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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 21 hours ago

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How could you love somebody like me?

Pairing: f!reader x Javier Peña Words count: 3032 Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you. Tags/warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, Javi is still a DEA agent but it's a modern setting so the man has a smartphone. Reader is described having female genitalia and breasts, no other description of her is given, she doesn't blush and her hair is not described. Mention of alcohol, mention of cheating, Javi is a cheater, no happy ending, we will go through the man's phone (you're not supposed to do that but I never said my reader could do no wrong, right?), use of pet names (gatita which means kitten in Spanish, baby, darling), smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v (do better irl), cream pie, of course a little nipple play ‘cause it’s still my fic, toxic relationship, self doubt, mention of Steve, a huge pile of lies, Javi is bad at feelings, some reader’s thoughts marked in italics. I think it's all, let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @jolapeno 's "Dear-uary" challenge. This was my prompt, I struggled a little bit at first but I ended up having a blast writing this ❤︎ Heavily inspired by this song (from which the fic also takes its title), I heard it randomly on Spotify one day and I thought "wait, this is perfect for Javi!" and I ended up being obsessed with two more songs by the same artist. LOL Many thanks to: - @aurorawritestoescape , my beta, for her help and advice, she will probably dream of elephants because of me tonight hahaha Kate I own you a big one, thanks baby so much, I love you ❤️ - The person who basically pulled this out of my brain and supported me throughout the process, my precious, my peanut @joelmillerisapunk. 🥰 Love you so much it's ridiculous🥹 - @milla-frenchy for letting me blather about this thing some days ago. Love you, bb ❤︎ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any.

Edited - because I forgot to change the most important detail, of course. I’m not myself if I’m not doing a mess. Yay. It’s okay now.

“Why the hell am I here? Was I the only available hole this week?”

“No,” he whispers.

“So what?”

Javier came back and found you in the middle of the room.

You were brandishing his phone like a sword in the air, the banner of everything that was wrong.

His face went pale when he saw you like that.

Eyes wide open.

Mouth agape.

He tried to say something but you immediately hit him with a vomit of words.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hiss under your breath, feeling your eyes sting.

Javier is a marble statue in front of you, his lips pressed together, his absent eyes not even looking at you, staring at a spot behind your shoulders, his arms abandoned along his sides.

He seems anchored to the ground.

His last words to you still burn on your skin like a fire you cannot extinguish.

A heavy silence between you fills the air of the room and makes it unbreathable.

“Fuck, Javier, talk to me,” you whisper angrily.

You clutch his phone in your hands, so tightly that your knuckles are white from exertion, as if you were clinging to it to keep yourself from falling off a cliff.

“You knew I was no good,” he says sternly.

You have been in this room for two days.

Officially, Javier has to stay here because henchmen of one of the new drug lords in town are set on taking him out.

Unofficially, he has you infiltrating the room.

Typical Javier, spending his time under protection fucking someone.

You foolishly almost believed it was romantic, until this morning.

“So you’re trying to say that it’s my fault? Is that what you want to say? It’s my fault that as soon as I turn my back you go and stick your cock in someone else's pussy?” You don’t even have the strength to scream right now. Your voice comes out rancorous but low, hoarse, like a blown growl.

Oh, you’re not going to accept being lectured by him, fuck no.

“No, I’m just saying -” he tries to explain and you glare at him, making the words die in his mouth.

"What?"

“Fuck, I'll never change,” he shrugs as if it were a truism that only you can't grasp.

His eyes shift to the ground, dull and absent.

“You don't change because you are convinced that you can't,” you admonish him, feeling anger rising from your chest.

"That's not true," he murmurs, keeping his gaze on the crimson and gold carpet that lies at your feet.

“Yes, it is,” you insist, ”and you seem to like to think of yourself as an incurable asshole.”

He still fails to see the real problem, the elephant in the room that lives and thrives among you.

"Then you tell me, if you think you know me so well,” he asks with defiance.

“You bet I fucking know you,” you lash out. “You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well, news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationships.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me,” he hisses, finally setting his eyes back on you.

Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground.

You bitterly laugh, “Truth hurts, huh? I know something about it”.

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, his nostrils flare, and his mouth tightens into a line so thin you think he’s about to burst. He stays quiet instead, eyes back on the damask carpet decoration.

_____________

“Yes, Steve, I'm fine. That jerk won't find me here, and anyway it's full of police outside the door.”

A pause and a sigh.

”No, no one followed her, they don't know who she is.”

You stood behind the half-closed bathroom door listening.

You smiled.

His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling.

Until you heard something else.

A booming laugh.

Water ran in the shower, tiny droplets coated the wall as the mirror fogged up.

“Whatever. Of course I'm still screwing around. At least, I was doing it before that asshole started chasing me,” his voice suddenly lowered so you took a chance and opened the door a little more. You wanted to make sure you heard right.

Your hand trembled against the doorknob, you grabbed your wrist to hold it steady.

“You idiot,” he scoffed. “Yeah, we'll be in touch.”

Suspicion. The black wing of a crow that had been wrapped around your heart for a long time.

But then why did it hurt so much?

You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

He always places the phone with its screen down when you go out to dinner, softly smiling at it when he checks it after a few vibrations, telling you “it’s Steve” when you ask.

But you know that crooked smile.

He dodges when you ask him about his day "oh work, you know, just work."

He tells you he is with Steve but you hear female voices in the background.

Every time you try to confront him it always ends the same way, him telling you, “you’re paranoid, there’s no one else, just you, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

And then he fucks your doubts into oblivion.

You heard the thud of the phone on the blankets. And then Javier calling you.

You swallowed the gall rising from the walls of your stomach and just smiled when he joined you in the bathroom and suggested that you shower together.

You wanted some proof before you charged him.

If there was anything you had learned from being with him, it was that hard evidence was the key. So you played cool.

He fucked you against the shower wall and you moaned into his neck.

He licked your pussy like a man starved and you just bit your lips until you felt iron on your tongue.

He kissed you with that liar's mouth, and you let him.

And you fell asleep beside him, on the unmade bed of your uncertainties.

This morning someone from outside called him into the hallway to report the latest movements of the guy who was looking for him.

His phone was on the bedside table.

It was like a magnet, pulling your hand to it.

You were almost sure you knew his unlock code ‘cause you had watched the movements of his finger many times.

You tried twice without success.

The third time you let out a long sigh, visualized in your mind the movement one more time and unlocked it.

You were in.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your fingers swiped and clicked on the screen.

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of messages and pics exchanged with 4 different women.

You scrolled through one of the chats with a certain Maria, who regularly sent him pictures of her tits and her legs spread wide, her pussy in the shot.

There was sexting, arranged dates, same promises he gave to you, things you never asked for but he kept repeating like a broken record. Even the same pet name. Gatita.

Blood simmered in your veins, a jolt in your heart, throat dry.

Your finger furiously scrolled through the chat, finding tons of messages he had sent her while he was with you.

You switched to another one and you found pretty much the same. And yet another, message after message containing flirting and explicit sex.

“Oh Javi, you keep getting better and better with that cock of yours”

“My pussy needs you, darling, can you come over?”

“I can’t stop thinking about your huge cock dripping on me”

And the more you scrolled, the more a question formed in your brain, rumbling through your temples like a deafening drum.

Was he ever sincere with you?

________

When he looks up at you again, you see it. A veil of fragility in the dense blackness of his gaze.

He looks almost helpless. “I know you tried,” he admits, ”You tried harder than anyone else.”

“Apparently it was no use,” you chastise him.

He doesn’t reply.

Instead he comes closer and closer.

You pull back, responding to his every step forward with a backward one.

“Please,” he whispers.

“No.”

“Don't do that.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” you bark.

”I know...”

“Fuck off, Javier, leave me alone.”

You pull back until you hit the wall behind you.

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore.

When your lips collide you let it happen.

It’s like when you drink too much Tequila.

It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable.

You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same.

He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?”

He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

He is a time bomb that explodes in your heart every time he touches you. So you keep doing it.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips.

“Yeah…I know. I’m not worthy.”

And yet, you’re still here.

You let him peel off your every layer of clothing, to leave you naked and vulnerable in front of him.

You do nothing when he undresses too. Hastily taking off his shirt, fumbling with the button of his jeans, nervous hands and short breaths.

It is like some mind fuck game, intoxicating, dangerous, capable of leaving permanent marks.

He lowers his jeans just enough to free his cock, no boxers. Always ready.

His hands run over your hips and you groan.

His tongue slides over your neck, his eyes closed, his breath heavy and warm on your skin.

He makes you cry, but you don't say no.

His lips latch onto your nipple and adrenaline rushes through your veins up into your head, hitting hard like a jackhammer.

You don’t pull back anymore, you push your tit into his mouth so eagerly you feel his teeth closing on your bud and you whine in pleasure.

His growing erection leaks against your center. You are trapped. Not so much because you are between him and the wall but because you no longer know how to get him out of your head.

Right now it doesn't matter how much it hurts.

He slides his hands down your thighs and you know what he wants, without needing to speak. You wrap your legs around his waist. He kneels on the bed with you still clinging to him, you lie back on the soft blankets that smell of you both, arch your back and press against his cock. You folds splayed and dripping for him.

His fingers go up your rib cage, stop under your breasts and grasp there, he draws you back to him and your mouths collide again.

You let his tongue enter. You let the fleeting pleasure of this instant take over all the no's you know you have to say.

There’s no right kind of love here, this room is drowned in angry sex.

Angry at how you can never say no to him, angry at how he makes you feel, angry because you know that no one has ever fucked you the way he did, invading your body with a pleasure so addictive that it makes you sick. Angry because maybe he's right, he can't change.

You break the kiss and bite on his shoulder, a small act of revenge that really does no harm compared to your bleeding heart.

Your hands grasp on the golden skin of his back, leaving marks with your nails digging into it, your miserable attempt to leave marks on him in return.

You moan convulsively under his touch, your mouth wide open against his, your tongue desperately seeking him out.

His hands tighten on your ass, lifting you slightly, his cock slides over your wet opening, a guttural sound comes out of the back of your throat without you being able to hold it back.

You want him inside you.

You need him inside you.

And it’s wrong, and desperate. It’s masochistic.

You don’t even care for his jeans’s zip scraping your skin.

The thin line between pain and pleasure is so blurred now.

It’s a pathetic shit show of need and urgency.

You’d walk away from any other guy but Javier is the person you can never have just for yourself and at the same time he is the only one you want.

He is the knife and the wound at the same time.

When he asks “Whose pussy is this?” in his deep groaning voice that fucks directly with your brain, you can only reply “yours.”

Digging your nails deeper, biting more, wailing louder but just pleading with him.

