#im so used to saying i speak three languages now

[meet-again]

So weird to realize that like, I'm by no means good at art, but i have now spent around 8 years trying to be good at art. And it worked. I am very much better at it than i was 8 years ago. Can't believe that it actually worked.

[ravensmadreads]

OK YOU KNOW WHAT

FUCK YOU

T_T

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

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Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, as he climbs those stone steps, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of your cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, nails pricking his spine, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cocked soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight draws from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.” 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

[sweetlyskz]

Emerald Gem||Chapter Six

Chapter one|Chapter two|Chapter three|Chapter four|Chapter five|Chapter six|Chapter seven|Chapter eight|Chapter nine|Chapter ten

Hybrid!OT7 x Fem!Reader

Overview: Living away from society has its perks. All natural food from your thoroughly cultivated farm, no nosy neighbors, and peace and security with your animals. But sometimes you did get lonely, having no one to talk to but the cows and pigs. However, when 7 extremely wanted hybrids stumble upon your deserted farm, everything changes.

Genre: Hybrid Au, Strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, fluff

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE, some language, harsh themes

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Tags list is now CLOSED! Thank you guys for loving this pic <3 lots more to come soon!

Unedited

Your dinner was getting cold. For some reason, you couldn’t pick up the fork. Your hands were too busy gripping the table, bewildered by the sight in front of you.

“Are you going to come greet us or just sit there?” Yoon teased, showing that gummy smile you missed so much. The others were behind him, Jimin laid on Taehyung’s back. You could tell they had been through hell and back. Jin could barely stand on his own two feet, leaning on Hobi for support.

“I- what are you guys doing here?” You never thought you would see them again. Now that they’re here in front of you, you don’t know what to say. Even after all that time practicing what to say if they came back.

Im sorry. Please stay. I missed you.

Instead, you asked “Where’s Namjoon?”

The smile on Yoongi’s face quickly turned into a frown, telling you all you needed to know. Maybe you couldn’t do anything to convince him to stay, maybe Joon was just a lost cause- that’s what you tried to convince yourself anyway.

“I’m so sorry-.” You tried to apologize but Jungkook quickly shut it down with a quick embrace. As soon as you felt his arms wrap around your waist you were at ease. But once he pulled away, you yearned for more. It was just a second, but you still craved it nonetheless.

“Don’t apologize when you have nothing to be sorry for. He made his bed. Now he has to lay in it.”

“Speaking of beds”, Jimin interrupted, apparently lucid enough to speak clearly. “May I go to mine? I haven’t had a proper sleep in weeks…”The guys chuckle at Jimin lack of consciousness. It made you smile knowing they could laugh in dire situations. It comforted you, hearing Jimin call the bed his. It was his bed.

This is his home.

***

After eating dinner, everyone went there separate ways. They were probably looking forward to having a nice, cozy bed all to themselves. You laid in bed trying to rest, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Yes, you were happy to have the six wanted hybrids back home, but every time you thought about Namjoon your stomach turned from worry. Apparently you weren’t the only one.

“Hey Y/n?” The Bunny hybrid stood in front of your bedroom door holding his favorite black and blue pillow.

“Hey Kook”, you leaned against the headboard, getting a better look at him. He looked frazzled, like there was something on his mind. You know that look all too well. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded, making his way to the unoccupied side of the bed. He laid down next to you, getting as close to you as he could while holding his pillow to his chest.

“Worried about Namjoon”, he whispered into his pillow. “Never been anywhere without him. Im scared…”

You gently removed the pillow from his chest, replacing it with your warmth. Jungkook immediately relaxed in your embrace, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. You felt like home- nice and warm. You were familiar to him, someone his could call his. Yes, he had the guys, but he grew up with them so it was different. The bond he built with you was new, and easy.

You placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, rubbing his back soothingly. “I know”, you whispered. You of all people know what it’s like to lose someone. You know the feeling of curiosity, the feeling of wondering where your person may be.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him… I promise.”

You continued to rubbed Kook’s back, soothing him to sleep. There in the darkness, you both laid. It was quiet- serene.

“How did we get so lucky?” He murmured, eyelids fluttering on the brink of sleep. “What did we do to deserve you?”

He fell asleep before you could respond, before you could find the words to answer him. But his question kept you up all night, looking for the right words. How do you tell the person you just met that you’re falling? How do you explain to him that it’s you who was lucky enough to find seven incredibly selfless people.

“You deserve the world”, you whispered, finding comfort in his unconsciousness. “All of you do..”

“I love you. More than you know...”

***

You expected jungkook to be gone when you woke up, but there he was- still laid in your arms. He looked peaceful. Even with the cuts and bruises on his face, he was beautiful. And there it goes  again- butterflies in your stomach. It was a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. The feeling was warm and comfortable, but also scary.

But you couldn’t lay in bed all day, admiring all of Jungkook’s features. The farm needed tending to, and breakfast needed to be made. When you went to sit up, a pair of hands quickly pulled you back down.

“Don’t leave yet”, he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Kook”, you sighed, pretending to be irritated. “I’ve gotta go cook and feed the animals. You can come help if you want.”

He shook his head, pouting like a sad little kid. “Hobi already tended to the farm and Yoon made everyone breakfast. Now, lay down with me please.”

“Oh” was all you could say. You didn’t have any other excuse. The guys made sure of that. So you let him cuddle you, the way you did him. And for a while, you laid in his arms peacefully.

“You trust me tight?” Kook questioned.

“With my life”.

He scooted closer to you, putting his head in the crook of your neck. You could feel him breathing on you, making you nervous.

“Just trust me, okay?”

You nodded. “O-okay.”

Taking his sweet time, he placed gentle kisses from your neck to your ear. It had you squirming in anticipation, wondering where his lips would move to next.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now”, he breathed by your ear, running a hand up and down your waist. One hand made its way to your breast, messaging it through your night shirt. You gasp at the sudden feeling, giving him room to connect your lips with his. The kiss was soft and gentle, yet it still made you’re mind go blank. “Namjoon would loose his mind if he knew.”

You pushed away immediately after hearing his name. Namjoon, their pack leader. What would he think about the pack maknae comforting you in your bed? Your stomach turned just thinking about it.

“I should probably go check on the others, it’s a little too quiet”, you thought up an excuse, leaving a dumbfounded Jungkook in your bedroom.

***

As you walked down the creeky stairs, the aroma of pancakes and syrup surrounded you. When you entered the living room, four hybrids sitting on the couch devouring their plate.

“Oh! You’re awake!” Hoseok beamed. “Yoon thought we should wait for you to come down, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay”, you smiled. The smell of the morning breakfast was making your stomach growl. Jimin scooted to the edge of the couch, making some room for you to sit.

“Here, grab your plate and you can watch with us”, he offered. The Saturday cartoons were on, Tae’s favorite. Tom and Jerry always made him laugh, and don’t even get him started on road runner.

“Sorry, I can’t. Lots of farm work to do. But let’s play a game outside later!”

Jin, lying down on the other side of the couch, pointed a finger at Hoseok. “Hobi already did it! The silos are full and the chicken coops are clean! I fed the animals too!”

The stairs creaked once more. Jungkook, with his doe eyes and fluffy hair, entered the living room. “Good Morning”, he greeted in his raspy morning voice.

You could feel the butterflies again.

“You sure slept well, didn’t you?” Jimin smirked. “You might want to adjust your self, kook. It’s looking right at me.”

He glared at jimin. “What are you ta- Oh shit.”

If Jimin didn’t say anything, you would’ve never noticed, but now you can’t unsee it- the tent in the bunny hybrids pants. The others laughed at him while you blushed feverishly. 

“What were you dreaming about kookie?” Tae teased the youngest.

“More like who was he dreaming about?” Hobi joined in. You couldn’t even think straight. Instead of joining in the taunting banter, you decided to quietly grab a seat and try to wipe the red off your face.

But Jungkook wasn’t going to let you get away so easily.

“Blame Y/n! It’s her fault”, He exclaimed with his back turned adjusting himself. Suddenly all eyes shifted to your side of the couch, and you could no longer hide your embarrassment. And with the embarrassment was also shock.

“I- I didn’t! We never-“ You stuttered trying to find the right words. Was there any right way to explain how you made their pack mate hard? Probably not…

“You worry too much”, Kook huffed, slightly irritated. “You’re our family now. I’m as just as close to you as I am my pack. You practically are apart of us now!”

You tugged at the loose string on your shirt, eyes on the floor as if you had just been scolded. “But Namjoon-“

“Joon will come around eventually”, Jin interjected. “He knows where home is. He’ll make his way back to us soon.”

***

The room felt cold, ice cold. And even though he hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he already knew where he was.

“No! Please, Not again!” Joon begged, body trembling.

The men in white lab coats laughed. “You’re lucky you still alive. We can keep it that way, too! Just tell me where the others are and no one has to get hurt.”

Namjoon laid on the cold white floors, gripping the metal bars caging him in. If the bars weren’t there, everyone in the room would’ve been dead, by his hand. Just hearing the sinister laugh of the people who hurt his pack made him want to tear them into shreds.

“Fuck you!” He spat. He banged and beat on the cell bars, but It was no use. He couldn’t break them. And now he’s in a situation he cannot escape.

And now he’s silently calling you for help.

Please, he begged. Save me!

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[iid-smile]

can't get rid of me , fushiguro toji

a strong legacy to be left behind , chapter one

the series masterlist. | previous | next

cw: profanity, mentions of pregnancy (pills) but filtered for megumi's sake, mentions of violence in prison, you're broke, smoking cigarettes

author's note: sigh... im out of my fluff era 😞 (sorry guys) kinda wanted to write something that i think would actually happen in some sort of alternate jjk universe and um idk how far to go because this kind of stuff does happen in the manga, but writing it feels illegal??? idk...

"mom?" megumi peeks out from around the corner in the hallway. "who was calling?"

another groan escapes your lips, around the fifth one in the last three minutes, and you silence your phone once again. "your— excuse my language, shitty deadbeat dad keeps wanting to call me." you slap your hand across your forehead and lean back on the couch, a small creak coming from somewhere below. "apparently he's getting aggressive in prison. shut off the house phone, but they still found my number..."

your son comes closer to you, and you scoop him up, placing him by your side. he glances up at you, and you swear your fight or flight instincts nearly kicked in, (not that you'd be able to fight of a guy as big as toji anyways) flinching slightly from his sharp gaze. it sucks how he looks so much like his dad, because you loved megumi so much. but the image of that guy was almost too much to bear, and he's the spitting image.

"shitty?" he repeats. for a well-behaved kid, he really doesn't respect your words.

"don't say that megs, it's bad language." you swear around him all of the time, so what's the point in scolding him? "only your mama can say it."

"don't tell me what to do."

wow. okay. why do you feel threatened by a six year old? "damn, you've got his attitude too." you mutter, but you've only got yourself to blame for that. you knew you were never cut out to be a mother, so your ways of parenting weren't the best.

he snuggles closer to you, and you openly accept, moving your free hand to his hair to rub over it. "why can't i see toji?"

ah, this lovely story again. "because he left me as soon as you were born, love." really, you couldn't and didn't want to stop yourself from wrapping him up in your arms, feeling the need to protect him. "at this point, he's dead to me. seems like he doesn't feel the same though... i'm so sick of his ass." you also knew it wasn't good parenting to rant to your child about adult issues, but you've only got him to talk to.

that hug was out of comfort then. why are you lying to yourself?

he looks up at you with an irritatingly cute but blank face. "why?"

"god, i hate how many questions you ask." you speak under your breath once again, looking up at the ceiling from any sort of help from a higher being. the amount of times you've had to family-friendly-ify things that have happened isn't even funny. you're not naturally rated u for universal. it's more embarrassing when he recites those same stories to his teachers, and you get called into the school for a little talk.

yikes... here we go. "he lied when he said he gave me the right magical candy after we visited the stork. tried to make it drop you off back to where babies are made in heaven, but i wanted it to deliver you to me, whether he liked that or not." the story's got to be a little filtered somehow. you'd rather not get yourself in the principal's office again. "you're my little hero; a miracle to me. i would've given up on myself ages ago. your dad is a bad, bad man."

the type that would kill. if he found where you lived, or perhaps where megumi goes to school...

"and now i'm left broke in an apartment that barely functions, yet i still spoil my little hero." you sing-song, leaning your head back. "and with what money? i'm broke as hell, megs. can't even make both of us breakfast in the morning cuz your elementary school is too damn expensive."

"is this my fault?"

"...no. no, baby, of course not." you furrow your eyebrows more, a small pout in your lips. "if anything, you made my situation a bit more fortunate."

it's a selfish way of thinking, using your child to avoid solving your problems, using your child to wail and complain about how much you hate your life, but you've got nothing to lose. nothing to lose except for the one person you love.

you can feel your phone buzzing again.

