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artemisia-musings · 2 months ago

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A Broken Man Can Love Again

Minors DNI! 18+ only

Summary: Leon is tasked with training a new agent. He vows to protect her, but doesn't expect to fall for her.

Tags/Warnings: Fem reader, no use of Y/N, suicidal thoughts, violence, protective Leon, smut, trauma dumping lol.

Note: I've been super depressed lately so this fic has been kinda therapeutic to write. Protective Leon makes my heart flutter. Also this is my first time writing smut! Hope you like it <3

Leon Scott Kennedy worked best alone. It was easier that way, safer. He found it was often easier to work if he didn’t have some soft-hearted inexperienced rookie trailing along after him. He couldn’t stand to get attached to them, only for them to perish. He had seen far too many good men and women die at the hands of evil. The weight of every death hung heavy on him, a reminder of his failures to do what he had long ago promised to do. Save everyone. If he can’t even save his goddamn team, how is he expected to save the world?

Seven years since Racoon City, seven years since his autonomy was stripped away. He supposed it was for the best, although Leon couldn’t help but feel jealous of those who had to choose what to do with their lives. Claire was never given the choice between death or service, no, she got to run off and play humanitarian. He gritted his teeth, knowing he was being unfair. Of course, if Claire had known leaving him and Sherry would have resulted in them being kidnapped she would have helped. He tried not to hold it against her. He tried to remind himself that at the very least, he was still helping the world, saving it from those who would seek to destroy it. But as he walked down the halls of whatever government agency he was aiding that day, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hatred for those who had been given a choice to be there.

Most people he came into contact with at work didn’t even believe in B.O.W’s. And why should they? The government wiped the slate clean every time, burying the events so that the world wouldn’t panic. Very few government agents knew the horrors of the bio-weapons, and even fewer were properly trained on how to deal with them. The survival rate for agents like himself was low, to say the least. Hell, Leon felt like he had seen most of them die himself. Ripped apart, crushed like a bug, necks bitten and torn. He had become so desensitized to gore and violence over the years that it hardly even phased him anymore. Leon worked best alone, so his annoyance when it was announced he would be training a new rookie was astronomical.

“Hunnigan, you have to be joking right? I’m the last guy they want training someone,” he argued, pacing the office of perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend in the government.

Ingrid Hunnigan, ever the level-headed individual, merely shrugged. “They thought your experience with B.O.Ws, along with the recent success of your Spain mission, made you the best candidate to train her.” Hannigan paused from clacking at her keyboard.

“If things go well, they will most likely make her your new partner.” She said it so casually as if this wasn’t a tremendous update.

Their relationship was one built off of duty. Ever since his mission in Spain last year, he had taken a liking to the no-nonsense woman. She let him complain and whine about his job; about his loneliness. And while she couldn’t do anything to help him, she was able to provide him with a small amount of validation and comfort. The field support agent was perhaps the only person aside from his higher-ups who knew of his forced involvement in the agencies.

“If she lasts that long,” Leon grumbled under his breath. Hannigan cast him a sour look but Leon shrugged it off, knowing he didn’t get a say in the situation- he never did. Choice wasn’t something in his job description, if he had a choice he wouldn’t be here at all. Or would he? For the past seven years, he had been trained to be an agent, trained to be the perfect weapon against eldritch abominations created by capitalistic psychopaths, and before that he had spent years at the police academy, training to serve. All his adult life he had been taught to serve and obey, and he was pretty damn good at it too. An obedient little soldier, ready to die for his masters. If Leon had a choice would he still be here? He couldn’t fathom the possibility of a normal life anymore, not with the knowledge that the world was so corrupted and ugly, ready to implode at any moment. Leon never had the option to choose this career, why anyone would be beyond him?

Mumbling a goodbye, he left his friend before returning to his own office. He slumped down in the chair, booting up his computer. Might as well figure out who his partner is anyway. Leon knew it was a bad idea to get attached, but curiosity killed the cat. Pulling up her file, he was surprised to see how young she was, not even past her early twenties yet. Most recruits tended to be older, and more experienced in military combat and whatnot. An unease washed over him as he read her file closely, a pang of anger sparking in his chest. The girl was in a similar boat as him. Wrong place, wrong time. Welcome to the club, kid. She had been present during an isolated virus outbreak at a University football game and had the unfortunate accolade of being one of the few survivors. Anyone with the capability to stand up to an infected tended to capture the attention of the government. Leon gritted his teeth, trying to calm the rage that brewed inside him. Had they blackmailed her into agreeing to join? Threatening her family, her own life, if she didn’t comply? He hadn’t even met her yet and he was already miserating over her.

Leon looked closer at her photo, taking in the saddened but hopeful spark in her eyes. Was she trying to see the bright side of the situation? Did she think she would get to be a hero? Leon let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he tried not to dwell on the potential of losing another person, another partner, another friend; the heart can only handle so much. “I’ll try and keep you safe” he murmured to himself, glancing back up at the photo on his screen. This time it would be different. It had to be.

_______

It was a sunny day when he met his new partner. Leon stood in the training room, rays of light beaming through the windows as a suit-clad man escorted the young woman in, no doubt her handler. Leon sucked in a breath, remaining stoic as they approached, trying to calm his racing nerves. Despite what he might tell others, Leon wasn’t exactly well-versed in talking to women. He used to consider himself a smooth talker in college, but ever since he left the academy, his exposure to flirting opportunities had been limited, to say the least. The closest he had gotten to flirting was with Ada last year in Spain. Can it be called flirting when you have a knife to their throat? However, one night in seven years was still a losing streak in his eyes.

The nameless suit briefly introduced the woman, whom upon hearing her name called, hesitantly reached out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Kennedy,” she greeted awkwardly.

Leon huffed a chuckle, an eyebrow quivering in amusement as he slowly reached for her hand. “Please, just call me Leon,” he insisted, shaking her hand. It was soft, not yet hardened by callouses, and her grip was weak. Hands that had not seen battle. They shouldn’t see battle at all. She shouldn’t be here to begin with.

As the agent departed, Leon took in the sight of his new trainee. He had been told she had been put through basic military training, but it would be up to him to prepare her for the unpredictability of bio-weapons. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his knife, slashing it toward her and she yelped in surprise, arching backward to avoid the blade.

“What the hell?!” she protested, dodging yet another attack from him. Her movements were clumsy, but fast- he could work with that.

“You think a bio-weapon is gonna give you a heads up when it’s about to kill you?” He retorted, his knife nicking her cheek. “You think a corpse is gonna ask permission to bite you? That a mutated beast is gonna wait for your turn?” The girl grits her teeth, dodging and weaving his slashes. “You have to be ready for anything because these things will not hesitate to kill you.” His blade came into contact with her arm as he knocked her down and she fell with a grunt, glaring up at him. Leon bit back his tongue, ignoring the way her frustrated look pained him. It was for her good, he couldn’t let her training be easy, not if she expected to live through the next few years. As much as Krauser was a psychotic sadist, Leon couldn’t help but admit that his brutal training methods had been useful. He reached out his hand, the young woman hesitating before taking it.

“ That’s one hell of a hello,” she grumbled, and a smirk formed on Leon’s mouth. He pulled her up to her feet, giving her a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” he chuckled softly. “Now, let’s go get you bandaged up.”

____________

The seasons start to change and Leon starts to dread going to work less. Despite the colder nip in the air, he feels warm, and eager at the prospect of seeing his rookie. She has acclimated well to her new role, and while Leon wishes he could punch the son of a bitch who forced her to enlist, he can’t help but feel a spark of gratitude that she was here.

The rookie isn’t overtly chatty, and Leon can tell she still doesn’t fully trust him. He can see it in her eyes, like a deer eyeing a wolf. She’s polite and respectful, dutifully calling him honorifics and obeying commands, but Leon isn’t fooled.

There is snow in the air as he makes her run through an obstacle course. After all, not every mission she’s sent on is going to have pristine weather. She’s miserable, he can tell even from afar. She trudges through the snow, hauling herself over wooden walls, leaping over logs, and swinging from a rope. By the time she practically collapses over the finish line, her ears and nose are tinged red from the cold, and he can see her breath in the cold winter air.

“You took too long,” he said plainly, checking his stopwatch. “You took nearly five minutes, you can’t pass unless you do it in under two.”

The girl is panting, trying to regain her breath. She glances at Leon, a look of annoyance plastered clear on her face. “Fuck off” she wheezes, and a bead of sweat rolls down her forehead.

Leon can’t help but laugh at her crass words. He remembers how difficult it is, trudging through the snow or mud through the finish line. He’s lost count of how many times he’s done this over the years, how many times Krauser pushed him until he was at wit's end. Leon doesn’t want to be a cruel footnote in the history of her life. He doesn’t want her to look back on this chapter of her life with disdain as she remembers him. Leon isn’t sure of what he wants, or what he needs to give up to admit what he suspects deep down. He shakes his head, trying to push any conflicting feelings down deep inside him, burying this fleeting hesitation along with the rest of his hopes, dreams, and suppressed emotions. Leon isn’t here to get sentimental, he’s here to make sure this rookie doesn’t get murdered on her first mission.

“One more time” he orders, looking away from her and back over to the snow-covered course. “After that, you can take a break,” Leon adds, almost hesitantly. He shouldn’t be soft with her, but as her face lights up at the prospect of being able to rest, he can’t help but feel his heart flutter with a palpitation of happiness. He watches as she takes off once more, a newfound sense of energy overtaking her as she maneuvers the course. Leon can’t help but feel mesmerized as he watches her in a trance-like state, a surge of pride washing over him as she sprints over the last obstacle, gasping for breath as she crosses the finish line.

“One minute and forty-six seconds,” he said, stopping the timer as she smiled triumphantly.

“Nice to know your reward motivated, perhaps from here on out I’ll carry a little bag of treats for you,” he snarks, a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as she rolls her eyes at him.

“Woof” she responds dryly, “Now I believe I was promised a break?”

Leon nods, smiling to himself as he leads her towards the concrete building. “Let’s go rookie, I’m pretty sure the dining hall made hot chocolate,” he says.

“Is it good?” she asks, trailing after him.

“Not at all,” he admits. She laughs, throwing her head back as she does so. Leon can’t help but stop in his tracks, admiring her beauty as the snow falls around them.

__________________

It’s a quiet night, far too quiet for Leon’s liking. It’s the kind of silence that puts him on edge, reminiscent of a calm before the storm. He knows deep down he’s safe in this military facility, that there is no monster lurking in the dark shadows of his room, but he can’t bring himself to fully believe it. He tosses and turns in a light slumber, waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing and mouth agape. Nights like these aren’t uncommon; he's used to waking up in a panic. Not even in sleep can he escape the ghosts of his past, the terror that has plagued him for years. The line between nightmare and reality doesn’t exist for him, and he dreads the prospect of sleeping again. He pushes himself out of bed, his body aching from the thin mattress as he throws on a random t-shirt. He ran out of his hidden liquor supply a few weeks ago, but perhaps the kitchen has something that could calm his nerves. Leon feels weak admitting that alcohol is one of the few things that allows him to temporarily forget his trauma. He’s a man on a mission as he slinks through the halls of the base, careful to be quiet. He’d hate to have to explain to a commanding officer why he was out at this time. Sorry about that General, I was just looking for some spare booze cause I had a nightmare! That’d go over well. The kitchen is unlocked and seemingly abandoned as he peeks his head in, making a beeline to the cupboards. Lady Luck is on his side as he finds a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Bingo. The sound of sniffling startles him, shooting his head up to see the rookie curled up by a window, moonlight pouring down over her as she meets his gaze.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” Leon asked, trying to keep a fragment of authority in his voice. It comes out cracking, his voice still husky from sleep and raw with emotions.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “You?”

“Tried to sleep, didn’t go over well,” he mumbled, grabbing two glasses. “Care for a glass?” he asks, already pouring one for her. He knows the answer.

“Please” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. Leon knows this look all too well. He pours them both a hefty shot, placing a glass in front of her as he takes the opposing seat to her. The rookie grabs the glass, swirling its contents around as she drinks deeply.

“I can tell you want to say something, might as well get it off your chest,” he offers, drinking from his cup. When he was in the academy Leon used to hate straight liquor. It burned his throat and made his eyes water, stinging on the way down. Now, Leon enjoyed the burn, it reminded him he could still feel. He didn’t even flinch any more as he drank it.

“You wouldn’t understand,” the rookie sighs. Leon can see that her eyes are glassy and bloodshot, with heavy bags under her eyes.

“I might be the only one who does,” he countered.

The rookie doesn’t say anything at first, just looking at him with a haunted expression. “I had to shoot my friend,” she said, turning her gaze to the window. The moonlight shines down on her, casting her in an ethereal glow. “One of those infected bit her, tore a chunk right out of her arm. She swore up and down that she was fine, but after a little bit she had to sit down,” she paused, pursing her lips as she got lost in the memory. “I was holding her hand when she died, was with her to the end. But then she came back, thought maybe I was going crazy, that maybe God was looking out for me. Then she looked at me with those pale dead eyes and lunged at me. Had to put a bullet in her head.” The girl tensed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“You did the right thing,” Leon assured her. The rookie doesn’t look very convinced, just shaking her head. “I had to shoot my boss,” he murmured in exchange. “First day on the force back in ‘98, I was wandering the halls of the Racoon City police department when I found him. Never even got a proper chance to meet him, everything had gone to shit by the time I had arrived,” he paused to chuckle dryly. “His name was Marvin, only knew him for a few hours, but he died saving me. I wouldn’t be here without him.” Leon paused, feeling a lump in his throat. He quickly took a sip of his whiskey, not wanting to cry in front of her. “He turned too and came back as one of those creatures. Had to shoot him, right in the head,” he sighed, feeling his eyes dampen with tears.

“Sometimes I think about all the ways I could have helped him, how maybe if I had just done something differently he would still be alive. God, maybe if I had gotten there sooner I could have saved more people..” he trailed off, realizing he was rambling.

He clears his throat as he notices she is staring at him, a pitiful look on his face. No, it wasn't pity. Leon was far too familiar with pity, he faces it damn near every day. He can hear their hushed whispers in the office as they huddle around the water cooler, casting glances at him as he passes by. His story is infamous in the agencies he visits. Leon isn’t some fabled hero or even a person. He’s a tragedy that people love to revisit. He can’t let the past die, not when it’s become so woven into his sense of self. The girl doesn’t regard him in pity, but rather a look of mutual sorrow and misery. She doesn’t try to dab at her tears as they begin to fall more freely.

“It was my fault my friend died,” she said, her voice thick with choked-back sobs. “I was the one who had dragged her to that game, where they released the virus,” she sniffles. “It was chaos, the stampede to leave the arena must have been worse than the infected. All you could hear was screaming, an endless roar of it. All I could focus on was her hand, gripping it to make sure she didn’t get lost in the sea of people. We were both so hopped up on adrenaline we didn’t even notice she had gotten bit,” she had to pause to take a deep breath, and regain her composure.

“Swat team had come, every police officer in the county too,” she shakes her head as if trying to get rid of the memory. “Not that it made much of a difference, pretty sure most of them perished in the end. I grabbed a gun off of a fallen cop, and the two of us managed to get away from the crowd.” Her face scrunches up as she recounts the night. “If I hadn’t made her go, she’d maybe still be alive.”

“It’s not your fault she died,” Leon said softly, hesitating before reaching his hand out to grasp hers. “We can’t ponder on the what-ifs, at least that’s what I read in one of those psychology magazines.” This makes her chuckle, her lips curling into a small smile as their eyes meet. It’s a strange way to bond, trauma dumping in the middle of the night, but it feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, making it a little easier to breathe. Moonlight drapes over them and Leon wishes he could freeze time.

______

Gunshots cut through the silence as Leon observes the rookie shoot. Her brow is furrowed with determination, a scowl on her lips as attempts to shoot the targets in the head. Body shots at best might stun an infected, and probably won’t do jackshit against a larger mutated beast. Headshots guarantee damage to some extent at least. Her posture is perfect—confident, determined—but there's a flicker of something else in her eyes, something that catches his attention. Anger, maybe? Or frustration? The gunshot rings out again. Another headshot. The cluster of bullets digs deep into the skull of her target, her scowl morphing into a satisfied smirk at the small victory.

“Not bad,” Leon said, a strange sense of pride welling in his chest. “You know your way around a gun.” She pauses, lowering the weapon as she turns to look at him. Her expression shifts into something he can’t quite place.

“Thanks, the only thing my dad ever taught me,” she said, huffing a dry laugh. “Hated it at the moment, but I suppose I’m thankful now.” Her words are flippant although her body has tensed up.

“Didn’t get along so well I take it?” Leon questioned, cocking an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall. He can feel a familiar pang in his chest, the tug of commissary.

“That would be an understatement,” she rolls her eyes, Leon watches her carefully as she clicks the safety on and places the pistol on the table, her fingers lingering on the cool metal for just a fraction of a second too long.

“He was better than some fathers... but looks like I got served a helping of daddy issues anyway. He died a few years back, sometimes I’m almost thankful he passed before..” she trails off, gesturing to the room. Her words hang in the air between them, far more intimate than she probably intended. Leon stays silent for a moment longer than usual, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he’s unsure if he should say anything. There's a softness in her voice he didn’t expect. He struggles to remember his father, his family was taken from him when he was little. Sometimes if he tries hard enough he can see flashes of his face and feel the warmth of his embrace. But that’s all they are. Flashes of his past.

“I get it. Doesn’t always go the way we want, does it?” Her gaze flickers over to him, catching his eyes for just a moment, and that’s when Leon feels the change in the air. The weight of the conversation lingers, and the quiet moments stretch longer between them than either of them is comfortable with.

“It never does,” she says at last, sighing as she combed her fingers through her hair. “What about you? You close with your old man?”

“Old man died along with the rest of my family when I was a kid,” Leon says with a shake of his head. He pauses, searching through the distant memories as he tries to recall what his father was like. “I don’t have any bad memories of him, but don’t have many good ones either. He’s more of a feeling that haunts me.” The rookie just looks at him with an unreadable expression, as if she’s scanning his face.

“I guess we’re both haunted,” she says at last, breaking the silence between them. Leon can’t help but feel his lips tug into a smile. Vulnerability is not something that comes easily to him these days. It’s a weakness, something that can be used against him. Open yourself up too much and people are bound to steal bits and pieces from you. However, around the rookie, Leon can’t help but feel his walls weakening, baring his scars to her. He knows he should feel terrified to let anyone see the broken pieces of him, but all he can feel is relief that someone can see the real him.

_________

Leon can feel his heart in his throat as he sits down in Hunnigan’s office. It’s like a lump he can’t swallow, his esophagus tightening as if he’s about to choke. He knows why he was called here and it’s a moment he has been dreading since the rookie was assigned to him. He watches silently as his friend and colleague flips through the reports that he has provided on her, updates on her training and progress. The decision to send her into the field. To risk her life, to trust her on missions that could end in bloodshed or worse. He watches, almost disassociated, as Hunnigan flips through the reports on her progress.

“Everything looks good. Excellent, even,” she says, her voice smooth, confident. She adjusts her glasses, casting a rare smile in his direction. “You must feel proud.”

He just shrugs, unable to calm the nervousness swelling in his stomach. “I’m ecstatic,” he grumbles gruffly. He knows he’s being rude, she’s congratulating him on doing his job. He trained her and turned her from a survivor to an agent deemed worthy of missions. But Leon hates the idea of her out there in the field, risking her life. Too many what-ifs float through his mind, the unpredictability of their line of work fueling doomsday scenarios in his head.

Hunnigan doesn’t miss the bite in his tone. She glances up, her brow furrowing in mild concern, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she returns her focus to the papers in front of her, her fingers tapping lightly against the desk.

“I’m sure she’s ready,” he mutters under his breath, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to himself. Leon’s hands twitch, itching to grab something—anything—to release the frustration building inside him. He can feel his stomach twisting into knots, and the air feels too thick to breathe.

“Leon, you did everything you could,” she says, her tone more measured now. “You trained her. You gave her the tools. Now, it’s up to her.”

Leon huffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His jaw clenches. “Yeah? And what happens when it’s not enough? When the situation’s too much for her? You know how unpredictable this job is. I know how unpredictable this job is.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing in front of her desk, every step fueled by the tight knot of anger and fear in his gut. His voice rises, rough with emotion. “ I didn’t sign up to watch her get torn apart, to watch everyone I fucking care about die!” hd snaps. “I did it…to protect people, to save lives. How many lives have been lost because of me? Because of my failures?” His voice trails off, the anger morphing into bitter sorrow. Finally, he grits his teeth and mutters, “I’m not letting her get killed out there.”

Hannigan smiles faintly, but it’s not one of triumph. More like understanding. “Then trust her, Leon. She’s ready. And she’ll prove it to you.”

He opens his mouth, ready to argue again, but something in her expression stops him. With a sharp exhale, he takes a seat again, tension still coiled in every muscle. It will be different this time.

________

It’s a quiet night, one of those rare peaceful moments that Leon always savors. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a recognition of the hard work and training that had earned her a spot among the rest of them. She had passed, she was ready for missions, ready for the chaos and carnage that came with this job. And yet, all Leon could think about was the heavy weight of what that meant: ready to die. He takes another gulp of whiskey, the burn settling somewhere in his chest. He had taken her to a nearby bar, and it by no means was an elegant establishment. The decor was dated and dusty with the patrons even more so. Leon couldn’t help but find it charming, however.

She’s sitting across from him, smiling, talking about the future, trying to hide her quelling nerves. The dim lights of the bar cast shadows over her face, her body swaying slightly as she tapped her finger along to the beat of the old jazz music that permeated from the dusty jukebox in the corner. She sips at her beer, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes as she notices him staring at her.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious as her hand rises to dab at her lips.

He shakes his head, his lips tugging into an easy smile. “Do you want to dance?” he asks suddenly, his voice low and steady, almost like he wasn’t giving himself the chance to second-guess it. Her eyes widened a fraction in surprise. He hadn’t been one to make impulsive moves, especially with her. Still, there’s something in the way she holds her gaze that makes his stomach flutter. A chuckle escapes her, and she leans back slightly in her chair, putting on a dramatic sigh.

“Smooth,” she teases, but she doesn’t hesitate. She slides her palm into his, letting him pull her up with a small, amused shake of her head. “But I guess I’ll accept.”

“I’m hurt,” Leon says, gasping in mock offense as he pulls her gently toward the dance floor.

“And here I thought we had something special!” He spins her around as he pulls her close to him, hands resting on her waist as they sway to the beat. A soft laugh bubbles out of her, warm and light, before she looks up at him, the playfulness in her eyes softening for just a moment.

