#pls let there be a third one in the next episode it will be So funny

[zooblesbutchpuppygirl]

Two episodes in a row. Screenshots that give me rabies <3

[kisapmta]

aftermath | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: your cheating ex is back in boston for tour… what’s one more night together in the grand scheme of things?

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI. slow build, mentions of cheating, unresolved angst, roughish smut?, penetrative sex, no protection, choking, everything about chris in this is out of character pls ik he would never

notes: creds to @vxnitra for the gif<3! and @wife-of-all-dilfs for the fic idea, go read bad idea, right? rn!

word count: 10.7k

—

“Dude just come, it won’t be the same without you.”

It’s Saturday night and you’re sprawled out on your bed, buried under the untouched assignment that has been staring back at you for three hours. Mikayla’s called, once again, as your latest distraction. 

Her heels click through the speaker as she paces her room getting ready for a party, one she’s trying to persuade you to join.

“I can’t, Mickey, I’m busy,” you say, although the excuse is unconvincing even to yourself. 

Her call interrupted the tik tok scroll you’d been lost in, a break you were taking from your third episode of Criminal Minds in a row. After she hangs up, you know you’ll be in the same spot until morning, assignment still untouched and all. 

Apparently she knows it too. 

“No you’re not, bitch.” You can hear her eyes roll as she drowns herself in perfume. “You have to go. Everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out a quiet scoff and mumble under your breath. “Yeah, exactly why I’m not going.” 

Everyone includes the triplets, who are back in Boston for tour. 

Coming home isn’t an unusual visit for them, and actually, their return home used to be something you really looked forward to. Their visits meant long nights and too much laughter with best friends. 

It also meant time with Chris. With your lives split across the country, those week-long visits were your fleeting chances to be close to him, just the two of you, picking up where you left off months before.

But things aren’t the same anymore. Because unlike the love you held for Chris every other time they’ve visited, you absolutely despise him now. 

“I’m serious, ___, come,” Mikayla presses. “I’ll make sure you won’t have to talk to Chris, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Your phone slips from your grip and lands right on your nose. Even though your hatred for your ex is a universally known fact, like yeah, you would rather poke your eyes out than ever have to be in the same room as him again, she doesn’t have to say it out loud. Everyone knows you’re over it anyways. You roll onto your side, cradling the bridge of your nose that’s surely broken now.

“Dude I don’t give a fuck if he’s there or not, I’m just busy,” you reply, overly defensive. “I have to finish this paper.”

The shuffling around her room promptly comes to a halt. You can’t see her, but you know her eyebrow is raised. “Well damn, I didn’t know this paper suddenly meant so much to you,” she laughs, “it’s fine though, just stay home then I guess.”

“I mean it doesn’t but I wanna pass, don’t I?”

“Don’t know why you’re asking me but a night out’s never stopped you from passing before.” Her reply is absent minded. Her purse jingles through the speaker as she fills it with her lipgloss and keys.

You scoff and return to laying on your back, watching the clock tick and tick. You’ve never been one to pass on a night out, and with good luck and discipline through several hangovers, your grades have also never taken a hit. This paper’s no exception. The both of you know it. 

“I just haven’t even started yet,” you continue, glancing at the empty doc on your Mac. “And I have no idea what the fuck is going on in this chapter.”

“Dude, I said it’s fine. If you need to finish it, you can just come next time,” she replies, chuckling softly at the end.

For some reason, one you will not admit or name, her laughter bothers you. 

For some reason you take it personally when she insinuates you’re not actually busy, and it offends you that she doesn’t believe this paper is the reason you can’t go. 

And you know she’s just trying to be a good friend—that she called you with the sole intention to remind you that ‘we’re never gonna be this young and hot at this party again fuck your ex!’—but you can’t help the irritation bubbling in the middle of your chest. 

“I do need to finish it and you’re really distracting me so like.. are you done? Can you go?” 

Her mouth is hanging open when the line is silent for a few seconds. You instantly feel bad for snapping at her and you’re about to apologize when she replies. “Was just about to head out, so yeah. Hope you have fun with that.”

The call ends before you can even respond, leaving you feeling ridiculous and even more annoyed. You realize how dramatic you’re being, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you call back to say sorry right now. Instead, you toss your phone to the end of your bed.

Your room suddenly feels overwhelmingly quiet and Mikayla’s voice replays in your head, filling you with pure guilt. You groan and drag a hand over your face. 

The least you can do now is actually write your paper, so with a heavy sigh, you chug the remaining half of your Redbull and try to focus. It takes a few minutes for your regretful words to subside, but once they do, you fall into the assignment easily. 

Some time passes and your phone rings again at your feet. 

And see this is why you love Mikayla. As much as you guys bicker and clash, you both understand that it’s all with love. Your arguments last a day at most before one of you apologizes, and then it’s right back to your normal. 

Mindlessly you answer the phone and the last traces of your guilt dissolve. You take the chance to apologize to your friend. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you—”

“___.”

And that is not Mikayla. 

You recognize the voice instantly. It’s a sound you have spent the past five months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it—the perfect mess of curls, the most beautiful blue eyes, the deceiving smile of a mouth that knows every inch of your body.

You need to hang up, need to say ‘wrong number’ and end the call now. But for all your pride, all your carefully constructed walls, you don’t. 

“What do you want, Chris?” 

—

This isn’t the first time you’ve ever left the house late at night to make a horrible decision. Typically Mikayla and some other friends even tag along with you, but tonight they’re all at that party.

It’s a comforting fact, because if she knew where you were going right now she’d be scolding your ear off. Wouldn’t that suck? 

Sounds better than the way your own conscience won’t stop calling you a stupid fucking idiot. 

It’s almost midnight, but multicoloured lights still slip through the cracks of your roomies’ closed doors as you step into the hallway. 

Through the muffled walls you recognize ‘10 minute instant abs - no equipment required’ streaming from one room, and a vulgar, vulgar game of League happening in the other. At least the two of them are spending their night wisely. 

The sleepy hum of your house is broken by a third phone call of the night. It rings in your hand, and when you glance at the screen, you choke. Of course. It’s Mikayla. It’s like she knows you’re leaving.

“___!” she shouts. Her voice is scratchy and barely cuts through the heavy bass of music around her.

“Dude it’s so fucking loud,” you grimace, pulling the phone slightly from your ear. 

“What?! Dude it’s so fucking loud I can’t hear you.” 

Her response makes you laugh as you head out the front door, making sure you’re out of earshot from anyone in the house to reply a little louder. “Can you hear me now?” 

Not any softer, she replies, “Barely, yeah. Are you done with your paper?”

A cool breeze hits you as you cross the driveway to your car. 

“Not even close,” you say. Her question reminds you of your earlier apology—the one you started to the wrong person—so you try again. “Also I’m sorry I yelled at you about it earlier–”

“Stop, it's okay. Forget about the paper, that's not why I’m calling.” You’re cut short again, and her voice raises a little with excitement. “Chris isn’t here.” 

You pause. Maybe it’s the caffeine coursing your veins or simply pure adrenaline, but your heart skips at the mention of his name. The information doesn’t come as a surprise. You already know he’s not at the party, and in fact, you even know why. 

But you don’t tell her.

“Oh my god, wait really?” You cringe at the fake wonder in your voice. 

“Yeah, Nick said he’s not feeling well or something so he didn’t come,” her explanation is eager, along with her next words. “Fucking pussy.”

You chuckle awkwardly at her statement and slip into your driver’s seat. Before you can respond, she continues. “Just leave the paper for tomorrow and come.” Her words drag in a subtle beg. 

Under any other circumstance, her compelling argument would have worked. Girls night with no ex—the persuasion couldn’t be any simpler. 

The universe must be testing you, giving you a chance to walk away from self sabotage instead of straight into it like you are now. But you’re a stupid fucking idiot. So you lie.

“I don’t know Mickey, like I actually need to finish this paper.” Your stomach curls with guilt from how easily the words slip from your mouth. “I think I’m gonna stay home.”

She sighs. “You’re also a fucking pussy.”

Her words offend you a little, but they offset the guilt leveling in your stomach. You lie to her about Chris, she compares you to him. Same thing essentially. You try to laugh it off. “I know I’m sorry.” 

“I’m kidding, dude, it’s fine.” Despite how loud she’s still talking over the music, her tone is more understanding than it’s been all night. “Just wanted to double check on you, thought you might change your mind.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, knocking your head on the steering wheel. You feel so bad. “No don’t even worry about me,” you say through gritted teeth. “You have fun.”

She lets out a laugh. “Bitch tell that to yourself, I feel like I need to take a shot for you, you sound so stressed.”

And the universe must be mocking you.

“Please do, I really am.” 

Her heels click again and on the other end of the line, Mikayla’s already finding the bar. Oblivious to the actual source of your anxiety, she quickly shoos you away, “Okay yeah no, go finish your thing, you’re actually making me anxious.”

You wish she’d just stayed irritated with you a little longer and didn’t call. That way the only poor decision you’d be making tonight would be agreeing to meet up with your ex. A horrible idea in itself, sure, but at least you wouldn’t be lying to your best friend too. 

Too late to turn back on either now.

—

The drive from Somerville to the bus in Boston isn’t long, but it’s far enough for you to overthink everything. 

‘Nothing’s gonna happen,’ he said he only wants to talk. There’s no truth in his words and you know it, because unlike yourself, Chris has always been a very good liar. Those same words are the very reason you two broke up and they’re the source of all your hatred and suffering, but no matter how much you place him at fault for all your heartbreak, in hindsight, you realize you are also partly to blame…

The sun was shining bright through your bedroom window, warm but nothing like the arm Chris held around your waist. For the first time in two months, you woke up with him beside you in bed, and everything was perfect, and simple, and so, so deceiving. 

You were aimlessly scrolling through tik tok, keeping yourself entertained as Chris slept beside you when a specific post caught your attention. 

“Christopher Sturniolo finally confirms lucky mystery girl,” you read softly. It was classic clickbait. Dramatic and attention grabbing, and something a fan or follower would fall for if they didn’t know any better. With a chuckle, you swiped right. “Wonder who it is this time.”

Rumors weren’t hard to come by as Chris’s girlfriend. Fans had been suspicious of his hidden relationship for months now. 

And yes, they were always onto something with the boys. There was the car accident death hoax a couple years back, and the monthly ‘omg they’re quitting they hate us fuck im gonna kms’ allegations. Usually nonsense. 

But for once, although they didn’t know it was with you, they were right that he was in love. 

Chris never confirmed nor denied the rumors. As much as you wished he would; wished he would claim you with a kiss or hold your hand in public, he always chose to prioritize your peace. Any trace of your relationship was kept hidden from the internet, buried in the safety of real life. Its existence belonged only to you, Chris, and the few people you both trusted most. 

You told yourself that was enough. That in the quiet, away from jealous envy-filled eyes, every kiss and every hug and every ‘I love you’ you shared meant more. That privacy made it sacred. That what was hidden was more real, more honest. 

So when you swiped right, you expected nothing more than the usual—maybe him in a fan edit with one of his friends, or a silly AI photo kissing a stranger he’s never met before. You thought it would be anything but this. 

You were staring at a paparazzi picture. The shot was a little grainy and taken from far away, but the unreleased Fresh Love cap on his head was crystal clear, holding back his hair as he sat in a hot tub with his brothers, a couple friends, and a girl on his lap. 

The hairs on your arms instantly stood tall. 

You recognized her. She was the one in their most recent photo dump, the one in the background of their January vlog, the one Chris always defended when fans would send hate for simply being in their presence. She was the one he claimed was just a friend. 

You scanned the picture carefully, because you thought maybe you were missing a detail or your brain was playing a funny trick, but the longer you stared at it, the more you noticed. 

His arm was wrapped comfortably around her waist, and she smiled at him with crimson red lips that were slightly smudged along the edges. The remnants of it were painted along Chris’s lips and neck. 

And suddenly, you felt so uncomfortable in his grip. The weight of his arm was suffocating, holding you the same way he was holding her. 

“Chris, wake up,” you said. Your voice was steady despite the tears you felt already welling in your eyes. 

He hummed and stirred for a second, but tightened his grip as he replied. “It’s so early, baby…” 

It was a nickname he’d been calling you for 3 years now, but hearing it in that moment made you feel so dirty. Like the meaning of it was rotten, and calling you it poisoned your stomach entirely. You wanted to vomit. 

“Please, Chris,” you insisted, a little more firmly this time, pushing his arm from your waist. 

He rolled over on his back, and the second he let go, you sat up. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, more alert now with your unusually distant movements. 

You looked at him. He was sitting up now too, genuine concern laced through his tired eyes. For a second you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because asking Chris ‘are you cheating on me?’ felt so outrageous and wrong. 

Instead you looked to your lap at the photo on your phone. A tear landed on the screen when you blinked, and you took a deep breath before turning it to him. 

“Who is this?” You asked hesitantly. 

You watched the colour drain from his skin when his eyes finally focused. He strained his neck forward and his brows furrowed, like he was also trying to confirm what he was seeing. “Oh it’s not what it looks like, nothing happened, I promise—“

You cut him off. “But why is she on your lap?”

“She’s just a friend,” he replied, like reflex. It didn’t answer your question at all and it made your vision blur. He was still defending her, against you of all people.  

“So you just let all your friends sit there?” The back of your throat was burning—obvious in the way your voice broke at the end. 

“No…” he started, “it was just this one time I swear,” then amended, finishing with another excuse. He didn’t even sound like he was being defensive, but like he actually believed that made it okay.

You gave him a hopeless, watery laugh. “Is that her lipstick on your neck?” 

Chris’s mouth fell open at the question. He stared at you for a second then looked at the picture once more. The detail was small and hard to see at first glance, but you caught the flicker of regret in his features the moment he noticed it. 

His expression fell when he looked back to you, waiting for his reply. His eyes shifted between yours, and the silence stretched a little longer before he sighed. He didn’t have another excuse.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

Although you were prying the words from his lips, needing to hear him admit it himself, your heart cracked at his apology. You were already so close to losing it, so close to breaking, and the confession made your tears fall over the edge. 

Chris’s heart began to race at the sight of your tears. “___ I’m sorry, I never meant for it to get this far.” He said quickly, remorse clear in his voice as he instinctively tried to wipe your eyes. 

But the brush of his thumb against your cheek made you flinch away, your brain catching on his words. “This far?” You asked, brows pinching. “How far exactly has this gotten?”

His face pulled into one of guilt at the recognition of what he’d just admitted. He began to shake his head and his mouth parted a few times before his shoulders rose in a hopeless way. He couldn’t bring himself to lie again, and he feels bad when he tells you the truth. “It’s been six months.”

A single scoff of disbelief passes through your lips. 

Now you always imagined that if you ever found yourself in this position, being cheated on, that you would simply get up and walk away. Infidelity is more than enough reason to move on. 

So while your brain was yelling at you to leave him there and that he didn’t deserve your tears, the biggest part of your heart, the part that loved Chris, was fighting so hard to deny it.  

It frustrated you, because you really didn’t want to be crying. You were doing your best to keep it together because you weren’t pathetic. You were not going to beg for a spot in his life. But you couldn’t help your tears, and that only made them fall more.

You had to stand up from the bed and face away from him. Like looking up at the ceiling was the only way to stop your eyes. Feelings of defeat and anger and betrayal continued to splinter painfully through your heart.

After a deep breath, you finally spoke. “Did she know about me?” 

It was self-sabotage to even ask. 

You just thought that maybe—if she kissed him knowing he had a girlfriend, if he held her while she knew you existed—then that would have to mean that she agreed to be the second option. That even though there were two of you, Chris still picked you first. That this whole time, he really was hiding you for your peace, and not just hiding you from her. 

“No, she didn’t,” he replied with a sigh. 

It was the response you were expecting but you still exhaled pain. How could you be so naive?

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. “Were you ever gonna tell me?” 

Chris got up from the bed and took a tentative step to stand behind you. 

He was going to tell you, he really was. Guilt gnawed at his mind constantly. He always told himself he would come clean the next time he saw you, that you deserved to hear it face to face at the very least. But then next time would come and the week would be so perfect together, and he’d end up on the plane back to LA telling himself the same thing once again. Next time.

He knew it was no excuse, so he stayed silent. 

The quiet pulled violently at the knot in your gut.

“So how long were you planning to lie?” You asked. You could feel clips of anger start to replace the sadness in your chest, your voice coming out a little harsher than before.

“I’m sorry—“

A defeated sigh escaped your lips. “Stop apologizing,” you said, tilting your head back. “How long were you gonna lie to me?” 

Behind you, his own eyes began to sting. “I was going to tell you, I swear… I just… things got complicated.” 

It was a worthless response, yet you paused to let his explanation sink in. You were trying to see his point of view. Not because what he did was okay, you just wanted to understand why he thought hurting you for this long was. 

From every angle you looked at it, the reality of the situation was that he was simply wrong. 

“No it couldn’t have been that hard, Chris,” you tell him, a little desperately because he should have known that. 

“You could’ve ended things with me. You could’ve told me when it started. You could’ve come clean when you realized what you were doing wasn’t just a mistake. This was all a choice. Like you chose this.” 

Cheating was so easily avoidable. 

So when you turned to face him and were met with his own glossy eyes, the sight clouded your vision with anger. You couldn’t help your scoff of laughter or the words that followed. “Why the fuck are you crying?”

Chris winced at the venom in your voice. He rolled his lips between his teeth and stayed quiet. A single tear slipped down his cheek. 

You took a step closer. “Say something, like you don’t get to cry. You’re the one who fucking did this. You’re the one who lied.” 

You didn’t really know what you wanted him to say, but his silence was triggering. Because it felt like he was protecting himself, or like he didn’t really care about the conversation, or like he was relying on you to fix his mistake. 

Your own eyes were now pouring freely with tears. 

“I trusted you. I never questioned you because I fucking trust you, Chris. I never doubted you when you said she was just a friend. I never wanted to hold you back from the life you guys have built down there.” 

You shoved a finger at his chest with every sentence, piercing every word through his skin. Even though these were your decisions, you needed him to realize how unfair this was to you. 

“And you just came back every time. You pretended like nothing was wrong. You kissed me. You slept in my bed.” You looked at him for a moment. “Like how many times did we fuck just for you to go sleep with her too?” The words were hissed with so much hatred, the kind you could only feel after so much love— “Every time you said you loved me, when did you stop meaning that?”

His hands cupped your cheeks at those words, and this time you didn’t pull away from his touch. His composure was breaking and it was written all over his face, how much it hurt him to hurt you, even though his actions were intentional all this time. 

“I never stopped ___, I do love you.” he whispered.

“No I love you Chris.” You corrected him, begging him to understand. “I love you. I never would have done this to you.”

You stared at each other for a long second. You could see everything in his face now—regret, panic, guilt, grief. But that didn’t make it enough.

