#thought of you as a tool to use. you were fifteen and you NEVER had the upper hand you told yourself you did. he saw a reflection

[fellhellion]

kind of obsessed w the way goro got served with a "you don't actually hate akira do you, i saw you smile when you realised he was alive" by the catsona of hope and just had a mental breakdown about it

[luffington]

meanie ♡

➤ summary: Zoro tests out a remote-controlled vibrator on you in the middle of town. (18+)

➤ pairing: roronoa zoro x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: voyeurism, semi-public sex, established relationship, degradation, humiliation, fluff at the end, franky being franky, fem terms for reader

➤ notes: i've been thinking about this concept for MONTHS and i finally got around to writing it! might make a sequel featuring sanji.. who knows :3

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

“What is it?” You asked after several moments of silence, studying the foreign object your boyfriend had placed in the palm of your hand. Bright blue, shaped like an oversized bullet with a slightly tapered tip, coated with soft silicone. It definitely wasn’t a weapon or a tool. Zoro’s matching remote didn’t provide any clues. 

“Something I asked Franky to make.” Zoro answered smugly but internally cringed at the memory. A few days ago, he had approached the cyborg with bright red cheeks and mumbled his request without making eye contact. Franky simply responded ‘suuuperrr!’, and Zoro was still trying to forget the fact that he already knew how to build it. “Wanna see how it works?”

The remote only had three dark blue buttons: up, down, and power. He pressed the latter and you flinched as the object suddenly sprung to life in your hand, vibrating softly but consistently. “It… vibrates? Okay, but what is it used fo–” It finally clicked in your brain. “Ohhh. Oh, Zoro.” 

He mirrored your knowing smirk with his own. “C’mon, let’s test it out.”

You could barely stand the next morning, wobbling along the deck even though the sea was calm. Nami gave you a suspicious look before announcing that the ship was about to stop at a nearby island for a supply refill. 

Zoro approached you from behind, his muscular body pressed against your back. Breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “Perfect chance to use it again.”

Your eyes widened. “You mean… on the island? In public?”

“What do you think the remote is for?” He frowned. “We talked about this, I thought you were into it. But if you don’t want to…” 

You shook your head — you definitely wanted to. This was a persisting fantasy of yours, something you’d never admitted to your past partners out of embarrassment. But you trusted Zoro more than anyone. However, touching yourself while imagining the thrill of being caught was very different from the impending reality which made your stomach flutter with anxiety. 

“It’s either in town or on the Sunny. Would you rather maybe get caught by strangers or definitely get caught by our friends?” Zoro added with an annoyed expression, “Knowing my luck, that shitty cook would be the first to notice.”

Okay, he had a point. Not just Sanji – getting caught by any of your crewmates would be incredibly awkward. At least you would never see anyone in town again.

So you let Zoro lead you to the men’s quarters, climbing onto his bed as he grabbed the vibrator from his locker. Laughing as he playfully pushed you flat on your back, slotting himself between your legs and easily pulling down your skirt and undies. He ran two fingers up and down your slit before rubbing your clit in small circles. You bit back a moan – this was gonna be a long day. When you were wet enough, Zoro pushed the vibe snugly inside your pussy.

You expected him to keep going and turn it on, maybe let you cum if he was in an especially good mood. But he hopped off the bed, adjusting his rumpled shirt and leaving you to fix your own clothes. “Let’s get going. I need a fucking drink.”

The two of you had been walking around town for nearly a half hour and Zoro hadn’t touched the remote. You passed a bar fifteen minutes ago and he kept walking – he was stalling. Parading you in front of dozens of new faces and leaving you constantly anticipating the vibrations to start. It didn’t help that he kept his hand and the remote in the same pocket of his pants.

A flashy weapons shop caught his eye. He claimed he needed new materials for taking care of his swords, but you didn’t think there was anything wrong with what he had on the ship. You practically clung to him nervously as he wandered around the shop. He occasionally stopped to study items, seeming a little too interested in a sword that was comically worse than his current ones. 

As he picked it up for a closer look, the toy sprung to life inside of your pussy, causing you to squeal in shock. Vibrations sent shivers up your spine, and you felt a fire ignite in your core just as embarrassment burned in your mind. Zoro turned the power up two levels and snickered when you grabbed onto his shirt sleeve to steady yourself. “Careful, babe, there’s a lot of sharp edges around.”

“I know that.” You pressed your forehead against his shoulder and shut your eyes tightly. Unable to do anything besides rub your thighs together. The vibrations weren’t nearly strong enough to make you cum, but they were impossible to ignore. 

“The shopkeeper’s looking at you.” Your boyfriend whispered in a sultry tone. “Bet he wishes you were clinging to him instead. He definitely knows how easy you are. How easy it is to get your slutty cunt soaking wet. You just need a pair of eyes on you, huh?”

“You’re so mean,” you pouted, clenching onto his arm even tighter. Zoro turned up the toy another level and you bit back a moan. You hesitantly turned to look at the shopkeeper, a balding man with beady eyes. He seemed skeptical, not entirely sure what was going on, but his lecherous gaze still moved up and down your body as if he were appraising you. 

“Stop staring at my girlfriend, you goddamn creep.” Zoro suddenly growled and grabbed your hand, quickly moving to the exit as you stumbled behind him. The shopkeeper flushed red and opened his mouth to respond, but Zoro cut him off. “All of your swords are fucking awful.” 

You giggled as the door slammed behind you. “Zoro, if you’re gonna get jealous, why are we doing this?”

“I’m not jealous. I’m showing off what’s mine.” He was right – ‘jealous’ wasn’t the best word to describe him, since you made it clear that he had no competition. ‘Possessive’ was more accurate. He’d been like that since the start of your relationship. Always asking who your pussy belonged to, marking you with bruises and hickies, making you scream his name over and over as he pounded his cock into you. 

Thankfully, you had grown used to the light vibrations after a few minutes – Zoro was kind enough to turn the power level down, but didn’t shut it off. The two of you entered the bar you’d passed earlier, a dark and dingy place with about a dozen people inside.

“Hey!” Luffy’s obscenely loud voice rang throughout the building. He waved you over to where he was sitting, the large table already covered in empty dishes. Your eyes widened and you subtly shook your head at Zoro. The swordsman ignored you and strolled over to the bar counter to order two glasses of sake, leaving you no choice but to sit across from your captain. 

Your boyfriend placed a glass in front of you and moved his chair incredibly close to yours, resting his hand on your bare upper thigh. You shifted in your seat — big mistake. The toy was now pressed against the most sensitive spot inside you. 

“What’ve you guys been doing? Zoro, I thought you’d come straight here,” Luffy asked around a mouthful of food.

Zoro mentioned the shops you stopped by, casually turning the vibrator much higher mid-sentence. You clamped a hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your lewd moan, bending over in surprise as the toy insistently massaged your walls. It simultaneously felt heavenly and sadistic – the unrelenting pressure on your g-spot and Zoro’s big hand tightening on your thigh, clearly satisfied by your response. 

Luffy seemed confused, but Zoro told him that sake doesn’t always sit right with your stomach. Yeah, sure, your glazed over eyes and squirming legs could definitely pass as a stomach ache. Maybe to your oblivious captain, but certainly not to the people around you.

Your boyfriend’s hand moved farther up your leg, sneaking under your skirt to thumb at the waistband of your panties and rub the sensitive skin underneath. The toy got even stronger, probably on its highest setting at this point. Zoro continued his conversation with Luffy without stumbling once, barely glancing at you when you spilled your second round of sake all over your white shirt. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Luffy frowned, leaning across the table to study you closely. You prayed he wouldn’t look down and notice Zoro’s half-hidden hand. “Maybe you should talk to Chopper.”

“No! No Chopper!” You immediately exclaimed, making Zoro chuckle quietly. “I… I mean I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Your captain hummed in thought, but in typical Luffy fashion, shrugged and said, “Well, whatever.”

Zoro finally turned to look at you with a sly grin. “Why don’t we go to the bathroom to wash off that stain?” You instantly nodded in agreement.

The swordsman shoved you against the wall of a men’s bathroom stall and crashed his lips against yours, devouring your mouth like an animal. One hand held your wrists together above your head and kept you in place as the other trailed across your chest, stopping to squeeze your tits. He delighted in your barely restrained moans and breathy whimpers of his name.

“You have no idea how fucking sexy that was,” he panted against your lips. “You’re so bad at hiding how much of a dirty whore you are for attention. All you need is your cute cunt touched and you’re gone. You probably have no idea where we are right now. The only thing your slutty brain can think about is my cock, right?”

“Yes, fuck, Zoro, I need you so badly.” With a satisfied smirk, he hiked up your skirt and pulled your panties down to your mid-thighs. Unceremoniously pushing two fingers inside your hole to retrieve the vibrator. You were so lucky that the bathroom was empty – the noise you made was unholy. 

“Your panties are fucking soaked,” he snickered, admiring the obvious wet spot on the fabric. But Zoro didn’t turn the toy off, simply turned down the vibrations then reached under your shirt and pressed it against your nipple. You cried out again as he adjusted its position so your bra would keep it firmly in place.

Zoro flipped you around so you were facing the wall. He was right – you were much too cockdrunk (and slightly tipsy on real alcohol) to care about how unhygienic a bar bathroom was. You unconsciously wiggled your hips when you heard the sound of his zipper and felt his hard cock rest on top of your ass. He grabbed your wrists again to keep them firmly pinned behind your back. 

“Don’t even need to prep you, I can just slide right in,” the swordsman chuckled. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit teasingly, then shoved his entire length inside you in one rough thrust. You let out a pleased moan, glad that you were finally getting the orgasm you’d been anticipating for at least an hour. Zoro rested his head in the crook of your neck. “You’re so damn loud. We’re still in public, y’know.”

“So shut me up.” You pressed your lips against his again, tongues swirling around each other in a messy dance as he continued to fuck you hard. His cock hit all the right places inside you, the ridges and veins and warmth giving you a more human sense of satisfaction than the electronic toy ever could. It still buzzed away against your nipple, which was almost painfully stiff at that point. Zoro panted heavily against your mouth – riling you up inevitably got him riled up, and he was just as close to hitting his peak as you were.

The bathroom door opened.

Both of you froze. Your entire body went as stiff as a mannequin, too afraid to even breathe. Zoro narrowed his good eye and listened closely to every single footstep, door creak and ruffle of clothes. There were three bathroom stalls, and the stranger was courteous enough to use the one farthest from you, leaving an empty one in between. Once he was sure that the person wasn’t a Straw Hat, Zoro’s hand moved from gripping your ass to cupping your face, silently pushing two fingers between your lips. You gagged around them anxiously.

“Now we really gotta be quiet,” the swordsman whispered directly in your ear. You didn’t have time to question what he meant before he slowly moved his hips back, his dick pulling out of you inch by inch until only the tip was inside of you. He pushed back in just as carefully, the quietest smack of skin as his hips met your ass echoing in your racing mind. The stranger heard it, you knew he heard it. Zoro shifted again and you shook your head in protest, but he just pushed his fingers farther down your throat and continued to fuck you. 

The sound of a toilet flushing made you jump. Zoro’s hips moved in slow circles and grinded his cock against your walls, deep and deliberate. You heard the stranger unlock his stall and turn on the sink outside. If he glanced in the mirror, he would definitely see two pairs of feet pressed together underneath your stall. Your pussy clenched at the thought, causing Zoro to grunt quietly.

As soon as the bathroom door swung closed, Zoro pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth and you gasped for air. “Good little slut listened to me for once,” he chuckled and resumed his previous brutal pace, thick cock filling your cunt so perfectly and prodding at your cervix. 

“Fuck, I’m so close…” You whined, feeling drool drip down your chin.

Zoro promptly reached underneath you to massage your clit. “I’m right there, too, baby. Cum for me.” His words – his permission – brought you over the edge. You saw stars and really tried your best to not let the entire bar hear you. Moments later, thick spurts of cum coated your insides, Zoro biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own satisfied groan. 

You stayed pressed together as you both caught your breath, his cock still snugly inside you. “Zoro, the vibrator–” He had clearly forgotten about it, but there was no way you could ignore the incessant buzzing against your practically numb nipple. He instantly fumbled to grab the remote from his pocket, finally shutting the toy off.

“My fault,” he mumbled apologetically. Letting out a content sigh and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I know I’m an asshole, but, uh, thank you. For being so good to me.”

“You’re not an asshole,” you frowned, gently rubbing the top of his head. “I’m the one who asked for this. I like it when you’re a meanie, and I like that you like it, too.”

He grinned and nuzzled into your touch, prompting you to pull him even closer. “Is there a difference between an asshole and a meanie?”

“Of course. I would never date an asshole. Just a guy who fucks me exactly how I want it.” You giggled to yourself. “We’re going to a clothing store before we leave, by the way. You owe me a new shirt.”

When you exited the bathroom, cheeks still slightly flushed and dry sweat on your temple, Franky had stolen your chair at the table, sitting across from Luffy and chugging a bottle of cola. He spotted you two and immediately gave you a big thumbs up, shouting “Yow!”. Both of you blushed furiously — so much for avoiding getting caught by your crew. Perverts recognized perverts, you supposed. 

[gayeddieagenda]

assigning u 47: “touching their elbow to get their attention” + 🥺🌌🛠️

scene prompt game! these r soo fun <3

--

Funny thing happened, Eddie says, and Buck leans into him, easy gravity.

The log they’re sitting on is long enough for half a dozen people, but it’s just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder, at the far end of the backyard. They’ve been filling time, since they finished with their official chaperone duties of overseeing the building of the tents. Tent stakes and mallets are a lot simpler than most of the tools they deal with on the job, but add a couple dozen thirteen-year-olds to the mix, and Eddie’s grateful to be able to step back for a second. Let Jaime’s dad and his acoustic guitar take the lead for a little while.

“What was it?” Buck asks.

It’s funny. When she—Allegra’s mom, whose name Eddie’s been trying to remember for fifteen minutes—said it, Eddie’s first instinct was to pretend that it never happened. Then, Buck drops next to him on the log and Eddie starts talking.

“One of the moms came up while you were”—Eddie waves a hand in the air, trying to encompass helping half a dozen thirteen-year-olds build tents in a gesture—“and she, uh. She asked where my husband was.”

Eddie looks at Buck out of the corner of his eye. He’s not sure what he thinks about it. He’s got a feeling like he was waiting for Buck before he reacted. Buck would tell him what he was supposed to feel, if he was supposed to feel anything at all.

Buck laughs without missing a beat.

He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “Who was it this time?”

“This time?” Eddie repeats.

“It wasn’t Mariah, was it?” Buck continues. “Every time I meet her, I get the feeling she’s pretending to remember me.”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn’t even know who Mariah is. “It was Allegra’s mom.”

“Kelly?” Buck asks, and that’s, yeah. That’s the name Eddie couldn’t remember. Buck laughs. “Aw, c’mon, Kelly! I’ve met her like a hundred times.”

“This, uh. This happens a lot?” Eddie asks. He feels...he doesn't know how he feels, when Buck isn't blinking an eye at this.

Buck tilts his head to the side. He peers at Eddie, looking like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Uh, yeah,” he says. “It doesn’t happen to you?”

“No,” Eddie says honestly.

“Huh,” Buck says.

He leans back on his hands on the log, still looking at Eddie. When Eddie first pitched the idea of Buck coming to chaperone Chris’s science club camping night, Buck had lit up. He insisted on taking Eddie to two different sporting goods stores to make sure they had everything they needed, poring over shelves of sets of dishes and flashlights like they were going to be in the woods for a week, not Mrs. Romano’s backyard for a night. Neither of them thought it was weird, Buck coming to one of Chris’s events. Chris only thought it was the regular amount of weird; he’d rolled his eyes when Eddie said he was volunteering to be a chaperone, and rolled his eyes slightly less when he said Buck was coming along too.

It wasn’t weird. Buck’s been going to Chris’s school stuff since at least their second year of knowing each other, maybe earlier. It would be nice even if Buck were just doing it to take pity on Eddie and make sure he’s not doing all the parent things by himself; it’s something else that Buck wants to be there for Chris just as much as Eddie does. It’s their routine. It’s--it's what they do.

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I thought this was just, like, one of those things. We both knew about it, so we didn’t have to talk about it.”

“I did not know about it,” Eddie says.

Buck bumps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Are you spiraling about it?”

“No, Buck,” Eddie says. He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m coming to terms with the fact that half the parents of my son’s friends think I’m married to you. I’m not spiraling about it.”

“Guess that explains why more of them aren’t trying to set you up with their single mom friends, huh?” Buck says. He grins, elbowing Eddie again. “I think it’s kind of cute. You know, us being married.”

Cute.

Eddie’s not sure, now, why he thought that hearing Buck’s perspective would clear this up for him. He thinks about Buck, fielding assumptions that he and Eddie are together for the better part of five years, and Eddie feels the opposite of clarified.

