#when he knows damn well he's BEEN breaking it with no consequences. not just there either

[qazastra]

actually can i complain about my boss again.

apparently he only wants to have one experienced person on a training shift from now on. one person to train the entirely new worker how to work at our cafe. because "labor costs are through the roof." are you

are you fucking with meeee FUCK WITH MEEEEEE YOU PAY US MINIMUM WAGE YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THIS

hes just simply not going to have people who know what to do then!!!!! bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[gladiatorcunt]

- MOLTEN LAVA CAKE / IV.

when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

cw: kinktober prompt (creampie), unprotected sex & playing fast and loose with it’s possible consequences, yandere behavior, age gap (reader 20’s, capitano & zhongli 50s, baizhu 40s), power imabalance, non con somno (childe), dub con, innocence kink & lowkey medical malpractice (baizhu), reader has a pussy, implied kidnapping (capitano), if you squint childe & capitano’s sections are connected, frequent breeding kink type talk, manipulation & coercion, implied baby trapping, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

CEO!Zhongli

“Do be quiet, darling.” Zhongli grits, cupping your head with both of his palms and tugging you upwards. “I have no intentions of being an exhibitionist today.”

You arch off his grand wooden desk and gasp at the spark of pain in your neck, but you’d take that over drowning yourself in paperwork any day. Your boss’s cock is ramming into your ass at a porn star’s speed, the wet smacks of flesh slapping against flesh bounce off the one way glass walls.

This situation is the most cliché porn plot in the book though, the distant slightly emotionally unavailable boss bending his secretary over his desk and zipping down their pants. You had been running late that day, you forgot to set your alarm for Mr. Zhongli’s breakfast tea run and you had less cat food than you thought so you had to make a break for the grocery store.

By the time you scrambled in with a steaming cup of your boss’s favorite tea and his stack of reports to review and meeting requests to schedule, the older man was tapping his foot and crossing his arms. He didn’t look disappointed, not quite, but the gentle warmth in his eyes was gone and his small smile was flat.

In your desperation not to lose your job, this was your first and you’re only in your junior year of college, you follow him into his office and set down your things. Your cherry Marc Jacobs tote bag (bought by him, his papers and tea (bought by you with his money), your SINOCULTURAL orchid leather handbag (also bought by him, for variety).

Zhongli wasn’t the kind of pervy boss who’s hit on you before, you guess now that he was just lying in wait. You were the one that draped yourself over his desk with tears in your eyes, desperate and naive and relying on the principle of ‘sex sells’.

He’ll draft up a different beginning to your love story at your wedding.

“You take cock so well, perhaps we’ll have to have a discussion about adding this to your list of duties, hm?”

The condom sliding in and out of your walls makes you want to pout, but you know he has to have one. How he was able to pull a pack from his desk drawer on the spot is beyond you, you’re not quite willing to admit that you’d be so willing to keep your job you’d risk a baby and/or STDs.

“A-ah! Y-yes, sir, whenever you’re available, i-i’ll do anything.” You whisper over your shoulder and push your ass up, wanting the sight of his long cock disappearing under the thick cheeks to be as enticing as possible.

You clutch onto the golden plague bearing his esteemed name for dear life, muffling your sounds into the furniture’s lacquer, and let your boss pour all his stress into your holes. You tried to goad him into taking your ass but he gave you an amused chuckle and a firm pat to each cheek, chiding at you that he’d do it properly another time. He’s a gentleman under his silvered tongue and all his golden scales.

Zhongli seems to get fed up with the condom the closer he gets to his roaring orgasm, and all you’re able to let out in a punched squeal as he sharply pulls out and rips the condom off.

“This damn thing,” He huffs, snarling as he tosses the shredded scraps of plastic to the side, sinking back into your pussy in one go. “There, much better.”

You’re discovering that Mr. Zhongli is not the kind of man who groans unabashedly in the heat of the moment, he's prone to contented sighs and easy laughs. The closest you get to anything animalistic is the guttural grunt he lets slip as you clench around him near the end of his deep thrusts, milking him for all the cum this HR nightmare of a quickie can get you.

“One more thing before you go, be a dear and clean that up for me.” He points a black nail down at the puddle of cum expectantly, somehow having pulled his cock free with a wet flopping noise when you were too dizzy to notice, sinking back into his swiveling chair.

Sugar Daddy!Capitano

Your back hits the hotel wall, softened by Capitano’s hands coming to slide in between you and the surface.

“Mmfh- I’ve never… I’ve never done this before.” You shyly admit as your sighs fade into whimpers, the man’s stubble rubbing on your neck during his rain of kisses.

He laughs and his hot breath hits your pulse point, your heart skips a beat. “So you’ve told me. Don’t worry, you’re nothing but safe with me. I’ve already wired the initial 50,000 for our first meeting to your account, we don’t have to do anything that you are not comfortable with.”

You nod and run your fingers through his black hair, offering up more of your unmarked neck. Of course you’re comfortable, you were so nervous you could die hours earlier, but your first sugar daddy experience has turned out to be the ideal. Capitano made sure you were happy and pliant, offering ten times the amount of what most other men would just for this one dinner. What wouldn’t you be down with doing now?

He nips at your bottom lip, wrapping his burly arms around your chubby thighs and hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle as you fall onto the bed of the hotel’s presidential suite. You trade sloppy and clumsy kisses for less and less articles of clothing, he places your jewelry and your accessories neatly on the nightstand.

“So you don’t prick yourself or worry about losing them, bambi.” He explains and pulls you into another syrupy kiss.

You lose yourself to fit of giggles as he reverently kisses down your body. The next hour is spent with your new sugar daddy licking your pussy, eating you out like a man would gulp down an oasis after a lifetime of being stranded in the desert. You couldn’t say how many times you flood his awaiting mouth with your juices and seed, but you’ll always remember how his Adam's Apple bobs on every swallow. As if it nourishes him, replenishes his soul from inside and out, warms like a good hearty soup.

Capitano slithers up your body to stroke a finger down your face, “Are you ready for me, honey? You’re spewing like a fountain but we can always just cuddle.”

“No, I'm ready, I want this, want you. Please, Daddy, need your cock.” And your money, but mostly your cock right now.

You settle into your position on your back and spread your legs, you grab the back of your ankles and keep them that way. Bearing yourself for the hungry gaze of a man twice your age.

“Alright, needy love, aren’t you? Here you go.” He coos, lining up his fat dick with your slick entrance and sinking in.

You almost wish you had turned the lights off. The way his massive looks hovering above yours, muscles tense and waiting to be exercised. You don’t have to look down at where his cock feeds your pussy, it’s like you can feel what every nerve and vein is doing and touching in your guts. You’re so glad the conversation about being tested was had on the sugaring app, you’re both clean and on the pill so you thought why not indulge in another first.

“Gorgeous cunt. Worth so much fucking more than 50,000. You like France, bambi? I’ll get you a castle in the countryside, this pussy would look divine getting pounded in one of their foyer’s and over their balconies.” He groans, husky and scratchy, kissing you and grinding his cock deep in your quivering pussy like you just got married.

You have to show him how to take a video of his goopy cum dripping out of your puffy folds, spreading them with your fingers and pushing it back inside.

The next morning, you wake up to a bundle of fresh roses and a calligraphy note on the pillow next to your head. You smile and take it all in, but eventually you tug on last night’s clothes and grab your bag. You grin down at your phone, feeling the butterflies play war drums in your stomach, this going somewhere good. There are times when you can just tell.

The suite door is locked, a man’s voice outside asks if you’re ready to be taken back to the boss’s home. On the way there you look through your bag, a message from your intuition, and your birth control is gone. But there are listings for several foreign properties, with a sticky note attached to the first.

‘Tell me which ones you like when you get home. I have my broker on the phone.”

Stalker!Childe

It’s a routine for him, slip in under your window, sink onto your bed and straddle your sleeping body, and fill you up with his cum until your belly bloats. You’ve never noticed, he’s good at cleaning up. And if you have, you’re docile enough to let him keep at it. Let the rabid wolf keep pawing at your door with bloody paws, leaving a carcass at your feet and doing it all over again the next day.

You know it’s just your boyfriend loving on you in private until you’re ready to go public. He understands you’re shy, a lot of the partners he’s had in the past haven’t exactly been social butterflies, but baby it’s just little ol’ Ajax! He wouldn’t hurt a fly let alone his precious significant other, don’t be silly. He has these kinds of conversations with you through hushed whispers against your ear and trembling fingers slipping under the straps of your tank top.

Ajax always preps you, save for a couple of times in the beginning because he was too excited. He prefers doing it with his tongue, but he does love a good fingerbanging session. He’d never cause any pain that wasn’t fun for the both of you, cross his heart and hope to die. He even brings a back up inhaler that he stole from your pharmacist in case you lose your current one.

He grins as he shimmies you out of your sleepwear, you never much, another sign that you’re meant to be “Shh, lovebug, I hope you’re having the sweetest dreams right now. I’m just stopping by to say hi. I have to be quicker this time, I'm real sorry, bub.”

Some as-gentle-as-possible rough fingerbanging it is.

Ajax keeps his eyes peeled so wide they burn a little as he crooks and curls his fingers in your tight pussy, marveling at your groggy whimpers that sooner than later snowball into light moans.

“You looked stunning in your outfit today, I like looser tops on you. I can see your titties bounce, swear to god. The leggings were a nice touch too, wanted to jog over during your walk and smack the shit out of it. But that’s not the meet cute you deserve, is it cutie?” He grips your face in one hand, the free one that’s not knuckles deep in pussy juice, shaking your head for ‘no’ for you.

“I promise we’re gonna meet soon, it breaks my heart to see you look so lonely, bub.” He’s not fazed when you seem like you’re waking up, he just ‘aw’s and strokes his thumb on your clit until you’ve fallen back asleep. “I can’t wait. I’ve gone over everything a million times, what I’m gonna wear, what I’m gonna say, our first date, our “first” time, I'm so ready for it all with you.”

You’re adorable, your brow is pinching and you’re tossing and turning. Your soft moans become louder and since you’re a heavy sleeper that doesn’t live in an apartment (not that he’d stop anyway, he’s seen how your next door neighbors check you out when you’re not looking), he scissors his fingers and speeds up the thrusts of his hand.

After months of this and vigorous hours at the gym, his wrist has stopped cramping entirely. He slips his free hand under his jeans and clasps it around his leaking dick, jerking himself off as he finger fucks your perfect pussy.

“Oh, there it is, honey.” Ajax gasps, tightening his grip around his painfully hard cock just as your walls tighten around his fingers. “It’s okay, keep going for me, you can do it.”

He times his strokes to the thrusts of his fingers, his breathing in sync with every rise and fall of your chest. You’re so wet, you’re leaking around his digits, your pussy making a sick squelching sound

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, just from fingering your pretty pussy.” He pants, circling his thumb over the head of his weep dick and smearing his precum all over his length.

He’s moving so fast his hand is a blur, and he really doesn’t even register the sensation of fucking himself with his fist. Instead what he feels is the way your thighs seize up and your breath hitches, you arch your back off the bed in your sleep and that’s when he knows it’s time.

“Fuck, okay. Lemme get a little closer, lovebug, don’t want any of it to go to waste, right?” He keeps stroking his throbbing cock and blasting his fingers into your pussy, awkwardly trying to find his footing so he can get a good position.

He takes his fingers out of you and his heart squeezes in his chest when your hips buck after them and you whine.

“Here it comes, baby.” Ajax laughs at his own joke, positioning the tip of his dick right against your hole. With a shaky breath and an even shakier smile, he breaches your hole with only that part of himself, loving the way your cunt welcomes it in.

He laughs again when he floods your insides, crossing his fingers behind his back for this one to take. Don’t worry, it’s only a fantasy for now, you should at least have your first date before he knocks you up.

OBGYN!Baizhu

“Just lie back on the exam chair for me and we can begin.” Dr. Baizhu smiles warmly at you as you nervously play with your hands in the clinical room.

You nod, wanting to speak at little as possible. The chair’s paper covering crinkles and creases as you climb onto it, shuffling around before settling into a somewhat comfortable positon lying on your back. You look to Dr. Baizhu on your right, he’s available on your insurance and he has stellar reviews on any site worth trusting you could find. You’re just anxious anyway, and this is something you have to do, it won’t do you any good to get paranoid about all the things that could go wrong in a doctor’s office.

