#make their own decisions and if you try to force their hand they will resist you even harder

[imaginedisish]

Savior Complex (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the request I said I'd write. I hope it's what the anon wanted. It's quite long...and maybe a little different than my other Logan works...so I hope you guys enjoy. Inspired (obviously), by "Savior Complex" by Phoebe Bridgers.

Summary: You are willing to give up everything, including your own life, to save your found family. Logan, however, is not willing to let you do that. And he finally shows you why.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, hurt to comfort, mutant!reader, omega!mutant!reader, fem!reader/afab!reader, allusions to death, canon typical violence, cursing, likely some grammatical errors, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,549 eeeeeesssshhhh

“Stay down!” Logan yells, his body hunched over yours, shielding you against the trunk of a thick tree. 

You try to push him away. “We need to move!” You protest, shoving at him to no avail. He’s more solid than the tree at your back, firm, unwavering. Bullets fly overhead, swishing through the air. You listen to the sounds of triggers clicking and guns cracking. “I need to get out there!”

Logan presses himself further into you, his chest flush with yours. “You are not going anywhere,” he spits, his eyes trained on you. He’s studying every shift in your expression, every twitch in your shoulders and every flinch you make at the firing of a gun in the distance. 

“Logan,” you say, trying to stand up straight, to force yourself from his hold. You raise your voice. “I’m going out there, and you are not stopping me.” You brace your hands at your sides, ready to use your powers if necessary. “Now is not the time to be the overbearing, protective friend, okay?”

Logan refuses to let up, unleashing his claws and digging them into the tree on either side of your body, caging you in, trapping you in place. “Well, isn’t that just too bad?” He mutters cockily, that shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Because I’m not going anywhere, princess.” 

You swallow, flexing your palms, stretching your fingers down to the ground. “I’ll give you one second to reconsider that decision.” 

He laughs, too self-assured for his own good. “And what are you gonna do—”

“Sorry, bub,” you chide, sarcasm heavy in your voice as you interrupt him. “But your second is up.” You shut your eyes, reaching towards the ground. Thin, black shadows—spirits—slip up through the blades of grass, nipping at Logan’s legs, wrapping around his ankles tightly. 

He looks down as the shadows pull him away from the tree, his claws slipping from the bark with little to no resistance. More shadows emerge, twirling around his wrists and yanking them down to his sides. 

“No!” He protests, thrashing as you step away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He cries out, trying his best to break free from the tight hold of the shadows. 

“Using my powers,” you say nonchalantly, putting some distance between you and Logan as you step backward. You smile. “Spirit weaving. Started calling it that the other day, actually!” You’re gloating off now, showing off, manipulating the spirits to tighten around him. 

You can see the irritation on his face—the fury written across his furrowed brow. “Oh! How cool!” He is far beyond sardonic—his voice a mocking jeer. “Now let me fucking go!”

You purse your lips, pretending to consider the thought as you backpedal through the surrounding trees. “Yeah…” you trail off. “I don’t think so. Think I gotta get a head start first.” 

And then you make a break for it, sprinting through the trees, cracking the branches scattered along the forest floor. You can see the mansion in the distance, the government agents rounding up the children. The sight sets off something deep inside you. You can feel the anger in your heart, squeezing tightly, dread filling your stomach. You’ve let go of your hold on Logan, your focus now on something far more important. 

You have to save the school. Your friends. Your family. You’re not an Omega-level mutant for nothing, after all. 

You take a step closer to the school, grass dying underneath your feet as your boots tread along the ground—the bright green blades turn brown as you give in to your anger. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice calls your name, but it’s too late for that—too late to stop you now. Your eyes flicker closed and open again, changing colors as your powers take control: your left eye white and your right black—representing life and death.

My dear, Charles is suddenly your head. You must restrain yourself. You must back down. 

“No,” you call out, your voice multi-dimensional, bassy and high, light and heavy. “It is time they learn we are not to be taken advantage of.” 

It is too dangerous, my child, his voice bounces around your mind. Charles works hard to convince you, showing you visions of your death, of the potential consequences of your actions. This is not you. This is your anger. 

“I know what I’m doing,” you protest, your voice echoing across the field. 

The agents watch as you stalk across the lawn, spirits following closely at your ankles like a thick, massive cloud of black smoke. 

Your name rings out from behind you. You can feel the tug of the familiar voice, the desire to turn around and see that face, to hear him call your name again. But you stifle the feelings down, struggling to ignore the way your heart begs to see him—Logan. You can feel yourself caught in the middle, split in two. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you walk forward, closer to the agents. Their guns point at you—hundreds of fingers on triggers, aiming carefully with squinting eyes. You can see they’re no longer paying attention to the children. You’ve given the students their chance—their way out. You can see it in their faces; they know. They’re just waiting for your signal. 

Spirits cloud your fists, climbing into your palms, eager for a fight. You bend your knees, digging your heels into the ground. The grass between you and the government agents has long since died. You can feel the tension, feel the spirits rumbling in the air and in your hands. 

“You wanted a fight…” You pause, your voice a crack of thunder. “I’ll give you a fucking fight.” The spirits whisper in your ears, their hums filling the air. They aren’t dead; they’re drumming, living things. It’s time. Oh yes, it’s time. Go! 

“Now run!” You scream to the children, unleashing the spirits across the lawn. You sprint across the field, black shadows knocking the agents over and throwing them away. You guide the spirits with your mind, directing them with the flick of your wrist and the point of your finger. 

You’re bloodthirsty, searching for the mission’s organizer, hunting tirelessly for their leader. The spirits know what you want—what you need—and swarm around a man at the back of the lawn—the man following the children. 

The spirits pick you up by your knees and your shoulders, lifting you into the air and towards the man. You fall to the ground right behind him. 

You smirk hatefully, extending your fingers toward his ankles. Shadows surge him, threading around his legs, twisting up his stomach, and wrapping tightly around his throat. 

“W-who the fuck are you?” The agent chokes out. 

You cock your head to the side, grinning widely. The spirits goad you along. Tap his little head. You know you want to. Take his life. Go on. Take it. One tap to his temple—that’s all it would take—and his life would be yours. It’s something you’ve never done before, something you’ve been able to resist in the past. But this time, you can’t help it. 

“Who am I?” You repeat condescendingly, laughing manically. You lift your hand, inching closer to his forehead. “I,” you pause, your fingertips brushing against his skin. “Am death.” Your white eye flickers out, turning pitch black. 

This is what the Professor had always been afraid of. 

“Don’t!” There’s that voice again, tugging at your heart. “Please, don’t.” 

You keep your hold on the agent as you turn around. Logan. He’s in front of you now, approaching you slowly. Behind him, spirits wreck the other government agents, sweeping them up, throwing them away, holding them down. The other X-Men fight off the few remaining agents easily. 

“I am going to finish this,” you say, struggling to hold on to your powers. Your hatred and anger fade at the sight of Logan—wearing the uniform he said he never would, his hair a disheveled mess, his hand slowly extending out to you. 

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “It’s already over,” he says firmly, taking your hand. You turn around and see that the government agent is passed out on the ground, likely from the pressure of the spirits choking his throat. 

“If you hold on any longer, you’re gonna hurt yourself, princess.” Your eyes flicker at the nickname, your grip loosening on your powers. You can feel yourself slipping, fading away. 

“H-have to f-finish the job,” you stutter, fighting against that tear in your heart. 

Logan pulls you towards him, his thumb brushing soft circles to the top of your hand. “Think you already did, sweetheart.”

“N-no, she didn’t,” you hear a voice mutter from behind you. BANG! A gun cracks, and there’s suddenly a stinging sensation in your side. You turn, and the government agent is freed from your hold, his gun aimed at your head now. 

“NO!” Logan shouts, but you ignore him, your powers flooding back to you. The spirits swarm the agent again, winding up his body and holding him in place. The shadows trail up your body too, coming to where the bullet hit your side and pulling the metal shell out. 

You fight through the pain, pressing your pointer and middle fingers to the temple of the agent’s head. “This might hurt a bit,” you mumble, taking a deep breath and stealing his life force. “Just taking retribution.” His veins darken as your wound closes, taking only enough of the man’s life to heal yourself. 

You sigh with relief as the wound becomes nothing. You lift your fingers from the agent’s head, and he slumps down to the ground. He’s truly incapacitated now, passed out cold.

You turn around, and Logan is still standing there. He approaches you again. You suddenly feel overwhelmed and woozy. It was too much, you realize. 

Your eyes flicker again—black, white, normal, shifting quickly, shakily, like power going out in a thunderstorm. “L-Logan,” you stammer, hunching over, your hands on your thighs. He crouches down, letting you lean into him. 

“Hey,” he whispers reassuringly—but you can hear the secret panic in his voice. “I’ve got you.” 

The others call your name in the distance. 

“I did it,” you whisper. 

The spirits disappear from the field, slipping back under the ground. 

Logan’s eyes are glossed over. “Yeah, you did sweetheart.” You fall fully into Logan, his arms wrapping around you, a single tear slipping down his cheek. 

And then everything goes black. 

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

“Still in here, Logan?” It’s Charles.

“Yeah,” Logan’s voice is raspy, tired. And it’s close, like you could reach out and strum the sound waves. “Are the kids okay?”

“They’re all safe and accounted for,” Charles says. “And Hank is handling the government side of things. It was an unsanctioned attack.” Silence settles over the room, the pause strained and tense. “She’s going to be okay. You should get some rest.”

“I’m staying.” 

“Logan—”

“I said I’m staying.” And then the door shuts. 

Your eyes slowly open, and you realize you’re back in the mansion—in your room, your bed. Logan notices immediately, standing from the chair next to your bed and rushing to your side. 

“Hey,” he soothes, his hand reaching out, gently cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch involuntarily. It’s an instinct—something you simply have to do. “You’re awake.”

“No visit to the lab for me, huh?” You joke, sitting up a bit as your memories flood back to you. You’re surprised that you don’t feel any injuries or soreness. 

Logan swallows nervously. “You were…” he trails off, his eyes searching yours. “Earlier. All day, actually.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Everyone was worried about you.” 

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I’m alright. I don’t feel a thing.” 

But Logan isn’t swayed. You can see the fear in his eyes, the stress in his shoulders. “You should’ve let me hold you back.” He’s serious, his voice firm and steady. “You could’ve gotten hurt…” He struggles to get the words out, his eyes grazing up and down your body. “You could’ve died.”

“Logan,” you mumble, sitting up. “I did what I did because I had to,” you pause, your heart squeezing at the look on his face. “I’d give my life for this family. I would—”

“You’re not giving your life for anything; do you hear me?” He cuts you off, furrowing his brows, his other hand cupping your cheek now, too. 

You close your eyes at the feeling of his touch, the warmth of his palms. “I would give my life to save you.” The words slip freely from your lips. You’re so sure of that fact, so impossibly certain. 

He pulls you closer to him, his hands sliding from your face to the nape of your neck. “I won’t let that happen.” 

“Logan I will always—”

But he cuts off your protests. “Enough of your fucking savior complex.” His voice is shaky now. He pulls you into his chest, and you let him. His arms slip down your back, pressing you tightly to him. His lips are at the shell of your ear. “I am not losing you.” 

The vulnerability of his words shocks you, your breath catching in your throat. “You won’t,” you promise, burying your face into the center of his chest. 

“I almost did,” he chokes out, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. His words kill you, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. 

You lift your head from his chest, looking up at him as he looks down at you. He’s massive, towering over you. You can smell him on your clothes, on your skin—tobacco and pine and musk. There’s a shift in his expression, in the tension in the room. His chest heaves under his beater. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands sliding up his stomach, trailing over his abs. He relaxes into your touch, the stress leaving his shoulders. He leans over you, his forehead pressing to yours. The contact and the closeness are dizzying, your mind hazy as Logan’s fingertips ghost the sides of your waist.  

He swallows harshly as his lips brush against yours—a whisper of a kiss. “Wouldn’t even give you the chance,” he mumbles. You can feel the charge in the air, the anticipation. There’s a look on his face, and you recognize it immediately. You feel it too. 

Longing. Need.   

His lips capture yours, engulfing you like a fire. His hands slip under your shirt, exploring your skin. He’s breathing you in, and you’re breathing him out. You’re suddenly one extraordinary machine, working together, moving against each other in time. 

Logan pushes you down to the mattress, his lips still on yours, the kiss becoming rushed and frantic. He climbs on top of you, his bare arms caging you in on either side of your head. You spread your legs for him, giving him room to settle in between. You can feel his erection strain against his jeans as he rocks into you. The friction feels good, but it’s not enough. You grind against him, needy for more. 

“Fuck,” he pants between kisses, lowering himself down onto his forearm to close the gap between you. His free hand finds the hem of your shirt and slips underneath, his fingertips trailing up and down your body. He’s still rutting into you, his cock nudging against your needy core. 

You grab at his back, pulling on his beater. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his fingers bumping into the bottom of your bra. You arch up into him, giving him the space he needs to bring his hand to your back and unclasp it. He sits up, quickly pulling your shirt up and over your head, slipping your bra off, too. 

He lays you back down, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand drifts up to your breasts. He squeezes softly, his thumb tracing over your nipples. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, biting your pulse point. “So fucking beautiful.” 

His soft bites turn into kisses, trailing down your neck to your collarbone. He kisses in between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your shorts. You swallow, nodding frantically as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs in one fluid motion. 

You’re exposed to him—bare. He settles back in between your legs, his mouth just inches away from where you need him most. His breath fans across your clit, a jolt of electricity sparking a fire at the base of your spine. You can feel the ache between your legs growing. 

“Please,” you beg, Logan’s name hanging on the tip of your tongue as you look down at him. He presses a teasing kiss to your clit, his eyes focused on you, on every move you make. “Logan, I need—”

You’re cut off by his tongue—a long, flat stripe licking through your folds, up to your clit. His tongue flits out, flicking lightly before starting all over again. “Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice coursing through you. Your walls squeeze down around nothing, begging for more, begging for release. “Gonna make you feel good.”

He spreads his palm against your inner thigh, nudging you open for him. His nails dig into your skin, fingers trailing up closer to your core. “Please,” you whine. “Want you.”

Logan’s fingers finally meet your folds, his tongue flicking your clit and pulling it between his lips, sucking softly. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you. “So fucking sweet.” Two fingers nudge your entrance, testing the waters, spreading you open slowly. 

You open your mouth to beg for him again, but then he’s thrusting inside you—knuckle deep—his fingers stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as he pulls out and pushes all the way back in. His swirls circles into your clit, his tongue lapping at you, savoring the taste of you. 

He slides his free hand under your back and to your hip, hoisting you closer to him as he buries his face into your cunt. There’s a hunger in his eyes. No, it’s so far beyond hunger. He’s starving—starving for you and only you. If he could live inside you, he would.

He’s relentless as he sucks your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you. He can feel you shaking underneath him, trembling. His thumb draws gentle, comforting circles along your hip. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers in between thrusts. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” Your muscles contract around him at the words, his praises overwhelming you. 

He's getting you there—the fire spreading, creeping in, ready to consume everything in its path. “’M’so close,” you moan, overstimulated and fucked out. Logan doesn’t slow down, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel yourself coming undone, unraveling before him. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes between laps. “Come on my tongue, just like that.” And then you’re letting go, coming around his fingers. Fire washes over you, beat after beat, pump after pump. It hits you in waves, the sensation crashing into you as Logan works you through your orgasm. 

