#which sounds callous maybe

[friskafriskito]

So a bit upsetting news, we lost our oldest family pet today.

Cosmo was my dad’s tortoise since he was five. My dad is seventy now, which I think means she was also at least seventy. So dad is taking the loss of his childhood pet quite hard. Like the way she went was not a natural death and is pretty upsetting.

For my part it’s sort of like losing a tiny grandma who really liked cucumbers and watermelons. She’s been there literally my whole life.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I know it’s silly to be sad over an old tortoise, but it’s going to be very strange not to hear her walking around in the morning.

[cultven]

hii i love reading yor fics sososo much T_T<333

I'd like to request a fic where Logan dreams that he hurts the reader, almost killing them. The reader notices that he's having a nightmare and wakes him up, he's disoriented and in panic, but when he realized what just happened he is incredibly relieved to see that reader is ok and alive. Maybe he even breaks down and cries, which really shocks the reader cuz they arent used to seeing Logan like this 🥺 Then the reader comforts him and takes care of him until he's back asleep.

As It Should Be

Wolverine X Reader

Content: Comfort, crying, poor Logan cannot catch a break, but you're there to dig him out of his sadness hole, he loves you a lot, lots of fluff while comforting him

Word Count: 1.39k

Warnings: Some graphic violence during the nightmare segment

a/n: Thank you for the kind words! This one honestly got a little graphic in terms of gore, but nothing too bad, so hopefully that’s ok! This was fun to write, enjoy!

No. What had he done? 

Logan stood in a pile of debris and rubble, his white tank top and jeans now caked in blood that wasn’t his. Claws refusing to retract, Logan felt utterly hopeless against his own body. His actions weren’t his own as he trudged towards the only person left alive; you. You were scared, that much was clear by your facial expression and hasty movements to crawl backward away from the mutant. 

“Logan… this isn’t you, please.” You plead, eyes darting around the scene to find help, anyone that is still alive or conscious. All you could take in was the decimated mansion and the mauled corpses of your loved ones. What had taken over Logan? Why did he destroy the very things he risked his life for countless times? 

As Logan looked into your frightened eyes his heart clenched, knowing what was coming next. He just wishes he could stop it. Watching himself tear through his other family hurt like hell, but having to watch you die he didn’t think he could bear it. You were his entire world, the only thing that could ground him when he fell down the pits of self-destruction. He would forever kill himself before harming you. But this version of himself had other plans. 

He trudged over, claws glistening in the light of fire around them. “No, no no no…” You chant, still trying to escape the man but your legs are rendered useless due to your paralyzing fear. With one swift movement, Logan begins to tear through flesh and muscle, watching in horror as his hands mutilate his love against his will. You could do nothing but lay there, screaming in pain, your mutant ability keeping you alive for longer than you wanted to be. Logan wished he was the one being gutted. In a way, he was. Anyone else, anyone but you deserved his wrath. 

Tears clung tightly to his eyes as his hand retracted from your body, lining up for the final shot to the head. As the blade commences its soar towards your skull, Logan jolts up from a lying position and hastily takes in his surroundings. It was dark, he was under a blanket of sorts, and oh, he was in your bedroom. Had it only been a nightmare? No, it was far too cruel and realistic to have been. Even Logan’s mind wasn’t so callous to make him live through such a horror. So then, it must have been real? Logan begins to hyperventilate, raising his hands to eye level. His claws were away, and his rough skin was clean of blood. But, as he blinked, grotesque images flashed through his mind. Sick crimson blood, your blood, begins to stain his hands, drying in a disgusting reddish-brown. He immediately jumped out of bed, went into the ensuite bathroom, and scrubbed his hands raw. 

“No, no no no.” He chanted under his breath as he tried to scrape off the non-existent material. The cold water was not enough to ground him back to reality, Logan eventually gave up and put him back to the skin, sliding down towards the floor to cradle his head in his hands. Thanks to the sound of the water running in the bathroom and Logan’s hard footsteps, you eventually stir awake. At first, nothing seemed wrong, maybe he just had to use the bathroom. But after the sound of continuous water for five minutes you grew increasingly concerned. Deciding to confront the man you carefully walk up to the bathroom door and gently knock three times, not to startle him during whatever he’s doing. 