You take his shaft in your hand and rub it against you in blind desperation, wetting it with your juices.

He groans into your ears while his hand reaches for your nipple and his big strong arm holds you close.

You are sitting on his thighs, your legs crossed behind his back.

His fingers pinch your nipple as you don't stop stroking his big throbbing cock.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now.

Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart.

“Fuck me,” you groan.

He pushes against your core, entering you with one deep thrust.

Your pussy is weeping so much it doesn’t even hurt.

You clench on him with all the strength you have, chocking his cock with your walls.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re gripping me so hard, baby. There’s nothing you want more than this, huh? Me fucking you raw?”

“Shut up,” you hiss.

He starts moving, pumping into you as his hand reaches for your clit, brushing it in circles.

You whine, clinging onto his back, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You can’t look him in the eye, you can’t face your own shameful reflection in his pupils, you can’t think of anything else than this pleasure firing your body, your limbs, your mind.

Your pussy never gets the memo when it comes to him. She just clenches, and cries and asks for more.

At the verge of your brink, when you’re so utterly overwhelmed you could swear, you’re about to jump out of your skin, you hear it.

It’s the softest whisper on your skin, so low you barely catch the words, “I love you”

You cry a single tear that slides down the column of his neck, it could be mistaken for a bead of sweat so easily and Javier doesn’t notice it. But it’s there. You’re crying again.

You come, weeping.

Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.

But there’s no hope anymore.

You know you can’t go on like that.

You cried before. You argued before. It’s all useless.

A devastating orgasm shoots through you, leaving you without defense.

It’s the last thing you want but you need to get it over with.

You lie on the bed, feeling his last twitches inside you, his cum dripping onto your walls, his cock pressing against that spot that belongs only to him.

He lies down on you, gently crushing you with his weight, his sweaty skin against yours, the smell of your orgasm filling your nostrils.

You’re hopeless and breathless.

He's still inside you, like he doesn't want to leave.

You know you have to.

Eventually he shifts, lying on the other side of the bed muttering, “god, you really are something else.” He takes the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one, taking a long drag.

“I'm not enough,” you want to scream looking at him through the cloud of smoke enveloping him. “Or maybe you're not, for me.”

When he is about to fall asleep, you get up. You pick up your clothes off the floor and put them on silently.

“Where are you going, gatita?” he grunts.

Does he think he has solved it? Does he think you will forgive him as you did the other times?

You don’t reply.

"You only ever tell me the truth when you think I won't hear it,” you type on your phone and send it to him, before coming out of the door without turning your back.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel.

There will be two broken hearts.

You know he loves you and you love him.

He is convinced that he doesn’t deserve you and pushes you away every time you get close to his soul.

He knows that you see him clearly; that scares him.

You are tired of fighting for the both of you.

You push the elevator button under the gaze of an unsuspecting policeman who urges, “Where are you going, miss?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Do you need someone to accompany you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Someone could follow you,” he counters.

“No one knows me, you don't have to worry.”

You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist.

None of this happens.

The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

Tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @almostempty , @probablyreadinsmut , @thundermartini , @gothcsz , @cas-readsandwrites , @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! Thank you very much for reading❤︎

#javier peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #jolapenosdearuary #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x female reader #javier peña #narcos au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #ppcu #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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veephoenix · 1 day ago

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track by track series | n.s. one shot

A quick something I wrote as a tiny wave of inspo kicked in while I was staring at those new pictures in the studio. No trigger warnings. Just fluff and an implied sexual scenario at the end. I might give it a title later. | Words: 700aprox. | I'll probably turn this into a series comprised of random scenes that take place in the studio. You can read the last song as a previous part to his.

There’s something about the silence in the studio once it empties out—when the boys abandon their instruments, the machinery, and the space sinks into an almost sepulchral quiet, where the musical notes that had been filling the air just minutes earlier are relegated to a nonexistent plane.

As much as I love being there to offer them my support and watching them strive minute after minute to achieve that near-perfection they’ll showcase in front of thousands of people hours later, there’s nothing like finding yourself standing in the middle of an empty studio.

The remaining daylight still filters through the tall windows, and the human warmth of the team lingers between the stone walls. If I try hard enough, I can visualize the boys there, each in the position they’ve been in all morning. I can see Noah in the center, behind the stand, holding his mic, his lips brushing the casing in almost the same way they brush against my skin when he kisses me and we make love.

I don’t realize I’m smiling. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone, and once I confirm it, I drop my backpack onto the floor, over the Persian rug, take off my shoes, and sit cross-legged. From my bag, I pull out a notebook and a pen. I lift my gaze once toward the view outside the windows, and a moment later, I’m writing words onto the paper, drawing lines, creating something like poetry that Jolly will probably tweak and turn into the lyrics of a song.

I suppose at this point, some might be wondering where I am while they gather in the hotel lobby deciding where to go for dinner. I’m far from there, both physically and mentally. Minutes slip away, and so do the hours.

By the time the light turns golden, signaling the sunset, I’m lying on my stomach on the rug, my socked feet in the air, brushing against each other as I continue writing and nibbling on my lip, searching for the most fitting word to end this poem—if you can call it that.

When the air shifts, I don’t notice because I’m so absorbed in my own world and the warmth of the studio, though I should have recognized that familiar sensation—that feeling that tells me my favorite human is occupying the same space as me.

I don’t notice his footsteps as he approaches because he’s careful not to break my moment, and because he wants to surprise me—which inevitably means that once he’s within reach, he can’t resist the urge to touch me and he'll break my momentum. His hands catch one of my ankles in the air, making my heart leap in my chest, and when I look over my shoulder, my eyes meet his, and suddenly, I’m grinning like an idiot.

Noah pulls off my sock, and an instant later, he’s leaning down to kiss the inside of my ankle. I scrunch my nose.

“Don’t do that,” I say, feeling coy. “I walked here from the hotel. I need a shower.”

Noah releases my ankle and straightens up, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean? Are you saying your feet smell bad? Because all I smell here is Thai food.”

For a moment, I don’t get the joke. Then Noah wiggles his eyebrows suggestively toward a sturdy wooden desk behind him. There are a couple of paper bags.

This time, it’s my eyebrows that shoot up as my eyes widen.

“I thought we could have dinner here,” Noah announces, glancing quickly at the food and then shrugging, still watching me as I remain lying on the floor. “Just you and me.”

It’s things like this that make me love him so much.

And the only way I know how to show him this love is by accepting what he offers me—his food and his care.

I hurriedly gather my things while Noah pulls containers out of the bag and hands me a plate of pad thai, still warm and smelling of lemongrass and other spices I can’t identify. Noah sits in front of me, also cross-legged, and together we devour the food, practically in silence.

After a while, my hands find their way to his body, because there’s not a single day I can spend too much time in his presence without touching him, without feeling the brush of his skin against mine.

I value the time I spend alone creating art, but there is no masterpiece more wonderful than him and the way he loves me.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian one shot

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pinkslaystation · 3 days ago

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Please we need second part where reader successfully escape and make a run to her parent's alone, your toxic König is too good and amazing well written 😭😭💖

toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My Escape] THANK YOU!! i planned to make a bunch of one-shots under this AU, but this received a lot of love and continuation requests so here it is! I'm also finally finished with exams and coursework, so I'm actually able to breathe a bit now- oh, oh. Never mind, 2nd term starts next week, okay. Trigger warning: Kidnapping, mentions of reader's mental health, poorly translated German (oh how I love you so DeepL.com and ChatGPT) There's also a poem that's mentioned here: "Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, written in 1782. I recommend checking it out, it's a short, yet chilling read!

"Wo ist sie, verdammt?" [where the hell is she?] König mutters to himself, his voice laced with frustration and hurt.

He looks at the now empty ropes with no sign of his wife, huffing at the lack of her presence. In contrast, Leon giggles as he latches onto his father's head whilst sitting on his shoulders.

"Mama's playing a game with us, papa!" He says enthusiastically.

"Was meinst du damit?" [what do you mean?]

Leon hums in mock confusion, "Vielleicht will sie, dass wir sie erwischen." [maybe she wants us to catch her].

It's 9 P.M. and you've running in the middle of a field in nothing but an over-sized sweatshirt and joggers. Of course that fucker decided to tie you up in a basement in the middle of fucking nowhere. In fact, you don't even recall him ever owning that property, something similar to an abandoned farmhouse. But I guess the only animal getting played here...would be you.

You're questioning all the other things he might have hidden from you...other properties...maybe other women...and what's the deal with your son?

"Leon honey, listen. Mama's going to get out of here, and after that we're going to go somewhere safe, okay? We'll go to your grandparents, I'll take you home, okay?" You sweat out, exhausted after numerous times of pulling at the ropes.

"But I'm already home." Leon smiles eerily. There's something broken in that kid, you think. The way he smiles with no emotion makes you fear for your life.

You try to caress the top of his head but the ropes dig at the possibly infected gashes on your wrists, making you hiss in response.

"Mama, you're bleeding." He state inquisitively, grabbing your wrists to examine them.

Groaning at the new contact, you curse out, "FUCK. Leon, stop. Just get me out of this, please sweetie-"

You breath hitches at his expression.

A deep toothy grin is plastered on his face.

"Red's always been mine and papa's favourite colour."

When you're eye catches his red beaded bracelet, the one mirrors König's, a part of you had to come to terms with losing both your husband and your son.

"Stupid kid, should have had a daughter..." You whisper to no one in particular, stretching over thorny bushes and rocks.

You can't tell how long it's been in that room, could be days, could be weeks, but the moment you left the house, it felt like taking a breathe of fresh air for the very first time.

"König, pleas-"

"Schnuki, quiet please, I'm trying to read Leon a poem." König scolds you, whilst sitting on the floor against the wall with Leon resting on his chest. For some reason, they both like to spend time with you.

By spending time with you, that means going about their day, in your presence...just, without paying any attention to you.

"König, I need to fucking piss again."

"Es war eine kalte, dunkle Nacht, und ein Vater ritt mit seinem kleinen Sohn durch einen nebligen Wald." He reads, completely shutting your needs out. [it was a cold, dark night, and a father was riding with his little son through a foggy forest.]

"Kö..." You drag out the syllables to see whether that would make a difference to his reactions. It doesn't.

"Der Junge klammerte sich ängstlich an seinen Vater und flüsterte-" [The boy clung fearfully to his father and whispered-]

Leon speaks out now, clutching his father's shirt as he sleepily recites from the book, "Papa, siehst du ihn nicht? Dort, zwischen den Bäumen! Der Erlkönig ruft nach mir!“ ["Papa, don’t you see him? There, between the trees! The Erlking is calling me!"]