He’s whispering praises as he savors your taste on his tongue. So good, sweetheart. Letting me take care of you. I’ve got you. So fucking pretty. 

His thrusts slow down, gently rubbing at your walls before sliding out. But his tongue is still working at your clit, lapping softly. “Could eat you out for hours, princess,” he says, licking another long stripe through your folds. “Maybe I will.” You can feel him smile against you.

But you need him, need him closer—as close as he can possibly be. “Logan,” you call out, already close to coming again. “Want you now,” you plead. 

He licks one more long stripe before lifting his head. He sits up, staring down at you as he lifts his beater up and over his head. You stare at his chest, the way his muscles flex as he breathes. Your arousal glistens on his lips, his chin. 

He unbuckles his belt and slips it from the loops, casting it to the ground with a loud clank. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, tugging them down his legs along with his boxers. His cock springs free, and he is so much bigger than you ever imagined he’d be. You swallow at the sight, and Logan smiles. 

He is so cocksure, but maybe he deserves to be. 

He lowers himself down over you, once again balancing on his forearm. His free hand trails up your sides teasingly before resting on your hip. “Gonna go slow, princess,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip and then stealing a kiss. “Nice and easy.”  His hand on your hip disappears, leaving you suddenly cold and empty without his touch. But you know where he’s going—know that he’s wrapping his fist around the base of his cock. You spread your legs for him, inviting him inside.

He nudges against you, sliding up and down your folds, feeling you. His tip bumps against your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you squirm underneath him. He finds your entrance again, his head slipping in, and then pulling back out. 

His teasing is too much. You need him, more than anything, ever. “Please, Lo. Need you inside—” 

Your words get stuck in your throat as Logan thrusts deep inside you, his cock rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. You moan his name, arching your back, your breasts pressing against his chest. He stays there for a moment, his cock throbbing inside you, giving you a second to adjust to the size of him. But it’s not enough—you need him to move. You lift your hips, searching for more friction. 

Logan pins you down, his free hand stilling you at your waist. “Wanna take my time with you,” he growls, sliding out and thrusting back in. “Wanna feel every inch of you.” He’s setting the pace: slow, but building. Once he’s sure you’re not going anywhere, he lifts his grip from your hip and brings his hand down between where your bodies connect.

He finds your clit again, still swollen and overstimulated, and starts to work slow, gentle circles into it. You’re already close, already almost at that edge. 

Logan’s thrusts become rougher, deeper. He rocks into you, plunging himself down to the hilt as he flicks your clit. He swallows your moans with a kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You open your mouth, letting him inside. You’d give him anything—absolutely anything he wanted. He never even has to ask. 

“Yours,” you breathe into the kiss. “All yours.”

“F-fuck,” he curses, rutting into you, your words goading him along. “Mine,” He growls, his hips snapping faster, his pace quickening with every thrust. “All mine, pretty girl.” 

And then the confession spills from your lips. You can’t control it. “I love you.” 

Logan pounds into you harder. “I love you, too.” He can’t control himself either. You squeeze around him, the words practically pushing you over the edge. “Needed you this whole time, sweetheart. The whole fucking time.”

You throw your head back, exposing your throat to him. He buries himself into the crook of your neck as he pumps in and out of you, biting down on your pulse point again and then licking away the pain. 

“Can feel you getting close, darlin’,” he coos, his fingers still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter and contract around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” 

Your chests heave together, one single breath flowing between the two of you as he thrusts deeper. You’re slipping, letting go, crashing beneath him. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him closer. “Lo…” you trail off, unable to form a sentence. 

“Love it when you say my name, sweetheart,” he grunts. “Say it again for me.”

“Logan,” you whine, your legs wrapping around his waist as he fucks into you. You can’t hold back anymore. It’s too much. And he knows. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says, rubbing at your clit. “Let go for me.” 

You do, clenching down onto him, pulling him deeper. He groans at the feeling, his pace faltering as you come around him. You’re melting into the sheets, your muscles tensing and relaxing, white-hot heat spreading across your vision. 

“Fuck,” Logan groans, working you through your orgasm. After a few more slow, languid strokes around your clit, his hand slips from your core and up your body. He squeezes your breasts before sliding his palm behind your back, lifting you up for better leverage. He fucks up into you, pressing you closer to his chest. 

You tighten your legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He knows what you’re asking him for. “Inside?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. He brings his lips to yours as he comes inside you, filling you up. He’s so warm, so solid. You cling to him as he finishes, not wanting to let go. His pumps slow until he’s still inside you. He holds you there for a moment, your foreheads pressed together.

Logan carefully pulls out. He rolls off you and pulls you with him so that you’re lying on your side next to him. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your legs tangle together. 

The intimacy of the moment suddenly sobers you, and memories of today come flooding back. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes. Logan notices immediately. 

“Hey,” he whispers, panic clear in his voice. “It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands along your back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry…” you trail off, burying your face into his neck. “I’m so sorry for scaring you, for hurting you, for putting myself in danger. I just—” 

“I know,” he interrupts you. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“I won’t leave you,” you vow. “I promise.”

“Don’t promise,” he says softly. You look up at him, a sad smile spread across his face. 

You furrow your brows. “Why?”

He swallows. “Because I would’ve done the same for you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’d tear the world apart for you.” He pauses. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You smile, your tears subsiding. You take a deep breath and recall something he had said before. “So, who has the savior complex now?” You joke. 

“Me,” he says back, half joking, but half serious, too. You can hear it—the honesty, the intention. “I’d do anything to save you.” 

“It’s not gonna come to that.”

“But when—” he stops himself. “If it does, I’ll be there.” He pauses. “I will always choose you. Always. Every time.”

Always. Always. Always.

It’s all you can think about as you fall asleep in Logan’s arms. 

[sugurouge]

— diabolic waltz : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, dubcon/noncon, yandere themes, size difference, strength difference, corruption, power dynamics/imbalance (reader refers to geto as master), pet names (doll, whore, toy, bunny, little one), hair pulling, water torture/forced drowning/waterboarding, punishment, deep throating, mind break, degradation

summary: You should know better than to behave greedy or entitled, but if he so sweetly entices you to misbehave, even the impeding punishment doesn't stop you from taking what you need. Until it's time to pay up. And Getō makes sure you always pay your debts.

wordcount: 2k | my kinktober masterlist

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

Geto rests comfortably in his armchair, dark purple eyes rake over your needy body—only hidden beneath a layer of satin. With you in his lap, there is at least a sort of solace to his tiresome days. He likes to view you as a sick way of rewarding himself, his prize for making it through another 24 hours. Hence why you're always kept on display whenever it's just the two of you. Him and his property, the weak human that somehow won his twisted interest. Nothing more than eye candy for him. You're so pretty until you turn needy and start talking too much.

"Master, please—" you start your advances all over again. Ever so prettily as your nails drag over Geto's exposed chest; you have long since pushed aside the layers of his attire.

Geto heaves a heavy sigh. It's his first indicator for you to shut your pretty mouth before he sends curses your way. Yet, simultaneously, he can't resist the torture; cannot keep his right leg from bouncing to cause friction against your puffy lips. Teasing you further to hear more whimpers instead of your actual voice.

Your hands press against his body as you try to control the bouncing, but the friction created by your dress brushing against your nipples makes it impossible to form coherent or cautious thoughts. Your legs clench around Geto's muscular thigh, attempting to maintain the pleasurable feeling.

"You really wish to bother me like that right now?" His dangerously low voice challenges. Suguru is well aware that he is the cause of your distress, but would he ever admit that? Not in a million lifetimes.

You know full well what will happen if you say yes, how your day will turn out if you give in to your own neediness when your master isn't the one to initiate. Your glossy orbs beg him without another word spilling from your lips as you nod.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You're just so dumb; how could he not adore you? The minor tilt of his head gives you the okay to shed your dress, to expose your perfectly clean body to his eyes. It's one of his priorities, to always have his doll look prim and proper. Soft and dewy skin, rose oil spoiling your figure to make it shine in the low afternoon light and envelop you in faux innocence for him to ruin.

You sink down to your knees right between his legs, your delicate fingers running over his muscular thighs up to his stomach, but the "tsk" coming from Geto's lips has you freeze immediately. Doe eyes look up at his intimidating stare, while his entire face remains stoic—almost bored, as he rests his cheek in one of his palms.

"Hand or thigh, no cock," he bluntly states.

You try to suppress the whine rising in your throat, try not to furrow your brows at his statement.

"Well, what will it be, bunny?"

He doesn't actually ask. Geto simply enjoys oversaturating your lusty mind with difficult decisions. You're always so afraid he will leave you.

"Hand, please, please," you bat your lashes at him even though you're painfully aware of how little effect it has on him. Yet he pats his thigh, indicating for you to sit on his lap once again. Your body follows suit.

"Any other wishes?" Narrowed eyes stare at you, they make you feel small and vulnerable as his hand dances along your thigh, drawing close to your needy pussy.

Your eyes snap down to his dishevelled clothes, raking over the layers of fabric that hide his perfect body from your gaze and touch.

You inhale sharply the moment his fingers snap you out of your thoughts, penetrating your walls deeply without warning and immediately curling against your clamping muscles. Yes, Geto might be okay with listening to your begs once in a while, but his pleasure lies in overwhelming your pathetic body, not preparing you softly.

Your head lolls back, fingers holding onto his shoulders, though they twitch to run through his black strands. You are well aware of the fact that he'd never let you ruin his hair.

Soft moans spill from your parted lips. He taught you to stay quiet, to not ruin his image of you—his sweet doll.

Yet the feeling is too good. The way his fingers stretch your cunt, your slick dripping down over his digits and palm. Your hips roll against his hand, pretty whines causing your chest to heave so perfectly for Geto to enjoy the sight of your tits.

He adds a third finger with ease and uses his thumb to draw intricate patterns on your clit, applying more pressure on the nub once he feels you tighten around him. "Such a needy whore..." he mumbles impassively.

But his cold voice, the boredom laced in his words mixed with his brutal ministrations, are exactly what you've grown to love from your master. It's so clear that you're doing something wrong, that you're messing up his perfect routine—but you just can't help it.

Your whines grow louder, small fingers now gripping onto his wrist as the coil in your stomach tightens further and further before it explodes. You fall forward, against Geto's chest, covering his neck area with moans, tears, and sweat as you gush all over his hand and dirty his robes.

Goosebumps run over your heavenly skin, clearly proving how overwhelmingly good he can make you cum with just his hand by now.

"Disgusting..."

You flinch slightly at that, eyes squeezing shut from just one word coming from Geto. He pulls his hand out of your tight cavern, your slick clearly coating his skin as a scowl spreads on his face. "You enjoy this? Staining me with your slutty needs?"

You create some distance between your bodies, shamefully staring at his hand before your eyes trail over his tainted clothes. You didn't plan on this happening, didn't plan to make such a mess, especially not over him, but why does he have to be this good?

Being a disappointment still has the same effect on you as it did from the start, causing tears to spill from your eyes as your body starts to shiver. "'M sorry, I didn’t—I wanted—"

"Time for a bath, no?" he sighs and gets up, pushing your smaller body off his lap with little care as disgust is clearly painted on his features.

Your butt meets the hardwood flooring and you try frantically to stop the tears from running down your face. Pleading ever-so sweetly with a shaky voice for your "Master..." to have mercy.

The clacking of his shoes stops the moment he stands beside your body once again. Long fingers card through your locks before he kneels beside you and tugs at your roots.

"How much longer are you going to make me wait, little one, hm?"

The sting on your scalp rips you out of your struggling mind; it forces you to rely on your instincts if you want to get out of this unscathed tonight. "Forgive me," you whisper.

So incredibly cute.

Geto takes a deep breath, eyes running over your body as he hums. "Five minutes."

You nod in perfect understanding and immediately grab your gown before hurrying over to the bathroom.

Aftercare is important, he always tells you. And aftercare you shall give him.

So you let water fill the spacious bathtub, let the most expensive bubble bath fill the room with a soothing scent as you light candles to set the mood and welcome Suguru in.

You stand in front of his large frame, looking up at his face to grant you permission to undress him, carefully undoing the ties of his gown before letting the heavy garments hit the floor. You will wash them as well.

Only his briefs aren't yours to touch as he walks past you and finishes undressing himself before he sinks into the warm bathwater.

You watch him the entire time—how he leans back against the expensive porcelain of the tub, arms resting around the rim—looking oh so inviting. His eyes meet your gaze, appreciating your obedient state as he slightly tilts his head to make your body move.

You follow his silent order, going down on your knees right behind his back, cool fingertips carefully reaching out to lie on his tensed back.

The stark difference in temperature makes Geto hiss in annoyance, slightly flinching out of your reach as he glares over his shoulder. You are quick now to rub your hands together, mumbling your apologies before trying to touch him once again.

Small fingers soothe his skin, spoiling his muscles. You always start with his shoulders, using a sponge to have the warm water coat his exposed back and chest, massaging the well-trained area until his breathing calms down and little groans escape his throat.

Only then do you move on to kneel next to him, carefully admiring his relaxed features—he looks almost angelic. So calm, almost innocent.

Until his eyes meet yours and he holds out his hand to you. The exact hand he used to make you cum and that was tainted with your juices.

You focus on it, carefully massaging his fingers and ‘cleaning’ him further. "Good little doll..." Suguru breathes his praise out between his soft lips. It's usually the only compliment you receive, so you make sure to savour it.

You smile gently and finish up your care of his hand until he takes it out of your hold. He brushes your hair out of your face, leading his hand to reach around the back of your neck as you bend over the bathtub, nails digging painfully into your scalp while being pulled forward to be met with the bathwater.

You squeeze your eyes shut immediately, trying desperately to keep your lips sealed as you're pushed beneath the surface. Your nails grab onto the porcelain of the tub, weak muscles trying desperately to stop him from shoving you down further, but it's to no avail. He's much stronger than you'll ever be.

Geto lifts your head back up out of the water, and you suck the air back into your lungs—which quickly mixes with the bathwater as he dunks your head down again.

Your screaming is drowned by the transparent liquid all around you.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, being met with the cold air of the bathroom before he pushes you down again.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, the cold air of the bathroom meeting your skin before he pushes you down again. Your mind loses focus, your fight grows mellow until he pushes his erect cock between your lips. It jolts you back awake. Not only are you drowning in the water, but you also have his thick shaft infiltrating your mouth. Tears mix with the water, nails digging into his abs and thighs as your attempts to scream vibrate along his cock.

Geto groans. His eyes roll into their sockets as he completely relishes the feeling of your convulsing throat around his member—all while in the comfort of his bathtub. But he has to stop. Sadly, at some point, he remembers you’re not actually a doll. Your body grows slack, and the struggling of your throat diminishes.

Only then does he pull your head out of the water, letting your body slump over the edge of the tub as he slaps your cheeks until you wake up. Your head pounds as you choke up water; it almost feels like someone is ripping your lungs apart.

“Stupid toy…” Geto mumbles, already dragging your head down and forward again.

“No, no, please, not again!” you frantically plead, and he stops—stops right before the surface of the water meets the tip of your nose.

“Why not? I made you cum how you wanted to as well, didn’t I?” he analytically proclaims. “Now suck like I taught you.”

The sting of the water is maddening; only the stretch of his cock against the back of your mouth inflicts more pain upon your body as he guides you up and down with water infiltrating your lungs.

