#maybe he's letting go of the last threads of his sanity

[maxtermind]

hello 👋 big congrats on hitting 3k ‼️👏🧨 i would request:

This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.

That’s dangerous.

With Lewis, maybe sugar daddy or arranged marriage?

sending love 🫶

“this is only, and only for the business deal. no more, no less.” + “that's dangerous.”

( event masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ★:summary:: in which your husband just can't sleep on the same bed as you because- well his sanity is at it's last thread till it snaps! ★:feat:: lewis hamilton x reader ★:genre:: v lil angst; too much smut

“I have nothing more to add.”

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as you stood across from Lewis in the lavish hotel room. Your patience was wearing thin, and his calm façade was pissing you off.

“You're insane if you think I’m just going to-” your words cut off when he abruptly stood up, eyes still staring intently at you.

Why did he even care where you spen the night? You would rather just book another hotel room than sleep on the sole bed while knowing your husband was a few feet away, sleeping on the couch, and not with you purposely.

“This is ridiculous,” you snapped when you found your voice again, your tone cutting through the silence. “I didn't sign up for this kind of treatment.”

Sure, that was a bit extreme. Given that he was always so polite, so prime, so perfect. God, was it a sin to expect him to lose it a bit? To not hold back when you clearly lost it whenever you were around him?

“And what kind of treatment is that, Y/N?” Lewis clenched his jaw, barely holding on to his… temper? “You cannot get another room to stay in, this is not-”

“I’m not sharing a room with you! I don’t give a fuck about what your investors think of us!” you retorted, throwing your arms above your head. “Thought this marriage was only for a business deal?!”

He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with frustration. “That's right. This is only, and only for the business deal. No more, no less.” Lewis’ eye twitched and you rejoiced internally at finally seeing a tiny part of him starting to crack.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of anger and something else— something you refused to acknowledge in his presence any further. “If that's all it is, then…”

Frankly, the words stung more than you wanted to admit to him and- yourself. You knew this marriage was arranged for the benefit of both your families' businesses, but hearing it out loud, especially from him, made it feel all the more real, and all the more painful.

Were you hoping for a different outcome? Not necessarily. It did hurt, though, when your ‘husband’ stepped onto any tiny flicker of hope you had with his ignorant comments. Why did he act like he didn’t fucking want you?

Because he really doesn't, your mind screamed, and as tears gathered in your eyes, you turned around to leave, but Lewis grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful, a desperate plea leaving his mouth. “Wait.”

You shook your head as he turned you around, hardening your gaze, your eyes challenging. His expression was a total contrast, softened with a hint of panic in his eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Please, don't go.”

“What?” You hesitated, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at his apology. But you weren't ready to let him off the hook so easily. “You can't keep saying things like that and expect everything to be fine, Lewis.”

Oh- what a sight it was, to see him close his eyes as he tried to get a check on his composure. “I know. I know, and I'm sorry. Just... stay.” He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Please."

There was something in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn't heard before. It made your resolve waver, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, your bodies pressed together. His lips found yours in a desperate kiss, all the pent-up frustration and longing pouring out in that single moment and you were taken back to say the least.

“Why do you do this?” you murmured against his lips, your voice shaking. “Why push me away when you know you want this too?”

“Because it's easier to pretend this is just a business deal.” Lewis's grip on you tightened, kissing you again as he sent shivers down your spine with his fingers snaking towards your sensitive parts. “It's easier to keep my distance than to admit how much I- fucking want you.”

“O-oh,” was all you could muster up, nodding but not even listening to him, before the words processed, and you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. “You are a pain to be married to.”

His eyes softened, and he nodded slowly. “I know. I just... I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his, nails digging into the back of his arms to show him you didn’t care. “But tonight, I want you to.”

“Fuck,” he grinned, biting on your earlobe as his hands roamed over your body, pulling at your clothes, and you let him, your own hands busy with his shirt. The next few moments were a blur of hurried movements and breathless kisses until you were both naked, the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps, or maybe that was just- Lewis, and how his bare skin felt against you.

Before you could savor the moment a bit more, your husband pushed you back onto the bed, his eyes roaming over your body with an intensity that made you shiver. He shamefully checked you out as you did the same,“You’re fucking beautiful.”

Lewis sucked in a breath when you pushed your hair behind, gracing him with the sight of your nipples standing out, just waiting- begging him to put his mouth on them and suck them. You decided to let him be and ran your gaze down his body, clenching around thin air when your eyes found his cock.

Your husband smirked as he loosely stroked himself once- twice then fuck- a third time, knowing you were rubbing your thighs subtly to relieve some of the pressure. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured as he climbed on top of you, his lips finding your neck.

He started trailing kisses down to your collarbone and then lower, mouth open, teeth hurting you just right. “Hmph! Lew-” You choked when he sucked on your nipple, lapping it up and wetting it like a starved man.

“You. Are. Perfect.” Lewis whispered against your skin, taking turns biting each nipple as your breath got caught in your throat. “Fucking hell.” His voice thick with desire, driving you absolutely mad.

You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “Baby- shit- please” His thumb immediately found your wet hole as he massaged around it when you thrusted up a bit. “Making a fucking mess, you dirty gir-”

Before he could carry on, your hand fumbled down to gather some of your slick before you rubbed it against his length, your husband shuddering against you when he felt you cover him in your own juices.

He moved lower, back to kissing your neck as his knees gave out and his weight fell on your arms. You gasped as his finger flicked upwards, towards your bundle of nerves, he was finally giving you everything you ever wanted, his thumb working you with a skill that left you breathless.

“Lewis- I’m.. I…” You choked out, barely before you figured out what he was drawing on your clit, your hand loosening the grip you had on his twitching- leaking cock. L-E-W-I-S, he kept on drawing this pattern, rendering you absolutely helpless under him.

Your hands found his back, nails probably drawing blood, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. “Cum for me messy girl,” You heard him groan before he took your nipple in his mouth again.

“Fuck- Lew! Shit.” You craned your neck to look down at him, catching his other hand wrapped around his length. His angry tip leaking pre-cum that he was rubbing to stroke himself, his grip tight on his cock.

The thought of your juices mixing together on his cock had you cumming immediately with a staggered moan of his name, your body shuddering with pleasure, he was right there with you, his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized.

Lewis moved back up your body, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. You could feel him pressing against you, hard and ready, and you wrapped your arm around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here, baby. Such a fucking good girl for me.”

He entered you in one swift movement, a gasp escaping your lips at the sensation, he was so fucking big. Your husband stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath, obviously it had been too long since you both did it.

This was the moment when you realized that all those nights you spent worrying whether he had a mistress were utterly useless because the way your man looked seconds away from cumming just by being inside you for a single second?

“I've wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion and the softness doing something very ugly to your heart. “I’m afraid it’ll end too soon.”

“Me too, Lewis. Me too.” You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. Your husband’s cock twitched again and you gasped as your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he started to move.

It was slow at first, your soft walls wrapping against every single vein of his cock. “Fuck- I’m- hngh!” Lewis was so gone, eyes closed before he increased his pace. “Shit!” he hissed not believing he’s been missing out on this all this time just because he thought you wanted nothing to do with him.

“Never.. Oh my god- always everything! Lewis- wanted everything…” You trailed off but he got the gist of it. Still not realizing that he was not just thinking- he was saying everything out loud. His hands gripping your hips as he set a rhythm that had you screaming incoherently.

“You feel hah- so good,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your ear. “So perfect.”

You could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, the way he filled you, fuck he really was so big, felt bigger than he looked and the way his body moved against yours, was so perfect. It wouldn’t be delirious to say you thought you both were made to fit each other.

“We are,” your husband dragged out, voice hoarse and breaking. It was suddenly almost too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, and you told him as much, your voice a desperate plea,“Faster, Lewis. Please.”

Your husband responded by increasing his pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, driving you closer to the edge once again. “My beautiful- ah- Y/N! My w- wife.”

You realized he was cumming when you felt his whole body go stiff and a chant of “ah, ah, ah, ah,” fell from his mouth, his cum filling you to the brim. He came so much that the next time he tried to thrust his over-used, over-sensitive cock a little, your poor hole was so utterly slippery that he fell out.

For a moment, you lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat. And then he pulled away, his eyes searching yours after he was panting a bit less than few seconds before.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice filled with something you couldn't quite place, you didn’t know how he still had his voice intact. “Did... Did you finish again?”

You shushed him before shaking your head, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek. “Not with you inside me.” He groaned at that as his hands squeezed your waist and his head fell right between your marked breasts. “I promise I last longer than this usually.”

His words made your heart beat faster, you made him like this, made him lost control, lost himself after he entered you like so absolutely that he just couldn’t help cumming despite wanting to last.

You tried to stop it but a chuckle escaped your mouth, which didn’t last long at all before he picked up your leg and in a second hooked it around his shoulder, leaning down to kiss your clit that was sensitive as hell, making you immediately gasp.

“I know just how to shut you up.”

And in that moment, as your hands tangled in the locks of his hair as you tried to ride his face, you knew this was something. Whatever this was, whatever it would become, you were in it together. No more ‘no more, no less,’ you guys were way beyond that at this point.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★:a/n:: wow i got carried away ngl but!! thanks for the request love! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :3

[pickingupmymercedes]

Lewis Masterlist

Series

It comes with the territory p.1 / p.2 / p.3

“This… this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But no love is worth losing my sanity over. Not even ours.”

An Invisible String Theory Story p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"I’ve always felt that string pulling me closer to something. But never, not even in my most beautiful dreams, had I imagined that it was to bind us together."

It was bound to come out p.1 / p.2

"Do I look like I'm joking? This is not a joke! My father has seen a video of us... the one video that couldn’t leave my phone!"

Not just a pretty face p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / bonus

"because even this… even this agonizing dance is better than not having you at all."

Maybe in another life - p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"A what-if that will forever linger in the quiet corners of my mind."

She’s here and she’s ours - p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / p.4 / p.5 / p.6 / p.7 / p.8

You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that. "How you feeling dad?" "Amazed, hopeful, scared... in love"

Get me out of here p.1 / p.2

“Why are you defending him?” “Because we need to think this through, babe. Toto’s not one of us anymore, you saw it.”

Your future was Ferrari - p.1 / p.2

Surely, it meant nothing for Lewis and you would probably never see him again. Your future was at Ferrari, somewhere he would never step foot in. Or would he?!

Multichapters

Ways to say “I love you” p.1 / p.2 / p.3(NSFW)

All these little things p.1 / p.2

Small firsts p.1

Firsts - NSFW p.1 / p.2

Ways they show they love each other p.1 / p.2

One-Shots

Angst

It had to be enough - "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here." "I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis."

Home is wherever you are - "You shouldn't have come" "Had to"

An impossible dream - "Don't you ever wonder what could have been?"

I didn't get scared. I'm always scared - “Do you even understand what it’s like for me? To love someone who lives every day like it might be their last?”

Not now, not ever - "You don't have to go through this alone, you know"

I'll come find you - “I’m scared… of how things have been, of how things are going to be.”

If these wings could fly - “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like Sunday. It’s been so long and everyone’s worked so hard for that”

And just like the sun, we will rise - “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in”

Fluffs

What it means - “Since I was five, since I first saw Ayrton race on TV. He was my absolute hero, and I didn’t know much about the world back then, didn’t know what I could be, but seeing him… it made me believe.

Lucky you're hot - The kind of kiss that would’ve been cute—if it weren’t for the fact that I was very much on camera, in a professional setting, with a dozen or so people watching.

A smile like that -"And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie."

A bit mushy - How Lewis and his wife do in a couple's Interview.

Happy you're home - "And trust me, he adores you. He just doesn't know how to express it."

Later it is - “But that safety pin right there is holding on for dear life.” “I only care about what you think.” “Flatterer.”

Of thorns and blooms - "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread"

He always rises - "Like I knew I'd given it my all, every lap, every strategy meeting. And finally, finally, it’s paying off. It feels… good. It feels so damn good."

R for Roscoe, C for Coco - "You went through all this trouble just for Father's Day with Roscoe?"

Boy from Stevenage - "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."

Whispered fairytale - "The point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."

A thousand times over - "Since I still don’t believe it’s true… would you marry me, again?"

It sounds silly - "I'm a grown woman who’s achieved success in life, yet… I find myself comparing to those other women."

NSFW (+18 only)

Can't check out -“Where’s the cutthroat guy who would have had me pinned to the wall by now?"

Utterly gone -“But for the record, I also owe you.”

Very First -“I want this. I want you. And I’m not saying that lightly.”

Salty -"Told you” she whispered, her thumb brushing against his bottom lip. "It’s salty."

Damn him -“I believe you’ve got two things that are mine” “My hair tie you took with you this morning. And you babe, you're mine.”

Give yourself some credit - “I’m gonna give you five minutes to mourn that shit qualy” “You think you can handle me, pretty girl?”

What those arms can do - "Let's focus on you for now, love. And what these arms can do to you."

Warm enough - "Did you know there were no doors in this place?" "I might have known. Thought it could be romantic"

It's not just a win - The 104 special - "I just...I needed this. I needed to win. To prove to myself that I still can."

Improvised Compensation - "My plans definitely involve you" he continued, "but they can be done anywhere"

As good as chocolate - "That's a new way to claim your share"

I'm yours, only yours - Vegas special - “You really thought she was any match for you?”

It always points South - “Your compass tattoo, huh?”

My Venus - MET special - "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

I want South - "Hello, miss explorer”

You only need to ask - "Seems like someone's forgotten how we got here in the first place"

It's Mrs. Hamilton - “Mark me, show me who I belong to”

The things we do for fashion - "Like what you see?" "More than you'll ever know."

Show me you care - “I’m asking you to, show me how much you want this, because I know you do”

My mark - “I’m not one to leave things unfinished”

NSFW alphabet

Senna!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Thank you for everything - "It doesn't matter how long it's been" "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Under an Ipê tree - “He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure."

Drabbles

Do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes all of my works.

copyright © 2024 pickingupmymercedes all right reserved.

[ninii-winchester]

Unveiled Sorrows (Part 7)

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader, Sam Winchester X Reader (Platonic), Dean Winchester X Lisa Braden (mentioned)

Word count : 2.9k

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex (soft smut), language, fluff, Taylor Swift reference (?)

A/n : This series follows canon plot line but some scenes might happen differently or be completely changed. Check the warnings for each part before continuing.

A/n 2: gif (1) from Pinterest. Credits to owner.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

After the confrontation, Y/n went to her room and locked the door behind her. She let out soft sobs clearly distraught over what happened in the last hour. She sat on the ground with her back against the bed. She held onto Adeline as if she was going to disappear if she didn’t hold her tightly.

Dean paced in the hallway and he could her cries through the door. He has to make this right. He cannot live without her, not anymore. He's willing to do whatever it takes to make her trust him again. He knocked on the door twice waiting for her to open the door. Y/n looked away from the door pretending she didn't hear the knocks and hoped whoever it was might take a hint and leave.

"Sweetheart, open the door." She heard Dean's voice. "Baby please." He said softly. She didn't move at all. “Please." Dean begged.

Y/n sighed. There was no point in stalling. She can't trap herself in this room forever and the sooner she gets over with it, the better. She got up and unlocked the door but didn't open it. She sat on the bed with Adeline happily bouncing in her lap, unaware of all the chaos happening around her.

Dean heard the lock turn but the door didn't open, so he did it himself. He walked inside the room and sat beside her on the bed. Neither of them spoke. Adeline peeked at Dean's face with curious eyes. He smiled at the baby and she giggled in response. Dean could swear he has never fallen in love this fast. He has his whole world sitting beside him yet it seems so unreachable.

"Her name is Adeline Mary Winchester." Y/n spoke quietly. "She's four months old."

"She's perfect." He whispered.

Sitting beside him was too much. It was overwhelming her. Y/n put Adeline in her crib so she could play with her toys. Dean's eyes followed her as she stood and walked across the room. He walked the distance between them and stood behind her. He was too close, she could feel his chest pressing against her back.

"What do you want, Dean?" Her voice was low and strained.

"I want you. I want to be with our daughter." Dean whispered.

"I can't." She replied. He turned her so she was facing him. "Dean you shouldn't-" he didn't let her complete.

"Why should I not?" He asked.

"You shouldn't feel obligated to...you should have a family with the woman you love." She said moving away from him.

"You are the woman I love, that baby," he pointed to the crib, "we made that, she's the proof of our love."

"It wasn't love, Dean. It was just sex. Between hunting it was just a need." Y/n raised her voice a bit. She gasped as Dean grabbed her waist and pushed her against the nearest wall.

"You and I both know it wasn't just sex. What about the nights we shared other than on hunts, or the mornings after. Do you really think it was just sex when I could barely breathe without you." She averted her eyes from his.'

She knew it wasn't just sex. Maybe during hunts it was rough, to chase a release and let loose but she could vividly remember when he would go slow, his actions filled with passion, how he would hold her close when she would fall apart, tell her she means the world him. How he would wake her up with soft kisses and gentle touches. It was not just sex. 

"I know I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you, I guess I was just protecting myself from the inevitable heartbreak. I'm nothing without you, baby. Just a shell of a man. The past year, I've been holding onto the last thread of sanity. Living with Lisa and Ben, it was just familiarity. I would've gone mad had I been alone. I missed you like crazy, sweetheart. I love you so damn much." He said pressing his face in her neck, breathing her in.

