should've. I should've known-"

"You should've known no such thing," Gadriel murmurs. "And you had every right to resent me."

Tears are rolling down his cheeks now, too. Dropping his hand, Ellie sidles up closer, reaches through the bars and gently wipes them away with her thumb. Her skin is rough with callouses- far more so than he ever remembered. But right now, it's the softest, more comforting thing Gadriel has felt in a long time.

"If these bars weren't in the way I would kiss you right now," Ellie says.

Gadriel smiles softly. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

Footsteps outside his cell make both of them turn.

Long shadows creep up the hallway's wall, moving in time with the steps. Gadriel doesn't need to wait, however, to know exactly who they belong to.

"Wakey wakey, space marine!" The voice is gravelly, feminine, and undeniably inhuman. "Someone wants to see you."

The Dark Eldar wyche prowls up the Gadriel's cell door, clad in leather and bone and wielding a spear. She unlocks the door with a click, before dragging it open and slipping inside.

"No," Ellie says, gripping Gadriel's hand.

Gadriel pulls free to cup her cheek. "Let go, Ellie. It's okay."

"No it isn't. It's-"

Through the bars, the wyche slams the butt of her spear into Ellie's face. Gadriel shouts her name, but the word devolves into a cry as the dark eldar kicks him in his wounded side. "Come on now," she purrs. "Cut that out. There'll be plenty of time for screaming later."

Dark spots flash before Gadriel's vision. The agony in his side is so intense, he can barely even draw breath. Grabbing him by the back of his undersuit's collar, the wyche drags him from his cell. The furious, desperate screams of Ellie follows them all the way down the hall.

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

I'm sorry to have to do another cliff hanger. The wait for part 6 shouldn't be too long, I promise.

Thanks again for reading, and please let me know what you think of the story so far! Your comments and tags are literally food for my soul ^^

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[squirrelno2]

Ok so Davrin! I have Thoughts about Davrin.

Because if you’re aware at all of the stuff I write you’re probably aware that I am a big fan of the kind of character who subsumes their own desires and survival and personhood for the sake of being One Thing, whether that’s a living weapon/made to be a soldier situation or just a “I am Your Best Friend first and foremost situation”. It is, uh. Small wonder I end up liking characters of colour the most, since those are the ones most often written with a Purpose in the story who don’t get to expand beyond that Purpose in the narrative, or if they do have that arc that I crave it’s still underrepresented in fanworks so it becomes my favourite and most frustrating niche where I have to create the content I want to see in the world, which is “person who tries to ignore their own needs gets to realise they’re allowed to love and be loved whether or not they’re useful”. Please be aware that while I don’t specifically discuss Davrin’s Blackness in the next few paragraphs it is a large part of why I’m writing this now because it massively changes the way this story gets read, both because people with unexamined biases will gloss over his story and just accept Davrin as being a tool to the story instead of a person and also because those of us who are aware now must consider how to address such a storyline knowing that Black people most of all are reduced in their stories to things and plot points.

So getting back to Davrin in particular I am both obsessed with and frustrated by how he’s written because! His narrative is such a good example of this trope! He is a monster hunter, and to a lesser extent at the start a protector, and from the moment we meet him he is trying very hard to keep himself shut in that box. He downplays any effect he has on the griffons, is upset at the idea of taking care of Assan because that’s what the others are there for, he’s just the sword arm. As time goes on and we do things like, you know, fight an archdemon without getting our Warden buddy killed, he seems so lost and almost devastated to have not died when he was “supposed to” – and this is a man who doesn’t really seem suicidal at all, he has no real desire to die, he just. Expects to. And what he can do to save others is always more important to him than what he could do to save himself. When my Rook walked in there expecting to be overjoyed with him that they were both still around I have to think the gap in emotion was so jarring to both of them, because like. This man has accepted his own death in the face of the “greater good” for so long that he never once made a contingency plan or even wild hope for “what if I don’t die?” And it’s so cool that he and my Rook got to walk hand in hand through danger and decide they deserve to be happy! It’s so cool that you get to potentially get him through the entire game and into a life with open possibilities and who knows what kind of future for the Wardens! That’s my shit!

