#its the way they fight it and fight for it again and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 1 day ago

Text

Viktor... - Viktor x reader

Arcane Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Words: ~1100 TW: none

"Viktor!" you shouted, but the man never seemed to even consider stopping. "Viktor, wait!" Your desperation was growing stronger with every step, tears slowly blurring your vision.

Was this what he wanted? To disappear? Leaving you behind like you were nothing?

"Did I do something wrong?" your voice echoed as the man you once loved turned away, the dark cloak gracefully falling onto his new body. He wouldn't have even stopped to look at you if it wasn't for Jayce to tell you he was leaving. His body froze, his mind racing with the new sensations he felt. He slowly turned, strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

"No! I have to…" the hurt in his voice obvious. "I'm not…" he hesitated, not sure what to say next. Was he even alive? Was he even human? "I don't even know what I am anymore…"

You cautiously stepped towards him, taking in his features. He was suffering before, you knew that. He lost a lot of weight in the past years… His sickness was getting stronger, day by day, but now… Now he was standing in front of you, on his own legs. Now he was standing taller, the weakness you once saw in him gone.

Your hand pressed against his cheek, but he wasn't met with the warmth he once felt - it was something unusual. Peaceful, but not in a way he was able to understand. It was electrical, mechanical, not human-like. It was like a fire started underneath your palm, but it didn't hurt. His hand hesitantly touched yours, something that resembled a heartbeat seemingly getting stronger. Was it still his heart?

"I know what you are…" you said, the familiar brown eyes looking at you, their softness ever so unchanged.

"I killed Sky…" his voice trembled slightly, your heart skipping a beat. You were the first he ran to when this happened. The first to know everything he never let anyone know. You were the first to see him for who he really was. And now, thinking that you might be afraid of him, it made his body ache in unpleasant, strange ways. "I am murderer…" he eventually continued, his words quieter than they were in those many nights you spent together, hoping not to wake up anyone.

You just now realised the roughness of this new "skin", the coldness in it, a contrast to his gentle touches. Different from the way he used to worship you any chance he got. You were his only reason to continue fighting. His only reason to continue his research - because maybe, one day, your lives will be better. But the roughness was just on the surface... somehow, you could still feel the warmth. The kindness in his soul was as it always has been - unparalleled.

"No…" You softly said, cupping his cheeks. The touch sent a wave of energy coursing through him, not with the intensity of a shock, but with a steady, unyielding pull that reminded him of life itself. It felt like a promise, something soft yet grounding, pulling him back from the edge of despair. “You’re my Viktor…” The words hung in the air between you, their weight settling in the space around you both. Viktor didn’t move at first.

His eyes stayed locked on yours, searching for any trace of doubt, any sign that you might be lying. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His breath came slower, almost as if he was afraid to exhale, fearful that the fragile connection you had could shatter with a single movement.

Viktor’s forehead found its peace against yours, just as it always did. But this time, there was a tremble in his touch, a hesitant pause before his lips parted to speak again. The gentle pulse of your shared breath seemed to reverberate through your bodies, and for a moment, the world outside of this fragile moment disappeared. You could feel the echo of his heartbeat, faint and distant, but still there, somehow keeping him tethered to you. "And nothing could make me not want to follow you until the end of the time…"

A small smile crept on his face, your words seemingly reassuring him, even if just a little, that maybe he was not as inhuman as he thought he was. "I can't ask you to follow me…" he told you, knowing that it would perhaps mean the end of your life. Knowing that it might bring you more pain than his disappearance would have.

"Of course you don't…" you chuckled. "But I will anyway. I always did as I pleased, right?" the sound of his soft laugh made your heart jump, your ears enlightened as you heard it.

His fingers intertwined with yours, the whole world becoming silent, almost nonexistent. In the stillness of the moment, this touch was a silent understanding, a bond that spoke louder than words ever could. Your souls were connected once again, just as they were always meant to be. Fighting to find each other, fighting to find peace once again and now… fulfilled that they were finally reunited.

"It's not gonna be easy…" he warned, pressing a light kiss on your temple before he moved away, the coldness of his absence making you shiver.

"It's never been… But we managed…"

He smiled and all of the stimulus he felt stopped. Something similar to peace conquered his form now. Something stronger than whatever the Hexcore was doing to him.

You pressed his hand against your chest, the vibrations of your heartbeat resonating through him. You could see his mouth slightly opening in fascination at the intensity of his senses.

"Can you feel it?" you asked. "Can you feel it beating under your touch?"

Viktor’s fingers tightened around your wrist, as if afraid to let go. For a moment, he said nothing. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, a mix of disbelief and awe flickering in his expression.

"I can't promise you I'm the same..." he whispered, his voice trembling as if uncertain whether this was real.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, a powerful pain overcoming it at his words. "Whatever IT'll happen, I will face it with you. I know I want this, just please... Please don't push me away." He caressed your cheek, a weak smile on his face as he saw the determination in your eyes. The world became still. It was peaceful now. The past was a distant memory. The future - uncertain.

But the present felt just right.

#arcane #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you

245 notes · View notes

drowning-in-paragraphs · 3 days ago

Text

PLAYING DANGEROUS

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: tension, tension, tension... Maybe (a bit) toxic.

summary: After weeks of fighting over a campaign Jude worked on that sparked jealousy in you, your frustration grows as he dismisses your feelings. Fed up with being ignored, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. As expected, your boyfriend sees red—his control slipping as the night unfolds, and the tension between you two reaches its boiling point. But, of course, you are having so much fun.

The car ride was thick with an uncomfortable silence. Jude gripped the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed ahead. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, each sigh and subtle shift a quiet reminder of the tension simmering between you two. After all the back-and-forth arguments you’d had this week, you were both tired of hashing it out—but the hurt and resentment lingered.

You looked out the window, trying to lose yourself in the nightscape rushing by. The bright lights of the city blurred, but your mind was fixed on one image: that campaign photo. The one that had sparked this entire mess. Jude and a stunning model in a luxury campaign, his arm casually slung over her waist, their smiles too bright, too intimate. When you’d seen the ad, it had stung, but what has stung more was the behind the cameras videos. They had chemistry, and she was just as extroverted as him.

It hadn’t helped that when you’d brought it up to Jude, he brushed it off, rolling his eyes and calling you “dramatic” for making a big deal out of nothing. He’d practically laughed it off, leaving you feeling unheard and dismissed. That was the worst part: not just the jealousy, but the way he’d treated it as if it was meaningless.

“Can you not just sit there like I don’t exist?” Jude’s voice broke the silence, low but tight with irritation. “We’re going to this dinner. Can we just act like adults?”

You turned to him, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying the first sharp thing that came to mind. You’d been here before, and you were too tired of the fighting to start again.

“Jude, you know why we are in this situation,” you said quietly. “I just wanted you to take me seriously and acknowledge my feelings.”

“Acknowledge?” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “All I’ve done this whole week is listen to you accuse me of something I didn’t do. It’s a campaign. That’s it. Nothing more.” He resisted the urge to say, "End of discussion," and focused on the road ahead instead.

“But you didn’t make me feel like it was nothing, Jude. You made me feel like… like I’m stupid for even bringing it up. You think I don’t know that it’s part of your job?” Your voice quivered, and you hated that you sounded so emotional.

Jude’s face softened for a moment, but then he hardened his expression again, as if not wanting to give in. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I thought you knew me better than that, honestly.”

There it was—another subtle jab. The conversation felt like a seesaw, tipping between blame and defense, never quite reaching a point of understanding. You crossed your arms, pressing yourself against the passenger door, feeling miles away from him, though he was just a few feet to your left.

“I just wanted to feel like you cared that I was upset. That’s all. Not for you to laugh it off like it was something stupid.”

He clenched his jaw, as if forcing himself not to retort. His hands tightened on the wheel again. “Look, I get it now. You don’t trust me, and that’s fine. I’ll do my job, you can stay mad at me, and we’ll just keep doing this every week.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and it hurt. “This is getting ridiculous...”

You two were tired of fighting, but something in you, something sharp and bruised, couldn’t let go of the last few days’ arguments. It wasn’t enough for him to be hurt. You wanted him to understand.

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady but feeling anger prickle under your skin. “If it’s so ridiculous, then maybe I’ll make sure you get a taste of what that feels like. You’ll feel as ‘ridiculous’ as you’ve made me feel this week. We’ll see if it’s still a joke then.”

Jude’s head whipped toward you, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face. “What? Are you serious right now?” His voice was tense, a low warning.

You felt a pang of guilt, but you held his gaze. “I just don’t think you’d understand it any other way.”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He stared back at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The quiet between you was no longer uncomfortable but electric, charged with a bitterness that hadn’t been there before.

The car finally pulled up to the restaurant where you were supposed to meet your friends. The weight of what you’d just said hanging heavily between you. Jude cut the engine and just sat there, staring straight ahead, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. You didn´t move either, not knowing what was he going to do. After a beat, he climbed out, moving around to your door without a word. When he opened it, he didn’t look at you, just held the door and waited for you to step out.

You could see the tension in his posture, his usual warmth and confidence replaced by a coldness that made your heart ache. But you were both too proud, too angry, to say anything.

As you neared the entrance, Jude’s hand shot out, gripping your waist with a firm possessiveness. The touch wasn’t gentle or affectionate as usual; it was more of a declaration. Despite the anger simmering between you, he wasn’t about to let you carry out your threat to make him jealous. You tensed at his touch, your own anger rising as you felt him draw you in as if he could control you with a single motion.

Without thinking, you shrugged him off, shoving him away just enough to make your point. Jude halted, cursing under his breath, as he fought to keep his temper in check. The sharp click of the car lock sounded behind you as he pocketed the key, jaw clenched, but his eyes held yours for a moment. You both understood each other’s challenge, an unspoken line drawn that neither of you wanted to cross but couldn’t seem to avoid.

With your heads held high and expressions perfectly composed, you stepped into the restaurant, slipping on your masks of calm as you approached your friends. Your forced smiles and quiet greetings betrayed none of the tension between you, and you fell into the comfortable rhythm of small talk.

Back at the table, the spark of defiance inside you had turned into a full flame. Watching Jude as he laughed and charmed his way through conversations, acting as if your argument had never occurred, only fueled that fire. He didn´t get to act as if nothing happened. His face was relaxed, his posture easy—but you knew him well enough to sense the barely hidden tension in his movements, the occasional dart of his eyes toward you, checking, warning.

Fine, you thought. If he wanted to pretend everything was fine, you'd go along with it. In fact, you’d be the most composed person at the table. But where was the fun in that?

You turned your attention to the friend sitting beside you, leaning closer with an easy smile as you laughed at his stories. Your hand brushed against his as you reached for your drink, letting it linger just a second longer than usual. The warmth of his arm pressed lightly against yours as you angled your body toward him, giving him your full attention. Jude was watching, and you knew he was watching. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see his mouth tighten, his easygoing demeanor slipping just a bit. His brows furrowed, and whatever his friend beside him was saying no longer seemed that interesting.

Good.

As the evening wore on, you let your laughter come a little too easily, smiling at your friend’s jokes, resting your hand briefly on his shoulder as you leaned in, your face just inches from his. Jude’s gaze was practically drilling into you, a dark intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, thrilling and defiant all at once.

You were loving it.

His hand came to rest on the table, fingers drumming an agitated beat, his knuckles white. At one point, he leaned forward to reach for his drink, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a shiver down your spine. You caught his eyes, holding his gaze in challenge.

“You okay, baby?” you asked with a smile—the prettiest smile you could offer, eyes shining with a hint of mischief.

In response, his hand drifted under the table, finding your thigh and gripping it firmly. The heat of his palm burned through the silky fabric of your black dress, his fingers possessive, unapologetic. You swallowed, trying to focus on the conversation in front of you, but the pressure of his hand sent your pulse racing, a blend of anger and something far more dangerous surging through you.

Ignoring his grip, you shifted slightly and crossed your leg, pulling away just enough to let his hand slip, but not before his fingers tightened in a quick, heated squeeze. He didn’t let go; instead, he moved his hand further up, his fingers now grazing your upper thigh, daring you to push him away. You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Instead, you leaned even closer to your friend, laughing softly as you let your hair fall forward, just brushing Jude’s arm in the process.