“I don’t know how you could do this to me, and mean it when you say you love me…”

The steering wheel is cold under your palms, a single tear slipping down your cheek at the memory. Maybe this is a really bad idea. Nothing good is going to come from seeing him again.

You should just go home.

—

You knock on the bus door.

It echoes around the empty parking lot of the venue and you feel immediate regret, like the sound of it has finally knocked some sense into you, too. 

Silence hangs in the air for about a minute before you sigh heavily and glance at your surroundings. You don’t know what you’re looking for exactly. Perhaps a bear or maybe a house fire. Any reason to get away from this bus. But the area is calm and still and quiet as ever.

When a cool breeze flows through your hair, irritation swells through your chest. 

“Is he actually serious right now?” You mutter under your breath. 

You cross your arms against the cold and take a step back to look through the window for any sign of movement. Even though it’s tinted, the lights seem to be off inside. 

You huff and knock again. This time the banging can surely be heard from inside, yet after a couple seconds, there’s still no response. Your irritation quickly becomes restless. 

Of course he would do this. 

Of course he made you drive all the way down here. He made you ditch all your friends and your stupid paper and made you waste all your gas to stand outside this bus like an idiot. This is such a waste of time. This is all his fault. If he wasn’t a lying asshole it wouldn’t be so cold and windy right now, and you could be doing literally anything else but—

“___,” Chris calls from behind.

You flinch out of your thoughts and your heart instantly picks up in pace. 

It’s a natural fight or flight response, only your body can’t tell if it’s from being startled, or from standing in the presence of your cheating ex for the first time in five months. Against your instincts, you turn towards the source. 

Fuck. 

He’s even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. 

He’s wearing sweats and a light stubble shadows his face, yet somehow he still looks clean and put together. His curls have grown slightly, and maybe it’s just the cause of five months of time, but the scruff makes him look a little older. 

On his feet, he’s wearing boots. They’re big and black and you’ve never seen him wear them before. But you can recognize Balenciagas, and they’ve made his presence so tall as he strides towards you—frantically and rushed. 

“Sorry, were you waiting long? I had to drop off Nick and Matt,” he starts explaining, “would’ve just made them uber or something if I knew how busy downtown is right now.”

The cool air becomes slightly dense with tension when he reaches your side. It’s not entirely uncomfortable, it feels familiar, just somewhat tainted. 

“Couple minutes,” you reply, keeping the rest of your thoughts about his punctuality to yourself. 

You hug your sweater tighter around your body like a make-shift shield against the cold, but also against him. The zipper suddenly catches your interest. Fiddling with it helps you avoid eye contact by making you look occupied.

“Right,” he nods. Silence settles between the two of you for a second, before he thinks of another thing to say, “how was the drive?”

Despite the ease in his voice, you can tell he’s nervous too. 

Chris stands before you, stiff and looking at the ground beneath his feet. Similarly evading your gaze just like you’re doing with his. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides before he shoves them deep into his pockets. 

Looking back, you feel like you did so much of the talking that morning in your bedroom. Probably too much, if you’re being honest. You feel like you never really gave yourself the time to hear his side or a proper chance to take in his apology. It’s the closure you’re missing. 

So this time, you want him to do most of the talking. Want him to actually give you answers, at the very least. Of all the things you deserve after everything he put you through, an explanation for his actions feels like the bare minimum.

Which is why you don’t sound very enthusiastic when you finally reply, “so you called me here for small talk?” 

Chris pokes his tongue to his cheek at your stubborn, slightly irritated tone.

“You’re the one who called. You’re ditching your own party,” you wave your hand at him, indicating you want him to get on with it. “Must have something important to say.”  

A staring contest ensues as you force yourselves to look at each other. Your stomach shrivels over the awkwardness and a slight twinge of pain cramps your heart. It never used to be this hard to look at him. 

"Yeah, it is important," he claims, voice low. 

For a second, he thinks about staying quiet, because he doesn’t really know how to go about the conversation at this point. But he reminds himself he can’t. Not anymore. For whatever sliver of decency he has left, he needs to say something. 

"I wanted to apologize to you."

You cast your eyes down, fixing them once again on your zipper. Cold air stings your lungs when you take a deep breath and ask, “are you still with her?” 

The question leaves your mouth before you can rethink it. You ask because you know what it’s like for him to lie to you. And if he’s still with her, if she has no idea he’s here with you, you’re not about to be part of it again. 

His eyes flicker with shame, but he shakes his head. 

“No,” he says bluntly. “Swear to god I told her everything. That same day, I told her about us… about everything. It was over after that.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and nod slowly. The motion feels mechanical. Like your body knows it’s the expected thing to do, even if your heart is somewhere else entirely.

It should’ve made you feel better to hear him say that. That he ended it. That he told her the truth. She deserved to know, too, at the very least. 

But your stomach still twists. Because none of it undoes what he did. None of it changes the fact that he cheated on you.

You try to keep your face more or less neutral when you look back up at him. Then once again, like months before, you start looking for answers. "Why did you do it?"  

Chris’s jaw tightens at the question and he brings a hand through his hair. You know he’s fighting for the right thing to say, brows pinching as he thinks intently for an answer you deserve. Yet everything seems to fall short.

Still, he tries.

"I don’t know," he says quietly, voice unstable, "I wish I had something better to give you than that, but... I don’t."

You nod and you stay silent. Your gaze presses heavy on him, forcing him to continue.

"I think I was just scared," he eventually admits, shifting his weight between his heels. "I didn’t know how to deal with everything– the distance, I mean. Things were getting so busy with youtube and we couldn’t come home as often anymore." 

It’s not an excuse, yet pesky pinpricks of tears sting the back of your eyes. You’re not entirely sure why. You know you don’t feel bad for him. Maybe it’s just the weight of everything hitting you all at once, finally hearing an explanation for a situation you’ve spent the past five months trying so hard not to blame yourself for. 

"I felt like… I don’t know, I felt so alone," he concedes, "and instead of talking to you about it, I wanted something easy. And seeing her didn’t scare me as much."

The words almost feel worse than if he just kept lying or said nothing at all. 

You didn’t know what to expect coming here tonight, but you hadn’t planned on feeling this wound again. So raw and fresh. But here it is, clawing its way up your throat, constricting any ability for you to speak. Any ability for you to stop him.

So he keeps going. 

"I regret it," he says, voice cracking under the truth. "Every second. I regret everything I did to you. I regret not telling you sooner. I regret ever hurting you the way I did in the first place."

He inhales a shaky breath, taking a step closer.

"It’s just.. I'm hurting too,” he finishes softly. He hopes that if he says it quietly enough, it won’t sound like an insult.

You let out a breathless laugh in response. Nothing is funny. Everything he said is just so wildly unfair.

A heavy silence settles between you. It gives you a second to think, to consider what you even want to say. How vulnerable you’re willing to get. Your mouth opens before you even get to decide.

“Being with her scared you less than talking to me...” you repeat, more as a statement than a question. 

Chris doesn’t have to hear you say any more to know you’re hurt once again. The tone of your voice is unsure, and the pain in it is elusive, but he knows. Of course he does. You were together for years, he knew you better than anyone else at one point in time. 

So as hard as you try to hide behind a veil of composure, he easily pinpoints the cadence of sadness in your words, “...and you think you’re hurting?”

“I am. I miss you everyday, I feel horrible.” 

Such a sick, grossly feeling comes over you. 

"Yeah but not like me," you start, hot tears brimming to the forefront of your eyes. "You’re hurting because you feel guilty. I'm hurting because you let me believe I was right to trust you."

Despite wanting to meet his eyes and seem untouched by what he did, you can’t. Despite how badly you want to prove you’re past this, that you’ve healed and grown and it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, the truth is, it does. 

“I couldn’t eat for weeks afterwards. I couldn’t leave my bed. I cried everyday,” you tell him.

You don’t mean to undermine his feelings and you’re not trying to ask for pity. But you just need him to understand that the pain he’s feeling is self-inflicted, and cannot compare to the involuntary suffering he’s put you through. 

“I feel like I'm never gonna be able to trust someone again, and I hate you for it.” 

And you know Chris, too. Know exactly which of his buttons to push. Reminding him that he had someone who loved him completely, and he ruined them in return, will hurt him exactly how you want it to.

He winces at your words. 

He knows he should explain. 

Say sorry.

Beg, if he has to.

But he can’t seem to get a single thought out.

It’s like the apology he’s spent months rehearsing is stuck somewhere deep in his chest. Weighed down by everything he’s done, and by the unbearable truth of how much he’s broken you in ways he can never take back.

All he can do is stand there and hope you give him a second. And maybe another. Just enough time to try and pull himself together, even though he’s already been given so many chances, and has wasted every single one.

In the few seconds that pass, you wipe your cheeks with your sleeves, blinking hard and furious at yourself for letting your tears fall. Then for the briefest, most fleeting moment, your expression softens.

It’s barely there. So quick, but he doesn’t miss it, the tiniest crack in the wall you’ve built up between you two.

He knows it’s not forgiveness. He’s foolish, but not enough to believe that you could ever forgive him again. It’s just like there’s still a part of you, buried under all the pain, that is still showing him the most undeserved compassion. Beneath everything he ruined, there’s still a part of you that wishes things could be different. 

Chris gets caught up in it. In the glimpse of what he thinks he sees, in the small chance of reconciliation that he has no right to hold onto. So much so that he almost misses it when it slips away. 

Your shoulders slump. Your chest caves in. And whatever fragile hope he sees on your face collapses into disappointment.

He knew you would still be sad. He knew you’d be hurt and he was prepared, or at least he thought he was, to stand here tonight and take responsibility for all the ways he let you down.

But he wasn’t ready for this.

Wasn’t ready for the way you seem to turn all your sadness inwards. Wasn’t ready for the way you look at yourself, and not at him, like you are the one who made the mistake. Like the real shame isn’t what he did, but that you let yourself come here and believe things would be any different.

Chris stands useless and silent when you shake your head in defeat. 

He’s frozen, until you turn to walk away.

“Wait, don’t–” he stops, voice cracking open between you.

His hand is around your wrist before you can step back, eliciting a small gasp from your lips as he pulls you close. He’s suddenly towering over you, the warmth of his body surrounding yours entirely, his breath fanning small puffs of fog in the cold. “I’m sorry, ___.”

You dare yourself to look into his eyes. You couldn’t tell from a distance, but face to face you can see now that they’re red-rimmed from fighting his own stubborn tears. “I just needed to see you one more time,” he says.

You blink.

The finality of his statement shifts the weight of the atmosphere instantly. 

His gaze burns, and it becomes a stark contrast to the air that seems to have turned to ice around you. Tension starts to crackle in the small space between your bodies. 

The same pull that once made it so easy to fall for him hits you all over again, and despite the effort you’ve made to forget it over time, resisting it now feels useless. 

You know you shouldn’t give in, you know you need to leave him here now, but trying to fight such a magnetic force seems impossible when his hold has ignited an ache in your body for the connection—for his touch. 

What’s one more time in the grand scheme of things?

You swallow hard, heart racing in your ears. “Well I’m right here, aren’t I?” You test. “Small talk not enough for you?”

Once again, he’s silent. His gaze flickers between your eyes, searching for the meaning behind your words. He can’t understand completely, but when he loosens the grip on your wrist and you don’t pull away, he becomes a little more sure of his movements. 

When he speaks again, he counters. “Say you don’t want this, and I’ll let you walk away.” His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t move back. 

Instead he leans in even closer, like he already knows you won’t say no. You can see it written all over his face. The faux concern. The way he’s making it seem like you have an option in this when he has already decided for you. You can feel it in the heat radiating off his touch, moving his hand from your wrist to the nape of your neck. And because he knows you, he’s right.

On instinct, you tilt your head upwards, surrendering permission.

Only he needs to hear you say it.

“Please, ___,” he whispers, “Tell me you want this too.”

For a second, you almost hold out. 

For a second, you remember everything he’s done. Everything he ruined. Everything he doesn’t deserve.

But then your mind betrays your heart before you can second guess it, and the words slip past your lips.

“I want you, Chris.”

You barely finish speaking before he’s on you. 

There's no hesitation, no second chance to take it back. His lips catch your own and are burning with longing and desire, obvious in the way he wraps you up in his arms and practically merges your body with his. Your nerves light with need under his touch, muddling your thoughts and all your pride along with it. 

This is so wrong. 

Chris is your ex for a reason. Going back to him, even just for tonight, is the lowest betrayal you could inflict on yourself. But as your hands pull him closer, as his lips part so easily for you, as adrenaline and lust bleed into every frantic movement you share, you’re willing to abandon every last one of your morals in exchange for just five more minutes in his arms.

You don’t know who moves first. Whether you’re dragging him or he’s steering you. But you’re moving, stumbling blindly into the bus without ever breaking apart. The second you’re inside, he’s kicking the door shut behind him without even looking, sealing you both in the heavy, intoxicating heat of the hallway that has nothing to do with the temperature.

You both strip off your sweaters and kick your shoes aside without a word, urgency pulsing between you, just before he pushes you flush against the coat hanger closet. A gasp slips from your lips at the cold on your back. You can already feel the familiar pulse between your thighs throb more and more as a wet patch dampens your panties, exposing how much you crave this. You know he feels it too. His sweats leave little to the imagination.

Your hand slips between your bodies on instinct, trailing your nails down his stomach until your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his pants. 

Chris groans into your mouth the second you wrap your hand around him. The sound is so raw and so desperate and it shoots directly through your spine. His hips jerk against your touch, chasing the friction. He’s sticky against your palm as you pump him once more, slow and deliberate, just to hear him curse under his breath again.

“Fuck,” you whimper. 

You squeeze your thighs together at the way he feels, because in your palm, Chris is so hard. His cock is thick, and long. It’s pulsing, twitching sometimes when you touch him in the ways you remember he likes. 

He brings his hand to your wrist once again, urging you to grip him tighter, stroke him faster. “Just like that,” he moans.

His mouth hangs open and you look down. You can’t see much in the dimly lit space of the bus, but you can tell how badly he wants this. The way he gets impossibly harder in your palm, the wetness that taints your thumb every time you brush over the tip—it’s all a complete giveaway. His breath comes in deep pulls, his chest heaving against yours.

You bring your lips along his jaw until he’s tilting his head, exposing his neck for you to place a wet kiss along the column of his throat.  

“Do you pretend other girls are me when they touch you like this?” You ask, the question coming out airy and light with arousal. “I know they don’t even come close to how you feel when you’re inside me.”

Chris’s stomach tenses and contracts at the perfect sound of your voice. In his state, his pride has also faded, so he doesn’t stop himself when he admits, “there haven’t been any other girls…since that day I haven’t– wait, I–.” He pauses, squeezing your wrist slightly to try and slow your movements. “Fuck, slow down– I’ll cum.”

Your pussy throbs at the confession. “Yeah?” You hum. Your other hand slips between his legs to fondle his balls. A gasp falls from his lips, and despite his oppositions, he spreads his legs wider for you, angling his hips so you can touch him better. “Too guilty to move on?”

His breath continues to fall short and ragged by your ear. His free hand finds its way to your hip for support as you suck on the warmth of his neck, pulling a groan from his throat that buzzes against your lips. 

“___,” he says, voice strained. The call of your name is a warning, but he’s not even really sure what for. Is he trying to stop you before he comes like a horny teen? Or is he begging for more, so for the first time in months, he can finally finish in a hand that’s not his own?

You grin against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck once more before pulling away to look up at him. Your brows instinctively pinch together, mirroring the way his are pulled tight in pleasure. You can’t help but mock him again. 

“Can’t believe you threw this all away for her.”  

The reminder causes frustration to blaze through his aroused eyes and it only turns you on more. Before you can stroke him again, he grabs your wrists and rips your hands from his pants, spinning you around in one harsh motion. 

You gasp as your chest hits the wall with a dull thud. His body pins yours in place, hard cock grinding against the curve of your ass through your clothes.

“You think I don’t get it?” he pants into your ear.

Chris’s lips harshly meet the side of your neck before you can even respond, making your breaths go up in pitch as his hands move all over your body. One of his palms settles over your tit, fingers kneading through the lacy fabric of your bra before pinching your nipple tight between his fingertips. The other drags around your waist, slipping into your waistband and finding your soaked pussy with no hesitation.

You cry out when two fingers thrust inside you without warning.

“I regret it everyday,” he mutters, fingers curling deep inside you at a relentless pace. The sound of your wetness echoes in the cramped space around you. “She got to be seen, while I kept this—you—hidden.” 

His hand leaves your breast and moves to your throat, firm and steady, pressing just enough to leave you dizzy.

“I should’ve shown them,” he hisses. “Should’ve let the whole fucking world see who you are when you fall apart for me.” He pushes his fingers deeper. “Nobody knows you only come apart like this for me, no?”

Your walls clench around his fingers, pulling them even further inside. Your tits press harder into the wall, crushed against the surface. The friction of your bra rubbing against your nipples sparks a jolt of heat through your body at each shift. His cock throbs against your ass from behind, and the hand at your throat tightens just enough to make the edges of your vision blur.

He knows your body so well.

Knows exactly how to unravel you. 

And he knows no one else has ever even come close.

Chris drives his fingers into you harder, dragging a shattered moan from your throat. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he growls.

The pad of his thumb is suddenly pressing into your clit and your entire body is overcome with chills. He works direct pressure in circular motions, keeping the stimulation pinpointed as his fingers continue to fuck you. Your knees buckle forward and hit the wall in front of you. You sigh and nod against the hand around your neck. 

“It’s just you, Chris,” you whine. “Only you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes fall shut as his fingers pump in and out of you, and you lean your head back against his chest. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they grind against his palm, matching his pace and chasing your high. Your moans begin to raise in pitch, and the familiar feeling quickly closes in, coiling tight in your lower belly. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Chris pulls his fingers from you, slipping out of your soaked panties with no warning. The sudden loss of friction makes the edge slip from your grasp and your orgasm fades into nothing. All that’s left is a pulsing ache and a frustration buzzing beneath your skin, sharp and unbearable.

You turn around, still breathless and flushed. Against the wall, Chris is leaning back like he has all the time in the world. His fingers glisten in the low light, and instead of wiping them clean, he brings them to his mouth, sucking them slow, like he’s tasting the proof of what you still are to him.

His eyes never leave yours. They burn with something between arrogance and hunger, daring you to say you don’t want more.

But you do.

“What the fuck, Chris?” You snap, shoving him hard in the chest. Aggravated tears fill instantly in your eyes. This is so cruel. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me?” he murmurs, voice low and sharp. “You already look like you’re about to.”

A frustrated cry leaves your lips when you shove him again, once, and then twice, but he catches your wrists before you can hit him a third time. He yanks you into him and his mouth is on yours immediately, kissing you with a rough breathless urgency. You try to resist, pushing against his chest and writhing out of his grip. 

But eventually your body surrenders.