“Lo?” It was only one syllable, but your sweet voice saying his nickname out loud was enough to send Logan scrambling. The door eagerly burst open, and when it did the sight you were met with shocked your heart. There was Logan on the ground, clearly disheveled, eyes bloodshot and teary. “Oh baby, what happened?” You coo, going to take a step forward but immediately retreating seeing Logan flinch. 

“You’re- you’re real, right?” Logan tentatively asks, sounding scared. Of course, you were real, why wouldn’t you be?” 

“Yes, love.” You stay put in your place. You didn’t want to upset him further.

“No… I ripped you apart. You died by my hands.” You resist the urge to outwardly exclaim how ridiculous he sounded before realizing he more than likely had a nightmare. Logan was prone to bad dreams, but none ever shook him quite as much as this. The only good thing that came out of the consistent night terrors was that you now knew how to soothe him in times like these. 

“I’m right here my love. I’m not hurt. See? I’m perfectly okay.” Your voice stays calm and soothing, not wanting to startle him further. “Touch my hand. Feel my skin. I am right here.” Usually, the sensation of touch grounded him from this distressed state, but this time he seemed hesitant to even look in your direction. 

“I can’t. I might hurt you again.” Logan looked so small and it broke you. He was huddled into himself, still looking at you untrusting. The thought of himself harming you any further plagued his mind, twisting his stomach and making him want to vomit. You were his world, his everything. He curses his body for the immortality that was bestowed upon him because if anything happens to you he wants to follow right behind. 

Realizing you may seem intimidating due to the fact you’re standing tall over his curled-up body you lower yourself and sit criss-cross applesauce across from him. Putting your hand out in between your two bodies you silently sit there, waiting for Logan to take this at his own pace. After a few minutes, Logan seems calm enough to touch your hand. Fingertips only brush at first, then a loose handhold, then a firm grasp on each other. Before either of you knew it you were fully embracing, Logan nuzzling his head into your neck. He needed to take you in every sense, to prove this was real. His nose took in your intoxicating perfume, his hands gripped your curves, his ears heard your soft breaths release from your mouth, and when he pulled back his eyes took in the sight of you. You were as stunning as always even with your messy hair and tired eyes. You were real, you were here, and you were his. 

Seeing as your boyfriend has calmed down you decided to relocate to a more comfortable area. “Let’s get off this gross floor, okay love? Let’s go to bed.” You whisper, carefully tugging him along to your shared bed. Once you two got settled down you were instantly back in his strong arms, protecting you from the rest of the world. You thought all was said and done for the night until Logan spoke up. 

“You were so scared. I made you scared.” He hated seeing you that way. It hurt him. What hurt worse was that he was the cause of it. He now understands it wasn’t real, but your expression was so gut-wrenching he couldn’t shake it off. 

“Logan I know you would never hurt me on purpose.” You reassured him. “Except maybe when you squeeze me to death with your bear hugs.” Logan chuckled a little bit, your humor always lightens the mood. You lay in silence for a bit, almost dozing off until you hear a voice next to you. 

“Thank you for dealing with me.” You smile, leaning over and kissing the man gingerly on the cheek. 

“It’s what I signed up for my love. Besides, you could never be a bother to me.” He smiles back, a rare sight to anyone but yourself. “I love you, Logan.”

“I love you too.” With that resignation you two cuddle, arms and legs entangled with one another’s. Eventually, Logan is lulled back to sleep while listening to the steady beat of your heart. Instead of another nightmare, he is met with a blissful dream of the two of you living together on a mountain, away from all the violence and harm the world holds. Just as it should be. 

[deebris]

The Misteryous Visitor 6

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Being alone with Damian after so many years didn't lead to the ideal conversation you two should have had, but every little word seemed to have helped you two get closer at least a little bit. However, the chaotic turbulence of the night returned when your mother decided to leave.

