#so you can just quietly lurk without anyone knowing

[jusst-you-race]

okay so literally no one asked for it BUT because there are so many ccc-verse fics now and it’s becoming kind of a Thing, I thought it might be nice to make a discord server… who knows if anyone will be interested in this, it might just be like me and three other people but it would be cool to have people join? idk… you can pester me about info and chapters super easily I guess if that’s appealing

link for sever here

[odileeclipse]

I'm gonna freaking eat your works.....

(this is mildly wordy It's like 2am and I have a lot to say)

I'm a big big BIGGGGG sucker for a good Shmilk or Pure ganilla fic....and wow you delivered.....🤤🤤

Big thank you for keeping me entertained for a good hour, that's a struggle for me LMAO I loved your writing, and the way you wuold describe his voice being all wispy and spooky; really added to the overall vibe of the fic and I really did like it :3

If you don't mindsies, I'd love to request something from you as well (o゜▽゜)o☆ As previously stated in a comment somewhere, angst makes me SO happy to write/read....the in-depth details people can do with emotions makes me so HEAHEHHAEHAEHEHAHEAHEH in a /pos way....

So! I would like to hhhhhhumbly request some good old fashioned Shmilky angst! Or, if you'd prefer to write Pure vanilla that's cool tooo!!!! I don't really mind what *type* of angst, just angst 🤤 I try to give writers creative freedom, but I'd adore some loss/unable to cope with loss of a loved one.....whatever works ;b ANYWAYS! LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOU'RE VERY COOL!!!!! 💥💥💥💥

The Puppet and the Fool

A tragedy in One Last Breath

A/N You're right there's been too much happiness on this blog time to fix that.

You were never supposed to last. From the moment you met Shadow Milk Cookie, you had been a mere curiosity, a spectator drawn into his ever-moving spire, his ever-deceiving carnival of illusions. And yet, somehow, you had done the impossible you had slipped between the cracks of his carefully constructed reality, nestled yourself in the spaces he hadn’t meant for anyone to occupy. It had started as a game, like all things with him did. "Oh? What’s this? A little spectator who doesn’t flee at the first trick? How rare!" His voice had slithered around you, a serpent’s coil laced with amusement and something sharper, something dangerous. Others feared him, reviled him, whispered of his cruelty in hushed tones. But you, oh, you were foolish. Foolish enough to laugh, to poke at his ego, to challenge him in ways no one else dared.

He had never asked you to stay. Never invited you into his world of trickery and taunts. And yet, there you were, day after day, watching his performances with something that was not admiration, not fear just an amused understanding. "And what, pray tell, keeps you lurking about, dear audience?" he would purr, flourishing his staff. "Surely, you have places far safer than my den of illusions." You had only shrugged, smiling faintly. "Your shows are entertaining." "A high compliment, indeed!" He placed a hand over his chest in mock gratitude. "But beware! The greatest trick of all is never knowing whether you’ve already become part of the act!" "I think I’ll take my chances." Foolish. But he liked that about you. And so, your presence became a fixture, something woven into the very script of his performances. He would create grand illusions, dazzling lights and twisting realities, and you would be there, arms crossed, shaking your head with a knowing smile. "Too much?" he would ask, grinning. "You always overdo it," you would reply. It became a game one he never admitted he enjoyed far too much. And, without realizing it, he began making his performances for you.

"I see through your tricks, Shadow Milk. You’re not as unpredictable as you think." That had caught his attention. You played along, indulged his theatrics, yet somehow remained separate from them. You saw through him in ways that unnerved him, as if you knew where the real strings were pulled. But instead of cutting them, you simply held them, quietly watching as he tangled himself in his own illusions. You became a regular in his performances, not as an unwilling participant, not as a victim, but as something else entirely. A quiet presence beside him, a soft counter to his grandiosity. A knowing smile when his lies got too elaborate, a gentle nudge when his mind grew too tangled in its own web. And somehow, he let you stay. Because for all his lies, you never demanded the truth from him. And for all his illusions, you never asked him to be anything but himself. Looking back, the signs had been small, quiet things, easy to dismiss, easier to ignore. The way your hand would tremble when reaching for his. The way your breath sometimes came too short, too shallow, even when you stood still. The way your laughter, once bright and full, became something softer, something restrained. "Tired already, my dear? We’ve barely begun the show!" he would tease, twirling his staff, watching as you paused to catch your breath. And you, ever the fool, would grin and wave him off. "Maybe you should carry me, then." "Oh-ho! A tempting proposition! But I’d hate to spoil you."

He had never thought much of it. Cookies grew weary. They faltered. It was natural. It wasn’t until he noticed the way you hid it the way you swallowed the winces, the way you steadied yourself against walls when you thought he wasn’t looking that something cold and unfamiliar began to fester in the back of his mind. Doubt. A word he despised when it came to you. But it remained. And yet, he never asked. Because asking would mean acknowledging. And acknowledging would mean accepting. So he let the show go on, even as the cracks in the stage deepened beneath your feet. Now, as you lay in his arms, the truth he had refused to see wrapped around him like chains, dragging him into a reality he would not accept. You had always been dying. And he had never noticed. Or rather he had never allowed himself to notice. "You lied to me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. You managed the smallest of smiles, though it barely reached your eyes. "I didn't lie." "But you didn't tell me." His grip tightened, his mismatched eyes wild, frantic, unblinking. "You let me play my part, let me prance about like a fool while you-" He choked on his words. "Why?"

You exhaled, slow, tired. "Because I knew you’d react like this." The laugh that tore from his throat was anything but amusement. "You-!" His voice cracked, and he had to swallow down the wreckage threatening to spill. "You knew and you still…" His breath shuddered. "Why didn’t you tell me?!" You hesitated. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you did. And he wasn’t ready for it. "Because I didn’t want my last moments to be a performance," you murmured. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, weak, barely there. "I wanted to just… be with you." Something shattered inside him.

All those stolen moments, every laugh, every conversation, every quiet night beneath an illusory sky of his own making they had been real. You had given him something real. And now you were taking it away. His breath came quick, shallow. His grip on you was desperate, as if holding you tighter could keep you anchored to him, to this world. "No, no, no, I won’t let you—" "Shadow Milk." His name had never sounded so soft. So final. You smiled. "I love you." And then, stillness. The silence was deafening. Shadow Milk Cookie did not move. Did not breathe. Did not accept. His jester’s hat had long since fallen, forgotten on the cold ground. The ghostly eyes in his hair flickered wildly, their gazes darting in all directions, uncertain, uncomprehending. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t real. The story wasn’t supposed to end this way. He clutched your body tighter, rocking slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re still here." A statement. A fact. A truth. Or perhaps, the most desperate lie he had ever told. "You’re just waiting for your cue. That’s all this is." His tone was light, theatrical, forced. "A clever little act oh, how you’ve fooled me this time, my dear!" His mismatched eyes gleamed, too wide, too bright. "But the show must go on." There was no response. Yet he continued, undeterred. "I’ll give the next line, then! What a generous performer I am!" A sharp, broken laugh left him. "You’ll wake up soon. You always do." The world did not answer. But he did not listen. Because Shadow Milk Cookie was a liar, a master of illusion, a weaver of truths and falsehoods alike. And so he told himself the greatest lie of all. That you were still there. That you had never left. That the final act had not yet begun. And as the silence stretched on, swallowing the stage whole, he did what he had always done. He played his part. And waited for you to play yours.

[clazaries]

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)

Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

w/c: 6.6k

Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?

a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)

ENJOY!

***

“Frankie. Sit rep?”

“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.” 

“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?” 

You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.” 

Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.

You readjust yourself nervously.

It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do. 

Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order. 

Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.

This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…

First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful. 

“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”

“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”

“Copy that.” 

The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best. 

“Stay sharp.” 

You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.

The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it. 

In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests. 

You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military. 

Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.

“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.” 

Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.” 

“Then why isn’t he out?” 

“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.” 

You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm. 

“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?” 

“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.” 

The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…” 

“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.” 

“I’ve got a shot on two of them.” 

“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume. 

“Why the fuck are we here then?” 

“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.” 

You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--” 

“Frankie! Do you copy?” 

Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup? 

“He needs help!” 

“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?” 

You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?

“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage. 