"you stay here and watch tv, okay? mama's gonna go to the kitchen and talk to her friend." he seems a bit relieved as you let go of him, and you stand up.

you hear him mutter. "it's only playing the news though..." no shit it only plays the news, you can't afford to get a good television company that has any kids shows. that is, unless you wanna get scammed out of all of your money.

begrudgingly, you make your way to the kitchen, confirm that you closed the door completely, and answer the vibrating device. "hello?" you sigh, placing the device over your ear.

the other person on the call replies quickly. "is this miss—"

"yeah, yeah, it is. what the hell do you want?"

"um... we apologise, but we strongly suggest that you come to the prison building. he—" the guy's voice cracks. must be really nervous. "pardon me. he's been physically assaulting other inmates and guards, he doesn't follow orders, he never leaves his cell unless it's to visit the closed visits room. you know, in hopes that you'll come..."

obsessed much? where was this energy six years ago? "that's got nothing to do with me."

"please, ma'am. he won't listen to anyone, and we are unable to place him into special facilities as he doesn't emit any cursed energy." ah, he's begging? that's a first. you never would've thought you'd hear a person who works at a prison begging.

cursed energy, cursed energy, this talk again and again and again. "urgh..." you take a deep breath. your options are limited, and they won't stop calling until they can get that lunatic to calm down... surprise, surprise, you really don't want to go.

but if you were really uninterested in him, wouldn't you have already spent the bail money that's been sat on the counter for ages, neatly concealed in an envelope? wouldn't you have paid off all of your debts already? "will i— hm..." choose your words carefully, goddamn it. "can i get a reward of some sort if i go? money?"

"yes, yes! please do visit. there's nothing we can legally do to him in check anymore." ...you think this guy sounds a little too eager.

damn toji and his "supernatural powers", or else you wouldn't get yourself into this mess. finally, after your moment of silence, you respond. "okay. i'll visit."

"thank you—!" you cut off the line.

"fucking bastard..." you drop your phone on the counter, running your hands through your hair and over your face. "stressing me out for what? you don't even love me." your words turn into whispers. with haste, you rummage through your back pocket, trying to find those last few cigarettes, but as your hands were occupied, your eyes moved over to the ashtray that was collecting dust on top of the microwave. oh, right... you don't smoke anymore because there's no ventilation indoors.

you'd have to head out if you wanted to, but then megumi would be in the apartment on his own. and nobody can babysit, because you don't have anybody to ask to babysit. great, you can't smoke until monday. it's a friday afternoon. you have two whole days to get through!

you know for a fact your addiction won't hold out for that long.

[zumicho]

home┊prologue┊002

001: iced lemon loaves & self deprecating humor

© zumicho all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my works on any platform.

────────────────────────

cw: language, mentions “maul” “die” & sexual jokes

“do you not have any friends?” a tousled head of dirty blond stands before you, his toned arms crossed over his chest. it’s only been five minutes; he’s already cutting five years off of your lifespan.

there’s a heartbreaker kind of look in his eyes that warns you to avoid him. you ignore it. “that’s an odd question to ask a stranger.” he’s not your type anyway; it doesn’t matter how much he pesters you.

“we don’t have to be strangers.” he stretches his hand out. “I’m miya atsumu, and my friend thinks you’re hot.” friendly (suspicious), you shake it.

“you or your friend?”

as he opens his mouth to reply, the door chimes cut him off. three people walk in. one is trailing behind the two—defeated, like he’s failed a mission. you look at the one that talked to you, and then to him. twins, you note. this one’s got better hair.

there’s a reserved figure that walks ahead of them with an air of authority around him. the captain? you wonder, noticing the sport uniforms. he bows at you politely. you like this one.

“don’t listen to him.” the third person speaks up, and your mouth goes agape. he’s gorgeous. “sorry on his behalf.” he’s perfect.

“do you all play soccer or something?” you wince at their reactions.

“volleyball, actually.” — twin #1.

“oh! my bad!!!” you pale. god. “that’s cool. cool cool cool. cool.”

“cool with you if we get something to eat?” god’s favorite teases, all the others staring at you both. your ears turn a deeper shade of red each second.

“..huh?” you blank.

“oh. RIGHT. um, what can I get you?” you want to crawl in a hole and die, but hiding behind the counter will do for now.

you hear crickets as atsumu opens his mouth. “your number?”

“for suna here.” he adds as he gestures.

he clearly can handle himself, “ignore him. I’m not in the market for any relationships. nor am I interested.”

miya glares at him. “that’s mean, man. she looks disappointed.”

“I’m not.” you correct. “even if I was, it’s not like I’d have a chance.” your lips move faster than your brain.

“talk about self deprecating humor.” gray-haired twin #2 smiles at you, considerate. that lets your shoulders relax a bit.

“this is all really awkward,” suna says, “but we could really use some cupcakes or something.”

the captain steps up, and you maybe unintentionally notice that suna’s the tallest. “can we please get those cookies that were on twitter? if it’s not a problem.” he’s formal.

“sure. how many?”

“four.” the twins echo.

“make that three.” — s

you look up at him, confused. “you don’t want anything?”

“those look good.”

you follow his line of sight, and grin. iced lemon loaves.

“yeah. good pick.”

────────────────────────

author’s note: i made tsumu the punchline / punching bag in this au but oh well 😭 it had to be someone 😭 i also hate writing the embarassed / nervous character SO MUCH i cringe while i write.. i really don’t like this episode but idk what about my writing irks me here and IDK WHAT TO CHANGEEE i need 2 learn how to write dialogue better cause im DYINGGGGHHH OVER HERE

@phoenix-eclipses @thechaosoflonging @yuminako @nbcvs @tenjikusstuff4 @intergalacticrory @sonicsolos @yenonnoff @wyrcan @cnnmairoll @causenessus @reads-stuff-quietly @giocriedpower @applepi25 @gra-eae @lilchubbyyy @thvvluvr @toges-cough-syrup

[rosieswriting]

Barty Crouch Jr x Hufflepuff!reader

Summary: After the birthday of your dear friend, Pandora Rosier, Barty doesn´t seem as bad as he did before

Note: I took one of the request of reader "tutoring" barty not knowing he doesn´t need it by @treefairy-28 thank youuuu. And english is not my first language so it probably has some mistakes! And i will do a part 2 to where things get really interesting

Words: 3,2K

You’d always hated Barty Crouch Junior. Everything about him grated on your nerves—the way he spoke too loudly in class, yet still managed to top every exam; the infuriating pet names he used for you; his smug belief that being a Slytherin somehow made him superior, especially to Hufflepuffs like you. His walk, his talk—everything about him seemed designed to annoy you. Luckily, you’d always managed to ignore him. Until now.

You’d recently been paired with Pandora Rosier for a Potions project, and to your surprise, you’d quickly grown close. How had you not been friends before? She was sweet, caring, and easy to talk to—similar to you in so many ways. When her birthday rolled around, she invited you to a small celebration at the Three Broomsticks with her twin, Evan, and a few of his friends. Including him. You’d thought long and hard about it, knowing you’d have to deal with Barty, but in the end, you decided to go. After all, it was for Pandora, and you could always try to ignore him.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, busier than you’d expected. It seemed half of Hogwarts was out celebrating. Just as you were scanning the room, you heard Pandora’s cheerful voice calling your name.

“Happy Birthday!” you said warmly, pulling her into a hug and handing her a small box containing a silver necklace.

Pandora’s eyes lit up as she opened it. “Oh, I love this! Thank you so much,” she beamed, hugging you again. “Come on, we’re over here.”

She led you through the crowded room toward a cozy corner table. And, of course, as you approached, you saw Evan Rosier, Regulus Black and Barty leaning back in his chair, already watching you with that familiar smirk.

“Hi” you mumbled a bit shyly to the slytherin as you sat next to Pandora, and to your luck, Barty was seated right in front of you. Regulus and Evan gave you a slight nod of acknowledgment and continue their conversation.

“Look who decided to join us” Barty teased raising his eyebrows “Dindt think you would show up, Treasure”

“Barty” Pandora said with a warning tone to his friend, trying to shut him up. But he only raised his hands in self innocence and exuse himself with a poor “just trying to start a conversation”

“I wouldn’t miss Dora´s birthday just because I have to deal with you, Junior” you said with a fake sweet smile to him.

“Deal with me? You wound me Badger” he said and you rolled your eyes at the nickname.

“If its any consolation, im actually impressed that your ego managed to fit through the door” is the last thing you say before turning to talk to Pandora and ignore him.

You and your blonde friend talk for some time, she telling you about how her birthday has been and all the presents she got. At some point you start to get thirsty.

“Im gonna ask for something to drink, ill be right back” you say kindly as you stand up from the chair.

“I’ll go with you” you hear Barty says as he stands up as well.

“Great” you whisper under your breath as you start to make your way to the bar, him following behind you.

You ordered a butterbeer, and Barty, naturally, ordered the same, positioning himself so close that his shoulder brushed against yours. The warm, subtle contact sent an unexpected flutter through you, though you tried to ignore it.

“I must admit,” he began, leaning down just enough to speak directly into your ear, “when Evan told us Dora would invite you, my expectations for tonight went up higher.”

“Good for you,” you muttered, turning to face him with an eye roll, only to find his face so close that you could feel his breath on your cheek. You quickly turned your gaze forward again, pretending to study the bottles lined up behind the bar. He chuckled, catching the slight blush that had crept up your cheeks “When Dora mentioned you were coming, I almost declined her invitation” you continued, doing your best to sound unfazed

 “If you say so. But, can I just say, you show up here looking like this, put me in my place with that sweet, sassy voice of yours… you’re killing me here.”

Despite yourself, you feel warmth creeping up your cheeks.  Thankfully, the bartender hands you both your drinks before you have to answer. You turn to make your way back to the table, but Barty steps in front of you, forcing you to stop short as he smirks down at you, close enough that you catch the faintest spark in his gaze.

“You know, I think you secretly like driving me a little mad,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes. “It’s cute, really—seeing you pretend to be so above it all.”

“Pretend?” you scoff, raising an eyebrow as you try to sidestep him. “Trust me, Junior, I’m not pretending anything.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, following you smoothly, keeping pace as you try to dodge around him. “Then explain why you look so flustered.”

“I’m not—” You stop, realizing he’s caught you, the faint blush on your cheeks betraying you. You try to shrug it off, holding your head high. “In your dreams, Junior”

He grins, leaning in close enough that his voice is a murmur just for you. “Oh, Treasure. In my dreams we are doing more than talking. Belive me”

You huffed, finally brushing past him and making your way back to the table. “Idiot,” you muttered, though you couldn’t ignore the faint thrill left in the air.

Sliding back into your seat next to Pandora, you tried to steady yourself as she happily dove back into conversation, thankfully distracting you from the lingering heat in your cheeks and Barty’s lingering gaze across the table.

As the night wore on, you and the slytherins stepped out of the warm, bustling atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks into the chilly night air. The sharp bite of winter nipped at your skin, making you shiver as you wrapped your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to keep warm. You hadn’t brought a jacket and now you were regretting it.

Pandora was chatting animatedly with Evan and Regulus, blissfully unaware of your growing discomfort. Barty walked alongside you, his familiar smirk already playing on his lips. You knew he was about to make a comment, and you braced yourself.

Without warning, Barty slipped off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around you before you had the chance to protest. “Here, wear this,” he said, his voice low and smooth, ignoring your startled expression. “You look like you’re about to freeze to death.”

You blinked at him, flustered. “You don´t have to-” you start but he cuts you off.

“Please, like I’d let you suffer while I stand here all warm and toasty.” He chuckled. “You show up looking all stunning, and I won’t let you ruin it by turning into an icicle.”

Your cheeks flushed at the unexpected gesture, the warmth of his jacket enveloping you like a shield. You tried to regain your composure, shivering slightly as you adjusted the jacket to fit more snugly. “Thanks, but I don’t need your charity, Junior.” You weren´t willing to give up that easily.

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it? Charity?” he teased, falling into step beside you again, his grin infuriatingly charming. “I thought it was more of a gentlemanly move, if you will.”

“Gentlemanly? You?” You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You must be joking.”

“Why so skeptical? I can be quite the gentleman when the mood strikes me,” he said, leaning in closer again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I can’t have my favorite Hufflepuff catching a cold now, can I?”

You felt a rush of warmth flood your cheeks at his words, and you tried to deflect, “You’re just doing this to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he replied, a cheeky glint in his eyes. “But I also happen to enjoy the view when you’re flustered. You should see your face right now. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” You repeated incredulously, fighting the urge to smile. “You really think you’re charming, don’t you?”

He leaned back slightly, feigning deep thought. “Well, I wouldn’t say charming. More like irresistible.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you shot him a glare. “Keep dreaming, Junior.”

“Trust me, I will,” he shot back with that devil-may-care grin.

Pandora turned to you both, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh my gosh, you two are so cute! You’re practically flirting!” she gushed, completely unaware of your desire to bury your face in your hands.

“Flirting?” you exclaimed, turning to Barty in disbelief. “This isn’t flirting; it’s sheer torture!”

Barty chuckled, his gaze locked on yours, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Torture? Maybe I’ll have to keep it up then. Can’t have you getting too comfortable, can we?”