They’re sharing a tent. They put it together as soon as they got here, before the kids borrowed all the tools and didn’t come back with them. Eddie didn’t own a sleeping bag of his own, so Buck picked him up one, the same brand as Buck’s, a dark orange to Buck’s green. It’s funny, suddenly, thinking about lying down next to Buck in the tent tonight. Knowing that there’s parents here who think that’s just what they do every night, in their house, in the bed they share.

“Oh, hey.” Buck catches Eddie’s elbow and points. Eddie follows him, first down to the point of contact, feeling Buck’s grip through the fabric of his jacket, then up along the line of Buck’s gaze to the sky. “You can see the stars.”

It’s true. When the sun went down a couple hours ago, it brought with it the typical evening gloom of LA. Just above the treeline, there’s a break in the clouds, opening up the night sky behind them.

It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere, but the Romanos live a little out of the city, just far enough that the stars actually show up in the darkness. Enough that Eddie can pick out a couple of constellations he still half-remembers from school textbooks, from sitting on the back porch back home, from sneaking out to sit on the empty bleachers behind the high school at one and two in the morning and just look.

Eddie looks down. Buck is still watching the sky, an easy look on his face.

Eddie has this wind chime.

He got it at a flea market. Chris found it, actually, in the back of some tent full of antique toys and kitchenware that reminded Eddie of his abuela’s house. He decided he liked it and it was only three bucks, so they took it home. Eddie hung it up in the tree in the backyard, where Chris suggested. You can see it from the kitchen window.

It might be homemade. It’s simple: colored glass hanging on strings in a circle. Someone etched pictures onto the glass, little scratched-out images of birds on each side. When the wind blows, the strings spin, sending the glass in circles. The pictures blur together.

Here they are. Buck and Eddie, sitting next to each other in the dark of almost-night. Best friends. Partners. Chris’s, the people who show up to take him to camping nights and school trips. Spin it, and they’re what Kelly sees—partners of a different kind. Together. Eddie can see them both in his mind’s eye, him and Buck on either side of the glass. Spinning.

Buck’s hand is still on his elbow.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says. Buck’s expression, when he finds Eddie’s face, is wide-open. “When we get home tomorrow—you wanna stay? For the day?”

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

The string spins.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. “This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[jolalibrary]

15. raspberry truffle

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter fifteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.1k chapter warnings: smut. 18+. jo's mirror love resurfaces and armchairs are used as more than things sat behind desks. lots of mouth to mouth resus. smut. also there's smut. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: I've had this image in my head for so long...

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“Do you trust me?”

It's a simple question. One he’s asked you time and time before, but never with the current look in his eye he’s currently wearing.

Dressed in a tight grey tee and a pair of black sweats. Hatless, teased curls frame his face as you rest against your counter. The one you’ve seen for the first time in some days.

It strikes you that the only reason you're standing in your home, to begin with, is because of the email informing you that some of your new furniture had been dispatched.

His mouth had been sealed to your neck, fingers grasping at your waist as you read it out, distracted, attention not entirely focused on him until his hand snaked between your legs, in his sheets, in his bed—the one you’d now found to be far more comfortable than your own—as he whispered, I can build it for you.

And, he did. Had done.

Putting his tool on the side as he rejoins you. A nominal irk bubbling through you that the toolbox it lives in is one foot away, it vanishing when he steps closer, presses you further against it. Cool, firmness meets your spine as his body corners you.

He looms in a way that makes your heart double as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him. Deeply.

“Should I trust you, handsome?”

Snorting, his laugh fluttering over your lips. “I think you should.”

Lips pursing, narrowing your eyes teasingly, you feel his thumb sliding the fabric of your top up and down your hip bone.

“You are biased though.” His head lolls from side to side as he hums, fingers pinching at the bottom of your top. “Do you think I should because you built my chair?”

As soon as he slides his arm around your waist, your back arches. Chest desperate to be flush. Heart aching to be near to his.

“No. Because you love me.”

Sighing, nodding—all playful. A smirk just there, all beneath the surface. “Oh. That thing.”

Tracing his nose against yours, a smile trying to beam, but he mirrors how you hold back. “That thing.”

When he’s close like this, it’s almost criminal when you’re not kissing him. When you’ve not slanted your mouth against his soft lips, felt the roughness of the hair on his face against your palm, buried your fingers into his curls and pulled a little to earn that groan he does. The one, if it were a thing that could be possible, you’d love etched into your brain.

The thought of which makes you want to peel your clothes off.

Already so hungry for a thing you’ve been feasting at a buffet for the last number of days. Yet, still wanting, still needing.

“You really play a long game,” you say, more sweet. And his nose scrunches, frowning as you smirk. “Waiting this long, getting me to fall in love with you, and then killing me in my own office.”

“Oh yeah, I’m a mastermind.”

Laughing, you twirl a curl around your finger, finding the hair a little longer. “Okay,” you reply, sealing it to his lips, “I trust you—you get my blood on my new chair you’ve just built, I’m going to haunt you.”

“It’s not a punishment that you’d want to spend the rest of your days haunting me, Rainy.”

His hips dip, becoming aware of the effect you have on him too as his growing bulge rubs against your parted thighs. A moan escapes, body jolting at the welcome friction. The sound leaves so softly, barely loud enough to disrupt his mouth from being on yours.

But it does.

“Do you trust me?”

The four words repeated, answered hurriedly. No game, no tease.

His mouth comes close to your ear, a chaste kiss left along your hairline as his hand clutches your waist for stability, and you forget how to breathe.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

As you do, his fingers, clean and soft, all but sawdust stained, slide over your eyes—his chest to your back as he leads you down a familiar path that suddenly feels foreign. Trusting.

Your nose tunes in. Takes in the scent that is equivocally just him, one you’re thankful has begun seeping into your home as much as he has your heart. Hearing him whisper instructions, watch this, be careful, until you're body is shifted on its axis.

His fingers slide from your vision, allowing you to blink, see him, smiling at the sight of him.

“Fuck you’re handsome.”

Backing you up against the newly painted office wall, your arm hooks around his neck again, mouth ghosting over his as a hand hovers over your hip.

“Still trust me?”

Nodding, you feel his breath on your parted lips, before he slides his mouth over yours. Searing. Burning—all determined as his tongue slides past your teeth and his fingers slide up your neck, tracing your jaw. It makes you delirious. Dizzy. Thoughts nothing but lost to you until you glance past him and see it.

The built chair, in the nearly decorated office. The desk it should be behind is still a week out, but the chair, mirror and plants are all set up—the shelves adorned with bits you have for now.

“Hey?” he says, eyes snapping back to him.

Spotting the bubbling molten in his eyes, remembering how your body is aflame—

Then the next question comes. “Can I taste you, baby?”

Nodding, you whisper your answer into the air as he leads you, guides you all over again, moving you closer and more towards your new chair. Mouth latching itself to yours, palms on either side of your cheeks, before his hand steals the cushion, and throws it down.

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he whispers, trailing the words down your neck, along your collarbone.

It makes a gasp flutter from your lips, feeling your insides knot, likely dampening the fabric between your thighs, making nothing short of a mess—

“Gonna take these off, okay?”

Your tongue thickens in your head, swallowing a whimper at the feel of his thumbs hooking inside your shorts and slipping them down your thighs. The fabric skims, sliding, before they fall with a soft thud and he's guiding you to sit down in the armchair.

Taking a breath, you stare, captivated. Frankie sinking, kneeling before you on the cushion. “Part your legs for me.”

“Shit, Frankie.”

“Baby.”

Swallowing, you do. Then, it’s delicate, soft.

The gentlest of kisses up the inside of your thighs. Aware of the heat of his fingers pushing your knees further into the arms of the armchair, tuned into the way he exhales through his nose, cool air teasing over your already slick, cloth-covered pussy—the chair groaning when you buck your hips.

“Rainy.”

He grunts it. Low—warningly. It comes from a place in the back of his throat, grating and gravelly as he stares up at you. Nothing but brown dipped in more brown holding your gaze. Usually, it would make you smirk, but instead, you mumble an apology.

One that trails off; turns into a whine when he drags his tongue over the already-drenched fabric.

You’re not sure how it’s possible but you moan like you’ve been teased for hours. Sure that with a few more, you could be close—

“I want you to look in that mirror, and see how beautiful you look as I do this.”

“Frankie, I…”

His hand slides up, right between your still-covered breasts, before cupping your cheek, thumb under your jaw, eyes searching, sweeping and locating. “Look for me.”

Flicking your eyes to it, the ornate thing you’d not been sure you wanted until he’d slid his arms around your waist. Buried his face into your neck. Told you it was nice.

You’d agreed then, you most definitely did. Nodding, letting a little whispered okay escape as he nods. Staring, trying not to pick apart what you see in the reflection. The way your eyes look tired, skin not as bright as it normally would be. That is until he nips at your skin. Pulls your gaze from your own to the back of his head.

“Beautiful—”

“Frankie,” you sigh.

Hand coming over your face, heat blooming in your cheeks as you feel him kiss your inner knee. Thumb stroking at your skin, circling, before he taps. A silent request, a reminder: look at yourself.

You do.

“You are so beautiful, Rainy.” He dips his head—becoming aware of the finger sliding in the gusset of your plainest underwear, dragging the fabric, pulling it from your soaked core all the way to the side.

“I thought it when I first saw you.”

Air blowing across your core, before he places the most delicate, softest kiss against your swollen clit.

“Think it now, seeing you sat in your new chair, in your new office.”

You feel your chest heave, see it. Staring at the way the muscles strain in your neck from not moving, before he drags a long, slow stripe up from your aching hole to your nerves.

And he groans, low and dull. It vibrates against you before his tongue swipes again, hands pushing your inner thighs apart before he dives again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, licking, drawing.

He’s slow in his movements, measured. Delves as much of himself into you before wet, roaring heat swirls around and encases your clit as his growl sends flames up your spine.

That’s when he slides his fingers in. Curls them. Moves them in slow thrusts.

The whine of his name you let escape is sinful, practically unrecognisable. Your hips moving, unable to tear yourself away from staring at the way your mouth hangs open, panting, moaning, as you rock your hips, fuck yourself on his fingers, on his tongue, as you hope his other hand on your hip will leave a mark. Half moons or bruises, or even fucking both—

“Frankie, please.”

The angle of the mirror not only allows you to see the sight of him taking you apart, but how the act seemingly undoes him. How his shirt is stretched across his shoulder blades, how his muscles ripple under the thin fabric as you hold on to every thread as the pads of his fingers curl more into you. All come hither, beckoning the incoming wave you know is going to wash over the two of you.

And it turns you on.

“You like it, querida? Like watching yourself.”

“Like watching you.”

And you swear you feel him smirk as your hips lift, desperate for more, eyes speckled with spots as your nails grip the arm of the chair, the other lost and tangled in his curls.

It’s so good, so fucking good.

He’d make you confess, make you tell him everything—no matter the secret, you’re sure he could pull it from you like this. Have you spilling, as though he’s cracking you open, and even helping him translate the parts of you he’s yet to understand or know.

“So perfect squeezing around me, baby. Love how you taste—always taste so fucking good.”

Your back is off the chair, grinding into him, so close you can’t even think, can barely speak.

“Want you to come on my tongue, Rainy. Need you too.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s it. Let yourself feel good, baby. Use me, use—”

And you do.

Fuck. You do.

Your cry echoes and bangs around the walls before slamming into your ears. Legs shaking. Mind sludge as you come down from your high to his soothing touch, to his whispers, to his words that make you feel like you’re in heaven. Not just here, with his shoulders supporting your knees, but all the time.

It’s why you bring his mouth to yours. Messily, all disorientated from the high of him as you taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue—the tang of what he’d done to you evidenced.

It makes you want, need.

You’re not sure how the two of you made it to the bedroom so cleanly.

His clothes are scattered, left in the hallway; a path that leads from one moment to the other. Your knees were likely bruised from how you dropped to them in the doorway, straddling the hallway and bedroom as you palmed him through his underwear, eyes wide, looking up.

“I love your cock, Frankie.” Hooking a finger in the band, dragging the fabric to his ankles, to the ground. “Like how heavy it feels on my tongue cock.”

Hand slowly wrapping around him, pumping once, twice.

“Fuc...”

His curse isn't able to form when your mouth wraps around him, taking him in your mouth. As much of him as you could. Hearing him groan, grunt—seeing his nostrils flare before his forehead presses into the crease of his elbow as he leans it against the door. His breath stammers, palm cupping the back of your head casually as he tenses, muscles straining, body stiff.

All you can think is you wish this image could be painted, commemorated; hung somewhere for your eyes to see everywhere, every day.

Because he's backlit by the afternoon, shadows cascade from the half-drawn curtains of your room, bicep flexing as you take him down your throat, loosening it as much as you can until the tip of your nose finds itself in his curls.

“So big, Frankie.”

He groans, at the same time as you taste salt, it pooling at the back of your throat. Your eyes flick up to see his jaw slackening, nostrils flaring when your tongue swirls around the tip, hollowing your cheeks, feeling him twitch in your mouth—

“Bed.”

It’s hissed, strangled, as he pulls himself from between your lips and spit trails over your lower lip and chin.

“Now?” you tease.

“Now.”

His hands, all capable and strong, haul you to your feet. Finding a home on your hips, directing and shifting you until you’re on familiar sheets, turned over, stomach flush to your mattress as he trails his mouth down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you.”

“Then fuck me.”

It’s different, the way your bodies come together. The way he swallows your hiss when he bottoms out, stretching around him, fingers clinging and clutching at him.

“Y’too good to me, Frankie.”

“Impossible,” he whispers.

Mouth sliding up over your neck, nose catching on your skin, his hand dips between your bodies—where you’re joined, where you’re full and stretched around him. It’s bliss. Perfection. One you endure so regularly but don’t become used to, each time as taken back by how good it feels to be seated fully inside you as his fingers tease your swollen nerves.

It’s with a smooth thrust do your fingers brush over his face, finding his cheek, mouth and nose, guiding with your eyes closed for his mouth to seal itself over yours. Hips moving, thrusting, meeting him each time as you grow slicker, making a mess of him and the sheets beneath you.

Mouth slotted over his, moaning passed his teeth, hands clutching his cheek, the back of his neck, fingers teasing his curls. “Fuck, Frankie. Fu—“

He grins, you feel it. His hand slides from your slick-covered clit to your hip, along your waist, travelling and travelling until his palm cups your breast—until his finger and thumb are pinching your hardened peak. All the time kissing you, open mouths, breathing one another as his pace quickens. As you feel the early signs of your thighs tremoring, seeking something to grip, to hold on tight—

“Love how you take me.”

You whine. Gasping.

And he’s smooth with it. The way he slides your hand from his cheek and down towards the bed. Hingeing you, making you go down onto all fours as he kisses down your neck, trails his tongue, leaving a searing wet line before he’s under your arm, snaking his mouth over as much skin as he can get.

“Baby—“

“I know,” he grunts, puncturing it with several thrusts. “Feels good, you always feel good.”

Your eyes clench shut, mouth falling open at the angle. At the way it makes your toes curl in nothing. Something tightening, something that makes the corners of your vision blot and darken. It close. Liquid heat forming, swirling in your stomach, in your need and you—

A whine rips from your throat. All stained in disappointment, in loss as he pulls out. Leaves you empty, desperate.

You almost hiss. Throwing your head over your shoulder as you glance back to see him breathing heavily, chest oiled with sweat, hand squeezing himself at the base, a lopsided grin spread into his cheek as his other hand slides over your side. Urging, silently requesting.

“Roll onto your back, Rainy.”

It centres you, roots you when his elbows come down on either side of you.

Warm, hot mouth sliding over your jaw, his hand gripping yours, holding you tight as he teases, slides the tip of his cock through your messy folds, taunting your swollen clit.

“I love you,” he groans, pushing himself in, completely to the hilt, all in one smooth movement.

You swear he's deeper. Always say so until he trails his hand up the side of your leg, lifting them, hooking them over his waist as you wrap them around his back, and dig your ankles into his lower spine.

“Feel so good.”

“You make me feel so good.”

Your chin tips up, feeling him press open-mouth kisses to your throat. Likely feeling the vibrations of your moans against his lips, his tongue.

“Yeah?”

Nodding, rustling your head against the dishevelled sheets as his breath fans over your collarbone, “Only you.”

His pace quickens, snaps his hips to yours, grunting, moaning—the sounds making you clench around him. Chasing your second orgasm, walls fluttering around him as your fingers tighten around his, as he grasps your hip and fucks into you. Spears into you.

“I love you too,” you moan.

“I’m close. So close. Want to feel you, baby. Can you come, baby, come for me—”

Fingers knotting tighter around his, vision spotting, it all pooling, all set to spread.

Then, it snaps, splinters.