Warnings: Family discussion; mention of kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4k

Note: I wanted to post this and part 7 together, because they are the last two, but it didn't turn out as planned. I hope you like it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Damian walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading toward the living room. His only goal at the moment was to find you and try to prepare you for the catastrophic revelation he knew would come at some point. He was already tired of seeing you so unaware of everything; you weren’t an idiot and didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

But it seemed he didn’t have to try too hard because as soon as he turned the corner and walked a few meters, he abruptly stopped upon seeing that you hadn’t disappeared. In fact, you were there, sitting on the floor next to an old portrait of Martha, your grandmother, curled up as if just waiting for someone to come and get you. Someone who wasn’t your brother, apparently.

“There you are.” He took a few steps back and made no effort to crouch to your level; instead, he stood staring at you with a reproachful look that made you pull your legs even tighter to your chest. “Get up, quickly. The floor is for rats.”

He was trying to ignore the tension, but you were giving him the silent treatment, which made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it to himself. You had done this to him many times before, but it was always over silly reasons, so he never minded.

You also could never hold a grudge for long, and when you were younger, within an hour, you would have forgotten any disagreement between the two of you and would then come to annoy him again. But now you were older, it wasn’t a tantrum anymore, and the reason was much more complex than any other. You weren’t ignoring him because you were simply irritated, and he feared it was different now.

Damian couldn’t ignore the irritation he felt seeing how ashamed of yourself you seemed since he first saw you. He hated that trait of your personality, always very aware of everything and everyone around you, though it was contradictory to your incredible ability to do unthinkable nonsense.

From where you both were, he still had a view of the bedroom door. The boy couldn’t help but glance over there, curious about what kind of discussion your parents were having. At the same time, he was contemplating various ways to say something or maybe try to fix the awkwardness between you two now, but your guilty voice caught him off guard:

“I didn’t mean to cause harm.” You sounded hoarse, and you two stared at each other, and unlike his sharp eyes, yours were wavering. He gave you a hard expression, but not because of the aversion you thought he had for you, but out of confusion.

It was a pity that Damian’s feelings weren’t easy to read, so you thought he was angry because that night you found out Bruce was someone very important to your brother now. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Wayne. I really don’t know what I did to make him like this. I’m sorry.”

So you thought you had done something wrong to make your father that way, Damian concluded. He hadn’t reflected on how you might feel that way, and fighting against his own callous nature, he made an effort to relax his posture and crouched down in front of you. Damian didn’t dare sit the same way you were, balancing on his toes and leaning his torso forward.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” You’re not sure, but you risk saying this was the first time you heard your brother so soft in your entire life. Damian had always been very loud and was almost always yelling or offending someone, but now, combined with the gravity his voice had gained with puberty, it was tender.

He was going to say something else, but suddenly a strange noise sounded. It was muffled, but it seemed like something had fallen, and you both could feel the ground vibrate. It came from the bedroom, which made you become alert. You started to get up, worried, but your brother’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“It must have been nothing. Don’t worry about them.” The tenderness had been replaced by harshness, but it wasn’t directed at you.

Sliding your back against the wall again, you rested your chin on your knees while admiring your own shoes, and just like always, you couldn’t maintain your silent treatment with Damian for long:

“I think I bothered Mr. Wayne by coming here. Mom will be mad at me for this later, I know she will.” You were obviously nervous, seeking refuge in Damian as you always did when you had to face her. Your mother didn’t have a good relationship with Batman, and now having to deal with you for disturbing his evening would make her furious. The little relief you felt earlier had vanished, suspecting she had only been affectionate before not to show Bruce.

“Mom is mad all the time.” He tried to calm you down. It would be unbelievable for someone who knows Talia only through her assassin image to hear such a thing. She was a cold and calculating woman, but you both knew when she was upset. She didn’t express it in a conventional way, and Damian had already gotten used to it. Your mother’s mood didn’t concern him much, but it was still scary for you.

