#not to be ''that one friend that's too woke'' but there's systemic forces at play

[tropiyas]

DO NOT REDEEM!

[reiderwriter]

✍️ Dear Diary ✍️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge

Requested: Hi thereee! I was thinking about a request since I saw they’re open again… I was thinking maybe Con-non con breeding/cream pie?🤭 maybe somnophilia too. S get home en R is sleeping and he just take what he wants but it’s obviously something mutual.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Dubcon/ CNC, somnophilia, breeding, pet play (kitten/owner), daddy kink, unprotected sex, almost one bed trope, oral (m recieving), Perv!Spencer, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader and just incredibly horny Reader and Spencer.

Summary: Spencer comes across your dream journal and finds out that you're not plagued with nightmares but with wet dreams. And they're all about him.

A/N: Thank you to @reidmotif, who basically told me the entire concept of this fic was forcing Spencer to read smut headcannons about himself and watching the reactions. I think this is the quickest I've ever written something from start to finish 💀

Masterlist || Bingo Board

Spencer didn't know what possessed him to read through your diary, but he couldn't stop when he started. At a single glance, he could tell it wasn't the book that he was looking for, the one you'd sent him to find in your bedroom, the one you'd recommended he read. 

That one was beside it on the side table, but there was something about the black moleskin, laid perfectly flat on the desk, that had his fingers itching as he moved it forward. 

You were otherwise occupied with setting out the plates of takeaway you'd ordered for the six people currently sat in your living room, so knowing his company wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, he sat himself down and began reading. 

Within ten pages, he completely regretted it. 

He'd sussed out by the title page that this wasn't just a normal journal but a dream journal. It was heavily recommended in a lot of the mandated therapy sessions you guys did. Hell, even Hotch had suggested it to him a few times, so he shouldn't be surprised you kept one. 

He was just surprised at the content of your dreams.

He knew his own were dark and painful, and he was curious, thinking that knowing your dreams could help him assist you better through whatever was plaguing you recently. 

In ten pages, he'd managed to suss out that it was him that was plaguing you. 

“May 8th - Woke up hot again. Dreamt of Spencer waking me up with his tongue. Need to get this out of my system.” 

“May 10th - On my back tied to the bed. Spencer again. I'm going to hell.” 

“May 22nd - Kitten ears. And Spencer's cum splashing on my face as a wake up call. I'm a freak!” 

Each entry was similar, and he read on page after page, until he felt his cock stiffening and he had to put the book down and remind himself that there was company just a few doors away. Company that included his friends and a woman who'd been dreaming of fucking him every night for… three months now. 

He took a deep breath. He took a lot of deep breaths, forcing himself to think of the most unappealing things ever as he calmed himself down. 

A voice down the hall called his name, and he dropped the journal like a scalding pot and picked up the other book, opening it to a random page and trying to look convincingly entranced. 

“Spencer, what-?” You asked, seeing him sat on your bed reading the book. He thanked the heavens that the book was a hardback and just big enough to hide the remaining stiffness in his pants while he tried to will it to deflate. 

“Oh, good book, right? I should've known you'd start reading it straight away. Just take it home, Spencer.”

“No, no, it's okay, I don't need-” 

“No, it's fine. You can give it back at the Stanford Review Psychology Seminar next weekend. We're rooming still, right?” 

He took in what felt like a gulp of air, forcing the oxygen down into his lungs as his tongue laid as useless in his mouth as his cock felt in his pants.

“Right.” He managed to get out as you told him to haul his ass back to the living area. 

He took up your journal again, though, and for the next few minutes, committed your diary to memory and left the room. 

“Spencer, come on, kid, what book is as interesting as Wrestlemania?” Morgan said, clapping him on the back as he ripped through a slice of pizza. 

One where the author said she'd woken up mid-orgasm just imagining he'd tied her down. And him specifically.

“Leave the kid alone, you know he's prone to his little fantasies,” Rossi chimed in as well, passing Spencer a beer quickly and cracking one open for himself.

Not the most prone person in the room to fantasies, of course, but possibly the second most prone. 

“Shut up and watch the game, you're making him squirm,” you said from your perch behind his seat on the couch, giving him a quick pat on the shoulders, your fingers lingering just too long. 

And with the word squirm went his whole concentration as he started imagining your small mews and purrs of pleasure, your sleepy face dazed as his fingers roughly curled into your cunt. You'd squirm for him, and you'd do a whole lot more than that. 

The rest of the night tortured him the same way, though thankfully he'd managed to find a pillow to cover up his small - though growing ever harder - issue. At last, he was the last one left in your apartment, the others letting themselves out after you'd crashed on your own sofa just inches from him. 

To be fair, they'd pulled off the herculean task of cleaning up after themselves without waking you, despite your notoriety for sleeping light. 

He'd waved off the others and said he'd get you back into bed, protests quickly falling on deaf ears. Yes, Morgan may have been the better choice to carry your dead-tired weight, but he was also five beers in and just as likely to slam you into the bed a la whatever wrestlers Spencer had been ignoring on the screen all night. 

He'd gotten himself mostly under control anyway, so he'd been able to rush them out of the door, drunk or senile, and managed to turn himself back to you. 

You were curled up in a little ball, like a cat who'd found the perfect cardboard box to sit in. You filled the space and looked comfortable, but he knew you'd be sore in the morning. Either that, or your words had driven him to the brink of insanity and he just wanted his hands on you for once.

He didn't bother trying to fully lift you, knowing you'd definitely freak out and wake up if he tried. 

Instead, he started talking to you in your sleep. 

“Y/N… let's go to bed,” he whispered, pulling your arms limply around his neck as he tugged you upwards with two hands firmly on your hips until you were standing. 

You let out a small whimper of protest, head falling forward to nuzzle into his chest as he started slowly walking you back to your bed. It was a technique he'd used on you more than once, getting you to comply when half asleep on multiple occasions to assist you when drunk or exhausted or both. 

With the revelations of your diary, he thought about talking you into even more in your sleepy state but resisted. 

“Spencer…” you mumbled, gripping him loosely and pressing kisses against his shirt and chest, lazily. 

He had to remind himself you were still asleep, even if you were moving and talking. Asleep, even if you had wanted him to wake you up with a cock in your cunt. Asleep, and not his girlfriend, or lover, or anything more than coworker, as his cock hardened and the backs of your knees finally hit the side of your bed. 

You half collapsed onto it, and we're half lowered gently by Spencer, though in all his uncoordination, he couldn't stop himself from falling directly on top of you. 

“Yes, Spencer…” you sighed, hands brushing up and down his chest above you as he froze solid. 

He was screwed. He'd read every word of that diary. He could imagine exactly what it was you were dreaming of at that moment, and he needed to extricate himself before he did something he'd hate himself for. 

His hand snaked up your waist, just brushing your nipple as he finally dropped it to the bed and pushed himself up. He couldn't touch you anymore without consequences, and while those consequences sounded truly…delightful, he resisted. 

Tucking you into bed, drowning out the sounds of your faint purrs and moans, he rubbed his cock through his pants to ease some of the ache. He denied himself more, grabbing your recommended book from the side table, leaving the infernal journal and closing the door on quite possibly one of the most arousing experiences of his life. 

He was screwed. 

A week passed and left him in his state of screwedness. You may have dreamed of him taking you like that, almost against your will, but he dreamed of you begging him to do so. 

He awoke stiff every day and refused to touch himself, to acknowledge the disgusting pleasure he was getting from his imagination. 

A week full of cold showers and blue balls, and what did it end with except being back in close quarters with your horny ass. 

Screwed supreme. 

You noticed he was acting off very quickly, and you'd commented on it the morning of conference day one, knocking him back slightly with each step towards him you took. 

“Spencer, are you sick?” You said, stepping closer, raising a hand as if to test his temperature. 

“No, no, I just... germaphobic, remember?" he smiled, gently brushing your hand away. He also took another step away from you to stop him from balling his hands into your sides and pushing you down to the floor to have his way with you. 

“That hasn't bothered you before. You literally said last week that we're in the same places so often that we've been exposed to the same bacteria and have likely formed an immuno-connection or whatever-”

“There's just-” he said, now taking another step further away from you, hands up in a surrendering pose to halt your approach. “A lot of people at this conference. It's making me a bit uncomfortable.” 

You seemed to understand that, backing off. And thankfully, just in time, because a second later and his hands would've been tangled in your hair, forcing you to your knees so he could show you just how compromised he could get you. 

You'd dreamt about something similar on March 25th. And April 3rd. 

It wasn't just his own lust for you fogging his mind - he'd dealt with that before, his hand a friendly nighttime companion - but compounded with your own, it was unbearable. 

He looked at you and all he saw was “March 2nd - Begged Spencer to cum inside me, and fill his little kitten as much as he could. Could I convince him to fo that for real?” 

For fucking real.

He felt infinitely more respect for your skills at your job now, knowing that he couldn't go a week without genuinely flinching away from your touch feeling this goddamn pent up, and you'd lasted three months and counting without so much as batting an eye. 

After wandering through the conference all day, listening to the keynote speakers and giving a speech of his own, he'd grown exhausted. He was tired of avoiding you, but it had to be done. The thing he feared the most was breaking and becoming one of the monsters he'd dedicated his life to catching. The thing he feared most was you. 

You'd hugged him when he completed his speech, lingering still after pulling away, so he was still aware of every inch and curve of you. 

“I'm so proud of you,” you said with a smile, straightening his tie. You wouldn't be proud of him if you knew what he wanted to do with that tie. He imagined, even in a crowd of people, pulling you back by your hair - March 31st - and gagging you with the scrap of material - April 17th.

After almost doing just that, he quickly excused himself, and 12 miscalls and 27 text messages later, you'd finally given him what he wanted - “I'm going to sleep now. We need to talk in the morning.” 

He finally crept back to the room you were sharing from a restaurant below. He'd thought about numbing his senses with alcohol but decided against it, not willing to take the risk that he'd numb his inhibitions at the same time. 

It wouldn't be the first time alcohol had made him get handsy with you, scowling as he remembered his hands trailing all over you during karaoke at the Delfino, his hands gripping tighter as the night stretched out longer. You'd both been trying to sing Billy Joel, and then he'd been trying to keep hold of you no matter how much you'd giggled and fidgeted. 

Looking back now, he was sure it was only the presence of every single one of your coworkers and half the FBI that stopped him from covering you in kisses, from pushing his hand up your shirt and playing with you. 

Alone in your hotel room, there was nowhere else. 

Sure enough, though, there was another bed, which he happily threw himself on when he entered, knowing he'd claimed the one closest to the door. 

He sat for a minute, then two, then three, and just knowing you were close had his brain begging to repeat everything it had learnt in your diary. 

“March 1st - I think I had a sex dream about Spencer. I think I really enjoyed it. I think I should avoid him today” 

“March 18th - Used my vibratory before bed and still woke up needy. What would Spencer's cock feel like buried inside of me?”

“April 14th - He took me over a desk in the bullpen while continuing his conversation with Hotch. I almost cried, waking up and finding out it wasn't real.” 

“June 4th - Spencer is coming over tonight, and I spent the whole day masturbating to memories of my own dreams about him…. I'm definitely going to hell.” 

It was as he repeated each of these entries in his head like a mantra that the bed shifted and he felt something next to him. 

Whatever bed he'd thrown himself into, you had decided to occupy as well. He felt your ass first, wiggling up against his crotch as you snuggled into whatever warmth he was offering beside you. 

The content sigh that left your lips was the final straw as Spencer's nerves frayed and his already throbbing cock begged for relief. 

His hands held your hips still as he unthinkingly began to rut into you, rubbing his cock against your ass in any way that would find release. 

He tried to stop himself, but you were mid-dream now, and you were making those noises again. 

Tiny little pants, mewls of pleasure, his name. Jesus Christ, his name. 

He pushed down his boxers as you threw your head back, landing at the crook of his neck, your breath fanning over his skin as you turned over. 

Instead of rutting against your ass, he could now hitch your legs across his thighs and at least get close enough to where he wanted to be, buried in your wet, aching pussy. 

He didn't let himself. Biting his lip, he moved his hands from your hips to his cock, and began a slow, painful attempt at jacking off. 

It should've been easy with you in front of him. He should've already exploded on his hand, especially after more than a week of nothing.

But you were in arms reach and it was as if his entire body was on strike until he sank into you. 

In the end, it was your movements that led him to crack, just like it had been your words in the first place that had moved him to such desperation. 

Shifting uncomfortably again in your sleep, you'd managed to push your leg over his lap and roll on top of him, all while unconscious. 

And then you started moving. Like really fucking moving, like dry humping. Spencer's brain disappeared as he tugged at your clothing to figure out how to remove as much as needed removing. 

Luckily, all he had to do was shift your panties to the side and make sure he didn't get tangled in the rest of your night dress, and, thoughtlessly, he was plunging into your depths. 

He thought it would be that first thrust that would wake him, and though he had his suspicions, he was right. You didn't move. If anything you were quieter now with his cock filling you than you had been dry humping it not a minute earlier. 

You were awake, he knew. You were awake, and you were pretending to sleep. His cock throbbed inside you at the thought and he knew he needed more. 

“March 19th, I dreamed that Spencer woke me up with some cream for his kitten. I called him Daddy. God, I wish it were real,” he whispered in your ear as you continued your facade, quoting your diary back at you as he flipped you over. 

He was gentle still, allowing you to maintain the illusion of sleep even as your heart beat out of your chest and a moan threatened to burst out of your mouth. 

Softly, his hips retreated from over yours, his thick cock withdrawing from your heat before slamming back in. 

“April 12th - Daddy let his good little kitten drink up her spilt milk from the floor. I licked his cum up with my tongue as he fucked me from behind. I'm perverse.” 

Your breathing was way harder to control now, as his hips swayed into yours repeatedly, his real cock stretching further than you'd ever imagined his dream one reaching. You'd never been a good visualiser. 

“Wake up, Y/N,” he said, kissing your neck and replacing his lips with a firm hand at your windpipe. 

“Wake up and talk to me. We're supposed to be talking about earlier, right? You're supposed to be mad at me, but instead, you're close to cumming on my big fat cock.”

You screwed your eyes up tighter as he lifted his head and let his tongue silence the first moan that you let.slip through. He'd won. 

His to guess clashed with yours as you tried to control his pace from under him, tugging your hips up, begging for more of his dick to enter you. 

Sure, you were awake, but to you, this was just another dream, and he wasn't going to let you escape him this time. 

“That's it, that's.my little girl, milk my cock,” he murmured, even as he grabbed your hips again and started setting the pace once again. It was his fingers stabbing into the gate of your hips and stomach that had you finally fully waking up and realizing that this was real, that Spencer had fucked you awake. 

“S-Spencer,” you moaned, chest jumping with each jack hammer, his head buried between them, picking and sucking like some ravenous beast devouring prey. 

“Daddy,” he corrected, sucking one nipple that had popped out of the top of your night dress into his mouth and biting down. 

You arched into the touch, and he didn't let you move away, hands instantly gripping you tighter as you squirmed and fought in his grip. He held tighter still as his dick entered you, again and again. 

Like you were falling asleep again, your brain cleared until there was only him, hic cock, his tongue on your chest, his hands on your ass keeping you in place.

“May 16th - Last night, Spencer was my owner, and he raped me in the middle of the night. He pushed his fat cock into me and I howled in pleasure, stating exactly where he put me until he released his load into me.”

The words were your own, but you couldn't feel any shame heading them, knowing the reenactment felt just as good as you'd hoped it would subconsciously. 

“Y/N, focus on me. Focus on milking my cock like s good little kitten, come on Y/N,” he said, thrusting into you with no qualms now. 

He'd given in, and he'd given in quickly, but if this was the reward, then he was never holding back again. 

“Spencer-” you shuddered out as your orgasm broke through you, his panting writhing form finally pushing you back down into the bed as he continued tutting into you until he, too, could no longer hold back. 