“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!” 

You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle. 

“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--” 

“We can’t leave Frankie!”

“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”

“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”

“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…

“I’m going in.” 

A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos. 

“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.” 

~~~~

Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago. 

The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself. 

Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.

But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?” 

You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?” 

“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.” 

“Could’ve,” you mutter.

He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?” 

“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily. 

“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.” 

“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”

Low blow, Midge. 

Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece. 

Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.

He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear. 

“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”

With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.

“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?” 

You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.

“You wouldn’t.” 

Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?” 

You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots. 

The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?

It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him. 

“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers. 

It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised. 

He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot. 

“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--” 

“No! No, I-I want to stay.” 

“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.” 

“I am. I was promoted for a reason.” 

“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.” 

“How?” 

“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?” 

Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him. 

Your thighs press together beneath the table. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.

“Nervous, soldier?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“A…A little, sir.” 

“Good, you should be. Take off your top.” 

With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had. 

“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”

“Minor wounds.” 

“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”

Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.

Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified. 

It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer. 

“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?” 

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily. 

“Yes, sir!”

Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.

Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating. 

His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority. 

“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”

Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit. 

“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”

You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt. 

Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in. 

“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.” 

A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum. 

What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.” 

“I can’t hold on,” you splutter. 

“You can and you will. Fuuuck…” 

Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off. 

You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts. 

“So wet. So needy.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!

“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”

“Santiago, please.” 

“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?” 

“No, but--” 

“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.” 

“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close. 

Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes. 

You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.

Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him. 

“Stand up.”

“I…I don’t think I can.” 

“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”

Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes. 

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.” 

Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise. 

“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway. 

“I’ll break if you touch me.”

“Perfect.” 

Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior. 

Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries. 

The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years. 

Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you. 

It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly. 

“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point. 

You sigh. “I know.” 

You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.” 

You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—” 

This again. “But Frankie--” 

“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.” 

“But I didn’t die.” 

“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.” 

Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that. 

A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.

“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.” 

“I promise.” 

He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.” 

For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.” 

“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.” 

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[mxstellatayte]

Carlos and quote 13

nsfw under the cut <3 minors can lurk but please do not interact!

you really shouldn't be doing this.

you really shouldn't be at his house again, moaning his name as he fucks into you better than anyone could ever fuck you, making sure your hips are bruised and your body is sore the next day.

yet here you are.

"oh, fuck, carlos, please!"

"what is it? what do you want from me?" his left hand holds both of yours above your head, both wrists contained with his own large palm, and his right kneads at your breasts while his hips fuck into you ruthlessly. "or are you too dumb from my cock to know?"

"need to cum," you nearly sob, the pleasure and pain making tears form in the corners of your eyes.

"so do it," carlos replies, his hand leaving your breast and immediately finding your clit, rubbing the tight circles he knows gets you off almost immediately. within seconds, you cum with a cry of his name, your shoulders burning as they fight to pull your arms from his grasp. when he mercifully releases your wrists, your hands immediately fly to grip at his broad shoulders to ground yourself through your orgasm. the sound of you moaning his name and spasming around him sends carlos into his own orgasm, and you fall limp at the feeling of his cum warming you from the inside.

eventually, carlos pulls out of you as gently as he can, and you gasp at the overstimulation and the feeling of both of your fluids seeping out of you before he gently presses them back in with two fingers. "i'll be right back, okay? i'm gonna go get a towel to get you cleaned up." your heart stirs once more at the immediate change of demeanor, the harsh and almost ruthless attitude giving way to a much more gentle and caring side of him. when he comes back, warm washcloth in hand, carlos can't help but smile at your closed eyes and blissed-out expression, knowing that he's the only one who can fuck you this thoroughly. you don't startle when he gently wipes at your inner thighs and does his best to clean you of any sweat, folding the washcloth so that only a fresh part touches your skin. after throwing the washcloth into his hamper, he settles into the sheets with you, eyes widening when you lift yourself on top of him and begin gently rubbing yourself on his strong thighs.

"still?" you hum quietly in false confusion, holding his forearms tight in your grip. "you're still needy? oh, cariño, i just fucked you."

"i haven't seen you in a month," you quip without halting your movements. "it's not my fault you can fuck me better than anyone ever has and ever will."

"so you admit it."

"just shut up and fuck me already."

little author's note on this one! i really enjoyed writing this blurb, so if you guys want to see more of this dynamic and maybe how their relationship came to be, let me know! my asks are always open <3

[homelanderbutbig]

No Strings Attached (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1389 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You give Homelander a back massage. Inspired by a post from @slasher-smasher.

It's taken a lot of trust to get to this point. One thing you've come to learn from Homelander is that he hates to take off his suit. When he's wearing it, there is a barrier protecting from the outside world. He's wrapped up in his security blanket, he's safe from harm and his own weaknesses. To be exposed… that's his kryptonite.

With his inhumanly tall height, he naturally gives off the air of superiority against everyone around him without ever really having to do anything. All he ever has to do to provoke fear is stand in front of someone, displaying both his towering presence and the dominance of his powers that lurk just beneath the surface.

While he always seems to go out of his way to refuse your inquiries about his suit, you also know he's already given you more access to himself that he has anyone else before. He willingly removes his gloves to hold hands with you, enamoured by the feelings of your tiny fingers running along the expanse of his palms. He loves to rest his head on your lap, allowing you to caress his cheeks and every inch of his face. He even lets you scratch his scalp, using your nails to reduce him to his base instincts and leave him purring heartily into your chest. These moments to him are far more intimate than just plain old sex; he's giving you his vulnerabilities on a silver platter, the fear of allowing himself to be stripped of his power over the masses in even a minute way.

