#trying to prove a point to my idiot brain

[yieldtotemptation]

EASY ft. Yunjin

yunjin x male reader smut

6k words

“Oh, you’re an idiot,” Yunjin decides, stealing yet another one of your fries. “My best friend is an idiot.”

You pull the bowl out of her reach, feeling the need to defend yourself, “You're really calling me an idiot because—”

“Because you have the completely insane opinion that jerking yourself off is better than getting a blowjob. What is wrong with you?”

“They’re overrated! Number of times I’ve cum from a blowjob—zero. Number of times I’ve cum from my own hand—probably thousands!”

“Okay, first—gross, and second—you’re not just an idiot. You are a sad, sad man.”

“I’m just being honest!”                      

Yunjin reaches over, snatches yet another fry. Waves it in front of your face, judging you, before reaching some kind of consensus in her unreasonably pretty head. “You only think that because you've never had a good one.”

“I've had plenty.”

Yunjin's eyes narrow. She crunches.

You swallow hard.

“But you've never had one from me.”

—

Look, you’re pretty sure Yunjin’s full of shit. You’ve known her forever, you’re well versed in her bullshitting ways—she’s got a penchant for stretching out the truth until it’s as elastic as the underwear strap that she just loves to leave sticking out of her jeans.

So, yeah. The girl likes to exaggerate. It’s kind of her job anyway. Make things seem bigger, more dramatic than they really are. Sell the idea of heaven in a three-minute pop song. Sweet lies from lips painted to perfection.

Plump, glossy, pillowy-soft lips that you’ve seen pout and purse and get trapped between her teeth or swiped over by her tongue and—

You get the picture.

“Seriously, the bathroom?” You’re asking, and honestly, you’re trying to give her an out. Waiting for her to take it back, reveal that this is all just an extremely unfunny prank, designed to needle you, make you blush and maybe get a good story to embarrass you in front of her friends with. How she left the silly, naïve hometown boy with his pants around his ankles and his dick in his hand.

Any time now, she’ll point and laugh and make you feel like even more of a fucking idiot when she says, ‘I can’t believe your dumb ass actually followed me in here expecting a blowjob,’ and that’ll be the end of it.

Really. Any time now.

And yet.

Silence as she closes the door behind her, which you feel the need to break with, “Come on, Yunjin, you don’t have to prove anything—"

Yunjin cuts you off—“Oh, but I want to.”

She spins on her heels to face you. Presses her back flush against the door. She turns the lock.

Something in the room shifts. 

Her posture, maybe, or more specifically something in her legs. The way she’s angled herself so that your eyes are drawn to their long creamy expanse, up to the tightness of her thighs, and the way they frame the juncture in between.

Or it’s in the drop of one single shoulder; her half-zipped hoodie sliding down to reveal a sliver of smooth neck, the falling strap of her tank-top, the gentle swell of her chest.

Or maybe it’s just the tilt of her head, her lips all pouty and perfect, and oh, now she’s unzipping the jacket further down and she’s watching you find out in real time that she’s left her midriff bare and uncovered and holy shit her abs are ridiculous and your brain is blue-screening—

This isn’t the Yunjin you know.

The friend, the confidant, the embarrassingly loud chatterbox who raids your fridge and roasts your clothes and has a running commentary on every single woman that enters and very quickly leaves your orbit.

Each ticking second, each subtle movement, she’s starting to look less and less like the girl from your childhood and more and more like the idol that everyone else seems desperate to worship.

She takes a step forward.

Your mouth feels paper-dry.

You lie, “Can’t say you’re off to a great start, then.”

Yunjin raises a perfect brow, and yeah, she doesn’t buy that shit for a second. “What, were you expecting somewhere with a little more ambiance?”

“Well, you’re setting yourself up for failure here,” you retort, some defence mechanism causing you to try to keep things casual, bring it back to more familiar, banter-heavy waters. “Toilets aren’t really a turn-on for me.” 

“Didn’t take you for a romantic,” she teases, but something about her tone—light, playful, less biting than usual, sends you in a tailspin. Your mind grinds to a halt when you realise why. She’s not simply teasing. She’s flirting. And she’s taking another step.

“What can I say, I’m a love before lust kind of guy.”

Yunjin just laughs, something foreign and a little bit wicked. Forces a chill down your spine that you can’t quite explain. She makes those final steps, closing the distance, backing you up against the row of sinks, and—fuck.

She stops right in front of you. Your heart races. You think she can hear it thump.

“Am I making you nervous?” She asks, and it’s all kinds of fucked because now you’re seeing the details; the flecks of honey-brown escaping the coloured contacts that make her eyes pop, the curls at the end of her lashes, reaching out to touch the fluorescent lights overhead. “The thought of my pretty lips wrapped around you putting you on edge?”

And you really thought you knew her mouth; but now she’s jutting out her bottom lip, and it’s fuller than you remembered. As dangerously red as her hair, and Jesus Christ you catch the tremble in them when her eyes flicker down for just a brief instant—right before they return to yours.

She grins.

You aim for unaffected. You miss the mark by a wide margin. "Just don’t want to disappoint you. Putting all this effort in only to be proven wrong by me. Again.”

Yunjin gives you a pitying sigh in response, the sound all honey and smoke, and she makes you flinch when she barely has to move a muscle to place a single finger on your sternum.

She draws a lazy circle on your chest. You hate that you shiver.

“Something tells me that won't be the case,” she’s saying, whisper-quiet now. The circle she’s drawing gets wider, turns into a spiral, and now she’s massaging into your chest, a hand over your heart, and her fingers are getting higher until they’re up to your shoulder, and she’s leaning in so her breath is hot on your neck, and—“It’s going to be filthy. Sloppy. A fucking mess. You’ll never be the same. I’m going to bring you to your knees.”

“I thought the whole idea of this was for you to be kneeling in front of me,” you manage, by some miracle, to keep your voice steady. “Seems like you’re getting ahead of yourself here.”

“All in due time,” she answers, getting her body closer, and you can feel your worser impulses start to involuntarily close the gap between your waists. “I’m not like those other girls. I’m not going to just jump right on your cock and bounce up and down for two minutes. I think you’ve earned yourself a little torture.”

“Then you’re wasting your time.”

“We’ll see about that,” she chides, and her other hand starts to skate down your chest, lower and lower until it stops just short of your pants. Her thumb digs into your waistband. Tugs. Does nothing else.

And maybe there's something there. The denial. The torture. The helplessness. Coming from someone who's always been a little bossy, who you've always let get her way because, hell, she's Yunjin, and she always promised that in the end she'd make it so nice for you.

You’re not sure if you want to find out.

“Yunjin—”

“Don’t be afraid,” she giggles, breaking you out of whatever spell has kept you frozen in place this entire time. “Go ahead, you can touch me too, if you want.”

But it's just as you reach out for her that you’re caught.

Yunjin traps one of your wrists in her grasp, causing you to freeze up all over again. Brings your hand to her mouth. Let’s her eyes flit once—to your face—and again—to your thumb.

She sucks.

Slow, deep, her tongue swirling around the digit as it disappears past her lips and into the warmth of her mouth. Vibrates a ridiculously filthy moan into your knuckle, convincing you for a second that your thumb must be delicious, must be something really fucking sweet for her to be slurping on it like this.

She pulls away, just enough to let the sticky wetness left behind glisten in the light.

Her lips bless the pad. “You’re picturing it, aren’t you?”

And then the next finger; and yeah, you’re transfixed—fascination, horror, painful straining as she does the same dance with your forefinger. Deep, deeper than the thumb could reach, until your nail is scraping at the back of her throat and—

It pops out of her mouth as quick as it entered, and you feel it in your core—the sudden absence. “You’re thinking about it—thinking I might be right. Realising that if I can do this to your fingers—”

You can’t bring yourself to argue. Can’t even bring yourself to speak. You’re too busy watching her mouth, too busy watching your middle finger go all the way in, push down into her throat and holy fuck, she doesn’t even gag.

“It’d feel so much better than anything you ever had. Ever even imagined,” she says, and she’s kissing up and down your finger, staining it fire-engine red. “See, the problem wasn’t that you don’t like blowjobs. It’s that you never once gotten one from a mouth this eager for you.”

And finally, when her teeth graze the tip of your ring finger, and you’re expecting the warmth of her lips once more, she stops.

Grinds her hip into you, forcing you to stab into her abs, and it’s unavoidable now—the pressure of your cock, ready to tear itself out of your jeans and just feel her. Her touch. Her cunt. Her mouth.

She feels it too. Arches her eyebrow—‘I told you so’ on her lips prepped and ready.

You wait under the heat of her gaze, trying not to look because you really don't want to give her the satisfaction. But fuck it’s hard. Each breath feeling like it’s being siphoned out of you, replaced with the scent of her—sweet, suffocating. Intoxicating.

But your eyes turn traitor. And it’s a mistake.

Yunjin squeezes your wrist, steals your attention. Takes your ring and pinkie fingers into her mouth. Pushes them past her lips at the same goddamn time.

Your mind goes completely, utterly blank.

She sucks on them hard, drawing them deep past her lips, devouring them, like they’re the last two drops of water in the desert and she’s just been dying of thirst. Holds your eyes hostage, needing an audience to watch as she makes a show of it; moaning around them, tongue rolling over and around your digits and you’re receiving the message loud and clear—‘You have no idea what you’re in for.’

You feel your knees start to give out.

Your fingers are soaked with her saliva, and the sounds she’s making—deep, throaty, fucking obscene—your body’s being hijacked, all your blood redirected to one painfully obvious place.

It occurs to you that you should just give up now. Tell her she’s proven her point. Your heart’s racing, your chest is tightening, your breath is coming in ragged, desperate bursts. Just tell her you believe her and jump straight to the part where she does her victory dance on top of your cock

If only.

Yunjin sets your fingers free with a smack of her lips, but the heat of her mouth still clings to your skin, lingering with the wetness of her tongue, the promise of something so much better. She kisses a trail around your palm, over the back of your hand, around your wrist.

And then she’s on her toes, and she’s leaning her body into you, using your shoulder for support. Marking your neck, nose nuzzling against the stubble, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around her waist. Pull her closer, give her tongue access to your jaw, your cheek, anywhere she wants.

Her teeth line the bottom of your ear, and she sucks gently at your earlobe, and you swear to fucking God it makes your balls tingle.

She bites. “By the end of this, you’re going to be begging.”

Gets closer still, nestles herself into your embrace, presses her tits against your chest. It's divine, the feeling of her against you, in your arms. So right. A body so tight; slender and grace and so happy to have your arms wrapped around her, so delighted that you've discovered the perfect home for your fingers, because she would absolutely hate to have them anywhere else. On anyone else.

"You won't be able to resist me," she tells you, her breath hot on your skin, making it rise up in goosebumps. And you just nod along, because what could be better than the way she's touching you, the heat she's offering, the things you can already picture her lips doing?

And that’s when she lays it on you—her true endgame in all of this teasing:

“You’re going to want it so badly, you’re going to call me Mommy.”

You nearly push her right off you.

Yunjin just stares straight at you. Dead serious. Heat, intent, fucking determination set upon her awfully pretty features.

“I’m older than you, you know.” You try to laugh it off, but it comes out strained when Yunjin presses herself into you again, and her tongue starts to trace the shell of your ear, and her hand starts to work at your zipper. Touching you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she’s done it so many times before. Like she’s going to do it so many times again.

“It’s a state of mind, baby,” and she smirks, and there’s a challenge in there. Two doors—try to prove her wrong and walk away, keep your dignity intact. Or just let go, get rid of your pride and fall into a pair of the most tempting, talented, sinful lips that have ever graced your skin.

You don't even get a second to decide.

Her hand’s already at your throat, pulling you close. You let her. Make it easy. Taste the sweetness of her breath, getting a split second to crave her tongue before finally meeting it. Her mouth crashes into yours, and you’re gone.

You kiss her back, breathe her in. Welcome her tongue past your teeth, let it stroke yours, dance in a way that’s far too right for a first time, and it's crazy how she just fits.

She feels, smells, tastes like everything good.

You settle into the reality that this might be the last—only—chance you get.

Face it, you’ve always known who she is—undeniable, goddamn gorgeous, sexy, hot, plain and simple. But this? This is different. You’ve watched it. Yunjin on stage, wearing next to nothing, hips rolling in sync with a thrumming bass, eyes fucking the hell out of the cameras. And you’ve fantasised about it. But it's always felt so fucking far-fetched. She's always felt so impossibly out of reach.

Intangible, since the day she debuted. Ascended to some place that you could never join.

But now.

She’s come back down, just for this. Just to reclaim something that's always been hers.

She moans something nice into your mouth when she feels you pushing back against her. Her hand finally dips beneath your waistband. Finds you eager. Desperate.

But then she pulls away.

Eyes widen, fucking laughs.

“Oh, you’re such an asshole.”

You blink. “What?”

She reaches back, hands careful. Like she’s defusing a bomb. Her fingers peel down the zipper of your pants, and then yank down the stretched-out cotton of your briefs, and you’re set free.

Hard. Aching. Throbbing.

Hers.

“Asshole,” she repeats.

You don’t even know what the fuck.

“Christ, it suddenly makes sense,” she says to herself, but doesn’t bother elaborating. No, instead, she just reaches back down, wraps her fingers around you and gives you a little squeeze. Tests the water. Feels the way your cock jumps under her touch.

Your knuckles turn white against the sink behind you, and Yunjin smiles again when she realises you’re going to let her do whatever she wants.

And so her hand starts moving. Slowly. Gently.

She kisses you again, for just a moment, and then lower, and lower. Stroking you as she maps her way down your body with her lips. Feather-light against your skin, touch hot on your cock, dragging it out, building the anticipation.