With a painful groan, he came and pulled out of you in an instant, letting his cum leak out of you as he watched. 

You barely had time to catch your breath before he pulled you up, tugging at your hair until you were both on your knees, then pushing you down until your face was level with his softening cock. 

“Clean up your spilt milk, kitten,” he panted, and you complied happily, licking up every drop that had splashed against his cock and stomach and thighs. 

His moans were musical, whimpers and pouts and sinful curses as he held up your hair and tried not to fuck your mouth, enjoying the sensations of your exploring g tongue too much for that. 

When he'd thought you'd done enough, he tugged you up again, wrapping his hands around your body firmly and pulling you in for one more kiss. 

“Next time,” he said, pulling away and panting to catch his breath. “Next time- you have- a dream- just- tell me.” 

You nodded and tried to chase his lips, but he pulled you back down to the bed before you made it  eliciting a small whimper of frustration. 

“You're sleeping in my bed,” he observed, stroking your head as he held you close. 

“You were avoiding me.” 

“I was avoiding you because I've been walking around with a boner for a week, and I didn't want to jump you in a conference room filled with 300 people.”

“You read my diary,” you said, pouting. 

“You let me read your diary. It was wide open on the desk, and you sent me into that room alone, knowing my eyes move quicker than my conscience does.” 

You hummed, smiling in reply but didn't answer the accusations. 

“I wonder what my wake up call in the morning will be like,” you smiled, shutting your eyes and letting yourself fall asleep, his chest pillowing your head and his arms closed tight around your waist. 

[fernandopiastri28]

lick it up ~ lando norris x reader

warnings: drinking, smut, pwp, angst 😬 mdni!

Lando Norris- known manwhore. When he's not in his car going 350 km/h, he chases that thrill in other things in life. Designer items, drinks, parties- women. But there's only one thing that he really wants, he craves her love- his bestfriend.

She felt a pair of sturdy arms wrap around her waist, almost suffocatingly tight. It made it hard to breathe, the paining sensation only increased by the already constricted airflow inside the crowded club. “Lan?” She murmured, her head turning each way in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her best friend. She felt woozy due to the alcohol seeping through her system and she really didn’t need to deal with an over insistent man who believed he had the privilege to her body in her current state.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lando’s chin rested against her shoulder, his hot breath tickling her neck. Those were his arms around her, holding her body closer to him then anything surrounding the pair. “I’m here,” One of his hands travelled up to her hair, his fingers gliding through her frizzing hair. “Don’t worry,”

Sure, Lando was a naturally affectionate person, often insisting on hugging as a greeting and goodbye, or resting his head on the shoulder of absolutely anyone who was near him. He liked touch, saw it as the easiest way he could express his caring and love for others. But drunk him was another level- hands anywhere he could get them, face buried into their shoulder or neck. 

“Lan, you’re really drunk,” She giggled, pushing her slight anxiety down to her stomach as his lips started moving aimlessly against her neck. He wasn’t quite kissing there, but only because he was moving too quickly to be able to actually press his lips to a single spot. 

He grumbled, dissatisfied with her comment. “So? You are too,” Lando was sounding pissy already which only usually happened later into the night. By this point, he was usually going to go seek off some other girl to spend the night with who would fawn over his every move and beg for more.

Her head tilted back, resting against his chest slightly, “I am,” A grin played across her lips, forcing his grimace to transition into a smirk, his eyes full of pure adrenaline without a single thought behind them. “Not as much as you though,”

A nod of agreeance came from him, his hands idly moving up and down on her waist, settling on her hips for a few seconds as her body continued to aimlessly sway along with the music. “It’s difficult to be more drunk than I am- especially since you’re such a heavy weight,”

It was true, and something that Lando was incredibly envious of. He wanted her ability to pour endless drinks down her mouth, consuming absolutely anything she wanted at once and manage to feel perfectly fine the next morning, while he would find himself with a throbbing headache, next to a girl he couldn’t remember the name of. Maybe he’d never asked her though.

“Or maybe you’ve just drunk more,” She dragged a finger along his cheek. Even if she didn’t show it as much, she was certainly feeling very drunk. For once, she wanted to be like Lando, feel like him. She craved his complete confidence and how he would feel as if he was on top of the world each time a drop of alcohol entered his system.

Maybe tonight she’d finally score a man to bring home, be the one to tell Lando all about her most recent hookup instead of always being on the receiving end of hearing it from him.

But at least for right now, all of his attention was on her. He looked at her like she was one of the girls he’d want for even just a night, instead of the one he left behind each time they’d planned to go out together.

She knew full well that the way Lando treated his one night stands was far from something that she should be dreaming about almost nightly, to be the girl that woke up to the sight of Lando’s peaceful sleepy face, his dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks and his unruly curls- but she knew a different side of him. The one that was loving, that cared. The side of him that would talk in the highest of praise about the girls he did really like, and how he never once spoke ill of someone to her.  

He was different then how he came across, she knew that.

He held a bottle of some blue liquid, the spout of it resting against his bottom lip. She ogled up at him, her eyes wide and pupils huge. “Hello,” He grinned, laughing at her dopey upside down expression as she leaned against him. “You’re smiley tonight,” He teased, his hand wrapping tighter around her stomach to keep her up.

“I am smiley,” A deep sigh left her chest, her cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide her smile was stretching out. “I like your face,” She mumbled out, each syllable oozing into the next. “It’s a good face- a true one at that,” Her body wasn’t used to this much alcohol, and she was feeling any kind of shame melting away and just a desperate need to be completely honest. 

A rosy flush was almost definitely covering her face at this point, given how hot it felt to the touch. “I like your face too,” He smiled, his nose nudging against her forehead. It felt unexplainable, like a thousand bolts of lightning crashing into her all at once. “It’s pretty cute,” His thumb swiped along her chin, nudging it open so he could place the finish of his bottle inside her mouth, the glass heavy on her bottom teeth.

He tilted it up, letting it run over her tongue and pool up inside her mouth. It was near sickening sweet, likely what his mouth tasted like given how much he’d already drunk the majority of it. “Good,” Two of his fingers tapped her chin again, his other fingers clasping the neck of the bottle so it didn’t drop. She shut her mouth, swallowing awkwardly due to the angle her head was at. 

Once her mouth was empty again, her lips parted, her eyes moving up further to where the whites underneath her iris’ were even more visible. “More?’ She mumbled, her back shifting back unconsciously to steady herself against him. He granted her wish, keeping her mouth open as he hooked his two fingers over her bottom teeth as more alcohol spilt into her mouth.

“Fucking hell,” He hissed, his pink tongue darting out between his teeth in concentration. Their eyes refused to move and break contact, tension just building the longer the moment lasted. “You’re so fucking hot doing that,”

Her body got hotter at the praise, her mind short circuiting and essentially spilling out of her ears. “You’re sexy,” Her lips wrapped around the bottle, suckling on it gently as the final few drops spilt onto her tongue. 

He went silent, his eyes darting across her face as a way to memorise each curvature and feature complete. He wanted to engrave this moment into his mind for the rest of time. The bottle slid down her mouth further, her lips pursing and stretching thinner around the thickness. His mouth dropped open ever so slightly, his eyes near bulging out of his head at the erotic sight.

He was hard, undoubtedly. His arousal pressed against her ass where her dress clung tightly around. He grinded against her, desperate for some sense of contact and pressure against his ache. “ Baby ,” He whined into her neck, pulling the bottle away from her mouth to rest it against some table.  

Her heart pounded harder in her chest, feeling like it could explode at any given moment. The mix of the nickname, the desperation in his voice, the way his crotch was rubbing straight against her. “ Lan ,” She moaned, turning around so her chest was pressed against his, the silk fabric of his button up gliding against her exposed skin. “Please,” Her voice cracked with straight need.

“Please what ?” His hand settled into place against her jawline, his palm flush with the front of her neck, the slightest pressure against it. He knew what she wanted, both of their intentions so crystal clear, but he wanted to hear her say it- needed it.

“Kiss me,” Her voice was so fucking weak at that point, her expression completely wanton and eager for him. His eyes went straight to her lips where a glossy whine of the remaining alcohol coated them, making them even more red and wetter. The grip his hand had on her jaw tightened, putting her head into the perfect position for him.

His mouth moved against hers quickly, her bottom lip slotting in between hers in an almost practised manner. Her mouth parted, his tongue slipping inside the warm emptiness within seconds. Moans from her spilt into his mouth, the vibrating sensation going straight to his dick, somehow getting even harder with each movement she made against him.

One of her hands trailed up to his hair, tugging on his curls. They were so delicate in between her fingers, perfect coils wrapping around each digit. Her other hand snuck up under his shirt, the back of her hand brushing against the soft silk while her palm and finger tips explored his hardened abs. 

“More,” She begged, her nose nudging against his as their lips finally broke away. His breathing was heavy, laboured almost. Their bodies were still resting flush against each other as his left hand sat heavily on her ass, squeezing it, while his other remained cupping her face. 

“What do you want, gorgeous?” His voice was lower, breathless from making out for so long. He’d tipped his head down, his mouth close to her ear. There were so many things she wanted- she wanted to kiss more, she wanted to feel his tongue all around her mouth, she wanted to taste him, she really wanted to fix the ache in between her legs.

So with not even half her brain working to put together a proper cohesive sentence, she mumbled out the first thing that came to mind, “ Hotel ,”. Whether it was her hotel or his wasn’t important, all that mattered was for them to have a private room to stay up all night together in private. Because despite how at this point she could probably be convinced to drop down onto her knees and suck his cock right then and there without much effort from the brit- it wouldn’t look too good for an f1 driver to be receiving a blowjob in a random club in Singapore. 

Maybe his one would be nicer on the other hand, a Formula one driver would likely have been supplied a higher star hotel then some girl in law school using her own money to pay.

With one swift move, each of her legs were on either side of his waist, her thighs bracketing his hips to keep herself up. One of his arms snaked around her waist for stability as he navigated his way out of the club, avoiding anyone who was clearly trying to approach him for either a photo or an autograph. 

She buried her face in the collar of his shirt, one of her hands trying to cover her face in a last chance attempt to conceal her identity in case anyone had been filming. It was something she should’ve considered before they started making out, but she couldn’t change the past now.

The humid Singaporean air struck them the second they pushed past the entrance doors. A thin sheen of sweat collected on the back of Lando’s neck, but she was unaffected. Singapore was a consistent visit of hers so she’d become accustomed to the near unbearable heat. 

A taxi rolled up right to where they were standing and before she even had the chance to ask when he managed to book one, Lando’s mouth was on hers again. She didn’t even notice the taxi door being opened until he was arranging her on his lap in the backseat, his eyes going directly down to her breasts. He placed a soft kiss to one where some cleavage was exposed from the dress’s style, while his hand worked at kneading the flesh.

A whimper of satisfaction passed by her lips, earning a shit-eating grin from the man. He continued his ministrations, tugging down some of the fabric over her breast to kiss further down her chest. Her head tipped back, hitting against the headrest of the passenger seat. As she ground her hips harder into his, each bump of the road that the car hit just pushed his boner further against her drenched cunt through her panties, a wet patch forming on his trousers.

“Pretty thing,” He trailed his lips up her neck, her jaw, then suckling on just her bottom lip. “So fucking wet for me,” He growled, pulling her body impossibly closer to him. Part of her wished she’d been sober for this- to be able to enjoy this moment with complete clarity and be sure to remember each and every event the next morning.

The drive seemed excruciatingly long, but had only been a mere few minutes in reality. Her body had essentially moulded into his by the end of it, her legs unable to work to take her to the elevator up to his room. They didn’t need to work though, he was more than excited at the opportunity to carry her as long as he could.

And she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to walk by the end of the evening. 

The second the elevator doors drew to a close, Lando’s hand was tugging her panties to the side, allowing a finger to slide along her clit, “Good?” He nuzzled his head into her neck, kissing the smooth skin there over and over. The touch was met with a string of pleasured moans, all more beautiful than the last.

He got prepared before the doors reopened, grabbing his phone out with his keycard secured in the back of it, ready to open the door the second they arrived so he could be on top of her as quickly as possible. The grazing of his finger stopped long enough for him to unlock the door, and resumed as soon as it clicked shut.

“Lando, fuck, please,” She begged, overstimulated by all the drawn out teasing of the night. “Just finger me already,” She was at her wits end, completely ready to just touch herself if he wouldn’t take it a step further right then.

She didn’t have to do that though as he answered her prayers, sliding a thick finger into her aching cunt. A sigh of relief left her lips, her hole clenched around his finger in reflex. He carried her into the bedroom, settling her down on the bed as he hovered over her, his knees on either side of her hips as he covered her face in chaste open mouthed kisses.

The pleasure turned to a quick flash of dull pain when he removed his finger, pulling her underwear down and tossing them across the room in a drunken hurry. His green eyes widened as he stared directly at her pussy, his pupils shooting wide in lust. “Fuckk,” He sighed, “Can I.. taste?” He wasn’t sure exactly how to word the request but she granted him permission regardless. 

He shuffled down, his massive hands grasping her thighs to position them over his shoulders. She lifted her hips off the mattress so as to allow him to push the bottom of her dress higher up before his head dipped down, his nose nudging at her clit. The sensation sends a rush of slick straight to where his mouth was readily waiting.

Tentatively, the tip of his tongue licked alongside her hole to her clit, emitting a shudder and a groan from the girl. He squeezed down on her thighs, rubbing the right one with his thumb to help her calm down. “What colour?” He murmured, looking up at her from between her legs. 

“Green,” Her head tilted back, hitting against the pillow as she moaned into it. With the go ahead, his tongue repeated the motion, pulling more noises out of her throat. He began to eagerly lap at her wetness, the taste coating over his tongue as he grew more desperate to make her cum.

He had become increasingly more aware of the pain in his trousers, his neglected erection tenting uncomfortable in his too tight boxers. Squeezing one of her thighs tighter to make up for the loss of his hand, he reached his hand down to his crotch and began palming at the spot. He tilted his head down, his tongue fucking her while his nose buried into her bundle of nerves.

She was feeling so much. The way his tongue was buried deep inside her, how his nose was expertly rubbing her clit, his hands stroking the insides of her thighs where goosebumps prickled, and most of all- the way his deep emerald eyes remained staring into her soul. He lapped at her wetness like he’d been deprived of sex for years- in reality it couldn’t have been more than a month. 

He had a one track mind, always did. His only goal in life was win, win, win. And today’s prize was making the beautiful girl laying on his bed, his best friend, cum with his mouth. Determined to make that happen, and make it happen right then, his teeth grazed against her slit gently to overstimulate her. 

Sure enough, the action got her legs shaking and her back arching. “Fuck, Lando,” Her hand yanked on his hair, effectively pulling him away slightly. His eyes went wide in shock, it certainly hadn’t been the reaction he’d expected. 

“I’m sorry,” He kissed the inside of her left thigh, his hand idly tenderly rubbing her knee. “Did it hurt?” She shook her head, having to crane her neck to look down at him. His cheek rubbed against her leg, another kiss to the bend of her knee. That time he suckled the spot, hollowing his cheeks to leave a small red spot when he pulled away.

“No, no- just.. sensitive,” She had to take a few moments to breathe, her chest raising and dropping with forced effort. “You- you can go again,” It’s more of a request than a suggestion, and he took it seriously. 

His mouth returned to her heat, his tongue swiping up in a practised motion, each one met with more noises of delight and pleasure. A hand yanking his hair again signalled her orgasm, spilling into his mouth. He drew to a halt, going slower as she came down from her high so it wouldn’t ache from the abrupt ending.

He scooted up so his face was just mere inches above hers. He couldn’t even try to force back the smile that played on his face upon seeing how absolutely fucked out she was. Her half lidded eyes, bitten lips, sweaty skin- it was truly a sight. He kissed her, over and over, wanting nothing more than to experience the pressure of her mouth on his.