“We do,” she says quietly, her voice taking on an almost shy edge. “I don’t think I’ve been able to properly thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

The words hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Leon pauses, his heart skipping a beat. “Don’t mention it,” he says with a smile. His hand tightens slightly around hers, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re a damn good agent. You’ve earned everything.”

She doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes are focused on his face now, as if in a trance. His breath catches in his chest, and for a moment, the music around them seems to fade into a dull hum. It’s just the two of them now, dancing slowly, the rhythm of their steps matching the thudding pulse in his own heart.

Her hands slide up his arms, fingers brushing the edges of his shoulders as she pulls him into an embrace, He can feel the warmth of her body, the soft thumping of her heart against him. Leon’s own heart picks up speed, not used to such physical displays of genuine affection.

The distance between them feels like it’s finally being bridged. Something unspoken lingers in the air, a fragile tension that neither of them can ignore anymore. His hands find her waist, and he pulls her just a little closer, feeling the slight hitch in her breath as she melts into him.

She stays quiet for a moment, her body moving gently with his, the music guiding their movements.

“Leon,” she whispers, her voice low but sincere, “I don’t think I ever said it, but… I trust you. More than anyone.” A lump forms in his throat, and he closes his eyes for a second, steadying himself. He pulls back just a bit, enough to look into her eyes.

“You don’t have to say it,” he says, his voice soft. “I know.” The space between them, once filled with the unspoken tension of their roles, seems to vanish. And in that moment, Leon realizes that it’s not just trust they share—it’s something deeper, something neither of them had been willing to acknowledge until now. Her hand rises to his chest, pressing against his heart as their faces draw nearer. The soft glow of the bar lights paints everything in shades of amber, casting them in a haze of fleeting warmth.

“Leon,” she murmurs again, her voice barely a breath against his lips. He doesn’t need her to finish the sentence. He can feel it in the way her body trembles just slightly as she leans in, her lips so close to his that he can almost taste the moment. Without thinking, he closes the distance between them, the kiss soft and gentle, all things Leon isn’t used to. It’s a slow realization, a gradual unfolding of something neither of them had anticipated—but something that feels right. The world outside this quiet moment fades away. All that’s left is the warmth that Leon has been seeking for so long.

_________________

Everything has gone to hell. It started decently enough, a typical case of a B.O.W that had been released into the public, stirring up terror. It all went wrong so fast. An explosion rattles through the air, and Leon can feel the heat from the flames, the force pushing him back, falling onto the pavement. The pain from the impact is forgotten as he hears her scream. His heart stops beating as he forces himself up, finding a new sense of adrenaline as he races to where the creature has her cornered. It's one hell of a genetic fuck-up, a big hulking beast with withered skin that looks like it’s been burnt. Elongated limbs drag on the ground as it skulks toward her, bony claws decorating the tips. Its gnashing teeth are aimed at ripping into her throat, the beast's mouth is already stained with blood. Leon can’t think straight, the only thing in his mind is her. He races as fast as his strained legs can carry him, a wild frantic look in his eyes as he raises his gun to aim. The creature has her in its grip, its mutated hand grabbing her by the throat, threatening to crush her windpipe as it dangles her above the pavement.

“No!” Leon cries out, feeling as though his entire world might shatter. Her legs are twitching and kicking, eyes bulging out of her skull as she opens her mouth in a vain attempt to suck in even a breath of air. Leon aims and sends a cluster of bullets towards its skull. The beast roars in pain, flinging the girl against the pavement as it lumbers towards him. Leon grits his teeth as he sends more bullets flying toward it, and by some sheer luck, one manages to go right through its eye. He breathes out a sigh of relief as it finally stumbles forward, succumbing to the fatal blow. His victory is short-lived though, his eyes falling on the rookie. She still hasn’t moved, remaining limp on the cold cement. Leon kneels beside her, ignoring the pain from his own aching body as he gently cradles her in his arms. She is pliable and unmoving, like a ragdoll in his arms as he brings her to his chest. Her lips are tinged blue from lack of oxygen and her neck is inflamed from the strangulation, but Leon breathes out a sigh of relief as his fingers find her pulse, a steady thump emanating from her. As the chaos fades away, reinforcements finally arrive at the scene, Leon holds her in his arms, unwilling to let go. A medic approaches, trailed by a pair of agents.

"Please," he bemoans, trying to quell the fear in his heart as the medic kneels down beside him, gently taking the girl from his arms. He watches intently, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his chest. She was hurt. He hadn't been enough to protect her and she had gotten hurt. He feels tears prick in the corners of his eyes and he has to remind himself that he is being watched and judged right now. Leon forces himself to remain stoic, however on the inside, he can't help but lament that he failed her.

____________

The days following the mission were quiet. Leon had invited her to rest in his apartment, not trusting those bastards to give her the proper time to recover. It was strange having another person in his space, hell, he wasn’t used to having his own space. The apartment was a place he felt he hardly spent time in, being shipped around at the government's whim. It was nice to have something in his name though, and even nicer to have someone share it with him. The rookie made his sterile apartment feel more like a home than it ever had before. Leon fell into the role of caretaker quickly, letting her rest in his bed as he brought her tea for her throat and helped bandage her wounds. She would lament, saying she wasn’t dead yet and could care for herself, rolling her eyes playfully whenever he poked his head in to check on her. He couldn’t help himself though, part of him was still in shock that she was alive, that she had come out of that mission with her heart still beating. Leon knew his feelings weren’t strictly platonic, not after the kiss they had shared at the bar, not after the soul-sucking fear he had felt after cradling her limp body amidst the aftermath of the chaos. Feelings were a luxury he hadn’t let himself indulge in in years. This isn't lust, he knows that much. Lust is like a quelling fire that burns in his gut, one that’s hot and heavy and must be put out lest he be driven mad. No, how he feels is not a burning passion, but a steady flame, like laying by a crackling hearth and letting the warmth wash over him. As he looks into her eyes, he feels as if he is home. Leon isn’t sure if he has ever experienced love, but he imagines that this is what it feels like.

One evening as they are sitting on the edge of his bed, only half paying attention to a movie he had rented, he turns to look at her, feeling his chest swell with that warm fuzzy emotion again. He doesn’t have to put up a facade of strength and bravery, a performance of a loyal government agent. With her, she sees him for what he is. A scared broken man. Leon can’t afford to be vulnerable very often, neither of them could, but perhaps for now they could both step out of their protective shells and be who they are.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, mesmerized by her. She turns to meet his gaze, eyes wide in surprise. She doesn’t say anything at first, the silence deafening as Leon starts to wonder if perhaps this was a mistake.

“I love you too,” she finally admits, her hand reaching for his as he meets her halfway, tenderly holding hands as if they were a pair of schoolchildren in the playground. Leon can feel his heart swell, his mind growing fuzzy as he tries to wrap his head around this feeling. Relationships are impractical in this line of work, and he can’t be certain of his future, much less one he could have with her. To calm the flood of emotions that are coursing through him he does the only thing he knows that can calm him. He lurches forward like a man possessed, crashing his lips to hers as his hand comes up to clasp his face, her palm gently grasping his cheek as if he was a piece of treasure that might slip through her fingers less she is too rough. It’s an odd feeling, to be cherished Leon thinks to himself as he kisses her. He doesn’t think of himself as worthy enough to be cherished, to be loved at all. In his mind, he is unworthy, just a broken man who isn’t sure of what exactly he is doing, not used to making his own choices in life. But as the kiss grows more heated, Leon can only think of one thing he wants to do. To worship the woman he loves.

Leon falls to his knees before her. He doesn’t believe in God, not anymore at least. But as he looks up at her angelic face, he imagines this is what God’s love must feel like; warm and comforting, ever-present as he feels the adoration inside of him, seeping into his bone marrow. She spreads open her thighs and Leon doesn’t hesitate to close the gap between them. His tongue is pressed flat against her core, licking a steady stripe up her slit. He can’t tell if it's her musky sweet scent that makes him feel as though he has been electrocuted or the way she parts her lips and moans, but the feeling shoots straight to his groin.

“Don’t hold back angel, I want to hear you sing” he murmurs into her folds, pressing kisses to her clit as she arches her back as he wraps his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves. He buries his face into her core, her legs twitching as they wrap around his head, pulling him in closer. She’s whimpering and moaning as Leon has his mouth around her clit, tongue swirling around it as he slowly sinks a finger into her. The tightness is warm and wet and Leon can’t help but groan at the feeling. He sinks his finger into the knuckle before pulling out, slowly easing another one into her. He pauses as she adjusts to the feeling, holding still to simply bask in the way she looks. Mouth open, frozen in wanton pleasure as she starts to squirm, a silent plea for him to continue. Leon happily obliged, building up a steady pace with fingers, the room echoing with a mixture of her moans and the squelching of her arousal. His fingers thrust into her at an angle, finding that special spongy spot as her breaths came out in pants. Leon couldn’t help but feel a smirk tug at his lips as he began to repeat his motions, watching in awe as her chest heaved and her stomach tightened. A few quick kitten licks to her clit had her throwing back her head, her fingers entangling themselves in his hair. As she comes undone, he continues to work her through her orgasm, fingers finally slipping out as he pulls his face back, his chin glossy with her arousal. He crawls up her body, running a hand along the curves of her face as he presses his lips to hers and he can’t help but melt into her. She is everything he is not, and he feels as though he has found a missing piece of his soul.

“I love you,” Leon murmurs, breaking away to gaze into her eyes. He can’t bring himself to care about the ramifications of his actions, the potential discourse of his admission of affection. At this moment, he is not an agent, he’s just a man in love.

“I love you too,” the rookie whispers back, reaching up and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Leon groans softly, feeling all too aware of his growing desire. The rookie reaches up, wrapping her arms around his neck, and pulls him back to her.

“I’m ready if you are,” she says, her lips ghosting over his ear. Leon suppresses a shudder as meets her lips in a kiss, his free hand grasping the base of his cock as he runs in through her slick folds. With a groan he slowly sinks into her, the warmth enveloping him as he loses himself to her. He stills for a moment, the pair basking in the feeling of becoming one before Leon slowly starts to thrust, pulling out before gently thrusting back up into her. A whine leaves his mouth before he can stop it, the pleasure is all-consuming as he keeps up a gentle thrust. Her arms cling to him, a hand trailing down his back. Leon can’t tell where he ends and where she begins, all he can feel is the tightening of his stomach, his pace becoming more erratic as the coil inside him grows taut. He raises her thigh, pulling back slightly to worm a hand between the two of them, his calloused finger on her clit as he massages it, building up the pace until he can feel her clench around him, her whines and moans growing to a high pitch. Leon watches as her body begins to shake against him, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he waits for her to finish. It’s a beautiful sight to watch her come undone against him, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. With a final grunt, he pulls out, his hip bucking upward into his hand as cums on her stomach, his body shaking from the feeling.

He falls beside her, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, his chest heaving from exertion. His arms wrap around her, pulling her close to him as he closes his eyes and presses a kiss to her temple. There are no words to be said. The night will soon end and it will be a new day. Leon isn’t sure what the future holds for them as their lives are not theirs to control. If he could freeze time he would spend an eternity like this, pressed up against her, frozen in a kiss until the end of time. Leon couldn’t think of a more beautiful existence.

Note: I hope you've enjoyed this! Posting makes me nauseous lol. If there are any errors I apologize!

Tag:@tarantulasnot

#Leon Kennedy #leon s kennedy #Resident Evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #re4r leon #resident evil x reader

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monkebearness · 19 days ago

Text

A Shoulder to Lean on

Park Minju (ILLIT) x Male Reader

Tags: smut, fluff, (most likely more than) friends-with-benefits, (just a little) angst

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: just wanted to write something relatively quicker, while also taking a break from tripleS and longer fics (for a bit). as you may have also noticed, this one's in second person pov. I wanted to experiment on my writing style for this one, but it's not permanent.

It just turned seven on your wall clock. From your windows, the lights of the city have never looked brighter amidst the darkness, but that's not where your eyes are fixed on.

Park Minju has been sitting beside you on the couch for about half an hour now. Below the television, the volume of the speaker is still higher than usual, but you can see and feel her state of silence from her spot, provoking your constant concern towards her.

Stealing a glance beside her, you try to switch things up for once, taking a look at your console below the television. Beside it, you visually rummage through your catalog of games. “You up for a game or nah? It's your call tonight. We can even play League—”

“Maybe later,” she answers, but you sense her lack of enthusiasm, only staring down at her half-empty mug of coffee, instead of watching the performers on the screen. “I don't feel like it.” She's the one who played them, having picked the songs she would often perform at the bars or cafés they visit with their friends.

Minutes ago, you thought that Minju could just be listening in her own world, daydreaming about making it as a solo singer a few years from now or imagining herself as a girl group member in another life, which she's told you both in either embarrassment or when she's simply asking for your opinion. You've told her nothing’s impossible since you're still both in your mid-twenties. Some folks reach stardom at a much later part in their life.

Maybe except for the girl group part, since the industry garnered a wave of scandals and controversies in the last few years. You’re just thankful she has a well-paying full-time job, even if she’s not in love with it. Nowadays, you think it's better to have a job to live with than a dream to chase.

And yet—knowing Minju's for years now—you can tell from her blank face: not much is going on in her head. No words. Not a hum. No meaningful or nonsensical discussions about anything. And that’s enough to worry you, especially with what happened to her recently.

Perhaps, thinking about her dreams is far from the first thing that's bugging her, knowing that one was crushed not too long ago.

“It's okay…” You still try to play it cool. “We can just keep watching and listening. But, just so you know, we are closing into the last song on the playlist, so...”

She chortles, before turning to her right to face you. “Gomawo, Dongyul-ah.” Her lips curve upwards.

“Don't mention it,” you look down for a second, trying to avoid her gaze of sweet gratitude. That always gets you, but she probably knows you're too shy to show it. Show your own vulnerability, like she does with you.

“It’s just—” she tilts her head, trying to form her next phrase with her mouth agape. “Whenever I hit you up, you always seemed so cool with just me hanging out here in your own place. And I wonder, have you not ever brought anyone else here recently?”

“I have.” You defend yourself. But you know they haven’t been here, not as much as her. “The rest of the gang’s been here a month ago. We play games here. Watch movies when we feel like it. But this ain't just the PC Bang or the movie theater. This crib is mainly for chilling, so they don't always have to be here.”

“Jincha? Well... I gotta admit, it is pretty neat living that you're only a few minutes from your workplace,” she tells you, just before she takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee.

Ah, yes, the perks of working near your apartment. You never imagined feeling thankful for not having one stable and full-time job, even though your parents kept pestering you about it, but you have felt that gratitude a few times. Much like right now. Minju is one of those reasons. The times you were with her, you regret little. No, you regret nothing.

“Speaking of which, I haven't seen Namgi at the cafe around,” you bring up, a smirk subconsciously forming in your face. "I think he seems to have finally given up—”

“Stop,” she tells you up front, taking another sip of her drink. “I... Don't wanna talk about that piece of shit right now.” Your lips curve downward in an instant, almost panicking in your mind. Great. You just had to mention him.

It's only been a month since she dumped that cheating asshat. Men are trash. You're one yourself, but that doesn't invalidate that argument. You try not to be like them, you just remain yourself. You don't know if that's a good or bad thing, but Minju still keeps on meeting you by herself and you barely questioned it. She's one of the sweetest, kindest people you know.

Since the latter half of your college years, she has always leaned on your shoulder, and it's kept her at ease, whether she brings you tears of sorrow or joy, or none at all.

You felt the same way, strangely enough. She's a weight that has never bothered you.

“Okay, then,” you raise your hands slightly in the air. “Mianhae... I'll keep that in mind.” Why did she even date that prick? your ego wonders. Any of your buds would've been a better choice. But you also hate that you considered that.

“No, I'm sorry.” Her tone immediately tones down with a hint of guilt. “I'm the one who asked to visit you out of nowhere.” She places the mug on the table. “But I guess it's just fair ‘cause I rarely mentioned Yunah-yah when—”

The woman's eyes widened, realizing what she just said to you. “Oh... Mianhae... There I go again,” she places her palm on her face with an embarrassed chuckle. You feel a pang straight to your heart, even if you don't wanna acknowledge it. “And I thought I was the reasonable one.”

“Don't be sorry... I'd say you still are the reasonable one between us,” you inch towards her, maintaining your face of concern and comfort. “Minju-yah, you're always welcome here, whenever you need something. Don't forget that... Besides, what are friends for?”

You wanted to tell her she’s better off without that guy. Your heart wants to tell her that you care, and that you’ll always worry for her. You know it’s true, but she’s heard many variations of those derivative words and phrases from her friends—their friends… But tonight, with just the two of you, she doesn’t need to hear more words. Friends might have been what you said, but you're both feeling more than that.

This time, she just wants your presence. Just you.

You two only lock eyes in silence for a moment. Her smile has never been clearer. Her lilac scented perfume has never been stronger and more irresistible. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. That's all you hear on your chest. She must've heard it, as she takes the remote from the coffee table in front of you and turns the TV off—before immediately returning her eyes to you. The louder you hear your heartbeat, you feel more and more magnets gathering around you. Pulling you and closing the distance between your bodies as seconds pass.

Minju leans in first, reaching your lips without a heads up. Closing your eyes, you lean down, wrapping your arm on her back while you both make an effort to deepen the kiss, as your exchanges of saliva creates sounds of smacking, almost just as loud as the speakers playing the pop and indie playlist earlier. You allow her tongue to enter your mouth, amplifying your noise. You taste the latté on her lips. The sweetened coffee in her tongue, with a mix of the chocolate-covered almonds she munched on a while ago.

Your nostrils can't help but flare like a raging bull who lets loose, but you act like this because you don't want to let this moment go, even if you're starting to run out of air. You miss this woman beyond the boundaries of platonic friendship, you crave her presence beyond the labels of melodrama and romance. Her magnificent curves, from top to bottom. Her everything.

Eventually your kiss breaks, mostly 'cause of your abrupt hesitation plus the limit of your breaths after almost a minute. “I, uhhh, I'm not taking advantage of you, am I?” you open up. Your prideful and lust-driven mind berates you for bringing it up in the first place, but your guilt and conscience have broken and slippers through your mouth.

“Aniyo,” she immediately answers, keeping her finger on your moist lips and her other hand holding onto your chest, maintaining her gaze of hunger for you. “Dongyul-ah... That's the last thing I feel about you.”

You lean in this time, giving into your lust now that she's given you a better reassurance. It's probably the first time you've asked her if she's sure, ever since your actual first time together. You look back to how you've reached this point. This connection none of your mutual friends are aware of—that you know of, at least.

For a while, you've always been hung up on Yunah, but she never gave a rat's ass about your feelings. Just the thought of her now still gives you an ick. Meanwhile, Minju has always been willing to hang out with only you whenever you aren't meeting with your nosier and noisier closest pals, no offense to them.

You always find yourself wanting some time to breathe, outside the bars, the samgyupsal spots, and the café you are working at. Even if that means breathing with her within a few inches, whether it's whenever the sun is sinking on the horizon or when the moon is already hovering among what your own eyes excuse as stars.

Lifting her up with all your might in a bridal carry, you walk yourselves to the bedroom, your lips and tongues still dancing, but not before you turn on the table lamp instead of the much brighter lights of your room.

Your brain reminds you that you just got the sheets cleaned. Whatever. It should probably last another two weeks, you tell yourself. Maybe this one will be quicker, you add another possibility, since you haven't done it with her in a while, after all. Just don't disappoint her, another voice reminds you while you place her down on the lowermost area of the queen size bed.

Without any word, you undress each other, with Minju helping you take your shirt off while you unbutton her sweater and pants until they drop on the carpeted floor. Igniting another makeout session, you take the chance to explore her delicate body with your hands, giving her petite breasts a gentle squeeze, inciting a yelp from her for a moment. “Still a naughty boy, I see,” she purrs, her hand gripping your slowly hardening crotch.

After half a minute of familiarizing your bodies like a map, the woman gets on one knee after throwing your boxer down, but you stop her, leaving her with a tilted head to your response. “What is it?” she asks.

“Let me,” you take her hand. Maybe it's the spirit of chivalry that just possessed you, but you know that you just want to serve her. Not simply because she recently ended a rough relationship—but because she deserves the best. Even if it's from what you can offer. She lets you do your ‘thing,’ sitting on the surface of the bed while she exhales a grin—unable to conceal her excitement while facing you in her unashamed and impatient naked form.

Keeping yourself together with a deep breath, you leave a few kisses on her skin, starting with her lips, nibbling down her neck and collarbone, teasing her with a few licks on her petite mounds and nipples, until you finally crouch and kneel to the level of her opening, something you haven't seen in almost a year. Her cunt’s clean shaven, as you last saw it. You begin drooling, lubricating and warming up your own mouth for your next service.

Giving it a test run, you tickle her clit with your thumb, making her bite her lower lips, muffling her moans from growing louder almost immediately. Now, you unleash your index and middle finger together as they enter her hole, continuing her symphony before she covers mouth with her palm while keeping her other hand anchored on the mattress with her fingernails. With your two fingers making circular motions inside her, you push them in further and add your thumb to the mix as it goes to her clit, rubbing it the same time as your fingers.

“Fuck!” she yelps, unbeknownst to you that she’s finding the striking similarities in the movement of your own finger with the real thing. Just like your cock, you make a few similar motions, thrusting it in and out of her hole just to tease her as she groans, somewhat helpless with bracing herself towards the ripples of stimulation that you keep giving her.

Within a split second, you take out your fingers and replace them with your mouth, latching onto her folds as you give it a few kisses, making it look like you’re sealing her fluids from spurting out. Thankfully, there aren’t any yet, so you continue with your piehole taking the lead on her cunt.

“Aauuuuggghhhh, babe,” she mumbles, which only encourages you to bring your tongue out. It's like you're picking locks in an Elder Scrolls game, waiting for that right spot to click and unlock to enter her more pleasurable regions. In Minju’s case, however, she has more than one. You then make a swirling and circular motion across her nethers, switching between her clit, her lips, and her opening in the next several minutes. You’re not the type to count. You prefer results, and you’re getting them as your lips feel and your tongue tastes something warm spurting out of her glands.

The taste of her cunt has always entices you. Sour, sweet, sharp. They're only three of the plentiful varieties of words your mind remembers whenever you eat her out, most of the time, they just mix, like a concoction. And you've enjoyed all of them.

Adding to your oral performance, you give her feet a little tickle with your sweaty fingers, which you hear her giggling in response. At least in the first few seconds, because you also start hearing the woman as she reaches her limit through the slow trembles of her voice.