Stopping when she’s on her knees. Breathing on your cock.

You hiss in a breath.

Yunjin lets go. Takes off her jacket. Tightens her ponytail. Blinks up at you. And fuck. Her chin tipped just so. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes alone making you strain.

Her lips part, and you find yourself nodding before she even says a single word.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” she whispers into your skin, kissing into your thigh. It’s warm, soft, wet. Excruciating. She’s so close to where you need her mouth to be, but so fucking far.

Her fingers trace patterns up and down your shaft, dancing over your cock. Not touching, never. Just teasing. Torment that has you squirming, and she’s basking in it, tracking every twitch, loving every desperate gasp.

“You’re mine,” Yunjin mutters, as her mouth travels up your thigh, and your muscles start to shake. You could just grab her, it’d be so easy. Just take her by the hair, force her to give you want you want. But something stops you. Afraid of breaking this moment. Anticipating what’s to come. 

Your oxygen's running low, barely breathing, can’t stop yourself from panting when her teeth scrape along your hipbone, and your cock jumps in response, nearly slapping her right in the face.

But fuck, Yunjin’s a sadist. She kisses around your waist, her tongue darting out to taste your skin, exhaling hot and steamy air against your balls. You're dripping, beading at the tip, and it’s all so, so obvious.

The wait is agony. Pure agony.

Yunjin gives you a small mercy. Her hand wraps around you again, and for an instant you’re terrified that the touch alone would be the end of it.

But thankfully, you outlast. Yunjin strokes you lightly, her grip firm but gentle. Loving. Wresting control over you, your cock. So fucking hard already, you’re surprised you haven’t torn the sink off the wall yet.

And then, oh fuck, she’s kissing closer. Your abs, your belly button. Lower, lower, breath hot on your cock, closer, closer, please.

You can’t take it anymore. You need her. You need this.

“Yunjin,” and any other time you would hate yourself for how embarrassingly needy it comes out.

“Admit you were wrong,” Yunjin says, and you’re ready to scream it, tell her you’ve never been more wrong about anything in your entire life. Anything to feel her lips. “Admit that there’s no way your hand could ever be better than this.”

“Yes,” you grit out, and it’s a fucking miracle you can form words at all. “You were right. I was wrong.”

She’s baring teeth now, and her lips are ghosting over your cock head and you just need her.

“Please.”

“Say it.”

“I can't—”

“Do it.”

“Mommy.”

And then—

Her mouth is on you.

Wet, hot, heaven. Taking you in slow, eyes paying attention to your every flinch, the agonising twists across your face. Trained on all your strained reactions. Savouring it. Reading you like a book—every page turned with a flick of her tongue, every paragraph devoured with a swirl of her cheeks.

Slow, so slow. Deliberate. Perfect suction. Just enough to make your toes curl, to have your hips buck in her mouth. Convincing you that everything before, everything you ever had, whatever you believed was a blowjob—was all a fucking lie.

No one ever felt like this.

Your fingers release the sink, find their natural place in her hair, threading through the red, letting it knot around your digits. And there's the urge again. Tug, pull, make her go faster, make her understand that she’s already won so you might as well fuck without abandon, but you don’t dare. You don’t want to ruin this. Not when she seems so satisfied.

Cheeks hollowing out with every suck, smiling around your cock, basking in some kind of pleasure you can’t even comprehend—because she’s the one doing the giving here.

And then when she sinks, finally pushes your cock to the back of her throat and further down. Presses her nose to your waist and holds you there. Stealing your breath, the air from your lungs, forcing a deep, guttural ‘Fuck’ from your gut.

You reach your conclusion. Her lips are made for this. Made to fit around your cock perfectly, to slide up and down with the fucking unapologetically sloppy noises that make the room spin. That it’s only her throat that can take you deeper than you ever thought possible, that can constrict and tighten around you so nice. That no other mouth could be this warm, hot, welcoming, fucking right.

She pulls back. A long, long draw that leaves a fucking mess. Globs of spit, drool, pre-cum hanging off your cock, from her lips.

“This poor, poor cock,” she sighs, like it’s such a great tragedy. “Never had anyone treat it right. Like the treasure it is.”

She shows you what she means, demonstrates how to properly worship your cock. Lips brushing along your shaft, pecking gentle kisses along your length, tongue snaking out to lick off her own spit.

Her hand slides under your balls, cupping them, balancing them in her palm. Holding them in place when she points your cock up so she can duck underneath. Nuzzle her nose into your waist, lap her tongue at your base, get her lips right where you’re most sensitive.

Pleasing you like she’s always wanted to. Making you believe that maybe she has. Maybe this is something she’s been thinking about all this time; every time she’s seen you, seen the way you looked at her, heard you tell stories of the other women that only ever disappointed you with their mouths.

Not knowing that she was the one that could make you fucking levitate this entire time.

“This was always going to happen,” Yunjin says. Starting to stroke you again, her grip a little tighter this time, a little more possessive. Looking up at you through her lashes, red lipstick smudged off the corner of her mouth. “One way or another, I was always going to have this.”

And her tongue is everywhere. Laving around the base of your cock, making you feel it all the way to your toes. Not done with the teasing, the unbearably slow burn that’s going to drive you insane.

Her mouth opens wide. She takes one of your balls into her mouth. Surrounds it in soft, wet heat. Sucking—not hard, not yet, just enough. Enough to make you bite down and grind your teeth. Squeeze your eyes shut—not that it even helps. You can feel her tongue rolling around, coating your balls in a warm stickiness. Soothing. Torturous. So fucking good.

She lets out a soft hum, and the vibration nearly sends you over the edge.

Yunjin lets go with a pop, and you swear you can hear your soul sigh in relief and despair. “God, this cock,” she murmurs, “Wish you had told me, shown it to me sooner.”

The way she says it—like you could even fathom what you’ve been missing out on. Years of this? Years of her mouth on you? Years of her making you feel like the only thing that matters in this fucking world is impaling your cock into the most insanely hot and wet and tight hole you’ve ever felt?

The look on Yunjin’s face answers every single question for you.

Yes. Yes to all of it.

“Could have been doing this every fucking day,” she muses, and you let out some choked gasp, and her lips are kissing into your slit again. Then her tongue, then lower, and she’s taking you deep. So deep you’re pretty sure you can feel her fucking heartbeat through her throat.

She holds you there. One, two, three. Letting her tongue drool down your shaft, letting it drip over your balls and splash down between her knees.

Pulls back, lets go, catches her breath.

Spits on your cock.

“Imagine,” she speaks, even though her mouth is a fucking disaster, lips swollen, just a glossy smudge of red. “Just waking up to me sucking this, getting it all nice and hard and throbbing.”

It’s not difficult at all to see it. You can feel it. Tongue flattening against the underside of your cock, the swallow as she’s taking you in, the cheeks fixing around the edges with each bob. Just so fucking messy. Soaking your cock, letting these garbled, choked, slick, filthy noises echo off the bathroom walls.

“This would ruin me, you know that don’t you? Ruin my cunt,” she tells you. “Ruin Mommy’s tight little cunt so fucking nicely.”

“Fuck you, Yunjin,” is the best you can muster, which is impressive considering your brain cells are dying off one by one from the lack of oxygen.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that.”

“Of course I would,” you admit, and then continue admitting, “I’ve always fucking wanted to.”

“I know,” Yunjin admits back, and that sets her off. Her mouth goes to work again, your cock disappearing into her, her hand getting just that little bit faster, and fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s got it all wrong.

She’s the one that’s going to ruin you. Going to make you forget every other orgasm you ever had.

There'll be no room for anything in your head but just thoughts of fucking her. Raw, rough; again and again until she's completely filled up with you and even then.

“Been dreaming of it,” you groan out, as Yunjin’s pace builds, and there’s the beginning of tears lining her eyes, and she’s gagging more often than not, and it compels you to keep telling her, “Been dreaming of your tight fucking body. What I’d do to get my hands on that slutty little waist. Just dig in my fingers and pound into that cunt. God I know it would feel so good.”

Deeper and deeper, until she doesn’t even need to use her hands anymore. Just to steady your legs, to keep you still while she fucks your cock with her throat.

And it’s these images you’re drawing up in her mind. How you’d pay her back, how you’d make her scream, how’d you do the same to her and more. Wreck her with your cock until she never seeks another again. Make sure that her lips, her cunt, her body belong to only you. That’s what’s driving her now, making her eyes water, making her cheeks go red and her throat bulge.

That’s what has her hand snaking down between her thighs, forcing open the button of her shorts, stretching the waistband of her panties to their limits. Just so she can touch herself. To feed into the heat building in her cunt and the wetness leaking down her legs.

You can feel her, mouth tightening around you as she teases herself. Feel the accidental swipe of her teeth when it gets too much. She’s rubbing her clit in circles, matching the tempo of her bobbing head.

Fuck, the sight alone.

Hand disappearing into her shorts, getting down and into herself, and she’s so fucking pretty, even when her face is scrunched up in the worst of pleasures, even when she’s choking on your cock.

And you think there’s laughter around the gags, or at least a smile against your skin when you throb, jerk, fuck her mouth. She’s enjoying this. The power, the pleasure she can wrench from you. You’re getting off, sure, but it’s all for her. All to prove her point.

And she’s fucking winning.

“Tell me,” she gurgles when she’s at your head, mouth bubbling at the corners with a cocktail mix of her sloppiness and your arousal. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Shit, Yunjin, it feels—”

“Actually, fuck that, tell me it’s better,” Yunjin decides, and she seems so fucking pleased with herself that you want to hate her. But it’s so hard to deny those big fucking eyes that anchor you to the ground, those ridiculously plump lips that suck any argument right out of your throat. “Better than your hand. Better than any other mouth. Tell me it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to your cock. Be a good boy and tell me I’m better.”

You groan, or whimper, or cry, or make some noise that makes Yunjin just so fucking ecstatic, makes her swoon and nearly come apart on her own fingers. “So much fucking better, Yunjin. Jesus, your lips. Perfect for this. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. Hot mouth. Your fucking throat taking me so nice.”

“Use it,” Yunjin opens her mouth, stretches her lips as far as they'll go, showing you, sticking out her tongue and giving you an insight into your own end. “Use it like the toy it’s always been for you. Fuck it, fuck me. Use my lips, my mouth, my throat. Make me choke until you think I can't take it and then give me even more.”

“You’re fucking insane.”

“And you’re about to make a mess.”

Yeah, you’re properly doomed.

God it’s so fucking cruel. How Yunjin doubles down, mouth swallowing you whole. So fast and deep that you don’t understand how you’re still on your feet. Just watching her throat pulse, convulse, her eyes bulge when you rut inside her and she just won’t stop.

“You’re so fucking good, Yunjin, so good, you’re a—fuck—you’re a—” Only one word comes straight to mind, "Cumslut."

Yunjin preens. Looks up, lashes fluttering. Sounding so girly that it makes everything seem even more debauched and depraved. “Aren’t I? Aren’t I so good for you?”

You grunt out, “You already fucking know.”

Yunjin’s hand returns to the fold, jerking your cock into her lips, because your own personal catastrophe’s on the horizon. It’s coiling in your balls, tightening up, a spring ready to snap.

And, oh, how Yunjin would love to be the one that snaps it.

“You’re not going to be able to go back. Never. No one else will be able to take this big fucking cock like this. No one can be as much of a cumslut for you.”

You’re fucking falling apart. Yunjin’s mouth is a vice. Hot, heavenly, sloppy vice that’s squeezing the last drops of sanity from your brain. She just keeps fucking doing it—taking you so deep until your cock’s lost down her throat, over and over again. And it’s building and getting closer and closer to disaster and every nerve ending in your body is just begging for release.

“Give in,” she slurs around your girth, barely coherent, mouth full of you. Pumping your cock faster, until it’s throbbing and aching so desperately and angrily, and her words are sounding nicer and nicer with every passing beat. “Give up. Give me that cum. All of it.  Cum for me. Make Mommy happy. Give me what I want. Give me what I need. Give me—”

“Shut the fuck up and take it—”

“Be a good boy and beg—”

“Fuck you—”

You’re straining, for the first time lifting your hips off the sink and falling into her. Hands holding onto her head—and now her hair is just a handlebar, and you're riding her mouth for dear life, fucking into it like she doesn't have a choice. Using her, making her take you, over and over, again and again, and she’s just so happy to keep fingering herself into oblivion while you lose all tempo and pace and forcefully, clumsily wreck her throat.

Until you’re just seeing red.

Red of her hair, her lips. Red smudged up and down your cock and against your waist and all over your fucking fingers.

And then—

“Fuck you—Mommy!”

You can see it in her eyes.

You can feel it in every nerve ending.

You can taste it in the air.

It’s harsh, mean, rough. Pounding into her mouth, stretching her throat, until her nails are digging into your thighs and you’re shaking, twitching, fucking—

Cumming.

You empty yourself into her. Yunjin doesn’t flinch. She takes it. Every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum. Swallows it down with a greedy gulp, again and again, until she can’t swallow anymore.

It gushes out of her mouth.

A thick rope that she can’t quite keep up with that paints those gorgeous fucking lips. Her cheeks and chin. Drips down to her neck. So fucking beautiful. Covered with your cum all over her face, and now down to her shoulder, her collarbone, and oh you’ve ruined her entire slutty outfit.

“God, fuck, Yunjin—”

And she’s dropping her pussy down onto her fingers, panting around your cock, around mouthfuls of your cum. Working her clit in quick, sharp movements until it’s just your hand tangled in her hair that’s keeping her upright.

This fucking image of her.