As he kept his lips on hers, he began tugging down the top of her dress to reveal her strapless bra, one of his hands moved underneath her back, his fingers toying with the clasp of her bra before snapping it open. His fingers inched the thick fabric away, the pads of his fingers grazing along her bare chest. “I’m surprised it took you so long to get that off,” She snickered, “Thought you’d wanna see my boobs first thing,” Lando felt a wave of shame rush over him, drowning in embarrassment of her comment. 

He puffed hot air up onto his top lip, a slight snarl twisting his lips. “Is that how I make you feel? Like all I want from you is your body?” His tone was harsh, piercing her skin and leaving a mark. Her expression shifted from her drunken daze to somewhat more alert. The sting behind his tone was solely just a cover for his genuine hurt, unbeknownst to her.

“No, no, Lans..” Her hand cupped his cheek, her voice softening as she said it. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it like that at all,” She angled for a kiss, receiving one almost immediately as he was an absolute sucker for an apology kiss. “If anything that’s more me, I was the one begging for you earlier,” That soothed his nerves, his mood switching back to aiming for pleasure.

He sat back on his heels as she shuffled her legs closer to her, her knees bending up towards the ceiling while still straightened enough to allow them to keep their eye contact. Lando bit his bottom lip, a cheeky grin sneaking out through it. “Sex?” He finally asked, watching her expression turn to match his. 

She leaned forward, hands tangling up in the fabric of his button up. Within seconds it had joined her panties somewhere flung mindlessly across the floor. Her fingers massaged into the groves of his back muscles, relishing in how each one ripples with each sudden movement he makes.

His fingers clasped around the zip of her dress, pulling it down tantalisingly slowly. With each bit of skin that was further revealed, his lips peppered kisses down her body. Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the pleasure and an overwhelming feeling of ‘ oh god, finally’. As she felt the last of her dress removed and likely joined the other discarded clothes, Lando let out a short breath of exhilaration.

His nose nudged her neck, lips focused on her collarbones. “Open your eyes,” He grumbled, his thumbs kneading into her waist. “Want you to see this, pretty thing,” Her eyelids were heavier than ever so opening them felt like a chore. 

A flush of wetness streamed straight to her core as she felt him rocking his hips against her cunt. With a flurry of hands and mouths on eachother, she tucked her fingers into his boxer’s waistband and shoved them down, his hardened cock smacking up to hit his stomach.

Her eyes practically turned black as her pupils grew beyond a size Lando deemed possible. “Happy?” A finger slid back inside her like it had been before, moving in and out before realising she’s definitely ready enough for a second one. 

“Horny,” His free hand tightened in place over her hips, lifting up to help his digits reach further into her. He ignored her clit, wanting her to finish for a second time when he was actually inside her.

The head of his cock was reddened and had drops of pre-cum lining all over it. He removed his fingers from inside of her, met with a groan of discomfort, and moved that hand to wrap around his aching shaft. “I needa fuck you right now,” Lando grumbled, his hand stroking his throbbing cock a few times before meeting her eyes, seeing only pure lust and want.

His hands gripped her legs, pulling them apart and locking them to wrap around his waist. One hand returned back to his dick, guiding it into her dripping hole. A gasp was punched from her throat as he got close to bottoming out. She was full, insanely full, as if he was to leave right then she wouldn’t have been a complete woman without him inside her.

Admittedly, there was definitely a fair amount of pain that accompanies the intrusion, but it doesn’t come close to the overwhelming pleasure. “Colour?” His voice was thick as he moved in and out of her with renewed energy.

“Green,” 

Lando went faster and deeper. 

“Greener,” Her expression was dazed and dopey as she looked up at him, her lips lax as she tried to express that she wanted kisses while he ruined her.

He didn’t get the hint, just pushed her legs further up and went quicker.

He finished first and she followed quickly after. He collapsed on top of her in an exhausted pile of a mess, his breathing heavy and manual. “That was so fucking good,” Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling, a sort of emptiness filling the void. She wished he would shut up as he kept rambling on about how pretty she was and how perfect tonight had been. Post sex clarity set in, and hit hard.

Because not only did she just hook up with an f1 driver in a random country, that driver was the man that had been her best friend for years and was a known manwhore. “I love you,” He mumbled, his hand playing with her hair. “Always have, for fucking years I’ve loved you” She didn’t hear him though, his mouth muffled with a blanket in front of it and her ears covered by her pillow.

He fell asleep with his body half on top of her, his arm draped across her chest. Of course he wasn’t the type to practise aftercare. She wiggled out from underneath him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and the desperate need for sleep. As soon as her feet hit the plush cushioning of the carpet and the city lights of Singapore nightlife illuminated her face, she realised the grim mistake she’d made.

So with that, she picked her bra and underwear up off the floor, nicking a pair of his smallest shorts and an oversized McLaren hoodie, wrapped herself up in those clothes and headed downstairs to the lobby, calling a taxi to her own account despite how the receptionist said the charge could go to the room she’d stayed in- to Lando.

Even though he had plenty of money to his name and on his card, and how a fifteen dollar taxi would hardly be noticed- she didn’t want to feel an obligation to him to pay him back for this. She needed clarity and space, and feeling like she owed him wouldn’t allow that. 

With a quick text sent to him, ‘ thanks for tonight, don’t think we should do it again,’ she stepped into her taxi and headed to her own hotel, showering his touch off under scalding water.

The next morning when he woke up tangled in a heap of blankets and pillow, he noticed how cold and empty the bed was. “Love?” His voice thick with sleep, his arms aimlessly reaching for her. They hit nothing though, he was alone in his bed. 

He sat up in a panic, every single moment from the night before remembered exactly. Dancing at the club, his drink in her mouth, the look in her eyes. Back at the hotel, his hands undressing her, their mouths attached to each other’s with undoubtable passion. Him buried inside her, how she’d sounded, how gorgeous she’d looked underneath him.

He’d fucking told her he loved her. And now she was gone. 

The now cold bed sheets wound tighter around his body, the false feeling of an embrace not nearly enough to heal the hurt.

~ part 2 ~

[cariantha]

In a Mood

Book: Open Heart, Book 3 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: Mention of pregnancy Category: Grumpy/Sunshine; Angst Word count: 1.3K Prompt: From @kyra75, “Sunshine is humming and singing constantly, while grumpy at best just tolerates it quietly.” A/N: This is a prequel to their proposal fic.💍Hope you don’t mind, Kyra, but I reversed the grumpy/sunshine roles.🤭

Ethan stepped out of the high-end jewelry store, twirling his keys around his finger and sporting an uncontrollable grin. He whistled a happy, upbeat tune as he walked down the block to where he had parallel parked. Settling into the leather seat of his Jaguar, he started the ignition and cranked up the stereo. Safely merged into traffic, his fingers drummed to the classic rock beat as he sang along. “l said, are you gonna be my girl… 🎵🎶🎵… I say you look so fine that I really wanna make you mine… 🎵🎶🎵”

Sawyer woke on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe because it wasn’t the comfy bed she became accustomed to. She’d been sleeping in Ethan’s for the better part of the past year but stayed at her apartment last night to start packing. Her lease ended in a couple of months, and despite Ethan’s offers to pay the penalty for breaking the lease early to encourage her to move in with him, Sawyer insisted on keeping her room until after her board exams. The six-foot-four, blue-eyed sex machine was too great a distraction when she needed to hunker down and study. 

Shuffling down the hall and into the kitchen, she found Sienna balancing a mixing bowl on her hip while she swayed back and forth, singing a Taylor Swift hit. When Sienna noticed her, she shoved a batter-coated spoon into Sawyer's face, suggesting she take over lead vocals, but Sawyer shook her head and grumbled. “Sorry, Sienna. I’m not awake enough for the Eras tour.”

The day continued in the same irritable fashion. She was fifteen seconds late catching the T. While she waited for the next one to arrive, a street musician embarrassingly circled and serenaded her with “The Lady in Red,” making her wish she had picked a different color jacket this morning.

Later, she watched from the gallery as Bryce led his first heart-lung transplant. He bobbed his head and lip-synced to a mix of 90’s alternative rock playing through the operating room’s speaker system. The intro to “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence began to play. 

“Ohhh yeah,” Bryce hyped and looked to the gallery. “Brooks! It’s our song. Sing with me!” 

Not one to usually shy away from some lighthearted fun, Sawyer just couldn’t get past her funk this morning. “I’m good, buddy.” 

After a couple more headbangers, Sawyer wished him luck on the rest of the procedure and went back to work. 

That afternoon, Ethan suggested a walk to Derry’s Roasters. On the way, he began to whistle a chirpy tune. It was familiar, probably a melody from one of the arias from the opera they attended a few nights ago. “Ugh, not you, too,” she muttered. Ethan wasn’t usually a whistling and humming guy, but something was definitely in the air today, and she seemed to be allergic to whatever it was. 

“Did you say something?” Ethan asked. 

“It was nothing.” 

The annoying merriment continued into the evening hours. Music sounded from the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen as her man prepared dinner. It wasn’t loud, but he sang along with the lyrics. Ethan Ramsey was singing! It should have brought a huge smile to her face and forced her into a fit of laughter, but for reasons she could not explain, it grated on her. 

She fake-smiled her way through dinner, not wanting to project her foul mood on her disgustingly happy boyfriend. When Ethan hopped in the shower and started humming another melody, Sawyer grabbed her phone and headed to the balcony. She texted her best friend, hoping Christian would allow her to vent.  

A couple of days had passed since her text exchange with Christian. Saywer’s moodiness was at an all-time high, though she tried to curb it, especially around Ethan. He had been so sweet the past several days and had done nothing to deserve her bite. 

Hoping a jog would burn off some of the negative energy, Sawyer headed to the waterfront. As she ran along the boardwalk, she made a mental note to shop for a new sports bra because this one felt like it was lacking support. With every pound of the pavement, her breasts ached. Midway through her route, she had to stop for a breather, her body heavy with an unusual fatigue. 

When another female jogger pushing a stroller passed and politely waved, a potentially life-altering thought occurred to her. One that detoured her to the pharmacy on the way back to Ethan’s apartment. 

Sawyer heard his happy tune when he entered the apartment later that evening. Finding her in the kitchen prepping dinner, Ethan greeted her with a “Hi” and kissed her temple. “I’ll be right back,” he said. 

As he put his things away and changed into more comfortable clothes, Sawyer could hear the song he whistled on his lips getting louder as he returned to the kitchen.

Even if she found his carefree mood annoying lately, she couldn’t deny him his happiness. Her heart hurt knowing there was an excellent chance he wouldn't be humming or whistling much in the days to come. Because Ethan Ramsey didn't see kids in his future. He said as much two and a half years ago. When she had asked him the question, the fMRI scan of his brain confirmed it.

Ethan stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her from neck to cheek. He greeted her with a proper kiss when she turned her face toward him. "How was your day off, baby?" he asked.

Baby. 

Sawyer hesitated before answering. With his hand splayed over her stomach, she wanted to say, "It was shocking, and I'm terrified to tell you because it's going to change everything." 

Instead, she shrugged and answered with a deceiving truth. "I went for a jog, ran some errands, and waited for test results."

Ethan kissed her temple again and gently moved her to the side to take over dinner prep. "Stop stressing over those test results, Rookie. You've got nothing to worry about."

Sawyer stepped behind him to hide the mist gathering in her eyes. She squeezed him around the waist, and to herself, she said, "Please let that be true."  

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction 

@jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst 

@liaromancewriter @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75

@socalwriterbee @txemrn @midnightmelodiz @snoopdogcone

[mrschristensen]

Kinktober Day 16 (10/16): Gun Play/Masks starring Ghostface! Sam Monroe

Kinktober Masterlist

WARNINGS: smut (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK), female s/o, dom Sam/sub s/o, gun play, mask kink, DDNE, forced sex/rape, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), bondage, brief gagging, some praise, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), lmk if I missed any!

synopsis: Ever since Sam started high school, he had the biggest crush on this girl. She had caught his attention in a way no one else could, and the simple fact her style was similar to his made her even more alluring. Now, he would finally have her and protect her, no matter the cost.

-> note: I WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ONE RAHHHHHHH (live laugh love Ghostface Sam)

WC: 807 words

He was head over heels for a girl who attended the same high school as he did, and just who happens to be his best friend. But he wants more than that, way more than that. He wants her to be his, in every way possible, no matter what. He’d stop at nothing to make sure that happened, one way or another.

So that’s how he ended up outside her house, watching her undress and get ready for bed. His Ghostface mask and black outfit was marked with blood, the blood of a guy who had crossed the line. He had tried to grab her ass in the hallways, and he was unfortunate enough to meet such a fate, but oh well. He had no regrets whatsoever. No one touches his girl.

When she fell asleep, he stealthily made his way into the house and into her bedroom. Her parents were on vacation, leaving her home alone; it was the perfect time.

He picked her up bridal style, which had ended up waking her up. He cursed to himself internally, and her eyes widened in shock, going to scream or something while also going to punch him. He caught her hand and swiftly covered her mouth and nose, holding her against him as she struggled to escape from his grasp. “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” he murmured soothingly, the voice modulator transforming his voice into one she wouldn’t recognize. She wouldn’t let up, though, so he sighed and slipped some chloroform into her system, making her pass out.

“What am I ever gonna do with you?” he sighs, scooping her up in his arms once more before heading towards his house.

He brought her into his room, laying her down on the bed gently. He tied her to the bed just in case, and then he sat on the edge of the bed to wait for her to wake.

He was considering his options before she stirred, and of course, she woke startled. He quickly covered her mouth when she went to make a noise, and simply decided it would be better to gag her too. So he grabbed a ball gag from his drawer—he had a collection of sex toys, preparing for months for when she would be his—and put it in her mouth, securing it in the back.

“It’s okay,” he coos, smirking under the mask, “y’look so pretty like this, princess.”

She lets out a muffled whimper, struggling against the restraints that he had skillfully put her in. She couldn’t get out even if she tried, he made sure of that.

“Now,” he starts, “I’ll take off the gag if you be a good girl. But…”

He pulls out his glock, pressing it to her temple. “I ain’t afraid to use this, no matter how pretty you are. You understand?”

She nods quickly, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. He wasn’t going to use it, he couldn’t even if he wanted to, he loved her too much. But the threat of it turned him on, and he had a small feeling this whole thing turned her on too.

He took off the gag, and she was silent. She wouldn’t be for long, he knew that, because he’d be absolutely fucking her brains up. And he was right.

Her noises of pleasure escaped her lips as he drilled himself into her ruthlessly, savoring the feeling of her tight walls embracing his length so perfectly. “Shit, been thinkin’ about this and this pussy for so long,” he pants, feeling how close he was. It was so much better than his hand or his pillow, only being able to imagine how she was in bed. But now he got to experience it.

She whined in response, the restraints leaving her wrists and ankles with a reddened ring from the irritation and friction. He didn’t stop, though, keeping the gun next to her on the pillow to remind her that he could pick it up and pull the trigger if she disobeyed even just a little.

“C’mon, cum with me,” he coaxed, pinching her nipple roughly to add some stimulation. They both came in unison to his satisfaction, pumping her to the brim with his seed.

“Such a good girl f’me,” he praised lowly as they descended from their highs, panting and their bodies intertwined. He felt kind of bad that she really didn’t know who he was, since he still had the Ghostface mask on, but he’d tell her soon enough. Hopefully.

But he didn’t need to, since she figured it out on her own. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in her surroundings. Then it clicked. Her eyes widened slightly with shock. “Sam?”

He smirked, taking off the mask and revealing his face to her, before leaning in and capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

[endlich-allein]

Till Lindemann from "Rammstein" turns 60

Good man

Von Flake Lorenz

3. Januar 2023

Till Lindemann, "Rammstein" singer and lyricist, turns 60. Congratulations from his longtime friend and keyboardist.

