#look remember when i started this game and said i got the gut feeling it wouldn't last a year?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs. 

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.” 

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this. 

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark. 

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.” 

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was. 

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s. 

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red. 

Like She’s been crying. 

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood. 

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“ 

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more. 

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious. 

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand. 

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go. 

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this. 

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours. 

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips. 

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you. 

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you. 

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over. 

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire.  You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too. 

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs. 

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants. 

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.” 

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go. 

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak. 

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan. 

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.  

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans. 

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?” 

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut. 

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@tcedenslash

[kon-konk]

I love media that plays with the idea that noone really knows what's going on, and the ones who do are very willing to lie or trick you

Yes! I fucking love the "if you trust everyone, the stories don't match up, but if you trust no one, you have nothing, so choose who you trust and pray it's the truth" way of telling stories

[alessiasfreckles]

amnesia - part 3 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader)

Part 2 here!

warnings: angst!

a/n: hope you enjoy x

----------

“What are these pictures?” you asked, turning to look at Ona. Her eyes were wide, lips parted, and you pushed down the sudden urge to kiss her. “Ona? What’s going on?”

Alexia started to back away. “I’m going to, um, leave-”

“No, stay, please?” you asked, and she hesitated before nodding once. You looked back at Ona. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I, I didn’t know how to tell you- I-”

“Were we dating? Are we dating?” 

“I- Yes, we’re dating,” she told you, her voice small. “We’ve been together for nearly 7 months.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked. Ona had expected you to be angry when you found out she’d lied to you, to shout, yell. She wasn’t expecting your voice to be quiet and cold. Tears were brimming in her eyes, threatening to fall. 

“I just- I was so scared, so, so scared, I thought you were going to die,” she explained, voice cracking on the last word. “And when you woke up, I- I didn’t want to overwhelm you, I wanted you to remember, I didn’t want to tell you that- that it was my fault.”

“What do you mean, your fault? How was it your fault?” 

“I, we, we were having an argument,” she said, and the tears began streaming down her face. “We were having an argument, it was my fault, I said something, and you left. I hurt you and you left, and the next thing I knew I was being called to the hospital because you’d been in an accident.”

Your body felt cold. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry, it was stupid and unkind and I wasn’t thinking, I was tired and-”

“What did you say, Ona?” 

“I- I said you were too much. That I just wanted some peace and quiet after training and you were being too much.”

The words felt like a punch to your gut, though you weren’t sure why. You had the distinct sensation that you’d been told that before, throughout your whole life, you’d been too much for other people. That you’d learnt to make yourself smaller, not to take up too much space, to make sure you weren’t being too much. 

“So you’ve been lying to me?” you asked, trying to ignore the iron fist around your heart. You knew the accident wasn’t Ona’s fault. What she said was awful, and really fucking hurt to hear, but still - the car hitting you wasn’t her fault. But what you couldn’t get past was the lying.

“No, I-”

“You lied to me, about who you are, about who we are, about who I am. You told me we were friends, best friends. Best friends wouldn’t lie to each other,” you frowned. 

“No, I just-” Ona protested.

“I want to be alone. Can you go, please?” you asked quietly, not looking at the brunette. You heard a sob, and then her footsteps as she left, the door closing softly behind her. 

Alexia felt torn. She cared about both of you so much, and it broke her heart to see Ona in so much pain, but you had a right to be upset.

“Would you like me to go as well?” she asked gently. 

You thought about it, then shook your head. “No, can you stay, please? Maybe we can, uh, go through the other photos and you can tell me about them? See if that helps me remember anything.”

“Of course, chiqui,” she said, and brought the corkboard down off the wall. You collapsed onto the sofa, grateful to be sat down, and tried to push the thoughts about what had just happened out of your mind.

“So, this one is from your first game at Barcelona,” she pointed to a photo of you and your teammates in the changing room after the game. You’re sweaty and you look tired, but you’re smiling brightly. 

“I remember that, I think,” you said. Not the game itself, but the feeling, the rush you got, the crowd cheering when you stepped on the pitch. 

“This is from one of our walks before a game. I’m not sure which one, but it looks sunny,” she said, squinting at a photo of you, Salma and Ona. You looked at the photo, the way Ona’s arm was around your shoulder. 

“Um, this is from the Champion’s League final last year,” she quickly moved on. 

“We won!” you blurted out. “Right? I remember! I don’t remember the game, but I remember celebrating.”

“Si!” Alexia grinned. “You were so proud. You even scored a goal, do you remember?”

“Really?” you asked, eyes wide. “I don’t remember that.”

As she showed you more pictures, you tried to concentrate on her words, but kept finding yourself staring at the pictures of you and Ona. 

“Don’t think too badly of her, bebé,” Alexia said softly. “It was wrong of her to lie, but she was trying to do the right thing. She was scared. We all were, when we heard what had happened. We- we didn’t know if you were going to wake up. She loves you.”

Deep down, you knew that you loved her too. It was an unmistakable feeling.

“I just feel so betrayed,” you explained, looking at a picture of you and Ona. Someone else must have taken it - it showed the two of you sat on a bench somewhere, Ona leaning against your shoulder, you pressing a kiss to her head. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, really. I’ve been relying on other people to tell me who I am, who they are. To tell me the truth. She lied about us, but she lied about me as well. I know she was scared, but- but how does she think I feel? I woke up with no memories of anything about my life, about any of it. I feel so stupid.”

You sat quietly for a minute, Alexia unsure of how to respond. The silence was broken by your stomach rumbling, providing a welcome distraction.

“Oh, I guess there’s no food, right?” you asked, realising just how hungry you were.

“Actually,” Alexia said, getting up and opening the fridge. “Ona got all of your favourites. She cooked, too, so you don’t have to do anything, just heat it up.”

“She did?” 

“Si.”

“That’s… that’s very kind of her,” you said. The iron fist around your heart loosened slightly. 

“She loves you, bebé,” Alexia said, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “She really does.”

Heating up one of the meals Ona had prepared for you, Alexia let you get settled back into your apartment. It still didn’t really feel quite like home, but you were glad to be out of the hospital anyway. As the two of you ate, she told you more stories about your time at Barcelona, and you felt glad that at least she was telling you the truth. 

“So, what about us?” you asked, scraping up the last bite on your plate.

“What do you mean?” Alexia asked, raising an eyebrow. Her heart sped up slightly as she thought about her feelings, feelings she’d long kept hidden.

“Well, what’s the story of our friendship? Is there anything I should know about there? Any drama that happened, any secrets? Please, no more secrets,” you said with a wry smile. 

Alexia took a deep breath.

[sato-s-only-wife5107]

Reborn!Wukong: Kidnapped.

Word Count: 3042.

Content/Trigger Warnings: mention of poisoning.

Authors Notes: This came out a lot longer than I thought it would. There is another kidnapped thingy, but this one is based on the reader story and the upcoming one is a requested headcanon featuring all the Wukongs I'm doing.

<---Previous | Start | Next--->

You were no weakling, but you weren't much of a fighter compared to the other two you were left with. While Pigsy protected the monk from the pack of wild beasts, you were accompanied by Wujing. 

In your defence… It wasn't your fault. You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up in something messy that Wukong definitely won't like… Let's just say he definitely won't be a happy camper.

“I'm scared…” Sweat dripped from your forehead at the thought of how mad Wukong would be when he returned to see you gone. 

“You're scared?! What about me?!” Pigsy snapped. 

You looked at Pigsy with a blank look and a raised brow. You didn't really care about what Wukong would do to Pigsy, since getting into a spat was an everyday thing with them. You shook your head and thought of ways to get out of the pit you were thrown into. No, you hadn't put yourself in any danger, it was more of an unexpected attack that got you hurt.

In the end, you and Pigsy were somehow captured and brought to the deity of the area. Some water deity you didn't care to remember the name of who had the demons that kidnapped you under his control.

Sacrifices? You thought to yourself. With my luck, probably worse. Ugh, Wukong's gonna throw a tantrum.

“Hey, big sis,” Pigsy's voice broke you out of your state. 

“Quiet, pork chop! Who gave you permission to speak to the goddess?!” one of the guards poked him in the behind with their spear, which made him cry out.

“Goddess?” you and Pigsy questioned then looked at each other and back to the male.

Guess that explains why he's tied up, but I'm not… This is already so exhausting. You sighed to yourself. Yep, this is worse than a sacrifice…

“Brother Monkey is gonna kill me,”

“You're at fault, you slob, you seriously couldn't have handled this? You've fought armies by yourself!” you whisper yelled.

“I didn't see you do anything but running away and hiding!” he whisper-yelled back. 

“I'm not a fighter! My entire life in the Celestial Realm was lived cooped up with archives and medicinal herbs. I'm the brains in this team and the rest if you are the brawn!”

____________________________

Wukong sneezed three times in a row as he jumped off of his cloud. He shook his head and attempted to clear the ringing in his ears.

“Big brother,” Wujing’s voice got his attention.

“Where's (Y/n)?” he immediately questioned as he looked around for you.

He also noticed Pigsy's absence, but he was only focused on yours. He was relaxed and casual till he saw the look on Wujing's face. Seeing the demon squirm like that made Wukong uneasy, and he knew that his gut feeling telling him you were in danger was right.

“Um…” Wujing looked incredibly nervous as the Monkey King approached him with narrowed eyes. 

“What.happened?” Wukong questioned in a growl.

“They were kidnapped, (Y/n) and Pigsy,”

“By who?” Wujing didn't like how calm Wukong was at the moment, it never ended well. 

“Demons… We were ambushed and they were taken,”

“Which way did they go?”

____________________________

“My great goddess,” a foreign voice boomed like thunder, the male's arms spread wide to present himself with extravagance. 

The game of ‘Spot the Boss’ just keeps getting easier and easier… you mused to yourself, but managed to keep a straight face.

“My name is Bolin Aiguo,” the male’s voice brought you back to reality. “I welcome you to my palace.”

“Um… thanks?” you asked more than said.

“Destiny has truly blessed us today,” he grinned as he bowed slightly. “We have waited centuries for your return,” he said and motioned to the wall where a cloth was dropped.

“Heh?” you both looked at the painting on the wall and your jaw dropped. 

Is this real? You thought as you saw the picture of a woman who looked like you, but wore garments of a divine goddess. Could it just be a coincidence? Maybe the unlikely chance that’s my ancestor?

“Whoa, that looks just like you,” Pigsy's marvel made you roll your eyes and sighed heavily. 

“Your sense of perception is exquisite as always,” you said sarcastically as you looked at him. He returned your gaze with a glare, which got him hit in the back with a whip. You winced at the sound of leather on skin, it gave you goosebumps and chills, the bad kind. 

“Don't you dare gaze at our goddess like that, you disgusting pig,” the guard that whipped him spat, literally, at the pig demon. 

“Do not speak to him like that,” you said without thinking. You and Wukong were the only ones allowed to bad talk Pigsy to his face like that.

“Forgive me, my goddess (Y/n), your servant needed to be punished,” the male bowed. 

They know my name? What in the ten worlds is going on? This is getting a bit scary now… Wait, did they call him my servant?

“Um…” you glanced around. “I address my servants directly, no one is allowed to speak to my underlings that way.”

“You are such a caring Goddess,” the men marvelled, then bowed. “Very well, if that is what you wish, then that is what will be.”

“Good,” your voice broke, but you didn't think they noticed. 

“Goddess, I am General Hàoyú,”

“Hm,”

“I'm Mùchén, it's a pleasure to meet you,” the guard who struck Pigsy bowed.

“The pleasure’s mine,” you smiled as politely as you could.

“Please, allow the maids to show you to your room,” Bolin gestured to four maids who stood at the ready, “I've prepared proper clothing for you.”

Not good. Really wished this was a sacrifice situation right now…

“Unnecessary,”

“I insist,” he looked at you then bowed. “It would be my honour if you did.”

“I-” you cut yourself off when you saw Pigsy trying not to laugh, it irked you. “Please see that my servant be treated with respect and cleaned up as well,” you smiled, which made the pig demon stop laughing to himself and boy was he pale.

“Yes, of course, Goddess!”

“I'm gonna hurt you,” Pigsy seethed.

“Who's laughing now, porky?” you smirked as you walked past him.

The outfit they made you wear was one similar to what ‘you’ were wearing in the painting. It wasn't exactly your colour or style, yet it looked amazing on you, curves and all. The stylists that did your hair tried so hard to hide their disgust in doing your hair, obviously your hair that hadn't been washed in three or so weeks wasn't to their liking. Despite Wukong’s excessive grooming, nothing beats a good soak in scented oils and natural hair products. You coil get used to the godly treatment.  

When you were reunited with Pigsy, he was amazed at your change, not really believing it was you at first. You, however, tried oh so hard not to laugh at the state of the pig demon. He looked prim, proper, and clean despite still looking like a servant. It was definitely an improvement to say the least… you cringed at the thought that he might actually look borderline adorable. 

“Are your servant’s garments not to your liking, goddess?” Mùchén asked.

“They're fine, thank you,” you managed a smile. “If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my servant alone.”

“Of course,” the guard bowed, and they all left.

“You clean up nice,” you snorted as you walked to look out your window. 

“Shut up,”

“By gods, this place is locked up tight,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “Escaping subtly is out of the question. You might be able to escape and get the others if you shape-shift, but seeing those wolf demons they have stationed along the border, I doubt you'd get far without being caught.”

“These clothes are so stuffy, how could people dress like this everyday?” Pigsy complained.