You could feel the heat of Jude’s glare on your skin, the simmering anger in every tense line of his body. You risked a quick glance his way, only to find him staring back at you with a look so intense, so darkly possessive, it was almost predatory. You'd seen this look before, but only when you had pushed him too far, ignited something in him he couldn’t control. It was a fire you both knew too well, one you had stirred with every challenge, every teasing word. And now, that fire was about to consume everything.

“Come on, keep pushing me, love.” He muttered sarcastically, each word perfectly pronounced, making sure you heard him loud and clear.

He lifted his glass, fingers curling possessively around the stem, and took a slow, deliberate sip, never once breaking his intense eye contact. As he set it down, his gaze trailed down to your lips, full and inviting, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, his eyes moved lower, lingering on the soft curve of your breasts, which you had purposefully exposed just enough to rile him up when he wasn’t looking. His stare lingered there, hungry, possessive, making your stomach tighten with a mix of anticipation and anger.

No. No. He didn't get to be in control. This time, you were the one leading. Why did he manage to make you so nervous with just a few touches and his confident smirk? It wasn't fair.

His hand drifted higher on your thigh, and you fought to keep your breath steady. The weight of his touch sent a rush of heat through you, but you refused to look his way, keeping your attention on the friend beside you. Due to all the bickering and pointless arguments, it had been far too long since you’d been close to each other. Now, his touch sent a butterflies to your stomach, its effect magnified—three times more intense than before. Jude’s fingers tensed, his grip growing firmer, sending a clear message, a silent warning. But you leaned in again, touching your friend as you laughed, your fingers trailing along his, knowing exactly how it looked.

Jude’s jaw clenched, his leg brushing firmly against yours under the table, his knee pressing against you with an undeniable possessiveness. His hand squeezed your thigh, almost painfully, and you knew he was at his limit.

So, you laughed again, but this time harder at your friend’s joke.

“Something funny?” Jude muttered in a low voice, his words quiet enough that only you could hear, laced with irritation and a hint of warning.

You turned to him, your expression innocent, even sweet. “He’s just hilarious,” you said with a slight, shy and cute smile, raising your glass and meeting his eyes in a silent challenge.

His gaze darkened further, his fingers moving in a slow, heated drag along the inside of your thigh, and for a brief second, you fought to keep your composure, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you. His touch was a slow burn, each inch of contact sending a shiver through you that you tried to ignore.

Jude’s hand dropped back to the table, and for a moment, you thought he might finally let it go. But when you laughed again and casually complimented your friend with a teasing remark—something along the lines of, “You always look so good, I do not understand why are you still single,”— Jude’s expression darkened, his breath hitching slightly. He choked on his drink, fingers gripping the glass so tightly you half-expected it to shatter. You could practically feel the heat radiating from him, his control slipping just a little more with every word.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle a laugh. He set his glass down hard, his voice a rough whisper. “May I remind you that you are not the one who’s single?” he asked, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

You raised a brow, unfazed, and turned back to your friend. “Am I pushing it?” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, a sly smile playing on your lips. But just as you were about to rest your hand on your friend’s arm for the fifteenth time that night, you felt Jude’s hand slip over yours—this time grasping your wrist, his fingers rough and insistent, stopping you before you could touch another man.

“Do not, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice like steel, laced with something electric that sent a thrill up your spine.

Without a word, you twisted your hand free and crossed your legs again, your knee brushing his leg as you did. His fingers found your wrist again, pulling you closer this time, his lips near your ear as he muttered, “You think this is a game?”

The heat of his breath against your skin made your heart race, and you felt your pulse quicken as he held your gaze, daring you to keep this up. His fingers lingered on your wrist, and for a second, you wondered if he might actually kiss you right there, just to make his point, in front of everyone, as if he didn’t care who was watching.

God you wanted that. Like, a lot.

At last, as the evening wound down and you both stood to say goodbye, Jude didn’t let you slip away. His hand slid possessively around your waist, holding you close as you say goodbye to the group, his grip firm, almost punishing. Once outside, he pulled you aside, finally away from the prying eyes of your friends.

Without a word, Jude pushed you gently against the side of the car, his eyes blazing with frustration, anger, and something else you couldn’t quite name. He stepped in close, his hands framing your waist, pressing you against the cool metal. His breath brushed against your neck, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.

“You think this was funny?” he asked, his fingers pressing into your hips, his gaze intense, unyielding.

You lifted your chin, holding his stare. “No,” you whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I thought it was fair.”

Jude’s eyes darkened, and his grip tightened, his hands possessive, nearly desperate, as he pulled you even closer. The air between you was charged, tense, and thick with unspoken words. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against you, the warmth of his hands sending shivers through you.

“You’re being…,” you started, trying to keep a teasing smile in check, though your amusement slipped through. His anger was palpable; he glared at you with narrowed eyes, locking onto you with an intensity that was thrilling, even a little dangerous.

“Mmm, what was it?” you asked, pretending to struggle to remember the exact word that had lit the fuse in this absurd, yet undeniably thrilling standoff. You paused for effect, watching the way his jaw tightened. “Oh, right—dramatic.”

You knew that would push him right over the edge, and sure enough, he leaned in, his expression hardening as his gaze burned right into yours. You could almost feel the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you, as if he were drawing you into his orbit. He hadn’t even said a word yet, but somehow, he had you on edge, just as he always did, effortlessly.

“But you know,” you added with a smirk, leaning up on tiptoe to press a playful kiss on his heated cheek, “I think it suits you.”

Then, with all the nonchalance you could muster, you turned on your heel, heading for the passenger seat as though nothing had happened. For a moment, he didn’t move; you could practically feel his stare following you. But then, before you could even open the door, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back to him, right back into that same charged position, his grip firm but unmistakably possessive. And despite yourself, you couldn’t help but let a thrill run down your spine.

“You have no idea what you just started,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dangerous promise, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And as you looked up at him, feeling the heat, the thrill, and the tension swirl between you, you realized you didn’t regret a single thing.

Jude’s smirk deepened as he held you there, his grip possessive and firm, his gaze dark with intent. You could feel every inch of space crackling with tension, every breath laced with challenge and defiance. He wasn't letting you go, not after what you'd just put him through. And part of you didn't want him to.

“You think this is a joke,” he muttered smirking, his voice low and edged with a dangerous sort of amusement. His fingers traced along your arm, each touch purposeful, as if to prove just how much control he still held. You raised your chin, meeting his gaze with equal defiance, a small smile on your lips.

“I think it is a taste of your own medicine,” you replied, your voice soft but unyielding. He leaned in, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke, sending a shiver straight through you. He couldn’t resist the urge to kiss you.

“You’re going to regret this,” he murmured, his words a promise as his thumb skimmed along your jaw, tipping your face up to meet his.

236 notes · View notes

whumpster-fire · 2 days ago

Text

Oh boy okay I think my smallest / least known fave is Ambersun (formerly known as Albion, changed because of how many other bands have the same name), and I am begging everyone to listen to this band because seriously it is so good.

Summary: it's a power metal band which I think may be basically a one man show plus various guest vocalists I'm not sure, which does story-based concept albums based on different works of fiction. Possibly qualifies as Rock Operas? Anyway I love "fandom music" and this is one of my all time favorites even though two of the albums are for "I don't even go here" fandoms and the other is for a book I found through the music, because the sound is awesome, the lyrics are awesome, and you can just hear the passion put into them.

I'm now going to post a bunch of lyrics under the cut please please please listen to these songs. Actually just listen to the albums in order, this is one of those bands where the songs are already good as standalones but you really need to listen to the full album to get the full experience.

We are lost, in an endless night, the sun drained from our eyes

Gone, when we sold our lives to the plague that stole the sky

"Life Before Death," from The Poison Skies

Erased and they don't care, but you would still be here if only you'd stayed, been mine only mine

It's so unfair to leave me, the tribe I formed deceived me, but now I'll fight in your name

There's no way to hide from their stare,

I still feel their eyes everywhere

And the hatred that clouds all their minds, it hides the truth of it all

"Out In the Wilds" from The Poison Skies

The one to keep the noble name, to carry all their hopes and dreams, a future severed when one night became forever

"Run" from The Poison Skies. This. Freaking. Song. Has changed me. "Run" is a banger on its own, but reading The Afflicted and reaching the scene this song is about made it so much better and also slightly painful. Which can be said about the entirety of The Poison Skies but this song especially, because the entire song is a character high on adrenaline, deluding himself into believing he can actually pull off the promise he made to his friends that he was going to survive the badass self-sacrificing stunt he was pulling. Also I have no idea how I have not gotten a speeding ticket while playing this in the car yet.

Visions that I can't erase, every time I see her face,

She reminds me of how I never tried

Now I watch us as we fall, can't help anyone at all,

Why did I alone survive?

Survivor's Guilt!

"Survivor's Guilt" from The Poison Skies

This worthless weapon symbolizes who I am

Remaining silent, offer no resistance,

And I become the iron mask

"Disappear" from The Poison Skies

Survive one last dance through the wind and the cold,

We can't change our stories, but they still can be told

"Snow" from The Poison Skies

Sealed in cryogenic cold, I'll dive into the dark, reanimate your soul

Together we will rise up hand in hand this blackened night

"Morning" from The Day the Night Slept

I'll burn in the night, I'll light up the sky, you'll see,

And I'll be the Scorpion's Fire!

"The Scorpion's Fire" from The Day the Night Slept

Lost in the night, but still he survives

I'll tear apart time so his heart never dies

"Asriel Must Be Saved" from Buried Souls. Yes this is exactly what it sounds like from the title. A 15 minute musical fix fic about finding a way of saving Asriel Dreemur from Undertale with some sort of timeline fuckery I don't understand because I haven't played the game. And it's glorious.

Mighty wheels will turn again, flames of faith ignite

Chase the legend of the sun, and bathe our world in light

"Bring Back the Sun," currently a single release.

enough about taylor swift already. reblog and tag the smallest, least known artist you listen to

#music #power metal

32K notes · View notes

notsodailycake · 2 days ago

Text

Part 3 for the fitclet I did for @keferon 's mecha pilot jazz au! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

For those who missed it:

Part 1 || Part 2

This is probably the longest out of all the 3 parts, dear god, I went all in. It came out bigger than I ever expected it to be. I was not expecting it to go this far honestly, but the parasites in me, they begged for more. So here we are! :D

Again tho, idk how in character they will be here, but I tried my best ＼(*T▽T*)／. Also, kinda bullshitted my way through in worldbuilding bc idk how things work exactly- and I had to come up with stuff on my own, even tho I'm not that good in mecha world stuff, so I'm sorry for any inaccuracies ^^;;

Now, to give credit to those who so desperately deserve it:

My sister @saltynsassy31 for helping me when I couldn't write out some of my ideas and doing it herself (so consider this as a bit of a frankenstein monster of both our writing styles, mainly during intense scenes. If there is any fancy words in this, it's cuz of her) and being my beta reader for this part. Seriously yall, this wouldn't have been as coherent and well written without her help!

Also huge thanks to my online sister @yayadrawsthingz for helping out when I hit a few road blocks during this!

And finally, a huge huge thanks to my honorary online uncle @hexyz09 for helping me finish off the final fight scene when I got stuck during some plot holes and road blocks, or generally just writing myself into a corner and having to help me leave it, despite not knowing jackshit about the au, let alone the ship and characters themselves, but was still willing to help me through in working on the plot, in this crazy obsession of mine XD

Yall have no idea how much help these guys were. Probably wouldn't be able to finish without either of their help ᕦ(òωóˇ)ᕤ

Oh and an honourable shoutout to the song "Headlock" by Imogen Heap! Kept listening to this on loop as it kept my drive up to write this.

Now onto the fic!

---

Prowl ignored Jazz's various attemps to push out his servo from the cockpit. Despite the mech being weak himself, the human was still no match against thousands of pounds of metal, especially in his own weakened state.

Which was a matter of its own at the moment. Prowl knew he had very little time to be able to run ahead before the other humans caught on to them, having noticed the alarm bells ringing through the facility.

So he ran towards the exit Jazz had initially pointed out, the only plan they had at the moment.

...

"Prowl! Prowler, hey! I know you can hear me! Prowl!" Jazz shouted as he slammed yet another fist in a failed attempt to nudge the bot's servo out of the way. He hasn't said a word since picking Jazz up, and he wasn't sure how long that was, maybe not that much, but it felt too long yet too little at the same time (what a headache).