And while I can’t say I’ll never choose the Grey Warden option for the griffon choice, to me that is so much a metaphor about letting yourself become a weapon vs finding peace and joy that is in line with you as an individual that if I’m playing the game acting on my conscience, not a Rook who’s further from me, I will always choose Arlathan for them. Because that’s so obviously a metaphor for Davrin’s own growth as a character.

This is where it pisses me off, though – too much of that metaphor is treated literally. Davrin doesn’t verbally acknowledge what the griffons’ changing role means for him, and I’m unsure if an unromanced Davrin ever says anything about planning for the future, having only gotten through the game once thus far. The fucking epilogue where all the companions say a little line about what’s in their future and Davrin just mentions the griffons and not his own fucking life??? Like he had a little line about pursuing romance or whatever but again. That’s a romanced Davrin. If he and my Rook hadn’t vibed “the griffons found a new home in Arlathan” or whatever would have been presented as the sole culmination of Davrin’s character arc. I love coparenting a griffon as much as the next guy but we cannot replace the “sword arm” persona with a “griffon daddy” persona as though him subsuming his needs and wants for the sake of Assan is any better for him than doing it for the Wardens. What the fuck.

Anyway short version of all that is Davrin has my favourite kind of story, and griffons are a metaphor for the way Wardens treat themselves. and the POINT of me writing all that is that you cannot approach his story without acknowledging that the fact that he’s a Black man means people who work/ed on both canon and fan content are ready and willing to treat him as a tool in his own fucking storyline for the sake of an animal, and he deserves so much better because holy hell if you’re gonna write a Black man with this kind of “I exist for a Purpose alone” arc you have got to pay attention to what you’re doing. Please. his story involves Assan but it's not about Assan it's about him.

[chaifootsteps]

SolRook, Pavellan, one-sided Solavellan. Spoilers for act 3 of Veilguard.

***

Mahanon knew the man they call Rook long before he actually met him.

For the longest time, on the streets of Minrathous, he was known as ‘the Fox.’ No one could tell you his real name or what he looked like, although based on the way he slung blades and picked locks and got around rooftops, many speculated that he was a former Antivan Crow. After the Nessus incident in which someone got a glimpse of the face behind the mask, the distinct outline of a pointed ear, the prevailing theory was that he was a former slave.

In actuality, he’s a young man with a sharp, angular face and quick blue eyes. Turns out he’s Legatus Charon Mercar’s boy, raised half in secrecy and half with a silver spoon in his mouth, tutored in too-formal Elven that he’s always eager to break out when speaking to Mahanon. He takes his coffee bitter but milky, likes stuffed grape leaves, and hates fish. Despite the skill at jumping rooftops, he loathes heights.

And when he speaks about Solas – confesses, rather – Mahanon’s not at all surprised.

“I talk to him, sometimes. More than the others know. More than I care to admit.” Then, far too quickly to be entirely truthful… “Not like that, of course not. But just the same, it’s not just war table talk anymore. We’ll sit up swapping stories about companions, travelling, the way we think things ought to be. Music.”

He can’t quite meet Mahanon’s eyes when he says it. Mahanon sighs, leans in, drops his voice to a point of conspiratorial, gentle quiet.

“Did you know that when I first met Solas, I carried a torch for him in the worst way?” Oh, how he wishes he could commit the look on Rook’s face to a frame in that moment. It's fairly priceless. “Oh yes. He was charming, witty, kind. An elf at a time when I was ravenous for the company of one, though I suspect I would have felt the same if I’d been a dwarf or a Qunari. I would have boxed a High Dragon if he’d asked me to. I would have done anything for him.”

“Did he know?” A beat. “Does...does Magister Pavus know?”