"Dean." She sniffed. She pulled his head away from her neck. "As much as I want to, I can't keep you away from Adeline. You're her father. She deserves to have her father in her life. I can let you be a part of her life." He nodded and she continued. "You can't half ass it, either you're in or you stay gone. I don't want her to live off crumbs of her father.."

"Lisa and Ben, they..-" Dean started. "They're in danger." He can't just up and leave them alone to fend for themselves. The Djinn knows where they live and they can't even protect themselves.

"You have to make a decision, Dean."  Dean stepped back giving her, her space. Her heart broke. He's never going to choose her, is he? He always has something to choose over her. His conscience, his brother, the god damn world. It's anything but her. The look on her face was enough for Dean to know what she was thinking.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

"Choose something, I've got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me."

"Why can't I..-" Dean rubbed his hands over his face. "Why can't I protect them and be with you.?"

"People riding in two boats usually end up drowning. And I won't let my daughter be collateral damage."

Dean looked at his daughter and something familiar in her crib caught his eye. It was his flannel that she was laying on.

"Is that..." he cleared his throat. "Is that my shirt?"

"Yeah, I wrapped her in it sometimes, just so she could somewhat feel the warmth of her father. Pathetic I know." Y/n chucked humourlessly.

"Can I hold her, please?." Dean asked though he wasn't sure if she'll let him. But he was willing to beg on his knees just so he could hold his daughter once.

"Go ahead." Her words caught him off guard. He didn't think she would, but then he wondered how tired she must've gotten of all the arguments, the tears and didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Dean carefully picked up the baby girl supporting her head with his hand while he cradled her against his chest.

"Hey baby." He looked Adeline and he was mesmerised, in complete, utter awe. "You're so beautiful." He said gently rocking her. He would hold her as long as he could. Cherish the moment and brand it in his memory.

Y/n watched as Dean held Adeline. Why can't it always be like this. Why did he have to prioritise everything above their happiness. She's going to have to watch Adeline grow up without a father because he's too busy saving and protecting people. And this is why we can't have good things.

"I love you so much, my darling. You're my light. You're my angel. I wish I could've had more time you." Dean spoke to his baby who did not understand a single word. No thought behind those beautiful green eyes as she continued patting her father's tear stricken face.

Dean held his daughter for hours but for him it felt like a few minutes. Adeline started getting fussy since she was hungry and wanted her mother. Before Y/n could go over to him, he walked over to her. She scooped Adeline in her arms and brought her to her chest so she could breastfeed her. Dean looked away giving her privacy.

"I know I'm in no place to ask for favours but can I ask you for something?" Dean said still looking away from her.

"What is it?"

"Can we... pretend that everything is normal, just for today. Just you, me and our daughter?"

"I'd like that." She rasped. She knew she wants him. Just because she can't have him forever doesn't mean she can't pretend for one night. Dean was surprised but he didn't show it. A small smile graced his lips. A few moments pass in silence and Adeline was full.

"Do you want to... uh burp her?" Y/n asked uncomfortably. She wasn't sure why she did but that's what normal families do right? How would she even know. She's never known a 'normal' family.

"I'd love to but I don't know how." Dean rubbed his neck nervously. She grinned at his bashfulness.

"Here I'll teach you." She said standing up and making him stand too. She gave Adeline to him and put a towel on his shoulder. "Now you hold her up straight and pat her gently on the back." She showed him how to do it and he hesitantly tried. Addy let out a little burp and y/n cooed at her daughter. "See." She smiled at Dean who looked proud of himself.

"That wasn't so bad. I couldn't have messed that up." Dean grinned.

"Yeah yeah." She sat back on the bed.

Dean laid Adeline on the bed in the middle and laid on his stomach to watch his little angel. He pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead. He kissed her little feet and feigned biting that made the baby giggle. Y/n had a huge smile on her face as she watched him play with her. Dean blew raspberries on her stomach. Adeline flailed her tiny arms and legs as he did that.

"You continue doing that and she'll throw up on your face." Y/n chuckled warning him.

"She would not." Dean gasped. "You wouldn't do that to daddy would you, my angel?" Dean asked Addy.

"She might." Y/n smiled and sighed sitting back against the headboard. No matter how much they pretend it would all come to an end soon. "Also, sorry to cut you fun short but it's time for her to sleep."

"Already?" Dean whined like a child.

"Its nine pm, Dean. You've been playing with her for hours." She reminded him softly. Dean truly lost track of time while being with his daughter. "You can put her to bed."

She watched as Dean rocked her back and forth, lulling her to sleep. Her heart constricted in her chest. Why did they have to sacrifice everything. It wasn't their fault they were hunters. This life was thursted upon them, they had no say in it. Why couldn't they live a normal life where everyone was safe and happy. Dean started humming a song and she recognised it as 'Hey Jude by The Beatles', he’d told her, it was the song his mom sang to him. Y/n watched Adeline's eyes droop as she laid her head on her father's shoulder. Mintues later she was fast asleep. Dean laid her in her crib and leaned over to whisper.

"Good night baby. The angels are watching over you." That made y/n suck in a deep breath at that. His mother used to tell him that every night.

In another world, Dean Winchester would've been an amazing father to Adeline Winchester.

Y/n got settled into bed and got under the covers. Dean noticed and couldn't help but ask.

"You're sleeping? You haven't even eaten."

"I'm exhausted. I just need sleep." Dean knew his luck was in overtime, he shouldn't be asking for more. He couldn't stop his tongue before he blurt out.

"Can I stay?" His question shocked them both. But what's done is done. He said what he said. He waited in anticipation for her answer. He knew he pushed his luck. To make it less awkward for both of them it was better if he left. He turned to leave but her voice stopped him.

"Stay, Dean." Those two were enough for him to kick off his shoes and get into bed with her. They had a decent distance between them. Y/n stared at ceiling while he stared at her. "She's a good woman. She'll keep you happy." She whispered in the silence.

"I don't want to talk about that." He replied grabbing her waist and pulling her into him. His other arm going under her head so her head was laying on his shoulder. She didn't protest. She let him pull her closer. God knows she wanted to be in his arms just as much.

"Why did it have to be us?" She wondered out loud.

"I don't know baby. But I know it all sucks." Dean replied hiding his face in her neck.

"You got old." She chuckled lightly.

"Huh?" Dean asked looking at her.

"You got your ass handed to you at poker by some witch and you turned old." She laughed, a real laugh.

"I'm going to kill Sam." Dean groaned but smiling nonetheless.

"You've got a bit of stubble." She cupped his face and caressed his cheek with her thumb.

"Yeah well I was on the verge of being killed by a Djinn so I'm sorry if I didn't have time to shave." He sassed.

"It's alright. I like it." Dean continued to gaze at her lovingly, his hands caressing her bare skin. "Dean." He hummed in response. "I love you."

"I love you. So much." He whispered, he thought if he spoke too loudly the spell would break and he won't be where he was.

"Love me goodbye." Y/n said her voice barely audible.

"Don't say that." Dean begged.

"Please." He doesn't know whether it was the way she looked at him or the way she said it but something in him snapped and he pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't like any kiss they've shared. They've had their fair share of passionate kisses but this was slow and sensual. Dean hovered above her leaning on his arms placed on either side of her head. She grabbed the back of his head pulling him even closer if that was possible.

"Dean." She gasped as the broke apart.

"It's okay baby, I've got you." He said placing open mouthed kisses on her neck. "I'm here." He assured her between kisses.

It was only a matter of seconds, their clothes were strewn across the room. Her heavy pants and breaths filled the room as Dean kissed all over her body. Starting from her collarbone, her chest, moving down to her stomach.

"Dean."

"What do you want, sweetheart?" Dean asked grabbing her hips.

"You, Dean. I want you."

"You have me sweetheart, I'm right here." He kissed and nipped at her jaw. "As long as you want me. I'm here." His deep voice sending jolts throughout her body.

"I need to feel you." She whimpered.

"Is that what you want, baby?" He slid his hand down over her body. She nodded eagerly. He didn't waste a second to give her what she wanted. She gasped at the sudden intrusion. One of his hands intertwined with hers and his other arm was propped on his elbow as he moved the hair from her face. "There's that pretty face. There's my angel." He cooed snapping his hips against hers.

"Oh Dean." She dragged her nails down his back.

"I know baby, i know." Dean captured her lips in a searing kiss. "Close?" He asked against her lips never wavering or pulling away. She nodded, lost in his loving. "Go ahead, give it to me." And the coil snapped. She let go with a loud moan of his name, Him following behind. He shivered resting his on her forehead. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She whispered and whimpered at the lost of contact as he rolled off her. He cleaned himself and helped clean up her. He put on his boxers before he got into bed with her. They both knew everything ends here now, for now they could only hold onto each other. She rested her head on his bare chest and drifted off to sleep. Dean didn't sleep, he didn't want this night to end. He stayed awake and cherished this moment for as long as he could.

A loud cry distracted him from his thoughts. Y/n groaned pushing the covers from her body.

"I've got her, you go back to sleep." He gently pushed her back to lay down.

"Dean-"

"Sleep sweetheart, I've got her." He kissed her forehead before getting out of bed. He walked over to the crib and picked up Addy. "Alright alright, daddy's here. Shh now." He said bouncing her lightly. Her cries died down slowly as he sang a lullaby to her. He looked at his baby sleeping on his chest and the woman sleeping in the bed. He could get used to it. After Addy fell asleep again, Dean went back to join Y/n in bed as wrapped his body over hers like a second skin. "I love you."

The next morning Y/n woke up at six am. Her eyes fluttered open, she looked around and realised, her bed was the same as her heart. Empty.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

[blessthegulag]

I Hate You

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your car suffers an accident, and you end up with no signal in the Mexican wilderness.

Warnings: Reader speaks Spanish (but is not necessarily a native speaker), Alejandro and reader hate each other, spanglish, unprotected sex, p in v, car sex, hinting at possible feelings (blink and you miss it), Alejandro and reader are very mean to each other, reader is purposefully annoying, not proofread!!

Words: 3.0k

Notes: I’ve been feral lately, so here is an Alejandro fic (I need to be locked and muzzled up). Lots of Spanglish (because I’m a Spanish queen) and possible grammatical errors bc English is not my first language. Maybe I’ll do a part 2 down the line bc this can’t end like this?

Also, the fic is heavily influenced by @XCaliper’s c.ai Alejandro Vargas chat.

Part 1 Part 2

The humming of the car filled the silence between Alejandro and you. The road was empty, dark due to the moonless night. The gentle hum of the AC refreshed your beat up face after a long mission, one that was assigned to both Coronel Vargas and you.

As always, every dreaded time that you had to work with him, it ended bad for you two.  You didn’t understand each other, your ways differed to be considered healthy. 

Still, somehow, you complimented each other perfectly when it came to work. Amidst the clash of personalities, you two found that there was no better pairing, as much as you hated it.

Today was one of those days where, apart from a successful mission, you ended up yelling at each other. That moment of peace in the car was nothing but a truce until you two reached the base. 

A slight disturbance, and hell would set loose. 

And that’s what happened. 

A pronghorn came out of nowhere, jumping into the road. 

One second, and the car spun out of control. The tires screeched, Alejandro tried maneuvering, but to no avail. 

You hit some cactuses, impromptu halting in a ditch. 

You tried breathing in, but the airbag had punched you straight in your chest. You swallowed, confused, your ears ringing from the impact. Smoke was coming out of the hood, the engine hummed one last time before finally turning off, letting in the distant sounds of the Mexican countryside. 

You stepped out of the car, coughing. The gasses on the airbag were strong, and they had already attacked your lungs before you could realize. 

Alejandro appeared from the other side of the car, more composed than you. He still was shaken, confused, but in a better position than you. 

“Pinche venado cabrón,” he spat, the rage in his voice contained by the last thread on sanity in him. “Mira lo que le hizo al carro, pinche suerte de la verga!”

Stupid fucking pronghorn! Look at what it did to the car, damn luck we have!

You looked at him, your demeanor as calm as possible, so as to not anger him further. You took in some air, your hands on your waist, thinking of what the hell would you do now.

“I’m going to call base,” you said, taking out your phone, giving him your back.

“There’s no signal here,” he said in a scolding tone. “I already tried.”

You sighed in frustration. “I’ll try either way.”

Alejandro groaned behind you, his voice merely a frustrated whisper. “Nunca hace caso… pinche terca.”

She never listens… stubborn bitch.

You took your phone, trying to contact the base. Of course, just like Alejandro said, there was no signal. You sighed, tilting your head back. 

“Maybe we could try to get to the nearest town, try to contact the base that way. Not reaching out will alarm them, it's in our best interest to try and do something…”

“It’s not worth it,” he said. “There’s wild dogs, and with Las Almas out there…”

“It’s worth a try. How else are they going to find us?”

The muscles in his jaw tensed at the question, his body fixed in place

“They are waiting for us,” he replied calmly, his voice strained, like he was restraining himself from yelling at you. “In the morning they'll go looking for us.”

“I’m not comfortable accepting defeat like this,” you said, trying to make your tone as confident as possible. “Why don’t…”

“No puedes quedarte callada un segundo, eh?” he spat, his tone harsh, frustrated. “Todo el condenado día hablando…”

You can’t shut up for a second, can you? All the damned day talking…

“I’m just trying to help here, Alejandro,” you replied, already ignited. “Always acting like everything I say is stupid.”

He groaned at the mention of his name passing through your lips, placing his hands on his hips. “Because you are all talk, but you never fucking listen.”

The way he yelled at you almost made you retreat in defeat. He looked angry, annoyed at your every move. It made you boil in anger. 

“Que nunca escucho?” you said in Spanish, scoffing at him. “I do everything you say, Alejandro. Always. You act like you have more power over me than my own superiors. In here, you are nothing but my partner, okay?”

That I never listen?

“In here,” he said, getting close up to your face. “You do as I say, ¿me escuchas? This is Mexico, hermana. No estamos en Colorado, aquí un pie en el fango, and you’re dead.”

You do as I say, you hear me? This is Mexico, sister. We’re not in Colorado, here, you step foot in the mud, and you’re dead.

You pressed your jaw shut, holding eye contact with Alejandro. He looked as bothered as you, stopping the urge of punching you in the face full force. “Don’t act like I’m clueless, Alejandro. You take every chance you get to disrespect me, and I won’t accept any of that shit.”

He was silent for a second, eyes burning in anger and a surprised smirk in his face. “You think it’s bullshit that I’m on your ass about everything? Princesa, you don’t listen, everything is always a damn argument, and act like your fuck ups are everyone else’s fault. I’m not on your ass, I’m here to fix your stupid mistakes!”

You nodded at the floor, disregarding everything he said. Then, out of nowhere, you went up to the car, and took your assault rifle. You checked for bullets, made sure that the flashlight worked. 

When you were ready, you started walking away from the car. 

You felt Alejandro’s stare on you, the second it took for him to understand what was going on giving you more time to walk away. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He said, starting to follow you.

“Somewhere where you’re not getting on my nerves.”

His footsteps were heavy and loud, his anger seeping into the ground like poison. 

“You think it’s easy for me to put up with you?” He snapped in response, more in defeat than in anger. 

“You think it’s easy to put up with you, too?” you barked, too composed for what you were feeling at that moment. “Deja de mandarme por un rato, por Dios.”

Leave me alone for a second, for God’s sake.

Those words of yours came out like a whisper, like a rhetorical plea to yourself. It was nothing but a complaint, one that you felt deep in your bones. 

Alejandro brought out the worst from you, turned you into a monster. 

“Stop!” He shouted. “This is ridiculous. Get back in the car!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, almost clashing against Alejandro. “I’m not getting in the fucking car, not with you.”

He reached out and grabbed your arm, his face seeping annoyance through every pore. “Get in the car. Now.”

You shook his hand away, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t fucking grab me like that.”

He sighed in defeat, looking at you in disappointment. “Stop being so difficult.”

You swallowed thick, looking him in the eyes. "I'm not being difficult. You are."

He stepped closer, getting in your space. “You’re infuriating.”

“I hate you,” you spat, empathizing every word, your eyes focused on him. 

Alejandro pressed his jaw shut, his eyes scanning you whole. He had never been disrespected like that, much less by a teammate; by a subordinate. 

It left him speechless. 

There was a pause, where neither of you faltered. Gaze on each other, a showcase of pride. The air between you was heavy, asphyxiating. 

You could feel the frustration radiating off him, your anger trampled by the sour sensation of heat. Your chest heaved slightly, your breath on his. 

Then, his eyes flickered to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes. 

Before you could react, his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips clashed on yours, demanding, dominant. His body pressed against yours, making a rush of heat curse through your insides. He was kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe, grabbing you in a way that made you feel weak at the knees. 

You were animals, tasting each other's mouths in desperation, feeling the softness of each other, that same sensation fueling the need to get closer. A low groan escaped his throat, vibrating through your body. 

Alejandro's kiss was bruising, relentless, as if he was pouring all his frustration and desire into it. The tension that had been simmering between you for so long erupted in this kiss, and there was no holding back. You nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest, and his grip on you tightened.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of anger and need that made your head spin. You felt his breath hitch as your hands went to rest on the sides of his neck, your thumbs reaching over to his jaw. 