“Try wearing one of these, then you can complain,” you adjusted the cloth that was tied tightly and securely around your abdomen. “This dress thing is getting so annoying,”

“At least you get treated like a god, I'm just some servant!”

“It suits you,” you smirked and looked at Pigsy before you looked at your reflection in the mirror. “Ugh, I can't wait to get this stuff off my face, so itchy…”

“What do we do, big sis?”

“Bid our time,” you looked at Pigsy. “Wukong will find us soon, we just have to hold out till then.”

“But who knows when brother monkey will be back, you know he takes forever,”

“Believe me,” you stared off into space. “He already knows… he always does somehow.”

Before Pigsy could respond, someone walked into the room, you both mentally groaned when Bolin walked in. 

What does this hard case want? You thought to yourself.

“You look even more extravagant than I thought you would…” he marvelled, you couldn't help but blush at such a compliment.

“Don't you know it’s impolite to barge into a lady’s room?” you raised a brow.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled and bowed, offering to take your hand. “I was simply hoping to invite you to have dinner with me.”

Making it seem like I have a choice, how polite. You thought to yourself with a soft sigh. 

“I'd be honoured,” you forced a smile.

“The honour is mine,” he smiled at you, looking at you like he was hungry. 

“Did I hear food? I'm starving!”

Are you ever not? You thought to yourself in annoyance.

“Not for you, you disgusting creature,” he glared at Pigsy like he was scum. You didn't notice this, but your hand twitched slightly. You simply cleared your throat to steal his attention, which wasn't hard to do. “Please follow me.”

“Happy too,” you forced a natural smile.

____________________________

“Just one bite,” Pigsy continued to drool over the large assortment of food and drink served to you.

“Leave me be,” you shot him a glance then focused on your fish.

“Dear Goddess, c'mon, don't hog all the food for yourself,” he begged.

Pig knows how to beg when his stomach is concerned, I'll give him that much. You thought to yourself.

“Ironic coming from a gluttonous pig,” you barely spared Pigsy another glance before you smiled a bit. “Why don't you be a good servant and perform for me since you're so hungry,” you tilted your head, “after all, a meal tastes so much better when you worked hard for it.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” Bolin smiled at you, a smile that gave you the bad kind of chills. He frowned and looked at Pigsy. “You heard the goddess, what are you waiting for?”

This is gonna be good… you tried to hide the smirk. Suddenly, a chill ran down your spine and the feeling of being watched returned. Wukong? You thought to yourself, but after a few seconds passed with no sign of chaos, you guessed you were wrong.

“Where is he already?” you sighed softly to yourself.

“What was that, your grace?” you looked at Bolin and sat straighter.

“Nothing!” you smiled nervously, hoping he didn't hear you.

Maybe it was a bit cruel on your part to make Pigsy dance for your entertainment… but you didn't care. The entire situation was his fault, well, partially. Perhaps it was due to the lack of challenging fights that the two got a bit sloppy, either way… watching Pigsy dance was utterly hilarious, and you wished Wukong was there to laugh with you.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dearest goddess?” you glanced at Bolin and closed your eyes briefly before you focused on your food.

“It has been entertaining to say the least,” you managed a smile, “overall, you have been an excellent host.”

“I'm so happy to hear you say that, goddess,” he mused and lifted his glass a bit. “Shall our days be like this one.”

“Pardon?” you looked at him, almost choking on your fish.

“You are to be my wife,” he smiled at you. “It is as prophecy has written, your return merits the marriage to the head of the palace, which is me.”

“I don't know about that, I am not interested in marriage,” you responded.

Especially not with you. You thought to yourself as the maid refilled your cup.

“I can wait, it is no trouble. You are worth it after all,” he said as you focused on your drink. 

“Hmmm… this drink is sweet, I really like it,” you looked at the red liquid in the chalice as you swirled it around.

“I'm glad you like it,” Bolin smiled. 

“What is it? I've never tasted anything like it,” you looked up at him curiously. 

Wukong isn't much of a sweet taste guy, I wonder if he’d like it… you found yourself drifting off to the thought of Wukong.  

“Nothing special,” he looked at his drink as he swirled it around as well, taking his time before he answered, “just a love potion.”

The words put Pigsy in a panic, not knowing what Wukong would do if he saw his beloved (Y/n) under the influence of a love potion with some random water deity who thinks you a goddess.

Did I seriously just get drugged? Is that way the taste is sweeter than before? That cocky bastard, what is he planning? You thought to yourself in a slight daze, but it only lasted a second longer before you got your senses back.

“A love potion?” you snorted, which took them both aback. “Are you truly that desperate to have me for yourself?”

“W-Why aren't you affected?” He stood up and backed away. “What are you?”

“Oh, you poor sweetheart… Love potions are meant to make you fall in love with the first person you see…” You stood and fixed your sleeves a bit before you looked up at the male in amusement. “But don't you know it doesn't work on someone who's already in love.”

“Impossible!” he barked. 

“I grow tired of this… we'll be leaving now,” you spoke, only glancing at Pigsy, who nodded and followed you. 

“Big sis, is that true?”

“Yeah, crazy right?” you spoke. “I read it in this book that I found, but I didn't believe it till now.”

“You cannot! You are our goddess!” he yelled.

“I regret to inform you that I am no God,” you called over your shoulder. 

“You are to be mine! It is destiny!” he yelled. You would've felt bad for the guy if he hadn't kidnapped and fed you a love potion, even if it tasted amazing.

“My love belongs to only one person… And you're not even half as good-looking as he is,” you folded your arms… The thought of Wukong started to make your insides feel warm and made you feel… weird. Especially when you thought of that smile/smirk you loved oh so much.

Is this what being drunk feels like? You thought to yourself before your focus was taken by the man child throwing a tantrum.

“I will slay this peasant!” he snapped. 

“You can try,” you looked up and smiled at the glaring monkey on his cloud, “but I don't think he's in the mood to humour you.”

“Sun Wukong?!”

“Who gave you permission to say my name?!”

Both you and Pigsy winced as Wukong beat the guy sound and proper. Pigsy knew that he was gonna get beat to a pulp too once Wukong was finished with the audacious bastard.

“See?” you looked at Pigsy warily. “I told you he'd find us soon…”

“Uh huh…” it was quite obvious that Pigsy was scared as Wukong was quick in finishing the deity and his men. Typical man, all show, no go… you thought to yourself before looking at Wukong as he wiped some blood off of his face. This shouldn't be hot… but it really is.

“So unfair…” you mumbled to yourself.

“Pft-” he eyed you, now it was your turn to glare.

“Shut up,” you folded your arms and looked away, but he forced you to look at him. 

“This look suits you well,” he leaned in and kissed you softly. “My beautiful goddess.”

“So you're not mad?” you peeked up at him.

“Furious,” he seethed, but caressed your cheek as he exhaled through his nose and smiled a bit, “but seeing you dressed like this… No man or demon could dare.”

“You sweet talker,” you managed a smile.

“I'm glad I'm the love of your life,” he winked with a smirk, which made you blush profusely.

“Exactly how long have you been watching?” you asked nervously. 

“Since you made Pigsy dance like an idiot, it was kinda funny,” he mused. 

So I guess I was right, Wukong was the one watching me.

“You were probably seething seeing that man hold me like that,” you smirked up at him.

“You know me well,” he nuzzled your cheek, “but today made me realize something.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“You're mine and that's how it should be,” he kissed your forehead. “You are mine, (Y/n). As I am yours.”

“Such a way with words…” You stroked the right side of his face. He leaned into your touch and closed his eyes. “True love can never be replaced or forgotten,” he looked at you. “When we collect the scrolls, and our quest is done… I wanna be immortal,” you cupped his cheek. “I want to be with you, the love of my life, for the rest of my existence and beyond that.”

“Sounds like a proposal,” he smiled a bit. 

“It's the same thing,” you smiled. 

“So be it,” He smirked before he leaned in and kissed you softly.

“Handsome…”

“Hm?” He looked at you as you rubbed your cheek against his chest. “You okay?”

“The love potion is taking effect,” you looked up with heart-shaped pupils. “My body feels hot…” You said as you got goosebumps.

“Not to ruin your couple moment, but we gotta get going!” You both pulled back and glared at the pig demon.

Damn it, Pigsy. Shut up for once. You both thought at the same time.

____________________________

Masterlist | Next--->

[the-californicationist]

I don't know if you're taking requests (You can ignore this if you're not)

I remember reading something (it was either on facebook or a twitter thread) about a guy who made a tinder account of his girlfriend to see how many likes/swipes she'd get

And boy he didn't realise how many men swiped right on her. I think within an hour she got like over 1000 (he was ready to buy his girlfriend a cow, a camel, diamond ring. Basically anything she wanted because he realised how lucky he actually was that she wanted him)

ANYWAY

I can't stop thinking about the cod men doing it. Like what would their reaction be??

I feel like Kyle would just shower you with gifts. Oh you glanced at that designer handbag, he's in that shop with his card out. He don't care about the price

lol this is such a funny premise! i wish i had seen the video!! here's my take, otherwise known as how to tease Gaz within an inch of his life.

Get Ratio'd

“What do you mean switch? I don’t wanna be on that bloody app in the first place, babe,” Kyle scrunched up his nose at your proposal, but you pressed him.

“C’mon! It’ll be a laugh. Just for fun, Gaz. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

You had seen a viral video, and now you had an idea. There was a couple who had switched phones for the night to swipe through each other’s dating apps, just to see how many hits they’d get. The woman in the video seemed defeated after trying her best to dress up her man’s profile and not finding any matches, but the man looked like he was shell-shocked, and he told her they were deleting these apps right away. Experiment over. So, you were curious. You knew Gaz was a handsome man, so you were eager to see how you’d do. 

He peered down at you over his nose and sighed, handing you his phone. You sat on the couch together, downloading the apps, picking out pictures, making sure to set the settings to casual dates only. No need to trick people into thinking you were actually on the market. 

“I just don’t want you to get jealous, love,” he smiled, genuinely concerned, "I've been told I'm a handsome chap." You smiled back,

“No worries, babe.  I can take it.”

Finally, after everything was set up, you switched phones. The boys would be over in just a few minutes, and you were eager for all of the likes to start rolling in. 

“We should make ourselves a little wager, yeah?” You suggested, knowing Kyle wasn’t one to shy away from competition.

“Aye, alright. Most likes wins?”

“Nah, most messages. ‘Cause that takes guts. And we’ll stop after the football game.”

“You’re on,” he smiled, giving your butt a playful slap as you went to buzz the boys in from your front door. 

The match was on for a good twenty minutes before you even got your first notification. Your heart sank a little when it looked like a bot, some garbage about “You look lonely. I can fix that. Click here!” It wasn’t a real girl. You showed Kyle and he shrugged, 

“It counts. It’s a DM, innit?”

“Alright,” you said, trying to get a peek at his app.

He swiped the phone away from you,

“Ah-ah! No peekin’.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe. No one wants to do me?” You whined, pouting at him.

He snaked his arm around you, palming your arse in his wide hand, 

“I wanna do you, babe.”

“I know,” you giggled, raising your hips to give him more access, earning yourself a hard squeeze, “I just thought I still had it.”

“You definitely do, babe. This is just a toxic app. Don’t think about it.”

So, you put it out of your mind. You got exactly three more messages for the rest of the night. One girl sent a friendly “Hey!” with a smiley emoji, another sent a photo of herself doing a sort of duck lips thing in a low-cut top. Finally, you got one that said, “Is that your real name? Just want to make sure I’ll be screaming the right one later.”

You cackled, showing the boys. Soap laughed with you, his eyes wide at her sexy message, and Price gave you a good-natured eyeroll. The only thing Ghost said was,

“Has he showed you yours yet?”

You looked over at Gaz who was burning a hole through Ghost with his glare, and he shut off your phone screen and put it in his pocket. 

“No… why?” You asked.

“No reason,” Ghost retreated, drinking his beer and fixing his eyes back on the match. 

A few minutes later, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and then you lingered in the hallway, listening to the conversation happening between Gaz and his friends in your den. 

“Oh, mate,” Soap whispered none too quietly, “You are in fuckin’ trouble, ain’tcha?” 

“Shove off, Johnny. Help me figure out how to fuckin’ delete this,” Gaz hissed.

“Well, son,” Price didn’t even bother to lower his tone, sipping on his whiskey with a smile on his face, “You bloody well won your bet.”

“I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Gaz handed your phone over to Ghost who was gesturing for him to give it. 

Ghost read the message aloud,

“I could call you beautiful, but since beauty comes from within, I’ll just have to check for myself… Fuckin’ hell. That’s rank.”

Soap was looking over his shoulder, scrolling furiously, reading as he did,

“Your eyes are stunnin’. You’ve got beautiful eyes. Wow, your eyes are beautiful… like, c’mon mate, a little creativity?”

“You don’t want to read the creative ones,” Price warned, taking the phone from Ghost, reading his favorite, “Jus’ wonderin’ if I should respect the fuck outta you or fuck the respect out of you.” 

Gaz leaned back on the couch, exasperated,

“What am I gonna do? I gotta buy her one of those fuckin’ bags that cost as much as a goddamn Aston. She said she wanted to do Bora Bora, or was it Fiji? Maybe I can take her for her birthday? How much are tickets?”

“Mate, you’re cooked,” Soap muttered, then gasped, “Oh, Christ. Look at the size of this one's fuckin’ knob!”