Because you still want this. You still need this, even after all that he’s said and done. And you hate yourself for how much you do.

Your arms wrap around his neck before you can stop yourself. The space between your bodies disappears, hips and chests aligned in a rhythm that neither of you can control. His hands are everywhere. Sliding up your sides, grabbing at your waist, curling into every inch of your skin. Lust is tangible in the air, just pouring from you both into the filthy atmosphere. 

His earlier words suddenly echo in your mind—‘I just needed to see you one more time.’ At the thought that this is never going to happen again, your kisses turn frantic and hard. Chris moves between your lips and your neck, glistening marks tainting here, there, everywhere. Soft moans shamelessly leave his lips, rough breath hitting your skin like he can’t get enough. He toys with the clasp of your bra, thinking about twisting it open but ends up leaving it alone. One track mind, taking over. 

The two of you move blindly through the narrow hallway, stumbling over a backpack and a case of water abandoned on the floor. You bump into a counter and something falls to the ground behind you, maybe a bottle or a decoration but neither of you flinch, never once breaking apart. 

You barely realize how far you’ve moved until your back hits the edge of something sturdy. You flinch at the impact, sucking in a breath as your fingers grip the surface behind you. Chris looks down, recognizing the dining table, but his attention doesn’t linger. His gaze flicks back to yours, and then he kisses you again, slower this time, like the chaos is settling into something heavier.

His hand comes to your hip, firm.

“Turn around,” he says.

And without thinking, you do.

He’s behind you now, the heat of his body unmistakable at your back. You try not to be eager, but your soaked pussy aches, making your movements crude as you roll your hips back against him, impatiently asking for whatever he’s going to do next. 

Chris doesn’t move at first. He just lets you grind against him, like he’s studying how badly you want it. How shameless you’ve become under his hands. Then, without a word, his palm drags up the back of your thigh, firm and slow, until it slips between your legs. He cups your pussy through your panties, fingers pressing into the damp fabric, and lets out a low exhale right against your ear.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he points out, running a finger over your clothed folds.

The pet name accidentally slips from his lips and makes you buzz, but you can only moan in response. There’s no point in denying how bad you want him when he can feel it, how you’re past the point of resistance, ready to give in just like he says you are. Like you both know you are.

He trails his fingers up your stomach, tracing a line up your torso, leaving heat in its wake, before reaching your shoulder. He pushes your hair aside and presses a kiss to the exposed skin.

Chris’s hand spreads wide between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down, bending you over the solid edge until the plush swell of your tits pillow against the table. The wood is cool against your chest, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling beneath your skin. He drags his fingertips lower, skimming the length of your spine until he reaches the waistband of your sweats. In one swift motion, he slides them down with your panties, making them gather at your ankles.

The cool air brushes over your bare skin and pulls a shaky breath of anticipation from your lips. Behind you, Chris settles his hands on your hips for a moment, biting his lip on a soft moan as his eyes train on your cunt. The way it clenches mindlessly around nothing, so wet and ready and perfect from his fingers alone. He could cum at the sight.

Oh, he’s missed this.

His hands briefly leave your side and you hear the low rustle of fabric behind you, then the dull sound of his sweats hit the floor. Your breathing stutters, shallow and uneven, the nerves hitting you all at once now that there’s nothing left between you. One of Chris’s palms finds your hip again, grounding you in place, while the other wraps around his cock.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t have to.

The tension says everything. This is happening because you both want it. Because you both need it.

Your next breath catches in your throat, and just like that, Chris slides between your folds. In one smooth, unforgiving push, he fills you completely, and it’s good. So mind-numbingly good. The moans that fall from your lips are synced, pleasure clear in how lewd and loud and so relieved you both sound. 

When he moves, he doesn't ease into it. He starts hard and fast, like neither of you have time to waste. Your palms press flat into the table as your body begins to jolt forward with the force of his thrusts.

With Chris inside of you, you almost let yourself forgive his mistakes. His stroke is so good and skilled, making you feel every inch of him every time he makes your hips meet. Pussy swallowing his cock, wet and slick. You never want him to leave, never want him to stop fucking you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, barely able to breathe.

Your body takes him like it never learned how to forget. Like it was waiting, tight, raw, and desperate for him. You spent months trying to fuck the memory out of yourself, hoping someone else could pull this from you. But nobody did. They barely scratched the surface.

Chris moves like he built the map. Every thrust hits deep. And it’s not just the stretch or the fullness. It’s the way he fits, the way he serves you, like your body was made to be fucked by him.

You’ve tried to mimic this with your own hands, but it was always a weak substitute for his cock. Nothing—not toys, not other men—ever came close. It was always shallow. Always empty. Chris has this way of hitting places you didn’t know existed, of filling you so completely that it borders on unbearable.

And now that he’s inside you again, it has all come back at once. It’s a rush. Like a drug relapse. Hot, heavy, all-consuming. This isn’t just pleasure. It’s need.

Your fingers claw at the edge of the wood, desperate for something to hold as he drives into you so well, cock dragging against every pulse and ridge of your tight walls. You’re stretched to your limit, stuffed full with no room to breathe.

“Fuck,” he grits out between thrusts. “You always feel so good around me.”

Chris’s pleasure has never been quiet. He’s shameless when he lets out sharp breaths, low groans, and the occasional whimper when you used to edge him just to watch him fall apart. He didn’t mind when you took control. Sometimes he liked it.

But not now.

Now you’re bent over, hands braced against the table while he fucks you hard and without pause. There’s no pretending who’s in charge. He’s got you exactly how he wants you.

And it feels insane how much you need it.

“Please,” you beg. “It feels so good, Chris, please. Don’t stop.”

Your words cause Chris to groan and shudder. His cock throbs, you can feel it jerk inside you. He has to slow down for just a moment, before he picks back up again, grabbing your hips and dragging you back into him, slamming deeper with every thrust. 

The guttural sound it pulls from your throat isn’t controlled. You don’t even try to hold it in. He hears his name, rough and desperate, and it only makes him fuck you harder.

He leans over you, strokes long and consistent, his chest brushing against your back. His lips are hot against your skin and suck along your shoulder in a way that’s more bruising than soft. After leaving a mark, he trails his mouth on the curve of your neck, then nips at your earlobe, making your whole body twitch.

One of his hands slides up and curls gently around your throat again. He draws you upright with him. Your back is flush to his chest, making your breathing shallow as the pressure sharpens your focus. Standing makes the angle deeper. Everything feels closer, heavier, like your body’s one touch away from unraveling.

“Fuck– I’m so close,” you moan.

You didn’t have to tell him. The tight clench of your walls around his cock is painfully familiar; Chris can tell. 

But at your words, his rhythm shifts and his thrusts increase in vigor, like he wants to push you there faster. Your breath shortens at the change, body tightening with every snap of his hips. Then his hand moves, sliding down your stomach and between your legs without warning.

When his fingers find your clit, everything stutters. Your back arches, your body pressing into his as your legs threaten to give out beneath you. His arm tightens around your middle and neck, holding you up like he already knew you'd fold.

He rubs your core quick and rough. Side to side with sharp pressure, right where it matters. Your moans rise, breath catching high in your throat as your stomach coils tighter, heat blooming low and fast.

Your pussy clenches around him, fluttering with each thrust, your body working against itself to keep up with how fast he's pulling you under.

“Cum, baby,” he coaxes into your ear. You can hear how much he struggles to hold back his own release as he talks. “Come on, you’re almost there. I can feel you.”

The slap of his hips is as loud as your moans, his words doing something insane to your body. You nod without thinking and reach back to hook your arm around his neck, needing something solid to hold onto. The pressure coils tighter in your gut, sharp enough to make your eyes squeeze shut, your grip around his neck locking down hard enough to almost choke him.

The hand at his neck surges another rush through his movements, and somehow Chris finds it in him to give you more. He digs in, moving into you faster, putting every last bit of strength into each brutal thrust.

Every second is faster than the last, wrecking your rhythm, tearing you closer to the edge without any way to pull back.

He sounds wrecked too. His breathing is loud and broken, groans ripping straight from his chest as he fucks into you without slowing down.

You’re right there. So close you can feel the crash coming.

He just needs to tighten his around your throat like this. Tear his fingers over your clit like that. Press his cock into that one spot deep inside you, over and over, merciless and exact until–

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum–" you gasp out, words breaking apart.

It hits all at once. The overwhelming, devastating pressure in your stomach finally snaps, burning through you with a rush.

Your mouth falls open in a way that stops any sound from coming out. White spots litter the black conceals of your vision as you squeeze your eyes together, the pleasure ringing in your ears. Your body locks up, cunt clenching tight as you fall apart. Wetness spills out of you, creaming on his cock as he continues to fuck you through your high.

Behind you Chris groans against your skin at the swollen aftermath of your pussy. His hips can only jerk once, twice, and then his own release hits. He’s spilling inside you, thick and hot, fucking it deeper with a few broken, desperate thrusts. He’s so loud you’re half convinced someone will hear. You don't care.

Neither of you slow down. You keep dragging more out of each other, past the point of sensitivity, past the point of reason. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving scratches he’ll feel tomorrow, just like you’ll feel every bruise he stamps into your body.

The bus smells like sweat and sex and everything you’re not supposed to want anymore. But you cling to him anyway, stretching the night out just a little longer.

This isn’t a second chance.

It isn’t forgiveness.

It’s the last time you’ll ever get to pretend you still belong to each other.

And you hang on until you need to let go.

—

“Do you have to leave?”

Your fingers still as you zip up your hoodie. You glance over to Chris, clothed now in just his sweats, who watches you from the other side of couch.

You sigh. “I really shouldn’t have even come in the first place.”

“But you did,” he says. He moves to sit right beside you and places a gentle hand on your thigh, resting it where you used to let him touch you without thinking. His beautiful blue eyes, which were just blown out with pleasure, now search yours with subtle desperation. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to.”

Covering his hand with your own, you press your lips together and stare at him for a moment.

“It was a mistake,” you say simply.

His face falls, but you he doesn’t respond. Arguing now would be useless, he knows you’ve made up your mind. Your chest tightens slightly when his brows pinch and he shakes his head.

After tonight, sadness still finds its way into your heart, but it’s more for him than for yourself.

"I hope you take care of yourself, Chris."

With a final squeeze to his hand, you offer him a small smile and leave, clicking the door shut behind you without another word.

—

a/n: the ending of this is awful lmfao but thank u for readinggg<33 i started this on april 1st and wanted so badly to get it to u guys for the boston show but school and work didnt let it happen. so then i tried to post it at leasttt before tour ended lmfao but wtv. a day late but at least it’s here!!! lmk what u think!!!

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

⛤⋅•⋅∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[acexsmhking]

ACTUALLY B E G G I N G FOR A TICCI TOBY X TRANS MALE READER SMUT LORDDD PLS😭😭 with perhaps praise kink and lots of neck kisses nnghhh skshskdj and toby being an absolute whimpering whiner perhaps😏🤤 and knuckle kisses/rubbing im obsessed. And using puppy as a petname or good boy pretty pls. If youd rather gn reader btw then thats totally ok too!! 😭 TYSMMM I LUV UR STORIES<33-🦌

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰

(𝗮𝗱𝗷.) 𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲

: ̗̀➛ Toby x TRANSM!Reader

Note: I didn’t do GN fully but I did decide to still use you pronouns so all body shapes, color, etc. can be included. If there’s any criticism, pleaseee tell me. But I was thinking for my next fic I might add more first POV. Who knows, i love writing in Third POV LOL <3

Warning(s): 18+ content, small plot, sweet love, soft sex, praise kink, biting, mentions of saliva, uses of pup, sub-ish Toby, references to depressive episode, mentions of blood (very small), mentions of choking, slight cockwarming

It had been a long day when Toby actually returned to the warmth of your shared home. He spent the day chopping wood and tending to the animals. You had worked on the inside, insuring the seal on windows and doors and keeping the house warm. When Toby came back inside you could practically see the waves of pent up exhaustion. He had been reclusive all day, another episode that he just had to work through. Keep pushing. Loving him so much you couldn’t help but tease him a bit. Cradling his face as you cooed words of praises. After dinner he clung to you in bed, refusing to let go.

You’d been trying to read as Toby kept kissing your shoulder blades and nape. Completely curling around you. “You feeling okay, sweetie?” You cooed, moving your arm back as you massaged his head. He only nodded, pressing his face more into your back. You sighed, turning over to look at him. His eyes were droopy than usual, tears in his eyes. “Oh my love.” You frowned, pressing soft kisses to his lips. He whined, pressing your lips closer and deepening the kiss. His hands wandering your lower half.

You chuckled, indulging him as you moved a leg up his hips. He was quick to roll you both over, lazily grinding his hips into yours as he sloppily kissed neck. You huffed, beads of pleasure tingling a straight line down your spine as you felt him hardening. His hands were needy as the groped you, roaming your sides as he grounded harsher into you. “Please..” He whined, eyes brimming with tears. You soothed him as you moved him over, kissing his body as you took his clothes off. Your hands wrapping around his cock as you laid between his legs.

“Bitte! Brauche dich, mu-ss dich auf mir spüren, Welpe.” He jerked his hips, hand gripping your hair as you licked the tip of his cock. You smiled, kissing his tip as you locked eyes with him. Your lips traveling down his shaft and pressing a firm kiss to his balls. Toby whined, tugging on your hair to pull you up. “Be patient baby, I gotta work you.” You chuckled, moving your head back down to take him in your mouth. Toby huffed, watching you transfixed as you sucked his cock, pretty lips teasing his tip time to time. “So ein süßer Junge, ich-ich liebe dich so sehr.” He murmured, gently moving your head along his length.

You gave his tip one last kiss before pulling up, moving to straddle his waist. His cock slicked with your salvia made it easier to slide on to him. Toby’s arms wrapped around your hips, holding you firmly against him. Toby peppered soft kisses to your chest, slowly trailing up to your neck nipping at it. He let out a little sob noise as you completely enveloped him. His hands moving down to grip your ass, harshly moving you on him. You yelped, holding onto his shoulders as he unsteadily thrusted into you.

His thrusts were sloppy and rushed as he stuffed himself into you. His nails dug into your behind as he pressed wet, hurried kisses all over your chest and neck. “Ich li-liebe dich so sehr, so-so sehr, Welpe.” He whined, teeth scraping the column of your neck. You bite your lip, moans threatening to escape your lips as you tried calming him. “I love you too, but slow down honey.” You chuckled, a particularly low moan leaving your lips as his tip brushed against that spot in you. You pushed down on his thighs, trying to slow down his movements.

Toby whined but gave into you either way, slobber painting your chest and stomach as he pressed his head against you. You carefully readjusted yourself before starting a gradual pace on him. Cooing at him as you combed his hair. Jesus why did he always feel so perfect. Feeling him rub against your walls was driving you insane, Toby nibbled your jaw as his fingers relaxed on your ass. One hand moving to lazily rub you legs are your pace sped up. Feeling the tickle of his bush against your sensitive area made your eyes twitch.

Toby grabbed one of your hands, bringing your knuckles to his lips when his eyes locked with yours. You whined, rutting your hips pulling him into a kiss. “S-suh-uch a good slut for me, puppy.” He snickered, you rolled your eyes playfully. “Says the crybaby.” He hummed, pressing another deep kiss to your lips. It was harsh and passionate. Your legs wobbled and thrusts becoming unsteady as you approached your end. “Willst du abspritzen, guter Junge?” He teased, pushing his hips up to meet yours.

You could only nod as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders. Toby hissed as he unloaded in you, teeth meeting your shoulder. You yelped, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over you. Toby rubbed your back as you grind against him, riding out your high. “That’s i-t, good boy.” He whispered, holding you closer as he buried his head back in your shoulder. Your head sagged as you began relaxing, pressing soft kisses to his forehead. He leaned into you, pushing your back onto the bed.

“Noch eins, Liebes.” Toby sighed, wrapping his arms around your midriff. He began moving again inside you, tongue licking your neck. You whimpered, clawing his back as overstimulation set into you. Toby’s pace was faster than usual but less unsteady like before, his mind a bit clear as he took you in more and more. His teeth however, were growing harsher and harsher on your neck. Pebbles of blood forming at the small tears, his tongue licking up everything he could.

“Need you.” You whine, legs wrapping around his hips to push him deeper. Toby let up just for a moment to briefly watch his cock sliding inside you. “Was brauchst du, Welpe?” Toby snickered, a thumb slipping down to press roughly against your hole. As if trying to slip in with his cock. You shifted at the intrusion, already so full of him to take anything else. “Hast du meinen Sch-Schwanz nicht schon?” His hand moved up to rest on your throat, giving you that familiar squeeze. Your walls clenched at the pressure, full throbbing pain as his hand pressed against the raw skin.

“Please.” Truthfully you hadn’t a clue what you were pleading for. Mind too faint from your previous orgasm and currently overstimulation to care. A strangled grunt left Toby at the feeling of you, his demeanor lessening as he pulled you in. Pressing flurry of kisses against your chest, lips running over the pebbles of your nipples. He loved you like this, just as needy for him as he was for you. And the warmth of your body only eased him more as his hips became more and more sloppy.

He entangled both your fingers with his, pressing kisses against your nose as he thrusted into you. The position made you flush, turning your head away from the intense look of his eyes. It was embarrassing, how warm and fuzzy it made you feel, how intimate it all was. Ironic considering the act you were currently committing. Toby hummed, kissing your jaw allowing you to have your moment. You could feel your approach coming fast, that twisting knot threatening to snap again. Your hips hastily met his, grinding against him as whines and moans escaped your lips.

Toby was quick to encourage you, teasing praises and kisses peppered onto your skin. A low groan leaving your lips as it finally hit, settling deep into your bones as it washed over you. He followed soon after you, holding your neck in his jaws as he came. Your nails dug into his hands at the pressure, it took your breath away as a hard orgasm hit Toby. You stayed curled and intertwined for a long moment. Toby keeping himself deep inside you as you both relaxed on the bed. You resumed your earlier action of kissing his head and combing his hair.

“Feeling better?” You asked, voice raspy. Toby just nodded, thumb rubbing small circles on your hips. You shifted as the feeling of sweat and cum made you rouse. Toby whined as you slid off his cock, hands reaching to push you back down. You swated his hands away, legs ever so wobbly as you tried standing up. “So m-muh-ean, I was getting comfy.” He huffed, getting up to join you in the shower. “Yeah I know, but you know damn well to clean up.” You tutted, pulling him into the shower since it quickly warmed.

Standing under the water, Toby had his arms around your waist. “Thank you, my dear.”

: ̗̀➛ Sorry this is ever so shorter than usual, I was feeling in a more romantical mood and this fic was helping LOL. I also just wanna include more of aftercare stuff and etc. also my trans community if you have any criticism pls let me know! I am also open to learning how I can tweak things so everyone is satisfied! — Ace

[siolixz]

ღ Of Love and Loyaltyღ

+18

Part 2

<Part 1> <Part 3: final>

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She and Oz have developed a relationship of sorts and she changed based on everything around her.