As you walked back to Hogwarts, you could feel the weight of his jacket around your shoulders, and though you’d never admit it, the warmth was more than just physical. Despite the banter and the bickering, you couldn’t shake the flutter in your stomach. Barty Crouch Junior might drive you mad, but maybe—just maybe—there was something nice about having him around after all.

You arrive to Hogwarts and everyone makes their way to their common room, the boys to Slytherin´s, Pandora to Ravenclaw´s and you to Hufflepuff´s. You get into your dorm quietly, because even if it was a Friday night, your roomates were sleeping.

As you began to undress, you suddenly realized you still had Barty’s jacket draped over your shoulders. Great, you thought with an eye roll. Now I have to see him again. You sighed, folding it neatly and placing it in your wardrobe alongside your other clothes.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to wash off your makeup and change into your pajamas, you settled into bed. The comfort of your blankets enveloped you, but no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, the memory of Barty's teasing grin lingered in your mind.

You hated that the last thought before sleep was that goddamn smirk of his—so infuriating yet somehow captivating. With a frustrated huff, you turned over, determined to banish thoughts of him, but the image of his charming arrogance persisted, a playful reminder of the night’s events.

You woke up the next day, the soft sunlight filtering through the windows of your dormitory. The quiet of the weekend morning was a welcome contrast to the usual hustle and bustle of school life. You moved through your routine slowly, knowing you had no classes to rush to today. After freshing up, you dressed casually and made your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. You decided to take Barty´s jacket with you, so you could return it as soon as possible.

And thanks to Merlin, when you enter the Great Hall you immediately spotted him at the Slytherin table with his friends. You wave at your own friends and make them a signal to wait for you as you approached the green table, your friends staring at you like you had gone crazy.

“Junior” you call out softly from behind him.

Barty´s head whipped around, his grin widening when he saw you “Treasure!” his voice was full of amusement as he looked you up and down “Miss me alredy?”

You rolled your eyes and extended his jacket over him “Im here to return this, and to say thank you again” even if he was insufferable, you were always polite.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased by your words, as he took the jacket from you “You know, I was hoping you would keep it for longer. You did look amazing in it. Not that I didn’t like you in your top, of course”

You felt the heat increasing in your cheeks at his words but try to hide it with a scoff, your hands instinctively moving to fold your arms across your chest. “Whatever” you muttered, stepping back and already starting to turn away “Goodbye”

Some days later you were sitting with your friends in the courtyard, laughing as you discussed the latest mishap in Potions class, when you noticed a familiar figure making his way toward you. Barty Crouch Jr, in all his swagger, had that unmistakable smirk as he approached your small circle, his eyes already fixed on you.

"Treasure," he greeted smoothly, nodding to your friends before focusing entirely on you. "Got a minute?"

You raised an eyebrow, a bit taken aback that he’d be seeking you out in broad daylight, in front of witnesses no less. “Depends. What do you want, Junior?”

He chuckled, unfazed by your tone. "Pandora said you’re somewhat of an expert in Magical Creatures. Thought maybe you could help a struggling Slytherin with a few... basics.”

Your friends exchanged glances, one of them biting back a smile as they elbowed each other. You tried to ignore it, focusing on Barty. “Struggling?” you echoed, skeptical. “You’re one of the top students. Why do you need my help?”

He shrugged, managing to look both innocent and mischievous. “Call it an off week. I could use some extra guidance.”

One of your friends couldn’t resist chiming in, “Are you sure you don’t just want to copy her notes, Barty?”

“Oh, I’d love to copy,” he said, giving you a pointed look, “but I think I’d learn more if we… studied together. Say, this afternoon?”

“Fine,” you said, ignoring the snickers from your friends. “The library at six?”

“Or my room?” he suggested, not missing a beat. “Much quieter. Comfier too.”

You rolled your eyes, even as your friends burst into laughter. “Nice try. The library will do just fine.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning disappointment. “Heartbreaking, really. I was hoping for a more… private lesson.”

“Guess you’ll just have to settle for learning in public,” you replied, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “See you at six, Junior.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his smirk widening.

With that, he turned and sauntered off, leaving your friends barely containing their laughter.

“Oh, Merlin,” one of them said as soon as he was out of earshot, “did Barty Crouch Jr. just ask you for a tutoring session?”

You sighed, trying not to show the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “Apparently. And he’d better actually need help with Magical Creatures.”

But even as you turned back to your conversation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this “study session” was going to be anything but ordinary.

That evening, you made your way to the library with a stack of notes on magical creatures and a determination to focus—no matter how distracting your “student” might try to be. When you arrived, you saw Barty lounging at a back table, idly flipping through a book that looked suspiciously unrelated to magical creatures.

“Good, you’re here,” he said with a grin as you sat down. “I was starting to think you’d stand me up.”

You rolled your eyes as you sat in front of him “Almost did” you mumble under your breath as you opened your book and notes. The library was quiet as you huddled over a hefty tome on magical creatures, quills and parchment spread across the table between you. It seemed like he was genuinely focused—or at least, he pretended to be.

“Alright, Junior” you said, pointing to a section in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, “why don’t you tell me everything you know about hippogriffs?”

He gave you a thoughtful look, scratching his chin as if deep in concentration. “Hmm… majestic creatures, proud, can be very dangerous if approached incorrectly… does that sound right?”

You tilted your head, eyeing him suspiciously. “So you do know about them, after all. That’s a decent start.”

“Well, I have the basics,” he said with a little grin, “but I wouldn’t call myself an expert. That’s where you come in, Treasure.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, nudging the book closer to him. “Alright, fine. Hippogriffs are proud, but there’s more to them than that. They’re highly sensitive and require respect—bowing to them before approaching is essential.”

He nodded, trying to keep a straight face, though you could tell he was amused. “Bowing. Got it. Sort of like dealing with you, isn’t it? Respect, admiration…”

You huffed, fighting the warmth creeping into your cheeks. “Keep it up, and I’ll leave you to fend for yourself next time we have a test.”

“Anything but that,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his grin didn’t fade. “You’re far too charming when you’re lecturing me on magical creatures.”

You ignored him and went over a few more creatures, each time finding him surprisingly attentive. He asked questions—good ones, actually—and seemed engaged in a way you hadn’t expected. You started to think maybe he genuinely did want to learn more about the subject.

As the library began to empty, you glanced at the time. “We should probably get some dinner before the house-elves clear the tables,” you said, gathering your notes.

You started to walk to the Great Hall, still in conversation about the finer points of bowtruckles, when something slipped out from under his arm and fluttered to the ground. You instinctively bent down to pick it up, and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the parchment. It was an essay titled “The Lifecycle of Thestrals” with “A” scrawled at the top in red ink. The neat handwriting and the perfectly structured points left no doubt: Barty had known exactly what he was doing in Care of Magical Creatures all along.

You blinked, looking from the essay to Barty, who wore a guilty-but-unbothered grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

“Guilty as charged,” he replied, his smirk widening.

You scoffed, folding your arms. “Unbelievable. So you wasted my time?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a low murmur. “Come on, can you really blame me?” His eyes held that familiar glint. “When Pandora mentioned you were the go-to expert on magical creatures, I knew I couldn’t miss the chance. I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend a few hours with someone as pretty as you, Treasure?”

Heat crept up your cheeks, and you looked away, trying not to let him see how flustered you felt. “You are unbelievable,” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

“Unbelievably charming? I’ll take it,” he said, grinning as you approached the Great Hall. “I had a great time, by the way. Maybe next time, we can have a... more private study session.”

He threw you a wink before sauntering off toward the Slytherin table, leaving you standing there, cheeks flushed, speechless, and—if you were being honest with yourself—a bit confused. Because somehow, despite his insufferable arrogance, the idea of spending more time with him didn’t sound half as annoying as you’d expected.

[skullvgirl]

language barriers | barou

incl. a very confused barou shouei ᡣ𐭩

warnings. fem reader, fluff, suggestive dialogue, established relationship, ooc

an's. bold letter is your native language & japaneese

10:32 AM

"shouei" you called. your boyfriend came almost immediately, although he wasn't far.

"we should try this" you handed him your phone, letting the video of a couple speaking in their native languages as a challenge play.

he raised an eyebrow and gave you back your phone.

"why would we wanna do that, i don't speak (native language) and you don't speak japaneese"

"uhh, tuh-eyeah—that's the point silly, come on we should do it, it'll only be for today and tomorrow!"

barou thought too himself for a moment,

"and we can see who can go the longest without cracking, i call dibs on going first!"

and then eventually.

"sure why not"

"yes!"

11:36 AM

"shouei, give me the remote", you asked politely, motioning for him to give you the object.

your boyfriend stared curiously at you for a moment before you asked again, only this time in a more demanding tone.

"the remote shouei, right next to you" you started pointing at the black box, smiling because of how innocent he looked at the moment.

a look of revelation crossed his face before finally, "this?" he asked unsure of himself, but he was picking up the right thing.

"yes," you nodded your head, "bring it here please", you held your hand out and waited for barou to cross the room.

"sit down" you said, patting the open space next to you and he did so immediately, staring directly into your eyes as a way to show he understood you.

aw, he's so cute like this...maybe ill tease him a bit

"good boy" you purred, linking arms with him on the couch, occasionally glancing over at him and commenting on the movie playing. he nodded his head like he understood you but you were sure he didn't.

"shouei" he turned his head, he understood that.

" am i saying right now?" he began to nod his head again but quickly stopped as the grin on your face grew.

he bit his lip instead , his eyebrows knitting together to form a concentrated look on his face. "uhm...i don't...i"

you giggled at his reluctantly to say the word. "what you don't know? come on tell me love, what aren't you getting hm?"

barou blushed at your words, he didn't know much of ( native language ) but he did know one thing : pet names, and this one was the easiest to remember.

love? he thought. is she saying she loves me?

wow, this was more frustrating that he thought, he regrets not putting any of his own conditions on the game beforehand.

well its no use now might as well give it a go...

"i love you too, yn...?" you burst out laughing and his face began to turn red. you began speaking again but it was reduced to gibberish and nonsense because of how little ( native language ) he knew.

gosh, i really gotta learn some ( native language ) one day...this is killing me

"shouei you're so sweet you know that? the best boyfriend in the world in my opinion"

the confused look on barou's face persisted and he couldn't even read your body language properly because of one: how much you were giggling and two: you were staring directly into his eyes, not to mention a third thing, three : ( although he doesn't like admitting it ) you made him quite nervous sometimes. right now was definitely one of those times.

his heart picked up speed.

"fuck, i can't, i give up, talk to me baby whatter you saying?"

he broke, holding your hands in his, lookimg just as deeply into your eyes as you were his. you touched foreheads.

"oh i don't know, what am i saying shou? something good i hope" you grinned cheeckily.

his face was troubled, but only for a moment. he had an idea.

"fine, you're being that way?" and before you could say any more you were suddenly seeing the couch cushions with your hands held securely behind your back.

"guess im gonna have to force it out of you", barou began lifting your shirt, twirling his fingers featherlight on your skin.

fuck, you didn't know any japanese, what was be saying. "wait wait wait, okay im sorry you win"

"nahh...i dont think so...what goes around comes back around sweetheart, sorry"

fuck, you really didn't know japanese !

an's. this isnt sexual btw, yn got tickled to death.

[narcolini]

white room - pt. 1

johnny davis (the bikeriders) x reader, 18+, canon typical themes and language, 2.8k words, 1 of ? johnny as a miserable bisexual divorcee and reader as someone too chilled and lonely to give a fuck a/n: it's written to be gender neutral, but there are a few references implying they may be afab (not overkill its just a very gendered landscape)

“Go fuck your good self, then.”

The door slams behind you and the window pane shakes with it, piece of shit car that it is, with an equally large turd of a guy running the thing. 

“Crazy bitch,” is the cab driver’s goodbye call, and yeah, maybe. But he’s the one dumping you in the wrong end of town—and after dark, no less. All you’d done was get a cab after a party, knowing you left all your cash in one of the boots under your bed, with the mad hope that the guy behind the wheel might just be kind enough to let you ride along on a promise. You had every intention of running upstairs to get him his fee, while he kept the engine running, mind you, but that uptight jack didn’t wanna hear a thing about it. Even had the nerve to ask you to comp him 'with those pretty lips o’ yours’, which is round about where you started calling him a filthy no-good perv, and he started pulling over in the middle of nowhere. 

Now you’re standing in the dark in nothin but your too-cheap denim jacket, that you never should’ve bought ‘cause you got shirts thicker than this, staring at a corner side bar that’s almost definitely filled with a hundred more of those cab driver types. Not in the driving sense, but in the fuck anyone that isn’t a man like us sense, you know? 

But what can you do? It’s in there, or out here, and you’re not in the shoes for walking, never mind running, so it’s not much of a choice at all.

You go up in a way like you been here before, like you know the name of the place even though the paint’s chipped off and the light ain’t lighting anymore, and in the time it takes to cross the street, you see three guys go in, three come out, and not a single woman or anyone else, so much as look at the place. It’d be a lie to say your heartbeat was going a speed anywhere near close to normal. Which is another thing you try and hide as you push through the door into the chaos of it all. 