Mouth full of you, swallowing, choking, gagging. So fucking obscene you can’t look away. Eyes rolled back into her skull, cheeks are flaming, and she’s so shiny and wet and glazed over, and just a complete fucking mess for you.

You can’t imagine anything better.

It leaves you reeling. Standing there with your cock still out. Shaking from aftershocks that you’re not sure will ever end. Trying to catch your breath, chest heaving, eyes blurring back into clarity while you watch Yunjin return to life.

“Good boy,” she breathes, but it’s hardly smug. It’s just pure victory.

She opens her mouth. Smiles so wide. Shows you her prize. Shows you the mess she’s made, shows you everything. Moans at the taste of it, as she absorbs your flavour into her tongue. Completely dazed, mouth fucked to hell, and just strung-out and drunk on your cum. She finds the energy to swipe her tongue around her teeth, cleaning the best she can. She barely makes a dent.

And you’re still hard. Still fucking throbbing.

Her eyes never leave yours. She wants you to see.

She grins, and you're already expecting it, the victory speech. Something no doubt flirty and teasing and completely fucking filthy that will make you want to throw her over the sink and punish her tight, drenched cunt until she's the one begging and calling you Daddy.

Only, that all gets tossed out when you hear someone banging on the bathroom door.

“Everything okay in there?”

The sudden intrusion brings everything back into focus, seizes you back into a reality outside of Yunjin's cum-stained lips.

You clear your throat.

“I’m sorry, it’s my,” and you look down and Yunjin’s beaming up at you. Looking so perfect, kneeling on the cold tiles. Streaks of your cum hanging off her chin. She blows you a kiss. “My girlfriend. Just needed some immediate attention.”

And Yunjin decides to up the ante, leaning back into you. Snaking her arms around your thigh. Kissing into where you’re still so ridiculously sensitive. And then licking and sucking and—

It takes an impossible amount of effort to not scream at the top of your lungs. “We’ll be out soon, just need a couple—”

Yunjin shakes her head. Shows you both hands. Flashes all fingers.

“Ten—”

Shakes her head once more. Flashes again.

“Twenty?”

Yunjin nods.

“Twenty minutes.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the door, and you realise that this is all fucking out of control and completely unbelievable.

But still.

Yunjin’s tongue is setting you on fire, and God she’s kissing up higher, rising to her feet and she's covering every inch of your skin that she has yet to leave her mark.

You whisper-shout at her, “They’re going to break this door down.”

Yunjin laughs, and there’s no way whoever is outside the bathroom doesn’t hear it.

She removes her ruined top. Lets her bra fall to the ground. Steps out of her drenched panties. She looks like perfection.

“That’s fine,” she says, and she’s taking a hold of you, kissing you, and you can taste yourself on her lips and fuck, she’s winning again—“But you’re going to break me first.”

[balteredsworld]

wilson’s hypothesis. gregory house

🥼🩺 | according to wilson, house likes you and you like him. so, house confronts you with wilson’s hyposthesis.

masterlist: greg house n all

warnings/tags! fluff of sorts, angst if you squint, talks of self-sabotage, idiots in love, sherlocked reference!!! (just watched 8x18—house self-sabotages so bad my lord)

author's note: lowkey hate this but it's idk what're we thinking fellow ducklings???

"wilson thinks i like you," house airs.

you throw him a strange glance.

"crazy, right?"

"yeah? and you think i like cameron," you mimic, matching his dismissive detachment to comedic effect.

only, house is serious.

“no, wilson thinks i like you.” house ignores your joke, repeating wilson’s solemn hypothesis.

when you pause to look at his face, your mind goes off into complete nonsense like's just tipped you over and left you with internal bleeding in your brain, upon the realization that he does, in fact, mean those words he's telling you.

"what makes him say that?"

"i'm apparently connecting with you,” house indulges, relaxing into the cold bit of wall behind him. the moonlight hits him in a more subtle way, half hidden in the shadows. the blue of his wrinkled shirt melts into the glow it radiates.

you're not particularly sure what to say. thankfully, he elaborates.

“you share your food with me, i take your food, ergo it means something in wilson's romantic world,” house offers, before quickly dismissing the thought of his supposed feelings for you. "but you know wilson, he's always been a romantic. thinks he can diagnose emotions as easily as diseases."

you consider the argument, "well couldn't that just mean i can't finish my food and you don't wanna get your own?"

he squints at you, as if with drills for eyes. you're playing dumb, unless you really believe that. but you don't.

you clear your throat, "well, do you believe that?"

"well it's either that or i must obviously like you."

you gawk. "well, do you?"

"do i have to spell it out for you?"

"wilson had to," you snark back. "so, do you?"

"no," he says with a flat face.

something in your chest drops, just as your brows shoot up. "no?"

"no," he reaffirms.

you don't know if you manage to catch your frown. house doesn't say anything if you didn't. you're more than a little embarrassed, surely flushed. you're thankful that the two of you are under the dim veil of night.

"well good thing," you grumble.

house looks at you with a curious look, as if he was almost offended you would say that. "good thing?"

“we’re both lonely. lonely means self-sabotage,” you explain, fiddling with one of the main trinkets that line the ledge. you were sure you proving your point, coming up with an off-putting rationale to cover up your embarrassment. "two self-saboteurs, well, that's an equation with proven unresolved issues... so yeah, good thing."

you were internally cringing at the words you were spitting out, but you were trying to play it cool. it's something that's never worked in your favour though when you were near an attractive guy, and you always swore this was to make them repulse the inkling of interest. and you swore off doing this years ago, but the blunt rejection, if you could call it that, sprung the teenager out of you.

then again, house affects you like that. blue eyes and blue shirt and all.

he makes it no secret that he's a ladies' man, often hitching hookers into the hospital despite cuddy's gentle parenting to make him stop. but house does whatever he wants in the hospital, hence all the lawsuits you've had to deal with.

when you look at him again, he's somehow uncharacteristically quiet. you're unsure if his speculative eyes are because of a lightbulb moment, but one thing's for sure: he was thinking.

"you're thinking, aren't you?" you glean in a tilt.

house doesn't say anything, but turns away from you. when he does, you're unsure if you see his lip curl in disappointment—he hides it too well. some part of you hopes, but you know you're not his type. a bit too much like him in the overanalyzing and overthinking.

and maybe you're convincing yourself, but realistically speaking, your happy arrangement of sharing food in the middle of a hospital shift may work for lonely and misery, but not for anything else. two people who like self-sabotage is like a dumpster fire.

you'd rather have house like this, happy and alarmingly blue.

"aaand you've stopped listening. i shall take that as my cue to leave," you announce, hopping off the ledge in the same ginger fashion you had waltzing in.

when you land your feet, house airs his deduction, nodding along as if he was finally making sense of you and wilson’s hypothesis. 

“maybe he’s onto something.”

you turn to him with a tinge of a worrisome brow. 

“who knows? maybe i’ve been sending subtle signals that even i’m not aware of. so what do you think?” he croons his head, all ominous, arriving to a conclusion. you can practically see the cogs turn in his brain. “you like me.”

"i never said that.”

house looks at you, rising in a smooth motion, as if to showcase his towering height, forcing you to look up at him. sitting down, he's not so large, but now, all you can think is that he's tall.

"you might not, but your body does," he croons, dangerous smirk playing about his face. his eyes probe your face, confidently with a proven theory. "pupils dilated..."

house grabs your wrist, eyes practically lighting up in delight at his impending diagnosis.

"…and pulse elevated. i understand that wilson thinks that love's a mystery to me, but the chemistry's incredibly simple," he says, softening his grip on you.

house doesn't let go, lingering in this proximity, leaning closer like some ghost and spirit you'll always look for. your breath hitches, but house doesn't afford you time to quite think, capturing your lips in a kiss that you reciprocate, clutching onto his arms for balance.

you feel one of his hand snake to the nook of your back, pushing you flush against him. house keeps his other hand cupping your cheek and jaw, large enough to cover that expanse of your face. it's a little dry and rough, but you don't mind, all too preoccupied with his lips.

house makes good work on you. his lips are even better than you'd imagine, but you finally register his words and what you were doing, so you pull away. the furrow of your brows returning, apprehensive about his next words.

you whisper, “i thought you didn't like me.”

"i was lying," he shrugs. "i needed to see if i was right, and i was."

"so you figured me out?"

"you like me,” house concludes, triumphant. “i was right.”

“i thought this was wilson’s hypothesis?” you cock a brow.

“hypothesis,” he nods before flicking your head. “but i can’t give him the credit for my diagnosis.”

you let out an airy laugh, relieved that he didn't make you spell it out for him. "you're an ass, you know?"

his eyes are proudly heralding trumpets. you could practically hear the victory going off them.

"it comes with the sitting arrangement."

[witchesverse]

ur droolin' for a squeaky

pairing: vampire!wanda x human!femreader

summary: you've been distracting wanda's mind for weeks. she needs to deal with you before you ruin everything for her.

content: noncon, blood drinking, pain, clit rubbing, running from wanda, face slapping, on the verge of tears, begging, stalking.

a/n: shoutout to my awesome gf helping me write this (writers block sucks)

masterlist

When Natasha suggested Wanda acquire a human pet, she laughed in her face. It was the most bizarre thought. A powerful, high-ranking vampire does not need an idiotic, useless blood bag.

That was until you. Everything about you reeled her in, making her obsessed. She would zone out in important meetings or events because her mind was filled with violent and pornographic images of you.

"Wanda." Another high-ranking vampire, Carol Danvers, snapped at her. "What is going on? You have been distracted for the past few weeks."

Natasha sneered. "She's obsessed with a little human."

Wanda scoffed; a lie smoothly following. "Humans are below me. I would not become obsessed with such a weak creature."

"I don't care what your problem is, but you need to work it out," Carol sternly said. "I will not have you ruining this for us. Do you understand?"

Wanda nodded. She wasn't going to let a pathetic human ruin this.

-

Your heart was pounding and your legs ached with each step. You were exhausted but couldn't stop running; she would catch you. The trees had gotten thicker causing the sunlight to barely shine through, making it difficult to see.

So, naturally, you had to fall over a rock.

"Shit." You scrawled to your knees, ignoring the throbbing pain of your newly exposed skin and blood trickling down your knee.

There was no point in running anymore. She was already here within the time it had taken you to stand. You squinted, trying to find her in the shadows of the tree.

You couldn't find her.

Some people would think that was a good thing, but you knew it wasn't. You felt her hungry eyes raking over your body. Over the past few days, it had become a game for her. She would have you on a paranoid edge, pushing your fear to the limit, then pounce.

"I know you're watching me." You wanted to sound brave, but you didn't.

Silence.

"You're fucking sick, you know that?" You screamed, hoping that your rage would pull her out of the shadows.

Silence.

"Please," Your voice wavered with emotion. "Stop doing this."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as she emerged from the shadows. Her brown hair was tied in a tight bun and her bright red eyes complimented her pasty white skin.

She glanced at your bleeding knee and licked at her fangs. She smiled as you stumbled backwards, trying to create space between each other.

She was quick to fill that space. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her and placing her other hand on your hip to keep you close.

"Are you scared, little one?"

"Does being a monster damage your brain cells?" You snapped, irritated by her stupid question.

Her hand collided with your cheek; her strong and painful slap made your skin go hot and sting. You tried to pull away from her but she kept her grip tight on your hip.

"Are you scared, little one?" She sternly asked again.

"Yes," You answered honestly.

You were fucking terrified. For many days and nights, she followed and hurt you. You tried going to the police, begging for their help, but who in their right mind would believe that a blood-sucking monster was following you? Her saliva would slowly heal a wound so you didn't even have the bite marks to prove it.

She grinned. She pushed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply and moaning at the scent of your blood. Her fangs lightly brushed against your skin.

"What do you want from me?" You sniffled, trying to contain your tears.

"You." She replied. "You're mine and I want you."

You shook your head. "You don't own me."

She laughed. "Oh, I think I do."

A sharp pain that was like an uncontrollable fire spread across your neck and chest as she dug her fangs into you. You squirmed in her hold, trying to break away from her but her inhumane grip kept you close.

"No, no."

The pain was unbearable until her venom was pumped into your system. You sighed in relief, slumping in her hold. Vampire venom can be used for many things, sex being one of them. The venom makes a human incredibly sensitive and horny, basically turning your brain to mush.

She pinned you against a tree. One hand held onto your waist whilst the other slipped into your panties and rubbed small circles on your clit.

Your blood filled her mouth and dripped down the sides, staining her shirt. She groaned, her grip tightening on your hips and fingers moving faster.

"Please." You whimpered.

Her laughter was muffled. "You don't even know what you're begging for."

You were overwhelmed with pleasure. The venom made everything feel more intense and powerful, even the slightest touch made you squirm.

"Stop." You weakly pushed against her.

She snarled and dug her fangs further into you. She would only stop when she was finished, not when you were.

"Please...” you beg, giving up on physically fighting back. “I can’t-”

The wicked pairing of blood loss from Wanda’s fangs in your neck with your blinding climax washing over you rendered you limp, and you felt your weight drop as your knees buckled beneath you.

Your thighs clamped around Wanda’s fingers, still steadily rubbing circles on your swollen clit, and your stomach began spasming. The little strength you had left was put towards an involuntary whine, your voice full of air as you arched away from her touch. A wince falls from her bloodied lips into the curve of your ear at your blunt fingernails digging red crescents into her pallor skin.

Just as quickly as it came, though, the pleasure melted from your body, and you were reminded of your achy limbs, exhausted from weaving your body through the woods. The edges of your vision began to fade to black, and your mouth went dry.

"Sleep well, little one."