“I'm cu—I’m cumming!” With that unrestrained scream, Minju gives into her climax, leaning her head backwards and howling above the ceiling until she loses her voice to the breeze of their room. A wave of her essence fires into your face and on the edge of the bed. It takes eight seconds for her to stabilize her own breathing as you hold and caress her shivering legs from the floor without tightening them.

“Y--you… did great…” she takes one hand, slightly lowering her posture to pet you like a—well—a pet. “Holy hell.” You even try to wipe your face off her fluids like a dog, but Minju does the favor and gets up from the bed for a moment. On the nightstand, she takes two sheets of tissue from the box and sits down to help you get a little cleaner.

You hold her hand—her fingers interlock with yours—and look up at her with comfort, finding her smiling softly while panting. And if you're still in sync with your memories together, you should both know where things will lead to next. You smile back at her.

Despite only following each other’s body language, both of your guesses turn out correct. After eight minutes of taking a breather in the kitchen, you’ve now moved to the middle of the bed, facing each other, with you on top of her.

“Hngggghhh... Fuck, Minj—” you whimper, unable to coherently voice out how much you revere her body, especially with how tight she is. After all this time. “I can’t he—”

You always make sure thrusts aren't too rough, but she always tells you to do her harder. This time, she’s not even complaining that you're plunging in and out of her harder than before. From the moment she whispers “I'm safe tonight” to your ear, something comes in you. Possessed you. Her moans only keep echoing through the room while both your harmonious friction keeps on squeaking the bed as you shake each other’s worlds.

You wanted her to be on top, but she insisted on lying down while she now looks up to you while working together in rhythm with her as your bodies grind against each other's direction. With every plunge and pull inside her, your tip keeps rubbing onto her cervix. She tightens her arms around you to extend her neck and reaches your chest, sticking out her tongue to give it a few licks, treating your dripping sweat as if it's a mineral lick. More shivers drive through your spine as her tongue touches your right nipple, moving it sideways.

“Ugggghhhh, Minj—” you still can’t complete her name in this intoxicating commotion, but it keeps repeating in your mind in the last few seconds.

“Yooouu're—auggghhhh, still big... How in…” Minju moans loudly. You don't have a cohesive answer; her query only makes you smirk as you keep on thrusting. She still looks mesmerizing, you cannot help but touch lips with her again—and much to your surprise, neither can she. Every time your lips smack and your tongues tango, you start to realize how slow your heartbeat gets even if this whole thing costs them their breath. “So—much… Big–ger than that—Fuuuuuck,” she murmurs while catching her breath in-between your kisses. That's one compliment you'd like to accept, it somehow boosts your stamina simply having your ego well-fed.

Deepening your makeout session, Minju hungrily tastes of her own juices while feeling another wave build up inside her thanks to the continuous thrusts of your shaft inside. Your lips part, leaving a string of saliva and traces of her fluid. Her hands immediately move down to your hips, slowly tugging them with each pound you give her. She must want you to go even harder, and so you do it. “Yeeessss… Muuuuuh—more, Dongyul!”

You’re a slave to her, even if she wants to be the submissive one. That thought pushes you to keep going. To thrust with your hips faster and stronger. She rewards you with her screams of delight, her faces of gratification, and her claws of desperation digging into your back, triggering a grunt from you. Even that turns you on, every pain you've felt from her in bed, or anywhere else you’ve done it, converts to your satisfaction.

Reflecting your rising pleasure, your assorted harmonies echo through the walls. You might get a noise complaint from the neighbors next door later or in the morning, but you’re more than willing to take responsibility for craving your close friend this badly. You miss her, and you can't be any happier that she's here, not letting go of your skin, even if it bleeds or somehow gives you scars. You show how much you miss Minju by lowering your head to give her neck a sloppy kiss, inadvertently hitting a high note through a loud moan. A music to your ears, even at a perverted moment like this.

“Dong—yul-ah!” Her voice raises. “I’m getting close.” You hear the clashing of pleasure and exhaustion in her cracks, and yet she makes sure to remind you what she’s already told you. “In…side—me, please!” Now, she’s begging you.

Just in time, you’re just as close as she is. You keep your pounds in the same level of roughness, but you slow it down to one thrust per two seconds. “Okay…” you whimper, seeing her eyes half-shut as they roll backwards with her mouth opening wide. That look used to scare you when you first did it. You were never a fan of horror films, something Minju herself always takes the opportunity to make fun of. Now, that face keeps your cock hardened even though you feel her finally reaching her second climax with her fluids spurting through the gaps of her entrance, still sealed by your thick shaft.

“Miiiiiiinnjuuu-yaah!” With one last loud moan at the top of your lungs, you cry her name as you let loose inside your dear friend just about a few seconds following her, your warm, white load clashing with her fluids. The thought of filling her up “to the brim,” as they say, is tempting, but you still pull out, despite remembering her words clearly—still not wanting to risk anything. You both lie next to the puddle of your own mixed sweat and fluids, not caring that your legs are feeling the sticky sensation on the bed covers. You spread it the more you wiggle your still dripping cock and slide your feet, but that’s the least of your worries.

It’s a Friday night, and you and Minju just fucked each other's brains out for the first time in a year, and both of you regret nothing about. Without a thought in mind, you lean in to give her a kiss on her forehead. You've always wanted to do that. Minju can only look down, trying to hide her blushing cheeks from you with her disheveled hair, yet her adorable ears still stand out. You've teased how they look like elf ears, but you can't help but find them enchanting.

As you both maximize each side of the bed with arms spreading wide, you freely heave together, taking your time to catch your breaths through jolts of laughter and recollect your thoughts ‘til one of you speaks something intelligible once again. You take a deep breath, making the first remark between you two.

“I can't believe... I’m this lucky,” you huff with a chuckle. You don't even know why you said that out loud. You never have—but you don't feel any protest from your own mind, like you often do. It seems they couldn’t agree more.

Minju only shakes her head with a soft hum. “If anyone's... the lucky one here... It's me, Dongyul-ah,” she rebuts, slowly placing her hand on the side of your right cheek.

Your heart begins to race. Again. Perhaps, you're still just catching your breath in front of her. Perhaps her messy look and her blushing face is something you can't take your eyes off. The longer you look through her big eyes, the more you realize how brighter they shine than any of the stars every night. That’s stupid, but that's just how you see her oftentimes. You see either that or glitters, which is more or less visually the same.

“Agree… to disagree,” you shoot back, your mouth forming a grin.

She giggles. Still as cute and beautiful as ever. “Maybe, let's just both agree?”

“That we’re both lucky?” you ask her.

“Mm-hmm.”

How can you resist such a wise, precious, and stunning woman like her? You obviously can’t. You tried before. But there’s no good reason to do so.

“Arasseo,” you submit to her final rebuttal with a chuckle.

You like her, that's true. You like her more than anyone you’ve liked. More than anyone you've dated and slept with, which wasn't much. You like her even more than you like yourself at times; make yourself realize you don't have to be such an ass to yourself.

Maybe, you even love her—as you have with her eyes, her lips, her body, her jokes, her compliments. Do I? you contemplate. You don't even know what you are. Does that really matter? Maybe, maybe not. Yeah, who fucking cares? You want her to be here. She does too. Clinging onto your arms. Cherishing this moment. You’ll keep cherishing it—until she meets someone better than that jerk. Better than you. That’s how special she is.

You brush off those doubts the only way you can. At least Minju does so, the second she shuts your thoughts down with another kiss, comfortably wrapping one arm around you and pulling her closer to your chest and left shoulder, facing each other sideways. In this silence, you share your warmth together.

“Gomawo, Dongyul-yah,” she thanks you a second time, readjusting her position so she can lay her head on your chest while you lay down on your back.

“Anything for you, Park Minju,” you assure her, placing your hand on her head. Despite looking away from your eyes, you feel her smile forming—before a giggle follows. Half a minute later, she inches closer to give you a long soft kiss to your lips and a sultry wink, which are enough to reignite your burning passion for this charming, wonderful woman.

= = =

I tried my best not to make this longer, which I'm somewhat thankful for lol. I'm not a super stan of illit myself, but I love their music. still, I hope you enjoyed it. thanks for the read. 'til next time!

#kpop au #male reader #kpop fluff #male reader smut #kpop smut #male reader fluff #illit smut #illit fluff #minju smut #minju x reader #minju x male reader

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loveesiren · 1 month ago

Text

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢

Thanos (Choi Su-Bong) x American!Reader | Forever Masterlist

a/n: hiiii, I know I haven't updated this story in centuries lol. I actually wrote this part out a while ago but never posted it. Now that I'm rereading it I kinda hate it but I said I'd post it so here it is. It's better if you've read the whole Forever series but if you haven't you can stll get the gist of it. Link for my taglist at the bottom!

synopsis: It's the third birthday Y/n has gotten to spend with Thanos since they escaped the games. Now that they are engaged, she has the best gift to surprise him with.

warnings: fluff, smut at the end

wc: 4.8k+

It was your favorite time of the year again: Thanos’ birthday. A day he had grown up hating, shrouded in unpleasant memories and a disdain for celebration. But for the past three years, you’d been on a mission to change that. You wanted him to associate his birthday with joy, love, and the kind of memories worth cherishing. Slowly but surely, you were breaking through his walls.

The first year, it was just the two of you. You stayed in, baking him the perfect little cupcake with one candle perched on top. Thanos, stubborn and reserved as ever, refused to leave the house back then. But as he sat on the couch with you, laughing through cheesy rom-coms and licking frosting off his fingers, you could see something shift—a tiny crack in the armor.

The next year, you managed to coax him out of his comfort zone. A quiet dinner at a nice restaurant was a big step for him. He had been hesitant at first, but by the end of the night, he couldn’t stop smiling as he clinked his glass of wine against yours.

But this year was different. So much had changed.

You and Thanos were engaged now. The ring on your finger sparkled with the promise of forever. He had recently reconnected with his estranged mother, Choi Bong-Cha, a relationship that had taken years to rebuild. His new album, raw and brimming with emotion, had been a massive success, catapulting him to a level of fame he never thought he’d achieve. And soon, the two of you would embark on a three-month tour—your biggest adventure yet.

This birthday needed to be unforgettable.

Granted, Thanos had long since left his wild partying days behind. He didn’t want a rager or a night that would blur into oblivion. But that didn’t mean he’d get away with just another quiet evening. Not this time.

He was at the studio for most of the day, so you took full advantage of the time to prepare. The house was a whirlwind of activity as you decorated every inch with streamers, balloons, and glitter that sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The glitter was deliberate—Thanos hated the stuff, but you loved the idea of him muttering under his breath as he tried to clean it up later. You smiled at the thought, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Balancing precariously on a ladder, you stretched to hang a giant “Happy Birthday!” banner across the living room windows. You were so focused on your task that the sharp knock at the door startled you, almost sending you toppling off the ladder.

“Come in!” you called, steadying yourself.

The door creaked open, and Thanos’ mother, Bong-Cha, stepped inside, immediately gasping in horror.

“Get down from there this instant!” she scolded, hands on her hips. Her gaze shifted to your outfit—a pair of shorts and a snug tank top that showed just enough skin to earn her disapproval. “And what are you wearing? You call that appropriate?”

You climbed down, grinning sheepishly as you bowed in greeting. “Hi, Choi Bong-Cha.” you said and pulled her into a warm hug.

“You Americans,” she huffed, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. “Always driving me crazy with your nonsense.”

You laughed as you took her hands. “I’ll change before the party, I promise. I was just finishing up the decorations.”

“Good. Now help me bring in the food before it gets cold,” she said.

The two of you worked side by side in the kitchen, unloading dishes and preparing the feast. Bong-Cha had embraced you as her future daughter-in-law with open arms. Seeing how happy you made Thanos had softened her heart, and she treated you with the love and care of a mother who had always wanted a daughter. She even helped Thanos pick out the engagement ring, a secret she loved to remind you of whenever she saw you wearing it.

As the kitchen filled with the smell of cooking food, you turned on a playlist from your teenage years. The nostalgic sounds of your 2007 emo phase filled the air, earning an exasperated sigh from Bong-Cha.

“This is music?” she teased, pretending to cover her ears.

“It’s art,” you said dramatically, twirling a spatula in your hand.

Before she could argue further, another knock sounded at the door. You hurried to answer, your heart leaping when you saw your grandmother standing on the other side.

“Halmeoni!” you exclaimed, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Look at you, dressed like this! Aigoo!” she clucked, shaking her head as she stepped inside. “Go change before your friends and fiancé arrive. This is no way for a young woman to present herself!”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’ll change, I’ll change!” you promised.

As you made your way to the bedroom, you muttered under your breath with a smirk, “As if Su-Bong hasn’t already explored every inch of my body.”

Your cheeks flushed at your own boldness, but you couldn’t help feeling giddy. This birthday was going to be perfect, filled with the people Thanos loved most. And as you slipped into a new outfit, you couldn’t wait to see his face when he walked through the door.

For Thanos, this birthday would be more than a celebration. It would be a reminder of how far he’d come—and how much love surrounded him now.

The muffled hum of conversation filtered through the walls, a lively symphony of laughter and voices mingling in the crisp evening air. You stood in front of the mirror, inspecting your reflection one last time. The tight, champagne-colored dress hugged your curves in all the right places, shimmering faintly under the bathroom lights. It was a bold choice, one you knew would earn scathing looks from your grandmother and Bong-Cha, but you weren’t dressing for them tonight. This was Thanos’ birthday, and you knew exactly what he loved.

A spritz of hairspray, a swipe of gloss on your lips, and you were ready—well, almost. Scanning the bathroom, you caught sight of the chaos you’d left behind: makeup scattered across the counter, clothes piled haphazardly on the floor, and—your eyes landed on the drawer, partially open. Heat rushed to your face. Right. The toys.

Shaking your head with a rueful grin, you quickly tidied up, shoving away any evidence of the “unholy things” you and Thanos indulged in nightly. With nosy elders roaming around, the last thing you needed was for anyone to wander into your private space and find those.

Satisfied with your cleanup, you turned to the closet, reaching behind a row of purses. Your fingers brushed against the small box wrapped in shimmering blue paper, topped with a pristine white bow. You pulled it out, a flicker of excitement sparking in your chest. This was your gift to Thanos—a surprise you’d been planning for weeks. You could hardly wait to see his reaction.

Clutching the box, you stepped out of the bedroom and into the chaos. The house was alive with energy. In the kitchen, Thanos’ close friends and family gathered, chatting animatedly over trays of snacks and drinks. The air buzzed with anticipation.

“Se-mi! Min-su!” you called out, your face lighting up as you spotted two familiar figures near the counter.

They turned at the sound of your voice, and before you knew it, you were enveloped in their warm embraces.

“I’m so glad you guys could make it!” you said, squeezing them tightly.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Min-su replied, his boyish grin reminding you of the shy, nerdy kid you’d first met years ago. Now, he looked at you and Thanos like older siblings, a bond that always filled your heart with gratitude.

Se-mi smirked, giving you a once-over. “That dress is going to send Halmeoni into orbit.”

You laughed, shrugging nonchalantly. “The night’s not about her.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, your grandmother appeared, a flurry of indignation and disapproval. She scolded you in rapid-fire Korean, her voice rising with each word as she tried to pull your dress further down your legs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you waved her off with a grin. “T is calling. Everyone quiet!”

Stepping into the foyer, you answered your phone. “Hey, baby.”

“Hey, Señorita,” Thanos’ deep voice rumbled through the line. “I’m on my way home. Be there in five.”

“Can’t wait!” you replied, your smile widening as you hung up. Turning back to the kitchen, you clapped your hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, everyone hide! I’m going to throw on a robe so he doesn’t suspect anything. When I turn on the lights, jump out and yell ‘surprise’!”

The room erupted into quiet laughter and hurried footsteps as everyone scrambled to hide. You dashed back to the bedroom, slipping into the silky pink robe Thanos had given you during one of your more playful anniversaries. Its softness wrapped around you like a secret, concealing the tight dress underneath.

The sound of the front door unlocking sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You rushed to greet him, your heart racing as his tall frame filled the doorway.

“Hey, baby,” you said softly, pulling him into a kiss.

“Mmm, missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding to your waist. His voice dropped, a low, dangerous whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Can’t wait to be inside you…”

Your eyes widened as he pressed you against the wall, his hand slipping under the hem of your robe.

“Wait!” you gasped, squirming out of his grasp. “I have something to show you first!”

Thanos groaned, running a hand through his hair, but let you guide him toward the kitchen. “Baby, I just wanna—”

Before he could finish the sentence you knew would get him in trouble with his elders, you flicked on the lights.

“Surprise!” The room erupted with cheers and applause as everyone jumped out from their hiding spots.

Thanos froze, his eyes wide as they swept over the crowd, then landed on you. With a slow, deliberate motion, you let the robe slide off your shoulders, revealing the dress beneath.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you said, your voice brimming with excitement as you wrapped your arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

His hands found your hips, his grip firm as his gaze darkened. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his voice laced with both amusement and frustration.

“I was about to fuck you in the middle of the living room. This dress? Not helping. And there’s glitter everywhere.”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “When everyone’s gone, you can take all your frustrations out on me.”

“Deal,” he growled, before straightening and turning to greet his guests, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

As the night unfolded, filled with laughter, toasts, and the warmth of loved ones, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Thanos. The man who once dreaded his birthday now stood at the center of it all—happy, loved, and utterly yours.

The laughter and chatter around the room quieted as you emerged from the kitchen, carefully balancing the Oreo ice cream cake on its tray. It was adorned with little Marvel characters, each one meticulously placed—a miniature Iron Man here, a tiny Hulk there, and of course, Thanos himself standing triumphantly in the center.

As you approached the table, everyone cheered and clapped, and Thanos let out a sheepish laugh, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. But you knew better. Beneath his playful groan, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes soft with gratitude. He’d chosen the name “Thanos” for himself years ago, and the cake was your cheeky little nod to that—a reminder of how far he’d come from the brooding, self-doubting man he once was.

“Make a wish, baby,” you said softly, standing beside him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he blew out the candles with one steady breath. The room erupted in applause, and you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his temple.

After cutting the cake, you passed slices around the table, making sure everyone got a piece. The sound of forks clinking against plates and delighted murmurs filled the room as everyone dug in. But the festive mood only escalated when Bong-Cha and your grandmother started chanting in unison.

“Presents! Presents!”

You saw Thanos tense slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He had always felt awkward opening gifts in front of people, but you leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t worry, there’s just a few.”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing just enough for you to gather the small pile of gifts from the corner of the room. The first one he opened was from your grandmother—a stunning pair of cufflinks, polished silver with delicate engravings.

“These are for the day you marry my granddaughter,” she said, her voice proud but thick with emotion.

Thanos bowed his head in thanks, his lips pressed into a grateful smile as he admired them.

Next came Bong-Cha’s gift. She handed it to him with a rare softness, her usually stern expression melting as he opened the small velvet pouch inside. His hands stilled as he pulled out the dog tags, their metal gleaming faintly under the lights.

“These belonged to your grandfather,” she said, her voice quivering. “He wanted you to have them one day. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

Thanos blinked rapidly, his eyes glistening. For a moment, it seemed like he might cry, but he quickly cleared his throat and placed the dog tags gently back into the pouch. He thanked her quietly, giving her a rare, heartfelt hug before moving to the next gift.

Se-mi and Min-su’s gift brought a genuine laugh from both him and you—a pair of small silver squid earrings, their diamond eyes glinting mischievously. Tucked alongside was a note that read:

"Your best and worst memory. You survived, and you found Y/N."

Thanos chuckled, his laughter tinged with something bittersweet. The four of you had never shared the full story with your families, but those earrings symbolized so much: the night you’d all met, the harrowing experience that bonded you, and the unbreakable little family you’d built ever since.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice quiet but brimming with meaning.

After a round of hugs and smiles, you stepped forward with a sly grin. “Wait! There’s one more…”

Thanos raised an eyebrow, his smile turning playful. “Señorita, you’re making me open more?”

“I think this one might be your favorite,” you teased, striding over to him and setting the small blue box in front of him. Leaning down, you placed a tender kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Happy birthday, my love.”

Thanos sighed, settling back into his seat as he opened the box. For a moment, he stared at its contents, his brow furrowing in confusion. Then his eyes widened, and he froze.

“You’re joking,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Inside the box was a pregnancy test. The pink plus sign was unmistakable, standing out starkly against the white plastic.

“You’re joking,” he repeated, picking it up to study it closer. His hands trembled slightly.

You smiled nervously, chewing on your bottom lip as you nodded. “No joke, baby.”

His head shot up, his wide, teary eyes locking onto yours. “Baby, y-you’re pregnant?”

“Mhmm.”

The room erupted in gasps and exclamations, but all you could focus on was Thanos. He stood abruptly, scooping you into his arms and spinning you around. His laughter rang out, joyous and unrestrained, as he pressed a deep, fervent kiss to your lips.

When he finally set you down, his cheeks were streaked with tears. He cradled your face in his hands, looking at you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “You’re giving me a family.”

“Of course I am. You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.” you whispered back, your voice cracking as tears welled up in your own eyes.

The rest of the evening was a blur of hugs, cheers, and endless congratulations. Bong-Cha cried openly, your grandmother held your hands tightly as she whispered blessings, and even Min-su and Se-mi couldn’t contain their excitement.

Eventually, you found yourself sitting beside Se-mi, who had been unusually quiet.

“You’re going to get so fat,” she teased, her tone light but her eyes misty.

“Don’t remind me,” you laughed, nudging her playfully. Then your expression softened. “Se-mi?”

“Don’t,” she warned, though her voice wavered.

“Se-mi,” you said gently, placing a hand on hers. “Will you be the godmother?”

Tears spilled over her cheeks as she tried to wipe them away quickly, failing miserably. Finally, she turned to you, her face breaking into a watery smile.

“Of course!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around you.

It was rare for Se-mi to show this kind of raw emotion, and you cherished every moment of it. She had been there through everything—your best friend, your sister in spirit, your rock.

As the party carried on around you, you looked across the room to Thanos. He was laughing with Min-su, the dog tags now hanging proudly around his neck, his eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

For the first time in a long time, Thanos wasn’t just celebrating a birthday. He was celebrating life. And the future had never looked so beautiful.

By 11 p.m., the house was finally beginning to quiet. Guests had filtered out one by one, their laughter and goodbyes still echoing faintly in the air. Min-su and Se-mi, however, had gotten far drunker than they’d intended. You had to practically guide them by the elbows to the guest rooms, their laughter sloppy and unfiltered.

Min-su flopped onto the bed with a groan, mumbling something incoherent, while Se-mi giggled uncontrollably, half-hanging off the doorway as you tried to steady her. “You guys are always the last ones standing,” you teased, tucking a blanket over Min-su.