And as much as Homelander genuinely relaxes from these cuddle sessions, you want to do so much more for him. He is consistently on the brink of burning out from both the stress of his job and the expectations placed on him from the Vought higher-ups, never allowed a vacation or a brief reprieve. He is their cash cow after all, their puppet whose strings are forcibly manipulated to make him dance for their amusement.

Today is no different. You're in his penthouse when he comes storming in, pissed at what Ashley's informed him. He's dropped six points from a recent blunder, and now the PR team is insisting he give a public apology. Standing in front of the myriad of reporters clamouring for the perfect angle, cameras flashing brightly in his face, all while he has to suck up to them… the worthless mudpeople.

You can tell how worked up he's getting just from telling you all this, and all he wants right now is to bury his head in your lap to let his worries fade away. However, this time you have another idea… and you won't take no for an answer.

"Come with me sweetheart," you coax him, grabbing hold of one of his massive hands to lead him into his bedroom. He follows with no resistance, yet he can't hide the confusion about this deviation of your normal routine. You know what he wants right now, what exactly are you planning? Once in his bedroom you hop up onto the mattress and he sits next to you, though his hands are nervously clenched on his lap.

"Please take off your top and lie down for me?" you ask, smiling at the near-instant look of fear overtaking his face the second he hears those words escape from your lips. "You can trust me big boy," you reassure him, giving him a gentle pat on his thigh.

Gradually you encourage him to unfurl his fists so you can help him remove his gloves. His wide eyes are glued on your every move as you carefully slide them off his hands and place them off to the side. You then maneuver around to his back to unhook his cape off of his eagle pauldrons, folding it neatly as you know he likes. And then comes the most daunting task.

"D-don't… d-d-don't look," he stammers quietly, incredibly anxious while waiting for you to shield your sight before he begins removing his suit. His movements are on autopilot while he tries his best to swallow his building nerves, dropping his top heavily on the sheets. He can't believe he's actually doing this, the one thing he's been terrified of since dating you. Showing you what he hides beneath his suit… the real Homelander.

You don't look until he's lying faced down into his bed, face partially buried into his pillow with only one of his distressed eyes showing. And even then he refuses to gaze over at you, so utterly consumed by the angst strangling his brain.

Kneeling in front of him, you reach out your hands to place them on his back. His eyes instantly shut tight as he takes in a sharp breath, waiting for you to touch him. It's a response that happens involuntarily, one that had been beaten into him from his childhood in the lab. Anytime the scientists laid their hands on him, it was never out of love. It was solely for experimentation. To poke, prod, stab, slice, inject, burn… 

And while they believed he was unable to truly perceive pain like humans do with his superhuman abilities… he felt it all. He always did.

But this time, your hands are different.

His eyes slowly open to glance over at you as your hands begin massaging his upper back. You lack the strength to properly relieve any tension in his muscles, but he can feel every ounce of your effort all the same. You are so gentle with him, every touch bursting with the love and care you have for him. There's something so therapeutic about the nature of your affection, how you bathe him in tenderness without any expectations in return. You aren't like Madelyn, not like Stormfront… not like anyone he's had strong emotions for before. You just… love him, no strings attached.

The tension he felt from his meeting with Ashley quickly melts away the longer you work your hands along his back, molding him into a malleable putty. Just like when you scratch his scalp, the sensations of your passionate fingers leave him at your mercy. He's powerless to fight the content little noises escaping from his mouth, practically purring in time with your massage. You can discern his deep voice vibrating through his body as you knead his back, each time he breathes removing just that much more stress from his weary mind.

"That feel good?" you question, still rubbing circles along his shoulder blades.

"Mmhmmph…" he eventually manages to hum, his placid voice muffled into the pillow. His eyes have started to flutter closed again, unable to fight the sleepiness creeping over him.

"Uh huh," you chuckle, pleased to see your devilish plan has worked. There's nothing that makes you more happy than to see him happy too.

You reposition yourself to lie directly on top of him, his wide back providing plenty of room for you to sprawl across comfortably. And while your weight is nothing to him, his hypersensitive senses leave him extremely aware of the warmth of your body on his bare skin. He's surprised at how much he likes that feeling too, how intimate it is knowing you're so close with him. Without the barrier of his suit, everything with you seems to be so much more special. And he adores it.

Scooting up to his shoulders, you wrap your arms around his neck and snuggle your head up against the side of his face. When he brings his arm up to offer you his hand to hold, you keep one on his shoulder while grasping his long fingers with the other. He delicately caresses your wrist with his large thumb as you return the favour along the back of his hand.

Everything about this moment is pure heaven; he feels you everywhere and he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

"I love you Homelander," you whisper, kissing his temple before nuzzling back into his cheek. He gives you one last sleepy smile before he finally gives into his fatigue. He never really gets to take breaks like this, when Vought is constantly breathing down his neck. You know he deserves an uninterrupted nap right now.

And maybe in the future, he can trust you do this again.

[blackkatmagic]

Fay fic??? 👀

There's a shadow waiting for her when Fay leaves the building, lurking beneath the heavy overhang where a valet would normally be. Expected, usually welcome, but in these specific circumstances Fay halts her steps on the ornate stone, tips her chin up with something that might be defiance.

“Hello, Master Antilles,” she says evenly.

Jon looks at her for a long, long moment, half-hidden beneath the heavy drape of his cloak. Then, precise, he inclines his head and says, raspy like he hasn’t spoken in a while, “Master Fay. Should I see to the body?”

“The man,” Fay corrects without mercy, for herself or for the man she just walked away from. She left a man behind her. Hopefully a man who will make better choices this time. He’ll at least make different ones. She made sure of that.

Jon inclines his head, accepting that. He doesn’t say anything, still waiting for the answer, and Fay breathes out, closes her eyes for a moment.

She didn’t want to get involved in any of this. She didn’t want to come back to Coruscant, or set foot in the Core again as long as she lived. She doesn’t even want to live, particularly. It’s been so long, and now—

Now the Force is as loud and disturbed as it’s ever been, and if there was a chance for her to lay down her duty and rest before this, it’s vanished into the ether along with the peace of the galaxy.

“Please,” she finally says, precise. Jon is deeply embedded in all the shadows of the Republic, with contacts everywhere. If anyone can hide a person, it’s him. “Make sure he won't be found, and that he has the resources to start a good life. Somewhere peaceful, preferably.”

Jon nods, just once. “Do you want to know where?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t particularly care,” Fay says. It’s not her business now. She gave the man a chance to be someone new, someone better. Someone without the blood of children on his hands.

Anakin Skywalker is no more. What the man who used to be him does now is none of her concern unless he starts killing innocents again.

[cece693]

you wrote about the mad hatter so well... i don't want to overwhelm you, obviously, but i would love a 2nd part!! and maybe in the future you can write some smut scenario with him? 😶‍🌫️

You're Not Crazy Pt. 2 (The Mad Hatter x M! Reader)

Here's the second part :) I'm iffy on writing smut for the Hatter since he's so childlike and I think he wouldn't go that far with someone, he probably finds kissing pleasurable enough, but who knows. I'll probably end up doing it 🤷‍♀️

tags: angst, happy ending, the reader tries to say goodbye, mentions of Alice, the reader is an idiot, but redeems himself

The Hatter's words stung, but you couldn't stay with him. You didn’t belong to Wonderland, as much as you envisioned yourself adapting to the world. You didn’t share its whimsical madness, its strange logic that defied all reason. You loved its colors, its characters—especially him—but deep down, you felt like an outsider playing pretend in a place that wasn’t truly yours.

So, you left.

Back in the real world, everything felt strangely muted. The once-familiar streets seemed dull and lifeless, lacking the vibrancy of Wonderland. Your sister Alice noticed your somber mood almost immediately. She’d seen you come back looking tired or perplexed before, but never like this. It was as if the life was sucked out of you; You weren’t yourself. She knew something big must've happened to put you in such a state.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the room, Alice found you sitting by the window, staring off into the distance. She approached quietly, her voice soft. “You’ve been awfully quiet since you got back. What happened in Wonderland?"

You hesitated, the words sat heavily on your tongue, reluctant to be spoken. How could you even begin to describe what had transpired in Wonderland? The way the air had seemed to still when the Hatter looked at you with those wild eyes, the hurt lurking behind his laughter? But after a moment, you sighed and decided to open up, knowing Alice would pester you otherwise.