Reader is a young girl infatuated with a man decades older than her- who is also very dangerous and powerful (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 pls take everything with a grain of salt. Oz's mom is actually dead in this story. I will write a third and final part to this after the last episode. Everyone in this story is 18+ and consenting 100%.

Enjoy, give some feedback if you want. (>‿◠)✌

Warnings: violence, age-gap relationship, smut(¬‿¬)

You finally made something of yourself. Sure it was all blood money, but you did- you did what you had to do to survive and not only that, to thrive. 

Before leaving he told you to get in the car while he talked to Sofia outside, when you got back he was on his knees- a gun pointed at his face. You acted on impulse and drove the car into one of the guys there; best thing you could’ve done at the moment he told you.

 You would think that planning to escape would distance you from him but it did the opposite- even after wrecking his car, that poor gorgeous car; you’ve never been in one as fancy before- let alone drive it.  

“I’m so-sorry about your car.” you said as you stared at it in flames. 

“Yeah- what're ya gonna do 'bout it- only the good die young.” he came closer to you and grabbed the back of your head- forcing you to look at him. “Don’t be sad about it- you’re worth a thousand more to me.” 

He told you that you two were “really in it now”- and he couldn’t have been more right about that.

He got the Bliss operation back from the Maroni family by burning the mother and the heir apparent to their family- together. His brutality frightened you but If he wanted to rule the mob- he had to be brutal and unwavering in his choices, at least that’s what you told yourself to justify what he had done. Now not only Sofia Gigante was after you, but also Sal Maroni.

In the weeks following you had your own operation- underground, in a sewer system that connected you to all of Gotham, you became Oz’s eyes and ears above ground, traveling on your motorcycle- giving him news about the world above and delivering his money directly in his hands. He had given you your own gun—"just in case someone messes with you"—though you never ended up using it.

 Oz trusted you, even after your attempt at an escape- he moved you two to an apartment on the East Side, one that reminded you of your old one; without electricity but it did its job. In the apartment you got very close to him, you got to know him much better and you changed too in the meantime, you were more confident- more sure of yourself next to him. 

He was all you had, the one person who made you feel like you were the center of his world. One night- he came "home" late, as he often did. You were already in bed, curled up and trying to stay warm when you felt the familiar weight of his body sinking into the mattress. He slid under the covers and pulled you close, and you sighed, finally feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

"The people in charge really don’t give a fuck about us," you murmured, exhaustion lacing your voice. It was a tired frustration—being cold at work and now being cold at home. Winter was coming, and your mind drifted to families with children who needed warmth.

He took a deep breath. The long days weighed heavily on him; managing his people and the constant stress left him drained. Most nights, he would grab a bite, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, cold or not, he’d fall into a deep sleep. You’d take advantage of those moments, cuddling close and pulling his heavy arm over you. Oswald slept like a rock.

"I’ll do something about it," he said, his deep voice vibrating through you. In the weeks you’d been together, you’d learned how to speak to him, how to make him feel powerful—your man, your only one. He was the only man who had ever made you feel this way, and you couldn’t deny the rush you felt watching him command respect when he barked out orders to his men, a cigar perched between his lips. God, he was handsome. Your stomach would flutter every time you caught a glimpse of him, even if only for a second.

He was a towering presence, terrifying when he loomed over you, and seeing him angry was enough to scare you senseless. But it also sets your heart racing for other reasons too.

Before the club, his gaze never strayed from you; now, it was his hands that constantly sought you. He couldn't help himself when you were close, sometimes grabbing you in public like an eager kid in a candy shop. You learned that when he called you into his "office," it meant he was either seething with anger or burning with desire—either way, you knew he’d end up taking it out on you. 

He’d told you more than once that he hadn’t felt this alive in years, and you could sense the shift in everything he did—from the way he spoke to the intensity in the way he fucked you. He had changed.

You told him about Squid- about how he came up to you today- asking you where you got your clothes- “what shit you got cooking” - Oz asked you if it was going to be a problem, you told him no; he could count on you- you won’t let him down.

“You know, I think you’re the only thing keeping me good, doll.” he traced circles on your arm. If you were keeping him good, what was Oz like when bad? The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt his hands traveling under the blanket and beneath the sweater and t-shirt you had on and you proceeded to hiss once they made contact with your skin “your hands are so cold” you said and he chuckled.

The next day, you made true to your promise and met up with Squid- you had a plan, of course you did, you would give him some money and hope he would leave you alone.

Of course the dumb bastard declined the money- of course he tried to intimidate you to “bring him to the big man” or else he was gonna go to the Maronis or Falcones- maybe they would help him; the fuck was he thinking?  That a small-time asshole like him could make a deal with Oz? 

So many thoughts were running through your head, what if you did bring him to Oz? You didn’t want to bother him, he had enough stuff he had to worry about- plus the things Oz would do to him were too graphic to think about. What if you ran? No, he would catch you- probably beat the shit out of you too. Shit.

“Ok, I’ll take you to him.” you said as you were going down the steps, him following. Fuck-fuck you had to shoot him, this motherfucker was going to ruin whatever you had going on.

You had to shoot him, no other time better than now- your pistol was in the front of your jeans. Do it now.  You grabbed your gun from your pants and before you knew it, you turned around and pulled the trigger. 

When you opened your eyes, Squid was gripping his throat- blood was coming out in buckets- he stared at you and your shocked face. Neither of you believing what you just did. Your breathing was becoming heavier and heavier- almost gasping for breath- you just shot someone- he was going to die. 

Oh god, he was dying. You watched as the light drained from his eyes and you didn’t want to stick around to see him pass so you ran- you ran to your motorcycle and then you drove above the speed limit, probably breaking a few laws too until you got underground.

 He was probably dead by now- you just killed him. You never realized that you were crying as well; you ran to his office and thanked the lord that no one was around to see you. 

You opened the door and there he was, wearing a well tailored shirt and a vest- writing something down- money next to him. He quickly looked up as he heard you come in and then dropped his head down to continue what he was writting “Well look who decided to pay me a visit”,  he muttered with a smirk; you tried to control your sobs and when he heard the shallow breath you took to steady yourself- he looked up again “The fuck happened?” he immediately got up and went towards you.

You told him what happened between sobs as he held you on his lap, seated in his chair.  You told him everything; about Squid- how he threatened to go to the Falcones or the Maronis- how you knew you had no choice and while leaning back he told you that it will get easier, this isn’t the end of the world.

“You wanna know something?” He grabbed your face and made you look at him “You did what was right, you protected yourself, what you have. No one can take that from you- I’m proud of you.” Your sad demeanor was gone by now and replaced with the familiar warmth you had whenever he said something like this.

 He kissed you and brought your body and embraced you “You’ve grown so much in these weeks, you’re no longer the kid that used to sneak around buildings-” you kissed him, bringing his lower lip between your lips. You wanted to forget- forget what happened and what you did- he always made you forget all your worries, you only ever thought about him when you were in his presence. He put his arm beneath both of your legs as you were sitting and you almost yelped when he got you on his desk.

“Oz-” Ok, maybe getting him started wasn’t the best idea, whenever you got him going he would forget about the windows in his office or the fact that someone might hear you.

You tried to bring one of your legs between the two of you, trying to stop him “-Oz, when we are home” you tried to reason with the man, even if getting fucked in his office would turn you on in the worst ways and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t getting wet already.

 He loved the power he would hold over you- whenever he would manhandle you in any position he would like or whenever he would order you to do something- you couldn’t lie, you liked it too; sometimes he would have you suck his cock as he solved the men's pay, sometimes he would have you on all fours on his bed- Oz was a man that loved to be in control, to be number one- the best. You knew that. 

He was already getting your jacket off, “Oz-” he grabbed the money from the table and placed it away from you two, before getting back to kissing and groping you.

He grabbed hold of your clothed pussy and from the feeling of his hand there- you raised your butt slightly up and pushed back into him.

 This relationship that you two had, it made you feel like a woman- it was so different than the one you had with Robert, where it was just light touches on your face and small kisses- Oswald was a man, whenever he wanted you, he would have you and it made you feel as if you were wanted and desired- it made you feel alive.

He stopped and you knew someone was probably at the door. Shit- this is so embarrassing, you looked down and without making eye contact, went into the small room connecting to his office- he had a bed there, a small one; not big enough for two people to sleep comfortably but it was something. It was also way more warm in here than outside where everyone else was working. 

You took your sweater off and sat on the bed, while listening to what he was saying to the guy that came in, something about the meeting he had and a surprise. You had to ask him about that, but after he was done with you.

 Your heart was beating out of your ches- the door opened. 

He looked at you and made small steps towards the bed, you were smiling while scooting back- with butterflies dancing in your stomach; wondering what he was gonna do next when he grabbed both of your legs and placed them on either side of him before joining you on the bed- on top of you.

One of his hands immediately went to your ass, giving him easier access to rubbing himself over you and the other one was supporting him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as your lips met his. Despite the darkness and heaviness of the moment, he still radiated a magnetic presence—full of charisma as ever, his scent enveloping you in a way that made everything else fade. From the sharpness of his aftershave to the depth of his cologne, he had it all. He started pushing himself even harder against you, where it was almost painful; you moaned in his mouth and against his tongue. 

He raised himself on his knees on the bed, casting a shadow over you and ordered you to take your jeans off and get on all fours while he was taking his vest off and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Your hands were shaking a little bit as you unbuttoned your pants and took them off.

After you obeyed him and raised your butt in the air, he grabbed hold of it- to angle you how he wanted; excitement so palpable you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, almost laughing. You felt him slowly enter you, giving you a few small moments to adjust to his size- you closed your eyes and moaned, you don’t think you’re ever gonna get enough of this man; all of him.

“Oh baby-” he was always so vocal during sex. 

The feeling of him stretching you out and the feeling of him pushing himself in you in and out- whenever he would press himself back in, he brushed up against your g-spot- the sound of his body when it connected to yours was so loud- it made your cheeks burn- you were so wet and he didn’t even touch you all that much, like that night at the club. He had a gun under your chin and you were so wet, who even were you anymore?

You arched your back, consciously making yourself as pleasing as possible for him. The act itself sent a thrill through you, but it also made your cheeks flush with a mix of desire and shy uncertainty- the usual girlhood embarrassment that flushed your cheeks overtaking your body whenever he had you like this. 

When he found his rhythm- while grabbing your waist and pushing you back into him, he’d shower you with praise. “You take me so well… you’re such a good girl—my good girl.” He knew exactly how to make your stomach flip with words like that—this old dog. 

He pulled you back against him time and time again before you felt like it was almost painful, your moans of pleasure mixing with those of pain.

He pulled himself out and got on his back next to you, ”Come ‘ere” you giggled in excitement- he loved whenever you rode him.

You squatted over him- your legs on either side of his body and with one of your hands- you brought his cock between your legs and you watched closely as his stupid grin was wiped from his face when you lowered down on him, mouth open- you gave him a quick peck on his lips. Your legs were almost shaking and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. 

From this position you could feel him so deep inside- you started to grind yourself on him- it felt so good; you almost started crying again. 

Oz grabbed your tits from underneath your shirt and was slowly pushing himself deeper in you “You’re my girl- I’m so proud-” he groaned as he said that, this mountain of a man- beneath you, between your thighs; you felt like you held the power “-I’m so proud of you.” 

From this position you could feel him brushing against your clit, the feeling only making you go faster, the thrill of reaching your peak on him taking over “easy…easy” he repeated- obviously, you didn't listen. 

You shifted the tempo, lifting yourself up before sliding back down, causing him to grimace. Without missing a beat, he pulled your upper body down, pressing you flush against him- you pressed your face against his shoulder and he grabbed it- holding it there; the cold feeling of his rings compared to how hot your face was giving you goosebumps.

You felt him adjust his legs and from this position he started to fuck you how he wanted to. He thrived on being in charge, practically reveled in the power it gave him. God, your throat was dry- you were sure you would be sore down there after you two were done.

 You knew anyone walking by could 100% hear you at this point, you tried to be quiet but to no avail with this man. Oz seemed to like whenever people would stare at the two of you and it excited him to think anyone would be listening in.

You brought your face up when he slowed down and kissed him, putting your tongue in his mouth. This felt so amazing but you knew he probably had places he had to be. “Do I make you feel good baby?” you nodded, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the right side of his face, right on the thick scar that ran from his mouth to his cheekbone.

He was a strikingly intimidating man, his features hardened by a life of danger. You slowly brought yourself down and up- trying to match his movements. 

“You get so tight around me-” he placed his arm over you, bringing you as tight as he could on him. 

One of your hands went under the pillow he had under his head and the other was gripping the side of the bed. His rhythm was becoming sloopy- switching between fucking you and kissing you, on your cheeks or on your mouth; he grabbed your ass in both of his hands, squeezing and pushing you down on him while he fucked you. 

You looked in his eyes, the light from above casting a shadow over them that only added to his allure.  “-I’m gonna cum” you nodded again- words escaping you “Tell me where-tell me” he closed his eyes- you knew he would start with that, the only way he finished was inside you. 

Whether it was your mouth or your pussy. Oz loved when you would describe how he felt in you, how you loved when he would fuck you- how you wanted him to cum in you. It turned him on. It turned him on how embarrassed you would feel most of the time he made you say those things.

You told him you wanted it inside and It wasn’t long before he started his fast pace again and you closed your eyes, trying not to moan as loud as you would like- fuck he felt so good. It mustn't have been long before you felt him slow down and the familiar feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you. You had to drink some water- your throat was hurting. Oz hugged you close to him and while one of his hands was rubbing your back he kissed your forehead- “You feeling better?”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's note: Bro you just fucked him AGAIN?

Finished there the story because I KNEW i would start writing a lot and I wanna finish part 2 in time for the finale. I'm sososos excited for it and sad it will end ugh. Anyways hope you enjoyed and thank you to all the people that wrote nice things to me regarding my writing, I've been having some health problems lately and your messages made me feel so much better, truly. Have a nice day :))))))

[jelloapocalypse]

Loved the new video!! Very fun watch and so well edited from the criteria section to the ending list itself. I was waiting to see the show at number 1 all video, and I started worrying it may have had some egregious text/credit placement issues I forgot about, and then there it was right at the top lol! I'm always happy to see that show get the praise it deserves, and that entire sequence was so well edited it made it feel even better.

Anyway Im sure an entire new video ranking anime outros would be an insane undertaking, but did it ever come into consideration? I'd be curious to hear if you had any thoughts on how the criteria would differ from the intros, since it doesn't need to entice someone into trying a show they already watched. (This mostly came to mind because of chainsaw man's unique episode outros, but thats a pretty special case)

I'm really happy so many people are having this exact reaction to the #1 pick.

Amy and I decided pretty early in the project that we'd never do this for Anime EDs. I couldn't tell you why, but I just don't care about them nearly as much as openings. I devour OP guessing games but EDs? I sleep. v_v

I think there was something gorgeous about growing up in that golden era of Cartoon Network from like 1999-2005 that really made me love intros. I've always adored them. I love the way they act as bite-sized catchy advertisements to let you know something you like is coming on. I wish we lived in a world where western animation fans were as obsessive about tv openings as anime fans are, it makes me so sad we don't have even 1% as many quizzes as anime fans do. (((ask me about western animated OPs pls pls pls pls pls)))

I tend to watch 98% of openings on any show I check out unless they're really bad. Inversely, I tend to skip EDs unless they're really good. If I'm loving a show and I want to get to the next episode that ED better fuckin' rock if it wants to keep me from hitting the "next" button ASAP. I think the last show I watched EDs for was Bocchi. Love those little dancing guys.

Also, we don't need to do a best anime ED video because everyone knows that #1 is this:

OPs have a variety of factors that determine their quality. Visuals, music, credit placement, theming, jennies, etc.

EDs have an entirely separate grading rubric, and that's the Redraw factor. Namely, "How much does this make a DeviantArt girly from 2009 want to redraw her blorbos in place of the characters in this OP?"

To wit, this is the 2nd best OP:

And as third place, let's say Link Click ED1. This song usually cuts in as a scary "UH OH. CLIFFHANGER! WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN?!" moment, and it fucks every single time. I have a lot of issues with S2, but the worst one is that this song isn't the ending anymore.

[keirou-kun]

Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne - A Ramble

I'd call this a rant or an essay or a review or an analysis, but it's kind of all of them at once, so 'ramble' works best I feel XD

Now, precisely nobody asked for this but fuck it, this is one of my favorite one-shot stories and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s problem. The story in question is Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne, and it scratches the itch for seeing Dick be Absolutely Completely Normal about Bruce in a delightful fashion. I don’t care for the art style much – no shade to Toby Cypress, it’s just not my cup of tea – but the writing – by Kelly Puckett – is -chef’s kiss-

This is gonna get long [7 pages in Libre Office >w>] so I'm shoving it behind the cut.

Now, the first thing you need to know is that this story also hearkens back to a panel from Prodigal that lives in my head rent free. This one.

that’s such a Normal thing to say to your father figure dickie.

Keep this panel in mind. It will be relevant as we go along. Now, let’s get to our story.

It starts off in media res on page one with Bruce in some kind of snowfield facing off against bad guys. Page two cuts to Bludhaven and Dick’s apartment, where Clancy’s trying to get him to go out except that he’s got a previous engagement. It’s the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

Side note: This is one of a handful of comics to say when it falls on a timeline, since Dick tells her he’s had this engagement for “about twenty years” [which, if he uses that term the way I do, means it could be anywhere from 16 to 22 years ago, but still. Anyway.]

Clancy offers company, but Dick declines and heads up to Gotham.

dick pls this is not an episode of csi

On the way he passes a car full of kids all hyped up on ice cream and cotton candy – and if you think circus brat Dick Grayson can’t recognize real, fresh cotton candy when he sees it you are wrong – which then draws his attention to this billboard.

Look at that smile. What a bean.

Meanwhile, back in the snowfield, Bruce is in bad shape. Something Is Wrong, probably with his heart, but we have no idea what. We just know he’s collapsed in the snow, gripping what looks like a batarang with lights on. Cut back to Dickie, who’s somehow managed to talk his way into getting one trip on the trapeze at the Gotham City Circus and is remembering his parents’ training.

"Remember, son–when you're in that tuck you're spinning too fast to see anything. If you try to look it'll throw you off, so don't. Just close your eyes, remember your training...and trust your partner to be there for you."

Remember this moment. It may be relevant later.

As Dick’s hands grip the other aerialist’s however, Bruce crushes the bat-tracker and – with the signal suddenly lost – makes Alfred choke on his tea and call Dick in what is undoubtedly a very restrained British panic. The next page has a couple things to comment on, so I’ll try to break it down here.

