#i think theirs more but my brain is failing me

[orphicachilles]

Every media i consum i will find a blonde man to go crazy over

[gothgoblinbabe]

Nothing Worth Saying Aloud

Logan Howlett x fem reader

A/N: This one is short n' sweet! Inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove which I had first heard because I read this one shot that used that song as inspiration! Theirs is much better I'll be real but I had this festering in my brain for too long every time I'd play that song on repeat

Summary: Misunderstanding and miscommunication makes for a terrible combination that leaves you feeling like you've had your heart ripped from your chest

Warnings: Angsty as all hell, a lil' bit of fluff at the end, that's really it!

Word Count: 2K

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

You’d gone through a couple break ups in your life, a handful of failed situation-ships that ended awkwardly - even a long term relationship or two - but all the heartbreak you’d experienced couldn’t compare to the chest-crushing agony you experienced now.

The terrible moment of facing the music; accepting what couldn’t be, even if you wanted it more than anything.

Logan was not into you and he was never going to be.

You had to confront that when you’d gone down the stairs of the mansion one night to get a glass of water, almost certain you were the only person awake. That was until you’d stopped short in the hallway, seeing Logan and Jean standing with their backs to you. You couldn’t hear their conversation and didn’t think anything of it until you watched his arm snake around her shoulders, pulling her into him for a hug.

Your stomach sank. You really should have known.

The way he talks to her, looks at her, is always there to help her; it must have been obvious to anyone but you. You’d been friends for so long that you were almost dumbfounded that you never realized, probably too blinded by your own rose colored glasses.

You turned on your heel immediately, climbing the stairs to hide in your bedroom. Your chest felt heavy and your skin felt like it was on fire. You never ended up sleeping that night, too sick to think of anything else but Jean and Logan.

That was maybe two weeks ago now and you’d avoided Logan every day since as best you could. You’d gone from being nearly inseparable to speaking only when you had to. He’d try his best to get you to talk to him about anything at all but you only gave him one word answers. He even tried to keep you after training one day, gently having a hold on your bicep.

“Hey, what’s going on with you?” He asked bluntly. He tried to look you in the eyes but they were nearly glued to the metal floor of the basement corridor, your hair falling in your face.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, Logan, really,” you were able to mutter out, somehow keeping your voice from cracking. Before he could interrogate you further, you shrugged yourself out of his soft grip and speed-walked to the elevator, tears flowing the second you turned away from him.

You were not fine. Your eyes were always red and puffy from crying yourself to sleep and everyone could tell something was off. 

Ororo even stopped you in the hallway outside your bedroom one night, begging you to tell her what was wrong and what she could do to help.

“It’s nothing, I - “ you had started to dismiss her, but she was having none of it. 

“Stop with that! Enough! You need to tell me what’s up or I’m gonna have to force it out of you somehow and you know I do not wanna do that. Now tell me.”

You sighed, never picking your gaze up from the floor. 

“Come here, I don’t want anyone to hear me,” you beckoned her into your room.

She sat by your side at the edge of the bed as you confessed what you had seen and how badly it had torn you apart, rubbing your back gently when you choked out a sob.

“Honey,” she cooed, pushing some hair from your face and wiping a tear away, “I think you need to talk to him. This is gonna eat you up inside if you don’t and I think maybe it could’ve been a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t know, ‘ro. I can’t even look at him without feeling like I’m gonna burst into tears,” you sniffled, wiping your eyes with the collar of your t-shirt.

“Think about it. I can’t tell you what to do, but I think you really should. And if it was what it looked like, sweetheart, this is not the end of the world,” she reminded you.

“It sure does feel like it,” you joked, tears still rolling down your cheeks.

“I know,” she sighed, patting your back gently, “talk to him.”

You nodded and she left the room, reminding you to come find her if you needed anything at all.

You thought her words over and ultimately still hid in your room the next day, skipping training to rot in bed in sweatpants and a tank top. The thought of having to confess to Logan that you were really in love with him was far too paralyzing. It almost made you sick If you thought about it too long.

You knew it wasn’t a good idea to keep shuffling sad songs on repeat and yet you did, keeping your CD player at a low volume so you wouldn’t bother anyone and they wouldn’t bother you. Your hair was a mess and you were glad that at the very least, you’d had enough energy to shower that morning after three days of not doing so. You held your knees to your chest while laying on your side, burying your face into your pillow to muffle your wailing sobs. 

Logan was downstairs at the same time, making his way towards the stairs, only to run into Scott.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan spoke, stopping him with a hand on his upper arm.

Even through Scott’s glasses, Logan could tell he was glaring suspiciously.

“About what? Why?”

Logan said your name, looking around to be sure they were alone in the hallway.

Scott’s expression softened and he leaned against the wall, waiting for him to explain.

“Do you know what’s up with her? She won’t talk to me, she hasn’t in two weeks. She won’t even look at me. Has she said anything to you?” Logan spewed out, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous tic. 

“No, your girlfriend didn’t mention anything,” he teased, shaking his head, “but hey, just talk to her. You’ve been close for a while now, you just have to confront her.”

“She’s not my - okay, whatever. Yeah, I’m gonna go talk to her. Maybe she’s in her room,” Logan sighed.

“She’s always in her room lately. If there’s anyone that can pull her out of it, it would be you.”

He quickly thanked Scott and finally reached the stairs. He had been walking through the hall, finding your bedroom door and stopping when he heard a noise he couldn’t quite make out. He heard you sniffle and his heart dropped.

You were crying.

He tried to give you your space, work through whatever it was that was bothering you, but it broke him to see you the way you were and his prodding didn’t seem to help. Still, he didn’t know how much longer he could let you dodge him in the halls or live with the fact that you wouldn’t even look at him anymore. He had planned to talk to you that day, but you rarely came out of your room now.

So, he laid a hand on your doorknob, turning it slowly. He would’ve knocked - he always did - but every time he had recently, you laid silent and pretended not to be in the room. He always knew you were, recognizing the smell of your perfume behind the door. 

The door cracked open a few inches and he saw you, curled in a ball in your bed with your face in your pillow. Your shoulders moved up and down as you sobbed, gripping the pillow so hard that your knuckles turned white.

There’s no way Logan could leave you like this. He slid into the room and closed the door gently, but you could hear the click of the knob over your music.

Your head shot up and you saw Logan standing with his back to your door, an almost devastated look on his face.

“Oh god, Logan, please, don’t - “ you choked out, turning your face so he couldn’t see you and waving him away. Out of everyone you wanted to see right now, he was at the bottom of the list because this was humiliating. 

He’d seen your bloodshot eyes and pink nose, your cheeks wet with tears. There was no way you could tell him you weren’t crying.

“You have to talk to me. Please, what did I do?”

The last thing you wanted was for him to think it was all his fault. It wasn’t, really. He didn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose; He couldn’t have known it would upset you in the slightest or that you were even in the hallway that night. 

“Nothing, Logan, please, just go away - “ you begged, still facing away with your face buried in your hands.

“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s going on,” he said firmly, “you won’t even look at me. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Whatever it is, I’ll make it up to you.”

You still had your face buried in your hands when you felt the bed dip as he came to sit beside you.

“I miss you, you know. You won’t train with me anymore, you won’t come out with me, you won't talk to me. Please, I don’t know what to apologize for if you don’t tell me.”

His voice so close to you made your heart ache. You wanted to just hug him, tell him you missed him too, but you sat paralyzed. He really wasn’t going anywhere until you said something.

You removed your hands from your face, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. You took a long inhale, closing your eyes and trying not to let your voice crack.

“It’s nothing worth me saying aloud,” you muttered, gnawing on your bottom lip. You felt like you needed to, though - like a lump in your throat that you couldn’t cough up. 

“Please,” Logan’s voice was quiet, his hand arm coming to rest around your waist.

You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face in an attempt not to cry even harder when he touched you. You had wanted him to for so long, but not like this. 

You inhaled sharply, standing up as you did so to pace around your room. You couldn’t sit still with his hand on you.

“I - “, you tried to speak, the words getting lodged in your throat, “ it’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, it’s not that.”

“Then, what? Tell me. You know I’d do anything to help.”

He would, and that’s what made it all hurt so much worse; how sweet he could be to you. You reminded yourself that he was also probably like that with Jean and you shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the thought. 

“It’s so stupid, Logan, really - “

“Pretty girl, it’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”

Pretty girl. He probably called her that too.

Fuck, you couldn’t get it out of your head no matter how bad you wished you could.

“Ugh,” you groaned, leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe it would be easier to spit it out when you weren’t looking at him. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to get it all out in one go.

“A couple weeks ago, I went downstairs in the middle of the night and I saw you and Jean.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Logan’s eyebrows were furrowed, completely lost on what exactly it was that you saw.

“And it’s so fucking stupid, I know, but I - “, you choked back a sob, “fuck. Logan, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m in love with you, I don’t know how to handle it, not when I know nothings ever gonna happen.”

When you didn’t hear a response, you dreaded the moment you finally tore your eyes from your ceiling. Logan was still in the same spot at the edge of the bed, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Sweet heart - “, he began, but it only hurt you more to hear him call you stuff like that.

“Logan, please, I know, just - I don’t want it to be a big deal and you don’t have to give me the rejection speech, trust me.”

“Are you gonna let me explain?” His tone was mildly frustrated, though he was still clearly worried about you.

You sighed, hands on your hips as you stood almost completely across the room. He got up to meet you where you were. He wanted to put his hands on your shoulders but he could tell you didn’t want to be touched.

“Explain what?” You muttered, gaze glued to the floor when he stood in front of you.

“There’s nothing going on between Jean and I.”

Seeing that your expression never changed, he continued.

“I think I know what you saw. I hugged Jean, that’s what you’re talking about, right?”

You swallowed hard, dreading any details he wanted to spill. You still didn’t believe that there was nothing, convinced he was lying to save your feelings. You nodded anyway, still looking at the floor.

“I gave Jean a hug because her and Scott got into a fight. She said she fucked up and wanted my advice, I hugged her and that was all. Honey, I’m telling you, nothings going on.”

You were nearly turning pink at the realization that he was being truthful. 

“And another thing,” he began again, tentatively pulling your hands from your hips so he could hold them in his, “you think I don’t love you?”

You finally met his gaze then and his heart broke when he saw your watery eyes. He brought a hand up to wipe your tears, leaving it there to cup your face while his other still held your hand. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you, too. I don’t feel that way about Jean at all. I thought it was obvious, but I guess neither of us have the greatest communication skills, huh?” He laughed a little, nervously waiting for you to finally say something.

You were still soaking in his words, first about Jean and then about you. 

“Really?” You squeaked, unable to say anything more.

“Really, baby,” he said sweetly, continuing to wipe away your tears.

You sniffled and leaned into his touch, happy to just be near him again.

“I missed you too, you know. I miss everything about you. I just couldn’t look at you when I thought - I don’t know, when I thought you couldn’t love me like that. Oh god, I’m so stupid, Logan, I’m so sorry - “ you began to apologize and he cut you off, shaking his head.

“None of that, c’mere,” he pulled you into him gently, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to hug you. 

You smiled into his t-shirt. You missed the smell of his cologne, the warmth of him, the way he called you sweet names. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, standing on your toes to do so.

“I love you, Princess. I’m so glad I get to say it,” he mumbled into your hair, neither one of you letting go of the other, “and I’m a dumbass for not saying something sooner and letting you think all that.”

“No, I’m a dumbass because I should’ve said something sooner instead of assuming. I was just terrified, I guess.”

“No more being terrified, right?” He pulled away a little to look in your eyes.

You nodded, a smile on your face for the first time in weeks. You both stood there in the middle of your bedroom, frozen in an embrace with your eyes locked on each other.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his hand rubbing up and down your back reassuringly, “you can say no if it’s too soon -“

You leaned up to press your lips to his, not wanting to waste any more time than you already have. He kind of grunted in surprise, relaxing into your touch when you ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head. It was better than you could have ever imagined. His lips were so soft and he was so gentle with how he held you that your knees could’ve buckled. He pulled away reluctantly after a few seconds, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I didn’t wanna ruin anything,” he explained, tucking your hair behind your ear, “you know, just being with you. I would’ve swallowed it all down to be just your friend if it meant I wouldn't lose you.”

You brought both of your hands to cup his face, scratching lightly at his mutton chops, “Really?”

He nodded, kissing your forehead, your cheek and your lips again. It was sickeningly sweet, making you giggle into the kiss.

“What’s so funny?” 

“Nothin’. Just really happy.”

“Me too, pretty girl. Hey, you owe me a couple of movie nights, by the way.”

“Race you to the TV?”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་

A/N: ik this ones pretty short but it was rotting in my google docs so here u go <3 pls like and reblog if you enjoyed!

[revelboo]

I've started writing my own fic because of your stories! Thank you for giving me the happy brain tingles with all of your glorious writings!

If it's alright with you, could I request to see more with the seeker trine? I've been so excited to see what is going to come in "True Romance"! Edge of my seat!!! > <

Thank you again for all that you do!!

Sure! I’m happy more people are writing! 18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

True Romance Pt 16

Trine x Reader

• So obedient. Wings flaring slightly as your boldness seems to fail you as soon as your coverings are stripped away, that vulnerability striking a chord in Starscream. Eyes down and legs drawn up against your body in an attempt to hide at least some of yourself from them. "Look at me," he demands, optics narrowing when Skywarp moves as if to touch your shoulder. And he waits, standing over you until you reluctantly lift your head, but you still don't meet his optics. Moving closer, he kneels in front of you and catches your chin in his servos, tipping your face up. Servo brushing your bottom lip, and those eyes finally meet his optics, your face flushed. "Tell me what you want." Ignores Thundercracker's quiet protest of 'Star,' because he needs to hear it from you. "Say it."