“Turned me down very kindly. Dorian and I laugh about it now.” It’s true. Dorian’s never allowed him to live it down, and Mahanon supposes he wouldn't either if their positions were reversed. “I’ve never regretted the path life's put me on. Dorian’s the love of my life and always will be, but save for him, Solas is the most remarkable man I’ve ever known. Years ago, he told me that his plans to bring down the Veil would mean the end of the world, and if ever he’d told me even once that that had changed? That those casualties could be reduced, and that he was attempting to transfer the Evanuris to a stronger prison? I would have leap to his aid. Called upon every ounce of clout my name carries.”

Rook looks conflicted, like he’s not sure whether to be relieved or less relieved than ever. “I don’t know which possibility terrifies me more, to be honest with you...that I’m not his type or Maker help me, that I am.”

The former Inquisitor refills his drink. “I think that’s romance for you. Doesn't matter whether you’re carrying a torch for the fellow that lives down the street or the Dread Wolf himself.”

It's the sort of thing they could talk about all day, but for the time being, they leave it at that. They have their meal, argue about splitting the bill, Mahanon wins, and they go their separate ways. When word comes out that Solas has escaped the Fade and Rook has vanished mysteriously, that seems to mark the end of that affair. But Harding's gone, the dagger's gone, and something about blood magic, and Mahanon...Mahanon can't think about any of it too much.

Not so much because he worries so much about Rook – he bets Dorian apples to gold pieces that the young elf will make an appearance sooner or later, and reassures the occupants of the Lighthouse as much – but because the whole thing is so frightfully, unjustly sad. Because Mahanon remembers that frightened, tentative look in the young elf's eyes, the one Rook tried so hard to pretend wasn't a little hopeful, and really does wish it had ended differently.

Sure enough, Rook isn’t gone. He appears as suddenly as he left, and shows up on the burning streets of Minrathous looking every inch the Fox, calling out to the crowd to bring the light. When Mahanon meets him before that final ascent, the young man says nothing to allude to what he told Mahanon over supper that day. If there’s conflict, pain, betrayal, it never shows.

(It won’t be until much, much later that Mahanon will learn that he spoke to Solas, and that when he did, he sounded as damn near close to tears as his companions had ever heard him.)

But suddenly, Mahanon has even less time to pretend that any of it is his business. Suddenly, Dorian’s holding his face in his hands, tears shining in his eyes, imploring with him not to make the final climb up that horrible, blighted growth.

"You don't have to do this," he says as he has so many, many times over the past nine years. "

And Mahanon, just like he's done every time over those past nine years, memorizes his husband's beautiful face, the feel of his kiss, and replies...

"I love you, vhenan. I'll see you very soon."

And suddenly, he and Morrigan are standing beside a blighted throne at the top of the world, and Mahanon is attempting to talk down the man he never stopped loving, not really.

It doesn’t work, obviously. Mahanon never thought it would, in his heart of hearts. Knows better by now.

But somehow, miraculously, impossibly, what Rook’s been putting together all these months does.

The state that comes over Solas when Mythal’s ghostly figure approaches him is unlike anything Mahanon has ever seen from him before, and something he dearly, dearly hopes to never see again. Solas cringes from her pale touch, bends before her, and – though this may just be a trick of the light, a cruel twisting of shadow – Mahanon thinks he sees him hold out the lyrium dagger as though to offer it up to kill him. Hunched over, weeping, he looks less like a man freed from guilt than a beaten dog. It’s perverse, it's wrong, and Mahanon has never wanted to embrace him more.

“You are free to choose another way,” he says instead, kneeling beside him. Ar lasa mala revas. And with an exhale, Solas straightens, glances back at the newly severed leash, and makes the choice to run.

He places the lyrium dagger in Rook’s hands. In the shadows cast between their bodies, fingers cover one another, curling together. "I will go and seek atonement."

He turns to leave; Rook raises the dagger. For a moment, just a fleeting one, Mahanon fears he’s about to drive it into the Dread Wolf’s back. But instead, he hands it off to Morrigan, and says...