“The Hatter…he told me to leave. He said I should return home. So, I did.”

Alice watched you carefully, her brow furrowed with concern. “But why would he say that?” she asked softly. She knew the Hatter was eccentric and unpredictable, but she had seen how he looked at you, how his eyes lit up whenever you were near.

You shook your head, frustration mixing with the ache in your chest. “I don’t know.” you admitted, though it wasn’t entirely true. “I think…I think he was afraid. Afraid I’d leave on my own someday, find something more important than him.” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your fists to steady yourself. “He wanted to push me away before I could do it to him.”

Alice remained silent for a moment, her expression softening as she pieced together what you weren’t saying. “So, you just left because he told you to?” she asked, not accusingly but with a kind of gentle reproach. “Without telling him how you felt?”

You looked down, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. “I thought it was what he wanted.” you murmured. “I didn’t want to hurt him more by staying. But leaving…it felt wrong, too. It still does.”

Alice reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You men and your pride,” she said with a soft chuckle. “You’re both acting like fools. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled, patient and knowing. “I mean that sometimes, people say things they don’t mean because they’re scared of being hurt. The Hatter’s a complicated man, but he’s not so different from anyone else in that way. You need to go back and talk to him. Really talk to him. Otherwise, you’ll never know what could’ve been.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with the doubts and hopes that had been churning inside you since you left. She was right—you couldn’t leave things like this, with both of you hiding behind unspoken fears. You had to face it, face him, and figure out what you truly wanted.

Returning to Wonderland was like stepping back into a dream, one that you’d missed desperately in your time away. The colors were brighter, the sounds sharper, yet everything felt strangely muted by the tension in your chest. As you made your way back to the tea party clearing, you could feel your heart pounding harder with every step, a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

When you arrived, you found the Hatter sitting at his usual spot at the head of the long, cluttered table. He was hunched over, a hat perched lopsided on his head, his fingers busy stitching a ribbon that looked like it was fraying at the ends. His back was to you, but the moment he heard your footsteps crunching on the gravel, he stiffened ever so slightly.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he said, his tone light and airy, but you could hear the strain in it—like a string pulled too tight. “Come to say a proper goodbye?”

You took a deep breath, stepping closer, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on your shoulders. “Yes, but I want to do it right. I don't want to leave with things unresolved between us."

The Hatter turned to face you slowly, his usual mad grin stretching across his face, but it was different this time. His eyes, usually bright and wild, were shadowed, clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. “Well then,” he said, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a broken sigh, “goodbye it is! Off you go, then! Don’t let the rabbit hole hit you on the way out!”

Without thinking, you reached out and pulled him into a hug. His body went rigid at first, as if he didn’t know how to react. You could feel his rapid breaths against your chest, hear the hitch in his throat as he struggled to keep up the façade. Then, slowly, he softened, his arms coming up to clutch at your back, holding you as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, his voice cracking, caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Why are you making this so hard?”

“Because I don’t want to leave you,” you confessed, your voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t know how to stay when I feel like I don’t belong here.”

The Hatter pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You do belong. To me, you do.”

His words pierced through you, breaking down the last of your defenses. You thought you had made up your mind to leave, to return to the real world where everything made sense, where things followed rules. But in that moment, nothing made sense without him.

You stepped back, letting go of him even though it hurt. “Goodbye, Hatter.” you said softly, turning away. “I’ll miss you.”

As you started up the path that would take you back home, every step felt like dragging a weight behind you. You reached the midway point, the fork in the path where one route would lead you back to reality. You paused, your heart aching with each second that passed. You glanced back, your breath catching in your throat when you saw him still standing there, watching you leave with a look of pure devastation.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t leave him like this.

Turning on your heel, you sprinted back down the path, the wind whipping against your face as you ran. You didn’t stop until you were right in front of him again. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting to ask something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, pouring all the emotion you’d been holding back into that kiss—your fear, your love, your need to stay.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he stared at you, his eyes wide and searching. “You…you came back?”

“I did,” you said, smiling through the tears in your eyes. “If you’ll have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he looked as if he didn’t believe you, his gaze darting over your face as if trying to find some hint of doubt or hesitation. But then his lips slowly curved into a smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed! And we shall have tea every day, and perhaps cake, and perhaps something more delightful!”

You laughed, a lightness settling over you that you hadn’t felt in days. “Sounds like a plan.”

[child0feden]

RAINY DAYS

- just sharing a little thought i had whilst it rained today!

pelle would probably really like the rain, he does not so much like being in the rain because i think he would get slightly irritated at the feeling of his denim jeans sticking to his already cold and pale skin but inside the house? he likes it a whole lot

he likes cuddling up with you when it rains, big spooning you from the side so that his eyes can stare out of the one small window in your shared bedroom, his blue eyes reflecting the image of small water droplets rapidly hitting the glass and trickling down as his cold hands trace your hips, not helping much to warm you up but you do not say anything, you just let him rest and push your body further into his front, trying to create some body warmth which works well enough… occasionally his blue eyes will drift away from the window and down to your resting face, watching as your nose twitches lightly in your sleep or your soft lips part to breathe, admiring you in your most vulnerable and serene state, watching as the orange, fiery glow from a nearby pine scented candle lights up your face in the dark room…

rain often helps him fall asleep, helped even more by the feeling of your body pressed up against his, the sound of steady water drops hitting the roof and glass windows soothing his mind and clearing it almost entirely of the fog that lurks, his hand grabbing yours and holding it tightly as his tired eyes droop and he buries his pale face further into your neck from behind, his chin still resting just atop your shoulder as your warm fingers draw soft circles on the back of his cold hand

when it rains, pelle does not really like to do much except relax the best he know how and admire the cold, gloomy weather… to him, it is not gloomy or even depressing as it may be to some, pelle finds it to be so beyond relaxing and calming! it is one of the few things aside from you that helps soothe his mind, put his mind to rest for just a while…

pelle just likes to sit and watch the rain with you, listen to it as it falls from the pale sky as if it is natural music to his ears, the softest and most beautiful music he thinks he will ever hear and it inspires him, it inspires him to make art or write lyrics, doodling randomly at his desk as shadowy rain drops are reflected onto the paper through the window

and when the rain stops, pelle is the first one out of the house, looking at you blankly for a couple seconds before leaving without a jacket, as if silently telling you to follow him, which you do! though he does not do anything crazy outside, no, pelle just stands and breathes through his nose… tilting his head back ever so slightly, long blonde hair draped over his face as he inhales quietly, breathing in the fresh dewey air and the signature smell of rain… he might purposely walk through or even stand still in some murky water puddles, staring down at his rippled reflection before walking off to another one and doing the same, not caring in the slightest about the water now soaking through his shoes and dampening his cotton socks… you think it might be some kind of childlike wonder still in pelle, some kind of playfulness and curiosity very obviously still left inside the man that so many claim to be heartless and cold…

you will probably have to convince him to just put a damn jacket on as he walks around the front of the house, not wanting his weak immune system to fall victim to a nasty cold, he will probably comply if just to please you! and when you finally wrangle him inside, he certainly will not say no to you making him a nice hot drink, his tall and lanky stature standing in the kitchen and watching you as you make the drink for him, watching you with a gaze many would assume to be blank and uncaring but you can see more than that, anyone could see more than that if they really looked…

anyways, it just kind of came to me whilst it was raining today! still love sharing my random little thoughts and always remember, i welcome your thoughts into my ask box with open arms :)

[fanficshiddles]

Eternally Mine, Chapter 70

‘We have an issue.’ Severus announced when he walked into the teachers lounge first thing in the morning.