For a moment, you felt as if you were caught in a storm. Alejandro’s kiss was raw, intense, full of hatred. 

It made you want to kiss him again. 

“Sube al carro,” he whispered against your lips. 

Step in the car.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locked onto his. The command in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the chaos of the moment, you couldn't help but feel a thrill at his dominance. You nodded, unable to form words, your mind still reeling from the kiss.

Alejandro's eyes bore into yours, the anger and desire still blazing. He let go of you just enough to allow you to move, and you stumbled slightly as you turned towards the car. Your heart was pounding, your lips still tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

The moment you were both inside the back of the car, he was on you again, his hands pulling you towards him. He pulled you on his lap, his hands starting to undo your tactical vest, leaving you only with your shirt. 

His mouth moved to your neck, giving soft, hot kisses that had you moaning his name, running your fingers through his hair. He smelled of cologne, his natural scent battling for dominance, sending your whole body into overload. It had you grinding on him, whimpering, desperate to have him in the most intimate way possible. 

The car soon heated up, the leather of the seats becoming a sticky trap. Gasping for air, you took Alejandro’s tactical vest off, your hands feeling up his torso, the nylon of his long sleeved jacket rough against your calloused hands, making you want to take it off of him then and there. 

Alejandro placed his hands on your waist, tugging on your shirt, dragging it up your torso. It felt like an eternity, giving you goosebumps all over your body. You breathed in, trying to find his gaze. Instead, he was looking at your semi-nude torso in awe, the muscles in his jaw tensing, hands caressing the sides of your body. His touch was like fire, leaving a trace of tingly skin there where he touched, leaving you begging for more. 

You placed your hands on his chest, grinding on him, practically riding him with clothes on. He moaned, guiding your hips through his lap, the friction maddening, sweet torture that was leaving you more frustrated than before. 

His eyes finally met yours, dark, intense. He looked hungry, lost in the moment. You leaned in, capturing his lips like a feral animal, the heat burning you from the inside. In the midst of it, you felt his hands on your back, trailing to your bra. Before you could even react, he already had it in his hand, throwing it somewhere in the car. 

With a growl, Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as his mouth found one of your breasts. Feeling him like that made you melt, the car supporting your body the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. 

His tongue flicked over your nipple, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. He nipped at your skin, just enough to send shivers down your spine, the sensation maddening, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you craving for more. 

Then, in a swift motion, he moved you to the side, leaving you longing for his attention, mewling at the lack of contact. Alejandro found his way to your cargo pants, undoing the belt, ripping it from your body. You helped him get rid of your boots, and soon your pants flew to the front of the car. You took off his jacket, the bare skin of his torso illuminated by the little light that the stars managed to give.

Before he could get on top of you, you pressed a hand on his chest, hopping on top of him. There, you found his mouth desperately, hungry for more of him. You unzipped his pants, sliding one of your hands inside of them. Alejandro gasped, his lips on yours, giving small pecks as you explored, wrapping your hand around his cock.  

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him. His hands gripped your hips, urging you to move closer, to give him more.

You obliged, positioning yourself over him. He grabbed your thong out of the way, letting you guide his cock to your entrance. You could see the desire in his eyes, the impatience. Slowly, you lowered yourself on him, getting filled inch by inch. You saw Alejandro moan, grab your hips, helping you into his cock. Once your soaking pussy had taken him whole, you looked at him, your mouth agape, lost, deaf, the pleasure overtaking your soul.  

His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your breasts, running down your back, gripping your ass as he thrusted into you. You trembled on top of him, his thickness making you feel whole, like your life’s purpose was to get fucked like that. 

You began to move, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that had you both gasping for air. Alejandro’s eyes never left yours, in awe of your moves, of the indecent sounds of your body slapping against his. His skin burned, the windows were foggy, the air hot, smelling of raw, animalistic sex. 

Every movement sent waves of pleasure through you, amplified by the hand that had slipped down to your clit, pleasuring yourself with urgency. Your breaths came in short, sharp bursts, all landing on Alejandro’s ear. His hands tightened on your ass, guiding you into his cock, each time rougher, harder. The friction, the heat, the sensation of him deep inside you, tearing you apart in the most addicting way possible was overwhelming, maddening. 

"Más fuerte," he groaned, his voice rough, primal. "No pares."

Harder. Don’t stop.

You increased your pace, your hips moving in desperate urgency, looking to break him, to leave him begging for you. From below, he started thrusting into you, meeting your movements with his own. The car seemed to close around you, making you focus on each thrust, each moan, the way in which the car shaked. 

You rode him with abandon, your body moving instinctively, lost in the rhythm, the heat, the pleasure. Your fingers were working on your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, making you moan, begging him not to stop. 

He was filling you perfectly, using you like his own personal slut, thrusting in like an animal, your free hand the only thing keeping you where you were. 

Soon, Alejandro's moans became background noise, a distant reminder of what was happening. Your body reacted before you did, squeezing his cock, spiking your heart rate through the roof. You mewled his name, lost. His thrusts became softer, longer, making you cry out. You pressed your face on the crook of his neck, moaning desperately, riding out your orgasm as best as you could. 

The waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling uncontrollably. Alejandro's hands tightened on your hips, his own climax imminent. He groaned deeply, your pussy still milking him, driving him insane.

You became undone on top of him, your only purpose to pleasure him, to get used to the best of your abilities. 

Alejandro took it very seriously, his hands bruising your hips, thrusting into you relentlessly, whimpering as his orgasm approached. He found your gaze, grabbing the back of your neck, groaning, drilling into you like an animal. 

His moans came out sharp, irregular. His cock twitched inside of you, the heat of his orgasm making you grab onto him, focus on his eyes as he cummed deep inside you. 

Time stopped for a while. He was gasping for air, his eyes lost in yours, making out what had just happened. One of your hands found his chest, still beating hard, where you stabilized yourself, looking at him in the same way, clueless, in between surprised and ashamed. 

Alejandro pulled you closer, bringing  you back to reality, distracting you from your own thoughts. His hands rested on your waist, locking you in place. Your face pointed to the door, where you could almost make out the shape of what was behind the fog on the window. 

Sweat dripped from both of you, your bodies tangled, still connected. His body radiated heat off to you, his chest moving up and down against yours, his heart beating at a normal pace. 

You two were sticky, exhausted.

Silence filled the car, the cold of the night seeping in, sending shivers down your spine. 

Then, clarity set in. You realized what you had just done. 

With whom. 

It made you want to run away. But for the first time since you two met, he looked calm, non-threatening. A tamed beast. 

That, though, still didn’t take away from the disgust you felt for yourself. It didn’t excuse how much you had fucked up.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you whispered. 

He squeezed your hip, kissing your shoulder, knowing it was the last time you would accept that sort of affection from him. 

“Lo sé.”

I know.

[wren-kitchens]

it was not your fault but mine

in which joel tries to kill scott and ends up having a panic attack. (3641 words)

content warnings: panic attacks, lots of mentions of death

i’m being so normal about traffic scott and joel rn guys

joel’s breath is coming too fast and too shallow for him to be able to convince himself that he’s fine, even as it tears at his throat. tears blur and warp his vision, welling up in his eyes faster than joel’s ability to wipe them away with his sleeve. his ribs threaten to crack against his heart, hammering against the inside of his chest like it’s trying to escape. joel can’t blame it.

it’s been hours- okay, it’s been four stupid hours, and he still can’t calm himself down from today’s events. everyone else has been able to sleep, to rest, to patch themselves up and recuperate with their team- or what’s left of it. everyone else is fine, they’re all fine, and they’re going to be fine until they die in whatever unjust, careless death they can’t escape anymore.

for the past four hours (four fucking hours- it’s so stupid-) joel has been failing to get a firm grip on the last remaining threads of his sanity. he thought he was fine- he thought he was safe from that bloodlust, that agony, that grief. but as always, the looming threat of his inevitable breakdown hangs over his head like an anvil-

(mumbo tried to turn on them, mumbo tried to send them to their graves with anvils, mumbo failed and then he died-)

not an anvil. just- anything but an anvil. dripstone- hangs over his head like dripstone-

(joel can see the spot where lizzie dropped dripstone on his head, lizzie dropped it on him because he was the last resort, lizzie was here and joel asked her to hurt scott, and she tried and was killed-)

scratch that metaphor entirely.

just- void, he’s so tired of waiting for that snap, of fearing what will inevitably make something inside of him break and lose himself in the grief-fuelled bloodlust. maybe dying first wouldn’t be so bad; you don’t have to watch as everyone else leaves you.

even through his yellow sanity, joel’s mind seems to be on its way out, and he finds himself wanting to give in. just give in- kill some people, lose a battle and die in a crushingly painful way. it’s easier, isn’t it, than trying to hold onto the threads that slice at his hands once he has a secure hold. besides, if he dies, he can be with them again.

before he even registers the action, joel finds himself gripping his axe with a kind of determination he hasn’t felt in a little while. sure, he’s yellow, but he can’t imagine the big winged fuckers getting too pissy if he went and killed someone. he’s just starting the party early, after all.

joel seems to be zoning in and out, as moments later, he finds himself treading the well-known path to scott’s, knowing that- well. if he’s going to kill anyone, it may as well be scott, right?

smug, crude, stupid scott; who stood by and watched as lizzie was flung into the void, who laughed as joel failed his tasks, who has either won or almost won three out of four of these stupid games. he deserves to be knocked down a peg or four, really. it’s only fair.

out of the corner of his eye, however, joel spots scott’s nametag behind the secret keeper’s statue. oh, of fucking course. scott ‘30-full-hearts’ smajor just couldn’t resist a chance to show off by walking around in the dead of night, huh? piece of shit- like he doesn’t even care that he just let lizzie die.

well, if scott wants to play with fire, he ought to know he’s going to get burned.

-

he’s making a fucking grotto.

scott smajor, winner of one of these stupid games, top three in all games but one, is out in the middle of the night after a wither and warden fight, building a goddamn magic grotto underneath the secret keeper statue. of fucking course he is- fucking show off.

joel watches with utter distain as he prances about with his stupid azalea bushes and his stupid moss and- where the hell did he even get moss in the first place?! honestly, does he not realise this is a death game? they don’t have time to be making places pretty.

finally- finally, scott backs up against one of the stone walls, surveying his stupid pond like it actually means anything. joel creeps along the shadows, the (surprisingly still alive) grass muffling his careful steps towards scott- towards where joel is going to put an axe through his stupid throat and kill him.

“is this really worth the time?” joel says, because he has to- he can’t let scott have all the stupid quips and one-liners, because he would just go insane.

joel might already be insane.

scott looks up, eyes widening in fear as they land on joel’s figure. his whole body lurches away, but joel is too quick—in an instant, joel is in front of scott, pinning him against the wall with the blade of his axe pressed against scott’s throat. joel grins; all manic eyes and sharp teeth and the sweet smell of blood on his breath.

“looks like someone wanted to push his luck, huh scott?” joel says—and even he can admit he sounds a little hysterical now—but scott is trembling, eyes darting all over to find a way out, and that’s all joel cares about right now. “got a little big for our boots on our midnight stroll?”

“joel-“ scott gasps, and even his voice is shaking. “please-“

and- okay, it’s not exactly what joel was expecting. don’t get him wrong- he loves the fear and the trembling and the pleading, but- it’s weird. scott doesn’t fear joel, and he especially doesn’t plead with him, and- now that he’s actually looking at scott, the guy seems kind of- well, pathetic seems too cruel a word. disheveled. weakened. whatever.

“what’s wrong with you?” joel spits, looking him up and down with a distinct sinking feeling in his chest.

the tips of scott’s fingers—currently grasping at the axe’s handle—are a poisonous black, tendrils spidering up his veins. he looks exhausted, as if he’s been up all night, but- scott isn’t that dumb to have not slept. as irritating as it is, scott is a survivor, a strategist. he wouldn’t be in this state if there wasn’t something wrong.

“wither.” scott manages, and joel can’t pretend to himself that he didn’t know- “what’s wrong with you.”

joel’s rage seizes him like a fist again, and he shoves the axe further into scott’s throat. “nothing’s wrong with me you piece of- who the fuck do you think you even are? coming here, middle of the night, flaunting your thirty goddamn hearts-“

“half a heart.” scott breathes, and joel’s mind goes searingly blank.

“what?” joel’s voice is infuriatingly quiet.

scott’s hands have stopped clawing at the hilt of the axe. when did that happen? “i’m- i’m on half a heart.”

“you’re- no you’re not.” joel half mutters because- he can’t be. scott was going to die a long and painful death by his hand, but if he’s going to fall the second blood is drawn- what’s the point? “no, you’re- you’re not.”

“why do you even care?” scott says. “you’re going to kill me anyway.”

“i don’t.” joel says, far less certain than he ought to be. “I don’t care, i’m- i’m happy.”

“tell your face that.” scott mutters.

joel slams his fist against the wall, inches from scott’s face, practically breathing smoke. “you can shut the fuck up, or i’ll kill you where you stand.”

“oh, so you came here and put an axe to my throat because you wanted to protect me?” scott sneers, and- this is all wrong- how has scott gotten the upper hand? joel is threatening to kill him, and scott has the goddamn upper hand.

and it’s so easy- it’s so easy. push the axe in, slide it across scott’s skin and slit his throat. he’d be dead in an instant—it’d barely take a second—it’s so easy. the axe is firm in his grip, there’s no danger of someone interrupting, scott is far too weak to push him off and get away- it’s all so fucking easy.

there’s something distantly satisfying about the way scott flinches as joel gives a scream of frustration, flinging the stupid axe across the goddamn secret grotto. it sticks in the muddy banks of the river at an odd angle, sinking ever so slightly as the earth gives way.

he can’t do it.

he can’t fucking do it.

joel’s breath is coming too shallow again, tearing at the inside of his lungs as he gasps against this invisible force that seems to be sucking the wind from every breath he takes. tears burn in his eyes and it’s only after joel notices how damp the knees of his trousers have become that he realises he’s dropped to the ground, hyperventilating.

is this what a panic attack is? joel is pretty sure this is a panic attack. he is having a panic attack. how does he stop having a panic attack?

he tries desperately to slow his breathing, to straighten up and pretend it never happened, but his thoughts clamour inside his mind far too loudly for him to even begin to calm down. lizzie dead, jimmy dead, mumbo dead- joel nearly killed scott. what if he had done it- what if he killed someone else? there’s too much death, joel can’t be the cause of another death. joel nearly killed scott. lizzie is dead because of scott-

no- lizzie is dead because of joel. he let her- he didn’t tell her he failed- she tried to kill scott and then she died and now she’s gone and joel killed her just like he was about to kill scott and he still can’t fucking breathe-

there’s a hand on his shoulder (he can’t breathe-), squeezing gently through the fabric of joel’s hoodie (lizzie is dead-). scott is saying something- scott is telling him to look at him, and joel thinks his hands are going numb.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t-” joel’s voice is nothing but a broken whisper. he can barely hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears, the taste of iron in his mouth. “I can’t-“

“it’s okay.” scott is saying and he’s wrong because it’s not okay- it’ll never be okay. “you’re okay. you’re gonna be okay.”

“they’re all-“ joel chokes on his words. he can’t even say it. fucking pathetic.

scott takes a trembling breath, which- void, it’s so strange to see him having any emotion at all. “yeah.” he glances down, and the uncertainty of it all is what brings joel back to the present.

joel’s hands are shaking uncontrollably, regardless of how much he tries to stop. scott holds his own out in an unspoken offer, and joel grabs them embarrassingly quickly. their eyes meet, and joel doesn’t look away.

“but they’ll be back.” scott says, quiet. “they’re not lost—they’re still here.”

“but they’re not here.” joel almost winces at how raw he sounds, but he can’t bring himself to. now is not the time for embarrassment, however deeply he is going to regret that later.

scott’s eyes seem somehow more sunken, the bags underneath more pronounced—the scars of nightmares. joel knows those scars well. “I know.”

and- despite it all, it just seems so strange for scott to share that sign of grief with joel. scott, who hides his feelings so well from the outside world, not even jimmy knows all of him; whom joel has contemplated on numerous occasions if he is a robot or not because of this fact; who won’t let himself die to anyone but his allies’ hands since double life.

so joel decides to do what he does probably the worst, and tries to lighten the mood.

“you- maybe he is here. jimmy, I mean.” he blurts. “he- y’know when you wake up after you die and he’s laughing at you for whatever dumb death you just had?”

something flickers in scott’s eyes—almost like candlelight. “usually he’s just annoyed I lasted so long.” he says, a note of amusement lacing his tone. joel jumps on it.

“I reckon he’s here- with lizzie maybe.” joel says, scrutinising every detail of scott’s expression for any signs of reassurance. when did he start caring about scott? “they’re both making fun of us for being so sappy about them- and they’re gonna go tell mumbo so he can join in.”

scott glances down at his hands—still holding joel’s. when he looks back up, there’s something warm in his eyes. “you don’t comfort a lot of people, do you?”

“I- what’s that supposed to mean?” joel says, but it’s too softly spoken to come across as a threat.

“nothing.” scott says, and he sounds like he means it, which is- fucking weird. “you’re doing a good job.”