Actually, one would not have to wait for a milestone birthday to honor this wonderful person. You could just pause and pay homage to the force of nature on any other evening. It may also be that Till Lindemann's birthday this Wednesday is not true. Even when Bravo reported about Rammstein for the first time in the early 1990s, our dates of birth were completely out of thin air. We were way too old for the Bravo target group back then, so the editors simply made us a few years younger. That wasn't a problem because the internet was still empty.

We soon realized that it doesn't matter how old you really are. Much later, when Rammstein became successful, being old was even better. You can deal more calmly with all that nonsense and enjoy your happiness in peace. Also, a person's age is just in the eye of the beholder, at least I don't know anyone who would call themselves old. On the other hand, I can still remember how, as a young musician, I couldn't calm down when I found out that the guitarist in a band I was friends with was over 30 years old. "He can still make music?" I asked. Men over 50 were half-dead, bleating grandpas in ugly brown clothes, they were every teenager's natural enemy.

It's 1986. Till turns up the system. I'm worried: What will the neighbors think?

Till seemed old to me when I met him. That was in the mid-1980s in East Germany. Till was not only older than me, in contrast to me he was already really grown up. He lived in his own house while I was still in my parents' room and didn't even have a girlfriend. I saw Till for the first time in 1986 in a Schwerin club after a Feeling B concert. I immediately noticed him: Till was a tall, strong man who on the one hand exuded natural authority, but at the same time seemed very shy. We didn't hesitate when he offered to take us home with him. His house in the country near Schwerin seemed like paradise to me, it was incredibly comfortable, probably because he had set it up that way himself; he had knocked out the walls between the rooms and left only the half-timbering. The volume on his system was turned up to the limit, the Sisters Of Mercy screamed from the cheap speakers.

I had never dared to do anything like this in my life. What would the neighbors think? When I wanted to play a song on the piano in between, Till simply carried it for me to another room where it wasn't so loud. At some point we all fell asleep where we sat and stood, like in Sleeping Beauty, and when I woke up the next morning, I imagined what it would be like if you always lived like Till. I really liked this idea.

Of course, his life wasn't a one-stop party. He also lived in the house because the argument with his father, who was not exactly frail, had escalated beforehand. Till had hit his father, the children's book author Werner Lindemann, with such a punch that he flew into the strawberry bed. Then Werner Lindemann threw Till's things out of the skylight. Life in a sports boarding school and training as a carpenter in Rostock were no fun either. Later, as a single father, Till lived with his daughter Nele in his nest, which in turn probably saved him from being drafted into the army. Till always seemed and always seems in a good mood to me – a bit like Obelix, of course not in terms of stature, for God's sake, he looks more like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but in terms of personality he's more like Obelix. Always according to the motto: "Friends, I have a plan, let's go here and there and break everything to pieces!"

Practical: He could change a wheel on the Trabi without using the jack

When the wall was suddenly open, Till drove to Lübeck with a couple of friends and spent all the West money he had saved and exchanged on gummy bears. He sat in a doorway and ate them all. Of course, he also manages a wild boar – it was an advantage back then that he lived so close to the railway embankment. When a waiter asks Till if he liked his food, he usually replies: "Yes, thank you, it was plenty." Incidentally, he also shares Obelix's great love of small dogs. Since Till is with (allegedly) Francis of Assisi, who wrote: "The dog remains loyal to me in the storm, man not even in the wind."

And like Obelix, Till seems to have fallen into a magic potion, because he really has tremendous powers.

At that time he could change a wheel on the Trabi without using the jack. In the old days, when we had to work as stewards at an open-air festival, Till just banged his fist through a car window to hold the driver down.

If Till sees any body of water, he immediately plunges into it and plows through it like a motorboat. He tucks the boxes that we carry in the studio or in the rehearsal room under his arm alone.

If a door is locked somewhere, he just sticks me through a second-story window so I can open it all from the inside.

I've never met anyone who is so pragmatic about music and lyrics. Till would never have originally thought of becoming a singer. Although he observed that musicians in Schwerin had a hit with women and then played drums in a punk band - but in all those years I really never had the feeling that punk music particularly interested him. An effective and well thought-out stage show was always more important to him. For example, Till once put chickens in the bass drum and only pulled the cloth away after the first song, causing the animals to tumble across the stage.

Cheering crowds, prizes and honours: All of this actually leaves him completely cold

When Till was supposed to sing with us, it was very difficult for him at first, because as a singer you can't hide behind an instrument or another musician. Then he put on welding goggles so that he looked like a friendly insect. Till sang beautifully, deeply and soothingly. We stopped worrying immediately. Everything would be fine. We just needed good lyrics. So Till sat down to write them. He never pretends to be a great artist who needs to express his deep feelings. He prefers to think about what else can be lit on stage (like me). The concerts used to be a lot of fun. At that time we always looked for an attractive village inn first, in order to eat as much as possible. Only then did we set up our stuff and play.

Till loves women - and women love him. But how he manages to go through his life completely free of any affectation, even after 37 years, still arouses deep admiration from me. Cheering crowds of spectators, prizes and honors actually leave him completely cold. Organizing a party for our entire crew seems to be more important to him than any concert. Incidentally, he has renounced his rights as a lyricist for decades, so that all six of us at Rammstein earn exactly the same. In any case, Till has extended the life of the band, because money is usually the trigger for a breakup. He, on the other hand, has a very decisive influence on our band with his lyrics and his voice.

So we can still successfully defend our small East German village. By Teutates! May the sky never fall on Till's head!

(I'm not sure of this whole translation so feel free to correct me)

[noffy96]

wrote another Sun/Moon fic again!

Another fic, for the Sun/Moon stories I keep writing. This one a little peek into their relationship before they became an item. This part is gonna be more Angst heavy and chapter 2 will be more Fluff heavy promise

The last straw

Word count: 2,368

Chapter 1/2 ( in progress)

Summary

The switchback was sudden. He landed on the patted floor with a loud thud. Had he been on the wire? With groans and tired squeaks, he felt around his face.

His fingers hurt. One of his lower rays got bent a little in his fall. He looked at his arms more dents and scratches than the last time he was awake.

How long had he been out? The generators should keep Moon from showing up. He stood on wobbly legs as his gyroscope had finally reset itself. And took a look around the daycare.

Or

Sun wakes up after an unknown amount of time. Their body aching, and Moon still spouting hurtful nonsense. The stress, the pain, the insults. It's all becoming a bit too much. Can he still be there for his friend?

--link here to AO3--

or continue below the read more line

The switchback was sudden. He landed on the patted floor with a loud thud. Had he been on the wire? With groans and tired squeaks, he felt around his face.

His fingers hurt. One of his lower rays got bent a little in his fall. He looked at his arms more dents and scratches than the last time he was awake.

How long had he been out? The generators should keep Moon from showing up. He stood on wobbly legs as his gyroscope had finally reset itself. And took a look around the daycare.

And he let out a tired sigh. Toys and balls were lying everywhere. There seemed to be some new holes in the netting around the daycare.

He turned on his communication with a mix of anger and trepidation.

‘Moon!? what did you do!?’

He screamed through his inner communication system, and a familiar cackle reached him.

‘Punished the naughty Children, it was past their bedtime’

He sighed harder. There weren't any children around. His clock told him it was three o'clock at night. No way a child had sneaked in. They had already scrapped naptime. If things kept going as they were. The daycare might get closed down for good.

Another high cackle echoed in his head.

‘Is the stupid Sun trying to think? He should stop before he hurts himself ‘

He shut down the internal Communication without a word to his counterpart. The personal digs had increased the longer Moon wasn't allowed out. Especially with naptime now gone.

He missed his friend. The one that he had just started to get to know. The gentle snarky bot. That had sung the lullabies to the younger kids. The one that kept the older kids entertained with his snark and humour. The one that asked him about his day. And did his best to clean up to his standards.

Now the only thing left ‘clean’ were the stacked barrels. Whatever was wrong with Moon. It was taking him away a bit at the time. He wanted to believe his friend was still there. But it was getting harder and harder each day.

Cause every time he woke back up. Or even tried to talk there would be another insult. Or nonsensical statements with the early cackle. Their body hurt and dented as if Moon had thrown them against every surface image able. Trying to switch out when the lights even as much as dimmed.

Fighting for control and putting him back into a forced sleep.

He made so many requests for someone, anyone to help his counterpart. But instead of getting upgraded. Generators were being placed in the play structures to keep the lights on. The daycare hours were reduced. And fewer children came to visit. As they grew afraid of Moon and by extension him.

He shuffled around the daycare, his protocols not letting him go and rest before the mess was dealt with. So he slowly put the toys back in the cubicles. Put the balls back into the ballpit. Crawled through the structures to check for any damages or swears of marker or pen. Cleaned the tables of stains.

It took a little over an hour. And by then he was just left at twenty percent charge. And called the cable to fly up to their room.

His back ached when the wire attached. He was ready to fall into the nest they called their bed and call it a day. But stopped once he stepped past the curtain.

The room was an absolute mess. There were deep gashes in the walls. A string of fairy lights broken and shattered on the floor. Several pillows and blankets were torn to shreds. But what really made his processor throb were the torn-down drawings. Some had been slashed. Others crumbled. A few even ripped to pieces. All that hard work of their little stars lay on the floor in broken pieces

And a new stab of pain filled him as he noticed that if the ones destroyed and slashed contained himself.

He felt so very numb as he jumped down the ladder and peered through the tunnel further into their room. More drawings, more scratches. Also there seemed to be a broken staff bot shoved all the way in the back.

He started shaking as anger began to overwhelm him. It hadn't been the first time Moon destroyed their space. But he had left the drawings alone. It mostly looked like he had found something, dragged it up here then destroyed it.

Not this utter destruction of their space. They had so little already and now he was actively destroying it. The pain, the exhaustion, the stress. It was all too much and he had enough.

He turned the connection back on with a snarl. Barking out loud into the empty room knowing his counterpart would hear it

“What the actual hell Moon, what is this?”

His question only got an evil laugh in response. He had never been able to see his counterpart in his mindscape. But he could always feel it. It used to feel warm and present.

Now it felt looming and taunting. Like Moon was high up on the wire floating in front of his face with a large grin.

“Don’t like my little present~?”

His rays shook in their frames

“Present?! You destroyed our room! Our stuff, our gifts. Why would you do that!”

His rays rattled trying to shove back inside as his faceplate spun. Moon trying to take over their body again. He struggled back getting more into the light and accidentally slammed into the wall as he stepped on a light bulb.

“Our gifts?! Your gifts! It’s always you! Always keeping me in the dark! If I get nothing. Then so do you!”

He shook his head. Still fighting with Moon. Falling to the floor landing awkwardly on his skyhook. Sending a shock of pain through their frame. And both of them let out a loud screech. He scrambled up.

He wasn’t able to cry. But if he could he was sure the tears would be dripping down his face. He had enough.

“That’s it! No more nights! We are gonna keep the lights ON. I NEVER wanna hear you again. You are not my Moon anymore”

He shut down the communication. His frame was still rattling as they kept fighting. He struggled for a couple of minutes twitching and scrambling against the floor. Until he got to the centre of the room where the light from the main daycare shined through the open door. Making Moon finally still.

He sat up heaving against the wall. Tired fingers grabbing the loose cord near the outlet. One of his charging cables. That above all luck wasn’t broken, and he plucked himself in. As the fight with his counterpart had dropped him to below ten percent.

At first, he just let out heaving breaths, but eventually, he brought his knees up and buried his head in them. His whole body ached, but it didn’t hurt as much as his emotional matrix burned. He sobbed without tears. His face was still stuck in its eternal grin. Rays retracted as he continued to heave and sob.

He hadn’t wanted to accept it. But he must have lost his friend long ago. He had held out hope, but this was the last straw. Never would he hear that soothing voice again. Just the high statics growls and laughter. Never hearing him sing, never feel his happiness again as he cared for the kids. Never feel safe again with the lights off.

He never even got to see him. Really see him. He sat there for several long minutes crying. Making the already slow charging even slower. Eventually, he gathered himself enough to look over his knees and saw the papers everywhere.

He checked his percentage and decided to temporarily unplug so he could gather the drawings. And then look for a place to hide them. Somewhere Moon wouldn’t get to hopefully. First, he just collected what was right in front of him. Then he slowly went to the dimmer-lit areas but Moon didn’t fight for control again.

Eventually, he had everything in a pile. He sat back against the wall, plugging back in and began to sort the papers Into salvageable and unsalvageable piles. It half took his mind off everything. The aches, the loss of his friend.

But it always quickly came back with a stab, with drawings of both of them. Playing with kids, hearts all around them. Starry nights, and clear skies. He remembered joking with Moon once about getting outside. Now he doesn’t think he’ll ever be allowed to leave the daycare anymore.

Suddenly he came across a paper that surprised him. It had no drawings, just text. His name was at the top. And with a start, he realised that it was Moon’s handwriting, if not a bit shakier than he was used to.

The anger came back, and he angrily shoved the paper on top of the discard pile. Not looking at it. Looking at the next few papers. And as he went to put another one on top. To put it out of his mind for good. He noticed another word

‘Sorry’

It made him freeze. He shouldn’t look.

He really shouldn’t.

Moon was gone. The fact that this had happened was proof of it. But even as he kept telling himself he shouldn’t. He picked it back up, straightening out the wrinkles. And read it.

‘Sun,

I know I am hurting you, and I am sorry. I seem to have contracted a virus and I am doing all I can to fight it. Please, I beg of you to keep the little stars safe from me. I can feel your pain, it feels like it has been years since I last talked to you. And I might never be able to again

So just in case.

Thank you for being my best friend. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share my body with. And I will keep fighting this thing inside us so it never touches you and you stay safe- ‘

The writing seemed to get shakier as the letter moved on, his own hands trembling.

‘Tell the little stars that I loved them. You will always be my most Treasured friend. And I wish I could have told you that in person.

I’m sorry again. Good luck Sun, I’ll miss you, Moon

He stared at the letter. Reading the words over and over again. A virus…Moony had a virus. He was hurting and fighting and Fazzbear was doing nothing. They should know he has it right, They have gone to parts and servers a lot since this started.

Were they really just letting Moon suffer like that?! His fingers trembled, right now he was a little glad he couldn’t cry. So no tears were dripping on the page and ruining it. He hugged it close to his chest.

Moon was still here…somewhere. Still fighting. Otherwise, he would be feeling the effects of the virus. Moon was still keeping him safe ... .Moon was…

His head shot up. He just told Moon that he never wanted to talk to him again. But what if…what if Moon had heard?! What if he was losing faith because he had given up? But he hadn’t known. He had been so so so tired. And…

He looked around in a frenzy. And shoved the pile of drawings under a loose floorboard for now together with Moon’s letter. And stood up opening the connection

“Moon!”

He heard a high-pitched crackle

“I know you couldn’t keep your word, Always such a weak-willed Bot.”

He ignored him, trying to stare at the space he could feel him and said evenly

“You are my best friend. And I’ll always be here for you!”

It was quiet for a few seconds and it seemed like he had taken Moon by surprise. But then cackling and laughing started again. Mocking him, saying he didn’t care. That he was nothing. But he knew it wasn’t true. Moon’s letter is a shining beacon of hope.

His body was still tired. And with some difficulty, he got himself up to the platform of the daycare. He didn’t wanna risk the lights turning off as he sat down. He placed his hand against his chest. Trying to stir the music box that wasn’t his to use. But he didn’t manage.

He hoped that under the virus, under the sneering and name-calling. Moon could still hear him. So he began to sing. A song that he had heard from one of the kids. A soft lullaby-like song, about how the moon rises, and summer is ending.

All the while Moon kept berating his singing, That he could never get the kids to sleep. But he kept going. Until the song was done. And then went to a sad ballad. One of the parents had shared it after her husband had died.