You cry out. Body erupting.

Nothing but heat and fire surging through you as you are washed in it. Drowned it. Never wishing to be saved as you go under, as your hearing fades and your eyes blur. Only aware, distantly, of the way your skin tingles as it lights with a blaze.

But, you do catch his guttural groan. The way he stills, paused, as his eyes clench and your name is buried into your ear—feeling him collapse on you.

A weight you love.

His heart hammering against yours, breath strained, difficult as you clutch at him, pulling him closer if that is at all possible. Even if it's just for a moment, before steam fills your bathroom and soap suds slide down both of your skin.

Because it's a weight that makes you smile every time, every day. One you adore. One you never want to not know.

You say as much against his mouth as your lips sloppily meet his, smiling, grinning against his mouth.

I love you.

Love you too, Rainy.

an: this was almost titled the last smut. (because of the series coming to an end, not because of some unhappy ending)

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[sp4ceboo]

Warriors: Choi San x Reader

A/N: ohh boyyy after the kpop fanfic drought im back and it's with warriors au choi san

Summary: San and Reader are mages, which means they are made to serve. They are lowborn, destined to obey humans - the nobles and the highborn - with their every breaths. What if they don't want that?

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, fingering, cockwarming sort of), swearing, violence, death, blood, minimally gory at one point, war, child soldiers (14 yo), society is a shit place to be if you're a mage, tons of worldbuilding, assassins, freaking bath sex, hint at sa at one point from some dude we hate, san is kind of a brat tamer, seonghwa cameo but sad, idk if you can tell but i suck at summaries, mention of a harem, mention of slavery

wc: 4.8k

As a child, you watched from afar, waiting for things you could not grasp.

They told you that you were made to serve. They recounted age-old tales, about gods that crafted humans in their divine hands, moulding the mages afterwards to be commanded by their beloved creations. They filled your mind with legends of faithful individuals of your kind who proved their worth with obedience until you wished to be like your forebears.

Back when you were but an infant, you believed it. You knew the two powers that were bestowed upon you by the gods, varying in every mage, were gifts made solely to assist the highborns. In your naivety, you thought the rosy flame cupped in your small, childish palms would be used to warm the nobles in the icy winter, and that you would fulfil your purpose through that, through being of use to them. They had no shame as they informed you you were just a tool forged for following their orders, and you were convinced it was all true - until you met San.

Although you were the one with the ability to summon an inferno, he was always the one with a burning fire in his eyes. Like all mages, he’d been taken from his parents the moment he didn’t need his mother’s milk - he was given as a peace offering from the Hwangso warlord for his control of water: helpful for the upkeep of the crops.

This occurred in the small period of time in which Hwangso, the neighbouring province, was attempting to forge alliances with your province, Neugdae. Soon after, your warlord breached their territory, claiming it as his - you often wondered if the news filtering back from the front lines of a new settlement captured ever affected San.

You met him when he was an eight year old filled with bottled fury too old for his years, and you were a quiet, invisible seven year old. At those tender ages, neither of you had developed your second ability yet, nor had you gotten a taste of the power at your fingertips, but San still held his head high; you remember marvelling at the way he’d make a point of meeting every single noble’s gaze and holding it. He was just a scrawny, sun browned kid back then - nothing like the elegant lethality of the man that he is now.

Every day until you turned fourteen, you toiled beside him. The work was cruel, your supervisors crueller; the sun would beat down on your back as you laboured in the fields, side by side with San as barely a quarter of the way across the settlement, the nobles sheltered beneath their silky parasols, boasting their pale, porcelain skin. Back then, San never spoke of the injustice of it all out loud, but something about the look in his eyes when he saw them swanning past stirred something inside you. He made you realise that you were not the soulless, mindless puppet that you’d been told you were, but a person.

It wasn’t simply the rage inside him that drew you to him, though. It was the way he remained sweet, kind, despite it all, making sure to send licks of cool mist down your neck when your supervisors weren’t looking, nicking extra crumbs of food for you and remaining beside you, a beacon of light that anchored you to sanity even in the dark.

Even when, you at fourteen, him fifteen, were sent out into battle.

There were always skirmishes between neighbouring warlords: a constant push and pull for more land, more resources, more power. They would attack on a whim - mages were expendable, nothing more than canon fodder; behind each squadron was a noble who would hang back behind the lines, commanding, unbothered by the bloodshed because it was the blood of mere tools.

By then, both you and San had developed your second abilities. San’s was the ability to manipulate shadows, turning them into almost solid shapes that could physically hinder attacks by forming daggers or clutching hands, or could temporarily block the world out in a shroud of rolling black fog. Yours was the art of shapeshifting; you let the outline of your body flicker between forms, changing into powerful, deadly creatures whose substance was inhabited by the soul of a wavering teenager.

You’d known that you’d be forced to fight since you were young, but you never could have imagined the brutality of war.

It was there, in the midst of the battlefield, that any lingering innocence was burned from your soul. You learned that San’s water did not just bring life, but could also fill up someone’s lungs until they drowned upon dry ground, that your fire was not just a source of warmth or light, but could also combust a man’s heart within his chest, that the animals you were teaching yourself to shapeshift into could maul and break bones.

Many nights, you would fall asleep, curled against San, your face buried in his side with his arm wrapped around you, the taste of blood still in your mouth from where you’d torn your enemies’ throat out with the vicious canines of a tiger or the needle sharp fangs of a lynx. You would leave the front lines soaked with crimson, the essence of other people in your hair, smeared on your face, caked and drying under your nails.

It terrified you, how easily you could slice their flesh open with your claws. Armour was not wasted on mages, only generals, so just like you, all they wore were roughly woven tunics tied at the waist and trousers - you met no resistance when you killed your own kind, silent apologies on your lips.

Within the squadrons were also humans that had fallen from grace - criminals who still felt entitled enough by their birthright to think they could have a fourteen year old mage’s body; San protected you until you could protect yourself. In the first few weeks, when the punches he threw were too weak to deter them, he would let them beat him, giving you time to escape before returning to you, limping, lip split and nose bloody but the fire in his eyes never faltering.

On those nights, tears of frustration would leak from the corners of your eyes as you cleaned him up. He could so easily stop them if he used his abilities, but by then doing that without being instructed to do so by a highborn would lead to a flogging or a beating - fairytales no longer worked on you at that age, so your commanders and generals utilised fear mongering instead. You remember the hate and helplessness burning inside you when you looked at them: if all the mages rebelled at once, the nobles would have no chance, but everyone was too scared. Using your abilities on humans only led to execution.

You remember Seonghwa: he was a mage a few years older who cared for you and San as if you were his blood. He got too strong - you can’t recall his second ability but his first meant he could push a man over the brink of insanity, until he frothed at the mouth and his brain boiled within his skull. When you first witnessed the depth of his power, you were originally struck by the pain in Seonghwa’s eyes, and then by the fear in your commander’s.

The next day, Seonghwa was gone.

Often, you wonder if he fought back, or if he just let them kill him.

After, you made San promise that he wouldn’t show them if his powers developed further. He made you promise the same, and when you fought beside him, he was a constant reminder to reign yourself in, to survive. You were more careful with your powers from then on.

Some nights, though, when the frost ridden night air cut right through the ragged material of your blanket, you huddled next to San and lit a small fire in your hands. He’d tell you to stop, and you’d point out that he was shivering; he’d reply that he’d rather that than get you caught, and you would ignore him, not missing the way he tucked himself closer to the flame.

You didn’t tell him, but sometimes you would shift into a small animal, like a raccoon, and steal food for him in the dead of night. You didn’t answer when he asked you where you got it from, just shrugging and thrusting the rolls of bread and strips of dried meat into his hands, telling him he should eat.

When you were sixteen, San discovered he could animate his shadows. He could mould them like clay in his hands, breathing purpose into them - they would disintegrate within about a week or so, their outlines fading until they dissolved into nothing. San shaped a little dragon for you, the length of your forearm and the width of one of your thumbs; he came to you with it cupped in his hands, awe limning his face as the two of you watched it wriggle through the air between you and coil itself around your wrist.

You have many memories of those times, but one remains crystal clear, even to this day. A year onwards from San’s dragon, you found yourself hemmed in by enemy forces, your body tired from the fight - victory was so close for your side, and because of it, the Hwangso fought even harder, like cornered animals. If you broke through them, you would have been able to easily end their commander, but they had you, six to one. Hands closed around your throat, choking, and as the consciousness bled from you, you heard San’s cry, smelt the fear in the air as he tore through them to get to you: that in itself would have been insignificant - you had saved each other countless times through the years - but he had disobeyed a direct command.

He’d been told to kill the commander. He’d had a clear shot, and even still, he’d ignored orders, choosing to save you instead.

Both of you were beaten for it, and even as you heard the sound of San’s ribs cracking, he held your eyes, silently telling you that he’d do it over and over again, if only to keep you with him.

You think that was the moment when the two of you truly got a taste for rebellion. It was the point in the long, winding thread of your life that made you realise that whatever they told you, you would disregard it if it were for San. Their words no longer had as much power over you, because you knew your bond with him was infinitely stronger than any fear they attempted to instil within you.

Soon after that incident, your commander retired, and he was replaced by a man who was more of a fool than him. You began to lose land to Hwangso’s troops, far enough that the settlement where you grew up in was ravaged, razed to the ground. Your commander informed you that you’d evacuate the highborns, leaving the child mages and the servants behind because they would only slow you down - that was the moment you decided to stop listening to him.

The last mage rebellion had been decades ago - they were not ready. It was pathetic how easy it was to overthrow them; together with the rest of the troops and the mages from the settlement, you rebuilt the town and fortified it. San treated his soldiers with respect, with loyalty, and they loved him for it, for the way he would march into battle with them instead of cowering at the rear, for the way he could often be seen in the newly restored fields, watering the crops, for the way he recognised them for who they were.

To this day, you’re in awe of it. Never in your whole life have you come close to anything but fear for a leader, and yet you see it clear in their eyes that they love San, and that he loves them. He is everything that the highborns fear - a powerful, confident mage, wreathed in righteous shadows, fiercely intelligent, a master of strategy.

One of his first moves was to ally himself with the Hwangso warlord, the very man who had given him as a gift to your province. Deep in the highborn’s eyes was the presumption that he could break San and make him yield, followed a month later by pure terror when you held a knife to his neck, hissing to never speak of San like that again. The two of you brought his head in a sack to Hwangso and claimed your rule over the province.

That didn’t mean it was easy, though. There were the nights when San would tremble in your arms, baring his fears to you, his doubts - that it was getting too much too fast: that maybe he really was just made to follow orders. You scoffed at that - you’d seen him grow up, watched his shoulders broaden and his figure fill out with muscle, you’d seen the fire in his eyes blazing with passion; you knew he’d always be more than enough.

You’re not sure when the love blossomed between the two of you. Maybe it was always there, first shown as fierce protectiveness, later as searing kisses where no one could see, of fingers laced with yours in the dark of night. He married you shortly after he began to be recognised as an actual warlord, not a rogue mage; it was a quiet ceremony, but the celebrations of your people were far from that - rumours of the Neugdae province’s mage warlord and his wife rippled like wildfire through the regions, stirring fear and hope alike.

Some wonder why San does not take more wives - he has control over the Baem province as well Neugdae and Hwangso now, and any warlord with that much power would take on a harem without blinking. Not San, though - he’s different from them, he is a mage, a lowborn, his bronzed skin a sign to them of his childhood in the fields, and they find he is an enigma, as is his mystery shrouded right hand man.

But not to you - you understand him as if you share a soul.

On the surface, you are his only wife, aloof and coldly beautiful. In the shadows, you are his sword, his hand. There are myths of you, of the fire wielding ghost that robes itself in a black cowl and changes its skin into a man’s worst nightmare; stories of how you will twist your victim’s thoughts around until he finds the tip of a blade poking out of his chest, speared right through his back. It’s how you prefer to operate - they fear the unknown, and you are the unknown.

The fabric of the bag held in your fingers is soaked with blood. Within it is the head of the Yong province’s advisor. He was an awful man who deserved what you gave him - in a locked room at the back of his house, you found several young mages, half starved and chained by wrist and ankle to each other and a hook set in the wall. Bile bites at the back of your throat at the thought: you’re lucky you never experienced the uglier side of mage slavery.

Night is falling, the sun casting long shadows down the road. You always find the darkness comforting - it feels as if San is near. Today he is; you raise your fist and knock thrice on the solid wood of the gates, lifting your hand in recognition of the guards who peek over the turrets.

Slowly, they ease open the doors, and you stride into the courtyard, your boots clicking against the roughly hewn pavings. A squadron of your soldiers are sparring, but they halt their training when you enter, snapping to attention as you stop at the centre of the space, the dying rays of the sun streaming down the steps towards you, the air still as you wait.

He appears, his gilded silhouette glorious at the top of the stairs. His shadow guards spill down the steps towards you as he descends; their bodies contort and bend, the swirling mass of them parting around you, liquid night, jaws snapping, circling you until you’re surrounded.

A smirk pulls at your lips, and you throw the bag at his feet. You do not bow low, simply dipping your chin as he extracts the head from the sack, inspecting it and nodding before returning it to its roughly woven grave and handing it to one of his shadows to take away. Meeting your eyes, his own filled with amusement, the hint of a smile flashes over his face.

‘Welcome home, my love.’

San’s words are soft, voice quiet enough for only you to hear. You suppress the urge to pull down your mask and kiss him, instead letting your fingers brush against his as you walk with him up the steps and into the hanok; his shadows close the door behind you and the moment they do, he hooks an arm around your waist and hugs you tight, his embrace warm and sweet as always.

You laugh. ‘I was only gone four days, Sannie.’

‘Four days too long for me to be separated from my wife,’ he replies, pushing your cowl back so he can kiss your forehead.

Gripping his shoulders, you tug him down so you can peck his lips before sending him out to the courtyard again - you’re the last person expected through the gates tonight, so he should go out and dismiss the mages training in the courtyard so they can go home to their families and lock up. A happy sigh leaves you as you toe off your shoes, walking through your home and stripping off your bloody clothes before submerging yourself in the pool sunken in the floor. San has already filled it with fresh water, and it takes you mere seconds to heat it up with your fire.

Leaning with your head against the wooden ledge of the pool, you let your muscles loosen, half closing your eyes. The silence doesn’t last long, though - there’s a soft, steady noise coming from the screen behind you, almost like… breathing.

‘Show yourself,’ you command into the still air.

A man steps into view - a human, eyes crazed, knife clutched in his fingers. You realise he does not know who you really are; he just assumes you are the mage warlord San’s wife, delicate and helpless, and you let that role engulf you, backing away to the other edge of the pool with your eyes wide, luring him closer.

‘Your man took everything from me,’ he spits, blade pointed at you as he stalks forward. ‘He took my power, my wealth, my squadron of soldiers. And now I will take his wife.’

Surging out of the pool, you dodge the swipe he aims at you, sending fire surging down the knife’s handle so he drops it with a cry and twisting his arm behind his back in the most painful way possible, wrenching him down to his knees with his face an inch above the water.

‘How did you get in?’ You ask coolly.

‘I’ll never tell y - ’

You send tongues of flame licking down his ribs. ‘Answer the question or suffer.’

The door eases open, revealing San. His eyes land on you, water dripping down your body as you pin the man to the floor, then the distorted reflection from the blade of the knife that’s fallen into the pool, and something dangerous flashes inside his gaze. You let him grab your attacker by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet as he brings him face to face with him; you see San’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists.

‘How fucking dare you try to come anywhere near my wife,’ he growls, shadows coalescing behind him.

You can tell he’s about to say something else, but he stops as the man, trembling and fruitlessly clawing at San’s fingers, wets himself. Your husband’s lip curls in disgust, and he drops him at your feet, pressing him down onto his knees and yanking his head up so he is forced to look up at you. Bending down, you breathe in the sheer fear permeating the air, a soft smile on your face.

‘Now, answer the question.’

‘You’re not his wife,’ he whispers, pale.

‘Oh, but I am,’ you sneer. ‘But that’s not the only role I occupy.’

Slowly, his face drains of colour, horror rippling across it as it slowly dawns on him. He recoils in San’s grasp, scrabbling at the floor in a sorry attempt to put distance between you; he has finally realised who you are and he acts like fucking coward, his mouth gaping wide in a silent plea. Unhurried, you fish the knife out from the pool, twirling it around your thumb before gliding it gently over the skin of his throat.

‘I’m getting impatient.’

‘I - I - the guards, they were distracted upon your arrival, I snuck in at the southern perimeter, please don’t - ’

His words dissolve into a weak gurgle when you slice open his throat. Blood gushes from the seams of the wound, dribbling from his lips, and you step back as he tips forward, landing with a wet thump face first on the wooden floor. Glancing up at San, you sigh before getting back in the pool. One of his shadows carries the body away and your husband tugs his clothes off and slides into the water beside you, pulling you into his chest.