It all becomes a blur in the end, and it’s hard to tell what is real and what a bad dream when you wake up the next morning in your soft king-sized bed, dressed in one of his favourite baby dolls, and his strong arms around you.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[northwest-cryptid]

I wanna prefix all of this by saying I agree with the core message but not the way I've ever seen it handled and also that I don't intend to spread any misinformation so I urge everyone to do research into this topic if it's something you actually care about (please) do not simply take my word for something because of a 2 second google search I did ya know? I'm not an expert in this field I'm just trying to offer people some insight

So hey hi I know I'm probably gonna get some backlash from this (even though I agree with the core message entirely) but if you're like me and you still use Chrome in 2023 for whatever reason and you'd like to switch but you're not the sort who likes to be peer pressured into stuff or told what to do because of some deep rooted shit you probably need like clinical help to get over and you might know is a problem but you can't do anything about it right now (this is not a joke) so you've sworn off Firefox because every single person on the face of the earth is trying to shove it down your throat (probably because it's actually good but like it was different when it was my choice and not what everyone else decided I needed to do)

You should probably do your best to actually try to find an alternative. From what I understand Firefox does have a lot of the same features as chrome but without a lot of the annoying things Chrome does, which to be real; I don't know enough to tell you about in detail (wish I did) but you know; I just wanna give you the information I have been made aware of so if you're anything like me and are looking for alternatives you can arm yourself with some knowledge.

Firstly, here's the web browsers that seem to use chromium; which is bad because reasons that I'm unaware of but you know google or whatever, like genuinely if you care about it PLEASE do your own research into it:

and here's a quick list of browsers google gave me with the ones that seem to use the chromium framework highlighted in red, others may use it but they're not showing up on the list of chromium based browsers; also side note this is not at all an extensive full list of any and all browsers it's literally just what I got from a 2 second google search:

Do they all have the same functionality as firefox? Nah probably not if I'm being honest, couldn't tell ya; should you (and I) honestly probably just use firefox? Yea probably if I'm being honest couldn't tell ya.

But hey, just thought I'd tell ya that just because ya should leave Chrome doesn't mean you HAVE to go to Firefox, it's your choice.

It's your choice.

It's a "you don't have to go home but you can't stay here" situation, you don't have to go to firefox specifically, but you shouldn't stay with chrome.

Please just remember it's a fucking choice, you have a choice and you don't need to listen to everyone screaming at you about how you're morally bad and wrong and burning orphanages because you happen to use chrome.

You shouldn't use chrome, and you probably shouldn't use Chromium based browsers; I know enough to know that. However you don't HAVE to choose Firefox, it doesn't seem to be the holy one the chosen one the one and only that doesn't use Chromium which is what I keep hearing.

tl;dr please remember that no matter how loud people get you ultimately always have a choice, you get to choose where you go and even if that happens to be firefox it is because you decided that was the best move for yourself based on your own personal interests and ideals for what you look for in a browser, not because everyone everywhere all decided to cram it down your throat that this is the only path towards enlightenment blah blah blah. You Choose. If you want to go somewhere else, that's your choice too, and dear lord; remember that if you for whatever reason keep using chrome you're not some morally bad person for it. I do believe it's objectively the wrong choice based on what little I understand about the situation but I also understand why that's not so easy for everyone and why some people just won't do it.

IMPORTANT NOTE HERE: This is not an attack on OP, their cause is important and I agree with the idea behind what they're saying; I just also happen to know that there are people out there like myself who likely have hesitation about moving to Firefox if not all but exclusively because of posts like this and people who talk like this about it. So I want to give you a solid reminder that yes, this is your choice, this is something you do because you want to. Not because someone forced your hand. I swear to god if I get hate over this shit it's going to tell me that A. someone didn't actually bother reading this all and B. they care more about shouting at me than about getting people to stop using chromium based browsers. Because at the end of the day we want the same thing, so lets please work together towards our common goal by whatever means necessary for the most people.

GOOGLE IS NOW BEGINNING TO ENFORCE INTERNET WIDE DRM ON CHROME AND CHROMIUM BASED BROWSERS

This will allow websites a method to block incoming traffic based on their environment. Like other browsers, other operating systems and locations.

SWITCH TO FIREFOX NOW

Btw almost all browsers are chromium based, including Brave. Use firefox!!!

[the-clock-of-the-time-dragon]

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[thranduel]

some facts about astarion that i find very cute/meaningful :)

i wanted to share this so more people can learn about him and appreciate who he is deep down, behind the mask he wears. before cazador turned him, he was just like any other person; he had hobbies, passions and emotions. those things are still there, but they’re just hidden amidst all the darkness. he was so young when he first turned that he barely had a chance to enjoy life or figure himself out. so many people miss out on the complexity of his character due to only focusing on his physical appearance or labelling him as a cruel villain, but in order to see that he’s so much more than that and he’s capable of growing as a person, all you need to do is show him a bit of love!

- he loves embroidery and poetry

- he approves when you pet the owlbear cub because most people view it as a monster (the same way people have always viewed him). it’s like he finds comfort in the fact that you can love and care for something that most people are afraid of, and it gives him hope that you may feel the same way about him too

- if you put a flower on his grave, he smiles and says "cute"

- he comes up to you in camp just to thank you and tell you how grateful he is that you allowed him to make his own decision (after you defend him and don't force him to drink the drow's blood) because he is so used to being told what to do and he was forced to use his body for so many years

- in that same scene, he will hold your hand whether you choose to stay in a romance with him or be friends instead, because he loves and appreciates you no matter what, and any sort of relationship with you is so important and meaningful to him

- if you try to romance karlach and astarion at the same time, he tells you to choose karlach over him, even if he loves you and it hurts him to do so, because he can see that karlach loves you too. he says that normally an arrangement would work for him, but after everything karlach has been through and how fragile her heart is already, he doesn’t want to get in the way or see her hurt

- if you try to romance halsin and astarion at the same time, he just wants you to do what makes you happy, even though you can tell it hurts him if you choose halsin. he’s also worried that you’re unhappy because he hasn’t slept with you (he should never have to worry about that ☹️), so he doesn’t want to stop you from enjoying yourself. in this situation and the one with karlach, you can see that there are moments where he puts others before himself and thinks about their feelings more than his own

- if you’re playing as the dark urge and you’re trying to resist it, he is so incredibly comforting and tries to give you strength and encouragement. one of my favourite astarion lines is this: “you’re not alone in this, none of us are.”

some more lines that i love:

“i don’t hate you. because this is not you. but whatever it is, you’ll get through it. and i’ll be here to make sure you do.”

“whatever it is that’s controlling you, we can fight it. i know that better than anyone.”

“this thing won’t have you. it won’t win.”

“easy now, darling. you’ve got this. and i’ve got you.”

- when you try to break up with him because you’re transforming into a mindflayer and you tell him you’re becoming something horrible, he gets so upset that you would even think that way and tells you that you’re wonderful and he doesn’t care about what you look like. then he says he would get more stares walking down a street than you to try and make you feel better

- if you love and care for him and remind him that there is still good out there, he genuinely wants to grow, be a better person and break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago

- he approves when you help people that are considered outcasts or "freaks" because he has felt that way too

- he risked his life and got punished for letting a man go instead of luring him back to cazador because it’s implied he cared about him in some way and he couldn't hurt him (not entirely sure about this one, this is just how i interpreted it based on his voice and mannerisms when he was talking about him)

- he approves when you give an orphaned child food (act 3)

- he becomes vulnerable, honest and more gentle with you once you start treating him like a person, because for the first time in his life, he actually feels safe with someone

- he's extremely insecure despite the mask he wears at the beginning of the game and he doesn't believe he is capable of being genuinely loved for who he is as a person. when you get close to him and tell him you care for him and give him a hug, he is taken aback at first, but then he believes you and hugs you back. also, when you're playing as the dark urge, you get this line: "you like him for more than his looks, but he will never believe that." this is proof that astarion is so used to being reduced to his physical appearance after what he was forced to do for so many years, and he thinks that's the only reason why people like him. he struggles with intimacy and forming strong emotional bonds, so that's why it makes your relationship with him even more meaningful when he realises that you truly do love him for who he is, not just for his looks and body

- when the drow you met at moonrise shows up in act 3 and tries to make you drink something, astarion tells you to say no, because the only thing she's offering is pain and he doesn't want to see you hurt

- if you romance him, stop him from doing the ritual and help him defeat cazador, he tells you that you are the only person he's ever truly cared for

- if you defeat cazador without him and tell him you just wanted to protect him, he gets upset at first because you left him behind without telling him and he wanted to take revenge himself, but then he becomes understanding and says “maybe this is what’s best? the kind of power that ritual offered could ruin a person. even me.” this shows how much he’s grown and matured as a person and he’s aware of the consequences of too much power. the scene also ends with him telling you that he’s grateful for something that you did to help him (again).

- he becomes more self-aware, straightforward and honest over time and he doesn’t pretend like he’s perfect. he tells you that you were by his side through all the bloodlust and pain and misery, despite all of his flaws and mistakes. you remained patient with him and trusted him even though it was an objectively stupid thing to do, but he is so grateful for it because you believed he could become a better person (and he did)

- this is sad but he remembers some of the names of the people he had to lure back to cazador and even the memories he shared with them. you can see this during the scene with sebastian, and it’s clear that he actually cared about him (not sure how many situations were like this, but there was definitely more than one)

- if you say “i’m sorry we couldn’t save the other vampire spawn”, he says:

“we could have tried. we could have given them the same chance i had. i was able to go out into the world and make better choices. to go against my nature and become more than a blood-sucking monster. maybe they would have done the same. or maybe not - but did we have the right to take that choice away from them?”

this scene shows how much astarion has grown and how compassionate and empathetic he can be towards others. he understood what it felt like to have his own freedom taken away while cazador made all his decisions for him, so he didn’t want to put the other vampire spawn through that too (especially because he still feels so guilty for luring them there in the first place)

- if you romance him and he stays as a vampire spawn and you choose to help him look for a cure so he can stand in the sun again, this is revealed during the epilogue scene:

“one night, he tells you that these last six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery.”

he’s finally truly happy and free, and the short time he’s spent with you is already so incredibly powerful and important to him. being with you has positively impacted his life in such a massive way that it makes all those centuries of pain and misery feel so much smaller

- another sweet line from astarion during the epilogue scene after he tells you to go catch up with your other friends and see how they’re doing:

“i’ll be here when you’re ready. i’ll always be here, my love.”

THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND GROWTH 😭🫶🏼 he’s become so kind, loving, respectful, genuine and sincere. i’m so proud of him 🥹

[princessbrunette]

I don’t know if you’ve done this but what abt deer!reader being a bit bratty for the first time?? How would pope react? (Preferably season 3 pope but any would be fine!!!)

i only write s3!pope !! ♡

ੈ♡⸝⸝🍧⋆🩷₊⊹

“and— and i’ll be gone for like, three days max— but when i’m back, i’m back for good, okay? i know you can survive that long, and plus it’ll all be worth it because i’ll finally have the—” popes description of the elaborate pogue plan had turned to rambling as he registers your disturbed expression, your boyfriend stood above you by the pier where you had otherwise been peacefully reading your book.

maybe you had been in a mood that day, but as he continued to speak, you dug your nails into the malleable spine of your old book, blinking rapidly as if attempting to control the wave of emotion coming over you. for the most part, you were docile. understanding. you let pope do what he needed to do, all the time — because you knew how much it meant to him. from the dawn of your relationship you’d both had your own things, and that’s how you liked it. but recently, you were starting to feel the gap between the importance of the pogues and the importance of you.

in that moment, you were sick of having no control over the relationship. you usually liked it— it was relaxing to let pope do the thinking and decision making, but you wondered if you were being walked over — which is why you snapped.

“no. you’re not going.” you tense your jaw, lips tight and eyes squinted. he stops his rambling, blinking at you for a second.

“okay, i can see you’re upset — and i totally get it —”

“no, you don’t. you’re an idiot, pope. and — and you’re selfish.” you stand up, and his brow falls a tad, pushing his chin up slightly as if to assert dominance as he steps into your space.

“hey. we don’t speak like that.” he warns, voice lower and you resist the urge to cower.

“or what? you’re just gonna leave anyway.” regretfully, your bottom lip puffs out childishly and he sighs loudly, making his strong chest rise and fall through his muscle tee. he cups your cheek, brows raising and crinkling.

“being a brat isn’t for everyone, i hope you know that.” he comments and you sniff, trying to force your eyes from watering. “maybe you… just needed to let it out. get it all out your system.” he thinks out loud.

the ‘punishment’ you receive is far from traditional. no, he doesn’t spank you or anything like that. instead, you’re leant against his chest back in his bedroom with one hand at your mouth, fingers just resting on your tongue, stuck down your throat, and the other hand between your wide open legs, furiously rubbing at your clit as you whine and gag around his fingers.

“you know i love you, even if you get sassy on me. just… not taking my fingers out until i’m sure you’re not gonna use that pretty mouth to be mean to me. is that fair or no?” he coaxes and you respond with a wet gargle and a whimper. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

ੈ♡⸝⸝🍧⋆🩷₊⊹

[quokkaholic]

Fuck the Rules🎀 l.m

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, femdom, BDSM, oral f receiving, f&m masturbation, degradation, cussing duh, Brat!Lee know, Bunny used as a pet name for Lee know. (Lmk if I missed anything) Not edited

Synopsis: After a long day at work, Lee know lets you know he wants you to be the dominant one tonight. I don’t think Lee Know would be submissive often, but when he does, he wants you to go all out. You become Mistress, and Lee know is your sweet little Bunny.

✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* 🎀✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

In the midst of a hot makeout after Lee know got home from a long day at the studio, he let you know that he wants to serve his Mistress tonight. Just those words are enough to send you into a more dominant state as opposed to your typical submissive one. You instructed him to take off his clothes, put a blind fold on, and wait for you. He tried to argue with you a little, knowing full well that his disobedience would push you to punish him.

There he is, kneeling naked in self imposed darkness in the center of your shared room, cock hard against his stomach and a slight smile on his face despite you making him waiting twenty minutes for his insolence. He perks up when he hears the door close behind you as you exit your walk in closet wearing an absolutely darling set he had gotten you randomly as gift on his last work trip. Even though he can’t see, he uses the sound of your approaching steps to track your movements and face you. As you get close, Lee know bows his head, and you circle him dragging you’re freshly done nails across his chest and shoulders causing him to groan. He begins to raise his strong hands to touch you, but before you have the chance to chastise him about it, he freezes as if he’s deciding whether or not to continue.

“My sweet Bunny remembers the rules doesn’t he?” you tease trying to push his to make a decision in either direction.

“Yes” he says meekly but with a mischievous smile. He’s loving every second of this, but it wouldn’t be Lee know if he didn’t test you a little.

“Yes what, Baby?” you question giving him exactly what he asked for.

“Yes, Mistress” he says through his grin which has shifted into more of a smirk.

“There’s my good Bunny” you praise as you caress his jaw and drag your thumb over his bottom lip.

“My name sounds so pretty coming from these lips” complimenting him as you allow him to kiss from the tip of your thumb to the back of your hand. As he does, you lift one of your feet to rest on the ottoman that sits at the end of your bed giving him better access.

“You want to taste me don’t you Minho?”