Baizhu’s eyes crinkle in the corners and he takes a seat on one of those rolling black stools. “So I take it that this is your first pelvic exam? Well, then be assured that you’re in good hands. It’s nothing scary, but I need to make sure your vulva and reproductive organs are in perfect working order.”

You laugh awkwardly and mutter back a “I know, I'm fine. Just a little tired, traffic was a nightmare.”

Your nerves already feel like they’re fading away, Dr. Baizhu’s voice is so pleasant and he has such a kind demeanor, you understand why this clinic was so eager to have him. The woman who signed you in was raving that it was his first day after leaving a major hospital, that they were so lucky and you were too.

“Now I'll have you slide down to the end of the table and put your knees in these stirrups, it’s perfectly safe and if you need to take a breather, please let me know.” He croons, allowing you the freedom and comfort to act on your own. He’d never want to make you feel panicked, as if he were forcibly restraining you.

The exams aren’t really a big deal when you’ve gotten over that hump, but Baizhu knows that first times of any variety can be scary. Especially for skittish patients such as yourself, with as much prey drive as a barn bunny being chased by a sheepdog.

You lie there and endure every probe and thoughtful hum. Your vulva is fine and Dr. Baizhu ends that part of the inspection with a quick pat to your mound, his lips twitching as if trying to resist the urge to kiss.

“Okay, now I'm just going to check out your cervix, keep still.” The man hums, smoothing a hand down your right calf from the stirrup to your knee. “You’ll feel some pressure, but nothing painful.”

“Really?” You bite your lip and eye the instruments on the little table by the sink.

Dr. Baizhu chuckles, “Of course. Some patients do experience pain, but it’s not a definite thing, everybody’s different. At most, you’ll feel a tad uncomfortable and exposed.”

So you brace yourself and expect to feel the cold metal of what looks like some kind of forceps. Instead you look down to see your doctor unbuttoning his pants.

He catches your eye and waves off your concern, “Cold metal just seems so abrasive for your first time. You might do better with a more… human approach, something to test how well you can stretch. Don’t worry, I'll put protection on, I'd be a horrible doctor if I didn't.”

Sure enough he slides a latex condom on, covered in tiny holes but you brush it off as being a part of the design. Baizhu’s cock twitches, feeling a sick thrill at how easy you are, at how he can whip his dick out and you’ll believe it’s in your best interest.

He doesn’t release you from the stirrups, and they rattle as he plunges inside inch by inch. Slowly and mind numbingly, to properly gauge your cunt’s ability to expand around the intrusion. You gape up at him, feeling far more than just a tad uncomfortable and exposed. His lips twitch again, torn between maintaining the facade and stuffing your cervix with his cock or breaking character and dipping down to kiss your adorably parted lips.

“I’d give you a piece of candy if that wouldn’t embarrass you. You’re doing great, just relax and the pressure will ease up.”

“Ngh- hah- O-okay, doctor. Thank you for helping me.” You don’t know why you say it, who thanks their doctors for doing a basic exam? But he groans and his hips rush forward all the same.

Your cunt is impossibly tight, which is to be expected but it’s not any less delightful to experience.

The paper underneath you makes you want to claw your eyes out as his thrusts force your back to slide back and forth on it. That, the stirrup straps clacking, and your shared soft pants are the only sounds in the locked room. It’s not as anxiety inducing as you’d expect, the planets in the office orbit around the doctor and as long as they think he’s in an appointment (and isn’t he?) they won’t interrupt. His eyes crease, he promises to give you a home visit when you’re done here, just to be thorough and make good on that promise of candy.

Something sweet for the embodiment of the cavities is in his soul, cunny strangles him tighter than a noose.

Dr. Baizhu shudders as you reflexively clench around his pulsing cock and attempt to kick out your legs only to be held back by the stirrups, “Don’t mind the mess, ‘s all par for the c-course, my dear.”

You squirt on his next thrust, and your tangy juices drip down onto the cold gray floor. The gooey cum that escapes the holes in the condom follow suit and form a little pool. Dr. Baizhu takes several pictures of your seed heavy pussy with his flip phone for medical reference.

[duuhrayliegh]

consequences

a/n: I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THIS CAME FROM BUT HERE YOU GO

also i'm more than happy to continue this if yall want more, just LET ME KNOW

other works

“You want to what?"

"To open our relationship."

You stare at him in disbelief, clutching the soft blanket in your hands. There's a sharp ringing sounding through your eardrums and everything around you slows. He keeps talking, his voice breaking through the barrier of fog that encompasses your senses.

"I want us to remain honest with each other, but this is the only way to keep our relationship healthy."

He steps away from the kitchen counter, wearing the sports jacket you bought him for your sister's wedding.

"I want the both of us to disclose when we start dating someone else. That's the main boundary, we can hammer out all the ground rules later. Right now, I'm going on a date, so uh," he pauses as he checks his reflection in the mirror beside the door one last time, "don't wait up."

You try to focus on his words, but no matter your efforts you weren't able to process anything. His keys jangle in his grip and you faintly recognize the sound of the door slamming closed and his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor of your apartment.

"I still can't believe he said that to you."

The singular ice ball hits against the sides of your glass with each tilt of your wrist. You take a long drag of the dark liquor before laughing sardonically.

"It's been six months of him parading his dates around." Another sip, your work skirt digs into your thighs painfully. You distract yourself by reaching for a peanut from the nearly empty bowl. "And what's worse is that he still expects me to be the doting wife that he comes home to every night!"

The bartender refills your glass while you sneak another peanut. You card your fingers through your hair as you continue to rant. A dull throb radiates in between your brows so your eyes slide closed as you take deep breaths.

"Well, I can't imagine you're doing so bad yourself."

You hum questioningly at the man, focusing your gaze on the dark-haired bartender, his stubble dusting his sharp jaw as the muscles work beneath the skin. His eyes haven't left you since you sat down in front of him.

"I see you in here." You begin to pick at the skin around your nails and he nudges a bowl of peanuts in your direction. "Men come up to you all the time. You've been on dates too, right?"

You reach for a peanut and crack open the grainy shell, biting the inside of your cheek. Your bartender laughs incredulously and then presses his hands into his side of the counter to lean over toward you. The cloth he tosses over his shoulder must be damp because the fabric of his white button-up is darkened there.

"Focus on me, Peanut."

Your eyes snap to his, unable to keep the overflow of expression from brimming beneath the surface. Your heart cracks further as he visibly softens, crumpling against the counter to cover your hand with his. A tense silence stretches between the two of you, charging the air with unwelcome emotions.

Your bartender’s spare hand cups your jaw and swipes away the glistening tears fleeing down your cheeks. Sniffling loudly while straightening in your seat, you pull away from his touch—effectively stopping yourself from melting into him.

You’ve worked so hard to make this shitty dive bar your safe place, you’ll be damned if you ruin it with a fling.

“I don’t even know why I’m wasting tears on this whole thing.” You take three deep breaths—whiskey and apples invade your senses. The man in front of you tilts his head to the side while drying a few crystal glasses.

“You’re avoiding my question, Peanut.” He turns briefly and you try to figure a way out as the cups clink softly. “You have been dating too, right?”

Your teeth trap your bottom lip, peeling off the thin layers of skin. You purposely avoid his eyes, doing less than nothing to hide your answer.

“Jesus, Peanut. What’s stopping you?”

You huff, focusing your attention on the patrons around you. There’s noticeably less than there were when you first arrived. The bar guests go about their business, underlying emotions kept close to their chest and out of sight to everyone else. You wish you could be that way, instead of sewing your heart to your sleeve for anyone to rip pieces from.

“I--" You hesitate, twirling your glass, watching as the ice fights to keep up with the sudden movements you force on its surroundings.

"Some small part of me still loves him. No matter how much he hurts me with this whole open relationship bullshit. I'm still thinking that one day he'll wake up and remember that I've been his loving wife and partner for the past six years. This can't be my new reality. It just can't. He's meant to be my partner for life, not my partner who has really good friends. Not my partner with a girlfriend or some fuck buddy across town."

This is the can of worms that you'd hoped to keep locked away from the Commando's dive bar. What you've held close to your chest every night you slink past the blonde bouncer, Steve. The information you never let slip to the six-foot-five bartender with the metal arm. And now, you can't seem to stop the words from leaving your mouth.

"He's supposed to be my husband. Why isn't he my husband? Is it me? He said that we would talk about what the reason was, but I can't get him to sit down with me. I can't even get him to reply to a text, much less answer questions about our relationship."

You spit the last word before downing the rest of your drink in one go. Bucky stands patiently as you let loose every emotion that you've bottled up for the past six years. Further in the bar, someone shouts for the last call.

"Why don't I date? Because I love him. Because outside of him, I don't know who I am. I don't date because I've been with the same man for almost a decade and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I can't see past where I'm at right now. There is no future for me outside of the hell that I find myself in now. I can't date because I want to be there for when my husband remembers that I exist. I want to be there for him like he wasn't for me because I know the novelty of his flings will wear off soon enough. And maybe that makes me worse than him, but I don't know if I have the energy to care anymore."

There's now a heavy silence covering you and your whole body slumps because of it. Despite feeling the biggest breath of relief of getting those emotions out in the open, you now have to deal with what they mean. You were always taught that saying your emotions out loud would only lead to more issues, but here you fucking are. Sometimes these things are unavoidable.

"I call bullshit."

Your jaw drops as your bartender rocks away from the counter. You flounder as he starts performing closing duties. You stare at Bucky's back, slightly distracted by the muscles working underneath the tight material.

"Did you just bullshit my feelings?"

Bucky turns halfway, eyebrows raised, "Yep."

Your bartender plucks the glass in front of you and drops it in the sink on his way to the cash register. If you were in a whole state, you'd smack back with a witty comment, but you're tired.

"You can't bullshit my feelings."

He holds a stack of twenties in one hand and he pins you with the same expression as before.

"Uh, yeah I can."

He continues to count the register and tosses a goodbye to the other bartender. A long lull stretches between you. Now it's just the two of you in the bar, and that must have been what he was waiting on because it's only now that he really talks.

"Peanut, how long have you been coming here?"

You furrow your brow at the question, not sure where he's taking his line of questioning.

"I don't know, four months?"

“Four months, twenty days."

Bucky's retort is quick and final. A fact. Something he's committed to memory. You're taken aback by the heavy tone he layers between the syllables.

"And for those four months and twenty days, I've stood behind this counter and watched you wallow. I've watched you turn down proposition after proposition. I've had Steve throw out dozens of men for how they speak about you. I've sat back and tried to be the listening ear that you need because you're clearly going through a really difficult time. I've never been in the position that you're in and I'm not going to pretend that I understand the half of it."

He slams the drawer closed and rounds the countertop. His boots thud against the floor violently, stopping beside the barstool next to you. Your bartender leans down and swings your stool to face his before taking a seat.

"I've stood behind that bar and was able to listen to quite a bit. But what I can't have is you thinking that you're the issue."

His hand slips into yours, his thumb tracing the knuckles of your fingers. Tears begin to brim at your waterline again, but you refuse to let them fall.

"Peanut, you're the most loyal person I've met in recent years. You love fiercely and you hurt even harder. Hell, you've been with this guy for almost ten years and he's been fucking you over for the past six months and you're sitting in this bar defending him to a relative stranger!"

"But he--"

"You're husband took the decision away from you and then framed it in a way that made you out to be the bad guy. He put you in a nearly impossible situation because he knew you were too loyal to him to do anything about it."

"He didn--"

"Yes, he did."

Having it laid out like that by the one person you wanted to be kept away from all of it was eye-opening. Your shoulders crumple and a new wave of tears threatens to escape.

"Now, this isn't the best time, but I feel like in a situation like yours there's never going to be a 'right' time."

Bucky sits up straighter and sticks his metal hand out to you.

"Hi. I'm Bucky Barnes. I'm a retired Army Sergeant and I now work in the Howling Commandos bar. I've been your bartender for the past four months and twenty days. Over that time, I've grown to care for you, more than a bartender should. Because of that fact, I want to take you out on a date."

You suck in a breath sharply, immediately going to deny him, only for Bucky to cut you off.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now, Peanut. Just think about it and whenever you're ready, I hope I'm your first call."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, gnawing on the idea. You have grown fond of Bucky. He's become a sort of safety net for you these past few months. Going home has proven to be more and more of a chore so you spend hours on end in the Howling Commandos.