“Not my fault your champagne tastes expensive,” Se-mi slurred with a grin, finally climbing into the other bed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling fondly. They were the only ones who ever occupied the guest rooms anyway. This was their second home, and it always warmed your heart to see them so at ease.

As you walked back toward the front door, your grandmother and Bong-Cha were lingering, still fussing over you. Your grandmother pressed her hands gently against your belly, murmuring prayers in soft, melodic Korean.

“Rest well, Halmeoni,” you said, taking her hands in yours as you kissed her cheek.

“Be careful, child. You must protect that baby.”

“I will. I promise.”

After her, you turned to Bong-Cha, who gave you an approving nod as she slipped on her coat. “You’ve made him very happy tonight,” she said.

You smiled at her warmly. “He deserves it.”

When the door finally clicked shut behind them, a heavy, contented silence filled the house. You turned the lock and exhaled, the weight of the evening finally settling over you. When you turned around, Thanos was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes watching you.

“Do you hate me?” you asked in your cutest tone, prancing toward him with a teasing smile.

“Let’s see,” he began, his voice laced with mock annoyance. “You threw me a surprise party even though you know I hate surprises. You embarrassed me with a Marvel cake—cute, but still embarrassing. And there’s glitter everywhere. Everywhere.”

You smirked, swaying as you approached him, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to show a hint of thigh. “But?”

His expression softened instantly as his hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him. “But…” he said, his voice low, “I’ve never been fucking happier.” His lips pressed firmly to yours, tender but insistent. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a child…”

“You’re going to be such a good dad, Su-Bong,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He winced slightly, but not from discomfort—it was rare you used his real name, and hearing it fall from your lips like a caress always unraveled him. “Go run the bath,” he murmured. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You nodded, your smile radiant, and skipped off toward the master bathroom.

Thanos stayed behind for a moment, his hand slipping into his pocket. He pulled out the pregnancy test, the little pink plus staring back at him. It was surreal. His breath caught as he studied it, his chest tightening.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking as tears slipped down his face. A soft, overwhelmed laugh followed. He tilted his head back, his shoulders sagging under the weight of gratitude. Whatever gods or fate had orchestrated this, he thanked them silently—for you, for this life, for this second chance he never thought he’d get.

Carefully, he placed the test on the mantle above the fireplace. It was small, but it was everything. He wanted to see it every day—a symbol of the life you were building together.

When he stepped into the bathroom, the lights were off, and the room glowed with the warm flicker of candlelight. Steam curled lazily from the soapy water filling the tub, and there you were, nestled in the bubbles, your hair pinned up, lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

“Join me,” you said softly, your voice inviting, your smile luminous in the candlelight.

Without hesitation, Thanos stripped out of his clothes, letting them pool on the floor before stepping into the tub. The water rippled around him as he settled in opposite you, taking one of your feet into his hands. His fingers kneaded gently into the arch, his touch soothing yet intimate.

He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes roaming over you, drinking in your beauty. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. His voice was soft but heavy with meaning. “For today. For everything.”

You smiled, your cheeks flushing faintly. “Did you enjoy your party?”

“It was amazing,” he said, his lips curving into a small smile. His hands moved to your toes, his lips pressing soft kisses against them. “Your gift…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if words couldn’t capture how he felt. “You were right. It’s my favorite.”

Your grin widened, your heart swelling with joy. “C’mere,” you said, reaching for him.

Thanos shifted in the water, moving to your side of the tub. He pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed in your ear as his hands gently traced patterns along your arms.

His hand moved gently beneath the water, his fingers grazing over your still-flat belly before traveling lower. The touch was tender, reverent, as if he was savoring every inch of you. His middle finger slipped through your slick folds, eliciting a soft moan from you that vibrated against his neck.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pressed a single finger inside you, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb grazing over your sensitive nipple. The warmth of the bath surrounded you, but it was nothing compared to the heat building between your bodies.

“Mmm, fuck, T…” you murmured, leaning your head back against his broad shoulder. You floated in his arms, completely at his mercy, your body melting into his.

His lips brushed your temple as he added a second finger, curling them just right, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your loud, unrestrained moan filled the room, your back arching as his fingers worked you with deliberate care. You could feel the press of his growing arousal against your lower back, a firm reminder of how much he wanted you.

“Feel good, baby?” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and intoxicating.

“So fucking good…” you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy as he curled his fingers again, hitting that perfect spot.

“T…” you gasped, your words barely audible, a desperate plea for more.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing to the shell of your ear before placing a slow, teasing kiss on your cheek.

“From behind, please…” you begged, your voice trembling with anticipation.

His lips quirked into a grin. “As you wish, princess.”

Gently, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heated intensity. “You taste incredible,” he said softly before helping you stand, the water cascading off your body as he positioned you at the edge of the tub.

You leaned forward, gripping the porcelain for balance as he knelt behind you. His hands gently spread your legs, and then his tongue found you, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. He took his time, savoring every part of you, his tongue exploring your folds with a mix of gentle licks and firm strokes.

Your whimpers filled the room as he worked you, his lips and tongue driving you closer to the edge. “Fuck, T! You’re going to make me cum!” you cried out, your thighs trembling.

He smiled against you, the vibrations of his chuckle sending another wave of pleasure through you. He pushed his tongue deeper, moving in and out, savoring the way your body responded to him. Just as you felt yourself begin to tighten, teetering on the edge of release, he pulled back, his lips glistening as he stood.

“You’re going to cum on my cock, princess,” he said, his voice husky and commanding.

“Mmmkay…” you whimpered, your desperation evident as you arched your hips, needing him.

He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he lined himself up with your entrance. “Think I can get you pregnant again?” he teased, his voice playful but filled with desire.

“You can certainly try…” you replied, your words a breathy challenge.

He chuckled softly before pressing into you, inch by inch, the stretch making your eyes roll back. No matter how many times you’d been with him, his size always took your breath away.

He started slowly, his movements deliberate, as though he wanted to memorize every sensation. He watched as his length disappeared into you, glistening with your arousal, the sight nearly undoing him.

“You tired, baby?” he asked, his voice thick with affection as he noticed your head resting lazily against the tub.

“No… Just feels so good…” you whimpered, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you.

His lips curved into a soft smile as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with more urgency. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, your breathing shallow as you neared the edge again.

“Shit, baby, I’m close,” he panted, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust faster.

The tension built between you until it finally snapped. You cried out his name, your body shaking as your release washed over you, your walls clenching around him. With a few more thrusts, he followed, groaning as he buried himself deep, his warmth flooding you.

He collapsed against your back, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he caught his breath. “Fuck, baby…” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe.

“You fuck me so good every time, T…” you whispered, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Guess that’s why we’re having a baby.”

He laughed with you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kissed your shoulder. Slowly, he pulled out of you, both of you sighing at the loss. He reached for the drain, letting the water empty before grabbing a towel and carefully drying you off.

He took his time, rubbing lotion into your skin with gentle hands, his touch lingering with love. When you were dressed in your silky pink pajamas, and he had slipped on a pair of boxers, he led you to bed.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you sighed in relief, exhaustion pulling at your eyelids. Thanos climbed in beside you, pulling you into his arms and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, jagi. Thank you for everything,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

“Love you forever, baby. Happy birthday,” you murmured against his chest, your words soft as sleep overtook you.

Thanos held you close, his heart full as he stared at the ceiling. He couldn’t stop picturing the future—a little one with your eyes and his smile running around the house. Tears pricked his eyes as he imagined the life ahead, a life filled with love, laughter, and the family he’d never thought he deserved.

He lay awake for hours, daydreaming about the life you were building together, until finally, sleep claimed him, his arms wrapped securely around you.

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Tags: @infinetlyforgotten @ldydeath @c1delight @divinefeminineeeee @nicklet94 @i-might-be-vanny @gdinthehouseee @emmiesoverthemoon @pinkpunkdynamite @modzmadness @breakmeoff @burlesquerade @eru-vande @Amyyforshort @gdgirl21 @ttturnitup @Keiraryan @mashtatosworld @kai-277

#squid game fanfic #squid game #squid game thanos #thanos x reader #choi subong x reader #choi subong #thanos #choi seunghyun #thanos smut #choi su bong x reader #choi su bong

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sugudoe · 9 months ago

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ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ᝰ PINKISH TIP, GIRLY POP⸻ chp8

ᡴꪫ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after a nasty breakup from a long distance relationship, your needs for hookup starts to bundle up more and more, until it’s all you can think about. tired of your unusual and annoying self, your friends decide to have a little fun and stop this nonsense. it’s just a bet, you don’t even have to do it, actually, they just want you to calm down a bit. although you, a quite normal yet weird girl, never backs down from a dare, so you fully believe you can win this one — to hookup with the most amount of guys from your college’s top fraternity. all you need is booze, a party with neon lights and someone saying “doubt it”. as a future journalist, you see it as a top notch article to write.

ᡴꪫ cw: SMUT \\ protected \\ reader and gojo just…idk, they’re having a lot of fun \\ oral (fem!receiving) \\ for jokes reason, reader straightened her hair for the party \\ gojo likes cockwarming \\ they get cock-pussy!drunk \\ crack!chapter as well, reader is daydreaming and funny \\ english is not my native language \\ gojo calls her “baby”

You have no idea what does Gojo’s room look like, even if you had been inside of it for a couple minutes now. You can say with certain that his door is white, and cold. After all, you have been pressed against it, right away. Gojo managed to push you inside and dived for a kiss, as if claiming his prize. He had been searching and waiting for you all night.

He is ── breathtaking.

Gojo is a starved man. His kisses are messy and wet, but nonetheless, they make you close your fists on his shirt and pull him impossibly closer. You want so much more, and he will give all to you. You can’t help but moan when his lips connects into your neck. He sucks it, scrapping his teeth, trying hard to get more and more reactions out of you. And, of course, you comply. You moan more, sighing, pulling his hair.

Gojo halts.

Fuck sake, if he says he is a virgin, you will stop this bet right fucking now!

“Did you fuck someone?” He asks, hot breath against your skin. “You, uh, have a hickey. I didn’t give you.”

“What?” Your mind is screaming at you, get a grip, it says. “Of course you gave me, Gojo, you were feasting on my neck not even a minute ago.” He stares into your eyes, sharp glancing, trying to catch a lie. Slowly, he nods his head and go back to his previous action.

That was too fucking close, and gaslighting serves a good purpose, sometimes. You understand your ex a bit now.

You, thankfully, stop thinking about him, when Satoru ── who you recently discovered his name ── grips your thighs and hoist you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your hands guide his face back to your lips. He is more than pleased to kiss you back, having had his fun with bruising more and more of your neck, subconsciously marking over Ino’s own hickeys.

“You have condoms, right?” You whine against his lips. knowing for a fact that you will cry if he denies. Gojo smirks, pulling you from the door and walking to lay you on the bed. His weight on top of you is easily accepted.

“Yeah, baby, don’t worry about it.” He mumbles an answer, his kisses going back down, this time to your cleavage. “This is a hickey I didn’t made.” You stare down at the small purple imperfect circle on your titties ─ Takuma’s gift.

“Curling iron.” You moan, desperate.

He takes the answer with a shrug, despite your hair being clearly pin straight, thanks to Kirara earlier. You want to laugh at his stupidity, but Gojo, much like you, is fucking out of his mind. You can bet that the only thing he is thinking is the desire to get inside you, right now.

His largue hands cup your breast when his mouth move away, they squish for a bit before he begins to remove your corset. Gojo’s eyes are settled on your naked upper body the moment it is presented to him, as if staring at anything else might be a sin.

“Gojo…please.” You pleaded, calling for his gaze to yours and he cooed at you.

“You poor baby, just wait.” And, seeing no other option, wait is what you do.

Satoru leaves you for a minute to grab something on his drawer, which you smartly assume to be the condom. When he turned back, he was grinning at you, looking like the happiest person in the world.

The thing about wanting sex so much, and not having it, is that the moment you are face to face with the opportunity, you feel virgin all over again. It’s weird, isn’t it? The drop of your guts, the instant fill of butterflies on you ribcage, trying to fly all the way up to your throat. Exhilarating, scandalous.

With Ino, it was just a kiss before it turned into the sex talk, and right away he told you there were no condoms. You didn’t had the time to sprout those cold sighs on your lungs, but now you do.

Something in your face gave away your nervousness, and Satoru once more stop his advances. He looks at you, before settling down on the bed, both arms resting against your body.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t wanna.” He whispers.

“I do,” You cradle his face and he leans into it. “I’m just nervous. It’s been a while.” Your burned cheeks bring light to his eyes, and he press pecks to your lips as if, minutes ago, he wasn’t nearly ripping it off with his sharp teeth.

“It’s okay. I’ll take your nerves away, can I?” At your nod, Satoru, once more, moves down.

This time, he doesn’t stop too long on your boobs, instead he keeps going and going, leaving kisses and marks, until he is faced with your skirt. He eyes you, asking for permission, and when you mumble a desperate yes, he removes your mini skirt in a slow peace.

The fucker is teasing you. In case you haven’t noticed already by his annoying pleased face, having all the fun in the world, even when you yank his hair back.

“Ow! I ── I quite like that, actually.” You giggle and his face lights up again. He thinks you’re adorable.

When your dripping intimacy is facing him, Gojo groans out his own pleasure, just by sight he can get off. One of his fingers, cold, touch your cunt, separating the folds and smearing itself into your release of earlier ── Gojo, though, doesn’t need to know that. For all purposes, you simple are drenched from his kisses alone. Which is not a full lie, at all.

He is entranced by you. One finger turns into two, then three, then a fourth one finds your bundle of nerves right away. You gasp, and moan, and gasp again. As if following his circulatory movements.

“Got you there, baby.” That’s the last thing he says before taking the lead, and drowning himself in your pussy. Removing most fingers, except his overworking thumb.

Gojo’s kisses are of a starving man, as said. His eating is even more. He is desperate, and yet not messy. Of course, the slurping sound, and your wetness is being parade all over the room and your thigh and his face, but it’s all good. Too good, so fucking good.

Your legs close around his head, instinctively, and he moans while nodding. The fuck.

Your ex, ── who you so much wished was not plaguing your mind at this exact moment ── was not against giving head. Is just that, unlike you, he didn’t cared about knowing what to do exactly. The man thought that all was needed was tongue movements and fingering, and you might have felt pleasure, but never came to it. And many others haven’t as well, the male population was lacking in the head department.

Gojo Satoru had absolutely no part in this, whatsoever. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. You had no expectations, and he still managed to make you see starts. Unhinged breathing mixed with extraordinary moans, and so many swearing. You were a mess, his mess, to be more precise.

One of Satoru’s hands is holding your thigh, against the side of his face. He even raises you a bit, to have more space to devour. He mumbles against your core, inserts his tongue, he never stop his finger movement on your clit. Gojo is making you crazy! He is, as well.

You whimper under him, arching your back, grabbing his hair with so much strength, and he keeps his movements constant and encouraging you. You bet you could remove his scalp and he wouldn’t move an inch.

You’re coming. Wait ── what? That early? Not possible.

Buckle the fuck up, Gojo Satoru is a master of tongue.

He didn’t even fingered you.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Coming back from your high and confused thoughts, with his head still implanted on your cunt was a beautiful reception. You started to wonder if it would be needed a surgical removal of him from you, when he groaned and raised his upper body. The vision of his handsome face, drenched in your release, had you nearly going off again. And again, and maybe one more for good measure.

He smiles devilish, as if he can read your most impure thoughts. And you smile back, because in all honestly, if he knows he will comply.

Gojo raises from the bed, and removes his jeans. He stares at you as he comes for the condom laying on the bed, but your eyes are entranced by his cock.

Kinji once told you that the name Mu Iota Beta was a hidden message created as a joke by Gojo ── Mommy mIlkers Bitch, because he believed most members had largue pecks (titties). As someone who had been blessed by two cocks of the members, and accidentally seeing a nude on Kirara’s phone, your first thought was definitely that MIB most likely had large everything.

Please, you begged the universe, all big for me.

Pinkish tip, girly pop! Perfectly curved, you could call yourself a mathematician, at this point. That thing was created for you, you knew that. Gojo knew that. He put the condom on himself, but all he could focus on was you. Beautiful, mesmerized, mouth gap, legs open, fingering yourself.

You didn’t even noticed when you started, but stoped right away, growing shy. You really are a slut, and you love it. But you are a timid slut.

“No, no, keep doing that ── just, fuck, just a bit more.” He whimpers, moving closer, hard cock on his hands and he moves up and down slowly. So you follow his lead and goes back to inserting your finger in yourself. With press on nails is hard, but Satoru don’t care about your speed, he just likes the view. “I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“Please, now.”

“So demanding.” He mocks you.

Gojo is pretty fast, for a boy this tall. One moment he was standing apart from you, and now, he is on top of you, again. Holding both of your hands up, with only of of his, while the other goes down to his length. He stares at you, asking for confirmation, and at you “Yes”, he fix himself to slowly get inside you.

Your moans and groans are mixed and drowned by the sound of the party.

“You’re, fuck baby, you’re wrapping me so good.” He praises fall on your deaf ears.

It’s been really fucking long since the last time you got fucked. The memory of the feeling never really goes away, but it’s a whole different aspect to be back to it. Gojo is thick, and long, and he keeps going deeper and deeper, more than you’ve ever had before.

Today is a lucky day for you!

When he stops moving, you frown and groan. Your hips instinctively move, but Gojo let go of your hands to hold it down. He, you think, is a fucking asshole. Satoru is back at sucking your neck, and his own hips are moving very, very fucking slowly. You hate him, and he knows, because he laughs against your skin, after one more of your whining.

“Sorry, baby, but you feel so good like this.”

“You can be stuck inside of me all you want, after you fuck me.”

“Is that a promise?”

You try to answer, but the words filled with sassiness and many swearing get stuck in your throat. In their place comes more moans, the desperate kind that even a hand on your mouth couldn’t muffle it. Gojo picked up his pace, he is giving you exactly what you were begging. That doesn’t mean you are relieved, you are, in fact, going mental.

Your thoughts are spiraling into this new sensation. Getting fucked this deep and this fast is not what you were used to, but you are not complaining, and never will, if this is what’s waiting for you with the others.

Your nails press against Satoru’s back, and his little gasp for air only fuels you to scratch a bit more and more. He, knowing he lost his composure, decides to strike again. Your boobs, bouncing due to his movements, receive extra attention from his salivating mouth.

Gojo and you are fighting for the control of the other. Using the tricks on your (naked) sleeves, playing dirty. It doesn’t matter, because the sensation only keeps growing, to a point where none of this is more important than the other’s body.

You wrap your legs on his waist, and Satoru gets even deeper. He raises himself, grabbing the metal headboard, and using it for his advantage. He is crazy. Mad man, mad thrusts, he is drowning himself in the feeling only your gummy warm walls can provide to his sensitive cock. He feels dizzy, and so do you. But he keeps going, trying to reach the nirvana of those feelings.

“Fuck, fuck ── good, feel so fu-fucking good.” You keep chanting, one hand against your mouth while the other press against his chest. They really are big.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, please, please.”

“What do you want, baby?” Gojo comes back to hold your hips.

You don’t know what you are begging for, and he knows that as well. But is so comically pleasing to have someone getting dumb on your cock, stuffed until you see the budge on their tummy. Eyes rolling back and mouth agape. He knows you are too far gone in the feeling he provides, yet here you stand, begging for more. And who the fuck is Gojo Satoru, if not the man to provide all your demands? You want ── need, more? Have it.

You don’t recall how it happened, because the moment it even began, you saw black points in your eyesight. When your breathing returned to its normality, and your vision cleared, you had one leg on top of Satoru’s shoulders.

And he was, as always, dutifully following his quick pace. Two outcomes could be the end of this new position, either fainting or coming. You wanted to cry, and your body did reacted to this.

“Y’trying to milk me?” Possibly, yes. “Wrapping around me, like that, yeah, just like fucking that.”

Honestly, you barely payed attention to what he was saying. Your focus was on your nerves, how it seemed all of it was being personally affected by Gojo’s aching cock, how your hands were gripping the sheets, and your heart felt like it was burning.

“Argh, I’m ── cum,” You managed to let it slip through your moaned hiccups, and Gojo closed his eyes in concentration.

He pushes your one leg resting on him down, just a bit closer to your chest, and at that you cry out of pleasure. You’re coming on his cock not even a second later, and Gojo just keep moving, thrusting, as if he won’t ever stop. You don’t want him to stop, in fact, you could end this bet and be stuck with him inside of you forever.

Unfortunately, you walls are so tight around him, that you sense his twitching. Gojo gasps and tries to not fail on top of you, when he releases your leg and rests his head on your chest. He keeps coming and coming, until he stops and Satoru is still inside of you.

“Aren’t you going to move?” You wonder, with your shaking fingers caressing his head. Gojo sighs at the feeling, and signs no with his head.

“You said I could be inside you.” Yes, you did.

Gojo reposition both of you, so he is laying down and you on top of him. You both moan at the friction, but he stay still. Having your head resting on his chest, and catching his breathing back. In silence.

Well, except that your thoughts are loud and clear. It’s starting, you think, you’re about to have a fucking great year. With emphasis on fucking.

ᡴꪫ an: well, hello. i don’t think i’ll ever get used to writing smut, but sure as hell, it’s a fucking fun ride! gojo is here, he is not a virgin, and he has condoms, reader keeps winning. so, quick analysis, reader is always talking about her ex, boring, isn’t it? no, wrong answer, we need to understand who this fucker is, what he did, might do, oh, i don’t know. he will be more explained, as the series go on. hihi. honorable mentions to: reader calculating the angle of satoru’s dick, she saying she burned herself with a curling iron, despite her hair being straight for the party, ino’s hickeys, kinji’s nudes, her ex’s small dick, gojo is a king in pussy eating, but you guys haven’t seen nothing. PLS, if you guys have any theories of who is next, who is her ex, anything, comment or send an ask, i love to talk about this series.

🏷️ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @ducky1232 @mfcherry @minzxec @d3jecteddoll @shuuji71 @emilyywhyy @makeshiftproject @poopooindamouf @ventila98 @faithums @lvingd3adg0rl @starrnai @r0ckst4rjk @lunavelha @catobsessedlady @luvvmae @sjndvi @punkhazardlaw @lemonnotade @luvmeadow @tired-jaz @csxmxx @serenadesvt @ukiyoeangel @satoryaa @madiexuberant

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ghostinthegallery · 1 month ago

Text

This scene wouldn't leave my head, so congrats it's the world's problem now.

In which Ratchet has a graveside chat with Wing, aka the dead guy that fixed his husband for him.