“Help me book her a bloody spa day. Do you think she wants jewelry? Holy shite, this bloke just sent a screenshot of his bank account. What the fuck?”

“She’s already with you, mate,” Ghost shrugged, “What’s the bother?”

“He’s bothered ‘cause now he knows that,” Price grumbled, checking his watch, “...in under an hour, she could have a quarter of the population of London bangin’ down her door just to smell the inside of her bloody shoe. And he’d have…”

“A bot and two birds,” Gaz frowned, crossing his arms.

“A bot and two birds,” Price nodded, sipping his drink and turning back to the game. 

You wandered back into the room, plopping down beside Gaz, pretending you hadn’t heard the discussion that had just transpired. Gaz put an arm around you almost protectively, kissing your forehead,

“Hey, babes. What was the name of that spa you wanted to book? Thought we could go together this weekend.”

“Kyle,” you turned to him decisively, “Show me the texts.”

“No,” he shook his head, turning back to the game.

“Kyle,” you squeezed his thigh.

“No! You don’t need to see all that.”

“All what?”

“The one hundred eighty-seven messages that he —” Soap interrupted, but Gaz cut him off.

“Oy! Mate! Shut up.”

“Just show her,” Ghost rolled his eyes. 

“One hundred…” You were in shock, and as Gaz handed you your phone back, you scrolled through the mess that he had been hiding from you, “Oh, God…”

“Yeah…” Gaz sighed, “So, if you want that purse that the Kardashian whats-her-name had, just add it to the cart, alright? Jesus.”

You were shocked by the level of attention you had received, but when you saw the content, you had to stop yourself from dying with laughter,

“Not sure if I’m just hungry or if you truly are a snack. Either way I’ll eat you. Oh, no. Look at this one: My cock’s a rescue, wanna give it a good home? Wow… these are rough! How many dick pics did you get?”

“Too many,” Gaz shook his head. 

“Aww, baby,” you hugged his neck, teasing him, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. None of these blokes is half as fit as you.” 

“Dinnae you see the fuckin’ knob on Fabio over here? He's askin' for your Venmo. I say you should send it.” Soap chuckled, shocked, flipping back to one of the profiles.

Gaz fought him back, snatching the phone, and you laughed with the others, shaking your head, 

“So… what was that you were saying about a handbag?”

After the laughter eventually died down and the boys had gone home, you helped Gaz clean up the kitchen. Then, you both deleted the app and returned your phones, glad to be done with your little experiment. You decided to tease your man just a little further, 

“Well, you won the wager. What’s your prize, love?”

You expected him to take the bait, to bend you over the counter and claim you possessively, using you to let out his frustration. But, he turned serious, his expression almost somber, and he kissed you softly, disarming you.

“You are my prize,” he purred, “And I’ll do anything to show you how lucky I am to have you.”

“Hmm… anything?” You smirked, tucking your hand into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. 

Finally, that rakish grin you loved so dearly was back, spreading across his face, 

“Name your price, love.”

You pretended to think for a moment, letting your hands wander down into the warmth of his pants, palming his growing cock, playing with it and feeling it throb for you, then you winked at him, 

“I hear Tahiti is nice this time of year.”

He raked his hand down his face, but he was hiding a smile, groaning,

"Tahiti..." Then, after a breath, he snatched you, holding you in his arms, carrying you kicking and giggling to your bedroom, "C'mere, you. Tahiti can wait."

AO3 Link

[arieswritez]

golden boy

golden boy | yandere stepbrother!mark grayson x afab!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!! pseudo-incest, panty thief!mark, roofies, victim blaming, non-con video taping, voyeurism, rape, reader's anatomy is sexualized, forced breeding, time skip (mark is an adult & nolan never killed the guardians), mark is a sicko you've been warned

about; life was easier when mark was an only child. he wishes it would've stayed that way. (1.9k words)

a/n; an anon asked about a platonic yan sibling duo so i raise you: big pervy step bro who hates your guts but also wants to rearrange them

step brother mark who's used to being the light and joy of the grayson home. as the only child, he's spoiled beyond belief. he's spunky and cute and the graysons love him to death, constantly showering him with love and adoration.

step brother mark who gets a new sibling after villains make you an orphan. nolan finds you in the ruins and it's like he's on auto-pilot: carrying you to that secret hospital and handing you off to the doctors that rush to his aid. . but not before your tiny fist closes in his suit.

as he watches you being taken away, barely alive, something inside his chest pangs.

debbie notices nolan acting strange. he's restless and he's late for dinner, more so than usual. something's very clearly wrong. and it's not like her to grow suspicious of nolan but she does.

nolan's never given her a reason to believe his head may have been turned but for some reason, she starts to believe there might be someone else.

only to find he's been visiting you at the hospital, staying at your bedside for hours on end as you recover. you're in bad shape. doctors aren't sure how you survived. . if you even will. debbie's never seen nolan so torn over a survivor before. he's seen many things: deaths, disasters, you name it. yet, you're who's causing the sleepless nights.

of course, debbie has a kind heart and, soon, it's not just nolan who's worried. the graysons keep tabs on you. and when you come to, they’re the first thing you see.

you look confused, scared, but as nolan soothes you, you offer a meek smile and nolan finds himself feeling that same giddiness he felt when he first saw a tiny mark cradled in debbie's arms.

the graysons become your legal guardians and, suddenly, mark isn't the golden boy anymore.

you take up so much of their attention. now, christmases and birthdays all revolve around you. suddenly, marks good grades and the fact he hit a home run isn't all that impressive. mark's late for his baseball practice and games more times than he can count. . yet they never miss your dance recitals.

you got an A in an absurdly easy class and that was a cause for celebration. in the meantime, mark won a spelling bee & all he got was a 'good job'.

they treat you like you're made of glass, like you'll shatter into a million tiny pieces the second someone so much as looks at you the wrong way. mark still remembers being reprimanded whenever he said the smallest things to you. he doesn't think he's ever lived down that one orphanage joke that made you bawl. god, he was just kidding. . its not his fault you're sensitive.

soon, you're calling his parents 'mom and dad'. and worse of all, they reiterate the fact that you should be calling mark your 'big brother'.

fucking fantastic.

you are everything to them while mark is pushed aside. and it only worsens the older the two of you get. mark gets his powers - there's literally nothing more impressive than that - yet he still has to do a million and one things in order to outshine you. nothing ever works. and despite the fact that mark is - quite literally - saving lives. . your stupid birthday is still more important.

you are the light of their lives and mark bitterly remembers when they used to look at him that way, too.

you are perfect in their eyes. just like he once was.

and mark wishes you would've died in that accident, just like your parent(s).

as you start to develop a sense of self, mark gets into the habit of stealing your clothes. it's the only thing you seem to care about: the way you present yourself to the world.

they're small things at first. like a single shoe when his parents had bought you new ones yet refused to get him the ones he wanted. he'll admit it, it was petty and spiteful. but you were distressed and the graysons seemed upset you'd already misplaced your brand new - expensive - shoes.

at first, he was content with telling himself that what he was doing was solely to spite you. but that was a lie. when his kleptomania made him steal one of your shirts. . it wasn't spite that made him press the material to his nose and pump his cock until he came. no, it wasn't just spite.

all your simpering and whining, following him around like some lost puppy, that one time you asked him why he hated you so much. . it made him feel more than just hate.

he didn't know what to do with you then.

so, at first, he settled with stealing your clothes.

a couple more shirts.

a pair of shorts.

knee-highs or your favorite tights.

and finally, a pair of panties.

his favorite are a lacy pair. sheer and tiny, he recalls lifting them out of your drawer with a finger. . and thinking, seriously? what're these even meant to cover?

he's extremely sure you aren't supposed to have these~

mark is content with secretly stealing your things. he doesn't get in trouble for being mean to you anymore.

you don't think he hates you.

it's a win-win situation, really.

and mark would've been happy - he would've been fine - with the little game he's been playing. soon, the two of you would part ways for college and he'd forget all about you.

he'd forget the way you'd foolishly walk to your room in only a towel when you knew the two of you were home alone.

he'd forget the way you looked when you changed out of clothing, you never truly believed in fully closing the door, did you?

he'd forget the way your moans sounded, when you touched yourself at night, thinking everyone else was asleep. he'd forget the way he'd concentrate on hearing your pretty sounds - and it's not like he'd have to try hard, another perk of having powers.

he'd forget about how he could almost envision you: humping your fingers and biting at your lip, desperately trying to get yourself off. it was like he was in the room with you. . you were so wet he could hear the wet clicks of your cunt.

he'd forget all about you.

you, you, you.

he was sure of it.

but if it's one thing about you is that you could never just let things be.

you could never just let the graysons be a normal, happy family.

and you could never just let mark forget about you.

because the first time his parents say no to you - the very first fucking time - you don't listen.

you're just not used to it.

that stupid party you weren't supposed to go to.

that stupid party mark sneaks off to, too.

and when you see him there, you're surprised.

he pretends to be, too.

because it's not fair if only one of you was forbidden to go. no, you had to fuck it up for the both of them.

it's a good thing you're so spoiled, though. and it's even better that mark eavesdropped on the conversation you had with your friend, the one in which you planned to sneak out.

you're so fucking naive. so stupid.

you think the two of you are finally getting along when he gets you a drink and whispers, don't worry, i won't tell if you don't. and you laugh and wink at him like you'll keep his secret, drinking from whatever concoction he's prepared for you.

you were too young when your parent(s) passed and the graysons never seemed to sit you down for the talk. . or maybe they did and you were just too stupid to understand why you should never accept an open drink.

it's easy to blame it on you being a lightweight. the way you sway and slur your words, the way you stumble into him, the way your body overheats.

you've had too much to drink. you're not used to it, is all. he'll take care of you, don't you worry, big brother always does.

first, he's got to lay you down, you poor thing.

he doesn't want you to hurt your pretty little head by falling!

so, he lays you down in the empty room of the house as the party continues downstairs. as you fall to the bed in a heap, you swear you can see the throbbing beat of the music, now muffled behind the closed door.

in the dark room, the moonlight leaking through the pale blue blinds look like drunken undulations, wavering like heat shimmers, yet you can't keep your eyes open long enough to ogle at them. your body doesn't feel like your own, but you're not as nervous as you should be.

mark yanks his shirt off over his head - practiced, ready - and stalks over to your semi-limp body that's nearly hanging off the bed.

it's not hard to undress you, considering you're dressed like some cheap slut. and, honestly, if it wasn't mark that night, he's sure it would've been another dude at the party. the way you're such a fucking tease, he doesn't think anyone would be able to keep their hands off of you for long.

so, really, it's only fair your older brother is the one to get his hands on the goods, first. afterall, he was there to watch them grow.

the little camcorder he took from his parents - the old silver one they used to record all their trips around the world, mark's first steps, your first birthday with them - blinks red, on and off, on and off, as he strips you. he makes sure to capture your body: your bare tits as your chest rises and falls with each panicked breath, the smooth skin of your tummy, then down, between your legs, as he records your sopping cunt taking his fingers.

you mewl and your vision's swimming. and you feel here, there, everywhere, and it's so, so confusing.

you don't know what's happening and it's distressing because you know something is.

your hands weakly try to push at the foreign body on top of you. . inside of you. . but mark is stronger than anyone will ever be and you are far too drugged to do anything about it.

they're gonna be so mad, mark thinks, as he slides into you and tries to keep the camera recording the way your cunt grips him as he feeds his cock inside of you.

they'll be so mad when they find out you've snuck out.

and maybe you'll tell them. . you think something happened. . someone did something to you. . when you try to wash his cum out of your pussy.

maybe you won't. maybe you shouldn't. they'll already be mad at you, best keep quiet about it~

but the graysons will feel even worse in the next few months. . when you start puking your guts out.

and like the perfect parents they are, they'll take you to a doctor. . only for the results to come back positive.

mark may not be a golden boy, anymore.

but in nine months, maybe you'll give him one, instead 💗

[gojoidyll]

Aeon Flux | Ch. 1

Various x Aeon ! Reader

Summary | As an aeon in a human disguise, you traverse the cosmos because... you're bored. Immortal life, unchanging circumstances, the weak begging for power, the powerless asking for a second chance. It all got so boring for you. So, you decided to see why these humans continue to groan about the atrocities of everyday life. Thing is? It's turning out easier than you thought!!

Taglist:

@boothillssugarmomma @immahuman @nadiayuan @killerqueen1245 @seikouryuu @dorimimimimi @amistakehadhappened @tainted-artist4161 @missingtophat @diamondcookie45

“So let me get this straight,” Himeko began as she watched lay back into the couch, soda in hand with a bag of chips laying in your lap, “you went to Herta’s space station, met Stelle, played Go Fish with Stelle and Dan Heng before the Legion arrived, stood up and said ‘my job here is done,’ and then left?”

You grinned, “yep, and March 7th oh so loudly declared, ‘you didn’t even do anything!!’ it was quite hilarious,” you said as you took another swig of your soda, “besides, I’m not worried. Those three will be just fine.”

Welt was the next one to come up to you, “how are you sure?”

Glancing at the man, you gave him a thumbs up, “I’m not! Just a gut feeling is all, I mean, I’m not like the people on the Luofu who have the divine foresight and crap like that,” you took another sip of your soda, “but anyway, those guys should be here any moment… which reminds me, you all for real letting a stellaron aboard this train?”

“You’re on here, aren’t you?”

You winked at Himeko, “touché.”

“There you are!”

You looked over at the doors as they opened up, March coming barreling through a moment later, “yo!”