What if you and Bucky go on a date and you hate it? What if you date and you have a huge falling out? What if you--

"I can see the wheels turning, Peanut." He taps your temple with a cold metal finger. "What are you thinking?"

"What if we end up not working out?"

"What if we do?"

The question hangs. The implication is clear. You could spend hours going through the what-if scenarios, both positive and negative. You'll never truly know until you take a leap of faith.

"What would your boss think of you dating one of your new regulars though?"

You're grasping at straws, but you're really trying to convince yourself that taking that leap with Bucky would be the worst thing in the world.

"Peanut, I'll sell the damn bar before someone other than you tells me that I can't date you."

Your eyes meet his and all you can see is the adoration and sincerity in them. His thumb is still working over your knuckles, but it's also expanded to tracing aimless circles into the back of your hand. The cool metal is the only way you've grounded yourself to reality.

A slow smile spreads across your features, the first of its kind tonight and you both know what it means.

[mistleaneous-chaos]

How Shadow Of The Erdtree Portrays Hate, and The Tragedy of trying to Escape

Elden Ring Spoilers(Hey! Been a while since i did this)

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I’ve gotten further into the DLC and this might just be one of the best stories of how Hatred is just a cycle that repeats which consumes innocent people in its wake.

This DLC has done so much to make us understand why Marika did the things she did. She lived in a peaceful village, only for people she loved and cared about to be taken and put into jars. And why is that? Because their bodies meld well with others, something she can’t control since she was just born with it.

And so she becomes the new God of the Lands Between, imposing her new order onto others, and having her own son be the one to lead it. But when the fire fades and the ash settles, the one who suffers of the two of them is Messmer. She leaves him in the Shadow Realm because he doesn’t fit in her new order, representing so much of what is considered “Sinful”. And he is left alone, because of something he can’t control since he was born with it.

And then, as years pass and she makes a family again, she has twins! She can finally begin to rebuild, to move on from the hatred she felt!… except, she can’t. Because of the fact that her children have horns, just as her oppressors did. And so do multiple families in the Lands Between, with this seemingly “cursed” blood spreading, she has a choice to make.

Let go of the hate, try to accept her sons and the Omens.

Or hold onto it, persecute them, cut off their horns, and drop them into the sewers, out of sight out of mind.

We know what she picked.

And it’s this hatred that sparka another ambition just like hers. Mohg.

Imagine you’re Mohg. You have no family save for your brother. You live in the sewers while only ever being able to watch the outside world with happy familes and children with parents who love them. But all the while, what do you have? Nothing. All because of something you can’t control because you were born with it.

And so you decide to build your own order. Away from it all. Your brother wants no part, he clings to the hope of being accepted by that damn tree. But it’s fine.

You take some of the other Omens with you, and get to work. You even have help from an Outer God, so higher powers must want you to succeed! Others shave their horns but not you, no you proudly grow them out, even if it impedes your vision, because they are a part of you.

You take in all kinds, Humans, Omens, even Albinaurics, who had no home before. You give your fellow Omens real clothes, regal clothes. They’ve never had clothes after all, so don’t they deserve the best? You build and you build and eventually you have a beautiful part of the Underground to yourselves, you did it, you’ve won!

Mohg could have broken from the cycle, stayed in Mohgwyn, as he did even when chaos reigned above. People were strong under him, and had a home even if they were shunned in other places.

But that choice was taken from him.

Miquella used him to accomplish his own goal of godhood, robbing him of his own agency. Just like his brothers, Mohg was used by his family, but unlike the others, he wasn’t even aware of it. No matter how far he ran, no matter how much he tried to cut himself off from it. The hatred of his mother reached him, in the form of someone else using him to break away from the consequences of it.

Now I’m not saying Mohg was perfect. His group was no less sadistic than some of the others in the lands between.

But he was robbed of a dream, and told it was never his to have.

[lizzybeeee]

THE ENTIRE DRAGON AGE AMA IS A DUMPSTER FIRE

They avoided all the high-rated questions with genuine criticism (not blind hate!) and went for questions that were safer and allowed them more leeway. After that awful IGN article and that treatment of Davrin...God, just put it down. I have no faith that BioWare will be able to continue Dragon Age or Mass Effect with the respect it deserves.

Edit - They had an opportunity for genuine discussion with fans who were concerned/unhappy with the way Veilguard was -> people unhappy with the story, the marketing, the lack of 'RP' options in an RPG, etc... Instead they just doubled-down even more, avoiding those critical questions, with no real acknowledgement that fans have very reasonable problems with this game.

Some Highlights & My Initial Ramblings Below:

The Executors

"They attempt to manipulate events in the most subtle way they can manage."

So, very clear that they're not simply observers of what is happening in Thedas: they're manipulators...

"Magical Illuminati Confirmed! Lizard People Did 9:30 Dragon!!!!"

All that complexity of character -> his hatred of Orlais, his experience as a general, his relationship with Cailain, and the influence of Howe...all diminished. Any influence from a shadow cabal is too much influence - all the humanity of Loghain's choices/consequences...God, what a waste.

Not to mention what this does to other events/characters in the series -> they imply they've been intervening as far back as the magisters breaking into the golden city. I do not find this compelling! At all!

2. Solas and the Executors

Oh my god, he sounds like such a fucking Mary-Sue I'm so sick of Solas at this point -> "Actually, I know more about the Executors than anyone alive - not even the rest of the Gods know as much as me."

("I'm also, like, an Ancient Elven God, I'm responsible for the Blight and the Veil, and I kind of locked the Gods away cause they were evil - but, like, I'm really sad about it. Also the Herald of Andraste thinks I'm cute <3")

<- Previous comments: massive oversimplification, obviously

But I miss the days when not everything was about Solas. It removes so much interest and wonder in this world when the fucking egg is behind it all. I loved him as a character in DAI and now I just feel this bone deep tiredness when I see his stupid face.

Don't you dare threaten to bring Gareth David-Lloyd back -> keep him away from this mess!

3. The Fate of the Rest of the Evanuris

Yay. I'm so looking forwards to "The Return of the Elves: Electric Boogaloo 2" - it was done so well the first time!

"It was the elves all along!"

The only character with any potential to be interesting is Andruil*, but how they handled all this lore was done so shallowly and so poorly that I find it hard to give a damn anymore. Not to mention that the game literally mentions Ghilan'nain mourning Andruil - so is this a retcon/redirection/or have you confirmed that one of the most interesting members of the Evanuris' is dead?

*interesting in that she's established in lore to potentially have a tonne of really cool things attached to her (the void armour, the great weapon she has etc...). The rest of the evanuris are nowhere near as well established as she is.

4. Southern Thedas, Sociopolitical Issues, and Future Games

NOW YOU WANT TO INCORPORATE GEO-POLITCAL EXPLORATION?? You avoided any meaningful discussion like the plague in DATV but now you're acknowledging it?? OkaY. okAy.

They couldn't even give us the long-term ramifications of the mage/templar war how the hell am I supposed to believe that they will be able to pull off 'elven gods are real' etc...? For a game series that totes : your choices matter -> they have not proven that they have been able to show that in a meaningful way. They literally cleaned the slate with this game to avoid doing that.

So, what, does that mean that the Veil is never going to come down now? Or are you going to have the entirety of Thedas build themselves up again just to have the Veil fall and send things into chaos once more?

What a fatalistic, miserable outcome for Thedas -> why the fuck would anyone bother to live in Thedas if you're going to keep throwing meteorites at them? By all means, change/conflict has to happen for the series to move forwards...but this is just so miserable at this point.

(The Elder Scrolls, at least, gives people room to breathe between crisis' or sets them up in different areas of the world! Bethesda treats past installments/your decisions with greater respect than DATV does.)

Even, then, if the Veil remains up, that means that the spirits are just trapped in the Fade being miserable for the rest of existence. The entire series has been humanizing spirits, from Justice to Cole, and now they're just throwing in the towel? I guess they can stay in the fade now! Problem solved!

What do you mean the Evanuris are not a threat anymore? IN A PREVIOUS QUESTION YOU LITERALLY SAID SOME ARE STILL POTENTIALLY KICKING AROUND THE BLACK CITY?

Weakened, sure, but Solas was 'weak' in DAI. You're giving yourself an out if you decide to go back to the elves again. Please do, I'd love more content on how the elves alone fuck everything up!

5. More Southern Thedas, the Chantry, and Tevinter

Thanks for the confirmation that things in the South are so fucked up that they have to work alongside the 'Slave Capital' of the known world to rebuild!

Slavery was one of the biggest things that caused a rift between the north/south chantry system -> one of the reasons why there were exalted marches -> a uniting belief in the south is that slavery is fucked. They didn't address slavery in DATV - what hopes are there that they will do so effectively in a future game?

Don't tell me that Dorian fixes everything off screen either -> either he solves slavery off-screen or the south is being forced to work the slaver-capitol because their land is nuked and they have no ground to stand on.

I'm so thrilled.

6. Solas and the Idol / The Blight

I will never get over Solas fucking curing the Blight off-screen and no one asking questions/giving a shit. Hello?? The Hero of Ferelden would like a word with you???

So the Blight is calcified in Minrathous, at least, but everywhere further away is still fucked! Once more, the South is doomed to suffer from the long-term effects that regular blights have -> not to mention the red lyrium (which still exists according to the AMA) across the south.

I don't care; it's lame. It's a lame way to conclude the blight and I hate it. This game did not earn 'cure the blight from thedas' at all. You could have had us learn how to soothe a titan and see how that can diminish the blight but you did it this way.

Another 'magical ritual' because Solas has such a good track record with them lmao.

7. The Agents of Fen'Harel / The War with the Qun / The Crows

Turned him against the idea of being a leader???!!

Fen'harel's Call to the Elven People After the events at the Winter Palace, elves left the Inquisition under mysterious circumstances, as did elven servants across Thedas. None could say where they went, but those who believed the Inquisitor's story about Fen'Harel wondered just how large the Dread Wolf's forces were... and what the ancient elven rebel had planned. This is from the Trespasser Epilogue, Epler!

Your concept art for Joplin literally had him as a leader of a faction of elves. Just be honest that it's a retcon and you changed course - don't try to save face with this reasoning.

About the Antaam: "We needed some big mindless bad guys to fight and so we did this because we didn't want to address the Qunari War/Invasion we set up in Trespasser".

You had to canonize Sten as being alive and Arishok in order for this reasoning to work -> you didn't even come up with an alternative Arishok to take Sten's place.

Yeah, the exchange that set up the Crows we see in the game as "idealists" did not make the game. I can confirm that!

I'm sorry, "Caterina kept Illario in check?" as in, 'kept him an idealist and not the usual Crow'? The woman that beat him with a cane and starved him and his cousin to train them as Crows. Fuck off.

lmao -> tell me you're coming up with this on the spot without telling me that you're coming up with this on the spot.

8. World State Discrepancies - Isabela

Outright ignores the very real criticism about the marketing from this game and World States.

"there are absolutely places where we unintentionally suggested there was a hard canon (...that Isabela is always assumed to have joined Hawke's party.)"

Unintentional?

Excuse me, you have her talk about Merrill and the Kirkwall Crew as family - that was not unintentional in the slightest. Not to mention Sten, Blackwall, Sera, and Cole are canonized as being part of your world state no matter what.

You had a story you wanted to tell - one that only fit a few world states - and you went ahead with it and disregarded those choices. Don't try and lie about this all being a big misunderstanding.

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

Edit - They could have taken the opportunity to address the very reasonable criticisms that people had with this game but they cherry-picked questions and avoided/minimized anything remotely critical.

They could have provided us some insight into the game development time but each time they approached the topic they settled for "we're happy with what we delivered and it was well optimized."

They had an opportunity to acknowledge that people were bothered by the handling of the lore/stories (to potentially mention they could course-correct/ rethink their plans) but instead they doubled down on everything that they did and even 'justified' some decisions. They doubled down on the Executors, Solas's changing motivations, the destruction of Southern Thedas, and the elves/Solas being at the heart of everything etc...

This AMA basically confirmed that the only reason they did what they did to the south was for a reset -> It's not a compelling or fulfilling narrative to have everything we've done reset back to ground zero off-screen. BioWare games differentiate themselves from other RPG's by their import system from previous games - it was compelling and exciting! With DATV they set the expectation that BioWare can outright throw out entire games worth of choices/build up, not solely retcon them.