[10byten]

Last night, I imagined Jaehyun telling everyone just how deeply in love he is with his girlfriend. The way he’d talk about what makes her so special in his eyes, how she’s this perfect mix of chaos and calm that he can’t get enough of. How she’s not just someone he loves—she’s the reason everything makes sense. And that’s it. Just Jaehyun, utterly smitten, trying to put into words what feels impossible to explain.

Jaehyun finally told the guys about you. The way you live in his head, rent-free. The way everything feels a little too quiet when you’re not there. He tried to keep you to himself, but he couldn’t anymore—not when you’re all he thinks about.

-

“Wait, can you say that again?” Mark’s eyes widen like a cartoon character caught mid-thought. The boys are all gathered around the living room table.

Jaehyun had called what they jokingly refer to as an “emergency assembly” to drop the bombshell: there’s someone in his life now, and he’s planning to move in with them. It’s time, apparently, to finally introduce them to his friends.

“I mean, I don’t know, you’ve been hyping this girl up for so long, and we still haven’t seen her. At this point, I’m starting to think she’s a figment of your imagination,” Johnny teases, leaning back in his chair.

“Ha. Ha.” Jaehyun deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I know I’ve been talking about her for a while, and yeah, none of you have met her yet.”

“And we don’t want to meet her,” Jungwoo says, dramatically crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, hyung. We’re dying to meet your ghost girlfriend. Like, is this some ‘Ghost’ movie situation where only you can see her, or is she gonna appear if we summon her with a medium?”

Jaehyun throws a pillow straight at his younger friend’s face.

“She’s real,” he insists, his voice softer near the end as if embarrassed. “I just... didn’t want to share her. I wanted to keep her to myself for a while.”

“Oh, you were scared we’d steal your girl, huh, Jung?” Doyoung smirks.

Jaehyun snorts, shaking his head with a calm confidence. “Not a chance, Kim. She’s not into innocent little boys like you.”

Doyoung pulls a face, his mock outrage making everyone laugh.

“Well, I’m happy for you, man,” Taeyong says sincerely. “We’re all excited to meet her.”

“So, tell us—what’s so amazing about her?” Haechan leans forward, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

Jaehyun’s gaze drops to the table, a thoughtful look washing over his face. Then his eyes light up, and a soft smile stretches across his lips.

“She has this... effect on me. When she’s not around, it’s like this itch I can’t scratch, and nothing feels right until she’s back. She’s got this way of making everything in my life just... easier. She makes me feel like even the stuff that doesn’t make sense is still okay, like it all fits somehow. Sometimes, it feels like she controls the weather—my weather—and I think maybe she does. At least in my world.”

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy laugh. “Honestly, even I start to wonder if she’s a mirage. She must be made of some kind of magic, though, right? Because who else could do that to someone? Every time I’m with her, I feel a little more drunk on her. It’s weird, but I finally get that saying about having someone under your skin.”

The room falls silent. The guys are all staring at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

“And of course,” Jaehyun adds with a sheepish grin, “she’s gorgeous, sweet, sexy, brilliant, and funny.”

Haechan is the first to recover. “Hold up—what happened to the emotionally unavailable, zero-feelings Jaehyun we know? This guy’s a clone. We need to file a missing person report.”

“Shut up, idiot. It’s called being in love,” Yuta says, rolling his eyes. “You might figure that out one day if your brain ever grows up.”

“I know this doesn’t sound like me, but—”

“But it proves you’re really in love,” Yuta cuts in.

Jaehyun blushes and nods, unable to hide his smile.

“So, when do we get to meet this ‘delicious creature’ of yours?” Johnny asks, grinning like he’s not about to let it go.

-

“Hey, love. Where are you?”

You slip off your shoes the moment you walk into the apartment, already eager to see him. When Jaehyun spots you, his face lights up, and the book he was holding is instantly forgotten as he crosses the room to pull you into his arms. He lifts you slightly, and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him.

“Hello, love of my life.”

“Hello, you.” You kiss him softly.

“How was your day?” he asks, just like he always does.

“Intense. And yours?” you murmur, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Long without you. Fun with the guys,” he says, stealing a quick kiss.

“Oh yeah? What did you guys do?”

He looks at you deeply, his eyes full of warmth. “Talked. About stuff. About you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a mix of flattery and slight embarrassment.

“They’re coming for dinner tomorrow,” he says casually, brushing his lips against your cheek. “To finally meet you. Is that okay?”

“I’m okay with anything that involves you or the people you care about,” you reply between kisses.

Jaehyun groans softly against your lips. “You have to be unreal. Always saying the perfect thing.”

“Then I guess this is one beautiful illusion we’re living together.”

“It definitely is. babe”

-

Part 2

[setmeatopthepyre]

fuck it friday

not tagged by anyone 'cause I'm being the change I want to see in the world etc etc etc

from pothos | pathos pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5

-

Eddie is on his couch, aimlessly swiping through housing listings, vaguely hoping that the next generic wide-angle picture of a soulless sunny living room will suddenly give him all the answers he needs, when the doorbell rings.

He opens the door without looking. He gets as far as “I’m still all out of flour from last time--" when he realizes it’s not Buck on his doorstep at all. It takes a second because he's not used to seeing the captain of the 122 in anything other than a suit or a set of turnouts. “Deluca?” he says, surprised. “I thought poker night was next week.”

“I ain’t here to clear you out this time, Diaz,” Deluca says.

Eddie huffs. As if. The man barely has a filter and that translates fairly directly to the efficacy of his poker face.

“Are you gonna let me in, or what?”

“Sure. If you tell me to what I owe the visit.” Eddie’s already stepping aside, letting him in.

Deluca strides in like he owns the place, crossing his arms as he takes in the living room. “Is it just you?”

“Yes…?” he says slowly, following him in. He snatches his nearly-empty bottle from the table, lifts it and points from the bottle to Deluca in the universally understood gesture for you want one?

“Yeah, sure,” he says.

Deluca doesn’t offer up an explanation for his presence as Eddie cracks open two bottles of beer, hands one off to the man still standing in his living room like he’s trying to decide if he wants to be there at all, and sinks down onto the couch again for lack of anything better to do.

Deluca doesn’t sit, but he does take a long swig of his beer and narrow his eyes at Eddie. Finally he asks, “You seen Tommy?”

Eddie nods. “Couple of days ago. Why?”

“Any clue what the hell is wrong with him?”

What, this guy, too? Eddie rubs at his eyes. “How about you tell me why you’re asking?”

Deluca glares at him some more, seems to come to some decision, and sinks down on the other side of the couch with a huff. “He skipped out on my little girl’s birthday.”

Eddie blinks. He isn't sure what he’d been expecting, maybe something more akin to Buck’s vague hunches, but not… this.

He does vaguely recall the subject of Deluca’s kids coming up at poker night, though. Racks his brain for a second. “You’ve got three kids, right?”

Deluca eyes him for a second, but it’s less of a glare this time. “Yeah. Two girls and a boy. Oldest just turned ten, youngest is three.”

“Huh,” is all Eddie finds himself saying. Thinks for a moment, again, of Christopher, of the birthday party Eddie only got glimpses of over a video call. He really needs to stop procrastinating and just pick a damn house. Maybe he should just go to El Paso and see from there.

But this isn’t about him.

“And… Tommy usually goes to your kids’ birthday parties?”

“Goddamn right he does. He’s their favorite uncle.”

Uncle? “Hold on, you guys are…?”

“Jesus H. Christ, Diaz,” Deluca says with a roll of his eyes. “Do you want a copy of my family tree? No, we ain’t related, but we might as well be.”

Eddie raises a hand in surrender. The guy’s clearly passionate about this.

“The important thing is,” Deluca continues, eyes intense and jabbing a finger in Eddie’s direction, “The man has showed up to every single goddamn birthday and big event, and now he skips Sophie’s big ten? Something’s goin’ on.”

There’s a simple solution to that, if you ask Eddie. “Did you ask him about it?”

“Who the hell do you think I am? Of course I did. You know what he did?” Eddie gets the feeling he’s not actually expected to answer and Deluca proves him right. “He goddamn apologized.”

He frowns. “I don’t know man, that seems… reasonable?”

Deluca gets to his feet with a grunt of frustration, starts pacing. “Don’t be an idiot, Diaz. You have any clue what Tommy does when he knows he’s fucked up?” It’s another rhetorical question. “One of three things,” Deluca says, raises one finger. “Either he gets defensive and turns into the world’s most sarcastic asshole--” A second finger goes up. “He turns into a pathetic pile of misery and then moves heaven and earth to make things right--" Third finger. “Or he shuts down completely. What he doesn’t do is fuckin' apologize and then pleasantly ask me if Sophie had a nice day. So you better tell me now, what the hell did Buckley do to him?”

“Now hold on,” Eddie sets his bottle down, gets to his feet as well. “Buckley--- Buck didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah? Then why the hell does Tommy tell me they’ve broken up and then turn into a fucking pod person?”

Eddie sighs. He’s pretty sure he’s getting a migraine or something. “You better ask him, because he broke up with Buck, not the other way around.”

Deluca falters, mouth snapping shut from where he’d looked about ready to yell at him some more. “What?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, shrugs.

“That goddamned idiot,” Deluca mutters.

-

tagging @sugarpenchant @beanarie @rcmclachlan @emphasisonthehomo @rimatsu @trombonechurchill @leashybebes @geddyqueer @ambernotember

tag list for those who requested tags for this fic under the cut ↓

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly @nochance-noway @manifestingchaoticvibes @hyperfocusthusly @frogsinflannel @beanarie @rcmclachlan @sad-girl-hours23 @ambernotember @apartmentsmoke @bidisasterevankinard @agentpeggycartering @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @daughterofscotland

let me know if you wanna be added or removed!

[floweycidal]

hey op i know youre insane over flowey so i thought id share my brain with you

have we considered the chara parallels in undertale yellows neutral run? as in. how flowey is pissed that midway through the plan clover went back on it? how flowey probably said something that chara said in the moment frustrated? im ill.

HEY OP I KNOW YOU’RE INSANE OVER FLOWEY HAHAHA INSANE START /SILLY

ah, yes, yes! you've come to the right place. please, make yourself at home. i’ll handle your brain with the utmost care.

OUDHUHGH YUUUP, we've (me, myself, and i) absolutely considered all that. and more!

but see, i personally never thought that was all there is to it. it would’ve been far too facile, much too pat, to assume chara had just... snapped at him in their final moments. that they’d cursed his name, branded him a traitor, made their hatred crystal clear.

oh, how delightfully clean that would’ve been for him. because then he’d get his closure, wouldn’t he? an answer, wrapped up all pretty just for him.

"i betrayed them. they loathed me for it. the end."

HA! too polished for my liking. no thanks. closure is reserved for those who can find resolution. and flowey, my son who's got everything wrong with him, has never been one to receive that kind of accord. he doesn't get straightforward, not then, not now, not ever.

in my head, flowey woke up in that garden with gaping holes in his memory of the incident. not total oblivion—never that generous. instead, it was bits and pieces. just enough to know. enough to understand that it was his fault. his frailty. his failure that brought him to this point.

but chara's last moments? their final utterance? those are lost to him. gone. TORN.

he never gets that confirmation. or, more precisely… he doesn’t remember. can’t remember. mwhahaha…

what does spring to mind, however, is the terror. the detestation that wracked their shared body. the oppressive shame that pervaded every step he didn't take. 

but then... at the time... who was feeling what exactly? who blazed with fury, and who broke beneath it? did someone beg? did someone weep? was it him? was it chara? who was hating whom in those parting moments? the harder he tries to remember, the further it slips away.

and because flowey's never met a void he didn’t try to fill, he does what he’s always excelled at. he patches the blanks. projects, narrates. 

his guilt demands a story, and so he obliges. in his version, every foul emotion, every drop of vitriol, was aimed squarely at him. how could it not have been?

chara MUST have surely thought he was an idiot. a weak, cowardly, sniveling idiot. a pathetic creature who couldn’t even get one plan right. couldn’t even die properly!

the self-blame constricts him like a vice, and with every reset, the narrative grows more discordant. he doesn’t just wonder if chara felt let down, he KNOWS they did. feels "their" revulsion rooted in his stem, their disappointment rotting his petals from the inside out with every cycle.

when clover comes along, he's elated. this is his shot at a fresh start. a second chance. the perfect subject for redemption, for forgiveness by proxy. his very own moment to fix everything, to prove that he’s changed. gone were the days when any plan was doomed with him around. this time, he was going to make it work. are you looking, chara?

but when clover hesitates... wavers the way he once did... flowey FREAKS.

he doesn’t see clover anymore. he sees HIM. he doesn’t hear his own voice, either. he hears the chara he’s created. the version that exists only in the cruel theater of his own mind. the variation that would never absolve him. that would never understand. that would only revile him.

the words he chucks at clover are the same accusations he believes chara would have spat at him, the same venom he’s already used to poison himself.

the words fall into insignificance, though, because much like the first time, the plan fell apart regardless of whether he condemned asriel clover or not.

all he was left with now was his certainty. chara HATED him.

and they were right to.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is Not a Date!

(625 words.)

"So, how did it go?" Lily asks excitedly, dropping down into the seat beside Remus in the Common Room. Remus frowns, a little confused. For a second, he racks his brain, tries to find something in his day for Lily to be asking about.

"How did what go?" He asks eventually, giving up. Lily looks at him as though he's spontaneously learnt another language, which does nothing to ease Remus' confusion.

"Your big date!"

Okay, yep, that hasn't helped.

"Big date?" Unless he's really daft, he hasn't been on any date today.

"With Sirius! Come on, I need details!"

Shock immediately ripples through Remus, his eyes widening almost involuntarily. Yeah, he and Sirius had been in Hogsmeade all day, and yeah, it was really nice. That doesn't mean he was on a date with him! He accepted a while ago that Sirius was never going to see him in that way, anyway.