“You were mad…” Your statement made him sigh because it was true. A few minutes ago, he had reacted that way, but there was context he couldn’t immediately explain to you. “Maybe I can apologize to him? If he forgives me, I promise I won’t do it again, and then mom-”

“Y/n.” Your brother cut off your frantic speech sharply; you were almost hyperventilating. “No one is mad at you.” He said it as a statement, leaving no room for you to contest him.

“He was calm.” you started to ramble, picking at the fabric of your clothes with your nail. “He read something he took out of his pocket and started feeling sick, I was trying to help…”

Damian frowned. He had seen Dick give a small piece of paper to his father downstairs. That idiot wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write on it that you were his daughter, right? What a wonderful way to tell something like that.

“Idiot.” Your brother muttered aloud without meaning to, feeling immense anger at the thought that Dick had done that. And only after he blurted out the word did he realize you were still beside him, listening. “Not you.” He tried to explain hastily, still with a furious expression on his face.

It was strange for him to talk to you that way. He had called you an idiot many times during childhood, and you used to call each other much worse things, as siblings do. But your relationship now was delicate, like a strand of cotton candy, since that intimacy you once had was lost.

“By the way, Bruce is just stressed about Strange.” Damian analyzed your reaction at the mention of the name. To you, Strange was just another enemy of Batman, never suspecting that the man who appeared at your house years ago could somehow be him.

The League of Assassins had many enemies scattered across the globe; at that time, you thought it was just another one of them. You also never asked or wanted to talk about it, which was unusual for how chatty you could be sometimes. For you, Hugo Strange and the person who kidnapped you back then had no connection.

“There must have been something about our investigation there. I’m sure it was Dick who gave him that card. You didn’t do anything.” He said.

Your heart returned to its normal rhythm, but it grew heavy again as you understood the facts. Damian was blaming Dick for that thing Bruce was holding onto, but it was you who had given it to him in the first place. Bruce became distressed when you mentioned the gift and quickly pulled it out of his pocket. That must have been the object Strange gave you.

“Dami.” He heard the nickname leave your lips, and a flicker of hope hit him. There was still a certain closeness between you there. “I was the one who brought the card here; it’s not Dick’s fault. Strange gave it to me to give to Mr. Wayne.”

Damian abruptly stood up, returning to an upright posture. “Strange did what?” Neither Tim, Dick, nor Jason had mentioned this. They said they were telling the whole story, but none of them mentioned any kind of message. Was that why Tim had been acting so strange when he arrived? He remembers seeing him throw a box in the trash and getting all nervous when Damian got irritated and asked what it was. “Was it a small gift box, by any chance?”

“Yes, the same size as the card.” You made a square with your thumbs and index fingers, trying to show the shape of the object. “Just like this. But Mr. Wayne didn’t let me read it; I acted badly by trying to see what was in there too. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

So Bruce didn’t let you know on purpose? Maybe he just didn’t want you to find out this way. He should have told you. Damian was about to open his lips to take the initiative, but the sound of someone approaching stopped him.

Alfred paused for a moment, finding it odd to see the two of you here. He had returned to make sure you were okay once more and then leave you alone until later in the day. “Master Damian,” He said the boy’s name as a form of acknowledgment, “I thought you were asleep.” The butler added, addressing both of you.

“Alfred!” You got up and walked over to him, who rested a hand on your head expectantly. He saw the way you looked hesitantly at your brother, seeking some kind of approval before returning your attention to him once more. “Something bad happened to Mr. Wayne; he wasn’t well.”

Alfred's eyes widened, looking at Damian for an explanation or just confirmation that it was true. He was obviously tense and speechless for a moment but quickly composed himself.

“What happened, dear?” He asked, and once again you sought your brother’s approval, who took the initiative to explain in your place.

“He…” Damian began, trying to find a way to say it. “Bruce discovered something about Strange.” He said with a suspicious tone and the butler quickly understood the underlying implications.

“Where is he?” Alfred asked, worried.