Justifying your choice to water down the lore/world of your story by saying you'll address it in the 'next game' does not instill me with confidence, BioWare! It doesn't explain that lack of it in this game either!

They avoided every question that, rightfully so, pointed out the misleading comments made by devs in the pre-order period of the game:

the fact that there were only 3 imported choices from previous games was leaked by a reviewer -> BioWare was vague from the start about choices

that this game was the most 'romantic' in the series

that world states/ headcanons wouldn't be disrespected

that there are 'lore' reasons for bad darkspawn design

that there are lasting, impactful choices/consequences to be made in this game

that the lore/world was not watered or toned down

that companions are deep and you can disagree with them etc...

BioWare's behavior towards their customers in the lead up period to this games release was downright scummy. I absolutely felt misled after playing the game for myself and recalling what I read in interviews put out. While EA is undoubtedly poison, you can't hold them solely accountable for this.

I feel for the individual developers who worked on this in what was undoubtedly a toxic environment from EA - but I feel that it's pretty clear that BioWare itself has a lot of problems within and in their leadership/executives. Working for EA does not give them an excuse to mislead their customers.

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

I already had a very grim outlook on the franchise from the end of DATV but this literally look my interest out the back and sent it to God. What a disaster.

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

Word Count: 5,174

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I couldn't lose you Din. I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

Part 2

[avocado-writing]

Hey there, if you’re still doing requests for BG3... I'm terribly angry about something big and outside of my control at the moment. Could you let me know what you'd think the BG3 companions do if Tav started self destructing? Like Tav passing harsher judgments, snapping at neutral NPCs, or fighting more dangerously and recklessly with bad guys?

Oooo the angst possibilities! Fun! Going to write like you’re self destructing due to stress, and you’re picking unhealthy coping mechanisms. Here we go:

Astarion

at first probably thinks that it’s quite funny. We know he enjoys seeing a little bit of suffering.

but, the more it goes on, the more worried you can see him become.

this isn’t like you. He knows you by now. You’re… kinder than this, damn it.

he takes you to the side one day after he’s seen you be short with a friend.

“whats the matter?” “Nothing, Astarion.” “If you’re going to lie to me, darling, you’d better do a better job of it than that.”

you go to snap at him, fire on your tongue, and then something inside you breaks. You just start sobbing. Everything which has been weighing on your mind has finally become too much.

he isn’t good at comforting words, but he does hold you. Runs his hand up and down your back, and lets you know you he’s here for you whenever you’re ready to speak.

helps you centre yourself again, eventually. He loves you. He’ll do what he can to make things better.

Gale

Makes a couple of snide remarks about how you’re acting, suggesting maybe you be a bit kinder, but then he stops to reassess how you’re acting.

there’s something wrong. You’re pent up. Furious, but not with the people you talk to. They just happen to be the ones bearing the brunt of it.

he sees the injuries you nurse on yourself after battles too. You used to be a clever fighter. Now you are a reckless one.

takes you aside one night at camp and presents his findings very matter-of-factly, concluding that there must be something the matter. When he puts it so astutely, you know you have no chance of hiding from him.

tears slip down your face and he is there in an instant drying your eyes. Telling you there’s nothing to worry about. Reassuring you that “the great Gale of Waterdeep is on your side, we’ll find a way to work things out.”

he puffs his chest out, you chuckle and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Yes. You will find a way to work things out.

Wyll

When he first sees you acting out, as it were, he immediately intervenes.

he knows what it’s like to be under great levels of stress. He made his contact when he was a teenager, after all, and had to deal with all the fallout that happened consequently.

he takes you to the side, holds your hand tightly in his, gets you to look at him.

“i love you, you know that, yes? If there’s something the matter, you need only tell me.”

you begin to crack immediately. Damn this sweet man and his emotional intelligence. Why is he perfect.

you let him know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You agree you’re not coping with it very well. He says he’ll help you however he can, but you need to stop being so unkind to yourself.

“you matter, my love. You deserve sweetness.”

holds you close, and you just stand there for a while, together. From then on whenever something is wrong, he is the first one you go to.

Karlach

Sees you snapping at a friend, jumps in.

“whoa, whoa, whoa! Soldier, where is all this coming from?”

you snap to tell her it’s none of her business, she wouldn’t understand… but then you see the hurt in her eyes and immediately feel awful.

“Oh gods, Karlach, I’m sorry…” your voice is wobbly, cracking a bit, and she cups your face in her warm hands.

“hey, hey. it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

you blurt out all your feelings to her in one, long, run-on sentence. She can’t help with a lot of the personal stuff, but she can listen, and she holds you to her chest and rocks you a little. Being engulfed by her embrace is very comforting.

”I’ve got you, babe, eh?” You know she does. For better or for worse.

Lae’zel

She sees the vicious way that you’ve been acting in battle. Strange, usually it’s her attempting to take the big hit, not you. She can take it, you can’t.

She finds you when you’re tending to your battle wounds. Sits down. Stares at you until you instigate conversation.

“what?” “You are not acting like yourself.” “Oh? And how would you know what that is?”

you’re just saying these things to be hurtful, but she’s stalwart. You’re deflecting.

She tells you she’s been enamoured with you long enough to see how you usually are. That you’re kinder, smarter. You’re lapsing into these feelings out of some sort of self-preservation, but you don’t need to.

”if there is something weighing on your mind, share it. I am here to help ease your burdens.”

you don’t love to cry in front of her but that is remarkably… sweet. It breaks you a bit.

You promise to stop being so foolhardy, especially in battle. She says that must be for the best, lest you get rended in half.

“Hey!” but she’s smiling. Your heart swells as you realise she’s trying to make you laugh.

Shadowheart

Lets you get quite far down the burrow of self-destruction before she does anything.

once again, she’s loyal to the lady of loss. Nothing you’re doing is exactly alarming to her.

but it does get worse and worse… she sees you snapping at friends, being harsher to passers-by, and she’s constantly having to patch you up after battle due to your wounds.

eventually one day you snap at her, and that’s her limit.

“I know something’s causing you stress but it isn’t me. I’m trying to help. So you can either pull your head out of your arse or I’m leaving this tent.”

the two of you have a little squabble, but it quickly becomes obvious your heart isn’t in it. Your anger turns to sadness. You collapse in tears and she pulls you to her without a second thought, holding you close.

despite her sharran devotion, she starts whispering how things can get better, how they will change. How the first step is letting people in.

her hand wound throbs as she comforts you. But in this moment she knows she’d pick you every time.

things are easier from then on, knowing she is with you.

[yestrday]

"This hurts."

Zhongli sips on his tea, looking unbothered by your incessant whining, even smiling to himself when you beg him to let you off practice today. Xiao, who's been standing guard this whole time, has been pointedly avoiding your pleading looks. Clearly, Zhongli has given him a warning not to indulge you.

"Zhongli, please," you whine again, voice higher in pitch as you hope to annoy him to the point of sending you away. "My entire body hurts. Can't we just reschedule this tomorrow?"

"Procrastination rusts determination, my dear," Zhongli hums, finally putting the teacup down. The large dragon tail protruding from his lower spine is slinking back and forth on the ground, and if Aether's observation that that is an equivalent of a dog's happy wag, then that means the bastard is enjoying your suffering. "Your father told me to fix you up before your first apperance at a gala and I have a contract to fulfill. Besides—" He fixes you with a firm golden gaze. "— You decided for yourself to finally go back into the public."

You wince at the reminder, regret building up the more you attend these lessons. Despite the good life you've had spending your days as a recluse with your family of hybrids, you had decided one day that this wasn't how you should live your life. So when your deadbeat dad reached out to you about a charity gala, you agreed quicker than you thought about it. And here you were, suffering the consequences with sore feet and numb arms and trembling fingers. Did going out into public really warrant posture and balance exercises and etiquette lessons?

You wanted out. Out! Ayato's already been a drain on your energy with his morning lecture about conversation starters and conversation, scaring your whines away whenever he thumps his spiny tail on the floor or opens his mouth just for the rows of sharp teeth inside to glint at you. Although Zhongli's an old, soft soul who'd never harm you, you were still tired!

"Once more." Zhongli instructed. "Balance those books and walk a straight line from here to there. Begin."

With a small grumble to yourself, you balance the small stack of books on your head and begin. But these things just keep slipping off, and you're half-tempted to say that this isn't your fault anymore and it's their stupid shiny covers. They slip from your head again and you glare at the scattered books with the hatred of a thousand damned souls.

"Zhongli..." you whimper as pitifully as you can. The dragon only shakes his head and motions to the books for you to pick up again. Your downcast expression has clearly struck a nerve in Xiao's heart, with the way he keeps hesitantly stealing glances at you, but he's cowed by a knowing gaze from Zhongli.

"While I approve of practicing, I believe that all hard work entails some sort of break, no?" A stoic yet gentle voice interrupts from the doorway and your face lightens up at Neuvillette. "Apologies for my intrusion, but I've caught wind from a certain cat that our master is in need of a break."

"Neuvi!" You gleefully shout, rushing over to him and eyeing the dessert platter he's balancing on his hand. "Did Aether tell you? Are those for me?!" When he nods, his eyes crinkle in fondness when you squeal in delight, and his tail slinks left and right on the ground. "Neuvi...! You're the best! I've been held captive here for hours!"

"Well," the water dragon huffs out a laugh as you gorge yourself on macarons. "That is to be expected of such kinds of dragons."

"It's for their own good," Zhongli tightly says, meeting the other dragon's challenging gaze. "It's best to fix them up before they attend the gala rather than indulging them to garner favor."

There is an impatient thumping on the floor, coming both from Neuvi and Zhongli. Both of them maintain their stoic composure, but the tips of Zhongli's fingers begin to tint gold and black, while cold blue scales creep up Neuvi's neck. Their reptilian eyes never break away from each other, slowly morphing into pinprick ones as they begin to devour each other whole with—

"Mmm, that's good," you hum, picking up a macaron and running off to Xiao. "Hey~ Want one?"

Xiao smiles faintly, taking the pastel dessert from your hand and gently patting your hair. He thanks you, and slowly eating it so he can show you how grateful he is. (His golden eyes are darting frantically between his master and Neuvillette and tries not to look too eager when he's munching.) "It's very good." He gives a slight bow towards Neuvillette too. "Thank you too, sir Neuvillette," he says, like the polite man he is.

Neuvillette regards him with less hostility than he does towards his fellow dragon. But he frowns a bit when he sees the small arrogant smile on Zhongli's face when he sees his subordinate getting along wth you. He scoffs.

"If your teacher here is still giving you a hard time, you can always come to me for help," Neuvillette murmurs, just loud enough to provoke Zhongli. He wraps his scaly tail around your leg and brings you closer. "I'll promise to instill the grace you need before the gala minus all the nonsense."

You giggle when his gentle touch tickles your cheek before he tucks a hair behind your ear. Kissing you gently on the forehead, he pulls away with a slight smile. "Good luck, dear." He glances behind you, and wearing a satisfied expression, he closes the door shut.

You're suddenly aware of the tension in the air and you turn around to see Zhongli with closed eyes. His black-brown hands, looking like they've been dipped in gold, clench the arms of the chairs tightly. He lets out a slow exhale and opens his eyes just in time for you to see those cold slits revert to the warm brown human ones.

"Zhongli...?" You ask cautiously, taking a careful step forward. You knew dragons were territorial, but you didn't think that Zhongli would react this way. He was normally so... father-like to all the other hybrids.

"Nothing, my dear." He stands up and holds you a bit tightly by the hand. He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket, all embroidered and silken and as elegant as he is, and rubs away something on the spot Neuvi kissed you. "Just some dirt, thats all."

Gently, he puts his hand on the small of your back and leads you to the chair in front of him. Xiao wordlessly pulls it back and sits you down.

"Come now, have a rest and let's finish these snacks before you start again, hm?"

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 2

chapter 1 | series masterlist | main asterlist | chapter 3

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

summary: it’s been nine months since your first encounter with the miller brothers and you're getting slightly annoyed with joel's attitude towards you.

warnings: mdni. mention of suicide. a bit of smut (kissing, rubbing). swear words. both joel and reader get a tad angry. pet names (darling). reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n.

a/n: i might have said this was a one-shot ― well, i lied heh. i have come up with an entire storyline in my head so need to put it into words. this is going to be a bumpy ride because i love drama. reader's pov and joel's pov. this is not proofread and english is not my mother tongue, so please excuse any mistakes you might spot. if you would like to be tagged on the next chapters, please let me know. interactions welcome. enjoy!

w/c: ~1.9k.