‘When do we ever not have an issue?’ Loki grumbled, running a hand down his face. ‘What is it this time?’ He asked reluctantly.

‘There are two hunters lurking around outside the school, just down the road. A couple of students have reported them. I’ve called Toshi, she’s keeping an eye on them and scouting the area for more.’

‘Shit.’ Loki stood up abruptly and ran a hand through his hair.

‘What do we do?’ Claire asked, worriedly.

‘Should we call Chris?’ Jessica asked.

‘The day after Lou’s op? I’d rather take on the hunters myself than face Chris’ wrath for disturbing him today.’ David commented.

‘David’s right. We can deal with this.’ Severus muttered.

‘What op? I thought Chris was just taking vacation days?’ Hannibal butted in.

‘None of your business.’ Loki snapped.

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at him. ‘What happened to us being on good terms again?’

Loki just glared at him and didn’t respond.

‘Should we cancel classes?’ David asked.

‘I’m not sure.’ Loki frowned and began pacing back and fore while thinking.

Severus’ phone rang, it was Toshi. He answered and then handed his phone over to Loki. ‘She wants to talk to you.’

‘Hey, Toshi. What’s going on?’

‘There are two hunters out the front, down the street a bit. They don’t seem to be interacting with any students or anyone for that matter, they seem to just be hanging out. I’ve done a scout around of the school and there doesn’t seem to be anymore around. I have a feeling they’re staking out the place just now, but I don’t know what for. It is worrying me.’

‘It’s worrying me too. I wonder if they know that Chris isn’t in today, thinking we are weaker without him right now.’ Loki hummed.

‘Perhaps. I think you should have an assembly all day, have all the students safely in one place. So, you can all be prepared and able to protect them easier. If that’s possible to do?’ Toshi asked.

‘I’ll make it work.’ Loki agreed.

He handed the phone back to Severus, who chatted for a little bit longer with Toshi.

‘Are we sure that Toshi is actually on our side?’ Hannibal grumbled.

‘Are you seriously going there right now?’ Jessica snapped at him.

Hannibal smirked. ‘I’m just saying.’

‘Well don’t.’ Severus barked at him after hanging up the phone.

Hannibal went quiet, but still had a little smarmy smirk plastered on his face.

‘David, Severus, can you two go outside to the gates and make sure the students all get in safely? Jessica, can you be on the door and tell all students to go straight to the hall for an all-day assembly. The rest of you, round up any students that are already in. Once everyone is here, we will lock the gates and doors. Matt, will you be able to be on watch at the door for any late students?’

‘If it means I get to skip out on you droning on all morning in assembly, absolutely.’ Matt said cheekily.

Loki rolled his eyes, then everyone headed out to get started.

‘For the record, I’m looking forward to you droning on all morning.’ Claire said quietly to Loki as they made their way to the hall.

He chuckled and bent over to kiss her on the lips. ‘I appreciate that, love.’

‘Are you worried about what the hunters are up to?’ She asked.

‘I am.’ Loki said honestly. ‘But we will be fine, we’ll protect you and the students.’

‘I know you will.’ Claire smiled and put her arms around him, though she still had nerves in her stomach over the situation.

The students were a bit confused about the last-minute assembly, an all day one too. Though the vampire students had a rough idea what was going on. Loki managed to get some topics to talk about to keep everyone occupied.

The teachers were all on edge. Olivia kept an eye out the window, looking out towards the gate. She could see Toshi on the roof at the opposite side of the playground, where she was keeping an eye out too.

Not long after the morning break, Olivia saw the two hunters suddenly climb easily over the gate. Toshi was on them quickly though, but then three more hunters appeared and also scaled the gate with ease.

Olivia quickly began to close the blinds so the students wouldn’t see, trying not to seem panicked. Spencer clicked on too and helped close them.

Loki’s eyes widened as he saw what was going on, but he kept as calm as he could while Severus, Hannibal and Jessica left the hall.

Matt was already running outside when he saw Toshi jumping into action. Hannibal and Jessica ran out after him too.

Toshi had managed to kill one of the hunters with a slit to his throat with her knife, she was fighting another one when the three other hunters started to approach her. One of them aiming his gun right at her, his finger so close to pulling the trigger.

But everyone was surprised when Hannibal suddenly charged full speed towards the hunters, right past Matt, and in such a fast flurry he slammed one to the ground and stood on his chest, caving it in and killing him. Then he pounced on the second one and tore into his shoulder, the hunter cried out in agony as he collapsed to the ground and bled out.

The last hunter standing, fumbled with his gun, thankfully not managing to fire it before Hannibal was on him too and took him out by biting deep into his neck. Blood spurted out everywhere, covering Hannibal in dark red blood all over his white shirt.

Jessica, Matt, Severus and Toshi were a bit stunned at seeing Hannibal take on three of them like that so fast. They said nothing, just stared at Hannibal while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chest heaving as he calmed down and his fangs retracted.

‘What the hell was that?’ Matt blurted out.

Hannibal looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘That!’ Matt said as he motioned to him. ‘Since when did you get that fast?’

Hannibal shrugged, hiding the smirk on his face as he rolled his sleeves up his forearms.

‘We need a scan of the area, see if there’s anymore. And we need to get these bodies gone before lunch time. I think we need to send the kids home.’ Jessica said firmly as she tried to ignore the fact that Hannibal seemed to be a lot faster and stronger than he used to be.

Severus checked on Toshi, he cupped her face and kissed her forehead. ‘Are you alright, love?’

‘I’m good… I was a little worried when the other three appeared there. They must have been in hiding close by.’ She hissed angrily.

‘I’ll do a fly around and check.’ Matt said, then he turned into a bat and flew up high to get a good look over the area.

‘I’ll get these bodies sorted. Why don’t you all go back inside and tell Loki what’s going on. I can’t let the students see me like this anyway.’ Hannibal chuckled as he motioned to his shirt.

Severus nodded once at him, he didn’t know what to say. Neither did Toshi or Jessica.

‘You’re welcome, by the way.’ Hannibal grinned and looked at Toshi.

Toshi raised an eyebrow at him. She still didn’t trust him, but he did just help save the school. And helped her out, after all. Though she would never trust him.

‘Thanks.’ She muttered bitterly, but said nothing else as she went inside with Severus and Jessica.

Inside, the students were all suspicious about what was going on with the blinds being closed and some of the teachers rushing out of the hall. Loki told them all to talk quietly amongst themselves for a little while.

Loki and Spencer stepped outside while Claire, Olivia and David remained in the hall to keep an eye over the students.

‘What the fuck was going on with Hannibal there? That was more terrifying than the hunters being here.’ Jessica said.

‘He took out three himself?’ Loki’s eyebrows shot up.

‘So fast, too. He’s a lot stronger than he used to be, he’s been training or something, that’s for sure.’ Matt muttered.

‘That is worrying.’ Loki frowned.

‘We need to get everyone home. I didn’t see anymore hunters nearby, but you never know.’ Matt said.

Loki nodded in agreement. ‘Trust this to happen when Chris is off.’ He sighed.

‘He’s going to be raging when he hears about another attack on the school.’ Toshi said as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘He probably knows already, I know he checks in on the security cameras regularly.’ Severus hummed.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’ Loki nodded.

‘I’ll go round and speak to him at the end of the day, once all the students are away safely.’ Toshi offered.

‘I’ll come with you.’ Severus said as he squeezed her shoulder.

Toshi smiled up at him and leaned into him.

‘Let’s get these kids home then.’ Loki sighed and turned on his heels to go back into the hall.

-

‘How’s Lou doing?’ Loki asked as Claire came back into the living room after being on the phone to her sister.

‘She’s doing good. Resting up. Well, she has no option as Chris isn’t letting her move an inch without being under his watchful eye.’ She laughed and crawled onto the sofa with Loki.

Loki chuckled as she lay down with her head on his lap. He started trailing his fingers through her hair while his other hand rested on her stomach, she put her hands over his.

‘That’s good to hear, at least she can take it easy having him there to look after her.’ Loki smiled.

‘Exactly. I think she actually loves it, she just doesn’t want to admit it outright.’ Claire laughed. ‘Though she said he almost had a heart attack when he found her trying to get out of bed herself to go to the toilet.’

Loki laughed again. ‘Maybe he is a bit overbearing.’

‘Sounds like he’s just completely fawning over her and loving on her way more after realising how much she trusts him, with making him her next of kin.’

Loki nodded. ‘I think for Chris being how he is, well how he used to be, having someone trust him so much like that is a lot. I know he still struggles with thinking he’s a monster.’

‘His confusion and then realisation at the hospital was so cute.’ Claire smiled.

Loki raised an eyebrow. ‘You calling another guy cute?’ He asked teasingly and slid his hand under her top to tickle her stomach, making her squeak and laugh.

‘In a family way, don’t worry.’ She screeched through laughter at him.

Loki chuckled and stopped tickling her, though he kept trailing his fingers along her abdomen lightly while still stroking her hair. Making her feel floaty, his touch still made her body tingle. Even after all this time.

‘Are you ok after today?’ Claire asked, reaching up to stroke his face.

Loki smiled and leaned into her hand. ‘I am. I’m concerned about Hannibal getting stronger, or more why he’s doing that.’ He hummed.