It was a guy who kept talking to the moon. Like the person wasn’t gone. Maybe it was more literal in his sense. Moon didn’t stop his taunting. But he kept going, singing those two songs over and over. Until his voice box burned from overuse.

He sends a request to parts and serves for the damages caused by Moon to their body as he kept singing. Deciding to keep going until either his battery went out. Or one of the maintenance workers came to get him.

He heard Moon calling his name, sneeringly, with increasing volume as he kept going. But he wouldn't stop. He tried not to think of how lonely Moon was. How far out of reach of him. It would cause him to cry more

Moon was calling his name again. But it sounded different, he ignored it and kept singing. Even as his systems started to slow.

“Sun!”

His eyes shot open. And he looked up into two worried scarlet eyes. Holding him by the shoulders. As he realised there were tears streaming down his face.

“Sun…”

He shot forward hugging his Moony, and burst out crying.

[turtlesmog]

sokka had fallen--or rather, "slipped" on icy steps, and landed in katara's medicine hut for an hour to heal a swelling ankle. zuko laughed when sokka returned back to the fire nation, telling a story that had grown to include a falling boulder and a baby.

sokka had fallen into the water. before anyone could call out "man overboard", zuko plunged into the icy depths, hell-bent on reaching sokka. later, the two young men (shivering, close to one another for warmth) argued below deck whether zuko had been "a fucking idiot" going after him. in the end, they couldn't agree, so they went to sleep angry. when the woke, the anger was gone.

sokka had fallen to the ground. and zuko followed, as sokka knocked him off balance. their weapons had long been discarded this match, so zuko landed right on sokka with a heavy grunt. for a split second, they sat there, breaths heavy. sokka took that moment to leverage his weight against zuko's and flip them over, pinning him down, a dare in his eyes, to continue the spar. (how long had sokka had freckles?) zuko yielded, and sokka let up. he rose, and offered his hand to zuko, who shakily took it.

sokka had fallen for it. zuko had mentioned his desire for a night out in the town... go to the market... see a local play. unfortunately, all the unorganized paperwork he had to sort through prevented him from such an endeavor. of course, sokka, as foolish as he was, in no time, had created an intricate yet comprehensible system for the paperwork. sokka had played right into his hands. zuko loved theatre, and loathed paperwork. the poor idiot didn't know zuko would've gone out anyway. (strangely, the trick lasted longer than he thought. sokka returned most evenings to help with paperwork)

sokka had fallen in love. zuko was sure of it. he'd seen the look in his eye years before. a certain light. he'd seen it leave after the breakup with suki. zuko was angry. he wasn't sure why, but he was. he had no right, of course. except maybe he did. because he was sokka's best friend, and they spent all their time together, they shared every dream and thought and fear with one another. so how and why was sokka keeping a secret like this from him? Of course that's why he was angry. he was happy for him, too. that light in his eyes might as well have been the sun, to zuko. but knowing sokka was in love with some girl did not make him happy. because of the secrecy of it all. (and no other reason at all)

sokka had fallen on the bed. well... maybe that fall had been encouraged by a slight push from zuko, who couldn't help but stare at every angle of sokka's body in wonder. he was perfect. the way he breathed, the groove of his abdomen meeting his hips, the way the light touched his beautiful skin. soon, he met the man's cool gaze, a gaze that returned a burning desire. sokka tugged at zuko's hands and guided him down to the bed with him, pulling him in for a deep kiss. (their nights were warm.)

sokka had fallen ill, and zuko panicked a bit more than was "cool" or "casual". he prepared a tea that he was sure would make sokka feel better. "that's really sweet", sokka said, "and very cute of you. unfortunately, this tastes like dirt. and you have a meeting. i'll be fine for an hour or two. might even get some sleep without your hovering." so zuko went to his meeting. (and worried about sokka the entire time. and when he returned, he continued worrying about sokka for days until he was better.)

sokka had fallen asleep, right in the middle of their conversation. zuko had half a mind to wake him up, just to force him to be a better listener, or impress upon him the impoliteness he was showing. but as he listened to his soft breathing, and saw the rising the falling of his chest, barely visible under the single lit candle in the room, he didn't. he let him sleep. and like a sunrise, or growing embers, a realization bloomed within zuko. "i love you", he whispered to sokka, who remained sound asleep. and the candle, and the stars, and the moon, and the fireflies all whispered it over and over. (i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you)

sokka had fallen out of favor with gran-gran after an incident of inappropriate language in her house. that's how sokka found himself scrubbing away at the laundry to make up for it. and that's how zuko found sokka mumbling some of that "incident"-adjacent language, following by insistence that he was a "grown man", and "an important political figure". zuko assured sokka that he wasn't there to help him with the laundry (he'd gotten himself into this mess). but as sokka scrubbed, the water started to warm in a way that made sokka stop his grumbling, and start singing an old work song. zuko sat alongside him, listening. this might be the reason he was supposed to be alive, he thought.

sokka had fallen into a routine with zuko that just seemed to make sense. their nights were warm (except when they weren't), and they didn't really fight (sometimes they did). the firelord and the ambassador were content and bright. even days they had to spend apart (which were sometimes weeks), they always found one another again. they would find the rhythm of one another, hearts beating in sync. as long as they kept beating, they would share the rhythm again.

sokka had fallen behind schedule. it was very unlike him, and zuko grew worried. the dancing lights in the sky only lasted so long, and he didn't want sokka to miss it. especially not tonight. he clutched the headpiece in his hand, wondering if it was suitable sokka rarely wore his hair up these days (which distracted him endlessly), so he might not even want it. but the time to dwell on that was far over, as zuko had already crafted the golden piece, and sokka came into view. he offered up a wave, and zuko was at ease. (he didn't at first see the hand-carved necklace sokka carried)

sokka had fallen upon the scene just in time. zuko hadn't even noticed the cloaked figure in the trees above him. he called out in desperation and panic just as the assassin jumped from his perch, knife in hand. zuko barely dodged out of the way, and sprang into action. between the two of them, sokka and zuko managed to restrain the attacker. as the guards detained the ozai loyalist, taking him to the dungeon, a stinging pain made itself known in zuko's shoulder, and he let out a hiss. sokka's eyes darted to the mark of blood growing on zuko's shirt. he would berate zuko for the next hour for being so careless. (he held zuko's hand while the healer stitched the cut) over the next few days, sokka wrote up a new security strategy presenting it to the council at the next meeting. "the firelord's safety was essential to the nation--to the world" he said. (his husband's safety was essential)

sokka had fallen prey to the dangerous attacks of little bumi. the toddler managed to grapple him, forcing sokka into a surrender. zuko cheered bumi on, firmly betraying his husband to curry favor with their young nephew. zuko basked in the feeling of this, and as he saw sokka in this gentle, playful light, another one of those blooming realizations hit him. when they returned him, zuko found an old file (using a very intricate system) an advisor had given him when he first declared his intention to marry sokka. he took out his quill, and studied the law proposal pertaining to his heir.

sokka had fallen head over heels for izumi as much as izumi had fallen head over heels for sokka. the second they laid eyes one another, it was over for zuko. forever the second-favorite dad, and sokka's second-favorite firebender. the little girl was clever and sharp. she took after her father in that way (the favorite one). she was also sneaky and rebellious and outspoken, taking after her father (the second-favorite). back in his days of banishment, zuko never allowed himself to dream of happiness. didn't allow himself to hope for love in this way. but even if he had, zuko didn't think he ever could have been capable of imagining happiness like this.

sokka had fallen. zuko watched it happen. one moment, he stood in complete normalcy, and the next, sokka was diving in front of zuko. and then he fell. the blood wasn't the thing that frightened zuko. it was the glaze in sokka's eyes. zuko didn't even remember killing the attacker. all he remembered was crashing to sokka's side. sokka sokka sokka sokka hey sokka sokka. you're alright. just look at me just look at me just loo--tat's it there we go good you see that? look at those pretty eyes of yours. no you can't close them, can't deprive us of that can you sokka, no you can't. hey hey hey no don't worry about it it's fine you're okay you're going to be just fine you understand you don't get to be anything else because you--

"it was good"

"what? what's that, what was good?"

"our life. us."

"...yes. it w-it is. and it's going to st--"

"shorter than we thought. than we dreamed."

"that's not--"

"but it was... good. that's what matters."

"you're going to be fine."

"you and izumi... you're my... my... and katara, and... and everyone. you... you all know. you all know, don't you? how much i love--"

"please don't"

"you know, don't you?"

"of course we know."

"it was good."

"i love you. don't go."

"it was good, zuko."

and zuko fell into despair.

into pieces. apart. he fell into a hole that he had never imagined even in his darkest times. it was wide and consuming.

he fell into oblivion. he fell beneath the waves.

all he could seem to do was fall which was funny because that's all sokka had seemed to do, too. even the first time zuko had met him, he fell. a brave boy who would protect those under his care at any cost.

he kept falling and falling and falling. revenge didn't keep him from falling. in fact, it dragged him down faster. meditation and crying and screaming and burning and talking and eating and not eating and hoping not hoping and remembering and forgetting didn't help him from falling.

each time he thought he hit the floor of this well of sorrow, it crumbled beneath him, swallowing him in further.

it was dark and his light had been stolen. his light. it was beautiful and thoughtful and stupid and perfect and clever and so selfless and it was gone.

"it was good" (he remembered)

it was gone (he insisted)

but it was good (something said)

at dinner, izumi laughed. a sound zuko hadn't heard in months.

in the distance, he could see something, the edge of the well.

"it was good" (that was true)

but it's gone (this was also true)

but despite it being gone, despite it all, one truth stood.

"it was good"

zuko received hundreds of letters from all nations--farmers and merchants and fisherman and soldiers and old men and children. every letter was a story of sokka, of the way he'd somehow helped them. zuko had thought he'd heard every story, but he somehow didn't know even half of it.

izumi had found a painting. a really bad painting of the three of them. zuko had no idea where she'd found it, but he couldn't help but let out a laugh when she showed it to him.

they found a secret compartment in sokka's desk. letters and poems and drawings and schematics and tickets and lists and ideas and journals were tucked away. izumi crawled into zuko's lap and they spend hours going through it all. as she lay asleep in his arms, he felt that blooming feeling, small and distant and quiet, but unmistakably there.

"it was good"

maybe this well could catch some light again.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

The Morning After

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x F!Reader

Warnings: Kissing, implied nudity, mentions of smut

Word Count: 858

Summary: You and Obi Wan crash landed and got yourselves snowed into the ship. Luckily, you found a way to pass the time most pleasurably, but what will happen the morning after?

A/N: Fluffcember Day 22! It took a lot of self-control to not turn this into pure smut. I may or may not continue this one (or write the previous night) cuz I LOVE Obi Wan. He needs a hug and a really great lay. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one! Thank you!

Fluffcember Masterlist

You don’t remember how it happened, but a girl can only play so many games of sabbac before it gets boring, you know?

You suppose you should’ve meditated, or read the holobook you’d brought, but then Obi Wan gave you such a look and he smelled so good and the ship was getting colder so…

You woke up feeling sore in places that hadn’t been sore in years. At some point, the ship’s life support systems kicked back on and the bunk room was pleasantly warm once more. After the crash, you and Obi Wan had to make some emergency repairs and funnel all the life support to the bunks while you waited for rescue. Buried as you were under a foot of snow, you were surprised it kicked on at all. 

You moved to stretch, but met with resistance against your back. Obi Wan groaned, his chest vibrating against your back. You let your hand fall behind you to his bearded jawline and stroked it as he placed sleepy kisses along your shoulder. 

“Morning,” he said.

“Suppose so…We should talk about what happened,” you said, voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

“Of course,” he muttered, lips tracing over the back of your neck and causing shivers to run down your spine. “But can it wait until after a cup of caf?”

You turned in his embrace, “You got the caf machine running?”

His early-morning smile was enchanting. “I told you; all necessary life support is operational.” 

You chuckled and dove into his chest — Maker, he was warm. You never wanted to leave the too-small bunk as long as he was there with you. Alas, nature called. 

As you finished up in the fresher Obi Wan returned from the galley with two mugs of piping hot caf. You each sat on one of the lower bunks, facing each other and sipping your caf.

“So,” he started after clearing his throat. “Should we dive right in?”

“Sure, let’s dive.”

“Last night…you and I, we…”

“We sure did.” 

“Do you have any…regrets?”

“Not regrets, per se, but perhaps a…hesitation?” You offered, sensing he had the same feeling. The Force around the two of you rippled the way that it had last night. 

Obi Wan’s head fell forward, a lock of his reddish hair falling in his face. You resisted the urge to brush it back as he looked up at you from under his eyelashes. All you wanted to do was throw yourself across the narrow aisle between bunks and latch your mouth onto his again, but you knew the two of you needed to figure out exactly what you were doing. As Jedi, attachments were forbidden but the two of you had been friends for longer than you could remember. You’d loved him for almost as long, but had resigned yourself to quietly pine for him until last night. Your walls had come down, and building them back up again felt nigh on impossible. 

“The Code,” he groaned, setting his mug aside. He ran a hand through his hair, the muscles of his arm shifting under his golden skin. Everything about him was golden — his hair, his skin, his presence in the Force. It made you want to bury yourself in the bunk with him even more.

“The Code,” you agreed. Attachments were forbidden. They led to the Dark Side, that’s what you’d been told your entire life. But how — how? — could something as loving and tender that felt so right lead to anything dark?

A sense of agreement flickered through the Force. From where Obi Wan reclined against the bunk you could see that it came from him. 

Come here, he beckoned with a lift of his brow. Your caf joined his and you crawled over to his bunk. Without hesitation, you snuggled into his side and he placed a kiss on your temple. You both seemed resigned to the situation and let your conversation lapse into silence, simply happy to remain in the moment. 

“Would this have happened if we hadn’t crashed and gotten snowed in?” You wondered aloud, already knowing the answer.

Obi Wan pulled back and looked down at you, “Someday, maybe, but this definitely helped.” 

“And your atrocious sabbac skills,” you joked. In retaliation he poked your sides, making you giggle and writhe against him. All the writhing ended with you on top, pinning him against the thin mattress by his wrists. With a wicked smirk, you leaned down to kiss him but he pulled back. You paused. 

“I…I think you should know,” he said quietly, breath ghosting across your lips, “that I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”

You gulped, “Me too, Obi Wan.” You let your mouth wander along his thick neck, tracing his pulse with your tongue. He elicited the most delicious moan and you nipped his warm skin.

“So let’s make the most of it before help arrives, yeah?” He offered, devious grin on his tempting lips. You hadn’t so much as nodded before he’d flipped you over onto your back. All you could do was squeal and surrender to him, to make the most of your limited time together. 

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for abandoning my people and joining the enemy?

I (16F) grew up in the military. My people were forced to live underground after losing a war a century ago. Life underground was difficult, but we made the best of it, preparing for a day when we may be able to take revenge on our enemies and reclaim our place on the surface.

Two years ago, some of our elite soldiers invaded the enemy territory and stole an important power source. It was necessary as we were beginning to run out of power sources of our own, and if we didn’t have power our homes would collapse. Two of our enemies (C, 128M and 3, 14F at the time) entered our territory to retrieve the power source. We managed to apprehend C, but 3 managed to find both him and our leader with radio assistance from two of her allies, 1 and 2 (both 17F). I witnessed the battle between 3 and our leader, during which 1 and 2 hijacked our leader’s audio system and played an… incredible song.

I cannot begin to explain how life changing this music was. It was so different from the music I had grown up with, and yet something about it seemed to pull at… well, my very soul. Suddenly everything that was once so important seemed insignificant. Revenge didn’t matter anymore. Only one thing mattered, and that was reaching the surface. I know I wasn’t the only one affected, as many of my friends began deserting one by one, never to be seen again. I tried to stay loyal for as long as I could, but eventually I couldn’t resist any longer, and I deserted my people too.