• Flustered, you frown up at him. Is this his ego or something else? Aware of Thundercracker and Skywarp beside you, you wonder if Starscream thinks they’d intimidated you into this. If he’s trying to give you one last out. Watching his optics narrow, you’re tempted to bite that servo sliding lazily against your bottom lip. “I want my trine,” you mumble and Skywarp snickers to make you heat. But Starscream’s lips twitch, muttering that you’re a brat, before his head ducks and his mouth brushes yours. Crowding you to force you back onto your elbows as he follows you down, a thigh sliding between your own to nudge them apart and his wings flare.

• Relaxing with a wicked grin as he stretches out on his front alongside you, Skywarp vents when Starscream shifts over you. Watches his brother catch your wrists and pin them over your head as his mouth moves against your own. And he wonders if that little possessive claim of yours had bothered Star. Calling them yours. Not that he has an issue with it, head tipping to watch Star’s mouth slide to your throat as his palm slides down your front. Rolling onto his back, Skywarp frees his spike and strokes himself, head turned to watch Star cup you and press a servo inside you to make you moan. Fisting his spike lazily while Starscream strokes you. Wondering what you’ll feel like wrapped around him.

• Can hear Skywarp rumbling as he works his spike, but Thundercracker is focused on you. Those soft little noises you’re making as Star explores you, getting louder as he strokes you faster, rougher. And Thundercracker is shivering when his brother slips his servo free while you tremble and shifts between your thighs, freeing his spike. Optics shuttering when Starscream claims you so he can hear the sound of it and imagine it’s him inside you. Him making you cry out like that. Claiming you as his.

• Keeping your hands pinned above your head with one hand as he moves against you, he’s almost afraid he’ll come apart too soon if you run those soft hands over him. Because the way you feel around his spike? Wet and silken and tight. It’s ruining his control. Your trine? You’re theirs. And spending the whole sleep cycle making sure you know that is tempting as you arch against him on a breathy moan. “You’re ours,” he growls, hips pumping against you. His. Feels you moving to meet his thrusts, wiggling to try and free your hands. “Our little pet.” Those eyes flash with annoyance at that to make him grin, teasing. “Taking my spike so well.”

• That smug, little smirk of his coupled with the feel of his thick spike stroking inside and those taunting words string you tight. Eyes drawn to your left, staring as Skywarp arches, his hand wrapped around his own spike, head turned and red optics watching Star rutting against you. Can hear both of them raggedly venting to try and cool off. See Skywarp’s lips part on a needy, whining growl before he’s shuddering. And Star’s thrusting faster against you, each deep drive nudging you closer to that peak as you writhe until you’re crying out. Feeling his pace falter as he keeps bucking into you, releasing your wrists to grip your hip, servos almost bruising as he shudders against you with a snarl and fills you. His mouth brushing yours as you tremble under him, feeling him rock himself against you. “You have two more spikes to take, little one,” he murmurs against your sweat slick skin to make you shiver. Wondering if that’s a threat or a promise when he brushes his cheek against yours.

Previous

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[inklore]

• “if you keep looking at me like that, i'm not responsible for what happens next." For Jordan (genV)

KEEP FOCUSED.

pairing: jordan li x (f)reader

contents: established relationship, insinuated-ish smut, you can imagine whichever presenting gender but i had their fem form in mind | wc: 703

The plan was to study. 

“Strength isn’t the only thing you need; you need intelligence. Knowledge.” Brink had said. Had made it more than clear that rankings got you somewhere, but for those who didn’t make it to the seven, passing a test was dire. 

Hence, studying was important.

Even if one of you ended up watching over some city, you couldn’t do that with powers alone. Not all the time. 

No matter how much you hated studying, no matter how many times the two of you vouched to study, that’s all, and it heading south within the first hour. 

The two of you had made it two hours now, passing index cards back and forth to write, cross stuff out, add things, and prepare to quiz each other later. It was a new record, really.

For how long neither of you made a move. 

With the restraint you showed each time their fingers brushed against yours when passing the cards to and fro. It was a superpower in its own how you’d strained your eyes to focus on the book in your lap and the laptop at your hip resting on their bed, where the two of you were perched. 

Your bottom lip indented by your teeth, showing how hard restraint was. How your top teeth sunk into the flesh of your lip every time you looked up from your textbook to stare at them. To watch them twiddle the pen in their fingers or press the nail of their thumb against their mouth in deep thought.

And that fucking gray shirt. The shirt that had no sleeves, no sides. The one that gave you the perfect view of their chest when they turned and leaned over the bed to grab their drink off their nightstand. 

The hard swallow that physically ached your throat from stopping yourself from tossing your books to the side, climbing on top of them, and pressing your mouth to the flesh peeking out of it.

You wonder if they wore it on purpose. As a tease. To distract you from the task at hand, a little jest they could poke at you later when one of you passed the test and the other just barely made it.

It makes you want them more. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'm not responsible for what happens next." 

Their voice cuts through the cloud of arousal fogging up your brain, your eyes sweeping up to their smirking face. 

“You mean you’re not responsible for my failing grade? Don’t think Brink will understand that I couldn’t study because I was too busy thinking about making you come?”

You can see the weight of their swallow, the glint of fire in their eyes when they let out a breathy chuckle and lock eyes with you. 

“Get a passing grade, and I’ll let you make me come as much as you want.” They retort, amusement on their face. 

You can’t help your own look of amusement—a smirk pulling the corners of your lips—as you put the index cards into the spine of the book to hold your place when you close it and push it off your lap to do the same with the book in theirs. Your palms pressed into the mattress between their slightly parted legs, putting your face inches from theirs as you lean into their space. 

“We both know I suck at tests,” you let your fingers walk slowly up their thigh, elation shooting through you when you see their body lean more into your touch on instinct. “But I’m very good at making you come. So, maybe we should just stick with what I’m good at.” 

And when you press your mouth to theirs, leaving a trail of kisses and bites to their neck, all ideas of studying are out the window, and their back is pressed back against the pillows, pulling you on top of them. 

“If you fail this test, I’m not letting you put your mouth on me for a week,” they say into your mouth. A gasp followed behind it as your hand moves to the part of their body that’s begging for you. “A couple days at least,” they moan.

[nyxi-pixie]

Hiiiii.

Sorry to bother you, I wanted to know if you had any fic recs? Your writing is so good and your tastes are immaculate, and I am starving for any kind of good content. Please?

its not possible to bother me love dw <3

NOW. i dont actually read all that much anymore bc i am horrendously picky but this does give me an excuse to hype up the few authors that have satisfied my unreasonably specific tastes 🤩.

so. a few bsd recs for you (except theyre 99% skk because im horribly predictable forever). everyone go read all of these and tell the authors how wonderful they are in the comments please <3

anything @booksandpaperss has ever written is genius work and everyone should read it. could talk abt all of their stuff for hours (and i have🤩 they put up w so much of me bothering them godbless). also our brains do some accidental crazy mind melding shit whenever either of us write fic so if you like any of my stuff you will like theirs. thats the rules. <3

like twin stars in the dark (we collide)- dead apple skk porn as a vehicle for 22skk analysis. makes me salivate i have read it so many times. they get 22skk better than anyone🙏

my lies are for you to keep (my love for you to lose) - the only take on beastskk that matters to me ever. you can actually see me losing my mind in the comment i wrote on this fic bc of how fucking insane every single line made me. theres SO much packed into this thing its fucking crazy i NEEEEED everyone to read it. thats all <3

till death, I'll give you my breath - dazai death timeloop. this fic terrifies me so much i await every update with my teeth chattering and my heart pulsing so rapidly i should be hospitalised. the first scene of chapter 2 genuinely had me on the verge of tears im unwell about it.

(elli also has some jjk stuff thats REALLYREALLY good and if ur into jjk u should check that out too.)

NOW. aside from being a propaganda machine for my fav writer ever. Heres some other stuff i love.

the second perspective by @wildflowerteas. murder mystery/detective noir stuff w some time fuckery. the au of all time. mashes aspects of beast, canon, and some extra special niko sauce into a mixing bowl and goes crazy w it. just Such a genuinely impressive piece of writing. i could talk abt the technical brilliance of it for hours but i will stop myself. you gotta commit to this thing because it WILL make u crazy. also i loveee the sskk. its like if we had the beast first meeting sskk forever. SOSO GOOD!!!!

did fate guide the gun or did you? by @kanetheo. i read this pretty soon after chapter 109 and it genuinely fried my brain for months. the writing style is beautiful (as for everything they write AUGHH!!!) and the angst is delectable. the way it intersperses more fun silly skk moments with just. complete misery. GOD. it just hits. ive reread it quite a few times and it never fails to make me go crazy. srsly cannot rec this enough.

the decomposition of dazai osamu by @hella1975 this shot several bullets through my brain and i still havent recovered. i keep thinking 'oh i should reread that' and then i dont bc some part of my brain still concerns itself w maintaining whats left of my sanity. BUT its crazy good and everyone should read it and suffer at least once. EVERYONE LOVES YOU OSAMU!!!! EVERYONE EATS YOU!!! line of all time lets all kill ourselves.

smoke held conversations by feralrookie - i havent reread this in a while but it does cool stuff with nlh and the skkisms are really good in this too. ppl often write teen chuuya as less intelligent than he actually is. hes very observant, esp of dazai, and this fic gave me that 🙏

i called your name til the fever broke by forest_raccoon - vampire chuuya. biting is involved. i blacked out reading it. enough said.

[aphroditesmoon]

Idk if youre taking requests, if not ignore me, however what about jace with alicents daughter!reader where they get together behind their mothers backs, and theire sneaking around ,failing at it, and alicent anfd rhaenyra catch them

sweetest thing on this side of heaven

jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader

warnings: none

a/n: sorry for the slow req<3 also I had a feeling you wanted something angsty but my heart overtook my brain so this is all fluff.

°°°

You hadn't plan to fall for him at first. But it wasn't that hard to notice his own longing stares and embarrassing efforts to win you over.

You had assumed he would despise you for what your brothers have started, but you are not your brothers, and he knew that. You've always been kind to him since young, but never too close, not even with your own siblings.

Peace was found in solitude, and that was how most of your time was spent. Some may call you heartless, but your found more feelings and purity in stories than in reality.

For the world was crueller than the books made it seem like, and soon the library was your safe place.

You were quite annoyed when he started showing up there too frequently, always asking about what you're reading.

But when you saw his sincerity in actually wanting to know of your interests was real, having someone to talk to became less of a chore.

It even started to feel fun.

And so he became your first friend, first kiss and first lover. He intends to be your only.

Everytime he leaves to Dragonstone, letters will be sent every moon, and he will receive his own from Kingslanding. He was always careful to keep them to himself, gods know since Aemond lost his eye, the strain between his grandmother and his mother became stronger.

And he would always put his mother first as her heir, but you are his fresh cherry from a rotten tree, the ultimate test to his loyalty.

When news spread of the princess Rhaenyra's return to Kingslanding for her son's petition for the inheritance of Driftmark, You had to hold yourself back from showing just now excited you are to meet Jace again.

You also had to fight back the urge to bodyslam your brother to the ground everytime he opens his mouth to mock his nephews.

Aemond had remained bitter of the incident, and you couldn't blame him. You brother had lost a whole eye, he had the right to remain upset. But you still couldn't help the selfishness in you that draws you back to Jacaerys' side.

You hear the commotion servants made when they arrived, waiting for it to pass before approaching him, not wanting to seem too eager.

You lean againts the open door of his chambers, watching him put down his set if clothes by the table side.

"Hello there." You greeted with a knowing smile on your lips.

He freezes in his movements before turning towards you. You had no time to think when he immediately pulled you inside and slammed his doors shut.

Any words you've planned to say to him died on your throat when he has you againts the door, his lips immediately finding yours.

The kiss was hot and passionate, all of his yearning and longing pushed into it. Your hands roam his build, feeling up his tunic, searching for his skin, his warmth againts yours. His own hands stop yours, holding it by your side as he pulls away first for air.

He leans his forehead againts yours, and you can't help smiling as you meet his eyes.

"Missed me much?" He snorts, grinning himself.

"Don't act like you don't." He retorted. You only kept smiling, shaking your head. "Never said that did I? Hm." You fingers move up to trance his temples, caressing his face as if trying to remember all the details of his features you've feared to have forgotten.

He seems to understand the notion, with his own palms cupping your cheeks. "I'm here. I promise." He vows before engulfing your mouth with his again.

°°°

The only thing that went well that day was your reunion with Jace and his brother. Sir Vaemond was executed quite publicly by your uncle Daemon, unsurprisingly, and dinner was almost decent, until your brother decided he just had to open his mouth.

You were hurried to your chambers by your mother, and there was where you went and was met with your lover lounging in your room already, anxiously waiting for you to arrive.

"He knows what he was doing." Jace gritted out, pacing around.

"Of course he does, it's Aemond." He was obviously still infuriated with the events that occured, but your mind was drifting to what bits you heard from your mother and stepsister's conversation as you left.

Jacaerys and Lucerys was to leave to Dragonstone tonight.

Your abruptly stood up and cut off the rambling prince. "I should leave."

He halts and turn to you, wide eyed.

"Oh-Just a few more minutes? I'll stop talking to myself I promise." He pleaded, waving off his rambles.

You shook you head and pulled his hands to intertwine with yours. "No tis' not that, your mother will be here any minute, she wishes for you and Luc to be at Dragonstone by tonight, I heard her myself." You explain, gaze low as you fiddle with his rings.

You hear him inhale a sharp breath before swearing.

"I've just had you back." He sighs out, refusing to meet your eyes. It felt like the first time in ages you two met again, face to face, gazes never met.

"I know, I know. There always seem to be something between us, heh?" You try to lighten the mood, his face only souring more.

He winced at your words, tightening his grip on your hands before opening his eyes again. "You know, if she can't find me, she can't make me go." He says suggestively.

You gave him an amused look, frowning with a tight-lipped smile accompanied.