The two giggle at their reenactment.

As they continue their story, the loudly spoken story begins to anger you, for days you've been practically caged in the room, forced to listen to such mundane tasks. Reading a story before bedtime (but they happen to sleep upstairs with actual beds, leaving you to practically rot downstairs), or when König decides to blast his tunes whilst working out, or even when Leon simply chooses to study right in of your shivering body in the afternoon.

"DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE FUNCTIONING EARS?" You scream.

In a instant, König flashes his eyes on you as Leon flinches at the tone of your stern voice.

There's a moment of silence, a quiet battle between you and König, who seems to want to rip your vocal cords and shove them into a book to read about to his son.

"Was haben Sie gerade gesagt?" [what did you just say?] He murmurs with his eyebrows furrowed.

When you don't respond, your son decides to speak up for you.

He turns his head around to berate you, "Sprich dich aus." [speak up]

Your gaze turns to the floor as you watch droplet after droplet hit the surface, "...why."

There's no response. Perhaps, they didn't hear you or perhaps they simply don't know.

"Why are you doing this to me. All I wanted was a husband and a son that respected me. What the fuck did I do to deserve such a shitty family?!"

Before you know it, you begin wailing at the end of your outburst, tears rapidly streaming down your aching cheeks. You look up at the pair, hoping to feign any sense of remorse or sympathy.

But you're met with none.

"Maybe if you hadn't broken this family, you could have got what you wanted."

You're not too sure who spoke, at that point it seems like both father and son began to share a twisted mind.

A large vehicle drives by you and you let out a sigh, maybe there is an escape for you after all.

"Wait! Wait for me!"

The look of pity the driver gives you as you ask them for a lift wasn't as bad as the ones your own family have been giving you for the past few days, so you don't complain. Instead you give a vague description of your parent's house, your childhood home.

With a deep breathe, you make your way to safety, and for a second, you allow sleep to evade you that night. A sleep so deep, you don't hear the quiet ring of a phone...

"Hallo König. Ja, sie ist bei mir. Du hattest recht. Ja, sei einfach da, ich bringe sie in 20 Minuten vorbei." [hello konig. yes, she's with me. you were correct. yes just be there, i'll drop her off in 20 minutes.]

"Miss, we're here. Miss-" The voice urges you to wake up, poking your shoulder as if you were roadkill.

With a groan you awaken, at the sight of your parents house, safety as last.

You thank the driver for troubling him, and for getting blood on his seats, "I'm sorry I don't have anything to repay you with...if you give me a minute, I can run in and get you some cash?" You ask, apologetically.

The stranger shakes his head, "No need, payments been taken care of already."

Oh. Okay, cool.

You squint your eyes in confusion, but choose to brush it off, it's been days since you've engaged in human interaction, maybe you just forgot the small quirky things a person can say.

"...okay, thanks again."

"Bis ich dich wiedersehe." [until i see you again.]

You stop midstep, looking back at the stranger, but he's already hit the pedals and driven off without a trace. That was German, right? See you again?

It seems like a coincidence, and you want to brush it off, but the way he spoke mimicked König's dialect a little too well....Many people speak German though...

You reach the door of your parent's house, admiring yourself in the reflection of the door. A frail being, dressed in tattered clothing, with blood marks decorating your wrist. Afraid of being bombarded with questions, you pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt down and re-tie your hair into something more acceptable.

The door opens and your met with the relieved look of your poor mother.

"Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're okay!" She pulls you into a bone crushing hug, with her face tucked tightly into your shoulder.

Humming against her, you question her, "I'm okay...wait, how did you know? Where's dad?"

"He's okay sweetheart, he's in the living room. But don't think you're off the hook, now that you've come back." She smiles, kissing your forehead, as she guides you through the house.

You scoff, "What do you mean?"

"Running away is a serious matter, don't take it lightly, sweetheart. How do you think we've all felt? I understand, if you're you know..." She starts.

"...Know what?"

"You know, you've become a little..." She spins her finger around her ear in a circular motion, "I guess...cuckoo! Um...but don't worry, we're already looking into treatments."

You stare at her blankly, stopping her, "Ma. I'm fine. W-what- I'm not crazy, where on Eart-"

Every muscle in your body flinches.

It's like your body hit flight or fight mode but instead decided to switch off. You've never remembered a time where your mind has ever been so silent, but I guess now counts.

Those blue eyes.

2 pairs.

Staring back at you, soullessly.

Not a word is spoken.

And yet both your parents seem to be gleaming at the scene, of what looks like a family reuniting.

Family.

If that's even what this is.

"Why did you run away from us, schatz?" [darling]

You can't distinguish between your husband and your son.

"We've missed you."

thank you for coming to my ted talk.

lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90 , @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #konig cod #cod konig #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig x you #konig call of duty #konig angst #könig cod #könig #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig mw2 #DON'T SAVE ME I DON'T WANNA BE SAVED

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codenameregnar · 2 days ago

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Ok so, I've been in the process of writing a post beta canon fic, and a lot of what you've said strikes me as extremely relevant to the things I've been ruminating on in that process. And so bear with me but I'm gonna go through these points one by one, because while I think they all tie into the same central thesis, they are also compelling as standalone points and the worms demand I expound upon them in detail.

"I simply don’t see a world in which that kind of relationship dynamic/approach [of them abandoning their respective worldviews and convictions] would fit with their characterizations." So one of my favorite scenes in A Stitch In Time is the bit where they are having lunch with Odo, and Julian is essentially pushing Garak to (if he would come to be a leader of Cardassia postwar, which we know is exactly what happens) adopt a more Federation adjacent mindset based in democracy and freedom. And Garak gets upset. Irrationally so. And it's because he's on this precipice of great change and understanding within himself, at conflict with his more Hebitian values and worldview vs what he's been taught and brought up to believe in. He is actually very inclined to take a Federation approach for how his world (both his internal world and Cardassia as a planet and people) should be rebuilt, though still distinctly and independently Cardassian—or rather Hebitian, in it's construction and core principals. And coming to terms with the dismantling of his previous principals, ones that have always been necessary for Garak's survival, if ill-fitting, is a terrifying prospect. And so I love that scene, because that is the closest we get to seeing Garak feeling attacked and genuinely shaken up at Julian's convictions and how much they resonate with him. And so in rebuilding Cardassia as a more democratic society (even without losing some of their core and more alien beliefs) that is a middle ground I think Julian could understand and come to even appreciate, especially given his experiences with the Federation's dark underbelly. And let's not forget the central theme of the beta canon, which is Garak remaking himself and by proxy Cardassia in Julian's image specifically. Him finding in himself what Julian saw in him all along and rebuilding his world with who he truly is—with what Cardassia truly is, at the root. And so while I don't think they would be willing to abandon what they believe in for each other, they very much would be willing to shift their worldview to meet in the middle. And furthermore, I think Garak is the one doing the majority of the shifting in that theoretical. Especially given that it's less of a baseless shifting for Julian's sake alone and more of a growing into himself. Something he could only ever have done with Julian's forgiveness, patience, and unwavering sense of compassion and justice to help reveal himself to him. And I think my entire point here is the underlying reason why so much fic and fannon characterizes Garak as the one willing to bend over backward for Julian. He is more aligned to Julian's way of thought (deep down and under years of trauma and brainwashing) than he's wiling to admit in canon.

"there are never any situations involving these characters in which their fundamental values or institutional loyalties are challenged as a result of their relationship." I agree, and the lack thereof is forever a great disappointment, but as illustrated in all of Robinson's writing on Garak, their relationship causes an internal shift in Garak and causes him to see himself in Julian in ways that are uncomfortable and jarring (the same goes for Julian in the opposite direction, I believe) and causes him to question everything he grew up believing, and through that questioning he finds his true values, as he sees them, as indictive to his personhood, without the coloring of Tain's or The Union's influence. And so while there are never any situations which challenge their values, the relationship as a whole does. And again, I do think that is true for Julian, but eons more so for Garak. He does have to chose between Cardassia and Julian, but in a very abstract way. He has to chose between the old Cardassia (that traumatized him and eroded his personhood) and the core of himself that Julian not only saw so clearly but embodied in it's most flattering composition. There is a bit in Enigma Tales in which he ruminates on the way secrets destroy a person, specifically in reference to Julian. And I think that says, without outright saying it of course—in very Garak fashion, that he saw the best of himself in Julian, and he consciously chose that best moving forward, with Julian as a sort of guide.

"their friendship in the early seasons is usually framed as a respite from their serious responsibilities or moral dilemmas." Which is exactly the space Garak needs in order to work through the things I've outlined above. For the first time since his very early childhood he can be unguarded and find comfort—as opposed to paranoia, however mild—in companionship and learn to grow into himself in ways that don't seem very consequential at first (casually saying he "joined the wrong intelligence agency" in OMB comes to mind. It seems like a funny throw away line but given his character and history it is a HUGE admittance of personhood if you read between the lines) but that stack upon themselves to elucidate to him his own values and the harm done to him that snuffed them out over his lifetime.

"[Julian's] righteous anger at seeing those morals trodden upon is one of his most defining character traits" Which is exactly the type of push, in tandem with the aforementioned mirror that Julian is for Garak, that I think he needs in order to come to these realizations about himself. Garak has always been angry. But he had that righteous anger beat out of him from such an early age, and by the time he could recognize it (the Edosian Orchid assassination saga) he had no choice but to suppress it. To see it so unabashedly on display in Julian is not only invigorating to him, but vindicating too. One of my all time favorite aspects of their relationship and what Julian's friendship does for Garak is that he sees, for the first time, his sentiments ('the greatest weakness') as a weapon to be honed and thus wielded as opposed to a liability, which is what his own have always been for him, precisely because he was never allowed to explore that part of himself and learn how to use them to his advantage as Julian does.

"if we’re imagining them in a long term committed relationship? It wouldn’t be sustainable, and it doesn’t feel in keeping with Bashir’s character that’d he have endless reservoirs of patience and understanding specifically for Garak." But he would be vastly more patient and understanding, simply for the fact that he sees Garak, down to the bones, and he understands (especially after that novel length letter) the depths of Garak's internal conflicts. And (if he would come to Cardassia after reading such a letter) he would see that he is trying. His reservoir of patience wouldn't be endless of course, but it would be extended simply for the fact that he and Garak have lead such similar and parallel lives. The main reason they like each other so much is because they see themselves in each other, even if they're not exactly sure why at first. It's an immediate if inexplicable and intrinsic understanding that they have upon meeting that they are looking at another person who maybe doesn't fully understand them, but has the life experiences that equip them with the capability to.