Unfortunately, I became lost on the surface, and ran into C and 3. They understandably believed me to be hostile and attacked, but something happened which I don’t quite remember and I woke up in an underground testing facility without my memories. C was there too, and we called a truce as we searched for 3 and a way back to the surface. We were also contacted by two women (P, 21F and M, 18F) who had found 3’s communicator and wanted to help us.

During our time in the facility, I slowly became friends with C, P and M. M was a deserter just like me, so she understood better than anyone. As I regained my memories, all three of them showed me more kindness than I perhaps deserve. We eventually found 3 and managed to leave the facility, and I am now living in the same city as them. They are all dear friends of mine, yet I cannot help but think of the friends I left behind. I’m sure that some of them never left the underground, and they must be suffering. But the thought of returning to my former life fills me with dread. I can’t bring myself to do it.

My friends (both my old friends who moved to the city, and my new friends) assure me that I am doing nothing wrong by choosing to stay here. But I can’t help but feel guilt for leaving my leader and my people.

[wolfwrenbrainrot]

All the thoughts I ever had about SW ship wars from 2015 to 2023?? And why I ship Wolfwren I guess Idk

⚠️ DISCLAIMER ⚠️

I’ll be discussing the ship wars that are happening right now in the ahsoka fandom and compare it to how my perception about the fandom war that happened during the sequel era changed with the years). Oh, and I’m going to get into some tangencies that may not make much sense most of the time, so reading this to the end is on your own account. I ended up being a bit cynical too, but not in a mean way, I hope?

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I usually give up everytime I start writing an opinion on tumblr, because most of the time I just think my opinion won’t change anything, but the ahsoka fandom got “revived” (not that it was dead, but, well, we haven’t had any new episodes and to an extent the most of us move on to others shows a little until we get new content, like it happened these last few days) and I’ve been thinking about this show all on my own for a while (my friends aren’t really into Star Wars stuff, so they can listen, but they’ll never GET IT like interacting with fans online will). I’m explaining myself too much, but all I mean by that is that by writing this, I don’t intend to add fuel to the fire. That’s why i won’t tag sab//ra, r//lo or mention the ships just because I don’t want to upset those of them that can have normal conversations about media nor trigger those that can’t (which, thankfully, doesn’t seem to apply to all sab//zras). So, if you don’t like Wolfwren, you’ll only see this if you are looking for a ship you don’t like or if you’re invested enough in not liking it to check the anti tag. I’m not judging, we all been there. In fact, I was there during the sequel era, with a ship that is pretty similar in dynamic to Wolfwren. It was also pretty similar to a ship I loved at the time, Catradora, from Netflix’s She’ra. So, yeah, I was a big hypocrite. I still kinda think sapphic enemies to lovers is the superior taste of the trope, but that’s because I’m so profoundly gay it would scare the gayest gay, so obviously the ships I’m more invested in are sapphic. It’s a given. But my point is, now I see the whole R//lo argument from a different angle, that you can disagree with, but I believe is more realistic:

I don’t ship it.

Although it is an illusion to believe our taste in fiction is not related to who we are as people (because blah blah blah capitalism blah blah blah I’m a commie), it is possible to distinguish what we want from two fiction characters and how we expect to meet our partners in real life lmao.

(This next part I’m a bit uncertain of how it’ll be perceived, but I hope it makes sense. Please, both R//los and antis that may or may not be reading this, be patient and try to understand what I’m trying to say.

Yes, Finn was casted aside by Lucasfilm. Yes, K//lo getting a more prominent role in the films played a part in this whole process. Yes, there was a part of the R//lo fandom that was racist to John Boyega. This is also true for the Star Wars fandom as a WHOLE, because there was plenty of shitty dudebros complaining about the same shit they’re complaining today, “woke culture” and all that crap, just because they decided to have a woman and a black man as the protagonists. A decision that most likely wasn’t made by those executives thinking: “Oh, wouldn’t it be so great if we made a few minorities feel seen in this universe many of them really love?”. But it did that.

The Force Awakens came out and, despite being, at the same time, a remake of A New Hope and a continuation of Return of the Jedi, its new characters had SO. MUCH. POTENTIAL. And, limitations imposed by mainstream products made by big corporations and set in galaxies far, far away from ours aside, black people and women felt represented. It is one of the many contradictions of symbolic effect of minorities groups being represented in media produced in the system that oppress them (commie, warned you). Does it change things? No, not really. Isn’t it usually done it a way full of limitations that sometimes reinforce certain ideas that are pretty harmful? Yeah… Kind of… But didn’t it feel great, after growing up frustrated that Leia wasn’t a Jedi in the old movies, to have Rey? Wasn’t it awesome that black people got Finn? This complex (at least, it started that way) defected stormtrooper turned rebel? That could, maybe, even be force sensitive…? Yes to all of those questions! Tricky, isn’t it? By the way, I do believe that (before TROS) Finn had the narrative placement of Han (reluctant hero), Poe had Leia’s (rebel leader that gets captured and literally puts important information in a droid lmao), Rey had Luke’s (lives a boring life but has a calling to the adventure blah blah blah becomes a hero, we all heard it so many times) and Kylo had Vader’s (villain that’ll eventually get redeemed by the hero). All basic, old hero’s journey. A story structure that, despite being critical of, I eat up every fucking time it envolves spaceships and lightsabers. Getting back to the point, representation has its limits but it matters and the Star Wars fandom is full of racist, sexist pieces of shit and there was a percentage of the R//lo fandom that were too. But shipping R//lo isn't, like, intrinsically racist. You can make an argument for the implications of Adam Driver being chosen as a romantic interest (both by many fans and by Lucasfilm) over John Boyega, but at the same time there is, to some degree a level of which trope (friends to lovers or enemies to lovers) attracts you more. For me, it depends. I was a Finnpoe with a soft spot for Finnrey and an anti R//lo. But I’m obsessed with Wolfwren. Guess I like non-menacing men and evil lesbians. Wonder why Ezra Bridger is my favorite Rebels character and I ship Wolfwren. 🤔

Going back to the “Opinion on R//lo checklist”:

Would I like to meet my future partner by being kidnaped? No, not really. Do R//lo shippers want that? I think it's pretty safe to say they don't, even if they joke about it as much as I do about wanting Shin Hati to stab me. Because, ohh, right, it's a fictional movie about spaceships, galatic wars and space wizards. Yeah, I totally forgot about that when I was younger.

So, shipping R//lo doesn't mean you condone abusive relationships or domestic violence or whatever. Same applies to Wolfwren. ‘Cause, like, they aren't in a relationship yet, they’re not even friends or allies… They're on opposite sides of a war. You’re supposed to try to kill each other. Some people are just intrigued by the tension/dynamic between two characters and some others are just attracted to the characters and want to read about them fucking, and if it upsets you enough that you need to try to annoy people into stop shipping it… you need to rethink your relationship with fiction. I’m saying this because I had to do it, too. I went on with the mob and statements I agree to this day got mixed up with a bunch of nonsense and I thought that by being anti R//ylo I was making a statement, I was fighting against the romanticization of toxic relationships. I wasn't. It’s like that Luca Guadagnino’s film, “Bones and all”. Canibalism as a metaphor for love has been explored in multiple ways, by multiple artists in paintings, films, novels… Does it mean all the people who produced and consumed those works want to eat human flesh?

There’s also different ways of shipping an ETL ship. I love Wolfwren, and, in fanon, I don't mind it getting super angsty and fucked up, Killing Eve style, but I also love it when it's a slowburn romance with them going from enemies to reluctant allies to slowly building a friendship and falling in love. Do you see the range? Shipping is also about imagination, about overanalyzing things, about wondering what could character x possibly bring to character y? If Wolfwren ever does become canon, my perfect scenario would be the slowburn one, though I’ll love every second of them fighting and stare into each other's eyes until then.

If you ship S/b/rza, it doesn't mean you're homophobic. Unless you, well, use homophobic rhetoric to hate on Wolfwren and/or its shippers. This homophobic rhetoric can also be an attempt of being (hate to use this word) “woker” than the person shipping a gay ship and saying the queer people shipping Shin and Sabine are actually reinforcing lesbian stereotypes. Triste me when this is not the hot take you seem to think it. Maybe try researching a bit about queer representation in media, queercoding and the hays code era. Or try to put yourself in our shoes. As I stated above, representation has its limits but it matters and increases our ability to connect to the pieces of fiction we're consuming. In my case, as much as I can enjoy it, there's always gonna be a degree of alienation when it comes to “straight people media”. That's why I headcanon characters as sapphic. Because I am. That's why autistic people headcanon characters as being autistic. Same goes for trans people and other minority groups that do the same. So, in the end, it doesn't really need to be canon and even after today I’m still not that hopeful, ‘cause, again, it's Disney. If anything, there's always a possibility that, if Shin lives, she ends up being paired up with a random dude just so people can't call her a lesbian (this has never, ever, stopped a lesbian before tho lol). I'm guessing whatever happens with Wolfwren won't affect what happens to S/b/rza. I may be proven wrong in the future but I think they closed that door in the show, at least for now. Filoni doesn't seem that interested in writing romance to me, especially this time around. We are yet to see physical or romantic attraction being even remotely alluded to in this show. (S/b/rzas interpretation of Sabine's motivation to find Ezra or my interpretation of the tension between Shin and Sabine doesn't change that). It's a pretty sexless show (and I’m not saying they should have explicit sex on a Star Wars show, but George Lucas didn't shy away from romance and showcasing attraction and romantic love). I believe that's why he made sure to “discard” S/b/rza, despiste knowing it was a relatively popular ship in the Rebels fandom (obviously it doesn't stop anyone from shipping it, but it is an indicative of how Filoni intended us to perceive their dynamic). You know what I mean? Wolfwren happening or not, being or not supported by the cast and crew, doesn't change anything for your ship. And to be really honest, it is kind of funny to me that some people feel threatened by Wolfwren. ‘Cause, like, even if Filoni wants to make it canon, in the end it will be up to Lucasfilm and Disney to allow it or not and the best they gave us so far is Velcinta in Andor. Do you truly believe we have a better chance at getting our endgame than you do? Come on, guys. Please. I don't think any of us will, just to be clear, but even if Wolfwrens “win” this ship war, it won't be like some injustice or disrespect towards the s/b/rza fandom. Same goes for s/b/rza, because unlike Poe x Zorrii that was a last minute, pulled of their ass straight romance that only existed to send the very clear message that Poe Dameron is a heterossexual man (lol, he isn't). Ezra and Sabine do have a history together that I see as platonic but can be interpreted as romantic. And you will still be able to ship it, even if Sabine ends up with Shin. That's why fanfiction exist. If she ends up with Ezra, I’ll keep reading my Wolfwren fanfics and be happy with it. At the end of the day, it's just fiction. I care enough about it to write a long ass Tumblr post, but not to make me actually upset over a relationship that isn't my own.

[8-rae-rae-8]

Okay so, I think I'm starting on a Roach x Graves fic 👀 This is the first chapter so far?? Might add more later

Just over 800 words

Major character death mentioned

Tags under the cut

Hurt/Comfort, Canon Typical Violence, Roach has trouble talking, Graves knows how to save a life (shocking), Roach x Graves, takes place in 09, Task Force 141 as Family (Call of Duty), Author Has Never Played Call Of Duty, Quite a few people are dead already, I'm not killing them, preshadow company, Graves doesn't have his shadows yet, Young Philip Graves, Young Gary Roach Sanderson, Past Simon "Ghost" Riley/Gary "Roach" Sanderson, (that is only potentially I haven't decided yet), Graves is considerate and kind??, Coma, it's inaccurate though, Pre-Graves being evil [more to be added]

It wasn't so quiet anymore. Rustling of tree branches told him he wasn't so dead. The faint scent of burned flesh, and hair, coming from around him. If he could move, he would.

The world was so dark. Everything too quiet but somewhat still there. His helmet protecting him from most burns. Yet, he swore he still felt the flame on his skin.

Shots echoed in his head. He remembered who he was laid next to. Laid in a field, far from most. He wanted to speak, wanted to see if his friend was alive. But he knew the shot had gone straight to the heart. A long time ago, he promised not to get attached to a team he hardly knew... But task force 141 was different. It was a family, always looking out for each other.

This time, the Intel had been bad, at least from what they knew. They got fucked over, lied to by the general they were supposed to trust.

The last thing he truely remembered was his captain telling him he shouldn't trust the general. It was too late. The gas had been poured, drenching his clothes and his friend's body.

He was Ghost. Was. It was too late to save him. Too late.

Still being alive was a miracle after what had happened. The flame must've at least partially cauterized the bullet wounds he sustained.

He knew he wasn't dead, for he could still feel the pain. Even though the flame was long gone. Death would've been easier. It wasn't the relief he got.

The sudden hands grabbing onto his shoulders sent shockwaves of pain through his system. It wasn't a surprise when the world went quiet again. Pain ever present, but dulling. He felt sharpness in his neck, just under his helmet, then everything was gone.

In a blink of an eye.

Was this death?

No. He wasn't granted the sweet release. But maybe, just maybe he'd been saved. He could only hope.

And hope he did. From behind those closed eyes, the burns cover almost all his body, and the silence of his unmoving lips, he hoped.

Maybe one day he'd see his friends again. His team.

He was not so lucky when he woke. Or at least, when he regained consciousness.

Everything was cold. The faint sounds of beeps and monitors. He had to be alive. In a hospital, even. Who had brought him here? Did he even deserve it?

He couldn't move, but he could hear around him. His skin was bandaged, burns on his neck and around his face had been bandaged. Everything was dull, he had to assume it was due to medication. How long was he out for? He felt so different.

Mostly though, he missed his friends. His team. He was alone now. Alone, but alive. It felt wrong to live after what he'd experienced. His mind felt blurred, and just out of touch of the memories that he held closest.

Time blurred along with those memories.

A voice cut through the dark behind his eyes. He was awake, but unable to move. He didn't have the energy, even if he did he probably wouldn't want to move much.

"They call ya Roach..." An american? Really? He had to have been dreaming. This wasn't someone he knew. Was it? The voice was unfamiliar, rough.

"Ya got some pretty nasty wounds there... I got you covered." Weird. He couldn't understand why an american was helping him. Couldn't he read his file would say he was a United Kingdom citizen? Or at least part of the SAS? Maybe it wouldn't. He didn't know how long he was out.

"docs said you'd pull through, you can hear me. I think. Bless your heart.." The man sounded genuinely sad for him. Maybe it was the southern accent to his words.

"what happened to you?" He asked, as if Roach could respond. He couldn't, unfortunately. Not that he'd say anything anyways. He wouldn't want to. He never spoke much before this anyways. Speaking wasn't on his agenda, and he wouldn't be speaking to an american especially.

The man let out a dry laugh. No humor, this wasn't a time for humor. "It's been a while since i found you. Gotta admit it's a little boring waiting for you to be better."

At least the words stopped after that. It was hard to process it all. Painful, even. Too much too soon. He couldn't even voice his discomfort, he didn't even know if he could make a sound. Could he? Probably not... He'd been too wounded. He needed to rest.

Of course the man near the bed seemed to know that, but Roach seemed to realize he wasn't leaving. The faint warmth from his direction was enough to make that clear. Yet, somehow, it soothed him. He wasn't truely alone.