"What are you gonna do? Hide in the kitchen?" You tease, invoking a fond memory from childhood. He snorts as he checks outside his door for anyone before turning back to you. "Not hide, raid the kitchen."

"Ah sure." You grinned

He takes you by your hand and silently pulls you through the corridors before reaching the closed kitchen. The lock making the both of you scoff.

You had managed to pull it open by the age of 12.

"A little help?" He motioned. You took off a pin from your hair, making it come undone while the other pins fall apart on the floor.

"Fuck." You cursed, while Jacaerys works the lock with your pin. "We'll pick it up later." He simply affirms.

When a click was loudly made, he shoves the kitchen door open and sends you a smirk, earning an eye roll.

Entering the kitchen was entering an odd dazed memory. You can't remember exactly how long it has been since you've been with Jace, but it still feels like yesterday you two were sneaking out strawberry fudge cake and lemon tarts from the kitchen in the middle of the night, laughing quietly at the explosions of anger from the head kitchen lady that next morning.

His hand never leaves yours as you both head in. You sigh loudly as you pull open the cupboards to find leftover blueberry tarts. "My favourite." Savoring the tart, you finish it quickly, not caring for falling crumbs.

Jacaerys nudges your shoulder and takes no time to shove a piece of cheese toast in your mouth when you look his way.

You swatted his arm after almost choking on it. "Bastard." You scolded in a muffled voice.

As soon as the words leaves your mouth you regret them, seeing a flash of offense on his face. "Oh Jace-" An apology almost slipped until you saw the hint of a smile dancing on his lips.

Immediately your face turns irritated again as you smack him harder. "Bastard."

You two spent a few minutes forgetting your responsibilities and your parents as you indulge in chocolate cakes and reminiscing the past.

It wasn't hard to find the two of you in such position like old days. You two had a connection that made it seem as if you've never parted in the first place.

"You know." He says before chucking a tart in his mouth. "When I'm king? I'm gonna make a law that forces you to stay with me." His muffled words makes you choke on a giggle.

Jacaerys often has to present himself extra harder than her brothers, for all the rumours of his illegitimacy. But at times like this, you can truly see the sweet boy in him, who'd rather live off tarts and flying by day than busy himself with ruling and paperworks.

"I'm also going to make a law to ban anything other than these tarts to be served because holy shit." You agreed. "Mhm, the cook definitely did something with these."

Before either of you could counter eachother's words, a foreign voice interrupts.

"How about you make a law to ban tart robbers from nightly kitchen raids." Rhaenyra's voice booms through the room.

Both you and Jace freeze in your actions, mouth full of food, eyes wide, horrified at the circumstances you were found.

To make matters worse, she wasn't the only one there. You silently curse when you see your mother's figure leaning againts the door opposite of Rhaenyra. Both of them holding an unreadable expression.

A long silence lingered until you decided to speak up and ask first; "Are you going to kill us."

You might be hallucinating but you swore you saw your mother fight off a grin before she and Rhaenyra sighs tiredly.

"Just give me one of those damned cakes." She relented.

[ninyard]

I feel very strongly about people having speech difficulties tied to their emotions so take this headcannon: Kevin when especially scared or upset just CANNOT speak english, he can sometimes speak a little japanese but he actually is best at speaking french as his "safe" language during those moments. He speaks very quietly too so for awhile everyone thought he was just muttering in english, it's not until Neil actually replies to him in french once during one of these times people realize it's quiet french not incomprehensible english

Neil also sometimes gets french only brain but for him it's tied to being severely disoriented like the haze he was in in the nest

I have always loved the idea of people losing their ability to speak coherently when their mouth can’t keep up with their brains. People who’ve been through speech therapy to stop a stammer who can’t stop stammering when they’re emotional. People who get frustrated with themselves when they can’t think of the right words during an argument. People who feel embarrassed when they say something that makes no sense, and the more they try to fix it, the worse it gets. People who can’t think in their second language when they’re emotional, who feel like they are so smart in their first language but feel like they talk like a toddler in their second, or their third. Speech impediments in any manner slipping through the cracks. Voice cracks. Their own words failing them when it’s all that they have in a moment of weakness.

I’d agree that French is a safe language for Kevin. In part because it’s that; it’s safe, it’s Riko can’t understand, it’s something he’s learned in life that isn’t Exy. It’s something that was not planned out for him since birth. It was his. Only his. The other part is because of Jean.

When Jean panics, Kevin is there to calm him down with a ça va aller or some other comfort in French. When Jean is hurt, when Jean is afraid. French is always there, his native tongue, to bring him back from the edge. It’s just theirs, his and Jean’s, their own universe, their safe place.

I don’t know how to succinctly explain what I mean; Kevin has always used French as a comfort. So hearing or speaking it is in turn a comfort for him.

He gets frustrated or upset, it’s safer for him to slip into French. If he says “I can feel his feet on my hands” or “I can’t get his face out of my head” in English, eyes are turning his way, people are wondering what’s going on. But when he whispers something to himself in French, he gets it out, but it still stays a secret because nobody understands it.

Yeah, I can picture Kevin having a panic attack, pacing around the dorm, or sitting tight in the corner of the room, and mumbling to himself in French. And then Neil kneels down in front of him and says talk to me. The French is so jarring, even though he’s heard Neil speaking it a thousand times before, because he’s not used to being in such a state and hearing someone comfort him in the way he used to comfort Jean. Andrew doesn’t know what they’re saying, and maybe Kevin doesn’t have the capacity to respond, but Neil speaks to him softly in French to bring him back from that edge, down from the brink. Japanese belonged to Riko. English belongs to the world.

French belonged to nobody else. French belongs to Kevin, and Jean.

It’s safe. It was learned to keep Jean safe, and now it keeps him safe.

Yes. I agree.

[gullemec]

Red Underlined

Golden Cage - Chapter Six

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: You confront the aftermath of your night with Butcher and your father hosts a rather interesting dinner party.

Warnings: angst, language, butcher being emotionally constipated and a dick about it, discussion of sex, discussion of grief, daddy issues galore, discussion of death/murder, reader has an emotional breakdown, discussion of suicide (not reader), sexual tension, Homelander is a creep, unwanted touching (from Homelander)

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.8k

A/N: Lots of emotional constipation and angst and daddy issues here, proceed with caution! Also Homelander makes an appearance and is such a nasty creep so beware of that too.

This time when you wake, it's with a start. No warm embrace, no welcome weight tethering you, just the cold shock of reality rousing you from a fleeting dream. Your heart thuds as your half-awake brain searches the room.

Butcher sits across from you, perched in the room’s stiff wingback chair, his silhouette outlined by the pale dawn light. He’s fully dressed, boots planted firmly on the floor, arms crossed like he’s preparing for a battle.

“Butch?” Your voice comes out groggy, uncertain. He doesn’t look at you. “What are you doing?”

“Get dressed,” he says, flat and clipped.

You blink at him, confusion prickling under your skin. Yesterday’s clothes are scattered around the room, discarded in the heat of passion. Gathering them, you can’t help but notice how he averts his eyes, a rare show of decorum. But his body is stiff, his expression locked in that impenetrable mask.

Does he regret it?

The thought coils in your gut like a snake, equal parts hurt and fury. You’ve had enough of his hot-and-cold act, especially after the mind-blowing sex you'd shared just hours earlier. 

By the time you’ve dressed, the tension in the room feels suffocating. Without another word, he leads you out to the waiting van.

He may be older than most of the guys you usually sleep with, but his maturity level might actually rank below theirs. 

The silence on the highway is unbearable, the minutes dragging like hours. You stare at him, his profile rigid as he grips the wheel, his jaw tight. Finally, you snap.

“Look, I’m not doing this,” you begin. “I'm not subjecting myself to another awkward car ride, so you'd better come right out and tell me now if you regret last night.”

He exhales hard through his nose, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

“I don't,” he says, after what feels like an eternity.

“You don't what?” you push, unwilling to let him off the hook.

His lips press into a thin line, the struggle playing out across his face as he tries and fails to find the right words. 

“I don't regret it. At all. Last night was one of the best nights of my fucking life, all right?”

Your heart skips, but the relief is short-lived.

“But it was a mistake,” he continues, voice low. “We shouldn’t have done it.”

The sting of rejection hits you like a slap. “Why not? Because you suddenly grew a conscience?”

“Listen, love, you're young. You got a future ahead of you. I'm too damn old for you. I’ve got more baggage than Heathrow, and none of it’s carry-on.”

“You think I care about that?” you fire back, your voice rising. “You think I don’t know who you are by now?”

“It’s not just that,” he says, cutting you off. “This job? This life? It’s dangerous. You don’t have room for emotional ties if you want to survive it.”

“Who said anything about emotional ties?” you retort, even as your chest tightens. You could play it cool. Maybe the two of you could be purely physical, using the kinetic energy you share for sexual release alone. Sure, you'd be betraying the growing sentiment you'd developed toward the abrasive man, settling for his physical affection alone if he truly couldn't find it in him to serve you emotionally, but at least you'd have some shred of him to keep for yourself. 

But the way he shakes his head tells you it’s not an option.

“You deserve more than that,” he says firmly, eyes fixed on the road.

You scoff, anger bubbling up. “That’s rich, coming from you. You certainly weren't saying that last night when your dick was—”

“You think I don't want to be able to give you that?” His voice is raw, startling in its honesty.

The fight leaves you for a moment, the truth of his words sinking in. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t let you see the cracks in his armor.

“You’re gonna meet someone,” he says, quieter now. “Someone who can give you the life you deserve. Someone who doesn’t drag you into this mess. Someone better.”

You scoff, hurt quickly turning to anger. “That’s bullshit,” you snap, your voice trembling. “Don’t pretend you know what I want, Butcher. You think I’ve got some perfect life waiting for me? Have I ever given you any reason to think I want anything more than being a part of the Boys? You think I don’t know exactly what I’m signing up for?”

He says your name, gently, like a prayer, finally turning to look at you. 

“Listen to me,” you tell him. “This is the most alive I've felt since my mom died. For the first time in my life I feel like I'm really making her proud. And I'll be damned if you get to decide what my future looks like.”

He finally turns to look at you, his hazel eyes softening. “Of course you get to decide what you want, if that means working with us. But you deserve to be happy, love. And I can’t give you that. I’m sorry.”

The apology hangs heavy between you, cutting deeper than you’d expected. You turn away, staring out the window as your eyes sting. You won’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.. He cannot know the deadliness of the blow he has so casually dealt you. 

“Thanks for being honest, I guess,” you say quietly, your voice brittle.

The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words. Finally, Butcher clears his throat. “I get it if you don’t want anything to do with me after this. MM and Frenchie can take over—”

For an angry, petulant moment you want to agree, to let your hurt be known. But it's not what you want, not even close. As much as the sting of rejection smarts right now, complete separation from him would hurt even more.

“No,” you interrupt, the word sharper than you intended. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “It doesn’t have to be like that.”

A part of you does feel relief, knowing that you would have fallen into bed with him regardless of his true feelings for you. Your bones and atoms had screamed at you incessantly to crash your very being against his, and you had fulfilled that request. Maybe you could let go of this preoccupation now. 

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The road hums beneath the tires, the tension easing just enough for you to breathe.

“It was just a one time thing,” you offer, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. 

He nods, too quickly. “Purely physical,” he agrees. 

“Right. No one has to know,” you assert. 

Probably for the best. It was bad enough that everyone at your internship thought you only got the position because of your father, you didn't need the others in the Boys thinking you were only there because you were fucking their boss. 

Still, he holds your gaze, shoulders tense, only tossing a glance toward the road when absolutely necessary. He's assessing you for truthfulness, picking up on the smallest tells in your voice that you're not as casual about this as you'd like him to think. 

You hesitate for a moment.

“It was really good, though,” you admit.

And, like a dam, his cool facade releases, posture softening. “It was really fucking good,” be agrees enthusiastically. 

“Like, so good,” you repeat. 

You both laugh. 