“I want to be very clear.” Ratchet placed the small cup full of engex at the base of the stone plinth. “I don't believe in ghosts or spirits or any of that nonsense. When we die, we die. That’s it. No Primus or Guiding Hand or cushy afterlife and definitely no looking out for the living. Got it?”

The grave did not respond, which was good. It was what Ratchet expected. He sat down, legs crossed, careful not to crush any of the shimmering blue flowers beneath him.

“I'm just on the fragging necroworld, and I'm not above respecting the local customs.”

Sunlight warmed his back plating as he settled into place. It was a nice day. Most days on the necroworld were nice, when nobody was trying to kill them. Not a place Ratchet would want to stay long term, but it made for a decent rest stop. Even with all the reminders of how fragile life was. The death flowers and the graves.

Carved into this grave was simply the name Wing.

“He really wanted to find you, when he found out what this place was.” Ratchet said. “Drift, I mean. Or Deadlock, you might've called him that. Got all excited at the idea of visiting. You’re one of the only things in his past he'll talk much about.”

He stared at the engex he'd offered, then pulled a flask out of his subspace. No sense making the ghost—who did not exist—drink alone.

“Since he probably never mentioned me, I'm Ratchet. Medic. Drift's conjunx, but that’s a recent development.”

Had he seriously just introduced himself to a rock? Maybe he'd gotten knocked in the helm and forgotten about it and this was all processor damage. Still, it felt right to speak, so he did. Not like anyone else was around.

“I saved his life once, a long time ago. He stood out to me. To this day, I don't understand why, but maybe you saw it too. Maybe you saw something in him that made you want to help. Sounds like you did a lot for him. Probably more than me, if we're being honest. I got him back on his feet, but after that…” Ratchet sighed. “He was still poor as scrap. He still watched enforcers shoot his friend. He was still angry.”

The image of Drift walking away from the clinic, off to sell his frame to anyone who wanted to use it made Ratchet's tank feel sour. It worsened when he thought about what was actually going on at those clinics. He wondered what he would have done if he'd known.

“It sounds like I have you to blame for all Drift's spectralist nonsense. So frag you for that. It's annoying as hell,” he continued, eager to change the subject. “Yeah, it helped him sort through things. Even I can admit that. When he's not using religion to hide from his problems, it…it gives him some comfort. Still killed a lot of good bots, but hey, he’s in good company.”

Ratchet had no desire to hunt down Drift’s statue and see how many of the necrobot’s death flowers surrounded it. Or how many surrounded his own statue, for that matter.

“War’s over, and we’ve all got to move on somehow. Frankly, he’s doing better than most. Brave, resourceful, too self-sacrificing for his own good. You fixed him up nice.” Ratchet studied his flask. “And I get all the benefits. Doesn’t seem fair but, thanks. I guess.”

He sighed and adjusted his position. “He feels real guilty about what happened to you. Thinks you'd still be alive if you hadn't helped him. Maybe he's right. Who knows? But you don't sound like the kind of person that would regret helping someone. You sound better than that.”

Heaviness settled over Ratchet's shoulders as he said, “I don't regret saving him either. I never have, even when Deadlock was a name autobots whispered in the same tone as necrobot. And considering how things turned out,” he chuckled. “I don’t know if that makes me a hypocrite. I’m happier with him. Less tired. He just feels right.” Ratchet added, “Probably don’t have to explain that to you.”

The strangeness of this one-sided conversation hit him again, but not harshly. It was an easy way to unload his thoughts. Like a waking defrag.

“The swords were a nice touch.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Drift looked good wielding those blades of his. Ratchet didn't mind the view when he trained. Didn't mind it in the slightest.

“He still carries your greatsword. Doesn't use it much, but it's always on his back.” Ratchet took another pull from his flask. “Been hearing some of the other bots say he should fight a duel with Cyclonus and his big greatsword which even I think is a bit sacrilegious, but—”

“There you are.”

Ratchet started then turned towards the familiar voice. Drift, footsteps annoyingly silent, approached from behind. His expression morphed from inquisitive to shocked when he got close enough to read the stone’s inscription.

“You found him,” Drift said softly.

Ratchet nodded and moved aside so Drift could kneel. Drift’s EM field was wild with conflicting emotions. Surprise, happiness, and grief mingled together, and he made no attempt to hide them.

“I was about to come get you,” Ratchet said, which was technically true. He fully intended to bring Drift to his friend’s grave. After he was done with whatever this was.

Drift’s optics settled on the cup of engex. He smirked.

“Is that an offering?” He gasped with exaggerated shock. “A committed skeptic, bringing a gift to a ghost? Ratchet, is that you or some sort of mimic?”

Ratchet grabbed the finger Drift poked against his chest. “I didn’t want to get slag from you for being disrespectful.”

His spark jumped as Drift pressed his hand into Ratchet’s and intertwined their fingers. Then, to Ratchet’s shock, Drift swiped the engex cup and downed it in one gulp.

“What was that?” he demanded, surprised at his own offense.

“Wing never drank engex,” Drift said. “He always gave it to me whenever mechs brought him anything. The Crystal City stuff was so diluted I couldn’t even get a buzz, but it took the edge off.”

“Ah.” Ratchet nodded. “Guess you two had an understanding.”

Drift nodded and let his frame lean into Ratchet’s. Silence settled over them. Ratchet ran his thumb over the back of Drift's hand while the latter grew contemplative. His face fell, melancholy overtaking his field.

“I wish you two could have met,” Drift said. “He would have liked you.”

“I doubt that.” Ratchet replied. “But I’d have liked to meet him anyway.”

A breeze caught the flowers, like ripples over water. Ratchet didn’t interrupt when Drift shut off his optics and took a meditative intake. They stayed like that for a long time, hand in hand, while Drift steadied his field and Ratchet watched and took the occasional sip from his flask. He’d learned to savor quiet moments like this. They didn’t come often.

Drift’s optics brightened and he said, “Is there anyone here you want to see?”

Ratchet waved his free hand. “I get enough trouble dealing with the living. Don't need to invite the dead to cause problems too.”

“So you won’t come and visit Gasket with me?” Drift pouted.

Ratchet groaned. “I didn’t say that.”

With a smile that made Ratchet's internals melt, Drift helped him up. He then paused and offered a spectralist sign to Wing’s grave.

“Farewell,” he said. “And thank you for everything.”

As Drift pulled Ratchet away, Ratchet dipped his chin towards the plinth and muttered his own nearly silent,

“Thanks.”

#dratchet #transformers mtmte #fanfic #wing deserves all the credit in the world #took one look at deadlock and said “i can fix him”#and then he did #take notes everyone #idw wing #idw ratchet #idw drift #maccadam #i will write all ur faves in mourning #this is a promise and a threat

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tinytennisskirt · 9 months ago

Note

I keep thinking about halloween and I know it's far away but my mind keeps wandering to boyfriend vampire art headcanons or a small blurb about you wanting him sucking your blood for the first time after you begged him to do it (you want to see what it was like) and he was so soft about it "Idk if it's a good idea, I don't wanna hurt you :(" if you wanna write something about that it would be sweet don't feel forced to

vampire boyfriend! art donaldson headcanons with a plot. mostly plot. 🧛🏻

this idea is so cute i did not do it justice but i liked it a lottt

warnings: all over the place, i wrote this while running errands teehee. mentions of blood, scratching, teeth!!! cute vampire boyfriend but a lot of nonsensical vampire stuff idk. SMUT.

MDNI 18+

- he’s so cute he’s so cute! and it’s not sooo bad the age difference. he wasn’t bitten until recently so now your favourite stanford tennis player to watch between classes when you’re bored is just a little bit paler…

- with all my love for twilight i really want to let this boy sparkle because he deserves it, but i’m going to say he’s a day-walking vampire with no sparkle just to keep appearances up.

- vampire art who can hear your heart beat just a little harder than usual when you first walk up to him. you’re pretty, he notes, too pretty. if his heart could still beat the way it used to, it would have been pounding. it’s not an off chance the two of you are finally meeting, but it feels meetcute. nervous laughter at your immediate mutual attraction fills the air. he leans against the wall behind him and you get to talking, really talking.

you start walking down the path behind the courts together. “i’m not a tennis person, but i come here between classes.”

“that’s fair. what are you in?” art asks. he wants to know everything about you.

“media stuff, boring.” you tell him. but he tells you it’s not and he has a lot to ask you about it. you get into other things. movies, music, things he likes, things you like in common. there’s so much.

- you make him forget what he is. for the most part, he hates what he is now. hates how tired it makes him look. he hates having to hide his extra strength in tennis. and now he’s met you, this delicate girl who wouldn’t be so delicate if he wasn’t who he was now. you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and he’s laughing and it slips his mind that touching you is dangerous. you have that same blood running through your veins that he is so hungry for at the end of a day.

- you ask if he wants to get coffee. he’ll be sick if he eats food like yours, but he agrees. he doesn’t know why he can’t say no to you. suddenly your number is in his phone and you have plans to meet tomorrow afternoon.

- vampire art drinks the blood of animals. he hates himself for it. he hates all of it but it’s the only way to get by now without hurting anyone. he tries to be ethical about it, tries to make it so he doesn’t feel like an animal himself, but it’s hard and it’s messy and the bathroom in his dorm is not a good place for it.

- he sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands just thinking about you. it’s not a vampire brood but it’s his own version, thinking about you and your conversation from earlier. he’s so into you. it’s bad. how is he going to date someone so human now? he can be friends with any human, he was one not too long ago, but to date you? fuck, it’s going to be rough. and hard to do. that is, if you let him date you. part of him hopes that after coffee, you’ll lose interest and he won’t have to worry about it.

- he orders a coffee and thank god it has a lid, he can pretend to drink it. it feels silly. you’re sitting across from him and your perfume is all you are. it’s all he can smell. it’s beautiful, smells expensive but he knows it’s just his senses making it smell stronger. you get to talking and he’s a good listener. he’s honed in on hearing you and only you, your words and your heartbeat.

you’re swirling the ice around in your drink. your heart is beating hard in your chest. it’s cute. “i actually texted the wrong number.” art admit to you. “i used a four instead of eight.”

“oh no,” you cover your smile when you laugh. he hates that. you’re too pretty to be doing that.

he smiles sheepishly, “so i said hi to some guy named mark. friendly guy, just… not you.”

“poor guy.” you grin. “missing out. should have invited him anyway.”

“should i have?” he laughs. “you’d be okay with third-wheeling?”

he makes you smile. it’s one of his great accomplishments. “i think i’d be okay.”

- he’s thinking about how he could ever kiss you, his mouth so close to you. it’s not like he had fangs or anything- he got away with slightly pointy canine teeth, nothing out of the regular, but how could he… he’s a little scared of it. and how badly he wants to.

- he takes in and remembers all of your interests, often making callbacks and you like how much he remembers the little things.

- you end up spending the afternoon with him. without anything to eat all day he’s getting hungry and it’s not a good thing. it starts making people feel like good options- an uncontrollable thought to his mind that wants absolutely nothing to do with what the machine that is vampirism tells him he wants. you two walk through the park and dusk and he’s trying not to smell you so much anymore because you just smell good. and it’s disgusting how he feels about doing something so vile to someone who doesn’t know anything.

- nothing scares you away. he walks you back to your dorm. he puts away his thoughts of blood to say goodnight properly- you deserved that. you thank him for paying for coffee and for the afternoon spent with you and you’d think he’d see it coming with the acceleration of your heart, but you kissed him goodnight. a firm, few second-long kiss. and it’s fucking perfect. and it’s sweet. and he finds himself not so worried about it- it wasn’t bad. maybe he could date you if he could kiss you. put the fact you’d become food out of his mind…

- so you do date. or go on more dates. getting friendlier, laughing over stupid things, watching him play tennis, you’re around and you’re this perfect beam of light. he really likes you. like really likes you.

- he kisses you again. this time it’s his doing, he’s practiced being gentle. he used to be gentle. he pulls you in with soft, almost perfect skin, and he’s cold. not ice cold, but cold like a person who had spent too much time in a basement, just a little chilled. but his hands barely touch your skin, he’s maybe too gentle, but the kiss is perfect.

- thing is, you ask him what you are. where this is going and if his mouth could go dry, his would. he’s shy about it. he doesn’t want to get into this but he doesn’t want out. he wants you. and after all he’s been through so far, he deserves to be happy and have something good and he’s sure that’s you. so he asks you what you want.

“i would like it if we… continued to date. i don’t know how you feel about dating, but me, personally… i would want a label.” you say, shy, like you’re afraid he’s going to reject you after all this. he’s not a player, he can’t afford to be.

“i want that too.” he smiles. “i’m not a casual… person.”

“me neither.” you smile back. you’re blushing and you’re so pretty. so it’s decided. you don’t even know you have yourself a vampire boyfriend!!!

- tennis player boyfriend is already one thing. he’s in your dorm room before games realizing he has to go, he has to go, he’s late for practice. he’s fast, so he’s not so worried, but you are. you’re worried for him. you’re kissing him all the way to the door and he’s grinning as you practically kick him out. he stays just an extra second to kiss you more. he’s getting better and better at being gentle. it’s easier when he’s well-fed.

- art is still art so he’s needy. he’s addicted to the way you smell, he’s addicted to how warm you are. he comes right back over after practice, still feeling chilled like he’s straight out of a walk-in fridge and he’s immediately on top of you, head laying on your chest while you stroke his hair. he wishes more than anything for the peace of falling asleep in your arms, it’s his favourite place to be. but he’s not so lucky.

- not eating gets harder to hide from you. you’re his girlfriend, you want dinner and how is he just going to sit with you and not eat? it’s a girls worst nightmare to eat alone. he knows that, you tell him that and you’re kissing his face and he’s apologizing for not eating with you, big grin on his face because it’s hard not to when you’re kissing his cheeks and eyes and nose and lips. it’s the first time he debates telling you what he is. but he won’t. not yet. you’re too busy complaining sweetly about him not eating with you.

“art, please, come on. i hate this.”

“im not judging you,” he laughs. “eat your food.”

“alone? so mean.”

“i’m not-“ you kiss him, “-mean. i just had food before you came over, that’s not-“ you kiss him again and he pushes you away gently, “-mean.”

“it’s so mean,” you tell him. he just laughs.

- when he kisses you, it’s almost like he’s both afraid to let go and afraid to keep you close, so it ends up a little more desperate and needy than a regular kiss would be. you’re a fan of it though, it makes your heart pound in your chest when he pulls you in by your waist, cold hands on your skin. you swear he needs his circulation checked. he kisses you, hand trailing up from your waist to the side of your jaw, gently holding you in place. his kiss over time becomes less gentle and for the sake of what his diet was, i won’t say he kissed hungrily. you kissed him back just the same, hands in his perfect blonde curls, pulling him from the entryway of your dorm room and over to your bed, the door shutting behind him. he crawls over your body and suddenly the kiss is deeper. more. and he’s been in this situation before but never like this. you’re kissing and you start kissing down his jaw, his neck. and in obscure vampire logic, he’s able to reproduce- let’s not get into the details, even stephanie meyer couldn’t explain it right- but he’s hard and he hates it because he can’t fuck you. he’d probably hurt you. it already took some effort to kiss you, fucking you was different. how did he know that what he needed now to get off wouldn’t hurt you? you’re hot, your skin is hot, and you tell him you want him and he wants you just as badly, just as desperately, but he tells you not today, but does ask if you’d take off your shorts for him. cold fingers do their work and he’s so fast… his fingers move so fast it’s almost unreal.

- you’re on the phone with your girlfriend talking about how good he is with his hands, saying you had to call her to ask if she got home from a concert okay. he doesn’t mind the lie- you’re excited about him and he loves it. he’s a little bit proud of himself if he’s honest. he’s glad he can please you without doing it all. it’s cute you called your friend. he chuckles to himself.

- like mentioned before, he almost forgets he’s not who he used to be. you don’t mind that he’s cold or that he never eats with you, you hold him just the same. you fall asleep and he wishes with all his might that he could sleep too. but he’s awake without rest, eyes closed, hands gently tracing over the skin of your upper arm. when you’re asleep is when he gets to think critically about this- about how he’s not going to age as you do. if you choose to stay with him past college, that is. he’s a needy little romantic and he doesn’t want anything else but that. he’s committed.

- he’s debating telling you around halloween. cliche, fucking perfect, but he can’t hide it forever. you’ve been together four months. doesn’t seem like much, but you’re so skeptical sometimes he swears you see through him.

- he’s sweet, pays for things, takes you places, treats you so well. but there’s something he’s keeping from you and you can feel it.

- it goes on. he’s still your perfect boyfriend it’s october 24th, his head is in your lap, your fingers in his hair and he says it straight up. tells you. what and who he is.

“for halloween?” you smile. he shakes his head no. “you have the perfect teeth for it, you wouldn’t even need to buy them.”

“y/n…” he trails, eyes meeting yours, looking up at you.

“i could be one too.” you’re still smiling. “could be hot. let you bite me.” as if he hasn’t thought about that. potentials. but you don’t mean it.

he doesn’t know how to say it. so he just looks at you. soft eyes, begging you to believe him. but so scared that you’ll think he’s crazy or worse, be scared if you do believe him.

- for the sake of writing and for my ease let’s just say it’s believable. so you’re a little taken aback. lose the logic here, it’s an AU. your breath catches just a little. he’s afraid you’re going to run or scream or something, the way your heart picks up. he sits up from your lap, he’s looking at you, you’re breathing a little weirdly.

“i’m sorry.” he says. he’s sorry. he’s really sorry. you’re shrinking away from him and if his heart could, it would feel like it just tightened as if it was vacuum sealed. “i’m sorry, i should have told you.”

“it’s okay,” you nod. your heart is pounding, he deducts it’s not so okay. “are you- how do you- why- how?”

“bitten. late after a game. stupid, changed my life, i don’t even- it’s hard.”

“you don’t look like you’re-“

“it’s not like the movies, i’m me just… different diet and… pale.” he’s trying to be straightforward with you but it’s hard when all he wants is for this to pass over. and it’s not easy. it won’t just pass over. you have a million questions about everything and he confesses the entire truth. he hates it. he hates every second of admitting who he is. you’ve asked the same question about four times over and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

- art isn’t a bad guy. he’s not going to sit there and expect you to just go with it. he looks at you with his eyes soft and understanding, “i know it’s not what you wanted. or expected. i want you to know that if you leave, i understand. i like you, i really fucking like you and i want you to have what’s best and if that’s not me, that’s the easiest thing in the world to understand.” and you blink. you like him a lot. he makes you laugh, he makes you smile, but he’s something else. something potentially dangerous. you smile at him and it’s bittersweet. you tell him you need time. and he understands. he doesn’t ask you to stay, he grabs your bag and your sweater for you and you say you’ll talk to him soon. it’s with a heavy heart that he says goodbye to you. he knows the chances of you coming back are slim. you didn’t run from his dorm, but your pace wasn’t slow.

- he wished he could sleep this off. this feeling. he wished he hadn’t said anything but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to you to pretend he was something he wasn’t so you’d stay. he wanted good things for you. and it was completely fair that you walked away. he thinks about you day in, day out, during tennis, during classes. but he’s got forever to find someone else, he just has to let this pass over him.

- you text him, say you’re coming over. and he’s at the door before you even knock, he heard you coming. “i’m sorry- i just-“ he’s excited but he’s afraid. too excited to see you back here- why are you there? “hi.” he’s so cute, standing in his doorway. he’s wondering if it’s wrong to think of you the way he did two weeks ago. he wasn’t clear on if you’d broken up with him or not.

“hi,” you reply. “can i come in?”

he’s nodding, moving out of the way for you to come in. you sit on his bed. “i didn’t expect you to-“

“come back? neither did i…” you replied. “but i was so… empty, i just- i miss you more than i seem to care about what- who you are. and it’s been killing me.” you admit, almost a little whiny and he’s glad to hear it. “i missed you.”

“i missed you too,” he says, shutting his door behind him. “a lot.”

you tuck your hair behind your ears, “i know everything, i just… how much does this affect everything?”

“only as much as you let it,” he says candidly. “i don’t eat regular food and i can’t have children.”

“what about garlic?” you almost smiled. he missed that. god, he missed you. so fucking much.

“i can have garlic.” he chuckled, stepping closer to where you were sitting. you pat the space beside you and he sat down next to you, thigh to thigh. “i don’t want to scare you.” he says. “i don’t want to hurt you. and i don’t want to leave you.”

“i don’t want that either,” you nod, eyebrows furrowed. “if i stay- am i in danger?”

“i wouldn’t ever hurt you.” he nods back. “it’s animals only. only. strictly. and i brush my teeth fourteen times after.”

“okay.” you reply. “art, i want you. you.”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

“i’m sorry about the two weeks-“

“don’t be.”

“i really am, i just needed-“

“it’s okay.”

“i was trying to wrap my head around-“ he kissed you to shut you up. he was so glad for it. so glad you kissed him back, it was all he thought about when the nights were empty and quiet. you, how warm you were, how good you smelled.

- vampire boyfriend!!!! it’s almost ignorable. you have a reason why he doesn’t eat with you, you know why he’s cold, it’s more reason to keep your arms around him. you can’t brag about it, but it’s a fun little secret so it’s sooo worth it. and it’s hot. you don’t want to admit it, but it’s hot. you’d always admired how sharp his teeth were, it was cute, like a cat. but he had a reason for it and you were finding it hot. your search history was

biting kink

blood kink

vampire smut

that isn’t you!!! but you were curious that’s all. And you like his teeth a lot.

- he’s so pretty and he’s so skilled in making you feel good. he won’t let you do anything to him, swears to god the best thing for him is what he can do for you. you’re making out and his hand slips between your legs, down your underwear, they’re cold but they don’t feel that way after a while. he’s fast, it feels like some sort of toy, it’s too good. you are forever glad you didn’t walk away and never return. you’d miss the proud smile on his face when he makes you finish three times in a night.

- it takes a while for art to do the simple task of kissing your neck. it’s not so simple, it scares him still. but the thing is, the moment his lips are on your jaw, your whole body has goosebumps and you don’t expect it to feel as good as it does. maybe you spent too much time on the internet, maybe you were developing some sort of feeling about it. he kissed gently, close-mouthed down your neck, feeling your body tense and your heart beat hard and fast in your chest. he hasn’t done anything else, he’s only kissing your neck, but what you’re into is a major turn on for him, so he continues. he likes nothing more than it as he continues.

- it gets worse. you’re together almost a year now and it’s going so well but if art touches your neck whatsoever, you’re making out against some wall in some cupboard and you’re begging him to fuck you.

“please, please, please,” you’re on top of him in your dorm room and he’s saying no, but he doesn’t want to. it’s not like your begging is a pressure on him, believe it, he wants you so fucking badly.