First: Dick has no idea what’s going on, but all he needs is an urgent tone from Alfred and mention of Bruce in trouble and he’s breaking speed limits. And then kicking himself for not driving faster when he sees Alfred’s face. A lovely introduction to his Normalcy about his batdad mentor.

Second: Alfred calls him ‘sir’ and this is clearly unusual. Dick doesn’t outwardly comment but he notices it and questions the use in his inner monologue. Another hint at how concerned Alfred is and how bad the situation could be, doubtless; with Bruce gone, Dick is pretty much the ranking member of the household here.

Third, and arguably the most important point here: Bruce leaves flowers for Dick’s parents every year. Not only that, but he does it without Dick knowing. Dick’s seen the flowers before, clearly, but for some reason has always assumed they were Alfred’s doing. To find out that it’s been Bruce, and that Bruce has never once missed this anniversary – and to find out on said anniversary, when Bruce is quite possibly in mortal danger – has to be a gut punch. But one that gets almost instantly compartmentalized because Dick has other shit to focus on, like what the fuck is going on with Bruce.

We learn, as Alfred takes him down to the Cave, that crushing that tracker was indeed intentional and – for whatever reason – Bruce does not want to be found. We also learn that Alfred’s called Tim in on this, which Dick is not a fan of, but Alfred’s reasoning is pretty damned sound.

but also dick that is such a bruce line omg.

They’re all worried as fuck, and this is apparently Tim’s first time realizing that sometimes Bruce purposefully erases mission files when he goes out solo.

not that it works

Tim, being Tim, has recovered most of them anyway, and so we learn that the whole mission began with a Russian virologist. Dick zones out into a flashback of his time as Robin, quite possibly the first time he ever saw Bruce get shot and got scared the man would die. Which, of course, didn’t happen, and in true Bruce fashion he brushed it off and assured Dick he’d dodged the bullet, but that didn’t stop young Dickie from sneaking down to the Cave later and finding the bullet hole in the center of the Batsuit’s chest.

And then we cut to the snowfields of northern Siberia. Dick’s dazed from having his jet shot down, doesn’t remember much between talking to Tim in the Cave and right this very moment, but he’s recovering. Taking stock of the situation. He’s been shot down by some kind of rebel militia that’s now trying to take him prisoner. As he fights his way free, another rebel lets loose with a rocket launcher and destroys not only the ATVs that Dick was going to make use of, but also the rest of the jet and all his gear that hadn’t been actually on his person.

Which means now he’s stuck in the Siberian snow near the Arctic Circle with not a blessed thing to his name but his standard suit – thermal suit went up with the jet – and a heartbeat sensor with a 20 foot range, on foot, with a 5-mile-wide circle for a search area.

Oh, and there’s a storm coming in.

gotta calculate that risk tho

So off he goes. Starts with one valley and does a full sweep with no results. We have no idea how long it takes or how many valleys he makes it through, but somehow through sheer plot device luck he all but stumbles across an unconscious Bruce. There’s a very tense moment when Dick’s feeling for a pulse – because the heartbeat sensor hasn’t detected a damned thing – and this is when I remind you that he got the news of Bruce’s disappearance on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths and so is almost certainly all the more desperate for that, but finally he gets a pulse and the relief is palpable.

I guarantee you he was clinging to bruce for a solid minute before moving on.

Unfortunately Dickie’s still suffering from a pretty bad concussion himself, so even as he’s trying to carry Bruce to shelter he stumbles, which is enough to bring Bruce back to consciousness enough to A: register that it’s Dick there with him and B: tell Dick to leave him behind. Which Dick, naturally, does not do. He keeps carrying Bruce through the snow to an old, theoretically abandoned way station that will hopefully offer at least some shelter through the coming storm. When he kicks the door open, however, it turns out the shelter is occupied by someone else. A woman, who is both surprised and alarmed at the intrusion. Dick demands blankets and warm water, on the assumption that Bruce is near freezing to death, only to realize Bruce is in fact running a fever.

And then Dick’s still-recovering memory throws up another card. The woman they’ve found is the virologist Tim mentioned. Her parents were murdered by Siberian rebels right in front of her – this will be important later – and she’s since developed a viral compound so virulent it makes the Clench look like hay fever. And Bruce has just dropped a mysterious vial of Something on the floor as he passed back out.

uh-oh.

Naturally Dick turns to the virologist to ask what to do next, only to find she’s run off. So he follows her, rescues her from a rebel, and drags her back to the way station only to see Bruce being hauled out to a waiting helicopter by more rebels. Naturally, he does the only logical thing here, which is charge in, race up the woodpile to the roof, and jump up to grab the landing strut on the helicopter to try and get Bruce back. The rebels, however, have other ideas and open fire through the floor, forcing him to let go and plummet back to the snow-covered tundra.

When he comes to again, there’s the virologist, and Dickie is done playing nice. He grabs her by the throat and barks a demand for information.

nightwing does not fuck around okay

Fortunately for her, the virologist claims there is a cure located in her lab, and she’s actually taken them there. Of course, it’s currently occupied by rebels, but that’s a minor matter. Dick gives her some instruction along with a warning – “Double-cross me and you’ll regret it.” – and the virologist offers something that is almost but not quite an apology, to which Dick’s response is less than charitable.

‘I’m not a monster’ says woman responsible for potentially-continent-killing plague.

Now, here’s the thing. He’s calling Bruce his friend here which, okay. They’re both in uniform, giving more information is dangerous and something he’s trained against. But for me, given the history between these two, that also tells me that Bruce hasn’t formally adopted Dick yet. But Bruce is so clearly more than just a friend here. The narrative sets that up and makes it clear, even if you don’t have the weight of the rest of pre-Flashpoint canon [or, hell, just the rest of canon itself] bearing down on you.

Dick is nigh feral at this point, his focus 100% on getting Bruce out of there alive, and his usual at-least-civil exterior is gone. “I’m not a monster,” says the virologist whose creation is directly threatening Bruce’s life. “Sure you aren’t,” snaps Nightwing who is in no mood to coddle someone who will, if she doesn’t help him fix this, be directly responsible for the death of his second father as far as he’s concerned.

He single-handedly takes out every guard between the virologist and her lab, though the final one cuts it close and she sees him haul a grown-ass man up into an air vent without much difficulty. She’s also seen him jump from a cabin roof to a moving helicopter without a second’s hesitation or a break in her stride. Point being, she should have some idea of what he’s capable of here. But as he’s tying up one last rebel and she’s behind the desk typing in an access code she sees reinforcements heading for the lab and says absolutely nothing.

Instead, she grabs the cure and says nothing until she’s already standing behind closing security doors, leaving Dick behind to deal with the reinforcements but showing him clearly she has the vial in hand.

Remember what he said about not double-crossing him?

We don’t get to see what happens in the lab once she runs, but we do see one last rebel get kicked through the front doors hard enough to knock them off their hinges. Nightwing is pissed. Enough so that when he catches up to the truck the virologist stole he just punches through the driver’s side window, grabs her with one hand and spins the wheel violently with the other, sending the truck skidding hard enough to turn over and dragging her out of it at the same time.

As he insists on continuing on to the rebel stronghold, however, the virologist hits him with another gut punch. That vial doesn’t hold a cure; it holds a vaccine. There is no cure. It’s too late for Bruce in her eyes, he’s doomed, so there’s no point in going to the rebel stronghold. Dick, understandably, doesn’t take this well. He actually collapses for a second there in the snow, because she’s just told him his father mentor is dying and there’s no way to save him at all. And then we get this exchange.

remember her tragic backstory?

Dick is probably near tears at this point, out of rage or frustration or pain or all three at once, and I can’t help but hear his tone as absolutely scathing. “Was it worth it?” Killing a man who had nothing to do with her grudge? “I’ll bet he saved your life at one point.” That may well have been why Bruce was out there to begin with, he knows; to stop her virus falling into the wrong hands if not to destroy it completely. “So...are you happy now?” Now that she’s killed a man who was trying to help her? “Feel better?” And if she says yes he cannot be held responsible for his reaction.

And then she comes out with that. Of all the people to say that to, and of all the times to say it, it had to be Nightwing, hard on the heels of the anniversary of his parents’ murder, while he’s trying to save a man who is also a victim of that very same tragedy. The virologist, of course, has no idea about any of this – how could she? – but that doesn’t stop Dick whirling on her to snap out his response.

well he meets her criteria for saying that

And then he’s moving again. Back to the helicopter he’s commandeered, demanding she come along, because he’s got a plan. It might be half-baked and absolutely insane, but it’s a plan and he has to try it. The virologist still insists that it’s pointless, that there’s no way his friend could still be alive, and Dick’s only response to that is:

The stony determination on his face says it all: he has absolute faith that Bruce can pull through anything, because he has to. Dick’s not stupid, and he’s not blind; he went into this knowing there was a chance he might find a corpse. But he also knows that Bruce’s heart was still beating when he found the man, and he has to hope. He has to, because if he stops hoping then he’s going to shatter and he can’t let that happen. Not until it’s proven beyond a doubt that there really is no chance at all. So as long as there’s even a single shred, even the barest iota of a chance that Bruce could still be alive, Dick’s going to cling to it and use it as fuel to push himself through everything else. He’s good at weaponizing hope like that.

And it works. He gets them to the rebel stronghold and drags her in with him. Just why he does this becomes pretty clear once they’re inside; it would’ve been easier for him to go in alone rather than drag her along clinging to cliff faces and dodging guards, but this way she gets to see what the rebels are gearing up to do with her creation. The virus she created as vengeance is about to destroy untold numbers of lives; the room they find, with rows of empty beds awaiting occupants, is almost certainly just the first drop in the barrel, and even she admits she’d never even considered this.

But while she’s wrestling with that Dick’s already moved to Bruce’s side. Bruce, who is strapped to a table with his vital signs being monitored, and who is still clinging to life. Dick then launches into what is almost certainly an extremely simplified explanation of how vaccines work, but it gets the point across. A vaccine sparks a response from the body’s immune system, nudging it into creating antibodies to fight whichever illness it’s for and thus filling the bloodstream of a vaccinated individual with those antibodies and giving the body the necessary boost in defense it needs to fight off the illness.

And then he reveals his plan.

you fuckin what mate

Turns out he’s taken the vaccine at some point between shoving her in the helicopter and arriving at the stronghold. It’s an absolutely bonkers plan, since the vaccine likely has had barely any time to really have much effect, but we’re using comic book logic here so fuck it. It’s still an absolutely bonkers plan even with comic book logic, because that vaccine was experimental and not even its creator knows if it will actually work or not. He could just wind up contracting the virus himself.

It’s at this point that Dick’s passive suicidal tendencies show themselves, and that I remind you all of the panel from Prodigal that started this whole thing. Remember that? Now look at this.

“Then I’ve got nothing to lose.” “I’d die for you, Bruce.”

There is not an ounce of hesitation. There was no question or wavering. Dick saw one single path through this, one potential chance to save Bruce, and he did not care if it cost him his life. If it works then Bruce survives and maybe Dick does too, and if he does that’s great but if he doesn’t at least his death will have been worth it. If it doesn’t work, then who cares if he lives or not?

But it’s only passive, because he still has the will and determination to give the virologist one last – and probably, honestly, terrifying – warning. “Even with half a blood supply, I can still stop you if you try anything.” Betray him again and see what happens, when he’s already told you he has nothing to lose.

But she doesn’t. She does exactly what he needs her to, sets up the transfusion, keeps it going. The virus starts taking hold of Dick and it’s painful, or at least his mind thinks it’s painful. His heart is pounding, he can feel the fever set in and spike, and then the *boom*s that he hears translate into the rebels busting into the room through the barricade he’d set up to buy them time.

Clearly not enough of it, though.

The virologist wants to cut off the transfusion and get them out of there, but Dick refuses. And he keeps refusing until the last possible minute, at which point he’s pulling the needle out and diving into battle. The narration is really what makes the next few panels, which are all still images of the ensuing fight.

Fever dream. Shapes blurring around me. Screams and thuds surrounding me. No tactics. No strategies. Blind instinct. A lifetime of training. My lifetime. His training. All I have now...is what he gave me.

Remember back at the beginning, when Dick was recalling John Grayson’s words? “Just close your eyes, remember your training.” One father’s advice bleeding into another’s training in a way that is almost seamless unless you’re looking for it. And then there’s that last line.

On the surface Dick’s talking about his combat training. All the skills and techniques he’s learned from Bruce over the course of his life. But peel back that first layer and you find that dogged determination, the willpower. Dick came to Bruce with his fair share of that to begin with, yes, but you cannot tell me that Bruce’s training didn’t strengthen it, sharpen it to a point. Dick had the will, but Bruce showed him how to temper it into another weapon, into a shield.

And then, below even that, you have Dick’s own life. A life that Bruce gave him. Without Bruce, Dick’s life would have been completely different. Dick has said at least once that he considers Bruce to have saved him. Without Bruce, it’s reasonable to suppose, Dick is fairly certain he’d be dead by now.

All I have now is what he gave me.

His fighting skill. His determination. His very life. And he’s putting every last bit of it to use, fighting through a band of rebels on his own until he’s confronting their leader, who is a giant of a man wielding a battle-axe. And Dick is getting tired. He’s fighting the virus as much as he’s fighting other people right now. He knows he’s flagging, but he has to keep going. Has to keep fighting. And the narration here lays bare a part of him that, if anyone’s been reading Nightwing‘96, comes as no surprise.

Dick fears letting Bruce down. In other shocking news, the pope has been confirmed as catholic. More at 11.

I see it now. Clearly. My greatest fear. Not that he would fall, but that I would fail him. That he would need me someday...and my best truest effort would be... ...not quite enough.

There is a point in Nightwing ‘96, not long after Dick’s settled in Bludhaven, where he faces off against Scarecrow and spends at least a day or two dosed on fear toxin. We learn then that Dick’s deepest fear is failure. Is not measuring up. Is for his best to just not be good enough. This moment, right here, digs deeper into that and, I think, nails it perfectly.

Dick has always tried to measure up to Bruce’s expectations. He has to be perfect, because that’s what he thinks Bruce wants. And by this point in his life, he’s also learned that when he’s not perfect, people get hurt. People die. He has to be perfect. He has to be. And right now, with Bruce’s life on the line, if he can’t win this fight, if he can’t push through this, if he can’t find a better best to pull out, then the consequences are unthinkable.

Failure is Dick’s worst fear, but failing Bruce - not being able to catch his father partner when the chips are down and it’s literally do or die – is his worst nightmare.

And finally his body just. Gives out. He can’t get back up. He’s straining, he’s trying, because in his head Bruce would, but he can’t. The rebel leader towers over him, the axe about to fall, but there in he background is a familiar silhouette just before everything fades to black.

Then we cut back to the Cave, where Alfred and Bruce are in the middle of a discussion about the virologist, who apparently was convinced to destroy a lifetime of work, though not by Bruce. We don’t actually learn what did convince her, though, because Tim interrupts them to inform them that Dick’s awake, and then to assure Dick that he’ll be fine.

It’s the last two lines, and the final panel, though, that really cement things for me. Because of all the things either one of them could say, of all the things that have to be going through Bruce’s mind or through Dick’s, not a single one makes it into words. For a second Bruce just stands there in silence before offering a single word of thanks, and a hand. And Dick just takes the hand, and smiles, and responds with another single word that carries about a ton of emotional weight regardless of how light his tone might be when he says it.

who needs actual conversation am I right

“Anytime.”

Let’s recap just what he did here. He took a jet into what he knew was going to be hostile territory and got shot down for his troubles. He forged ahead into an oncoming snowstorm, on foot with no supplies or gear, to find a man who might be dead anyway, when he could have tried to salvage enough gear to take shelter and GTFO. He risked his life to obtain a cure that turned out to be an experimental vaccine which he took without hesitation or asking for more information about because a whole-body full blood transfusion to flood Bruce’s body with hopefully-effectively-vaccinated blood was the one insane idea he had even if the odds were astronomically in favor of him dying in the process, and then he exacerbated those odds by fighting off half a rebel army in order to buy Bruce time to recover, because let’s be real here, Dick couldn’t have expected Bruce to recover enough to actually fight right then. Likely his hope was that he could buy enough time for the virologist to get Bruce out of there, or that he’d get lucky enough that he could live up to what he thought he needed to and finish the fight himself to give them both collapse-and-recover time.

He pulled off what should have been an impossible mission, one that Bruce himself had deemed too dangerous to allow backup on. He could have died. Arguably he *should have* died. He took a risk that anyone else would have deemed absolutely batshit-bananas insane, and they both know it. And then he simply brushes it off with “Anytime.”

And he means it.

And they both know that, too.

This is one of my absolute favorite one-shot stories purely from a Bruce-and-Dick dynamic perspective, because it nails Dick’s side of things and it nails a side of him that so rarely gets shown. No matter what’s going on, no matter what’s happening – because at the time of this comic, things are once again a little rocky between them – if Bruce needs his help Dick will drop everything else to be there, and Dick will do whatever it takes to get him out of trouble. Even at the cost of his own life. And when someone he cares about – especially when it’s one of his family – is in mortal danger, he stops pulling punches, he stops playing nice, he threatens and he’s harsh and he’s rough and he shows a side of himself that even those he’s trying to defend would be surprised to see, because he hides it so goddamned well that people forget it even exists.

Go read the comic and see for yourself.

[witchinatree]

"Gwen Bouchard; Too Close to the Sun"

third time's the charm except this one was a disaster and i just want to be DONE with it 😡

i was waiting hoping for more sad gwen and then 23 handed me exactly what i needed. and alice i love her too

this also made me think about like 1. babygirl blackmailed lena into letting her icarus herself, and 2. alice never doubted her for a moment, even when sam was cackling about the bonzo thing, i hope gwen and alice talk more because they need it/each other

so originally i was going to use the song "the rockrose and the thistle" by the amazing devil but i listened to the lyrics a bit more and realized it's way better for basira and daisy. guess what the next one is gonna be LMAO

i'm exhausted though so pls don't hold your breath you will suffocate ‼️

the podcast is the magnus protocols, song is "bubble gum" by clairo, and i used capcut (evil) to do this

sorry this one is kinda all over the place, i didn't have great scenes to transition between. it was so much easier with jon we got 200 episodes of him never shutting the fuck up (/pos)

if anyone ever asks me who my favorite tmagp character is pls show them this, it will not answer their question but i want internet points for my labor (it is gwen and alice though)

[jackandjoker]

may i interest you in some of my favourite (underrated) pieces of media this pride month (yes it’s june 30th what about it)? 🙂‍↔️

secrets happened on the litchi island (china, 2025) - drama

“besides seeking the definition and approval of others, there is another way to go. which is to stop looking outside, but look inside, look into your own heart.”