‘He did not hurt you, I presume?’

You snort. ‘He tried.’

San’s fingers run thoughtfully up and down your arm. ‘I’ll talk to the guards. I probably shouldn’t have put Jisung on dusk duty while he was recovering from that fever.’

You nod but don’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He hums, tipping his head back to give you more access as you mouth at his skin, letting your palms wander over his shapely chest, grip his broad shoulders, skim his waist; you trace the many scars all over his body, and he allows you to, his strong hands gripping your hips when you settle in his lap.

He curses low at the feel of your teeth sinking into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hips jerking upwards, and you both groan at the sensation of the underside of his cock grazing your clit. Smirking, you let your tongue lave over the spot where you bit, pressing a kiss to his jaw and pulling back as his hands tighten their grip on your ass.

‘Missed you too, Sannie. Good to know how much you missed me.’

‘So fucking bratty,’ he hisses.

A thrill shoots through you as he stands, the water sluicing in rivulets down the planes of his chest, lifting you and laying you on the edge of the pool, pinning your knees to the wood and spreading you open. The crude way he looks at you is all consuming, his eyes surveying you from where he stands with the water to his mid thigh, watching as your pussy clenches at the sight of him towering over you.

San remains there, just looking at you, and you curve your spine, almost whining in attempt to make him touch you without you asking for it. His lips quirk to the side as you squirm, trying to inch your hips down so you can grind against him, but his fingers tighten on you, refusing you.

‘What is it you require of me, love?’

Finding your attempts unsuccessful, you huff, glaring at him. He loves to do this, make you articulate exactly what you want from him - he likes the flush that heats your cheeks, your body still shy even after all your years with him, he likes the breathy noises you make when he forces you to tell him just what you desire when all you can think of is his dick, he likes it when you can’t  help but beg him.

‘Y - your fingers,’ you mumble. ‘And your cock.’

‘Say that louder for me, sweetheart, I didn’t catch the last bit.’

‘Your fingers and your fucking cock,’ you snap - a sorry endeavour at trying to hide how much you love when he inflicts this upon you.

San raises an eyebrow, not moving to touch you. Waiting.

‘Please,’ you add.

He smiles. ‘There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Your mouth opens to retort, but he slips his fingers inside you, and your back bows, a soft moan leaving your lips as he sweeps his thumb over your clit, his other hand palming your breasts, his tongue dragging over your skin. Burying your hands in his hair, you tug, making him groan low and deep as you pull him closer.

Delectably, his fingers curl, and you ache for him. San has ruined you for anyone else, he is branded onto your soul and also your body, fading marks from your last time together still slightly visible on your throat - a necklace of love bites, laying claim to you. He catches your chin as he brings you closer to the edge, tasting your moans on his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit.

You keen, coming hard around him, chest heaving, and he smirks, holding your waist as shudders wrack your legs from the aftershocks. The fire in his eyes burns ever brighter, so hot you feel your stomach go molten - your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails raking over his back, your tongue unable to form anything other than his name.

‘You’re always so willing to behave once your pussy’s full, hm?’

‘No, I,’ you start, but cry out when he pinches your clit in warning, the muscles of your thighs jumping as it lances through you, white hot. ‘Y - yes, yes, I am, please - ’

In one fluid movement, San buries himself inside you, sheathing himself until his hips kiss yours. Catching you wrists in his hand, he pins them above your head, and your back arches as he pulls out, agonisingly slowly, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging on your walls before slamming back in, tearing a cry of his name from your chest. Tugging your legs up from where they were wrapped around his waist, he hooks your knees over his shoulders - the new angle makes you sob, writhing beneath him as his cock head drives into perfection, drives you to euphoria.

Sometimes, San makes love to you, but not tonight: tonight he fucks into you mercilessly, traces of possessiveness lacing his actions as he litters your skin with bites, his hands leaving exquisite bruises on your hips. Pleasure tears through you like an arrow through your heart, white hot and maddening, ravenous.

‘You fit around my cock so well,’ he pants. ‘Like you were made for me, sweetheart.’

Something snaps inside you at his words, and as if he senses it, San presses his thumb down hard on your clit, speeding up his thrusts until the air is punched from your lungs. Stars flash before your eyes, and your mouth falls open, toes curling as you come on his cock, your cunt convulsing around him, thighs twitching; he doesn’t stop, just continues ploughing into you, and you tremble, tears slipping down your cheeks at the relentless pound of his hips into yours.

With a gasp, he pulls out and comes over your stomach, his wide shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths, and you groan as he eases you back into the warm water, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he tucks your head under his chin, sliding his softening cock into you again. Wrapping your arms around him, you press a kiss to his jaw and rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

‘How do you feel, my love?’

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. ‘Good. Really fucking good.’

He laughs, and you bask in the sound of his happiness and the comfort of his warm skin against yours. San’s hands run up and down your spine, soothing, and you smile sleepily; you are home, reunited with your other half, the missing part of your soul.

With San, you are complete.

[mosaickiwi]

Hi, hope you had a great new years ^^

If it's okay can I request a fic of Redacted teaching Angel how to ride their bike or just Angel just riding their bike in general?

Hiiii my new year was good! I hope yours (and valentine's,easter,etc) was good as well!!

the date callin me out for how long it's been since jan i'm sobbing /silly

I feel like emo boy would be extremely thorough about teaching them so... Maybe I'll do a part two where Angel actually drives... 👉👈

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~A Riding Lesson~

[REDACTED] was in their personal garage doing some maintenance on his bike when you arrived a little early for your date. All he could offer in greeting were a few sweet words and a quick kiss, due to their grease stained fingers. You chose to silently observe them for a while, sitting at the bench they left their toolkit on. You found yourself leaning forward, watching with pure fascination.

There was precision to each movement as they went about their work with expert hands. Were it not for the occasional smiles he threw your way when he picked up a different tool every so often—smiles that somehow still sent your heart aflutter after so long—you would’ve been completely absorbed.

You'd always been curious about how it worked. But there was never really a good time to mention said curiosity. Especially since you were more focused on holding on for dear life whenever they drove somewhere, even at a snail’s pace. You supposed now could be a good time.

“Can you teach me how to ride it?” you suddenly asked once he came over to pack his tools away in the box at your side.

Their scarred hand that was idly twirling a wrench stilled as he looked down at you, light blue eyes glittering with the beginnings of something. “...Yeah, love? Y’mind saying that again f’me?”

Much too late to take it back, you noticed your mistake. You were so absorbed in your thoughts that it felt like you were picking up a conversation. In reality, it hadn't even started. “The bike, Ren,” you hurriedly corrected yourself. “Teach me how to ride the bike.”

“‘Course. My bike,” [REDACTED] nodded along and continued putting away the tools. The smirk on their face was unmistakable, but they surprisingly held back from teasing you any longer. “Maybe a quick lesson, then.”

“Really?” You perked up.

He nodded towards the bike with an amused smile as he closed the toolbox and wiped off his hands. “We’ve got time.”

Excited as could be, you hopped over and quickly sat in the cushioned seat, immediately fidgeting with the handlebars. It already seemed weird being in the front, let alone by yourself. But your heart got a little louder when your dark haired lover sat behind you on the bike.

You were certain he could feel how you shivered as his hands wrapped securely around your waist and his head rested on top of yours. Stumbling for words, you almost shouted, “So! …Where am I taking us?”

“Nowhere. Y’need to know where everything is first, Angel.”

“Boooo.”

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

After fifteen grueling minutes of quizzing, he finally agreed to let you ride around the parking lot. They hopped off the back of the bike, swinging the key around their finger.  

Without his weight to balance you, you suddenly felt a little unsure of yourself. You thought he was going to ride with you, so you asked, “Did you only sit on the bike to hug me?”

“Yeah, y’looked so cute I couldn’t help m’self,” he admitted shamelessly. They didn't give you the key just yet, merely circled the bike a few times with a careful gaze. “Clutch?”

You frowned. The quiz was supposed to be over. “Left lever.”

“Throttle?”

You remembered that one easily. He always revved the engine with it before leaving. “Right handle," you said confidently as you grabbed it.

“Front brake?”

“Uhh…” you started, quickly panicking at the resigned look in their eye. “Right pedal.”

“That's the rear brake. Maybe next time.” They gave a swift denial of your short-lived dream.

You stubbornly stayed put on the bike, though your hands were no longer holding the handles, instead resting in front of you on the seat. “I could drive it down to the street, at least."

“Y’really think so? It’s a lot t’handle,” he cautioned. He reached in front of you with the key in hand, quickly putting it in the ignition. The engine purred in that quiet way you were used to.

You watched as [REDACTED] held firmly on the clutch at one handle, and slowly guided your hand to the throttle on the other. With the lightest turn of your wrist, the engine roared loud, vibrating the seat more and more. But he turned it even further and you could hardly hear yourself think.

It made you nervous. If you weren’t sure where the break was—or which one to use—it’d really spell disaster. “Okay, I get the point,” you sighed. They let go of your hand and the engine died back down to its usual purr. “I’ll try harder to remember where everything is. No crashing your bike into a stop sign for now.”

“Good. Just wan’ you t'keep that pretty little head right where it is, love,” he hummed and kissed said forehead. “Now, scoot. Or we can head upstairs so ‘can teach ya how to really—”

“I meant the bike!!”

[enigmatist17]

Dot was not expecting to come home to an ambulance in her driveway during a quick break mid-shift, the car tucked just out of view of the main road. The ranger hopped out of her truck and approached it, clearing her throat while crossing her arms over her chest.

"I have about twenty minutes before I need to return to work, so talk to me now or wait for me to return." There was a moment, before the familiar sound of a Transformer shifting to its root mode filled the air, the ambulance standing a fair height above the human. "Welcome."

"Apologies, wasn't expectin' to get in so early." The mech had a gruff voice as they knelt down, extending a servo. "Name's Ratchet, don't think we had the pleasure of meetin' on the field."

"Dot Malto, I've heard of you." The ranger relaxed a little as she rested a hand on his palm in greeting. "Heavens know how many stories I've heard from Wheeljack and Bumblebee."

"Wheeljack is here?" Ratchet seemed a little surprised as he pulled his limb back, standing with a slight grunt. "That is...nice to hear. Haven't seen much of anyone these days, not with G.H.O.S.T tryin' to hunt us down, or had been anyways."

"Trust me, that's not something you need to worry about anymore." Dot sighed, glancing up at him. "I'm assuming you're here about what happened a few weeks ago?"

"Among other things." His optics dimmed for a moment at the memory of dying so suddenly, only to be revived with the knowledge that something had ripped his Spark from him for just shy of fifteen minutes. It hadn't taken him long to wrangle coordinates from Bumblebee once the initial panic had subsided, knowing Prime wouldn't be too far from the scout, and would hold the answer about what the frag had happened.

Ratchet wasn't scared of many things, but that had rattled his processor to the core.

"Well, I can start by introducing you to the kids, they're going to love meeting one of the "super ultra famous" Autobots." Dot smiled sympathetically, pointing toward a barn further into the premises.

"Strange, most humans don't let their sparklings live outside their home." Ratchet raised an optic ridge, motioning for her to step forward and trailing behind the ranger.

"Oh, my kids do live in the house; these are where my other kids live, the ones who don't quite fit." This had the medic further intrigued, Dot opening the door and whistling down the open large grate in a far corner. "Hey kids, why don't you come on up and say hello to someone!"

Ratchet felt his Spark nearly stop again when he was suddenly bombarded with five wide-open EMF fields, brimming with emotions so openly it almost made him fall to his knees.

No, no, this can't be what he thinks it is.

The first mech to come up from the underground area was so small Ratchet nearly thought they were a Minicon, the little femme zipping up into the air with an excited sqeual.

"Ohmigosh omigosh it's Ratchet!" The medic barely had time to register what she was saying before a blue and white mech ran up into view, his eyes wide.

"Mom, how come you didn't tell us he was coming!" Ratchet looked down helplessly at Dot, who just smiled and shrugged as three more sets of pedes hurried up from the underground area.

"I didn't know, sweetheart." Ratchet remained silent as what looked like a Dinobot, a lanky bot with glowing eyes reminiscent of an owl, and the tallest of the set, sporting a grin and thrumming with a particularly powerful EMF, gathered around him with overlapping questions.

Sparklings....honest to Primus sparklings were around him, a sight Ratchet never thought would come to pass.

"W-When were you all created?" The question nearly gets lost in the din, but Dot silences the bots by merely crossing her arms.

"A few months ago, when Mo and Robbie found the Emberstone and helped make us!" The petite femme smiled, hovering within his sight. as Ratchet stared.

"I see." Ratchet smiled as he knelt down, reaching into his subspace to pull out some tools, along with five glowing purple sticks. "Well, I'm going to assume you've never had a proper medic give you an exam, so I'd like to start with that."

"Do we have to?" The tall femme whined, eyeing Ratchet in slight discomfort. "Robbie and Mo hate the doctor, they say it's kinda scary sometimes."

"I assure you this won't hurt a bit, I've been doing this a very long time." Ratchet held out the sticks to the children. "Why don't you give me your names, and we'll go one at a time. Lieutenant Malto, you're more than welcome to observe."

"Just call me Dot, and I might do that for the first kiddo before I get back to work." Nodding, the medic finally pulled out a scanner before motioning for the bot closest to him. "You're up, come on."

"I'm Jawbreaker." Ratchet scanned him with what he hoped was a gentle smile, the young bot nervous yet curious.

"It's nice to meet you, Jawbreaker; like you heard, I'm Ratchet." The older bot frowned at the readings on his scanner before his optics went wide in alarm. Jawbreaker smiled nervously when Ratchet leaned forward with his scanner again, the readings the same as the first scan. "How are you operating?! I've never seen energon levels this low!"

"Oh that's 'cause we don't need energon, w-we drink magic cave water?" The small dinobot smiled, Ratchet just staring at the youngling before a trilling noise escaped him, unable to vocalize any response as he merely pressed one of the purple sticks into Jawbreaker's servos.

"Off you go." Dot looked amused and concerned at Ratchet's silence, Nightshade moved forward to take Jawbreaker's spot. He's just finishing up with Twitch when there's the familiar roar of Bumblebee's engine, the bot transforming the second he was close enough to the house, whistling a tune as he headed for the barn.

"Oh kids, I brought a surpi- Ratchet?!" The scout froze before throwing himself to the side, narrowly missing the wrench thrown at him.

"You SLAGGING PIT SPAWN!" The medic nailed him right to the face with a second wrench, stomping over to the stunned bot with a hiss. "You have been with SPARKLINGS and didn't think to CALL ME?!"

"W-Wait, I thought you knew!" Bumblebee winced as Ratchet stood over him, optics flashing in irritation. "I've been uncover with them, a-and Optimus would have told you, right?"

"Oh ho ho don't you dare try and distract me, although he will answer me later." The medic sneered, before letting out a long vent and offering a servo. "It's good to see you, kid."

"...it's great to see you too, I didn't know you were even on Earth." Ratchet easily pulled Bumblebee up onto his pedes, grumbling lightly when he was yanked into a hug. "I have missed you, though I didn't miss your wrench sharpshooting skills..."

"Comes with the package." The older bot smirked, the five younglings watching the two from their spot by the barn with wide optics. "They're in good health, despite not being properly checked over by a professional."

"I tried my best?" Bumblebee grinned, doorwings fluttering in delight at the backhanded praise. "Ratchet, why are you here?"

"I want to know what happened a few mega-cycles ago."

"Oh...right." The scout glanced toward the younger bots, offering a servo when Twitch rubbed one of her arms with a guilty look. "Who wants a hug?"

"We do!" Ratchet stepped back to allow the five young- terrans all but tackle Bumblebee with a group hug, his spark practically melting at the sight.

"Can we hug you too, Mr. Ratchet?" Hashtag asked, the older bot chuckling as he placed his data pad in his subspace.

"I suppose I could agree to that." It was Bumblebee's turn to laugh when one of his mentors was suddenly besieged by five eager terrans, sending him to the ground with an amused look, reminding the younger bot of times long past. Ratchet would find himself agreeing to spend the night later on in the day, unable to say no to the puppy-eyed optics that Thrash and Hashtag wielded with deadly accuracy, as well as Bumblebee's not-so-silent pleas for adult interaction of the Cybertronian kind. Spending an entire evening catching up and talking about just about every topic either bot could bring up was...nice, and Ratchet decides the moment when the scout drifts off to recharge that it might be a good idea to stick around for a little while.

Optimus was going to get one hell of a lecture first, however.