Sliding down, he gently hit his forehead over the protective servo and let out a sigh of defeat. No way he could get him to move like this.

Why was he trying to anyways? Didn't he want to be with Prowl? He certainly did, but somehow, something in him made him feel like he shouldn't just be accepting this.

And maybe Prowl also knew this, which is why he took off and hasn’t said a word since. Both held conflicted feelings about the whole thing. If only things didn't feel so blurry right now!

Suddenly, a hard shift made Jazz stumble a bit, grasping at whatever he could so he didn't fall back, loud noises of metal scrapping metal could be heard as something got kicked open on the outside. Jazz scrambled over to the small crevice that opened between Prowl's digits, not enough for him to fit anything over other than his hand, but enough to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Prowl had kicked down the exit door to the lab ('not like he had the hands available to properly open the damn thing anyways' Jazz thought to himself). It was meant for mechas to exit the room after they finish off whatever it is they do in here, that Jazz knew, and if he was right, just down the hall there will be another exit leading to the backroom where they stockpiled the mech suits. No one but the technicians were usually supposed be there, it would be an easy fight to get to the big gate that lead to the outside training grounds, which is why Jazz had pointed for the mech to go down there in the first place.

There shouldn't have been a problem besides giving him time to leave unscathed. Which Jazz assumed would not be the case as he was currently inside Prowl and not buying him time to escape. But, to Jazz's surprise, nothing had come close to attacking them, yet.

The pilot did not have much time to contemplate it as suddenly he heard Prowl rumble an annoyed grunt.

"Don't move."

In shock, Jazz stumbled back as Prowl removed his hand and reached for the end of the overhead gate, seemingly alot harder to kick down than a two way door. The only thing it would really do would be to bend the metal a bit but it wouldn't give an open entrance. Jazz didn't dare leave, not like he could from this hight, but even if he could, Prowl would probably just pick him up again; it be a waste of energy really (just admit it, you don't want to leave him). But something about this felt wrong, so far they haven't had a single guard come down the hall, just this small pause would give them enough time to catch up to the two runaways, Jazz was sure that guards had been on his tail when he was under his rampage.

Unless...

Wait.

"Prowl! Wait don't open that gate!" But he was too late, the moment he uttered those words the mech had already been in motion and pushed the gate up with all his might and as quickly as he opened it a gun shot came through the otherside. They had been waiting for them, they knew where they were heading. The bastard he kicked down prior to this probably saw them and reported it, dammit.

Prowl let out a strangled cry of pain as the shot landed right on his left shoulder (like it wasn't damaged enough by the lack of arm), Jazz fell backwards with the harsh motions, hitting the back of the pilot's seat, the impact leaving his vision to go dark for a few seconds before he collected himself as quickly as he could. In an instant though, just as he tried to get back up to see what was outside, Prowl had put his hand back over the open cockpit.

No...he wouldn't be able to fight like this, protecting him as he is would only hinder the bot to more damage. And that's exactly what Jazz intended to express to the other. "Prowl! You won't be able to fight with your hand over me! Forget about holding me inside, I won't leave, I promise!"

"That's not the point!" Prowl growled, letting out another hiss of pain as more shots were loaded, someone shouting out for them to stand down.

Prowl couldn't risk leaving Jazz exposed. Unlike the human, Prowl could take a few shots, their weapons not being strong enough to inflict any serious damage to his plating (though perhaps a bit to his exposed protoform, though he could handle it for a little while longer). But it would take one lucky shot on Jazz to have him dead in an instant, and Prowl couldn't take that chance.

It seemed like Jazz got the message, not spitting back any sort of remark about Prowl's lack of explanation.

But the mech couldn't linger too much on those thoughts, he had to get out, and fast. He was losing too much energon, and his vision was starting to get blurry, which wasn't a good sign. It didn't help that his thoughts were a hazy mess, his usual ability to think logically overthrown by the panic of needing to get out of this place while ensuring Jazz's survival.

It's not like he had much to do, though. Any possible escape hindered by the fact he couldn't use his weapons unless he risks Jazz's life to one lucky shot. Perhaps he could make a run for it, knock through the mechas in front of him and let them tumble over as he reached the final exit; it wasn’t the best plan perhaps, with at least a 19% rate of success, given he isn't in the best physical state at the moment, he probably wouldn't be strong enough to knock them over. Added to the fact the exit wasn't shut by a gate he could simply knock over easily either, like the previous one. He'd have to push it open from the bottom, and there wasn’t enough time for him to act on it.

But he'd have his back turned to the shots, reassuring Jazz's own safety, so he could perhaps risk removing his servo to push the gate open once more.

With a quick warning from his HUD telling him his energon levels were getting dangerously low, Prowl decided to take the risk, with little time left, he took a step forward making a run for it.

The mechas seemed to ready themselves for his attack, quickly positioning their weapons to target him, closing any narrow space they had between each other.

What they didn't expect was for the mech to charge his whole body weight onto them. Despite not feeling any pain, they certainly could not fight against gravity itself. They all stumbled against each other as Prowl made a mad dash to the gate. He slid on his knees and made a quick reach for the bottom of the gate, anxiously removing his hand from over the cockpit, bending over protectively as to not have anything be able to aim inside.

He could feel his spark beating fast from anxiety, they were so close, they'll be able to leave soon enough. Jazz was most certainly having a good feel to Prowl's anxious beat, the loud thruming reaching the bot's own audials was most certainly deafening to the human sitting near it.

Then, a shot.

A pop.

A blinding light.

And the beat stops.

Jazz was curling in on himself as an instinct to protect himself from the sudden burst behind him. It only took a few seconds for him to realise what that was once he couldn't hear a single beat of a spark, or the burning sensation it left, feeling his own heart stop and drop to his gut.

It felt like the world around him suddenly stopped, everything going into slow motion, with no sounds to accompany the dread. Feeling as Prowl's body leaned foward to crash on the ground.

But just as quickly as the silance came, it left. Prowl catching himself from hitting the ground with a grunt, a slam could be heard as his arm and elbow made contact with the concrete floor. His spark beating, weakly, but beating nonetheless. What felt like hours of silance was only a quick few seconds of deafening dread.

"Prowl!" Jazz called out in desperation, reaching out to hold the edges of the cockpit, so not to fall out, but to also try and comfort his anxiousness as he tried to look up at the mech's face. The mech made a sound of acknowledgement, which came out more like broken static, but didn't make much effort to move, his face scrunched up in pain, optics shut. They shot him on his back, too close to where his spark would be, causing him to skip a beat, and busting a bit of his left doorwing, but it still seemed to function somewhat.

Suddenly, both of them picked up on the sound of something opening, giving no time for either to fully process what had just occurred. Prowl made a quick move to get his hand over the cockpit once more (with slight struggle as he stumbled and fell on his aft) as a thick metal slab emerged from above and beneath, right in front of the gate, shutting it close with a protective layer of metal. Guessing by the red alarm ringing around them, an emergency protocol to keep anyone from leaving. Slag.

The mechas surrounded them, guns all aimed to shoot at the alien mech if he didn't comply.

It was silent for a brief moment, in exception to Prowl's anxious beating spark (which wasn't a problem for Jazz at the moment, the burning warmth being somewhat comforting) and Jazz's own heart beating over his ears. Both catching their breaths.

"There's no point in fighting. So make this easy for all of us and surrender yourselves." A nobody pilot finally spoke out, weapon leaning a tad closer than the others.

The atmosphere felt heavy, they were pinned down. Really, the only thing they could do was surrender, but Jazz would sure as hell be reprimanded for his actions and Prowl.....he didn’t want to think about that. No, he wouldn't even allow that thought to become any sort of reality.

"Prowl" he whispered, knowing only the mech would hear him, leaning a gentle souch to his servo as if to beg, "I know you might not have alot of trust 'n me, but this might be our best shot." There was a tense shift, not too noticeble unless you could see the mechanisms from the inside, Prowl knew what he was about to suggest. "You need to let me pilot you." He cringed as he felt the other's servo stiffen, he wasn't pleased with the idea, and neither was Jazz, but he knew this place alot better than Prowl did, and knew how to properly defeat the mechas, knowing their weak spots. And Prowl was all too aware of that too, Jazz knew it. They both were very aware of it all.

"Please," he begged, leaning his forehead on the mech's servo yet again, "I can't lose you again." There was slight shift, Jazz looked up, though he obviously couldn't see the mech's face, the sigh he let out was loud and clear. The controls on the pilot's seat shifted, Jazz got the message:

'Alright'

He couldn't help but let a small smirk creep over his face, making way to sit down and start piloting.

"Under one condition though," Prowl suddenly whispered to him, though it was alot louder to Jazz on the inside.

"And what would that be, partner?" The title flew out too fast for Jazz to stop himself, feeling so natural to call Prowl partner once more. The mech didn't seem against it though.

"No removing my hand."

Jazz was left stunned for a quick second, though it felt like a minute for Prowl as he waited for a reply eagerly.

"I can work with that." Prowl let out a sigh of relief at that, allowing the human, his partner, to take control of him again.

It took a moment for Jazz to adjust himself, in the meantime, the people waited outside anxiously for the other to make a move. When Prowl finally started to shift around to stand up with a small grunt, everyone raised their guns and loaded them up, but didn't shoot just yet. The mech looked up at them with a deadly glare, but made no move to attack, his remaining arm not leaving the open cockpit for a second, he simply stood up with a slight slump to his posture, doorwings drooping down slightly. In all possible ways, he looked weak and defeated, no signs of fighting back.

One of the mechas walked closer, gun still aiming at Prowl, but it was lowered slightly. They reached a hand out expectantly.

"The pilot, hand him over." They demanded, no sympathy whatsoever.

Prowl clutched his chasis, anger pooling over in his spark, doorwings twitching up slightly, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. He heard Jazz speak to him in a low tone so only he could hear it, with a sigh, he relaxed. He slowly, very slowly, drew out his hand from the cockpit, the action in itself having the other mecha have their body relax slightly as they approached the mech, weapon being put down slightly enough, and so did the others around them. Jackpot.

Before he fully removed his servo, the mech made move to crouch down and in a swift motion swung a peed over to the mechas own, catching them off balance and knocking them down. Jazz let out a small hiss to the action, forgetting his own injured leg, but pushed on regardless.

Using the thrusters of his doorwings, they were able to balance themselves back up, Prowl's servo going back into fully protecting it's pilot once more. With most weapons being aimed up and not down, it took a delayed second to aim correctly, but it was enough time for the human and cybertronian duo to twist themselves out of harms way.

Before the fallen pilot could attempt to get up, Jazz made move to aim over the weak spot of their mecha's knee and stepped hard enough to break its mechanisms so they couldn't stand back up easily. But the glory was short lived as more shots were fired their way.

Jazz's hand twitched to move and use its weapons, but he resisted the urge with a slight huff, "Man, 's hard to fight without an arm!"

"This is none negotiable, Jazz." Prowl hissed as they made move to avoid more shots.

"I know, I know! Don't mean it makes it easier!" Jazz tried to analyse their surroundings, though it was made difficult with the many HUD warnings from all the injuries (the pilot couldn't help but mutter a broken "I'm so sorry" to his partner, whether the mech heard him or not he wasn't sure), but pushing through it, he took note of a few key details. There was a metal catwalk grate near above the mechas' heads, running with a few on ground troops, the bastard of a boss being one of the few amongst them. Near a corner stood an elevator to go up and down the area.

How that could help, Jazz wasn't sure yet.

A shot hit Prowl's arm, pain flowed through the mech as he moved out of the way once more. Jazz looked around in a frenzy to find a place to shield themselves....the mechas! Making a run for to the lifeless husks, he swivelled around between them and hid behind the many rows of mechas knowing full well that they would not risk such precious resource and money just to reach them. At least he hoped not, because he just needed a little bit of time to figure something out.

Hearing the big man call out to hold their fire was good enough indication that his idea worked.

"Ok, now we just need somethin' to distract them long enough for us to make a jump to the ceiling." Jazz explained

"The ceiling?" Prowl inquired, not so certain about his partner's ability to properly think at the moment.

Jazz rolled his eyes, but didn't make mention of the mech's tone. "It's the weakest point here, plus" he made way for Prowl to look up to where he remembered the area to be at, "there's a trap door for flying mechas and emergencies. One quick press of a button will open it up, even under "safety protocols."" Prowl let out a hum in thought, seeming to analyse the situation.