[messinamerica]

I’m the most powerful man on earth. and for years i walked this earth not knowing my power, only knowing that i was special. and i walked blinded as the universe watched, wondering how i would find my way through this darkness. they could never touch me directly or force my hand so they would send me angels in the form of friends to guide me as we rode bikes or skated blocks or exchanged spliffs or whatever else we did as kids, the universe has always watched over me. they made songs and they made films to remind me who I am but my eyes were closed and my ears were stopped, only every now they would breach my darkness and i would find inspiration in a song, or a poem, or in love. mostly love would take me back to the heavens where I belong and I would always show people heaven on earth because i belonged there. It was the only world i truly knew, this one felt like a world i was visiting to pick up lost souls - i always acted in this manner. loving the unloved, talking to those who had no one to talk to, reminding people of the beauty in themselves i did my best to do this through my friendship, my words, my art, my videos. I did everything i could to bring love into this world yet this world seemed to only ever take from me. i always felt like a little boy who never wanted to grow up, and i never wanted anyone else to grow up either. I wanted everyone to stay in heaven with me. but the world hardened my friends and it gave them jobs and responsibilities and stress and loss and pain. and it gave me these things too, only i refused to let go of the heaven i knew. I refused to let the child in me die. I refused to grow up. and so I continued to refuse, as all my friends grew and changed and matured and became cool and started having sex and i engaged all these things as well but i could never do it in quite the way others did. I could never play the games men would play to get women, i could only be their friend and that led to the same result. I could never be heartless in the way my brothers could, as much as i would try at times, to be cool, my niceness would persist. I tried to be nonchalant and mysterious but my heart would always break forth desiring to connect with another - this little kid inside me just could not be beaten. and so the world would beat on me and beat on me until i found out there was a war against little children in this world. Forces that sought to drain the life from these kids in us all and make us into hardened machines - they sought to make us broken adults with little to no humanity. and so me and my bright inner child looked around as many of our friends were being murdered by this system. some voluntary, chasing after all the money and fame and notoriety the world offered you to be a “big man” and a top bitch. others involuntary. lost to the stress of poverty and having no time. and i watched them forget that time exists around you. that if you followed your heart the universe would take shape around you. and i tried to preach this but my voice was stifled by the presumption of my wealth, people said i was unrealistic, childish, that i should be more of an adult. others found me to be a refreshing reminder of the life they knew before the world took it from them. and so I continued my journey, blinded to my own power, the strongest man in the world because i was the kid who refused to die.

and then in 2019 I finally woke up briefly. and i was horrified at what the world had become. how distrustful people were. how power hungry men had become. how no one looked out for anyone anymore, how people had powers that were held back from me and how they had misused them - i felt a deep conviction to save the world and I don’t know how to explain how I knew but I knew I could. I knew I was willing to take on whatever force made the world this way and that God was behind me. In fact it was God who woke me up to speak to me personally. He told me I would work for him, that he would never leave me nor forsake me. He showed me history, he showed me my lineage, he showed me king david, he showed me his heart. For 3 weeks he took me all over the city and we contended with angels and demons and i was scared nor shocked by any of them (except for when i spoke with the devil downtown, that was scary). Nonetheless i knew my power then, i knew i was here to save the world, and i knew more than anything that i was a friend of God.

I guess the waves we made were too big because i found agents starting to follow me, people in dark shades everywhere, always with their phones out recording me when they could. I knew i was making waves in arenas most people might not understand, but i loved it, because my soul knew i was made for this.

I died again. Or i went to sleep. Something about a siege and being attacked and my immediate family being wiped out. Remember i told you about the spiritual war where they would drain our spirits by putting us under harsh poverty and putting us in survival mode. My family was in trouble so i went to be with them. I studied with them, i lived with them, i died with them. I became hardened like them. I became religious, my soul yearning for the God I had met. In 3 years i lived the life of my people’s pain. I was poor, I struggled, I went through religion to know the hold it had on us. I went to jamaica, i lived among people from all walks of life and although i was regarded a king there I stood among the impoverished, i drank with the drunkards, i spoke with the whores, i danced with the deranged all to know their experience. After this i went to africa where i did the same. I lived and walked among my people there. I got robbed with my brothers. I contended with corrupt police officers who did not care to help the poor because they couldnt get paid off. I cried for my country, i mourned over the corruption. I carried buckets on my head when the poor were cut off from water, I got sick and learned their traditional medicines, i lived where the garbage piled and the people were envious of each other, i did all this to know the experience of my people. I had no obvious power to help me or family around me though the universe always kept watch and sent their guides and their protection, though they knew i had to live through this to assume the inheritance that awaited me. I often wondered why my path was this way. Why my friends in America who were going through far less seemed to be getting far more. Why more people weren’t taking the long way round like i was. I quelled these thoughts saying every man has their own path but i knew i was working harder than most. I always have in the quietness of the night.

3 years i slept. 3 years my inner child persisted through the matrix that tried to put him to sleep. 3 years my guides watched over me.

In 2023 I woke up again. This was about September/October. Only this time I woke up a general, not the curious wide-eyed boy i was in 2019. This time i woke up with purpose, ready to fight the war. I began calling my troops, using my powers immediately. I knew people weren’t yet thinking on the level I was because when I called them, they thought I wanted to be famous (when you reach the height of being able to speak to people telepathically, you’re usually famous or white). So i called to these men telepathically, the likes of 6lack, J. Cole, etc. i contended with them, i listened to their problems as a father would his sons. I reached out to those they needed help with, i gave them my spirit, i gave them my reasoning and advice, I listened, they listened, many had already been fighting the war, they got in order, we expanded our army. In real time I grew rapidly, I was speaking with leaders of nations, past and present, I told them my plans, they wondered if i were one who could execute, who could save our people - for they had tried to do the same and were all assassinated for what i presumed to do. I assured them this revolution was different, not because of my own strength but simply because it was time. God was ready to wake up his people and restore balance to the world. And who could assassinate a kid doing all this work from his bedroom more or less. The revolution was set up too perfectly, we could not be stopped. I gained control of Tanzania, which is the garden of Eden, but i would still have to convince the people who were lost in lust, dark magic, alcoholism, colonial thinking and witchcraft.

Especially witchcraft.

So I unknowingly followed my friend and teacher into the heart of witchcraft. He told me we would take a trip to the mountains where he would show me the hot springs and waterfalls, I didn’t know I was going to the heart of witchcraft which possessed and ran through tanzania. I met the witches and warlocks. They didnt seem so scary to me. Just old ladies with powers in dark magic. To the common person they were scary but to me their power was only a fraction of God’s because there was little to no light in them. I passed through their dens casually and with ease. These women who would capture and kidnap men like me were astounded. But there was deep ancestral forces fighting me on account of my brother i was with. A man i shouldn’t have considered a brother, but i did, because who else could i talk to about these high level things? Only he wanted my power for himself, as most people in my life did, and naively i thought their hearts would change and be satisfied with their own power. Because of him I invoked a myriad of evil spirits, because we had been at war there in the mountains though it should have been a vacational trip, and he led me to try and bring his aunt back to life. I didnt realize the evil spirits that would be invoked through that action because of the evil spirits that existed in his ancestry - as the truth was revealed, his ancestors actually murdered my ancestors because we were one family, only they wanted to use their magic for dark magic and my family was pure. So here we were, generations later, where they were trying to use my family’s power yet again which was stronger than their own to accomplish their will. I didnt know this at the time so we left the mountains and came back to the city.

Then i got kidnapped. By another high level, american-canadian witch who also had a target on my back and had been making moves to take over parts of tanzania. They all felt my force when i woke up and knew i was coming, and sought to take over my body before I was fully awakened to use my body and my power. In my kidnapping they violated my body and my spirit. They raped me, the beat me, the exorcised me, they shamed me, they locked me away and tied me like a dog, they put me on drugs, they did everything possible to keep me down but they could not kill me. This was the hardest physical experience I’ve ever had to go through in my life, and to this date I have yet to receive justice. So when I wake up to break necks and sweep darkness, understand it is not coming from an unjust place. Nonetheless, after a month of going through this, being put in a psych ward and being put on drugs to lessen my powers, after the witches tried to deceive my family and tell them i was a drug addict, after all this I escaped and came back to America with eyes to see, ears to hear, and a very big aura.

So much so that everyone was running from or avoiding me. I was still the little boy who wanted to be friends. I didn’t care that most of these boys were mini-me’s - I thought we might form a brotherhood the way I did with their bigger me’s. I didn’t care for what they had even if they stole it from my spirit in the past, I wanted us to focus on saving the world. I wanted people to get up to the level I was on so we could get to business. But most minus a few have been on bullshit, and I found myself again disappointed with the world i had stumbled into. The women were with men who were lying to them. The men were pretending to be top gods or something they were not. They had been misusing their power for personal gain. Still my enemy was not man, in any town, in any city, for I was not about to climb any ladders to be king of fayetteville, or new york, or california. My enemy was and is evil itself, for my pursuit was to restore balance to the world.

Its the same dream I had when I was a teenager trying to keep kids from growing up. I just wanted us all to live in and maintain heaven together. But everyone chose their own way. Everyone became the world. And so i was the only one left who held on to this heaven and refused to let it go. When I say I wanna be king of the world I don’t mean to be an authoritarian ruler and even more, I work under a King who is God. What i mean is, I want us to rebuild the world we lost together. And in order to rebuild that world there needs to be order. There must be a leader willing to go up against the highest levels of evil in this world. It must be someone with God behind and within him. It must be someone chosen, not one who chooses himself. And as I reflect on my life I realize I am chosen, whether I am accepted or not. If I am delusional let God strike me down but if I am who God says I am, let the world know.

I am still the little boy, fighting for the children in us all. I have never left my mission. He’s never abandoned me despite the abuse this world put him through. I also want people to know the power available to them. We can all be God. I’m only the firstborn of many, we’re all his children. And the entire earth awaits the children of God to remember who they are so we can heal the world and tear down strongholds and beings who have ravaged the earth misusing their power.

Also there are many other worlds, many other kinds of beings, waiting and watching for earth to win this war so we can rejoin the multiverse again. There are many more things I can’t wait to tell you about, when your heart is open and the kid inside you has room to breathe again. Maybe I’ll write another post, about the heavens I’ve been shown. About Sheba and Torah. About the intergalactic space force. About the angels and how cool they are. About God and how he keeps creating. About how I remember him as a baby. About the speeding bullet to heaven, how God fashioned himself from darkness. How he too had to fight through darkness for existence. How he came from nothing, therefor sending his people to nothing was only sending them home, for we are made in the image of our Father, and we will fashion our way out of utter darkness into the light of everything, time and time again. There are many things I hope to tell you soon, things your mind may initially refute, but your heart will yearn to know. Because eternity resides in your heart already.

“There is a secret to the universe, a very simple secret all might know, and it is that it is only through the heart one can see rightly. All that is immediately essential is initially invisible to the eye”

[armpirate]

The Only One || JJK || Ch. 17

Pairings: mafia!jk x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, mafia, contract relationship

Warnings: Prostitution, torture, blood, use of drugs and weapons

Summary: You've always wished for a better life. Every single day at work, you were hoping something would change. Although you didn't think that change would come in the form of one mysterious man and a contract.

His controlling and selfish behaviour only wanted to keep you away from any other man that wasn't him, and you only had to wait for him.

Too bad you really thought you'd be smarter than Jeon Jungkook.

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MASTERLIST

Y/n woke up the next morning with an uneasy feeling, as if whatever happened last night was a big punch to her ego -which it was. He played with her, and she allowed him to, after everything that happened and that he did to her. Anger was already back in her system when she remembered the way his lips curved mockingly, and how his lip piercing seemed to shine even more after that.

Shit. She felt so pathetic.

Not only did he force her to come to a country she never intended to visit, he also wanted her to beg him.

A pissed groan left her lips as she sat up on the bed, thinking everything would get better if she complained out loud. The amount of curses she kept saying in Spanish -and that she had never used before- seemed to get his attention on the other side of the door. Jungkook didn't understand a word, but he for sure was convinced that neither of them meant anything good. Although he didn't bother to come in, he just walked past her door and welcomed a new day filled with awful duties.

—Be careful with her —he warned Jihu—. I doubt I'll be home tonight, so just make sure she doesn't do anything.

—Yes, sir —he bowed.

His head was so busy in the many ways he could find to please her, that he totally forgot the big event he was supposed to be holding that night. The fact that it was the only time in a year that the whole Bangtan clan reunited together. Each one of the members coming back to Korea, just to celebrate the day their parents decided to start it all.

Although Jungkook wasn't sure if that was something he actually wanted to celebrate at all.

As Y/n heard the door closing, she knew it was a safe time to get out of the bed and walk to the closet, waiting for a new message that could make her work easier. But there was nothing. She was all by herself on it.

And just as she left the phone back to where it was, she asked herself who could be Sanhyuk's source... It had to be someone Jungkook was close with, because it didn't make sense how they'd get any information otherwise -especially when it came to her and their story.

He definitely had more enemies than he probably thought. Not that it was her problem though.

Walking down the stairs, she was surprised to see no one around. Although her isolation was temporary, it only took her to take one step, look to her right and find Jihu standing next to one of the doors. He didn't aim a word at her, simply bowed and went back to his own thing: looking at some point forward.

—Will you stand there all morning? —she asked, standing in front of him— We're each other's only company, so it would be better if you stopped this formal thing. You always end up on the couch talking with me.

The man sighed, giving her an exhausting look before he tilted his head. Even if he had wanted to ignore her those two weeks, she always managed to get him to speak to her as if they had been best friends for years. He wasn't sure if it was boredom, or her bright aura, but she made it difficult to keep his voice to himself.

—You don't want to know what happened to Marina and Cris? —she temptingly asked— Yesterday you were left at the best part of the story.

Those two weeks, he barely spoke about himself, but she did speak about herself... well, about high school dramas she witnessed years ago. And he was surprised to realize they were a lot. Suddenly he felt scared for his teenage daughter, and was praying cultural differences would make it difficult for her, because everything that came out of Y/n's mouth made him regret ever thinking that being a father was a good idea.

Honestly, he never thought that Jungkook's idea of remodeling the library would work. That girl wanted company, and not much entertainment. He could tell by the way her eyes showed all types of excitement while speaking to him -or trying to. A book, nor a TV program, would give her that.

She smiled satisfied when Jihu's curious eyes landed on her, and she knew she found a new way to be entertained for, at least, a few hours.

Her idea wasn't far-fetched. They both had breakfast together, and then moved back to the living room, while she still explained the constant drama she had to see in her teenage years. High school was an interesting, yet fun, experience for her. At least until she turned eighteen, everything was great. So good that she caught herself wishing to go back then more than once.

As she kept telling the story, Jihu seemed to be more and more engaged. Ears totally turned to her when she started talking about a certain party that Marina's ex boyfriend also attended.

—Marina thought her ex was there to win her back —she started explaining—, but he only was there to fight Cris for trying to get with his cousin.

A loud gasp left Jihu's thin lips, engaged to the story as if he were hearing the best audio book ever.

—Marina threw her drink at Cris, he broke a table and spilled the drinks everywhere... It was a mess.

—That's a party, and not what Jeon does in his hotel —he scoffed.

She wasn't surprised at the mention of that. Jihu already slipped a few times about how Jungkook was the owner of one of the best hotels in Seoul, he went as far as adding they were there the time she wanted to have lunch with him. And she wasn't stupid, she knew that was a hotel just by taking a look at the hall, she just didn't expect it to be owned by him.

—Does he throw a lot of parties?

—Rarely —Jihu sighed, and continued—. Tonight's party is one of the few she throws in a year, he...

Jihu suddenly stopped talking, finally aware that he was giving too much information, dangerous information to the last person that should know about those plans.

—He's throwing a party and won't take me? —she arched her eyebrows.

Not like he was forced to, but it just kept making her question even more why he even wanted her there in the first place.

—It's not a party per se —Jihu explained—. He just reunites with other people from the clan —he explained.

He knew she wouldn't be able to use that information in any way. She knew Jungkook wasn't the only one in command? Fine. She'd have to be able to leave the house before she could even do something with what he said.

She nodded, twisting her lips, while a deep silence surrounded them. A silence that was so unusual from her side that Jihu was able to tell she was pissed. And even worse, he was certain she was planning something by the way her gaze was lost somewhere in the room.