"That was not a date," He says quickly. Lily only smiles at him, clearly slightly puzzled.

"Come on, you've been all sad about your crush on him for months! You're telling me that the sadness stopping the moment you go to Hogsmeade together is a coincidence?" She says triumphantly, as though she's just proved this magic point, brought everything together.

She really hasn't.

"No, I stopped acting all... sad, about it, because I accepted the fact that he's never going to feel the same way, and I may as well just enjoy our friendship. We went to Hogsmeade as friends!" He explains carefully, but Lily just eyes him disbelievingly.

"Just the two of you."

"Yeah!"

"No Peter, no James?"

"Yeah?" He really doesn't see where she's going with this.

"And where did you go?" She asks calmly. "Not round the shops, Marlene would have seen you."

"The three broomsticks," He says. "We just... talked, I guess. It wasn't a date." The more he thinks about it, the more Lily's thought process is starting to sink in. "Wait. Was it a date?" He asks her, glancing up.

"Oh my god, Remus. I love you so much, truly, but you're an idiot."

"Hey! We never agreed that it was a date! It's just... he did only ask me, and we did sit really quite close, but..." For the second time in the space of five minutes, Remus is sent into a state of shock. He's practically stunned into silence.

"Right, forget details. You need to go and talk to Sirius." With that decided for him, Lily reaches out and practically shoves Remus off the sofa.

It's enough to get him moving; making a beeline for the dorms and shoving the door open.

Sirius turns his head the moment Remus walks in, offering him a soft smile.

"Was that- was it a date? Did we go on a date?" Remus blurts out before he can stop himself. It probably isn't the right thing to have said, based on the way that Sirius' face drops.

"Did you... yes, it was a date! I've been trying to ask you out for months!" Sirius exclaims quickly. "Was I not clear enough?" His expression twists into one of worry at a startling pace. Remus just wants to reach out and pull all of the worry from him. "Because we can forget it ever happened! Y'know, if you don't... feel that way."

"No! No, I don't want to forget! I'd- well, I'd actually quite like to go on a date that I know for sure is a date," Remus explains.

At that, Sirius' face lights up, all traces to anxiety gone. Remus would say that over and over, if that's the reaction that he's going to get.

Merlin, Lily's right. He really is an idiot. How could he not tell before?

[crow-aeris]

Part 1 is here!

More content from my brainworms 🤭

=====

Jason sneaks out in the dead of night with the pendant in his right hand, three fives in his hoodie pocket that he’d picked from Willis, and determination in his chest. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do this, but he’ll manage.

He walks to the nearest bus station, hyper-aware of all the people around him, some of which he recognizes as his future goons, and others as the people who've been pushed to the brink and resorted to working with the rougher rogues to survive and make ends meet. Jason wants to desperately help- to talk to them and warn them about their future- but it wouldn't do anything. As he was currently- a kid- he wouldn't be able to get anything done. No one would listen to him.

Jason sits down on the bus's perpetually sticky seats, trying not to grimace as he waited for the stop.

He mentally plans the route he'll be taking.

He could've gone for Dick first, but Jason doesn't think it would've worked. It's been a few days already, and if Dickface had retained his memory, then he would have already came knocking on Jason's door. Tim too, knowing that little genius stalker brain of his, nothing could've stopped him from accomplishing anything he set his mind to. Damian probably could too, but the brat’s barely concieved, and Jason doubts the league would let a literal infant out of their sight.

So, that’s why he was on his way to Timmy’s manor. Not only is Tim most definitely alone, he’s the easiest to reach.

As the bus halts at the stop closest to Bristol, Jason ignores the driver’s suspicious gaze and rushes off. He brushes his hand against his pocket knife (He’s not stupid, even in Bristol, Gotham was Gotham and the chance of death will never be less than 20%) and he begins walking.

He’s almost forgotten how- peaceful wasn’t quite the word- less terrible Gotham was earlier on in Bruce’s tenure as the Bat. Not only can he make out a few constellations, the sounds police sirens didn’t constantly fill the night… It moght’ve been after his death when everything started to go to shit.

Jason takes a deep breath, marveling at the cleanliness of the air. Sure, it wasn’t as clean as the country, but compare to Gotham when Damian became Robin, the atmosphere might as well be pure oxygen!

Halfway to the Drake Manor, Jason feels his legs grow sore and cramped. God, now more than ever he wished for his Robin training and post-death stamina. Was he ever this… weak?

Distantly, Jason hears the sound of the Batmobile rushing through the streets and shakes his head.

He was almost there. Tim’s bedroom lights were on and a shape was moving around.

Jason groans and breaks into a sprint despite his legs aching in complaint. Tim was, as he said, a creepy little stalker, and even at the ripe old age of six, he was already stalking the bats. Which, props to him, but Jason would rather not follow that weaselly little bastard through the roofs of Gotham.

“SHIT!” Jason curses, misjudging his momentum and slamming into the Drakes’ front door.

God, it hurt so fucking much, and- shit, his nose was bleeding…

But, silver lining and all that, because the door swings open to reveal a harried and panicked-looking Timothy Jackson Drake dressed head-to-toe black, with his hundred-dollar camera hanging around his neck.

God, Jason hates rich people.

“Are you okay?!” the six year old squeaks, lurching forward to stare uncertainly at him.

Well, that proves Jason’s theory. If Tim had all his memories, he would’ve pointed and laughed at him for being an idiot, and Jason would’ve tackled him, dick would get involved, they’d break a few things, and the cass would work with alfred to get them back in line…

(God, Jason wished they’d never gone on that stupid trip.)

“Do you think i’m fine?” Jason huffed, guilt filling his chest as he watched Tim’s face fall. God, sometimes he forgets that then younger Tim was still so… bright. He hadn’t grown into all his sass yet. “I didn’t mean that, kid-”

But it was in the small moments where he’s reminded of his little brother’s spirit.

Tim puffs up in offense, almost like a little cat of sorts, and narrows his eyes, “I’m not a kid! I’m six, and you’re not that old either!”

“Sure, buddy,” Jason rolls his eyes before reaching up with a bloodied hand and pinching his nose, careful to stick the pendant in his pocket where Tim couldn’t see it. “Can I get a little help now?”

“Oh!” just like that, the Tim Jason was used to dissipates, and the kid was back to his shy little self, “Right, sorry. Come in! I’ll go grab you some napkins- are you hungry? It’s really late, and- oh, we have some juice too! We have passion fruit, dragonfruit, starfruit, strawberry-”

“I’ll take passionfruit,” Jason interrupted with an amused smile, “if you have the time, add a dash of lemon juice, ice, and honey.”

He watches as the kid freezes before nodding. Passionfruit with lemon and honey… that was one of Tim’s favorite drinks as an adult, and he’d constantly bugged Jason to make him some. Honestly, rich people shit.

“Okay! Uhm, do you want to shower first? You- you’re covered in blood, and i don’t think that’s too comfortable…”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs, “Lead the way, Timbo.”

“Timbo?” the kid faltered and blinks in confusion, but continued to lead Jason toward the bathroom before handing him a change of clothes.

When he was alone, the sound of running water filling the room, Jason took out the pendant and stared at it… The urge to bash the stupid thing against the wall was near overpowering, but he didn’t know what would happen if he did, and Jason would rather not try his luck.

He quickly washes, scrubbing himself down and reveling with how the warm water soothed his aching muscles. While he was at it, Jason scrubs at his scalp and washes his hair with tim’s fancy-ass shampoo snd conditioner. God, he misses the good shit.

When he finished, jason picked dried himself and shoved the pendant into one of the pant pockets (batman themed. why wasn’t he surprised? wonder woman would be leagues better than bruce. Nightwing too, he’s kinda surprised- oh. yeah. shit, he forgot…)

He stretches, humming at how his back popped pleasantly before sauntering down the steps. Sometime during the shower, his nose had stopped bleeding. Thank god for that.

“Tim!” Jason called, yawning briefly as he saw the kid staring into the humming microwave. The kid startled before smiling, “Did you have a good shower?”

“Yeah, I did,” Jason nodded, “What are you making?”

“Food,” the kid replied easily, “they’re leftovers, do you want some?”

“Yeah sure, why not.”

As they ate, Jason wondered how the hell he was going to get the kid to remember. He hummed, feeling exhaustion pulling at his eyes as he finished with his portion of leftover spaghetti.

Tim looks over at him, “Are you tired?”

“Yeah,” Jasonsighs, “it’s been… a long couple of days.”

“Alright! We have a spare guestroom you can use, is that okay?”

Jason nodded. It’ll at least give him the time to think over how he’ll continue with his plan, “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Lead the way, Tim.”

A few hours later, Jason was awaken by a shape pressing a knife to his throat.

He froze. His mind running through hundreds of different scenarios before he recognized the shape hovering over him.

“…Tim? What- what is this? Put the knife down, and we can-”

“How,” the kid interrupts with narrowed and blazing eyes, “do you know my name? I never told you who I am, and only the people who’ve worked with my parents know that I exist. Did someone send you to kidnap me?”

Jason blinked, running over the last few hours in his mind before realizing that yeah, oh shit, Tim was right. He never did tell Jason his name, did he?

“Okay, kid. I’m…” and then he sees a hint of golden scales peeking from the collar of the kid’s robin-themed sleep shirt, “My name is Jason Todd. You are Timothy Jackson Drake, the third Robin. I’m the second Robin, and… I come from the furture.”

Tim jolts away, taken aback by Jason’s words before becoming instantly suspicious, “You know my name, and you know I like Robin. Prove to me you’re from the future, and maybe i’ll trust you.”

Jason smiles despite the situation, because this was Tim. Tim wasn’t some scared and timid kid, he was an independent little narcoleptic gremlin who drank too much Monster, somehow caught the eye of Ra’s Al Ghul, lost his spleen, and could lie to Batman and get away with it.

“Here,” Jason said, gesturing for Tim to shuffle back before grabbing the pendant and tugging off his shirt. When Tim laid his eyes on the skeletal bird resting above Jason’s heart, his hand automatically drifts to the marking Jason was sure he had, “can i see your…”

Tim gave him an uncertain look, but Jason wasn’t too surprised. If some random creepy guy told him to take lf his shirt. Jason would’ve stabbed him and ran off.

“You have a knife, kid. If i tried doing anything, you could always stab me.”

“…Fine,” Tim bit out before shrugging off his shirt.

A golden snake stretched from the inside of Tim’s elbow, beautiful scales woven from gold coiled along the span of Tim’s arm before resting it’s head atop tim’s coller bone. Honestly? It was breathtaking, beautiful in a way that Jason envied, but it summarized Tim’s entire character pretty well.

The pendant in Jason’s hand glows as it nears Tim’s golden snake.

“I want to test something,” Jason says, “i’m gonna touch this to the head of thr snake, and we’ll see what happens.”

Tim narrows his eyes, his grip on the knife tightening before he nods.

The pendant presses agasinst Tim’s collar for a brief second, and then everything begins to glow.

Tim’s eyes, the snake’s outline, the fucking pendant- literally everything was fucking glowing.

Jason clenched his jaws, forcing himself to remain still as his brother gasps in pain. Tim’s hans twitched and jerked, but, it was as if some- some force was holding him still.

Eventually, after a few agonizing seconds, the gold fades and Jason hurriedly yanks it away. He surges forward, pulling the knife out of tim’s hand before tossing it to the side, off of the bed and out of the way.

“Jay…”

“Yeah, timmy?” Jason leaned back, pulling his brother up before carding a hand through his hair.

Tim was quiet for a few moments before finally speaking, “We need to get Dick, and then Damian.”

“So,” Jason allows the amusement to fill his tone, “are you gonna hold a knife to their throat, too?”

“I will grab that knife and actually stab you,” Tim huffed, “leave you with a scar that matched Red Hood’s.”

Jason scoffed, but he couldn’t help the smile rising onto his lips, “Language, kid. Who taught you to say these things, baby bird?”

“Fuck off,” Tim hissed, “i’m tired, and I miss the big bird…”

“Yeah,” he sighs, “i do too… It’s whatever though. Go to sleep, Tim. We’ll try and grab him tomorrow.”

“Okay… Goodnight, Jay.”

“Night, Tim.”

And sure, it may be lonely with the rest of his siblings at his side, but at least he no longer had to spend this new (old?) life all by himself.

-----

part 1, 3, 4

and the directory

[dr-spectre]

Hey guys! I wanna share something REALLYYYYYY important with you all!!!

So, I was having a nice conversation with an editor from Inkipedia. Really friendly individual, we had a nice civil discussion and it was great to hear out their points and wiki related things. I learnt some cool things and how Nintendo operates in certain areas.

I asked them about some stuff relating to Callie and localisations, and they told me that the "Hypnoshades" are actually just called "sunglasses," in the original Japanese version of Splatoon 2 and theres no mention of brainwashing OR hypnosis. All of the events in the original japanese version of Splatoon 2 seemed to be a lot more vague and up for interpretation which i found to be very interesting!!

However.... the editor told me that the English localisation line from DJ Octavio, "I remixed Callie's brain!" is actually different in the original japanese version.

GUESS WHAT DJ OCTAVIO SAID...

"Aori-Chan is so simple minded! I was able to brainwash her with ease."

Nintendo JP.... WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?! I WAS YOUR BIGGEST DEFENDER!! WHAT IS THIS?!?!?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT IN THE ORIGINAL JAPANESE VERSION... CALLIE WAS STILL BRAINWASHED?!?!

Oh I'm gonna be sick....

You know, this ultimately just proves something to me.