‘Yeah, that is really strange. I mean, it’s good that he helped out. But… it is a bit scary.’ Claire sighed.

‘It is indeed.’ Loki nodded.

Loki brought his hand from her stomach up to stroke her cheek. She then had a little cheeky glint in her eye as she munched on his hand.

‘You’re not a vampire yet, love.’ Loki said as he burst out laughing.

She shrugged and nibbled on his hand. ‘Still tasty.’

‘I know something else you can taste instead if you want.’ Loki teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

‘Mmmm… only if you have a bite to eat, too?’ She smirked at him and reached up to shove her fingers in his mouth, making him laugh more as she felt around looking for his fangs. He obliged and she squeaked when she felt his sharp teeth emerging.

‘Shoving your fingers in my mouth like that should not be a turn on… but it most definitely is.’ He growled deep and tugged at her hair.

‘Bed time?’ She asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

‘Bed time.’ Loki agreed.

[teddymoon06]

Desperate measures

Title: Desperate Measures

Y/N’s POV

The air inside the base was stifling. Every day seemed to drag on, the threat of monsters lurking outside and the tension among the survivors gnawing at my nerves. I knew Kang Seok-chan didn’t trust many people, least of all me, but in a world like this, trust was a luxury few could afford.

Seok-chan was always one of the strongest among us, not just physically but mentally. He kept his distance, rarely showing any emotions. But I had caught glimpses of him watching over the group, his eyes calculating, always planning.

Lately, though, the pressure had been mounting. Resources were running low, and arguments between the survivors were becoming more frequent. It was only a matter of time before something snapped.

And that’s exactly what happened tonight.

A fight broke out between two of the residents over a measly can of food, and that’s when I decided I needed a break from it all. The chaos, the fear, the constant threat of death—I just needed to clear my head. I thought about sneaking out quietly, slipping past the guards, just to get some fresh air.

So I did.

The night was cold, the wind biting at my skin as I moved through the ruins outside the base. I hadn’t gone far, just far enough to escape the noise. But the dark streets carried their own dangers. The sounds of monsters echoed faintly in the distance, sending a shiver down my spine.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t be out for long, that I’d head back before anyone even noticed I was gone. But, deep down, I knew this was reckless. I just didn’t care at that moment.

Kang Seok-chan’s POV

"Where is she?"

The words left my mouth, cold and controlled, but the rising panic underneath my calm exterior was impossible to ignore.

I stood in the main hall, my eyes narrowing as the residents fidgeted nervously. They didn’t have to say anything; I could already sense something was wrong.

One of the residents stepped forward cautiously. "Y/N… she’s not here."

I cursed under my breath. I had been keeping an eye on you, always from a distance, always making sure you stayed safe. This world was too dangerous to take unnecessary risks, and you had just gone and done exactly that.

"How long?" I asked sharply, trying to rein in the frustration building in my chest.

"A while," they answered nervously. "No one saw her leave."

Of course, no one had seen you leave. You were good at slipping away, even when I thought I was watching you closely. But now, you were out there, alone, with monsters prowling the streets. And I couldn’t let that slide.

Without wasting any more time, I grabbed my gear, not bothering to explain myself to anyone. They knew better than to question me when I had that look in my eyes. I was going after you, and I’d bring you back.

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t go far—at least, that’s what I told myself. But the further I walked, the more disoriented I became. The streets all looked the same, the crumbling buildings casting long shadows in the moonlight.

I felt a chill run down my spine, and not from the cold. There was something out there, lurking just out of sight. I could feel it.

The sudden snap of a twig behind me made my blood run cold. My heart leaped into my throat as I spun around, my breath catching in my chest. For a moment, I saw nothing but darkness, but then my eyes adjusted. In the distance, barely visible, a monstrous figure moved, its grotesque body shifting unnaturally in the dim light.

Panic surged through me, and I did the only thing I could think of—I ran.

The streets blurred as I sprinted, my footsteps echoing through the empty city. I didn’t know where I was going; I just knew I had to get away. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but the sound of the monster’s growls behind me kept me moving.

Suddenly, I stumbled over a piece of rubble, crashing to the ground. Pain shot through my ankle, but I bit back the scream threatening to escape my throat. I had to stay quiet. If I made too much noise, it would find me.

I scrambled to my feet, limping forward, the sound of my heartbeat loud in my ears. I had to keep moving. I couldn’t stay here.

Kang Seok-chan’s POV

I moved through the streets with purpose, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of you. Every noise, every distant growl set me on edge, but I pushed it aside. The only thing that mattered was finding you and getting you back to the base.

Why did you always have to make things so difficult? I wasn’t blind to the way you felt trapped inside those walls. I had seen it in your eyes, the way you looked out at the world beyond, like you were craving some kind of escape. But this wasn’t the time for that. Not in a world like this.

A part of me was furious with you. Furious that you had put yourself in danger, that you had made me feel like this—worried, scared, angry. I wasn’t supposed to care this much. I had sworn not to let anyone in, not after everything that had happened.

But here I was, running through the streets, trying to save you.

As I rounded the corner, I spotted something in the distance—movement. My heart raced, and I crouched low, my grip tightening on the weapon in my hands. For a moment, I thought it might be one of the monsters, but then I saw you.

You were limping, your face pale with fear, your eyes darting around as you struggled to move forward.

I felt a surge of relief so intense it almost knocked me off balance. But that relief was short-lived when I noticed what was following you—a monster, its grotesque form closing in fast.

Without thinking, I ran.

Y/N’s POV

The growls were getting louder. I could feel the monster getting closer, the terror building inside me with every step. I was trying to move faster, but the pain in my ankle was too much.

Just as I thought it was over, a figure appeared out of nowhere.

"Kang Seok-chan?"

He moved so fast, his presence so commanding, that I could hardly process it. One moment, I was on the verge of being caught, and the next, he was there, his weapon raised, his expression hard and determined.

The monster lunged at him, but Seok-chan didn’t flinch. With a swift, practiced motion, he struck, taking it down with brutal efficiency. It fell to the ground with a sickening thud, and the world around me went silent.

For a moment, I just stared, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my mind trying to catch up with what had just happened. Then Seok-chan turned to me, his eyes blazing with fury.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. I had no excuse, no explanation that could justify what I had done. I had put myself in danger, and worse, I had dragged him into it.

"I—" I started, but he cut me off, his voice low and dangerous.

"You could have been killed." He stepped closer, his eyes locking with mine. "Do you even realize how close that was?"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I couldn’t hold back the tears that welled up in my eyes. "I’m sorry," I whispered. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Save it," he snapped, his voice cold. "We’re getting out of here. Now."

Kang Seok-chan’s POV

You were crying. I hated it. I hated seeing you like this—scared, vulnerable. But more than that, I hated the way it made me feel.

I was supposed to be angry. I was supposed to be furious with you for leaving the base, for putting yourself in danger. But all I could think about was how terrified you looked, how close you had come to dying.

I wanted to yell at you, to tell you how reckless you had been. But instead, I found myself reaching out, pulling you into my arms.

You didn’t resist. You just stood there, trembling, your face pressed against my chest. I could feel your heartbeat, fast and unsteady, and it took everything in me not to lose my composure.

"Don’t ever do that again," I whispered, my voice harsh but soft at the same time. "I can’t protect you if you keep running off like this."

You nodded against my chest, your hands clutching at my shirt like you were afraid I’d disappear. "I won’t," you whispered back, your voice barely audible. "I promise."

For a moment, we just stood there, the world around us fading into the background. It was only the two of us, standing in the middle of the ruined city, holding onto each other like it was the only thing keeping us alive.

Then, slowly, I let you go.

"Come on," I said, my voice rough as I tried to regain control of my emotions. "We need to get back to the base before

[zeroducks-2]

Something about your possessive alpha Eobard is really lovely. Like I could imagine him taking every opportunity to press a hand to Barry’s stomach even if they’re fighting because to him it’s inevitable that Barry will be his and carry his pup.

Definitely. And it scares the shit out of Barry because he knows what it means, and he knows that if one day he's alone and in heat in his nest, it's not like anyone is going to be able to stop Eobard from slipping right in.

You can have the snippet of something I was writing a while go, a little tweaked for the occasion :)

They had been chasing each other without exchanging even one blow. After all the speedster in yellow was not doing anything, not actively anyway, just started running the moment Barry had approached him. Which was fine. Barry gets an uneasy feeling in the pitch of his belly knowing that the Reverse Flash lurks around his pups, and Ace and Avery are not quite fast enough to notice him yet.