He groans at the calling of his name nodding eagerly responding,

“Yes Mistress” without you even needing to prompt him. You guide his head to your core. He typically starts so gentle with you, but tonight, he’s voracious. His hunger for you evident not only the way he immediately tries to devour you but also in the precum you can see being smeared across his lower abdomen by his twitching length.

“Softly Bunny! You want to make Mistress feel good don’t you?” you criticize. He immediately corrects his actions with a slight blush appearing in his cheeks. Lee know continues to savor you in every way: your taste, your noises, your praise. Eating you out is always as much for him as it is for you, but especially tonight he is longing to taste your release; you’re getting close. The heat in your stomach rising, you can’t resist taking off his blindfold to look into his stunning eyes. Wide eyed, pupils dialated, Lee know is staring up at you, nose glistening with your essence. When he sees your head fall back, he’s thinks he’s got you where he wants you and grips your hips to hold you to his mouth.

Ruining your own orgasm, you place your raised foot back down to take a step back and with a gentle but firm hand push Lee knows head back forcing him to look into your eyes. Still trying to gain back control of your breath, you two sit in silence for a few moments. At first his cheekiness is written all over his face, but as time passes, his expression morphs to one of disappointment.

“Bunny, you know you can’t touch Mistress. You were being so good for me. Making me feel so amazing. Then you went and ruined it like a fucking brat” you lambast him,

“Why would you do that?” He can’t even look at you.

“I don’t know” he whispers remorsefully.

“Oh I know why. It’s because you just can’t stand not being the one in control” scolding him. A slightly sobered Lee know looks up at you questioningly, unsure if you’ve broke character and are now just speaking your mind, but before he can ask, you let him know your true intentions.

“Because Bunny was so bad, he has to watch as I finish what he couldn’t” as you finish the sentence Lee know is back to being coy, failing miserably at concealing his excitement to watch your touch yourself. You walk to his side of the bed; Lee know following behind still on his knees. You spread your legs and scoot so your calves are flush against the side so he can rest against the bed between your shins as he watches. His eyes are glued to your fingers as they glide through your folds with the aid of his spit. It takes almost no time to get you back teetering on the edge, and as an attempt to ride the line you tease your own entrance partially dipping your fingers in and out. Raising your fingers to Lee knows mouth he instantly envelopes them between his lips with a whimper sucking ever so slightly to get every drop as he begins fucking into his fist.

“That’s so good, Babe. Rub your cock while you watch me. You can’t cum. That’s only for me” you warn between moans. If you wanted this to go on, you’d fight him on that too, but at this point you’d do anything to have him losing himself inside you. With that thought and a few more light rubbing circles over your clit, you’re cumming while whining for Minho.

“Fuck the rules Lee know. Please fuck me already!”

✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.* ✧.*

A.n- as always, thanks so much for reading. Sorry I totally didn’t edit this, I’m on a work trip right now and had to write this in my phone bc I just couldn’t wait

-mo🤍

[thesimpthatneverstopssimping]

Stein from Soul Eater as your boyfriend

Warnings: talks of experiments (the Stein kind), probably a little ooc

Genre: Romantic

Reader: gender neutral

Requested: no

Character: Franken Stein

• To start off lets get one thing clear. Just because you are his s/o it doesn't mean he wont try and experiment on you. He might actually try and do more experiments on you then other people. You will become his favorite test subject (i added this because i have seen a few people in the past saying he would "resist trying to experiment on you" or "he wouldn't even think of it")

• If you like experiments and dissecting things then great. You two can and will dissect creatures together

• On the other hand if you dont like experiments and dissecting things then he wont force you to. After all you an a adult who can make their own decisions

• You two probably train together. If you are a weapon then he would be training with you as his weapon

• If you are a meister then he would be training against you (kinda like how he fought against the students when we first meet him but not exactly... i hope you understand what i am saying)

• Please torment Spirit with him

• Imagine this. In this you are also a teacher at the DWMA and you were grading papers late at night. Stein comes in to check up on you to find you asleep at your desk, pen in hand, middle of grading a student's work. Then he walks to you and puts his lab coat over your shoulders and takes the pen out of your hand as he turns the screw in his head (why did it take me two years to finally get that joke....) careful not to wake you up

[yaksha-lover]

TWST x ASOIAF/Medieval AU

Introduction (Part 1)

this au will center around seven different kingdoms, with one representing each dorm. the stories for each kingdom all happen in the same universe, and thus the reader is a different ‘character’ in each part

cw: arranged marriages, political hostages, slightly yandere in malleus’ part, gn!reader

Kingdom #1 - Queendom of Roses

Riddle Rosehearts is the crown prince of this kingdom, with his mother being the current ruling monarch.

You are from another prominent noble family. There have been discussions of a potential arranged marriage to unite the two families, and so you are sent to live in Riddle’s castle to see if this deal can be made.

Riddle is initially internally opposed to the idea of being in an arranged marriage, but as he gets to know you, he begins to realize that the world he’s grown up in - full of rules and empty of care - is far from what he could have with you.

Unfortunately, Riddle’s mother quickly becomes opposed to your union, seeing it as you attempting to change Riddle and pulling him away from her and their ‘perfectly good’ way of life.

It will be a challenge for the two of you, forced to try and convince his mother to still let you marry, while helping Riddle break free from the restrictive life he’s been forced to live.

Kingdom #2 - Sunset Savanna

Leona Kingscholar, the second prince of the kingdom of Sunset Savanna, has studied and worked his entire life to be the best version of himself. A great leader, a strong swordsman, someone politically astute and aware of more than what goes on in his own castle.

Still, no matter what Leona does, he has practically no way to use his skills to better the Sunset Savanna. His brother, the king, has offered him positions on the high council, but his advice is hardly taken seriously.

Practically resigning himself to live a meaningless life, Leona is suddenly faced with a choice when you come to the Sunset Savanna to offer your hand in marriage.

The future heir to the royal kingdom of the Shaftlands, you’re looking to form a strong alliance between your family and Leona’s.

Leona has, so far, resisted any of his brother’s attempts to set up marriages for him, and so Falena thinks it will be the same. He finds himself suprised when Leona accepts your offer.

By marrying into your kingdom, Leona will become the prince consort, and you’ve promised him actual power and influence. The two of you will govern your kingdom together, and Leona will finally be able to do something with his talents.

The fact that you and Leona were once childhood friends certainly helped in his decision to agree as well. Now that you’ve both grown up, Leona is eager to rekindle your relationship. However, he’s up for a challenge when he realizes you aren’t exactly the agreeable child you once were.

Kingdom #3 - Coral Sea

Azul is a famous travelling merchant, known for his ability to grant practically any wish - at a cost, of course.

When you make a deal with him to save your younger sibling, and find yourself unable to hold up your end of the contract, the fine print comes into play: you’ll have to serve as his assistant and travel with him across the seven kingdoms.

Unfortunately, the mask of Azul’s benevolence seems to decay before your eyes, as he forces you to uptake all sorts of demeaning tasks.

However, you find the mask of his charm slipping off just as fast. The real Azul is hardly as confident as he presents, and you think this may finally be your opportunity to take advantage of a flaw and escape this situation - then you start to feel bad.

For the rather strategic and unfeeling side you’ve seen of Azul, returning to his home kingdom of the Coral Sea, you begin to realize by the way he’s treated that his demeanour may be more reactionary than you first believed.

For better or for worse, the two of you are forced to become a team when an unruly customer begins to hunt the both of you down. The two of you escape the kingdom together, but it won’t be long before you’ll have to go on the run again.

‘Partner in crime’ wasn’t exactly on the job (contract) description, but Azul is lucky that you’ve grown fond of him.

Kingdom #4 - Scalding Sands

Kalim is the prince of the Scalding Sands, with Jamil as his retainer.

You are sent by your family to marry Kalim, but it’s Jamil that seems to capture your interest more.

You wed Kalim, but the feelings between you and Jamil boil over until you begin a secret relationship.

Both of you are hesitant - if anyone were to find out, Jamil and his family would suffer endlessly, and you would lose your status, being disowned by your family.

Things only become more confusing after you begin to see Kalim in a different light, thinking that perhaps you sized him up too quickly.

However, Kalim may be less oblivious than you and Jamil both realize, and he may be more okay with the two of you than you think.

While things may still be dangerous if anyone were to find out, things are certainly much easier with the three of you to cover up any rumours.

The relationship between Jamil and Kalim even improves as a result - you come to get Jamil to have a more kindly outlook of Kalim, while being able to make Kalim more aware of Jamil’s needs so he doesn’t continue to be overlooked.

The three of you still have lots of work to do, but as the future of this kingdom, you hope Kalim will do well with both yourself and Jamil behind him.

Kingdom #5 - Shaftlands

Vil Schoenheit is the son of a prominent noble family in the shaftlands.

Known as the ‘Knight of Oleander,’ Vil is famous for both his swordsmanship and his great beauty.

Due to his family’s involvement in a current political skirmish, Vil is taken as a very valuable political hostage.

You are a knight who works for the side that has taken Vil hostage.

You are eventually told to take him and travel back to his family, in order to try and come to a resolution of this conflict.

Vil is eager to escape and get back himself, so that his family will not have to give in to the demands necessary to get him back.

The two of you seem to fight and bicker every second of the trip back, but when it becomes dangerous for the both of you, you’ll both end up seeing a different side of each other.

While Vil has tried to take advantage of your insecurity and the fact that you are often made fun of by the others for your looks to escape, he begins to see a different, attractive side when he sees how truly good you are, so different from the other knights he has met.

Conversely, you’ve only ever thought of Vil as a shallow noble, unable to understand what it’s like to be imperfect in any way. When his beauty is taken away and he feels like he’s left with nothing else, you teach him that he’s so much more than his looks.

If you’re a asoiaf fan, Vil will have a similar story/character arc to Jaime, with dynamic with the reader being that of Jaime/Brienne.

Kingdom #6 - Island of Woe

Idia’s family are nobles who have been outcasted from the main kingdoms because of their perceived threat and treachery.

Idia is sent as a political hostage to stay as the ward of the reigning noble family of the Island of Woe, in order to prove his family’s loyalty and rejoin the rest of the kingdoms.

You are the child of the reigning family, and the one who helps him adapt to his new circumstances as best as possible.

You know he’s hardly responsible for his family’s problems, and you want to lessen Idia’s suffering as much as possible.

When others in your kingdom begin to harass Idia for being a ‘traitor,’ you impulsively decide to announce your marriage to him, making him royalty and therefore practically untouchable to others (unless they are willing to face severe punishment from the royal family).

Idia, while somewhat thankful for your help, is less than thrilled with this development. He’s going to be a royal? Don’t you know what kind of responsibility this means for him? Why would you force him into the spotlight like this?

Even more than that, Idia knows, no matter how sympathetic, you still believe the narrative set by your family that the Shroud family did betray the kingdom, when that’s far from the truth.

When he confronts you with this, you become frustrated with him, stuck in between the truth and the lie your otherwise kind family has always told you.

Neither of you are able to give up loyalty to your families, and this makes for a very difficult marriage indeed.

Kingdom #7 - Briar Valley

Malleus, the future ruler of the most powerful of all the kingdoms, has nobles travelling to Briar Valley from all over the world to ask for his hand in marriage.

To the annoyance of his grandmother, he turns down every proposal. Partially because he knows they only wish for his throne, that they do not know him nor do they really care to…and partially because of you.

You are part of his Kingsguard, alongside Silver and Sebek, trained in both swordsmanship and magic to keep him safe at all costs.

Unlike your fellow knights, you actually approach and converse with him. Perhaps foolishly, if he’s being honest. You would hardly have known his temper beforehand; many think him to be cold and quite scary.

You already spent time around him when it was your rotation to guard his current whereabouts instead of the castle perimeter, but you begin to do so even more when he requests that you stay on this rotation.

Flattered and thankful, you remain oblivious to the true reason Malleus desires you close to him at all times. It would be unthinkable for anyone of your station to believe that Malleus would have any kind of romantic interest in you.

Thus, you continue to remain unconvinced of the prince’s casual touches, of the way he favours you above all his other guards.

When you begin to reciprocate his feelings but believe them to surely be unrequited, you request to be dismissed from his service, it being unprofessional and too difficult to continue with your love for him.

Malleus, also unaware of your feelings, takes this as you trying to escape him. He knows you’re confused but in time you’ll see; he’ll take care of you, just like he’s always wanted.

You just need to stay in the dungeon until you’ve gotten over this little tantrum of yours. He keeps your cell decorated with luxuries and comfort that you’d never experienced in your time as one of his guards, not wanting you to suffer unnecessarily.

When you wisen up and decide to be his, all will be well again - but you won’t be returning to your previous position.

[panlight]

One thing I always think about when the vegetarian vampire debate comes up: We’re told that animal blood tastes bad. As a picky eater who was often forced by my parents to eat food I didn’t like when I was a kid, I know how bad of an experience eating actually is when you’re forced to eat food you don’t like. So now imagine you’re suddenly living a life where your only choices are hunt and kill your own food which is a species you used to be and is able to communicate with you and beg for their life, or never enjoy the taste of your food ever again. And on top of that, unless you kill these beings, you have a perpetual burning sore throat!

This is another major reason Breaking Dawn didn't work for me. I had read all of SM's 'personal correspondence' on the Lexicon before I read BD, so I had it in my head that being a vegetarian was like, just The Worst. It was a huge sacrifice. It was strep throat and food you hated forever. It was noble suffering. And I vibed with that! I love that stuff! It's the exact same reason newborn!Carlisle trying to kill himself gets to me. Someone sacrificing themselves or suffering to spare others suffering is just *chef's kiss*. I love it.

As you said, animal blood is supposed to be a poor substitute. It all tastes pretty bad, but some of it (bears for Emmett, mountain lions for Edward) is marginally better depending on personal taste. But it's still the low-sodium sugar-free reduced-fat version of your favorite food at best. And that's not getting into the physical and psychological stuff! Here's how SM talked about vampire thirst in conversation with the Twilight Lexicon:

In the Twilight world [. . .] Thirsty vampires are in acute physical pain. It is comparable to the feel of a third degree burn inside your throat. It can make a vampire literally crazy for relief—beyond thought. If your hand was on fire and there was a bucket of ice water beside you, would you resist that relief? Of course not. You would have no reason to. Back to the average vampire’s viewpoint, neither does a vampire have a reason to resist. There is a fire, he or she quenches it. Problem, solution. It is not about pleasure as much as relief of pain for the thirsty vampire. There is pleasure in the act, but it does not influence the motivation before the act as much as the pain does. The well-fed vampire has more decision making ability left to him or her. (Except in the rare case when a human’s blood is so potent to a particular vampire that it sets his or her throat on fire like they haven’t drunk in months. There is more pleasure in the act in this situation, too, just as there is more pain in the motivation.) Blood drinking is an imperative. Even for a vampire who keeps his or her system full of animal blood, the lack of human blood is constant pain. I think the only human state that is even close to comparable is anorexia. Anorexia is too hard on a human body—in the end, if not given up, it kills a human. Vampires can’t be killed by starvation, so they manage. But it’s harder than you’re giving them credit for. My philosophy is this: I can’t judge vampires, because I’ve never done anything as physically difficult—nothing even close!—as giving up human blood is to them.

Maybe it's just me, but I got NONE of that from Bella's narration in Breaking Dawn. It's not a thing. She's supper happy all the time. Her thirst is barely mentioned. And I was like, what?! Where is the burning pain? Where is the unending ache? Where is the gnawing hunger for something you are denying yourself because to indulge would mean someone else's death?