Damian wasn’t planning to answer, knowing Alfred’s aversion to Talia, but you jumped in: “He and my Mom are talking.”

The butler was obviously displeased and furrowed his brow. He had planned to tell Bruce privately about his supposed daughter, but apparently, things had moved ahead of him. But Alfred knew Bruce well and understood that despite his instability, he would handle things as rationally as possible. Or at least he hoped so.

It was unsettling how a simple night so suddenly turned into yet another Wayne family drama.

“Well,” he sighed, “It seems it’s too early for breakfast, but also too late to go back to sleep.” He gave your hair a gentle tousle with the hand that still rested there, and you appreciated it. Indeed, the sky was already beginning to lighten. “How about some tea to start the day, miss? Or maybe coffee?”

“That’s fine.” You said, accepting that he would guide you through the mansion once more, but stopped when you realized your brother wasn’t making an effort to follow. “Damian, aren’t you coming?”

Your hopeful tone made him huff and approach to follow you. “Let’s go then.” He joined you, heading downstairs.

Damian was deeply irritated by how easily you let your emotions come and go. To him, it was inconceivable that you weren’t resentful, even hating him, as he had presumed you would be just moments ago. The way you let your emotions dissipate so easily bothered him, and he couldn’t understand how you could forgive so simply.

This behavior had always been the target of Damian’s criticism, as he didn’t have the same ease with forgiveness. What ate him up inside, however, was the certainty that even if you found out everything he and Talia had done, you would still be able to forgive them.

Damian suspected that this readiness to forgive came from a lack of options. Throughout your life, you had only him and your mother, and breaking away from either of them would be devastating. Perhaps that was Talia’s greatest fear; even if she tried to convince herself that she kept you hidden for your own good, away from the League and Batman, Damian knew that deep down, she wanted to ensure a safe harbor, someone who would always be emotionally supportive.

Although you might appear to be an very naive girl, your morals were unwavering. And incredibly, Talia managed to keep you loyal to her. Both of them knew that you secretly hated criminals and dreamed of a perfect justice that would never exist, at least not in Gotham City.

Damian knew that his mother’s real fear was that you would find someone else beyond her, people with whom you could connect, not out of obligation or lack of other options, but because you genuinely wanted to. This emotional dependency, nurtured by Talia, made you more spoiled than Damian, who in turn always confronted Talia with stubbornness and resistance.

“Do you like any fruit?” Pennyworth asked you, who were with your arms crossed on the counter, while your brother sat at the end of the table, just keeping watch over your figure.

“All of them.” You replied, and Alfred laughed contentedly. It was nice to hear something like that, especially as he opened the kitchen cupboard and saw the colorful cereals inside, all from Tim’s never-ending stash of treats.

“Master Damian?” The butler asked the boy.

“No, thank you.” He declined with a grimace.

You watched with curiosity as Alfred grabbed a bunch of colorful fruits and began cutting them. There was some kind of dough resting in a container nearby, which you noticed when he moved a cloth to check, and it smelled so good. It was comforting to see him there in the kitchen, even doing something as simple as cutting fruits.

Talia was a very busy woman, and cooking definitely didn’t suit her elegant demeanor. Housework was not part of her routine, so you often ended up eating at expensive restaurants. That’s why every move Alfred made captured your attention, and he noticed.

“Do you want to help me, miss?” He asked, intrigued.

“Can I?” You asked back, already moving to stand next to him with excitement. The butler nodded and instructed you to wash your hands in the sink on the other side of the kitchen.

You were distractedly scrubbing soap on your hands and far enough not to hear Damian whisper: “Bruce isn’t going to let Mom take her home.”

Alfred looked up, not at all surprised by the news. “Does your sister know, Master Damian?” He kept his voice at the same low tone as the boy’s.

“No, Pennyworth. That’s why I’m telling you.” Damian checked to see if you were still far, seeing you drying your hands and hurrying: “When they both come out of that room and Mom leaves, she’s going to make a fuss.”

“What should I do?” You came back, interrupting their conversation and asking for instructions.