“i want you so badly, i can’t- i could hurt you.”

“what if i like it?” you whisper between kisses. your hand down the front of his pants, he’s groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t usually let you do what you want but it’s getting harder and harder to not.

“like it?”

“i want it.” you tell him. “please.”

“i can’t-“ he’s raising his hips to meet your hand as you move it up and down his length. “i want to, i really fucking want to, more than anything, but i can’t. i don’t- i haven’t-“

“we can go slow. i’ll go slow, let me do the work, please?”

he wants it. the imagery in his mind is already killing him. “i promised to be gentle, i could grab you too hard or i could bite, i don’t know what i’ll do, i don’t trust myself.”

“you bite?” you giggled a little, as if the idea wasn’t a little intriguing. as if it wasn’t hot.

he grinned back, kissing you again, “i’m not sure.”

“you don’t… touch… yourself?”

“no, i do, believe me, i do, but it’s different, i can’t hurt myself- fuck-“ he’s trying to get his words out but your hand is good. your hand is perfect. “i could hurt you.”

“what if i want that?”

“me to hurt you?”

“what if i don’t mind it? i don’t mind bruises, art, just don’t break my bones.”

“i wouldn’t- i don’t know if i would or not, that’s what i’m afraid of.”

“and everything you’ve been afraid of,” you pick up the pace of which you stroke him. “has it turned out okay?”

he groans into your open mouth, nodding slightly, soft eyes meeting yours. “mhm.”

“mhm.” you nod back. “you can hurt me, art.” he moans louder. loudest. “i can take it.”

- another few months go by without. he’s taken to letting you grind on him. it’s practice, he says, but really he just finds it hot. you, your little skirts, making it fun for him. but you can’t stop thinking about you fucking him and frankly neither can he. the romance continues.

- he brings you roses on a whim. it’s cute. he knows you like them. he gets the dark red ones for you.

- he’s fast, he can be to McDonalds and back in only a few minutes depending on the speed they make their food. you call him, you mention it once and he brings it to you. and every time, sweet boy, he apologizes for not being able to eat with you.

- he’s so into you. this is it for him, he’s sure. you’re the perfect mix of everything and you share so many interests. you’re kind and sweet and funny and you get him. and understand him entirely. he could not care less when other girls talk to him. usually the first words he says to anyone is something casual about his girlfriend. ‘sorry i’m late, i was at my girlfriend’s debate’, and other things of the sort. he’s cute like that, but annoying to a few other people.

- loses his mind if you hold his face in any way, it’s actually one of the things that makes him think fucking you might be something he could do. you cup his face and he looks at you with those puppy eyes and your thumb grazes over his lower lip and he’s kissing you like he’s not scared. you’re in his arms, he picks you up, crawls over you on the bed. his first instinct is to kiss your neck to drive you as crazy as he is and it’s only a matter of time before you’re begging him again.

“please, art.”

“i want you so fucking badly,” he mumbles, cold hands desperate over the skin of your waist. “i do, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry. fuck me.”

“i can’t. you know i can’t-“ but your hand down his pants is wearing him down already.

“it’s been more than a year. art, it’s okay. it’s no different than grinding.”

“it’s different,” he tells you, he’d be blushing if he could. “come on.”

“come on what?” you grin, stroking him harder. his breath catches for a moment, but he grins back at you. “art. it’s okay. you don’t need to be so afraid, i promise i can take it.”

“and what if you can’t?”

“then we tried.”

“you won’t say that if i hurt you.”

“if you hurt me it’ll be my own fault.” you tell him sternly. “i’ll be in control, i’ll go my own pace, you just lay back, it’ll be good. i promise, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“baby…” his hands on your waist.

“let me.” you say. “with your consent.”

“i said i wouldn’t hurt you… there’s no guarantee-“

“it’s no different than the grinding. i promise.” you begin to slide your shorts off, eyes locking with his. “if not, that’s okay, but i just- i know you won’t hurt me.”

“if i do?”

“i’ll take it.” you tell him. he’s consumed by his own lust. his worries slowly fading out. “let me fuck you, mhm?”

his pants at his ankles, he’s turning slowly onto his back. you climb over him, kissing him hard. the sharp of his tooth grazes your lip and the violence begins. he groans as your hand slides over his own neck, kissing him.

“slow,” he says. and you nod, slowing the way you’re kissing, your hand moving to cup his face in a kiss. you’re everything, how can he resist what he wants so badly? you’re perfect and you smell good and you’re kissing him sickeningly slow and it’s almost sweet. “please.”

“you’re saying yes?”

“yes.” he swallows hard.

“i didn’t pressure you?”

“no, i want it so fucking badly, you have no idea,” he smiles, kissing you again. there’s no escape. “i want you. just… slowly.” he pushes your hair behind his ear. “you’ll tell me if i’m hurting you.”

“maybe,” you grin.

“hey-“

“i will.” you nod. “can i?”

“slowly.”

you looked at him, nodding slowly again, reaching down under him. he was trusting you, he was holding you to this. the tip of his dick slipping against your entrance. it was unreal, it was real, it was cold but it wouldn’t be for long. he inhaled sharply and you kissed you. he was a little pathetic, the way he acted as you slowly, extremely slowly, sank down on him. it was ends meeting, it was waited for. the sound he made was one he didn’t think he’d make, but you were all he’d been wanting. he could have finished right there and then, just at the feeling of you. warm, tight.

- vampire art, with vampiric tendencies, digs his fingers so hard into you that you were sure it would bruise. it hurt in the best way. you moved slowly, up and down, a pace that didn’t scare him. he felt so good, so perfect.

- he’s surprisingly melting under your touch as you slowly ride him. it’s how he is. somewhere towing the line between himself a little bit submissive. he’s letting you, he’s trying to be unafraid, letting himself get lost in how you feel. you’re close, neck kissing distance. his hand slips around the back of your neck and he kissed the exposed skin. you moaned, going slightly faster and he braced your hips, wary. too wary. but he let you continue to rock.

- he controls your hips, rocking you back and forth a little more as he gets a little less scared. and he’s kissing your neck, moaning against it. open mouth, sharp teeth grazing your neck and he isn’t even aware of it. it hurts, its natural, he’s hurting you but it’s not as bad as you thought. his lips send goosebumps over your skin, he’s not aware, he’s lost in the way you’re fucking him. he’s letting you go faster, harder, you’re both moaning. he’s close already. you don’t mind that at all.

- vampire art, poor boy, he’s coming undone already. it’s a little pathetic but in the best way. hes being fucked so good, the way he’s imagined the past year- he’s not aware of his teeth and the reality that he could bite you is too real, when it was only half a joke. he could bite you, he could, he wants to, you want him to, it hurts.

- “please,” you mumble, and he’s suddenly too aware of what he’s been doing and he’s suddenly terrified. he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s been doing it unconsciously.

“oh fuck-“ he tries to pull away, but it’s his downfall, he finishes hard, too fucking hard and he’s pathetic, melting under you, moaning and grabbing you so hard it hurts and you’re close to follow suit, your hand down between the two of you working your clit. your hand moves at his squirming and you forfeit your orgasm as he finishes so pretty. he makes the prettiest sounds, loud and the people in the dorm next to yours must fucking hate you. he was breathing hard, his lips pink, still in a state of desperation. “no- nonononono,”

you slowed to an immediate stop for him. “hey, what’s wrong?”

“your neck, my teeth, fuck- i’m sorry,” his chest still rose and fell, his cum leaking from between you both. “i’m so sorry-i-“ nervous boy. nervous vampire boyfriend!!!

- he takes to your comfort the moment you grab his face and tell him it’s fine. you like it. you want it. his scared eyes soften out again. if that was all the damage done, no blood drawn, it was successful. you liked it. it was more than good. so fucking good.

- you take care of him until he calms down entirely. you soothe him by holding him close, a wet cloth against the scratches on your neck. he’s the kind to apologize softly. he’s always apologetic, he’s good at it. you kiss his temple, stroke through his curls. you can go without finishing. the ratio of his orgasms to yours were uncountably inbalanced.

- after that you end up practicing more. calling it ‘practice’, it’s just sex. it’s good sex. he worships you like you’re the immortal being. he learns to be gentle. doesn’t help that don’t want him to be. it’s another year of being together and you throw it at him. “bite me.”

“hm?” he looks up from tying his laces, his hat on backwards, all cute.

“bite me.” you stand above him, he rises to his feet, arms wrapping gently around your waist. “it’s been two years and i’m not going anywhere. i want you to do it.”

“you don’t want it.” he tells you, swaying into the hug. “i promise.”

“i know. but it’s my choice.”

“it is your choice but it’s also mine if i choose to bite you. i want you and i know you’re not going anywhere, i dont need to make you the way i am just to say that.”

you shake your head, “bite me. or no sex.”

he just grins and shakes his head, “nice try.”

“think about it.”

he nods again, “okay. i will. i promise.”

- it’s another year before it happens. vampire boyfriend is scared of doing it, what if something goes wrong? what if you hate him for it? what if, what if… you make him nervous. you want him, he knows it. more ways than one it would be nice to not have to worry about biting you when you fuck.

- he works up the courage to take the risk and he comes to yours around 11:30pm. you’re up, you were just finishing an assignment. you greet him with a kiss and a long hug. he needs it. he’s never not in need of it. he wants to cry, he wishes he still could. he feels like it because he knows what you want isn’t good but you want it and he wants you do some part of it feels right. and okay. he tells you what he’s thinking and you take all of it in. but you nod.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” he says.

“it’s going to hurt. i’ve told you before i can take it.”

he shakes his head, “and what if i can’t?”

“i’ll heal.”

“baby… “ he almost sits at your feet the way he’s talking to you.

“it’ll be okay. you can hurt me. it’ll be worth it when you’re stuck with me forever.” you smile and he smiles back.

- he can do it. and you kiss him. which is the first step. the second is triggering his weakness, cupping his face. and suddenly he’s on you. and you’re undressing and it’s messy and it’s harsh and it’s sloppy.

- art is usually very sexually calculated he knows what is needed and he does it and he’s fucking perfect at it, but this is messy and desperate and hot and not even he wants to have any sort of control. he just knows what’s going to happen is going to happen. you’ve never been more turned on with anticipation. for the first time- even though it sounds bad, art is on top. he doesn’t need you in control at the moment, he’s fucking into you and it’s hard but not too hard that it could cause harm- it’s good. and it’s got, and you’re kissing him through harsh, sharp breaths and there’s no time to be wasted. he’s ramming into you with a force you didn’t know he possessed that is also so contained. you wished it wasn’t. And his lips graze your neck. you moan, that familiar shiver of pleasure rippling over your body. his body, thrusting, the movement making for perfect friction. he kisses your neck gently, and you feel his teeth graze your neck.

- he’s fucking you but his emotions are strong and he’s rethinking but this is it. he said he would. his hand reaches down to play with your clit as he fucks you, his attention to three places at once is enough to drive you crazy. you’re waiting, skin hot against his, and you don’t expect to like the way it hurts so fucking badly when he sinks his teeth in. pain mixes with pleasure, sharp teeth in your skin. his lips catch any blood, taking it in. it’s good, it’s too good. he keeps his teeth in long enough for him to feel whatever it is that would change you seep into your bloodstream. you’re moaning when he expected a scream and it’s hot. it’s too hot for him. his teeth slowly come out and the wound heals over near-immediately, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing your neck again a million times, new scars instantly formed. you kiss him harder than you ever had, feeling your skin start to burn pleasantly, warm like the feel of being close to an oven on a cold day. and his hand working, his dick sliding in and out, you finish simultaneously, almost.

- he rides out the high. and before cleaning anything he’s checking if you’re okay. you’re blissed out. gone. and he’s watching as you grow paler the next few hours in his arms. you’re telling him he did such a good job. so good. and you fall asleep for the last time. changed.

#challengers #art donaldson #challengers x reader #tinytennisskirt #art donaldson x reader #challengers fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson smut #art donaldson au #vampireboyfriend!art donaldson #vampire!au #art donaldson fic

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delulujuls · 1 year ago

Text

papaya nails and everything nice | op81

hi! i dont really know how to comment on that one, i just get this idea from few videos where oscar actually admitted that he has very interesting relationship with his nails

anyway, is this original? i think it is. is this wholesome? hell yes, we do be supportin in this household. enjoy!

summary: oscar is having an unusual problem but it's nothing a manicure cant fix

warnings: none, i hope that painted nails on a boy arent a trigger

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver (ft. lando)

Oscar had been struggling to get himself together for some time now. As far back as he could remember, he considered himself as organized and put-together person who kept everything in check. However, for the past few weeks he had been the complete opposite—nothing seemed to go his way, he was incredibly scattered, sleeping poorly and was always last-minute everywhere.

This day was no exception to the rule that had persistently dominated Piastri's life for the past few weeks. Hurrying, he entered the garage running late and quickly started changing, not wanting to delay the start of training. His hair was messy, clearly having just detached from the pillow a few moments ago. Y/N observed her friend from the corner of her eye, seeing him struggle with unzipping his jumpsuit. Without hesitation, she approached him and eased his suffering, helping him with the zipper.

"Thanks," he mumbled, throwing a fleeting glance at his friend. Only then did Y/N noticed that Oscar's face was marked by several red streaks.

"Something happened?" she asked, clearly concerned. The recent strange behavior of Oscar had not escaped anyone on the team and she was no exception.

"I overslept, nothing new lately," Piastri casually replied, putting on the jumpsuit and fastening it around his neck. He brushed his hair off his face and only now did Y/N have a full view of his face, where red stripes were visible on his even paler-than-usual skin.

"Yes, that too, but that's not what I meant," she said.

Y/N took her phone and showed him his reflection. He furrowed his brows in surprise but took the phone from her and looked at his face. It was a fact, there were strange red marks on it. After a moment, he figured out why he looked like so this morning.

"They're probably scratches; I must have done them in my sleep."

"Scratches?" she scrunched her eyebrows and involuntarily glanced at his nails when he handed her the phone. Indeed, Oscar's nails could make many girls envious.

Y/N still had something to ask, but she was called to take her place in the car. She didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with Oscar until lunchtime. The couple sat in the cafeteria and as Y/N was familiar with both the old Oscar, whom she had known for several years and the slowly emerging new Oscar, she had never paid much attention to his hands or, more importantly, his nails.

"Has this happened to you before?" Y/N asked when they were both eating lunch and Oscar focused all his attention on what she assumed was his first eagerly awaited meal of the day.

"That I took two portions of rice with vegetables for lunch?" he asked with his mouth full, glancing at her in the meantime "No, honestly, this is my debut."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not asking about that. I mean, have you ever looked like you've just met Wolverine?"

"Still have those marks?"

Y/N nodded in response as she continued eating.

Oscar sighed, swallowing what was in his mouth and wondering whether to tell her about the embarrassing nonsense that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her curious gaze he decided to confess to her an unusual fact about himself.

"I can't cut my nails."

Oscar threw this statement into the air without much ado. Honestly, at this point in his life where he was and with all the things happening, most of which didn't go the way they should, thinking about things like his unfortunate nails would be total foolishness.

"Oh, really?" she was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise when you hear some fun fact you didn't know before.

"You reacted like I just told you that there are twice as many kangaroos as people in Australia."

"It's quite an unusual thing, you're probably the first person I know who can't do it."

"I don't know if it's something to feel special about, although probably yes since for the rest of the day, I look like I do."

Oscar replied, pointing to his scratched face.

"What's worse," he continued, not interrupting his eating, "Even when I manage to deal with them, it takes a moment and they look the same again. They grow terribly fast."

"If you want, I can help you with them," she offered, glancing at him.

Oscar hesitated for a moment and after that he looked at her uncertainly.

"Could you?"

"Of course!"

Shortly afterward, Y/N's hotel room turned into improvised nail salon. She took her task very seriously, pleased that Oscar allowed her to do anything extra such as cutting his cuticles or giving his hands a massage with a cookie-scented cream.

"You have nice nails," he said when she massaged his hands. Her nails had short square shapes with a matte finish. The color was no surprise; it was papaya orange. "Do PR people dip their fingers in this too?"

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just noticed this nail polish in the drugstore and I thought I'd take it. It amused me that this color haunts me everywhere."

"Do you do your nails yourself?" Oscar looked at her with a slight shock. "It must be terribly hard and time-consuming."

"I've been doing them for a few years now and as you can see they are pretty simple, so with each time I get better at it."

She replied, taking a bit more cream. She noticed that he was silently looking at her hands; it seemed that he was particularly paying attention to her nails.

"I can paint yours too if you want."

"Mine?"

Y/N nodded and Oscar looked at her, shocked by how effortlessly she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Painted nails aren't for boys. "

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Anyone can have painted nails, Oscar."

"Zac would be pissed at me. PR people probably too."

"Fuck Zac, fuck PR people," she looked him in the eyes. "Everyone has the right to look how they want, so if Lewis can have earrings and tattoos, Alex could have red hair, then you or any other guy can have painted nails."

Oscar hesitated for a while, looking at her uncertainly. He was silent for a moment, thinking hard. However, he decided that it was time to finally do something contrary to the norm. He has stuck to the rules and regulations all his life, so it's time to make a small concession that won't harm anyone.

"Can you make them for me with a shiny finish?"

Y/N smiled and nodded, hurriedly getting off the bed and grabbing her bag with all the supplies. The smile on Oscar's face appeared with each painted nail, pushing away his fears and insecurities.

When the girl started finishing his other hand after more than an hour, Lando came into the bedroom without any warning, complaining about his friends and the fact that none of them had replied to any of his messages for over forty minutes.

When Norris noticed what he was witnessing, he opened his mouth in shock and his eyes almost fell out of his sockets. Both Oscar and Y/N knew their friend's unfiltered chatter, so they mentally prepared themselves for some comment from him. But beside that, he hurriedly took off his shoes and all excited sat on the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

"Oh my God! Will you do mine too?"

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #op81 #formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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cece693 · 8 months ago

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You're Not Crazy Pt.1 (The Mad Hatter x M! Reader)

I got an ask some time ago about writing for other Depp characters such as the Mad Hatter. I haven't seen the movies recently, so some things might not be canon, however, I do want to explore this fandom since it is relatively empty of fanfics :) I left it purposefully open-ended in case you guys want a 2nd part.

Summary: You believed your sister when she returned home and spoke of a land where magical and peculiar people roamed. You asked her to take you there, and there, you encounter the Mad Hatter.

tags: of age reader, your Alice's brother, older by a few years, you hadn't seen wonderland before, not following story or book timeline

You believed your sister from the moment she returned home, eyes wide and voice trembling with excitement. She spoke of a world hidden beyond the ordinary, a place where logic twisted into nonsense and peculiar beings roamed freely—a land called Wonderland. You listened, enraptured, as she described a realm of talking animals, living chess pieces, and the most unusual of tea parties. While others dismissed her tales as ramblings of a crazed girl with an overactive imagination, you knew better. You had always known better.

“I want to see it,” you told her one evening. “I want to go there, too.”

Your sister hesitated, her face clouding with concern. “It’s not a place for everyone,” she said softly. “It can be…overwhelming.” But you insisted. If she could brave Wonderland, then so could you. And so, with reluctance, she agreed.

The next day, you followed her through the forest behind your home, down winding paths that seemed to shift and change when you weren’t looking. Eventually, she stopped by a large oak tree, its roots sprawling like the fingers of some great, sleeping beast.

“This is where I fell through.” And before you could ask what she meant, she took your hand and jumped, pulling you into the hollow darkness beneath the tree.

The fall was long and winding, like tumbling through a kaleidoscope of colors and strange sounds. When you finally landed—rather unceremoniously—on a bed of soft grass, you found yourself surrounded by an impossible landscape. The sky was a deep lavender, the grass a brilliant shade of blue. Flowers whispered secrets as you passed, and a brook giggled like a child at play.

"Welcome to Wonderland." Your sister announced with a smile, her eyes alight with familiarity.

It was more magical and bizarre than you could have imagined. You wandered through towering mushroom fields and past chattering woodland creatures, your eyes darting in awe. But one tale from your sister’s stories captivated you most—the Mad Hatter and his eternal tea party.

You begged her to take you there, and she obliged, leading you down a winding path that seemed to twist back on itself like a living thing. She left you at the entrance to a clearing, insisting that the rest of this adventure would be yours alone.

“Just be careful with him.” she warned softly before disappearing back down the path. Confused by her words, you approached the clearing cautiously, the sound of clinking china and cheerful, nonsensical chatter growing louder with each step. And then you saw him—the Mad Hatter, sitting at the head of a long, crooked table filled with teapots, mismatched cups, and an array of pastries that defied description.

His hair was a wild mop of orange curls and his large green eyes glimmered with a feverish brightness. Beside him sat a hare who seemed to be caught in a perpetual state of alarm, and a sleepy mouse that napped in a teapot.

“More tea?” the Hatter exclaimed, lifting a cup in your direction before noticing you. “Ah, a new guest! How splendid, how rare!”

You hesitated, taking in his erratic movements and the almost manic excitement in his voice. He seemed to be all contradictions—both welcoming and wary, kind and somehow unsettling.

“I…I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said carefully, stepping closer.

“Have you, now?” The Hatter's eyes widened, and he leaned forward as if this was the most intriguing news he'd heard all day. “And what did you hear? That I’m mad as a hatter?”

You chuckled. “Well, yes. But also that you throw the best tea parties in Wonderland.”

This seemed to please him immensely. “Then you’ve heard correctly!” he declared, standing up with a flourish. “Do sit, do sit! There’s always room for one more at my table. Unless, of course, it’s Tuesday, and we’re already three cups deep in the riddle rounds. But it’s not Tuesday, is it?”

You shook your head, finding yourself smiling despite the oddity of it all. “No, it’s not Tuesday.”

“Wonderful! Sit, sit!” He patted a chair beside him, his smile so wide it was almost infectious. As you took your seat, he poured you a cup of tea without asking if you wanted one, dropping in a few sugar cubes for good measure. “Tell me, what brings you to my humble tea party? And don't say 'a rabbit,' because that would be terribly unoriginal.”

You explained how your sister had told you stories of this place and how you wanted to see it for yourself. The Hatter listened with an almost childlike fascination, nodding and “hmming” at all the appropriate moments.

“There’s something different about you.” he said thoughtfully after a while. “Most people who come here are either lost or looking for something they don’t understand. But you—oh, you’re not like the others, are you?”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I just…wanted to see if it was real.”

The Hatter’s grin softened into something almost genuine. “And now that you’re here? What do you think?”

“I think it’s more than real,” you said. “It’s…alive.”