"But you don't have to go alone."

The lingering gaze Solas gives him is...many things, small and tentative and overlapping. Surprise, certainly. Deep, abiding, sadness. A peripheral ghost of what might be longing. But not the gentle, indulgent look he once gave Mahanon when he turned him away.

"You are needed elsewhere. I made these choices, I alone will bear their consequences. It is...my responsibility."

"Responsibility? Solas, you’re literally carrying the sky on your shoulders. You’ve been carrying this alone for long enough. You've been alone for long enough.”

“You are not the one who shattered the world. You have your own path, Rook. It is time to walk it."

“And if I don't care to walk it? If I've seen what's waiting along your path, and consider it worthwhile?"

Solas hesitates. “Rook...I understand what this is about. Make no mistake, I do understand. Suffice it to say, you need not pity me. Pity would be the cruelest note you and I could part ways on."

Rook chokes.

"Pity?" Dumbstruck, incredulous. Like he's unable to believe someone as sharp as Solas could have possibly gotten it so wrong. "You think...you...!"

An then, in one swift, smooth motion, Rook pulls the Dread Wolf in close, their lips meeting, blood and dirt and filth. Solas blinks just once...and then, to Mahanon’s surprise, kisses him back. Not just that, but keeps kissing him, the two holding on to one another like the possibility of losing this is a greater and more terrifying fear than whatever they've done to each other. Clinging, white-knuckled, in a way that a young Mahanon would have given anything, anything in the world, to be handed the key to.

"...Where I am going is terrible."

Rook chuckles, a helpless little mixture of frustration and relief and adoration that Mahanon could have written the book on.

"I'm from Minrathous. Wherever you’re going will be a holiday."

Solas, in spite of it all, almost smiles. Takes his time pulling away, his hands from Rook’s hands; does not stop Rook from turning to his companions, the young Dalish Warden and the elder Necromancer and the baby griffon, and hugging them each fiercely in turn, quietly saying something to them that’s swallowed up by the crackle of the Veil. Mahanon catches Solas’s bruised, bloodied eye and manages to keep it, what passes between them too broken to be laughter, but something that feels like a ghost of it nonetheless. Feels like trekking through the Hinterlands, like drinking from the same canteen of blood-warm water, smelling the clover and watching for bears with the wind and sun in their faces.

“Who would have thought?” he half teases, half wonders.

“Not I, Inquisitor. Not I.”

Mahanon has a thousand things he’d like to say to him in that moment, enough to fill a lifetime...would like to chew him out for stealing the last decade from him, to thank him for every moment, from the Temple of Sacred Ashes right up to this farewell, and with that taken care of, to fill in every gap and crevice in between. But in the end, all he says is...

“Dareth shiral, old friend. Be happy.”

Solas smiles, sincere and gentle, and that will do for the rest of Mahanon's life. Rook finishes his goodbyes and joins the Dread Wolf at his side, not a trace of trepidation or regret to be seen in those quick, clever eyes. Side by side they turn and walk away, until the light of the Fade envelopes them, and takes them where he cannot follow.

Perhaps he gazes after them too long, the tight way in which he swallows too telling, for Morrigan turns to him. “Ahh, Inquisitor...it seems that yet again, in that most curious of ways, we've all ended up precisely where we need to.

Mahanon allows his eyes to linger for just a moment longer on the place where Rook and Solas vanished to begin their new life together. Then, with a bittersweet smile, he says...

“May it always be so.”

And with that, he turns to head back down to the ground, where Dorian is waiting for him.