The rhythm those two had was relentless. You were barely able to keep up, your legs trembling as if you were a newborn foal. Your knees almost gave way, your lungs burning with exhaustion. You managed to grab onto a low hanging branch of a nearby tree to stop yourself from falling.

“Hey― Wait up!”, you shouted at your companions.

One of the men stopped in his tracks, Tommy turning around to look at you. Joel didn’t even bother to come to a halt ― He just kept on walking as if he didn’t hear you.

Sometimes you wondered if he had lost some hearing from his right ear because of the gunshot, or if he just had a really good knack at ignoring you. Every time you talked to him, you felt like you were a nuisance to him. You had spent nine months with the Miller brothers, and you were no closer to knowing Joel than you were to speaking Klingon. You had no issues with Tommy at all, he made the effort to make you feel comfortable. The same thing could not be said of Joel.

At first you thought it was because of how you two met. You had stopped him when he was at his lowest point. You had learned from Tommy that Joel had buried his daughter that day. You understood that feeling so damn well, you almost regretted interrupting him. But you could not just stand and watch as someone decided to take their own lives. You knew how that would have affected Tommy, because you had been on the receiving end of those bad news. It was, probably, selfish of you to have taken away that decision from Joel, but the consequences would have been far more devastating.

But as time went on, you were not so sure anymore why Joel tried his hardest to avoid you. You couldn’t recall a time where you treated him badly ― quite the opposite. You were kind, even understanding when he was rude to you unnecessarily. You looked out for him ―and his brother, of course― in many ways. You were younger, but not defenseless, and had proven yourself useful many a times. So why did he behave like a prick most of the time?

“Joel, hold on”, Tommy said to his brother, tapping on his shoulder, before approaching you.

You had rested your back against the tree you had held on for dear life, trying to catch your breath. Tommy got to your side and offered you his water bottle. You took a sip, avoiding making eye contact with Joel ― not that he was looking in your direction, anyway.

“You alright there?”, Tommy asked.

“Yes, well, no”, you chuckled. “I’m pretty tired, we have been walking for the past six hours non-stop. I need a break, otherwise someone is gonna have to carry me”, you joked.

You caught Joel swiftly turning around to pierce you with those brown eyes. He quickly retreated and looked around, as if he was paying attention to his surroundings in case you were not alone. You frowned, thinking you had imagined it.

“It’s getting pretty late, we probably should set camp somewhere around here. I’ll go and have a look around, make sure it’s safe”, you saw the hesitation in Tommy’s eyes, knowing exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t like leaving Joel alone, neither did you, in all honesty. “Keep an eye on him, please”, Tommy whispered.

You nodded and saw him disappear. You sighed, preparing yourself to be rejected once more. Sometimes you wondered if you were a masochist.

Joel was on guard as soon as he saw you approach him. He looked around, even though he knew there was nowhere to go. He didn’t like you because of how you made him feel. Because you made him feel. You were too nice, always willing to help no matter what, quick with a joke to make people laugh even in the darkest of times. He admired your strength, your wits, your outspokenness, your light-heartedness. You were a beam of light in the midst of darkness ― sometimes he felt like a fly getting too close to the sun.

But he knew better than that. He was not built for any type of personal relationship. He had tried ― and failed. The only connection he had left was Tommy and he was not too sure about that one either. Since his unfruitful attempt at putting an end to his life, Tommy had been walking on eggshells around him. He didn’t need that ― being treated like a damn old book everyone was too afraid to handle.

“Do you have some water?”, you asked him.

Joel almost jumped on the spot ― you had approached him from his right-hand side, which meant he didn’t hear you getting close. So close he had to back up one step. He noticed your bottom lip twitching and understood that you had interpreted his step back as a rejection. He felt compelled to change your mind but didn’t in the end. It was better this way.

“Yeah”, Joel replied as he reached towards his back and grabbed his water bottle from the side of the backpack, offering it. “You have finished yours already?”, he didn’t intend for it to sound accusatory, but it did.

You rolled your eyes, slightly annoyed, and grabbed the bottle to drink some more. “Yes, it’s very hot today, sorry for being human”, you said, giving it back.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, he offered as an excuse, shrugging his shoulders. “I hear a river nearby, I’ll go refill yours and mine”, he extended his hand towards you.

You snatched your water bottle from your backpack and gave it to him. Then you saw him starting to walk away.

“Wait! Where are you going?”, you almost stumbled with your own feet as you followed him.

“As I said, I’m gonna refill the bottles”, he looked at you as if you were daft.

“But we can’t leave, Tommy might come back and not find us―”.

“I’m going, you are staying right here”, he said matter-of-factly.

“No, I’m coming with you”.

“What are you now? My fucking babysitter?”, he snapped at you, his whole demeanour quickly changing, his jaw clenched.

“No, you prick ― I’m tired, I don’t want to be left alone, waiting around, if something happens”, you rapidly came up with a lie. You did feel bad though, because he had seen right through you and Tommy.

“Mhmm”, he muttered. “Ah’ite”.

You walked a couple of feet behind him while he guided you both towards the sound of running water. It really only was like twenty yards away, so Tommy would have no trouble finding you. When you both reached the riverbank, Joel kneeled to dunk a different bottle he kept in his backpack.

“Why are you always so freaking mean to me? Have I done something wrong? Is it because I pushed the gun away from you?”, you babbled before you could stop yourself, bracing yourself as if you were cold, but the reality was you suddenly felt too exposed.

The silence dragged on, and you couldn’t stand it.

“Look, if that’s it, I’m sorry, but…”.

“No, it’s not that”, Joel interrupted you, still not making eye contact. He retrieved the bottle and attached a filter to it. He then put it upside down on top of your bottle and squeezed, so clean water started to fill the container. “It’s just… Nevermind”.

“It’s just what? Don’t you think I deserve an explanation of why you have treated me like shit for the past nine months?”, you pushed, starting to feel your hot-headedness overcome you. A side of you Joel had not come across yet.

He looked up at you, his brows almost touching each other, as he towered above you.

“Hold your horses right there, kid”, he said as he passed you the water bottle with a bit more force than necessary.

“Kid? How old do you think I am, Joel?”, you almost laughed.

“I don’t know, twenty? It doesn’t really matter, I―”.

“Try adding a few years to that, you dickhead”, you crossed your arms at your chest.

He looked slightly confused. Joel did think you were younger than you actually were. Not that it mattered anyway ― in fact, it didn’t change a thing.

“Look, it’s nothing to do with you. And mind your tongue”, he kneeled again to repeat the filtering process.

“So what is it then?”, you insisted while you secured the water bottle to your backpack.

Silence again. Sometimes you would love to punch some words out of him.

“Just leave it be”, he mumbled as he stood up once done with his own bottle.

You cut the distance between you and Joel to bury your index finger in the middle of his chest. Your eyes squinted in anger.

“No, I want an answer. You’re always so damn evasive, it’s driving me crazy”, you demanded.

The atmosphere suddenly shifted as you looked into his eyes. Joel was staring at you angrily ― no, hungrily? Something in the way he was holding himself back sent an exciting shudder down your spine.

“No, darlin’, you are driving me crazy”.

Everything happened too quickly ― Joel’s hand held your chin up as he lowered his mouth. Your lips were slightly parted, already inviting him in. He found no resistance from you as he licked your bottom lip before going in with the full force of his desire. You buried one hand in the hair of his neck, clenching your fingers and pulling softly.

Joel thought he was going to die right there and then. He could not think straight, not when you were so melting in his arms. His senses went haywire the moment he got hit with your scent. Lavander and cinnamon, he thought. He gripped your hip with his free hand, pushing you into him. The kiss turned wetter and hotter, his mind spiralling out of control. You tasted sweet, exactly what he had imagined.

He probably shouldn’t be doing this but couldn’t refrain himself. You had pushed his buttons and now he was too far gone. He had desired you for a while but didn’t want to complicate the situation. The world was going to shit, so there was no point in looking for a bit of hope in the middle of such madness.

He groaned into your mouth when you placed your free hand on the buckle of his belt, holding onto it as if your life depended on it. You pulled from the buckle, his bulge pressing against you. You smiled, satisfied you were not the only one severely affected by the kiss. You could feel the heat rising up in your body.

And as quickly as it started, it ended.

“Guys! Where are you?”, Tommy’s words were carried by the wind.

Joel broke off the embrace so fast you almost fell but was able to steady yourself in time.

“Joel, I―”.

“Not a word”, he cut you off, his voice deep, his eyes drilling into yours with intensity. There was a dark warning tone in his voice that you couldn't ignore. “Over here, Tommy, we’re filling up the bottles”.

A few seconds later, the younger Miller appeared in sight.

“Ah, there you guys are. I found a cave where we could spend the night”. He looked at his brother for a moment, brows wrinkling. “You okay, Joel?”.

“Mhmm, all good. Give me your bottle”.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[linddzz]

Hello, I wanted to ask you a question since I love the way you answer. The other day I saw a discussion that was generated by the scene in the council of Jayce and Mel in chapter 8 and many of them did not understand Jayce's reaction (they basically destroyed him). I particularly understand, and other people do, that Jayce is acting according to the consequences of the trauma he lived in the other dimension (obviously it does not justify the mistreatment). I think that he is carrying a lot of guilt and pain for his past actions, and he needs to unload that. In addition to that in the case with Mel, their intimate bond is broken by the manipulation he suffered from her (although he also had his things). But people say that he is an exaggerator, an impulsive fool, Mel also went through horrible situations (I do not deny it) and yet she did not treat him badly at that time. Well, I would like to know your opinion regarding this scene that generates debate.

It is always wild to me when I hear of or see glimpses of Arcane discourse that can be summed up with "we missed the point of the show that's heavily themed on how trauma and emotional upheaval can cause people to act in ways we may not agree with, but can understand" :)))

Also wild that people expect Jayce to be perfectly rational and emotionally competent here after we just saw him staggering around Viktor's commune with terrifying hallucinations, screaming as he blasts a hole in Viktor's chest. Not to mention that we just saw the actual hell he went through that left him in that state?? Is Jayce, who has shown that he reacts with brash anger when he's frightened and in over his head, maybe going to not be the most level headed??

One thing that I really like about the scene is that he DOES apologize to Mel afterwards. He recognizes that he acted out, apologizes for being an asshole, and recognizes that Mel is hurting as well. Yeah his actions weren't great (tho to me seeing him acting physically aggressive was another sign of just how fucked up Jayce was) but damn in the context of how everyone else in this show responds to emotional trauma, he's pretty mild.

I'll also argue that neither of them are wrong in this scene, and you can pretty clearly see why he escalated so quick. Even without an in depth analysis that looks further back, his reactions are pretty understandable (for said analysis, @avelera has some great posts on this as a breakup scene for Jayce and Mel, pointing out that his auditory flashbacks in the pit focused a lot on realizing that Mel was using them) Let's break it down:

Scene opens with Jayce already reminiscing on the traumatic event that started all this. He's standing in the place where Viktor died, where Jayce made the decisions that created whatever Viktor is now. When you rewatch it, you have the added context that he's likely grappling with what Mage Viktor has told him. It's important to note that at this point, he doesn't know that Mel has arcane powers until his hammer and arcane corrupted mind spidey-sense her arrival.

We already know he was dealing with a ton of survivors guilt for being untouched by the blast while everyone else was grievously injured, and while Viktor specifically mortally wounded. This is probably the worst place and the worst time for him to learn that Mel has arcane powers and that she's the reason they were unharmed. And that sucks. Because he's closing Mel off even harder than he already would have, while he's the one Mel learned to be more emotionally vulnerable with.

Something happened to her too, and she reaches out for that connection. She doesn't need to be a strong Noxian with Jayce, so she tries to connect on the fact that they both obviously went through something, but unfortunately it's just when he thinks his worst suspicions about her are confirmed. 

Because hey let's ALSO talk about Jayce realizing Mel has been using him and why he's gonna take that hard! Jayce is pretty obviously a romantic person in season 1. It's almost a comedy beat when he snuggles up in her lap and she looks startled with the realization that her boytoy is a puppy. That is so obviously a lad who does not see sex as something casual, and he's very emotionally vulnerable with Mel very quickly.