March shoved her pointer finger into your chest, “don’t you ‘yo’ me! You left us there.”

You pouted and raised your hands in mock surrender, “but I had to, I was going to miss the season finale of my favorite anime, and you know I hate watching reruns. Besides, I couldn’t let Pompom spoil it again for me…”

“You’re unbelievable!”

March says this with an exasperated expression while throwing her hands up in the air as she walked away. Waving goodbye to March as she was probably going to her room, you then brought your attention to Dan Heng, “well?”

“It was alright, we didn’t need you there.”

“See! I knew you three will be alright,” You stood up from the couch, your bag of chips and soda being placed onto the table as you walked up to Dan Heng and the new trailblazer.

“The name is y/n, and that was a fun game of Gold Fish! Let’s play again sometime, ok?”

“It’s Go Fish,” Dan Heng lightly reminded again as Stelle took your hand and gave it a good shake.

“You sure,” you asked.

“Positive.”

“But Gold Fish sounds so much better,” you say as you let go of Stelle’s hand and shift your focus to Dan Heng.

“It only sounds good and correct because that is what you got used to saying. It’s kind of like Roku and Ruko. You know that device you hook up to your tv for streaming different apps.”

“Ahhh, that makes sense.”

Dan Heng knew you were just playing around, but he found that he quite liked and even looked forward to these interactions with you, but he knew that it won’t last forever. He remembers when you first joined the Astral Express and how you said you won’t be staying long.

He’s not entirely sure when you plan on leaving, but he hopes it won’t be soon.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and looked to see Stelle, “what’s up?”

Stelle held up the playing cards from before and you grinned, “oh? Wanna get beat again?”

“I’m pretty sure you left when I started winning.”

You rolled your eyes, “whatever Dan Heng, let’s just play.”

You grabbed Dan Heng’s and Stelle’s hands and moved your way to the couch. Pompom, Himeko, and Welt all the while could only shake their heads at the scene.

“Well, while those three play around, it’s time to go to our next destination!”

You perked up at that from the spot on the couch, “aww… already? I didn’t get the chance to get souvenirs yet…”

Pompom ignored you “time to get this train moving!”

Before you could cry a river at being ignored, Dan Heng held out a small phone charm for you, “here.”

You grinned at the small piece of jewelry before nudging Dan Heng’s shoulder, “aww, it’s a spear and it looks like yours too! How thoughtful!”

“It may not be the souvenir that you were hoping for, but I’m glad you liked it.”

You nodded enthusiastically and quickly pulled out your phone to hook the charm on, and as you did so, the Express was beginning to warp so you looked to Stelle, “hold on tight, it’s going to get a bit…bumpy.”

When you looked away to shuffle the cards in your hands, you didn’t notice how both Dan Heng and Stelle grabbed onto your sleeve. They couldn’t quite explain the reason of why they did it, but they just felt like if something went wrong, you would be able to save them just fine (even if you didn’t do anything on the space station or did anything ever as March liked to put it).

And they would be right on that feeling. You may have been the type to sit back and let them handle their own problems. But if the Epxress blew up or was going to crash, well, maybe it would of been alright for an aeon like yourself to save them.

Granted, you hoped something like that doesn't have to happen because you quite liked having them not know you're an aeon. Heh.

[mangosrar]

call it what you want pt5

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

y’all…….

“hurry up we’re gonna be late” matt yelled out the car window. watching as you stomped down your drive way towards the car.

you got in the passenger seat, slumping down and throwing your back in the back. matt glanced over at you as he started to drive away. he took note of the way your eyes looked a little darker and droopier than normal and your skin looked duller than usual.

“what’s up with you today? you look uglier than usual” he asked.

you just sighed, keeping your gaze fixed on the world going by out the window.

he glanced over at you again, waiting for you to bite back.

“damn, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed” he laughed

“not today matt i’m not in the mood” you muttered, still not looking at him.

you closed your eyes for a second, preparing yourself for the insult that never came. sure matt was a douche bag but he was nice enough to not push you too far, and he knew you well enough to know when to stop.

you really just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. today was the 4 month anniversary of tours and elijahs breakup. it had completely knocked you off of your feet and it wasn’t even 9am. you weren’t sure why it was affecting you this much, but part of you knew it was the fact that you missed him deeply, you missed the way he always used to kiss the top of your head, the way he smelt. but you didn’t miss the way he used to lie to you, the way he manipulated and embarrassed you, and that was the only thing stopping you from letting this dark, cold feeling swallow you whole.

“i’ll pick you up before the game tomorrow” matt spoke, breaking the silence.

“i told you i’m not going” you snapped back at him.

“you can’t be serious y/n, jess went to all of my games you have to go” he said, raising his voice slightly.

“well then how about you ask jess to watch you instead of me” he kept his eyes trained on the road as you replied, turning to look at him with a sharp face.

“trust me if i could i would” he muttered.

“poor matt, jess won’t be there to kiss your boo boos when you get your ass beat at the game” you said, faking sadness.

“what like you used to do for Elijah?” matt said so quietly it was almost a whisper. he knew he struck a nerve, and honestly, he felt fucking horrible for what he had said.

there was a brief pause, you just stared at him with widened eyes, desperately trying to pull yourself together. even the sound of his name rolling off of matts tongue made your heart ache a little. matts jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the wheel, he didn’t even spare you a glance, keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead.

after a second of gawking at him, you swallowed and turned back around, once again staring out the window. you weren’t sure if it was the fact he was talking about elijah, or the fact that he knew what today was, that upset you more.

he knew and he still fucking said it, he knew how heartbroken you were when it ended, he knew what a terrible boyfriend he was to you, he knew just how bad Elijah claw marks were and he still said it.

and there wasn’t any way he could deny it, everyone saw how distraught you were when he left, even matt who hated your guts, had never mentioned anything about your ex boyfriend until this moment, so why was he doing it now?

-

the whole day had dragged. the second you arrived at school, you had leaped out of the car and headed as far away from matt as you could get. you couldn’t even stand the sight of him on a good day, let alone when he was throwing insults like that at you.

you had tried your very best to avoid seeing elijah all day, out of fear you might break down and start wailing in the middle of the hall, but to your demise, you had caught a glimpse of him coming out of his home room, laughing with his friends, he hadn’t even noticed you.

how was he not destroyed. you knew he probably didn’t even remember what today was.

“hey you okay?” nick whispered, nudging you.

you turned to him and nodded with a smile before turning to look at everyone else sitting around the table in their own conversation.

“you sure? you’ve been staring at the wall for almost 10 minutes” he spoke in a hushed voice, trying not to bring attention to the fact you were barely even there.

“yeah i’m just tired that’s all, english took it out of me” you said, breathing out a laugh through your nose while looking at him.

he didn’t even crack a smile, he just sighed and looked at you with a sad expression.

“i know what today is y/n” he paused, staring into your soul, “you don’t have to pretend your okay”. he brought his hand up to rest on you shoulder, giving it a small squeeze and nodding his head at you.

you just whispered a small “thankyou” and smiled at him before getting up and heading towards the bathroom. you just needed a moment to yourself, to recollect, a moment that no one could interrupt.

“y/n!” god no please spare me.

you kept on walking, desperately trying to get out of whatever situation he was about to put you in.

“i need to talk to you y/n don’t walk away from me”

“what elijah?!” you bawled. finally stopping and turning around to look at him as he walked towards you.

“matt sturniolo?” he questioned. you just rolled your eyes and looked away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. he didn’t even deserve a glance let alone the entertainment of this conversation.

“what have your parents said about this” and there it is.

“that’s none of your business eli” you snapped, still not looking at him.

he paused for a second, you could see him out the corner of your eye, studying your face.

“i mean this whole thing is a little suspicious, it’s only been what? 2 months since we broke up?” 4 months today actually. “and now you’re with this guy? was there something going on when we were together?” he too crossed his arms over his chest while leaning down towards you and squinting his eyes, condescending you.

you could see this coming from a mile off, he was always like this. he always tried to make you seem like a bad person just so his mishaps would be kept in the dark, it was just that now you could recognise it.

“i wasn’t the cheater elijah, you were.” you said, looking up and jabbing a finger at him.

he pulled back, letting his arms fall while laughing. what could possibly be funny to him?

suddenly it was like a flip had been switched, he had turned cold. he moved a step closer to you, before opening his mouth to speak.

“maybe if you weren’t so fucki-“

“hey baby”. if there was ever a moment that you were happy to see matt, it was this one.

he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close to his side, planting a kiss on your temple.

Elijah looked like someone had just slapped him straight across the face. his mouth was slightly agape, and eyes a little wide, staring at matt.

your whole body tensed and you sucked in a breath, patiently waiting for the ticking time bomb that was of matt sturniolo to go off.

matt kept his eyes trained on elijah, sending him a deathly glare. it was like they were wordlessly battling each-other, as you all stood there in complete silence, both of them having a death glare off and you, just frantically switching from watching one then the other, praying to god that this ends soon.

you couldn’t take the anticipation. you had to end whatever moment they were having and fast.

you placed your hand on matts chest and spoke up.

“you ready to go?”

“yeah” he replied instantly, not taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. matts face was stoic and cold, and if it wasn’t for a good cause it probably would have scared you a little.

just as you thought this was never going to end, you heard elijah scoff. you snapped your eyes to him as he began to walk away, but not before throwing you a disgusted look.

your body relaxed against matts, watching as he walked off and out of sight, letting out a breath you hadn’t even realised you were holding.

matt switched his gaze to you once elijah was out of sight, giving you a nudge as if to say “you good”. you couldn’t look at him, you just blinked at the spot where elijah used to be, before pushing matt off and beginning to hurriedly walk away, holding a hand to your forehead.

you heard him shout after you, but turning around and answering all of matts questions was the last thing you needed, so as soon as the school doors were in sight, you may had well have sprinted at them.

why did matt look so angry at Elijah? you knew he was supposed to be your fake boyfriend but that wasn’t fake. he looked like he wanted to rip elijahs face off.

how is he so good at this whole fake thing? you had one question from your parents and you almost crumbled there and then. and here matt was, silently threatening your ex boyfriend like it was an average friday activity.

why was elijah speaking to you? why did he care? he wasnt even upset when you guys broke up so why kick up a fuss now. maybe he just wanted to upset you, or maybe he finally regrets what he did.

you’re mind was moving at 100 miles per hour. matt, elijah, the game, your parents. there was too much going on, but somehow your thoughts couldn’t move an inch without bumping in to matt, and it was making you dizzy.

——————————————————————————

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[dumbandowned]

Today I needed to get things done. These things were giving me a lot of anxiety, even though they seemed relatively simple. Go over my resume, take care of some healthcare stuff. All easily done at a laptop, but I just couldn't handle the idea of it without panicking. So, Owner decided to play a game.

I was bent over the bed while he teased my asshole with his fingers, using the dripping from my cunt to lube it up. Then he pushed a plug in, and I hadn't really stretched that hole since he had last fucked it. The sudden stretch and pop was painful and I tried to jerk away from him, but his strong hands held my hips. "Oh, it couldn't hurt too bad. You just sucked it in." Owner said softly, fingers running over my thighs as he turned the vibrating plug on. My face burned, and I buried it with a hood up to cover my face.

Before the pain could entirely subside into pleasure, the vibration was turned off. Owner pushes me over and tells me to sit up before handing me my laptop. My hole clenches around the plug, wishing the sweet low hum of vibration would return. He sits next to me, remote to the plug filling my needy hole in hand, and tells me to get to work.

I have a hard time focusing, the stretch of my hole on the forefront of my mind. Between the desperate need to be Owners good puppy, and my puppy holes begging to be bred, any anxiety or stress about the tasks were forgotten. With each finished task marked off the to-do, I earned a few moments with the plug turned on. As I finished the last task, my Owner groped my tits, and as I finally got to close all my tabs, he twisted my hard and sensative nipples which left me shuddering and forced a moan from my lips. He got out of bed and turned the plug onto the highest vibration, before saying he had his own tasks to finish.

I couldn't stop myself. As soon as he left the room I spread my legs. I tugged on the plug to feel the aching stretch, using my other hand to start stroking my tcock. I was so close when the door opened and Owner asked what I was doing. I looked at him from my spot on the bed, mouth open and gasping softly as I had tried not to make too much noise.

Owner got a devious look on his face and flipped me over. He pulled the plug from my hole, quickly replacing it with the tip of his thick cock. I arch my back, high pitch moan coming ftom deep within my chest. His first thrust feels so deep, but I'm forced to remember just how big my owners cock feels in my tight puppyholes on the second thrust. I can feel my stomach nearly buldge when he forces his whole length into me on the second thrust.

Drool ran down my chin as he started to pound into my asshole. My brain instantly overloaded with how long I was being edged. I spread my legs further, bouncing back on his cock like a proper breeding bitch to take his seed, but my legs begin to tremble and he still doesnt stop.

Then, he hands me the vibrator.

"Go on, be a good puppy for me. Don't take it off until I say you can."

My empty puppycunt is dripping, desperately wanting its womb filled, but my owner keeps fucking into my asshole. He fucks it even harder when the vibrator nearly immediately brings me to orgasm. I try to get away, but he pins me down. Overstimulation brings tears to my eyes and I can feel the tip of his cock hitting deep on my guts even long after he cums. I'm shaking, thighs squeezing shut desperately, trying to stop the body shaking orgasms.