"one very fundamental thing they have in common is how passionately devoted they are to their respective causes [...] I don’t see any version of Garak in which Cardassia is not his first love" Cardassia is absolutely his first love, and even after this internal shift that takes place in him he would never compromise or sacrifice her for Julian or anyone else. However, because of what Julian has been able to give to him—this painful rebirth of the self—he is the perfect person to understand what is necessary to lead Cardassia into a new and generative age. And so in helping Garak, Julian has been able to serve Cardassia as well, and in the capacity that it needs most desperately postwar. He shows Garak the need for one person to fall out of line in order to reinstill the fundamental core beliefs of the First Hebitians as applied to Cardassia's modern age, thus saving—if forever changing—the Union which his love for is defining. And so, in that framework, they can come together for a common goal: healing Cardassia. Garak wouldn't be equipped to do so without Julian's support and guidance, continually reminding him of who he really is and who he needs to honor moving forward. And so to me that is the most believable basis of them getting together postwar. They are both following their convictions and respective life paths, but in ways that they would never be able to without each other.

"For Bashir, there’s the problem of not only reconciling himself with what Garak has done, but also of choosing to be with someone whose impulses and entire cultural belief system places duty and institutional loyalty above personal feelings. And for Garak, there’s the fact that the most devoted and emotionally intense relationship he’s had in his life thus far has been with Tain, who embodied Cardassia for him" And I think here is where the most potential for conflict lies. Garak, and of course Cardassia by proxy, is still in that process of a painful rebirth. He is learning that having the permission to explore one's personal feelings and even act on them can be more generative to the individual and thus to the state than not. But he still has a lifetime of deeply ingrained understandings that tell him otherwise. And so, as his relationship with Tain mirrored his relationship to himself and his devotion to Cardassia, so does his relationship with Julian, but in a fresh and utterly inverse way. This is all still very new and at times very scary for him, and so I think he would need Julian's continued guidance and support so as not to fall back into old and safe patterns of thought and behavior. So to me, the central conflict between them post beta canon would have more to do with the two of them questioning if Garak really is capable of change, if he even wants to change, and what that change would actually look like. I think that, by the time Julian would go running off to Cardassia, he would have a fundamental understanding that Garak is trying, and in order to have even the inclination to go he would have had to already reconciled who Garak has been with who he is becoming/always had inside of him. The discord arises out of questions as to whether or not that internal shift in Garak is sustainable and if Garak can successfully break a lifetime of conditioning.

I feel like this has gotten a bit rambley on my end, so I hope I've been making sense. And I know this has all been very Garak POV skewed and that's my own brainrot and identity talking, and as with all headcanons and interpretations of media feel free to completely disregard everything above if that doesn't jive with what you see in their dynamic, but tldr: to me Garashir is about Garak learning how to find the things that were stolen/beaten out of him and how to honor his own personhood through the at times uncomfortable but always understanding mirror that is Julian Bashir. And through that lens I think them coming together post beta canon is a lot more understandable and fitting for Garak's character (as it's him doing more of the growing and concession making, imo) than is initially illustrated in canon. This coming together wouldn't be Garak abandoning his ideals for Julian's sake, but rather growing into his own long held if deeply repressed convictions that he is only able to see and embrace because of Julian and his own firm belief structure.

I’m trying to untangle The Problem of Garashir (not the least because, well, I’m writing the pairing) -

and I think honestly one of the biggest… roadblocks? bits of untapped potential in the pairing? is that we never really see their relationship put a strain on their ideological convictions.

Which is to say, “the societal institutions we’re subject to are corrupt, but our love is pure, so we’re going to abandon those institutions for each other” is, whether implicitly or explicitly, a common framing in fanfic featuring them (such as I’ve seen) - and to be fair, it’s a common romance trope in general. But I can’t say it works for me for these characters. And part of that is that imo the show doesn’t sufficiently set that up with its development of the relationship between these two characters, but another part of that is that I simply don’t see a world in which that kind of relationship dynamic/approach would fit with their characterizations.

To address the first point - there are never any situations involving these characters in which their fundamental values or institutional loyalties are challenged as a result of their relationship. At no point does Garak, for example, have to choose between Cardassia and his affection for Bashir. (I’ve seen people read The Wire that way, but I don’t think the reading works - The Wire is a fantastic showcase for Garak’s worldview and value system and the cracks and contradictions therein, but even though Bashir’s unwavering commitment to helping him despite what he’s done is certainly unprecedented and moving to him, his underlying value system hasn’t changed by the end of that episode.) And while Bashir’s faith in Starfleet and the Federation does get rocked quite a bit over the course of the show, it’s never because of his friendship with Garak.

Instead, I’d say that with some exceptions (like The Wire), their friendship in the early seasons is usually framed as a respite from their serious responsibilities or moral dilemmas. This especially true of Garak, who is likely not used to someone simply enjoying his company with no ulterior motives whatsoever, but the narrative maneuvering of the show also does a lot to shield Bashir from the reality of who Garak is. Yes, he gets a taste of that in The Wire, when Garak goes out of his way to impress upon him what the reality of his life as a spy truly was. But that’s still only verbal testimony, and only confined to what Garak has done in the past. Bashir is largely absent from all the shit that Garak pulls during the show!

And I’m not complaining that, say, the events of The Die Is Cast take place between Garak and Odo, because it makes thematic sense for it to be Odo for that arc. (And I love that friendship.) But Garak and Bashir do not get a plot like that, or like In the Pale Moonlight, where Bashir is directly exposed to or complicit in Garak’s immoral behaviour. The closest we get to an actual serious ethical clash between them is in Our Man Bashir, which is a goofy comedy episode. (And it’s worth noting that Bashir calls Garak’s bluff and shoots him in that confrontation! Yeah, he likely missed on purpose, given what we later learn about his magic hand-eye coordination, but he’s still unwilling to compromise on his heroism for Garak’s sake. It’s actually a pretty Cardassian gesture, which is probably part of why Garak loves it so much, but it does say a lot about where their priorities are re: their commitment to their values vs. each other.)

And I think the lack of more serious, plot-relevant ethical conflict between Garak and Bashir is a real loss for the show, because one thing I find really interesting about their relationship is that - in contrast to the examples of Odo and Sisko up there - Bashir is the person in the cast most able to hold Garak accountable. He’s repeatedly established as one of the most firmly moral members of the cast, and his righteous anger at seeing those morals trodden upon is one of his most defining character traits in the later seasons. His unconditional forgiveness of Garak in The Wire is lovely, and it is an important moment in the development of both their relationship and Bashir’s character. But in the long term, once we get into actual serious, consequential war and espionage plots? And if we’re imagining them in a long term committed relationship? It wouldn’t be sustainable, and it doesn’t feel in keeping with Bashir’s character that’d he have endless reservoirs of patience and understanding specifically for Garak. And it’s precisely because Bashir is uniquely able to grant Garak forgiveness that he’d also potentially be uniquely able to chastise him.

(This is why, by the way, my headcanon as to the in-universe reason why they don’t seem as close in the later seasons, paternity deathbed reveals and occasional flirty bantering notwithstanding, is that Bashir was seriously fucking pissed at the stunt Garak pulled in Broken Link, both in terms of the personal betrayal and the destructiveness towards sentient life, and that it created a significant rift between them.)

All of that is to say - my biggest regret with the show’s sidelining of their dynamic isn’t the fact that their relationship never becomes romantic (not a chance of that in the 90s, and also these writers were pretty terrible at writing romance) but that they never get to have an argument. An actual serious, non-flirtatious, two-sided, genuinely-angry-at-each-other-argument. I want to see conflict! (I honestly think that their exchange in What You Leave Behind comes the closest to the kind of conflict I’d like to pick up on in post-canon fic - where they are conciliatory in the moment but still have this really wrenching chasm between them, and unresolved frustration as a result of that chasm.)

So as an extension of these thoughts, I actually really like that we’re not given the basis for a traditional “us against the world” style romance plot. I like that these characters are clearly deeply fond of each other and significant to each others’ development, but have other important connections (Garak especially, since despite being only a recurring character introduced through Bashir, he integrates into the broader cast) and other priorities besides each other.

Furthermore, despite the significant differences in their value systems, one very fundamental thing they have in common is how passionately devoted they are to their respective causes. For Garak, it’s Cardassia. And while his idea of what it means to serve Cardassia, and what Cardassia needs, undergoes a lot of change over the course of the show, I don’t see any version of Garak in which Cardassia is not his first love. For Bashir, it’s altruism and helping people, as well as his intellectual curiosity - aims which are reflected in Starfleet and the Federation for him but ultimately higher ideals.

And I don’t think either Garak or Bashir would admire the other nearly as much if they were willing to let go of everything they hold dear for the sake of romance. They’re both far too committed to being a part of the world. Garak may have some fun with trying to shake Bashir of his optimism, but ultimately Bashir’s goodness, his fierce conviction that no one deserves to suffer, are among the most compelling aspects of his personality. And if Bashir is ever going to actually enter a serious relationship with Garak, he’s got to move beyond flirty intrigue and literary banter and see Garak as someone who’s proactively committed to goals that Bashir can respect. If they’re coming together as a couple, it’s because their aims and beliefs have come into alignment in some way.

And to be fair, a lot of post-canon Cardassia stuff is doing the latter. But I also want more… conflict within that framework, I guess? I don’t want a romantic relationship and the act of getting together to be the endpoint of whatever reconciliation of values they need to work through. And that’s part of what I’m trying to untangle in planning this fic of mine - especially regarding how fraught romantic commitment feels for them. For Bashir, there’s the problem of not only reconciling himself with what Garak has done, but also of choosing to be with someone whose impulses and entire cultural belief system places duty and institutional loyalty above personal feelings. And for Garak, there’s the fact that the most devoted and emotionally intense relationship he’s had in his life thus far has been with Tain, who embodied Cardassia for him - and as a result, I doubt he quite knows what to do with the possibility of a serious relationship with Bashir, who is very emphatically not Cardassia. He’s not used to being divided in his passions!

It’s not that I’m never capable of being moved by post-canon stuff that involves Bashir being charmed by how slippery Garak is, or them generally being quippy and fond of each other (I’m not made of stone here). But I’m never satisfied with just that, because that escapist element never feels like it translates well from the early seasons of the show to post-canon, and because it never engages with what I find the most fascinating about what’s set up with their whole dynamic. (And I especially dislike it when it feels like Bashir’s character is getting shortchanged in terms of his complexity and moral convictions being excised in order for Garak to get everything he wants.)