During a sun-soaked summer on a secluded island, Nie Xiao Zhi expects a quiet holiday but instead finds an unexpected connection with Chen Li, his older brother's classmate. Amidst lychee orchards and starlit nights, their bond deepens through shared art, quiet moments, and first experiences. But as hidden emotions and past secrets surface, they must face the question: is this just a fleeting summer romance, or something more enduring?

it’s a very short series (~118 mins) and has 13 extra episodes aswell :D

available on youtube here! (+ extra episodes here)

badhaai do (india, 2022) - drama, comedy

A gay cop and a lesbian teacher enter a sham marriage to pacify their families but find that relationships — both real and fake — aren't all that easy.

i had to include one of my favourite indian films and this one’s perfect <3

available on netflix!

only boo! (thailand, 2024) - comedy, romance

“i love you so much. i love you so much that it feels like i’m dying.”

Kang sells curry-rice (khao kaeng) at a school. Moo is a grade twelve student who dreams of becoming an idol. He splits his time between hitting on Kang and training. He simultaneously wants love and to realise his dream, but it seems he cannot have it when debuting comes with the caveat that relationships are forbidden.

most underrated gmmtv bl imo (and so good!!!! the soundtrack is also amazing pls go listen to ‘station no. 0’ by keen suvijak.)

available on youtube here!

kaathal (india, 2023) - drama

“everyone fears losing the ones they love. but there are people who miss out on love because of that fear.”

Mathew Devassy, a retired bank manager decides to enter local panchayat elections. Unexpectedly, his wife Omana, shocks everyone by filing for divorce, claiming that Mathew is gay.

don’t let the description fool you, it’s a very beautiful film and it depicts all the characters so well. it’s my most favourite malayalam film.

available on amazon prime!

triage (thailand, 2022) - thriller, romance, fantasy

“even though I have to be back here thousand times to find the way to save you, I will do it anyway.”

Third-year emergency medicine resident Tin has to cope with a deluge of different patients every day. Up until the eighteenth, that is. Tin's life is transformed when university student Tol's car is overturned, and he's rushed to the emergency room in serious condition. That night doesn't end when Tin fails to save Tol's life, though. When Tin next wakes, he finds himself in a time loop, a loop he won't be able to leave until he's altered Tol's fate.

this show will make you feel SO MANY emotions it’s simply amazing and i’m sad it’s not talked about more.

sadly it’s not available on any official platforms internationally. but if you know where to look.. :)

let free the curse of taekwondo (korea, 2024) - drama, romance

“someone once asked me what the happiest moment in my life was, I only thought of you.”

High schooler Do Hoe, burdened by the violent atmosphere of his father’s rural Taekwondo gym, finds solace when Ju Yeong, a cheerful peer from Seoul with dreams of a Taekwondo major, arrives. Their budding connection is disrupted by his father’s oppressive influence and a tragic incident that separates them. Reuniting a decade later, they rediscover a love that evolves from youthful excitement into healing and mutual support.

i could talk about this little gorgeous show forever, it’s so dear to me !!! it’s so cold and warm and sad and happy all at the same time.

available on iqiyi and wavve!

great men academy (thailand, 2019) - drama, comedy

Love has always been a fan of the popular guy Vier of the famous Great Men Academy but has never had the chance to meet him. One day, she sees the mystical unicorn rumored to fulfill wishes and wished for her love for Vier to get a chance. Unfortunately the unicorn interpreted her wishes in a different way and Love wakes up to find herself... as a guy.

this show is magical.

available on netflix or you can check this out! (thank you @arminthada!)

dating amber (ireland, 2020) - comedy, romance, drama

Set in Ireland during the mid-'90s, Eddie and Amber decide to stage a relationship to stop everyone from speculating about their sexuality. Eddie is keen to follow his dad into the military, while Amber dreams of moving to the liberal hub of London.

this film is peak lesbian - gay solidarity

available on amazon prime & apple tv!

* availability on platforms might depend on where you live

(special thanks to @papagowon and @fuck-i-like-too-much-stuff for not letting this rot in my drafts for another year <3)

[lenaariewrld]

C.16 — are u mad at me (w) *

ON THE AIR ��� childe x reader smau

| SYNOPSIS;; Teyvat University’s popular radio personality, Y/n L/n, has only one gripe with her life. Her classmate, neighbour, and all-around nuisance in her life, Tartaglia. Their rivalry extends just past academics and, to her horror, into her work. He becomes the music director and co-host for her radio show, working alongside her most nights and forcing himself even deeper into her life. But is he really trying to just be friends, or is there an ulterior motive to his actions?

| WARNING !! this chapter contains explicit content/smut, so minors/ageless blogs PLEASE DNI!! the explicit parts will be marked with *** so anyone who wishes to avoid that can skip it and it won't affect your understanding of the story! other than that, pls enjoy the unedited, very tame filth of this^^

| WC: 6.0k

previous! ~ masterlist ! ~ next!

You, Ganyu, and Keqing were already in the studio when Childe came in with his little grocery haul, a binder tucked in his arms too. He’d taken to bringing physical copies of the script for himself, as well as the cd’s he burned the playlists onto. When he closes the door behind him with a little kick, the conversation the three of you were indulged in came to a temporary halt. You leaned back in your chair and greet him by holding out your hand, wordlessly asking for the treats.

He rolls his eyes, handing over the plastic baggie he was carrying. “Thanks!” You chirp happily, setting the bag on the little table once it was passed to your hands. You dig around, handing Keqing her snack and taking out your own things. You also set Childe’s snacks in front of the empty seat for him. He sets your drink down in front of you and takes his seat.

The whole exchange is mostly wordless and takes only a few seconds before the conversation kicks back in. Keqing gets to business immediately, any of the light-hearted ribbing or mindless chatter traded for her notes about the recording and letting you guys know the mics were extra sensitive that day and to be mindful of your volume. You nod along, dragging your swivel chair behind you as she quickly ushers you and Childe into the booth.

For the third recording in a row, you and Childe work perfectly well together, flowing through the conversations and jokes rather easily. Only, you find yourself getting distracted on occasion. You’re staring. Drifting off when you’re not speaking. Your eyes even, as if on instinct, fall on Childe, watching the way he queues up songs halfway through your sentences, ready to transition into them. Or the way he adjusts himself in his seat while he’s speaking. And you notice how relaxed he looks, a lot more than in the past couple of episodes. Or maybe you’re just now noticing that fact.

And, fuck, he looks good. He’s just wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, a casual enough outfit that really doesn’t let you see much at all and would, in fact, look messy on other people. But it’s fitted enough for him. 

He rolls up his sleeves halfway through or so, and you can’t help the way your eyes drift to his arms, the way his muscles flex as he moves to mess with the buttons and knobs on the desk–adjusting certain things with the mix as it plays –and the way his jaw clenches whenever he swallows a laugh, his adam’s apple bobbing as he settles on chuckling at your half-thought retort to whatever he just said. You notice the way his fingers drum on his thigh when he’s leaning back in his own chair, turning back and forth while you do your own thing.

You can’t help but feel like a nun being drawn to sin. The shame of staring and yet the enticing allure of it turning over in your stomach until it’s sufficiently tangled in little knots.

And maybe it’s because you haven’t gotten properly laid in months, your schedule far too busy once school started for you to have many flings (though, truth be told, you weren’t into the appeal of hookups, really. Only once or twice when you were really desperate but not now). Maybe that’s why your mind keeps being fixated on him and every little habit of his.

Childe catches your eyes only once and you immediately turn away, keeping your eyes squarely on the script or the mic directly in front of you as you keep recording. Your shirt feels too warm on your skin all of a sudden.

Shake it off, ignore it.

You chastise yourself internally. But everytime you blink, your mind goes back to that night at the club. That night a week ago, when you’d lost any good sense still in your head and have yet to regain. Now it was all foggy and grey, the exact memories of what happened a blur, but you remember the feeling and you remember the way your chest felt like a percussionist’s wet dream with how crazy your heart had been racing. You were sure there was some fucked up part of your brain that was still hungover, that had to be the only reason you were still like this.

It takes a grueling amount of time, but finally the recording finishes and Ganyu and Keqing begin to edit over the audio and whatnot, working together once again to put the finished product together before any of y’all call it a night. You sigh and lean your elbows against the edge of the desk, careful not to jostle any of the equipment too badly. Despite how long you’ve spent in this little studio, you weren’t entirely sure how delicate everything was. You barely register the ginger man beside you getting up.

“You… seemed a little out of it,” Childe notices when he comes back, slumping back into his seat with his drink in hand. He balances it on his knee between drinks.

“Did I?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

Even casually like this, he’s managed to look attractive. He hasn’t styled his hair at all like he would during the day for classes or outings, and he’s not wearing any makeup like he does on stage, allowing you to see the many freckles dotting his skin from his face down his neck and disappearing behind the navy blue fabric of his hoodie. “I dunno,” He shrugs, taking another sip from his drink before setting the cup on the floor, out of the way. “I mean, you kept spacing out and weren’t as… sharp as you usually are,” He explains.

He shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket, his elbows on the arm rests. “Maybe I’m wrong, though,” He shrugs once again.

You simply hum in response.

It falls silent, the two of you watching the other women as they work away. Two minutes turns to ten and then to twenty, and eventually your brain starts to drift elsewhere. Again, it goes back to that night. Recalling the feeling of Childe’s lips on yours, your skin warm and alive. The way he so desperately held onto you, a hold that seemed like he didn’t want to let go either.

“Finished,” Keqing’s voice jostles you out of your daydream as she announces herself, standing up. You perk up, scooting your chair forward. She shuts off her computer and slides it into its case in her backpack. “I have to go help one of the professors I’m TA’ing for grade papers, so I can’t help shut everything down… Can you guys handle it?” She looks between you and Childe, as if questioning if she can trust the two of you to be left alone without burning the place down. You can’t entirely fault her for her hesitance.

“Oh yeah! Me and Y/n can do it..” Childe assures. He looks at Ganyu when she opens her mouth to speak. “I mean, you probably need your rest too, right? And I think we’ll be fine by ourselves for one night,” He adds. Your eyes widen at his confidence, looking over at him like a deer caught in headlights. Collecting yourself a second later, you nod along. He was just being helpful, he wasn’t insinuating anything. Surely.

Ganyu agrees to head home and try to rest with your assurances, packing up her things and giving you a quick hug. You wish her a goodnight and close the door behind her. Now, you find yourself alone with Childe for the second time in that recording studio.

You’re quiet as you and Childe begin to pack everything up, finding your tasks and rhythm to do things separately. On occasion, you end up reaching for the same cable and you jump back immediately at the contact, refusing to meet his eyes as you turn to do something else. By the eighth occurrence of that happening, the man huffs quietly.

“Y/n, are you mad at me or something?” He asks.

“What? No,” You shake your head, flashing a short placating smile before returning to the cable you were wrapping up. Ever since the two of you started to get along more, Childe seemed to understand your tells and how to read your behavior quickly. It’s terrifying to you that he learned you so well and so fast.

“Then..” He presses his lips together, shuffling his chair closer to yours. “What’s up with you,” He pushes, gently taking the cables from your hands. You lean back dramatically in your chair, letting out a long sigh. Your mind runs through multiple ideas of how you could play off why you’re being out of character. Bad days, overwhelming classwork, or even just being exhausted don’t seem to perfectly dismiss it. You sigh again.

“It’s stupid,”

“Eh, everything sort of is. Doesn’t mean it’s bad,” He replies calmly, leaning down in his chair and tucking the cables under the desk securely. You watch him for a second.

What’s the worst that could happen..?

“The other night,” You begin and he pauses. You know he knows what you’re talking about, remembering the same details you do (or more, since he seems to hold his liquor far better than you). “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Are you uncomfortable with me now because of it? I promise I’m not thinking something of it, and I won’t try anything,”

Childe is quick to assure you and you snort in amusement, running your hand over your face. This situation was absurd. This conversation was absurd! And his responses seemed to be the cherry on top of this cake of weirdness and awkward tension. You fidget with the strings of your cutoff shorts, the hem tangled and messy where you’d distressed it haphazardly.

“No,” You finally admit, dropping your hands and running them over your bare legs. He turns to you then, his brows raised. He says nothing, allowing you to continue, but his interest is piqued. “I mean…” Again, your fingers run over your thighs, your palms massaging away the nerves starting to bubble up. At least, you were attempting to do that. “It’s just been on my mind lately because… it’s…been a while,” You finally manage to say it, throwing all caution to the wind. “Since I was kissed like that,” You add when he continues to stare at you wordlessly.

He blinks. “‘Kissed like that’?” He parrots, sitting up properly in his chair again. He continues to stare at your expression, the rising blush forming on your cheeks and down your neck, the fidgeting of your hands, the way your eyes dart around but not meeting his gaze. When it finally clicks a second later, his face lights up and he looks at you with a simpering smile. “You’re horny, aren’t you?”

You squawk indignantly at his brazen words, swatting at his arm. “Don’t fucking say it like that!” You chastise, fighting the urge to smile. Ridiculous. Childe doesn’t take your faux annoyance seriously, laughing and throwing his head back, fully and completely amused by the turn the conversation took. You roll your eyes, chuckling alongside him.

“I won’t judge,” He says when he finally calms down. “It’s been a hot minute for me too.. It was nice to know I wasn’t… rusty,” He grimaces as he says that last word, scratching the side of his neck almost awkwardly. You chuckle again, nodding in understanding. At least you both seem to be in a similar boat and you’re not a freak for thinking about something like that (not that you would be in normal circumstances, but it feels much deeper knowing the history you two share). The air in the room seems to drop, growing thick in the after of your shared confessions, the two of you silent in contemplation.

Childe stares off at the wall and you once again fidget with your shorts.

What if… 

You’re definitely not drunk, and you’re definitely not under any high-running emotions when the idea comes to you, but it still pops in your head and you still pause as you consider it. Truthfully, you’re not sure what boldness draws you to initiate this time, and you have no excuse other than, perhaps, pure curiosity (that’s gotta be it!). You lean forward in your chair, catching his attention when you grab the arm rest of his chair and pull yourself a little closer, your knees bumping against his.

He looks at you, looks at the hand on his arm rest, and then you again.

You swallow quickly, your stomach tangling itself all up again as you pluck up the courage to speak your mind “Would you… want to test it again?” You ask. Childe’s brows jump up on his forehead as he stares at you incredulously, watching your face. He’s checking your expression, you realise, looking for any hints that you might be teasing him or a sign of mischief. Anything that said you were playing a sick joke on him for what he’d admitted to you.

When you don’t falter or crack a joke, though it takes everything in you to not back down and backtrack in the face of his silence, he nods. It’s almost shy, unsure. He sits up in his chair and scoots forward to meet you halfway. The corners of your mouth fight to pull into a smile, his little mannerisms striking something in your chest. There’s at least three separate times you can rescind your question, but it all goes out the window as he presses his lips to yours.

His kiss is soft this time, unlike the messy fire that the first kiss had been. It ignites you all the same and you kiss him back, insistent against his lips. His reservations seem to melt at your eagerness, at the way you don’t hesitate to tangle your fingers in the curls of his hair, pulling him in deeper.

And then it’s there again, the need and the heady feeling clouding your good decision making when you taste his tongue, whatever slushie he’d been drinking fruity and intoxicating like any alcohol. Maybe even more so. He kisses you like you’re the air he breathes, holding onto the back of your neck, and he leans forward to hover over you. The angle is awkward and would hurt your neck if you gave a shit, but neither of you care at that time, too absorbed in this.

Your lungs scream for air, and he’s sure he’d gladly asphyxiate on your kiss, but you pull him away, tugging at his hair. A low noise rumbles in his throat, his eyes opening just enough to take you in. The sheen of your lips, the string of saliva on your tongues, the flush of your face and the heave of his chest as he takes in the oxygen he unfortunately needs. Childe looks over your face and it’s clear that this isn’t nearly enough. It’s like having a taste of a sweet dessert and expecting either of you to not want more bites.

***

So he dives back in when you wordlessly nod, kissing you breathless once more. Your body arched towards him, a shiver running down your spine as one of his hands slid over your body, down your sides and legs. He held your hips, his lips on your jaw. “Look at you, so clingy all of a sudden..” His voice was thick, lower as he whispered in your ear, a mocking tone in his words that made your skin run hotter than before.

“Childe,” You moan and sigh his name all at once, your nails scratching against his scalp deliciously. It’s exhilarating, a thrill that sets your nerves alight at every touch and motion from him. Your head is starting to float as he continues his attack against your skin, his teeth sending sparks as he nips at your neck.

And he’s strong, dammit, annoyingly so as his hands continue to hold your hips down, restricting the way you want to roll against his body, desperate for friction– for more.

“Childe, please,” He’s ruthless as his kisses trail further down, and he chuckles dryly.

“Already begging?” He cocks his head to the side.

You sneer a little bit at his cocky attitude, tugging harshly at his hair. That elicits another noise from the man, a soft whine as he grabs your waist tighter, almost a bruising touch. Your stomach burns. “Childe, I’m not asking again, give me more,” Your voice is quiet but nonetheless demanding, and Childe relents his teasing. He leans back, situating himself in his chair again and pulling you with him. Obediently, you slide from your chair onto his lap, sighing pleasantly as his fingers trail down your sides and onto your thighs. He glances at you through his lashes, holding you up slightly.

He’s checking for permission, but when you nod, he only smiles in coy innocence. “I don’t speak head shakes, baby,” His fingers massage the fat of your thighs, toying just at the hem of your shorts, dangerously close to where you need him.

With an impatient whine, you lift your hips against his hands. “Fuck me, please,” You concede. Childe hums appreciatively, pulling your knees apart and placing a chaste kiss against your shoulder.

“Good job,” He coos sweetly. The man wastes no time in unbuttoning your shorts and untucking your shirt. He kisses messily at your neck as he pulls the denim down your legs, aiding you in the movement to lift your hips so he can pull them off and toss them to the side. As soon as the cool air hits you, you shiver, your hands sliding from his hair to hold yourself up by his shoulders.

His eyes were glued to you, dark and hungry.

“Aren’t you so pretty?” He says as his hands toy at the edge of your panties. “I’d have done this sooner if I knew how cute you looked all flushed like this.” He teases lightly, smiling.

He doesn’t let you respond before he’s moved on to kissing under your jaw. Your heart jumps at his words, kickstarting a fast pace in your chest. He seems to know this, his eyes glancing at your face and the blush that spreads across your face. Your body temperature raises a million more degrees at the quirk of his brows. And all he’s done is kiss you. His breath is hot, burning you alive.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as his lips stall against your skin, one of his hands dipping between your thighs, experimentally brushing over your clothed cunt. A soft moan escapes you as he circles his finger over your clit, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Fuck,” You grip at the fabric of his hood, grinding on his palm.