“yeah, too right I am.” joel says haughtily. he can feel his hands again; his mind isn’t so loud anymore. “thanks.” he says, quieter.

“you’re- you’re welcome.” scott says, apparently taken aback by joel’s humility.

there’s a long pause, and a silence stretches out between the two. it’s not strictly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s extremely strange—silence in these games is a luxury that too often means trap to be trusted.

“this is- this is fucking weird, right?” joel says, barely managing a grin.

scott rolls his eyes, but a smile plays at his lips. “you always have to ruin the moment, don’t you?” he pauses. “but- yes, this is very strange.”

“I don’t like it.” joel says, and.. maybe that was a tiny lie. okay- a big lie, but. just- oh, whatever. shut up. “feels unnatural.”

“I can go back to killing you if that makes you feel better.” scott grins.

joel scoffs. “how about I kill you and we call it even.”

scott huffs a quiet laugh, and the two drift back into a comfortable silence. only- there’s something in scott’s eyes that makes joel think he hasn’t said everything he wants to say. how does he know this, you may ask? well, joel isn’t exactly the most.. open with his feelings; he’s seen that look in his own eyes too many times not to recognise it.

“what?” he asks, and scott practically startles.

“I- what do you mean?” scott says, that look still plastered all over his face. joel isn’t feeling anything at all about the fact scott has started to let his guard down around him. shut up.

“you have that look.” joel gestures vaguely. “like you want to say something but it sounds stupid in your head and you can’t decide if it’s worth it.”

scott blinks at him. “you- how did you-“

“I know everything, scott.” joel says, some of that swagger back in his voice as he half-grins. “but what is it?”

“it’s- I mean you hit the nail on the head.” scott chuckles. “it sounds stupid and I can’t decide if it’s worth saying.”

“well, in my expansive worldly knowledge,” joel says pompously, grinning as scott scoffs at him. there’s something very strange going on in his chest as he notes the fond undertone of it. is he having a heart attack or is he just happy? hard to tell. “it’s almost always worth it. and if it’s not- well, I just had a panic attack because I almost killed you, so.”

“okay, well- you’re not allowed to laugh.” scott preempts, as if joel even has any right to laugh after scott helped him through his breakdown. “but, um. can I hug you?”

joel’s brain seems to have gone entirely blank, and so it’s a surprise to even himself when he says, “yeah- yes. you can.”

scott seems to be genuinely scared of doing anything that might upset joel, which- okay, that’s a whole other thing to have a crisis over later, but it also is kind of funny. oddly enough, it makes it easier for joel to shuffle so he can lean against scott’s shoulder, grinning as scott practically freezes.

“y’know, you asked.” joel nudges him.

scott scoffs a little. “yeah- I know, I just- I assumed you weren’t very.. huggy.”

“why does everyone always say that?” joel huffs. “etho said it, grian and jimmy said it-“ joel is interrupted (very rudely) by scott snorting, and hurriedly covering his mouth. “what?”

“nothing, nothing, just-“ scott grins. “eefo.”

“wh- oi!” joel exclaims, digging an elbow into scott’s side. “i’ve heard enough about that from him, I don’t need you joining in.”

“you’re gonna end up killing me if you do that again.” scott says, exasperated. joel does notice him relaxing though.

“oh no, what a shame.” joel says sarcastically, cackling as scott elbows him back.

there’s a pause, and joel is beginning to notice that there are a lot of pauses with scott. he kind of appreciates it. before joel has time to unpack that, he takes the opportunity to shift into a more comfortable position, which apparently startles scott, if the momentary tense is anything to go by. joel doesn’t get a chance to apologise before scott relaxes and puts his arms around him.

“this whole.. murder thing,” scott starts. “it hasn’t been red bloodlust since- well, ever, has it?”

and- joel wasn’t expecting to be asked that by scott- probably ever in his life, in all honesty. but. he can’t lie and say he doesn’t have an answer.

“I don’t think so.” he admits, quiet. “how long ago did you figure that out?”

“limited life.” scott says, and- yeah. that makes a lot of sense. “I was surprised that you hadn’t gone- well. batshit. and then jimmy died, and you were losing time like there was no tomorrow.”

“yeah.” joel leans a little closer to scott, almost unconsciously. “jimmy is- he’s- well. you know what he’s like.”

“I do.” scott says, a little distantly.

“I don’t- it’s never really.. on purpose.” joel says. “I mean- suddenly someone’s gone, or i’m on my own, and then it’s kind of like- why does it just have to be me? and then that turns into, maybe I should just go. get it over with, y’know?”

“pick fights you know you’ll lose.” scott realises, and joel hums in agreement. “get someone to do it for you so you can pretend it’s accidental.”

“ding ding.” joel says, emotionless. maybe he should feel a little more.. anything about that. he doesn’t.

“fuck.” scott breathes. he squeezes joel a little, almost as if he wasn’t thinking about it- as if it was natural. “I didn’t- I never realised.”

“well, I only just realised.” joel says. “I never really.. clocked it, I guess.”

“and so now.. was that part of it?” scott asks, almost cautiously. oh. gently.

“might’ve been.” joel shrugs. “though, I might just not like you.” he manages a grin and scott rolls his eyes. “who’s to say it’s not both?”

“can I.. tell you something?” scott says, almost hesitantly.

joel gives a soft laugh. “somehow, I feel like you probably can. just a feeling.”

“you have a knack for making things so unserious.” scott tells him, but there’s a smile in his voice. “well, I was gonna say that.. winning is probably the worst thing you can do in this game.”

joel frowns, looking up to peer at scott’s face. to his surprise, he’s entirely serious. “what do you mean?”

“just- it’s all fine until it’s just you, and everyone you know is dead, and you killed half of them, and then- and then it’s all gone.” scott says, suddenly quiet. “you never.. you don’t recover from that. when you’re the only person alive in a sea of blood and bodies that used to be your friends.”

joel gives a long exhale. “fuck.”

“sorry, that’s probably- a bit much.” scott says suddenly, apparently realising the depth of what he just said.

“it’s- well, it’s a lot.” joel says. “but what I- I mean, are you okay?”

scott is silent for a moment. “can you ever be okay in these games?”

“true.” joel says, more to himself than to scott. there’s a long stretch of silence, and joel finds himself wondering whether he should have more silences in his life. he’d tried to avoid them, especially when he was on his own; if he kept making noise, he couldn’t be entirely alone, right? now though, he thinks he’s starting to like them. “i’m sorry i’m always such a dick to you.”

“you- that’s- I don’t mind.” scott says, sounding slightly taken aback. he does sound pleased though, and joel decides to take that as a win. “I mean, I keep killing you. it’s fair enough.”

joel snorts. “yeah, well. still.” he closes his eyes. “I am sorry.”

another stretch of silence fills the little cavern, but this time, it isn’t broken. as the quiet settles on them both like a flurry of snow, it dawns on joel just how tired he is. after all, he’s had a hell of a couple days with very little rest in between them, and- yeah, he definitely needs a nap at some point.

as joel’s eyes begin to close and he nudges closer to scott, ‘at some point’ is starting to look a whole lot more like ‘right this second’. he’s about to sit up again, but scott wraps an arm around him and leans against him as well, and he gets the impression that he’s allowed to sleep here.

it is kind of bizarre that, just earlier today, joel was trying to murder scott—only half because of his task—and now here they are. void, death games are so weird.

joel kind of loves it.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Yandere!DG + Reader: His hold on you

TW: as above, nothing too bad tho. Platonic. Could be read as x reader if you want. For non-anon anon request.

Friends tell you you're lucky to know someone like DG, to have him look out for you. Introduce me, they would ask and when you shake your head, their eyes cloud with resentment and jealousy.

DG had warned you not to share anything about him, no matter how much your friends begged. A little part of you preens at the special connection between the two of you. It's private, intimate. A secret little club just for you and him.

You hold onto this connection and thought when your friends distance themselves.

Even your own parents are blinded by the pop-idol persona; the fame and fortune and perks of being associated with the country's favourite singer. All too happy to let you and DG spend time together. They dismiss any concerns with a wave of their hand while surrounded by lavish gifts.

So who can you actually tell, who will listen when you mention how uncomfortable you are. How you can't exactly put your finger on why your skin crawls, your stomach drops, and the discomfort continues to grow each time DG contacts you.

(Truly, the hold he has on you scares you, you admit to yourself that one time. The last time you can recall DG leaving you just about long enough so you can form your own thoughts. Moments of clarity before he sinks his claws in again. He has only made that mistake once.)

He used to be sweet, and you would respond to him giddy with excitement. DG! A K-pop idol! Paying attention to me!

But now he feeds you far too much bitterness. It's unbalanced. You never know which side of him you get.

When he pushes just a little bit too much, when you want to scream at him to leave you alone through tears, he's all sunshine and sugar again. Like how it used to be. Like he knows what words are on the tip on your tongue.

And when you're all buttered up, then he would chide you for being silly and young and you should just listen to him, his voice light and full of laughter. Hasn't he been good to you? Hasn't he been good to your parents?

Yeah he has, you concede. He's older, more experienced, seen the world. He's right. What do you know in comparison? Barely anything.

So it's fine. Everything is fine. You're just spiralling for nothing.

On top of that, the last few months have been better.

He's been nothing but nice to you. You can't bring yourself to ruin such a good thing.

Yet something unsettles you. And you know you sound insane. Crazy. Because why would DG do this? Why would he even break in?

Things are misplaced in your own room, or something you swear was right there disappears for a few days and miraculously turns up.

Little harmless things. Things you should hardly notice it but the insidiousness builds and builds and builds.

A book missing on your bookshelf, photos switched around.

You stop being able to relax or rest in your own home, only catching moments of fitful sleep as your mind races and your sanity hangs by a thread thinking someone has been in your space and messed with your things.

Even your ID disappeared. You turned your room inside out, was shouted at by your parents for losing such an important thing before it appeared on your bed.

Lying right in the middle, on top of the covers. So obvious. You can't have missed it.

Could you?

"Why would I do that? How? You must be seeing things." DG denies when you ask, body looming over yours and eyes flashing.

Maybe he's right. This is DG after all. He's busy. He's been nice lately. You don't want to rock the boat.

You think about your missing items, the misplaced things. Yeah. It is ridiculous to think DG would have any involvement.

Must all be in your own head.

"Y/N," he says, lips quirking and eyes a little unhinged, "It's funny though. Isn't it? If someone messed with you like this."

Is it? You think it's not, but you don't know what to think anymore.

"Seeing you go a little crazy," DG prods.

"It's ok to laugh." Somehow that feels like a threat.

So you laugh and laugh and laugh yourself sick, until your eyes are streaming and you convince yourself it's tears of laughter and DG is right.

[aethesfaelibrarae]

(holy shit was I not expecting anyone to like that previous Mouthwashing post—but thank you, genuinely for reading it and this one)

The Mouthwashing brain worms speak to me again—let's talk about hierarchy and caste and the implications in Mouthwashing one more time.

Say what you will about Jimothy's cowardly ass: he's not an idiot. The apathy of the crew is, at least, in part maintained by the top of the ladder: Curly and Pony Express.

Curly starts the game at the top of the ladder, able to help out a guy he perceives in a rough spot with a snap of his fingers, able to control how much sugar anyone got.. Able to control the food, the medicine, the weapons. Curly isn't the sort of person to abuse his power.

But he also isn't the type to use it.

Next up is Jaundice. His second in command, his (traitorous backstabber) right hand man. We'll get back to him.

No, who come next in this hierarchy can be debated—is Daisuke for his youth and potential or is it Swansea for his seniority? It could be both, depending upon the lens of examination. When the chips are down.. Or when they're still able to make a bet?

I'm going with Swansea, simply because of the fact that both Curly and Catastrophic Jameson's headass respect him. Neither of them really correct or step in to ask about his behavior with Daisuke, Jaundiced is more than happy to leave the room alone until it stands in his way and up until the chase sequence is largely unwilling to get into physical altercation.

Daisuke is next on the rung—an intern getting his due hazing. Young, plucky, clumsy, the aimless silver spooned baby of the crew. He wants to be liked by people in the higher rungs and he trusts in their authority. To his own detriment. But for the most part, he's neither too high for the responsibility or too low to really suffer in forced silence. He's protected.

Anya is not. As the sole woman of the crew, soft-spoken, heavily pregnant and forced to entertain her abuser's delusions of grandeur with the wreckage evidence of how far he's willing to go to get rid of her, rinse his mouth of her, all around them.. She starts the game on the bottom of the ladder—ignored, talked over, dismissed. People's—Curly and Catastrophe Jim—eyes skip over her without thinking. It's easy to dismiss her. Empathy is extended to her as an afterthought. Her death an inevitable tragedy. Because either way of framing it, without access to the ax or the gun, the ship was Jimothy's way of shutting her up for good and she knows it. In my previous post, I touched on the difference between the situations that Anya and Curly find themselves and in all honesty, it's defined by who finds themself at the bottom of the rung when Mr. J finds himself a way to the top.

And who else would it be but our resident golden boy himself, Captain Enablement—I mean, Curly. Now that he's completely disabled, useless and helpless.. He finds himself in a position even worse than Anya's. Both of them taking on the brunt of Jimmy's worldview—he's gotten way more than he bargained for from Anya and besides, she was a means to an end. At the moment of the assault, she was an object, the lower rung of the perceived ladder. It wasn't his fault, just look at her—And afterwards.. Well, this whole thing could also be framed as spite. Sneaking behind the golden boy's back and "stealing his girl" or whatever, maybe he knew that he'd be caught and wanted to see something other than Curly's gentle understanding. He wants more. And in direct opposite to Anya, Curly is the center of his world. The spindle upon which Jaundice's last steadily fraying thread of sanity spins. And what an awful place it is to be. He gets front row seats to hindsight truly becoming 20/20 vision when it's a barrel of shotgun—and you're jealous of the fact that it's not aimed at you. He suffers being consumed and thus consuming himself. Looking into why didn't Jimothy just cut up any of the others is a fascinating exercise. By the time he starts eating Curly, this is not the first time he's imagined Curly in the place of food—of nourishment. He imagines him in the place of cake—even the way that he cuts a part of Curly's leg is reminiscent of the way that Curly cuts into the cake. (yes, what the heck Curls but then again, gelatin probably feels weird to cut). Eating someone is often a taboo form of intimacy in media like Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain or Tokyo Ghoul..Listen. There's a reason why vore is popular.—it's the most violent type of intimacy.

It's the only type of intimacy Jimmy engages with on screen and yet—There's an equally fascinating intimacy in consuming yourself. And even that is ruined.. Being forced to eat your bile-covered offal again and again and again.. A memory that would scar on its own. But. With the implications of this being the one type of intimacy that Jimmy feels comfortable sharing combined with what the game says about rape culture have "good" men protect and enable their friends.. There's another angle of their friendship there.

Jimmy loves Curly as much as he hates him. He wants him to suffer. He wants him to live. He wants him dead. Who is saying I hope this hurts?

The hierarchy traps them in so many ways—and the first time we see it for what it is is with Curly. Not Jimmy. From Curly's perspective, we see him unfocused and exhausted and Anya offers him a helping ear and he can't accept it. He's the Captain. He can't be seen asking his subordinate for help. Jimmy was removed from the hierarchy in Curly's eyes. Maybe even at the same spot. Co-captains. Two peas in a pod—except one is a festering open wound and the other has his eyes tightly closed, quietly muttering he can fix it if he just gets a little bit more time.. Can't tell the difference between who's who?

Top or bottom of the hierarchy—awful and isolating for two men who claim to take responsibility. Both have some level of inferiority complex—a complex that I'd argue is the becoming the bread and butter of modern day society but is steadily starting to show the signs of where it's been baked into the perceptions of being a man—there is the fear of someone bigger, better and more capable of you.. But there's also that small quiet part that gets told men don't cry that desperately, desperately, wants to have no choice. Almost takes comfort in the idea of someone better than you.

And everyone in between their rungs gets crushed as collateral.

In a caste made by white supremacy, white able-bodied young men who meet societal standards for being in their prime are at the top. Old enough to know better, young enough to play stupid have potential. Just look at all our promising young rapists men with their whole lives ahead of them.

On a ship like the Tulpar, that hierarchy gets a necessary edge—the Captain is the most useful person aboard the ship, the most needed. The man of the proverbial house. The co-captain is like being called vice president—made only as important as the person in that role can make it. Otherwise it's a hollow consolation prize. And Jimothy can't work an honest day in his life. So it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Then would be the nurse but.. It's a feminine job, a pink collar job through and through. If Anya had been a man, the jokes would have been targeted at her masculinity but as she is a woman, the role and her usefulness to the crew are invisible necessities. The quiet labor and genius that keeps great men going. I think people underestimate how much work goes into even passing the N-CLEX to become an RN. Anya was trying to get into medical school—she studied the human body extensively and in all honesty, the way that I've read it is (especially with the context clues of her being overlooked continuously) she just wasn't important enough to help out. Medical textbooks are expensive on their own and tests can be upwards of 2,000 dollars (my sources: my mom had to take the N-CLEX 3 times when I was much younger and the financial strain was ridiculous especially if you want to get in on a study group).. And Anya clearly worked for that goal. You don't throw that kind of money at anything else but the goal—the one you could just swear would make it all worth it. Maybe if she was Doctor Anya, the crew would've treated her better.. Her usefulness cemented and people would question how such a nervous woman made it through medical school.. Maybe it would have made Jimmy worse. There's nothing hollow about being a doctor after all.