#yea. like I said Ive been ruminating on the idea of julian healing cardassia by healing garak. and how the fate lines demand that he end #up on cardassia. not purely for garaks sake. but for cardassias. this fic is huge and the themes have been crushing me but i find that read #of their relationship and the cosmic weight of it so compelling. and like op said them getting together for the sake of just wanting to isn #quite enough for me and requires a bit of suspension of disbelief. so in my mind they would both have to feel that their union is not only #supported by their convictions but in service of their convictions as well.#but yea. i think that by coming to the understanding that they both need to buckle down and make this work. not just for themselves but #for an entire planet. it could work. but absolutely not without strife. self discovery is always painful. however love really is enough.#not necessarily on its own merits but because it gives you the incentive to do the hard unfun work of healing #anyway. yea if i think about this much more right now i will get a nosebleed im sure of it.#regnarposting #garashir

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ghostlyvoidbones · 2 days ago

Text

Sonadow Lovebug AU - Pt. 2

a/n: Guy’s I don’t ship… I don’t ship sona… oh forget it.

summary: In which Shadow doesn't think he's delusional and Rouge is just trying to understand.

contains: Shadow's drug induced delusions, potential ooc (I'm not as familiar with Shadow and Rouge as I am the others, so I hope it came out ok).

wc: 2K

Rouge padded past the open door to Shadow’s room, clad in her cozy afternoon clothes while a coffee mug was raised to her lips in the middle of a sip. Although, after casting a brief glance inside she jolted to a stop, teeth clinking against the rim from the sudden, jerky motion. Lowering the mug, Rouge took a quiet moment to process exactly what it was she was looking at.

As a general rule, Shadow’s room had always been the most neat and organized out of all the members of Team Dark. His room was the definition of pristine, to the point that Rouge sometimes wondered if the hedgehog had an obsession with cleaning.

Which was why the state of it now was making her brain short circuit a little bit. From where she stood, Shadow’s oh-so-perfect room looked like a tornado ran through it. Twice.

Fabric and clothing items were scattered across the floor in rumpled clumps, coupled with books and the odd decoration here and there. The bed pressed against the far wall was unmade and everything on it was wadded up into a large ball, half falling off the mattress, a pillow already abandoned on the floor. All the furniture was skewed to some degree, an entire stool tipped over and forgotten in the corner.

Shadow himself was in the middle of the mess. Currently he had himself perched up on the top of his dresser, peering over one of the higher shelves drilled into the wall above it. She watched him scan the surface of it before dragging his entire arm across the empty space.

“What are you doing?”

At the sound of her voice, Shadow twisted his head around to look at her, looking her over briefly before turning back around and continuing his inspection of the shelf.

“I’m looking for pictures of Sonic.” Shadow answered promptly, unaware of the way Rouge squinted up at him in mild befuddlement.

“Right… Ok. I’m not sure if I want to know, but I guess I’ll ask. Why are you looking for pictures of Sonic?” Shadow didn’t even look at her when he responded.

“Why else? Don’t you have pictures of the echidna?”

Rouge bristled at the flatly delivered accusation, as if it were an obvious fact that everyone knew. Her shoulders hiked up and she brought the mug back up to her muzzle, partially to hide the blooming blush darkening her fur.

“I don’t have pictures of Knuckles! That would be…” She sent a pointed glare at the ground then shook her head clear of the thought. “Besides, any pictures I have are of people who I have a good relationship with. No offense, but I can’t really see that applying to you and big blue.”

Shadow huffed out a breath and hopped off the dresser. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sonic and I are in a very committed relationship.”

“Committed to mindlessly competing, maybe.” She mumbled into her mug before taking a long sip.

“Every romantic partnership has its quirks.”

Rouge sputtered, coffee spraying from her mouth and staining her shirt. She barely noticed, however, as gaped openly at Shadow. He hadn’t even twitched. Hadn’t even hesitated when he said that. And yes Shadow had a sense of humor, he knew how to crack a joke. But Rouge got the distinct feeling that that wasn’t one.

“Now I know I didn’t hear you wrong.” Large bat ears swiveled forward, as if to emphasize her point. “Shadow, what on Mobius is that supposed to mean???”

Shadow gave her a weird look, lingering on where her spit-take launched coffee over her clothes and, unfortunately, the floor.

“Competition can be healthy. It keeps things interesting.” Shadow continued,redirecting his attention toward searching his desk that he’d already stripped of all its papers and writing utensils. “Anyway, if you find any pictures of Sonic and I, let me know. Despite being in a relationship, I can’t seem to find any pictures of us together anywhere.”

The more he talked, the less she understood.

“No- ok- see, that’s the problem.” Rouge swiped her sleeve across her muzzle where a few stray droplets of coffee trickled from the corner of her lips and stepped over to Shadow, putting the mug down beside his searching hands. “Since when have you and Sonic been dating?”

Shadow paused in his movement, glancing over at her with furrowed brows. “A while?”

“Does Sonic know that?”

“He should.”

Rouge searched his face as they went back and forth. Nothing faltered or flinched. As far as she can tell, everything Shadow said, he believed was true.

“Why are you only telling me this now? Does anyone else know? Am I the only one who didn’t know?” She pressed, leaning into his space. A million thoughts blitz through her head, although one does seem to stand out a bit more than the others. “Actually, how long have you two even been together? Did he ask you?... Did you ask him?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Shadow sharply turned his head to the side, avoiding all eye contact. “The trivial details don’t matter.”

“Oh no, we’re talking about this.” She gave Shadow no time to respond, taking him by the arm and dragging him out into the living room. He went with little resistance and plopped down onto the couch as Rouge directed him.

From where she stood in front of him, Rouge took a second to analyze the dark hedgehog.

So far, there hadn’t seemed to be anything out of place. Shadow had been his usual, dark and mysterious self. Even just now, he spoke like he usually did. The only things that were out of place was the torn apart room and the fact that… he suddenly believed he was dating Sonic?

As far as Rouge knew, he had a solidly bitter opinion of Sonic up until yesterday morning.

After breakfast Shadow had left for his mission, came back earlier than expected but no less successful, and turned in for the night without speaking much to either her or Omega. Which meant something clearly changed in the time between yesterday morning and when he returned from sending out his report to G.U.N.

She had two theories as to what it could be. Either Shadow was possessed or Sonic asked him out yesterday. Both very viable options, but something about it didn’t sit quite right.

“What happened yesterday?” She asked, crossing her arms and carefully observing the neutral expression on Shadow’s face.

“I already turned in my report. If you’re so curious you can just-” She was quick to cut him off with a hand held up to his face. He eyed it with clear irritation, not that his bad moods ever intimidated her in any way.

“That’s not what I meant.” Rouge massaged her temples before trying again. “I mean outside of the mission. Did anything out of the ordinary happen? It could be anything really, something new or unexpected.”

Shadow looked at her like she was the weird one. But regardless, he took a moment to consider. He tucked a closed, gloved fist against the underside of his chin as he mentally ran through the events from the day before.

“I’d been making good headway in the morning…” A pause, “Then when I’d finally found a lead, Sonic showed up.”

Rouge’s ear flicked at the mention of the hero’s name. Leaning forward in anticipation, she lightly urged him to continue. “Then what?”

“He distracted me.” The ensuing frown was comical. “Going on and on about wanting a race, because chaos forbid he can’t stay out of anyone’s business for more than a minute at a time. He claimed it was a tie but clearly I was ahead by-”

“That’s it?”

They both looked at eachother, Shadow minutely startled with himself when he realized his eyes had fallen shut at some point and a faint smile was teasing at his lips. Rouge zeroed in on the way he visibly shut away the emotions he’d accidentally let leak out.

“What do you mean?”

“So you just raced him? Nothing else happened?”

“Yes.” Shadow winced, curling in on himself, his hand shooting up to hold his head. It lasted for a second before he was pulling his hand away, casting a puzzled look down at his leg. “No… I think I got bitten by a mosquito. I remember Sonic annoying me about it. Then I got.. Dizzy. I assumed I’d been low on chaos energy, which was when I decided to leave and finish the mission before it proved to be a problem.”

For a moment, Rouge believed that he and Sonic got together yesterday, and Shadow was being all weird about it because he was shy about his new relationship. However, now it sounded like that wasn’t the case.

Not to mention that the lowkey overpowered hedgehog was low on chaos energy? That was suspicious in of itself, adding to the already weird shift in behavior. After all, Shadow had to have been using large amounts of chaos energy to feel any sort of repercussions, which didn’t make sense for something as small and low effort as a reconnaissance and tracking mission. And she knew that none of that energy went into racing Sonic. Those two had raced plenty of times in the past for her to know that certainly wasn’t the problem. So what was the problem?

“Clearly whatever happened that made you dizzy is connected to the-” she gestured vaguely at Shadow “you being slightly delusional and acting out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not delusional. My mental performance is perfect.” Shadow nearly growled out, leveling a heavy glare on Rouge.

“You think you’re dating Sonic. You know, the same Sonic who you greet with a fight nine out of the ten times you two bump into each other?”

“It’s banter. He knows there’s no hostility in it.” Shadow rocked to his feet, entering Rouge’s space. The tension was enough to make her unconsciously lean back, wings twitching behind her with the faint urge to fly away. “And I don’t think it. We are. I don’t appreciate you accusing otherwise.”

At this point Rouge couldn’t figure out what was going on. She’d love to believe the two are happily together, but her point wasn’t just superficial blabbering for arguments sake. Last week Sonic had passed by them while they were out and Shadow decked him in the face. His excuse was that he was paying back something the blue hedgehog did not too long before that, but said payback was still far too violent and angry to be ‘non-hostile banter.’

However, judging by whatever had gotten into Shadow right now, she wasn’t going to be able to delve into the subject anymore than this. So she forced herself to relax, trying to take the situation in stride. She held her hands up, making herself appear less of a threat while still holding her ground.

“Right. Sorry, it’s just hard to believe since you kept it a secret from me for so long. But I believe you.” Little white lies. “What I don’t believe is that whole thing about the chaos energy, it’s too weird to be a coincidence. I think we should go to where you felt dizzy and take a look around, just in case.”

Shadow doesn’t budge for a while. One would think she’d just threatened his entire family with the way he’s poised, coiled like spring ready to snap.

It took a bit of time for him to eventually calm down, shoulders dropping as he finally shuffled away. Rouge took the moment to breathe, surprised that she’d even been holding it in the first place.

“You’re right, I should have told you sooner.” Shadow looked down, opening and closing his fist experimentally. “And I agree. The whole situation does feel a little odd. It’d be worth it to check.”

“Okay, that’s good. Then I’ll get changed so we can head out.” She nodded, passing him to make her way down the hall to her room.

Her stride was steady and casual all the way to her bedroom door, which she opened and closed behind her. Once she heard the click of the lock slide into place, she dove for where her phone rested on the night stand beside her bed. She narrowly missed banging her shin on the frame but ignored it in favor of dialing a number.