I suppose you can handwave it as Bella being good at blocking things she doesn't want to think about, but this is usually in regard to like, fishing trips with Charlie, and not a supernatural constant pain in her throat. She complained plenty about things like the rain but is unbothered by vampiric thirst pain apparently.

Again, I was here primarily for the vampires (and werewolves shifters) but in Breaking Dawn it's like SM gave up any pretense she was actually interested in the vampire stuff. Edward angsts and suffers and denies himself and it's noble and romantic but the instant Bella's a vampire those themes are gone. She has one slightly tense meeting with Charlie on literally day two and after that thirst is just whatever. She's a sparkly superhero instead.

[stillness-in-green]

Sorry if this question rubs you the wrong way, but wouldn't going out of their way to try to help villains to the absolute extreme that you propose be a bit suicidal? I feel like trying to talk no jutsu criminals like Moonfish who's a serial killing canibal, or Muscular who doesn't have any actual reason for commiting violence against others other than he enjoys it, would end up getting people hurt or worse.

Idk, maybe my perception is skewed because my country has problems with the justice system being too lenient with criminals, but then striking hard against honest folk.

Like, let's say heroes try to talk to Muscular about his feelings and stuff, and he just beats them to death. So should they arrest him and take him to jail now, or should they respond "understandable, have a nice day" and let him carry on with his rampage and try to talk no jutsu him the next day?

I’ve had enough exchanges with you, rvg, to assume you don’t mean it this way, but I gotta say, this is an incredibly fallacious way to frame the “talk to Villains” discussion.  I wrote two responses to this, first a characteristically long and rambly response which you and anyone else who’s interested are free to read below the cut.  The second response is much shorter and is here above the cut, if only for those readers who think it’s a waste of time to try and give a sincere answer to what reads like deliberate reductiveness—though again, I don’t think that’s your intent.

Here is my model version of how Heroes should engage with Villains:

Step One: Heroes should put in a basic, good faith effort to defuse and de-escalate every Villain encounter they have with the tools and knowledge they have available; the ideal result is that the Villain will choose on their own to stop presenting a danger to the public.      

Step Two: If that is not feasible for some reason, or if it is ineffective, then the Heroes should make all possible efforts to arrest the Villain with the minimal possible harm.      

Step Three: If there is an immediate threat to the lives of bystanders and there is absolutely no way the Heroes can come up with to stop the Villain non-lethally, then there should, afterwards, be an investigation into the death of the Villain and all Heroes who were involved should have to face questions about their role in the situation and their decision to use lethal force.  Measures should then be implemented to help prevent the situation from arising again in the future.  A Hero killing someone should by default be treated as a punishable failure, not a victory.

That’s it!  That’s all there is to it!  Try talking first, then try arresting, and if killing is truly the only way, be ready to explain why.  That step-by-step should be the standard, and if there are going to be deviations from it, they should be exceptionally well-justified by both the characters and the narrative.  If that’s not the standard, then I think it’s a key thing we need to see the protagonists confronting and changing.

Hero Society is obviously in the not-the-standard camp: most of the Heroes spend most of the series jumping straight to Step Two, totally skipping Step One; there are then multiple instances of Step Three being botched completely, with non-lethal tactics being discarded or ignored and lethal force being accepted without question or resistance.  By the end of the series, a tiny handful of Heroes are now hesitantly attempting what should have been their very first go-to, Step One, but their prior reliance on Steps Two and Three make the Villains much more resistant than they might have otherwise been, which reenforces the push towards lethal force in a society that will still not enforce any consequences for it.

This would all be more forgivable if not for the way BNHA positions its Heroes, as lawful defenders of the status quo in a basically modern version of Japan—i.e. they’re cops but the story either doesn’t want to saddle them with the responsibilities real cops would have or else Horikoshi has some alarming views that treat said responsibilities as bothersome administrative red tape.

Therein is my fundamental complaint: BNHA makes the choice to frame its Heroes as being basically specialized police but then disregards or attempts to minimize how that framing colors the Heroes actions’ and decisions, especially with regard to the Villains.  My thoughts on what the Heroes “should” be doing are nothing more than taking that framing (Heroes = cops) to its logical conclusion and asking the story to treat the Heroes accordingly.

Below the jump, find the longer version of this answer, which contains more picking apart of the ask’s premise, more references to the canon and to real life, and an extended discussion about the non-Hero institutions in BNHA that are in some way responsible for Villains and what Heroes’ obligations are re: those institutions.  It is, in other words, the version of this answer that’s 4000 words long instead of 500.  Reminder that it was the version of this answer that was written first, so pardon any recycled phrasing or reiterated rhetoric.

I’ll just start by re-pasting the question…

What I think is that there is a lot of air between “beating up Villains while being more concerned about the news camera catching your good side than you are about talking to the human being you’re pummeling” and “trying to talk to the Villain but just shrugging and letting them carry on if it doesn’t work”.

A perennial response Villain fans get when they talk about this is an exasperated, even outraged, “What, so you’re saying Deku should just let Shigaraki kill him or innocent people?!”  And like, no, that’s not what we’re saying at all, and it’s a really reductive, bad faith characterization of the argument.  So I want to talk first about what Villain fans are saying, and then I’ll circle back to your question about trying to talk no jutsu the really bad news Villains and what Heroes should do if that talk no jutsu fails.

First things first, and to get it out of the way, not all Villains are on the level of Muscular or Moonfish.  For the vast majority of the series, the numeric bulk of Villains are just street criminals.  It would not be a life or death struggle for Kamui Woods and Mount Lady to try and talk down a purse snatcher together.  There is so much room for positive change in how Heroes engage with street-level Villains that just gets glossed over entirely when people want to spin-kick the argument all the way to S-class threats like post-surgery Shigaraki.

Note how handily and briskly Hawks deals with the nudist flasher guy when he’s walking around town with Endeavor—he doesn’t even glance in his direction.  Would it have been so impossibly hard to use his feathers to pin the guy’s coat back together and then cheerfully ask him why he went and did a thing like that?

So just keep that in mind, first of all: for the vast majority of what a Hero does day-to-day, especially the powerful ones who are way up near the top of the rankings, there are options available to them beyond “immediately resort to extreme violence” or “give the Villain a thumbs-up and walk away, whistling to cover the sound of civilian screams.”

But okay, how about with the more dangerous Villains?  Well, the point still stands: multiple heroic characters throughout the manga show themselves to be entirely capable of carrying on a conversation—be it with the Villains or with Hero allies—while fighting.  Mirio is able to temporarily keep ShigAFO talking and distracted by simply asking him a few basic questions; he and Nighteye both are able to get at least some answers out of Overhaul(!) just by asking about his intentions. Ochaco and Toga have coherent conversation every single time they fight.  Hawks and Twice have a whole argument while fighting.  As soon as Shouto can be bothered to talk to Dabi, Dabi’s eager to spill his whole backstory to him.

Shigaraki in particular comes off as desperate to share his grievances practically every time Heroes encounter him, and that only stops being true at the very end—and even there, it might be less true if that green twit fighting him could have been arsed to just fucking ask him, “Hey, last time we fought, when we were in the same headspace, I saw an image of you crying with a dog.  What was up with that?”  Deku doesn’t have to stand there with his hands in the air while asking!  As all the examples cited demonstrate, Heroes are more than able to fight and talk at the same time.  So why don’t they try to make that talk a little more actually useful?

What I’m saying is simply that I would like it if less of that conversation were dedicated to Heroes giving moralizing sermons about how bad and unforgiveable Villains are and a lot more of it were dedicated to Heroes just asking why the Villains are doing what they’re doing, and letting the conversation go from there, fighting defensively and keeping the Villain focused on them as much as they’re capable of doing.  We see the results in the series when Heroes bother trying this—think Deku’s results with Gentle Criminal or Ochaco’s with Toga—so it’s damning that they don’t try it more often.

The likely explanation is that professional heroism as a matter of practice and culture does not tend to bother with de-escalation tactics; after all, while you’re standing there trying to talk to the bank robber, some other Hero could easily be coming in for the take-down, and then they get all the credit and glory and not least the pay.  The whole system is geared towards rewarding fast, uncompromising takedowns, ignoring the possibility of more peaceful, productive resolutions in favor of stopping the Public Disturbance as quickly as possible, because it’s more important to stop random civilians feeling inconvenienced than it is to maybe try addressing a Villain’s issues so they stand down themselves and are less likely to become hardened criminals.

Heck, even Deku really only gets anywhere with Gentle because his first instinct—shutting down the fight right away with a Smash—gets him rebounded off an air trampoline with enough force to knock him back nearly a neighborhood block.  The defensive, evasive nature of Gentle’s power means it’s difficult to hit him directly, and Gentle’s personality was such that he kept talking while Deku was figuring out how to beat him.  That talking was really what gave Deku enough insight to trigger his empathy, so he started returning the conversation in ways that he never did against e.g. Stain, AFO, or in his first fight with Muscular.  He didn’t lead by asking why Gentle was invading his school, though; he just ordered him repeatedly to stop.

Heroes and, in turn, the kids, just don’t default to trying to talk to the Villains.  We see that they can, they’re just not trained to, so it becomes a tactic of last resort, or of distraction, or, finally, as being the result of moments of connection that make them incapable of continuing to ignore the Villains’ humanity.  But when it’s a last resort like that, when they don’t bother asking questions until after the Villains have been pushed past the point of wanting to engage, everything gets so much harder and more dangerous.

Look at Shigaraki and Toga.  When Deku and Ochaco initially encounter them, the kids’ first response is basically just revulsion and terror.  And like, okay, they’re students, newly fledged Hero Course trainees.  They shouldn’t have been facing real life Villains for another two years, at least!  So it’s not surprising that they don’t know what to do and don’t react in the most empathetic manner possible.  I’m not blaming them for that.  But I do want to ask what would have happened if their classes and the Hero culture were more focused on attempting dialogue with Villains.

All Might at USJ writes Shigaraki off as a faker with no real beliefs, and Deku at the mall calls him an incomprehensible cipher, but what if either of them had instead asked Tomura why he was there and what he wanted, then asked follow-up questions from there?  How much earlier might they have found out that Shigaraki had some tragedy in his past that he blamed All Might for not saving him from?  What might finding that out early on have led them to change about how they approached Shigaraki in subsequent encounters?

If Ochaco and Tsuyu had asked Toga why she attacked people, then followed up on whatever answer Toga gave about liking blood with some questions about consent, how much sooner might they have found out that Toga spent her whole life feeling ostracized and repressed because she was convinced by the adults around her that people finding out she craved blood would make her a freak in their eyes?  How might they have engaged with her differently if they realized her parents had been verbally abusing her since she was three years old?

But we also don’t have to stop with U.A. types!  Toga went on the run at only 15—how many times did she have had close scrapes with arrest before the training camp attack?  How many other opportunities were there for someone to talk her down before she made it to the League?  Heck, even all the way to the end, if the green twit hadn’t just insisted on antagonizing Toga one last time for the road—as if he’d learned nothing at all since the mall scene!—how much more easily might Ochaco have been able to engage with her?  Maybe if Toga hadn’t set her mind to embracing Villainy because Deku functionally became yet another person calling her a freak, Ochaco could have gotten to the breakthrough point before Toga stabbed her in the gut?

I’ve been talking about the more sympathetic Villains here so far, but all this goes for the rest of them, too.  Sure, Moonfish is a cannibal serial killer now, but was he always?  Or was there a time when he was just like Toga, a teenager wrestling with quirk-driven hungers who was abused and ostracized for them?  I’ve thought, from time to time, about the idea of a League ageswap AU, where Moonfish is that scared but defiant teenager who’s been pushed over the edge and done something violent, but is not yet past saving.  Conversely, it’s all too easy for me to imagine a Toga who was never captured and never shown any compassion growing into an adult who fully embraced her vampire serial killer reputation and “deviant” hungers to become just as much an alleged monster as Canon Moonfish.

How about Muscular?  Was he always a violent sadist?  Was it impossible that he could have grown up to be anything else?  Could that taste for violence ever have found an outlet other than murder?  Could he have gotten into underground fighting, like Rappa?  Could he have become a Hero like Mirko, always hungry for a better challenge than she’s getting?  Quite frankly, even if Imasuji Gouto was a violent little bully who killed neighborhood pets as a child, he still deserved some kind of intervention—psychological counseling, medication, more acceptable outlets, etc.

How many Villains would HeroAca!Japan be spared if the people in power were more focused on intervention and rehabilitation at every stage of a Villain’s life and career?  Why do Heroes think it’s helpful or necessary to tell everyone in earshot their personal opinion about the unforgivability of their opponents?  Why is it such a problem for some readers when Villain fans point out that a lot of issues could be sidestepped entirely, and the HeroAca world considerably bettered, if the Hero Industry were less focused on showy grandstanding violence, less terrified of the optics of being anything other than maximally harsh on Villains?

That all said, that’s the nuance of what I want when I say I want more talk no jutsu.  But let’s go back to your question—what should Heroes do when they run into Villains who can’t be talked down?

Say that all the interventions and counseling programs have failed, and someone—some mother’s son, some father’s daughter—has grown up to become a Villain.  And not just any Villain, but a really dangerous one.  What do?

Well, I do still want to see Heroes try to talk first, unless they have some reason to believe talking won’t work, like knowledge that knowing that efforts in that direction have already been made and documented in previous encounters between law enforcement and the Villain in question.  There’s also some flex here based on how capable of dragging out an encounter the Heroes on-scene are, and how much danger any bystanders would be in—I would want more effort from someone who can hold their own for long periods like Deku than e.g. Manual.  But like, anyone can yell a few basic questions about motivations to see what sort of response they get.

But say our Hero is up against someone like Muscular, who just laughs off questions like that.  What to do then?

Then arrest him.

Seriously, this is not that complicated.  I’m not asking some run-of-the-mill Hero to get their arms ripped off trying to give battle therapy to Muscular!  But I do want Muscular to get therapy, or at least be offered it, once he’s no longer presenting an immediate threat and those conversations can happen in a safe environment.  And if he doesn’t accept it,[1] I still want him to be treated as humanely as reasonably possible in prison, with the therapy option always on the table if he ever wants to try it.  I also want his prison term (even if it’s for life) to not involve methods of punishment that are considered by the United Nations to constitute torture, like Tartarus’s apparent extended solitary confinement.

1: Perhaps because he would rather rip his own arms off than talk about his feelings or waste any more time getting analyzed by shrinks than he already has; pick your poison based on why and for how long you think he’s been killing people.

I truly do not have any problems, ethically speaking, with Heroes arresting dangerous Villains.  My problem has always been that Hero Society is comprehensively awful in how it treats those who don’t fit neatly into society’s little boxes.  Their social support networks are full of holes, their law enforcement is financially disincentivized from attempting de-escalation, their judicial process is completely invisible, and their prisons are concrete holes that only serve to make people worse, as we can see clearly in the case of people like poor Ending—already unstable when he was first arrested by Endeavor, but so blatantly suicidal when his sentence is up that the literal first thing he does after release is to investigate Endeavor’s personal life so as to find a way to goad Endeavor into killing him.

Now, sure, Heroes are not responsible for prison policies and practices; those are under a completely different part of the criminal justice umbrella.  Nor is it up to them to determine how e.g. financial aid programs or family services work.  But I want Heroes to be better in the ways that they—personally and professionally—can be, and I want them to be cognizant of the flaws in the system they uphold.  I want them to have some basic intellectual curiosity about the Villains they fight—why they turned out like they did, if they can be helped, and what’s going to become of them after the Hero hands them off to the police.