His eyes seemed to glow with approval. “I like you.” he declared suddenly. “You’re not afraid of madness. You might even be a bit mad yourself.”

You laughed, feeling a strange warmth spreading through your chest. For all his eccentricities, the Hatter made you feel like you belong in this topsy-turvy world. And you realized, with a start, that you liked it. You liked him.

As the days passed, you found yourself returning to the Hatter's tea party again and again. You never knew what to expect—sometimes, you’d spend hours debating the merits of invisible jam; other times, you’d sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the strangeness of each other’s company.

The Hatter, for his part, seemed equally drawn to you. He would light up whenever you appeared, his eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. There were moments when his wildness would soften, and you’d catch a glimpse of something deeper beneath the madness—something vulnerable and achingly sincere.

But as the weeks turned into months, a quiet conflict began to stir within you. Wonderland was a place where time didn’t matter, where rules were made to be broken, and madness was a way of life. And yet, the longer you stayed, the more you began to feel a strange pull—a yearning for the world you had left behind. Memories of home, of mornings filled with familiar scents and sunsets painting the sky in shades of gold, tugged at the edges of your mind. Then there was your sister who you dearly missed. You tried to ignore the pull, losing yourself in the Hatter's antics but the feeling persisted.

The Hatter noticed, of course. He was always watching you with those keen, almost too-bright eyes. One evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, he turned to you, his expression unusually serious.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Thinking about what?”

“Leaving.” he said, his voice edged with something fragile and raw. “Going back to your world. Abandoning me.”

His words cut deeper than you expected. “It’s not like that, Hatter. I just…I miss some things from home.”

“But you can’t have both.” he replied sharply. His hands trembled as he poured himself another cup of tea, spilling more than half of it onto the table. “You can’t live in two worlds at once. Sooner or later, you have to choose.”

You felt a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. “I don’t want to leave you. Not really.”

“Not really?” he repeated, his voice rising, eyes narrowing as he stared at you. “But ‘really’ enough to think about it. To dream of it.”

The words stung, and you felt a flare of frustration. “It’s not that simple, Hatter! You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” His voice rose, and he stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “Oh, I understand perfectly! You think you can dip in and out of Wonderland as you please, but this place changes you. It consumes you. And you think you can just walk away?”

“I don’t know what I want!” you shouted back, standing to face him. “I care about you, I do. But I can’t just—”

“Then go!” he interrupted, his face twisted in anger and heartbreak. “Leave if you must. But don’t come back. I can’t bear the thought of you dangling the possibility of forever only to snatch it away.”

“I’m sorry.” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. The Hatter’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw him for what he truly was—a broken soul clinging to the one bit of sanity that remained: you.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, turning away. “I’m just a madman, after all. And what would a madman know of love?”

As you stood there, watching him retreat into himself, you felt the weight of the decision pressing down on you like never before. Wonderland was a place of wonder, but it was also a place of madness. Could you stay here forever, leaving the world you knew behind in favor of Hatter's affections?

The answer wasn’t simple. It wasn’t clear. But as you watched the Hatter, his shoulders slumped and his hands trembling, you knew one thing: if you left, a part of you would always remain in Wonderland—lost among the teapots and riddles, forever searching for a madman’s love.

#x male reader #male reader #the mad hatter #alice kingsleigh #mad hatter #tweedle dum #white queen #red queen #alice in wonderland #white rabbit #cheshire cat #alice #the mad hatter x reader #the mad hatter x male reader #hatter x reader #hatter x male reader

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boxturret · 3 months ago

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Bionicle 2: Mysteries of Metru Nui

There are many, many parts of B2 that don't really stand up to scrutiny, but one of the most odd was Vakama's reaction to one of his earlier visions. Its at 14 minutes in if this video also at some point gets scrubbed from the internet in the ongoing censorship campaign.

UPDATE: The youtube upload of TLOMN that was referenced here has seemingly been removed since this post was written.

youtube

Vakama says that "[He] saw it, Metru-Nui was destroyed!" but even as a child I was confused by this statement, as the images shown in the vison the city looked fine, just a bit....purple.

There have long been rumors that this was a hasty, last minute edit, that originally the destruction was more explicitly depicted.

Someone that claims to have in their possession the movie contacted me recently about their experience trying to release it.

I don't know how I got my hands on the DVD, its just been something I had around all my childhood. I don't know if someone my family knew were affiliated with Bionicle, or Creative Capers, if I had known I would have bragged about it constantly LOL. So for my childhood this WAS Legends of Metru Nui for me, it wasn't until adulthood, and me getting back in to the Bionicle fan communities during COVID that I came across the version uploaded youtube and Biomedia Project. [...] So when I had the chance to go back to my parents a few months later I was able to dig out the old DVD I watched back then and ripped it. So as a joke, last BIO Day I thought I'd upload the movie in full to see if anyone would notice the change. [...] Then a few months ago I get an email from youtube that the video was copyright claimed by Lego and it had been taken down, I was really shocked.

He was kind enough to send me a copy of the email, and its genuine.

His youtube account was heavily penalised, and as the account has a lot of important things uploaded to it he didn't wish to risk it by trying again.

He sent me a phone video of the scene in question as proof.

youtube

As you can see, instead of simply being covered in a purple fog, the coliseum itself is exploding and collapsing.

The quality is poor, and the audio nearly impossible to make out, but if you compare it to the released version, the explosion might even still be in the final sound mix, just obfuscated to be the sound of a thunder clap.

Now, why was this hasty edit made? Most theories point to 9/11.

The September 11th terrorist attacks on the World Trade center in 2001 was very shocking and traumatised much of the united states of america. Some things released closer to the time were hastily edited to remove any imagery that might call back to it, for one Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty had a whole sequence from the ending where the giant Arsenal Gear crashed though much of Manhattan stopping just short of the Twin Towers cut at the last moment.

Now you may ask, "MGS2 came out in 2001, but B2 was 2004 why was it still censored" but that's simple, 9/11 left deep scars in the us psyche, even 2002's Lord of the Rings the Two Towers was heavily criticised in some circles for the sensational name trying to cash in on the tragedy, even though the book it was based on was nearly 60 years old. So its not outside of the realm of possibility that even in 2004 a piece of children's media featuring such a scene would be deemed in bad taste.

Even today, the long dead Bionicle fan site Bionicle Zone Power reactivates once a year to pay respects to the tragedy.

Now as to why TLG or someone at least posing as them would be so fanatical and judicious about this version of the film being released to the public, that's anyone's guess.

So that is the story of the weird scene in Bionicle 2: The Legend of Metru Nui. If only all of the nonsensical scenes in that film could be so thoroughly explained.

#History #Bionicle the Movie 2 The Legends of Metru-Nui #remember #Bionicle #Youtube

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therocketeer0501 · 4 months ago

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Emptiness Machine

Starscream X Reader (mech pilot AU)

Warnings/TW: blood, weapons, mention of torture, robot gore, human experimentation (shockwave is shockwave), language, and peril. (I’ll add more as I post)

(Author note: Before I get started I wanted to get a few things out of the way. This is my own AU and doesn’t really lend itself to much existing media. Gonna mash a few continuities together. This is in no way a professional writing by any means. I am not running it past a beta or anything so it’s going to be rough. I wanted to write this for myself and share it with y’all! This is my silly nonsense. That being said if I don’t clarify something or if something doesn’t make sense please submit an ask and I will promptly explain! Now without further ado. Here is the anticipated first chapter of Emptiness machine! Thank you all for waiting.)

Read first

Data log entry #857

Date: 003029 Time: 0700

Time since first contact: 2 years, 4 months, 7 days

What began as a national defense strategy became one of the most complex military operations in the history of the world. Project Archangel, founded by Dr. Zinovy Antonov, began under the pretense of creating the world’s first mechanized army. He started his research long before we found out we weren’t alone out here among the stars. With the arrival of the Cybertronian visitors came the fear that humanity was not only vastly outgunned, but also grossly unprepared to deal with any threat from deep space. Dr. Antonov pleaded with the government to allow him near the deactivated body of one of the Cybertronians, who was discovered after a battle had broken out between factions.

He studied their biology and created what he dubbed the perfect exoskeleton. Fueled by chemical X, also known as Energon, and operated by none other than the human soul itself. There weren’t many volunteers to undergo the rigorous training and testing that these pilots had to go through. But with the help of Cybertronian Autobot scientists, Project Archangel was finally given the green light to move forward. Only three pilots made it through the initial testing.

Pilot: Seraphim, Pilot: Uriel, and Pilot: Michael.

With their functioning mecha, these pilots were meant to assist the Autobot Cybertronians in keeping earth from being terraformed by the opposing Cybertronian facton, the Decepticons.

Which brings us to the present. We have had zero contact with the other faction known as the Decepticons until two months ago. The Autobots insisted we keep our distance and only deploy Project Archangel as a last resort. Keeping the humans out of the conflict was essential if they wanted to stay neutral in the eyes of the Decepticons. As far as we know, no Decepticon has ventured down to the planet’s surface from their airship Nemesis to interact with the population. Only sending drones to wreak havoc on areas rich in Chemical X.

However, in recent months, there have been sightings of Decepticon officers and scientists (identified by Autobot command) on the planet’s surface. It was decided that we bring Project Archangel out of the shadows and deploy them on a scouting mission alongside several Autobots. We only hope that we haven’t made a grave mistake.

Chapter 1

You let yourself be pulled through the spiral of light emanating from the ground bridge. Traveling via the alien tech was a feeling that no one could describe. The closest thing to it was like having a magnet in your chest be pulled faster than your brain could register before spitting you back out on the other side. It had taken many practice runs for you to not throw off your stabilizers and stick the landing. Though it still made you dizzy and a bit sick.

After landing behind Bee in a heavily wooded area, you quickly scan the trees for energy signatures. Your scanners were only programmed to detect the Decepticon drones and of course the energy signatures of your comrades. Bumblebee signaled for you to fall in behind him and you promptly obeyed. You could feel the way your heart pounded against your ribcage where your body rested snug inside the metal chest of your mech. Your consciousness flawlessly divided between the two bodies. One living metal, and one flesh. Energon flowed steady through your lines as you tried to calm the slight tremor of your hand that came with the rush of adrenaline.

Ahead you could see the energon mine in the waning light. A clearing with a large metal structure in the center. The two huge metal doors at the entrance had been blown wide open to reveal the tunnel that went deep inside the earth to extract the precious ore. The human sentries, once posted outside, were nowhere to be found. Vehicles were overturned and some still smoldered where they had been hit with plasma bolts. You switch to internal comms so you can communicate with Bee without anyone on the outside hearing.

“Second wave in twenty. Nineteen….”

You slowly count down the seconds until the others arrive so you can rush the structure together. Adjusting your grip on your rifle you study entrance trying to imagine just what awaited you inside. Clearly a monster. Looking to your left you see Bumblebee gripping his null ray, an uncharacteristically stoic look on his face. You had some form of friendship with all the autobots, but you were closest to the little yellow scout. Perhaps it was shared interest or the fact that he seemed more your age. Whatever the case, you had shared so many things with each other over the two ish years that you had been a part of Project Archangel. Only once did you ask him about his home.

He looked saddened at the question and at first you thought he wouldn’t answer you. But he did. You spent the better part of a day listening to how he didn’t know Cybertron before it had been nearly obliterated by the war. It had been a planet filled with culture, music, and arts. No factions to speak of. A united Cybertron. But then came the slow divide of the classes. The divide grew until there were only the obscenely wealthy, and those who had nothing. That’s when, from the pits of Kaon, came the leader of the Decepticon faction.

Megatron.

Bumblebee described him as charismatic and well spoken. Someone bots wanted to rally behind. Many of the Autobots started out as Decepticons in the early days of the war. Taking down the government brick by brick until nothing remained. When it came time to build a new government, Megatron wasn’t satisfied. He wanted all the bots and their families who dared oppress him gone. Obliterated until nothing was left. He ended up doing exactly that. This cost him many followers and eventually after many thousands of years, his home. He didn’t stop. Blaming the Autobots for the lack of energon and destruction on Cybertron.

With a dead world and nowhere to go, the Autobots turned to the libraries in what was left of Iacon. There they found records of worlds seeded with energon by the 13 original Primes. A failsafe in case something were to happen to Cybertron. Optimus Prime lead the remaining Autobots off world to look for a suitable new home. Of course Megatron followed. They tore their way through 11 uninhabited worlds while trying to find one that suited them best. Stripping the worlds of their energon before moving on to the next. Earth was the first seeded world to have intelligent life. Optimus made it his sole mission to keep that intelligent life from having to endure the horrors of the war they brought with them.

It was nearly impossible due to the ever present evil that lurked in the sky. The Nemesis, like a dark cloud, hung overhead when you looked up. What kind of monsters would tear apart their home just to make a point? You were about to find out. A ground bridge portal appeared nearly blinding her as she adjusted her optics to its harsh blue light. Four bots landed and immediately began sprinting towards the entrance. Your peds began to automatically move. The yellow scout close on your heels as the two of you followed your comrades inside. Drones swarmed around you the instant you broke the entrance. Inside you could see Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and one of your brothers in arms Michael. His mech was a heavy class. Not very good at maneuvering but excellent at breaking things. Throwing a drone into a wall with the butt of your rifle, you turn to Bee and chuckle over comms.

“I was expecting more of a fight. This is a fairly average number of drones.”

He didn’t reply right away as he tried to pull a drone off of one of the lambo twins. You couldn’t tell which one because of the sheer number of bodies trying to suffocate the bot. Using your jump jets you propel yourself forward and into the pile sending a good number of the drones flying. They broke easily, not filled with much energon either. It made you wonder just how the Decepticons managed to manufacture so many drones while the Autobots controlled the energon. With the last of the drones dispatched, you look around and regroup with the others. Slowly you start moving further into the mine. Eventually it would open up into a huge cavern. It would be beautiful if not for the dread that had settled over the group like a thick fog. Suddenly your comm crackled to life as Sideswipe replied to your earlier comment in Bumblebee’s stead.

“We’ll get a good fight eventually. These tin cans are just the appetizer for the main course. It’s confirmed, Shockwave is here. I’ve been itching to dig my fist into that lone optic of his.”

He emphasized his excitement by sending his fist into the shoulder of his brother. The golden bot gave him a sour look but didn’t retort like he normally would have. The energy of the Autobots had been stoic ever since it was confirmed that the first Decepticon on scene was Shockwave. You had no idea what to expect. You knew Shockwave was a scientist and known for his cruel and unusual experiments during the war on Cybertron. He created the most horrific weapons used in the Great War, so he must be someone to fear at the very least.

As you make your way down, you begin to hear a long drawn out noise. Almost like a squeaky door hinge but amplified, bouncing off the walls of the mine shaft. Then there was the screaming. You had wondered what happened to the sentries who were stationed outside. Now you knew. A deep voice rumbled from up ahead. It was cold, unfeeling, and filled you with dread.

“Test 8 unsuccessful. Most illogical. Send another.”

There was that horrible sound like metal rending and then another shriek cut short. Before a sigh of resignation came from nearby. It wasn’t Shockwave who made the noise of dissatisfaction. Another Decepticon. Your heart pounded as you look over at your fellow bots to see if they heard the same thing you did. If their wide optics were any indication, they had. Two Decepticons. Not just one. You listened closely as the other bot seemed to pace back and forth in front of the opening to the cavern. You and your companions were split on either side of the entrance, listening but not yet entering the space.

The other Decepticon doesn’t speak and suddenly he goes eerily silent. It made your hair stand on end and you almost felt like you were being watched. Could Decepticons see through reinforced steel? You shook your helm at the thought. No way. But after a heartbeat he said something that had your heart in your throat.

“Shockwave wrap it up. We aren’t alone.”

Cliffjumper growled into his comm in recognition of the voice.

“Spinster. He’s going to be trouble.”

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sundaylemon-if · 1 year ago

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Coffee & Co.

(This game is about the woes of minimum wage labor. + a dash of comedy)

Demo

Be a barista!

Everyday is coffee, coffee, coffee; many people shuffle in and out of the shop everyday like zombies as you continue to do what you do best. Make a cup of joe.

Flirt and fall in love with some weird customers, get high with your coworkers, cry in the reach-in-cooler when things get tough.

Just don't get fired.

Ros

Hernán Cortés

Hailey (He/Him): The son of the next door baker. Despite being rough around the edges he’s well liked by the community.

Trope: Chance Encounter, Friends to Lovers, hooligan with a heart of gold.

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Adaine Annesley

Andy (She/her or He/Him): Your ex- partner. Hot and cold, blunt and no nonsense. They were the most important person in your life at one point. But that was a long time ago, and you're over it. Aren't you?

Trope: Exes to Lovers, Friends with Benefits

Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

Eye Color: Light Blue almost Grey

Hibiki Fujimori

Mori (They/Them): Quiet and reserved. When they enter a room, heads turn. They have a laid back personality but not much is known about them.

Trope: Love at first sight, Blind date

Hair Color: Black with blonde

Eye Color: Black

Felix Lowell

Felix (he/him): One of your best friends. He’s stuck by your side through thick and thin through the dumpster fire that was your relationship with Andy. The bassist in the popular band ASTROBOY, it’s only been in recent months that it started getting famous. He burns bright like the sun and it’s no wonder everyone’s obsessed with him.

You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way his hand lingers on yours. Will you do anything about it?

Trope: Pinning, Friends to Lovers, Fame?

Hair Color: Brown Dyed Red

Eye Color: Dark Green

Partial ROs

Lynette (She/Her): A customer you can see if you're lucky. She always sits in the corner edge of your vision, scratching frantically into a notebook covered in flowers. When she comes around the shop, the air is even sweeter then usual. But you're probably imagining it.

Coworkers

Ciana (She/Her): Your coworker who takes no shits from anyone, her demeanor is standoffish and brusk. But she cares deep, deep, deep down. She's the type to ask for pickles when you won't. Maybe. Well at the very least she's good at her job and seems to always work to closing shifts no one wants.

Ivan (He/Him): A man who flirts like his life depends on it. Maybe it does, but thats not really your problem. Based on his twitter account he seems to drop all his money on mobile games with shiny graphics.

Natalie (She/Her): You’ve never not seen her high which is impressive for how expensive weed is getting.

David (He/Him): He’s really tall, like really fucking tall. I don’t care what height you are he’s taller.

Seiichi (He/Him): Are you sure he still works here?

(everything is subject to change)

Word count: 9k

#interactive game #interactive fiction #twine game #twine if

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feminist-space · 6 months ago

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"Most of what “public health” does for Americans is taken for granted. Before the Covid pandemic, most people probably didn’t think about it at all. Yet the fact that, in most places in the United States, we can count on the water we drink to be safe, that the food we buy is not contaminated with e-coli or listeria, and that we don’t have to deal with dreaded childhood diseases that ripped through our communities only a few decades ago, is a testament to the tireless work of many, unheralded, often unknown heroes. This invisible safety net has been built up over the years, always underfunded and understaffed, always not-enough, but it’s all we’ve got.

...

By now, we’ve heard Kennedy’s views on everything from fluoride in drinking water to childhood vaccines, to threats to recreate the NIH and FDA in the image of his own quackery. Let’s be clear: Kennedy’s views are not “alternative” to orthodoxy, meant to shake up the system—they are verifiably false. They are nonsense.

Let’s take his claims on fluoride as an example. RFK Jr. wrote on X in early November: “Fluoride is an industrial waste associated with arthritis, bone fractures, bone cancer, IQ loss, neurodevelopmental disorders, and thyroid disease.” Um—no. In high doses over prolonged periods of time—as with many other substances (even water and oxygen!)—exposure to fluoride can be a problem, but not in the small concentrations we see in drinking water. Lest we forget: Fluoride has been a bugaboo of the far right since the 1950s, when fluoridation was supposed to be part of a communist plot to take over America.

And since conspiracy theories know no borders, we can also look at a natural experiment up in Calgary, Canada, for further evidence. In 2011, Calgary’s’s city council banned fluoridation, and now is set to reintroduce it next year. Why? Because since fluoridation ended, cavities in children’s teeth have become more numerous and larger, often requiring treatment under general anesthesia and/or intravenous antibiotic therapy to fight infections associated with tooth decay. As one researcher at the University of Calgary has said, the decision to ban fluoridation had a clear result: It was a source of “avoidable and potentially life-threatening disease, pain, suffering, misery and expense…especially [for] very young children and their families.”

As for vaccination, Kennedy’s views are long-standing and well-known. He has suggested that “there is no vaccine that is safe and effective,” and he still clings to the long-debunked idea that vaccines cause autism. More recently, during the Covid pandemic, he created a multimillion-dollar anti-vaccine juggernaut to dissuade people from getting vaccinated against SARS-CoV-2.

There is no person right now more vital to the anti-vaccine movement than RFK Jr., and his impact has been deadly. By convincing people to forgo routine pediatric vaccinations, he has endangered the lives of thousands of kids, stoked fear in families with autistic children, and in at least once instance was partially responsible for a devastating outbreak of measles. In 2019, 83 people, mostly children, died of the preventable disease in Samoa. While Kennedy has denied that his words and actions were responsible for the outbreak, he has supported anti-vaccination efforts on the islands, written to the nation’s prime minister about the dangers of vaccines, and visited Samoa to meet with anti-vaxxers and subsequently praised them for their work. As Derek Lowe, a columnist from the United States’ leading scientific journal, Science, has said: “Kennedy’s views on science and medicine are not only wrong, they are actively harmful and destructive. He has used them to make a great deal of money, and he has lied about them to interviewers and reporters whenever he finds it convenient.”

...

RFK Jr. is the poster boy for the new Trump administration, a rich man who never has had to worry about a thing in his life, putting the lives of ordinary Americans in jeopardy because he thinks he knows better than scientists. In fact, the man who thought it was a good idea to stage a hit-and-run with a dead baby bear and a bicycle in Central Park has shown a lack of judgment across the board for a long while. But he is part of an emerging kakistocracy-in-waiting that will be run by plutocrats and zealots. Our public health system in America is fragile and shouldn’t be a plaything. Once he’s done with his games, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men may not be able to put our public health infrastructure back together again. The damage may be lasting and profound.

But we are not powerless. So much of public health happens locally—and we can protect this precious national resource by speaking up and speaking out, at our city or town council meetings, calling and writing our state representatives, our mayors and our governors. This is going to be necessary work. As my Yale colleague Timothy Snyder has said: “Defend institutions.… Institutions do not protect themselves. So choose an institution you care about and take its side.” This may be your local public health department or Planned Parenthood clinic, a mental health clinic or needle exchange program, or services for LGBTQ+ or immigrant populations in your neighborhood.