Fuck. 

~~~

For your entire life, family dinner has been a fortnightly tradition. 

There is a salient moment in your childhood memory; your parents, tucked away in some corner of the house they thought you wouldn't detect, voices raised in frustration. Your father, increasingly away from home, was missing out on your childhood. Your mother, desperate to keep your life as stable as possible, begging him to change. Despite his philandering ways, there was a love there between your parents, at least once upon a time. And thus a compromise was reached and the family dinner tradition was born. 

Of course, CytoGenix duty called from time to time and family dinner was deemed of lower priority, leaving you and your mother to dine alone, huddled at the end of the ten-seater dining table. Then there were the four years you spent studying abroad, missed dinners you had no idea would be your mother’s last. Still, family dinner had been an honored tradition for the most part.

And when you were bedridden, steeped in grief and disbelief, it was your father's suggestion that you restart the tradition. It was the only thing that roused you from that dark numbness. For a couple of months there it was good. Just you and dad, navigating the fog together, united in your heartbreak. 

That was, until he announced there would be a guest joining you at dinner one night. You had assumed an aunt or distant cousin, some estranged family member who’d made their way through the woodwork upon hearing the news of your mother’s untimely passing. That pretense fell away the moment Monica strolled into the dining room, dressed for Paris fashion week. You’d held a polite smile, asked polite questions, and offered polite answers to the rare, offhand question she threw your way. It was at one of these fortnightly dinners that Monica and your father, hands grasped together tightly, announced they were getting married. It was harder this time to offer a polite congratulations, forcing a pained smile until you could excuse yourself to sob in the privacy of the bathroom.

And no, you didn’t go to the wedding.

It’s in that enormous dining room that you sit now, pushing a charred brussel sprout around on your plate. 

“You know, sweetie, you have such a glow about you lately,” Monica coos from across the table. Her tone is all honey, but her eyes hold the sharpness of a blade. You resist the urge to roll your eyes anytime Monica uses terms of endearment toward you, as if her saccharine words could disguise the fact that she’s closer to your age than to her sexagenarian husband.

Still, you flush at implication. Is there a blinking sign floating over your head that reads I just got fucked so hard I saw stars, ask me about it?

“I’ve been getting out more lately,” you offer instead of the expletive laced response you really want to say. 

“I’ve noticed,” your father says, his tone carrying more irritation than interest. “I’ve also noticed you’ve been taking a lot of personal days at the office.”

He's not wrong. Ever since the day you’d woken up in the basement of the laundromat and had your entire world turned on its axis, something profound had shifted. Discovering that Vought—and by extension CytoGenix, too—likely bear responsibility for your mother’s death has a way of making intern projects feel laughably small. You figure that Adam and Emily have the menial lab experiments covered in your absence. 

Your father sets his knife down deliberately, licking his teeth before speaking. “I want you to take this seriously,” he says, his voice cool but weighty. “This isn’t just an internship—it’s the family name we’re talking about.”

Something about the scrape of Monica’s knife on the china grates on you, or maybe it’s the way you fucking hate brussel sprouts. Maybe it's your father's condescending tone and the fact that the family name has only ever brought you pain and misery. Perhaps it's the fact that all of you sitting here together now is a bastardization of a tradition your mother created in hopes that you'd have some semblance of a normal childhood.

“What about me, though?” The words spill out before you can stop them. “What about what I want?”

The room falls still. Monica freezes mid-cut, her fork hovering. Even you’re surprised at the sharpness in your own voice.

“Maybe you forgot, since you didn’t bother showing up to my graduation, but I majored in biology, not pharmacology or business. I never wanted to come back here, let alone do this internship. So excuse me if I miss a few days here and there, okay?”

The heat of your anger makes your face flush, sweat prickling at your spine. Across the table, Monica blinks, her expression unreadable. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she almost looked impressed.

But your father doesn’t yell, doesn’t slam his fists on the table like he did when you were younger. Instead, he does something that is perhaps even worse. He dismisses you, a loose hand wave and unaffected expression rendering your impassioned cry moot. The calm, detached response somehow cuts even deeper.

“Nonsense,” he says coolly. “Someone needs to take over the family business when I go, and if you ask my cardiologist he'll tell you that day isn't too far off.”

“Baby, don’t talk like that!” Monica gasps, her performative worry grating on your nerves. She turns to you. “Your dad’s been overseeing testing on a new heart medication in the labs—which you’d know if you bothered to show up.”

You zone out completely as the two of them bicker back and forth, about your father's health, about your insolence, and then eventually about frothy gossip they'd overheard during their recent outing to Le Bernardin. 

Your mind drifts.

What do you want? You’d chosen biology at Cambridge as a compromise, a way to avoid outright rebellion against your father’s wishes. Your mother used to tell you to go after what set your heart on fire, to never settle for anything that didn’t light you up inside. She always spoke as if your success was inevitable, like there was no version of reality where you wouldn’t do something extraordinary.

Only, maybe she'd never considered a reality in which her advice and listening ear no longer existed, where her very absence snuffed out that spark entirely.

What would she say about the Boys, about Butcher? She was a sensible lady, and classy, so it probably would have taken her some time to warm up to the idea of you cavorting around with a crew of vigilantes. Still, you want to believe that she would see the spirit with which you speak about them, the way you feel a million times more purpose scheming and spying in a dingy, dimly lit basement than you ever did sitting in a cubicle reading lab reports. You imagine her reaction to Butcher, her mother's instinct warning you to guard your feelings, and her inability to deny that you were glowing. 

You're pulled from your daydream when your ears perk up at something Monica says. “Sorry, what was that?” You ask. 

She examines you for a moment. “I said that production has been set back for a special product we've been making for Vought. There was an… unfortunate accident.” She spears her steak, her gaze dropping. “Ashley’s furious. They’re demanding a meeting.”

This time Monica is on the receiving end of your father's casual dismissal as he waves her off like a gnat. “I already spoke to her. Told her they can come to dinner at the Lakehouse. We’ll pour them some wine, ease the blow.”

Monica sets her jaw on edge. “It's going to take a lot of wine for this to go down smoothly, darling,” she says curtly. Her tone lowers. “The losses were huge, it's going to take years and billions to recoup—”

Your effort not to smile is Herculean.

Then your father’s voice cuts through. “I want you there,” he says.

You blink. “Me? Why?”

“You need to start familiarizing yourself with Vought if you’re going to take over. Think of it as a lesson in conflict resolution.” He chuckles, ignoring Monica’s pointed glare.

And, to everyone's surprise, you don't argue this. “Okay, I'll be there.” Your mind swirls with all the ways you can take advantage of this opportunity. 

You choke down the last brussel sprout before bouncing up, giving your dad a kiss on the cheek before you leave. 

“See? I told you she'd come around,” you hear him say before the door shuts behind you. 

~~~

You don’t bother going home after dinner. Instead, you head straight for the laundromat, the adrenaline from your dinner revelation buzzing in your veins.

The basement is alive with chatter as you burst through the door. MM, Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie greet you with a chorus of smiles and hellos, their faces lighting up at your excitement.

Butcher, on the other hand, freezes. He bolts upright from the couch as if you’d hit him with a stun gun, his wide eyes darting over your face. For a moment, it looks like he might say something, but his mouth clamps shut before finally settling on an awkward wave before returning to his usual seat on the couch. The others glance at him, puzzled by his bizarre reaction, but say nothing.

You don’t entirely blame him. It's the first time you've seen each other in the week since you slept together. The memory lingers sharper than you’d like to admit. The rest of the car ride home had passed in companionable conversation, punctuated by argument every time you wanted to pull over to take a picture of a cool looking tree or pretty sunset. By the time you pulled up in front of your apartment you were dead tired, asleep on your feet. But just as you turned to leave, Butcher squeezed your hand. “Be safe, alright?” he'd said, and you told him you would be. 

You thought about him that night when you touched yourself, something you've been making a bad habit of lately. You wondered if he might have been doing the same. 

None of that matters now. You’re here for a mission.

“I’ve got a lead,” you announce, diving into an explanation of the upcoming dinner and its potential as a goldmine for intel. Everyone is receptive, earning you a back pat from MM and a good job, ma poupette  from Frenchie. You can't deny the way their praise feels like sunlight on your face. 

Hughie chimes in. “You should wear a wire. We’ll be outside in the van, listening in. If anything goes sideways, we’ll be ready.”

You nod, reassured by the thought of their backup. Soon, they’re deep into planning—locations, entry and exit points, contingencies. You hang back, content to watch them work.

That’s when Butcher sidles up beside you.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks, voice low. “Privately.”

Your pulse quickens as you nod and follow him into a side room. He shuts the door behind you, and the air between you feels suddenly charged. You're embarrassed by how flustered you feel just by being so close to him again, like your body knows his and reacts involuntarily at the proximity. Your cheeks flush as you draw your eyes up to meet his, putting effort into controlling your breath. Did he want to discuss what happened again? Did he change his mind about this physical element of your relationship? Did he pull you into this room because he absolutely could not wait a second longer to tear your clothes off and have you again, right here, right now?

He interrupts your spiraling thoughts by pulling a manila envelope from his trench coat and shoving it into your hands.

“What’s this?” you ask, confused.

“Your mum’s autopsy report. The unredacted version,” he says, his voice unusually soft. “Had it smuggled out of Vought Tower.”

Your breath catches. You grip the envelope, your excitement from earlier replaced by a rising wave of guilt. How had you let yourself become so wrapped up in your feelings for him that you’d lost sight of why you were working together in the first place?

You start to pull the papers out, but his hand covers yours, stopping you.

“I’m warning you,” he says. “It’s not good.”

You nod, swallowing hard.

The words on the pages blur together at first, dense medical jargon making your head spin. Some of it is familiar, pulled from the sanitized version Vought had given you. But there are new phrases here, ones that jump out like knives.

Internal injuries consistent with a traumatic car accident or fall from a great height. 

No external injuries noted. 

Partial exsanguination. 

You shake your head. None of this makes sense. You were told that your mother was found in her apartment, like having fallen and slipped in the shower. You didn't have to be a medical examiner to know that a person wouldn't have such catastrophic injuries from a slip, couldn't bleed to death from a wound with no external injury. 

Your hands tremble as you flip to the final page, one you'd examined at length in the past. Your eyes fall to the Cause of Death header. As before, you see ‘accidental’ written beneath it. Except next to it, previously obscured by a thick, black redacting line, you find two letters. SR. 

“SR?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Butcher grimaces. “Supe-related. It means a Supe killed your mum.”

You suspected it, readied yourself for it, stayed up late at night agonizing about it. Yet, with the evidence in your hands now, finally real, you begin to tremble. There was no running from the fact that your mother had suffered, that she had been afraid in her last moments. What did she think when the Supe showed up at her apartment? Had she begged for her life? Had your father and Monica contracted with Vought to get your mother out of the picture?

Your legs give out beneath you, vision swimming. Before you meet the ground, strong arms catch you, wrapping around you. You're enveloped in Butcher's arms as he gently guides you both to the floor, pulling you in tighter as you rest against the wall. Your lungs heave in great, powerful bursts, awful croaking sobs escaping from deep inside you. You sob in the same way you did on the night you received the life-altering news, unabashed and involuntarily. Butcher says nothing as he rocks you back and forth, a large hand running up and down your back. He lets you get it all out, like he's been here, like he knows this pain all too well. When the sobs subside and your breathing steadies, he helps you to your feet, his hands lingering just long enough to ensure you’re steady. You wipe your eyes and manage a grateful glance, knowing that speaking would only unleash another torrent of tears.

Butcher steps back slightly, his hand lingering on your shoulder as if anchoring you to the moment. His face softens, guarded but undeniably tender. He clears his throat, glancing away before meeting your eyes again.

“I know what it’s like, you know,” he says, voice quieter than you’re used to. “To lose someone and not have the answers. To lie awake at night, over and over, trying to piece together the truth that everyone else seems happy to bury.”

You blink, surprised by his tone. “You’re talking about Becca?”

He shakes his head. “Not just Becca. My brother, Lenny.”

The name hangs in the air like a heavy weight. He exhales sharply, as though it physically pains him to say it.

“Lenny was... different from me,” he continues, the rough edge in his voice softening further. “He wasn’t like this.” He gestures vaguely at himself, the trench coat, the scowl, the hardened demeanor. “He was the better one. Gentle, kind. Always trying to keep me in line. He was... the only good thing left in my life, for a long time.”

You stay quiet, the gravity in his voice pulling you in.

“But I couldn’t protect him.” His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists. “He was dealing with his own demons, and I was too blind, too wrapped up in my own shit, to see what he needed. He...” Butcher’s voice falters, his words cracking. “He didn’t make it. Took his own life. And I’ve spent every day since wonderin’ if I could’ve stopped it, if I could’ve done somethin’ different.”

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his arm, offering the same silent comfort he’d given you earlier.

“That’s why I’m telling you,” he says, looking at you with a rare vulnerability, his eyes sharp and glassy. “Whatever it takes, we’re going to get the bastard who did this to your mum. You’ve got my word. I’m not gonna let you go through this alone. Not like I did.”

His words ignite something deep inside you, a mixture of gratitude, determination, and pain. You nod, your voice unsteady but resolute. “We’ll get them. Together.”

Butcher’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Instead, he nods, the unspoken understanding between you solidifying like steel.

“Just promise me,” he adds, his voice rough again, “you don’t lose yourself in this. Revenge is a funny thing. It takes more than it gives. Trust me, I know.”

You swallow hard, hearing the weight of his warning but knowing, in your heart, that this path is the only one you can take.

“I’ll try,” you say, though you’re not sure if it’s a promise you can keep.

Butcher seems to hear it in your voice but doesn’t push. Instead, he straightens, his usual stoicism returning. “Get some rest,” he says, pulling his trench coat tighter around himself. “Big day tomorrow.”

As he walks toward the door, you glance at the manila envelope still clutched in your hands. The truth you’ve been searching for is finally laid bare, but it feels heavier than you ever anticipated.

Before he steps out, Butcher pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. For a moment, there’s something in his gaze, something soft and almost protective.