As the phone rang, Rouge huddled into the corner of her room furthest from the door before crouching down. And when the call went through, she made sure that when she spoke, it was the quietest she’s ever been.

“Y’ello?”

“Sonic, are you and Shadow dating?”

“...What?”

<< PREV / NEXT >>

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #sonic fandom #sonadow fanfiction #fanfiction #i give up #leave me alone #take this #i'm cringe but i'm free #rouge the bat #Rouge is extremely confused

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whoopsyeahokay · 2 days ago

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October Moon

summary: in the aftermath of the theater of terrors, there'd been a single, short moment of silence when everyone had been too stunned to speak. too frightened confused sick horrified to say a word. and then everything had descended into chaos.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON prologue

There was a single, short moment of silence before the commotion began. A moment of confusion and sick loss that weaved its way between and through everyone until it thinned into a desperate need to understand what they'd all just been through.

"He was so alone," Charley whimpered, pitiful, arms curled around his middle as he tried to forget the little boy who'd needed someone to stay with him so badly, "I didn't want to leave him..."

Rhonda scowled, "How could she not know!?" Spitting her anger through gritted teeth, gesturing widely as if the air was too close and she had to push it away.

Wally was frantic, hands moving as fast as his mouth, "I saw Maddie's dad—"

"What?" Weakly, tortured, "Where? Why did you get to see him and I didn't?" And Maddie began to tremble because she'd always known her father had died but she and her mother had never been given more than a feeble, 'it was an accident'. An accident that had rendered her father unrecognizable and dead. An accident that had driven her mother to the bottom of too many bottles and away from her daughter. An accident Maddie had never believed because she'd known, she'd KNOWN, it was a lie. But she hadn't visited him, she'd been stuck in a hospital room with a twelve-year-old girl and her great aunt, forced to watch as Then Deputy Baxter held his hat to his chest and declared a little boy gone.

It wasn't fair and Wally held her even as he explained, "Janet was there," to Charley and Rhonda who stared at him in disbelief.

They all talked over each other, "What was she doing there?" - "Do you think Mr. Martin knows?" - "Maybe that's why he helped her move on; he knew she was dangerous!" - "He can't know, if he did, he wouldn't have let her near us."

Meanwhile, Ajay was urgently scouring the rows, under every seat, down every aisle, calling out Mina's name before disappearing at a run to the back of the stage, into the rafters, "Mina, Mina, Mina!" Over and over, heart in his throat, where was she, she never left the theater, where was she!?

But all of that faded into the background when you heard a weak, strained voice ask, "Why didn't you tell me?"

On your knees on the stage, staring blankly at the spot the farmhouse door had been, you tried to make your mouth work. Slowly, you panned to Xavier who stepped toward you, his face pained, his brow creased and eyes filled with so much sorrow it felt like a kick to the heart.

Meekly in return, you confessed, "I didn't remember," as if that solved the problem. A band-aid over a bullet wound, as true as it was. You'd been tested several times at your mother's stubborn hand for dissociative amnesia, unable to reconcile how you'd remembered Aiden's final moments. A lethal fall down the farmhouse stairs. A farmhouse in town, abandoned, on your way home from the elementary school. You'd gone in to escape the rain and he'd wandered off on his own. Had hit his head so hard on the stone wall, he'd bled out at the bottom of the stairs. You'd watched his spirit rise and then vanish. It was in your statement to Xavier's father. It was how you'd remembered it, in vague flashes, for the six years it'd been since it'd happened.

"I didn't......it wasn't like that." You repeated, forcing the words out around the lump in your throat. "I didn't remember..."

Xavier collapsed to his knees in front of you, devastated, "How? How could you not remember that? How could you not tell me!?" It wasn't harsh or mean or loud though part of you wished it was. It was a quiet expression of betrayal. And then, a breathy whisper, "He was my brother, too."

Maybe not biologically, but emotionally, spiritually, it was true. Xavier had held Aiden as a baby; had held Aiden's hand on his first day of kindergarten; had taught him big words to impress his teachers, and how to kick a ball into the net, and how to skateboard like a big boy, and how to—you shook, eyes welling with tears as Xavier continued to look at you like you'd just shattered his whole world.

"Xavier," Maddie said softly, her own voice shaky with grief, "It's not her fault."

Xavier exhaled deeply as he turned his head to Maddie, pressed his lips together, suddenly appearing anxious beneath the pain, "When did you get back?"

Maddie shot you a helpless look and you took the responsibility from her, saying in a wet tone, "She didn't, Zav."

Xavier was confused for a long minute, staring at Maddie as if he could piece her together like a puzzle.

He blinked several times, looked—really looked—at the students he didn't recognize, noticing their outdated apparel, their pale complexions, their...not-really-thereness. All at once, it struck him, a knife-twisting epiphany while your voice in his mind, carefree and purposefully teasing, told him and Mathilda about your hot football player ghost. He gazed at Wally Clark, the number 57 on the sleeve of his varsity jacket, and then swallowed.

Xavier's eyes closed almost as soon as his gaze returned to rest on you; his lips pressed together so you wouldn't see how the bottom one wobbled. His shoulders tensed, and, when he opened his eyes again, he couldn't stomach to look at you. In that moment, he understood like common sense exactly where he stood with you and it hurt.

"Zav," You whimpered, reaching for him, but he shifted away, shaking his head. "Zav, please," You attempted, shuffling forward on your knees. He stood, stumbled back a step and then grabbed his head, breathing heavy.

"No." He said, then louder, "No, no way." You clambered to your feet as he jumped off the stage. "It's too much," He said and you could tell he was fighting tears, "I can't do this." He marched to the top of the center aisle as you called after him, pausing only for a second to glance back at you over his shoulder, his expression utterly destroyed, and then he opened the door and left.

You made to run after him, but Wally grabbed you, pulled you to his chest. "Let him go, baby," he said, calm and soft, and when you struggled, wailing, folding forward, and falling to the ground, he went with you and cradled you in his arms. Let you cry out everything that had happened; with Aiden, with the farmhouse cellar, with the cult, and Amelia and Anabelle. All of it. Wally held you through it, shushing you, holding your head to his chest, rocking you, kissing your hair between variations of, "I've got you, baby, I'm right here."

As you began to recover, thick sniffs and small whimpers, you burrowed into the safety and comfort of Wally's arms, not wanting the others to see you like that. Unfortunately, you didn't have a choice. Your phone vibrated in the back pocket of your skirt. Wally shamelessly retrieved it, handing it off to Maddie without a word.

"Simon's here." She said, as somber and morose as the rest of them.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Quinn Wu smiled as they greeted the next customer at the box office. It was Friday. They'd planned on checking out Horror Con with their friends. On finally letting loose and enjoying a weekend like a regular teenager. That was until their mom had stumbled in drunk right as they were about to leave, their mom clearly unable to work her shift at Jitterbug Theater. It wasn't busy. They could've called their mom in sick and the other staff could've easily made do.

But their family was hard up for money and the rent was overdue by several days, the threat of eviction already made clear like blood painted on the doorframe. So, there they were, giving their best customer service smile to the next in line.

The woman was old but pretty, her hair tucked under a hat that reminded Quinn of something one would see in the 20s. She wore large sunglasses accessorized with chunky rhinestones that glittered in the fluorescent light. Her cashmere sweater was a simple black, her mink shawl a bright Barbie pink. She hobbled in tall, spiky heels toward the counter, her weight balanced on a cane that matched her sunglasses.

She was fabulous, Quinn thought, certainly the most interesting person they'd ever seen. The woman joked with Quinn as she waited for her tickets to print.

And then...then the world seemed to go quiet. The woman leaned in, her hand grabbing Quinn's when they offered her the tickets. With a grey-toothed grin, she said, "I'm so sorry your mother doesn't love you enough to let you have your own life," truly sympathetic. She lowered her sunglasses on her nose, sparkling blue eyes gazing deep into Quinn's.

Strangely, Quinn wasn't alarmed. Or offended. Or disturbed. They were resigned. As if the woman's words expressed a universal truth they couldn't escape. Quinn nodded, their eyes casting to the countertop.

The woman leaned in further and assured, "Don't worry, pet, I can make it all better."

Quinn's eyes flashed up to hers, hopeful. "Really?"

The woman nodded, "Just be sure to go to school on time and don't skip any classes. Be a good student," the woman instructed, very serious, "and I'll make sure you get everything you want." Her smile remained sweet while her eyes turned sharp. "I promise. But do you?"

Quinn pondered the question, tilting their head and staring at the woman in front of them who could give them everything they wanted. After a few silent seconds, the beat of their heart getting louder in their ears, they answered:

"I promise."

💀___________________________

OCTOBER SUN PT.27 - PART ONE

note: for those who don't know, Quinn is a character who will be making her/their debut in S2. i'm using they/them pronouns to respect the actor as i don't know anything about Quinn yet. but anyway...*cracks knuckles* let the challenge BEGIN. i swear to all that i am that i WILL finish this nutjob of a fic before next Thursday if it's the last thing that i do ☠️✍️🔥🚒

ABOUT THE TAGLIST: we're not about that life around here (•¯ ∀ ¯•) things got too outta hand and i'm still cleaning up the mess left behind by the demons i accidentally summoned trying to get the damn thing to work 🕳️👹......there's a dustpan over there if you feel like helping 🧹💨 or, if you just wanna stay up to date, please FOLLOW ME and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS.

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Kristian Ventura #Simon Elroy #Peyton List #Maddie Nears #Spencer MacPhearson #Xavier Baxter #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Moon

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raspalace · 3 days ago

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Ra’s Palace

Hello, this is my very first story and I’m excited to share it with you all. I have had a lot of inspiration from past TF writers and current ones. I would like to say thank you to @bizzhideaway and two of my friends for helping me with this story. I hope y’all enjoy! :)

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It was the night of Halloween and as a 21 year old grad student, I was looking forward to having a night to escape from the stress; a simple night. When I came to the party, I noticed the amount of individuals participating in black face and immediately felt uncomfortable; without hearing a single excuse or plea, I left to explore the town.

Since moving to this university for grad school, I haven’t had time to see what this town was like or the history of it. While in my thoughts, I precariously walked to an area of the abandoned downtown. It wasn’t until lightning struck and rain started to pour that I noticed the door to an abandoned rundown hotel was opened and I decided to go in to escape the harsh weather. The lobby had an eerie aura to it with furniture that was covered in cobwebs and the floor was white from the collection of dust. How long has this place been here? I wondered and walked over to the check in desk that was also a bar, checking the rusted logbook and seeing that the last check in was 50 years ago.