Like, what is All Might’s opinion on Tartarus?  He spent 30+ years fighting for the society that maintains it—does he think or care at all about the fact that some extremely damaged, abused people wind up in there after he gets done beating them up?  And if he doesn’t, what does that say about him?  What would Ochaco have done if Toga had lived and said she’d rather Ochaco kill her than let her go to prison forever?  Does Shouto think now about the family situation of every Villain he fights, or did his ability to care about “some mother’s son” begin and end with his mother’s son?

Obviously, Heroes stop Villains all the time; I’m not asking them to do deep dives into the history and treatment of each and every one.  I just want them to ask the questions they can while the Villain is in front of them, and to care about the state of both the systems that produce Villains and the ones tasked with their care.  I think that when handing people over to state custody, Heroes have a responsibility to be meaningfully confident that the state won’t abuse that custodianship.  If they aren’t—if they truly don’t give a shit about what happens to Villains once the police van door swings closed—then in my view they’re no different than any professional who shirks their duty.

So many people insist that the kids—that Heroes in general—have no duty to care about the Villains, but to me, this view comes off as wildly ignorant about the wide variety of jobs in the real world that do, in fact, confer a duty of care.

If…

…a teacher sees a child with unexplained bruises but doesn’t bother to do their due diligence as a mandatory reporter—

…a prison guard leaves a handcuffed inmate alone in a room with a fellow warden wearing brass knuckles—

…a medic doesn’t speak up when a flight attendant asks if there’s a doctor on the plane���

…a bartender just keeps on serving someone who’s obviously intoxicated and then lets them stumble out the door to the parking lot—

—then they are shirking their duty.  There is no shortage out there of examples of this sort of responsibility, one that you can be held legally responsible for, one that you choose to accept when you sign up for the job.

Heroes are not Samaritans doing the work out of the goodness of their hearts; they’re not vigilantes just trying to keep their own patch safe.  They’re government employees, crucial members of the lawful system they represent.  They have to care—not personally, not individually, but on a professional, structural level, they have to care about the people they fight because the system has to care about those people.  And if the system doesn’t care, the system has to be changed.

I'm segueing here into real life stuff, so let me note as a disclaimer that what follows is based on my cultural familiarity with American policies, as well as periodic research into that of other nations. I don't know what country you live in, rvg, so I can hardly speak to its crime-and-punishment situation. This is all a lefty American's opinion on what reading she has done about American, Japanese, and, in the case of this particular post, Scandinavian criminal justice systems.

That said: in real life, de-escalation works.  One of the things you’ll often see talked about in police reform/abolishment circles is that the police are, quite frankly, doing too much work.  Or, more specifically, they’re doing the wrong kind of work, work for which their training has not prepared them and which other groups would be far better suited to handle.

Here’s an article on offering a campus police force de-escalation training and the resulting 26-36% drop in injuries suffered by both civilians and officers; it also talks about how de-escalation tactics are used by SWAT teams but regarded with suspicion by patrol officers, with this quote being particularly telling: “[Special operations] officers were taught to use time, distance and cover to their advantage.  For patrol officers, time was viewed as 'The more time you give a suspect, the more danger you're in.'”  De-escalation is not the usual training patrol officers get, so it runs against their gut feeling, despite its proven effectiveness—compare this to BNHA’s repeated focus on speed in shutting down altercations.

Here’s an article on the results of a test run of a program in Denver, Colorado, in which police officers were completely removed from response teams to 911 calls about situations considered low risk (drug abuse, trespassing, welfare checks, etc); instead, teams of mental health specialists and paramedics were dispatched.  Reports of nonviolent crime dropped 34% over the course of the time the program ran, and the direct financial cost of the response was four times lower than sending police.

The classic dramatic image of this sort of thing is the hostage situation—and when I looked into it, numerous articles said that containment and negotiation tactics have over a 94% chance of resolving hostage crises without fatalities!

The common element in this sort of thing is refraining from showboating displays of force, loud assertions of power and authority, arguments, moralizing, threats, and so forth.  Far more effective is listening, active attempts to communicate and understand, not throwing one's weight around and not rising to aggression even when provoked.

Meanwhile, on the carceral side of things, restorative justice leads to greater satisfaction from both victims and perpetrators, more feeling that they were listened to and respected, and increased belief that justice was served.  While the evidence on its impact on recidivism is mixed, it certainly doesn’t seem to be less effective than traditional retributive justice, and may well be considerably more effective if combined with programs that focus more specifically on lessening recidivism than restorative justice alone (research is ongoing).

This article on how “cushy” Scandinavian prisons are far more effective at reducing recidivism than their much harsher, bleaker American counterparts argues that a crucial factor in reducing recidivism is minimizing the amount of resentment criminals bear towards the system.  When perpetrators can point at unjust or disproportionate punishments, cruel treatment by wardens, rejection by society, etc, it’s much easier to stew on resentment, to turn nastier themselves, to blame outside factors.  Conversely, when life inside prison is made as much like life outside prison as possible with the key difference being the crucial deprivation of freedom, that resentment is defanged, leading to more more self-reflection and willingness to accept responsibility. And again, it works: Norway is a world leader, with their recidivism rate being a mere 20% compared to the U.S.’s nearly 77%.

The studies and the evidence for this stuff is out there, it’s just fighting this huge, ugly uphill battle against people who care far, far more about inflicting punishment than they do actually improving outcomes.  And so much of that is based on cultural values—what people believe, what values they’re taught. That's where pop culture comes in.

That last article I linked above talks about the efforts made in the U.S. to turn prisons into a for-profit industry, and how demonizing criminals to encourage maximum sentences helps that effort; here’s another on how U.S. police departments rehabilitated the popular image of the police in the early part of the 1900s as bumbling fools or a corrupt gang by consulting on the writing of police procedurals, most crucially starting with Dragnet in 1951, but continuing even today.  Here’s one on a growing concern in Japan about the relationship fostered between TV studios and police when police permission and cooperation is required for filming those popular reality TV police documentary programs.

Mass media and pop culture informs this stuff.  True, Horikoshi is not having to get his work cleared by a police PR department to publish it, but you can see from the above how the police have used and do use mass media to polish up their image; they see it as an effective tool to use because it is.  And the closer to our reality a work of fiction is, the more obviously it resembles the world around us, the more it seems to purport to moral instructiveness, the more true that becomes.  That’s why I criticize BNHA much more harshly than any number of other manga or anime I follow where Good Guys Kill Bad Guys all the time and no one thinks twice about it: because those series aren’t parading the Good Guys out as Japanese citizens working with Japanese police under Japanese law to maintain the rosy image of the Japanese status quo.

I’m long past the point where I’m just rambling, so I’ll wind it down here by pointing out this: Horikoshi also thought that things in his world needed to change.  As much as I loathe BNHA’s endgame and think much of its epilogue is trite shoulder-patting pablum that fails to meaningfully address the setting’s real problems, multiple aspects of Hero Society were at least nominally challenged and subsequently changed: citizen inaction, the dominance of professional heroics as a career path, the diminishment of non-Hero careers, quirk-based discrimination.  As a direct result of the main characters’ efforts to address places where the old system was failing people, the incident rate of Villains is decreasing.

The fact that these changes are made provides in itself the evidence that they needed to be made. I think they need to go further still: my number one greivance with the epilogue is that we've seen all these changes aimed at reducing the numbers of Villains that arise in the first place, and that's nice and all, but we don't see any evidence that the Villains that do arise are treated any differently than they ever were, not even the common purse snatchers, much less the serial killers, the cannibals, and the terrorists.

So, should Heroes have to get themselves nearly killed trying to reform a Villain?  Ideally no, but that assumes a world where Heroes are working in concert with a bunch of other people who are also dedicated to preventing, reforming, or rehabilitating Villains.  If none of that other personnel infrastructure exists, then, well, to paraphrase Nedzu, someone has to take the first step.  Why shouldn’t it be the combat-trained professionals with shounen battle stamina who also happen to be the main characters?

[silk-flower]

Chasing After Dark [James Sunderland X Reader]

synopsis: Could Mary really be here, waiting for him in this town? James doesn't know, but the deeper he dives into this bottomless pit of memories, the more he starts to regret his decision of ever coming here. One of the many questionable reasons he still stays is you, though that might be too hard of a pill to swallow.

status: part 1 [you are here], part 2, read on AO3

content warning: female reader, death of a character [prior], thoughts about death and illness, self-deprecating thoughts, grieving and trying to move on, slight misogyny, horror, mutual attraction, age gap [reader described as younger], romance

author's note: I've been playing this game non-stop ever since it released and James is the only thing on my mind lately, giving birth to this piece. This is a reupload from my deactivated blog.

James looks up at the decomposing ceiling as dirty water drips down from the rusted pipe on the wall of your makeshift haven. Only numerous particles of gray dust and your soft breaths break the stillness of the silent room, the air stale with the stench of mold. If Brookhaven's long-abandoned hospital could be considered peaceful at this hour of the night. No chance with those disfigured creatures running amok, chasing you down the building halls.

Now that he tiredly watches you rest on that soiled hospital bed like a guard, he starts to realize how much of a toll this town is really taking on you and himself. Naturally, he is aware that, like everyone else summoned by Silent Hill, you have your own reasons for being here. May it be looking for a loved one, for forgotten memories, or for mysterious disclosures that he is clueless of and doesn't want to ask about. Similar to him, but in any case, it's not his problem. Just like you didn't ask about what the hell he was doing here, looking for someone who was supposedly already dead, he never was the one starting that undesirable conversation. He just was here to find Mary.

James sits in silence, hands clutching the torn armrests succumbed to time, slipping in and out of consciousness as his eyes stroke over your frame, not to lose focus. In an attempt to distract his tired mind, his fingers tinker with the leather case's loose thread. Curling into fetal position, as though attempting to resist an unseen force, makes you appear so tiny and defenseless on the hospital gurney. It reminds him of the time he so desperately wants to forget, but it just keeps surging up to light. He wonders if you're dreaming about something. Pity at a place like this one could only see nightmares. 

You shouldn't have come here. The fact that you were wandering alone in this lifeless ghost of a town, with sticky fog engulfing you as you became increasingly lost, was beyond his understanding. It might have been too late if he found you mere minutes after that crawling monster rushed from under the car. You were James' companion on this odd voyage, even though he didn't want you to be in his way. Keeping him grounded in a sence.

He closes his weary eyes and lets out a sigh, spreading his legs and letting himself fall back into the rolling chair, if only for a few moments. The movement sends a thick, nasty cloud of dust flying into the air, making him cough. There have definitely been better times here.

James takes you in while listening to your gentle breathing, how your brows furrow as your eyelids flutter ever so slightly, delicate hands clutching the torn bedsheet as you lay there. In this whole godforsaken town, this room could have been the closest to what he could call safe for the both of you. You didn't have much of a choice anyway, exhausted to the point of collapsing.

Though he wasn't really sure why, it seemed like his subconscious had given him the responsibility of looking after you ever since he had met you a few days prior. Perhaps because he yearned for a human connection of some sort, or perhaps it was just that you were a clumsy woman. You were really something, frustratingly snail-pased at times, your aloofness making him lift a brow occasionally.

"What a gentleman, truly", James huffs at his own arrogance. It's not that he was any better himself, a shadow of a man he used to be someday. Fighting his own battles in silence, he couldn't possibly be taking patronage of you. But at the same time, he couldn't leave you with all these monsters lurking around every corner, ready to pounce on you. Mary wouldn't want him abandoning you and he wasn't that kind of person, he kept telling himself. Thus, you looked out for one another; more him for you, of course.

James' eyes dart to your silhouette, fluttering eyelashes, and slightly flaky lips, completing your pale face like a soft palette. Your mouth parting gently as you huff against the ragged pillow. The sight makes the corners of his cracked lips rise involuntary. Perhaps he was being too harsh on you; kind and ever so cheerful, you were the voice of reassurance and reason behind his self-destructive actions for these past few days. Convincing him to take the health supplements and hope for the best, even if sometimes that seemed unmanageable. To keep himself safe and healthy to some extent. For his wife, how funny. As if the memory of Mary wasn't ever preserved in his mind. But it relieved him that someone cared, making it feel not so devastating. Bearable at times even.

His mind surges to all those times of need when you supported him with your soft words or how your smaller hand traced his tense shoulder to show compassion as you smiled weakly. Or how you looked up at him horrified, fear and tears in your eyes as he shielded you from the monsters with his back getting slashed by the great knife. Even James didn't understand why he had to throw himself in front of you when he could have avoided that crazed pyramid thing. It appeared like the creature harbored some obsessive resentment for the both of you, thus it seemed only reasonable to keep you away from its wrath.

He remembers the swell of your chest against his and the warm flesh of your waist in his hands as he caught you jumping from the broken window. Simple affection and a live connection with another person — likely the closest he has been to someone in years. He hasn't been this close to a woman in such a long time... Adrenaline pumping through his veins, the pressure of your upper body letting his rough finders trace your abdomen. Your eyes catching his hazel-green ones like soft glittering stars, looking at him with silent gratitude. Your waist safely held in his hands, and your fingers resting so comfortably atop his wide shoulders.

It was too close, too soft. To the point where "secure" felt inappropriate to him, infinitely pleasant, but wrong. Blasphemous even, like he was committing a sin by helping you. He wanted to put you down as fast as he could, to drop you even, as soon as he recognized that feeling. James felt something other than this never-ending grief when the weight of your quivering body shifted something within him. Guilt, yes. He knew that feeling well. But there was something warm and satisfying as well. Something he thought he didn't know how to feel anymore.

The feeling made him want to pull you closer for some reason.

— James? I said thank you for catching me, — you gazed into his eyes curiously, with that sweet naivety still present in your own.

— Oh, yeah. Sorry, I... Don't mention it.

What did you do to him? The way you looked sheepishly to the side, as he released you almost reluctantly, stunned him. Missing the warmth of your skin on his as soon as he let go felt indefinite; it relieved him and scorched his insides at the same time. The guilt of wanting more of you when he had no right for that. The longing for you.

The man's eyes snap open, hands clutching the faux leather armrests so hard now that his nails pierce through the moth-eaten foam filler, pain dulled by the overwhelming feeling of guilt and shame. James sighs audibly, cradling his face in his hands, caloussed fingers gradually tugging at his sunken cheeks. What is he thinking?

He still has that whitish rim bordering the finger where his ring used to sit. Because James loves Mary. Do you now? Because James knows that right beneath the surface of his threadbare heart he will always love her, no matter how smooth your skin felt compared to her faded and bloody when she was on her deathbed. So how can he indulge in thoughts like that? She was his wife, for fucks sake.

She was a living rotting corpse. And you wanted her to die.

— No, — he whispers adamantly, interlocking his fingers before his face, — It's not true.

And here you were, this young woman, sleeping soundly in front of him, trusting him with your life while he mulled over his shallow fantasies of you. Eyeing you like the unsuspecting prey while wearing a mask of marital fidelity. Pretending he doesn't want anything to do with you as he yearns for you. Angela was right.