“You’re tougher than you think,” he says gruffly. “Don’t forget that.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the truth and the ache of everything it means.

~~~

You're darting around your apartment in a short cotton bathrobe when three raps fall against your door in quick succession, alerting you to the arrival of Hughie and Butcher.

Thrusting the front door open, you barely greet the men before scurrying back upstairs. Dinner at the Lakehouse starts in an hour and a half. You're running late and you know it. 

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you shout over your shoulder, already halfway up the stairs to your loft.

Butcher steps inside first, glancing around the expansive living room with its vaulted ceilings and tastefully expensive decor. Though he’s been here once before, briefly, you can feel the weight of his presence in the space. Hughie follows, lingering awkwardly by the door as if afraid to touch anything.

“You sure this is just yours?” Hughie asks, his voice filled with awe as he surveys the plush furniture and abstract art pieces that probably cost more than his yearly salary.

“Doesn’t look like the digs of someone in our line of work, does it?” Butcher mutters, one eyebrow cocked as he gestures toward the oversized painting above your couch.

You cringe upstairs, pausing mid-search for your shoes. Do they know the painting cost a cool twenty grand? Do they know your father didn’t even blink when you charged it to his credit card?

The size and opulence of your apartment feel like an accusation, another reminder of the gulf between your world and theirs.

Pushing the thought aside, you turn to your reflection in the mirror. The maroon dress you’ve chosen clings to you like a second skin, fabric cascading over your hips and down your thighs to lightly skim the floor. The neckline rises to your collarbones, giving the illusion of modesty. It's what happens when you turn around that's worthy of a commotion; your back is bare save for delicate straps that criss-cross your back, dipping dangerously low beneath your waist, leaving little to the imagination. You’d be lying if you said you weren't looking a little forward to seeing Butcher's reaction.

Taking a steadying breath, you smooth the silk down your sides and make your way downstairs. The clack of your heels on the wooden steps draws their attention immediately. Hughie’s head snaps up, his mouth slightly agape before he quickly averts his gaze, his cheeks flushing.

Butcher, on the other hand, doesn’t bother to look away. His eyes rake over you, unapologetic, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something darker, something you’re afraid to name. He doesn’t speak, but his jaw tightens, and for a moment, he seems rooted in place. His eyes burn a hole through you, jaw firmly remaining on the ground. It's as though he's never seen you naked, reduced to tears by his relentless—

Get a hold of yourself. 

“Wow,” Hughie stammers, standing abruptly. “Uh, you—wow, yeah, you look—”

“Thanks, Hughie,” you interrupt, sparing him further embarrassment.

He awkwardly holds up the wire and listening device, his hands trembling as he explains how it works, assuring you that you'll be safe and that they'll step in if anything goes sideways. You distantly wonder would cause this mission to go awry, and what exactly the Boys would do to help you. You nod along, your mind only half-focused on his words as he hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of threading the wire through your dress. You've grown quite comfortable around the guy, but it's hard to imagine how this couldn't be an awkward interaction. He frets, deeply uncomfortable manipulating your dress or touching your skin. 

“Uh, maybe you should—” Hughie stutters, gesturing vaguely toward you.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Butcher growls, snatching the wire from Hughie’s hands. “I’ll do it.”

Before you can protest, Butcher steps closer, the heat of his presence washing over you. He hands you the mic, his voice low and rough. “Stick this under your sternum.”

You do as he says, tucking it into place with trembling fingers. He takes the wire and, with surprising gentleness, pulls the side of your dress open where the straps criss-cross. His fingers brush your skin as he threads the wire through, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe.

His hands pause at your waist, his eyes lifting to meet yours. The smoldering intensity in his gaze steals the air from your lungs, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he reaches up to place the earpiece in your ear, “is so you can hear us in the van.”

 His eyes read wistfulness. Yours return the favour. 

The proximity, the warmth of his breath fanning across your cheek, sends shivers racing down your spine. You force yourself to stay still, fighting the instinct to lean into him, to close the infinitesimal distance between you. Your flesh reacts to his touch, his breath fanning on your face sending flutters down your spine. You inhale deeply, committing his warm scent to memory. It takes all your self-control not to reach out and touch his neck. 

Butcher lingers a moment too long, his eyes flicking to your lips before he catches himself. He pulls back abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets as if to hide their tremble.

Hughie clears his throat loudly, snapping you both back to reality. “Uh, so... ready to go?”

Your cheeks burn as you step back, smoothing your dress and avoiding Hughie’s curious gaze. “Yeah,” you mumble, grabbing your coat and clutch. “Let’s get this over with.”

Shit. You have no idea how to explain to Hughie what the fuck just happened between you and Butcher. You have no idea how to explain to yourself what the fuck just happened between you and Butcher. He said it was a one time thing, and you had agreed. So why did it feel like neither of you really meant that now?

You don't wait around to find out. Cheeks hot, you pull on a heavy wool coat and throw your keys in a clutch, mumbling to Hughie and Butcher that your car is waiting downstairs for you, the three of you hurrying out of the apartment. 

Your heart is racing, your cool utterly lost, and you haven't even started the mission yet. 

~~~

The Lakehouse is hardly a house at all. Perched on eight sprawling acres of pristine waterfront property, the six-bedroom estate is more like a luxury resort. It boasts a private beach, a boathouse, a fully staffed kitchen, and amenities that wouldn’t be out of place in a five-star hotel. This was supposed to be your childhood home, a place where your family would gather to escape the chaos of the city. But, of course, your father’s relentless ambition had other plans. Weekdays in the city turned into every week in the city, and the Lakehouse became little more than a backdrop for corporate schmoozing and high-stakes dealmaking.

You’ve only been here once since moving back, and that visit had been for a similarly uncomfortable dinner with grumpy shareholders. That’s how it works with your father. When he invites someone to the Lakehouse, it means he’s either wooing them or trying to quell a crisis. Tonight, it’s the latter.

The heated marble floors feel too smooth under your heels as you drift through the dark wood-paneled corridors, a ghost in your father’s world. The hum of conversation grows louder as you approach the atrium, a cavernous space filled with old money charm and new money ambition. When you step inside, the low murmur of voices barely shifts.

Your father, however, notices immediately. His face lights up as he strides over, announcing your presence to the room with an enthusiasm that feels both practiced and performative. You’re greeted with nods and distracted glances from the scattered groups of investors, politicians, and Vought executives who occupy the space.

You paste on a polite smile and glide into the crowd, the maroon silk of your dress flowing like water around your frame. The fabric clings in all the right places, and you’re acutely aware of how much the dress is working in your favor tonight. You flit from one conversation to the next, exchanging hollow pleasantries with anyone willing to give you the time of day.

“Yes, I’m his daughter.”“No, I don’t work for CytoGenix yet, just shadowing.”“Of course, I’m honored to follow in his footsteps.”

You parrot the answers you know they want to hear, offering carefully crafted tidbits about your life in exchange for half-hearted words of encouragement or patronizing nods.

“So,” one executive asks, swirling his glass of whiskey, “you’ll be running CytoGenix one day, huh?”

You want to tell him you’d rather set the place on fire and dance on the ashes. Instead, you laugh, a soft, practiced sound, and offer some noncommittal response that earns an approving chuckle.

After thirty agonizing minutes, you can’t take it anymore. Your smile feels brittle, your cheeks sore from holding it in place. Excusing yourself with a vague promise to freshen up, you slip out of the atrium and into the cool night air.

The back terrace is wide and expansive, the kind of place meant for grand parties or quiet reflection. Tonight, it acts as your refuge. You pull your heavy coat tighter around your shoulders as you step to the edge, your heels clicking softly against the stone.

The view is breathtaking. The lake stretches out before you, the surface calm and glassy, reflecting the fiery reds and burnt oranges of the setting sun. The horizon blurs in the distance, where the vibrant sky meets the still water. The crisp fall air fills your lungs, sharp and invigorating, cutting through the lingering tension from the evening.

For a moment, you let yourself exhale fully, allowing the facade to fall away. Out here, there are no prying eyes, no hollow pleasantries, no suffocating expectations. Just the quiet lap of water against the shore and the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze.

You grip the stone railing and gaze out at the horizon, wondering if this is what your father feels when he’s here, if he ever lets himself feel anything at all. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you’re only here for one reason: to play your part. But the thought lingers like a shadow, just out of reach, as the sun dips below the horizon and the lake fades into twilight.

Your serenity is interrupted when the terrace door opens with a creak. You swear under your breath at the unwelcome intrusion. 

“Hey there sweetheart,” a voice beckons out behind you. Instead of the warmth you’d normally feel at this kind of greeting, you find the hair at the back of your neck standing on end, unsettled to your core. Your stomach tightens, and you hear Butcher’s muttered curse in your earpiece.

You turn, finding Homelander closing the door behind him, joining you on the balcony. 

“Homelander.” You turn, keeping your tone neutral, but your heart beats louder in your chest. "Enjoying the evening?"

He steps onto the balcony, closing the door behind him, his gaze tracing you with that predatory intensity that sends a ripple of discomfort through your veins. “Indeed I am.” He eyes you up and down, slow and deliberate, his words syrupy and laced with an unsettling warmth. “Enjoying the view even more.”

“Fuckin' prick,” Butcher growls under his breath through the earpiece.

You offer a strained smile, your pulse quickening despite yourself. “The lake’s amazing this time of year,” you say, grasping at the first thing that pops into your mind, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.

Homelander takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Not as incredible as you,” he says with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His hand rests on your waist, and you recoil instinctively, every nerve in your body screaming to move, to get away. “You’re something special, you know that?” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping, “I’ve had my eye on you all night.”

A burst of anger flashes in Butcher’s voice. “I’m gonna kill him,” he hisses, but you can hear the strain in his words—he knows he can’t act just yet.

You swallow. Despite your knowledge of who he is, what he is capable of, you're not immune to his charisma. The quasi-genuine emotion in his voice is almost believable, bombarding your defenses. You stiffen against him, clutching onto the balcony railing like it might save you. 

Your stomach churns as Homelander's fingers curl possessively around your waist. Your muscles stiffen, but you stand your ground, ignoring the dread welling inside you. “I was just heading back inside,” you mutter, the tension radiating from your body palpable. You try to sidestep, but his hand snaps out, gripping your wrist in an iron hold, pulling you back toward him.

“No need for that, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice low, with a dangerous edge. “Don’t tell me those perky tits and round ass are gonna go to waste.”

“Enough, I'm going in,” Butcher's voice cracks through your earpiece, barely holding back the fury in his words. “No!” Hughie chirps, eliciting jumbled groans from Butcher. If he thinks he's disgusted listening to it, he should try hearing it spoken directly into his ear. 

You press your palm to the cool railing, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, the air thick with tension. You take stock of the situation, calculating your next move. The terrace is isolated, the fall air too cool for the partygoers inside. No one would hear you if you screamed right now. Still, your proximity to the party would prevent Homelander from doing anything too egregious. He may be sociopathic and narcissistic, but he's not stupid. He can't hurt you, at least not right now. 

Your mind races as you swallow the vile words bubbling up. It’s your turn now. You meet his gaze head-on, your voice barely shaking. “Back off, asshole,” you say, each word dragging itself from your throat with the kind of anger you’ve been keeping locked inside for months. “Step the fuck off.”

The world feels suspended for a heartbeat, and then another. You brace yourself for whatever comes next—the snap of your wrist, the rush of air as he lifts you into the sky—but all you hear is his shallow, ragged breath. He doesn’t move.

To your utter shock, he lets go of you. Only his hand remains, grasped around your wrist. You turn to face him. 

You feel the anger roll off of him in waves, concentrated and palpable. You fight to keep your breathing even as you contend with the electricity falling off of him, a live wire spinning out behind you. 

“You know who my father is,” you state, voice calm and even once again. “You don't want to do this.”

“That fuckin’ bastard is getting a bullet—”

His face falls, menacing energy leaking out of him. You feel the malicious energy exuding from his very being, every nerve in his body wanting to hurt you in this very moment, the barest thread tying him to reality.

Please, you think. Give Butcher a reason to run in here. Let him save me. 

He holds onto you, fist tightening around your wrist painfully. He gazes up at you, unnaturally blue eyes pleading. 

“I'm going in. I don't fucking care I’m going,” Butcher crackles into your ear. 

“Stop,” you say, simultaneously to Butcher and Homelander. “Just walk away.”

For a moment, the tension is unbearable. But then, to your shock, both men stand back. Butcher's voice fades from within your ear. Homelander takes a step backward, though it’s not out of mercy, but rather a calculation. A predator retreating from its cunning prey. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for you again.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice almost too smooth. He turns away from you with a languid motion, desperately trying to coax his boner away. 

You swallow the bile rising in your throat and steel yourself. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”  

You stare up at him, daring him to act up even a little bit. His eyes are lifeless, shark-like. He doesn't move. 

His smile is a razor. “Sure.”

You take a breath, then turn, letting the distance grow between you. “I really need to get back to my dad,” you mutter, your voice almost too casual as you slip past him and back inside.  