Now, we, the viewers, have been able to see Mel allowing herself more vulnerability with Jayce in return. We've seen that she views her political manipulation as a way to benefit everyone. We've seen that she really came to care about Jayce, that sleeping with him became more than another way to influence him. But Jayce has only now realized he WAS being used. Who WOULD respond nicely to that? 

So you have that, on top of suddenly learning there is a reason he was fine while Viktor wasn't. Yes it's unfair to immediately blame her for it, but as soon as he says "because you used me!" I had a moment of "OH...yeah actually he's right tho. he's not out of pocket there"

(Also we can see him shutting that emotional vulnerability down. He tells Mel "it doesn't matter" because he's seen how his openness with her made him easy to manipulate. Again, she has opened herself up in return, but he has no way of knowing how much was sincere or not and is in no state to be rational about any of it.)

It doesn't help that she pretty much confirms that she used him. To Mel, it's not an insult to be seen as an investment by her, so she justifies herself for it, and I'm gonna read her a bit for this; when someone is feeling some sort of way about being used as an investment, explaining why they were a great investment isn't the best move!

And then. Yaknow. His brain is all jacked up from Arcane corruption and he's got Mel already setting that off with her powers, then Viktor's making them go extra wild by creeping around with his freaky little cuntbot. I didn't like him getting physically intimidating but it's also pretty obvious that he was seeing her as an active threat until Viktor showed up.

And again. He pretty quickly apologized and gave her an opening to talk about what happened to her. It's not perfect, but no one on this show IS. That's the point of the show! The fact that he quickly apologizes both times we see him lash out at people he cares about shows a pretty substantial amount of emotional intelligence in comparison to everyone else in this "Hurt People Hurt People" show.

So. yeah. I also had the emotional journey of "hey Jayce that's not fair, she pretty obviously said she couldn't control it, what the hell are you stalking at her with that hammer for- OH. I mean. YEAH she did use you that....hey that part's fair...also Mel back up girl, he's super obviously Not Okay." But I think acting like Jayce is some sort of unique asshole in THIS SHOW is quite a stretch.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Take Your Pick

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x F Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Role play with the Ghoul is always an adventure.

Warnings: Claustrophobia, CNC, gun play, hair pulling, threats, brief blood mention, fuckin’ in a coffin, creampie, there’s some aftercare this time

(Thank you @slasher-smasher for planting the coffin idea into my brain)

A heavy thud startles you awake. You move to bolt upright, but abruptly halt a centimeter before colliding with smooth wood. A flat barrier sits just above you.

The lid.

The coffin lid.

Sleep-addled senses whir to life as memory returns. The cramped, trapped, feeling returns tenfold, suffocating you on all sides. Your heart rate spikes, a frightened staccato. You want to thrash and break out of your skin—air, you can’t breathe…!

Nails bite into your palms to ground yourself and you force your lungs to fill with calm. Breathe. Breathe like you did last night before you’d dozed off.

Your palms come to rest against the lid as you reorient yourself with your surroundings. The scents of damp wood and your own panicked sweat fill the narrow space. Sunlight peeks through the cracks where the lid doesn’t sit flush with the rest of the coffin. It had been dark when he’d tossed you in here and nailed it shut.

He’d left you here all night, then.

THUD

Muscles seize, the urge to shriek almost too great to resist. Someone—and you have a very good idea who—shoves a wedge, no, a crowbar between the lid and the body of your wooden prison. There’s a loud crack, the snap of wood, the groaning of nails as the top is wrenched away.

You throw an arm over your face when blazing light momentarily blinds you. A rattling crash somewhere to your left tells you the coffin lid has been tossed aside, forgotten.

A deep, rasping inhale heralds that familiar drawl. “Well, good mornin’, sunshine.”

Sight be damned. Squinting, you scramble for the side of the coffin, ready to heave yourself up and out, but cold metal against your temple freezes you in your tracks. “Woah, slow down, darlin’. It’s too early yet t’be gettin’ yourself in a tizzy.”

Gritting your teeth and willing your eyes to adjust, you sit back and blink. Eventually, you’re able to peer up into the scarred face of the Ghoul. He grins crookedly when you meet his gaze and playfully taps the side of your head with the gun barrel.

“Sleep well?” he asks while casually hooking a thumb in his belt.

“Like a baby.” You can’t help the impertinent reply, but you know the second it leaves your mouth it will have consequences. The Ghoul chortles and slides the muzzle directly in front of your nose. Your breath shakes as you stare directly down the dark barrel.

“Well, startin’ off the day with sass is certainly a choice. But I know that mouth a’ yours is good for more than just back talk, thanks t’that…rousin’ demonstration last night.” Cool metal presses to your trembling lips. The scents of iron and gunpowder burn your nose. “So go on now, sweetheart. Let’s see how shiny ya’ can make it.”

You swallow thickly and turn your pleading gaze up at the Ghoul. Who knows what horrible substances could be splattered all over its surface. Just the thought has bile stinging your throat.

He lifts a brow expectantly. “I don’t got all day, honey.” He’s not going to budge and you’re definitely not in a position to bargain. Fuck. Hopelessly, you choke down your nausea and look back to the muzzle hovering in front of your face. Your breath fogs up gleaming metal when you lean forward to timidly drag your tongue along the barrel.

Acrid, caustic tang hits the back of your throat. You cough, eyes watering, but you diligently make another pass, the flat of your tongue laving across nickel and leaving streaks of saliva in its wake. Drool spills down your chin when you wrap your lips around the muzzle.

Glancing up through your lashes shows you the Ghoul is intently focused on your every move. His jaw clenches and his chest rises and falls a little quicker than before. His knuckles blanche with how tightly he grips his belt.

After what seems like an eternity, the gun is yanked away from your mouth when the Ghoul lifts it skyward for inspection. Little droplets of spit trickle down the barrel as he turns it this way and that. He hums in satisfaction before holstering the weapon.

“Good girl.” His deep voice is husky, rougher than usual. You squeal when a hand darts out to seize your hair. He closes the distance between you to shove your face against the growing bulge his pants. Indignantly, you gasp and try to twist away only to have your cheek smashed more insistently against the Ghoul. This close, smell of ozone that seems to follow him everywhere overwhelms your senses.

“Looks like we got another problem to sort out,” he comments, using the hand in your hair to give your head a teasing wiggle. He takes a small step back so he can bend down low and bring his face inches from yours. You grunt and squirm in his grasp when his other hand flies up to grip your jaw tight.

“Since you did such an outstandin’ job cleanin’ my gun, I’ll let you pick which hole I use. Sound like a fair trade, sweetheart?”

“Fuck…off!” you grit out. Your hands wrap around his wrist to claw at his skin, but it could be made of steel for all the good it does. A pained cry rips from your throat when the Ghoul twists his fingers tighter in your hair. Panting, you still to keep your locks from being torn out.

“If I have t’choose, it’ll be your ass, and I don’t see any lube ‘round here. Do you?” The thought fills your veins with ice. Quickly, you shake your head as well as you can with how firmly he holds you. “Then what’ll it be, sugar? Tick tock.”

Your eyes close despairingly. Aching discomfort pulses in your jaw from the fingers that dig into your skin. Bitterly, you swallow your pride.

“My…my….” You groan as your cheeks burn. The Ghoul watches you stammer over your words, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Finally, you spit out a grumbled, “My…cunt.”

“Good choice, baby. My favorite.” Lightening fast, The Ghoul hops over the edge of the coffin to shoves you face-first into smooth pine. A strong hand splays out on the side of your head to keep you pinned while the other works your pants off your hips.

You yelp and writhe when scarred fingers dip into your folds. Mortification constricts your chest and sets your face ablaze when the slick squelch reaches your ears. A low chuckle sounds behind you, followed by a purred, “Well shit, sweetheart, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say ya’ like this.”

The chilly metal of his belt buckle brushes your rear as the Ghoul rips his zipper open. Hot, thick flesh slides along your dripping slit to tease your entrance. A little whimper leaves your lips when his nails rake across the meat of your hip to leave fiery stripes in their wake.

Agonizingly slow, the Ghoul feeds his cock into your twitching cunt. Slippery muscles part and stretch around his girth until your mouth falls open and your eyes momentarily unfocus. He’s so deep when his hips finally meet your ass you’re afraid you might break.

He voices his appreciation with a rumbling groan and a murmured, “You’re grippin’ me pretty tight there, darlin’.” Any response you might have had morphs into a strangled shout when he rears back and slams his hips forward.

Hastily, he curls over your back to clap a hand over your mouth. Against your ear, he mutters, “I don’t need us gettin’ interrupted before I’ve had my fill. Keep your screamin’ to yourself or I’ll have to dirty my gun again.”

Though, he doesn’t make it easy.

Your teeth are stained with blood from bottom lip as you fight the wanton moans and heady cries that sit on your tongue, begging to be freed. Each fervent thrust rattles the rickety coffin and your very bones. Evidence of your desire leaks freely down your thighs. You can feel it soaking into his pants, can hear it in the way the fabric slaps wetly against your hamstrings.

“I think that lil’ pussy was made just for me.” You can’t stop the whine his growled words bring forth. It’s not fair how good he feels; all those ridges and dips twisted around his cock hit every single spot so perfectly you swear it’s going to make you see god.

You do, in a way. Your vision whites out in blinding rapture as waves of molten ecstasy roil in your belly. Distantly, you’re aware of a strained curse from somewhere behind you. The cock buried deep in your guts twitches and spills liquid heat that fills and overflows to join the rest of the mess trickling down your legs.

Limbs shake. Breath returns in heaving gasps. You unstick your nails from the bottom of the coffin and shiver, little aftershocks of pleasure tingling under your skin.

“Jeeesus,” Cooper sighs as he bows over you to rest his forehead between your shoulder blades. A tremulous laugh is the only response you can manage. He sucks down a few more steadying breaths, then, “You’re fucked in the head, sweetheart. Ya’ know that?”

You snort. “I didn’t hear you complaining, Coop.” A wry chuckle greets your words.

“Touché,” Cooper drawls as he sits back. You hiss when he slips from your cunt. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat as he admires the deluge that follows. Quickly, he rights his clothes and helps you with your own before pulling you into his lap and slumping back against the side of the coffin. He slings an arm along the edge while the other wraps possessively around your waist.

“You gave a very convincing performance, Mr. Howard,” you comment coyly as you tug the brim of his hat further down.

Yellowed teeth peek out between a crooked smirk when Cooper grips your chin and rumbles, “Ya’ lookin’ for an encore, sugar?”

You bark out a laugh and shake your head. “I’m gonna need at least twenty minutes to recover after that.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Best I can do is ten. Then, you’re mine.”

[projectbluearcadia]

"Oops."

This is just the kind of scenario that pops up in my head a lot. The walls in the House of Lamentation have ears. (Suggestive)

---

“MC, my room. Now,” Lucifer snapped when he saw the mess you and Mammon had made. As usual, Mammon was getting himself in trouble with a so-called good idea and you were roped into it. This time, it had been adopting a feral demon.

Mammon, of course, had wanted to become a selective breeder after he heard about what purebred dogs are worth. Though now he gave up on that because he was a little too attached to the pair of Harumons he’d just adopted. 

In any case, the living room was an absolute disaster area, and Lucifer was very clearly pissed. 

“I-It was me! Why're you taking MC??” Mammon cried after Lucifer, and he turned a glare back at his little brother. 

“I’ll deal with you later.” 

And he left Mammon in silence, dragging MC by the collar. 

Guilty and feeling scared for the resident human, he followed and debated outside Lucifer’s door whether or not he should knock it down and rescue her. 

“L-Listen, Lucifer we can talk about th—Ah!” Mammon flinched at the high-pitched cry against the door accompanying a loud thud. 

“MC…” Lucifer’s lowered voice rasped. “I think I already warned you there would be consequences for doing something stupid like this.” 

“You’re not my dad!”

“No,” Lucifer replied, and a whimper resounded through the wood, making Mammon shiver. Should he risk it and jump in? Should he? “But you serve me, now don’t you MC?” 

“Well…y-yes…” 

“And since you so willingly went along with whatever that idiot’s harebrained scheme was this time, you’re going to make me feel better.” 