[calypsocolada]

MIDNIGHT RAIN | y. itadori

(this is part one! click here for part two)

synopsis: you and itadori part ways in shibuya. authors note: HI! i'm back! back with a fic with probably the best boy to ever exist. hope you enjoy! cw: sfw, angst, fluff, kissing, blood, gore, use of y/n, slight spoilers for s2 wc: 2.9k

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This was your second mission and honestly you weren’t sure if things could get any worse. Any darker. Any more bleak. The hope that glimmered at the end of this day had long been snuffed out the moment you parted from Itadori. He'd grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and asked you to stay out of trouble. You promised. 

You didn’t make friends very easily, that and not many people ever took the time to try with you. To try and know you. No one. Until Itadori. You were quiet, he was loud. You were cold and he was kind. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. Like day and night. But you liked him. You liked him a lot. He tried with you. Tried hard to know you, to know things you liked. What you ate at lunch, what you listened to in your room, what shows moved you. He paid attention. In return you did the same. He’d go with you to bookstores, carry your things and make jokes about the dirty books you picked. You’d go with him to the movies, to see a movie about a worm. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. 

You two had plans for halloween. Like many others you were going to dress as Barbie and Ken. Itadori’s idea. 

Instead you were in Shibuya.

“I told you you’d like it!” Itadori beams as he holds the door open, sunshine momentarily blinding you as you walk onto the sidewalk. 

“I grew to care for that worm.” You said and heard Itadori laugh warmly. Itadori had dragged you to his earthworm movie. He jogs up to you and walks on the side closest to the street.

“I’ll have to show you the other movies sometime.” He says with a smile. You snort out a laugh.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You say.

The mall was deathly silent. You walked through, your cursed tool clutched tightly in your hands. 

When you were young you’d come here. Your Mom would drag you to her nail appointments but after she’d give you fifteen dollars to spend at any store. It was worth it in the end.

You’d never seen this place so deserted. It was frightening. You blew out a breath and scanned the dead atmosphere. You were tracking down people that were stuck here, bringing them somewhere safe. Panda and the smoking guy, you didn’t have time to learn his name, were close by, doing the same as you. Walking past a store a t-shirt catches your eye.

Rain poured, soaking you through. Itadori had picked up speed, he reached for your hand and pulled you gently towards the dorms. You two had been sitting in the courtyard and had fallen asleep by accident only to be awakened by the freezing cold rain that had seemingly come out of nowhere. You two slipped inside as he pulled the door shut behind you both. You started laughing, wringing out your drenched hair. Itadori shakes his head like a dog eliciting another laugh out of you. 

“Come on, we’ll warm up in my room.” He says, placing a hand on the small of your back to usher you forwards. Friends. Sometimes you have to remind yourself. As much as you hated it you were a hopeless romantic and your mind played up everything, not everything is like the movies. You blushed nevertheless. When you got to his room he unlocked it and let you inside first. You’d never been in his room before this moment. It was clean, a poster of a girl in a bikini hung on the wall. It made you laugh slightly. He followed your eyeline and rushed forwards, ripping it off the wall. 

“Sorry.” He says softly, embarrassed as you shake your head.

“It’s fine, Yuji. I have posters on my wall too.”

“Of half naked men?” He jests as you snort, rolling your eyes.

“No. I was trying to make you feel better.” You say as he stuffs the poster in a drawer. 

“Let me get you something dry.” He says over his shoulder. The gravity of the moment does not elude you suddenly. He hands you a t-shirt and sweatpants. 

“I’ll let you change in peace.” He says politely.

“You- you can just turn around. I’ll be quick.” You say, reaching for the hem of your wet shirt. He whips around and in the mirror you can see how red his face was. You giggle silently and change quickly, hanging your wet clothes over the back of a chair. You look down and smile. It was a spiderman t-shirt, Itadori’s favorite hero. One that reminds you of him. It smelled like him, this whole room did. “Okay, done.” You say as he turns around, you swear you can see his cheeks turn even more red.

“My clothes suit you.” He says, then realizes what he said and buried his head in his hands. 

“Thank you.” You say softly. 

“You should keep the shirt, it’s one of my favorites.” He says as you bite your lip to keep from smiling too much.

“I wouldn’t want to take your favorite shirt, Yuji.”

“I want you too.” He says and you can tell he means it. You blush, nodding your head. “Here,” Itadori starts, pulling the covers back on his bed. “Hop in, I’ll change and then we can watch a movie or something.” You slide under the covers and face away as Itadori changes. He jumps beside you a moment later, flicking on the tv. 

“We could watch spiderman? I’ve never seen it.” You say as Itadori gasps, turning to look at you. 

“You’ve never seen spiderman? Like any of them?” He asks as you nod your head.

“None of them.” You say and he doesn’t answer you back, just turns back to the screen and flicks on the first spiderman movie. You both settle in the bed and you pull the covers closer to your body, still pretty cold. Itadori notices, he always notices small things. 

“Still cold?” He whispers. You nod your head and Itadori moves closer to you, sliding an arm around you, pulling you against him. He’s like a personal heater, his body warm. You gasp, you had never cuddled with a boy. “Sorry, is this okay?” He asks and you have to nod your head because you're afraid your voice will betray you. He pulls you just slightly closer and lays his chin on the top of your head. You should be nervous. You had a crush on this boy and right now you were in his arms. But you were utterly comfortable, you’d never felt more safe and secure in your entire life. 

It was a similar spiderman t-shirt in the window. You blinked a few times and wondered why you were almost in tears. Tonight felt different. You couldn’t stop worrying for everyone. Especially Itadori. You wished you were partnered with him. You were dying to know if everything was going okay with him. If everyone was alright. You just had this sick feeling. 

“Miss?” A voice  to your right startles you but your reaction is quick, if it were a curse you would’ve obliterated them. It was a young girl and her mother. You blew out a breath. You didn’t sense any cursed energy near them so you strapped your tool to your belt. 

“Are you two okay?” You asked as the little girl looked at you with doe eyes, her mother holding her. 

“Are you here to help us?” The mother asks.  You nod your head. “He said you’d be here soon.” She says as she walks forwards.

“Who?”

“A boy, he had pinkish hair. He was heading towards the lower section.” Itadori. Your face lit up.

“He was here not long ago?” You ask and she nods her head. You blow out a breath. Getting the smallest bit of information about Itadori’s well being eased your mind. You escorted the mom and her daughter out of the mall and towards the safe zone where a lot of other survivors were. You remembered your first mission as you headed back into the mall, running the way Itadori had gone. 

The curse was too strong for your first mission. You’d almost died. There’s a lot of things that goes through a person's mind in these moments but all you could think about was Itadori. You didn’t grow up with a loving family, you had no friends to go back to, no one that would miss you if you died. Or so you thought. You’d packed your bag, made your way out to the car that would escort you to your first mission. You tossed your bag into the trunk and heard your name being called. You turned to see Itadori running faster than you’d ever seen. He was almost just a blur. 

“Yu- oof,” His body slams into yours as he sweeps you off your feet in a bone crushing hug. He spins you around as you giggle. 

“I’m sorry!” He says as he sets you down. “I almost overslept.”

“Overslept?” You echo as he nods his head.

“I didn’t want to miss your sendoff to your first official mission,” He says, ruffling your hair. You blush.

“It’s not all that exciting.”

“Yes it is.” He insists. “You’re gonna kill it. Literally.” He says.

“Thanks,” You grin. 

Itadori couldn’t have been more wrong about that statement. It only took four minutes and thirty-six seconds for things to go from exciting to detrimental. The curse had overpowered you, sliced you up in many places, you were losing blood but you were still fighting. You’d rounded a corner and pressed against the wall. You couldn’t stand any longer, your legs giving out as you slid to the floor. First mission failed. Your tool was loose in your hands and you heard it clatter out of your hand onto the floor beside you. You pressed your hand to your stomach and felt something sticky and wet, pain striking through you like lightning. You hissed in pain. If you were going to die it wouldn’t be on the floor. You’d die fighting. You pushed to your feet, heavily relying on the wall. You scooped up your cursed tool and staggered out into the hallway where you saw the curse you’d been fighting standing still before falling to its knees, revealing Itadori just behind it. A fucking superhero. You tool clattered onto the floor startling Itadori. His eyes met with yours, his eyes went wide, taking the sight of you in. 

“Fucking thank god,” You breathed out. You probably looked like a corpse walking.

“Oh- y/n,” His voice shakes as he runs forwards catching you before you could slam into the ground. He gently sweeps you into his arms, rushing towards the exit. 

“I didn’t kill it,” You coughed out, hoping a joke would lighten the moment but when you looked up you could see tears in Itadori’s eyes. You felt shitty for joking. 

You woke up days later in Shoko’s office. Itadori was snoring softly beside the bed, your favorite book in his hands. You slowly sat up. Your midriff was bandaged as well as your arms. You pushed to your feet and padded across the room to the bathroom, flicking on the light. There was a bandage on your cheek and a few bruises and small cuts on your face. You walked back into the room just as Itadori stretched, startling at the sight of you walking around.

“Y/n! You should stay in bed!” He insists, springing to his feet, sliding an arm around your waist. 

“I feel fine.” You say but he’s pulling you back towards the bed and sitting in it with you. “How long was I out?”

“A couple days,” Itadori says, worried expression on his face. You smile. 

“I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

“I should’ve gone with you.”

“It was supposed to be my mission, you weren’t supposed to go.”

“No more missions alone. We’re a pair.” He says, reaching across the space between you both to tuck your hair out of your face.

“You should probably partner with someone who doesn’t get their ass kicked.” You say as he shakes his head.

“I want you. No one else.” He says, sliding his hand against your cheek. “I mean it.” You can’t help but smile. 

“If you're sure.”

“Deadly sure.” He insists. The conviction in his eyes was serious. You must’ve scared him. You remembered walking out into the hallway, you were covered in blood, you probably looked half dead. That would be a scary sight for anyone.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” You say, looking away from him for a moment. This moment felt vulnerable. 

“I was scared. That curse was strong and then you walked out…” He trailed off, his hand falling from your cheek to gently twirl around a lock of your hair. 

“I feel like a burden,” You say. “You didn’t struggle with that curse at all yet it almost killed me.” Itadori’s eyes go serious.

“You are not a burden. Any person on their first mission would’ve struggled with that curse. It was stronger than predicted.”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing. You’re incredible, you’ll see that.” He says, giving you a smile, the first one since you woke up. You nod your head.

“Thank you.” You say. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Before Itadori speaks again.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” He says, a haunted look in his eyes. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “All that blood.”

“I’m sorry,” You say, biting your lip. He jumps forwards and yanks you into a hug, a softer one this time, he still holds you tightly though, as though you’ll slip through his hands like sand and be carried away by the wind. You rest your chin on his shoulder and hug him back. “I’m fine now. I feel much better.” You whisper. “Thanks to you.”

“I’g go insane if I lost you.” He says. You close your eyes. 

“I think I would too.” He pulls back suddenly, you both are so close. His eyes flick to your lips before looking back in your eyes. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” You say, ignoring the flips and flutters in your stomach. 

“Do I have a chance with you?” He asks. It's quiet as you try and understand what he’d just asked you.

“What?”

“You're so smart and cool. I just- I think some moments you might like me back but you’re out of my league and,” Itadori rambles as you hold up your hand.

“Yuji, hold on.” You say, taking a moment to let things simmer in your mind. “You like like me?”

“Love. I love you.” He corrects. Your lips fall open, your brows hiking up. 

“Love…?” You say as he nods his head. “Yuji-,”

“It’s alright if you don’t love me back,” He says. “I don’t expect you-” You lean and cut off his words, words you didn’t want to hear. You press your lips to his. A soft kiss, that sends butterflies to your stomach, sparkling confetti behind your eyes. Itadori hums contently, his hands sliding up on your jaw, pulling you closer to him.  

You still feel those same butterflies just remembering months later. You rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. The area was a disaster, as though some fight had just happened. Debris was still toppling over, there were large slash marks in the walls. You walked slowly through the disaster, sliding your cursed tool into your palm. Just to the right there was leaking water flooding out of a bathroom and what caught your eye was the striking image of blood mixed with the water. You swallowed and proceeded forwards. Lights flashed inside as you stepped into the puddles, peeking around the corner. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight. You understood immediately how Itadori felt when he saw you covered in blood, staggering along through that hallway. You saw his shoes first, the blood pooling around him. He was propped up against the wall, half his shoulder missing, blood covering his face.

“Yuji,” Your own voice sounded foreign as you charged into the bathroom, tears springing to your eyes in an instant as the sprinklers doused you in cold water. He looked dead. Your hands shook. Everything seemed to slow. You two should’ve been dressed in stupid costumes at a stupid halloween party. Should’ve been playing beer pong, you two would win, Itadori was great at that game. He would’ve spun you around so fast after your win, you’d be holding onto the hat on your head laughing. You’d be damned if the boy you loved died. You felt again for a pulse and felt the faintest of ones. Itadori was a fighter. You couldn’t carry him out of here but you could get up to the top and find Shoko. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and ran as fast as you could. You made it back in record time with Shoko in tow but when you skidded into the bathroom, water splashing against your jeans, Itadori was gone. You should've asked him to promise to stay out of trouble. 

[dozing-marshmallow]

helloo!! i saw that your requests were open and wokred up the coruage to send in a request :] i rarely see chris mclean x readers (despite him being a fan favorite, methinks) and i kinda wanted to see if you could write hcs of him x a young nibling!reader who participates in tdi? (nibling is the gender neutral term for niece/nephew - since i want a nonbinary/gn reader :])

basically having to do with anything; basic interaction between reader and chris, his reaction or what he'd do if reader got hurt, etc. ty!! :]

Hello there!! Thank you so much for the request, it turned out a lot more wholesome than I expected! And yeahh I agree with you there that there isn’t a lot of Chris McLean content despite the large number of people appearing to like him in the fandom which hurtss ;A; but nonetheless! I hope this makes an enjoyable read, and that you feel more welcomed to send in future requests <3

CHRIS MCLEAN X NIBLING! READER HEADCANONS

Ever since you were younger, you always had a strong bond with your uncle, and were always excited whenever he came over.

However, there was never a time where you went over to his place, since he was always busy.

Up until this summer, where Chris got the job hosting a brand new reality show where teenagers would compete in challenges in hopes to win a large amount of money.

After talking with your parents, your uncle was ecstatic to announce that you were going to spend the holidays with him on the show.

It felt like preparing for a sleepover! You had to pack everything you’d need for the two months: your pyjamas, your toothbrush, a variety of clothes, your portable movie player, (naturally) some movies and your mountie stuffed bear.

“Be careful when you get there, (Y/N)! My brother always had a bit of crazy in him.” Your mother advised, kissing you goodbye and watching you get on the boat for Camp Wawanakwa.

“Uncle Chris!” You called out to him, seeing him wave at you from the dock. Frantically, you wave back.

“(Y/N), welcome!” He ebulliently greeted you, helping you out of the boat. Once you got on the same ground as him, you share a hug before he walks you down the island, rolling your suitcase for you.

“Are they recording yet?” You asked, looking around. It’s so big!

“Not yet, we will be in fifteen minutes!”

“Is this...where we’re staying?” You didn’t want to be rude, but the island wasn’t as tropical or as vibrant as Chris made out to be.

“Nope! It’s where they’re staying.” He laughed, referring to the teenagers,“We’ll be staying at my crib that’s just around the corner.”

Upon learning that Chris McLean was an uncle, the campers were keen on leaving a good impression on you, especially since what you thought of them actually did play a role on their chances in the competition.

It goes without saying, there were some foul people that painfully obviously wanted to use this kin as a tool for themselves. Exhibit A:

“Hey kiiiid.” Heather came over to you during her free period. The smile she had on her face was too kind to be true. You’re also sure she forgot your name,“Really cute pair of overalls you’ve-“

You pause your movie,“What do you need?”

Ah, cut to the chase,“Listen. You know all the challenges that Chris has in store for us, right?”

“Mhmm! Gross stuff.” 

She leans on your chair, intrigued,“What do you want in exchange of helping me win immunity?”

This was precious. She’s asking you for help. You place a finger to your chin, thinking carefully,“Hmm... A pony!”

Her nose wrinkles,“Ah...not that.”

“But that’s the only thing I don’t have yet...” you whine. So much for negotiation!

“Why not something more realistic? Like...” she struggled to think of something appealing to give you from her conditions,“Ugh you know what, forget it. Just forget it.”

Good riddance! Let’s look at an example where a camper was in your favour.

It was dinner time and the contestants were stuck eating their questionable sloop.

Using Chris’ pointed attention on Chef, you snuck out into the mess hall and crawled under the table of the Screaming Gophers.

“Psst. Leshawna.” You tugged at her shirt from underneath.

“(Y/N)?” She keeps her voice low, peering down at you,“What are you doing there, baby?” Leshawna was always so nice to you- and not because she wanted an advantage, but because that’s who she is.

That’s why you decided to do this for her,“I wanted to give you some of what we’re having.” You place a wrapped up burger and an ice cream tub on her lap, resulting her to internally squeal and cover her face’s lower half in joy.