It’s not a bar, it’s a God damn wolf den. 

You make it two steps and already you seen enough beer, and enough skin, and heard enough dogwhistles to consider just how bad it could really be to run barefoot across town. Your feet would only hurt a little bit, right? They seen you now though, and with the amount of bikes they got lined up outside, you wouldn’t even make it to the next block before one of them caught up to you. And then what? Might as well try talking wolf while you’re in here, better that than squaring up with one of them in some stinking alleyway.  

“You got a phone, big guy?” you ask, to the first one that really looks at you. He’s a head taller than you but it seems like that head’s spinning, so you figure he needs a little more explanation to get going. “Behind the bar or something? A payphone?”

He takes a while to reply, like you’re speaking some other language, then he says, “I got something you can ride, honey.”

And now you’re back in the cab all over again, and you’re still going fuckin' nowhere.

“Forget about it.”

You shove past him, and another two men smelling of liquor, until you can plant both hands on the edge of the bar and speak to the owner directly. At least, you think it’s the owner. Cause he’s stood back there, with a towel slung over his shoulder, and he’s the only one giving all of these animals their liquid feed for the night. 

“Hey," you start, “do you got a phone? One I could use?”

Instead of answering, he looks right over your head. Imagine that, like you ain’t there at all, right over and into the space behind. It takes a second, but then you realise it’s not just bad manners, it’s only that there’s someone else coming up to the back of you who’s much more important, to him anyway. 

And now, that’s a guy you look twice at.

He’s not tall, but he’s not short neither, something in the middle that suits you just right, if it mattered. Face like he’s seen some things too, but his hair’s combed all neat like he hasn’t seen nothin. If it weren’t for the bent pinky on his one hand and the scar on his knuckles across the other, you might think he was some sort of regular guy. But he got a walk like he owns the place, more than the barman, that's for sure, and the shirt he’s wearing is plastered with the same exact name as the rest of all these guys: VANDALS. Doesn’t take much to figure that he’s top dog of them. Vandal of the Vandals.

He slides right up to you like you asked him to, sitting his forearms on the edge—next to where your hands are. 

“Nah,” he says. Just like that. Nah.

You feel like laughing. “No?”

“Nah,” his head shakes, “you don’t wanna be in here.”

If it’s advice, it kinda feels like a threat and, well, if it’s a threat, it sorta feels like advice. A decent bit of it at that, cause he is right. You don’t wanna be in here. 

“Don’t want doesn’t make up for need,” you tell him. “And I need to use a phone, if you got one.”

“What for?”

“A cab?” Then you do laugh. “What? You worried I’ll ring your bill up by calling international?”

He makes a strange, sorta dismissive noise as he’s pushing off from the bar. “Worried you’d call some little boyfriend of yours,” he mumbles, then he walks round to the serving side and pulls a phone from under the lip of it.

“No boyfriend, sir. Just a mighty need to get home.” And the fuck outta this place.

He picks the handset up, spinning the dial without asking you for nothin, his eyes sitting on something you can’t see right in front of him. A number maybe. “Not many drivers will pick you up from here,” he says. "This one…yeah, well, you can try it.”

Any hope you had is fast disappearing on you. “That bad, huh?”

He passes you the phone, the twisty cord going all the way straight just to reach you. 

It connects as you put it up to your ear, and some lady with a voice all too quiet for telephones greets you on the other side, rushing you to the point before you can even try and warm her up a little.

"Hi, yeah, so I need a cab but I won’t be able to pay the guy until we get there, is that something your—hello? Hello?” You tut. The empty tone in your ear is a stinging slap to the face, right there, right across the cheekbone. “Motherfucker,” you say, but she’s already all the way gone. She didn’t even hear you out.

And this guy? Well he’s smiling when you look back at him, doing an awful bad job at pretending like he ain’t been listening. “Yeah," he clears his throat to hide a laugh he won’t laugh, “you should’a said you had no money. No cab’s gonna—”

“I know,” you snap. “Still had to ask though, didn’t I?”

He shrugs, nodding at sorta the same time like he agrees with you, even though his face is fixed like he don’t agree at all. Like you’re awful naive for thinking they might even listen to you in the first place.

“Guess I’m walkin’ then,” you decide. You pass him the handset, but he’s too slow to take it, so you go on your toes to lean over and put it back yourself. Hard and pissy with it. Shitty taxi service. Shitty phone. Shitty bar.

“You want a drink?”

Your heels hit the floor again. “What?"

He puts his hand out like he works here now, pointing to all the dingy bottles waiting behind him. “A beer…or?”

“Yeah," you test, “what’s the or?”

“Or,” he says, slow with it, "you sit round drinking nothin’ and wait until I can take you home.”

Your brows shoot up like he’s told a lie bigger than any you’ve ever heard. “You gonna take me home?” you ask, thinking yeah, he’s gonna take you home, and you’re gonna be the next big Santy Claus. 

He nods and it keeps going, like his head gets away from him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can give you a ride.”

For a second, you find yourself worrying about it. “That code for something else?”

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jeans and sets one in-between his lips. “No. S’just a ride.”

You watch the lighter flip, the cigarette catch. Watch him take a drag and blow it out again. He isn’t acting drunk, and he don’t seem like he cares either way, whether you take a ride from him or not. All he seems bothered about is finding the end of that smoke, and popping the cap off another beer. 

If these are wolves, then he’s the oldest of them. The most tired and nicked with battle scars. From where you’re standing, that makes him the least threatening too, cause you come with a whole load of baggage, and he looks like he’s got even more than that. And anyone with all that shit on their shoulders? Yeah, they’re not gonna be no sort of trouble at all. They just wanna get home at night with their head pinned on straight still.

"Well alright,” you say. “I’ll take a beer and the ride, too.”

“Beer and a ride,” he grumbles back, not moving the cigarette and losing his words because of it. “I’m Johnny."

“Johnny?”

He nods, handing you the beer he just readied for himself. 

“Thanks.” You give him your name the same way he gave you his, and he says it back to you, the way you did with him, though you know you didn’t mumble it the first time. He heard you just right. “This the part where I tell you how far away I live, and you say actually, I don’t got the gas for that, right?”

“How far d’you live?”

“Other side of town.”

He shrugs. “I got gas enough.”

And that’s how you end up on the back of his bike, clinging on like some sort of koala bear thing, with the town going past like it’s made of nothing but air, cold, loud, air. Flooding your ears and the collar of your jacket, even the ends of your pants are filling up with it. Going so fast nothing feels like anything, only that, everything feels of everything. Way too much. By the time you’re pulling up to the house, your head’s spinning like you had ten beers, not two, and he has to offer his hand just to get you off in one piece.

“God,” you say, “does it feel that crazy every time?”

He looks like he wants to smile, but something inside don’t let him. “Guess so.”

“Well, you got bigger balls than me, that’s for sure.”

Then he really wants to smile, you can see it in the little crinkles by his eyes. “Night, kid.”

“Not a kid,” you tell him, cause you lived through too many years of shit to not get the respect an adult deserves, plus, you ain’t even that much younger than he is. Anyone without a stack of lines down his forehead must look like a kid to him. “Thanks for the ride. You really saved my ass.”

He waves it off, like it really was nothin, though actually it was a pretty big something, a real good favour. “Ah. Wasn’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you.”

“Oh yeah? Saw me walking in like some sort of square and the alarm bells went ringing?” 

“Yeah. Like that.”

You hum a little, shrugging while you think on it. “I could’a handled myself,” you tell him. Which isn’t all the way the truth, but it’s not too far from it neither. You can get mean when you have to.  

“Maybe, but you didn’t have to, did you?” He kicks the bike to life again, and there goes that engine, so loud his ears must be working half as good as they should be. “See you around,” he says.

You nod. As far as last words go, those are some pretty boring ones, but it’s later than late now, and you’re not feeling like standing outside any longer until one of you comes up with something better. So he gets a “see-ya” and that’s the last thing either of you will ever say to each other, cause when are you ever gonna find yourself in the middle of some roughed up, leather wearing, bike club, ever again? 

____

Well. Turns out you got a whole lot wrong when it came to figuring Johnny out. Not even a full day goes by, and you’re hearing that rumble, that big bru-bru-bru, clattering noise coming right back down your street. And Mrs Saccone, who’s normally deafer than deaf, is banging a broom on your wall telling you to get rid of it. To get rid of him. Can you imagine? Old lady, never done nothin wrong in her life, as far as your Pops ever knew, and suddenly, big mean man on a bike, sitting outside and ruining her TV dinner. 

You couldn’t get out there fast enough. Half-dressed, you know, you were ready to settle down for the night. Work stuff off and replaced with those big, old man type boxer shorts. If it weren’t for the bathrobe, wrapped all up round yourself, you’d have blushed so hard it’d burst a blood vessel.

“You forget something?” you ask, parking your feet and slippers right onto the concrete next to him. “I got neighbours, you know.”

He frowns, pursing his lips as he looks you over. “I wake you up?”

“No. But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t disturbing my peace.”

He nods, still running that engine, one foot on the ground to keep him in one place there. It goes so long without him saying nothin that you start thinking maybe it’s your turn, and you forgot which one of you spoke last or something.

“Can I help you, Johnny?”

“Let me take you out,” he says. Not a question, but not bossy with it neither, just ‘let me’. If he’d said it like an order, you would’ve told him to stick it where you told the cab driver to stick it last night, but he seems to know better than that.

You pull the robe tighter, right up to your neck. “I’m not going back to that bar,” you tell him.

“No, not there.” He flicks a gloved hand over the bars of the bike, imagining some fancy, high-class sort of place, right there in front of him. “Somewhere nice. You and me.”

It’s a good thing your mother is on a whole other continent, because without thinking much about it at all, you say, “Alright, sure. You can take me out.” 

He smiles, and it might not be, but it feels like it’s the first one he’s shown you, all real and bunched up in that stubble of his. “You should go get dressed then.”

You feel the life drain right out of you. “We’re going now?”

“I’m here." He shrugs. "So, yeah, why not?”

“You know most people would hate you for that,” you say, “giving a person no warning.”

The bike goes quiet then, and he swaps the keys for a pack of smokes in his pocket, leaning back like he got all the time in the world. “D’you hate me?” he asks.

“I might.”

“Oh, might.” He says it back like you don’t mean it, and won’t mean it, with another one of those funny throwaway noises following on after it. “I’ll take my luck with might.”

And what d’you say to that? Nothin, you say nothin, all you can say is, “Give me ten minutes.” 

Then you’re trotting back up the porch steps, hoping Mrs Saccone isn’t peeping through the curtains, and wondering what the Hell you’re gonna put on that’s any kind of suitable to go to a nice place with a Vandal on your arm. 

If it weren’t your life already, you wouldn’t believe any of it. This time just yesterday, you were at some square neck, office party, saying goodbye to some upper-level fucker—who never learned your name, and didn’t even thank-you for the half serious farewell note you left in the communal goodbye card—and tonight? God, if you weren’t so used to shit going unusually, you’d be pinching yourself. Real hard, too. 

Some man called Johnny, who you don’t know from Adam, swinging by to pick you up on his motorcycle. Yeah, ‘crazy bitch’ really is starting to feel like an appropriate title for you to have. Who would’a known?

........................

part two here

tagging: @drabbles-mc @garbinge

[violetisderp]

OMG

YOU SEE THIS???

RIGHT HERE????

MY RANDOM HEAD CANNON, MERHEHEHEHE.

I like to think he dosnt speak, and uses sign language. It dosnt say he dose in this but STILL. AND I KNOW ITS MOST LIKELY REFERING TO THE CARTOON BUT IDC.

I am just happy about random things lol.

Also i have abit of a theory for Bobby Bearhug (Big body)

Cause it's said she has spasuims or idk how to spell it. But like, she's also not responsive and stuff and they had to fix stuff.

The words are kinda hard to read so, I'll write them here;

Subject

Bobby Bearhug: Smiling Bigger Bodies Initiative

Observations

Three hours following awakening-observations:

Her body continues to spasm Eyelids flutter. Paws twitch.

Subject doesn't seem to show any awareness of where she is. Could sensory functions be distorted, or altogether absent? We speak to her, try to get her attention by makeing sounds, but she dose not register our attempts.

The auditory nerve in the ears directly communicates sound to the auditory cortex in the brain. It appears we may have failed at wiring the connective cords and might be forced to go back under the knife to fix this. A lack of response seems to indicate the necessity of this task.

It's clear that our procedures still haven't corrected issues with vocals, ethier. Her mouth moves, as if to speak, but nothing is said. We'll need to correct these procedures with subsequent subjects if we're to potentially have these toys interact with our children.

-End-

SO. For a unknown period of time, she couldn't speak or hear, but as far as I'm aware it says nothing about physical contact. So, I'm assuming she can still FEEL, but hearing and speaking she couldn't do. (Obviously)

There abit easier to read but I'll write them out just incase;

Several hours after awakening. She tried to stand and walk to the other side of the cell but couldn't keep her balance. She looks to be searching for help. Continuing to spasm.