He pins my face into the bed, slamming his hips into my limp body while my cunt keeps drooling, ignored, clenching. He pulls out as he forces me into an orgasm that forces a scream out of my weak form. Then before its even finished, he forces his full 9 inches in again. It forces me to cum from my ass all over again, squirting this time, and he fucks me as I cannot stop cumming. My tiny little tdick twitching as my puppycunt weeps for the breeding that my loosened asshole.

Tears stream down my face as the back to back orgasms rip through my body. I scream, hes thrusting so deep and filling me so much that head deep full length thrust forces it out of me. He starts to slow down as I sob softly, body shaking, but my hips still try to rock against his cock until he will empty his balls into my holes again.

He covers my mouth and fucks me so violently all I can do is sob and plead, saying hes too big, I can't handle any more.

His response?

"But look, you're cumming again. I thought you couldn't take any more? Why are you lying?"

When hes done stretching my asshole with violent fucking, my face is in a puddle of tears and spit. He slides out and I can't stop shaking and whining at the empty feeling. My guts hurt. Yet... as he pulls me close, his chest against my back, I spread my gaping hole so he can slip back in. Plugging my puppyhole so his cum doesn't drip. I find myself grinding back against it, teasing my cock and puppycunt with my fingers, slowly as he gropes my tits i bring myself to a final slow orgasm before finally shutting down totally in my owners arms.

I love when I get to be his desperate and good puppy.

[rosemariiaa]

~The Weight of Want~

part: 4

pairing: Paige x Azzi

a/n: surprise!! this feels short but whatever. this is definitely the last chapter, even though i said that 2 chapters ago..lol! i hope you guys liked this one shot turned to series as much as i did, it was a rollercoaster for sure.. but i enjoyed it ! as always happy reading lovelies 💌

warnings: language

Enjoy!!!

Late at night, the gym was always empty—the perfect place for Azzi to escape. She’d always found comfort in the rhythm of the ball hitting the hardwood, in the sound of sneakers squeaking, and the echo of each shot swishing through the net. This place was hers, a sanctuary from everything.

But tonight, she wasn’t alone.

Paige was there, hidden in the shadows of the bleachers, just like she had been for the past few weeks. Every time Azzi was alone, Paige found herself drawn to her, like some magnetic force pulling her in despite knowing how wrong it was. She’d sneak into the gym, slipping into the back corner just to watch Azzi practice. Creepy, she knows.

Paige wasn’t proud of it—far from it. She felt like she was sinking deeper into a hole, unable to pull herself out. There was no escaping the guilt that weighed heavy on her chest, no running from the jealousy that burned in her gut every time she saw Azzi and Laila together. And yet, she couldn’t stay away. She couldn’t stop herself from watching the one person she’d loved more than anyone else slip further out of her reach.

Azzi, unaware of Paige’s presence, moved with her usual grace, sinking shot after shot. Paige’s heart twisted as memories rushed back—nights when they’d stayed late in this very gym, pushing each other, laughing, making bets on who’d make the most shots. Back then, it had been real, untainted by all the mistakes Paige would go on to make.

It hadn’t always been bad. Paige knew that. There were times she’d genuinely cared for Azzi, times when she’d tried to show her affection, like the time she’d brought her flowers after a rough game. But even then, there had always been something holding Paige back—some stupid fear or insecurity that led her to mess everything up. Like how, after giving Azzi those flowers, Paige had ended up at a bar the same night, hooking up with someone else. She couldn’t even remember the girl’s name now. The regret of that night still haunted her.

And now, Laila was giving Azzi everything she hadn’t. Paige had seen it for herself. Laila was gentle, patient, reassuring in ways Paige had never been. She made Azzi feel like she was enough, like she didn’t have to question where she stood. Paige had never done that. She’d always been too wrapped up in her own shit, too scared to fully commit.

Paige wiped at her eyes, her breath catching as she realized just how much she’d ruined. She didn’t deserve to even watch Azzi, let alone want her back. But she couldn’t stop.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through her thoughts. shit.

“Paige, what the hell are you doing?”

Paige nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning around to see Caroline standing there, arms crossed and a look of exasperation on her face. Of course, it had to be Caroline. She was always the one who found her in these pathetic moments. Caroline, who had seen all the damage Paige had done to Azzi, who had been the one Azzi cried to every time Paige messed up. If anyone had the right to be pissed at her, it was Caroline.

“I wasn’t—” Paige started, but the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t lie. Not to Caroline.

Caroline stepped closer, her voice low but sharp. “You’ve got to stop, Paige. This is getting out of hand.”

“I’m just watching,” Paige muttered, her eyes dropping to the floor. It sounded even more pathetic out loud.

“Watching?” Caroline scoffed, her tone incredulous. “You’re stalking her, Paige. You’ve been sneaking around like this for weeks. You need to let her go.”

Paige felt her chest tighten, her guilt overwhelming her. “I know, okay? I just… I don’t know how.”

Caroline’s expression softened, but she didn’t let up. “You hurt her. Over and over again, you hurt her. Azzi cried to me so many times, Paige. She doesn’t need this from you anymore. She’s with Laila now. They’re happy. You need to let them be.”

Paige’s throat tightened, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know. I know I fucked up. I just… I don’t know what to do with myself. I miss her, Carol. I miss her so much.”

Caroline’s face softened further, but there was a firm edge to her words. “I get that, but this isn’t healthy. You’re torturing yourself, and you’re not letting Azzi move on either. You think she doesn’t know you’re always around, watching? She knows, Paige. She’s just too nice to say anything.”

Paige swallowed hard, her heart sinking. “She knows?”

Caroline nodded. “Yeah, she does. And it’s not fair to her. She deserves a clean break, to be with someone who makes her happy. And you… you deserve to move on too.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. The weight of her guilt was suffocating. Caroline’s words only hammered home what she’d known deep down for weeks. She had to stop. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

———-

A few days later, Paige found herself at the campus café, sitting in a corner booth with her cold coffee untouched in front of her. She hadn’t planned to be here, but something had drawn her in. Maybe it was the chance to catch a glimpse of Azzi again. Maybe it was the same destructive cycle she couldn’t seem to break.

Azzi was outside, sitting at a table with Laila. They looked so comfortable together, laughing and talking like they didn’t have a care in the world. Paige’s chest clenched painfully at the sight. Laila was everything she wasn’t—steady, secure, a calming presence in Azzi’s life. Paige had never been able to give her that. She’d been too wrapped up in her own insecurities to be what Azzi needed.

She watched as Laila reached across the table, brushing a strand of hair from Azzi’s face with a tenderness that made Paige’s heart ache. That should’ve been her. But she knew she’d lost the right to be that person a long time ago.

As if sensing her presence, Azzi’s gaze lifted from her conversation with Hannah and landed on Paige. For a moment, Paige froze, caught like a deer in headlights. Azzi’s expression shifted, the lightness from moments before slipping away.

Paige felt her stomach drop as Azzi leaned over to whisper something to Laila. Hannah looked over her shoulder, glancing at Paige and nodded, getting up from the table with a soft smile before heading inside the café, giving them some space.

Azzi made her way inside the cafe and towards Paige, her steps slow and deliberate. When she reached the table, she didn’t sit down right away, just stood there with a guarded expression.

“Paige,” she said softly, her voice betraying none of the warmth they used to share.

Paige looked up at her, swallowing hard. “Hey.”

Azzi didn’t say anything at first, her eyes searching Paige’s face. Finally, she sighed, sitting down across from her. “What are you doing here?”

Paige ran a hand through her hair, feeling the familiar sting of guilt. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice rough. “I wasn’t trying to… I just wanted to see you.”

Azzi’s expression didn’t change, but Paige could tell her walls were up. “You’ve been seeing me. More than you should.”

Paige flinched at the accusation, the shame creeping up her neck. “I know. I wasn’t trying to—fuck, I don’t even know what I was trying to do.”

Azzi didn’t respond, just waited for her to continue.

Paige’s breath hitched as the words spilled out. “I’m sorry, Azzi. I know I hurt you. I didn’t mean to—well, I guess I did, but not like that. I was just… I was messed up.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, but there was still a distance in them. “Paige, I’ve forgiven you. But you need to forgive yourself. You’ve been stuck in this guilt for months.”

“I don’t deserve to,” Paige whispered. “I messed everything up. I ruined us.”

Azzi sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You made mistakes. Big ones. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to move on. You have to stop doing this to yourself.”

Paige shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t know how to.”

Azzi reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on Paige’s for a moment. “It’s time, Paige. You need to let go.”

Paige swallowed hard, the weight of Azzi’s words settling in her chest. “I’m trying,” she said, her voice barely audible. “I just… I miss you.”

Azzi smiled softly, but it was a sad smile. “I miss you too. But we’re in different places now. You’ll find your way. You just have to believe that.”

Paige’s throat tightened as Azzi stood up, giving her one last look before turning to leave. Paige watched her walk away, her heart heavy but a little less broken than it had been before.

Maybe Azzi was right. Maybe it was time to let go.

———-

yayyy happy ending 🤗 so you guys love me now??

i added a little secret here i wonder if anyone would catch it, hint: it’s a person. if no one does that’s kind of embarrassing on my part lol…

tags: @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @ohbueckers @mrsarnold @sierrale8ne @wbbgetsmewetter

[azure-lily24]

Kill Bill

Listened to Kill Bill by SZA while writing this so the title was fitting I think?

Context: Hurtful things said (if you squint), mentions of killing and death and probably toxic relations, reader with feminine qualities

A/n: I saw a fic of the person writing Sylus playing a game of predator and prey with the reader (him being a stalker-) and kinda decided to see what other "dark" themes I think this man could do. This is my own spin on things and this does not relate to Sylus's actual in-game character. Please remember that :)

Reader is their own character, not mc, enjoy :3

The building shook with great force as an explosion was heard from above. The guests were startled and started to panic and rush to the exit. Those who had malicious intent decided to act upon it with the disturbance being their distraction, cutting down innocent people of power and those who hold such status in the world.

You, whoever, stayed in the shadows and supervised the people with ill-intent and used your evol on them. Focusing your attention solely on the person and muttering under your breath.

"Stop. Pain.."

The person who was sneaking up behind an innocent woman, froze and their eyes widened. Placing the person under a mental spell, their mental image changes to show their stomach gutted and their insides sprawled all over the floor. They clutched their stomach in pain and kneeled down on the floor. Smirking when the fool was reduced to laying in a fetal position while their mind plays tricks on them, you hear one of the twins speaking in your ear piece, "Hey boss lady, you might wanna leave the building, it looks like it's gonna collapse in probably less than a minute"

You were just about to respond to Kieran, who spoke through when Luke also spoke up, "And don't worry! Boss and Miss hunter have already left the building" I sigh to myself but soon I start hearing loud thuds and look around to see the decorative pillars falling down and poor unsuspecting guests who haven't left yet either get caught under the pillars or narrowly escape them. You curse under your breath and quickly run to the exit.

Ignoring cries of help and pain, your heels clacking on the soiled marble floor as you were a couple of feet away from the exit, but suddenly a pillar fell and one of the beautiful ice sculptures that was on a table near the exit fell and ice shards flew everywhere. Thankfully it was just ice, but some of the shards flew and cut some of the panicked guests, including you.

You quickly dusted yourself off and ran out the exit. But you were too late...

~~

Sylus appeared with her outside the building just a couple of minutes before. He looked down at her as she held the aether core in her hand, well the vessel of it.. As the building was starting to collapse, the twins appeared in front of him, prepared to leave the scene.

While Sylus was occupied with her, the twins were muttering among themselves.

"Where's boss lady?" "She should've made it out by now.." "You don't think someone's got her, right?" "Definitely not, she's nearly on the same level as the boss"

Miss hunter turned her attention to the twins and questioned them, "Who are we waiting for? And what are you two talking about?"

The twins stop talking and stare at the girl. Sylus, on the other hand, summons Mephisto and sends him out to try and search for you among the nearly collapsing building. The crow leaves and the girl watches as he leaves. She turns to Sylus and asks the same question.

"Sylus, who are we waiting for?"...

~~

Weeks have gone by since that day of the auction. Mephisto had failed to find you before the building had collapsed. The twins were devastated because you were their friend who they could banter with whenever Sylus didn't need them nor you.

Sylus, however, seemed indifferent on the outside yet there was a strange empty feeling inside.. He didn't have anyone to nag him about being holed up in his office, nor did he have anyone to workout with whenever Miss hunter was away..

But most importantly, he lost his enforcer, his right hand person.. the person who kept him alive.. well.. mentally..

He sighed to himself as Mephisto appeared to inform him that Miss hunter was here again

~~

It's been almost 2 months since that day happened.. you stood in front of a mirror and took off the bandages and looked at the scars the stitches left. Scars ran up your arm and down the side of your body where somehow, a fool was still alive and picking off innocent folk and you just happened to be a target. If you weren't so distracted from wiping away the ice shards and all of the poor guests left behind that were screaming and panicking, you could've heard them and dealt with them with ease, but no..

~

Nearly being slashed open, you just managed to escape them and escape the building. Scrambling down each floor level, you barely made it a couple of meters away when the building finally collapsed, kicking up dust and killing all of the remaining guests trapped inside.

Your body felt like it was on fire as you tried to stop the massive gash on the side of your body from killing you of blood loss while you looked around to see if Sylus and the twins were still around. You tried contacting them through your ear piece but somehow it was swiped from your person.. probably from either the escape out of the building or the encounter from the foolish idiot that tried to kill you..