"Possible, but where is this said button?"

"Behind the elevator, by the catwalk grating on top. There's a control panel, and one big red button, can't miss it."

"Would smashing it still get it to work?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't have any complaints."

"Good, now," Jazz went back to scanning the area, "how to cause a distraction?"

"Would that broken pipe be of any use?" Prowl made an effort to twitch his head over to the direction of what he wanted Jazz to see. And just as the mech stated, there, by the first floor of the elevator, stood a broken pipe, steam coming out of it.

Jazz smirked "it would actually. If we can get somethin' to shoot at it, we might cause an explosion, giving us time to jump up without being the target anymore."

"Sounds like a plan." Prowl shrugged.

"Don't have anything to add?" Jazz asked a bit surprised.

"No, I don't." The pilot didn't push.

"Okay. Well, let's get these bastards shootin." In quick motion, they made way to the elevator, already hearing the commands to shoot fire, 'but watch for the machines!' Weapons were loaded from above as well, shooting down at the two runaways once again.

Jazz made sure to move swiftly behind the mechas, making sure they were shielded properly. Any gaps they had to cross was a small risk they needed to take, scrapes and scratches being left in its wake, but tried not to do it too often, just enough that they could follow them. They eventually reached where the pipes were, Jazz took a deep breath.

"Ready, big guy?"

"Ready."

They stepped foward, making sure to call the attention towards where they were, but quickly retrieting back behind the mechas suits as they shot directly where they wanted to hit. "Bingo."

Quickly, activating Prowl's thrusters, they leaped over to the metal grates that stood above them as the pipes behind them burst, causing a huge commotion as empty mechas fell down and whatever machine near the crossfire tumbled down. Prowl let out a gasp as he felt the world around him spin, the grating beneath them not being of any help as it shook with his weight. Jazz was quick to hold on, helping the mech stablise himself before aiming with his left foot to kick the big red button with their ticket out of here, the motion causing his vision to flash in pain, but he bit his toung until he could taste iron and pushed forward.

Hearing the metal door above them open up, Jazz readied himself, but hesitated with the warning he'd received from Prowl's HUD from his low energon levels. He didn’t even get the chance to fully check on it though, Prowl quickly pushing them out of the way himself.

"I'll live, just one more push." The mech hastily reassured the human. Jazz wasn't inclined to belive it though, feeling the other's spark beat anxiously (and for some reason that made him feel slightly dizzy. Though he chalked it up to it being his possible concussion).

It took one shot to slip an inch away from Prowl's face for them to finally snap out of it and jump. One more push from his thrusters as they flew up through the trap door and landed on top of the roof with a grunt, the mech's left wing finally giving out.

But they weren’t in the clear yet. Looking out, a wasteland of a forest awaited them, with dense trees at the bottom.

"We'll have to make a jump for it. If we're lucky enough the trees will be big enough to hide us." Jazz supplied.

"45% of that happening. But we don't have much of another option at the moment." Prowl added

With all that being said, Jazz moved into action. With so much at stake, he had to, he couldn't waste another second in debating. Hefting Prowl up, he used all remaining strength to jump where they needed to go, but as the training grounds began to get closer than anticipated, Prowl knew they didn’t make the jump and that made the mech almost freeze.

Though Jazz had other plans, because as their impending flat doom approached in rapid speed, Prowl's remaining thruster burst to life and gave that final impusle they needed to reach the slope. They both braced themselves as they were thrown up and over to their intended destination, Prowl having half a mind to tighten his hold over his chest so none of the debris and impact could reach the fragile human still in his care.

They rolled down the slope, Prowl just barely being able to shift himself so that he was sliding on his back instead. The aggresive motion of going down a not so smooth path causing bigger cuts and slashes against his already damaged frame. But the only thing he could think of at the moment was that they made it.

Jazz was quick to let go of his control over Prowl, who in turn made an effort to sit properly. Though the sudden slamming to his servo made him look down worriedly, moving it slightly to see Jazz leaning on it desperately.

"Prowl-" he heaved, "Prowl put me down I'm feeling sick."

The mech panicked and quickly made move to help the human down, gently placing him on the grass below. Jazz made no effort in being graceful as he hurled over and puked his guts out, luckily avoiding Prowl in all of this.

Clutching his stomach in pain, his heaving and coughs agitating the injuries on his abdomen. Everything around him felt blurry and muffled as his body made sure to get everything he had eaten in the past day out of him.

What made him panic was the sudden taste of iron in his mouth as he coughed up whatever he had left inside. That's not good. And that definitely didn't escape the giant mech's notice, who kept a hovering servo near him.

"Jazz! Is that blood?!" His voice sounded so broken, static lacing over his words.

"Uh- Yeah. Yeah it is." He wasn't sure how to deny that really, and he felt too light-headed to try. But his attention diverted to the sudden pink glow that landed at the side of his vision.

Energon.

Quickly looking up, he finally got a glance at his partner's battered condition. Energon leaked from many different parts of his body, but the main source being from his missing arm. Jazz couldn't help but cringe at that.

But what hurt him the most to see was the weak light from the mech's optics, which still held visible concern on them. Despite being close to going into offline, he still looked at Jazz as if he's about the crumble into dust and leave him. Which he honestly, maybe, felt like. But seeing Prowl's optics flicker as they fought to stay online, Jazz panicked

"What 'bout you?!" He called back, catching the bot off guard. "You're losing too much energon! You look like you're about to go offline!"

Prowl cringed a little, not having anything to counter that. "Well that's because I-"

"No! I'm only a little bit dizzy, but I'll live. We need to patch you up right now!"

"I can help with that."

The new voice catches the duo off guard, Prowl immediately reaching out to Jazz, hand shielding the human from whoever that might be. Jazz looked down from where he was looking at Prowl and turned to see who it was that the voice came from.

There standing in front of them was a human carrying a simple tool box and a huge backpack strapped over one shoulder, filled with questionable things.

---

BEFORE YOU LEAVE, a little something I would like to point out for the fic, that some of yall with either like or not, during the process of writing this, I've seen a few posts keferon made about the spark being radioactive and such, and it sorta made me think a bit while developing Jazz's condition. So well, take Jazz's health in this as you will with this info :)

But anyways, yippie!! That's all for today folks! I hope yall enjoyed this one bc I definitely had a heck of a time writing this one XD

It got alot bigger than I anticipated and took much longer to finish than I originally planned (was supposed to be done 2 days ago).

Now, I know I keep saying "not sure if I'll make another part to this" but then proceed to do so anyways. But I mainly do so because everytime I shared it someone said something that added to the story somehow and gave me ideas to continue foward.

So like, if yall liked this and wanna see more, don't be shy to suggest/add anything to this as it may help inspire me to add more onto this, cuz honestly idk what the fuck I'm doing rn, I'm just going with the flow ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Also, a bit of note for the doodle, holy shit I did not expect it to look this good!! Tho I suffered with Jazz's suit, plz ignore any inaccuracies tee-hee. Prowl's knee and hands were hell too, especially his knee, but i could like, hide most of it lmao. Actually mainly struggled to not have his hand cover Jazz too much bc it kept covering the parts I actually wanted to show off lmao.

Oh and the guy at the end? Yall can take a good guess as to who it is :)

But since he doesn't have any official design, I kinda went with whatever felt right lol.

I also really wanted to draw out more scenes to add to the fic, but then it would take me a lot more time to actually post the fic as I figure out how to draw robots :'). But maybe I can try and doodle them out another time if I can, no promises tho-

#mecha pilot jazz au #oh god I'm so nervous about this one #i hope yall like it #and plz plz share whatever thoughts you have on this (as long as they're positive ofc bc my ego is very fragile YwY)#cake writed #yeah that's a tag now #cakes art #transformers #tf jazz #tf prowl #jazzprowl

315 notes · View notes

loganhowlettshousewife · 2 days ago

Text

animal

chapter 6

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (fem!receiving), unprotected piv, my first time writing smut so i'm sorry if it's horrible

series masterlist │my masterlist

you’ve known three versions of logan so far. the feral, animalistic version of logan that seems to be at the core of who he is - without any memories, that’s the personality he reverted to, those were the actions he took when controlled only by his baser instincts. then there’s the version of logan you imagine he’s created over the years to deal with his pain, the one that drinks himself stupid and fights against his nature to make others more comfortable, terrified to hurt anyone, terrified that he’ll prove to everyone that he’s a monster.

this version of logan though, the one you see before you now, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to knowing the real him. a person's memories and experiences make them who they are, shape them as a person, and the same can be said for logan. but he’s no longer trying to hide what his mutation makes him, at least not as much as before. he’s not the innocent, loving man you’d brought into your home - you doubt you’ll ever get that exact version of logan back - but he expresses himself in a new way now.

he’s explained to you some of the conditions of his mutation, why he acts the way he does. it makes more sense to you now, why his face is always finding its way to your neck, pressed to the spot where your scent is the most pronounced, mixing your scent with his to mark you. it soothes him, to walk by you and recognise that even when he’s not at your side his presence clings to you.

it’s nice, watching him slowly let his guard down, opening up to you. you’re proud of him every time he mutters something about himself or his past to you, quickly and quietly as though he’s partially hoping you won't hear him.

“i love you,” he says, taking a break from kissing you to breathe the words into the shared air between you.

you smile back at him. the words are as easy as breathing. “i love you too.”

he kisses you again, loving and intimate, a hand going to your waist, gripping onto your flesh tightly as if you’ll vanish if he ever lets go. you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers tomorrow, a reminder of his touch, of the way he worships your body. you part your lips for him, gasping lightly when his grip tightens, giving him free reign to explore your mouth with his tongue.

heat grows in your stomach, wetness flooding between your legs, insistent, and you grind down on his lap, feeling him growing hard underneath you. he’s big, you’ve seen him naked enough times to know, but it feels different with you pressed against him, much more imposing.

“need you,” he groans, fingers sliding under the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts, releasing it to watch it slap your skin. you gasp again and he chases the noise with his mouth, catching it on your lips.

he takes his time pulling your sleep shorts down your legs, reverently. there’s always a strange duality to intimacy with logan. he’s intense in everything he does, taking you apart multiple times a night, his gaze almost predatory as he explores your body. and yet he treats you like a queen, taking his time to make sure you feel good before he ever does anything for himself.

he spreads your legs open with his large hands, kneeling between your legs. he kisses up your thighs, so close to where you want him and you squirm.

“please, lo,” you beg, your hands in his hair.

he starts off slow, a consistent rhythm that has you begging for more, your moans growing breathier and louder until he can no longer control himself, eating you out like a man starved. his beard burns against your thighs, a delicious pain that only makes the pleasure more intense.

he adds one finger, the thick digit brushing against your walls, pressing against the spot inside you that makes you cry out. his fingers are bigger than your own, longer too, and he’s always much more effective at fingering you to an orgasm, able to give you what you need. he always knows what you need.

he adds a second finger, and that paired with the way his tongue drags against your clit, catching on the tip, has the pressure building inside you.

your orgasm hits you like a wave, a slow crescendo and then you’re falling. you ride his face as you cum, using your grip on his hair to pull him closer to you, feeling his nose bump against your clit as you press your cunt against his mouth. you shudder as you come down from your high and logan pulls away, mouth and beard glistening with you.

he’s still nearly fully dressed, which you find absolutely unfair, so you pull his shirt off, tossing it aside, making quick work of removing the rest of his clothes until he’s gloriously naked. his cock is hard and proud, flushed and straining.

he needs you, and he tells you so, the words echoing between you, the sentiment going straight to your core.

you wrap a hand around his cock, stroking him a few times, running your thumb over the tip to collect the beads of precum and rub it down his shaft. he groans at the feeling, rutting into your hand. usually this is the part where you take him into your mouth, let him fuck your throat until you’re gagging around him and spit dribbles from your lips around his thick cock.

but you want something different today, you want more. you haven’t taken this step yet, you didn’t feel ready before, wanting to wait until you were at a point where your rocky, unlabeled relationship felt solid. now, you couldn’t imagine not being ready to share this step with him, to give him every piece of you, putting your life and your love in his hands and begging him to keep it, keep you.