But Anya is Anya and so Swansea, the mechanic is useful. He keeps the ship going and Daisuke in line. Bitter Knowledge and the Dog Days of Youth.

Wasted Potential (double entendre) and Boundless, Wasting Potential.

Immediately useful and eager to be useful.

Then there's Post-Crash Curly. And I must stress, your usefulness is not your value as a person. But then again, where would ableism find its footing save for such a sad hierarchy? And let's call a spade a spade, once Curly loses his ability to interact with the world as he once did, his skin literally peeled open to expose the soft inner flesh to the cruelty of the world, his small bit of usefulness as a Captain gone.. Most people on the ship act accordingly. Daisuke and Swansea, their places on the ladder's rung unchanged fairly quickly become enured to Curly's cries of pain. Anya, the closest to the his newfound rung.. Continues to care for him, unable to free him as he was unable to free her. Jimmy is all too happy to grind his boot in Curly's face as many times as he can. Until he feels better.

But he won't. He can't.

The game touches on the haves vs the have-nots a lot as well as the creeping sense of human work becoming obsolete, that body horror in being made useless by your own complicity but where it absolutely shines in Jimmy and Swansea—especially Swansea's final speech—is the messaging about the never-ending demand for more, for greener pastures leaving you hollow and bitter. Curly seemed well-aware of Swansea's thought process and leaves him be but internally agrees and fears that ending if he stays in the Captaincy for too much longer.

And that's where I think Jimmy really thinks it was a win-win for him and Curly. He truly doesn't think of the pain that Curly must find himself in, worsened by the constant beatings and continual medical assault. He doesn't think about it as anything more than Curly being a nuisance. One more way that Curly just didn't trust him not to fuck up his eyes eternally trapped in the cold hate and fear as he watches Jimmy proceed to ruin the one thing he took pride in as the metaphorical man of the house: keeping the crew safe.

Jimmy thinks of himself as the son who stayed faithful, worked himself to the bone, only to receive scraps while his undeserving brother is celebrated and lauded.

Within the hierarchy, the system is only as "good" as who remains on top. And "good" people, blindly faithful and eternally forgiving, aren't ruthless enough to stay up there for long.

Jimmy's not a good person but he's not stupid. And he's very ruthless. While there may have been somewhat of a hierarchical situation before he joined the crew, it's clear from his conversations with Anya, Curly valued a more lateral role system as he felt trapped in Pony Express's all-consuming ladder over Jimmy's rigid rungs of better and worse.

But over and over, he isolated the crew to their sectors. Over and over, he demeaned Anya, insulted her and Curly. Leaned into the insults of Daisuke. Left Swansea alone for the most part.

Anya, as much as it pains me to admit this, could have worked with Swansea earlier. But would that have worked? What about Daisuke—the younger version of Curly's eternal optimistic "I've never seen the dead pixel" attitude? The isolation absolutely worked. There's no imagining a world in which it doesn't work unless you imagine the crew as better than they are.

And that's just one more tragedy we can't rinse out of mouths with mouthwash.

[cactusisconfused]

Not Even Death Can Do Us Part

Soap cheats death.

( Here's the AO3 link if you would prefer to read there.)

-

“John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, KIA” the paper reads.

The paper feels like a lie.

Maybe if Ghost stares long enough he’ll find the truth that must be hidden between the thin white lines in between letters and blacked out sentences.

Maybe if he stares at the paper, forever searching, he won’t have to see Johnny’s blood on his hands. 

Ghost knows what he’s doing isn’t exactly healthy, and really that isn’t new for him, but he just can’t let Johnny go, not when he was all Ghost had- all that Simon had.

He knows the looks he’s been getting from Price and Gaz. He knows he’s one pick up of a pen away from being sent on mandatory leave to ‘set himself straight.’ 

A part of him is frustrated with himself, that he can’t just move on like he did for everything else- for everyone else. Though he never did, did he? But Johnny helped guide him in the right direction and now, without his guidance, Simon is lost in a deep sea of nothing.

Waves crash into him, stealing what little energy he has left to keep himself sane, keep himself standing.

Always he sees the bright blue eyes piercing the blackness. Maybe if he just reached a little further- if he just pushed a little harder and ignored the black dots swirling around in his eyes- he could have his Johnny back.

“Simon.” Johnny’s voice calls out, the leagues of water doing nothing to mute his voice. “Take my hand.” Johnny says ever so softly, a gift Simon never deserved. 

Simon kicks his legs, desperate and uncoordinated but he’s so close- just a little further- just a little bit more-...

It’s not long before Simon’s vision gets swallowed whole by swarming black dots. But he likes to think that maybe in his last moment of consciousness, he felt a warm hand against his own and the quietest whisper from some voice giving him ease as he drifts off to face hell itself.

“I’ve got you Simon.”

-

It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for Ghost to force himself out of his bed. He’d been getting those dreams for a long while now. The dream mingling and blending with all the other nightmares Ghost’s brain had accumulated just for his sanity to ‘enjoy’.

How rotten his own brain is. Forced to watch every failure in his life on repeat forever. His failure to save his family from his father, his failure to save his family yet again as they burned from Simon’s own wrongdoing. It should have been him in there, to be the only one in there. The only one to burn. Yet there he stood outside the raging fire, dog tags in hand with a news report the next day to say he was the killer to his own beloved family. He swore to be ‘The Ghost’ since then. No face, no personality, no connections. Just a bloodlust machine, a rabid dog for those that want death. That had always seemed to be what Simon was good for, if anything at all.

Then Johnny came and oh, how the world was spun anew, like a new thread spun to a bobbin. Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much light, so much life in someone’s eyes. Ghost had sworn that he wouldn’t include himself to any other being, lest his curse be added to another. Yet Simon grew soft, his shadow blinded by Johnny’s blazing light. A dangerous fire that Johnny bestowed to Simon and what a fool he was to take it. He only ever smothered the flames of life, slowly and torturously sucking the oxygen from the burning charcoal, letting the bright flame die small and miserable. He should have said no.

But Simon Riley is a fool with a far too human heart.

He promised to care for the flame, cherish it. Yet he watched it sputter and fade as Johnny lay dead on the pavement in that tunnel.

Now yet another failure adds to the collection, the image of those sapphire eyes, always reaching out a hand, promising so many things that Simon shouldn’t listen too, like an enticement from a god who only wishes mischief. But Simon will never learn as his hand always reaches and always misses. He wants desperately to say he had grabbed it this time before the black in his eyes swallowed him whole, like a parasitic algae to coral.

But no. 

It’s best to will that degrading hope away before it consumes him whole.

Simon stares up at the cold, gray ceiling above him. He doesn’t need to look at his alarm clock to know he’s up at an ungodly hour.

Quietly, making no sound beside the slight creek of the bed, Ghost sits up. He knows damn well he’s not going back to sleep, he might as well make himself useful. 

-

The day is uneventful, whether that’s a blessing or a curse Ghost isn’t exactly sure. He finds himself not caring much.

It’s until the end of the day that he gets the smallest bit of reprieve, standing on top of the base's roof, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. The smell of the smoke wafting in the air is putrid but familiar. The world is still, only leaves against leaves as the wind pushes past them. 

That is until a voice breaks it and the world goes still. Almost like the whole world was threatened, unsure and deathly afraid.

“I thought you said you would quit smoking L.t.” The voice comes from behind him. Ghost straightens and slowly turns to the direction of it.

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish stands a few feet away from Ghost. His hands in his pocket, nonchalant. His skin is pale and slightest bit transparent. His eyes are as blue as ever with a contrast of maroon that seeps from the entrance and exit wound of the bullet hole in the scot’s head. They stand staring for a moment before, Johnny’s face looks almost relieved and another emotion ready to explode but carefully tampered down, like waiting for a shoe to drop. Ghost however is trying to figure out how his mind is able to conjure an hallucination so vividly.

Eventually, Ghost just shakes his head as he turns back around. Maybe if he ignores it, it will go away.

However, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley has never had a fair life and that sure as hell wasn’t about to change.

There was no signal that this Not Johnny had moved. The only telltale sign was the Not man moving into Ghost’s peripheral view. 

He can see Not Johnny observing him, Ghost remains ever quiet and stoic, as he looks out at the darkened forest that surrounds the base. It’s a quiet night, only a skeleton crew running the base and nothing but the flickering stars above…Johnny really would have loved this.

With a quiet exhale to ignore the sudden tightness in his throat, he brings the cigarette up to his exposed mouth, his balaclava sitting on the bridge of his nose. 

What gives him pause however is when Not Johnny reaches his hand up and takes the cigarette out of Ghost’s hand and puts it out on the concrete wall of the roof.

“You know smoking isn’t good for you Si.” Not Johnny says in the soft voice of his, like he’s trying to not spook a feral cat. Always, he was careful and gentle and all the things Simon shouldn’t experience. He’s done nothing to gain that opportunity.

After a moment, Ghost’s brain catches up. How the fuck did this hallucination just interact with a physical object?

“What the fuck?” Is all Ghost can get out, his voice blunt from shock. Did he hallucinate putting out the cigarette too? No, the cigarette is right there, on the concrete fence, still scrunched and out and being moved subtly each time the wind blows.

Ghost isn’t startled by anything, nothing ever gets to him no matter how much gore there is or how sudden something may be, Ghost is solid and unmovable.

But Simon? He’s petrified of everything, truly like a skittish cat. So right here, standing on the roof staring at an imitation of his dead lover as it had physically taken Simon’s cigarette and put it out- Simon’s so sure he’s fallen off the deep end. He’s finally broke.

Simon Riley has finally broken. He swears he can hear Roba laughing in his grave.

“You’re not real.” Simon whispers under the moonlight above. “You’re not real.” He tries again, whether to convince himself of that or the hallucination of Johnny he doesn’t know. He ignores it as his eyes become blurry.

He hears Not Johnny make a wounded sound in his throat, a careful hand moving to hold Simon’s cheek, guiding him to face Johnny. And maybe, if Simon tries hard enough, he can pretend that the warmth in that soft hand on his cheek is real.

“I know what this looks like love, I know, I’m sorry for what you’re going through but I’m here love. I don’t know how but I’m here. I am real, I promise.” Not Johnny says softly, his thumb catching and wiping away a rogue tear that had fallen from the precipice of Simon’s tear duct.

“Stop….Please I can’t-... don’t do this to me Johnny.” Simon practically begs, his voice quiet and unstable. Ghost has never believed in any higher power but right here in Not Johnny’s arms, he begs the mother of earth herself to stop playing this cruel trick on Simon. Just this once. 

Just this once.

Johnny shakes his head, moving to embrace Simon as a whole which Simon falls into. Warm hands caress over where Simon’s hair is covered by the balaclava.

“I’m here Si, I swear to you on everything there is, I’m here. I can prove it, but…I think you should get some rest first love, you look tired.” Simon lets a few more tears fall at Johnny’s words. Maybe, just for tonight, he can play along. Have one more night with his Johnny even if it isn’t real.

“Haven’t been able to sleep since you left.” Simon mumbles into Not Johnny’s neck, Simon’s face hidden from the world.

“Let’s fix that then, yeah?” Not Johnny whispers, his own voice shaky. Slowly, Not Johnny leads Simon to stand, a warm hand on his arm.

They walk silently to Simon’s room and Ghost is thankful that no one else was walking those same halls then. How odd it must look for Ghost to lean on the support of a person who wasn’t there.

Upon opening the door to Simon’s room, it’s just as empty and void of life as it had ever been, save for a few trinkets on his desk that Johnny had given him.

At some point, Ghost notices that Not Johnny is speaking but he doesn’t listen, as sure as he is that the words must be important- every word that Johnny had ever said was important- he just lets the words dance around in the air, the sound of a soft melody that he so dearly misses. At some point he undresses himself and lets himself be led to his own bed. As he lays down, Not Johnny shifts from one leg to the other. A hallucination that’s uneasy, Ghost might have laughed if he were someone else.

“Mind if I sleep you tonight?” Simon looked at Not Johnny for a long moment. He’s still wearing the same gear and outfit he had on when a bullet went through his head and in the delusion of his mind, he didn’t want any dirt and such in his bed.

“Get changed first.” His voice, while quiet, seems to echo in the room. To his surprise, Not Johnny did as asked. At first it was his tac vest, which disappeared as it hit the ground. They both watched it fall, Simon with almost disinterest and Not Johnny with a fascinated expression. Maybe Simon’s brain doesn’t have the energy to hallucinate anything other than Johnny and what's on him.

Once Not Johnny finishes undressing, he carefully moves to lay against Simon. The fit is tight, it always has been between the two hulking men attempting to fit on a borderline twin mattress.

They maneuver slightly in the bed so Not Johnny has his back against the mattress while Simon lays on top of the Scot. 

Maybe, Simon thinks as he lets his eyes slip closed, maybe he can allow himself to imagine the faintest beating of a heart inside of Johnny’s chest.

He knows it’s wrong to indulge, given how warped his sense of reality already is, but just for tonight he’ll have this.

Johnny will be gone in the morning anyway and can let this fantasy go and come back to reality.

-

Simon doesn’t dream that night.

Instead, he wakes slowly, the light from the sun bleeding into the crevices of his closed blinds. It’s been ages since he’s slept so well, the last time had been when…well before Johnny’s death.

Simon allows himself a few more minutes of respite, before moving himself to sit up before he’s abruptly stopped by a quiet groan below him. Simon’s eyes snap to the man below him, wide brown eyes linking with sky blue, the sun warming the hue just so.

Simon remains frozen as he stares. Tentatively, Not(?) Johnny’s hand moves to rest on Simon’s face, and god that smile, Simon doesn’t know how he could ever live without it. 

“How are you…?” The words die on Simon’s throat, never has he had a hallucination that’s lasted this long. 

“You’re not going mad, I’m here, I just so happened to break a few rules of the world.” Is all Not(?) Johnny whispers into the shared air between the two of them.

Simon doesn’t respond, his exhausted brain trying to kick into overdrive. Logically he wants to say he’s still hallucinating, but this is-…it’s all too real.

Not(?) Johnny has saturation back into his skin, the vague transparency barely there. But that warmth feels so real as it radiates from Johnny’s body underneath him.

“What?” Is all Simon can manage out, his mind raging with questions and disbelief. But there in the center of his being is that stupidly bright hope that he thought he snuffed out ages ago.

Not(?) Johnny continues to caress Simon’s cheek, knowing all too well what’s going on in Simon’s head.

“I made a deal,” Johnny starts softly.

“But before I explain, do you truly believe I’m here?” 

Simon looks at Not(?) Johnny for a moment, his mind reeling and lost. He wants to say yes, that he sees that his Johnny is right there, but he knows he shouldn’t, knows this is at the end of the day, is all a ruse his mind is playing on him. So slowly, ever so slowly he shakes his head.

Not(?) Johnny sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “Can’t blame you, I would think the same too, were I in your position.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment,  Not(?) Johnny, clearly thinking. After a moment that feels like hours, though was probably no more than just a few seconds, Not Johnny leans forward, his hand still resting on Simon’s cheek as the other guides his lips to Simon’s.

The kiss is soft and at first barely there. But it’s undeniably real. It’s undeniably real as soft lips meet chapped scarred ones and the kiss turns to tongue and teeth. It’s undeniably real as Simon gets pushed on his back, Johnny on top of him as he pushes deeper into the kiss, like he can’t get enough. Like it’s a breath of oxygen after resurfacing above water after almost drowning. 

Like he’s alive.

It’s undeniable as Johnny’s tears fall to Simon’s face, as he pulls back to sob into Simon’s neck, apologizing for leaving Simon for so long, apologizing for the pain Simon had gone through with Johnny’s absence.

Simon reaches out to embrace his lover, the Scot having no transparency and the bullet wound in his head nothing more than a scar. With a gentle hand, Simon reaches up to feel said scar, the wound is fair and no blood remains.

Simon shushes Johnny’s apologies as they both allow their emotions to break through the dam. Never once would he ever blame any of this on Johnny. Johnny would never be the one to blame. Never.

As both of their adrenaline calms down and the world expands to be more than just the two of them, they lay back down as they were earlier. Simon’s balaclava discarded and thrown somewhere on the floor; Johnny had requested to see his face and how could Simon ever say no to his Johnny.

“How?” Simon asks eventually as his brain catches up with the fact that his once dead lover is now, not dead.

Johnny’s hand in Simon’s curls pauses as a focused look appears on Johnny’s face, a telltale sign that he’s thinking.

“It’s going to sound crazy.” Johnny says quietly, like he himself is still trying to believe it.

“I wouldn’t expect any less, especially after I watched you die only for you to come back out of nowhere.” Simon responds bluntly.

Johnny smiles at Simon. “You know me too well, Si.”

There’s a moment of silence, nothing but faint footsteps of the rookies being run about through their courses and birds whistling and chirping outside.

“I had died, which… I’m still getting over that.” Soap starts, his eyes focused on the ceiling above, trying to think.