Alfred set you the task of removing the stems from the strawberries until a noise from upstairs alerted all three of you. It sounded like glass, and it didn’t take long to hear Talia’s voice calling for the butler, who moved to go to her.

“I’m leaving,” Talia said with a firmness that disguised well the inner turmoil she was facing behind her attitude.

You were stunned, and a rising panic took hold of you. Alfred hadn’t noticed you had followed him until you heard: “I’m going to get my shoes and coat.” You declared. Your mind was spinning with the idea that your mother was angry with you, seeing how she was acting.

Talia turned slightly to you, but the look she gave was impassive. “You’re not coming,” she said. The coldness in her voice wasn’t unfamiliar but struck deep in your chest. “You’re going to stay here with your brother.”

“But…” You tried to process what was happening, needing to look at Damian next to you for a moment until reality hit you back. “Why?” You asked with a trembling breath, already approaching her and grabbing your mother’s hand in desperation.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/n. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She rolled her eyes and looked at you with impatience. “You and Damian will get to spend time together again.”

“But what about you, Mom? Why can’t we all be together?” You clung to her hand even tighter, trying to keep her there forever, but all you received in return was the look she gave when you upset her.

“I’ll send your things with someone. Be obedient.” She said, but her real desire was for you to be rebellious, especially towards Bruce. Your mother crouched to your height and pinched your cheeks with her hands while whispering so the other two wouldn’t hear: “But remember, you’re mine daughter, understand? Your mother will always be here for you. I’ll get in touch.” She gave you a strong kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark, and grabbed the coat that was already in Alfred’s hands with haste.

“I want to go with you!” Talia felt your arms around her waist and sighed.

“You're old enough to be acting like this, Y/n. Let go.” She tried to wriggle free on her own, but your grip was so strong that her fingers barely moved. “Y/n, enough!” She shouted genuinely furious, and you jumped back in fear. The sight made her wilt, but she still suppressed it and opened the door.

You were in shock, never imagining that your actions could have led to this. It was as if she hated you for it, and you felt a pressure on your forehead, unsure if it was from the anger you felt at how your mother treated you or from the desperation.

“Don’t go after her,” Damian ordered, knowing you would do it anyway, which is why he held you in place.

You couldn’t accept it. The idea of being left behind, the feeling of being rejected by the only family you knew, was overwhelming. “Mom!” You shouted, struggling to free yourself from Damian’s grip in fury, the sadness totaly replaced by a burning rage. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry for disobeying! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” you screamed. “Why are you like this with me?!” You shouted louder, not caring about making a scene.

Talia’s feet were already buried in the snow, trying to hide the pain she felt, but your muffled voice didn’t help. The sound of the door closing was like a final blow, and her heart sank even further. She didn’t care whether Bruce was right or not; she hated him like hell now.

You were sobbing and gasping, the pain of rejection still present in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t want you to leave…” You murmured lower, feeling your throat ache.

As she took more steps towards her own car, her thoughts raced. She knew that sooner or later you would need to know the truth, and deep down, she wished the news had come from her.

She tried to keep her mind clear during the brief walk to the car, passing by a snow-covered tree where ravens had gathered to rest. She was so distracted for a few seconds that when she felt an arm pull her back, she instinctively threw the stranger away, who hit the trunk and caused the birds to start flying erratically while cawing discordantly.

“What the hell is this!” She shouted furiously, shocking the boy who immediately began to apologize while getting up, feeling pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?!” She was outraged by his assumption. As if she would be scared by a kid like him. “And which of Bruce’s little pests are you?”

“My name is Tim.” The boy assumed a serious tone now, abandoning the polite courtesy he had before.

“And are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

Despite her hurry, Tim stared at her and looked back, checking if there was anyone outside the mansion and taking a few seconds to do so. Talia’s arrogant look didn’t intimidate him, and he spoke firmly:

“A few years ago, in that alley…” The phrase made her eyes widen, but she still took a deep breath to compose herself. “It was you.”