[astrid-gallivan]

Let’s talk about Bro

This is a post that I’ve been working on for a week now. It’s a post I knew I would eventually have to make, but it certainly is coming out sooner than I anticipated. This is to clarify and lay down exactly what my headspace is when I draw Eddys Brother (Bro) since I draw him a lot. It'll be a long post no matter how hard I try to cut it down. I'm sorry! ;.;

For a quick TL;DR- I do NOT ship Bro with any of the EEnE characters. PERIOD. I also do not ship the Kanker sisters with any of them. I do however understand that there is a lot of grey area in humanity and support you if you use these characters as Art Therapy for trauma. This is a hot take I’ve seen around various communities, and not everyone processes trauma in this manner, but I do not support the romanticization of these relationships in real life (especially if you are a child!). There is a distinct difference between fantasy and reality, and I am happy using fantasy to point out the abusive and toxic problems in reality so that others can recognize them. But even still, adults, don’t have kids in your fantasy! 😑 And realize that you dont have to share everything you create and that some things can still trigger others!

Okay, now for the long stuff where I break a few things down. I’m going to be fully honest with you. I hardly watched EEnE when I was a kid. But I saw the movie and Bro has stood out in my brain since then. That’s 16 years. Aside from the Eds always trying to get money for jawbreakers, he was really the only thing I remembered about the show. Finally watching the entire show (not even a year ago now) I found that I related quite a bit to Eddy. And I realized part of that was specifically because of his brother. I looked up to my abuser to the exact same degree that Eddy did with his brother.

I do like true crime and dark romance. I have a fascination with the dark side of humanity. I also love stories where the villain gets the happy ending. However! These are two very separate and distinct things and reading dark romances does not mean that you promote the toxic relations contained within or that you want to marry a serial killer.

I don’t draw Bro to be a villain who gets a happy ending. My Bro art ultimately explores the dark side of humanity and helps me to understand and cope with my own experiences that I had when I was a child. I am actually very selective on what I post with him. There's a reason I've got a lot of just Bro without another character, and the like, two I do have are with Eddy... and he's not happy. Art Therapy is a real thing, and I very much promote that. Creative outlets are a safe way to explore and understand our experiences. I want people to process their own experiences because honestly, doing so has made my life so much better! But I don’t support shipping Bro with any of the characters- aged up or not- just because they find it hot. I have seen some OC ships… that I’m more understanding of since it’s a form of projecting yourself into the story. And I know that young adults will have their own OCs be their age. I admit, I do have my own OC with Bro. But I don’t post this, and never will, because it’s only for me to work through something that happened, to release something that I’ve been too afraid and ashamed of admitting happened to me. So I can finally heal from something I’ve been carrying for 20 years. Nothing else.

I think it was honestly pure genius to make him an attractive and mysterious character on the show. Why? Because he portrays the reality of the dark side of humanity. He’s the light that brings the moths into their death- even his own brother, Eddy. I admit I’m a crazy moth that is always attracted to that light. And I don’t condemn you if you are a crazy moth too. There is nothing wrong with someone liking True Crime, dark romances, or villain characters in general. But my moth friends, as you fly around the light, remember what that light represents. Remember that while bringing things into the light makes them lose their power, don’t fly too close and get burned. Balance things. Give yourself breaks. Introspect. And give yourself some grace if something has happened to you. It wasn’t your fault. You’re not stupid for it having happened. You aren’t at fault. Period.

As for the Kanker sisters, I have never been a fan of the Kankers being shipped with the Eds. I always had a very certain “ick” factor with them, because they harassed the boys all the time. I wasn’t going to include them in my comic originally because of how much I didn’t like them…but I decided to take a different direction with them and have them acknowledge what they did and mature while still teasing everyone. This approach is very rooted in reality too- people can realize what stupid and harmful things they’ve done and can change. It doesn’t mean everything is fixed or that the people they harmed should welcome them into their lives with open arms. The change doesn't erase what happened. But they can be proactive and take actions to prevent future harm. They can educate people on why they were wrong and help make the world a better place.

I don’t know what anyone’s take on this will be, but for everyone calling out problems regarding these characters, seriously good on you. You really are doing a good thing with that and problems need to be pointed out. It’s how we learn and change the world for the better. 

And if something in here doesn't make sense or is confusing, please point it out so I can clarify and update it! This post is just so long... and I still feel like I didn't get to hit everything I wanted to say... 🤦‍♀️