“For me?! Oh, you’re an angel... Thank you, sweetie!” She gushes, squeezing your cheeks, amazingly attaining a low voice.

Also there was no reason for you to be sneaky: Chris would’ve allowed you to treat your favourites overtly if it meant hostility could grow among them. You knew that- you just enjoyed feeling like a spy.

Which would have consequences for getting your forehead grazed and knee scraped later: like any kid, you wanted to explore around your new environment; not during the day when everyone would be awake, that’s no fun, but when the sky was mixed with tangerines and blueberries.

You made sure Chris was still sleeping, for no adventure could be fun if someone knew exactly where you were going.

Putting on your wellington boots, you left through the back door of his mansion and embarked into the woods, humming, singing, throwing your stuffed bear in the air and catching it as it came back down.

All was going well, until a sudden blast of an air horn terrified you out of your skin. With the ground shaking, you lose balance and fall into a pile of leaves. To your horror, you discover your stuffed bear not landing with you, but rolling off the hill.

Urgently, you leap to your feet and was smart enough to know you were approaching the edge- a wrongly timed tree root thought differently, leading you to roll too. Bluntly.

“Ow...ow...ow!”

For what felt like ages, you finally came to be stationary and in dizzy vision, you saw your intact teddy bear in front of you.

You would’ve cheered, but your suspiciously wet forehead contracted your arm, seeing the freshly imprinted red on your palm reminding your consciousness of a similar sensation on your knee,“Ohhh that’s not good...”

“Hey Chef... Do you know where (Y/N) is?”

“(Y/N)? I thought you had ‘em.”

Chris’ instinctive worry quickly morphed into nonchalance once he heard your tale, but was still willing to bandage you,“You had me all worried just for that to be the case?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Did you have fun?” He asked, cleaning your knee.

“I did.”

“Then you’re spared. You gotta be more careful though. If it was anything more serious, your parents will never let you into my hands again.”

Really? Over this?,“Ohhh, but I’m fine! I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“Haha, you’re lucky you’re not my child.” He joked in response,“Alsoooo, while we’re on the topic of home, they called.” He walks over to his drawer and extracts a dreadfully familiar booklet, smirking at you,“Looks like someone forgot to pack their summer homework.”

You groaned,“Nooo... Why did you show me that? I thought I was on holiday, aren’t I meant to relax?”

Chris chuckled, shrugging,“Education is the scam of the century, (Y/N)! You’ll get used to it.”

“No faiiiir. I’m a kid! I should get to be on holiday forever!” You protested.

“Shouldn’t we all? Sadly, it’s one of those yucky things of life.” He wears a mocking melancholic look.

You blow a raspberry,“More like the yuckiest! Why does school have to exist in the first place? It’s sooo boring!”

“We can all agree with you there, my dear child,” He rubs your head in pity.

You tittered,“You’re the coolest, uncle Chris! If I said that back home, mom wouldn’t let me watch tv for the rest of the day.”

He laughs with you,“She was never the fun one in the family.” He goes serious,“Don’t tell her I said that, or else you won’t be the only one with an injury.”

“Got it!”

After Chris was done patching you up, you take the booklet outside, sulkily murmuring,“Nghh... I don’t wanna do this...”

Courtney happened to be nearby when she heard your dilemma,“Hey (Y- What happened to you? Are you alright?” Her concern real.

“I’m fine...”

“Aw! Poor thing. You can’t do homework when you’re unwell! Want me to help you?” She offered...to do algebra?

“Sure! It’s one of my best suits, especially as a CIT!” She enthusiastically seizes your booklet from your hand and immediately starts answering the first page. You watch in bewilderment.

She’s so smart...! Like a robot!

“(Y/N)? Any camper you want to give invincibility to tonight?” Your uncle asked with a smile.

“Uh... I really like Gwen, but I also like Leshawna...” you sheepishly selected.

Keeping his smile, he turned to said campers and threw both of them a marshmallow.

“That’s my buddy!” Leshawna cheered.

“Thanks (Y/N)!” Gwen’s sweet smile tainted ruthlessly to Heather.

“Brat.”

It was funny seeing Heather get annoyed.

After the week’s elimination ceremony, you gave Chris a toothy grin,“Unnnncle, wanna play uno with me?”

“You bet I do! Wanna invite Chef?” He asked, taking your hand.

“Yeah!”

[e-dubbc11]

“I could just use a hug.” With Billy, please? ;) 🩶🩷 You know me, I love the fluff. 😂

Hello my dear friend! Thank you so much for sending this in. Now I know you and I both love fluff but I went with hurt/comfort/fluff with this one. I hope that’s ok and I hope you like what I did here. 💜💜💜

‘Til Valhalla

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Hurt, comfort, fluff, mentions of suicide, PTSD, nightmares

Word Count: 1.4K-ish

Summary: Billy’s processing his grief after burying one of his own. You’re there with him to try and help however you can.

A/N: Today is America’s birthday, July 4th, and even though it’s not Veterans Day or Memorial Day, I wanted to say that for those of us in the United States, it’s because of members of our armed services that we have the freedoms to do and say what we want. So I humbly ask you, if you have the opportunity today or any day for that matter, thank a service member or a veteran for the freedoms that you have. They deserve it more than anyone 🇺🇸♥️🤍💙

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The biting winter air burned in your lungs as you reached for Billy’s hand and laced your gloved hands together. You both were standing by the freshly turned soil close to the headstone of the fallen marine he had once served with and later employed.

It was blind luck that the ground wasn’t frozen over yet and they were able to dig his final resting place. The dirt and grass were dry and faded as the leftover leaves crunched under your black leather boots while the branches above swayed and creaked in the raw wind.

Billy had cleaned and shined his shoes this morning just like he did every morning but he did it in silence with a clenched jaw and rigid posture. You missed his smile, that million dollar Billy Russo smile he flashed you at least fifteen times a day had been missing from his face ever since he took that phone call a week ago while you were having dinner.

You couldn’t blame him. No one could but you didn’t know what kind of comfort he wanted or needed from you so you kept quiet, gently touched his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and told him you loved him.

The lone blemish on the wall was the dent and cracked paint from where his phone crashed against it after hearing the news. Frank tried to break it to him as gently as possible but it didn’t matter, Billy exploded anyway. His strangled screams echoed throughout the penthouse and could probably be heard by the people on the floors below you.

Shards of glass from his dinner plate lay broken on the hardwood floor under the dining room table while you sat there speechless and with a heavy heart trying to figure out what to say.

“Just tell me, Frankie!” He yelled brokenly into the phone.

Billy thought Wilcox had been doing well. Billy gave him a job, a purpose after they served together, and a way to stay close with the team he served with but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to keep the nightmares away, or to keep his PTSD and depression from taking over.

It didn’t stop him from locking the doors, putting on his dress uniform, and taking his own life. It happened to veterans more often than it should and Billy tried to do as much as he could to make sure his team had tools at their disposal to try and make each day easier than the previous one.

But sometimes that pull was just too strong. You could only imagine the gnawing grief and guilt surviving veterans felt after returning from overseas.

The questions they must constantly ask themselves and how, more than likely, they’re just never the same after that. But it didn’t stop Billy from trying to help his fellow combat veterans. He told them they weren’t useless and they could still do some good after coming home. They could still serve, still have a purpose and show them that it wasn’t for nothing.

Billy gave them a chance and an opportunity but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. There was still something missing.

And now, long after the funeral service had concluded, long after everyone had gone home and went their separate ways, it was just you and Billy left standing in silence. He had a lingering sadness in his eyes and his cheeks were flamed with anger as he tightly gripped your hand.

You wondered what he was thinking about, if anything at all and you tried to decide whether or not to say anything to him. You opted to just squeeze his hand and rest your head against his arm.

You had learned to be patient with Billy and he would talk when he was ready, which you hoped would be soon.

The silence on the ride home was deafening. There was no music or conversation, just the sound of the engine humming along and the traffic outside.

One corner of your mouth turned up into a slight smile when he reached for your hand in the car with his hand trembling slightly as it closed over yours.

Once inside the elevator, Billy began to loosen his tie and he unbuttoned the top buttons on his crisp white dress shirt.

You knew he’d never wear that shirt or tie again.

Your fingers were still cold and numb from being outside for so long. They were taking forever to warm up so you decided to make some tea and then you could warm your hands on the mug.

Billy sat with his eyes fixated on the dent in the wall, his long agile fingers scratched at the bristles of his beard as he took a deep breath and let out a long exhale.

The low sounds of the water churning and bubbling inside the tea kettle echoed throughout the penthouse and stopped suddenly when you filled his cup and it started to boil again when you set it down on the hot burner. After placing the mug in front of him, you turned to walk back to the kitchen for yours when he grabbed your wrist.

“Seventeen.” Whispered Billy.

You turned to face him but his gaze was directed down at the floor.

“Seventeen what, baby?” You asked.

Billy brought his gaze up to meet yours.

“Before today, I had been to 17 funerals.” He said with a hitch in his voice and a desolate look in his eyes.

You dropped to your knees so you could be eye level with him.

“Oh Billy…I can only imagine what this is like for you, burying your friends like this, I…I just wish I knew what to say. I wish I could take your pain away and put it someplace where you won’t feel it.” You said softly.

A sob rose in your throat and your eyes shined with unshed tears.

“But I can’t and I am so so sorry, baby. I know you process things like this in your own way but is there anything I can do? Anything?” You asked.

A slight smile stretched across his lips and his shoulders relaxed as he replied, “I could just use a hug…my sweet girl.”

You rose to your feet and pulled his head into your chest, held him tightly as your fingers raked through his raven colored hair and he snaked his arms around your torso. Billy squeezed you so tightly, you thought you heard your back crack as he let out a long exhale. You could feel his warm breath travel through the fabric of your shirt and forcefully hit your skin.

In his own way, Billy was starting to process his grief and you would hold him for as long as he needed you to. You knew he was grateful he didn’t have to go through this alone.

For a long time, he was scared that he would become just another statistic, a number on a piece of paper but he made a choice. Billy chose to be better and not feel sorry for himself even though it was easier to make excuses because of what happened to him as a child. It was easy to give into those inner demons that are always there and blame others, but Billy was a fighter, he was strong, and he would never give up.

He still had nights when the nightmares nearly suffocated him while he slept and the crushing grip they had over him where he kept trying to swim for land but he wasn’t getting any closer to shore. Those nights where he was strangled by his own screams broke your heart but you were never far away and you were able to soothe him, comfort him, and tell him that he was ok.

Wilcox’s nightmare was over but he would never have another one. He would never have another chance to have a better day after a rough night or to talk about it with fellow veterans that also struggled just like he did.

“Maybe if he had someone like you, baby. Maybe he’d still be here.” Said Billy.

Moving a stray hair that had tumbled into his eyes, you then sat down in his lap and continued to rake your nails against his scalp.

You kissed him on the forehead, smiled, and replied, “You give me too much credit, my love. I’m not sure I deserve it.”

“You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me, sweet girl. Life was a lot harder before you. I need you to know that.” He said, looking into your eyes.

Billy wiped the tracks of your tears away from your cheeks, inched closer to your face, and gently pressed his lips to yours.

As you brushed the bristles of his beard with your thumbs, you smiled and said, “I’ll always help you, Billy. I love you.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He said. “And…thank you.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @fictional-hooman @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialend @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 16

Part One Part Fifteen Link to Ao3. Part 17

So late but I needed to post this as soon as I was happy with it haha! Thank you to @stevethehairington for betaing and @thefreakandthehair for listening to my endless rambles

Step Sixteen: Fix What You Brea

Decorating a christmas tree was an interesting experience. 

It wasn’t like Eddie had never seen a tree before, it just wasn’t something he had ever personally done. Before living with Wayne, his parents had never stayed in one place long enough to have a tree, and after he moved in with Wayne, they both agreed that the money would be better spent on having a present for Eddie instead of a tree to just stare at. Eddie had always thought it would be kind of stupid anyway. What was the point? 

But decorating Steve’s tree was actually pretty enjoyable. 

Sure, Frank and Jeff were fighting over eating the popcorn string instead of hanging it up, and yeah, Jonathan kept making little side comments to Nancy about it that were almost a shade too sarcastic for comfort, but the air was filled with laughter, and Steve was directing him on where to put the important ornaments, so it wasn’t all bad. 

“What about this one?” Eddie asked, holding up a delicate glass design. It was shaped like a pair of ballet slippers, hanging on a pink ribbon that gleamed in the lights on the tree. 

This was the best part in Eddie’s opinion. Every single one of the ‘special’ ornaments had some story attached. A family anecdote or a tradition long held. Steve wasn’t on Eddie’s level of storytelling, but there was something incredibly cozy about holding out an ornament and listening to Steve tell the tale as they hung it up together. 

“That ones my mom’s,” Steve said, his voice inordinately warm as he took the ornament and leaned into Eddie’s space to place it on the right side of the tree almost all the way at the top. “She was a ballet dancer back in the day. The ribbon is from her first set of pointe shoes.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie said, looking closer. Sure enough the satin was too thick to be a traditional ribbon, and there were rips in it that had been sewn back together with pale pink thread. 

“Yeah. You have to replace pointe shoes every twenty hours of dancing or so, but my mom’s family never had much money, so she used hers until they were too broken to dance,” Steve explained, tracing his index finger down the side of the ribbon, his eyes far away somewhere Eddie couldn’t quite reach. 

Huh. 

It was strange to think of anyone in Steve’s family as anything but rich. The Harringtons were well known snobs, and although Eddie didn’t personally know Steve’s mom, he had definitely heard about her. Head of the PTA, head of the ladies auxiliary, head of the church prayer group. She was a socialite through and through. 

Initially Eddie had heard the word ‘ballet’ and imagined an uptight little prima in a sterile looking studio with starched white tutus and perfect form. Steve’s story had shifted that, and now Eddie’s mind was conjuring up images of a tiny girl practicing and practicing her steps with shoes that were tearing at the seams. A small child trying and trying to be as good as everyone else when the tools she was working with were nowhere near what everyone else got to have. 

The same way Eddie himself had practiced on his first guitar before he had started dealing and was able to afford his Warlock. 

“Why’d she stop dancing?” Eddie asked softly, suddenly desperate to know the answer. He needed to make the two images connect, needed to find the through line that could turn a poor kid who just wanted to dance into a formidable small town queen. 

“She married my dad,” Steve replied, giving the exact answer Eddie hadn’t wanted to hear. “They moved here, had my brother, and Mom didn’t need to work anymore. The back room used to be her studio, but my parents decided to make it a second office for my dad.”

Eddie bit his tongue, looking at the tree but avoiding the shimmering ballet slippers sitting on the branch above his head. 

Steve’s mom had been like him, then she married a rich guy, and gave up all the things that mattered for money. She had been just like him, once upon a time. 

Would that happen to Eddie? 

Was he turning into someone different now because of his crush on Steve? 

It wasn’t a completely lunatic idea. He was here decorating a tree, which is something he normally saw as completely arbitrary and useless. He was letting a jock into hellfire, and not just any jock but the King. 

Would being near Steve chip away at all of Eddie’s long held beliefs? Would he move backwards and backwards because of this idiotic infatuation, until his guitar was just an ornament on a tree? 

“Eddie?”

And then with just one look, Steve erased the entire idea. One flash of those big brown eyes and that little side quirk of his head, and Eddie is a goner. There was no way Steve would ever turn his partner into some cookie cutter perfect picket fence person, no planet on Earth where Steve wouldn’t love someone enough to love their weird bits too. This was Steve. 

And besides, it wasn’t even like Eddie was the kind of person that had a shot with Steve in the first place. For a lot of reasons. 

“Sorry, got lost in thought, Sweetheart,” Eddie said, crooking his mouth into a half smile and ignoring the panging ache of guilt crushing his chest. Steve’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned closer, letting his arm rest against Eddie’s. 

“Well, don’t go somewhere I can’t follow,” He murmured, the smell of his cologne and the feeling of his body sending Eddie into a tailspin. 

Just like before when their hands were joined and Steve’s warm breath was blowing across his frozen fingers, Eddie’s mind stuttered to a halt. The endless loops and running thoughts were stuck in place, held motionless by the enigma that was Steve Harrington. It was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at the same time, and Eddie needed to get away from it before he did something he couldn’t take back. 

“C’mon, we’ve still got work to do, lazy bones!” Eddie chirped, slipping away from Steve and practically jumping over to the box of carefully packaged decorations. He was so focused on escaping, that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings until it was a moment too late. 

At the same time Eddie picked up the next ornament, Jeff and Frank’s battle over the popcorn string reached its apex. Jeff let go of his side of the string, and Frank flew backwards. He barreled into Jonathan, who crashed into Nancy, who stumbled and bumped into Eddie just enough to make him lose his grip. 