“I had heard a voice, I don’t know who’s and I didn’t know the words being spoken but I somehow just…understood.” Johnny’s eyebrows furrow, Simon says nothing so Johnny can keep his focus.

“They had said they’d were bored and decided that I could have a chance to beat death. I agreed,” Johnny’s eyes flick to Simon’s for a moment with a slight smirk on his face.”I couldn't stay away from you for too long.” His voice softens again as he speaks, his hand continuing its carding through Simon’s hair.

“It had two main parts to it. The first would be that I would be in someone’s dream, that person would have to take my hand. If they never did then I would’ve been stuck there for the rest of eternity. If they did grab my hand…” Johnny looks Simon in his eyes just as soon as Simon understands. 

“…then part two would happen. I would be brought into the physical world, but I would be nothing more than a ghost, really. Which I guess I was. I was see through, couldn’t pick anything up and no one could see me. Not even you.”

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed as a bout of confusion spread through him. “But I did see you.” Simon says and continues after a beat. “You took my cigarette.” Johnny nod’s and gives a small chuckle.

“Aye, you did see me, but not before. I was following you all day. But I couldn’t get your attention, I tried Gaz and Price too, but to no avail.” 

“So why was I able to see you on the roof?” Johnny looks at Simon for a moment as his mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few moments before he shrugs.

“My best guess is that you hit a good point of denial.” A sad look settles in Johnny’s eyes, a thousand apologies settled in them. 

“And that made you visible?”

Johnny shrugs. “The way for the deal to work was that to bring me back completely, someone had to truly believe I’m still here- or more so that I can be brought back. So I guess so. I never really asked beyond what I was told. If I know anything, it’s to not fuck with deity and their patience.”

They both let that implication seep and float into the air.

“So that’s why you’re back now.” Simon asks quietly, though it’s more a statement then anything else. 

“Believe so.” Johnny moves to give a soft kiss to Simon’s forehead. “Only a scar left to savor the memory by.” Johnny jokes though it lands a slight bit sour, Simon doesn’t say anything though, he knows he joked about worse and at the worst times.

They lay together for a long while, long enough that Simon is sure he’ll be hearing from Price soon. Simon knows Price knows what Ghost and Soap were or…are, though he never said anything. The man is simply always a few steps ahead. But given so, he knows price has given him a bit more leniency, though notably he’s done the same for Gaz. A good captain, that Price.

“What did it feel like?” Simon eventually asks. He’s met death's face more times then he can count, but he’s never slipped so far into death's cold hands to be taken.

“What did what feel like?” Johnny asks. It was deflection, they both know it. 

“Death.” Johnny goes quiet once Ghost says the words. Johnny’s eyes search the ceiling once again, as though it could give him answers to Simon’s query.

“Cold.” Is all Johnny can muster.

“I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s eyes fall back to Simon’s bourbon gold. “I know love. You couldn’t have changed anything.”

Simon had lots of arguments against that statement. That Johnny should get away from run far away from the curse that is Simon Riley, that he had survived him once, what are the chances he would survive again? 

But right now, he can’t help but be a bit selfish. To enjoy the company of his lover that he thought he lost for good. His Johnny. His Johnny that is warm with a beating heart. His Johnny who is alive and breathing and there.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t reach for you sooner.” Simon speaks into Johnny’s chest, his ear listening to his favorite song that only Johnny’s heart can make. Once again, the other’s eyebrows furrow in slight confusion.

“In the dream, it took me months to get to you and even this time when I did, I almost missed.” Simon elaborated the unspoken fear that Simon would have been keeping Johnny trapped by his failure to reach him settled between the two. Johnny didn’t say anything.

“But you didn’t, and because you didn’t, because you were so determined, I’m here. Even if you didn’t, even if you missed a thousand more times, I would have been happy to just see that once more. You made death a little less cold… which is shocking since you seem to be a human fridge.” Johnny gave enough time to let his words be genuine and heard before he said that last part, It wouldn’t be Johnny if he didn’t have a joke in there somewhere.

Simon can’t help but smile. He knows the both of them are fucked in the head, especially after all this. Simon wonders if the two of them should consider retirement though that thought seems to petrify Ghost. Maybe a thought for another time.

 Leaving right here and right now to be a warm moment with soft kisses and words between Johnny and Ghost.

Not even death can do them part.

-

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 3 - Prompt: Gardening @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 976 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

When the sobs subsided into heavy gasps for air overwhelmed him, Evan flopped on his back and reached for his phone. He was already half-destroyed. He might as well finish the job. Barty’s voice filled the room as Evan replayed all twelve voicemails, each one more desperate than the last.

“You didn’t mean it. Come on, Rosie! We are so good together! Let me make it up to you, I can show you—”

“Call me. Come see me at the shop. Text. Fuck, Rosie, I need to talk to you.”

“This can’t be over, Rosie. I refuse to accept it. You said that I was important to you and that means something, doesn’t it?”

“It’s been two days. How long are you going to ignore me? Can’t we sort this out? I’ll do anything—”

“We don’t have to talk. Just meet me at the shop, or I’ll come to you. Whatever you want.”

“What do I need to do to fix this? Tell me. I’ll do it!”

“Stop ignoring me! This is bullshite! I didn’t do anything to you—”

“I took a week off from work, Rosie. I’m driving around for a while to clear my head. If you want to talk, you know my number. If not…well, that tracks.”

“That was stupid. I know that cheating on Reg was a prick move, but I was losing him and…yeah, it was bullshite. I knew that he’d find someone better and leave eventually, but I wouldn’t do that to you, Rosie.”

“Ran into Sirius at a club tonight and he chewed me out. You were right, I fucked us up. I’m a prick for hiding it, but I thought if I proved to you that I wasn’t that prick anymore…you might look past it? I won’t lie anymore, even by leaving shite out. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“Rosie…talk to me…please? Fuck, I hate begging. I sound like a soppy arse. I will though, if it helps. Does it help?”

“Please don’t hate me, Rosie.”

Several of the messages were heavily slurred and more than one had the heavy bass of a club behind it. Barty was probably drunk when he left most of them. Evan had muted the text message thread on day two, but he couldn’t bring himself to block Barty completely. It was just a temporary measure to preserve his sanity.

As the last message finished, Evan flicked open his photo app and thumbed through the hidden folder of his and Barty’s photos. The absurd dates where they got pissed while crashing a gardening club meeting, set a car on fire, and stupid memes he’d sent to Barty as a joke with “this is you” or “this could be us if you weren’t such a dick” in the captions. It was one of the things he liked about Barty, he never had to censor himself. Barty liked him when he was mean as much as he liked him playing nice.

His thumb paused over the last picture they took together. Barty surprised him with a tattoo of a rose on his neck. In the photo, Evan kissed the rose while Barty grinned wickedly.

That was almost two weeks ago. It felt like a year, or ten. A lifetime, maybe.

Evan nearly dropped his phone when it vibrated in his hands. When Pandora’s face appeared on a video call, he answered immediately. “Hey, Reg called. Are you alright?”

She looked him over with a frown, then nodded. “You’re not. You look like shite.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome. Have you been crying? Or are you sick?”

“My ex attacked my sister. What do you think?”

Pandora shrugged, then glanced off-screen. Evan searched her face worriedly. She looked fine. No visible bruises and her hair was still tied up perfectly, that was a good sign.

Her lips twitched upwards for a moment before she looked back. “He’s gone now. Did you know he was coming here?”

“No. He mentioned driving around for a while in a voicemail, something about seeing Sirius, but that was before you left.”

“And? You’re hiding something?”

Too bloody perceptive.

“He called this morning and admitted it.”

Pandora tipped her head to the side and studied him. “Admitted what?”

“‘Losing his head and going off’ is how he put it. Reg said he attacked you.”

“He grabbed me and demanded that I tell him why I made you dump him. He was high. As in, all pupils, no irises high. I don’t care what you call it, Ev.”

Evan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “He has a pretty high tolerance. That must have been some seriously potent weed.”

“Well, I doubt it was enough to numb his bollocks.”

“What?”

Pandora smirked. “I kicked him. He deserved it, and plenty more.”

“Oh.” Evan winced hard and swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

“He survived, unfortunately. Hobbled off with Sirius.”

“Pandora,” a quiet female voice chastised. “That’s not—”

She waved the off-screen woman away. “Trust me. He’s lucky you pulled me back, Lily. I would have ripped that tattoo off of his neck in another minute.”

“That’s a bit much, I think,” the woman said, although she sounded amused.

Evan bit down on his tongue to keep himself from snapping at them. He didn’t see it happen. Chances were good that he’d have punched Barty in the bollocks himself if he’s seen him rough up his twin. If Pandora hadn’t beaten him to it, that is. She was terrifying when she was angry.

“Anyway, I’m fine,” Pandora said.

Someone off-screen muttered something Evan couldn’t hear. Pandora sighed, then held up her arm and let the bracelets fall with a noisy clinking. A long finger-shaped bruise rounded her wrist.

“Regulus thinks you should see this.”

He stared at it until she dropped her arm. Automatically, his own fingers rubbed at his wrist as if he could soothe it for her. Evan closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest.

The little bit of hope that he was still clinging to evaporated. He’d hoped that Reg was exaggerating, that it looked worse than it really was. Apparently not.

Barty gripped her wrists hard enough to bruise. He hurt Pandora because of him.

Next Part>>>

[morgue-ratt]

Fear Itself

a (somewhat belated) birthday gift for @darklylucid

Jonathan Crane x reader // 1.6k

You've been selected as Dr Crane's latest guinea pig! Yay!

tw// syringes, experiments, bondage, fear toxin, nsfw, this is my first time writing for Dr Crane,

THE scratching of his pencil has permeated into your dreams, now you were not free of him even in sleep. Dr Crane is always immersed in his work, always writing something, the pencil always scratching. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, or even where here is. You maybe had some idea at first but that had been weeks ago, now the only thing your conscious mind had to cling to was him. Dr Crane, the Scarecrow.  

He is working on something big and for it, his chemical weapons must be sharpened to a horrifying edge. Only the best for the Bat. The colors of the toxin vary from orange to yellow to green, the doses change. Sometimes the injections go into your arm, neck or leg. Sometimes, he fits a face mask over your mouth and nose and just sits back as you’re forced to breathe in the gaseous state of uncut terror. The duration changes, it varies from a few minutes to long hours screaming your vocal cords raw. No matter what, the good doctor seems content to sit back and watch. The only thing that doesn’t change is you. His unwilling assistant.  

Your body is covered in needle pricks and track marks. Your cheeks shine with dried tears that Crane hasn’t bothered to wipe away. One of his formulas had made you hallucinate things crawling under your skin, leading you to scratch your arms until you bled and then some. Another had filled you with blind panic and you had kicked Crane so hard in the chest he had deemed it necessary to wrestle you into a strait jacket. Now, as he strips away your sanity with each round of treatment, you can only lean against the wall of the Scarecrow’s makeshift lab.  

“Did you hear me?” Your head lolls to the side and you try to hide your face in your shoulder. He’s standing above you now, towering over you. “You’re awake,” He says. He has to tell you these things, otherwise you’d have no way of knowing. The syringe in his left hand catches the low light. Orange this time. The last one was green. The one before that... you can’t remember.  

The good doctor kneels in front of you. He takes your jaw in his hand so he can look at you, stare directly into your eyes and though you know it’s purely for diagnostic purposes, you don’t like it. “You are awake,” He repeats. Crane moves the syringe closer, and you pull away from his grip so fast you hit your head on the wall behind you. He lets out a sigh; “None of that,” He threads lithe fingers through your hair, gently scraping your scalp, and pulls your head to the side. You cry out as the needle pricks your neck. “There we go, nice and easy,” He says, his voice completely devoid of all emotion.  

Your heart begins to accelerate. This part stays the same. Your vision is going dark around the edges, you twist in the strait jacket; trying to escape the dread crashing around you. What will you see? Monsters? A family member? Will disembodied laughter fill your head? The walls close in? Or will it just be blackness, blinding you until he deems it time to administer the antidote? You start to hyperventilate.  

Crane lets go of your hair and leans back, watching you closely. His face begins to contort, twisting into something somehow even more vile. In your mind’s eye, you see his face stitched into burlap, a horrible creation of the doctor and the Scarecrow. His mouth is somehow both stitches and far too many teeth. You turn away and the horrible face is still there, a monstrous patchwork with eyes gleaming orange no matter where you look. Your blood is rushing in your ears, you barely hear it when he asks; “What do you see?” 

You shake your head.  

“What do you see?” The voice is horrible, it’s like its sending glass through your veins, it comes from everywhere. Crane reaches for your face, and you cringe, pushing yourself into the wall behind you. It’s ike you’re in a kaleidoscope, his hands are everywhere, reaching for you. He takes your face again and the need to scream grows in your chest like fire. “Tell me,” 

“No... nothing,” You say.  

He waves his hand in front of your face, and you flinch. “Tell me,” 

The distorted image of him is almost pulsating in beat with your heart. You can’t focus on anything except the fact you don’t want him to touch you. You barely hear your own voice through your own thundering pulse; “Scarecrow,” 

You can tell that he’s smiling, the mess of burlap and skin spreads in such a way that indicates his pleasure in this answer. “Scarecrow? Are you afraid of the Scarecrow?” He touches you, bringing his scarred hand to cup your cheek and you let out a short scream as though his touch burns you. His laughter shakes your bones. You haven’t heard him laugh since you’ve been here. You bury your face in your shoulder as the laughter echoes in your head. Crane runs his hand through your hair, his touch is gentle. Soft.  

A shudder runs through your body all the same.  

If he has been testing you all this time, tonight you finally have the right answer; gone is the apathetic doctor who gives you your medicine and watches with detached curiosity; now Crane is leaning in close, enjoying the way you flinch and relishing when a fresh wave of tears stream down your cheeks. It’s all for him, after all. He brushes the hair out of your eyes so he can better see your face contorted in terror, he holds you in place so he can enjoy every micro expression with that horrible grin. These almost sweet gestures are so at odds with the hot, all- consuming dread racing through your veins just as the toxin does.  

 Crane takes every excuse to touch you just to see you flinch and cry out in protest, you can’t do much else but even if you weren’t restrained you don’t know if you’d have it in you to do anything but cower. This toxin was designed to take down people much braver than you. You are no Batman.  

You feel his fingers ghost against the column of your throat and you jerk back, toppling over and falling to the floor. Your head is swimming, and you feel Crane lean over you, positioning himself on top of you. Your fear... and knowing you’re afraid of him. It’s addicting. He holds you still with one hand while his other goes for the throat, checking your pulse with his middle and forefinger. “Look at you,” His voice has taken on a purring quality and your drug addled mind makes sure to compensate, the thing above you has a mouth full of blood stained canines and deadly sharp claws like an animal, playing with his prey before the final strike. Your fear is crashing around you as Crane leans forward, pinning your body with his own. He’s trying to get as close to your eyes as possible, he’s all you see.  

You have stopped screaming, opting instead to cry and twist in the jacket, the straps digging in sharply into soft flesh. You’re convinced you’re being flayed as the rough canvas rubs your skin raw. Your breath catches in your throat as the strap between your legs goes a little higher. Crane’s grin spreads across his face as he takes account of this reaction. As you continue to struggle, you do nothing but push yourself to the line between horror and neediness. Arousal is arousal and you’re having trouble distinguishing right now.  

“Oh dear,” Crane chides. He’s all you can see; your vision has been narrowed to a pinprick. “Is someone getting their lines crossed?” You feel his hand pushing the strap further into your sex and you can’t help but moan as you grind yourself into it. “Do you want more?” 

Yes. No. More what? More teasing? More fear? More pain? It’s like your mind is breaking. Panic spikes in your chest, wetness pools between your legs. It feels good, you want to be anywhere else. “More...” You are more aware of your lips moving than the fact you are speaking. The hand disappears from the apex of your legs, and you complain; “No...” 

Crane takes care as he unbuckles the strap going through your legs. He’s amused, he can tell his toxin had had... a rare effect on you. “My, my,” You don’t have it in you to be ashamed. His fear toxin had reduced you to your base instincts. You somehow feel disconnected from your body while also being painfully aware that he isn’t touching you. You don’t even think as you spread your legs slightly. Your rational mind is eclipsed but when this is over, you’ll tell yourself it was the toxin that was making you act like this.  

You sigh when his hand returns, you watch him with lidded eyes. It’s hard to believe the thing before you even resembled a human being. Instead, there is a demonic face that looks like something Mary Shelley would come up with; stitches and teeth and eyes glowing orange like the fires of Hell. You don’t care. His thin fingers are making you moan.  

It’s hard to say how long you were lying on the floor with the good doctor. The entire time you feel like you’re on the edge of something while your heart beats madly in your chest and your blood rushes in your ears. Time ebbs and flows, it feels like it takes hours but you’re close and you couldn’t have lasted that long.  

You finally reach the crest, and you arch your back, chasing his fingers as you go over. The pleasure has taken over the horror, at least for now, but you still scream. Crane’s laugh surrounds you, eating through your flesh to your bones like maggots.

[amarantoestrella]

Single dad! Togame rocking and cooing to his inconsolable babe thats a day shy of three months old. He’d never question how such a tireless stream of sobs and wails could come from someone so tiny again. After two months of this he knows it’s all but parlor games to the kid. She could go on for hours and he’s got the sunken in, weary, darkened under eyes to prove it. He looks a mess and by the way he scratches at the stubble on his chin, he knows it.