“M-My knees are still sore… sir.” Mammon was half tempted to break in there, a little enraged at the thought of whatever physical punishment he’d given to her. Didn't he know that human was fragile!? And how could he do that when she was so cute anyway!?

“Then rest assured that I’ll make something else sore today.”

“W-Wait, Lu-Lucifer,” she gasped before she let out a surprised cry, and Mammon felt his ears turn hot as the sound of a kiss and something else reached his ears. 

“No waiting,” Lucifer growled, breathless as she panted. “I’ve been waiting.” 

“Ah! N-Not there!” she cried out, still heaving for breath, and Mammon flinched as he heard a thump against the door. 

“Why not? You’re shaking your hips like you’re enjoying it. Dirty girl.” 

Fuckin’ hell, Mammon thought. He’s doin' it that way…. Come to think of it, I think Levi was complaining about that earlier... I really should lea--

“Ahn?! Lucifer, why did you lick me!?” 

Mammon's ears turned pink at the sound that came out of her mouth, and he found himself desperately wishing that he was in Lucifer's place.

“Would you have preferred I childishly bit you like I wanted to?" Lucifer chuckled to himself. "But you want me to lick somewhere else, don’t you? If you want that, then you’re going to beg for it… and I’ll make you scream so loud that the entire house will know.”

“A-Aren’t you afraid they’ll get scared…?” 

“They know I’m here, and they know damn well I’d never let anything happen to you. They’ll know exactly why you’re screaming. I promise.” 

Mammon covered his reddened face with a groan. That asshole knew I was gonna follow to make sure she was okay, didn' he? Fuck. I'm not sleepin' tonight...

As a bonus, when the other brothers found out that Mammon was the reason that Lucifer was making MC scream louder than usual, they casually bullied him the next day. Lucifer was satisfied.

MC later made them make up and screwed them both ruthlessly.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 25th

Day 25: Pussy Slapping // Non Con - Dub Con // Titty Fucking

Dave York x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Break-ins, coercion, blackmail, vaginal sex, tit play, allusions to domestic abuse, allusions to murder.

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Well, well, well.” You freeze when you hear the voice behind you. It’s stern, but it sounds almost amused, like he had been expecting something like this to happen. “What do we have here?” 

Terror races through your entire body, making you shake. You know that if he’s told, he will be furious. He will punish you again and you don’t know if you can survive it. It was stupid to break-in, but you had thought he was out of town. He hadn’t been home for the last few days. 

“Please.” Your voice cracks, it sounds pitiful to your own ears and you know that it won’t sway him. It won’t make him feel bad for you. “I- I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean to break the lock on my door?” You can’t even turn around and face him. You can’t look him in the eyes. “You didn’t mean to walk through that door and close it behind you? You didn’t mean to walk through my apartment and into my bedroom. Through another closed door. You didn’t mean to open my nightstand?” 

You shudder, knowing that every statement he makes damns you. Even if he calls the cops, there is nothing that will save you.  “I’m sorry.” Your head bows, but you hear the snort behind you. You can’t tell him what you were looking for. 

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, sweetheart.” You want to cry, but if you cry it will just be worse. You learned that early on. You don’t say anything, knowing that everything you say will just make it that much worse. Waiting until you hear him sigh. “I guess I could forget this happened.” 

Your entire body reacts, nearly shivering in pure relief. “If-”

Now you are stiffening again. Knowing that the consequences will be horrible. Bracing yourself for what will happen. “If what?” You ask shakily, filling in the silence when he makes you ask. Obviously going silent so you will say something. You’ve learned not to keep someone waiting for too long, they will get angry. 

“If I can fuck you.” 

Your eyes widen, back turned to him and you gasp. You hadn’t expected that. Even if you don’t want to, even if you feel like you can’t say no, you are already reaching for your shorts. Running a finger into the waistband and stripping them down your thighs along with your underwear. 

“Turn around.” You shake your head, not wanting to face him. “From behind.” You beg, voice trembling and there is another pause. Making you want to turn your head, to see what he looks like behind you. 

You almost do when you hear him move. Hear him shuffle forward and the clinking of a belt as it’s being unbuckled. You bite your lip, moving over to the bed and bracing your hands on the surprisingly soft mattress as you wait for him to touch you. 

You had watched him move in. Bringing in furniture and boxes. Had seen what you weren’t supposed to see one day when a box had been knocked over. The contents quickly stuffed back inside. It’s what you had been searching for. What you needed. But he can never find out about that. Not if you wanted to escape. No one could know. 

He touches your hip, making you jump and he chuckles. “Don’t worry.” He hums, his voice right by your ear. Low and slightly raspy, making you shiver all over again as you close your eyes. “I will make sure you enjoy it too.” 

You doubt that. How could you enjoy it? You almost ask that, but you can’t get the words out. Instead you just nod and wait for him to stick it in. 

Except he takes his time. His hands move under your shirt. Cupping your tits and teasing them. Finding your nipples and rolling them into tight buds. Pulling on him as he starts to grind against your bare ass. “So dirty.” He coos. “If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have asked.” He taunts. “You didn’t have to break in.” 

You can’t tell him why you are here. Instead you groan wordlessly and try not to flinch when his hard cock twitches against your ass. Swallowing when he reaches between you to push it down between your legs, bending you over more as he presses against your back. 

“Wanted to fuck you since I moved in.” He grunts, sliding the head of his cock between your dry folds, leaning back and spitting in his hand when he finds you a little lacking for his tastes. You’ve been found lacking a lot. 

You can’t say the same. Not beyond the odd fantasy. Even if he is handsome. Maybe you would have under different circumstances, but all you’ve been trying to do since before he moved in was survive. You’ve been failing at that. 

It doesn’t hurt when he pushes inside you. It stretches you, but it doesn’t hurt. You bite your lip and try not to make a sound as he presses against your ass, his own groan loud against your hair. 

You try not to think about it. What you are doing. Why you are letting this man pump his cock into your body as he does it. He’s right. You are enjoying it. The sensation sneaks up on you while you hold onto the covers and he is rocking into you. The ache of your pussy surprising you, making you clench around him and his hips snap forward in response. 

The pace increases, his hands groping and massaging your tits eventually move down to your pussy. His fingers finding your clit has he starts to pound into you. The slap of his hips against your ass is better than the alternative in your mind and you let out a small moan. 

He groans when you respond to him, pushing deep and you feel the heat of his cum painting your walls. Another problem that will have to be solved later, but you can handle that. Letting him ride out his orgasm without pulling away. Without whimpering like you want to. You had actually been close to cumming rather than crying. 

He pulls out of you with a light tap to your ass. A smug grunt of satisfaction that all men give when they cum and you quickly pull up your shorts and underwear. Still turned away from him. Unable to face him. 

“Can I go?” You ask softly, worried that you might upset him if you say the wrong thing, but now you need to get away. You’ve been here for too long as it is. 

“Turn around.” You freeze and part of you wants to make a run for it but you know you won’t make it. You’ve seen him run down the dog that his daughters sometimes bring over to his apartment. He’s quick. Quicker than you are. 

You bite your lip, slowly turning around with your head down. Trying not to flinch when you see his hand come into view, fingers under your chin and pushing it up so your eyes meet his. 

Dave York doesn’t react much to the sight of your battered face. His lips press together a little more than normal but they are always in a flat line. Like he’s permanently unhappy about something, but that could just be because he’s divorced. He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t demand to know what happened to you. If he feels guilty about coercing you into fucking him, he doesn’t show it. 

His eyes are dark and flat. “Go home.” He orders, his voice neutral. You swallow and pull back, watching his hand fall to his side. His pants are still around his ankles, now flaccid cock still dripping with the cum that had coated it when he came. It’s a good time to escape and you take it. Quickly rushing out of his apartment without the gun you had been hoping to steal. 

****

Two days later, a knock on your door makes you jump. Nearly shrieking in fear since you hadn’t seen him since that day. Since you had broken into Dave’s apartment. You had woken up to find him gone and you had been relieved but without a call or anything, you were starting to get nervous. When he was silent, it just meant that he was working up a monstrous temper to take out on you. You creep to the door, halfway expecting to see him but there’s no one there. 

Instead, there is an envelope taped to your door. You pull it off and close the door. Curious to see what it could be and your body relaxing slightly when you don’t see your abusive boyfriend around. 

Inside there is a small card. You pull it out and your eyes widen when you read it. ‘He won’t be back.’ is all it says. The envelope still feels like something is inside, so you turn it upside down and an empty bullet casing falls into your hand, along with the necklace your boyfriend always wore.  

You smile for the first time in days and remember how Dave had touched you.

[starb3rrys]

Hiii I'm kinda new to Tumblr so idk how stuff really works here😭 but anyway are your requests open? If so, then I'd like to make a req but if not just ignore this!!

Umm so basically an nsfw oneshot(idk what you call it) or headcanons of how bsd men would react/deal the situation when you two are hiding in a very tight space and your crotches accidentally rub together? RHRHHT it's kinda weird describing it but let's just say [character] pushed you along with him into a locker/box with you sitting on top of his lap OR with you too close ttp that you two could feel each other with every inch you move

Uhhh and yeah that's it and feel free to add some touches and changes on the scenario, and I'd greatly appreciate it if maybe you add Nikolai in it😁🙏AND AGAIN IF U DON'T FEEL LIKE DOING MY REQ OR ISN'T ACCEPTING REQS RN THEN FEEL FREE TO IGNORE I HONESTLY DON'T MIND!!/lh /srs

OMG YES?! Ugh, I love this request! I wanted to add some more characters as well, So I picked the DOA (sorry) ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／

If y’all want a part 2 with different characters just let me know, Im at your service! <3

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

A Tight Fit~

Ft. Nikolai, Sigma, Fyodor

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Nikolai

Scenario: You were out on a mission with Nikolai, it should’ve been an easy “break in and grab important documents” type mission. But now, you two were squeezed together in a small closet, fearing that any small movement would get you two caught.

“Stay quiet...” Nikolai said as he listened closely, his face looked concentrated and serious, a change from his usual happy and calm face

You quietly nod, as you press against the wall behind you to try and get some more space in between you two

The closet is pretty small, hence why nikolai is leaning down, his hands are pressed firmly on each side of your head, inevitably pinning you in place

Nikolai thinks of a way for both of you to escape this situation without being spotted, “maybe I can teleport something”, he thought to himself

He reaches for his cape, unintentionally pressing against you

Your eyes widen as you feel something press against your area, you slowly look up to see if Nikolai noticed

His cheeks are flushed, hes frozen in place and there is an obvious smirk forming on his face

Yeah he definitely noticed.

You start to speak “Niko-… you’re so clo-“, he cuts you off as he places his hand over your lips

“Shh...” He says as he places a finger against his own lips with a small smirk

Moments later you hear the door of the office close, you two are now alone

“They’re gone now...” Nikolai says in a quiet gentle tone, he turns to you “But, i mean…we could just stay in here~” he says with a mischievous grin

Even after you two get out of that closet, he would keep on teasing and reminding you of the “incident”, he will make sure you never forget!~

Sigma

Scenario: You really don’t know how you got in this situation, one second you and Sigma were walking the streets of the city at night, after your wonderful date. The next, you were hiding in a small dark alley, your body pressed tightly against sigmas as you both hid from a certain jester.

“Damn it.” Sigma cursed under his breath as he kept his guard up, looking around frantically with a worried yet annoyed look

You looked up at Sigma, “Why are we hiding?” You whispered

Sigma looked down at you as he let out a sigh “I saw Nikolai roaming the streets, We can’t be seen together by anyone in the decay, if they were to find out about us...I’m sure horrible consequences would follow” he explained

You nod in agreement, “I understand..but um, why did we have to hide in such a...tight space.” You say as you look away, you can feel his body pressed tightly against yours, you can feel his every breath, his every shuffle and every slight movement

Sigma realizes this and blushes as his eyes widen, “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice our position in the heat of the moment”

As he says this, you hear a slight noise come from the alley which causes you to slightly jump in a fright

Sigma let’s out a small grunt as he feels your crotch roughly brush against his, he grips your shoulders and holds you in place “Love please…try and stay still…at least for now” he pleads as his face flushes

Your eyes widen as you feel something slightly poke you “Sigm-“ you’re cut off as his hand covers your mouth, “Keep quiet..” he whispers as you hear footsteps around the corner

You feel him press more onto you, trying to hide your body from view as he lays his head against you shoulder, next to your ear

You slightly shuffle which causes sigma to groan in response, he quickly grips your hips with slight force

“Keep still..” he says in a low tone

Once you two finally get out of the alley way…let’s just say- his head was full of scenarios that caused him to blush profusely, as he practically dragged you to your apartment…

Fyodor

Scenario: Work has been so busy lately, new mission reports coming in everyday. Piles of finished and unfinished documents decorate your desk. All of this caused you to become stressed and overwhelmed, which caused you to become clumsy. So clumsy that you didn’t even seem to notice Fyodor turning the corner, not until it was too late.