Looking around more, you spotted your bike that was still here and yet.. the others were nowhere to be found when suddenly you hear the voice of that hunter girl who appeared just two weeks ago..

"Sylus, who are we waiting for?"

Her innocent looking eyes gazed up at him as he shook his head and started walking to the car they arrived in. My eyes widened as I realized that Sylus was leaving me..

Rage started to rise but the pain was overpowering.. I quickly and carefully moved to my bike and sped away, leaving the others and leaving the scene.

~

Toss away the bandages, you slip on your jacket and head out, remembering that Sylus would be attending a banquet where he would buy out from an arms dealer. You smirk to yourself and decide to show up and announce your return from the "dead"..

Putting on your helmet, you walk out to your bike and sped off, leaving Linkon City, where you were hiding from Sylus and go to return back to the N109 Zone..

~~

The familiar red tinge and the dark sky of the N109 felt welcoming to you as you rode through, speeding up now that you were out of the beautiful night sky of Linkon City.

You pulled up to the place and put on an elegant mask that fit well with the black dress you wore, as well as a jacket to cover up your scar. Looking around and smirking when you see a familiar car parked not too far from you, signaling that Sylus was here and the possibility that he brought that girl with him as well. This just made your plan even better..

Walking inside and showing your invite, the bouncer allows you in and you look at the extravagant place. The ceiling had a starry sky, and the people around wore colors you would see in a galaxy. Those who wore masks were either body guards or those who would rather keep their identity a secret in hopes to avoid being targeted by undercover killers..

Walking around and greeting other guests who attended, you spot two familiar crow masks that were nearly hidden in the shadows. You smile as you turn and start walking towards the twins.

They looked surprised to see an unknown guest walking towards them and move to push them away, but you smirked and spoke,

"Why.. I'm hurt.. 2 months have passed and you two don't even look a bit happy to see me? Maybe I should just leave again.." The twins were shocked to hear your voice and Luke reached up to inform Sylus of your return when you grabbed his wrist and shook your head. "Keep my presence a secret and maybe you two will be spared from me~"

You chuckled as they nodded and kept their mouths shut, scared but also confused of why you didn't want Sylus to know that you were back.

Walking away from the twins, you spotted the hunter girl. She was idling around and chatting with those who would entertain her. She wore a dark purple dress with blue and black accents, and every time she would move, you could see the glitter that would imitate stars. You sigh to yourself and already know that Sylus had probably bought that dress for her.

You walked up to her and smiled, talking in a voice that's a bit higher than your normal tone. "Hi miss, can I just say your dress is absolutely stunning, where did you get it from?"

She smiled and shook her head, "I got it from the place at the Grand Center and it was a gift from my partner." Anger started to rise from that word she used to describe Sylus, but I kept my emotions in check and nodded.

'I knew Sylus for nearly five years and yet she's only been around for two, almost three months and this shit happens', you spoke out in your mind and sighed.

"Well since it seems like your 'partner' has the pockets, might I strike a deal with you?", you held out your hand, knowing this girl probably doesn't have enough knowledge to know when a woman is being shady, unlike men..

She looks at your hand and tilts her head in curiosity, "A deal for what?"

You smiled and beckoned her to follow you, "Come with me and I'll show you, I would rather prefer if not a lot of people saw the protocore I've acquired." You internally smirked as she nodded.

'This was too easy~'

You felt a pair of eyes on you as you led her out into a corridor, away from public eyes. You stopped once you were sure no one saw the two of you leaving the main floor and turned to her. She looked at you with curiosity as you reached into one of your jacket pockets and pulled out a protocore. It was a larger core from the usual ones you would see. You looked up and saw that her eyes had widened and she looked at the core in your hand in awe.

"That's incredible!, where did you get it from miss?", she asked with so much excitement, it reminded you of a child who had just seen the biggest candy store in the world.

You opened your mouth to reply when suddenly, an oh-so-familiar voice was heard and a certain snowy grey haired man appeared from around the corner. He looked beautiful in the suit he was wearing, a black suit with blue and red accents and bits of embroidery showing stars.

"It's a fake.. no protocore would ever form like that.." Sylus spoke in a condescending tone to try and intimidate me. I only scoff and tilt my head, putting a hand on my hip.

"Are you calling me a scammer, sir?", I smirk and the fake protocore in my hand shifts and turns into a small blade. The hunter girl backs away and Sylus glares at me and waves a hand, holding me in the air with his power.

"You would be a fool to try and lay a hand on her..", Sylus slowly starts to close his hand, the force of his evol increasing as he strangles me in the air. I smirk and focus all of my attention on him..

"Pain.."

His eyes widen and I am released from his hold. Landing on the floor as Sylus holds his head in pain as his mental image changes and burning pain clouds his mind. He lets out a groan as he tries to fight, yet I keep my focus on him and smirk while doing so.

Miss hunter looks scared as I do, looking worried as Sylus kneels down to the floor and looks up at me with pain in his eyes. I cross my arms and release him from his mental torture. I take off my mask as he recovers and stands up from the floor.

"Long time, no see.. missed me?" I smirk as Sylus looks shocked for only a second but quickly composes himself. Miss hunter shared the same reaction as she quickly recognized me. "If only you waited just one more minute back then.." my bottom lip pokes out to pout, as if I were mocking him.

Sylus sighed in annoyance and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you were alive all this time.. why were you hiding these last two months?"

I smirk and played with the small blade in my hand, "You tell me, how would you feel if you were probably on the brink of death and saw your boss leaving you behind, huh?" I shrug off the side of my jacket that hid my scar and proudly show it to Sylus. "A clean cut from my arm.. to my waist.. nearly dying and yet you had the nerve to busy yourself with a little girl whose purpose has already been fulfilled..". I turned my gaze to her and glared at her and spoke,

"Burn.."

Her eyes widened as she cried out in pain as a burning sensation clouded her mind. Sylus quickly waved a hand, bringing you closer to him and holding your throat in his hand. You smirked as he looked at you with such anger.

"Why so serious? After all, she resonated with you and got the aether core, therefore, she's useless now.." you smiled as she cried out in pain again, begging you to stop it.

"Call it off, or else you'll actually die this time.." Sylus threatened yet your eyes widened when you realized what he had said. Miss hunter cries in relief when released from her mental torture, keeling down on the ground as tears fall from her face.

Sylus unhands you. You back away and look at him with a look of betrayal and anger. "Seems you couldn't cut off a loose end, but don't worry.." you spoke as you looked down. Sylus glanced back to check on her but that painful feeling returned and soon, when he looked up at you, the small blade was no longer in your hand. He turned and saw it lodged deep into Miss hunter's heart...