“lay down,” you order him, letting go of his cock to shove lightly at his chest, not hard enough to actually move him - you’re definitely not strong enough for that - but he goes willingly, and you smile at how quickly he complies.

you’re not usually the one giving orders in the bedroom, but he’s always weak to your whims, regardless of how small or meaningless they might seem. he wants to make you happy, something he’s told you multiple times when you teased him about how willing he was to do anything you asked of him. you could easily make him submit to you in bed if you batted your eyelashes at him and asked nicely.

he watches you with dark, lustful eyes as you crawl over him, straddling his lap, grinding your leaking pussy against his hard cock. you both moan at the feeling of your wetness sliding against his length, at how ready you both are for this.

“i want you inside me,” you say.

“are you sure?” logan asks, breathless. he wants it, you can see how hard he’s fighting not to rut up into you, but he’s holding back. it makes you feel warm all over, the way he cares so deeply about you, never pushing your boundaries, never wanting to push for more than what you’ll allow. it makes you want him even more.

“i’m sure,” you affirm, “don’t think i’ve ever felt more ready for anything, actually.”

you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down, feeling the stretch with every inch of him. you're thankful he stretched you out with his fingers, but you have to stop to breathe regardless when he’s halfway inside, the sound of your heavy breathing mixing with his own ragged pants as he fights to let you take the time you need.

finally you sink down onto him, a sigh escaping your lips when he’s fully sheathed inside you. you roll your hips to adjust to the feeling and logan growls, low in his throat.

you lift yourself up halfway before sinking back down, a new rush of heat rolling over you when you hear the way logan groans. he holds onto your waist as you move, helping lift you so you don’t get too tired, but eventually you start to falter, unable to keep up the steady rhythm. you pout as your movements become slower, annoyed at yourself, but logan takes over the moment you can’t, rolling you over onto your back so he’s hovering above you.

you wince at the feeling of him slipping out of you, but as soon as he has you positioned on your back the way he wants you, he’s lining himself up with your hole again, fucking into you hard and fast.

“this okay?” he asks, though you doubt he needs the answer given how you’re whining and writhing underneath him.

his thrusts are relentless, a steady pace that he could probably keep up for days and days. he has wonderful stamina, something you’d learnt the first time you’d made him cum when his cock immediately hardened again in your hand, your eyes widening as you looked up at him. he’d shrugged and smirked as he explained he didn’t have much of a refractory period. “‘least not when i’m with someone as pretty as you,” he’d continued.

he’s using one hand to grope your breasts and the other sneaks down between your legs, rubbing circles over your clit. he’s hitting that perfect spot inside of you that has you seeing stars, and you can feel your second orgasm approaching, more intense than the first.

“fuck,” logan grunts, “y’feel so good, so tight.”

he looks wild, fucking into you like this, his eyes roaming over your body like a predator assessing his prey. you feel your stomach twist pleasantly at the thought. he keeps up his pace until you’re coming around him and even as you squeeze around him he doesn’t falter.

“logan!” you scream as he continues, overstimulation bordering on painful.

he grunts and growls, and you grip onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his arms. he moans loud when you accidentally draw blood from the intensity of the hold you have on him. you feel the blood welling against your fingertips and then the strange sensation of his skin stitching itself back together until it's smooth again under your touch.

“gonna breed you,” logan growls, and you babble incoherently in response. you’re not quite sure his words are even penetrating your mind. all you hear is the sound of his voice, the rough timbre of it. “gonna make you mine. my mate.”

“yes, yes logan, please, come inside me. need you!” his thrusts get more erratic as he gets closer to the edge, and then they falter for a moment and he’s coming. hot spurts painting your insides as he keeps fucking into you, shallow thrusts that push his cum deeper, closer to your womb.

he presses a kiss to your stomach, nuzzling his head into the soft flesh there. his breathing is as ragged as yours. you feel completely undone, your mind fuzzy and content, like you could stay right here forever and you’d be perfectly happy.

“that was amazing,” you say.

he looks worried now, eyes narrowing like he’s not quite sure he trusts you to be telling the truth, like what just happened wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

“you sure?” he asks, “that wasn’t too much?”

“no,” you smile, “i told you, i like when you act like an animal.”

you can feel his cock hardening again inside you, pressing against your walls. he moves his hips so you can feel it shifting with the change in position, at the perfect angle that he knows will make you scream. you watch his lips curl up, a dark smile that matches the darkness in his eyes as he stares at the way you’re trapped underneath him.

“do you?” he says, not a real question. you love when the feral side of him takes control, and you’re watching it happen now, can read what he wants from the look in his eyes.

yeah, you’re in for a long night. and you couldn’t think of anything better.

“you called me your mate,” you comment much later, feeling sated and boneless with your head resting on logan’s solid chest, feeling it rise and fall along with the steady pace of his breathing.

logan hesitates for a long moment. you can feel him tense underneath you, his muscles freezing in place, the smallest hitch in his breath that you wouldn’t have noticed if not for your close proximity. you don’t mind waiting for him to cycle through his thoughts, the words caught in his throat, seconds ticking by in comfortable silence until his frame relaxes once more and he pulls you in closer.

“i did,” is his only reply. short, succinct, waiting expectantly for your response, your reaction to a term that is distinctly animal-like. it’s also the first time he’s put any sort of label on your relationship, other than calling you “mine”, possessively whispering the word in your ear as if you’ll forget if he doesn’t remind you.

“what does that mean for us?” you ask, tracing patterns on his skin, forming each letter of your name with your index finger, “we’ve never actually said what we are, you know. and i can’t say i know the ‘human’ equivalent of the term mate. does this mean you’re my boyfriend? something else?”

“that’s a childish term,” logan says, lines forming between his brows as he frowns.

you smile, leaning in to kiss away the tension there, feeling the slight sheen of sweat that had formed over his skin while he fucked you, not quite dry yet. you should be getting up to shower, rinsing away the salty layer of sweat from your activities, throwing the ruined bedsheets into the laundry to be replaced by clean ones.

but you’re comfortable where you are now, avoiding the mess you’d made of the sheets by curling up on the other side of the bed, wishing you could push up closer to logan despite the fact that you’re already as close as humanly possible. if only you could crawl into his skin, break past his ribs and settle there, protected where no one else could ever reach you, tucked right against his heart.

“what would you want me to call you then?” you ask.

“for now, nothing,” logan says. in his eyes you see a battle, words and thoughts that you wish you could read, that you hope he’ll one day say aloud. “there isn’t a word that’s enough to describe this. one day i’ll be your husband, but until then, just say you’re mine. my girl.”

“are you proposing to me?” you laugh, eyes bright and smile pulling at your cheeks in a way that’s nearly painful.

“no,” he grunts, “when i propose to you it’ll be much better than this.”

and what else can you do but fall into him? your heart feels like it might burst from the warmth that fills you, threatening to spill out from every cell in your body, too much for anyone to properly handle. it’s on your hands when you use them to hold him down, swinging your leg over his lap so you’re straddled atop of him, kissing him in the hopes that it’s enough to express what words will never be enough to express.

he meets you in the middle, mouth hot and demanding. you’ve never felt more wanted, never felt more loved, like you could take on any struggle the universe may throw at you and be fine because logan’s by your side, always there to catch you. you read the promise on his lips, and the word forever is unspoken but you both hear it anyway.

taglist: @mystiquesvendetta @raeinyourdreams @babey-fruit-bat @meetmypointlessaddiction @kneelforloki @deaky-with-a-c @hypermarvellove @littlepeanut03 @the-ruler-of-death @aliengutzstuff @misscrissfemmefatale @mynamesstevenwithav @teaganthemorningstar @blackkatzz @leryg0 @fries11 @forksloree @i5uckersblog @dragovegogrimborn @quillycrow @melday0105 @just-a-little-cellist @scorpiosaintt @akasha157-blog @insanesosciopath @eridektbh @trickstergabriel69 @lord-bingus666

173 notes · View notes

littlelamy · 3 hours ago

Text

Teach Me

nerd!rafe x experienced!reader

Rafe Cameron wasn’t usually this quiet.

He wasn’t the loudest guy by any means, but his nervous energy tonight was new. Usually, his shyness came with a sort of clumsy charm, a stammered compliment or a soft laugh that always made your heart ache in the best way. But as he sat stiffly on the edge of your bed, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he looked like he might bolt at any moment.

“Rafey,” you said softly, stepping closer and leaning into his line of sight. “You okay?”

His head snapped up, blue eyes wide behind the smudge on his glasses. He pushed them up his nose, his hand shaking slightly, and dropped his gaze back to his lap. His long fingers twisted together, pale from how tightly he was holding them.

“Y-yeah,” he mumbled, though his voice betrayed him with its unsteady wobble.

Your lips curved into a soft smile as you reached out, fingertips brushing his jawline. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Rafe swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, but didn’t meet your gaze. “I just… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” You perched beside him on the bed, close enough that your knees bumped. “I’m listening.”

His lips parted, then closed again, as though the words were stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed, “I want to… I mean, I need to… be better for you. Better at, um, pleasing you.”

Your chest tightened at his vulnerable confession. “Rafe, you’re already amazing. You don’t have to—”

“No.” His voice came out firm, but he winced at his own abruptness. “I mean, thank you. But I want to do more for you. I want to know how to… touch you the way you deserve.”

The raw sincerity in his words made your heart swell. His cheeks were stained with a deep blush, and he looked like he was fighting every instinct to hide his face in his hands.

“You’re so sweet,” you whispered, lacing your fingers through his and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can take our time, baby. I’ll show you everything you want to know.”

Rafe relaxed slightly as you guided him to sit cross-legged on the bed. His hoodie lay discarded nearby, and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose, slightly fogged from the heat in the room.

“First thing,” you said, settling in front of him, “is to pay attention. My body will tell you when something feels good—whether it’s my breathing, the way I move, or the sounds I make.”

His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, his gaze flickering nervously between your face and your body.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I can do that.”

You reached for his hand, gently placing it on your thigh. “Start here. Gentle touches, nothing rushed. Feel how warm my skin is? That’s a good sign.”

Rafe’s fingers were warm and hesitant, but they began to explore as you encouraged him. He let his hand glide up slowly, his breath hitching when his fingertips grazed the hem of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s perfect.”

As his touch grew more assured, his fingers dipped under the fabric, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The softness of his movements contrasted with the heat pooling in your stomach, and a quiet sigh escaped your lips.

“Like that?” he asked, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched your face for affirmation.

“Exactly like that,” you murmured, your voice catching.

You shifted back against the pillows, tugging him down beside you. “Now, from here, you can explore more. Don’t overthink it. Use your hands, your mouth—just do what feels natural.”

Rafe’s blush deepened, but he nodded. His hand skimmed up your stomach, pausing when he reached the curve of your hip. His fingers trembled slightly, but the reverence in his touch sent a shiver through you.

When his lips brushed your collarbone, warm and tentative, you let out a soft moan. His head snapped up, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Was that too much?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You cupped his cheek, pulling him back down for a kiss. “Not at all. That was perfect. Keep going, Rafey.”

Encouraged, he pressed his lips to your skin again, lingering this time. His kisses grew bolder, trailing down to the swell of your chest. His hands followed, brushing over you with featherlight touches that left your skin tingling.

“See how my body reacts?” you whispered, your breath hitching as his hand grazed a particularly sensitive spot. “That’s what I mean by listening.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a shy smile, and he leaned into your touch with newfound confidence.

Rafe’s hand hesitated at the waistband of your panties, his fingertips brushing the soft fabric with a touch so light it sent a shiver up your spine. His wide blue eyes searched yours, filled with nervous anticipation, his lips slightly parted as though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take the next step.

“Can I?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling but threaded with yearning.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice soft but certain.

His exhale was shaky as he focused his attention fully on you, his hand dipping beneath the fabric with deliberate slowness. The first brush of his fingers against your bare skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body, your breath catching audibly. His touch was tentative, his movements almost reverent, as though he couldn’t believe you were letting him do this.

“Rafey,” you murmured, your voice a mix of encouragement and need.

His fingers explored with unsteady care, tracing the slickness pooling there. His thumb brushed experimentally against your clit, and your body responded instantly, arching slightly under his touch. The sensation was almost too much yet not nearly enough, a delicious pressure that made you gasp softly.

“Is that good?” he asked, his brows furrowing in concentration as he watched your reaction.

“So good,” you managed, your voice a little breathless. “Keep going, just like that.”