Splatoon 2's writing... just fucking sucks. Straight up, it's ass. And not the good kind. It's poorly written and you wanna know why? It's set up is REALLY GOOD!!!! but it's pay off is the most uninteresting, vile, disrespectful, childish, lazy, DISGUSTING THING THEY COULD HAVE POSSIBLY DONE!!!

All this interesting set up with Callie and having this arc where she's so lonely and busy that she ultimately runs away to the Octarians, joins them willingly and ends up getting hypnotised, resulting in her becoming more emotional and seeping into the darkness in her heart... Marie, having to come and remind her of the good times they had together... to reignite the positivity in Callie's heart... to repair what they have broken... to have a fresh start...

But did this setup get paid off in a satisfying and emotionally deep way? No.... they choose to TREAT CALLIE LIKE A FUCKING MORON AND FOR WHAT REASON?!?!?! ARE NINTENDO JUST SCARED OF DEPTH?!?! WHATS THEIR FUCKING ISSUE?!?!?!

ITS SO DISRESPECTFUL!!! SHE LOST THE FINAL SPLATFEST AND YOU CONTINUE TO BEAT HER DOWN?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! WHAT WERE THE WRITERS COOKING?!?!?! GET THEM OUT OF THE KITCHEN DAMN IT!!!!

They literally picked the most uninteresting and disgusting fucking outcome possible and I genuinely don't know why. There's SOOOO much concept art and multiple sunken scroll entries that showcase this depth for Callie, AND THEY THREW IT AWAY!!!

But you know what? Im gonna continue to hold my stance about the events of splatoon 2 because I would rather like to look at the story in a more interesting and narratively fulfilling way than what Nintendo is trying to push. Sure, it might not be what Nintendo said happened, but I would rather look at the events in a different, more character rich way for my own fucking sanity and enjoyment. I am going to continue to say fuck you to the notion that "Callie was brainwashed and kidnapped" because I like stories where characters go through character arcs and growth!!!! I hate it when that depth and agency for my favourite character in this franchise IS TAKEN AWAY!!!!

I would rather live in a world where Fresh Start ACTAULLY MAKES SENSE AS A SONG!! I would rather live in a world where OCTAVIO ISNT A FUCKING UNREDEEMABLE EVIL MONSTER THAT CUTTLEFISH WOULD NEVER WANNA SEE AGAIN AFTER HEARING WHAT HE DID TO CALLIE!!!!

I would rather live in a world where Splatoon 3 feels more satisfying to me and the Squid Sisters get proper send offs and pay offs to their arcs from the start of Splatoon 1.

I would rather live in a world where Tidal Rush is more emotional and personal, THAN SOME BULLSHIT "oh we gotta save callie because she's a dumb idiot and she's an object to grab because it's a video game!!! Ha ha!!!"

I would rather live in a world where Callie is given a proper character arc, INSTEAD OF GETTING KIDNAPPED AND THESE AWFUL AND DISGUSTING THINGS DONE TO HER! ONLY FOR IT TO GET REVERSED SO EASILY WITH NO MENTION OF THESE EVENTS EVER AGAIN!!!!!

UGH.... I'm actually so angry. I hate this so much.

When Splatoon 4 comes out, I'm not gonna hold back on my criticisms. I want change out of these writers because the current format we have for Splatoon stories is actual dogshit and I'm so tired of it. Everyone in the community is tired of the cool and interesting character details being pushed to the side and hidden away because Nintendo fucking hates narratives and only saves it for RPGS for some ungodly reason.

Im tired of important character details giving shoved off in optional and hard to find content. I'm tired of these awful implications and events being spread like wildfire in the community because daddy Nintendo said so.

Im done.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Some Orm Marius Headcanons Just Because

Pairing: Orm Marius x reader

A/N: Orm headcanons because apparently why not. Orm is my new crush I guess? I don't know either. Wow this got really long. Not sorry. I haven't had inspiration in forever and it feels nice.

I imagine that if you're ever fancy enough to have a shower and tub separate from each other (which is my idea of fancy, I love giant bathtubs I'm a weirdo) he would chill in a full tub of water while you shower. The first time he does it he scares the crap out of you. Now it's kinda nice.

Also, taking baths together. He might scrunch up his nose and tell you he'll think about it when you first ask. Eventually he'll agree but fights you on the temperature of the water the whole time. You're better off just setting up camp next to the tub if you really want to hang out with him while he marinates.

Call it his Marinating Time and you get The Frown™️. Arthur 100% looses his shit and wonders why he didn't think of it first the first time he hears it and it catches on like wildfire.

Have a campfire with Orm and he'll awkwardly stand 10 feet away while you try to lure him closer. Eventually he comes around to it but he likes it more because of how much you like it. S'mores are secretly his favorite though.

And once he cooks over the fire that's it. That's the only way you'll get him to cook. Why? Because of the taste🤌 that's why.

You two can look at the lobster tank at the grocery store together. Dare him to steal the lobsters and he'll give you The Frown™️ because that would be childish.

You always bring a water bottle with you when you go out anywhere on land together. Like one of those giant, metal, double walled monstrosities that are heavy as fuck and hold half a gallon. He thinks you're insane for lugging it around everywhere until he realizes one day that he drinks out of it more than you and that you're carrying it around for him. He's such an idiot I love him

Likes the feeling of you idly running your fingers through his hair. It kind of reminds him of being underwater, feeling the current.

You get along with Arthur in a way that almost worries Orm. In the sense that you will 100% charge at Arthur in a mock fight and try to wrestle him to the ground as a greeting after like, the second time you meet him. Arthur is absolutely siked to have you around, you lighten Orm up but don't take shit from Arthur.

Which makes Tom instantly happy you're around. You two often commiserate over having fallen in love with Atlanteans and what not. Lots of comfortable silences between you to.

And Junior. Orm has all kinds of feelings he does not want to think about when he first sees you holding Arthur and Mera's kid. Even if his Mother is giving him a knowing look as you spin the laughing kid around until you land safely on the couch.

You get along so well with Atlanna even if she's a little intimidating at first. She sees how much you care for her younger son, how you don't let him linger on the outside looking in because "this is your family too, Orm" and she he hugs you a little too tight after hearing that, after seeing small stolen moments between you and Orm. Her sons are happy.

If you want Orm to teach you how to fight he will say absolutely not and when you ask Arthur, who obviously says hell yeah, only then does Orm take over. But then you tell Atlanna one day that you think he's going easy on you so she lovingly starts training you to kick ass. She does not go easy on you. It's kind of awesome.

If you ever go to a museum and see a tylosaur fossil and Orm casually points out he use to ride one, you literally drag him to the nearest beach and demand he proves it because LOOK AT THAT? ⬇️ THAT'S COOL AS FUCK!

So I went ice skating today and since I have Orm on my brain I was thinking about ice skating with Orm and he would be so very, very horrible when he first steps out on the ice. Thinks you are purposely trying to embarrass him. He's a baby deer on ice. The Frown™️ is impressive if you laugh at him falling because honestly the ice rink is in more trouble than Orm when he falls anyway.

I think (sometimes) he learns things through shear stubbornness. He doesn't want anyone's help. He can figure this out on his own thank you very much, no matter how many times he falls (literally or metaphorically) just to prove he can. But when it clicks and he gets it, man is graceful as hell. Does laps around you and gets brave enough to pick you up and zoom around with you yelling at him the whole time.

Also, he likes when you praise him praise kink? praise kink.

He gets snarky when he's upset and I imagine he can be pretty mean without thinking about it. Probably has a hard time apologizing when the relationship is still new.

So, so worried about seeming too vulnerable around you. Tell him directly that it is okay to be vulnerable, you love him, you trust him and you want him to trust you.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Could we get some angst like where fem!reader and dallas get into an argument and/or go on a break but they can’t stand being away from each other and do the whole confession and kiss in the rain cliche?

Mwah mwah chefs kiss love this i dont know how to cw so uhh fem reader?? use of nickname doll??? fight??? idk bro

It was raining. Hard. The soft pitter-patter of the droplets on the window reminds you of reality everytime you start drifting away.

“I don’t understand, who do you take me for?! An idiot?!” You seethed, knuckles turning white from clenching them too hard. “No, you’re not an idiot, you’re a bitch, that’s what you are.” Dally says pointing at you. He was equally as mad, although maybe for a less justified reason. You had seen him hanging around some red-head. It started as a simple question, but one thing led to another and now it was a full blown argument. “You don’t let me have any fun! No parties, no chicks, nuthin’!” He angrily stated. “We’re in a relationship, Dal! There is no chicks! No parties! Oh my God! Can you use your brain for like a minute and think about how I feel!” You say, putting your face in your hands. Dallas gives you a look before shaking his head. 

“That’s it, we’re done.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cancer stick and a lighter. “Good riddance, toxic asshole” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest as he leaves.

You replay the fight in your mind, turning it over like a coin in your hand. Was I in the wrong? You think to yourself. Hell no. You affirmed yourself, if Dallas didn’t show up with an apology, you didn’t need it anyways. There’s a sharp crack against your window that startles you out of your self assurance. Another crack makes you look up. On the third crack you catch what it is. A pebble being thrown at the window. You look down at your lawn trying to catch a glimpse of who would be stupid enough to throw pebbles at your window during a storm. Dallas. Of course. Dallas was stupid enough. You quickly open the window, forcing it open quickly. A pebble wizzes by your face and you shoot Dally an unimpressed look. “What do you want, Dallas,” You say. Please, don’t stand in the rain, you’ll catch a cold. Your mind betrays you, you still care about him. “Let’s talk.” He say, voice slightly shaking, although you don’t know if its because of the cold or because he hasn’t seen you in forever. “You’re not stepping foot into my house while you're soaking wet.” His lips quirk up at that, there’s the girl he knows. “Would you like to come down then?” You make a show of mulling it over, although you already know the answer. The jacket is already in your hand by the time you're down the stairs and reaching for your keys. You quickly slip it on and rush out of the house. The rain soaks you before you’ve even reached Dal, the wind picking up speed and the rain turning into heavier droplets. He stands taller than you, by quite a bit actually, but his shoulders sag when you reach him. There’s a few seconds of silence, except for the torrent of rain that was battering both you and him. “I miss you.” He says, quietly. “That’s sweet.” There was a pause before Dally took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I messed up big time.” “You seem to do that a lot” You interject. He gives you a small chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I do. But I’m so sorry, really. It’s kind of hard adjusting to a ‘relationship’. I just thought that I could get a head start if..” his voice goes quiet, “if you ever decided to leave me like Sylvia. I thought I could prove I was a tuff guy. I’m not tuff, not really. Especially when it comes to you. I really hate that I’m turning soft or whatever..” He looked up at you, his usually harsh eyes were unexpectedly innocent. “Dallas, you can’t keep thinking that I’m going to morph into Sylvia. I’m not Sylvia, you’ve got to understand, you can’t keep letting this front our relationship.” You hugged your jacket tighter around you. “You’re right, you're not Sylvia, you’re so much more, so much better than she will ever be.” and before you could react his hands moved to your face and he pulled you in. The kiss was, dare I say, “magical”, resparking feelings that you had tried to put out for the whole time Dally was missing from your life. You pulled away quickly. “Please, doll, I’m so sorry for everything, I’m ready to be a better boyfriend, don’t pull away from me.” He nearly sobs. You roll your eyes and take your keys from out of your jacket pocket. “As much as I love the ‘kiss in the rain’ cliche, it’s fucking cold out here Dal,” you smile at him, taking his hand. He wraps his arm around your neck pulling you in again. His hand slips into yours and you realize how warm it is in his arms.

[anonmousegosqueak]

You Gaz post was beauty.

You're brain is so big, Anon! Gaz is peak character for me. Has strong morals, but is still willing to put them aside to do what's right. And in some cases, I think he even uses his morality to justify the war crimes! I usually hc him with a lot of guilt, a lot of sitting with Price after missions sharing a drink "Tell me we're doing the right thing, Cap." Gaz has the potential to be like, the least normal guy in the group.

Honestly, I think Ghost is more normal/justified in his weirdness. Ghost has a shit ton of trauma, and literally just wears a mask. The man wants to drink tea and just get the job done. Sure he shows off for Johnny sometimes, but that's because he's gay.

Soap? I think he gets off on blowing things up, either his family literally didn't want his ashes or he doesn't have anyone but the team, and he's Scottish. The man is not normal. He'll find new and inventive ways to kill people with his explosions, trying to make them bigger and "bonnie" to show off for Ghost.

Price is a fucking psychopath and no one convince me otherwise. But I also think that he has the closest bond with Gaz.

Sure, everyone likes to think Gaz and Soap are besties, fuck buddies, lovers. Or that he and Ghost have this bond of "Most Normal" (it's wrong, Gaz is not Normal!) But Price? The mentor?! Gaz looks at that man for guidance, for assurance that what they're doing is worth it.

You're so right about the leash part too! Price keeps Soap on a tight leash, otherwise everything goes up in smoke and explosions. Ghost has some leeway, being the normal one, but Price knows Ghost needs that control. Needs someone to pull him back from going to far. But Gaz? Gaz is loyal, he'll go do his violence and come running back to Price like a cat delivering a dead mouse. "Look what I've done! It was for you! Do you like it? Was it good?"

-🦴

🦴🦴🦴🦴 (my version of extending your name)

You get it!

Ghost is sad, Johnny is Scottish, but Gaz? Nah he's just crazy. He doesn't even have a reason, he just wants to do good and does it through violence.

Also yes- I'm a *sucker* for sad Gaz and Price like

Gaz: "hey captain... Are we actually doing a good thing?"

Price: "..."

Because y'know what? He *doesn't know.*

So he lies. He lies to protect Gaz, he lies because he knows that some people need to sleep at night, he lies because he loves Gaz (platonic or romantic, you can decide) and he's in the exact same situation.