You slip back inside, the warmth of the party pressing against you. Your footfalls echo against the wood panelled walls, softening the jagged edges of your inhaled breaths. You pause for a second, ensuring he isn't following you, before ducking back into the dinner party. 

~~~

Dinner is served: Filet mignon, perfectly seared, accompanied by a side of Catalonian salad. 

It takes all of your energy not to tear into the meal, desperately trying to recall your brief time spent at finishing school in your teens. An array of assorted cutlery borders your meal; you select what you hope to god is the correct fork.

The minutes stretch on in blessed silence, the clink of cutlery and soft murmurs as everyone devours the fresh seafood. Cloth napkins flutter delicately to dab at dribbles of butter staining chins.

“A toast,” Ashley says, cutting through the meal’s quiet indulgence. “I'd like to extend Vought's gratitude toward the Morgans tonight for this lovely get together,” she raises her wine glass, all of the partygoers offering theirs up in the toast. She raises her glass in a practiced gesture, and everyone follows suit, toasting dutifully before draining their drinks.

When she speaks again her expression is serious. “But,” she continues, her tone now sharp, “I'd like to discuss the status of V2. After the recent attack, our shareholders are understandably concerned.”

Monica stands from the table, patronizing smile plastered on her face. “Ashley,” she begins, flashing a disingenuous smile, “We so appreciate your condolences on CytoGenix’s recent loss of two beloved security guards. May they rest in peace.” Her hand presses to her chest in exaggerated grief, screwing her eyes shut in mock sincerity.

You scoff quietly, wondering how someone so transparent in their deceit made it this far in the industry. How did your father fall for her when your mother was right there?

She continues. “What happened was a freak accident. V2 remains a well-guarded secret. We can assure you that CytoGenix is fast at work replacing all of the destroyed product.”

The room erupts into hushed murmurs, sidelong glances communicating dissatisfaction with Monica's response. She's trying desperately to downplay what happened, what you did, and she's failing miserably. 

“Monica, as an executive at both Vought and CytoGenix, I'm a little concerned about your nonchalance. Are you not concerned about the loss of 13 billion dollars in profits here?” Ashley’s voice is measured but biting, her sharp gaze trained on Monica without faltering.

Monica's face falls ever so slightly. It's barely perceptible, but you notice the infinitesimal twitch in her smile, the twinkle dying in her eyes. The energy in the room shifts as the din of cutlery and small talk silence. The two women stare each other down. Electric tension crackles around the room. 

Then, the squeak of a chair as it’s pushed back snaps you from your thoughts. You’re caught off guard when your father rises from his seat, one hand raised in an almost theatrically calm gesture.

“Ladies, please,” he says, a placating smile on his face. “I am willing to put my name and reputation on the line here to tell all of you,” he makes a sweeping gesture to the room, “CytoGenix is committed to ensuring favorable outcomes for everyone sitting at this table. I have taken on the responsibility of guarding the remaining vials myself. The future of V2 rests under my watchful eye.” His chest erupts in a hearty chuckle, as though it was silly that anyone doubted his company's ability to make money. A laugh that threatened danger if it was not met with a positive response. 

As if on cue, everyone devolves into soft laughter, like the room itself has exhaled collectively. Stanley Morgan, ever the consummate politician. Ability to command a room unmatched, he basks in the light chatter of the relieved guests. 

Sometimes your father's power scares you. Times like right now. 

You find an excuse to leave once dinner is finished, feigning sleepiness to avoid being dragged into the inevitable dessert round with the insufferable business crowd. As you pull on your coat, your father crosses the room and gives you a quick, almost absent hug. He presses a kiss to your hairline, the gesture so fleeting, so routine, but for a moment, you feel a flicker of something you can’t quite place.

“Stay safe, kiddo. I love you,” he says, and for a moment you forget. So you pretend. 

You pretend that you just had a normal weekly dinner with him and your mom, just like old times. You pretend that she's just in the other room, finishing up the whipped toppings for her favorite dessert, key lime pie. You pretend that your father always tells you that he loves you, that he doesn't save it for occasions when he's drunk and you've finally done something that makes him proud. 

You hug him back. You tell him you love him too. 

[14thcommander]

moment's silence || hange zoe x reader

cw: smut, 18+ ONLY. oral, dirty talk, age gap (8 years), reader is a baby gay, nb! hange, afab! reader. based on this post.

“Can I eat you out?”

The words escape from your mouth before you can stop them. Hange pauses the movie currently playing on the television before you – Jaws 2 would have to wait. It’s not like they were particularly invested in the narrative, anyway.

Hange was fine with this night going down a soft and romantic route, just cuddling on their sofa would be fine. Although this new path seems unexpected, they can’t hide the excitement in their eyes. They finally turn to look at you, eyes big and doe-like under the soft blue halo coming from the screen. They like you like this, soft and spontaneous. Youthful. The eight year gap that attempts to separate the two of you surely kicks in, sometimes. 

“Uh, sure. Why so out of the blue, though?” They ask, as a soft chuckle leaves their mouth. A soft hand finds its way towards your face, softly caressing your cheek. You shiver under the coldness of the silver rings wrapped around Hange’s thin fingers, and they pretend not to notice. 

“Um, I don’t know.” You giggle nervously under their gaze, aiming your stare towards the paused movie. There’s nothing special about thai night – except for the fact Hange is wearing a suit. The occasion called for it, apparently: a few hours earlier, you visited a new art gallery downtown.

After a beat or two of silence, you speak again: 

“I just really want to taste you.”

Your confession almost makes Hange moan out loud, which causes their teeth to sink on their bottom lip – not in a “I’m trying to seduce you” type of way, but in a “I have no words for this, and I don’t want to let my body react for me” way. 

Zoe is a few years older than you, much more experienced – in a few different ways. They’ve had their fair share of sleeping with beautiful women in their life… you, not so much. You were not a virgin when you met Hange, you just hadn’t realized until that point that your romantic and sexual interest went way far than just sleeping with men – and pretending to like it, most of the time. 

It’s been a couple of months since then: you’re taking things slow – or trying to. Hange wants to do this right, for you. They don’t want to scare you away, or overwhelm you. It does take a lot of self control when you pull shit like this, though. 

“So?” You ask, feeling your heart in your throat. There’s many thoughts clogging your brain right now: what if they don’t want this, what if I’m pushing them, was I too quick, or maybe too slow, I don’t know what I’m doing–

“Of course, princess.” They whisper, coming closer to you. 

Hange’s lips are soft against yours, delicate even. Their kiss never fails to sweep you off your feet, as you feel like you’re floating. You hum against the kiss, sliding your tongue against theirs. Eventually, you leave their lips unattained in order to place open-mouthed kisses on their neck. 

You climb on their lap, spreading your legs on top of them. This feels so good, Hange thinks. I should definitely say it out loud, let her know how good she is. Your curious hands travel through their body, warm and possessive: you travel this new territory with so much desire, it’s almost suffocating. All Zoe can come up with is a weak…

“Fuck” They whisper once you climb down from them, knees hitting the carpet beneath you. 

Shortly before opening their pants, you move the fabric of your dress down, so your tits are freed from its confinement. Is this the right move, though? Guys usually seemed to like it… I hope they don’t notice I have no idea what I’m doing, you think . 

“Is this okay?” You ask, looking up at them with darkened eyelashes. Hange can’t stop thinking about how they want to melt your makeup away, make a mess of you. Eventually, they think. Not tonight. 

“Yeah,” They reply, voice sounding hoarser than they intended “Go ‘head.”

With hunger dripping from your eyes, you move their pants down, along with the plain black boxer-style panties they were wearing. Meanwhile, Hange takes their blazer off and starts unbuttoning the white dress shirt they were wearing. 

“You’re so attractive.” You mumble, voice barely above a whisper, as you start heatedly placing kisses on Hange’s thighs. They sigh, as a pink tint starts blossoming on their cheeks. 

You mean it: Zoe has this unique appearance to them, one that just lures you in even more once you get to know them. Hange is everything you’ve ever wanted, but you still don’t have the heart to tell them that. 

Instead, what you do is place your hands on their knees, carefully spreading their legs and exposing what you’ve been dying to taste this whole night. Hange’s pussy is better than what you’ve been imagining for the past few months, better than what you’ve been picturing when playing with yourself. They’re not shaved or waxed, but they are carefully trimmed. You lick your lips in excitement when you realize how wet they are – and it’s all for you. 

You place a kiss on their clit, an experimental one. Then, another one. Looking up at them, you lick a single stripe from their entrance towards their needy clit. They taste good, so good. This is so much better than I expected, we should have done this before…

“Oh God, yeah, just like that.” They purr, voice sounding restrained and snapping you out of your thoughts, only to make you realize you’ve been making out with their clit. 

Experimentally, you suck on it, which causes Hange’s head to tall back against the sofa’s armrest. You part their lips to give you better access to their bundle of nerves, lapping at it – slowly, and then building up the speed and pressure. 

“Feels so good.” They whisper, hands gripping the back of your neck – and, for  a moment, Hange wonders if this is too much. Their worries go away as suddenly as they came when you moan against their pussy, diving even deeper between their thighs. 

Now, you’re sucking and slurping on them, nails carefully raking against the soft skin of their inner thighs, and Hange thinks – no, actually knows – this is what heaven feels like. With you, on your knees, willingly pleasuring them. They already feel addicted to you. 

Zoe looks like a mess: hair all over the place, glasses lowering on the bridge of their nose, and tanned skin sweaty. 

“Fuck, fuck.” they whine, moving their hips against your face – which seems to make you happy, given the fact you moan against their clit. “Yeah, I’m almost there, don’t stop.”

You tap on their thigh, showing you understand their request – you keep the same amount of speed and pressure, tongue moving against their now puffy clit relentlessly. 

A wave of white-hot feeling travels through Hange’s body, as their body convulses underneath your mouth. Their members go limp, relaxing underneath your touch. They cum choking on your name, letting out a final whine as you try to lick them clean. 

Hange grips your hair, removing you from in-between their legs. They pant, looking at you almost incredulously. 

“You good?” You ask, hair messy and face wet, smiling up at them. 

“Yeah. You?” They breathe, reaching for your body once again.

You nod, straddling their lap, as Hange pulls you in for a kiss. 

“Good. My turn now.”

[crimbabyops]

The Cumshot

Montai x F!Reader x Nixx Krios

The all awaiting fic i know yall have been waiting for. I do hope yall enjoy this and it gives you back shivers.

Warnings: NSFW this is an 18+ fic minors DNI p in v, face riding, anal play, Montai has two dicks, pussy eating, vagina play, funny ending, and that's it if i left anything out do let me know.

A/N: This is a little unedited so if theirs any typos anything like do let me know also i do have my request open so feel free to request anything

The sun just settles as you get off of work tired, exhausted, and drained. Maybe even a little frustrated. You remember your encounter with the two demons separately.

You remember how the incubus had you craving for his touch and his attention. He gave you everything no mortal man could. You remember all the marks, the bites, and even the orgasms. 

But with the succubus she made you wish for more and more. She showed you the stars and even what your brain looked like. You didn’t think that was possible until her. 

They both made you their little pet and you wanted more, not separately though. What you didn’t know though was those demons wanted the same. They wanted you again and again. 

Nightfall came and so did you hoping your rose toy can bring you the same pleasure the demons did only for it to fail. With a huff you threw it back into your drawer. 

You decide to sleep the horniness off hoping it works. As you sleep four glowing eyes stare down at you. “Our precious little pet, we smell your desire and your frustration so we answer.” they both chuckle. 

~~~

You wake up around 4 am. You try to rub your eyes only for your hands to be restrained. Your legs spread, your body turns into this perfect star. You feel nails running across your thighs. 

Cold air runs along your breast, your nipples perk up at it. You look around only to not see no one. As your eyes deceive you, you feel fingertips running across your body. 

They get closer to your chest only to stop directly on your nipples. You feel lips running across your collarbone leaving small kisses. They continue to tease, rub, and kiss all on your body. You start to get impatient blaming it on the throbbing you feel in between your legs. “P-please!” You beg not knowing who and why.

A British accent you all so remember.  “Awww could our little pet not handle the teasing.” Montai runs his nails over your thighs and blows air on your clit. You hear dark chuckles around you. The demons appear, Montai in between your legs and Nixx at your head.

“I thought we trained you better than that, pet. If you want it then you beg for it.” Nixx says pinching your nipples. You arch your back towards her wanting more. 

“Please, I need both of you so much.” Your voice is a little shaky from the teasing you received. You continue your pleas for desperation wanting more and more for them to touch you. 

“Well should we give our good little pet what they so desperately want?” Montai asks Nixx, you hope for her to say yes. You close your eyes waiting for her response. 

“Mmm let’s do it. I missed our little pet screaming for pleasure.” She says just as Monati dives in between your legs. He continues to slide tongue all over moaning at your taste and the way you continue to get wetter and wetter with every move of his tongue. 

Your eyes roll as his tongue hits your g-spot over and over just as you were so close to reaching your depths only to be denied entry into heaven. Montai smirks at your whine and smacks your pussy.  “Shhh don’t worry, pretty girl ~he chuckles~ You’ll get all your desperate little orgasms and more.”  Montai says as two manicured hot pink nails starts pulling at your nipples. You whine at the tension Nixx causes wishing for more of her touch. 

“Ah Ah if you want more, use those pretty words of yours.” Nixx says take your nipple in her mouth, biting and pulling it. She rubs her finger down your body and ends in between your legs. She starts rubbing at your hole probing two fingers at your entrance. “Oh you're such a tight little petal, listen to the sounds you're making down here.” she pulls her fingers out. 

She moans at the sight of her fingers and holds her fingers out in front of your mouth straddling your waist. You take her fingers in your mouth tasting yourself on her. Nixx smirks down at you, her eyes shining a dark pink color while Montai’s eyes was shining purple. They both smirked down at you seeing you squirm under their gaze. 

~~~ 

It’s now 4 in the morning, your screams awaken the neighbors they pound at your door only to be met with Montai butt ass naked swirling wine in a glass smirking down at them. “How can I help you, little mortals?” Montai says to them. Your neighbors look at him and immediately run back into their loft frustrated and concerned. 

He chuckles and goes back inside watching Nixx use your rose bud on your clit and a vibrating dildo on your hole making sure you feel every pleasure imaginable and just as you come close to reaching your high, she stops.  You groan at this wishing begging and praying for her to continue but all you get is your tears wiped and soft kisses on your body. 

Montai switches out with Nixx and passes her the glass of wine. She takes a sip from it while moving to sit on your face to where she's facing Montai. He takes the glass back before ramming into your holes making you scream and claw at the ropes. Your screams are muffled by the rose smelling succubus on your face. Montai draws you down from the heaven you're in with small circles on your clit. You're so sensitive from the teasing you clench around him. 

“Tug on the ropes, little petal if you think it's too much.” Nixx says as she straddles your face ready to use it. Montai is ready to use both your holes as his personal little fuck doll. He thrust inside you slowly and carefully. Montai gives you some time to adjust while Nixx rides your face like a cowgirl, she coats your face with her juices. Montai gives you experimental thrust once he feels you are ready he starts thrusting inside you. His thrust starts slowly letting you feel all of him both of your holes get used to his size. 

You start remembering that Montai is no regular size especially with the way he’s thrusting. Your holes give him the best sensation he has had in a millennium. Nixx uses your tongue to her advantage, she treats your mouth like it’s her throne. Something she doesn’t want to get up from for a while. Your muffled moans and screams are like her personal vibrator and your tongue her personal dildo. 

Both of the scents fill the room your senses are in overdrive. You try to calm down so you don’t look like a bitch in heat but they only make it worse. “Mmm~ You like being our personal little toys. Don’t you?  So ready to be filled and stuffed with our scents. To be marked as ours.” He says to you while continuing to ruin you for any other toy, human, or anything you can use. They are both so tempted to mark you and keep you as theirs. So tempted to always keep you spoiled rotten with pleasure and lust. So tempted to leave you high and dry on their scents as their personal little cum bucket.  

“Maybe we should keep them as our little toy.” 

~~~

“And that ladies and gentleman is how I met my wonderful Succubus girlfriend and incubus Boyfriend.” 

Your friends stare at you with pure fucking shock on their faces just as the door to your shared apartment opens to reval your wonderful boyfriend walking out to come collect you from the stressful situation called your job. “You ready to go home, my little toy. ” You take his hand and wave at your friends bye ready to end the day in either pure fucking lust or sitting on the couch watching trashy drama shows with your wonderful partners. 