The reassurance made his shoulders relax, and his movements grew bolder. His thumb pressed more firmly, circling that swollen bundle of nerves with a rhythm that made your thighs clench instinctively around his hand. The quiet whimper that slipped from your lips seemed to spur him on, his other hand coming to rest on your hip to steady you as his fingers moved with growing confidence.

Your body was alive under his touch, every nerve alight as he adjusted his movements, clearly paying attention to how you squirmed and sighed beneath him. The hesitancy from earlier was melting away, replaced by a kind of focused eagerness that made your chest tighten with affection.

“That feels good,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his messy hair. “You’re doing so good, Rafe.”

His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile, but his fingers didn’t falter. He leaned down then, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing lower with every press of his lips. His hair tickled against your skin, the sensation adding to the whirlwind of pleasure building inside you.

When his kisses reached the hollow of your throat, you tilted your head back, giving him better access. He took it eagerly, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together was intoxicating, a steady rhythm that had you biting your lip to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

“You like that?” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and velvety. The rare confidence in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.

“I love it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with pure pleasure.

His movements stilled for a moment as he shifted, his glasses slightly askew as he glanced up at you. “I… Can I try something else?” he asked, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, your heart racing as his hands gently eased your panties down your legs.

Rafe paused, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you fully. His cheeks flushed a deep pink, but his gaze was captivated, reverent. Slowly, he settled himself lower, his shoulders nestled between your thighs.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but the determined look in his eyes stopped you.

“I want to,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

The first press of his lips to your inner thigh was soft, almost hesitant. He lingered there, kissing a trail upward, his breath warm against your skin. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, until he was just where you wanted him most.

His lips brushed against you then, soft and unhurried, and the sensation sent a gasp tumbling from your lips. He hesitated, his blue eyes flicking up to yours for reassurance, and when he saw the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time.

The wet warmth of his mouth and the softness of his tongue as he tentatively explored made your entire body tense with pleasure. He was careful, almost shy, but each touch carried a sincerity that left you breathless.

“Rafey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need.

The sound of his name on your lips seemed to embolden him. His hands gripped your thighs gently, pulling you closer as he deepened his movements, his tongue finding the rhythm that made you gasp and arch beneath him. Every flick, every press, was deliberate, his sole focus on making you fall apart under his care.

“Is this… okay?” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against you.

“Perfect,” you managed, your voice breaking on the word. “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Rafe’s mouth was insistent now, his shyness giving way to a careful confidence as he listened to every sound you made, adjusting his movements to match the reactions he drew from you. Your hands found his hair, tugging gently as you lost yourself in the overwhelming sensations he was giving you.

Every kiss, every caress, was a revelation—an unspoken promise that he was there to learn every inch of you, to cherish you completely. The pleasure built steadily, an intoxicating crescendo that left you breathless, your thighs trembling as he found just the right rhythm with his mouth. His lips latched around that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly at first, then with increasing determination as your whimpers turned into desperate cries of his name.

“Rafey,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as your hips pressed up against him, unable to control the way your body chased the peak he was bringing you toward.

His hands gripped your thighs firmly but gently, holding you in place as he gave it one last, deliberate suck. The sensation sent you spiraling, your body arching as the climax washed over you in waves, leaving you shaking and completely at his mercy. Your breath hitched, the room filled with the sound of your soft cries and his satisfied hum against you.

When the intensity finally began to drop, Rafe eased his touch, his mouth leaving a final tender kiss against your skin before he pulled away. His lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and his face was flushed with both pride and nervousness. His lips and chin glistened, a mix of his efforts and your release, and the sight alone sent another shiver through you.

He climbed back up the bed, his gaze locked on yours as if silently asking for reassurance. Leaning over you, his hands braced on either side of your head, he pressed his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. The taste of yourself lingered on his lips, and the sound he made—low, guttural, and almost shy—vibrated against your mouth.

“Did I… Was that okay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling with vulnerability. His blue eyes searched yours, his glasses slightly askew, and his lips glistening as he hovered just inches from you.

Your heart swelled at the nervousness in his voice, and instead of answering right away, you pulled him into another kiss. This time, it was deep, lingering, your fingers threading through his hair to pull him even closer. When you finally broke away, his lips were even more swollen, and his breath mingled with yours.

“You did amazing, sweetie,” you whispered, your voice full of affection and awe.

The words flooded him with relief, his shoulders relaxing as a shy yet proud smile tugged at the corners of his damp lips. Unable to resist, you reached up to wipe your arousal from his chin, your thumb grazing his flushed skin before leaning in to kiss him again.

Rafe melted into you, his earlier hesitation completely gone, replaced by a quiet confidence that had your heart racing all over again. And as he buried his face in your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin, you knew this was just the beginning of something even more beautiful between you.

a/n: last post of the day🥵

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

152 notes · View notes

narutobookshelf · 3 days ago

Text

#i want to meet the jōnin housing interior decorator. who is the one who designs these apartments. what are the principles they use going in #i like the cluttered idea of his home more bc while the idea that kakashi keeps his home absolutely spotless bc he doesnt live in it #and doesnt have a real ''home'' personality is loaded in a very compelling meow meow way #but for my interest...i have to say its not as compelling to me bc kakashi is not an empty man! he's bursting with feelings #i very much like the idea that hes incapable of letting go of the past and so he keeps a lot of trinkets #people leave and people die and people vanish but if you have something of theirs—in some way its a tangible memory #a way to hold them in your hands#i think hes careful with his trinkets though i think he keeps the important ones in sealed containers out of sunlight or elements so that#they remain unchanged by time #(of relevance: exposing things to sunlight is one way to break down odors quickly) #its not clean and feelingless and efficient but i think kakashi might be a little bit of a pack rat... #i think that naruto gives him drawings when hes first appointed sensei of team 7....and he keeps them in a little cardboard box bc #he doesnt know what to do with them but the idea of getting rid of them doesnt even cross his mind. so hes got all these goofy kid drawings #of naruto as a huge badass fighting sasuke and enemies with lots of teeth and spikes and like kakashi and sakura #one day like 20 yrs later when narutos in his thirties kakashi finds them again and loses his fucking mind laughing#gai + yamato (who live with him now bc they need to share the fridge) are like what. what happened whatd you find #kakashis the kind of person where if you give him something he just holds onto it for eternity

(reblogging with ops tags)

i am trying to find a image of the outside of kakashi's window to see what textures i should use for jōnin housing, and i am not finding it but i did find this. look. look

i have so much to say. firstly, everyone wears their shoes in kakashi's apartment, kakashi wears his shoes in kakashi's apartment. i think there is an absolutely and entirely unused shoe rack. there, that blue vertical cubby thing next to the door. it has at least seven slots and there's not a single set of shoes in there!

there have probably NEVER been a set of shoes in there. no respect for Kakashi's living space allowed.

secondly, if i am correct, the caligraphy on that wall just says shinobi. it's like. this is really funny to me. imagine just having ur job title in caligraphy hung up on the wall. a little like having this hung up on ur wall

u feel me? did he pick that out himself. did it come with the apartment (jōnin standard housing...obsessed). what about that weird abstract art behind sasuke in the front area, the one that kinda reminds me of the inside of Jiraiya's frog jutsu. did kakashi hang that up in his own room. did he see that and go "yeah, this is something I want to wake up and look at every morning that I'm back in Konoha"

also. skjghsdkgjhsdkgjhsdgkjhsdgkjshdgkshdgdsg. hello to mr ukki on the window sill. and hello to kakashi's shuriken blanket. that's so cute. what the hell is his interior design sense. it seems like.

if everything is put together. it seems like...well, as kate said, pinterest shinobi...

also sidenote he takes off his shoes even when hes just poking around his students homes w/ the hokage

so its Just his own apartment that gets this disrespect. when i told kate abt this they pointed out "well, that's probably because kakashi has no ownership of his own space and feels transient always but he respects the space of others send tweet" which is so true, so true.

(it should be noted that in the manga his home is a lil more cluttered)

3K notes · View notes

shizunitis · 1 day ago

Note

How do you think Shen Qingqiu would be affected if he had Xin Mo?

holy fuck i've been thinking about this for months and now that i've been asked i'm kind of lost. anon i love you prepare for a whole lotta yapping

the question is vague enough to both give me room to fuck around and to not know what to focus on. so i'll go with trying to figure out what the chain of events would be, mostly. i'm very sleepy though. that should be taken into consideration.

xin mo uses its masters' trauma and psychological issues against them. which means we just have to take shen qingqiu's issues and ramp them up enough to see what that would do to him. how that change would present itself is highly dependent on how he comes upon xin mo, as well.

first off, what does he want? shen qingqiu wants, in no particular order: to survive, to have luo binghe by his side and safe, and to protect his sect from a wrathful luo binghe.

he dislikes violence but doesn't shy away from it when it's expected of him to be unmoved by it. he's a deeply curious person and likes theorising, cultivation, and feeling powerful and respected. he thinks of himself as a "faker" but is proud of his moral stances, especially when they differ from the original goods'.

his biggest frustration throughout the novel is the fact that he cannot protect luo binghe from the plot and all the suffering that would bring him, and that he is under the control of something so opposed to his own goals as the system.

let's say shen qingqiu were to fall into the abyss and find xin mo himself, and therefore the system's control of him would be weakened, as it was when binghe was down there. this would mean he didn't betray binghe, maybe even took his place. this has to happen because he figures out the system is his biggest obstacle, before he gets to xin mo, or else my whole thing falls apart. maybe shang qinghua plays a part in this, maybe not.

it doesn't matter much how, but if he doesn't come to this realisation at some point, he would not place his target on the system, nor would he get the courage to try to change things according to his own wishes.

so. abyss -> revenge on the system -> find xin mo -> cultivate with it -> get out of the abyss.

first off, the sect wouldn't stand for him using a clearly harmful (to both himself and the world around him) demonic sword, or any sort of demonic cultivation at all, so he'd have to hide it if he were to make his way back. paranoia and fear would probably change him into an overprotective person, someone who slowly becomes less careful about what he has to do in order to protect his people, especially when we factor in how he'd had to, for years, live under the control and supervision of the system.

there is also the problem of getting close to the protagonist again. if he were to make contact, the system would re-activate, and his attempt to kill it would be useless.

he'd draw himself away from the people he cares about so he could watch over them. he would study and try to use the sword to change things in his favour, with the right incentive. the harm brought to his cultivation by the sword would probably force him to become more secretive so he isn't discovered.

he would probably seclude himself away from cang qiong, binghe and most of the world. whether he goes into the demon realm or not doesn't matter. he would rely on only himself, unless he can get shang qinghua involved in his plans. i imagine shang qinghua would be opposed to it, not only because the system would be against it, but because shen qingqiu's death or pain would spell his own destruction (by luo binghe's hand) if he didn't try to stop it.

the threat of huan hua palace and people discovering binghe's true nature would probably allow for the sword to take advantage of him more and more as he uses it to fight against them. i don't think the opm would not go after luo binghe, especially with shen qingqiu out of the picture, so i'm imagining the old fuck would offer luo binghe some sort of help just to get him close. shen qingqiu wouldn't stand for it, and we know that as he gets more desperate, shen qingqiu tends toward pragmatism. he would do what needs to get done, i guess.

"stuck between a rock and a hard place" pretty much describes shen qingqiu in svsss. having that not be the system's fault, for once, would probably push him to the edge enough that he does something extremely stupid and turns the entire cultivation world against him in an attempt to protect binghe from the opm's influence.

i don't think he would go too far, outwardly. he would probably bring more harm unto himself with xin mo than binghe had, and would probably suffer more than anyone else involved. him being so tight-lipped about his own motivations would get him scorned and named a traitor to the human realm. he'd have shen jiu's reputation post-trial, maybe. he would become colder, lifeless, honed-in on his goals.

this was an extremely long-winded way of saying that shen yuan, corrupted by xin mo, would become a husk of his former self. i imagine a moment where he tries to be warm again, that whole fond teacher shtick, and would find himself horrified at how much of an act that is now, rather than acting cold and heartless. i think he'd have turned his caring into caring too much to the point of leaving himself behind.

i had a wip of shen yuan transmigrating into luo binghe and having to lean into xin mo's influence so that he could get luo binghe reinstated into his own body that i put on the shelf at some point. he ended up baiting people into trying to assassinate him, and used their sacrifice as a way to power some sort of revival technique.

shen yuan needs plausible deniability for every action he does, especially ones he sees as morally reprehensible. so. add that to the whole thing above and that's the bulk of it, i think. maybe. god please tell me i make sense i need a shizun headpat

#svsss #svsss au #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #luo binghe #god i am so exhausted. this was a wonderful question and if you asked me again later i'd probably have a different answer #if i missed the mark (heh) entirely please do correct me gently i am very small and i mean well i promise #any mistakes? bequeathed to shizun of course.#.q

170 notes · View notes

yaut-jaknowit · 2 days ago

Note

Y'know what? I think it'd be funny as hell if a human farmer (y/n) befriended a xenomorph. And it acts like a cute, drooling, ..alien dog. And their male Yautja parter tolerates the Xeno while in front or near his human mate. But when y/n disappears. They both are just at each other's throats?