I think I said this in the previous post but love the alone mission and I love Ghost and Soap's banter but y'know what? Price and Gaz have good if not better banter! Those two gay idiots get one mission with seriousness and jokes, Price and Gaz? Well they get all the missions with seriousness and jokes!

And yeah- Soap and Gaz? Besties that are the literal incarnate of "it's not gay if we wear socks!" (Despite both being gay and both not wearing socks but whatever)

Ghost and Gaz? Chilling. They have quiet conversations about serious stuff. I think they both appear like the 'normal' friendship but that's because they kinda cancel each other out and are a lot more quiet about how they want to watch the world burn.

But PRICE AND GAZ?? OH MY GODDD CAN WE PLEASE STOP SLEEPING ON THIS BALLER RELATIONSHIP? Again, it can be romantic or platonic, I like both. But there's just... So much there? Like a fucking mountain of content and we just ignore them. The mentor and student relationship but also not totally serious. Yeah Gaz will joke about Price going in instead of him, but at the end of the day he's the one in close combat because he *listens* to his captain. He's cocky and a bit of a brat but he's also loyal and if it comes down to it Price is the top authority. He trusts Price. He gets away with being a brat because he's proved himself to be strong and smart. He's been through the works, he's earned the right to be a bitch.

And oh my *goodness*- cat Gaz. I've made my point for cat Soap (check out all my hybrid stuff ⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ) but you've opened the world of cat Gaz to me. Specifically an outdoor cat, the kind who wanders the streets during the day and comes back for dinner. Who brings his captain a few treats from his adventure, who is scrappy and *bites.* Whereas Soap is a dumb orange cat, Gaz is a slick alley cat who fights stray dogs for fun. Who gets to leave the house because Price knows he'll be safe. Make a few enemies? Maybe. But he'll always come back.

[vole-mon-amour]

I don't think I ever gave a name to that, which results in me never truly pinpointing that, but Johnny is such an incredibly resilient and adaptive, quick thinking person.

I just did that mission with an old Samurai fan that refuses to give you the tape of the first concert(s) unless you prove to him you're also a big fan, and the way Johnny reacts combined with what we know about him? Amazing.

The game starts with Johnny wanting to kill V, but then he very quickly thinks it over and decides he has to work with V. "Changed my mind, made it pretty clear." & "I got a free ticket out of this prison, would be a fool not to take/use it."

Then, while he's still getting used to V, he says out loud that he's been watching her, been trying to understand how she works and in whose brain he's stuck with. When she asks what he wants, he says, "Help me settle my score with Arasaka." He has a clear goal, but he's constantly analyzing the world around him and adjusts if needed.

During the Samurai old tapes mission, Johnny says something like, "That's why you never bring old war heroes back. They might see that everything they fought for been turned to shit/been for nothing." Not the exact quote, but the point is the same.

After the conversation with that old fan, V asks, "The guys is your biggest fan. Not happy to meet him?" And to the entire situation Johnny basically reacts that the guys is stuck in the past. The Arasaka tower has been blown to bits by Johnny, but it's still standing, so nothing changes/changed. And V insists that "been fifty years, something must've changed and still changes, we just don't see it." Johnny says that the only thing that (truly) changed is that people (a person) used to be more than a bag of meat full of implants.

When Kerry is angry (as he should be) about his manager screwing him over and wants to attack Us Cracks backstage, upon seeing the girls, Johnny says something like, "They have potential. Kerry must be an idiot if he doesn't see that." Johnny probably saw/heard them during the first V's body takeover while he was partying, plus, he probably saw the footage that Kerry showed V at the diner while they were drinking coffee, so in theory he had time to think it through. However, it also seems like Johnny saw the band for the first time ever, heard what they were saying and how they wanted to help (that they're Kerry's fans, have multimillion contracts and are touring right here and now), so he immediately adapted—take the opportunity, don't be an idiot. While Kerry is insecure and is driven by that and emotions, and he wants to make it on his own.

The entire thing with Johnny first hoping to get out of V's brain and keep on living that resolves into him taking V to Pistis Sophia and promising her that "When it comes to my life for yours, I'll agree to get wiped." He sees what V is going through, he gets real, he thinks it over, he makes a quick decision and he sticks to his word.

There's probably more I could add, but jumping to the Temperance ending: how Johnny doesn't bother telling Kerry about V (which is both a shitty and a necessary thing to do), how he only reaches out to Rogue and updates her on the situation because it's something HE needs to do for himself. When she insults him, however, he a) he's still grieving the loss of V b) he doesn't start defending himself, nor does he bother to even reply to her messages. He told her all she needed to know, the rest doesn't (or at least shouldn't) bother him. It's a post factum to Johnny: this happened. He has to live with it & it doesn't matter what anybody says about that. And while he basically says to Steve. that Kerry is good, that he's happy for him and his success, he knows he has to get out of Night City. And who knows what happens if he calls Kerry or, God forbid, meets up with him and tells him that his partner/good pal (gn) is dead and Johnny took her place? It's like poking a beehive. Like adding salt to the wound while the wound is still bleeding. Johnny doesn't need that.

So what does Johnny say when he gets on the bus? "Didn't forget a thing. Will never forget." Johnny recognizes that everything that has happened has ALREADY happened and he should leave it in the past. He even tells to V's necklace that he can't keep on living like this, he has to move on—while the time after her death has barely passed (two weeks or two months, when you lose a loved one, it barely makes any difference. It's still an open wound.) He even tells Steve that he used to miss her, but not so much now. Which I think he tries to convince himself in order to move on and "man up" (which is a problem in itself, but that's not what the post is about), or be nice to the kid without burdening him because Steve already has lots of problems with his family, but maybe Johnny truly believes (or thinks that he does) that it's OK now. Just like with that old Samurai fan, he tells to himself not be get stuck in the past (while it's still his present, but again, that's another topic). The time to grieve has ended, gotta get on.

Again, combined with Johnny's horrible childhood, his dad selling him for a pack of cigs, Johnny losing his best friend at war and being experimented on with the new cyberware that made such an awful and lasting damage on him (and the entire untreated PTSD) that, when he emerged, everyone around him noticed that he's not quite himself, it's incredible that Johnny managed to not lose his mind and sanity completely. With drugs, alcohol, depression, but he kept being functional, managed to write songs, tour and perform.

And THEN the entire thing with V happens & he still finds enough of mental strength and energy to keep fighting for this body and this life that V gifted him. Make himself worthy of this body. Make V proud.

Johnny is such an amazing character. If there wasn't anyone and anything in this game that I liked, he and his character development alone would've kept me in the fandom. He and his story are a big part of why I keep calling Cyberpunk 2077 one of my favorite games and have around 380 hours put into the game (and it's still raising).

[paincallingback]

Dumbass

(Felix crying in the secret tunnels over his stupid mistakes.)

Peeps: @star-tb @myluckymoon @city-of-c0rpses @deeply-moonstruck @w3apon0fchoice @kimisbunny

He hates me.

There's no doubt in it now. He's tolerated my annoying ass for so long, probably lying that I'm not annoying at all. He doesn't have to spare me with the white lies in order to avoid hurting my feelings. It's okay to admit it, X. I am just some annoying dumbass who doesn't use half of his brain majority of the time.

Such a foolish idiot I am.

He was right there. I could have given him the right answer. The correct answer. Yet I chose wrong, leaving him with a look of disappointment that I can not even describe with words.

I'm so stupid.

I could have said everything right then and there, but I'm such a idiot all because I was a little too afraid of change. I don't want things to change. I want to keep everything the same.

I'm supposed to hate the bastard. Kill him while he's unguarded. Insult him till he breaks. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate. That's my job. To be his rival and beat him at something!

So why does my heart start to pound more when I'm near him. Why do I actually like his company? Why do I hesitate to kill him?

I'm such a idiot.

That was my only friend. Throughout most of my life ever since I was in high school, no matter the amount of times I would hate and annoy him, he was still my friend. He hung out with me for no reason, even though I was lame. He stood up for me when I couldn't defend myself.

I don't blame him at this point. Everyone eventually gets tired of me at some point. Even if I tried hard enough to be better, it's all fatal in the end. That's how it's always been.

That was my friend and now he probably hates me. My only friend slipped through my fingers. I lost him. I let him get away. Now he's gone because I'm such a fucken idiot.

I'm such a loser. A damn try hard who makes an embarrassment out of myself when I have no one to prove to. It's all just some game to me I guess.

After all. What is life without a rival? If that's what I can even call him anymore. I'm not sure if he has anything to do with me at all anymore or not.

I guess I'm such a idiot after all.

Things could have ended differently for us. Multiple endings in reality. Though I guess I chose the bad end. Laying here on the floor of the secret tunnels. Safe and alone, so no one can he my tears. I wish this was all just some bad dream.

Perhaps in the future, I will stop being such a idiot.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Baby: Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression, wanting to die, being shot

Summary: You're trying to prove to Sam and Dean that after two months of having your soul restored, you're all better. You'll gladly play the part if it means they don't worry about you. However, that facade is slowly being stripped away from you the longer you go without facing up to those feelings. You're not okay and you need to stop pretending like you are.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Dean pulls out of the parking lot and resumes the drive to Oregon, and you flip open the blank notebook and put your pen to the paper. Maybe in order to start to heal, you need to get out what's been bothering you. You have to do this for your kids. They'll become Sapphire Witches in the future, maybe only one of them might, but they're going to need something to fall back on when they find themselves in the same situation as you.

You pray to God that they never have to lose their souls but in the instance that it happens, they're gonna want to know what to do or how to get through it. There are plenty of books on the Sapphire Witch, even the journal that the previous Sapphire Witches had all written in. You'll write your own entries one day but right now, you have to focus on making a Scarlet Witch book.

You have to document what happened, what kind of magic you used, and how you felt so that future generations can look back on it and realize they're not alone.

Where do you even begin? From the beginning, I guess.

I am leaving this journal behind as a sort of... guide... for whoever needs to read it. I'm not even sure where to start. I don't remember much about my time as the Scarlet Witch, but I know the Mark of Cain helped me unlock that side of it. Does that mean I'll get that magic back if I ever become soulless again? I'm not sure. It's possible which means it's possible for you to gain these powers, hence this journal. The power I felt... It was like someone flipped a switch in my brain and dialed everything I felt to the maximum. It was evil. It was chaos. I could do things I can't do now. Well, maybe I can. I'm honestly afraid of using my magic in fear I'll tap into that side of me again. I craved power which is what you'll crave if you ever come across this side of you. I did anything I could in order to feed that monster inside of me, including hurting the people I love.

You take a break and look out the window before you start sobbing. Knowing how you feel is different than explaining it on paper for someone to read. It's going to be a long time before you're okay again but you have to get this down on paper before you refuse to do it. You tape the end of your pen rhythmically on the notebook as you think of what to say next.

"So, 'digging into the lore'? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Man, I needed that," Sam laughs.

"Look at that, you're finally not a virgin anymore," Dean grins. "You know what? I think it was time. I respect the fact that you know, wanted to stay true and pure and waited."

"You know what? You're an idiot," Sam scoffs.

"You even put a blanket down. Classy and thoughtful as always."

"I tried to give her my number. You know what she said?"

"We got tonight. Who needs tomorrow?"

"Is everything a Bob Seger song to you?"

"Yeah, well..." Dean looks at his brother who tries to hide a yawn. "You're tired. I'm still wired so I'm gonna pull over and get some gas. You hop in the back and get some Z's because you earned 'em. Proud of you, little brother." Dean pulls into the first gas station he sees and looks at you who is still staring out the window. "Hop up here, sweetheart."

You and Sam trade places, and you put your notebook away knowing you can't find the words to say. You don't want to rush this so you'll find some time to write later. You lean your head on the window and close your eyes. Maybe you'll get some sleep if you allow yourself to relax.

You gasp awake when you hear the sound of a train blaring its horn. You're still up front with Dean who has a book open on his lap. Sam jerks and looks around, having been shocked awake from the train as well. Dean is parked on the side of the road since there isn't a motel around for miles, and he doesn't want to drive anymore.

"Welcome to the Winchester Motel. We don't have cable, but we do have room service." Dean takes a beer from the cooler that's sitting on the floorboard by you and tosses it to Sam. "You were singing in your sleep. You know, that song Mom loved that Dad used to always play for us. I think I've actually still got the tape."

"Hey, Dean, when you and Y/N saw the Darkness, you weren't sure if it was the real thing or a vision, right?"

"It was real to me," you whisper.

"I think I've been having visions, too, lately. It's just images. I mean, more of a... feeling, really. I just had one right now, and Dad was in it, but it wasn't Dad like... like the Dad that I grew up with. It was Dad when he was our age. I guess it wasn't even really Dad. It was someone pretending to be Dad and--"

"Okay, what makes you say that?" Dean cuts his brother off from rambling.

"For starters, he told me everything I wanted to hear from him."

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like Dad."

"No. Anyways, whoever it was, they had a message to deliver. They said the Darkness is coming, and only we can stop it."

"Did they have him give you any helpful tips on how to do that?"

"He said, 'God helps those who help themselves.' I mean, maybe these visions are coming from God."

"Are you serious?" you ask.

"The first one happened after I prayed."

"You prayed? When was this?"

"Back with Jenna and Amara. After I got the phone call that Y/N was gone." You look down, remembering how you wanted to end your life. I still do. "I was worried."

"What did you pray about?"

"I guess I was just looking for answers, you know?"

"Well, I'm sure whatever is kicking around in your head right now is a side effect of being in close proximity to Amara."

"I don't think it's that simple."