“Feels good?” The man laughs, his smile still curled on his lips when you nod a little too eager. His free hand takes hold of your chin, gentle but firm as he pulls you into a kiss. You melt against him, whining as he continues his ministrations over the thin cotton. Childe uses your reactions as a map, his quick learning apparently applicable here as well.

If you weren’t lost in the stimulation he was providing, you might feel embarrassed. Your hips buck every now and then, your mouth hanging open in pants and gasps, noises that Childe happily drinks up, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. You were thankful for how long the recording had run that night, assured that no one else was on this floor and could possibly hear your noises through all of the walls separating the two of you from the hallway.

Your head is stuffed with cotton clouds, your body moving on instinct, when the ginger stills his hand against your clit, pressing harshly on the bundle of nerves. “Ahf–what the fuck,” Your forehead rests against his, stuttering your hips as your incoming orgasm comes to a screeching halt. Your breaths intermingle as he smiles, smoothing his hand over the back of your head.

“Calm down, baby,” Childe coos in a mockingly sweet tone, laughing as you pinch his bicep in retaliation. For all the teasing he’s doing, you can tell he’s just as affected as you, his eyes lidded and his ears a bright red.

“You’re the worst,” The venom in your voice is gone. You know you don’t actually mean it. You wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t. The man hums, amused by your attitude.

“‘M sure I am,” He groans against your mouth, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear. The cotton stretches around your thighs, but you’re too buzzed by his proximity to fully discard them, and he’s too eager to feel you. Childe is still kissing you senseless, your mouth hanging open as he drags his fingers through the slick of your folds, toying with your clit again before sinking two fingers inside you.

You reward him with a whine, your fists clenched tightly in the fabric of his hoodie. And, god, it’s addicting. The way he reacts to your body, shuddering and swallowing your quiet moans, like getting you off is his only life’s goal.

You understand why so many girls feel enraptured with him.

Your hips roll against his hand, pushing his fingers deeper. “Oh fuck,” Your blood is pumping even quicker, a loud drum in your ears as you chase the high. He’s stretching you so well, thrusting at a steady pace while you ride his hand like it’s the last time you’ll ever experience this kind of pleasure. It might as well be, the way you’re on fire for him. The way his lips latch onto the juncture of your neck and shoulders, whispering praises. His thumb works in tandem with his fingers to circle your clit messily, his other hand tight on your waist, guiding your rhythm or palming your chest over the thin shirt.

“Yes, fuckfuckfuck, yes–Childe,” You blabber mindlessly, high and floating. This burning, this tension, this tightrope you’ve both been walking converges all into this moment, and you’re suddenly forgetting anything prior to this. It’s just you and Childe as he fucks you with his fingers, leaving bites and hot kisses all over your body.

He groans against your chest, feeling the way you tighten around him, you’re body picking up pace as your hips bounce erratically on his fingers. You’re chasing your high, too heady to care how eager or desperate you look.

You don’t care.

You want this, you want him.

“Childe, Childe, Childe, need to cum–” You moan and hold tighter onto his shoulders, white knuckling. Your thighs are burning, and your stomach feels tight with your oncoming orgasm, a tightening precipice edging closer with every curl of his index and middle finger. He nods, wordlessly focusing his efforts on fucking you faster, and deeper, massaging your clit.

Your body is buzzing with the stimulation. You fail to form full words, babbling mindlessly between pants and whines and other ungodly noises. It falls from your lips freely, and Childe soaks it all in like it’s his favorite song.

Who fucking knew how irresistable you sounded like this?

He holds your hips even tighter the closer you get, helping you to move your hips. And it crashes over you quick and dirty, white-hot electric as the feeling courses through your veins. It’s everything and it’s better than your fantasies could ever give you, and in an instant it’s crashing through your entire system, washing over you and fizzling out almost as quickly as it came. Your body is buzzing, whirring as you whine pathetically, still riding his fingers as he rides you through the motions.

Childe kisses your neck as you come down, your head falling back. Your chest heaves, your fingers flexing in his hoodie once again. “Such a good girl, and you look so pretty,” He compliments in a sweet voice, dripping with honey as he helps you come back down.

It isn’t until your breathing has returned semi-normal again that he finally pulls his fingers out, his hand stroking your jaw. “You did so good for me, hm?” He strokes your chin with his thumb, sliding up to your bottom lips. Glossy and swollen from his kisses and tongue. They part easily for him. “Want to clean me up, princess?” The mocking in his tone returns but you can’t deny this time that it does something to you.

Your eyes are low, and you eagerly tilt your head, taking his fingers in your mouth. Warm and inviting as your tongue slides over his digits, your eyes locked in his.

“Good girl,” He coos. Pride swells in your chest.

“Need you now,” You say once he’s sufficiently clean. Childe tilts his head adoringly. His faux cute voice and his charming boyish-ness contrast the cocky attitude he has on display, but you can’t get enough. You need this like you need nicotine in your veins, a whole new drug to fuel your system when he taunts and riles you up. All with a sweet smile that has your knees weak.

“What do you mean, baby?” His voice is low, casual like he’s talking normally to you. You loop your arms around his neck and lean forward, pressing your chest to his. He tilts his head up, face-to-face as your noses brush. You can tell he’s just as addicted to you. His eyes glimmering bright, his cheeks and ears flushed a bright tomato red.

And the tent in his sweats helps clue you in, too.

“Need you inside me, baby,” You whisper husky, dropping a hand to drift over the toned planes of his chest, feeling him even through the hoodie. And damn, if he looked as good as he felt, you hoped you got another chance for this. Childe chuckles, charmed by your actions. “Get this off first,”

He squeezes your thigh affectionately. “Yes, ma’am,” His reply is semi sarcastic and you roll your eyes, playing into this dynamic. Both of you are amused, the corners of your mouths fighting off smiles while he pulls off his hoodie and shirt.

“Mmm,” You hum appreciatively as he exposes his torso, your eyes raking over his form. The curves and dips of his chest to his stomach, to the v-line dipping below his sweatpants. He’s built, and you can tell he’s strong just by the look of him. The muscles of his stomach flex with every breath. You let your hand trail down his skin, tapping on the freckles painting his skin, connecting the dots all the way down to his waistband.

“Take ‘em off, pretty,” He encourages, lifting his hips. His hands are still planted firmly on your thighs. No, this was a job for you to do.

You pull at the elastic of his sweatpants until they come undone, glancing between his face and his body. He was a god-given specimen. Much as you may not have wanted to initially admit it to yourself. Childe was attractive, and he earned that acknowledgment from you. You’re biting your lips, hungry as you pull his waistband down just enough to free his hard-on.

“Fuck,” A quiet groan escapes your parted lips, your hand circling around his cock. He grips your thighs tighter just slightly. Whimpering, his hips nearly buck up as you experimentally twist your wrist just slightly. “Sensitive,” You comment, taking your own turn to tease him.

“Fuck–always am with you,” He’s melting against the chair as he groans that, falling apart on your featherlight touches, stroking his tip down to the base. Painfully slow, torturous even. You hum, tightening your hold around him just slightly, a wicked smile on your face when he whines and bucks his hips. “Feel-feels good, baby,” He manages to get out.

“Yeah?” You’re purring as you continue your motions, but you don’t go faster.

Instead, you lift yourself up just slightly, balancing on his shoulder with your free hand. You line up his cock with your eager hole, already so wet and ready for him. You roll your hips against his tip. You swear you see his brain short circuit, a weird sound catching in his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp.

“W-wait,” He blinks his eyes open slightly, his hands sliding up to your waist. “Condom,” He motions his head in the direction of his bag. You blink once or twice as you realise what he’s saying.

“R-right,” You lean forward to kiss him before you climb off, managing to get over to his bag without stumbling. You couldn’t put this off, but you were going to be responsible at the very least, goddammit.

Returning with the condom, you take your place on his lap. He reaches for the condom package but you hold it above your head. “Hands off, pretty boy,”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty,” Childe bats his lashes, falling back in his seat. You shake your head, swallowing while his hands smooth over your hips and waist, reassuring and grounding touches. You rip open the package and roll it over his hard dick, rolling your wrist to get him worked up again. He smiles into the next groan he lets out, bliss rocking through his body.

Then you lower onto his cock, spreading your thighs as much as the chair will allow as you take him into your eager cunt. Your walls flutter around the width of him. Even with his fingers stretching you and your own experiences, Childe is still big. He fills you up, sending shivers across your body as you sink inch-by-inch.

A chest-deep moan escapes the man as your pussy clenches around him, sucking him in. “Holy shit,” He grunts, one of his hands gripping the arm of his chair. It takes everything in him not to move his hips, desperately wanting to bury himself in your warmth. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He should’ve done this sooner. You should’ve done this sooner. You’re both gone as you finally sink down, breathless again as you bottom out on his length. You’ve never felt this full. You feel like you’re on cloud nine and you haven’t even moved. Childe doesn’t try to rush you as you adjust to him, panting with your head on his shoulder and squeezing his biceps.

“Good?” He questions softly, and you nod against his neck.

“Good,” You mumble, “So fucking good,” He hums in response, massaging your waist.

When you finally move, he whimpers again, holding onto you like a lifeline as you swirl your hips, sinking down. Lift, fall, lift, fall. You set a rhythm slowly, picking up pace as you feel the way he pushes into you again and again, hitting that deep spongy spot inside you, filling up your wet cunt, stretching you so very deliciously.

This is better than cocaine (not that you’ve ever done that).

“Yes, baby, just like that,” Childe encourages. “Fuck, fuck–fuck,” He curses over and over while you ride him, going faster now, squeezing him tight. Your pussy has a vice grip on his cock, dragging him in. He desperately lifts his hips to meet every drop of yours, thrusting up into you and making you bounce. “Fuck, you’re so fucking good–” Childe smooths his hands over your spine, kneading the fat of your ass, squeezing your thighs.

He can’t keep his hands off you, and he can’t keep his mouth from running, his thoughts unfiltered and filthy as you ride his cock like a carousel ride. He’s a goner, his head swimming with clouds, lust blinding every sense and moral he might’ve had. All he knows, all he cares about, is fucking you stupid.

“Ahf, please– Childe,fuckfuck–fuck!” You squeal and roll your hips, moaning and panting against his clammy skin, electrified by his actions. You can feel another orgasm building inside you, that cord pulling into a knot with every thrust of his cock against that sweet spot. “Please, need to cum, baby, need to come on your cock, pleaseplease,” You feed into his own sinful encouragements, repeating it like a mantra as you desperately buck your hips, whining when he thrusts up into you, fucking you extra full.

The both of you pant and moan, closer and closer to that precipice of euphoria as your orgasms build. Childe still manages to speak but you fall to notice, getting louder and more incoherent between his broken whines and cries of ‘how good you take me’ and ‘such a pretty little face’. You can tell he’s getting close now as he slumps back in his seat, his hands a bruising iron-grip on your ass as he holds you in place, mustering all of his remaining strength to fuck you again and again and again.

He gives you little warning of his orgasm, and yours follows just seconds after as you roll and circle your hips, your toes curling and your thighs clenching around his hips. A load moan falls from your lips and your body stutters as your second orgasm watces over you, your pussy clenching tight on his hard cock.

Childe’s gone in a second, cumming so fast and hard, he sees stars in his vision, his body moving on instinct as he slows down. His jaw goes slack and he pants out over his orgasm, the current setting his nerves on fire coming in waves before it calms down. You ride out your highs together, panting and sweaty and hot, but neither of you moves for a long time.

***

You collapse against his chest, blinking back unshed tears from your screwed shut eyes, bliss stuffing your head full of cotton still. Childe stares up at the ceiling for a moment, allowing you both the moment to recollect yourselves. When he’s sure his heart isn’t going to burst out of his chest and run down the hallway screaming bloody murder, his arms circle around you. He brushes some hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear, causing you to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“You good?” He asks, quirking his brow curiously. You can only smile, pleased, a quiet hum in your throat. But he catches it and the way it rattles in your chest, rumbling in his as well like an echo. He chuckles and rubs your back soothingly, his hand underneath your shirt but not uncomfortably. He seems satisfied with what transpired.

Truthfully, you are too.

“You know…” He leans his cheek on his shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a girl like that,” He admits.

“Ah, you’re not going to fall in love with me because of this, are you?” You tease, squeezing his bicep as if to let him know you’re just playing a joke. He laughs and tickles the space just beneath your shoulder blades, conjuring a shiver that has your body tingling. He looks over your face, taking you in and all of your features, before he looks at the wall.

“If you… feel that way again, I don’t mind helping out..” He tells you after a few more seconds, staring at the desk of equipment. He doesn’t meet your eyes until you sit up a little bit, looking at him curiously. “I’m serious,” He adds. “Clearly you enjoy it, and I do too,” He glances over the both of you, his eyes noticeably staring at the curve of you, the plush of your thighs, the fat of your stomach, the curve of your chest and your waist. And, he stares at where you two are still connected.

Your face feels warm and you look away. “Point,” Is all you respond…

After that, you both calm down and shuffle into getting dressed. You don’t respond outwardly to his promise, but it sticks in the back of your mind as you shimmy back into your shorts, turning your back on him politely as he fixes his sweats and pulls his hoodie back on. The air is shifted between you two, no longer thick with tension and not uncomfortable but… different.

You finish cleaning up, spraying a couple spritz of your perfume to hide your deeds and activities before you both lock up and head to your cars. Much like the night at the bar, this one doesn’t leave your mind, and you can’t help but wonder if you did the right thing…

———

A/Ns: sooo... y/n and childe huh? anyway y'all like the color blue? lmaoooo this chapter took a bit to write cuz i was lowk struggling but anyway i hope its still enjoyable !! likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated, and don't forget i love you <33

TAGLIST: @popiizpops @scaradooche @yourfavoritefreakyhan @neversore @monocerosei @dontmindtheevie @kittywagun @yumidepain

[smoshsfavoritepizzaplace]

Can I just rant on this pls?

I'm sorry ahead of time, if this comes across as crass or extreme, but this is beyond ridiculous.

For the life of me, can people stop being parasocial about Courtney's relationship with female cast members?

If you've seen todays duos vid, Arasha made the joke about being S/C third and then Court said they were the complete package.

Again, nothing on them, but I did see a comment which I believe has been deleted, insinuating that Court's stance on being poly must've changed and this is their opportunity to fully experience being queer.

How many times do we have to have this discussion? I haven't seen these sorts of things for a while, but here we go again, I guess🤷‍♂️

First of all, Court is married. Now that doesn't mean that they are property or any less queer, but I mean come on!

I don't care who anyone is, have some respect, not just for them, but for yourself!

This is the literal definition of PARASOCIAL!

They are not characters in a movie or are they your toys🤦‍♂️

Let's just be blunt, this is about SEX.

These types of individuals in the comments just want Court/Arasha or whomever to be intimate.

If it isn't Courtney w/Arasha, it is either them w/ Angela or Amanda, but never any guys on the cast. With the exception of Spencer, before the reveal. You could argue since they were paired up in todays vid you'd see some of it, but it usually leans towards the women.

As someone who is queer, I can understand finding a multitude of people attractive, but these are their friends/coworkers, get a grip!

A fair share of people say that not everything is about Shayne, that he doesn't need to be brought up whenever Court is on screen or on their socials, but...

For the last time, HE IS THEIR HUSBAND, THAT MEANS SOMETHING, AND HE IS A HUMAN BEING AFTER ALL WHO HAS FEELINGS!

What a 🌎 I know, off all the things to be upset about, this isn't one of them. I'd be more upset about the other, given people are using the excuse of polyamory to mask cheating🤦‍♂️

Court hasn't gotten to fully experience being queer, are you kidding me? Did this person not see their reaction to Florence Pugh at The Thunderbolts premiere?

Being open/comfortable with one's sexuality or being friendly w/ any sex/gender, doesn't mean they are inclined to be promiscuous.

The worst part for me and if I'm alone in this I don't care, this was an atrocious attempt at backpedaling, so here goes...

They went on talking about Court/Arasha and then saying that Shayne is there too.

F*** THAT!

I don't even know them or am I involved in the relationship, but if I was either, I'd be livid!

He's an afterthought, nothing more. This is just for weirdos to project onto Court and alledge that this is what they want.

What would them having sex change? Once it is all said and done, what comes next? I don't care that this is a hypothetical situation or not, Arasha has a partner!

When is the excuse of randos on yt or socials going to be thrown out the window, once and for all?

Being gay isn't solely about having sex, it is much more than that. It is disgusting that people simplify it to that🤦‍♂️

The last thing I'll say is, I hate the double standard that people have when it comes to policing behavior about Courtney compared to Shayne. Just becasue he doesn't say anything, doesn't mean that he is immune to having his feelings hurt. This is his marriage after all, just becasue it isn't about his appearance or whatever doesn't mean it doesn't count.

Court recently replied to someone's comment on the most recent episode of URL, when someone was thinking they were knocking Shayne's fashion.

So, you know that they occasionally read/respond to comments, nobody is anonymous, you don't deserve anonymity if you leave comments like this.

Sorry about the rambling, I tried to keep it concise, but I belive it just divulged into something else.

✌️

I didn’t see the comment, but from what you said about it, that is such a wrong thing to say. I think people need to realize that if someone is pan/bi but they’re in a relationship with someone of the opposite gender, it doesn’t make them any less queer. And just bc Courtney is also attracted to women, doesn’t mean every woman at smosh she’s interested in. Yes she jokes, but literally all of them do. They’re known to jokingly flirt with each other, doesn’t mean it’s anything more. Court is in a committed relationship, and so is Arasha. Saying they must’ve changed their stance on being poly is so weird. Comments can really be so horrible, that’s why I have a limit. I used to be a victim of scrolling through them and unintentionally ruining the video for myself. I quickly learned to avoid doing that, I still scroll, but not as far down. That honestly the best thing you could do. We unfortunately can’t change what people write, but we can semi control what we see

[amypihcs]

Mr Sherlock Holmes (2.0 - der Doppelgänger)

Here we go! It's sunday and ready for some more hound of the Baskervilles! Of course, put on your yaoi goggles!

First of all, Holmes and Watson had a very nice little date at the picture gallery

And Watson, honest man as he is, cares to inform us about his beloved's shortcomings about art. I'm sure they often joke about it!

Now back to work! Just gossiping with the Hotel's reception

Not gossiping, ofc, GETTING INFORMATION. You can't change my mind on Holmes being one of the best gossips in London when he feels like that!

Now we did get some int- WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING NOW?!

They nicked ANOTHER boot?!

They did!

well, someone stops the american, pls?

We have a CASE to solve! And Holmes is so, so happy and invested! all very nice!

NOW. Sir Henry decided to go to Devonshire at the end. And there's nothing we can do about it. But still we have to put set stuff straight. Like, you know you're dogged, right?

DOGGED?! WHAT? BY WHO?! W- AAAH

Okay, do write this telegram, there's noooothing that can go wrong!

BTW, -getting some tea-, tell me about this Barrymore!