If that's okay, also I love your writing! And I cannot wait to see more! And I hope you have a lovely day/night

Lost Dog

Character: Con'tei (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader with Xeno

Word Count: 1784

Summary: As a farmer on a planet not many know, you live your life contently. Waking up early to go out into the fields and work. It's just yourself and your mate, Con'tei. Until a special alien shows up and worms its way into your soft heart instantly.

Author Note: This is such a funny idea.

Masterlist

Ao3

Ever since that day you stumbled upon an injured Xenomorph, it’s been attached to your hip. Since that same day, Con’tei has wanted nothing more than to tear the alien apart. No matter how many times you asked him to at least be civil with the thing. The Yautja has his own thoughts of the Xenomorph. That being having its head upon his wall. Specifically above the bed. Its nonexistent, lifeless eyes peering down at you. Con’tei was sure to let you of every detail to paint a picture inside of your mind. Every time.

When the Xeno looked up at you, guts nearly splattered across the edge of your corn field, you had fallen. Though it has no eyes, you felt compelled to help it back to your dwelling. Con’tei had been off on a hunt and left you enough time to patch up the creature. Until the Yautja returned and smelled the scent of a hard meat on the property. It took lots of sweet talking to get the male to calm down and listening to your voice.

Finally, Con’tei was able to think clearly after he saw you were okay. No injuries. No smell of blood. Not even fear in the air. The Yautja was more than confused on the what, why, and how. That only grew worse when he only had to take step to the side.

There in the bath tub of the dwelling sat the observing hard meat, just peering at him. You physically had to wrap your arms around Con’tei’s thin waist and pull the newly blooded away.

Worst of all, the xeno morph lept out of the tub when it saw the struggle. Its instincts flaring to life. It thought you were fighting the enemy and rushed out to help. Water dripped down its black, scared hide. Sharp silver teeth were bared at Con’tei. Its long, black tail whipped side to side.

A yelp slipped from your lips. Con’tei pushed you off of him a bit too harsh and lunged at the creature. You fell down to the ground and landed wrong on your wrist.

The two clash for a second when your sharp cry sounded an alarm. Each held onto the other, ready to draw blood. They whipped their heads over to your lying, prone form. One pushed at the other and nearly climbed over each other.

Con’tei reaches you first and kneels down at your side. But, he’s shoved off to the side by a black, skeleton hand. A deep bellow tumbled out of his chest as he reared back up to kill the hard meat somehow in your shared home.

It’s your crying that breaks the two of them up again. They separate once more to rush to your aid. For the moment, they were able to ignore the other. Con’tei’s dark orange hands touches at your hands. One was pinned to your chest by the other. Pain radiating from one. A deep purr vibrated from the Yautja in a comforting manner. His bright yellow eyes scanned over the rest of you. The only thing that was of concern was the wrist you were clutching onto.

Across from you, the xenomorph was whining and nudging its elongated head against your cheek. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Con’tei who snarled and scooped you away from the creature. This nearly became a tug-of-war match until you shouted, “stop it!” Each alien stilled.

“Stop fighting, please! I’m in pain and you’re only making it worse.” Con’tei whimpered and bowed his head in a manner that resembled a kicked puppy. “And you’re not making it any better by flailing around.” The xeno lowered its own head, tail dropping to the ground.

“Now, please, put me down. I think I just pulled a muscle in my wrist no thanks to the two of you,” you snapped at the two of them. The anger mostly coming from the pain sprouting from your throbbing wrist.

One look in your heat gaze had the Yautja listening to you. Your feet gingerly touched the ground. Con’tei was hesitant to let go of you at first. His gaze couldn’t stop flickering towards the creature he was sworn to kill. His muscles twitched as he fought every single cell in his body not to leap over you and slaughter it where it stood.

Instantly, you turned towards Con’tei and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hey! Look at me, sir,” you demanded. The burnt orange Yautja had to drag his gaze off of the xeno. You had just turned your back to it with little care of your safety. “I know you are freaking internally and externally but let me explain.”

He bristled. Of course, you better explain in why in Cetanu’s name is there a hard meat in your home. And why was is following you around? Why was is it protecting you? His first thought was dismissed when smelled no change to your body. It hadn’t implanted anything into you. Con’tei snorted and crossed his arms.

You couldn’t help the sigh, shoulders sagging a little. “Okay, I deserved that.” Con’tei could agree with that. “But, you must see it from my side. I was working the field when I stumbled across this poor thing, all injured and begging for help.” He was ready to shake some sense into you. “I took it home and nursed it back to health. Now, its like a dog! It follows around and helps me around the house and even in the field.”

His anger flooded back to Con’tei’s mind and nearly blinded him. How could the one person he loves in the universe say such stupidity in the moment? He knew you were smarter than this. Yet, here you were proving him wrong with each word that falls out of your mouth.

The xeno made its point by coming up behind you and nuzzling its ugly face into the crook of your neck. His muscles flexed. “And why do you have it our home? Why isn’t it dead?” Injured, you should’ve had little trouble by exterminating the cursed thing. Why did your heart have to be so big? Why did your luck have to be so terrible?

Your face soured. You stepped back and patted the top of the xenomorph’s smooth, shiny head. It gave a chuff and rubbed against you some more. “Because, it was injured! I had to save it. I wasn’t going to let it die! What kind of person do you take me for to leave an injured creature for dead?” By Paya’s name, if he didn’t love you so much. He desperately wanted to shake some sense into you. Maybe rattle the thought of care for it out of your head.

“Exactly why it should be dead. You had a chance to kill it. Why didn’t you take it?” His hunter mind couldn’t grasp the thought process of your ooman brain.

Those were the wrong words to say.

“I told you! It was injured and I’m not like you. It looked so sad and pathetic. Now, look at it! It’s like a puppy I’ve always wanted. A very…” you trailed off to glance over your shoulder. “A very big, scary puppy who would protect me!”

There was truth to your words. Clearly, it was willing to protect you from someone who could easily kill it. But to leave it to live, Con’tei couldn’t let himself live with that knowledge. Even if it showed compliancy to you at the moment, who knows when its baser instincts kick in and slaughter you or use your body for a host.

Con’tei huffed and narrowed his bright eyes on you. “I said no.” The Yautja was still young and recently gained his clan marking during his chiva against these blasted creatures.

The way your brows jumped at his denial; then, your gaze darkened. Con’tei felt a drop of fear fall into the pit of his stomach. “No? Well, mister, it’s not up to you. You go off on these hunts all by yourself for a week or so. I’m left all alone!” You turned your head and nuzzled against the unforgiving, smooth surface of the xenomorph’s cheek. “What happens if something attacks our home? I can’t protect it to save my life. With it, I could at least stand a chance.”

What were you thinking?! After everything he’s told you about his near failure during his chiva, you had wished for the hard meat to stay. You go against his direct order to protect you keep it!

Yet… the truth behind your words sunk deep into the soft tissue of his brain. The knowledge this planet held many dangers while you sit at home, unprotected and weaponless, churned his stomach. Con’tei gritted his mandibles and looked over your shoulder. The creature had its face turned towards him, chin resting on your shoulder.

He tried to think of ways to convince you. Maybe, he’ll spend what little credits he had to get you a creature to protect you. Something he could train from a young age. Something that wasn’t a hard meat that could tear out your throat in a instant.

When his gaze returned to you, his stubbornness finally cracked. A groan sounded from him. “Little one, I swear…” he trailed off then let his shoulders sag. “Alright, alright. Fine. But, you must have it trained. A collar will be put on it. It will send an electric shock through its body, immobilizing it should it turn on you. I’m warning you, my mate.”

All of his stories he’s told you were fresh in your mind. His near defeat of his own life by these creatures. But, the loneness of sitting in an empty house made life difficult.

A squeal pierced the air. Your arms snatched around his waist. Con’tei jolted at first then let himself settle in your embrace before his own arms return the motion. The hunt had been long and made him long for this affection with you this entire time. What is he going to do with his little ooman who has him wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger?

With a sigh, he lets you go.

“Okay, you two be good then. I’ve gotta go clean up the bathroom!” You blew each of them a kiss before skipping towards the bathroom. The door was closed behind you to clean up the mess the xenomorph had left behind in his wake of protection.

Both of the alien’s watched as the door closed behind you. Then, they snapped their heads towards the other. A second paused the still air. Each lunged at the other in a clash of fangs, claws, and snarls.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

152 notes · View notes

sweetheartsaku · 3 days ago

Text

(BLLK) just say the word.

𝜗𝜚 MIKAGE REO: RANUNCULACEAE.

a/n: [fem!reader] OMGG exam szn is finally over gais i am free!! i still have so many tests to do tho🙁 AND YES the title is a keshi reference

when mikage reo has a crush on you, he’s the type of boy to use your initials as his math variables. you’re all he ever thinks about, ever since he’s been rotted by the sugars of your kindness and presence. you were like his first and last breeze of air mixed in with love and refreshments. he had been enchanted by your soul, knotting his head and heart with yours. you’re all he ever wants to be around, and you have unconsciously seeped into his life like blood into a white sheet. a love that just keeps leaking, changing its colour completely.

SAY THE WORD, AND I'LL BE YOURS

when mikage reo realises, he can’t help but stare at you lovingly. his eyes are glued to you focusing on your tutor work he had given you, your pencil rapidly yet gently moving across the paper. his eyes are so tender and earnest, staring at you like you had hung up the stars yourself. reo finds himself instinctively caressing a stray hair from your face, his violet eyes still endearingly gazing. instantly, a pink hue graces across his face as his eyes meet yours.

THE LOOK YOU'RE GIVING ME GIVES YOU AWAY

when mikage reo steals your heart, he’s the type of guy to take his time into untangling your silver necklace. the one he had gifted you on your 6th month anniversary, that glistens in the sun. it’s chains are pristine, yet tangled tight, just like the way he had found himself when he fell for you (and does everyday). he smiles at the thought as his tongue sticks out slightly in concentration, one of your favourite habits of his. as a tease, you like to kiss the spot his tongue is before he can pull away. he loves to feel your face close to his, because it feels like his soul is too. he takes the time to untangle your necklace with his initial on the simple charm, even before the date’s expensive booking, he is gentle in unstringing every weaved chain.

YOU FINALLY FOUND THE HIGH THAT YOU'VE BEEN CHASING

when mikage reo falls impossibly deeper, he calls you all the time. not texting, because he knows you won’t listen. reo will call to make sure you eat lunch. reo will call to make sure you have your medicine. reo will bring you your favourite beverage and makes sure to remind you to take a break. reo will do everything he can to take care of you, because to him, when you came into his life, time is definitely more expensive than money. reo will take the time to make sure you are well fed and rested. his favourite part though is when you’re apart. don’t get me wrong, he hates it, but when you’re calling him and quietly telling him you miss him, his heart pounds against his chest a little more. and yes, he lets out a boyish chuckle once you’ve fallen asleep.

ONLY ONE MORE CHOICE YOU GOT TO MAKE

when mikage reo who never forgives himself when you have your first fight. after 6 gracious years, he finds himself living the day he could never fathom. yes, he had forgotten to buy your favourite snack at the convenience store, and he says he swears he will never forgive himself. how could you ever love him again? is what runs through his mind as he curls up against the couch, knees on his chest not feeling privileged enough for a blanket, nor feeling privileged enough to lie down with you in the bed in the room nearby. till then you, realising your fiancé’s absence, cluelessly searching for him, you gasp softly as you find reo all small on the couch. you sit next to him, but he inches away. he can’t help but confess his sins, but it all melts away when you lightly giggle at his silly habits.