She's trying to scream, but she has no voice. She's silent. I'm not sure if she knows she's not making any sound.

Conclusions:

Work will need to be done to perfect the Bigger Body formula we began with Boxy. Each iteration improves on the former. However, if we're to meet Dr. Sawyer, and produce Bigger Bodies subjects that we can integrate into a factory setting, then more work will need to be done.

As it stands, Bobby will require further experimentation. If we're to create Subject 1188 according to schematics, then each of these "Smiling Critters" will prove a good testing ground for ironing out these issues.

-end-

SO. It seems they did some more tests and put her "under the knife" some more. It dosnt seem like it helps much for her movements but it's better then motionless. Now I'm not sure if they manage to fix her speaking and hearing,

Also, the little Doodle at the bottom, you can slightly see her ribs, but with CatNap you can fully see his ribcage and he is oddly skinny. But with dogday he ISNT skinny (which also funny cause he was left to hang, now i have other theorys for that but on were on about bobby.)

Ik it's a sketch BUT STILL.

Sooooooooo, from what we know from what dogday said:

"Im.. the last.. of the smiling critters" (R.I.P sad boi-)

So we know Bobby has to have died, but we don't know how, so she has to have died from SoMtHiNg. So she could have straved to death, from what poppy told us in chapter 3 (deep sleep)

Somthing about how they hid the bodies and "feasted on them."

And from what we know about Mrs. Delight, how she killed who she saw AS HER OWN SISTERS to stay alive. And so they very much can starve.

But Bobby could have also died from one of the surgerys she went under, while trying to fix her hearing or her speaking.

She had to have gone under quite abit "to fix her" and the problems she was having.

SPEAKING OF EATING A DRINKING, how do they eat and drink, they speak and there mouth stays open cause there in a plush so uhm-? And mommy long legs mouth moves but not the smiling critters, it stays open so like... how..?

Sorry about the ramble I was just having a moment

[christinarowie332]

i am his .

matt sturniolo x reader

pt 3 of “i’d be an idiot if i said no to that” and “i win” .

warnings - suggestive ? no droogs (boring ik)

y/n and reader realise maybe it ain’t just tension.

—————-

“matt your not even looking”

i say turning my head to look at him giggling , as i’m sat on his lap sideways at his desk .

“i am looking” he whispers lowly , still not looking away from me .

“oh i know your looking , your just not looking at this!!!” i say tapping the paper infront of us .

it’s been around two or three weeks since i hung out with them all and smoked together for the first time . since then i have barley left their apartment . nick and i have gotten so close , chris too .

turns out me and nick had more in common then i initially thought . we both loved melanie martinez , him ,her new stuff and me her old bangers . we also bonded over more personal things and silly things but it’s fair to say we are now attached at the hip . sleepovers . meeting my girl friends . added to group chats and staying up all night talking absolute nonsense and getting deep out of no where.

chris’s issues with him and his girlfriend were worse then we thought . his ramblings from the other night followed into the morning and ended up with us all realising she maybe isn’t the nicest girl . they broke up. this is one of the things that brought us closer . late night seshes talking and listening to music . walks when everyone else falls asleep . him annoying me for half the day .he’s turned into my little brother and i love tm the kid .

matt .

although there are no labels . i am his . not in a toxic way . i am just trilly enamoured with everything this man does . waking up to him smiling down at me . late night drives ending with not so pg moments . his light touches , speaking more then words . the only other language i would ever want to understand . his smile when he sees me and his brothers getting along well . and it’s the same for me . everytime i see his cold mask and attitude drop , everytime i catch him smiling while his brothers talk , everytime a song plays that he likes , watching his shoulders relax and the corner of his mouth twitch , it seems i can physically feel my heart swelling .

so here we are now , in his bedroom after hanging out all day , trying to get him to learn cursive . a silly thing i realised this man could not grasp for the life of him .

“MATT ITS NOT THAT HARD YOU JUST LINK THE LETTERS TOGETHER!!” i jokingly shout through chuckles . grabbing his hand from my thigh and putting the pen in his hand.

“ugh i dont get it !!! it looks stupid bro” he whines out putting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his free arm around my torso .

“here” i say wrapping my hand around his and moving the pen for him .

Love.

i write it subconsciously and i feel him take his head off my shoulder . i turn my head at the loss of heat to find him staring at me with relaxed and warm features , his eye brows curled upwards and a smile lazily plastered on his face .

“what?” i say tilting my head slightly and shifting my body towards him .

he doesn’t respond and just placed a hand on the side of my face . moving his thumb up and down my cheek looking between my eyes and my lips before leaning in .

we kiss constantly. not being able to stay away from each other . each kiss saying a different thing . “you look good” , “i like your makeup today” “i missed you” “that was really cute” “i need you” . never has it ever said this . the kiss screamed many things . the loudest being “i think im in love with you”

he pulls away first . we both stay silent as turn on his lap and put both my legs over his , sitting face to face . his hands trail down my back to my ass , pushing me forward so our chests are all most touching . i move his hair from his face , admiring the boy in front of me .

i arch my back slightly as i lean in to kiss him again . hands in his hair and on the back of his neck . his hands are on the underside of my thighs lifting up and down at the movement of our make out . his cold fingers getting warmed by my body every time i move downwards on his lap .

he moved his mouth down to my ear , my neck , my collarbones. anything he can reach from this angle . leaving bruises and pink marks in his wake . making my head throw back at the sensation and stealing soft noises from me .

my hand trails underneath his shirt. fingers running down his chest , rising and falling with his deep breaths . he takes his top off with my help before lifting me and not breaking the kiss as he carries me to his bed . holding me up with both arms under my thighs before dropping me down on his bed and kissing down my chest. before making his way back up to my lips and placing a slow peck on them .

“ i want you all the time . i want to be yours and only yours y/n please” he whispers ,leaning on top of me , holding himself up by outstretched arms

“you have me matt .”

he has me.

_______________

i hate this sm . i’ll give em a spliff ext time i swear guys i just need a spliff myself first !!!

taglst 🤍

@mangosrar @sturnphilia @urmyslxt @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @sssturniolofart @deatthmatch @martyniukpl @parkerssecrets @lividnity @littlebookworm803 @daddyslilchickenfingers

love u all :) -millz / milkie 🤍

[knine-nights-loves-ac]

This started as an ask I was gonna send to @teecupangel but then it got like seven paragraphs long and I decided fuck it I’m just gonna make it a post and @ teecup. So here goes!

Another Pokémon!Desmond idea (ps: this got long, tldr; shiny Goomy uncatchable Des)

So to set the stage, AC universe happens as normal but, in the AC universe, pokemon as a franchise doesn’t exist. Just not a thing at all. So, starting off Desmond (who doesn’t know what Pokémon is) dies because of the Eye and poofs into a new universe as he does every other Tuesday.

Now, flash to a Pokémon region. I’m biased so I’ll say Kalos. But most work. Desmond appears on one of the earlier routes as a shiny Pokémon. Because I’m still biased, let’s say a shiny Goomy even though Goomies shouldn’t spawn there.

Desmond, newly goopified, doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. He’s a glob now. And the animals around him are fucking weird. And seemingly only live in the tall grass.

He can’t figure out how to use any of his “moves” outside of basically tackle and scratch and other similarly basic things. So he’s pretty dam weak, probably relatively low level, only thing he has going for him is that he’s fast and, relatively, smart. He’s still got human level intelligence which is enough to outsmart the vast majority of Pokémon.

He spends some time on this route, getting used to things, using his Eagle Vision (which he still has) to find berries, avoiding fights, and just enjoying his forced retirement to another universe. It’s Desmond, unless properly motivated, I think he’d be willing to settle in and chill.

But uh oh, trouble is afoot. In the form of! A CHILD no

This little kid toddles down the path with a belt full of pokeballs. Desmond, who is still new to this world, sees the kid and decides to approach. Why? Idk man, the brain cell got burned by the Eye.

The kid is like “OH MY GOD SHINY GOOMY!” And immediately initiates a Pokémon battle.

How does this feel to Desmond? Im not sure. But he definitely can tell somethings up when the kid starts screaming in another language, sounds like French? (If you get why, you get a cookie), and throws a ball that somehow summons another creature. Let’s say a Caterpie.

The Caterpie is low level, about as intelligent as a real caterpillar, and big. (Fun fact apparently Goomy and Caterpie are the same height). Now Desmond is concerned, especially when the kid yells a command and the huge ass bug attacks him. Caterpie only knows like three moves so it probably just tackles. Desmond, not being an idiot or actually a real Pokémon, dodges. The kid looks surprised but yells again and the Caterpie attacks again. After a few times, Desmond decides “Fuck this shit, I’m out.” and nopes on out of there. The kid is absolutely shocked that the shiny Goomy just ran from the battle and also that it dodged everything.

Desmond meanwhile, hidden now, checks on the kid and sees that they’re blue in Eagle Vision. He’s not sure whether to be surprised or not. On the one hand, he’s never seen a kid that was red, but on the other hand, this kid attacked him.

He metaphorically shrugs it off and continues foraging for berries, he’s trying out new combinations.

Meanwhile, this child runs back to wherever they came from, and eagerly spreads the news about the wild shiny Goomy they saw. Most people don’t believe them, but a couple other kids are curious enough to go looking later.

Another day begins and Desmond stumbles upon a group of kids this time. The original kid among them. They’re speaking quickly, yeah he’s pretty sure it’s French, too bad that’s one of the languages he barely gets (I don’t care if he’d know some via Ezio, he’d know 15th century French, not modern day Pokémon world French). They’re gesturing wildly and some of them are looking accusatorially at the original kid. Desmond tries to get a little closer and, just his luck, stumbles into view of the group. Uh oh.

Several minutes later, the kids are confused as hell, several Caterpies are furiously working their hamster wheel brains to understand what’s happening, and Desmond is starting to question what’s up with the people in this universe.

But something special happened this time. At one point, one of the kids threw a red and white ball at him. It bounced off his head and rolled on the ground, doing nothing. Desmond was just annoyed. The kids were flabbergasted.

Rumors spread until actual researchers are tramping through the tall grass. Desmond is definitely avoiding them. Even if they’re white in Eagle Vision, those lab coats remind him a bit too much of Abstergo.

Eventually, after the human presence becomes a bit too much, Desmond decides to hit the road and moves out from his comfy little tall grass patch in the middle of the night. He settles down again somewhere else.

Repeat cycle a few times until the whole of Kalos has heard tell of this shiny Goomy who nobody can catch and seems to roam the whole region.

Idk what’s happening from there. Begin plot of Pokémon X/Y? Maybe Desmond meets AZ? Lots of options but idk.

[serenequeenofeverything]

What your teams of lights wants you to know? A self tarot reading.

Group i, ii, iiii, iv

But before we move on onto the reading, i want you to understand what teams of light is.

Now I won't go into details, but if you want a separate post on this, let me know in the replies. I would be more than happy to teach you more.

This is a direct quote from Laura lynne Jackson, the author of "signs: the secret language of the universe" :

" We all have a Team of Light on the Other Side. These teams send us signs.

These signs come from three distinct forces:

1. We receive signs from God energy, which is what I mean when I say signs from the universe. This is the highest and most powerful source of love, and we are each directly connected to it, and also to one another through it.

2. We receive signs from our spirit guides / the angelic realm.

3. We receive signs from our loved ones who have crossed."

Now here is the thing, you don't need me to deliver these messages to you. You receive them yourself everyday, but you might simply dismiss it. Im here to tell you what you already probably know but also probably choose to ignore or not pay much attention to.

Now shall we begin?

Just breath in and out. Let's begin.

Group i

You are not stuck as u like to think. You know your way out of this thing (a good majority of you already made it out of this situation) tbh i mostly see a relationship but it could also totally be something related to finances and just money in general.

Here is what you need to hear tho, whoever and whatever this situation was, you will do so much better without them. You are more than capable of handling this alone. And ur teams of light are more than willing to help you, to make this easier for you. So ask for help, but within not from the outside. U have so much within urself that the world outside is nothing but a failed attempt to reflect what you already have.

This song came in so strong, listen to it.

Group ii

Very similar message to group i, kinda the same theme but while theirs revolved around trusting the self, and working through their situation alone, yours is more about collaborating with others to solve this. Now i know this may have failed for you before, but this time try differently, maybe with a different person (s).

Ur luck is about to be better but here's what i (and you teams of light) need you to do, 1. Have stronger boundaries 2. Dont get emotionally attached to these people (person) this is business, not friendship. 3. Just this time try, i promise it will go better.

Group iii

Honestly this is the group that i feel most horrible for. This group seems to be going through a lot financially speaking, some of you might even be on the verge of going homeless. Listen up my babe, you know your situation better than i do, u actually know way too well that bad your situation is or can potentially become, and it's stressing you out beyond measures.

Your teams of light is clearly saying "go there" "go back", it's something about relying on another person or maybe even the government, maybe a shelter or a father figure (I definitely see a dad) to help you in this. This is the best thing to do. Trust me, this time reach out for your own sake and safety.