**THUD**, is all that can be heard as your bodies crash together and fall to the floor

You feel extreme pain on your head as you let out a small groan of pain

You soothe your head and begin to slowly open your eyes, you try and comprehend what just happened as you hear a soft pained groan come from under you

You slowly begin to look down, your face flushes when you and Fyodor’s eyes meet

His eyes show slight shock as they quickly return to their neutral state, he just stares up at you…not uttering a word

You take a minute to process what is currently happening…and thats when you feel it, you feel something pressing against your area

You quickly get off Fyodor as you begin to apologize, “I’m so sorry! I should’ve been paying more attention!”, you ramble on apologies as you quickly stand up

He lets out a small chuckle as he stands up and brushes himself off , “No worries, more importantly…are you alright?” He asks with a bit of concern present in his tone

You nod as your face grows red, you begin to remember what you felt under you as you pray to god he didn’t notice

But, its like he can read you like a book, he smirks as he reaches for your chin, making you look at him “Yes,…I did notice and feel it” he says with a sly tone

You freeze in place as he says this, he then pulls away and softly smiles “Just be more careful and aware in the future, alright?”

He narrows his eyes as his tone changes to a more stern one, “Next time I won’t be so forgiving…~” he says as he begins to walk off

You’re left standing there shocked and frozen in place

He definitely enjoyed it, especially your cute reaction when you thought he didn’t notice. But for your sake he won’t bring it up, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t think about it constantly…~

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

Hi Hi! Sorry for the delay, work has been getting in the way but no worries im clearing out my requests!

I changed the scenario up a bit for Fyodor! (Sorry)

I appreciate everyone sending in requests! Love yall! <3

[lees-chaotic-brain]

I am in the mood for some angst/comfort for Gojo Satoru. So I will like to request Gojo being unsealed but being in the box managed to break him (mentally and physically). Reader (you can choose if platonic or romantic) nurses Gojo back to health and promise to help him become the person he used to be.

WC: 2.2k

CW: SPOILERS, major manga spoilers, mentions of character death, swearing, non sexual nudity, surviving unrealistic periods of time without eating or drinking, reader makes korean food (sorry this is the only type of food i know how to make), atrophied muscles

Note: thank you so much for this ask nonnie!! it's been a little while since i've written some good angst/comfort for gojo, which was what initially got this blog started!!

Taglist: @ponderingmoonlight

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The first time you saw Gojo after he had been sealed your heart broke. His usually vivid and bright eyes were dull and lifeless, deep purple bags marring the pale skin beneath them. You’ve known him for over a decade, but for the first time since you met him he looks…mortal. Forcing a grin that was clearly meant to look cocky, he staggered over to you.

“Hey guys!! What’s up? Bet you missed me. Where’s everyone else? I thought you guys would at least have the decency to throw a massive party for me when I made my return.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, you could see the fear he was so  desperately trying to hide lurking in his eyes. Unable to say anything, you gave a miniscule shake of your head, your own eyes filling with tears. If his appearance broke your heart, then his reaction to you shaking your head stomped on the remaining fragments.

His carefree facade dropped, and bone-deep despair replaced it. Gone was the happy go lucky man known as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the world, the man who loved kikufuku, the man who enjoyed messing with his students just for shits and giggles. In his place stood a man who had lost more than he could afford to, a man who was weary, too tired to go on.

He had been alone for so long and unable to allow him to be alone for any longer, you took a deep breath and walked up to him. He didn’t even react, just staring blankly at the ground before him as you stopped in front of him. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek in one hand, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb.

“Gojo.” No reaction, not even a hint of recognition towards you. “Hey, Satoru.”

He still didn’t react, and you could sense the agitation growing in the people assembled behind you. No longer caring what they thought, consequences be damned, you firmly grabbed his face between your palms, and pulled him down until his forehead rested against yours.

“Toru. My love. I missed you so much. Please come back to me.” His breath hitched, and the tears on your cheeks began falling faster. “Baby. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. I’m not  going anywhere. So please, come back to me.”

His eyes shifted, settling on yours. The fog in them cleared a little and he quietly said your name, relaxing a little into your touch. 

“That’s right. It’s me. Let’s get you home, okay?” You paused, giving him a moment to respond. Once he had made a small noise of agreement you pulled away and took his hand, guiding him to your car. 

Helping him into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but notice just how much his muscles had atrophied when you gripped his arm. While somewhat lanky, he had always been well built, with defined muscles and a solid body. Leaning across him to buckle his seatbelt, you noticed the way his once snug uniform bagged around him concerningly. Just how much had he been through since you last saw him?

The car ride to your shared apartment was silent as he leaned his head against the window and watched the world blur by. From time to time you glanced over at him, unable to comprehend how much he had changed. Pulling into your usual spot, you parked and turned the car off, watching him carefully. Continuing to stare blankly out the window, he gave no sign that he recognized where you were, or that he knew you had arrived at your house. 

Disappointed but not discouraged, you got out and walked around the car to help him out and into the building. As you walked him through the lobby and into the elevator he remained unresponsive, merely trailing after you as you led him by the hand. He showed no emotion until you punched in the code to your front door and led him inside.

The instant the door clicked shut behind you he leaned against it, sliding down until he was sitting against the door. Pulling his knees up, he buried his head in his arms and just sat there, not making a sound. Seeing the man you love sitting there so broken nearly broke you as you crouched in front of him.

You reach out to touch his shoulder, but pause before you make contact. “Can I-is it okay if I touch you?” He doesn’t respond, so you take his silence as a yes. Squeezing in between his side and the wall, you sit beside him and wrap your arms around him the best you can. You sit there for a long period of time as you rub comforting circles on his back, reminding him of your presence. 

Eventually the silence is broken by a loud gurgle from his stomach, reminding both of you that it’s been seventeen days since he last ate anything. Pulling away, you stand up. 

“Love. Let’s get you something to eat, okay?” You help him to his feet, and get him situated at the kitchen counter wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Turning on the kettle for tea, you open your refrigerator and survey its contents. Seeing as it’s been weeks since you went shopping it’s practically empty. After hunting through your freezer and pantry you find a frozen pack of beef and the rest of the ingredients you need to make miyeokguk. 

Once the kettle goes off, you make him a cup of green tea with three massive spoonfuls of honey; just the way he likes it. Leaving him to nurse his drink you run to your room and change out of your filthy uniform into a pair or sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing your hair up in a messy bun before returning to the kitchen.

You get to work, leaving the seaweed to soak as you cut, and brown the beef in a large pot. Going to the seaweed, you scrub, wring, and cut the seaweed and add it to the pot. After adding water, garlic, soy sauce, and sesame oil into the pot, you measure out some rice and wash it before starting the cooker.

You weren’t the best with emotions, or knowing how to comfort people, but to you there was nothing more intimate than taking the time to prepare a warm meal for someone you loved. If you didn’t know how to express what you wanted to say through words, you would express it through a warm bowl of soup.

When the soup was done, you ladled him a big bowl, and got out a small plate to put his rice and white kimchi on. Murmuring that you would be back, you jog into your bathroom and start running a bath for him for once he finishes eating. When you reenter the kitchen, he’s quietly scarfing down the food you made for him. Finishing the first bowl in record time, he sets it down and you refill it without him having to ask. Three large bowls later he’s done eating, and you ask him if he wants to take a bath.

He nods, and you walk with him to the bathroom, not bothering with the dishes or cleanup. That can wait. You help him pull off his uniform, and step back so he can climb into the tub. As he moves, you can see each vertebrae in his spine shifting between his skin and count each of his ribs. It pains you to see him like this, to imagine how much pain he must have endured. 

Once he was comfortably submerged you sit on the bench behind the bathtub and wet his hair. Pouring some of his expensive purple shampoo into the palm of your hand, you begin washing his hair, feeling his body relax as you massage his scalp. 

The echoing silence of the bathroom is only interrupted by the quiet splash of water and the sound of your breathing. As you gently rinse the soap from his hair, he speaks for the first time since getting home.

“Suguru?” You know exactly what he means. “That was Kenjaku, he possessed Suguru’s body after he died.”

“Ah.” Gojo leans back more and closes his eyes. “I knew it wasn’t him. What about…everyone else?”

You take a deep breath, aware that he needs to know what happened, and that you can’t coddle him, no matter how much you may want to. “Yaga, Yuki, Nobara, Nanami, Tsumiki, and Megumi.” You watch as grief contorts his features. “How?”

“Yaga was sentenced to death and killed by Gakuganji. Yuki sacrificed herself to kill Kenjaku. And Mahito got both Nanami and Nobara. Although there is a slim chance that Nobara survives.” You stop, needing to steel yourself.

“And what about Tsumiki? Megumi?” The pain is his voice is overwhelming, silent tears streaming down his face as he mourns his mentor, student and friends. “What about our kids?”

You swallow a sob, unable to stop your tears from falling. “There were these culling games, and Tsumiki became the host of Yorozu, who took over and challenged Sukuna to a fight. Sukuna, he-”

You break down in tears, needing a moment before you continue. “Sukuna used Megumi’s body to do it. Sukuna has Megumi now.” The weight of your words linger in the steamy air.

“I failed them.”

Gojo’s words were so quiet you almost missed them. “What?”

“I failed them. I was supposed to take care of them, to protect them. I’m supposed to be the strongest sorcerer in the world. Yaga. Yuki. Nanami. Nobara. Tsumiki. Megumi. It’s my fault all of them are dead. I was a damned idiot, let myself get distracted by an imposter of my dead best friend, I-”

“Shut up!” Your words ring off the tiled walls.“Just shut up!.”

“No!” He yelled, suddenly angry, although he was unsure why. “I failed them. Me. It was my job to-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the quiet fury in it brooks no room for argument. 

“You did the best you could. But you were trapped in a cube. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t even be there. I but I could, and I was. So hate me. Scream at me all you like. Tell me it’s my fault and it should have been me. I can take it. I deserve it. But don’t you ever blame yourself. You’re not a god. Some things are out of your control. I-I should’ve-”

Sobbing into your hands, you’re aware that you should be the one comforting him, but here you were, crying instead of making anything better. Sloshing water tells you that he’s moving, and you’re only given a second’s warning before you’re being tugged into the tub, clothes and all. Long arms wind around you and crush you into a warm chest, water lapping up at your neck. 

In the arms of the man you love, you finally take the time you need to grieve. You cry into his chest, feeling his body shake with the force of his own sobs. Together you cry, mourning the loss of those you love, and the children you raised together. The two of you become pruny, and the water becomes cold, but neither of you move. 

“It’s not your fault.” His words drown out the sound of your cries. “It’s not. And I would never blame you, or wish it was you. I couldn’t live without you.”

“I’m going to end this.” You speak, lip brushing against his damp chest. “I swear. I’m going to save Megumi and kill him before he kills another person. I won’t let him take another person.”

“I believe you.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m useless now, but I’ll do everything I can to support you.”

“What do you mean you’re useless?” You pull away so you can look into his eyes. “You’re not useless.”

“Baby, look at me.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “Have you seen me recently? I’m pretty sure a light breeze could take me out right now.”

You frown. “Satoru, you didn’t eat, drink, or move for seventeen days. Of course you’re a little weak right now. But don’t worry. We’ll get you back in shape in no time.”

“We’ll?” He asks, vulnerability shining in his eyes. 

“We will.” You confirm, locking eyes with him. “I’ll make sure you get good food in you and I’ll work out with you. We’ll start small, but pretty soon you’ll be back to normal. Just stay with me.”

He nods. “But what about you? Do you promise to stay with me? No matter what? I meant what I said. I can’t lose you. Losing you will kill me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with you.”

And curled up in his arms, you meant it. Fate be damned, you were going to stay by his side until the end of time.