"Come on, man. That quote? 'God helps those who help themselves'? God didn't say that. That's not even in the Bible. That's an old proverb that dates way back to Aesop." You and Sam look at Dean like he grew two heads. "What? I read. More importantly, when was the last time God answered any one of our prayers? It's not a vision, Sam. It's just some fever dream. That's all. As far as Dad goes, I dream about Dad all the time."

"You do?"

"Of course, I do. It's usually the same one, too." Dean looks down as he speaks, unable to look at anyone in the eyes when he says this. "We're all in the car. I'm sitting in the driver's seat and Dad is sitting shotgun. There aren't any shotguns. There are no monsters. There's no hunting. There's none of that. It's just... He's teaching me how to drive, and I'm not little like I was when he actually taught me how to drive. I'm sixteen, and he's helping me get my learner's permit. Of course, you two are in the backseat, just begging to take a turn. We pull up to the house--the family house--and I park in the driveway. He looks over and says, 'Perfect landing, son.' I have that dream every couple of months. Kind of comforting, actually."

"I always dream about mom. Usually the same kind of thing, though."

"Normal life?"

"Yeah. Normal life. Mean, I know we have a family and kids which is what we dream about, but there is no hunting."

"Yeah, I get it."

"Dean, this wasn't just a dream. I'm telling you."

"Why would somebody dress up like Dad to give you a message? I mean, it's Dad. You don't exactly have a history of listening to what he had to say."

"You two said the Darkness is sending messages to you. Y/N, is this any different than her messages to you? Maybe whatever is the opposite of the Darkness is sending messages to me."

"You think that's God?" you ask. "He's not exactly a team player at the moment."

"Okay, maybe it's not God, but--"

"Look, I know what you're trying to do here. You're trying to find some greater meaning to it all. Right? Some explanation as to what went down. I'm telling you, Sam. The Darkness? It's on us. No one's gonna help us, certainly not God, so we'll have to figure this thing out like we always do. Until then, we hunt."

"Goodnight, jerk," Sam scoffs.

"Night, bitch."

It's lights out now, so you and Dean shift so that he's lying on the seat with you on top of him. You rest your head above his heart while he rubs your back softly to calm your racing heart. You lift your head enough to catch his eyes.

"Dean, I..."

The words are lodged in your throat.

"I know, sweetheart. I do, too," he whispers.

You lean up and kiss him emotionally before putting your head back down on his chest. You don't have any nightmares and you think it's because you're in your husband's arms. 

When you wake up the next morning, Dean finishes the drive to Oregon and drops Sam off at the Sheriff's station while you and Dean head to the ME's office to look at the body. After getting what he needs, you two head back to the station and wait for Sam to be done. You're sitting in the front with your head leaning on the window just watching the wind blow the leaves on the ground. Dean reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you turn your head to look at him.

"How are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess."

"I want you to be honest with me about how you're feeling. I'm your husband."

"I wish I wasn't here. I know that's not fair of me to say but it's true. I should have let Death put me on another planet when I had the chance."

"I promised you that I would bring you back and I did. I took care of you while you were stuck inside my head. Now, I promise you that I will get you back to how you were before. No matter how long it takes." You scoot closer to him and put your forehead on his. He drops his voice to a whisper. "I promise you'll feel okay one day."

"I love you so much."

"I love you so much."

You two share a slow and intimate kiss. Everything else melts away so that it's only you and Dean in this moment. You pull away just as Sam walks out of the Sheriff's station and just like that, everything comes back into focus.

"Hey, the coroner showed me the sheriff's body. It was mauled all right. Get this, his heart was missing and his was body completely drained of blood."

"So, what? Are we looking for a werewolf/vampire hybrid?"

"Say it with me. A Were-pyre. Huh?" Dean asks with a grin.

"No."

"Come on."

"I'm not saying that," Sam snips.

"Whatever. I called Cas and told him to look into the lore. What do you got?"

"The Sheriff's replacement, Deputy Donnelly, is not the brightest bulb. I got a copy of his report, through. Maybe he missed something."

Speaking of, the Deputy walks to the window and kneels down right where Dean is sitting.

"Agents."

"Deputy."

"They must be your partners. Agent Walsh and Richards, right?" He looks from Sam to you to Dean. "Pleasure to meet you. I just want to thank you three for stopping by. We really appreciate your due diligence."

"Actually, do you know a motel where we can crash for the night?"

"You're staying?"

"Yeah, we want to be thorough."

"Well, there's a motel on Downey that'll give you a good price. If you're looking for a decent meal, you can't beat Aunt Mel's down by the train station. Parking is a bitch but it's the best damn steak in the whole state."

"You had me at 'steak'," Dean grins.

Dean drives to Aunt Mel's and grumbles in annoyance when he sees the valet parking service. He doesn't see a way out of it so he's forced to use their service. Sam looks over at his brother who refuses to hand his keys over to the very young woman.

"Dean, people valet park all the time. Come on, live a little."

Dean gets out of the car and hands the woman his keys but not without a warning.

"Yeah, listen, uh," he looks at her nametag, "Jessie, not a scratch, okay?"

You three head inside and Sam gets a table in the back, and you pull your phone out of your pocket to call Molly.

"Hey, how's the hunt going?" she answers.

"Oh, uh, okay. How are the kids?"

"The girls are angels. It's Noah I'm still having trouble with. Don't worry, I've dealt with this kind of thing before. I always leave a family with everyone loving me."

"Is he there with you?"

"Yeah."

"Put him on, please." There is a shuffle on the other end before Noah comes on the line. You step off to the side to speak privately while the brothers order food. "Noah, why are you giving Molly a hard time?"

"I want to be out there with you hunting."

"Noah... I know you want to come out with us but getting an education and being a kid is more important. You'll have your entire life to hunt but you can only be a kid once. Trust me, as someone whose childhood was stolen, being a kid is so much more important."

"Yeah, I guess," he sighs.

"Okay, look, why don't I make a deal with you? If you continue to go to school and not give Molly a hard time, I'll take you out and practice hunting with you. I'll teach you how to use all sorts of weapons and give you some training. Deal?"

"Yeah, we can do that."

"Okay, I gotta go but I love you."

"I love you, too."

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[alexa-yukiyu]

Locked Database ( Mihawk x f!reader x Crocodile)

A/N yoooooo, I spent yesterday and today makind this, got stuck a lot but I was determined to make it happened. This one is darker than what you guys are used from me but I wanted feedback that part of me a little bit. Million thanks to @quinloki and @💧Anon for giving me inspiration and ideas for this 👀.

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha as a place holder which stands for Reader in japanese

Dividers by @/saradika

“You sure stand out, don’t you, Mr. President?” Crocodile growled, shoving the newly distributed paper on Buggy’s Throat

“It wasn’t me, I swear,” he cries

“Then how the hell do you explain it?” He said, sending a swift kick his way, ignoring the pain-filled groan that escaped him.

“I should kill you for that, clown,” he said, inching his hook closer to his neck, pausing as a knife was sent his way, passing right through his sandy body.

Mihawk continued sipping on his wine as a knife was sent his way, simply edging away slightly to avoid it, yellow irises narrowing at a woman standing before them

“Leave him alone,” she growls, a pistol drawn and pointed their way

“Dokucha” Cries Buggy

“Mr.1,” Crocodile calls, dismissedly

“Let him go,” she demanded, breath hitching as an arm wrapped around her neck, a sharp edge to it.

“Drop the weapon,” a voice grumbled behind her.

She grits her teeth, complying as the hold around her tightened, the blade digging into her skin.

“Who are you?” Crocodile asks, raising an eyebrow when his question goes unanswered.

Mihawk takes notice of this and places his wine down, and in one swift movement, takes hold of Yoru and places the sharp edge against Buggy’s neck

“Stop!” She said, trying to make a run towards him being held back by the person behind her

“Who are are you?” Mihawk Drawls

“…”

He quirks a brow at this, digging his sword closer to the Buggy, receiving a whine from the severed head

“Im his sister,” she growls

“Of this clown?” Mihawk inquires, glancing at her

“Dokucha, don’t! You moron, get out of here!” The clown pleads

“Not without you.”

“Wonder if selling you into slavery will be able to get me back all the money this one owes me.”

“Don’t touch h- Agh,” he groans as Crocodile tightens his hold on him

“Perhaps the money she gets us will be enough so we don’t have to sell you, then we can kill you here and now.”

“W-Wait” she exclaims

“You’re starting to annoy me.”

“You said you were starting a new business, right?”

He hums, gesturing to the person behind them

She sighs as the person releases her

“I'm a prodigy at statistics and economy.” She starts

“I have the ability of a devil fruit aiding me as well, makes me a human database, I can calculate in seconds, provide prognostics just as fast, I can reach valuable contacts, gather the information you can only imagine, run enough statistics to power enterprises ”she continued, getting on her knees in front of them

“I know he is an idiot, but he is still my brother; please spare him. I will work for your company; I can easily raise it and make it a formidable force, so please don’t kill my brother.” she spoke bowing her head

Mihawk takes a glance over at the begging woman

“Come here.”

She looked up at the swordsman, slowly getting up and approaching the men

“If you truly are related to this one, then you have to prove your worth,” Crocodile said, pulling out a paper and handing it to her

“These are the current funds we have. Thanks to your brother, we also have the investments we must make for the guild. Tell me how you would make it work.”

She gingerly took the paper and looked it over, her brain beginning to perform calculations, pulling information and strategies from the network, trying to find the best fit

“Well?”

“First, I would take into account the possible outcomes and expenses of these upcoming investments and create an estimated balance sheet of the income and expenses that will be generated as opposed to current investments. After that, I will assess the risk that will be involved with each expected investment and determine the expected rate of return. Additionally, I will create a comprehensive budget and forecast for expected revenues and expenses to ensure that the guild has enough resources to carry out its operations while remaining solvent. I would move funds between areas they are more needed in, I would eliminate funds given to man-power and employees to the guild; my brother has no shortage of workers, so that is something the funds should not be wasted in," she rambles

Crocodile stares at her for a few seconds until an ominous laugh escapes him

“Well, Well, seems one of the siblings is actually competent.” He stays with a grin, letting out a cloud of smoke

“Why would a smart thing like you sacrifice yourself for him?”

“Are you deaf? He is my brother, an idiot, but still my brother; I'm not leaving him to die to the likes of you.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” she growls

He hums, sending a kick to the body in front of him, the smile growing on his face at the painful whines that escaped Buggy as he did so

“Why would you do that?!” She cries, bending down to help her brother, only to stop as a sword is placed at her neck, silently urging her to rise again

She throws a glance at Mihawk as she slowly stands up again

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t appreciate the tone you are taking; if memory serves me correctly, You were the one who got on their knees begging for mercy, and we heard your plea, and in return, you insulted us?” He spoke, raising Yoru and letting a small smile as Dokucha tried to rise with it to avoid being nicked

“Don’t touch her, please! Spare her!”

Crocodile grunts, growing tired of the bluehead’s whines and sending his hook smashing to his temple, knocking him out

“Buggy!” Dokusha cried, hissing when the sword dug into her skin as she tried to step closer to her brother

“Now we can have a talk without that clown interrupting,” Crocodile spoke, letting out another train of smoke escape him

“Need I remind you that you are not the one at the advantage here, Darling?” he began leaning back

“You are outwitted, outnumbered, and outpowered; you stand no chance to leave of this unharmed, much less that brother of yours; we decided to hear your deal out but never said we would agree.”

“…”

“You certainly are an asset, and now that we know what you are capable of, we can’t allow you to leave.”

“We will spare his life; we will let him become the figurehead of crossguild, make him the scapegoat.” Mihawk continues

“A coward like him is sure to obey without complaint, especially with you in the picture. But that also brings us to you,” Crocodile spoke, looking at her mockingly. Turning to one of his subordinates and began to mutter some orders to them

“Eyes on me,” Mihawk called, pulling her attention away from the scarred man and back to him

“Seems you have more common sense and pride than him, but don’t forget where you stand.”

She grits her teeth, holding back her tongue from snapping back at him, knowing that no matter what she said, no matter what came out her mouth, he was not wrong. Her ability was the only thing keeping her alive and on their radar; she wasn’t and probably would never be a significant threat to the two Warlords.

He smiles at this

“Down,” he orders

“I ‘m not a damn mutt.”

“Yes, a dog wouldn't be this much trouble to train,” he muses

“You da-

“Down, girl,” he repeats, a firmer tone in his voice

She glares at him as she eventually does as he wants and kneels on the ground in front of them

“That will do,” she hears Crocodile mutter as the subordinate returns with something in his hands; she tries to turn to asses what the item

Was but was stopped by the sword again

“Eyes on me,” the swordsman repeats

“You have no idea what you are dealing with,” she sneers

“We do. Thanks to your pleas and little demonstration we do, and that’s why we will take precautions,” the familiar voice of Crocodile rumbles behind her; before she jad time to register his words, the sound of something snapping, and the slight weight on her shoulders answer her question

“You have quite the ability; we can’t have you trying to communicate with someone who would create a problem for us or divulging important information, so from now on, we get to decide when and how you use that devil fruit of yours.”

A feeling of dread envelops her as she tries to enter her mindscape only to be unable to find anything

“Sea stone,” Crocodile confirms

“As I said, we get to decide when and how you use it from now on, little Plover.”

“So let’s talk about what is going to happen now”

This just makes me feel some sorta waaay, what are we thinking @quinloki i, @💧anon? I am having the time of my life with this one 😂. So proud of that last part with Mihawk, really like how it turned out. Also ya’ll if that small statistic/economy talk din’t make any sense it’s because I have no idea what the hell im talking about 😂 I just used fancy words I heard my dad use, since he is a banker I figured they would fit the context.

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