These are all part of what makes public health happen day in and day out in our communities. Deprive RFK Jr. and Donald Trump of their power; take it away from them with focus and tenacity. Chip away at their campaign to destroy public health in America. These kinds of small acts will add up and will make a difference. If these men are the disease, let us be the cure."

#fuck rfk jr #rfkjr #public health #clean water #vaccines save lives #rfk

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ladykettlechips · 7 months ago

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Beautiful Mess - Ficlet

This idea came randomly, with the initial thought that sparked this idea being the very end of this little oneshot. In short, Kate realises she likes Anthony upon opening the door to him wearing badly done make-up and ribbons in his hair, courtesy of Hyacinth. Here, Kate realises she likes him because of how much he dotes on his family, especially Hyacinth. This was never intended to be long. It's just a cute little ficlet about Kate meeting Anthony and realising she likes someone she initially disliked. The other mini-scenes are essentially how that happens, I guess. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Kate first came into contact with Anthony Bridgerton in a pub, she remembered calling him a haughty prick before throwing a drink over him and his obscenely expensive shirt.

She had initially thought he was handsome. In fact, he was the type of man she was usually attracted to; well-dressed, confident, perhaps a little too cocky for his own good. A pretty smile that had probably gotten him into a few people’s beds when he flashed it. Yes, he was beautiful, annoyingly so, and Kate had actually considered talking to him at one point that night.

That was until he opened his mouth, of course.

He had been spouting some nonsense about love being a con and only finding women suitable for bedding to his mates. They had laughed in return, all cocky grins and eager agreement at this rich pricks mantra. So she had taken her glass – a large wine with an eye-watering price tag attached – said her piece and proceeded to throw the contents in his face.

“You’re disgusting,” she managed to hiss after the fact, her face hot and her body trembling as the man stared at her agape, beads of Merlot dripping from his chin and streaks staining his once crisp blue shirt.

“Excuse me-” he started, but Kate did not wait to find out what he wanted to say; she simply turned on her heel and left.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time Kate met Anthony was at an art gallery.

“Kate, Kate, you must come to meet my brother,” Benedict proclaimed excitedly. Grabbing her arm, he practically dragged Kate towards one of many paintings. “You two will get along swimmingly!”

Swallowing a groan, Kate followed Benedict to his most recent creation, a piece entitled ‘Midnight in Silver’ where a man stood. He had his back turned to them, ramrod straight while he looked up at the painting, his head partially tilted to the side.

“Anthony,” Benedict panted, his smile wide and eyes glinting with glee. “Anthony, this is Kate Sharma. Brilliant watercolourist, amazing photographer. Kate, this is…”

“You,” Anthony hissed, just as Kate groaned “You,” the moment he turned around; she would recognise the prick from the bar just two weeks ago anywhere.

“Oh?” Benedict blinked, his mouth forming in a perfect ‘o’. “You already know each other? Well, that’s fantastic!”

Kate turned to glare at her fiend, mere seconds before Anthony speared his brother with a searing glance.

“No, it’s not bloody fantastic,” the prick snarled, jabbing a finger in Kate’s direction. “She’s the reason my shirt is ruined!”

Folding her arms across her chest, Kate threw the prick a pointed look. “Maybe if you didn’t run your mouth about women only being good for bedding, maybe you’d stay dry.”

At this, Benedict’s eyes lit up while Anthony started to sputter.

“Oh! So you’re the haughty prick!” Benedict giggled, clapping his brother on the back while Anthony’s ears began to turn a dangerous sort of pink.

“I-I am not a haughty prick!” he cried and, if he hadn’t contained himself, Kate was almost certain Anthony would have stomped his foot, much like a toddler. “Besides, she shouldn’t have been listening in on another persons conversation!”

“If you hadn’t been so loud, then perhaps the whole pub wouldn’t have heard,” she returned, tilting her head as she appraised the man before her. “For such a pretty man, it really is a shame that you have the misfortune of being an uptight prick who speaks before he thinks.”

Benedict’s head whipped around to stare at Kate, his mouth slightly agape. Beside him, Anthony’s eyes only seemed to grow wider before the corners of his lips tugged upwards, a cocky, knowing grin beginning to grace his face.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, almost as if her were amused. Annoyingly, Kate could feel the beginnings of a blush forming on her cheeks. She would not let him win.

“As pretty as a painting hung on a wall,” she snapped, unable to keep her voice even. “And hanging you sounds mighty appealing, right now.”

Before either Benedict or Anthony could retort, Kate gave them both one final glare and turned on her heel to flee the gallery.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The prick seemed to pop up in her life intermittently after that. Invites to Benedict’s family home often meant enduring Anthony’s presence, be it in silence or some much-needed bickering for them both. Cheeky nights out that should have just been between friends would often include the rogue older brother, too, always at Benedict’s insistence.

It usually ended in Anthony and Kate ignoring each other, moments before trying to pry Benedict away from his phone before he could drunk-dial one of his exes in a fit of tears.

Though it brought Kate little pleasure to spend a great deal of time with the elder Bridgerton, she had learned to tolerate him against her will, at the very least.

She had also learned that, despite her initial impression of him, Anthony Bridgerton was not that bad.

He was still a prick of the highest degree, of course, but he had his moments. Like when he smiled; he did have a lovely smile, one that made his face crinkle and his eyes light up as if the person he was talking to had hung the sun. And he really was quite pretty, as much as it pained Kate to admit it.

Then there was his laugh. Anthony had a lovely laugh, one that sent the butterflies in her tummy into a frenzy. He had only ever laughed when he was with his family though, she realised one day. He had never truly laughed in public, nor did his smile ever reach his eyes unless he was with the people who so dearly loved.

But he was also competitive and over-protective and stubborn. He was constantly hovering while he looked for perfection in everything he and his siblings did. Anthony was stifling, far too much for his family who seemed to enjoy freedom away from his clutches. Except he was also stupidly loyal and caring and, more often than not, she had found him seeking approval from his family. Kate wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it, but she had.

And try as she might, she just couldn’t stop looking.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time Kate saw Anthony Bridgerton was when he opened the door to Bridgerton house, his eyes wide when he saw her standing on the step as she looked back up at him curiously.

His hair, usually perfectly coiffed, was instead stuck at odd angles, a variety of coloured ribbons adorning each tuft. Then there was his face, usually clear but this time covered in make-up, splotches of blue, yellow and pink marking his eyelids, cheeks and lips.

Anthony looked ridiculous and, for the first since Kate had thrown wine at his face, in complete disarray.

“Ah, Kate,” he breathed, the beginnings of a lopsided grin forming on his lips. “Bad timing, I’m afraid; Hyacinth’s on a makeover rampage She has left no survivors.”

Blinking back up at him, Kate was dimly aware that she had opened her mouth to speak, only no words seemed to come out. Instead she just stared at Anthony in all his ridiculous glory, her reason for being at the house since forgotten.

Thankfully, Anthony had already turned his back to her, the door swinging open as he walked down the hall.

“Come in if you want,” he said, glancing at her from over his shoulder. “But be warned; you will leave this house looking a tad less presentable than when you arrived.” And with that he turned a corner, leaving Kate on the steps as she stared after him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

What is happening? she thought, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. What the hell is happening to me?

Taking a deep breath, Kate looked up to the sky as she took a moment for herself. Finally, when enough time had passed, she stepped inside the house and closed the door. She waited another moment, willing the rush of heat in her cheeks to quell before making her way towards the living room.

Except when Anthony popped his head out of the doorway, that disarming grin now painted in letterbox red lipstick, Kate felt her heart hammer against her chest and her cheeks burst into flames at the ridiculous sight of him.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the living room. “Your make-up artist awaits.” And all too quickly he disappeared again, leaving Kate to stare at the spot he had just been in, her heart still hammering wildly against her chest.

Even when he looked a mess, Anthony Bridgerton was still annoyingly beautiful.

Oh, crap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I really need to compile these oneshots I do on tumblr and put them onto AO3.

#kanthony #kathony #anthony x kate #kanthony fic #bridgerton fanfic #kathony fic #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton x kate sharma #Kanthony ficlet #Kathony ficlet #Kanthony oneshot #Kathony Oneshot #Tumblr Oneshot Bridgerton

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sapphic-coded · 2 years ago

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I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Language that Cap wouldn't approve of. Reader is a messed up assassin. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: Welp. Here's my first fanfic on tumblr. I only have one chapter written, but I'm hoping my muse will stick with me so I can turn this into a series. This is lightly edited. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you come across (and you most likely will). Minors, please do not interact. Please do not copy/steal my work. Enjoy!

Chapter One: I Thought You Died Alone A Long, Long Time Ago

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1992

The silence that filled the car wielded a tension you were all too familiar with. Your father’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel he gripped. A deep frown pulled at his lips while his cold, steel gray eyes stared straight ahead behind a pair of thick, dark framed glasses. His usual tamed black hair was a mess with strands of hair shooting out in random directions.

Sitting next to your father, up in the front passenger’s seat, was your older brother. He was a tall, skinny boy who had just embarked into his teens. His blonde hair was parted down the middle of his head and reached the tips of his ears. His navy blue eyes stared out the passenger’s window. His lips were pressed tight. There was so much he wanted to say. If you guys were anywhere else, perhaps he wouldn’t hold back.

Sitting next to you in the backseat of your father’s station wagon was your older sister. She was a year younger than your brother with her long brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her head was bowed, and her brown eyes were glued to the pages of her book. She was skinny like your brother, but her body was already beginning to shift into adulthood. She had started growing breasts last summer.

You were the youngest. You had recently celebrated your tenth birthday. You were skinny like your siblings, but still very much a child. Your green camo jacket felt heavy. You were all dressed alike: green camo jackets, dark green shirts, green hunting fatigues, and heavy brown boots. It was the outfit you always wore during your hunting trips with your father.

Your brother reached toward the car’s radio. Your father’s hand released its vice-like grip on the steering wheel and slapped down on your brother’s hand. You heard the loud smack, and your brother quickly snatched his hand back.

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense.” Your father’s voice rode a current of anger that popped the tense bubble of silence.

“I just wanted to listen to music,” your brother shot back. “Sitting here in silence is boring.”

Just like that another argument between your father and brother started up. You looked over at your sister. She was very much focused on her book. Your attention drifted over to your window. You did your best to tune out the argument happening up front while you watched the scenery of trees roll by. Eventually your gaze dropped to your lap. You stared at the dried blood caked around your fingernails.

“...pointless and–”

“You are cowardly and weak!”

You can’t believe the weekend is almost over. You had spent the whole weekend out hunting with your family. Your father had parked his station wagon in a lot and marched you all out into the woods. You all had spent the whole weekend laying in the cold mud. It was your brother’s hunt. You were all following his lead. Which meant mostly laying in the mud and following tracks every so often. This weekend was supposed to end with your brother’s first kill. Instead, it ended differently.

The engine of your father’s car stopped as you reached your house. The argument between your brother and father had ended, but you cannot recall when. You undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. The moment you stepped out onto your driveway, your attention landed on a moving truck parked across the street. A man and a woman were busy unloading boxes out of the truck and carrying them into the house.

You noticed something else. A girl around your age with blue hair came out of the house and walked down the driveway towards the moving truck. Her pace slowed as she noticed you. You lifted your hand in a small, friendly wave. A smile had started to curl at your lips when your father’s voice called out to you. You turned away from your new neighbors and found your father standing in the garage with his hunting rifle hanging from his shoulder. You made your way up into the garage where you felt your father’s hand fall gently onto your shoulder.

Amsterdam – 2010

You hate these jobs. Long relentless days spent circling your target. Never able to strike just yet. You had to put on a show first. Pretend to be their friend, or a business partner, or their lover. You had to act as if your target was important in some flimsy life you threw together. Your kills were always messy at the end of these jobs. You can’t help it. You just want the stupid job to be over.

And it almost is. You have spent the past four days pretending to be your target’s bodyguard. Four days spent following your target around. You dealt with their problems and waited for the day all your targets would be together in the same room. Because the job wasn't just to kill the target you were pretending to protect. Your target and their friends had messed up. They had pissed off the wrong people. You were there to clean up the mess.

Your target had set the long awaited meeting to take place in a fancy hotel in the middle of the day. The guest list for this meeting would be short. It included your target and you, his business partners, and their private security. The meeting wasn’t scheduled to take long. It was supposed to be a simple transaction. An easy exchange of goods and money. The details of that particular transaction did not interest you. Your interest lingers on your plan to take out all your targets.

The dark brown shoulder holster that you wore over your white, button-up, collared shirt held one of your favorite guns. There was nothing overly special about it. It was a standard, black 9mm Beretta handgun. It was reliable in nearly all your jobs. It was your favorite because it had been your first gun. A present from your father. It marked the end of your training and the beginning of the rest of your life. If your job was to take out just the one target you had been following around, then the choice would have been easy. But the job required the elimination of all your targets. Since the other targets were bringing their own private security, once you made your move you would need to finish the job quickly.

But the job didn’t specify that the kills had to be quiet.

You pull on your gray suit coat. Your shoulder holster disappears from view as you stand before the mirror and button the coat. Matching gray trousers cover your legs and the black flats you wear bring a smile to your face. This job was almost over and soon you would be busy getting yourself as far away from here as possible. Hence why you chose the flats over heels. You run your hands down the length of your suit coat to smooth out any wrinkles. Your hair is pulled back into a professional, tight bun. Your right hand dips into one of the suit pockets. The pad of your finger brushes against the small, round marble nestled within.

When your target is ready, you follow him out of the hotel room he rented and down into the hotel lobby. You follow him across the spacious lobby and into a large boardroom. As the door clicks shut behind you, your eyes survey the room. A long mahogany table commands most of the space within the room. Situated around the table were identical black office chairs. Far more than necessary for this meeting. Sitting in four of the chairs were your four other targets. Standing behind each of your targets were their own bodyguards. Sunlight poured into the room from the floor to ceiling glass windows that ran along one side of the room.

You follow your target over to one of the chairs. He takes a seat and you stand behind him. Your gaze briefly returns to the other bodyguards. All tall, imposing looking men. They stand as still as statues, and you wonder how they do it. Do they enjoy following around power addicted fools? You spent four days with your target, and you can’t wait to kill him.

“Where’s Tyler?” your target asks as he settles into his seat.

“Running late,” your other target answers.

You tune out the insults your targets direct towards the currently absent Tyler. Instead, you wonder what this peaceful boardroom will look like in the next ten minutes. Or however long it takes for Tyler to show up. There will definitely be blood. Broken glass was also a given. You doubt the chairs will make it. The hotel will definitely need to buy a new table. But you wonder if you’ll get a chance to see their faces. Just one. It’s the part that fascinates you the most. Your target’s last moment etched across their face. It reveals so much.

The door to the boardroom opens and the conversation shared between your targets dies into an awkward silence. You turn in time with everyone else as Tyler steps into the room alone. The first thing you notice is that he is sweating. A lot. In his shaking hand he holds the handle of a briefcase. His free hand raises up and he runs his fingers through a disheveled mop of dark hair.

“Sorry about the wait,” Tyler says.

“Jesus, Tyler,” your original target replies. “You look like shit. Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home.”

Tyler nods and hurries over to the table. He sets the briefcase down and opens it. One of your other targets reaches into their coat pocket and pulls out a brown wrapped parcel. The size and shape of the parcel is clearly money. With everyone’s attention on Tyler and his suitcase, you causally unbutton your gray suit jacket.

“Just so everything is clear,” your original target addresses the others. “You give us that.” He gestures to the suitcase. “You take the money, and we don’t hear from you ever again. You don’t mention us and we don’t know you. You don’t come looking for this because it doesn’t exist.”

Tyler nods.

“We still haven’t discussed how we are dividing our profits,” another target says.

“We’ll discuss it later,” your original target replies.

As the conversation shifts into another argument, you decide that this is as good a time as any to wrap things up. All your targets are in place with a few bonus players. It is time to put these boring four days behind you. As your hand moves towards your pocket, you spot one of the other bodyguards quickly lowering his head. His hand lifts up to press against his ear. You still your movements as you watch the other bodyguard.

“We just lost our comms,” the bodyguard’s voice cuts through the argument.

Your hand abandons its journey towards your pocket as your original target turns around in their seat to look at you. The question written plain across their face is one you can’t answer. Maybe if you had any comms to worry about then you could make a solid guess as to why they are suddenly down. But you don’t. And while you have no interest in who the new mysterious player is, you do get the sense that maybe you really should wrap this up. Quickly.

You mimic the other bodyguards as you reach for your gun. Your fingers manage to brush against the holster’s leather before a faint beeping sound pulls your attention over towards the door. Something small and metallic rolls out from underneath the door. It rolls across the floor towards you and your gathered targets. You can barely make out what it is from where you are standing, but the quickening frequency of the faint beeping causes you to turn away from it.

The white light that explodes from the weird object swallows up the entire boardroom. You close your eyes as the explosion drowns out the shouts from the other bodyguards. Your ears are ringing when you open your eyes. The shouts from your targets are muffled as they all scramble from their seats. The wall of glass windows shatters as men in black tactical gear attached to wires swing into the boardroom. The bodyguards who had managed to pull out their guns immediately exchange gunfire with the uninvited tactical team while your targets scramble to avoid getting hit.

Well, you hadn’t planned to end this job on a neat and tidy note. Things were about to get really messy.

You pull your gun from its holster and aim it at the first tactical newcomer that pointed their gun at you. Your finger squeezes the trigger, and you watch with satisfaction as their head snaps back from the bullet barreling through their forehead. Their body goes limp and drops. You spy one bodyguard already dead with their chest riddled with bullet holes.

A second tactically geared newcomer turns their attention to you and is quick to fire. You quickly duck underneath the fancy boardroom table. Bullets from your enemy’s gun rips through the wood above you. You take aim at the guy’s leg and fire. The guy’s cry comes through crystal clear as he drops to his knee. You can’t fight back the smile that curls your lips as you maneuver your way out from underneath the table and fire off another round where you’re almost certain his mouth is.

Another bodyguard has joined the other dead one on the floor while the others corral your targets behind them as they continue to exchange gunfire with the uninvited guests. Except, Tyler darts out from behind the weakening wall of bodyguards and rushes towards the bullet ridden table. He snatches up the briefcase and hurries towards the door. The other targets hurl curses his way as you lift your gun and aim at the back of his head. You are about to pull the trigger when the door Tyler reaches flies open into him. Tyler stumbles backwards, trips over his clumsy feet, and falls backwards. The briefcase slips from his grasp and slides across the floor and stops at your feet.

Your attention, however, is not on the briefcase. It’s not even on Tyler who is groaning and still alive. Your eyes are glued to the person who steps through the doorway and into the room. You recognise her face immediately despite her red hair. It’s long and tied back away from her face in an intricate braid. The black catsuit she wears bears the symbol of SHIELD on her shoulders. The identity of the tactical newcomers pales in comparison to the way her olive green eyes widen slightly in recognition. Old memories, so long buried that you are shocked you can even remember them, creep in. The gun in your hand never wavers as you find your old friend at the business end of it.

“Y/N.”

If there were any doubts, her voice banished them. It’s her.

“Put down the gun.”

It’s as if a floodgate has opened. The memories are countless despite the fact that it had only been three years. So old and forgotten that they feel new. They smother the job that has taken up residence within your mind. You’re here to kill your targets, but all you can think about is the last time you saw her. How abrupt her departure had been. You remember your father’s rants about her family.

Slowly, you lower your gun. She takes a step forward. Tyler’s groans stop, and he lifts his head up. He reaches for the briefcase at your feet. You point your lowered gun down towards Tyler’s head and pull the trigger. Your friend’s advance stops as blood and pieces of Tyler’s brain paint the floor and the briefcase red. One target down.

The smoke pours from your gun as you gauge her reaction. The recognition you saw earlier is gone. Her face is a mask, and the frustration you feel is so familiar.

The last of the bodyguards drop and your remaining targets are completely exposed. The remaining tactical guests close in on your targets except for one who breaks off and starts towards you. You ignore the orders the man shouts at you. Instead, you kick the blood and brain matter stained briefcase underneath the ruined table. You start to raise your gun, but the tactical guest already has his finger on the trigger. He fires and you are quick to dodge out of the way. The bullets dig holes into the wall behind you. You kick one of the office chairs at the man. It collides into him and he stumbles back. You raise your gun again but the moment you squeeze the trigger, your legs are swept out from underneath you. The bullet you fired finds a home in the ceiling as your back collides with the ground.

Before you can move, a weight settles on you. Hands pin down yours. Strong legs straddle you as your friend’s face fills your vision.

“Stop, Y/N.” There’s more force behind her words this time. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

You almost laugh. Almost. Maybe if your job was done then you could have spared a moment or two to revel in your friend’s joke. But you were dangerously close to losing control of this job. You pull your legs up and manage to throw your friend off of you. You roll onto your knees and go to stand when the man you had kicked the chair at slams the butt of his gun into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and blood fills your mouth.

The childhood memories that have been distracting you vanish as you spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The man turns his gun back around to point the barrel at you. Your hold on your own gun remains firm as you look over your shoulder towards your friend. She’s on her knees as well, but that is all you are able to make out as you quickly drop back down towards the floor. A small, short bluish bolt flies barely an inch over your head and lands on the guy who hit you. Blue strings of electricity wrap around his chest as he drops with a shout.

You scramble to your feet and head for the door. Your hand digs into your suit pocket and your fingers close around the small marble. You can hear your friend catching up to you as you pull the marble from your pocket. Your thumb presses down on the miniscule button barely noticeable to the eye. As you quickly near the door, you drop the marble. It rolls towards your remaining targets. The moment you make it out of the boardroom and into the lobby, you feel her hand close around yours. You yank your hand hard from her grip and turn quickly while raising your gun.

You find yourself staring down the barrel of her gun. A smile creeps onto your face as you hold your gun steady. Unfortunately, your friend doesn’t find this amusing.

“Put down the gun.”

“You first, Nat,” you reply.

Her gun stays pointed at you when it finally happens. The boardroom explodes into a hot, blazing ball of destruction. The force of the explosion sends both of you flying further into the spacious lobby. You both hit a fancy looking pillar before dropping with a hard thud to the ground. Despite your body’s screams of protest, you are the first to climb back onto your feet. You look down as your friend starts to move. Still alive. Your gun feels heavy in your hand as that single thought runs laps through your mind. For the first time in a long time, you feel excited.

“Sorry, Nat,” you say as you slide your gun back into its holster. “Gotta run.”

You leave her there and make your escape. Slipping away from the scene that has now drawn a crowd is as easy as breathing. You hardly think about it. And with nobody chasing you, it’s almost painfully easy. But the further away you get, you know that’s not entirely true. She isn’t chasing after you now, but she will. You hope so. You miss your only friend.

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