Barry calls to him, tries to cut his routes. And the more they run the more uneasy he feels, like he's missing something obvious, like wanting to get his hands on Thawne to make him stop is superfluous, he should already know why his Reverse was there. And eventually Thawne does stop, or rather spins on his heels so abruptly that it takes Barry a moment too long to redirect himself and counter.

He gets unceremoniously slammed into a wall and has to quell his instinct to retaliate and blast the hulking Alpha off of himself; that would definitely cause too much damage, and Barry has the other where he wants him after all. Not running, close enough to talk.

«Why were you there?» He doesn't really hide a snarl from his voice, still reminding himself to not fight back and not escalate. «What do you want with my pack?»

There's a strangely somber expression on the other speedster's face. He doesn't show fangs or respond with a snarl of his own, instead leans down and sort of bumps the sides of their heads together, rumbling quietly while pressing a palm to Barry's lower stomach. He's so surprised he doesn't keep a startled peep.

They're in a lane in the middle of Central City. The wall Barry is pressing against belongs to a restaurant full of people. On the other side of the lane there are shops. Thawne is effectively holding the area hostage because if Barry fights back, the risk of casualties is too high.

«Your mate seems to be neglecting you.» Thawne comments with a hum, but all Barry can think of is how he just cornered himself like a pup. He needs to find an opening and get the hell away from there.

«I want nothing with your pack, Barry.» Eobard adds, discreetly smelling the crook of his neck. His skin is warmer than normal and there's an overly sweet undertone to his normally mild, comforting scent. And his belly is tense, muscles taut like with faint heat cramps, but maybe it's just that the jittery little thing really wants to bolt. «I was watching you, not them.»

He slowly pulls back, taking both his hands off but possessively pressing his nose to the side of Barry's head in the process, a growl bubbling in the pit of his chest as he catches more sweet notes. «Go home. Get to your nest.» He reluctantly lets go, but at least the message seems to have gotten across given the concerned, wide look on Barry's face. «You're nearing pre-heat, and that pup you keep around has gawked at you even too much for today.»

He's stared at for another beat, then Barry's expression morphs into a scowl right before he books it, most likely running all the way back home.

[mod-jazzy]

What’s been going on, a summary

Hello everyone I have finally decided to speak about something that’s been happening with me lately.

I’m tired of scooting around it and being vague.

For nearly the past two years, I’ve had a stalker. Stalking my blogs, what I say in public servers, what I say on other websites, etc etc.

I left servers over them, i even gave up servers I used to run because of this.

I often turn off my ask boxes and DMs at random to avoid getting harassed further or to attempt to “stop it” for a short amount of time. Just for a moment of peace.

Earlier this year I left all servers and whatnot after receiving a threat of doxxing me. I got afraid and stressed so I just left without saying why. I cut off social contact for the most part without saying why. I was scared and stressed and overwhelmed by it all.

But yesterday, after getting a onslaught of messages spread across my blogs. I was in fact, doxxed and received several threats on my partners life.

We are fine however. My partner is fine and I am fine (as I can be given the circumstances). I just wanted to state that, we are fine.

We have support and are dealing with it behind the scenes. We are fine aside from me being (reasonably) a bit emotional over it.

I do not know who the individual is. I’m primarily harassed and sent threats via anon or burner accounts. So, it’s led to me being quite paranoid around people and what I say and do.

Hence why I left servers and why I don’t talk to anyone anymore. It’s made me paranoid and afraid. Because I just! Do not know who. I just don’t know.

I don’t know what I even did to this person. I don’t know why they haven’t chosen to just block me if they don’t like me. I don’t get it and I’m tired of trying to reason with them or understand.

So. As of now.

All my inboxes are closed to asks for the time being. As well as making my DMs to be “mutuals only” since there isn’t entirely a “close DMs” option.

They won’t be closed forever and I do still plan on answering any asks/interactions I’ve already gotten. I just am keeping everything closed for a bit. I am merely trying to limit how much they can harass me for the time being. I hope you all understand.

So that’s, what’s been happening with me.

I’ve been trying to avoid speaking publicly out of fear of being doxxed, but that happened anyways.

So I don’t know what’ll happen after me posting this, if it’ll get worse or not. Whatever happens, happens I suppose.

Again, I want to reiterate that my partner and I are fine. We are dealing with it and handling it behind the scenes.

I’m just, speaking publicly about it now to explain my rather, erratic behavior over the past year.

Sorry for the long and sudden serious post, but after discussing it with others, we think that maybe me posting about it publicly will help.

Again, apologies for dropping this suddenly, just unsure on what else to do here.

I’ll still be around, lurking and quietly working on content. But I’m just going to have my asks/DMs mostly turned off to hinder the amount of harassment I can get for the time being.

— —

TLDR: I have a stalker, they doxxed me and sent specific threats on my partners life. If I close my askboxes and whatnot, it’s to attempt to avoid further harassment

[adhdnursegoat]

Premiere!

The first three chapters of The Edge of Us are posted to Ao3! I hope you enjoy! Chapter 1/the prologue can be found below. See link to full work at the bottom!

Enjoy, goats/kids!

The funny thing about power…once you’ve tasted it, it’s the only flavor worth craving.

Gotham: the city that feeds off its own decay. 

To the average mind, it’s just a place of misfortune, filth, and bad timing—a battleground where the worst parts of humanity crawl out from under the rocks to have their day. 

But it’s more than that, isn’t it? 

The world is rotten, but Gotham? Gotham perfects it. This city doesn’t just wear its grime; it drapes itself in it, revels in the stink. Criminals here don’t bother with masks, and the so-called “heroes” don’t look much different than the scum they claim to fight. They’re all actors in a play nobody wanted tickets to, shuffling through their parts, pretending the whole time that it’s something worth fighting for…

Citizens stumble over the cracks in the pavement, breathing in fumes that would choke anyone with a shred of sense. They shuffle through the streets, heads down, eyes half-open, thinking they’re safe if they don’t look too hard. They’re sheep, scurrying through a city that’s sick to its core, all the while the ones at the top keep them under their thumb, pulling their strings like marionettes. They don’t notice a thing. To them, this is just another day in Gotham—a little rough around the edges, sure, but manageable if they keep their heads down and stick to their petty routines.

The poison in the air, the rot spreading through every corner—it’s not just the smell of the streets, it’s in the people, too. They’d rather breathe in the stench of corruption than acknowledge what’s been rotting under their feet for decades. They don’t care, not really, so long as the dirt and decay stay beneath the surface, so long as the ugly truth doesn’t disrupt their comfortable numbness. They’ll let Gotham crumble, brick by brick, piece by piece, from the inside out, so long as it happens quietly. It’s easier that way.

Maybe they’re too far gone to see it. Maybe they’re just afraid to look.

But that’s the tragedy of this city, isn’t it? The more it rots, the deeper its citizens bury their heads in the sand. Denial is their coping mechanism, their security blanket against the truth, and they wrap themselves in it tighter every day. Even as the city darkens, they cling to the idea that nothing’s wrong, that this is just Gotham’s way. The cracks in the concrete, the garbage piling up in alleyways, the shadows encroaching—they treat it all like background noise, scenery in the theater of their denial.

And if that wasn’t absurd enough, now there’s a man jumping off buildings in a costume, dishing out his brand of justice from behind a mask. A bat in the night, lurking on rooftops, swooping down with his fists and his gadgets, as if he’s the answer Gotham has been waiting for. A vigilante, a judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one, convinced he can set right what’s broken. Self-appointed justice wrapped in Kevlar and rubber, clinging to the belief that he’s some force for change, that he’s somehow better than the criminals he hunts.

But what does he know about change? About Gotham’s sickness, the filth embedded so deeply it’s woven into the foundation of every skyscraper? He thinks he’s making a difference by leaving broken jaws and bruises in his wake, but all he’s doing is treating symptoms, like bandaids on bullet wounds. 

And the people? 

Oh, they eat it up. 

Some love him. 

Some hate him. 

Either way, they are talking about him.

The silent victims wallow in desperation for a hero, for a savior in the dark, someone to make them feel safe without ever asking them to confront what they’re really hiding from. They don’t realize that a man in a mask can’t save a city like Gotham. It’s too far gone for that, too used to its own decay. Maybe they’d understand that if they’d take a real look at the city around them, if they peeled back the wallpaper to see the termite infested structure, if they treated the sepsis festering in their police department and city hall. But they won’t. Because they’d rather believe in a fairy tale, in a hero with wings who can swoop down and make everything right without asking anything to change.

 Ridiculous. 

If he’s being honest, he can appreciate the nerve. At least someone’s trying to push against the status quo, to make this city something other than the mess it is.