I NEED YOU TO TELL ME 'CAUSE I

when mikage reo gets to be held in your arms, he melts completely. he feels his body go putty, his eyelids struggling to stay open to stare at your stunningly sculpted features. his teeth feels like he’s rotting, and his heart aches with an abundance of love. reo nestles his head in the junction between your chin bottom of your neck, absorbing every molecule of love he can. there is nothing he would want more than to unwind, cozily tucked into the embrace of his most beloved, sweetheart, and future wife.

IN MY ARMS FOR A SECOND

when mikage reo finally has you for himself, his brows twitch at the sight of your gorgeous figure, walking down the aisle. tears brim at the bottom of his eyes as you smile at him, taking your last steps in front of him. glitter highlighting the apple of your cheeks, lashes fluttering through the brown mascara and the necklace he untangled 5 years ago dangling off your collarbone. there was not a single moment in the world he would trade for this one. he finally smiles through the tears that stream down his cheeks, sliding the silver ring across the hand that once wrote tutor worksheet answers. it glistens in the sun, he thinks, just like you do.

BABY, SAY THE WORD, AND I'LL BE YOURS

mikage reo’s breath hitches. this is where he is. he is currently playing with his one-year-old, her incoherent babbles filling the silence strung into the air. reo finds himself laying on his stomach on a soft carpet next to scattered toys and various oils and creams for his little version. everything about this surreal moment had all gathered together to grasp onto the base of his neck, clenching onto him as tight as they can, making a lump form in his throat. his little version gently pats his nose, confused why her dad suddenly stop activating. he can’t help but tenderly smile at her, swallowing the lump as he lets a tear fall. your one-year-old innocently wipes it away. she must’ve got her kindness from you. he smiles, because thats what made him fall for you in the first place.

now, your initials have changed. guess he’s gotta fix those math equations, huh?

JUST SAY THE WORD.

#bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk fluff #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #blue lock imagines #reo mikage x reader #reo x reader #reo x you #reo x y/n #reo mikage fluff #mikage reo x reader #mikage reo x you #mikage reo x y/n

156 notes · View notes

crimson-rots · 4 hours ago

Text

I MISSED THIS REBLOG ??. i don’t want to take credit for my dear friend’s story, but. thomas cody you will always be famous to me..

@event-horizon06 <- you are a genius and amazing.

so. so. you’re on a spaceship, and your crew is dead, and the guilt is eating you alive. you’ve been pur in charge — you, an ensign — and you have no idea what you’re doing, but you’re the last one who can do it. your parents’ hometown is wiped off the map. every step feels weighted with the expectations of the remaining third of your ship, and you can’t help but try your best, fucking with the only information you’ve been given. home is a year away, at best. you don’t have the rations to survive that long.

you’re being chased.

and so you do the best you can. you try, because there’s nothing else you can do. but your best isn’t good enough. it isn’t your fault (it feels like it is) (the guilt at this memory will be eating you alive for years to come).

so the crew revolts against your captain, claim that the decision to put you in charge was the wrong one. you watch as your mentor locks your captain in the bridge. you watch as his gun clears right through her chest. but before that, before you can save her, she shoves you in an escape pod. it’s barely working. it’s wrong. it’s faulty.

your crew marches up the bridge toward you. they will kill you. so she shoves you in and pleads, survive.

the door locks you in there.

she dies. there’s nothing you can do.

and you rocket into space, slumped against the wall, hopelessly drifting. you have no controls. no nothing. just an anomaly you think will kill you, drawing you into its glinting purple light, shuddering and warping, soft and cold.

your shift drifts away from you. she is swallowed by space. you know (or, you think) you will never see her again.

you will never see anyone again, you think. and you close your eyes and wait.

…

and then you don’t die.

you live. it’s worse.

you wake up in the future, 250 years displaced. your crew is lost to time. your ship is lost to space. no one knows anything, and you’re in the middle of it all, fumbling your way through a second chance you don’t want, good at what you know but feeling like everything you know is useless in this unfamiliar world. it feels like you have to learn to breathe again; to talk, to walk, to fight.

you have no surviving family. no friends. no home.

you’re so tired. fighting feels like led in your bones.

you do it anyway, because there’s nothing else you know how to do.

i don’t know how to keep going, because this story divulges in about a million ways, all of them so close to my heart. in all stories, in all existences, thomas cody is a man displaced from home, fighting for his home to be remembered. everything he knows had been lost to that void of space, and records of his crew — real records, not professional ones — are few and far between.

you are the only one who remembers. you are the only one who fights to find your ship, your home, in search for some peace that you haven’t felt in centuries. your lifeline; the idea that maybe you can make up for it.

ggh. ghah. fuck. just. fuck. thomas fucking cody. you will always be famous to me.

being a fan of a friend's ocs is actually so humiliating....... like yes my favourite character rn is tragically doomed and a pillar of humanity who i think is relevant to the current world. you can find information about them on discord dot com and sometimes in late-night conversations with this guy i know. what the fuck

#thomas cody

54K notes · View notes

vaya-is-dead · 2 days ago

Text

Welcome to hour one of my delusional city

SO ABOUT JINX.... we have plenty to discuss. :))

*act three arcane spoilers under the cut don't read if you haven't watched it especially the last episode!!*

I have a theory.

Now many of you will point at me and call me delusional but I'm sorry. I think I might be right on this one for a change. (or at least it might be implied.)

OK, if you watch the final episode, you know that jinx made the sacrifice taking Warwick with her while Vi screams for her. This scene absolutely broke my heart and for about a good 15 minutes I thought she was dead.

Until I went back and watched the last couple of scenes.

Something that I found interesting is that Caitlyn was looking at the blueprint of the vent system, more specifically where Jinx made her ultimate sacrifice. We all know that arcane is not a show that would just throw in details all without reason. Everything has a point everything is calculated to either imply something or show something.

Why would Caitlyn be looking at the blueprint and why would the show creators specifically zoom in on certain airways? Well, of course, then none other to imply that Jinx could've escaped through one of these, therefore possibly surviving.

Now with that alone, it probably doesn't mean anything. It is nothing but a skeleton of what possibly could be, it needs flesh and muscle for it to actually be a Working theory.

But then, as I watched the final scene before the credits, tell me why an airship from Piltover airship very similar to the ones that we saw in episode one where powder said that she would be flying one of those one day. Why was it flying away into the distant sky, then followed by the classic Jinx glitches with the words the end?

Tell me why a show that is so focused on each, and every small detail, from micro expression to touches that linger just a second too long for it to be nothing, Even the drawings and graffiti around Zaun. why would a show so focused on those types of details do something like that if Jinx was not alive? It does not make any sense. It would not make any sense for the show.

Need more proof?

if you pay attention when Caitlyn and Vi are talking, specifically towards the end where Vi leans into Caitlyn, the expression on her face is not one of relief, but rather one of knowing something. She was the one looking at the blueprint, and she was the one who noticed the potential escape route that jinx would know better than anyone because it wasn't her sort of Home in the vent system? How could she not know how to escape?

it's also very satisfactory to her character arc, it was only in season two where we started to see her perception of death start to shift, it was only when Isha came into her life that she really started to understand her own mortality and not completely disregard her life like she used. the prison scene with Vi, where she's sort of regresses back to the mentality of everyone around me will get hurt because of me. while in act three she did begin to disregard her life again, I would like to think that her talk with Ekko might've snapped her back into place. So instead of losing jinx's character development in its entirety, she continues on the same path where she was while still keeping her goal of letting VI be happy the same.

Plus the pink streak coming up the side of the hex gate tower, it's similar to the way that Jinx charges at Vi in their fighting scene.

Now, this is the part where you go into the comments and call me delusional and make fun of my theory but thank you for comming to my Ted's talk

130 notes · View notes

heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 2 days ago

Text

Oaths

My first Bruce Wayne fic! I kind of pictured this taking place in his early years as Batman. ~1k words

When Bruce Wayne watches his parents die at eight years old, he vows to never let someone die in front of him again. It's a useless vow, one he fails time and time again to keep.

Yet, he makes the same vow over and over. With every eye that loses its light in front of him, he swears to be better, stronger, faster, so he never fails anyone who needs ever again.

Bruce carries each loss on his shoulders. He repeats the list of names to himself in the quiet moments, in the darkness that lingers as he races from crime to crime.

Some names are strangers. Some are friends. But the heaviest ones to bear are always his family's.

If he had just been more, more than himself, more than just a man, maybe he'd be able to fall into a restful sleep for once. But Bruce Wayne is not more. He is a human among gods. A mortal surrounded by death and power and chaos.

So he throws himself into being better. Trains himself until his muscles and bones fail him. Throws every dime he's ever had into the newest technology.

His life would be nothing but an endless cycle of training, fighting, lavish parties, and lies, if not for you.

You. His childhood friend. The third musketeer to him and Harvey. The person who treats him like he never left Gotham.

You never ask questions. Never push him for more than he can give. Always seem to be willing to drop your plans in favor of him.

It's almost intoxicating, but he does his best to stuff his feelings down, to pretend that the sight of you dressed to the nines for one of his charity galas doesn't make his mouth go dry and his head spin.

(He doesn't think he can be blamed for not being a model playboy, philanthropist when you're occupying all his attention)

There's something about the way you smile, the way the room seems to focus on your very existence, that has him unable to cut you from his life. It's a weakness. One Batman cannot have. But it's one Bruce Wayne certainly does.

He skips meetings at Wayne Tower for you. (Not that he wanted to go anyway) He cuts back on what little sleep he gets just to see you for brunch.

He invites you as his guest to various events. (Sure, it's under the guise of publicity, driven by the fact that you're one of Gotham's shiniest stars, but you both know he prefers your company over anyone else)

What Bruce does not compromise on, though, is his nights. His days are for you, but his nights are for Gotham. He vows you will never be caught in the crossfire of his double life. This is the line, a barrier between him and The Bat. One he cannot and will not let you cross.

That barrier crumbles to dust when your name is listed among the hostages at your favorite club. His heart is his throat as he tears over Gothams rooftops, his focus entirely on getting to you.

It's not a vow on his lips, but a prayer. A prayer that you won't be a casualty in a territory war he caused by taking out Falcone just last week.

He feels stupid. Inexperienced. He knew the fallout would be difficult to manage, but never considered it would risk your life. He should have told you to stay home, should have given you a panic button, anything to keep you safe.

But he didn't. Didn't even have a plan for it. So, he has to save you. Has to make at least one vow true. Has to stop you from being a victim of his crusade.

He's efficient, when he cuts the power to the club, plunging it into darkness. He's brutal, more brutal than he's ever been when he takes out each hired hand like they're simple training dummies.

He breaks guns over heads, uses his untested, electrified batarangs. He drives himself to the limits to ensure every person's attention is entirely focused on him, and not the vulnerable hostages– on you.

He sends a message with each bone he breaks, each punch that knocks the air from their lungs, every kick that sends them flying into the wall.

It's a message they don't understand, but one that's clear as day to him, The Bat and Bruce Wayne are inexplicably linked, and at the center of it is you.

You. He nearly crashes at the sight of you, once the goons are left moaning and curled on the floor.

You're safe, a little worse for wear, hair mused, and clothes rumpled, but you're alive, and none of his scans pick up any major bleeding or life threats. He doesn't quite know what to do with the awed, mystified look in your eyes, but you're coherent, and that's what he cares about.

It's a bad idea, but Batman personally escorts the hostages (namely you) to the police and paramedics waiting outside. (And if he steps on a few fingers along the way, no one says a word about it)

He can't help himself, even as his better judgment tells him to leave, to take care of the other violence sure to be happening around the city. But it's you. His– his something.

He will not name it. He will not dare delude himself into more.

So he lingers in the shadows. Stays poised on the balls of his feet when you're finally allowed to leave the scene. He selfishly follows you every step of the way until you're safe in your own home. Only then does he let you out of his sight.

The line between Batman and Bruce Wayne only blurs more, when he shows up at your door in the morning with coffee and breakfast, claiming to have heard about the situation from the news.

He decides it hardly matters what is fact or not, because you hug him, express how grateful you are to see him.

The smile on your face makes him engrave another vow onto his soul, one he intends to keep. Bruce Wayne will cross lines to protect you. He will blur what is Batman and what is him to keep you safe. And you will never, ever know it.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader

115 notes · View notes