Talia never thought she would have the opportunity to face that boy again after that day. When Strange fled, she followed him and caught up with him. She remembers how she grabbed the man by the collar when she didn’t see you there. After wringing the truth out of that pathetic man, Talia had to let him go as she rushed desperately to where you were, but not before leaving a beaten face as a gift. But that night, that boy... Tim, had heard your call for help.

“So, you were the Robin.” She let out a curious laugh, looking Tim up and down. “And so what if it was me?”

“You tricked me. Pretended to be a helpless person.” He frowned while narrowing his eyes at her. “I remember the little girl I saved; it was her.” Tim turned his face towards the mansion again, as if to point at you.

“You just had the luck of arriving before me. And what did you expect me to do? Tell you who I was?” She took her gloves out of her pocket and began putting them on. “Do you think you could have caught me, kid?” She laughed sarcastically this time, belittling him.

“You could have told me the truth. You had the opportunity to tell Bruce about Hugo Strange all this time. We could have protected her.” Tim’s eyes moved around, trying to process. “After I left there, Bruce and I continued on patrol and found him passed out. If we had known who he really was, he might be in jail now.”

“Spare me your laments, kid. She’s going to stay here, isn’t she? So what else do you want?” Talia said, and Tim wasn’t surprised by the information. He had already assessed the scene while waiting to approach her outside. He had jumped through the bedroom window, having not been able to sleep after recognizing your face.

Tim remained silent. It seemed that Talia had a very concrete idea about everything, and it made no sense to try to circle her with assumptions about how things could have been. He couldn’t help but feel foolish, realizing that you had been so close to him at some point, and he couldn’t do anything for Bruce since he didn’t know.

“Listen.” Talia’s surprisingly soft voice caught him off guard. “Thank you for helping, even though I didn’t exactly need it.” Despite trying to be understanding, she couldn’t help but emphasize. “She means everything to me, you understand? Put some sense into your father, or I’ll find a way to take her back, and I promise you’ll never see her again.”

Tim swallowed hard at the mention of Bruce but snorted indifferently soon after. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“I noticed.” She murmured with irony and turned to walk away, with Tim not interrupting her this time. The boy watched her go to the car, but suddenly she stopped at the gate. She ran her fingers over the electronic lock, and suddenly some loose wires became visible. Tim found it strange, and Talia looked at him with a smile, which even from a distance, he could see.

“I think you’re going to need someone to fix this.” She shouted for him to hear, and for a moment, Tim thought if she had done it, but only now did he wonder how you had gotten past the front gate. It seems that your innocent face hid some skills. “Don’t pamper her, and tell your father and Pennyworth not to let her eat too much sugar.” She let the wires go while grumbling, slamming the car door, and driving away.

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@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius @rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs @idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden @spideybv28 @faimmm @cherry-peach-flavored @godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable @masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage @homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21 @kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink @lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark @notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa @strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog @urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen @an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery @formula-space @sparks0918 @cosmicqueenieb @rukia-uchiha-98 @leeleecats @camilo-uwu @phoenixgurl030 @rosegardenpatsu @nickey-diano @wpdarlingpan @xxrougefangxx

@m4chine-girl @kellyyn02 @urminebutidontwantyou

[robin374]

𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖔𝖕 𝖆 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯; Alastor x reader, romatic

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: I think we all agree that Alastor would say this phrase. Maybe I got too carried away, sorry if it's too long. Unedited

Carmilla waited for all the overlords to arrive and take their respective seats. Her silver eyes serenely observed the situation, while she prepared her probable monologue in her mind. A war would be one of the worst options to choose. They had already lost many souls since the last extermination, and losing even more would serve no purpose, except to amuse the angels. All the powerful demons sat down and Carmilla waited a few seconds for the various conversations between them to end, seeing that she got nothing waiting she coughed to get the attention of her companions. "I have gathered you here today to discuss this year's brutal extermination..." She began to explain, her eyes full of determination with a subtle light of hatred, which was directed towards the cruel exterminators up there. 