He doesn't have to remind himself because he can feel it constantly. Guilt, shame, and regret, none of which will ever cease. Even if he tried, he couldn't — he wouldn't take advantage of someone as young, naive, and carefree as you. Why would a beautiful woman like you ever want an empty shell of a man like him? A broken shard of his own past, undeserving and ungrateful. Pititful James Sunderland, looking for someone who's long been dead in this ghost town because he's scared of letting her go. Someone who thinks of another woman inappropriately while searching for his Mary. He can't even be honest with himself. 

Even now, he still watches you in your sleep, mouth slightly agape, peaceful expression on your face making his heart throb as he thinks about the possibly over and over, torturing himself. Maybe he should forget everything. Wake you, grab you by the hand, whether you want it or not, and leave this town. And then what? Foolish thought.

James lifts his head as his tired eyes catch the sight of the peeling flower pattern wallpaper above the bedpost. Glue long since dried, crumbling at the edges, patches of withering paper are being dragged down the wall by their own weight. The faded image is obscured by a spatter of unidentified liquid, which gives the area around the hole in the middle an almost meaty appearance. Staring back at him like a sickly-pink gaping slit, a flower of dead flesh.

I need to peel it off more.

— James...

Something heavy rises in his chest, and he lets out a low gasp before returning his gaze to your sleeping body. He hasn't been taking his medication for a while now. It's too dark in here.

Your sleep becomes more restless as you fidget around the mattress, your legs getting tangled in the sheets. You look frazzled, breathing becoming more agitated as you wince. Your hands cling to the tattered bedsheet as if hoping it would hide you from whatever is chasing you in your dream. A frail moan breaks out of your sore throat, and before James can stop himself, he's on the bed right next to you as he grabs your shoulders and shakes you awake.

Someone powerful drags you out of your nightmare, the sudden intrusion of them almost making you gasp as you jump to sit up straight. The scream gets stuck in your throat as you wake. The bed cover slips off your sweaty body, revealing you to the night chill of the real world. Still not fully awake, unable to separate dream from consciousness, you catch two familiar eyes looking back at you with unusual intensity.

— James? — you mumble almost inaudibly, still shaken but unable to recall the nature of your fear. Tiny beads of sweat roll down your temple as you try to recollect your breathing, placing your hand over your chest.

— Hey, look at me. I've got you; just breathe.

James hates how patronizing and coaxing his voice sounds as his bigger hands circle your upper arms in an effort of calming you down, but he can't stop himself from soothing you. It's too easy to be gentle with you.

— You're alright. Breathe with me, — his eyes fixate on the way your lips tremble and his heart fills with dull ache. You're so fragile, so real. Alive.

His thumbs rub gentle circles into your tender skin when he stills, suddenly realizing he'd crossed the line. You're not a child. He has to let go of you. But you're still maintaining eye contact with this strange man as he guides you through your breathing slowly, the act of it feeling almost intimate but natutal at the same time. 

James stumbles over his own words, loathing the way his voice scrapes his throat like sandpaper as he talks.

— You're safe now, we're in the hospital. Remember?

You blink back at him, and he notes the light returning to your lovely eyes as you breathe in. James' close proximity only dawns on you as you feel his hot breath fan over your face and neck, ghosting over your cheeks and lips gently.

— Yes. I think I do.

Your breathing gradually slows down as your eyes trace over his features. Dark circles under his eyes followed by the first inklings of the crow's feet. The individual hairs of his stubble starting to peek through the dry skin. The weight of his calloused hands on your shoulders rubbing in a soothing motion as if applying an unseen salve to your skin. The same tough hands that swing the heavy metal pipe until they bleed to keep you safe from the terrors of this place. They care for you in an unusually tender and loving manner, and the gentleness of the deed sends a surge of heat to your face and core.

And his eyes. So fragile and soft, almost puppy-like, but also lonely and gloomy, filled with deep melancholy as they pierce into you with concern. He is worried about you. Too much for a man you've only met a few days ago.

Your hand falls on his chest, not sure whether you should push him away or not. You don't and your breathing stills, as you immediately feel James through every nerve in your body. The subtle odor of sweat and cologne that is wearing off, his breath flowing out of his cracked lips, his lean chest flexing under his shirt, and his growing anxiousness, which mirrors yours. You can feel his heart thumping rapidly as your gazes meet.

And James must feel yours too, for as soon as your breath catches with silent desire, his hands slide agonizingly slow down your arms, releasing you from his grip. Surprisingly, you feel cold and lonely upon losing his touch. You don't have time to respond to the sensation as he softly pushes you down into the bed, towering over you. He knows you're feeling it too. Worse, you might know what he's thinking and what he needs from you. Saying it out loud would cause his world and all he believes in to crumble. His life, his devotion to Mary. James cringes at the thought and shuts his eyes. He has to step away, or he'll lose himself.

— James, —

— No, please, — he looks down on the mattress and grits his teeth like it pains him to speak, — Don't say anything.

He stops you in mid-sentence from opening your heart for him, his expression distraught, nearly begging you not to continue. Otherwise, he would not be able to find any more excuses not to give into your heavenly touch. You don't push it, facing him calmly instead. 

Hovering over your motionless body carries him far away, as you catch his wistful look, filled with anguish and some indistinguishable emotion. James' gaze lingers on the wall behind you for a few seconds before returning to your face, his eyes dreamy and glazed over. His breathing comes out with a small rumble, making his throat spasm as he speaks again, putting on a tiny smile.

— Try to go back to sleep. It's still too dangerous outside.

You sink into the cushion and cross your hands across your chest like a chaste maiden, suddenly feeling timid for some reason. As James' bigger hand traces over yours, covering it protectively, with it comes the sense of security. You close your eyes with a small exhale, drifting back to sleep. 

— I'll watch over you.

Just this time, James assures himself.

Just a little bit more.

[rafecamerons-national-anthem]

I’LL MAKE YOU MISS ME-DREW STARKEY

You never thought it would end like this. Not when it felt like you had everything, everything with Drew. The late night talks, the stolen glances when no one was watching, the quiet moments that felt louder than any words could. You had convinced yourself that love would keep you tethered to him, but now, as you stood at the edge of everything you knew, you realized just how much you had underestimated the distance between you and him.

Drew Starkey had always been a force. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew people in, especially you. From the first moment you met, you both knew there was an undeniable connection. He had that quiet confidence, that wild energy you couldn’t resist. He was the kind of guy who made you feel like the only person in the room, even when he was surrounded by a crowd.

But somewhere along the way, you lost sight of the spark that kept things alive. Somewhere, between all the good moments, there was a growing silence. Words unspoken. You both tried to pretend everything was fine, but you knew it wasn’t.

Now, as you stood in front of Drew’s house, about to walk away for good, you could feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. He was inside, and you knew he was thinking about you, wondering what you were doing. You could almost hear him saying your name, that familiar way he always did, soft but powerful, as if he was trying to make you believe in the moment just as much as he did.

But it was too late for that. Too late to go back to the way things were.

“I’ll make you miss me,” you whispered to yourself, your hand gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you took one last look at the place that had once felt like home.

It had been weeks since you and Drew had last spoken. The distance between you both had grown, but it didn’t matter. You had made the decision to leave. You had made the decision to let him go, even if it meant you’d never stop loving him.

The night you left, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. You told yourself you didn’t need him, that you’d be fine on your own. But the truth was, it wasn’t just about needing him. You wanted him. You wanted the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like the world could fall apart and he would still hold you together. But somehow, it all got lost. The chemistry, the magic, everything faded as you both walked farther apart.

And Drew? He thought he was fine. He had this way of pretending like nothing bothered him. He was the one who moved on, or so you told yourself. He was the one who acted like nothing was wrong. He had his friends, his life. He’d find someone else, someone who would fit into his world better than you ever could. At least, that’s what you told yourself to make it easier to walk away.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” Drew said, his voice cutting through the silence of your memory.

You blinked, coming back to the present. It was late, and you were sitting on the porch of his house, just a few feet from the door where you had once walked in and out of so easily.

You hadn’t expected him to show up. Not like this, not after everything. But Drew had a way of being where he needed to be. He always did.

You stood up, trying to keep your composure, but your heart was racing. You hadn’t seen him in so long, and yet, here he was, standing right in front of you, that same look in his eyes. The one that always made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

“You’re here,” you said, barely a whisper, unsure if you should say anything more.

“I’m always here, aren’t I?” Drew replied, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. But it wasn’t the same. The playfulness was gone, replaced with something raw, something vulnerable. “I should’ve been there, Y/N. I should’ve fixed this. I should’ve known.”

“You never saw it coming, did you?” you asked, your voice thick with the weight of all the things you couldn’t say before. “I don’t want you to be proud of me, Drew. I just want you all on me, like it used to be. That’s how it used to be, right?”

Drew didn’t answer immediately. He just looked at you, like he was trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him. He had always been good at reading people, but you knew you were a puzzle even he couldn’t solve.

“You think I don’t miss you?” Drew’s voice was quiet now, tinged with regret. “I think about you all the time, Y/N. Every fucking day. You think I don’t feel this? The ache? I tried to act like I was fine. I did. But the truth is…I’m not. I’m not fine without you.”

You turned away from him, taking a step back. His words were breaking you down, and you couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t let him see how much his confession had affected you. You had to stand strong.

“You’re fine,” you muttered, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You’ve always been fine. You’ve got your friends, your life. You’ll be fine without me.”

“Stop lying to yourself, Y/N,” Drew said sharply, his voice tinged with frustration. “We both know that’s not true.”

You swallowed, taking a shaky breath, your eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a glimmer of something in his gaze, something familiar, something you had missed so much.

“I don’t want you proud of me,” you repeated, this time more forcefully. “I don’t need that. I just want you…all on me. Like it used to be. But you’ve moved on. You’re not the same anymore.”

Drew closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to touch yours, the contact burning through your skin. You could feel his heart beating in the palm of your hand, and for a moment, you wondered if this was it. The moment everything would change again. The moment you’d finally break free of this cycle.

“I haven’t moved on, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how to let you go. Not like this. Not like we’re nothing.”

The words were heavy, suffocating in their truth. And in that moment, you realized that neither of you were ready to let go. You couldn’t forget what you had, what you were to each other. You couldn’t pretend that everything was fine when it wasn’t.

“I’ll make you miss me,” you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a promise, a declaration, and a curse all in one. “For the rest of your life, Drew. For the rest of mine.”

Drew didn’t reply, but his eyes softened, and for the briefest moment, you both understood. You understood what you meant to each other, what you always would be. The love, the pain, the loss, it would always be there, lingering in the spaces between you, no matter how much time passed.

And as you stood there, hand in hand, staring at the world around you, you knew one thing for sure.

He would always miss you. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 @nicholaschavezslut69

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 52

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Andy's palm clamps over your mouth, smothering any noise you try to make. You grasp at his thick fingers, puffing through your nostrils as you kick out, fighting his indomitable strength. This can't be. He wouldn't do this. Andy's a nice guy, the only decent guy you knew. It's why you couldn't bring him into your mess.

His arm tightens around your neck as he drags you backward. He presses his cheek to the side of your head and hisses, "shhhh, I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I want, honey." You whimper as your feet bounce off the ground, "even though you hurt me. Over and over." He rasps as he hauls you with him, "I only wanted to give you everything. If you let me, I still can."

He swings you around and wrangles you behind his house. Your panic surges as your eyes prick hotly. You shudder and try to calm yourself. Luna. You have to get Luna.

You let your arms go limp, taking careful steps to alleviate the constraint around your neck. He fumbles to open the door and turns you inside. He slams it behind him, closing you inside the impenetrable silence of his home.

He marches you forward. You don't resist. He takes you to another door, this one you've never been past. To be fair, when you were there, you didn't stay long enough to explore. There's a thick deadbolt on the outside.

"Andy," you force out your tight windpipe, "please, don't hurt me--"

"Honey, I won't. We got a daughter to take care of," he opens the door to a carpeted staircase.

"I know, I know," you shakily reach back to touch his hip, "let me go, I'll go down but I could fall if you don't."

"I won't let you," he insists and lurches you forward.

He keeps his arm around your neck, walking you awkwardly down each step, following the sharp angle of the staircase. The basement is made up like an apartment of its own. It's finished with carpet and paint on the walls, changing colours to delineate the space. The kitchen in one corner, a living space in another, a queen bed against the wall, and the corner where the crib looks eerily similar to the nursery in Lloyd's house. You stop and look around, horrified.

Luna whines. You pull against Andy without thinking. You have to control yourself. You repress the urge to claw and fight him.

"Andy," you bring your hands up to your throbbing chest, "I need to feed her. She's hungry... I hurt so bad."

He doesn't let you go right away. He exhales and slowly drops his arm, grazing your hip as he does. You restrain yourself from running across the room. You move cautiously towards the crib. She's there, squirming and squalling for you.

You lift Luna and hush her as you hold her close. She's bawling in fear, you can't let her feel your own. You pull up your shirt and put her to your nipple, angling her to latch. You sigh and turn, sitting on the rocking footrest in front of the glider. You coo and pet her head as she feeds greedily.

"I'm sorry. I tried to feed her," Andy says as he shuts the door at the bottom of the stairs, "she wouldn't take the formula."

"It's okay, she's fussy," you assure him, trying not to think of the surreal circumstance. Just be calm. "Very hungry."

He nods and comes closer, his cheeks kissed red from the bitter winter. He looms across from you, watching as Luna suckles noisily. His gaze weighs on you as you find his eyes fixed on your chest. You don't let the shiver roll up your spine.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

You try not to react. He's asking if you're okay and he's brought you down to his weird bunker? A place like this doesn't just appear overnight.

You gulp, "I'm just happy to have her back. Thank you, Andy."

He smiles and looks you in the face, "I'll keep you safe. Both of you."

You force a smile of your own. There's something off. You see it then in his glassy eyes, as if he's hypnotised.

"Do you have any tea?" You ask softly, "I'm cold."

He flinches and puts his hand on his chest. He clears his throat, "yes, honey, I'll get you some. You like green or--"

"It's late, chamomile?"

"Of course."

He finally backs up and you breathe through your nose as you look down at your daughter. You listen to him moving around the kitchenette. You hug Luna tighter. It's going to be okay, baby girl. I'll make sure of it.

You switch sides as the plucking turns painful. Andy sets down a steaming cup. You could throw it back in his face but you know better. That will only make him angry. You're not fast or strong enough to beat him. You're not getting out tonight.

"Thank you," you feel Luna ease in her hold, "she's getting sleepy."

He stands over you, turning to face you. His hand tickles over your shoulder and he leans it to caress Luna's head as she closes her eyes. You stiffen, livid as he dares to touch your child. You swallow it down as his hand wanders further and he squeezes your other tit. You wince.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mommy," he lets go and gets down to kneel beside you. He leans his head against your shoulder and watches Luna.

"Thank you," you breathe, roll your eyes back against a new wave of tears.

You never expected this, so how could anyone else? No one will come for you, you have to find your own way out.

🍑

Luna fusses and rouses you from your trance. Not sleep, just terror. The arm slung around your middle has you paralysed but it cannot keep you from your child. Slowly, you move Andy's arm away from you and sit up. He grumbles as you cross to the crib and lift your daughter, rocking her.

"What're you doing?" He rasps in his morning grit.

"Shhh, she might go back to sleep," you whisper, "she's just not used to her new... home."

He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks at you from under sleepy lashes. He yawns and sits up, fluffing the pillow up behind his back. He stretches his arm towards you, waving you closer, "I'll take her."

"Maybe in a bit, let me just calm her down," you cradle Luna tighter.