Group iv

Wow and here I thought only group iii situation was bad. um.. so do u struggle with some sort of addiction? Or do you feel like you are in a home or a situation that's crumbling to the group but u r stuck and you cannot get out? If that's not you then this is not your group(altho i still suggest u read the advice section in case it might somehow be exactly what u need to hear).

Okay, if you know this is your group, then let me tell you that there's a way out. Something will come up, idk what it is but it will be big. Most probably a guy will come in, they will offer you something, an idea maybe? (Altho be fucking careful, this whole situation is very effy). I genuinely dont know what's happening... like legit this group confuses the fuck out of me, so idk if u should take this offer... dont get desperate and i know u r desperate but it's almost like the cards are telling me to tell you to not trust this person but to use their idea. Almost like listen to their advice and take their advice but not with them in the plan..

Im gonna give u an example so u understand; you live in an abusive household, and u wanna escape it. But u cannot find the way out, then boom this guy comes in and is like I'll help you but long term if u go with them u will end up in a very bad situation. But here's another way to do it, this person tells u how they will help you, like their plan to get u out, what i need u to do is do as their plan minus them( the guy).

Hopefully this makes sense, english is my third language so i find it hard to tell u exactly how it is.

-----------------------------------------------

Anyways, this is it. I hope this helps you.

Also follow me bc... im too good.

And also u can totally suggest what my next reading should be on by simply replying to this post (altho i dont take personal readings right now)

[snailsnaps]

Part 2 of a Computer Science student's analysis of the FNAF: SB intro

Full with tech lingo, abundant personal interpretations, and translations so that my tech illiterate fellas may undertand whatever the fuck im yapping about!

This post is written under the context that you've read my last analysis. I highly recommend you first check out these two posts before continuing with this one if you haven't already: > First post + Continuation ( IMPORTANT!! ) > An addition to the first post

Once you've read through those two (three?) posts, come back here! You're back? You've read them? Awesome! Let's begin then. =)

Reminder! This analysis has been done based off of my own understanding of the subject of both computing and programming - which I am currently studying. I would also like to yet again shout out this reddit post, that also gives a great perspective. Definitely check it out if you're interested later!

Also I have not re-read this, you may find typos - don't hold it against me, they will be fixed, someday =(

Now then, fellas, this is where shit gets wild.

Last post, I talked about the command box we can see at the top right corner of the intro - what each command did and how it basically corresponded to what happens to freddy in the events of the intro.

However, you might recall I mentioned a second command box, the one found at the left side of the screen. This command box is by far the most important piece of information we have throughout the entire duration of the intro. Mostly, because it changes 3 times.

It changes a total of 3 times in the time it takes for the right command box to finish.

Each time it changes, it displays new lines of code. And every single line of code it displays, tells us a lot about what is happening to Freddy.

This is the first block of code that we get:

system32> Get-568_win heat_869%yTnu_bl8 lvl_b> 228.wst serial.dot_btb rec.556> dtd /

You might inmediately realize that the first line of code from this command box matches exactly the one from the first analysis. Here are both of them as comparison.

Hopefully, you've already made the connection. This command box is the one possibly being run by the Glitchtrap/Vanny Virus. Whatever lines of code appear on the command box to the left, are the ones being executed by the Virus - and they affect Freddy in real time. However, the command box on the right ir Freddy's, so to speak.

Both CLI (command line interfaces) are being run at the same time - yet independently of one another. Keep this in mind.

I don't want to go too in depth with this first block of code. All you need to know is that it moves around some directories and runs something called 'dtd', wich could be a command or a program.

The next two blocks of code, however? Ohhh damn... This is it, fellas. This is what I've been waiting for.

Now, I want you to know that this doesn't quite resemble any 'real' code, at least not at first glance. I do believe that it is a very 'condensed' form of the Python programming language, since the syntaxing of the commands shown here somewhat resemble how a string written in Python would look like.

So, I have taken the time to try to decipher what each line means, and what they do. And well, let's just say it explains why Freddy wasn't affected by the Virus in the first place.

def rule(x) return warning78 init; self_overdrive abort(3)RTLKt abort(5)XGE END

This is the second block of code that we're shown, so lets break it down.

def rule(x) return warning78 init;

This string would define "rule" as a function, specifying "x" as the parameter. Basically, this line specifies that if the command rule is inputted, it should return whatever value (or argument) x has taken.

Normally, define is followed by a return function, which is why I've shown them together, as well as the init; command.

The command return followed by "warning78", makes it so whenever we call upon the function rule, it shows us whatever warning78 may be - and judging as to what happens in the intro, it could be any of the multiple warnings that appear in Freddy's GUI. Or it could also easily be the big "WARNING!" message that can be seen the entire time near the top of the screen.

Lastly, the init; command isn't exactly a standardized python command - but it is a common abreviation of the initialization command, where in the field of programming, it means "the assignment of an initial value for a data object or variable". Basically, it's when you assign the initial values and variables to a program so it can start.

All in all, these three lines create a command that, when called upon, gives out the warning78.

self_overdrive

Again, not really a python function, but important nontheless. This command doesn't have a specific meaning, but we can try to understand what it does.

The term overdrive doesn't really exist in the field of computing/programming. However, it is asociated with overclocking - "the practice of increasing the clock rate of a computer to exceed that certified by the manufacturer" - Overdrive is also a term in the field of music, also known as distorsion, which is when you force an amplifier to output past its limits.

Both of these definitions go around the same concept, pushing a computer to its limits so that it works better, or faster - even while it possibly damages the computer.

We can then assume that the function self_overdrive is making Freddy's system run pasts its usual limits. Which is why I believe Freddy's integrity level plumits during the intro.

abort(3)RTLKt abort(5)XGE END

Lastly, we have these three lines.

The abort function isn't a real python function - but I believe you can asume what it does. Both lines are attempting to kill something - a program, a process, another function... However, I am not sure wether these two are really functions, since they could very easily be error handling messages. Essencially, warning messages that the system returns when something crashes, for example.

The last line, END, specifies the end of this string of code.

Which leads us to the third and last block of code. The one which in my professional opinion, is the one that reveals to us why Freddy's cool with us during Security Breach! =]

report.NULL gridlock [ax674] init_task>void alloc [overload] SW.failure return /

THIS IS WHAT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR, FRIENDS. THIS IS IT. This is the part where I had the most fun with this analysis...

report.NULL

Now, usually report, in the field of programming and software, it means to record or log something. For example an error log, or crash log. However, it being followed by NULL could also mean that this is an error handling message of sorts.

In computing, Null is, well, zero. It's nothing. It's the absence of value, when something that should be there, isn't.

From this, we could gather that this is a warning message that attempted to report something, yet failed to find anything to report back. No value at all.

...or, we could take this line literally. Taking into consideration that this code is being executed by the virus - this line of code could be taken as an attempt by the virus to stop Freddy's system from freaking out.

Remember that this entire code is being executed as Freddy's actively getting a big flashing WARNING! message. So, this line of code could be an effort to silence it, returning a null value to a warning message.

Both scenarios are plausible, so stick with the one you think fits best!

gridlock [ax674]

This one... man... this line was wild. It's where everything clicked for me. You will want to ignore the characters [ax674], what we truly care about is the first word: gridlock.

You see, a gridlock isn't really a term used in computing at all. It is a term refering to a "severe congestion of traffic, where continuous queues of vehicles block an entire intersection". HOWEVER, gridlock is also known as another term for deadlock.

A deadlock is what's known as a stalemate. A situation where two opposing parties come to a point where no progress can be made. In programming, it means basically the same thing.

A situation where two processes can't proceed, since both of them are waiting for the other to release a resource. Now, imagine this scenario. We have two processes, A and B, and two resources, R1 and R2.

Process A is currently using resource R1.

Process B is currently using resource R2.

Process A requests resource R2, but is blocked because it's held by Process B.

Process B requests resource R1, but is blocked because it's held by Process A.

Now... imagine this situation, but with Freddy, and the virus.

What we most likely have here, the line gridlock [ax674], is an error handling message, warning that a deadlock is ocurring. The string of characters beside it has no meaning, and could easily be but an error handling code of sorts.

init_task>void

I've explained before that init is the abreviation of initialization. So, we can gather that this is a command that is attempting to initialize a task. Now then, in the context of the previous line, this one could mean one of two things:

The virus is attempting to initialize a task (a set of instructions) called void.

The virus is attempting to initialize a task, however, due to the deadlock, it returns this line as an error message, indicating a void return. In programming, when a function returns the word void, it usually means that the function was not able to return a value. It is similar to Null, yet not the same.

Either of these could be a posibility, so I will leave it to your personal interpretation.

And here it when it all goes to hell...

alloc [overload] SW.failure return

Alloc is not a real function, but it can be considered an abreviation of the word allocation. In computing, the allocation is the assignment of memory and resources to the various processes the system may have.

Proper memory and resource allocation is very important in a computer. As you may know, a computer as a limited amount of RAM it can work with, and the same goes for it's processing power. But, for example, what happens when you try to allocate resources that aren't available?

Well, a lot of things may happen. Mainly, the program could hang, the process could freeze - or the entire system could crash!

Remember earlier, we saw that it was likely that Freddy and the virus were in a deadlock. Yet, the Virus tried to allocate more resources to itself... Which overloaded the system, and likely resulted in the next line.

SW.failure has no real meaning - but I've interpreted the first two characters [SW] as software. This would make this line an error message warning about a software failure.

So... What does this all mean? How does it all tie together? Why didn't Freddy get infected by the Virus? Because it got too greedy. It tried to allocate too many resources/memory, overloaded the system and crashed both itself and Freddy.

Why only Freddy, though? Why didn't this happen to the other animatronics? That... I'm not sure. I believe this is more of a lore question rather than computer question.

In my opinion, I don't think this was a case of 'Freddy knew that he was getting infected by a virus, and fought back'. I'm leaning more to the posibility of it being a 'wrong place wrong time' type of situation... or maybe 'right place right time'? In general, a lot of factors and a lot of different things happened that lead to this specific scenario happening.

Anyways, this is it! This has been my analysis - or nerdy infodumping, if you please.

I do hope that I was able to teach you something today, and that this whole analysis helps you understand the animatronics a bit better - and helps you with future fanfics, comics, AUs, artworks... whatever!

One last reminder - if you have any more questions about this stuff, my ask box is open! I love talking about this stuff!!

Oh, and, coming soon...

DJMM's Bouncer Mode ! A theory by a computer science student as to why it's still present, and why it makes him so aggressive.

[littledollll]

Hi there! I was wondering if I could request a Larissa Weems x fem reader fic? Reader is an outcast too, she can control people's dreams (for better or for worse) however she can't control her own, and she's the language teacher at Nevermore and her and Larissa have been dating for a little while now. One night she has a really bad nightmare about something from the past, Larissa manages to wake her up from it; as reader had been clawing at her own skin, making it bleed etc and when she wakes up larissa has her arms pinned and is trying to calm her down? Like laying on top of her trying to level out her breathing, kissing her cheek as she whispers "You're okay, you're okay." Like Larissa baby-ing her, that kind of thing? I'm sorry if this is a little long

I’ll keep you safe

Larissa Weems x outcast!reader

Warnings: annoying teenagers٫ Stress٫ nightmares٫ unintentional self harm(it’s not too focused on), being physically restrained, idk what else

A/n: Anon i have to say, i loved this request so much i got down like 6 paragraphs in about 10 minutes, instant ideas so thank you!!, I chose Spanish since you didn’t specify and it’s my first language (in short im lazy)

“We’re doing oral reports in two weeks! I want you all to pick a topic of interest and do research on it, this will have to include a progress turn in every two days, I don’t want you guys doing it all last minute, that’s one grade. Then your written work, just what you’re going to say up front so I can follow along and assist you when you need it! That’s another grade. The final grade will be your oral report, there’s different criteria I will be reviewing but that will be in a handout I’ll give you guys on Monday we will discuss it then!”

You can hear the collective groaning and complains coming from all sides of the class, “wait when do the two weeks start”, people trying to convince you to do something else, “Would you consider adding more time?”, those asking if they can skip the oral part and just to the other two things, and the two or three going “oh does it have to be in Spanish” like it’s not the whole point of the class and assignment.

“It will be three easy grades don’t let me down guys! Yes I know how much you guys hate it but it’s in the curriculum and you will need this depending on what you want to do in the future. You! Yes my love we can negotiate the turn in period, don’t worry”

“No I am not changing the assignment! No you can’t NOT do the oral report, you will lose a full grade unless you can give me a justified reason as to why you can’t speak up front. Yes it has to be in Spanish that’s the whole point, please calm down!”

“I will give you all nightmares if you don’t stop complaining!” The whole class went silent. Finally. “But I can just as easily help you guys out if you just behave and ask nicely. As I said the details will all be discussed on Monday so stop screaming at me, class time is already over, we could all be in our rooms by now if you guys didn’t throw a tantrum”

Your abilities as an outcast were something you genuinely loved about yourself, being able to control others dreams came in handy more than you’d think. You’d use dreams to give extra practice for those who asked (which was mostly the music, choir, theater kids), those who needed extra study time for tests, when you knew your students needed comfort or a safe space, specially since you could allow them to remember their dreams. It being the last class of the day you dismissed them and headed to Larissa’s office.