The countless appointments one must take a baby to doesn’t help either, baby girl had a busier calendar than him at just six weeks old. Jo’s exhausted and when the babe stirs to cry again in the waiting room he’s just about ready to lose his last frayed thread of sanity and join in. Fuck he could really use a cig right now— but not right right now, while he’s holding his heart and soul. Handing his daughter off to someone ain’t really an option, especially when there is no one. You really do need a village to raise a child and Togame can’t help but feel his daughter is missing the most integral member— a mother.

At least, that’s what Jo is thinking when you so kindly point out that he looks like he could use a break, desperately— you leave that part out, from across the parking lot. Your offer to hold the child catches him off guard. You want to help him out of the kindness of your own heart?

Jo must have really lost his mind, because he decides to trust you. Not entirely, but just enough to take a drag or three, eyes unmoving from the two of you as he lets out slow puffs of smoke in the opposite direction. He doesn’t miss how the babe looks happier than she has since she came into his life. There’s that guilty pang in his heart again. He brushes himself off and fans the air around himself before gingerly scooping his daughter from your arms. They’d been apart long enough, but by the sounds of the infant’s cries, maybe not.

“I’ll hold her a bit longer, if that’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

Your arms aren’t outstretched in offer long before baby girl is happily nestled into them again.

“Do you always offer to hold stranger’s babies?”

“Sure, when they look like they need it as much as you do.”

“Why?”

Your smile is bittersweet but bright nonetheless. “It’s just kind of what I do?”

You sway your hips in a way that’s rewarded with a sweet gurgle from Jo’s baby, practically entrancing her father in the same instant. “I needed a village, and so I made one. Every parent needs help here and there. Who better to help out than another parent?”

And that’s when Togame knows his train of thought was on the right track earlier. His daughter needs a mother, and he’s gotta get his shit together and make it happen, quick.

[aclockmaker]

WIP Wednesday Thursday because if I don’t post something I might die :)

Based on this post

steddie, cw drugs

Find another weed guy, I can’t fuck with you… uhhmm nothing personal I can’t fall in love with another straight guy and you’re Everything I love so if I see you again i’ll never let go of your hand so yeah

Eddie types out the text with one hand, flat in bed, despondent. His other hand is busy laying across his eyes dramatically. He’s squinting out from under it to type. He deletes the message without sending it. Again. He knows he’s going to see Steve again. Aside from everything else, he needs the money. He doesn’t have that many customers. It would be stupid to not go.

Hey man, you free to come by tonight? Steve had texted. Like he was talking to a buddy. Eddie usually sold Steve weed, sometimes shrooms. Sometimes his roommate Robin was there and that made things a little easier. Usually Steve asked and Eddie stayed to smoke and that made things a little worse.

Steve asks today. And Robin isn’t home.

“God, work was—never mind, I don’t even want to bore you with the gory details,” Steve says. He does something in finance, like his dad, and he hates it. Eddie wishes he didn’t know this. “But anyway, I really needed this. Thanks for coming over.”

“You literally pay me,” Eddie reminds him, the last threads of his sanity wearing thin in the face of Steve’s unnecessary niceness, “so.”

“I know, man, but still,” Steve says, pops off his baseball cap and fixes his beautiful hair underneath, tugs it back down. He looks like even more of a jock in the hat and unfortunately it does nothing to kill Eddie’s boner for him. If he’s honest, it’s part of the appeal. Sometimes he literally plays basketball right before calling Eddie, and he answers the door sweaty in low-cut tank tops, thick chest hair on display. “You want a beer?”

Steve drinks terrible beer. Unfortunately Eddie would like to tease him about it and kiss the side of his mouth while introducing him to something decent. “Sure, why not,” Eddie says, because it’s still free beer and also he’s an idiot.

Part of being a dealer is seeing inside people’s lives. Just briefly, though. That’s what you have to remember—you’re the interloper. Eddie delivers all over downtown Indianapolis—does it to put himself through school, slowly. He doesn’t want anybody else like he wants Steve. Has maybe never wanted anybody this much and he’s had his fair share of ill-advised hookups with people he was half in love with who didn’t care about him enough.

It makes it worse (better) that he knows nothing’s ever going to happen with Steve.

Steve hands him a Sam Adams without a trace of embarrassment and Eddie sighs internally, takes a pull.

He gets out the lunch box he deals from out of his bag and puts it on the table. Steve doesn’t like it when he does it right away, like he’s trying to make it fast and get out of there. He’s never said anything, but Eddie can, like, tell. Doesn’t like to make him sad and shit. It seems like his life is kind of—Eddie doesn’t want to say sad, but he never talks about his parents except to say that his dad did such and such new shitty, annoying thing at work, pressured him and made him feel not good enough. He doesn’t say it exactly like that, but Eddie gets the picture. He wants to tell Steve he thinks he’s good enough, and all kinds of other ridiculous shit.

Steve clinks the neck of his beer bottle against Eddie’s and takes a grateful sip. It’s the middle of summer and hot, and even the central air in Steve’s building is struggling to keep up.

“Anything good?” Steve asks, eyeing the bags of drugs Eddie’s pulling out.

“This is decent,” Eddie says, flicking one. “Mostly sativa, but it’s like… friendly. I’ve gotten good feedback.” To be more accurate, one person had texted and asked for the same thing as last time. But still.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says, like always. He’s very easygoing about his drugs. With him it really seems to be more about the journey than the destination.

[luffyvace]

may i please have some big brother kurapika hc for the soul? 🤲💕🙏

UM?? OF COURSE YOU MAY ANON!!

THIS IS SO WHOLESOME THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!

this is such a sweet topic ♡

(some angst bc of y’all background 😋)

alright so let’s get the angst out the way

you and kurapika we’re the last survivors of your clan so you became even closer once your family passed

he became even more motherly and protective of you than he already was

if your age gap is big he takes care of you and feeds you

he’s a awesome big brother

will put your safety over going after the troupe

has lots of security measures if you two settle and get a place to stay

you took the hunter exam with him because no way were you too separating for so long

what if something happened to the other?

you guys have each other’s backs for sure, even if your way younger

kurapika would d!e to protect you

he loves you more than anything

if your age gap isn’t much of a difference or your the same age he knows you can handle yourself more

but he still worries

he trains you in nen if you don’t already know

(omg most of this is angst let’s more on to cuter times ok-)

with a smaller age gap

you two would train to be stronger and protect each other

honestly there’s nothing you can do to stop his big brother instincts so i hope you don’t mind if he’s a bit clingy

he’s just so worried

you two have deep intellectual conversations

and read together

would prefer if you didn’t want the same path of hunting the troupe down but it’s not so bad having a partner in crime

if your a more outgoing person who isn’t hunting the troupe..

he’d try to make time to go to social events with you and such

but hes pretty busy with his troupe business

he’s glad tho because you’ll likely be safer this way

just for the record

there’s no way he’s letting leorio have you 😭

he trusts him but….yeah no 😐.

for big age gap siblings

he kisses your forehead goodnight

he gives you all the hugs and affection you want to keep you happy

always has time to play with you and if he doesn’t because it’s serious he makes it up to you

with ice cream

going to the park

buying you toys or anything your interested in

leaves you with leorio if he has to be away somewhere for a while

does his best to take care of you

if your a feminine person he’ll let you put bows in his hair and play tea party with you

only in private tho

if your masculine he’ll play cars and video games with you

maybe even some soccer

he teaches you how to cook and be a bit independent from a young age just in case something happens to him

he’d go ballistic if something happened to you

your his last thread of sanity

”kurapika is now drowning in an in despicable emptiness 🤓☝️“

has a tendency to spoil you

lets you play with gon and killua to tire you out

you love big brother’s yummy cooking 😋🤩

would leave you in his friends hands if something ever happened to him

but don’t worry he won’t go anywhere

just like he promised 💖

i enjoyed doing these so much💗💗

i hope you love em as much as i do<3

[kinkyliterotica]

(Image above does not belong to me and I do not claim ownership of it)

Part 1

Ensign Vorik x OC Pon Farr Smut

Summary: Ensign Elisha is a security officer on the USS Voyager. She and Vorik have a casual friendship, but when B’Elanna rejects his advances, it is up to Elisha to satisfy his Pon Farr.

Warnings: Smut, Pon Farr, Interspecies Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink

———

Vorik spoke quickly and hurriedly, not at all like a Vulcan or like himself, “B’Elanna, you may wish to reconsider. Your choices for a mate are currently limited to 73 male crew members, some of which are already unavailable.”

What was going on? Elisha stayed back in case she needed to duck out quickly. Maybe this was a bad time.

B’Elanna was becoming more incredulous. “I’ll worry about my choices myself, thank you.”

Vorik jogged up the stairs behind her, dead set on being face to face with her while he spoke.

“I should also remind you, that many humanoid species are unable to withstand Klingon mating practices--”

B’Elanna got up in his face, getting absolutely livid now with his insubordination.

“--Okay, that’s enough--”

Vorik continued despite B’Elanna’s warning.

“Whereas my superior Vulcan strength would make me a very suitable partner.”

On the last word he grabbed her face with his hands and held on tightly as she struggled. B’Elanna was no weakling, the fact that he had a grip on her at all was alarming.

Shit. Elisha dropped her coffee on the step and ascended quickly to intervene. She didn’t know what was happening, but it wasn’t consensual.

Before she could reach the two of them, B’Elanna escaped Vorik’s grasp and slammed her heel into his jaw. She heard the distinct pop of a bone out of place and a massive thud as Vorik’s body hit the floor. By some miracle he was still conscious, rubbing his jawbone looking entirely disoriented.

“Lieutenant!” Elisha called out, “Do you need my assistance?”

B’Elanna was out of breath, looking between Vorik and Elisha confused and terribly riled up.

“Yes, get him the hell out of here and down to sickbay. I’ll...I’ll be right behind you.” She quickly straightened her uniform and let out a heavy breath. She looked around as the entire engineering department had turned their heads to see what all the fuss was about. She moved around Vorik a little fearfully and addressed the crowd downstairs.

“I’ll be dismissing myself to sickbay, continue working on the assignments you were given. Ensign Vorik will be joining me as well.”

Elisha approached Vorik unsure of how to proceed. She had come here to do pretty much exactly the opposite of what she was doing now.

She bend down and held out a hand.

“Are you disoriented? Can you stand?”

Vorik looked up at Elisha completely dazed.

“Ensign...Elisha?”

Elisha sighed. “Yes, Vorik. I’m...I’m here to escort you to sickbay. You...need to be examined.”

Vorik looked around as if he was seeing somewhat clearly again. An ounce of composure was present on his face. He nodded.

“Yes, yes of course.”

He grabbed Elisha’s arm and allowed her to pull him to an upright position. He stumbled a little and Elisha grabbed the back of his arm to steady him. He wasn’t stumbling like a drunk, but he wasn’t sober either.

B’Elanna went ahead to sickbay on her own, which wasn’t entirely a surprise. However, that did leave Vorik and Elisha alone on an incredibly awkward journey to sickbay. As she walked him to the holodeck she felt strange waves coming off of him.

He was totally out of whack. Not consistent or stable in any sense of the word. It’s almost like he was hanging onto his sanity by a thread. There was a chaotic mix of anger, sadness, shame, guilt, confusion, and hunger. A deep well of hunger that was left woefully unfulfilled.

He was breathing heavily as the holodeck moved swiftly down. He faltered slightly and Elisha moved to grab him, her breasts accidentally rubbing against the back of his arm and shoulder blades.

Vorik made the smallest noise. It could have been a grunt or a heavy breath, but he definitely reacted.

Vorik’s voice came out low and vaguely threatening.

“Be cautious of how you touch me Ensign. I am not right.”

Elisha’s heart leapt in her chest. It took more courage than she thought it would take to speak.

“Vorik, what’s happened to you?”

“You should not be here, you’re not safe.”

Elisha felt a little stab of wounded pride. She gripped Vorik’s arm tighter.

“I do not fear you Vorik, you remember that well.”

Vorik let out a sigh before he straightened himself. He quietly and ashamedly said, “I can stand, Ensign.”

Elisha didn’t want to let go of Vorik. She could feel his shame radiating out of him. There had to be some explanation for this.

“You’re...not well Vorik. Let me help you.”

“No Ensign, you shouldn’t help me. It was not my intention to do this in front of anyone, especially someone whose respect I wish to keep.”

Elisha considered how to respond.

“You’re not acting like yourself, I won’t judge you as yourself.”

Vorik said, “A logical statement, but also a kind one. One I don’t deserve.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way to sickbay. The Doctor and B’Elanna insisted I stand guard outside the door in case Vorik began acting irrationally again.

Not long after Lieutenant Tuvok approached her, with long urgent strides. They nodded at one another, clearly the both of them knew what was going on inside.

Tuvok addressed Elisha, “Ensign.”

“Lieutenant.”

Tuvok looked around unsure what to say.

“I am obligated to ask, were you a witness to the exchange between Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Vorik?”

Elisha straightened up, “Yes Sir.”

“Please describe to me what exactly it was that you saw.”

“Honestly Sir, it was strange. I didn’t see how it started, but I saw how it ended. They were having an argument, and he grabbed the Lieutenant’s face with his hands, tightly enough that she had to break free. She managed to dislodge him and strike him in the face.”

Tuvok nods, “What was the nature of their discussion?”

Elisha looks down at her feet, this was such an uncomfortable conversation, “I can’t make any assumptions, but it sounded like they were talking about the Lieutenant’s mating preferences.”

Tuvok’s eyes belay a hint of apprehension. His lips pull tighter together.

“He was nearly screaming. I’ve never heard a Vulcan sound like that.”

Tuvok’s energy was a mixture of shame and fear. Not nearly as potent as Vorik’s. Tuvok’s emotional control was far superior, developed over decades of careful practice. When he finally spoke he spoke seriously.

“Ensign, I would advise you at this point to return to your duties and put this incident out of your mind.”

He was hiding something. Something about Vorik. She was compelled to dig deeper.

“Sir...what’s going to happen to him?”

“That is not of your concern Ensign, I have given you my suggestion. If you will not respect that then I will make them orders.”

Elisha’s stomach shrunk in her belly. She was much more worried about Vorik than she initially realized. She cared about him, she wanted to make sure he was going to be okay.

Tuvok, as a fellow telepath, could sense how disturbed Elisha was by this order. She cared for him, more than she let on. Perhaps, during this time, this was exactly what Vorik needed.

“Ensign, are you invested in Ensign Vorik’s well being?”

Elisha unsuredly said, “Yes Sir.”

“In this scenario, if Ensign Vorik’s life was in danger, would you do everything in your power to assure that he was kept alive?”

A little more confidently she said, “Of course, Sir.”

Tuvok hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much he should or could reveal to an outsider. Vorik’s options were limited right now, he had little other choice than to resolve his Pon Farr with a member of the crew itself. Elisha was young, consistent, and self-disciplined. She cared for Vorik, and she had the physical and mental fortitude enough to withstand, in his opinion, a potentially dangerous trial for a human body to take on. It was only logical.

“I am not at liberty to discuss something of such a highly personal nature with one of his fellow crew members. However…” He briefly hesitated, “I am quite sure that if you insist with him your readiness to help, he will be receptive.”

Elisha was surprised with Tuvok. He was advocating for his fellow Vulcan, she’s not sure about what. What he said would not have been strange coming from a human, but from a Vulcan this was practically begging her to talk to Vorik and convince him to let her help him. This was serious.

“Thank you, Sir.” She said in disbelief.

“However, you heard nothing of the sort from me.”

“Not a word, Sir.”

The both nodded in understanding. Soon after B’Elanna was escorted out of the sickbay as well as Kae. Lieutenant Tuvok and Torres stepped aside to talk privately while Elisha waited. A few minutes after that, Vorik came through the door as well.

Vorik looked taken aback by Elisha’s presence but composed himself.

“I can escort myself back to my quarters sufficiently.” He ground out.

Elisha shook her head.

“Those aren’t my orders.”

Vorik closes his eyes and tenses his shoulders.

“Very well, lead the way. Though I do insist that you keep your distance.”

“Can I trust you?” Elisha asks sincerely.

“I am not an animal, Elisha” He seemed to be saying that to himself as much ash her, “I am perfectly capable of returning to my quarters without the need for you to get heavy handed.”

Elisha was unconvinced, “All right.”

She walks him to the holodeck in silence. He’s slightly more composed than when she saw him last, and more volatile. His fingers are gripped so tightly that the knuckles are turning pale. She tries to remember that he is sick instead of being incredulous at his rudeness towards her.

He wasn’t giving her an opening, it’s not likely he’s going to share with her what happened in Engineering. She would have to chip away bit by bit before he gave her anything.

“Were you injured when Lieutenant Torres struck you?”

Vorik held his tongue for a moment before speaking, “I suffered from a dislocated jaw, B’Elanna is quite powerful.”

“...Why did you grab her like that?”

“You would not understand.”

“Because I’m not Vulcan? This is a Vulcan thing right?”

“A deeply personal Vulcan matter. One which I do not wish to discuss any further. I would ask that you please respect my wishes and allow me to go back to my quarters to resolve this myself.” He spat.