The air was filled with the terribly delicate sound of breaking porcelain, and everything seemed to freeze in place. All six of them stared at the ground, where a tiny angel rested in three pieces where it had once been whole. 

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“We were just fucking around, but we shouldn’t have-”

“Steve, I’m so-”

Floods of apologies from the rest, but Eddie stayed silent. He was watching Steve like a hawk as he slowly bent down on one knee and began to collect the pieces of the broken ornament. 

Steve hadn’t said a word yet, but he was still saying plenty. His shoulders were almost at his ears, and his fingers were shaking as they tried to grab onto the porcelain remains. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were starting to take on an honestly terrifying shine, and his blinking was getting more and more rapid by the second. 

Eddie should have left it alone, should have given Steve space to collect himself, but he had never been good at leaving things be. So, knowing it was the wrong thing to do, Eddie knelt down by Steve and reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Sweetheart?” 

“It’s fine,” Steve instantly replied, a completely hollow smile materializing on his face as he continued to blink far too much. He leaned away from Eddie’s touch, a tiny jerky movement that put a twenty pound weight on Eddie’s chest. Steve scrambled upwards, cradling the broken ornament close to his heart as he continued to fake a smile. “It was an accident, Babydoll. No worries.”  

It was an accident, but that didn’t make it ‘fine’. Steve was obviously so far from fine, and even that little silly name wasn’t enough to assure Eddie of the lie. It actually made it worse, like Steve was trying to appease him, to make Eddie let it go, when he really didn’t think he should. 

“I’m gonna go see if we have superglue. It doesn’t look too bad,” Steve said to the entire group, still faking it. Unlike Eddie though, the rest were buying it, tension leaking out of them with relieved smiles and quiet sighs. “You guys finish up though, people will be here any minute.” 

And then he was gone, ducking into the kitchen and disappearing from view, leaving Eddie unmoored and unsure of where to go. Every fiber in his being wanted to chase after Steve, catch him alone and hope that he wouldn’t keep trying to hide, but he was stuck in place. Steve had leaned away, escaped as soon as he could, that had to be a sign that he didn’t want Eddie near him. 

Wasn’t it? 

“Nice job, butterfingers,” Frank joked, gently jabbing an elbow into Eddie’s ribs in an effort to lighten up the air around him. 

Eddie threw him a distracted smile, still staring at the doorway Steve had disappeared through and trying to ignore the part of him that was desparate to follow. 

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Nancy murmured to Jonathan, nearly inaudible over the sound of Jeff and Frank looking for a broom to get any remaining slivers of porcelain on the ground. Jonathan nodded with a quiet hum, kissing Nancy on the cheek before letting her go without even a word. 

Because it was oh so natural for an ex-girlfriend to leave her current boyfriend in the dust to go check on her ex-boyfriend. 

Eddie watched her perfect little curls bounce in their perfect little ringlets as she practically skipped out after Steve. Now Nancy was going to go in there and comfort Steve, act all sweet and soft and drag Steve into thinking that she cared when she was the one that had cheated. Hell, maybe they would even kiss, and she would have her hooks in Steve again. 

Why wasn’t Jonathan upset about this?!

… Why was Eddie so upset about this?

Eddie let his eyes slip shut, his breath escaping in one huge gust as he finally began to wilt. It wasn’t really any of his business. He and Steve were friends. That was all. If Steve wanted to kiss Nancy, then he would kiss her, and that wasn’t Eddie’s choice. All Eddie had was a fanciful crush, a ridiculous dream, a hope for something that he should never have let himself hope for. 

But still. 

“I’m gonna find a bathroom,” Eddie muttered to no one, slipping out of the room and carefully creeping down the hallway towards the kitchen. 

He could hear the indistinguishable sound of voices coming from the room ahead, the open door tempting him closer and closer for a taste of what Steve and Nancy were discussing. 

Was Eddie really doing this? 

Yes. Yes he was. 

Resolved, Eddie leaned against the hidden side of the doorway, letting his head hit the wall as he shut his eyes and focused on eavesdropping. 

“-really don’t want to talk about it, Nancy,” Steve said, sounding utterly exhausted as cupboards opened and slammed shut. 

“Okay,” Nancy relented, clearly not happy to let the subject go, “let’s talk about the other thing?”

Other thing?

“Other thing?” Steve asked. Eddie bit back a snicker, his heart fluttering at the way Steve had mirrored him without even knowing it. 

“You invited Eddie?”

The humor instantly fled, rushing out of the hallway along with all of the oxygen, leaving Eddie dizzy and struggling to breathe. His indulgent smile soured into a scowl, and his hands curled into tight fists. 

It was the tone. That tone that Eddie had heard his whole life. The condescending, lower-than-me, dirt on the shoes of society tone. It was the kind of thing that girls like Nancy could use because they lived in perfect two story houses on cul-de-sacs, and Eddie was trailer trash from the bad side of town. 

Well fuck her. Fuck Nancy Wheeler and her stupid perfect life, and fuck her for hating him just for existing. Eddie could hate her right back. He had hating the conventional down to a science, an art form almost. He was brilliant at striking first, and he had half a mind to walk in there and tear her down a few notches, just for the fun of it.  

“What is your problem with him?” 

Eddie stopped in his tracks, blinking his eyes open and staring in shock at the wall in front of him, watching Steve’s shadow turn to face Nancy’s. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Nancy scoffed. 

“Obviously you do, Nance,” Steve shot back, crossing his arms  “Eddie’s a good guy. They’re my friends.” 

A good guy. 

It wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation or anything, but the words and the protectiveness in Steve’s voice was doing terrible wonderful things to Eddie’s stomach. His fingers were still burning from being held by Steve before, and now his brain was on fire too, caught in the blaze that was Steve damn Harrington. 

“I… I just think he might be trouble,” Nancy admitted softly, quickly continuing when she heard Steve’s inhale of interjecting, “and not in the way you’re thinking! I promise.”

A long silence, one that gave Eddie too much time to think, one that left too much room for endless questions with zero answers. 

What kind of trouble did Nancy think Eddie was dragging Steve into? What would Eddie do that she was so scared of? Did she really care that much about Steve’s reputation? Steve didn’t even care about it anymore! 

Was she scared for her brother? Why was all of this so damn cryptic?

“In what way?” Steve finally asked, and Eddie leaned in, needing the answer.

“Just-” Nancy cut herself off with a frustrated little sound, and her shadow eclipsed Steve as she stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around his shoulders. 

“If you ever need to talk. About anything. Me and Jonathan are here. We would never judge you for anything. You know that right?” 

Eddie barely heard it, the words muffled between the two bodies, but he heard Steve’s soft chuckle, and saw the way his shadow arms wrapped around Nancy.

Even just an image of them on the wall looked so… right. 

It made a small part of Eddie die inside. 

He closed his eyes once, hating the burn that was already there waiting. He shouldn’t have come over and listened. He shouldn’t have done any of this. But as Eddie took a step back to walk to the living room with his tail tucked between his legs, Nancy spoke again. 

“And you need to tell them about El before she gets here.”

El?

Who was El? 

“Shit, you’re right,” Steve sighed, pulling away from Nancy, “I totally forgot.”

“Do you remember the story?”

“Nancy I’m the one that came up with it,” Steve said, annoyance tinging his voice, “I remember the story.”

Story? 

Eddie was definitely eavesdropping about something bigger than relationship woes now, and the mystery of it all dug right into his soft spot, pulling him away from his aching heart and tugging him forward with a desperate need to know more. 

This was the thing that Wayne always tried to warn him about. Eddie’s need to know everything was always getting him in trouble, and he had heard plenty of times about what curiosity did to cats. 

That was all true… but the thing that Wayne always seemed to forget was that satisfaction brought that cat back. 

“It’s important that we get this right, Steve. You know what-”

But whatever Steve knew, Eddie didn’t seem destined to hear it. As he leaned closer, intent on catching every word, he overbalanced, tripping over his own feet and slamming his entire body against the other side of the doorway, coming into full view of both of them. Steve and Nancy both jolted, pulling away from each other and staring at Eddie with slack jaws and wide eyes. 

Fuck. 

“This is what I get for never tying my shoes,” Eddie joked awkwardly, trying to be casual as he straightened up and let out the world’s worst fake laugh. His brain was racing, running as fast as it could to come up with any rational reason for him being there besides eavesdropping. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing. He didn’t even seem to catch what was going on, but Nancy was practically glaring, her lips pursed in quiet fury. 

“I’m fine, Sweetheart,” Eddie reassured him, ignoring Nancy’s look in favor of focusing all of his attention on Steve. If he played it right, then Nancy calling him out would just look like she was against him, which Steve had already tried to stop. 

He wasn’t being manipulative. This was just strategy, the same kind of strategic thinking that any dungeon master worth their salt would employ. It was improv, a game, an act. Nothing bad. Nothing wrong. 

So why was guilt creeping cold fingers down Eddie’s spine? 

“What do you want?” Nancy asked, clearly trying to go for nonchalant but coming off completely cold with her crossed arms and flat inflection. It wasn’t working in her favor if Steve’s quick sharp look was anything to go by, and Eddie did his best not to preen under Steve’s protection. 

“Drinks? The boys were wondering if you had anything stronger than eggnog,” Eddie wondered, coming up with his excuse on the fly. It would work. Frank was never one to turn down a stiff drink, especially if it came loaded with whatever ridiculously expensive alcohol the Harringtons were keeping stashed away here. 

Nancy tossed her hair over his shoulder, raising a single brow as her expression stayed firmly unimpressed. It made Eddie want to squirm in place, but he held firm, meeting her head on. 

“You know there’s gonna be kids at this party, right?” Nancy said, her voice a little less frosty, but a hell of a lot more condescending. “And the chief of police.”

Eddie bristled, opening his mouth to tell her exactly where Hopper could stick it, but Steve intervened before he could. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little,” Steve offered in a mediating tone, already moving towards one of the high cabinets and starting to open it. “But just one before they get here. Last thing I need is the brats trying to convince me they’re old enough for whiskey.” 

“Jack and Coke? Or are you spoiling me with the good stuff?” Eddie asked, possibly laying it on an inch too thick, but unable to help it when Steve was giving him that fondly annoyed side eye. 

“We do not drink the good stuff as a mixed beverage,” Steve lectured, grabbing a fat bottle from behind a box on the shelf and bringing it down, “but I think breaking out the crown wouldn’t be amiss.”

“A crown for a king!” Eddie crowed, taking the bottle of Crown Royal from Steve and wiggling his eyebrows. Steve huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head at Eddie’s antics and turning towards the fridge. 

“Here, Nance,” Steve said absentmindedly, holding out a bottle of coke for her, “take that inside and you guys can make your own before everyone else gets here. I’ll be in once I find the glue.” 

“Why don’t I help you?” Eddie blurted out, his mouth moving before his mind even caught up with what he was saying. 

“Oh, sure,” Steve agreed, still distracted as he began to root around in cupboards. 

“You’ll be needing this,” Eddie said sweetly, offering up the bottle to Nancy as she walked past him. 

Nancy’s eyes narrowed impossibly further, and she let out a short sigh, taking the bottle of alcohol with a vicious little swipe and striding out of the room. Eddie watched her go, barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her retreating form. 

He had won. That was what mattered. 

Did Eddie even know what he had won? No, but he still felt like he did. 

Once it was just the two of them, Eddie’s hackles began to slowly lower. There was no need to be on guard when it was just him and Steve. He idly twirled around the kitchen table, leaning against the counter on the other side of the kitchen and looking around the room with distracted curiosity. He had been in the kitchen before, but never really cared enough to explore the details. 

Now every fridge magnet was a new discovery, and the way that the spices were lined up on the rack was information that seemed important. But the most interesting thing in the kitchen was the angel on the counter right by Eddie’s fingers. 

It was a pretty thing, delicate, but somehow still beautiful, even in parts. The sculpted wings were curled around the figure of a little boy, kneeling with his hands cupped over a star. At the bottom of the ornament was the name ‘Jaime’ in ornate script. 

Jaime. 

“Who’s Jaime?” Eddie wondered aloud. He had mostly been talking to himself, but his words caused Steve to stop short, flying around from the drawer he had been searching through and whirl around to face Eddie.

“Where did you…” Steve trailed off, noticing the angel. He wilted like a dying flower, biting at the inside of his cheek as he turned his back to Eddie, returning to the drawer of odds and ends. 

“Jaime’s my brother,” Steve said shortly. 

Eddie’s shoulders were starting to tighten, but he pushed through the feeling. It wasn’t a rejection, or an outright refusal to speak. Steve was just being cagey, secretive the way he sometimes was. 

Eddie could crack that. 

“Ah, yes, the elusive mystery brother,” He joked, putting on a fake accent and bopping over to Steve’s side, bumping against him in an effort to get Steve smiling again. “Will the elder Harrington sibling be making an appearance at tonight’s festivities?” 

Maybe if he was, Eddie would get some answers. Reasons for the panic attack at the Hideout, or some details on the mysterious ‘El’. The possibility of unraveling another part of Steve was enticing, coaxing Eddie further down the rabbit hole. 

“Um…”

Just like that the curiosity was gone. Instantly killed by the way Steve’s adams apple was starting to bob, and the sharp shaking inhale that went along with it. Eddie’s heart fell to his feet, and his fingers felt cold for the first time since Steve had touched him. 

“I was just kidding around. You don’t have to-” Eddie began.

“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted, still worrying his lip as his eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere but at Eddie. He was gearing up, trying to find what he wanted to say or maybe trying to force it out. Either way, Eddie was going to be frozen in place until Steve was ready to speak. 

“Jaime um… Jaime died,” Steve finally managed, the word practically shooting out of his mouth the second he was done choking on it. 

It was like being dunked in a freezing cold shower and tossed out in the snow. Not only had Eddie forced Steve into talking about his dead brother, he had broken the ornament obviously meant to commemorate him. 

If he had a gun, he would be pushing it up against his temple. Nope. Even that wouldn’t be enough. 

“Fuck,” Eddie hissed out, wishing he could just shut his damn mouth for once, but he was too keyed up to stay quiet. The apology was worthless, but it was already spilling out of his mouth, vomiting itself up, “Steve, I-”

“Really, it’s fine,” Steve insisted, busying himself with looking for the glue. “How could you know? Besides, he died before I was born, so…”

“So?” Eddie prompted, not really sure where Steve was going with that. 

Steve said ‘so’ like that meant it didn’t matter, but from just one glance Eddie knew how much this did. Steve, who was one of the most open people Eddie knew, was hunched over, practically trying to disappear from Eddie’s gaze, hiding away whatever emotions were trying to push themselves up to the surface, demanding to be felt. 

“So- I don’t know,” Steve said, cutting himself off with a sigh. He held up the tiny bottle of superglue, walking over to the other side of the counter, his back to Eddie again. “But it’s my mom’s favorite ornament, and she would get really upset if she came home and it was broken,”

Steve gave a tiny laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, the tip of his finger running over the edge of the wing like it had run over the satin of the ballet slipper ribbon. 

“Not that I even know when she’s coming home again,” He whispered, the bitterness in the words so heavy that it was sitting on Eddie’s tongue. 

It was just wrong. Eddie had never heard Steve sound so beaten down, even in the parking lot the other night. This was somehow worse than just watching Steve shake through an unseen panic that he couldn’t control. 

But, unlike that night, Eddie could do something about this. So, rather than satisfy his own curiosity, Eddie put his needs to the side. 

“Can I?” Eddie asked, holding out his hand for the glue and the angel. “I work on miniatures all the time. I’m super steady.” 

Steve looked down at the hand outstretched toward him, then up at Eddie. A long slow look that went deep in Eddie, making him want to squirm with how far it was going. 

Then, finally, Steve relented. He handed over the pieces and hopped up onto the counter, watching Eddie like a hawk. 

Eddie immediately went to work, bending his head close to the angel and narrowing his eyes as he carefully glued first the broken wing on, and then the small corner of the name plaque. He held both in a firm but soft grip, balancing the ornament effortlessly between his hands as he waited for the glue to bond the pieces back together. And, as he did all of that, he worked up the courage to say what he was thinking. 

“You know it’s okay, right?” Eddie whispered, unable to make his voice any louder. 

“What is?” Steve whispered back, just as quiet. 

“If you aren’t okay,” Eddie replied, braving a quick glance up at Steve’s face. 

It was the wrong thing to do. The blank look of utter shock on Steve’s face was painful, hurting Eddie inside in a place he didn’t even know existed. 

All at once Eddie was sure that he was the first person to ever tell Steve such a thing, and that was just… too much. It was too much pressure, too much potential to fuck it up and hurt Steve even more, too much of a chance that Eddie would say the wrong thing. 

But it was also too much to not be sure Steve knew that it was the absolute truth. 

“You’re allowed to not be okay,” Eddie said, gently placing the repaired angel in Steve’s palm. 

Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[jacklynchh]

Wildflowers & Honey • Self-Para

Spring, 2018.

"What's that?"

"It's a beehive!"

There was a moment of silence in which Jack set down his coffee, trying to decide whether or not to question it. Grace offered no further explanation and just continued hauling boxes of unfamiliar equipment through the door, humming happily to herself.

"When you said you were going to pick up a few things, I thought you meant groceries," he said finally, deciding to get ahead of… whatever this was.

She grinned at him.

"I got groceries too."

It was a thing she did. He should be used to it by now, really. Grace would hear about some new hobby or craft and for the next few months it became Her Thing. Sometimes they stuck, knitting and pottery were particular favourites, but most of the time after a while she'd get bored and move on to the next. It was the reason they had a closet full of basket weaving materials that hadn't been touched in two years.

"Okay," Jack said, and then, "Should I ask?"

"Well, Heather from pilates was telling me about this amazing local group that runs all these courses on self-sufficience. You know like growing your own produce, animal care, foraging, and-"

"Beekeeping," he finished with a sigh.

"Exactly! And I figured we already grow our own stuff, and since we don't have enough space for a chicken coop, then this is the next best thing." She straightened up and dusted her hands off. "I thought it could be a cool thing to do together, you know? And think how great it would be to be able to make our own honey. You could sell it at the market with everything else."

She joined him by the kitchen island, swiping his unguarded mug to take a sip. There was a twinkle of joy in her eyes and she looked so pleased with herself that any half formed protests he had died on Jack's lips.

"Do we have to get a license or something?"

"There's a register and a small fee, but it's only like ten dollars."

"And the course?"

"We can afford it."

Another heavy sigh and he gave in. "Fine, but if I get stung you're never gonna hear the end of it."

"I think I can live with that," she said, smiling as she leaned into his side.

Present day.

There was a swarm hanging from his mailbox. Not the most helpful thing in the world, considering Jack had come out to see if anything had been delivered yet. A gentle buzzing noise filled the air and a few lone rangers were flying haphazardly above the main cluster, looking for places to land. The bees seemed relatively calm, so he just stood there for a moment debating what to do.

The sight of them had sparked a memory he hadn't thought about in years; Grace coming home and declaring them soon-to-be beekeepers. She'd been so excited about it at the time. He remembered wondering whether it was something they'd end up sticking to or give up on two classes in—they'd never had a chance to find out. Her diagnosis had come in only a couple of weeks after she'd signed them up.

He still had the hive though. It was sitting in the potting shed, hidden behind a pile of old tools and a wheelbarrow, alongside a whole collection of other seemingly vital beekeeper's equipment that he didn't know all that much about using.

It would be stupid to dig it out now, wouldn't it? Pointless. He should just call someone to come and get them, be done with it. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But they'd chosen to stop here. And his garden was full of pollinator plants. And he could see Grace's fucking smile-

Fifteen minutes later, he had his phone lodged between his shoulder and his ear as he tugged the hive out from its hiding box. It was still in relatively good condition, all things considered.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got frames too. Everything, I think. How soon can you be here?"

Only in Blue Harbor could he have found a qualified beekeeper not fifteen minutes away totally willing to help a complete stranger catch an absconded swarm. He hung up, proceeding to pull out one of the old suits stored away with everything else, feeling ridiculous as he climbed into it. It was insane, wasn't it? To see your dead wife in a swarm of fucking bees and, what, decide to keep them because of that?

And yet here he was. Oh well. He'd done it now. Might as well just accept his fate.

[hypnoneghoul]

Mushy May Day 15. Standing up for them - Dew/Everyone

WC: 1065

Copia makes a mistake by yelling at Dewdrop.

Notes: Sorry I made Copia an asshole, needed to for this one, I am (typically) team Copia loves his ghouls. It also doesn’t match the prompt that well, but it was actually a neglected wip and I wanted to make it work with today’s prompt.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Today’s practice was going totally and absolutely awful.

At first only for Dewdrop, but his sour, upset scent started affecting everyone, as well as that new fucking Cardinal and all his speeches and reprimands.

Dewdrop, who had a serious fucking issue to deal with, having undergone a whole elemental change barely two weeks prior, could barely stand or think, so very far from recovering. 

Yet the Cardinal didn’t care.

There was no doubt about his stand, that being he was an ignorant asshole, as he conducted the elemental changing ritual on Dewdrop himself and was well aware of his both mental and physical fragile, at best, state.

“Ghoul, did you practise even a minute in the last weeks?” the Cardinal hissed, just as Dewdrop’s fingers fumbled over the frets in one of the newer song’s solo, again. It was, approximately, the third time he yelled at the poor ghoul in the span of the last fifteen minutes, and Dew was on the verge of breaking down. ”Do you seriously care so little about the upcoming tour and-”

“Shut your fucking mouth already!” Aether growled, or more like screamed growling, and the whole room went quiet, filled with a buzz of the amps only.

“Ghoul, how dare you speak to me-” the Cardinal said after getting over his total shock at Aether’s outburst. Not only the human was shocked, all the ghouls were, Dewdrop the most.

Aether never got angry.

Aether never yelled.

“First of all, I have a name, you know,” the quintessence ghoul announced, putting his guitar down and slowly approaching the Cardinal. “We all do, actually, and the least you could do is fucking learn them.”

The Cardinal was now terrified, realising that an actual Hell Beast, a demon, was mad at him. While it would spur on any other ghoul, Aether didn’t care about the human’s fear, he wanted him to understand.

“Second of all, Dewdrop here,” Aether motioned his head in Dew’s general direction, not breaking eye contact with the Cardinal, “was fucking destroyed by you, your stupid idea, because for some reason you thought that a water ghoul just couldn’t play lead. You have zero idea what you did, stupid human.”

The quintessence ghoul was now towering over the Cardinal, his barred fangs just mere inches before his face. He could rip his throat out in a moment, and everyone present knew that perfectly well. The rest of the ghouls abandoned their instruments, ready to aid their packmate should it be needed.

“You better not expect me, or Dewdrop to do fucking anything for you, you filthy rat,” Aether hissed having his hands clasped behind his back, barely containing himself from actually killing the man. “And when you realise we are not your tools, your toys, then maybe, just maybe, we can cooperate someday. For now, don’t you fucking dare even look in Dewdrop’s direction again, or you won’t look at anything else ever again, as I will claw out your disgusting eyes.”

Aether straightened then, the Cardinal shaking, frozen in place. The Quintessence ghoul turned on his heel, getting back to Dew. He stood mouth agape and eyes wide at this display of Aether’s protectiveness over him, his love for him, holding back tears. He took the bigger ghoul’s outstretched hand and let himself be guided out of the rehearsal room.

The Cardinal partially regained his composure after a few minutes, the rest of the ghouls still not moving from their spots, “I- I think the rest of us should-”

“Fuck, you’re such an idiot,” Swiss laughed, getting down from his platform, predatory spark in his eyes and all his shiny fangs on full display. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, if not by Aeth, then me.”

Swiss shook his head at the human’s stupidity and walked up to Rain, grabbing his hand to get to the door. 

“Be careful around the water, now,” the water ghoul leaned down to whisper into the Cardinal’s ear as they walked past him. “You never know who commands it.”

And then both Swiss and Rain were gone, the Cardinal’s heart beating so loud he barely heard the threat. He was still stuck in place when the two air ghoulettes moved from behind the keyboards, walking down the stairs in his direction.

“You don’t even realise how easy it would be for you to suffocate in your sleep, do you?” Cirrus growled, head tilted to the side, sparks of rage in her yellow eyes.

“Would be a terrible shame,” Cumulus sighed, gifting the Cardinal with the sweetest smile.

And then they were gone too.

The Cardinal let out a breath he didn’t really realise he was holding, forgetting about one of the ghouls lingering in the shadows of the practice stage. He turned his back to it, frantically wiping his face with his hand, as if it could wake him up from this dream-like event.

He didn’t notice the earth ghoul creeping up behind him until a massive hand on his throat turned him back around.

Mountain lifted the Cardinal up, just enough that he barely kept his toes on the ground, and he still had 20 inches on the human, partially letting go of his glamour.

“You choose your next steps very wisely now, Cardinal,” the earth ghoul hissed, eyes glowing bright green. “Don’t think about running with it to Imperator. She cannot send us back to Hell all at once and believe me, I will not hesitate to turn the whole Abbey to sand if either you or anyone else even thinks about doing something to hurt any of my pack. You live on credit after what you did to Dewdrop, and the next mistake will be your last.”

Mountain squeezed the Cardinal’s throat just enough for him to lose consciousness for a moment, and dropped him to the floor, himself leaving the room.

He made his way to the common room, coming across an already formed cuddle pile, Dew being squeezed between Aether and Rain in the middle. Mountain knelt before the small ghoul overwhelmed with the love his pack had for him, and cupped his cheek with one of his hands, “You’re safe, Dewdrop.”

“We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, you know,” Rain whispered into his ear, the little ghoul chirping happily.

“I know,” he sighed. “Thank you. For standing up for me and protecting me.”

“Always,” six ghouls replied.

[learningsanctum]

May 8th, 2024

DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to offend anyone, this is only my complex and conflicting journey to connect myself to my culture.

Why am I ashamed?

What am I ashamed of?

Growing up my parents ultimate goal was to move to the USA, they told me "the green card makes your life easier". All they wanted was to make more money so they could afford a better education for me.

I went to private schools for as long as they could pay it for me and they still couldn't put Brazilian private schools on the same level of USA public schools.

They had me having English lessons for years. "English is the most spoken language in the world" my father said "you have to know English to be successful". And I was an impressionable child with corporate dreams to pursue, so I committed to the bit.

Soon enough I started writing in English.

Then, one of our acquaintances made it to the USA. He made the dream real, solid, reachable. We had hopes for a better life.

In one of our Skype calls he told me the weirdest - and most wonderful - part was the "dreaming in English", as he put it, when after a long day speaking the language you couldn't help but dream on it too.

In my mind, then, it clicked: the more English I consume the more native I become.

A though.

Everything always starts with a thought.

One damn thought.

It was what it took to put me on the road to self-hatred and to make me detach myself from my culture. All it took for me to segregate all the culture available to me- to categorize and "villainize" my culture as a whole. Music, poetry, movies, soap operas, everything was inferior if compared to the big nation.

My cellphone settings were changed to English and I proudly carried around the fact I spoke the language as a badge. I was over the moon when I first read USA texts and could understand them.

For long - too long in my opinion - I was the "English girl" I knew about stuff kids from my country around my age didn't because I would spend a lot of time on forums and alike consuming media like I was about to move to there any moment. I molded my personality to fit their standards so I wouldn't be a fish out of water once I got there.

I found friends who spoke English and taught the ones who didn't so we would speak it in school. A way to talk bad about someone in front of them. A way to mock teachers at the same time they would compliment us for being - god help me, this one will always haunt me - "way ahead of the other children our age". If I could go back and make they take it back...

American high school was the dream to be achieved.

So long being superior, knowing more, quoting Edgar Alan Poe.

"The higher you step, the bigger is the fall".

I didn't go to the USA.

Never even traveled by plane 'till this day.

And in no time, the lack of knowledge of my culture started to catch up with me.

High school took a tool on me. Of all the problems I had probably the frustration of being in Brazil was the biggest of them. Classes weren't interesting because they weren't in English. I didn't have to change classrooms every period and I wouldn't get my driver's license by sixteen. I didn't have a locker. There are no lockers on Brazilian high school.

I was devastated and fought furiously with my - this guy is a saint, I swear, watch it - Portuguese teacher. Professor, actually, he had a doctorate if I remember correctly. Me, a fifteen years or something old fighting a doctor on how Joaquim Machado de Assis is not "good literature". In my head, back then, it wasn't even literature worthy.

God, if I knew back then.

I wasn't "the prodigy" anymore. I was just rebellious. At everything. Closed in the trap I designed to myself and unable to connect with other teenager.

It wasn't until lockdown that I started to feel a certain need to be a proud Brazilian citizen. Not for politics, economy or raising poverty rates. Those are always present and I was never aware to them. There wasn't time to pay attention to my country's situation if my dream was a white picket fence house instead of a big terrain with a gate or bars and electronic security system.

With TikTok came the trends, and even in my self spite I couldn't help but keep my social medias American.

Call it irony if you will but it was an USA trend with a Russian song that brought me back to my roots. Or at least helped me question my actions towards my country.

"I'm just a simple Russian girl, I've got vodka in my veins, so I dance with brown bears and my soul is torn apart."

I stopped and then thought "after everything I have done and I am still not American enough. I will never be a USA citizen" and then "but I am American" and I was in shock. Because I always have been American. Not USA but Brazilian. Sharing the same America with them. Living on the same America they do.

Such a line of thought, however controversial, made me think that if I were to make an edit to this trend what could I use to refer to Brazil?

Making me follow all the way to the question I dreaded the most: "what do I love about Brazil? what is it that even makes me Brazilian after so long hiding from my nationality?"

To be completely honest I was stupefied by how quick the culture flowed in my blood and I realized:

I don't need Little Red Riding Hood. I have the Saci.

We don't have the big white house but we have a fucking palace in our capital.

I want to play games with Narizinho, Pedrinho and Emília at the Yellow Woodpecker farm.

I want to draw in any sheet a yellow sun burning bright.

I can read Capitães de Areia instead of Lord of Flies.

And I should study more about the anti-asylum movement and read about Barbacena's tragedy documented by Daniela Arbex in her GENIUS book Brazilian Holocaust instead of hearing more and more about the USA "gun problem" or "cameras on police officers' clothes".

I don't mean it as disrespectful or unimportant but I had spent so many time trying to reach the outside, the exterior, that I never once looked around to see the wonderful culture surrounding me.

The soccer, the music, the dance- God, I want to try capoeira before I die, I want to travel to see the Cataratas do Iguaçu and I want to truly understand my ancestors and the explosion of ethnics and cultures my country has to share.

And as the thoughts came and went I realized that I love being Brazilian.

"Festa de Ipanema, meu amor" - Movie: Rio, 2011.

Carnival, axé, samba, pagode, I want to dance.

Mônica, Cebolinha, Cascão, Magali, Chico Bento, I want to live at Limoeiro street.

O Auto da Compadecida (A Dog's Will), - and even Minha mãe é uma peça - it's a comedy I can laugh to with no effort, I can understand the accent and from which region of my country it comes from and I can relate to the joke.

Carolina Maria de Jesus is my Anne Frank.

Coconut, avocado, passion fruit, lime, mango, melon, cashew are not "exotic" foods, those are natural fruits I find with "seu" João at the small vending at the end of the block.

My fruits, my music, my tragedies, my country.

I still accepting this reality. But I don't want to be ashamed to put, even if under a username, in my bio, description or whatever that I am Brazilian.

It's part of who I am.

It's reality is not perfect but it's mine.

I'm not ever giving it up again without a fight.

[corneille-but-not-the-author]

Night in

I remember few things from when I was younger. Countless lessons and hours spent wandering, reading, just existing. Life was without passion, at that time, without love for anything.

Even though my father was the son of Love, he never had any feelings towards me.

He coerced my mother into making me. She had to care for me after that, and it killed her.

My father was a brutal man. Sometimes he would scream, he would strike her. Never me. He never, ever, tried to do anything to me. And I never understood why.

Maybe it all comes down to this night, when he brought me to his laboratory. When he showed me his researches, with a proud eye, and a broad smile.

At that time I was seven. I just had my first psychotic breakdown. I almost killed a priest in the cathedral, lunged unto him and stabbed him two times.

In this moment something changed in the eyes of my father. I was no longer a mere spawn. I was his son. And he smiled at me. And he brought me to his laboratory.

We stayed here the entire night, and all of the nights after that, until I was fifteen. He would explain to me his plans, he would explain to me everything. I felt valued.

He would smile and tell me those breakdowns are normal. That I should not be afraid of them. That people are inferior to us, that their death is inevitable.

At that time, while we started working to create a medicine that would help with those breakdowns, I thought maybe, just maybe, he loved me.

When I discovered this political system, republicanism, he seemed concerned. But then, he encouraged me.

"If we work together, we can make it work", he said.

"Just like the breakdowns, everything has a cure. Poverty, disease, corruption."

When I reached fifteen, he gave me my first birthday gift. A sword, that I should use only for our common benefit. Otherwise, it would remain seathed.

So I trained and I trained. I devoted my life for our common plan.

I never came back to the laboratory, after this. No time to do it, and the medecine was created, so what was the point ?

It was were he would cut my hair when they were getting too long.

Where we would talk and I would consider him my father.

Surely, such a place was of no importance.

Because he never, ever, even for a split second, loved me. And now, i know that.

Those smiles where just lies. Ways of shaping me into his tool.

...

"I love you, Faloi. You're the only one I care about in this mess of a world. And i want you yo know that."

Lies.