LET ME GET THAT AMERICAN BASTARD'S NECK I'LL TIE IT INTO KNOT.

SPOILED RICH BRAT, NEVER HAD TO CARE FOR A FLAT, HAVE YOU? YOU'D KNOW THAT EVEN KEEPING SUCH A HALL LIVABLE TAKES ONE HECK OF A JOB YOU- -i am forcibly shut down-

Now inquiring for a motive.

Mortimer, lad. That is suspicious to say. a lot. That is EXACTLY Holmes' job and he's doing it WELL! How much money did Sir Charles have at the end?

Holmes and Watson both going 'the hell? do people with so much money EXIST?!'

As Jeremy reminds us:

And it DOES! That's one hell of a motive! It's close to a million of motives!

NOW! You SHOULD go, sir Henry, but not alone!

And i SURE can't come... i am... BUSY, YES, SOOOO BUSY!

They agree for leaving on Saturday and the investigation goes ooooon! Two telegrams arrive to prove that two ideas can't work and yes, let's take it PHILOSOPHICALLY!

We still have one more threat in our hands! -Holmes giving Watson tiny kisses -

Here's the third thread!

Nothing against you my man! Just few answers, you had a guy on with you, yes, right. Ah, he said he was a detective.

Anything else?

WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING HELL?!

Okay. Damn. Okay. Time to send in some fencing metaphors! Damn. three on three gone!

it IS an ugly and dangerous busyness. Holmes will be very very worried until it won't be solved. everything will be well!

We'll see how it'll go in the next episode!

[wyvernquill]

what are your top 5 armandaniel moments from the show? :D

Ah, thank you very much for the ask! Let's see...

#1 - s2ep2, The Lestat-as-co-founder-of-the-Theatre reveal moment, with Daniel putting on the telenovela music and Armand listing some of his other 'conquests' - they're totally messing with each other here, it's petty and weird and theatrical and I grin every time. Honorable mention to the potential for "you shared a boyfriend!" to get very ironic if more Armand/Daniel happened in the past, and also Louis sitting there going "...did you!?" at Armand's story about "Now, Voyager". I don't know, it's just very funny, says a lot about both of them really, and I like it when a ship does A Bit, either together or, like here, *against* each other.

#2 - s2ep6, The argument over the San Francisco memories. As opposed to my #1, this one's raw and bitter and tense (they're still messing with each other, but the stakes are higher and the attacks more vicious...), and I love it very much. "I didn't forgive you" and "why did I owe ~YOU~ my one act of cowardice?" are lines that hit very hard, I enjoy how Daniel keeps not buying the excuses even as Louis begins wavering, even though Armand directed most of them at Daniel to start with... it's a very interesting and powerful scene showcasing the shifting dynamics of these three, and I once more like the potential for recontextualisation if Armand and Daniel have more history than previously advertised.

#3 - s2ep5, All of it, really. Obvious choice maybe, but oh well. I love the juxtaposition of the dramatic past and Louis and Daniel putting their feet into the rock garden in the present, the new angles we see of the characters in a memory of the past that *isn't* very carefully curated for interview purposes, and, I mean, "I could be on my knees in a second" - >small nod to force him to his knees<...

#4 - s1ep7, The reveal, particularly Armand floating so Daniel has to stare up at him. It's a nice mirror to the power dynamic and positioning we see in s2ep5, and overall just a wonderfully dramatic scene with Armand removing his disguise in the back while Daniel is ripping into Louis. The theatralics of it all are very *Armand,* and Daniel being struck nearly speechless by surprise (and maybe awe? something else?) for once is also great, though we all know he's just gearing up to tear into Armand too in s2.

#5 - s1ep6, Daniel dreaming of first meeting Louis in Polynesian Mary's... but, gasp! Inexplicably, 'Rashid' is there, too! And meanwhile, in the waking world, 'Rashid' is probably busy tucking a blanket over Daniel while he sleeps. Honestly I just love the flashback, Daniel and Louis' semi-flirting, the way it sets up the reveal in the next episode, and, well. I do like to imagine that the blanket-tucking was done by Armand and was oddly tender. I just think the whole thing's neat.

I probably forgot a number of moments I really enjoyed, but, well, these were the first five I could think of! Louis has snuck into a lot of them, but that is unsurprising, at least in s1 and s2 all three of them are very tangled up in each other, and it's difficult to pick a moment with two of them that doesn't involve the third somehow (except maybe the Loumand scenes in the past, but they narrate those to Daniel, so...) Looking forward to seeing those dynamics shaken up in s3, I suppose! (also, Devil's Minion in the past, pls? Chase, pls? Pls?)

[collapsedglasshouses]

An Angel For Noah || Noah Sebastian x OC [Part 2]

DIVIDER ART WORK BY @cafekitsune

PART ONE

PAIRING: Noah Sebastian x Jules (she/her)

SUMMARY: Jules knew it would be hard to start her journey as an guardian angel, but the harder part was to let go of her past...

WARNINGS: mentions of panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of blood, swearing, (let me know if i missed something)

A/N: Let me just start with this: AAAAAAAH... thank you... Okay, let's just say this, I cried a little while writing this... This fanfic is gonna break me into pieces, but I can't suffer alone so here is part 2...

TAGLIST: @trvshdxddy @blackveilomens (if you wanna be added, pls let me know in the comments)

Keep in mind, this takes place in an alternative universe. Even though I write about real people, the way I write them has nothing to do with how they are in real life.

Jules took a deep breath and stared ahead of her. She didn't even know what to do now. Keaton had given her a name and where to find that guy. Noah Sebastian, singer of a metal core band called "Bad Omens", was living somewhere in this street and her first task was to find him.

Jules swallowed hard. She knew Keaton said, it would be easy and how guardian angels are always similar to the person, they need to protect, but at this moment, she couldn't think of a single thing she should have in common with this Noah guy.

She had been a violinist for most of her live, had been what people described as prude or boring and always obeyed to her parents rules. Literally everything she wouldn't think, when thinking of a metal band member.

She never had been a big fan of the harder kinds of music, calling herself a die hard Swiftie, during her short lifetime. The life size cardboard cutout of Harry Styles that was probably still standing in her bedroom couldn't have agreed more to that.

She sighed while walking down the street. She asked herself if Keaton couldn't have been a bit more precise with his explanations and instructions, when she walked up to the third door and didn't read the names she was looking for. It bugged her that she couldn't just pull out her phone to type in the address and she found it rather bold from those angels that they hadn't given her some kind of device or powers to make it easier for her to find her target. What made her even more mad was, when she realised she couldn't fly. She felt robbed. She was literally just an invisible spirit with a task to fulfill that wasn't just finding her well deserved peace.

She couldn't do anything cool and she was literally invisible to everything and everyone.

She stopped in her tracks, when she realised that. She was in fact invisible. How the hell was she supposed to help Noah, if he can't even see her? Was he even allowed to see her? She felt like she was part of an episode of Supernatural and was about to meet the Winchester brothers.

When she started to walk again, she let her gaze wander over the houses. At least she would be in a good neighborhood. Not like she had to worry about being kidnapped anymore (you know, the sad things women need to worry about) but it was still somehow calming her nerves a bit.

When she walked up to the fourth house, she finally read the last names Keaton had told her about. She was about to be pleased with her work, when she notices the next problem.

What now?

She couldn't just ring the bell and show herself.

Like...

Hey, I'm your guardian angel, your friend Keaton sent me.

She was pretty sure, she couldn't even show herself at all.

Jules let out an frustrated groan, before looking around, trying to find another way to get into the house. Sadly she had also learned the hard way, that she couldn't walk through walls, when she tried it about an hour ago.

She snuck around the house, just to find a fence, she definitely couldn't just climb over. She sighed again and looked at the building. It looked like a typical upper class house in Los Angeles. At least it looked like their music was starting to pay off.

She still tried to climb up the high fence and if she would have still been alive she definitely would have broken at least a bone.

"Why can't I just fly!" She screamed out in agony. "This is such bullshit."

While she continued to mutter out profanities and tried to climb up the fence, the front door opened and none other than Folio and Davis step out of it.

She stopped in her tracks, when she heard their voices.

"I thought Noah already went grocery shopping with Ruffilo?" She heard one of the guys say and was sure she almost reach high speed after hearing that name while sprinting to the door. She saw two men, one with with short dark hair and one with long hair and a streak of grey in it.

"Nah, Noah was in the studio all day and Nick drove to his girlfriend. I think that's on us today." The man with the grey streak in his hair answered, while fidgeting with his car keys.

She couldn't concentrate on their conversation any longer, her only goal being to slip into the house as fast as possible before it was closed again. Right before the second guy got the chance to lock her out again, she, again, ran as fast as she could and soon found herself standing inside the house. She literally felt like an intruder.

So, where is he? She thought to herself and carefully looked around the room, she was standing in. It was the living room. To her right was a staircase. When she heard some noise from above, she decided it would be best to go after it.

She took her first steps really quietly until she released that nobody would hear her, so her steps became a bit more eager. Quickly, she found the room the noise was coming from and to her luck and surprise, the door to the room stood slightly open. Just far enough that she would fit through.

From the inside, she heard someone singing quietly. She felt the goose bumps creeping up her arms and instantly knew without a doubt, that she would find the person she was looking for inside this room.

When the guy stopped for a second, she carefully made her way inside the small studio and took a first glance at the person she would protect from now on. When her eyes laid on him, she felt something inside of her, she never felt before. A feeling she couldn't quiet describe. There were no words in the world for the pureness she felt when her eyes laid on him. Something inside her just clicked and she knew she needed to be close to him.

She took a careful step towards him and took in his form. He was sitting there and played some soft tunes on a keyboard that was connected to his computer. His ears were covered with headphones. From her perspective, she could get a quick glance at his tattooed neck. A hand grabbing an apple and a snake wrapping around said apple perfectly. A clear reference to the story of Adam and Eve.

When he began to sing again, she felt herself drawn even closer to his presence and without even thinking she stepped next to him to get a better look of his face.

He had really beautiful dark eyes and if you looked close enough, you could notice the small freckles on his face. In this moment she was more than glad that he couldn't see her, because she was creepily leaning on the desk to see him better.

Than for a brief second his eyes shot in her direction. That almost made her fall over in shock. She held her chest when she backed away from him. For a moment she legitimately thought, he had looked her dead in the eyes. When her breath finally started to settle again, she noticed it must have been a coincidence, because when she dared to look at him again, he had gone back to his normal position.

At this moment she realised, how bizarre this whole thing really was. She was sitting in the room of a singer, who she hadn't seen or heard of before and was literally as dead as it gets. She stared at a stranger, while just being a fucking spirit in his room.

She wiped over her face in disbelief, before starting to walk up and down his room, while he was humming a melody. She had a feeling, like she couldn't breathe anymore. She was fucking dead. Her live on earth was over.

How the hell was she fitting to be a guardian angel? She didn't have a good attention span and now was suppose to watch a stranger's every move.

Why couldn't she just have her well deserved rest? She was fucking run over by a car. She hadn't even had her first relationship before she died. Why didn't her grandpa just babysit Noah? He had literally 70 years more of life than she had.

When Noah stood up from his spot, Jules was in tears. It was so unfair. Why her? What did she do to deserve this? She was a literal Straight A student, had good friends and did her utter best. Tried to be as perfect as possible. But nothing mattered anymore. Nobody would remember her and the afterlife was cruel enough to not give her some rest.

Noah made his way out of the small studio, but Jules couldn't get up. Her thoughts just didn't stop. She just wanted to go. She wanted to go back.

She couldn't even think about her parents, her chest starting to burn when she thought of them. They showed her nothing but love throughout her life and right now she had a feeling, like she never appreciated them in the slightest. While she was grateful for everything, she still thought far too often that everything in her life was simply given to her. Her parents worked their asses of for her to get the opportunity to go to Juilliard and she was so dumb to get run over by a car, because her phone was that much more important.

With that it was over for her. It felt like someone was clutching her throat. She couldn't take full breaths anymore. Her mind started to race even faster, while her tears felt like literal lava on her skin. She wanted to go back. Wake up in that hospital bed. See her family. Hold their hands. Never let them go. She couldn't do this. How the hell was she supposed to do this?

She cradled her head in her hands and laid on the floor in fetal position, when suddenly...

It was warmer around her. She instantly was able to breathe again. She opened her eyes and found herself back in that white room, where she landed after her grandpa talked to her.

She sat up and looked around.

Next to her sat Keaton.

"What's going on, Jules?" He asked her and stroked her back reassuring. Tears were still running down her cheeks.

"I can't do it, Keaton." She cried out so quietly, Keaton almost didn't hear her. "Why are you even here? Aren't you suppose to protect your people?"

"You are one of my people." He quickly told her. "Just because you are as dead as me, doesn't mean you don't need someone looking over you."

Her heart warmed with that statement. She couldn't believe her ears. Never had she felt so save like she did with him next to her. He made her feel save.

"How am I suppose to help Noah, when I couldn't even help myself?" She asked with a raspy voice.

"You can do it, believe me. I could do it too." He reassured her. "I thought I couldn't do it myself and look at me now. Sitting next to the girl I should have protected." He laughed bitterly. "It's okay to fail. It is more important to know you tried."

She saw how his eyes became watery and quickly reached out to put her arms around him. When he hugged Jules back, it was everything the both needed to go on. For the moment, she didn't want to let go of him, knowing the seriousness of their task would come back soon after. But suddenly...

... Jules heard a shattering noise from downstairs and was quickly snapped out of her thoughts and the save room. She set in the studio for a second. But without even thinking she found herself next to Noah.

She looked around her and was shook to see she teleported herself right next to him. Tears were still streaming down her face, but she immediately looked for Noah, who was now bent over the sink and rinsed his finger, which he cut. He was muttering profanities under his breath, while Jules still tried to contain her cries.

She knew she needed to get over this. It was hard, but this was her life now, if you could even call it that. This was her existence now and she needed to make sure Noah would be save.

She couldn't fail him too.

READ PART THREE HERE.

[luckyqueenreign]

I’m so annoyed with the one size fits all way fb does casa amor. For us Ozzy girls or even the LJR girls the game seems to forget that you’ve ever had a connection with anyone outside of Elliot. Why did the girls ask me 178 times my thoughts on Elliot?! Idc about that man!! My mc literally kissed Ozzy on her way out and no one goes oh maybe that’s who you like?? I know I’m gonna have to switch we don’t need the constant reminders and check ins. Any sane person in MCs position would switch since were not coupled with who we want to be with…Elliot thinks he’s single and mc is at home.. why would he come back from casa single knowing this is a show where you need to be coupled up??

also SIX episodes and we still haven’t left casa?! get me out of here pls!! This also means next week we will get zero time with who we actually want bc we have the recoupling episode which is prob going to be the second episode. First I think will be the girls discussing the postcard and surprise surprise the girls are gonna ask for the millionth time if we’re switching or not. There will be a last ditch effort from the guy you’re being forced to recouple with…even though we all know he’s coming back regardless. Second episode will be recoupling and for us Ozzy girlies I can’t imagine that they’re going to let Ozzy even speak to us bc we have to talk to LJR first who’s also obsessed with us. MAYBE we’ll get to speak to Ozzy in the third episode but I’m not gonna hold my breath. So basically let the angst begin…

[half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk]

Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part 10 omg and 10 days until s3 👀

Lets go batchers 🤟

The Bad Batch 1x06

I love reading the aurebesh signs hehe

Omega nearly takes out a stranger and literally goes "teehee oopsie" I love her sm

Echo teaching her how to shoot 🥺

HIS HAND ON HER SHOULDER 😭

Wrecker: "not exactly a natural is she" Hunter: *vague nod/shrug thing* 💀

I'd love to shoo cid out of the bar "scram" @ cid

Tech is playing arcade games !!!! 👀

"I assume you know what a tactical droid is" *3 voted yes, Omega voted no, Tech panicked*

I used to think cid telling the batch they work for her was a kinda funny scene but rewatching it now knowing what I know it just infuriates me 😡

"weak noodle arms" SHES JUST A BABY

"this old trick?" hehe like the one Han did in ESB 👀

"that's your plan? fly there, land, hope they don't spot us and walk in the door?" ~ Obi-Wan about Anakin's plan - me pretending Echo learned this from Anakin 🥺

poor Wrecker with heights, he's so brave fr I'm very proud 💕

"nighty night" 🤣

everyone is probably gonna hate me for saying this buuuuttt... I kinda wanna see more Martez sisters after this episode lol

Rafa: "grab a weapon" Omega: "I had one 😑"

y'all the banter between Hunter and Rafa 👀 the way he walks behind her with both blasters out

THE FLIP AND ROLL OMEGA DOES TO GRAB THE DROID HEAD !!!

"thanks" hehehe she's so cheeky

sibling banter

YOU'VE GOT THIS WRECKER 👑

Wrecker hits his head count: 7 👀

and he just got shot in the same place on his shoulder for the third time 🙃

"Good soldiers-" screaming sobbing exploding into another dimension

HELP HER TRACE

Omega screaming for Hunter 😭

plus Hunter's "hang on Omega!" *checking myself into therapy*

Hunter literally swinging in to save Omega like he's tarzan 👑

that "thank you" was SO sincere I'm going to go cry my eyes out forever

Trace grabbed Omega to pull her behind her 🥺

Rafa: "I still don't like you" Hunter: "I'm used to it" 🥲😂

okay but Wrecker fighting the chip, hearing Tech calling for him sounding so concerned, then Crosshair desperately saying "good soldiers follow orders" is incredibly painful to hear... but it's like he's hearing his brothers both desperately calling him to them, Crosshair's voice is like the chip trying to activate, he's frustrated and confused which is probably exactly how Wrecker feels right now, and Tech's voice is trying to bring Wrecker back away from the chip 🥲 like they're both tugging at his brain to go different directions or smth idk I'm emotional about them always

"is there an echo in here?" "Yes, I'm Echo" *salutes* he's just so silly and goofy and I know the domino squad is absolutely cackling rn 😂

Tech's little swirly flip of the datastick like Hunter does with his knife makes me think Tech can also use Hunter's knife and that is something I would love to see pls

Trace has her arm around Omega again! 🤲

Tech is so sneaky hehe

Omega: "it's all about tuning out distractions" SEE CID SHE TOOK ECHOS ADVICE AND NOW SHE'S FINE pfft "weak noodle arms" NO MA'AM

R7 💕💕💕

Omega is so excited about being in a seedy area lmaooo

Omega and Rafa waving at each other as they leave 🥺

Hunter talking about the right reasons I am feeling emotions again

hmm I wonder who this mysterious person on the holo could possibly be 🤔🤔🤔

yayyyy episide 6 done y'alls 💕 thanks for joining again ilysm

I'm going to be doing a lot more hehe because I was super busy for a few days and now my timing is off 🙃

see y'all next time for when the fit hits the shan 🤟