I closed the book and went to explore the lobby some more, finding a picture of the hotel’s owner. It was a handsome Arabic male that went by the name Rasheem Ahmir. I pulled out my phone to see if I could look the man up but my phone lacked reception. I looked up at the picture once more and chuckled a bit, “I wish I could learn about you and what caused your hotel to end.” Lightning struck and a roar of thunder followed, causing me to look back at the entry doors before I turned back to the photo and saw that the man was no longer there.

“What the hell?” I asked aloud and started to head over to the picture until the doors to another room flew open and banged against the walls. I knew that I should have left then and there, but something was telling me to investigate and so, I cautiously walked to the doors and saw that it led into a theater room. As soon as I walked in, the doors quickly shut and the screen began counting down from three to one. I grabbed a seat in the front row in the center and was surprised at how comfortable the seats were even though they were old.

The video began and explained how Rasheem grew up in the Middle East as a child before moving to the states in hopes for a new beginning in the American Dream. Unfortunately, he was met with racism and anguish towards him and his community, but that didn’t stop him from working hard and eventually opening up his own hotel, Rasheem’s Caravanserai. A place where people of all likes can rest and network with each other to expand their businesses. Rasheem started a family with his African wife and their son and their community was growing and prospering as the buildings on the block being used for businesses from cultures around the world, but the video suddenly cuts to the hotel and other buildings being on fire with no police or firefighters in sight to help the civilians or put out the fire; the video ends.

I wiped a tear from my eye and clapped in the empty theater. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Ahmir but you created a welcoming community and I applaud you for that. I wish I could see what this block was like in action. If I could avenge your sacrifice and death, I would.” I spoke, thinking there wouldn’t be a response, but I thought wrong as a question popped onto the screen.

‘Is that so?’ It said as the screen began to flicker.

“Uh…yea, I understand being in a community that prospers, but ends in despair.” I responded and looked around the room to see if there was a person or spirit but there was no one. The screen turned off and the room was dark; I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Moments sitting in a dark unfamiliar room peaked my anxiety as I began to hyperventilate in the chair with my legs numb.

The screen flashed on and I noticed that I was naked in the chair which caused an immediate panic, trying to force myself out of the chair but my body wasn’t listening to my commands. A spinning spiral appeared and my eyes fixed on to it as a thick musk smell flooded in through the vents.

You are being made anew. Relax and breathe.

Getting out of a panic attack would usually take me hours but I found my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace as I took deep breaths, inhaling more of the smelly air into my system. Moans began playing off of the speakers as the spiral continued and I blushed, feeling myself feel aroused and my pussy becoming wet.

“Fuck..” I spoke lowly as my body began grinding my pussy against the fabric in the chair, my juices soaking it. The musk in the air became thick and I tried to cover my nose from the pungent smell but I still couldn’t move on my own.

You are a man.

I raised an eyebrow at the next prompt and let out a soft laugh. “I’m not a man, I couldn’t imagine being one.” With the spiral still present, the screen showed videos of Arabian men working or playing sports while shirtless. Their muscular build covered in body hair, their sharp faces, and pronounced bulges added to my arousal as I felt a hand play with my clit and the lips to my leaking pussy. I moaned loudly as my eyes were transfixed on the screen and my mind fogged from arousal and the thick smell.

You are a man.

You have always been a man.

You spend a lot of time around other men.

I knew that I should be protesting against the suggestions, but memories of using male pronouns and others referring to me as a male flooded my mind. My small, delicate feet grew from size 6 in women’s to size 10 ½ in men’s, the once soft skin becoming calloused from days running. My thighs and calves spasmed as they grew in muscle and fat from the heavy deadlifting in the gym.

A pair of cold hands groped my breasts and teased my nipples as my breasts grew busty before forming into thick bouncy pectorals with sensitive nipples to compliment them as my shoulders broadened to help support the new weight and my back stretched causing my height to change from 5’3” to 5’10”. My stomach grew hot as defined cum gutters appeared in a six pack and my curves softened into a more defined silhouette, my hips narrowing and my waist tightening.

My arms and hands were next as muscles protruded underneath my skin; biceps and triceps growing big as footballs and my hands became larger with thicker calloused fingers, my nicely trimmed fingernails became rugged and chipped. My pussy leaking like a faucet from the new set of muscles and strength. My neck became thick with an expanding vocal cord as my moans cracked in pitch before it stayed at a baritone range. My hair shortened into a buzz cut as bones in my face cracked and shifted, developing sharper cheekbones and a more angular face yet I could grow more plump than before. ‘But what for-’

My thought was cut off as a hand rammed into my pussy and I groaned loudly as my ovaries were slowly pulled out of me, thick wet testicles now hanging between my legs. I squirmed in the seat as my clitoris adjusted its position and grew to an average 5 inches. The groping, wandering hands let go of my body as I panted heavily and looked down at my new body.

“Th-this can’t be happening!” I yell in shock before my eyes were pulled back to the screen.

This is your body. This has always been your body.

As foggy as my mind was, a pain struck and memories of going out dress shopping and getting periods were replaced with wearing suits and spending time in the gym. With a shake of my mind, I am convinced that I’ve always been a man and have known no other life.

You are your mother and father’s son.

‘Mother and father’ I think to myself as my mind couldn’t pull an image for them while my skin tone shifted subtly, taking on a lighter tone with a rich golden undertone and my eyes lightened to a soft blue. My jawline became more defined as my cheekbones elevated, freckles painted my face as tight curls grew from my scalp. My ass became thick with fat, a gift from my mother, which caused the seat to groan and dent inwards. Dark body hair covered my torso, legs, arms and pits while lightly dusting my arms and ass.

You are your father’s BOY.

This is your HOME.

‘Boy’ rang through my mind as I continued to think of my parents and images of Rasheem and his wife – no, my mother, Nakia. Memories of living in the hotel as my father worked endlessly and my mother entertained guests with her voice and song. With every memory, the hotel became alive with a clean atmosphere and lively architecture and lightning. The screen became modern and the seats became reclining armchairs; my chair reclined with my legs lifted as the theater lights dimly lit. Unfortunately, my mother died and I took on more responsibility when I was 21– wait.

“I am 21, what do I mean when I was?” I asked as I snapped out of the fog and noticed that my body was covered in a maroon suit that tightly sculpted my muscles and juicy ass; the sight caused my dick to rise.

You are my boy, my good old boy.

The words were not only popping on the screen but along with the moans, the speakers announced the words in my father’s deep voice. ‘Boy’. Once again it bounced through my mind as I thought hard to understand why.

You are DUMB.

I felt a sharp pain in my temple. I still wanted to help this ghost, my father but I didn’t want to be an airhead. “I’m not dumb I’m graduating from graduate school next week!”

You are DUMB. No university, no education outside from mother and I

You enjoy WORKING OUT

You enjoy SEX

SIMPLE LIFE.

Be a good OLD DUMB BOY.

With the freedom to move my hands and arms, I gripped my head. I had always prided myself on my sharp mind, quick wit, and deep understanding of complex topics. Yet, those qualities began to vanish as a deep fog clouded my mind once more. My once-vibrant thoughts were dulled by the heaviness that settled in and my ability to analyze and process information faded and my speech became simpler and fragmented, enjoying simplicity over deep discussion. I let out a low guffaw as my lips parted to forever stay open and eyes dulled. Recollection of sports trophies and barely understanding the teachings from my father and mother replaced academic awards and groundbreaking seminars. My ambitions to become a world shattering businessman dwindled to staying in my hometown and reopening the hotel, working out and fucking in my free time; I might even try to fuck while working. I was the owner of the hotel after all.

With this acceptance, a rush of tingling coursed through my body as my smooth skin gradually developed fine lines, crow’s feet forming at the corners of my eyes. My vibrant complexion gave way to a more weathered texture as my jawline grew stronger yet softer with age as a luscious beard covered them and my hairline receded. My posture shifted as my back straightened from experience and wisdom yet my muscles grew in size and definition, instead of sagging, gasping for freedom against my clothes; my skin grew thicker as veins stood out more prominently on my hands and arms. My body hair grew wild and thick, dusting a salt and pepper color.

I wasn’t currently 21 aiming for a degree in business, I was 43 reopening the hotel from the insurance money that my parents saved and some of my life savings as well.

That’s my good BOY.

It finally hit me. When my mother passed while I was 21, I took on responsibilities that were my mother’s then some more. My father introduced a brothel as part of the hotel and it was mine to oversee. It was there that I flourished. It was there I became my father’s Baba’s boy. My dick grew to full mast while leaking precum into my trousers. Memories of Baba teaching me how to suck, fuck and be fucked as I became everyone’s first choice when they came to the brothel and I pleasured them all, some lasting a few minutes, others lasting hours. I palmed my erection while grinding my ass against the seat as my hole loosened from years of pounding.

You are now the man of the Ahmir family. You have the power to CHANGE others.

I groaned loudly as I arched my back from my throbbing dick pressed against the crotch of my trousers before I pulled it out. The screen played videos of group sex of men and women and I stroked my dick roughly, it grew to a girthy 11 inch and my balls hung low, becoming the size of oranges; thick bushy hair covered my balls and the base of my dick. A wave of electricity ran through my veins and a new sense of undiscovered power overwhelmed me.

The spiral quickened and the moans from the video grew louder.

You are DUMB.

Drool pours from the corner of my lips. My mind free from stress and real responsibility.

You like SEX.

Fucking men and women alike brought me pure pleasure. I wore only jockstraps as underwear.

You WORK OUT.

I had to stay in the gym to keep my body strong.

You are AFRO-ARAB.

Teachings from my parents about the similarities and differences of their cultures brought a deep connection and pride to my race and ethnicity, gaining knowledge of Arabic and Swahili languages while my English diminished to the basics and my American accent swept away with a guttural one.

You are RAFI AHMIR.

Ropes of cum decorated my suit and the chair as I let out a deep moan, panting from the best jerk off I’ve had in awhile. I chuckled to myself as I stood up and new foreskin grew from the shaft, the extra skin covering the head of my dick as it started to soften before placing it into my cum soaked jockstrap before cleaning myself up. I left the theater to find the hotel vibrant with up to date furniture and a mix of African and Arabic architecture, the thick musk scent filled the hotel yet I was used to it. I went behind the check in desk and bar and looked at the old logbook, waiting for the first guest victim to walk through the doors.

The bell rang as the door opened and I smiled.

“Welcome to Ra’s Palace!”