————————————————————

Once you came in Larissa greeted you. “You seem rather annoyed.. stressed? did something happen, beloved?”

“Just my last class, I assigned oral reports and they are not happy about it, i mean they were basically screaming at me about it, I love them, really, I do but they don’t know how to listen!” You sighed, coming around her desk and wrapping your arms around her behind her chair.

“Who would have thought advanced Spanish students would hate Spanish so much! I know it’s not personal but the way they groan and complain isn’t that encouraging either, just makes me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

Larissa’s hands soothed over your arms, taking one of your hands in hers and kissing it. “You’re the cool teacher, they aren’t used to not doing “fun” things in class, they’ll come around٫ love. Is there anything I could help you with?”

You groaned, hiding in her neck. “No, you’re right, I’m sure they’ll be better Monday once I explain.” Larissa nodded.

“30 minutes and we’ll get out of here, alright?” Teachers got out one hour before the principal, leaving you to wait for her everyday. You nodded and went over to one of the armchairs٫ pulling out your phone and deciding to answer emails.

You whined, dramatically putting your head on her desk, she chuckled. “More complains?” “You think they understand what “I’ll explain on Monday” means?”

They were stressing you out even more, and in your experience٫ Stress means nightmares.

————————————————————

“Love?” Larissa woke up to your squirming she thought you just couldn’t sleep, then she heard the whimpers, from there it somehow got worse so fast. The way your hands gripped your arms, your hair, how you curled into yourself, what broke Larissa out of her trance was a sob that tore through your throat. It was enough to spring her into action as she forced the sleep from her mind.

She was trying to be gentle, you were scared enough, frantic, she didn’t want any sudden movements to hurt her or you. First she tried to grab one arm, trying to shake you awake. “Angel?-“ she gave up on that quickly as she saw the cuts made from your own nails that ran down your arm and how you tore away from her just to claw at your own skin, alright option two. She straddled your legs to stop the kicking, taking your hands pinning them down.

She settled for talking you down as her thumb rubbed over your palms in what she hopped would be a calming notion “you’re okay sweetheart, you’re our room my love, it’s just us.” Your squirming died down but you were still tense, your complains and whimpers never stopped, the way you were gripping her hands was clear sign the squirming stoped merely because she essentially forced it.

“Oh my darling girl.. it’s me, my love it’s Rissa, it’s just a nightmare, my sweet, listen to me.” When you calmed slightly more she decided it was safe to loosen her hold and lean over to turn the lamp on. “It’s time to wake up darling.”

The way you snapped awake made her heart clench. How unsettled you looked, the way you looked around the room and eventually up at her, pupils blown wide panic written all over your face. She smiled at you reassuringly and leaned down kissing your cheek and forehead. “It’s okay, my sweet little love. You’re okay with me, angel.”

She didn’t want to fully surround you, it would be too much while you’re already panicked, but she also couldn’t afford you hurting either of them in that state, so she waited, and spoke softly. “You are in Nevermore, in our room, in our bed.” Larissa deemed it safe enough to let go of your arms, gently cupping your face. “I know, my love that you’re scared, but I’m with you, I’ll protect you for anything and anyone, you are safe, 100% safe, I’ll make sure of that, yeah?” You only nodded.

Larissa gave you a second. “Would you like me to move away?” You shook your head, wanting to cry at the thought, she saw it, and moved slowly, moving to your side and turning you with her, she hugged you tight and purposely slowed her breathing for you to follow, you of course did. She only hugged you tighter when she felt your arms coming shyly around her and you hid into her chest.

“I’m not expecting you to tell me what you just lived, nor am I asking, but if you want to my love, I will listen.” You shook your head again. “You hurt yourself angel, a lot, we have to take care of that later okay? But I’ll take care of you, I’ll keep you safe every second.” You frowned and looked up at her. “How can you be so sure..” you barely mumbled out. “Well because I risked a slap across the face to save you from you.” You giggled. “I’m- very sorry.”

She pinned you down and furrowed her brows. “Are you apologizing for having a nightmare?” She kissed the tip of your nose. “Is that stupid?” A kiss to your cheek this time. “Did you cause the nightmare?” Now on the other side. “No! you know I can’t- ohhhh” she pressed a final kiss against your lips and moved to look at you, making you smile. “Right, so it’s not your fault, which means you don’t have to apologize for that, my beautiful beautiful girl.” You blushed at that, hiding your face in your hands.

“Would you like to try going back to sleep?” She asked as she moved the lay beside you, and you shook your head, curling into her. “Darling, you got here exhausted.. you still are. I’ll wake you if the nightmares start again, and the lamp will stay on.” You didn’t say anything, instead pulled yourself closer to her and closed your eyes, she smiled. “Sweet dreams, angel, you’ll be okay with me, I promise.”

[gojoandtojisleftnut]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐏…𝐈 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄

˚ · . Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

˚ · . synopsis: Gojo can’t say no to his girl, even if that means her riding him in front of his friends.

˚ · . warnings: pure smut, slight voygerism, piv, gojo has a big dick (we already knew), cockwarming?, handjob, teasing, creampie, pet names (baby, angel, slut), language

gojo has arranged a boys night with his friends tonight at your house. he’s prepared snacks, bought beers and put on the basketball game to watch. you came down to join them the moment the pizza arrived and since then you’ve been bored out of your mind. you glance at your boyfriend sitting on your left, his eyes glued on the game while he laughs with toji, nanami and geto. his right hand resting on the back pillows of the couch and his legs spread just like always. something about his gray sweats, his flexed strong thighs and his hair falling perfectly on his face made you squirm in your seat, making you pull your knees closer to your chest. “you okay baby?” he looks at you worried “just cold.” gojo looks at the other side and reaches for the blanket resting near suguru. muttering a small thank you, you lean towards your boyfriend placing the blanket over your guys’ laps. his right hand gently rests on your legs and his left one reached to cup your cheek, twisting his body to give you a small kiss on your forehead, making your eyes flutter. he sits back at his previous position missing the sparkle his gentle gesture caused in your eyes. his motives were pure but at that moment all you could think about was his hand on your legs and his mouth on your tits.

so you decided to take matters into your own hands, even though its risky and the possibility of his friends catching you was huge. you pull the blanket up to cover you up to your shoulder and scootch even closer to gojo. he takes a quick glance at you but decides to ignore your squirming. by the time he realizes what you’re doing you have already pulled his waistband down and freed his dick. “what are you doing?” he asks through his teeth, looking at you shocked. you let go of his dick and you discreetly spit on your hand while looking him in the eyes. your small hand reaches for his now semi hard on and start pumping him slowly. his breath gets more heavy and you can feel him gripping on your thigh so tight you’re sure it will leave a mark. you wait for the rest of the men to start speaking loud enough again so you can reach up and whisper in his ear. “i need you to fuck me ‘toru, im so wet”. you instantly feel him twitch against your palm, a moan almost escaping his mouth “not here angel, you’ll get us caught.” his hand reaches for the one pumping his dick, stopping your movements. but you weren’t about to give up “just the tip…please” you whine, your plump lips ghosting over his sweet spot, leaving a little kiss on his pulse. he looks down at you, just to see you looking back up at him with your best ‘fuck me’ eyes that he loves so much. “Okay”

you climb on top of him catching the attention of the other three men but gojo discards them telling them you’re cold and tired. securing your hands around his neck you lower yourself on his pink tip, making you both moan. a little time goes by and you can feel your pussy leaking and your legs getting tired. you wait for gojo to have his full attention towards the tv and slowly bottom down on his shaft, your wetness making him slip right in. his grip on your waist instantly tightens and his eyes widen. You give him a saccharine smile and start rocking your hips slowly. the sound of your wet pussy cancelled every other sound in the room. his eyes checking if anybody can see what you guys are doing. the thought of his friends catching him fucking his little girlfriend made his dick twitch even more.

he can hear you panting in his ear and forces your hips to grind harder. the friction of his happy trail on your clit made you shiver. his tip kissing your cervix brings you to your orgasm and gojo feels like he’s about to lose his mind. “sato cum inside me please baby. i need you to fill me up.” your pleas don’t fall onto deaf ears and he kisses your lips before pulling you roughly against him by your hips. the movement catches tojis attention and gojo instantly feels you tighten around him. once the ravenette turned back to the game once again, gojo rocked you onto his cock one last time before you felt his cum fill you up and leak out of your cunt. his lips ghosting your as he holds your head with his huge palm “this what you wanted baby? to be filled like a slut?”. you pout and nod your lips connecting once more. “lay down baby, i’ll give you more later mkay?”

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Bear ch 4

Pairings: Wanda x R || avengers (platonic) x R

Word count: 3.8K

TW: flashback, torture, themes of death, panic attack, concussion, nonverbalism, brain washing, mind control, trauma, abuse, violence, needles, restrains, bruises, injuries, guns, medical malpractice, human experimenting, tears, insanity (implied), headache, (damn thats a lot of warnings.)

Summary: You join your uncle tony in the avengers, it wasn’t your original plan but you never planned for your powers either so here you are. Now your at the avengers tower and falling for the girl of your dreams. With a haunting past and interesting abilities can you navigate your way through the challenges of being a hero? After a mission gone wrong and a cruel twist of fate the team starts digging for answers. Can tony keep them from finding out the truth?

A/n sorry this took so long to publish I might have broken one of my fingers im getting an X-ray in three days. Also the sign language I describe is auslan (Australian) sign language so … yeah. Also im not great at it so it might be wrong sorry.

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

When your mind awoke the dull headache still sat behind your eyes which you had kept shut. You wiggle slightly and Wanda knows your awake.

“Hello sweet girl. How are you feeling” she asked rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone. You were in her lap and quite comfortable. You let out a content hum and Wanda chuckled slightly. The vibrations of her chest were soothing on your head as you had your face nestled into her chest.

“Baby?”

“Mm?”

“If your feeling good enough natty and i wanna ask you something my love.” Wanda asked taking note of your muscles as they stiffened. You knew this was coming, they wanted to know why you had frozen on the mission. You fought back the emotions that bubbled in your chest and nodded.

“You want to know why i froze.” You said in a small voice. Wanda wiped the baby hairs from your eyes and looked down at you softly. Nat laid a comforting hand on your thigh and you almost had forgotten she was in the room. Wanda and nat were sat against the headboard on your bed and you were curled in Wanda’s lap.

She began to run her hands through your hair and you let out a content sigh.

“Baby we just want to know so we can help you and keep you safe.” She said softly and nat nodded her agreement.

“Alright, but i-i c-cant t-talk about it.” You stuttered clearing your throat at annoyance at the nervous habit.

“Baby thats ok, can i look and show natty then?” She asked your consent and rubbed her thumb over your cheek again with her hand cupping your face. You suddenly felt small and nodded, words becoming too hard for you.

“Ok if you need me to stop or it gets too much at all i need you to tap twice on my thigh baby girl. Can you do that for me now so i know you can do it?” She asked still speaking softly. You used two fingers and tapped twice on her thigh. She smiled down at you. “Perfect baby your doing so well. Let me know when your ready ok my love?” She asked and you drew a shaky breathe and looked into her eyes and nodded your consent.

“Words baby. I need to hear you say its ok.” She said. You looked slightly stressed and signed ‘no talk’ with your hands. Bringing your middle and pointer finger to your thumb to say no and then bringing your finger to your mouth and drawing circles to say talk. Wanda understood and began storing your hair.

“Ok baby no talking. Are you nonverbal baby?” She asked and you nodded and sniffled slightly. She cooed and asked you once more if you were ready. When you signed yes she hummed and began to project from your mind to her own and Natashas.

As she sifted through your memories her brow furrowed. They were fragmented and many were repressed, the trauma distorting the images. She saw many things. A damp cold cell with white chalk drawing of tony and the outside world covering the walls. The drawings were magical and intricate. She saw a small room with nothing in it but a chair, a man and a tray of what looked like torture instruments. She saw the lights of hospital but it was unlike anything private or government, more like a run down covert facility. She saw the man from the mission standing over you as you writhed in the restraints that kept you strapped to a table. He held a long needle filled with black liquid. She saw you standing over a man, a bear skull mask on your face and a black suit on you body. You had a gun pressed to his temple and sick grin on your face. She knew that suit. That grin. That gun. She recognised the cold sadistic chuckle as you drew the trigger. The crack of a bullet firing ricocheted throughout the ally and she watched the body fall limp on the floor with a sickening thud. But despite the cruelty of then action she saw the lacquer in your eyes. The gloss that told her you weren’t in control. She saw the light in your eyes flickering as you fought for control. She watched as the scene changed again and you were laid beaten on the floor of a cell cradling a bruised abdomen as you wore nothing but a ruined and bloody rag. She saw a man, the man from the mission again land hit after hit across your already broken and bruised body.