"I took care of it..."

~~~

(WOOOOOOO I wrote this in the span of two hours while Sylus held me at gunpoint from 30 minutes of that- also while I was writing this, I realized that reader's evol seemed quite similar to the blonde girl Jane from Twilight. Anyone else thought of that or was it just me?)

[rockleeisbaeeee]

Tw: angst ig, could be worst. Srry if there’s spelling mistakes.

——

I remember that summer night, when he promised me he wouldn’t forget me, he’d always love me, he’d wait for me.

Lies.

We kept contact for a week. Then nothing, never heard from him again, until.

“Atsumu miya, rookie athlete is now part of the Black Jackals.”

It had been a year since I returned to Japan when I heard it, my career brought me back here, like I knew it would. Like an idiot I texted him for one last time, that I was back, no response, now I know why, he was too busy focused on new people to even remember my name.

——

All those empty words left me forever scarred.

When I was young I dreamed of my happily ever after, getting married to an amazing husband, having kids and growing old together. That dream shattered the moment I saw him with a new girl is his arms on the tv a week later, he denied the relationship rumors, yet the picture was enough to prove that something did happen, he was fooling around while I grieved my shattered dreams, dreams that he was a part of, dreams he promised would become true, he lied.

——

Every day was a monote nightmare, I see him everywhere, my hate for him grows.

My career was taking slow, but firm steps. I always dreamed of being a journalist. I had started within the sports field, thanks to him, since we were supposed to be together, now it’s too late to focus on another field, I enjoyed watching people play though, their passion always made me feel alive. That was what one of the things I liked about him. Now I avoid writing or watching volleyball at all cost. But I knew one day I would have to, that day has come.

“Y/n the boss asks for you,” one of your coworkers said quickly when passing your desk. You went to your boss’s office, having a bad feeling in your gut. You knocked the door and entered, “you called for me sir?” Your boss was looking through some papers looking a bit stressed, “oh yes, you see we’re quite busy and we have no reporters left, I recommended you to the directors and we decided to let you interview the black jackals before their next game,” you froze, you knew you’d have to eventually see him, but never this directly. He wasn’t asking you so there’s no way you could refuse, the opportunity was too good anyways, you’d have to face your fear and see him, it’s fine, you can act as if you don’t remember, even if that was impossible, you could pretend. “Thanks for the opportunity, I’ll do my best.” You said bowing, he dismissed you so you went back to your desk.

I have to face him, there’s no backing out. Would he remember me? Probably not since last time we talked was five years ago, it was a flimsy love you too text, what a bitch. So far he’s acted like I don’t exist, like everything didn’t exist, so I’ll have to do the same.

I’ve gotten some attention in the sports world for my great work, but I doubt he’s ever read it. But that’s fine, the least he knows about me the better.

——

Two weeks later

You woke up, did your routine and went to work.

“Today is the big day! Aren’t you excited??” Lia, your best friend said when approaching your desk, she didn’t know about the thing you had with atsumu, you didn’t want anyone to find out and pity you, “yeah, it’s a great opportunity,” you said with a forced smile, honestly you weren’t feeling good, you felt like you were gonna vomit, but that feeling didn’t let you eat so you probably weren’t going to, “well, I’ll let you prepare, good luck, I know you’ll do good!!” she left to go back to her desk, her positivity got to you, it can’t be that bad, you’re worrying too much, if you just pretend to not know him it’ll be fine, right?

——

You were know standing in front of the gym, the nerves were eating you alive, but there’s nothing you can do now. Breathe, it’ll be fine, he doesn’t remember you. You think to yourself, but oh how wrong you were.

——

I don’t have motivation for part 2 of my oikawa fic so I came up with this, it will become a short series (maybe 3 parts) if anyone wants to be tagged let me know in the comments. Sorry if this feels weird, I made y/n speak in first person when talking to herself, but in third when describing the environment, I hope it’s not confusing 😓

I promise I’ll finish part 2 of the oikawa fic this week and get started with the next part of this one 🙏

[yanderes-galore]

here's a Mauga request <3 Could you do a short of him with a darling who's a soldier of overwatch? I just love the idea of him having something he wants being out of his reach but he keeps getting teasing glimpses of it on the battle field. Thanks in advanced!

Imagine just trying to do your job, only for Talon's infamous tank to take interest...

Treat

Yandere! Mauga Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Possessive behavior, Violence, Blood, Licking of blood, Implied forced "relationship".

You're such a tease to him... like a dog to meat.

It's so difficult for Mauga to not just pounce on you any chance he gets. You're just so small compared to him. Despite that, you're so agile in your field that you can take on big targets....

It irritates him that you have to look to tantalizing... but be with Overwatch.

He scoffs, Overwatch.... That team should've been long extinct ever since what happened with Blackwatch. But, no, instead they're back up and running due to Talon and Null Sector.

You're a new agent for the hero team, already making your presence known to the world. People see you and the rest of Overwatch as heroes. Mauga always sees you on TV... always sees you in the battlefield...

But he never gets a damn taste.

He bets you don't even know how much you tempt him. He already knows as part of Overwatch you hate his guts. You know all about him due to his files.

That's fine... He's done his own research.

He remembers the first time you fought. You ran circles around him due to your smaller figure. He could easily pick you up from the ground... but he's always been one for a little fun.

You had attempted to run past him to save some civilians, but Mauga quickly blocked your way. He found how desperate you were adorable. It was so satisfying to have you trapped in his arms, cornered like prey before him. He really wanted to continue playing such games... yet he got orders to head back to base.

He was irritated the whole day after that.

Now, ever since your close encounter, Mauga has craved you. He wants to corner you again. He wants to hold you and never let go. He's real damn tired of being teased by you.

Your luck was bound to run out....

It was yet another mission and Mauga knew you'd be there. He was adamant on going there, claiming to Talon they needed his guns. Mauga may like to play games... but he's getting tired.

You stroll through the battlefield, taking down Talon agents whenever you can. You expect it to be an easy mission. Just storm some known Talon territory, track down a base of operations... You even got in the base and was doing some decent damage.

Only for you to hear heavy footsteps.

"Talofa! Been awhile, hasn't it?" Mauga chuckles, his large frame stalking close to you. You gasp, holding up your weapon with a glare. You... can't afford to fight him like this.

You're too close.

"Aww... is the little mouse scared of the big bad cat?" Mauga muses, seeing the way your weapon trembles in your grasp. "You shouldn't be so scared... I missed our time together! You telling me you don't feel the same, teuila?"

You back up, but Mauga is quick to close the distance. You let off a few shots but Mauga just laughs. He's experienced much worse....

"Don't you want to take me in? Take me down like Overwatch said you should?" Mauga laughs, smacking the assault rifle out of your hands with one of his large chain guns, "Don't start fights you can't finish, love!"

You yelp when Mauga knocks you to the ground with ease. Oh, to him it's so satisfying to finally have you. He's been waiting too damn long, he always gets what he wants.

He's tired of you being just out of his reach.

"Are you trying to be a little carrot on the stick for me, dear?" Mauga muses, tossing his guns to the side momentarily to pin you to a nearby wall with ease. "You're so cruel...."

You struggle against his tight grip, yet his grip doesn't allow much room to move. Mauga merely chuckles, gripping your sides. His gaze travels up and down your form, a grin on his face.

"Ohh... Someone's bleeding." Mauga hums, using a thick finger to wipe the top of your head. It appears he was too harsh... you're fragile.

You watch as Mauga admires the slick red liquid on his finger. He glances at you with a dark gaze before licking the digit clean with a smirk. You grimace when he hums in pleasure.

"You taste good... like a treat...." Mauga hums, "Always knew you'd taste sweet...."

"Please! Please, let me go... I won't say a word...!" You plead, which makes Mauga howl in laughter.

"What...? Scared because your intel said nothing about me? That I wasn't meant to be here..." Mauga sighs, squeezing you in his grip. He looks irritated for a moment before responding again.

"I had a friend tell me all about you. I've been hunting you, teuila..." Mauga admits, using a hand to tilt your head up.

You struggle against the grip on your chin, yet Mauga prevents you from pulling back by holding the back of your head. As of now... you're a ragdoll in his arms. Weak, pliable...

Prey.

"You still think I'm going to let you go?" Mauga chuckles, seeing the desperate look in your eyes. "Well... Maybe... Maybe I will... but, for now..."

Mauga pulls you closer, lips ghosting over your own. Your breath hitches in fear... which only makes Mauga more eager. He's wanted this.

He's wanted you for so long...

"For now, won't you allow me more of a taste...? Then... maybe I'll let you go...."

He isn't going to let you go regardless of what you do... not when he finally has you to himself.

[vinnsley]

omg.. so ummm i was thinking.. have u seen norton in the new story? :3 and yk how he kinda like.. didn’t say a word to Alice.. I was wondering if u can write a fic.. where norton has a s/o.. :3 in the game and only talks to them.. and everyone is just like “wtf”.. :3

ORIGINAL: chuckles evilly. LOOK NO FURTHER DEAR ANON!!! (i deleted idv awhile ago. Youtube, my friend... :3)

UPDATED: Yes. I redownloaded IDV a while ago and finished the new story quests and unfortunatly by the time i am writing this, i don't remember everything clearly, so if this has any information wrong, i apologize 😭 (lately i haven't been playing either (by lately i mean months))

Edit 2: i realized that the most popular thing ive written is exactly abt norton.. and its smut. ermmmm😓

[----------]

-At first, you had 0 idea what to expect. Your boyfriend got sent a letter inviting them to a mysterious manor and he had to go alone. You were worried for him, considering the events of his past, but you let him on his way.

-It only took a few weeks for you to recieve a letter similar to what Norton recieved — from the same manor. It mostly contained that you are invited to the manor for reasons the writer rather not disclose trough a letter.

-Considering this was the same letter that made Norton leave, you immedieatly grabbed your suitcase and started to pack a few clothing items you deemed fit.

-The ride towards the manner was long —making you nervous by every second that passed. Would you see Norton again? Did something happen to him? What is it that this mysterious person wanted to talk with you about? Aswell as with a few others who would be present?

-When you finally arrived infront of the manor, you took a deep breath. Not too sure if you were ready to hear or see what was going on inside said manor. You walked up to the door and knocked, waiting for a few seconds (Which felt like hours in your point of view) and the door opened.

-A butler opened the door. Not saying anything aside your name as a question. Wanting to confirm it was actually you.

-You nod and give the old-looking man your invite, to which he nodded and let you inside. A maid bowing infront of you slightly as a greeting, before saying that she'll be your guide, and that you were free to ask questions whenever you wanted.

-You felt like you wanted to burst into words, you had so many questions. But anxiety has sewn your mouth shut, unable to mutter a single word besides an affirmation to the maid and following her to your temporary residence.

-The tour tooj atleast 1,5 hours in your opinion. The whole manor was... giant, in your words. You asked questions here and there to the maid, to which she either responded... or not. Which made your gut feel weird, but you shrugged it off.

-You already met a few people already. Like Mr. Kreiburg...But you wouldn't actually call it a meeting. As you reached out your hand and tried to introduce yourself, he only picked up his cane and moved your hand away from him before walking past you, his face only being... sour. Quite the asshole, you thought.

-Ms. Plinius, the entomologist you saw outside the small garden of the manor. For being such a big house, the garden was for sure small to your standards. But Ms. Plinius atleast didn't... shrug you off first chance she got. She simply introduced her and went back to examining... or atleast that's what you thought she was doing with the bees.

-You also met Orpheus. He was nice. He actually conversed with you for a bit. You found out that he was a writer of some kind, and that he's mostly at the manor because of this.

-You also met Ms. DeRoss. Or how she preferred — Alice. She was also nice. She conversed with you for a bit aswell. She was a journalist, that's what you found out about her.

-As you continued to walk around the manor, trying to see if there was anyone else, you had no luck. When you peeked inside the last room and you didn’t see anyone, you sighed.

-Wasn't Norton invited here? Why isn't he here then? You were confused. And mostly scared for your lover.

-You decided to shrug it off. You were already tired from all that travelling you did during the day, the meetings —Good or bad—, the tour.

-You ate dinner with the invited people who... participated in the dinner, because Mr. Kreiburg... was missing. As it seemed like it was a common occurance for him to not attend, he usually asked his food to be brough to his room appearently.

-After you were done, you said your good night's to everyone and went to your room. Your luggage being next to the small space next to the bed, as you picked it up and placed it on the table, rummaging trough it for your nightly wear.

-When you found it, you tried to change as quickly as possible to be able to get more rest that your body and consciousness craved at this point.

-Tomorrow morning, you were woken up by a sharp knock on your door. The person on the other side for sure knew how to wake someone up... You called out a 'come in' in a sleepy tone stretching as your body popped here and there from the movement.

-The butler from before came in. He informed you that breakfast would be starting soon, and that you should probably gather yourself together for the day. You yawned and nodded in response. The butler soon walked out when he saw your nod — giving you your privacy.

-You stood up, going to the bathroom to wash your face. After that, you went to your luggage still on the table, opened, and picked out your next outfit for the day.

-You opened the door and walked out, closing it behind you as you saw someone with black hair and a... hat of some kind walk down the stairs? It was... a green or grey. You couldn't really tell from how fast they rushed down the stairs.

-You shrugged it off, walking downstairs in your own pace and walking to the dining table.

-When you arrived, you looked around. Alice, Ms. Plinius, Orpheus... and Norton?

-So he was actually here! Your heart felt like it could burst open from happiness any second now. You wanted to scream in happiness, but no. You couldn't. You were with people who were technically still strangers.

-Norton did notice and recognize you too. His reaction simply being his eyes widening than narrowing to his usual look. He always had a better poker face than you — that you both knew.

-But for some reason, there was no space set in the table next to Norton... So you simply put your fingers on the satin that was under the plate, and pulled it infront of the chair next to Norton, sitting down beside him.

-You took your food and while you did, everyone besides Norton stared at you weirdly for a bit. Why did you... sit next to Norton? They barely managed to get his name out of him (which was actually given by the butler) but you sit next to him? The most anti-social person besides Kreiburg?

-They were confused to say the least. But... hey. You do you. They guess.

-While everyone was eating, talking, Alice noticed that Norton was... actually talking to you? Sure, she couldn't hear what you two were conversing about, but Norton was definitely going on and on about something.

-Did you two know eachother? Probably. No. Most definitely. Norton hasn't spoken a single word to anyone, yet he is actively talking to you. You two definitely knew eachother from somewhere.

-Alice looked over to Orpheus as he was talking to Ms. Plinius, slightly nudging him with her elbow and she signalled to the pair of you with her eyes.

-Orpheus kept talking to Ms. Plinius, making an act of as if they weren't watching the two of you, while he glanced at the both of you from time to time. Nobody could tell, but Ms. Plinius took the hint aswell and noticed the same thing as Orpheus and Alice.

-It was as if the two of you were friendly with eachother. Maybe even more.

-But they couldn't do much at the moment... they might ask you two... or more specifically you of your relationship with him later.

[----------]

ACK. im sorry if i messed up anything... and im so uncertain if melly was actually referred to as Ms. Or Mrs. google didnt give me any solid answers either so... excuse that if its wrong pls🤕🙏

[zepskies]

Assistant Hottie

Pairing: Jason Teague x F. Reader (implied Jason T. x Lana Lang)

Summary: Jason Teague, Assistant Football Coach, meets you in the faculty break lounge at Smallville High. He tries to kick you out, thinking you’re a student. Technically, you are. Turns out, you both go to the same university. 

AN: So I know it’s about 20 years late, but I’ve been wanting to write some Jason Teague for a while now. There’s a very dated reference to iPods (remember this show was circa early 2000s).

Word Count: 2,600 Tags/Warnings: Implied love triangle (quadrangle?), fluff, tinge of angst, and a meet cute.

“Hey, Coach T!”

Jason turns his head, shooting Clark Kent a smile that’s just a little bit forced. He slows down in the busy hallway so the younger man can catch up.

Clark’s friends, Chloe Sullivan and Lana Lang keep walking, though the brunette glances his way. Her hazel eyes catch his.

But Jason focuses on Clark, who’s coming at him with all six feet and three inches of farm boy earnestness.

Jason has City Boy Charm in his arsenal.

“What’s up, man?”

Clark smiles. “Real quick, just wanted to ask you about the drills we’re running today…”

Eighth period is about to start, meaning just another hour until school ends, and another day of practice begins on the football field. Clark takes all five minutes between classes to ask his questions about how he can better move the ball, his throwing technique, how to better communicate on plays with the rest of the guys.

As always, Jason gives Clark the best advice he has to offer. Even a few months into this job, he’s still feeling a bit of imposter syndrome. He’s only a couple of years older than the guys he’s coaching, and Clark is looking at him like he’s got all the answers.