He respects the attempt.

But he could do it better.

And it eats at him, you know? 

This knowledge that he could be so much more, that he could do so much more if he weren’t confined to this box, locked in with these idiots who think they’re saving Gotham one speeding and parking ticket at a time. These police, they’re as blind as the criminals they chase, running circles around each other and getting nowhere. It’s a cycle, a routine as dead as the city they claim to protect. 

And he? 

He’s trapped here, forced to watch from the sidelines as they flounder, the only one who sees the truth, the only one with the intelligence and balls to think independently.

There’s a part of him—dark, simmering, waiting—that knows he’s meant for more. He is born to change things, to show Gotham what it could be if it weren’t burdened by the inept and corrupt. Yet here he is, cursed to work in shadows, unrecognized, unappreciated, his potential wasted in a city that wouldn’t know brilliance even if it had a bright, green, neon sign. And sometimes, he wonders if Gotham even deserves saving. This city, these corrupt officials, the police, these pathetic citizens who live with the sickness festering in front of them—they must be enlightened. Stripped of their illusions, their petty routines, rebuilt from the ground up by someone who understands.

But the problem with Gotham? 

It’s too used to its own stench to even try changing. 

Who is he, in all this filth, to try and show them the way? 

He’s a reluctant ghost in their midst, a man asking questions no one dares to ask, a man with answers they don’t even know they need, a man with a mind sharper than any weapon in this city, reduced to sitting in the dark, waiting for someone—anyone—to notice.

They’d call it desperation. 

He calls it purpose. 

And it’s this purpose that sets him apart from them, this knowledge that he can be more, that he should be more. He doesn’t need a cape or a mask to be dangerous. He only needs what he’s already got: his mind, a gift he’s wasted long enough. 

He can see it now, the power of information—of knowledge.

He can feel it coming, a change in the air, a hum of something new. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, this shift that seems to hover just out of sight, a challenge on the horizon waiting to be met. A curiosity lurking in the corners of his mind. He’s close, he can feel it, standing on the edge of something inevitable, something transformative. He’s about to be seen. He will be more.

I will be more.

Full work on Ao3 here!

[reulaux]

Yue Qi rescued Shen Jiu before getting Xuan Su AU

Why does Yue Qi need Xuan Su to go rescue Xiao Jiu? Is Qiu Jianluo Tianlang jun or something? Of course not. For sneaking someone out from a group of mortals, not even fighting them head on, Yue Qi doesn't need the power to obliterate the whole house. Or if it's for revenge, he can come back later when he's a lot more powerful. It's not like the Qiu are going anywhere. The priority is Xiao Jiu's safety. The day he departed from Xiao Jiu tells him enough how gruesome staying in that house is. That's why once Yue Qi grasps the basic on how to utilise qi, he sets to rescue Shen Jiu.

Yue Qi doesn't know his shizun's thinking enough so he wouldn't risk placing hope on shizun's favour. Asking for forgiveness is easier and a more sure way than asking for permissions after all. But just in case, Yue Qi writes a note in his room saying he's going to see his family and will be back. He waits until shizun goes out to have a meeting outside the sect, then sneaks off the mountain at night. He hires a horse with his carefully saved money and speeds to the Qiu Manor.

It takes 3 days to reach the estate. He surveys the surrounding walls and guard positions. After the sun sets, he dresses in a dark robe and covers his face. He looks up the wall on the dimmest side, channels his qi and jumps up the wall. He lurks among the trees and disarms the guards one by one until he reaches the building. He asks the servants inside with a sharp little knife to their throats of the directions to the slave compartment and to Shen Jiu's room.

It's a door with many locks but he doesn't bother stealing the keys. He just doesn't want to startle Xiao Jiu inside. He hopes Xiao Jiu is inside though. If he isn't...

Never mind.

He concentrates his qi, slams the locks, and quietly opens the door.

Xiao Jiu is crouching facing him with an anxious and wary expressions.

"Xiao Jiu."

"Qi ge! You finally came!" Xiao Jiu's face lights up.

Yue Qi steps inside. "Xiao Jiu, are you injured? Can you stand?"

"I can… But it's painful. I won't be able to run far nor fast."

"Climb onto my back. I'm bigger and stronger now. I can carry you out this time." He is having a growth spurt. Good food and a better quality of sleep really do wonders. Xiao Jiu is barely bigger than when he left him though...

By the time Yue Qi is sprinting out off the building, the Qiu has noticed the intrusion. Yue Qi moves in the shadow, jumps up the wall, and darts to the horse he tied to a tree some distance away. He puts Xiao Jiu on the horse, and rides back to the sect without dawdling. The farther away from the manor, the safer Xiao Jiu is.

He slows down in the morning only to buys Xiao Jiu food, and continue until they reach the sect. He treats Xiao Jiu with oinments, cream, and bandgaes he accumulated.

And then, what?

The sect leader is likely already back, but does he cares if a disciple sneaked off? Yue Qi hasn't stayed in the sect for that long so the sect leader hasn't taken notice of his talents or devotion.

Nevertheless surely a non sect member can't stay in the sect. Can Shen Jiu hide in Yue Qi's room without anyone noticing, maybe until the discipls selection day which may be soon or a long time away?

Or will Yue Qi beg shizun to let Shen Jiu join Cang Qiong? But this time Yue Qi hasn't been an important head disciple who has a hand in defeating Tianlang jun, nor is Shen Jiu a notable person who killed Wu Yanzi and saved said head disciple's life.

But even if Shen Jiu can't stay inside the sect, Yue Qi will give Xiao Jiu money enough for him to buy food and a room in an inn until Xiao Jiu can officially join Cang Qiong. In the meantime, Yue Qi is going to visit Shen Jiu whenever he has time, teaches him reading, cultivation, and gives him books and a head start for the upcoming disciple selection day.

Surely this would be #competent Yue Qingyuan, more so than in canon.

---

I imagine if the sect leader knows when Yue Qi sneaked out off the sect maybe through a talisman, or an array imbued in Yue Qi's property, maybe the name tag that's used to pass through the sect barrier, maybe he will send some people to retrieve Yue Qi, and finds out that the Qiu has taken Yue Qi back as their slave because they remember him being another slave with Shen Jiu, and Yue Qi miscalculates, is underprepared, and is captured. And the sect is really angry someone dares to enslave their disciple so they tear down the Qiu, and Yue Qi and Shen Jiu are freed...

[snowball-doie]

yuta's room becomes the unofficial sex room of the house since its the one with all the toys and stuff in it, so i imagine the kids are generally not allowed in there just in case. of course exceptions are made when reyna decides that she needs her dad in the middle of the night but going into that room without an adult is almost always an absolute no no.

Oh you can bet money the door is locked at all times once Reyna is born. They’re not taking ANY chances. Even if he’s home, Yuta has the door locked, and Reyna knows that if she ever wants to see him while he’s inside for whatever reason, then she needs to knock or find one of her other parents- Cuz there’s physically no way for her to get inside lmao.

But in the middle of the night, when she gets a nightmare, she wants her chichi real bad, so she stumbles towards his room, rubbing her sleepy eyes. She knocks, “Chichi…..” she pouts quietly to not wake anyone up. “Chichiiiii…….” But no one’s answering the door. She huffs and goes to Johnny’s room where her mom is sleeping, “Eoma…” she shakes Ahri awake, “Eoma, can you wake chichi up? I had a nightmare.” Ahri sits up and grabs Reyna, propping her on her hip as she stands, “You okay?” Reyna sniffles and nods, “I want to cuddle with chichi.” Ahri sighs and carries Reyna back to Yuta’s room. She knocks louder and more adamantly than Reyna had, “Yuta, open up.” It takes a few min, but Yuta eventually opens up, his long red hair all tangled and sticking to his face, his eyes not even open when he mumbles, “What is it?” “Reyna had a nightmare.” Ahri hands Reyna over to Yuta. He puts her on his hip and steps out of his room, making sure Jungwoo isnt bothered by them since he’s fast asleep in Yuta’s bed after a, uh, long night of adult cuddling! “Let’s get you back in bed,” he tells his daughter in Japanese. With a kiss on Ahri’s cheek and using his free hand to pat her ass, Ahri is sent back to bed in Johnny’s room while Yuta takes Reyna back to her room. “What scared you, princess?” “The monster in my closet.” “What monster?” “The one like in that movie you and daddy were watching earlier.” Yuta sighs to himself. He and Mark thought Reyna was in her room coloring while they were watching The Babadook in the living room….. They didn’t realize she was lurking and watching, scarring her childhood. Great. “That’s just a movie, baby.” He slides Reyna into bed then cuddles up with her. “No monster’s gonna hurt you.” “Promise?” “Hai. Monsters are scared of me, remember?” Reyna nuzzles her face against Yuta’s chest. “Remember, these guys are here to protect you too…” He reaches for the stuffed animals on her bed— He had Yu and Uta plushies custom made for her. He balances them on top of Reyna’s hip, and when they fall, they both giggle and reach out for them so that Reyna can hug both Yu and Uta simultaneously while still hiding her face against Yuta’s bare chest. “But Uta isn’t scary, chichi.” “What? She’s scarier than Yu.” “Really?” “Yeah. Monsters are scared of girls ‘cause they’re so powerful and cool. So that’s why they’re scared of you more than you’re scare of them.” “But chichi and Yu will still protect me, right?” “Of course.” “Good.” Yuta smiles to himself and squeezes Reyna. At least she’s not upset anymore and can fall asleep while cuddling her dad and her two plushies.