"I can do it," he insists, "let me hold our daughter."

His tone deepens, hard as iron. Our daughter? You can't let him hurt her. Or you, you're the only one there to keep her safe.

"Just be gentle," you gird as you come around the bed, "she'll be hungry if she stays awake."

"I know how to hold a baby," he retorts as he sits forward to take her. You carefully put her in his arms, reluctant to back away.

She wriggles as he gazes down at her. You twiddle your fingers, standing close, your chest tight and pounding.

"I go her," he insists, "can you get some coffee on, honey?"

You stare at him, blinking, then glance down at your daughter. "Sure."

You back away, inching to the kitchenette as you can't help but peek back over and over. He coos at her, his voice soft and higher than usual. It makes you want to throttle him even more. Luna feels much the same as her babbles turn to uncomfortable grunts.

You find a bag of coffee and open the machine in the corner. You quickly load it up as your daughter's voice tugs at you. You hear Andy growl.

"She won't stay still," he huffs.

"Like I said, she's probably hungry."

You go back to them and offer to take her. He hands her over but not without muttering. You pull up the same sweater you've been in since the previous morning. You get Luna latched and yipe as you feel a pinch on your other nipple. Andy tweaks through the rumbled fabric and pushes it up.

"Ow," you try to back up but he catches you by the hip.

You keep Luna in place as he turns his legs over the side of the bed and guides you close. You can't resist as you try not to jostle your child. He bares your other tit and in a second, his lips seal around your nipple. You cry out in shock, almost smacking his head as he suckles.

"What are you doing?" You exclaim.

"Mmmm," he hums and pops his mouth off, "you taste good."

"My milk is for her, Andy," you block him from trying again, pushing a hand against his chin as you keep your other arm under Luna. "Don't--"

He pulls his head back and reaches up to grab your tit, squeezing it until your yelp. It hurts so bad. A trickle leaks out as Luna's mouth detaches and she gurgles.

"Andy, you're going to hurt her," you snap.

He only kneads you harder. You whimper and your legs buckle.

"You have more than enough," he insists and slides forward, nibbling on your tender nipple. You whine and move Luna away from him, disgusted by what he's doing.

"Andy, please, I don't-- she needs to feed first--"

He ignores you and keeps suckling, your stomach churning as your daughter begins to wail. He doesn't care at all about your daughter, he's sick and twisted and would let her starve. Well, you won't stand for that. You will get her out of here, at any cost.

[radioactiverats]

Thoughts: Ratchet's complicated relationship with self destruction

Ratchet x reader

TW: smoking

Ratchet scowls. The past few stellar cycles had been especially tough on him, with their rations running dangerously low at times and Optimus' repeated brushes with death - the pressure on Ratchet to save him, save them, from extinction. However, Ratchet remained torn between some moral quandary that, on one hand, stubbornly insisted he should be setting an example for the others by abstaining from bad habits - and on the other hand, argued that and a little bit of relief wouldn't hinder him from doing his job.

Ratchet's job: Saving others.

The line between his professional and personal life may have been more apparent, once upon a time. But since the war, he's become a lot more than just a medic. They have young bots on the team - Ratchet has begrudgingly embraced his secondary role as a mentor, so god forbid Bumblebee walks in on him with a cy-gar.

Himself: Not included.

He didn't have time for that. Why recharge another cycle when it could spent on precious research that could potentially save their lives?

You just happen to catch him, greeting dying on your lips as you take in his tense frame, optics locked on something in his hand.

He'd barely thought twice about testing the synth-en on himself. If anything, it was almost regrettable how liberating it felt. He let the others destroy it without a word of protest, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist that fleeting feeling of invincibility if they hadn't.

He knows he's a hypocrite for nagging the others to quit their unhealthy habits, even if out of genuine concern.

It was wishful thinking, but he couldn't force his patients to take care of themselves. And now, watching Optimus hurl himself headfirst into danger, bots reaching for the engex more often than they did the energon - he didn't blame them. The war had taken a toll on everybody.

So, he's a physician. He should be the most well-informed to make decisions about his frame.

You wait for Ratchet to speak first. He doesn't acknowledge you, but you can tell by the agitated flicking of his audials that he knows you're there.

"Cy-gar," Ratchet eventually says, after a few beats of hesitation. He rotates it in deft fingers, eyeing it, before sighing as he gets up. "It's sometimes used in medicine for its pain reduction qualities, but only when there's no other alternative, because it has other... unpleasant side effects. Addiction, for one, and internal damage from rust buildup if used too often."

Ah. Very similar to cigarettes, then. "Do you...?" You ask, gesturing at it.

"Not in a while," Ratchet admits. "It would be ironic if the CMO went around smoking, wouldn't it?"

A long while, then.

Well, it seems the two of you are more alike than you thought. You turn away from him for a second to root around in your bag, digging out a slightly crumpled pack of cigs. You wave it at him, almost sheepishly. "Want to...?"

Ratchet squints at the pack in your hand as he connects the dots. "You really shouldn't be - oh, who am I kidding," he groans, giving up on admonishing almost immediately. Should you be grateful that he's so willing to cast the mask aside that easily in front of you?

"I only smoke sometimes," you mumble. "Only when I really need it."

Ratchet stares at you for a few more seconds, as if debating whether or not to play the good doctor again, before he slumps back with a sigh.

"That's why I try to avoid it," he grouses. "Who's going to believe a physician who doesn't follow his own advice?"

And you do see his point. But you also understand that sometimes, it's simply too much, and you need a little bit of something, anything, to take the edge off so that you can keep going as before.

"Ratchet," you call, yanking him from his self-deprecating spiral. "I'll indulge you this once if you'll indulge me."

His optics, focused wearily on you, widen for a nanoklik before cycling once, twice, as he takes this in. He's in no position to bluff his way out of this and honestly, he has no intention to. Both of you have long acknowledged your shared understanding with each other. It was the almost desperate need to take care of others which made you take notice of each other, and the helplessly comical inability to take care of yourselves which drew you closer together. The two of you are so similar that Ratchet takes comfort in knowing that he doesn't have to try so hard to pretend around you.

"Alright," he agrees, sounding half resigned, yet half grateful. "Just this once."

You nod, and climb into his outstretched servo. A blast of chilly air hits you both when you emerge on the rooftop, and you shiver involuntarily before Ratchet curls his servos around you to shield you from the cold.

He carefully sets you on his thigh, where you can lean into the warmth of his frame. You waste no time in lighting up, the miniscule roar of your lighter flaring into the quiet of the night. Ratchet watches you sag with visible relief as you take your first, shuddering drag, before lifting the cy-gar to his intake. It's your turn to watch him as his optics offline for the long, few seconds that his chassis rises, and cycle online again as he lazily ex-vents a haze of purple smoke.

You feel a flash of guilt for finding the scene before you attractive - but then Ratchet's optics find yours, bright and intense. "Don't worry," he says. "Not harmful to humans."

He glances back at you again through half-lidded optics when you continue to stare at him. Amidst the haze of purple, you can clearly see the tension drain from his frame, plating drawn less tightly around him as he settles into a more comfortable position.

His optics are no less dull, though. His gaze doesn't leave your face until he seems to find something he's looking for, realizing that health and safety is not necessarily a priority for you both at the moment. A smirk actually finds its way onto his faceplate, and you internally curse the fragger for being so goddamn attractive.

"Want a taste?"

You don't hesitate and find yourself in his warm servos again, lifted level with his faceplate. Ratchet takes a long drag from the cy-gar, optics never leaving yours.

"Open," he murmurs, and you breathe deep as he ex-vents a warm, purple mist over you. It's a funny sensation - tingly, almost, and a breath shudders out of you as you feel the effects take hold, a wonderful, lightheaded rush that blitzes through your veins like lightning.

"Oh," you murmur, grateful for the careful way he catches you as you tip backwards. "That's really good."

Ratchet merely hums, low and satisfied as he cradles you to his chassis, allowing you to float in a few more moments of lightheaded bliss.

Lying down, you bring your own half-burnt cigarette to your lips as you take in the starry night sky above you. It's beautiful, and you blow a puff of smoke upwards - a cloud of purple twines itself into the grey mist, and you watch the tendrils dance and coil around the outline of shimmering stars before dissipating into the cold night air.

Just because the moment is fleeting doesn't mean it's any less valuable. Both of you know that when the last cig burns out, it'll be back to business - but neither of you make a move to disrupt the peace that has settled in between deep inhales and long, slow ex-vents.

Tonight, it's just you, Ratchet, the stars - and a swirling purple mist that shields you from the rest of the world.

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Lost In Translation Pt 1

Summary: Senior year takes a toll on Trevor and Y/N, university applications, the NHL draft and what their plans are for the future. All the arguing leads to certain decisions that either make or break them.

WC: 1.7K

Senior year. It was supposed to be the final chapter of high school, the time when everything came together—friends, college applications, sports, love. But for Trevor, everything felt like it was slowly unraveling. The weight of his future and his crumbling relationship with Y/N pressed down on him with a force that left him suffocating. He had dreamed of making it to the NHL his whole life, but now, standing on the edge of his senior year, that dream felt like it was slipping out of reach.

And then there was Y/N.

They had been dating for two years, a whirlwind romance that had once seemed untouchable. Trevor and Y/N were the couple everyone envied. She was smart, funny, always understanding of his hockey schedule, and she had her own ambitions, too—dreams of leaving their small town and studying at a university in another state. But now, in their final year, the future loomed over them like a storm cloud. They were headed in different directions, and no amount of pretending could change that.

The arguments started off small. At first, it was about Trevor missing dinner dates because of hockey practice or being too exhausted to hang out after games. Y/N would say something sarcastic, and Trevor would brush it off, but the tension grew with every passing week.

“You’re not even here anymore,” Y/N had said one night after he’d canceled another movie night to stay late at the rink. Her eyes were filled with disappointment, but also something else—something darker that made Trevor’s chest tighten. “All you care about is hockey.”

“That’s not fair,” Trevor had shot back, slamming his gear bag onto the floor. “This is my dream, Y/N. You knew that from the start.”

“And what about us?” she countered. “We can’t even have a conversation without you bringing up scouts or practices. I’m trying to make plans for the future, too, but I can’t do that if you’re not even trying to meet me halfway.”

It was the same fight, repeated in different words, different scenarios. They were both frustrated, both feeling the pressure of what was coming next, and neither of them knew how to handle it.

Then came the night that changed everything.

Trevor had just finished a grueling practice when his teammates suggested they hit up a party. He hesitated, knowing Y/N wasn’t thrilled with him partying so much lately, especially without her, but he needed a break. He needed to forget about the scouts, the pressure, the fights. So, he went. One drink turned into two, then five. Before he knew it, he was a mess of alcohol and bad decisions.

That’s when he met Chloe.

She was someone’s friend from another school—blonde, tall, and flirtatious. Trevor wasn’t interested in her. Not really. He loved Y/N, despite their fights, despite the distance that had been growing between them. But as the night wore on and his teammates nudged him toward Chloe, he found himself too drunk to resist the distraction. They laughed about something stupid, her hand brushing his arm, and in a moment of weakness, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close for a picture that someone snapped on their phone.

The next morning, Trevor woke up with a pounding headache and a pit of guilt in his stomach. He hadn’t done anything—he hadn’t kissed Chloe or gone any further—but the fact that he had even let it get that far made him sick. He grabbed his phone and checked his notifications.

One story stood out.

The picture.

It was of him and Chloe. He stared at it for what felt like an eternity, the caption someone had written: "Ain’t that Y/N’s boy?"

His heart dropped. He knew Y/N would see it. He knew what it looked like, what people would say. The damage was done.

He tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. He texted, but no response. Hours turned into days, and he knew—deep down, he knew—things were over.

Three months passed.

Three months of radio silence from Y/N. Three months of training, preparing for scouts, and trying to bury the ache in his chest. He threw himself into hockey, determined to make it to the NHL, but no matter how hard he trained, no matter how many games he won, the empty space where Y/N had once been gnawed at him constantly.

He saw her around school, of course. She looked fine—maybe even happy—laughing with her friends, talking about college plans, as if the last two years meant nothing. It hurt more than he thought it would, but he couldn’t blame her. He had let her down, and now, she was moving on without him.

But Trevor wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

It was a Friday night, just a few weeks before graduation, and Trevor was sitting in his room, staring at the pile of college acceptance letters on his desk. He had been drafted, the one thing he had been working toward for years. But instead of feeling relief, all he felt was regret. The draft meant leaving for training camps, possibly in a different state or even country, and Y/N would be gone soon, too, heading to her dream university.

He couldn’t let it end like this.

Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed his phone and typed out a message.

“Can we talk?”

He stared at the screen, heart pounding, waiting for those three little dots to appear.

After what felt like forever, they did.

“What’s there left to say?”

Trevor clenched his jaw, typing quickly before he could lose his nerve.

“I’m sorry. For everything. Can you please just meet me? One last time.”

There was a long pause, and then her reply came through.

“Fine. Tomorrow at the coffee shop.”

The next day, Trevor arrived early, his stomach in knots. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, only that he needed to see her, to try to fix things before it was too late.

When Y/N walked in, he nearly lost his breath. She looked beautiful, the same way she always did, but there was a coldness in her eyes that made his heart sink.

“Hey,” she said, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.” Trevor swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She shrugged. “Figured we should at least have some closure.”

Closure. The word hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Y/N, I—" He stopped, unsure of where to begin. “I screwed up. I know that. But I never meant to hurt you.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Trevor, we’ve been hurting each other for months. It’s not just about that picture, though that definitely didn’t help. It’s about everything—your dreams, my dreams. We’re going in completely different directions.”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to end things like this,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “I still love you. I’ve always loved you.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Trevor, love isn’t enough when everything else is falling apart. You’re going to the NHL. I’m going to be hours away at university. We’re not the same people we were when we started dating.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?” she cut him off, her voice sharper than he’d ever heard it. “Do you really think we can keep doing this? You’re going to be traveling all the time, training, playing games, and I’m going to be focused on school. We’ve barely survived senior year as it is.”

Trevor’s chest tightened. She was right. Every word she said was true. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were meant to be together, that they could find a way to make it work if they just tried harder.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Y/N’s expression softened for the first time since they sat down, but there was still a sadness in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you either, Trevor. But sometimes… sometimes love isn’t enough.”

She stood up, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “I think it’s best if we both move on. Focus on our futures.”

Trevor stood too, his heart pounding in his chest. “Is this really it?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, as if she was considering something, but then she nodded. “Yeah. I think it is.”

She gave him one last, sad smile before turning and walking out of the coffee shop, leaving him standing there, feeling like the ground had just been ripped out from beneath him.

The months that followed were some of the hardest Trevor had ever faced. He threw himself into training for the NHL, traveling for rookie camps, and preparing for what was supposed to be the next chapter of his life. But no matter how far he went, no matter how many games he won, there was always a part of him that couldn’t let go of Y/N.

He heard through mutual friends that she was doing well at her university, making new friends, thriving in her classes. Trevor was happy for her—he really was—but it didn’t make the ache in his chest any easier to bear.

As the weeks turned into months, Trevor started to realize something. Maybe Y/N had been right. Maybe they were headed in different directions. But that didn’t mean he had to forget about everything they had shared. It didn’t mean he had to stop caring about her, or stop loving her.

Because no matter how much distance was between them, no matter how different their futures were, Y/N would always be a part of him. And maybe things could fix themself in the future