Newsflash, champ. I don’t. Jason smiles though. 

Because Clark is something else. He’s a starting quarterback of a game he’s never played before in his life. Head Coach Quigley thought it was steroids at first, but Jason had a gut feeling about the guy.

“He’s not a cheater,” he’d told Quigley. The other man had scoffed, rubbing his chin.

“Okay, Teague. If you think so,” he said. “…Make him piss in a cup anyway.”

Since then, Clark hasn’t given Jason a reason to doubt him, at least on the field.

No, his reasons for still being wary of Clark are more…personal.

“All right, we’ll workshop the rest later on the field,” Jason says, as the starting bell rings. “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Okay, see ya later.” Clark nods and holds up a hand in goodbye. To tell the truth, Jason is a little relieved to see him go.

Instead of heading to his office, he makes a pitstop at the faculty break lounge for a cup of coffee. He could use a little pick-me-up, even if it is from a watery K-cup.

When he pushes open the door, he’s greeted by the familiar smell of stale roasted hazelnut and microwaved fish. Along with the wall-to-wall countertop and refrigerator down the end, there’s a small round table fitted with just three chairs.

Uh oh, he thinks.

You’re sitting there with a pair of earbuds in, nodding to your music while you make notes with a red pen. The contents of your messenger bag are half-strewn across the table, displaying a couple of notebooks and binders, different colored highlighters, pens, and a post-it pad.

Your back is facing him, so he has to walk around the table to get your attention. He hesitates, before he taps your shoulder. He’s never had to do this before, and he’s actually a bit nervous.

“Hey there,” he says. His lips quirk when you jolt a little. You stare up at him with wide eyes and the top of your pen resting against your lower lip. 

“Uh…” You remove your ear buds and hit pause on your iPod.

“Did you get lost on the way to study hall, or you just here for the coffee?” Jason gestures to the Keurig machine on the counter. “Hate to break it to you, but that stuff’s not exactly quality joe.”

You blinked at him. “What? Um…I mean yeah, the coffee’s ass. But it is free, I guess.”

Jason tries to reign in his smile. He cards a hand through his blonde hair and taps his free hand on the table.

“Uh, are you ditching class or something?” he asks. “If it’s history, I get it. Snooze fest.”

He makes a flatlining motion with his hand. Your brows knit together in confusion…but then you brighten.

“Oh, I’m not a student,” you laugh. “But good on you for trying to lay down the law, Coach Teague.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to be confused. “How did you know—”

You point with your red pen, over to the yellow patch emblazoned on his red polo that says: Crows Football and Assistant Coach.

“Pretty sure you’re the one the cheerleaders are calling Assistant Hottie,” you say. Your gaze is wry and a hint playful.

He lets himself smile, albeit with some embarrassment. He points at you.

“And you’re…”

“Part-time teacher’s aid,” you reply. Your hands make a frame around the stack of papers in front of you, that Jason now realizes you’re grading.

Great. His face warms a bit.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, and points to the coffee maker. “Let me just mind my business.”

He doesn’t know it, but you subtly watch him with a small smile while he goes about said business. The Keurig eventually spits out more roasted hazelnut into his Styrofoam cup.

With his prize in hand, he means to leave you in peace to head for his office, but your voice stops him.

“You can sit if you want. I need a break anyway.”

Jason can admit, at least to himself, that he’s curious. (About you.) He goes over to the table and sits down across from you. His eyes unconsciously dart over the splayed contents of your bag, and you don’t miss it.

“Sorry,” you say, as you try to reign in the mess and corral things back into your bag. “I’m kind of an organized chaos kind of girl.”

“No worries. I dabble in that philosophy myself,” he says with a grin. “I’m Jason, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, giving him your name in return.

You like his smile. His long fingers are wrapped around the steaming cup. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun is pouring in from the windows behind him. It shines golden on his hair and broad shoulders, and makes his green eyes look warm.

Those eyes glance down and focus on a familiar badge sticking out of your bag. His brows furrow.

“No way. You go to Kansas A&M?” he asks. “So do I.”

You blink at him. “What, you’re still in college?”

He laughs and leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath.

“Okay, wow! A bit rude," he says. "Just how old do you think I am?”

You bite your lip in embarrassment.

“Second thought, don’t answer that,” he quips.

“I’m sorry,” you say, through a bit of laughter. “I guess we’re both reading each other wrong today.”

Jason shakes his head and crosses his arms.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he says airily. “Lest I be any more presumptuous, can I ask what year you’re in? Major?”

You concede with a nod, but you’re still smiling too hard.

“Secondary Education. Junior year,” you say. Jason’s brows raise with his grin still in place.

“Okay, a future teacher on our hands.” He leans forward. “As it turns out, I’m actually a sophomore.”

A year below you. You bury your reddened face in your hands, though a giggle still bubbles up.

He doesn’t let you stew in your misery for long though.

“Eh, it’s okay. Don’t feel too bad,” he says. You hear the smile in his voice, and you peek out at him from between your fingers. “I’m technically a year behind. Transferred from another school so I could take this job.”

Once again, your eyes widen as your hands fall away from your face.

“Oh, yeah? I assume you play football, but I’ve never seen you on the team…”

Jason’s smile turns playfully cocky.

“I don’t play anymore, but I’ll have you know, I was on track for the NFL.”

Yeah, for about a minute, comes a dull reminder in his brain.

You rest your chin in your hand as you meet his smile. “Okay. You definitely have the face of a guy who almost went pro.”

Your voice lowers at the end there, impersonating every “dude bro” you’ve ever met who thought he could throw a ball across a field.

“I’m serious.” Jason laughs, but then his eyes dim a bit. “I played for Metropolis U. Tore my rotator cuff, and uh…that’s it. Scrubbed. Had to start over.”

You dim along with him. “That sucks ass. I’m sorry.”

He snorts, almost spilling his coffee. “You’ve certainly got a way with words.”

“But you feel better for me calling you old, don’t you?” Your pen taps on your lip, and his eyes are drawn to the gesture.

He also notices your eyes, the shape of your face, the shade of your hair, the black Fleetwood Mac shirt (with a ripped V hinting at cleavage). It doesn’t exactly scream T.A., but you’re pretty.

Beautiful, really.

He tries not to notice that too much.

“Maybe a little,” he allows. He smiles behind a sip of his drink. It’s getting cold, as he forgets to actually drink it.

“My parents sent me to college to be a lawyer,” you confess. It perks his interest with raised brows. “Like my mom, and my uncle, and his father before him, and so on.”

Jason’s smile is back. You consider that a small triumph.

“I sat in one class. Intro to Business Law.” You shudder at the memory. “Jason, I wanted to bludgeon myself with the textbook. And it wouldn’t have taken long. That thing was the size of a Dostoyevsky novel.”

Jason laughs, even though he doesn’t know who Dostoyevsky is. It does unearth a distant memory of his 12th grade English class (he barely passed that one).

“So, I decided to disappoint them,” you say ruefully.

That, he understands all too well. He raises a finger at you. “Hey, a teacher’s respectable. But I happen to be an expert at disappointed parents, so you’re in good company.”

You smile, small but genuine. Jason counts that as a win.

“What’s your major now?” you ask.

“Sports medicine,” he replies, but you both hear the lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Your head tilts, and your eyes soften. Not with pity, he thinks. Maybe with understanding.

“You could find something else you’re actually passionate about,” you say.

Jason bites the inside of his lip, sets his cup back on the table.

“Sure,” he says.

His lackluster answer is telling, and he can’t even think of a joke to inject into this moment to lighten the mood. (He even disappoints himself there.)

“Look, I get it,” you say at last. “You probably ate, slept, breathed that game. Like that’s what you were put on this earth to do. And I know you must’ve been good. Because the fact that this school hired you while you’re still in college is amazing.”

He meets your gaze steadily. 

Your smile brightens. “But I’m sure football’s not all there is to you.” 

That touches him. Warms him even, though he’s reluctant to let it. 

“We just met, and you’re already sure about that?” he remarks. 

You shrug, gesturing at his cup. “Well, I’m sure that you probably have crappy taste in coffee. I’m broke as hell, and even I don’t drink from a Keurig.” 

Jason laughs. If you only knew that he’d spent his summer in Paris, sampling some of the best restaurants and cafés in the world without even looking at the bill…until his dad cut him off. Needless to say, he’s had to refine his tastes.

“What kind of teacher do you want to be?” he asks, instead of getting to all that.

Your brow arches. “You mean what subject?”

“Yeah. What, like physics or something?”

“Ew. God, no!” 

“What’s wrong with physics?”

“Too much math. I’m shit at that shit,” you reply. 

“Okay. No to the sciences.” He laughs and rubs his chin, squinting at you. “Let me see if I can guess.”

You gesture widely. Go ahead.

“Not economics, I’m thinking. Too close to business,” he teases.

“Business law,” you correct. “But you’re actually right about that.”

“Hmm, history?”

“It's interesting, but it’s also rigged,” you say. “Only the victors in society get to dictate what gets remembered. Just look at Columbus Day. What a sham that is.”

Jason allows that with a nod and a smile. “All right, what then? Algebra? Geometry?”

“That’s math, remember?” you reply, with furrowed brows. “Besides, I don’t like mixing letters and numbers. It’s not sanitary.” 

He chortles at that. You’re a little ridiculous, but he kind of likes that.

“Okay, how about English?” he says.

Your gaze flicks up to his. A small, growing smile. 

“What makes you say that?” you ask. 

“Process of elimination?” he says. His smile curves. He saw your little reaction. “But I don’t know. I get the feeling you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me. The way you’re talking, all quick as a whip… Like I said, you’ve got a way with words.”

You laugh a little. “Oh, do I?” 

Jason’s brows raise expectantly as he leans back in his seat again.

Well, then? that move says. “Am I right?”

Your head tilts, and you answer the unspoken challenge in his eyes. You raise a finger and pull out one of your notebooks and you take up your red pen. You tap the top of it on your lip, in what seems to be your habit, and you begin to write on a clean piece of paper.

Your hand moves with purpose on each word. Jason watches you in curiosity. Though when you realize he’s staring hard at your paper, your free hand forms a wall against his probing eyes.

“No cheating,” you reproach.

He scoffs, but he waits for you to finish.

Finally, you tear off the piece of notebook paper, fold it up neatly, and you slide it over to him.

“What, are we passing notes now?” Jason can’t help but joke, even as he opens the little gift. “I thought we weren’t in class, Professor.”

You shake your head. “Just read it.”

He starts to, and his smile grows. He glances back up at you. “You wrote me a poem?”

“Just a little haiku.” You gesture at him to keep reading while you start to pack up your things. The alarm bell just tolled for the end of class, and you have another job to get to.

Jason’s eyes lower back down to the looping scrawl of your handwriting. His smile deepens into a smirk.

Assistant Hottie

You flatter me, see through me

Smarter than he thinks.

He stares at your words for a while. He rereads the last line a few times.

By the time he looks back up, your bag is packed and you’re standing, ready to go. You smile at him.

“See you on campus,” you say. “I also work at the Writing Center, if you ever need a spruce up on your essays.”

“Can I get you to rewrite my history paper?” he teases.

“Make an appointment,” you counter, still with that smile. “And we’ll see.”

You leave the faculty lounge, and Jason feels a suspicious jolt in his heart.

Something he immediately feels guilty about. 

Because the real reason he came back to Kansas is to continue his summer fling with Lana Lang, a senior at Smallville High. 

Well, to him, it’s not a fling. He used to think it was as close to love as he’s ever been. Recently though, he’s been getting the sense that she’s still hung up on her not quite ex, Clark Kent.

That’s not even the most complicated part.

She’s 18, and Jason’s barely 20, but their relationship could still one day be the reason he loses his job…

And maybe, any chance he might have of being friends with someone like you.

AN: Lol no shade to my sciences, history, and math people! Just creating a character. Let me know what you think! 😉

And if you liked this...

Read the Sequel!

Check out "Miss Professor" to continue reading. ❤️

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[inkyquince]

I'm going to make fun of so many peoole who don't like veilguard. Because....

Veilguard is the spiritual successor to Dragon Age 2

Inquisition is more like Origins, and I would call it the spiritual successor if it wasn't sufficiently lacking in other areas

Now there are dumb fucks out there who only like origins or only like inquisition. It's their entire personality when it comes to dissecting the dragon age games.

I like dragon age a lot because each game is a different genre. Origins is depression melodrama. 2 is a comedy that loves to stop and punch you in the gut every now and then, and shows the prime time when your friends are more your family than blood is. Inquisition is... A political thriller that happens to have magic (and the ugliest graphics. Bruh why is everyone but like three people so deep in the uncanny valley. Why is combat boring). Veilguard is getting to see what it feels like to inherit a situation outside of your control, it's more like an underdog story.

"it has cringy dialogue" and you don't remember origins? You think bioware doesn't dish out cringy dialogue for each game?

"the art style-" is STYLISED. Origins is good looking for graphics that feel outdated for 2009. But it's not realistic looking. 2 had it's budget slashed viciously so it does look wonky especially with their cameo characters. Inquisition, as I've said, feels deeply ugly because there is nothing stylised about it. They went for realistic and now everyones inquisitor is kinda ugly, sorry. People enter the uncanny valley, they always look better in concept art. The three prettiest people we have is Dorian, Cassandra and Josephine. Everyone else enters the uncanny valley of WEIRD looking. It's busted and I'm sorry. Veilguard? Fuckin stellar stylisation. The art, the environments, the magic, is so goddamn pretty.

"you cant control your compa-" yes you can. You can make them attack. Why are you sad about missing out on inquisitions boring combat where you press R. Wow. Amazing.

People have rose tinted glasses for these games. Play them from the first to the last game and I'd say veilguard is FULLY one of the best. I saw some loser on tiktok scream about the iron bull's signature being EXPLAINED in text and not shown?? Saying 10 years and for what?

10 years for a play through, start to finish, took me 55 hours doing ALL of the quests and exploring. From the amazing character creator and the hair physics that inquisition, 2 and origins could never make work. From the beauty of the backgrounds, how each location feels deeply lived in, compared to inquisition where new environments felt plastic and not real. For a finale that had me crying for 20 minutes at the choices I made and knew would make again. For the reveals, for the conversations, for the natural ending for Solas. I only cried in origins after my warden died. I teared up at Hawkes mother dying. Inquisition got no tears from me.

I'm sorry that you're hung up on small details. I have complaints too. Maybe a better fantasy term for trans and non-binary, but honestly the conversations that we're able to have about them? Deeply lovely. I personally wish that one day we can go back to the origins start, where we spend around 20 minutes IN our origin and then go frolicking. I'd kill to see that with the mourn watcher and crow origin so we can be excited when we see them again when we revisit the important NPCS. Personally do want the Lucanis romance to kick off earlier in the game, but he is one of the hardest ones to romance for good reason and it made sense for the character. I miss importing decisions but to be fair, the choices I made in origins wouldn't have shown up that much in veilguard, except maybe Kieran being in the background of some scenes at a stretch, but mostly for inquisition and Hawke. Varric obviously sees a lot of Hawke in Rook (just look at the dialogue wheel) and I wish we got to hear Isabella talk about them.

But these are so little. I have way more complaints about inquisition but I will still play it. I can acknowledge the flaws but if you hold it, or origins on a pedestal, that's just embarrassing for you, that you're stuck on a game, instead of being stuck on the series, in an excellent fantasy setting that keeps being expanded on.

Veilguard let's us say goodbye to Solas in the best way. There was NEVER going to be a happy end for him. Stop deluding yourself that the inquisitor and Solas would have rode off into the sunset. It's frankly embarrassing that themes from inquisition and veilguard flew over your head if you beloved that.

I've seen this same anguish over a sequel and it was for 2, after origins. Now 2 isn't the perfect game. It doesn't even have a proper title. But 2, a decade later, is well loved. It's full of jank, it's got strange coding, but the story has a lot of love. But it wasn't origins, so fans wailed and pissed. But it's a fan favourite these days and Hawke is deeply beloved and remembered fondly to the point that the possibility of their death in inquisition made an impact.

So, basically, get over yourself. None of these games are perfect and yes it took 10 years but I love it. I get to play as a crow for the first time, a faction I've loved since Zevran was able to rizz himself out of being killed. You can play as a Warden again, for the first time since Origins. Griffins are back and they're adorable. Their quest is heart breaking and anxiety inducing. You can play as new factions, ones we didn't fuck around with before, the shadow dragons, the mourn watchers, the veil jumpers. We get several amazing romances, that feel in character. Everyone is bisexual again but have clear preferences. Bellara has a preference for women, Emmerich has a preference for men, Lucanis has Never being in relationship. Taash and Harding might get together, Lucanis and Neve might get together. We get a companion that's trans, we GET to be trans for the first time. In inquisition we have krem but the developers never thought we would want to be trans, so I will happily take what we can get. Could it be better? Always. But I'm not stuck in 2014.

Take off your rose tinted glasses and go fuck that old man and maybe you'll lighten up.