#male transformation #bearification #arab tf #dumbing down #straight to bi #raspalace #hypnosis #male age progression

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pennyserenade · 3 days ago

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headcanons about neil lewis (some nsfw, some not)

he comes from a relatively normal middle class family. his father used to be a college history professor but he’s retired now and he spends his time building trains in the basement. his mother was a semi-successful artist for a time in the 70s before neil was born. she paints for fun now, as well as gardens, and calls him too often to ask when she’s going to get grandchildren and to tell him how the plants are doing. he’s also got two younger sisters who he never talks to except for on christmas.

he made a series of wise decisions in his youth because he knew all along that he wanted that movie store, but no means to get it if he didn’t work for it. he probably has a degree in something like software engineering—which he happily abandoned when he’d made enough money to fund the life he wanted.

he developed a love for film as a child, in part because his mother used to take him to the cinema all the time during the summer breaks. his first love was audrey hepburn in sabrina.

he likes when women have a decent amount of bush. it’s less to do with any feminist mentality he might possess more than the fact that nearly all the porn he consumes (aside from the not so occasional nudie mag) is vintage. he won’t tell his partner what to do with their body, though

he only likes role playing during sex sometimes. his favorites are: rockstar/groupie, director/actor, detective/femme fatale, and more regrettably barbarella/pygar

he’s not very dominant in bed and instead prefers to take a more passive role unless specifically asked to do otherwise. he can be dominant, but he prefers sex to be a 50/50 exchange.

he likes to eat pussy and enjoys greatly being used for it. just tell him when and where and he’ll be there, with an open mouth and willing fingers. he likes to go until you’re a mess and so wet you’re dripping with it.

he’s a lover boy through and through. he doesn’t always need sex to be tender and slow, but he does need sex to be close and intimate. if your fucking doggy, he will bend over you or pull you up to his chest so you can be closer.

he’s sexually adventurous and not embarrassed to be silly in bed sometimes. he likes to laugh when one of you fuck up while trying to talk dirty and he’s willing to be pegged or whatever else your heart could desire from him. anything once, is his motto.

#he’s my little guy #neil lewis

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lacydollette · 2 hours ago

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TEAMING UP ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: exbf!dean x huntress!reader

warnings: heavy tension, mention of guns, dean being cocky, explicit language, lowkey a lil angsty, maybe fluff (?)

Dean moved carefully through the forest, keeping his steps light, always on high alert for any signs of the werewolf pack they were hunting. The brothers had tracked the attacks to this abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect hideout—isolated, hidden deep in the woods, far enough from any town that no one would hear the screams. His grip tightened on the silver knife in his hand, they were close now.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Sam wasn't too far behind. They had split up to cover more ground, but something about this hunt felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't the only ones out here tonight.

That feeling was confirmed when he heard the faint rustle in the bushes ahead. Instinctively, Dean tensed, his body ready for a fight as he inched closer to the noise. He barely had time to react before something lunged at him, slamming him back against a tree with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs.

Before he could get a grip on what was happening, he felt cold steel press into his chest, and a fierce hand gripping his throat. Whoever had him pinned was strong and definitely a combat master. And as his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he recognized the face glaring up at him.

"y/n?"

His voice came out rough, startled. It had been years since he'd seen you—his ex, the one who'd walked out of his life after you’d both decided your worlds were too dangerous to pull love and feelings into the mix. The one who never left his mind, no matter how much time passed.

You blinked, shock flashing in your eyes before it hardened into something more familiar. You stepped back, releasing him, but the gun stayed firmly in your grip, aimed at him as you spoke. "What the hell are you doing here, Dean?"

Of all people to run into on this hunt, it had to be him. It was like the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on you. You hadn't seen Dean in years, not since you both decided to go separate ways. Too much baggage, too much history. You had moved on. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

He rubbed his neck, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the fact that you had nearly taken him out. "Nice to see you too, y/n. Still got that charming bedside manner, huh?"

Your eyes were cold, all business, just like you had been when you first met on a hunt years ago. You hadn't changed much—still fierce, still sharp, still... fucking beautiful. The moonlight highlighted the determination on your face, and for a second, Dean almost forgot where you two were.

"I nearly shot you," you said frustrated, trying to get rid of the thought of almost killing your ex boyfriend. Dean shrugged, his smirk fading as he let out a breath. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Your jaw clenched, and he could see the wheels turning in your head. He didn't know whether you were more annoyed that he was here or that he'd caught you off guard. Definitely both.

"This is my hunt," you snapped, eyes narrowing at him. "I've been tracking this pack for weeks.", "Yeah, well, so have we," Dean replied, meeting your glare. "Sam and I are here to take them out. Same mission, different day."

Your eyes flashed with anger, and for a second, Dean thought you might shove him back against the tree again. You had always been like this—stubborn, independent, never one to back down. It was one of the things that had drawn him to you in the first place, even if it was also the reason you couldn't make it work. You were too much alike, both hunters, both living lives that didn't leave room for anything or anyone else.

You stepped back, shaking your head. "I don't need your help, Dean. I've got this." Dean crossed his arms, his expression serious now. "Really? You're gonna take on a whole werewolf pack by yourself?"

You glared at him, and he could tell you weren’t in the mood for his questions. But he wasn't about to let you get yourself killed, even if you wanted to do this alone. There were too many of them—he and Sam had already counted at least five, maybe more, and even someone as tough as you couldn't take on that many without backup.

"Look," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, "I know you don't want me here, but we're on the same hunt. Let's take these bastards out together, and then you can go back to pretending I don't exist."

You scoffed, your grip tightening on your gun while you rolled your eyes at him. You didn't need anyone else. You had always worked best alone, and you weren’t about to let anything—or anyone—get in your way. Dean's temper flared for a second, but he held it back. "Look, I'm here to finish the job. That’s it.”

You both stood there, staring each other down, the tension between you thick. It was the same as it had always been, that push and pull that had kept you together—and tore you apart in the end. Eventually you gave in, at least it would be quicker this way, right?

Dean couldn't stop himself from watching you as you approached the barn. You moved like a shadow, silent and sharp, every step calculated, your eyes scanning the area like a hawk. You were damn good—one of the best hunters he knew. But that didn't make him worry any less. The werewolf pack all of you were up against wasn't just dangerous—it was reckless, and there were too many variables that could go wrong. Dean knew that better than anyone.

You had always been independent, always insisted on doing things your way, and normally, Dean respected that. Hell, he admired it. Yet he couldn't shake the knot of worry tightening in his chest.

It felt like old times, like you were slipping back into the partnership you used to have, it was like no time had passed at all. You still got under his skin, still made his heart race in ways he didn't want to admit. And as much as he tried to focus on the hunt, on the job, he couldn't ignore the pull he still felt toward you.

There was unfinished business between you two—there always had been. And deep down, Dean knew that no matter how hard he tried to move on, some part of him would always be tied to you. You weren’t just part of his past. You were part of who he was, whether he liked it or not and he had to keep you safe.

Dean glanced over at you, his jaw tight. "Get behind me." You shot him a look, the fire in your eyes flickering to life. "I don't need you to babysit me, Dean. I've got this." He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady, but the frustration was bubbling up inside him. "I'm not babysitting you. I just don't want you to get yourself killed." You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"That's not what I'm saying," Dean growled, stepping closer. "I know you can handle it, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna stand here and watch you get torn apart." Your eyes flared with anger. "I don't need your protection."

“y/n I just want yo-“ he started, wanting to explain himself, yet you couldn’t help the frustration growing inside you. You always hated when he got too protective. For some it may seem caring and sweet, which it definitely was, but it made you feel weak, like Dean didn’t trust you. So before he could finish his sentence, you turned on him, shoving him hard against the nearest tree. He stumbled back, surprised, but he didn't resist.

Your arm was pressed against his chest, face just inches apart. "I've been doing this a long time," you hissed, voice low and dangerous. "I don't need you swooping in like some knight in shining armor. I'm not the damsel here, Dean." His lips curved into a smirk, the familiar cocky grin he knew would rile you up even more. "Never said you were, sweetheart. But if you wanted to get rough, all you had to do was ask."

Your eyes narrowed, he was so annoyingly attractive like this. Dean could feel the heat between the two of you rising, the space between you growing smaller, charged with a tension that had been brewing for years. You were still pressed against him, body close enough that he could feel the warmth of you against his chest.

"Don't start with me, Dean," you warned, but your voice had softened, just a fraction. Dean leaned in slightly, his grin still in place. "Who's starting? I'm just trying to be helpful."

You faltered for a split second, and Dean saw it—the brief flash of confusion in your eyes, the way your breath caught in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken, not from the argument, but from the way he was looking at you. That look—the one that always tore down your walls, no matter how hard you fought to keep them up. You hated that about him. Hated how, despite everything that had happened between you, despite how far you had come on your own, he still had this hold over you.

Your grip on his shirt loosened just enough that he could feel the tension in you melting away, little by little. For a moment, you stood there, locked in place, the world around you already forgotten. Dean's eyes flicked down to your lips, and for a split second, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—they could pick up where you two left off, despite everything that had happened.

His eyes pierced yours as you tried to remind yourself of the reasons the two of you didn't work, the reasons you had left. Dean was trouble. He was chaos. But when his eyes had flicked to your lips, every rational thought disappeared. It was like all those years apart hadn't changed anything. You still wanted him, still felt that magnetic pull whenever you two were close like this.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned in, your lips barely an inch from his. The heat between you was undeniable now, thick and electric, pulling both of you closer. Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest, everything else fading into the background. It was just you and him, like it always had been. But just as you were about to cross that line, a voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Uh, Dean?"

You two immediately jerked apart, snapping back to reality as Sam emerged from the shadows, his face a mix of shock and confusion. His eyes darted between you two, lingering on your form, and the look on his face said it all—he hadn't expected to see you, not after all these years.

"y/n?" Sam's voice was thick with surprise, his brows raised. "What are you doing here?" You quickly pulled yourself together, straightening your stance as you brushed off the tension that had almost swallowed you whole. "Just... hunting," you said coolly, but your voice wavered just enough that you could tell Dean noticed.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake off the heat still coursing through him. He shot a quick glance at you, walls back up in an instant. You kept your face neutral, but inside, you were cursing yourself for almost letting it happen. You had almost kissed him. After everything, after all the time you spent trying to move on, you had almost let yourself fall back into Dean’s orbit.

Sam's eyes flicked to his brother, and Dean could see the question there, unspoken but loud. He didn't have an answer for him—not right now. All he knew was that something between you and him had shifted, and no matter how hard you both tried to deny it, you couldn't go back to pretending like nothing had happened.

Not after this.

links: dean winchester masterlist

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @figthoughts @chevroletdean @titsout4jackles @deansbite @sugardean @deansbeer @supernatural-wolfie @hischrrypie @angelicjackles @littlelamy @nuemanfilms @starzify

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