Love,  Crim-The-Writer

[danrifics]

okay. ive tried to write this so many times in so many ways but i think ill keep it simple for my own sake. i’ve been watching dan and phil since 2012, i’ve seen so many things happen, i remember every tour announcement, i remember them announcing dapg, i remember the hiatus. i remember it all. i was a lurker back then, i didn’t make my socials until the day dan came out. watching that coming out video made something click in my little audhd brain and my life has never been the same since.

this isn’t just a fandom to me, it’s my family. and i know people think it’s cringe when we call them our dads but like they really have been parental figures in my life, i found dan and phil when i was barely a teenager i can’t hide from the fact that they shaped who i am today and im glad they did. i don’t wanna know what kinda of world it’d be without them in it, cos this is where i want to be and where i belong.

i know not everyone understands the love i have for them, i know objectively that this is weird but i wouldn’t change any of it. not even one second. a world with dan and phil in it is a world worth living in.

very few things in this world make me show emotion, i rarely get excited about things but i always without fail get excited about them

i’m so grateful that i get to give them my love and i get to receive theirs in return, not many online creators are as parasocial about their fans as their fans are about them but dan and phil are and they clearly value us in their lives and they make sure we know what we mean to them

this is too long and too rambly and what am i even saying anymore but long story short they are quite literally everything to me. i love them more than i could ever love anyone else 💕

[obsessedelusional]

Bella’s Streamer Girlfriend

paring ✦ Bella Ramsey x fem!reader

summary ✦ Bella is exhausted from their constant travel for work. As her partner who just so happens to be a famous streamer you suggest they move in with you. What happens when Bella accidentally goes live showing you streaming? this is a request

word count ✦ 2,202

authors note ✦ hope y’all enjoy appreciate everyone one of you ilyyyyyy

masterlist

Feedback & Reblogs are helpful and extremely appreciated ♡

“Why don’t you just move in with me?” You suggest, a thought you’ve had for several months now just now finally making it out into existence. Bella had been fretting over how tiring all the travel has become.

“What?” Bella asks.

“Well we’ve been dating for two years and you’re always here anyways so..” Your voice trails off thinking you’ve said too much.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah I mean there’s not much room but we’ll figure it out. We can move my stream set up into the guest bedroom.” Bella doesn’t respond fast enough causing you to panic. Before you can ramble some more or even worse take it back she responds.

“Yes.” Bella says nodding her head.

“Yes? Like yes you want move in with me?”

“Yes.” She grins softly realizing what she’s just agreed to. Bella closes the distance between you two throwing her arms around your waist. Hugging you, slightly elevating you from the ground emitting laughter from you.

“How wicked? I get to live in LA with my beatuiful streamer girlfriend?”

—

Bella was the first to make a move two years ago. After finding out they got the role of Ellie in The Last of Us tv adaptation they poorly attempted to play the game. After failing the first part several times they opened YouTube. Your video of you playing the original game long ago is the first one.

Their attraction to you is immediate. Binging your videos lead to a follow on instagram. No idea who Bella Ramsey was but you followed back anyways seeing they were verified. Finding them attractive and your beliefs aligning with theirs so proudly displayed on their profile. Bella is silent with their crush on you until one fateful day.

An interview after Bella’s announced to play Ellie:

“Fans are so excited to see this iconic game come to life on television. Did you know anything about the game before your audition?”

“I knew of it. Like I had heard about it before but I never played it myself.” Bella responds to the interviewer.

“Have you played it yet?”

“No. I tried to but I’m not really a gamer. I played the first twenty minutes before giving up and watching gameplay.”

“Gameplay?”

“Yeah uh this girl on YouTube. Her name is Y/N. Shout out to her cause I watched her play the game. She’s a twitch streamer. She was so good at the game and she’s really…” Bella’s stops talking mid sentence as they realize they’ve said too much.

—

It’s an late night as you live stream. Just chatting with viewers before you hop into the lobby when your feed gets flooded with comments about Bella talking about you.

“Bella Ramsey? Sounds familiar. What did they say?” Your busy scrolling through chat and racking your brain trying to connect the dots.

“It’s Ellie Williams in the tv adaptation.” You say out loud reading a chat. One of your mods sends you the link so you can react to it live on your stream.

“Should I watch it? Everyone’s saying yes. Okay I will react to it.” The link opens up to a YouTube video of a zoom meeting type interview. As the video plays you recognize the short haired brunette as the random famous person that followed you on instagram months ago.

“There’s no way. I didn’t know they were playing Ellie.” You smile watching your screen not paying much attention to chat. It gets to the point where Bella mentions watching gameplay instead of actually playing the game.

“Yeah uh this girl on YouTube. Her name is Y/N.” Bella says in the video.

“That’s me!” You shout, pausing the video. Pressing play when you’re done freaking out.

“Yeah uh this girl on YouTube. Her name is Y/N. Shout out to her cause I watched her play the game. She’s a twitch streamer. She was so good at the game and she’s really…” Bella doesn’t finish their sentence, eyes go wide and their the one to quickly change the subject.

“And really what? What am I Bella?” You pause reading chat. People letting you know all the things you are.

“User2643556 says I’m beautiful, sexy, and amazing. Am I Bella?” You tease, your tone innocent yet flirty.

“Oh what about this Justin says I’m a stupid wanna be gamer. Plus a few other bad words I won’t be reading.” You laugh, watching as your mod kicks them.

“But seriously Bella! And what? What am I? I must know.”

The next day you wake and first thing you do is check your phone, a daily morning ritual. The first notification is from an instagram dm from a verified account, you have to rub the sleep out of your eyes just too make sure your reading it correctly.

Bella: I was gonna say cute but beautiful sexy and amazing works too xx

After your done freaking out you respond with a thank you and a winking emoji. To your surprise Bella continues to message you, you two communicate for a week over instagram dm before Bella gives you their number. The conversation usually flirty filled with getting to know each other. Empty promises to meet in the near future.

—

A handful of die hard The Last of Us fans who all had fairly large followings were invited to the premiere. You being one of them, which came to you as a surprise because you had played the game but there were far more bigger fans out there. You were excited for the opportunity nonetheless. A large part of you more excited at the chance to see Bella.

“We’re so glad you could make it.” The shows social media manager, Victoria who had initially invited you says.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Bella they were adamant on you being here.”

“Oh okay, will do.” You smile, ignoring the fact that if it wasn’t for Bella you wouldn’t be here. Anxiety growing at the thought that Bella wanted you here. How at any moment you’d finally meet her.

After the viewing of the the pilot you are sat with the rest of the influencers invited in the panel room. Cheers notify you that the stars of the show arrived, Bella and Pedro. Your watching Bella as people converse with them. They’re not paying much attention eyes are wondering around the room hopefully looking for you, you think. Smiling ear to ear as they make eye contact with you. Bella had wanted to greet you on the spot but they weren’t aloud to veer from the schedule.

The cast make their way to the stage. Craig and Neil are the first to speak. Thanking everyone for coming and supporting the whole project. Then the cast are asked questions. Too enamored with Bella you don’t touch your food, too nervous to eat. They often sneak a look towards you smiling when they catch your attention.

To your disappointment you don’t get a chance to see Bella. She’s rushed to her table where she eats with the main cast. Then when it’s over she’s guided to somewhere behind the scenes your not aloud. You wait longer than you should have before deciding to book an Uber to take you home.

Your stood outside the building waiting for your Uber, sulking in your own sadness. The night not going how you imagined at all.

“Uber for Y/N?” Your driver speaks breaking your thoughts.

“Yeah sorry.” You walk towards the car ready to just go home and crawl into bed. Before you can open the door your phone vibrates, it’s Bella.

“Where are you?” Bella says as soon as you pick up.

“I’m getting in a Uber right now.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s over. I’m going home.” You hear heavy footsteps, looking back you see Bella running towards you phone up to her ear.

“Then I’m coming with you.” Bella says into the phone only a few feet away from you.

“Are you inviting yourself over?” You laugh.

“Oh fuck I didn’t mean to come off like that I just didn’t want to-“ Bella hangs up on you, now talking to you instead.

“Can’t believe you’d hang up on me.” You cut them off, laughing at the fact that the two of you were conversing over phone while stood so close.

“I feel like a real dick head. I tried so hard to get away from tonight’s responsibilities but they wouldn’t let me. You have no idea how badly I wanted to get away from it all and be with you tonight. I want to make it up to you.” Your cute moment gets interrupted by the Uber driver telling you he’s going to leave if you don’t get in already. When you go to open the door Bella assumes the worst.

“You coming?” You ask, returning the smile to Bella’s face as she climbs in with you. The drive to your place is filled with apologies and sneaking glances at each other. Bella doesn’t leave your apartment till the next morning, up till 4 am just talking. Feelings grow and laughter is shared. Bella is the one to kiss you before they leave making plans to meet again.

—

Bella moving in has been great. It’s only been a week but waking up and going to sleep next to the person you love every night is better than you could of possibly imagined.

You stream five days a week, leaving the weekend for yourself and Bella now. Originally your set up is in your bedroom, using your bed as your backdrop. Moving into the guest bedroom has been great. Creating a whole new look for your stream and having a lot more space. The other half of the room filled with Bella’s miscellaneous boxes.

Bella has yet to get used to your work schedule. Normally when they visited you’d take a break from streaming or do it while they were off working. Now that you live together, you had to work. So often Bella would interrupt unknowingly. Apologizing quietly as they walked back out of the room. Your chat taking quick notice of your smile and lovingly stare as you told Bella it’s okay, wondering who it could possibly be.

—

“Can you hear me?” Bella asks turning on her instagram live.

“Uhh yes it is I see your comments now.” Bella gets comfortable, reading comments out loud. Shouting out people as they asked.

“Ok the whole reason for this live. I just wanted to give some life updates. First I uhh moved to California.” She admits reading chat for a moment before responding.

bellaramzeee13: I thought you hated la

ramseyfantlou: NO Bella’s gonna change ):

thelastofbella: the uk will misss you

“I promise I’m not going to change. Some things just happened and I decide it’s best for me to live out here. Ya know? Closer to opportunities and other things… anyway thought I’d come on here and unpack with everyone.” Bella stands up from where they’re sat thinking your out for the day with your friends. Heading into your steaming room, switching the camera to the back camera ready to show the giant pile of boxes.

“This is where all my stuff is,” Bella is going on not realizing your sat in your desk live as well.

“What’re you doing?” You ask startling her so her phone lands on your just long enough for people to realize it’s you. Bella’s quick to stuff her phone in her pocket live still going.

“I’m sorry I thought you were with your friends already.” Bella’s panic has your worried.

“It’s okay that’s not till later. I’ll be right back guys.” You say to your chat switching to your I’ll be right back screen. You follow Bella out of the room into the living room.

“I was on instagram live.”

“Did you show me?” You ask.

“I dunno.” Bella pulls their phone out it now on the front facing camera, you laugh seeing your reflection on insgram live.

“Bella it’s too late your still live.” Your laughing harder than before. Bella’s worried faced fills the live and your laughter in the background.

bellsram01: YOUR DATING HER???!!

sarabeez: NO WAY

elliewilliams22627: wait why do I kinda ship it

justbellaaaaa: bella I think I actually want your girlfriend more

“Should I get off?” Bella asks you.

“If you don’t want to. It’s okay.” Bella sets their phone down using some clutter on the kitchen counter to created a diy tripod.

“Guess it’s out,” Bella laughs. You move into frame, leaning closer to read more comments. Laughing at all the funny ones, reading them out loud. Answering a few questions about your relationship.

“Well I got to go attend to my steam I was so rudely interrupted.” You sigh dramatically.

“If y’all want more of me I’m on twitch right now.” You smile for the camera.

“Are you trying to steal my viewers?” Bella looks at you shocked.

“Absolutely yes babe.” You tease, before planting a small kiss on their cheek before leaving bella alone in the kitchen. Bella reads more chat as everyone freaks the fuck out.

“I guess you all know the real reason why I moved to the states.”

[waywardsou2]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ General Bad Batch Head Canons ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hunter

He was secretly always jealous of Cut getting to settle down, have a life, a family, getting away from all the war and bloodshed. Hunter had wanted that but never thought it was possible

Hunter cried, fully cried to himself the night after Crosshair, despite everything that had just happened on Kamino, had still chosen the Empire over his brothers. Despite all he had seen on the battlefield all of the people he had failed to save, nothing hurt more than losing his brother.

When he was young, and ever since then Hunter has only ever let his brothers trim his hair. And he helps them cut theirs too. Hunter is very particular about his hair being a certain length and usually only trims his hair a few inches at best.

Hunter's face tattoo is actually to cover a birthmark. His other brothers (not the batch) used to tease him about it when they were cadets. He eventually got the tattoo to cover it up. These days he regrets it and doesn't understand why he folded to their teasing but he's still happy with it anyway. He doesn't regret the tattoo perse more the reason he felt the need to get it in the first place

Wrecker

Wrecker got Lula from a kid he helped on Ryloth when the Separatists were attempting to invade the planet, he loved it and was very attached to the toy. But he knew how important it was to the kid and he kept it with him for years until he gave it to Omega. He thought it made sense to give it to her, a young kid he had helped gave it to him and now he had passed it on to the next kid who needed it

Wrecker used to place fake bombs or stink bombs under his brother's bunks as pranks. He was always so obvious whenever he was doing this because he would be over-eager and giggle to himself, but he did manage to jump his brothers a few times with the prank

When Wrecker was caught in a bombing accident that messed up his eye and scared his face, he had a hard time adjusting to the way he looked, he didn't recognize part of himself now. And he especially hated when his hair didn't grow back the same way, and because of that he decided to shave it all off and continue to keep his head bald

In addition to that I think that when Wrecker was younger, he had hair a similar length to Hunter, and he liked it, despite the Kaminoans telling him to cut it several times. He does miss his hair at times, but he does like it better without hair hindering him.