She watched you be broken and bled in every way possible before you were thrown back into your cell. She saw the kind scientist sneak you chalk that you covered the walls with. She watched you cry alone and broken. But the last thing she saw, was the logo of hydra printed on the door of your cell. The red ink bleeding down the walls.

She found nothing else. Careful not to damage your mind further she withdrew her controls. Looking down at you in her arms she pulled you tighter to her despite the shock. Your body shook with sobs as you wailed slightly still not speaking. In a surprising display of strength you pushed yourself away from her chest and sprung from the bed. Natasha looked dazed as you curled into a ball in the corner. Shielding your head with your forearms and rocking back and forth. The sound of your broken cries permeated the room and broke Wanda’s heart. She slowly came over to you seeing the panic in your eyes as she tried to stop the flashback. She pulled you into her arms and rocked you slowly as you sobbed. Slowly the sobs slowed as your hand gripped her shirt in fists.

As you began to recognise who was around you and where you were Wanda held you tighter.

“Baby we understand you weren’t in control. That wasn’t you. I remember fighting you but i know it wasn’t you. You couldn’t ever be that cold.” You howled and Wanda squeezed you again.

“Baby we love you the same as always and now we know just how strong you are and we love you even more.”

You sniffled and began to move your hands as you began to sign that you wanted to explain.

Wanda placed her hand over yours. “Baby you don’t have to do that just now.”

You signed back ‘I want to or i know i never will be able to.’

Wanda hesitated but nodded. Carefully she stood with you in her arms and walked back to the bed where nat sat and offered you a smile. You knew she didn’t care about your past the same you didn’t care about hers. Wanda held you as you explained. Hydra took you in the early days of tony being Ironman. You, behind the spotlight helped on missions and when you were captured one day things changed. They tortured you amongst other things and brain washed you to do their bidding. When tony rescued you he hid you away when he saved you from hydra and you and him faked your death. When you told him two months ago your powers returned after hydra suppressed them and made sure only you could use them when told, he panicked and made you come to the compound. The drugs they gave you to control your powers finally wearing off. You had always loved your powers, they made you feel safe and you quickly regained full control but the damage hydra did made some of them dissapper. Tony wants to keep an eye on you to make sure your ok if they come back also. But now hydra knows your alive and your powers are back and stronger, and they have almost certainly ordered a hit on you.

Wanda sat back and sighed running her hands through her hair as she took it all in. She was quick to comfort you as you took her silence as a bad sign. Tears formed in your eyes. And your loud thoughts told Wanda you thought she was mad. You began to struggle in her lap. She quickly pulled you into her chest again and shushed you reassuring you everything would be ok.

After all the stress and crying your head felt even worse and the familiar nausea returned. You thrashed in Wanda’s arms who pulled you from her neck to look into your eyes. They looked frantic and you quickly signed the word for throw up. Nat was quick to understand and grabbed another sick-bag. She had half expected this to happen after the stress this had put on you and the pain of crying that hard with a concussion.

She carefully placed it under your chin and you put your hands over hers as they shook. Wanda rubbed circles between your shoulder blades. You hunched over your hands clinging to Nat’s wrists for dear life she she held the sick-bag for you.

“Its ok baby. Let it out. We’re here. Don’t hold it back bubs.” Wanda said seeings you gagging and struggling to keep it down. Tears formed in your eyes before you ducked your head lowered towards the sick bag. The sound of you throwing up filled the room as all the food you had eaten in the past few hours was violently expelled.

“Shh sh sh your doing so good for us Detka. So so good baby girl.” Wanda said.

“It’ll be ok y/n/n its alright love.” Nat said. When you stopped gaging nat went to take away the sick-bag but your grip on her wrist tightened and you shook your head slowly.

“Going to go again?” Nat asked raising a brow and her question was answered as you threw up a second round. When you stopped you pushed her hands away and nat nodded to Wanda who pulled you into her as nat went to dispose of the sick and grab some more mouthwash for your sensitive tastebuds. You sniffled and buried your face in her neck.

“Aww bubs your ok. Your ok now love.” Wanda soothed. After a bit your sniffles died down and you simply laid curled in her arms. Nat returned and you rinsed out your mouth and then began to drift off to sleep.

“Its ok baby you can close your eyes. You must be exhausted after all that my sweet.” Wanda said and you nodded and curled into her chest. After a little your soft snores sounded throughout the room.

When you woke up the room was dimly lit still but the headache was lesser. You signed to Wanda you wanted a snack and you were hungry. She stood getting ready to leave but you signed that you wanted to come with. Nat who had been watching the conversation over the top of her book frowned. After a series of quick hand movements from you you made it clear that you were coming with. Nat stood pulling some sunglasses out of a drawer.

“If you come with you wear these. You don’t need to loose the progress you have made in recovering.” Nat said and you pouted but let her slip them onto your face regardless. After a second you blinked and then turned grabbing nat and Wanda’s hands before dragging them out of the room.

Nat snagged a sick-bag on the way not knowing how your stomach would react to the lurch of the lift. You raised a brow but didn’t comment. After a successful trip down to the kitchen you realised it was mostly empty. Clint stood by the toaster making bagels with cream cheese and looked up smiling at you when you walked in. Nat waved and went over to talk to him. But he frowned and nat paused. Looking sheepish he signed to nat he broke his hearing aids while training and nat laughed. Quickly signing back she told him it was ok and she would tell fury to send more. Clint looked up from his conversation and noticed you signing to Wanda about what you wanted to eat. He frowned.

‘I didn’t know she knew sign language.’ He signed. Nat froze and Wanda swooped in.

‘She’s got a sore throat so she’s resting her voice’ Wanda said and you smiled shyly. Clint smiled, happy he had someone else he could sign with. The toaster dinged loudly and you flinched still slightly on edge from earlier. Wanda took you hand rubbing her thumb over you knuckles to smooth you.

You sighed softly and gave her a look of thanks.

‘Are you alright y/n?’ Clint signed not missing the way you had flinched.

‘Yeah toaster startled me’ you signed back and Clint nodded in understanding. He shot a questioning look to nat who shook her head and indicated he should just drop it. He nodded and pulled out his bagels which nat pointed too seeing he couldn’t hear the ding.

“Wanda once you got y/n/n’s snack head back up to the room and I’ll join you a bit later. I need to call fury to get more of Clint’s hearing aids sent to the compound. Clint signed thanks after reading her lips and nat waved him off. He wouldn’t be able to make the call himself because he couldn’t really talk right now.

Earlier you, nat and Wanda had decided on how to tell the team about your issues but decided to start small. Clint would be the first one to tell he would understand the best. But you hadn’t had the courage to tell him yet.

Wanda and you headed back to the room and after around a half hour of relaxing and listening to Wanda read to you you had been dozing lightly when Jarvis startled you into fully being awake.

“Director fury is asking for everyone to meet him in the conference room.”

The AI said.

“Alright tell him we are on our way.” Wanda said slipping the sunglasses back on your face rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone as you basked in her touch. She grabbed you hand and softly pulled you from the bed.

Fury was waiting in the meeting room. Nat and the rest were already there and Wanda pulled you into a chair next to her and Natasha.

“Nice of you to join us Maximoff and L/n” fury said and you made yourself smaller in your seat as the team looked at you.

“Alright getting straight to the point.” Fury said. “Operative has confirmed that hydra has put out a hit on y/n.” Wanda, Natasha, tony and you tensed but stayed quiet. “L/n will need to be accompanied by another member of the team at all times and is not to leave the compound unattended.” Fury said and you groaned quietly. Whenever similar things had happened in the past it had made you feel trapped. And as you explained to Wanda and nat earlier that often led to you disappearing for a couple hours to be alone. “This is not up for discussion L/n.” Fury said when he heard you groan. You slouched but didn’t protest not wanting to talk still or make a scene by using sign language in front of the team who still didn’t know.

“Everyone else you are to be going to this hydra base here” fury tapped a spot on the map behind him that was being projected on the screen. “This meeting will brief you all on what will happen and i trust tony to brief the rest of you with more details on y/n later.” Tony, Wanda and nat stiffened knowing the truth about you. “Only a handful of you will be staying behind. Clint seeings you can’t hear right now which would make using coms a nightmare.” Clint frowned crossing his arms and sounding in. The chair but knowing fury was right. “Y/n for obvious reasons and a concussion. Bruce will stay here in case y/n requires medical attention and Wanda and nat seeings you have taken a liking to young ms L/n will stay behind to protect her. The rest of you will be going to the base. You leave in three days. Tony you have three days to tell the team about y/n or I will be. Alright now lets get into the details of what’s happening on the mission. L/n, Barton, Maximoff and Romanoff you all stay for this as well, you might be needed as backup at any point so stay focused here.” You deflated in your chair, feeling yourself getting overstimulated. It was a mix of the constant flow of information and the fact your concussion was making everything around you seem ten times louder than it was. Nat was taking note on your left and Wanda sat doing the same on your right. Even though they wouldn’t be going on the mission they wanted to stay informed.

You drummed your fingers on your thigh and fidgeted softly trying to lay attention. You felt the headache begging to worsen and you winced, luckily hidden by the sunglasses. After another five minutes you were struggling even more. Even through the sunglasses the light was hurting your eyes slightly and the noises had blurred together to create an endless stream of overstimulating pain. You couldn’t tell nat or Wanda because you couldn’t sign in front of the team. Quietly you took a pen from the cup of them in the centre of the table. Uncapping the black biro and starting to draw up and down your arms. You drew and octopus to start and were putting the details on the tentacles when you felt a hand on yours. Looking up you see nat offering you her notepad. She slides it to you across the table indicating to draw on it instead. With slightly shaky hands you take it. Nat frowns seeing your tremor. You glanced around before moving your hands below the table and signed “what about your notes?” And she points to Wanda who is talking notes as well and she gives a finger wiggling wave with a cheeky grin. You chuckle and when you realise the room us quiet you see Steve glaring at you.

“Y/n? Are you even paying attention.” You swallow nervously.

“Yeah thats what I thought. Please listen this is important or we will have to. Bench you on the next mission.”

when nat saw the tears collecting in your eyes she stood up for you knowing it was too much and you couldn’t talk or leave. You felt trapped. Steve was still lecturing oblivious to you going a deep shade of red from the teams eyes on you.

“Alright thats enough Steve you made your point now get back to it.” Natasha said sounding very annoyed. Steve paused taking note of the authority in Nat’s voice and swallowed before returning to the briefing as fury had left to deal with more important matters. Wanda’s eyes lingered on you for a second before meeting Nat’s as they silently and possible mentally conversed thanks to Wanda’s powers. You were a little annoyed because you knew they would be talking about you. You huffed and fixed your gaze on the screen trying to get your buzzing brain to pay attention to the details. After what felt like hours Steve dismissed the team and you made a beeline for the door. Quickly retreating to your room and despite the silence, slipping on your noise cancelling headphones and starting to draw in your sketchbook. You were chewing on your pinky finger absentmindedly as your pen flew across the page when two short raps came on the door. Wanda and nat wanted to make sure you were ok. They knew something was up. Of course with the headphones on you didn’t hear them. Only realising when then door cracked open spilling light into the dimly lit room. Wandas head peeked in cautiously and you gave a small apologetic smile and signed for her to come in, looking sheepish. She smiled wildly and pushed the door open the rest of the way as her and nat entered. Shutting it after them, the room returned to its previously dimly lit level of light but the two girls didn’t seem to care. Nat eyed your sketchbook complementing your art before Wanda pulled you into her arms.

You buried your face in her neck and drew in a heavy breathe pf her calming scent.

“Baby girl was that meeting a bit much for you?” Wanda asked softly and felt you nod into her neck.

“Im sorry my love. The reason we didn’t come find you straight away is natty here chewed out Steve for calling you out like that in front of the team.” She heard you sniffle into her chest and felt small sobs wrack your form.

“Aww sweets don’t cry we’re here now.” Wanda said and you pulled away still straddling her with her hands on your hips. You signed ‘too much’ and nat carefully slipped the noise canceling headphones back over your ears. You sighed and Wanda pulled you into her again and drew circles on your back with the palm of her hand. It soothed you like the presence of the two women. After a bit you fell asleep and Wanda quietly talked to nat about telling the team. They would find out sooner or later and right now them not knowing was making things harder on you. Stressing to keep it secret was taking its toll on you. Nat knew the team the longest and knew they would be fine with it. Helpful even.

When you next woke they posed the idea and tired and sad you agreed. Pointing at them and signing that they would tell the team for you. Nat chuckled. “Sure thing kiddo whatever you want squirt.” She said ruffling you hair with a smile you batted her hand away grinning and poked your tongue out at her.With mock offence she placed a hand over her chest and gasped. Wanda rolled her eyes at your antics.

“Honestly you two are such children.”

“Yeah but you love us.” Nat said and Wanda sighed.

“I do. I love you both very much” she said peppering your face with kisses as you giggled slightly the sound warming Wanda’s heart.

“Right we have a meeting to call.” Nat said standing up.

MASTERLIST