It wasn't like she was planning to exchange many words with Jihu after that. The second she was aware of the type of information she had, she wasted no time on going upstairs and closing herself inside the room again. Just to close herself even deeper behind the door of her huge -and empty- closet.

—It took you some time —Sanhyuk chuckled on the other side.

—If your other source was good enough, you wouldn't have to be waiting for me —she rolled her eyes.

—Calm down. I was just messing with you —he laughed ironically—. What is the big news?

—Before we go on, I want you to promise me that I'll be able to go back to Spain, and my life will be as it was.

—I give you my word —he pretended to be offended by her distrust—. Once Jungkook is out of our way, you'll be completely free.

Although he was as shady as Jungkook -or even more-, he was offering something that Jungkook would never give her: freedom. She didn't even care about the consequences, she could only think about fast solutions and a valid escape, and Sanhyuk was giving all that to her.

He heard a deep sigh from the other side of the phone, smiling to himself as he knew that was the small introduction to a rant of information he -probably- knew already.

—There's a party in his hotel —Y/n muttered with her thin voice—. I'm not sure who's attending, but apparently it's people from his clan.

She didn't know what it meant, but he for sure did. That meant the other six members from his family would be in Seoul, all seven of them reunited in the same place together. Sanhyuk knew about the party and the -possible- presence of, at least, Namjoon and Jimin. His other source kept him well informed about that. But making Y/n aware of the party was only one step for what was to come later that night.

—You need to attend —he whispered.

Instead of giving a straight answer, Y/n laughed ironically. There was no way she'd dare to set foot in that hotel again, not after Jungkook tied their hands together and forced her to see something that she'd wish she didn't.

—I thought this was only about information —she tilted her head—. You got it, now it's your turn to do something.

—That's the exact reason why you should go —he almost interrupted her—. The other members need to know about your presence... That'd be enough for today.

Y/n shook her leg nervously, looking around as if the answers were hanging somewhere in those white walls.

—Jungkook won't lay a hand on you —Sanhyuk reassured her—. He'll be probably too blocked trying to explain himself to process what you've done —a sigh now came from his side—. He's always trying to hide behind those other six dudes. So, trust me, it's needed they know you exist and what he's done.

But he knew her safety wasn't assured at all. There were high chances that either Jin or Namjoon would take the chance to get her out of the way at some point, but it wasn't really his business. As long as she was useful, he'd keep an eye on her.

—Basically because it's not the first time —Sanhyuk whispered again.

Y/n found herself frowning at those words. So there had been more women that went through the same things she was going through? She knew Jungkook was a bastard for playing her the way he did, but the idea of more girls in that same bed was repulsing her.

—What do you mean?

—You're not the same one that goes through that fate —he hummed, before he started speaking again—, but you're the first one he bothered to take from a different country. Imma give you that.

The knot in her throat made it impossible for her to speak, even less to let the saliva slide through it.

—I will go —she said with a drowned voice—. But just know that, if I fall, you'll be coming with me —that threat wasn't as intimidating as she was hoping—. And your source as well.

—Do you even know who it is?

She thought he'd be intimidated just by the thought of being exposed by her, but isntead he was asking for a confirmation on who the person was.

Thick silence surrounded them.

Silence she used to think. A person that was close enough to Jungkook to know about her, a person that knew when she'd be in the hospital, and what her conditions were in that house. The only one was...

—Jihu.

She expected a straight denial, but instead she earned a playful chuckle and silence again, two things that she took as the confirmation she was waiting for. Without wanting to hear anything else, she cut the call and hid the phone back to where it was.

If she ever thought that the life she had back in Mallorca was difficult and complicated, she had no idea of what was awaiting her in Seoul. As soon as she set foot in a different country, she was in between two mafia gangs, fighting her inner demons by trying to control herself, and finding out that the person she least expected to betray Jungkook was the one giving the opposite gang information.

She could understand why Sanhyuk was using him though. Jihu was the person that spent more time in Jungkook's safe place, apart from her. What she didn't understand was why Jihu was doing it. More money? Better deals? Anything could be at that point, and she for sure wouldn't be surprised at that.

—Take me to that party.

Jihu jumped at the sudden sound of her voice from upstairs, she was looking down at him with such danger in her eyes, that he thought of how serious she was actually being. But he didn't take her seriously, it was no different from the time she threw a tantrum when she refused to eat until she saw him.

—I'm being serious —she reiterated when she saw that funny smile on his face.

—Unless you want Jeon... —but the sound of her voice interrupted him mid speech.

—Unless you want Jungkook to know what you're doing, you better take me to that party tonight —she started walking down, step by step—. Trust me, your punishment will be way worse if he finds out who you're working for rather than letting me get away with what I want.

There was no sight of the funny and cute Y/n that was gossiping about her teenage years. That girl was long gone. She threw that threat, and it impressed him how cold and confident she sounded while dropping those words as if they were nothing.

Jihu was finally understanding why Jungkook was so adamant on having her.

—And before you take me there, I want a dress. So let's go shopping.

Honestly, that was more an excuse to piss Jungkook even more rather than being a need. She didn't know what she was going to do there, but she was sure she'd be able to do it with or without a dress.

Y/n didn't have money, and it wasn't like Jungkook was expecting her or Jihu to spend money on clothes for a party that he didn't plan her to attend -or, more like, he didn't want her to attend.

Jihu's full body wasn't covered in cold sweat only because of the fact that she was outside, planning on buying the most expensive dress after he had no choice but to give in. He didn't know how she found out about what he was doing -or maybe he was a little bit too obvious not to allow her to realize. He wondered if there was a way she was in contact with Sanhyuk or anyone from that clan, but the fact that she was completely isolated made him discard that choice. Maybe she just was that smart. He was worried about the fact that that girl was planning to spend a fair amount of money, not caring about whose it was.

And he wasn't wrong. That was her plan. She didn't care about anyone at that point. The fact that she ever felt sorry for Jihu completely vanished when she realized everything was probably an act. He was the only person she felt she could rely on, just to find out it was fake.

She was going all for it. That was for sure. 

Taglist: @kaiparkerwifes @sheylamc @amy2006jones

[breakfastteatime]

Comfortember Day 26: Getting Sleep

BD-1 likes to check in on everyone late at night once they're all asleep. After confirming the ship's systems are fully operational, with no Imperial frequencies anywhere in range, BD-1 hops off the helm and heads through the ship.

First, of course, is their bogling friend. She's curled up under the holotable, tail coiled around her body. A quick scan confirms she is sleeping peacefully. BD-1 has noted (and informed Cal) that the bogling likes the holotable's warmth and will sleep there whenever she can.

Next, the terrarium. Everything is growing well. Greez is a capable horticulturist. Here, BD-1 slides into a vent that he has mapped out and discovered will take him across all the cabins and back to the engine room. He'd told Cal a surprising number of socks had found their way into the vents. Cal asked if any would fit him. BD-1 suggested that they'd fit if he liked his socks to reach his waist. Cal replied he could've used socks like that on Ilum and Bracca.

Cal says lots of funny things.

The next stop on BD's tour is Greez's cabin. The vent outlet is directly over Greez's bed. Tonight, Greez is sleeping in his back, blanket tucked up to his neck. He sleeps less than everyone else, and, despite BD-1's probability calculations, does not snore. He's a very light sleeper (BD-1 accidentally woke him up one night during an exploration, and learned to move a lot quieter and slower in his hearing range. Greez really does know every single sound the Mantis should and should not make). Sometimes Greez will stay up late watching gambling streams (never betting. Not any more) or cooking shows on the holonet, but tonight, he is sleeping well. BD-1 moves on.

Crossing the hallway, dodging a sprocket that BD-1 is certain does not belong to any mechanisms aboard the Mantis and is therefore a complete mystery, he checks in on Cere and Merrin. Their bunks are against either wall. Merrin, BD-1 knows, is happy to have company again. Sometimes, when he runs his checks, he will hear Merrin and Cere talking until late into the night. One time, he listened to Merrin talking about how she practiced her teleporting with her sisters by playing hide and seek. Cere explains Jedi played hide and seek too by either muffling their presences in the Force or learning to manipulate the minds of others around them and making them simply not notice the Jedi moving among them. (BD-1 wants Cal to learn how to do this as soon as he can.) Tonight, however, Merrin and Cere are both sleeping peacefully. BD-1 knows sometimes Cere finds it hard to sleep, and she will slip from her cabin and spend the night in the galley drinking tea (BD-1 will often join her if he doesn't need a full recharge cycle). Tonight, she is asleep. Good. Humans require lots of sleep.

Finally, BD-1 heads to the engine room and hops out of the vent Cal loosened for him. Cal's asleep on his side, his back to BD-1. Cal sleeps heavily. So heavily, he doesn't notice when he talks or walks in his sleep. Tonight he isn't doing either. He has, however, kicked his blanket all the way down to his toes and his body temperature is creeping lower. Too low. It will wake him up. So, BD-1 hops onto the bed, works his way under the blanket, lifts it with his head, and drags it back up to Cal's shoulders. Cal doesn't even stir. Good.

Freeing himself, BD-1 hops off the bed and onto the workbench. It is time he plugged in for a recharge. His crew is safe, and now he can join them and get some much-needed rest.

[mizumi-kahago-writing]

I know the algebraic expression of L-O-V-E [Kamunami/Hinanami & Yandere!Chiaki] - Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This is an AU in which the Chiaki AI got at least partially infected by the Junko Virus. This is what makes her become a Yandere and a bit out of character. This AU also entails Hajime and Izuru becoming more of a DID-System, instead of fusing into one person. The main difference, compared to the real illness, is that they can switch out consciousness at will. Also, major spoilers and canon divergence ahead. You have been warned.

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Chapter 8

A few days have passed ever since Chiaki got her android body. And Hajime spend every living, breathing moment around her. Even when he was asleep, she was sitting in his dark room, watching him doing so from a charging station. But despite everything, she was uncharacteristically distant with him.

Instead, she repeatedly asked about “her creator”, about “Kamukura”; who had not spoken a word with Hajime ever since she was brought over from the virtual world.

“Hey, listen, Chiaki…Can I talk to you for a second?”

Hajime wanted to finally bring up the topic, as the sudden interest in Izuru and no longer him had bothered him for a while now.

Chiaki answering with the usual nativity in her voice.

“Yes? Is it about Kamukura? Do you finally want to show him to me?”

“Well, yes, it’s about him. But it’s just that…He doesn’t wanna talk. I can’t force him out, you know?”

“Oh.”

Was all she said.

“Yeah, I hope you understand.”

“Then what about, you coming over to my world? In that world, I have full control and can force him out.”

She suggested out of the blue.

“What?!”

Gasping in shock, he couldn’t really comprehend that idea.

“If you plug me back into the computer, and you yourself into the Neo World Program too, I could modify the program, to make him show up. My permissions have changed since last time, I now have full control over the virtual Jabberwok Island.”

She explained, still without a hint of remorse, that that might be something very immoral to do.

“I’d rather not use the program again, after you know… what happened last time. And after all you’re here with me now, so there’s no need to use the program again.”

“Aw… sadge.”

With that the conversation was over, and for once Chiaki went off on her own.

“What is really the reason, you don’t want to join my world? With only the two of us in it?”

  For the upcoming days, Chiaki spend her days on the sidelines, watching Hajime hanging out with everyone but her. Especially this other guy which tagged along every single time. In her eyes, Nagito spend way too much time with Hajime.

While watching them playing in the shallow waters of the beach, something in her electronic mind clicked. For as long as Hajime still had his friends in this world, he would never come over into the virtual world with her; Making it impossible to get close to Izuru as well. However just getting everyone into the virtual world would also do no good. After all, she wanted to be alone with him.

Leaving the shore to plug herself in and recharge. Even late at night, Hajime still wasn’t back. That was playing in her favor was she got up and opened the door. However right in the frame, her ominous glowing pink eyes met with his sleepy ones.

“Uh? Chiaki? Where are you going this late?”

No answer, instead Chiaki just stoicly walked past him, right towards Nagito’s cottage.

“Uh- Alright then… Guess you don’t have to tell me.”

Hajime walking in and going to sleep.

Not making a single sound, she snug into Nagito’s home quickly. The white-haired boy had a light sleep and woke up almost instantly.

“Oh, hello Chiaki. Is there a reason for your late visit…?”

Greeting her in sleepy manner, as she just stayed as silent as she was with Hajime. Instead, she gestured to follow along, inviting him to a mid-night walk around the island.

  “So, you still don’t wanna tell me, where we’re going or why you woke me up?”

Again, Nagito was met with silence.

Chiaki strayed off the natural paths of the island, deeper into some overgrown greenery. Nagito reluctantly following.

“H-hey, if you just wanted to tell me in secret, you could have just told me at the hotel grounds. I assure you; no one would listen in at this time-“

“As long as you exist in this world, Kamukura can never be mine.” Cutting him off dryly, he froze in place.

“Excuse me? What are you saying, Chiaki? Are you alright? Did you hit your hard drive or something?”

Not sure if he even heard her correctly and giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“I’m fine. And I’ll be even better once you stop drooling all over my creator. You’re what’s keeping him away.”

A fierce pink glow lit up her eyes, staring him down intensely. As their eyes met, the pale boy backed off and stumbled over a root, landing on his behind.

Holding out a shivery hand, he was genuinely scared of the situation.

“But… but I’m not… I stopped doing that a long time ago…”

“Lies!”

“That isn’t a lie…I’m speaking the truth, please believe me.”

Defending himself, crawling back some more, the sound of a breaking tree branch startled him. Frozen in fear, he couldn’t believe that Chiaki would say something like this.

“If it’s just that you’re jealous… you don’t have to be. I’m not interested in Hajime or Izuru that way. I swear!”

His way of making excuses didn’t even phase her slightly.

“I’m sure I won’t need to be jealous anymore, once I made things right.”

A creepy grin flashed over her face. This wasn’t the Chiaki everyone knew and loved. This was an artificially created monster.

There was no way out, no way back. The robot lady had him cornered up on a huge tree bark. Opening some of her machinery in her arm, it revealed sharp sturdy edges.

The first hit went directly to his shoulder.

“This is for stealing Kamukura’s time.”

Warm blood ran down his arm and tainted his sleeves, as he inhaled sharply, and tears swelled up in his eyes.

“Chiaki… this isn’t you, please snap out of it. Please for Hajime’s sake…”

But his panicking words had no effect on her. As he crawled up, holding his wounded arm. Gasping for air, he had no chance against her. She was a robot and mad on top of that. Running was the only option. But she didn’t even allow that, as she grabbed him by his feet and pulled him back.

“I won’t let you run away.”

Inflicting wounds on both of his knees. Salvia mixed with mud and tears, as Nagito tried to crawl away. His fingers digging deep into the ground underneath him. This wasn’t how Kazuichi had built her, she must have modified herself to become like this.

“But I still have mercy with you.”

Holding Nagito up by the throat and knocking him against another close by tree. The boy almost lost consciousness from hitting his head. She once was such a fragile looking girl, but this thing in front of him, it was out for his blood.

Struggling against her grip, yet he still tried to get away. Clawing into her metallic hand with his still intact arm. “Please… stop this madness… the killings are over… you don’t have to do this…”

Again, begging and praying for the last bit of humanity left in this terrifying machine. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to genuinely hurt her, after all she still looked like Chiaki. “I know, how you must feel. Please… if we work together… I could even help you.” A last bargaining from him.

“You will know what it means to be me. All the despair I’ve been through, just because I was nothing more than a program.”

With these words her grip tightened around his neck.

“Chiaki…” he coughed. “… No, you’re not Chiaki anymore. You’re someone else entirely.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m still Chiaki’s core AI… just a little… different. You could say… upgraded by a little virus.”

A spark of knowledge flashed over Nagito’s face, and he understood.

“You are… an Ultimate Despair…no… I won’t let her take you away… again…”

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