Tech

Techs goggles function the same as prescription glasses, he's actually far sighted, this is why his helmet was built to fit around his goggles because he basically cannot see without them

(less of a head canon more of a canon fact with my personal twist) Tech is the youngest of his brothers but he was the quickest to mature and grow, which he likes reminding them about constantly.

(this one is gonna hurt, sorry in advance) When he fell off of the rail car into the ravine below, he didn't instantly but have some very fatal wounds and wasn't far off, Hemlock and his men found him and Hemlock took his goggles from off of his dying body and left. Leaving his men to dispose of him (I don't know what my mind was thinking when I wrote this, I guess I just love angst too much)

Tech had feelings for Phee but he never knew if she was being polite or flirting with him. He never said anything about it to her or his brothers because he figured that there was never going to be a time for him to ever act on those feelings so he never did anything about them.

Echo

(keep in mind I haven't seen any pre Bad Batch content of Echo so some of this stuff might conflict with his canon)

When Echo got blown up and had to have his face reconstructed he was awake for most of the procedure because if he slept or if they induced him it wasn't likely that he would wake up again, especially considering all of the damage done to his body and brain.

(Idk why but this one is super random but just feels right to me) Echo really likes butterflies, he likes the delicacy and beauty that comes from the creature's existence, the first time he saw one he was taken aback and had stopped to admire it. His Commander scolded him for getting left behind at the time

Echo used to pick at his head implants, they made him really uncomfortable and self-conscious, and his brothers used to have to stop him from damaging them and endangering himself. It was a really big issue of his for a while.

Crosshair

Crosshair's tattoo is also a cover-up for a scar, it's the right side of the crosshair that touches his nose. That line is actually a healed over scar underneath. He thought considering his nickname that the tattoo wasn't a bad idea. He was also secretly just copying his big brother Hunter, not that he would ever admit that

This guy can nap anywhere, and I mean anywhere. He doesn't sleep so he naps when he can. In trees, standing up, in the cockpit literally any where.

Adding onto the head canon from before I think Crosshair would have insomnia. But as he would do he never told the Kaminoans because he didn't want them to "fix him"

Crosshair has a nervous/general tick where he chews on his lip, he used to chew it so often that he often had cuts all over them. In place of cutting up his lips he decided to try and alternative - toothpicks. This was a good way to hide it but to still be able to tick when he needed to, plus the toothpicks were easy to access because he could collect them from the mess hall on Kamino

I realised at the end that I hadn't written any for Omega. How dare I? I promise I'll upload some soon

Hope you enjoyed these! Tell me your head canons below!

[r0swells]

hello! take some designs for an after-game PMTOK au i've had rattling around in my brain for a bit. More explanation under the cut :]

Okay so the basic premise is that a couple of months after the game something something star spirits cause the legion of stationary + Olly and Olivia get reborn as toads (except for like, 1.5 of them) and are dropped off unceremoniously in Toad Craftsman's front yard for him to deal with.

This was mostly an excuse so I could draw some Olivia interacting with everyone because we never got to see her hanging out with them and I plan to rectify that! Uh here are some design notes:

For all the LoS I really wanted to give them all different types of mushroom caps for fun so Colored pencils got a death-cap mushroom as theirs since I wanted something flat like their box. I wanted their design to be reminiscent of an art student since I thought it would be funny.

Rubber band's mushroom cap is a bunch of enoki mushrooms reminiscent of their little hair thing. I think they adjusted the best of the LoS to being a toad since they already took a pretty humanoid form when they were an office supply.

Hole punch's mushroom is a Morel mushroom since they have a bunch of holes and stuff. their hair is also supposed to look like cut up paper.

Tape has a button mushroom since I really didn't wanna distract from their hair and them having a really tiny hat seemed funny. Still the most loyal to Olly even though he literally has no powers anymore because its the FAMILY!

Scissors is an oyster mushroom since it looks kinda cut up. Also their Handaconda has been turned into one of the Underwhere hands from the river Stix. They're the one dealing the worst (besides Olly) with being a toad and keep trying to do flips and shit and failing.

Stapler is a chain chomp with really messed up teeth, thats it.

Olivia and Olly are just normal toads! Also Olivia is fine, she just spawned with the "cut" out on her cap, since she can't really wear her signature hat. Didn't really have to change much about their designs, they're already perfect. But as stated above, Olly is really not doing well being a toad, makes it really hard to make origami. I also think Olivia really doesn't like it either, she liked being who she was and this just feels wrong to her. it feels wrong to all of them tbh

I also tried my hand at an Origami craftsman design. I wanted him to kinda look like Olly and Olivia, having Olivia's hair texture, but Olly's color and shape. I've seen people head canon him to be really young and I totally agree, makes his mistake seem a little more driven by naivety then by deliberately going against what he should know. He's dealing...okay with having a bunch of people in his house.

+ some sketches

Yea the only ideas I have for plot is that Olly is trying to remake all the 1000 cranes again so he can turn them all back into their true forms and they can leave (the idea of taking over doesn't really appeal to him anymore) and go somewhere else. But there's also a time limit since the origami festival is happening soon and the Craftsman has to go to it and the others really don't know how everyone else might react to them. Also everyone only remembers up to when they die so colored pencils really has no context while Olivia knows mostly what happened. i like the idea that this creates some tension between Olly and the LoS who are questioning what happened to make him change his mind so drastically.

so yea if anyone has any ideas or questions send me an ask, I really like this au and really wanna talk about it :]

[psychette]

RATING AIB (S1) CHARACTERS (part 1)

HIKARI KUINA : 11/10 - i watched alice in borderland JUST for kuina. transgender characters always give me comfort as a trans person. watched for her, ended both seasons with her STILL as my favorite character. i loved every scene she was in and even watch kuina-specific scenepacks during class or just anywhere i am. also i’m excited for s3 because i’m hoping to see her. a majority of my crashouts were from the idea that she would die.

SHUNTARO CHISHIYA : 9/10 - great character, i love when characters have a cheshire cat personality… or something like that. something about chishiya’s energy feels so unreal. he’s pretty much the most favorited character in the fandom but a majority still mischaracterizes him. i love his dynamic with EVERY character. can you tell i’m in love with platonic kuina x chishiya? they’re literally wlw mlm solidarity!!

RYOHEI ARISU : 8.8/10 - he’s absolutely so adorable ???? his strategic thinking and creative intelligence never fails to captivate me. he looked cute both in the manga and in the series ngl.. his constant motivation to save people, not just himself. crazy how he worked so hard just for a joker card. arisu’s a really great character, i just gave him a 8.8 bc im not VERY interested in protagonists in terms of favoriting characters. he has a high score because of how well written he is, and i live for that!

YUZUHA USAGI : 10/10 - she deserves the WORLD oh my god. i love me a strong climber girl wtf. the second i saw her in the tag game i was crashing out and was so excited when i found out she was going to be a big character for the series. my roman empire was when she was injured but still saved arisu when he was getting manipulated by mira into thinking he was actually a mental hospital patient. yes she has 10/10 cz she’s a woman and im gay. sawry.

DAIKICHI KARUBE : 9.8/10 - yeah sorry he’s my token boyfriend in aib, as a lesbian.. HELP. he was literally so charming i miss him so much come back husband… i know he’s a 9.8 which is shocking as i call him my token bf of aib, i just dont find myself THAT captivated over men most of the time. also bc he only had screentime for the first few episodes + arisu’s flashbacks + the end of s2. still love him over every man in the series.

CHOTA SEGAWA : 7/10 - i see a lot of ppl who like him but don’t even see him as a favorite. he didn’t strike me as much as other characters did but smth about his friendliness and playfulness with his friends really made me think about my own friend group. he was a good friend to arisu and karube, and i would KILL to have a friendship like theirs. he was too sweet for the borderlands. he just wanted to be with his friends

SAORI SHIBUKI : 0/10 - ppl actually miss her ?? i lowkey moved on from her fast lol. she didn’t mean so much to me. also not a big fan of chota x shibuki. chota was literally injured, mentally vulnerable, was still processing what was going on, and was in extreme mental distress because of that. she took advantage of that. i don’t really care if it was consented. her death wasn’t that sad for me. yes, she died with karube and chota but she wasn’t really that special to me lol

SUGURU NIRAGI : 7.5/10 - “his rating shouldn’t be this high!” he got a -3.5 for trying to do hanky panky with usagi twice and yes, it made me uncomfortable. he just has a 7.5 because his character IS well written. the way his brain reacted, how he behaved, how he responded. his quote, “i don’t know if they hated me because i was twisted or i became twisted because they hated me.” really said a lot about him. his hanky panky stuff only shows more depth of his character. and no i don’t excuse it, as i said, it made me uncomfortable to the point i had to take a short break from watching. yet it doesn’t change his archetype, he’s well written, admit it.

LAST BOSS : 4/10 - i love his appearance and dramatic katana sword shit but this man tried killing my girl. fuck u tryna do. 4 is all u is getting. no other words

ANN : 7.5/10 - im sorry guys dont shoot me, i like her and shes super pretty but i literally have nothing else to say except that

TAKERU “HATTER” DANMA : 6/10 - idk man he’s really good i love his whole story stuff with aguni and how his character developed but he also made me uncomfortable at times. plz tell me why the scene where he’s grabbing ass shows up right when im next to my mom. lord save me. still haven’t analyzed him so much but i’ll get into that i swear

AGUNI : 6/10 - same thoughts as hatter. he’s pretty cool ngl. i lowkey thought of him as an asshole bc of that one scene in tag where he doesn’t save his buddy that he just uses for bait unfortunately. also ik this happens in s2 but the thing he had with akane made me so uncomfortable

KODAI TATTA : 3.5/10 - specifically in s1 i really wasn’t interested in him that much, he’s pretty okay. i don’t really care.

[enchanted-by-the-reaper]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ your sweet 666 ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

sfw(ish) | soft raphael | fluff | enemies to lovers

raphael x gn tav!

notes: this is just me yapping while I try to figure out my thoughts on this idea, currently deciding whether to flesh this out into a full nsfw fic or not, we’ll see <3

☽༺𖤐༻☾ ☽༺𖤐༻☾ ☽༺𖤐༻☾ ☽༺𖤐༻☾ ☽༺𖤐༻☾

♱ Scanning the infernal contract laid out before him, Raphael couldn’t help but smirk as he read over the soul binding terms and conditions he meticulously constructed to ensure this new client of his couldn’t squirm their way out of it. Satisfied with his work, he turned his attention to Tav, their body draped across the chaise in a peaceful slumber. As he looked at them longingly, he began reminiscing on a time where his partner was one of the pawns in his game. A desperate vagabond adventurer with a most unwelcome visitor in their brain, Raphael knew he had struck gold. ‘Impetuous fools’ he had called them in conversation with Korilla, but when he first met the party of soon to be mindflayers, he was enraptured by their leader.

Tav hated Raphael’s pompous and snide disposition, hated his stupid rhymes and pretty little words of nothing, hated how much he loved himself. Their alliance was purely built on mutual need, a means to an end. And yet when Raphael proposed a deal to obtain the crown of Karsus in exchange for his infernal weaponry, Tav couldn’t bring themselves to say no. They saw reflected in his eyes the same longing they felt, longing for something, someone. And as Tav signed the contract, they shared a look of understanding.

His stubborn pride would never let him admit that when Tav threatened to tear that contract of theirs in two during a heated argument, the thought of not obtaining the crown of Karsus didn’t even enter his mind. His only concern was losing whatever connection he had with them. Raphael was never one to grow fond of his clients, he always thought they were beneath him. Sure, he knew how to play into their desires, exploit their weaknesses, make them play along with his games until they begged on their knees for his mercy when they failed to deliver. But none of his clients made him feel the way Tav did. He came to admire their stubborn bravery and fierce attitude, even with that death sentence of a tadpole squirming around in their skull. None of his other clients would ever have the guts to challenge a devil. But Tav did. And it sparked something deep within him.

Raphael always believed he was dealing the upper hand, until every time he spent a night writhing under Haarlep all he could think about was them. How their touch would feel, the ecstasy they would share. He would always end the night calling their name out in a deep, breathy moan, a flush of red spreading to his cheeks in shame. He chastised himself for days afterwards. How could he be so foolish as to let a mere mortal infiltrate his mind and his heart? The devil himself, sin incarnate, was feeling giddy over some rogue adventurer.

When Tav delivered the Crown into his hands after Raphael had amended their contract a little too much for his liking, he should have been elated. Raphael got what he wanted, Tav got what they wanted, the deal had been fulfilled. But instead he still felt just as hollow as he had before they met. With no contract looming over their head, Tav could just walk away and the two would never cross paths ever again. Whilst they would never admit it, Tav only began offering their services to Raphael purely because they couldn’t bear not to see him, be near him, and their alliance over time grew into something more deep, more personal, more passionate.

Their relationship had begun as tumultuous. In all his centuries of living Raphael had never known how to love or be loved, and Tav struggled to let him get close to their heart. But over time they grew to be a formidable couple. The power plays, the fight for domination, the never ending game of cat and mouse, Raphael felt that he had finally found his equal. One that could match him, challenge him.

His nights of unfeeling and rough sex with Haarlep were replaced with long evenings of tender passion and warmth with Tav. Raphael couldn’t even remember the last time someone held him. And he cherished it. He showered Tav in love and affection, giving into every request, for he wanted, needed them to know that he was theirs, afraid that if he didn’t display his affection enough, Tav would leave, and he would once again be alone. But he pushed that fear aside, reminding himself he was loved, Tav was safe, and they were happy.

As he continued to gaze upon his little mouse, his chest swelled with pride and admiration. In the Hells, he had found his little piece of heaven. ♱

To be continued…

you can also read it here <3 <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works