Elisha knows that it’s now or never as they’re quickly approaching his quarters.

“Is there anything I can do to help, please?”

Vorik turns to look at her, his brows drawn together in conflict. Should he stop her here, or bring her back to his quarters? He knows that once the woman steps through the threshold of his door, all self-control will be gone. Just thinking of Elisha in his arms, in his bed, was driving him mad.

“I know that it’s somewhat illogical,” Elisha continued, “we haven’t known each other for long. But I...need to make sure that I’ve done everything I can.”

She was practically begging for him to take her. Vorik thinks about all the ways that she could help him, on the wall, on the floor, on his bed, in his shower…

Vorik’s arm suddenly shot out and grabbed Elisha by her wrist. His grip was like steel, she couldn’t shake him loose if she wanted to. It wasn’t painful but it was firm.

“Everything? How far are you willing to go Ensign?”

Elisha's eyes opened wide in shock. The sexuality dripping in his voice struck her. She felt herself grow wet. The energy buzzing between them, the desperation of his grip. It thrilled her to her core.

“What do you need, Vorik? Before I agree, I need you to say it.”

Vorik tenses up and releases his hand like her wrist had burned him.

Quietly and reservedly he said, “Leave me.”

“Just tell me!”

“Leave me!”

Elisha grabs his arm and shoves him into his quarters. Being a security officer she was quite strong, manhandling was part of her job description. She hovers her hand over the button that closes it. He stood on the side of darkness, only candles behind him to illuminate him. She stood on the side of the light, the door creating a barrier between them. Whether she would cross it was up to him.

“If you need me, when you need me, call me. I’m not as weak as you think I am.”

Before Vorik can respond she says, “You’re confined to quarters until further notice.”

She presses the button and the door seal shut with a whoosh. She runs her hand through her hair and sighs. She needs to go to the gym to burn off some of this excess energy. As soon as she updates Security of Vorik’s status.

———

Vorik had spent hours in his quarters diving deep into his mind. He was the beach, and a storm was battering his shore.

His body was alive with electricity. His skin is sensitive to the touch of the air and the fibers in his clothes. He hadn’t eaten or slept in 3 days, he suspected that he did not have more than 4 days before he would no longer be able to maintain his standard bodily functions.

He knew that this was coming, he had felt the first pull of his logic weeks ago. Early signs of discomfort and discontent within him. He became more aware of his female crew members, B’Elanna especially. He knew that Tom Paris shared affection for her as well, being that she had rejected him he had hoped that she would see his own suitability as a mate. He hadn’t planned on proposing such an arrangement to her for some time, but the time came, and he could not control himself.

He had hoped that it would not be this. Of all times for his first Pon Farr to come, it had to be now, while he was trapped, lightyears away from his home, away from his kind. He was already breaking tradition just by initiating a Vulcan practice with an outsider. He did not have strong opinions about the subject of interplanetary relations, when your options are limited you’re forced to overcome potential obstacles.

He noticed that as often as B’Elanna was in his mind, Elisha was there also. He had not spent nearly the amount of time with Elisha as he had with his Lieutenant, but all the same it was true they had a connection. It was subtle but all the same sincere. He...enjoyed the time they spent together on the holodeck. The reality of being a starship crewman prevented them from developing that bond, but he had recalled it quite often. The potential of a connection that could be deeper.

With the use of his logic, he would respect and appreciate Elisha’s concern for his well being. Now that he was without it, his feelings towards her were purely carnal. He wanted her. He wanted every inch of her. On his body, in his mind, all of her swallowed up the great storm that he had become.

He feared himself, he feared that he would scare her, that he would harm her, that he would break her. He wanted her, but he needed B’Elanna. It was only logical. She was half-Klingon. She could safely take on the physically rigorous burden that was ahead of him. That is if he was able to secure a mate at all.

Sweat dripped onto his hands as he meditated. The fever was beginning, he would soon lose his reason completely. He needed to act now while he still could.

He was disrupted from his meditation by the ringing of someone at his door. He had no assumptions of who it was, all he felt was anger at being interrupted.

“Go away.”

The door whoosed open behind him. Great anger rose in him and he spun around to shout with complete rage, “I said...go away!”

When he opened his eyes to see that it was Lieutenant Tuvok standing before him. The backlight behind him hurt Vorik’s eyes.

He felt a wave of nauseating shame, “I’m sorry Sir…”

“No, I must apologize for the intrusion, particularly at this time.” His voice was heavy with implication.

“So you know.”

---

“The resolution must be that we become mates. It is only logical!”

B’Elanna needed him, and he needed her.

Tuvok gently reminds him, “Lieutenant Torres has never been a great follower of logic.”

Vorik grits his teeth, “You think she’ll reject me again?” He could not suffer a second humiliation at her expense, particularly now.

Tuvok spoke slowly, “It might be wise, to continue your meditative efforts.”

Vorik let out a long heavy breath. Despite their mutual need, he doubted that given the circumstances, he would be able to win back B’Elanna’s affection after his last slight. Despite their bond she was strong willed, and not easily persuaded.

Defeated and tired, he said, “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

Tuvok did not make any indication that he was leaving.

“Was there something else Sir?” He grit out. If meditation was all that he could do he wanted to be left to it.

“It is not my place to involve myself in your personal matters. I too, have been through this exact trial you are faced with, at this point, many times over.”

Tuvok relaxed his posture.

“However, I have observed Ensign Elisha’s concern for you myself. In my personal opinion she is an exemplary crew member aboard this ship, and a trustworthy individual. Given her apparent affection towards you, and her respect for secrecy, I believe that she would make a superior choice to Lieutenant Torres.”

Vorik’s frustration cannot contain itself.

“She is a human Sir. The complications of relations between our races are not lost on me. Though Ensign Elisha is strong willed she lacks the physical strength to withstand--”

“Ensign Elisha is more than capable where her physical strength is concerned.”

“--regardless we do not share a bond, as B’Elanna and I do. She would be the logical choice.”

Tuvok looked towards Vorik paternally.

“I would advise that with your options being as limited as they are, choosing someone willing as opposed to someone who is not, would be the more logical endeavor.”

Tuvok turns to make his leave.

“I will speak no more of this, Ensign. Choose how you will. You do not have much time.”

As Tuvok left, Vorik’s rage took on a new face. He roared and hurled his sofa off of the floor onto its back. He took a decorative statue that held no sentimental value and smashed it into the far wall. He tore his tunic off and placed his head in his hands as he wept.

How had he been so foolish? Why had he forced a bond with B’Elanna? He ruined everything. He would be lucky if he was ever allowed to speak to her again, much less gain her affection.

Elisha...he hadn’t known her long. He knew she was intelligent, clever, capable, but not much else. She was a telepath, like him. They shared common interests. Common friends even.

She had expressed interest in helping him. Despite her naivete, he had capitalized on it quickly. As soon as she submitted herself to him in the smallest way, he needed to touch her. He needed her to know his power, his drive, his fear. He wanted to bond with her.

However she didn’t really know what she was offering. She didn’t know what would be required of her. The sacrifice, the great trial she would have to overcome. There would be blood. It would last for days without end. Things would never be the same again, once that bond is made in body and mind there is no going back.

If she rejected him as well, he didn’t know if he could cope. These women had the power to unknowingly subject him to death. How could he not fear their rejection?

Regardless of that fear, it was logical to pursue all available options until he had none left. A rejection would mean little if he was dead in less than a week. He had to try.

He pulled himself off of the floor and walked towards the comms unit by the door.

“Ensign Vorik for...Ensign Elisha.”

30 seconds passed before she responded, she sounded out of breath.

“Yes Vorik?”

Hearing her voice twisted his stomach. His need for her was a physical pain in his lok.

“Would you kindly meet me at my quarters?” He grit out, his jaw tense.

She was silent for a long moment.

“Tell me what’s going to happen when I get there, Vorik. I deserve that much.”

He shut his eyes tight and hung his head. All of his pride was gone and all that was left was to beg for relief from this pain.

He leaned in close to the comms until his forehead touched the wall. He closed his eyes as he let his guard down enough to be honest. If there was a time for honesty, it was now.

“I need you.” He quietly begged.

“My body or my mind?” She inquired.

He gnashed his teeth as he admitted, “Both.”

He heard her sigh over the comms.

“How soon? For how long?”

“Soon, and possibly, for several days.”

“Days?!”

Vorik waited anxiously for her to make her decision. The sweat was reaching his brow but he did not open his eyes or wipe it away. She held his life in her hands.

“This is not something to be taken lightly, Ensign. This much I will warn you. However, I will not force you.”

Still she was silent.

“Give me...an hour to get my affairs in order. I’ll meet you there.”

Vorik’s eyes opened wide in shock. She hadn’t rejected him. His heart beat out of his chest and a relief washed over him. He would have his woman, she would soon be his.

“Thank you, Elisha.” His voice trembled but he didn’t care.

His whole body was shaking. He couldn’t believe she had answered his call. She knew no reason and only risk and she agreed anyway.

He would have to prepare. He had one hour. He looked at the disarray he had created in his quarters. He quickly and recklessly righted his furniture. He picked up the broken pieces of his shattered vase and threw them in the receptacle. He moved the furniture against the wall. He wanted to minimize damage to his living space as much as possible.

This was his first Pon Farr but based on how he was feeling now, he knew that his body was capable of great destruction. It was an instinct, he held no hesitation or nervousness about how they would mate. His body knew that it needed it, and soon she would too. She would become a vessel for his need.

His lok ached inside of his trousers. He moaned and grabbed his throbbing member through them and took a deep breath. He wanted to run through these halls, tear down her door, and have her right there on the floor. Like an animal, stalking his prey to its hiding place and taking what he needed from her sopping wet cunt…

He was drenched in sweat. She couldn’t see him like this.

He removed his clothes and put them in the laundry receptacle before stepping into the sonic shower. He cleaned himself roughly and thoroughly. His skin was on fire. He tended to his personal hygiene and changed into a simple but traditional Vulcan piece of clothing. The robe covered his bare feet and would be easy to remove when he needed to.

When he was finished he sat by his meditation shrine and focused for what felt like ages on belaying his need until Elisha arrived. Only then was he struck with the fear that she would change her mind, that she would leave once his waters had just begun to be cooled. How could he reassure her?

The door chimed and he whipped his head around to face it. He got to his feet quickly and composed himself enough to say,

“Enter.”

[kirnet]

tagged for wip wednesday by @nsewell and also @mrs-theirin last week!! tagging whoever wants to and sees this bc its late :3

wrapping up actium chap 3 and also im working on a grave and weep rewrite!

”Who was that guy?” you whispered to him when you pulled yourself into the cab, worried that he could somehow hear you over the distance. “You can’t think working with him is actually a good idea.”

Henry huffed out a breath that meant he agreed with you, but he was going to argue anyway. “You’re not getting paid to ask questions, kid.”

You slapped his hand away before it could turn on the radio. The last thing your thin thread of sanity needed was a twangy guitar solo at ear-bursting volume. “You’re the one always telling me to go in with as much intel as possible.”

”Don’t throw my own advice back at me.” His hair was near matted when he pulled off his baseball cap, his fingers unable to work through the tangle. “You want to pay your mama’s debts? Then you need to get comfortable taking jobs you don’t want to. This is the life you chose.”

”I’m-“ Scared. You were scared. Whoever - whatever - Henry’s contact was, a beast with manic eyes and yellowed teeth, you didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him. With sinking disappointment you realized that you yearned for comfort, that you wanted him to reach out and tell you that hey, it was going to be okay. He wouldn’t put your life in danger needlessly. A good mentor would never aim for his student’s injury. And maybe he realized it, too, the way his lip curled in disgust, like he finally just saw you for what you were: a trembling teenager fumbling with your seatbelt, not some bastion of untapped power. “I’m just letting you know that I’m getting my ‘I told you so’ ready, alright?”

It was a good moment to finish the argument as you usually did, with you conceding and Henry never acknowledging the tense silence. Instead, after a long moment of consideration where he almost shifted the truck into drive, he turned to you. “I don’t trust him,” he admitted, eyes dark. “You don’t either. Good. It means I finally beat some intuition into you.” He scratched his neck, the sound of his scruff making you cringe. “I’m not bringing you on as surveillance for the team, I’m bringing you on for me. To watch my back.”

If Henry thought that moment of vulnerability was going to put your fears to rest, he was wrong. It had a distinctly opposite effect. “You think he’s gonna try to kill you?” you snapped, lurching forward when he finally started the car forward.

The truck tumbled over curbs and potholes, finally connecting to an actual side street. He shrugged. “Always a possibility. Nature of the job.” With a casualness you loathed, Henry reached a hand out and smacked a palm against your forehead, never looking away from the road. “But I got you, yeah? You’re my ace. You just worry about making sure your frozen mice are appropriately thawed and I’ll take care of the rest.”

[yandere-daze]

mmm this might be a little.. repetitive? But can I request for some yandere HiMERU headcannons (or scenario if you're more up for it!) On how he'd kidnap his darling away and his reaction to their failed attempted escape. I think HiMERU is pretty underrated character 🥲 Thank you in advance if you do take up this request!

Oh HiMERU! I really do think he is very underrated so I hope you enjoy ^^

This discusses some things about HiMERU´s identity so please beware of spoilers if you don´t want to know anything about that!

Also I feel like this also kind of doubles as a general analysis of yandere HiMERU? This was also really fun for me to write, somehow the words just kept coming and coming!

gn reader

tw yandere, obsession, jealousy, kidnapping

Yandere! HiMERU kidnapping his darling and reacting to their attempted escape

HiMERU as a yandere I feel would be pretty subtle compared to some other characters in the cast. He wouldn´t be super clingy or flushing bright red whenever you looked in his direction. He also probably wouldn´t sing your praises or act openly lovey-dovey around you

No, HiMERU is more subdued when it comes to his obsession with you.

This is both because of his general personality, but also because of the truth about his identity.

He´s playing a role for his brother´s sake, so he can take over as the ideal idol once he wakes up. Which is why HiMERU can´t be completely true to himself. He needs to keep himself in check, he can´t lose himself in his obsession with you because he needs to keep a good public image

He can´t pull any crazy stunts and he can´t properly court you how he would want. What would the public think if it came out that the once-popular idol HiMERU is now dating someone?

It would cause a huge scandal and one that he couldn´t bear burdening his younger brother with

No, no matter how much he wants to monopolize your time, no matter how much it irks him to see Rinne crack jokes with you and get unnecessarily close to you, he can´t be open about his desires

But the more time passes, the more upset he becomes. The struggle of having to see you with other men while unable to do anything about it aside from throwing a harsh glare their way almost makes him go mad

He tells himself he can´t allow himself to be rash but it´s not very long until he finally snaps, his last thread of sanity gone when he one day catches you having lunch with Tatsumi, the both of you sitting so close together and heartily laughing with smiles on your face

It´s the last straw and HiMERU finally decides that he has had enough of this

He can´t be affectionate with you in public so how about he instead takes you captive so you won´t ever see the light of day again?

When it´s only the two of you with no one there to witness it, HiMERU can finally be with you like he always wanted to

There are no judging eyes, no one to blemish his reputation and hinder him from achieving his brother´s dream

It´s just the two of you

And though you´re understandably upset ( really, he gets it), he doesn´t regret his actions in the slightest. To him, this is the only way he could ever be with you so even though you´re currently unsatisfied with the arrangement, he is sure that you will eventually come around

Well, you will have to. He doesn´t plan on ever letting you go, especially after telling you the truth about his identity and that he is only acting in his little brother´s stead. Under no circumstances can he allow that to be public knowledge

And yet, he still decided to tell you

Why? Maybe because he was tired of having to act out a role while being with the one he was in love with. Perhaps because the thought of you only tolerating him because of the facade he had put up kept him up until late into the night

He´s sure that with enough time, you will come around and accept your new life with him

It doesn´t entirely surprise him when you try to attempt an escape. He´s frustrated with you but he only thinks it a bit amusing that you would think he would ever allow you to leave him

He has already lost a person that was important to him, he´s not going to lose you too

Maybe that´s the reason why behind his stern face, you can see hints of panic deep within his eyes that slowly disappears when he finally has you in his arms once more

And though he understands why you would try to run away, you will be hard-pressed to find any sympathy for you and your plight

Chides you when he catches you, telling you that there´s no use in trying anymore. That no matter what, he´s always going to find you

He´s been so desperate for way too long, always having to observe you from a distance and never able to make a move. He just wants to start his happy life with you already

He wouldn´t really punish you afterwards, thinking it counter-productive, but he would be fairly strict with you

When before he would let you roam the apartment on your own, sometimes even when he had to leave for idol work, he now never lets you leave his vision

If he´s not with you, he chains you to the wall. It´s loose enough to allow you to get the basic necessities but it still prevents you from going very far and it´s pretty painful, the clanking of metal a sad reminder of your current predicament

HiMERU would also change all the locks on the doors and windows to prevent you from breaking out again and he would even go so far as to install cameras in every room (except the bathroom) to have a watchful eye on you even when he´s gone

He would have liked to give you some much-needed privacy in his absence but you´ve proven yourself to be untrustworthy so he will have to make sure you don´t do anything stupid again until you´ve regained his trust

HiMERU never wants to feel the weight of loss ever again