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud bang and two shadows appeared; one taller than the other. The little fashionista Velvette, a member of the Vees, appeared first with a superior smile on her face. With her back stretched and chin held high, she pulled the metal chain around her hand, causing the other shadow to walk involuntarily. However, the big difference between the two demons was that one of them was walking with her head down, as if she had been defeated and humiliated in front of all Hell, as if she was going to be sacrificed. Carmilla scowled at Velvette which diverted the attention of the other overlords and they looked towards the fashionista. Y/N didn't look up, she had already felt too ridiculed on the way there to feel even more so under the gaze of the other overlords. Especially under his gaze, under that smile that conveyed no feelings at all. 

"Speaking of the exterminators..." Velvette's distinctive accent echoed through the room, no overlord daring to speak. Anyone could cut the tension in that room with a butter knife. Y/N didn't even flinch at the confident sound of the voice, she was now as vulnerable as a puppy just abandoned on a highway. A few thumps accompanied the fashionista's small laugh, thumps that sounded too soft to be a blow from a fist but too hard to be a single piece of flesh. A golden drop landed on Y/N's slipper, she swallowed dryly, feeling closer and closer to the permanent presence of eternal death. Ironic, isn't it? A dead girl being afraid to die. She didn't hear the next sentences of the argument between the two overlords, she was too focused on the pain of the silver chains around her wrists behind her back. Never in eternity had she thought that being in hell she would burn, let's just say those holy chains silenced those thoughts for her. 

Velvette needed only a single tug on the chain to smash Y/N's face into the long table in the living room. Her hand pressed her face against the hard material, it looked like she wanted to put her face through the table. Y/N's gaze jumped from overlord to overlord, she knew full well that none of them would help her. "She was the one who killed that flying rat." Velvette began. "If those...Things can die, we're in a whole different situation." She paused for a moment, "we could start a war..." She turned to look at Y/N, her gaze as callous as her actions. "Not without killing this bitch first, it wouldn't suit us well for a girl as normal as you to get all the fame, what would my fans say?" His voice became a bit sharper, clearly seeking more attention than he already had.

Y/N looked away, her eyes fell on a spot between the ceiling and the window of the room, she didn't want to see how the overlords looked at her as if she was a mere bug, which they had no intention of keeping alive. She noticed her vision blurring, she knew these would be her last moments, as Velvette kept her word whenever it would do her good. "Who's for killing her and dropping her body in the nearest trash? Right where she deserves." The room was filled with murmurs and different conversations, some agreed with the fashionista, while others did not. Y/N had stopped listening long ago, she had accepted her permanent death since Velvette found her near the angel's body. She hadn't done it, she was just being more noisy than she normally was, not everyone gets the chance to see a dead exterminator, no? It was just bad luck, she wasn't the culprit, "It wasn't me..." She whispered in an attempt to get someone to listen to her, but these were overlords we're talking about, they wouldn't hesitate to kill someone. That's how ambitious they could be to have more power in their hands.

The sound of radio static came on, which was getting closer and closer. The pressure on Y/N's head disappeared in less than a second, and for a moment she thought she had finally been killed and her thoughts were slowly leaving her head as she completely lost consciousness. However, one hand helped her up, and even with her hands still tied she met those red eyes she loved to stare into so often in the hotel. With the other hand, Alastor pushed Velvette away from her, "I'll take care of it." 

The last thing to go. That demon Y/N thought she loved was going to betray her as soon as she left the building. She felt his hand brush against her back as he silently guided her through the halls of the building until he was outside. Once there he began to walk towards a particular direction. Y/N stopped in her tracks, confused. Maybe what she was about to say would be a big mistake, maybe she shouldn't say anything to stay alive, though curiosity killed the cat, right?

"You're not going to kill me? Kill me and then drop me in the middle of the street?" She watched as the Radio Demon's back tensed, and so did his ears. As much as she didn't see his face, she knew that smile twisted into an irritated one. He turned around slowly, and that annoyed smile softened the moment their eyes connected. He laughed softly and moved closer to the girl, his free hand coming to her cheek. "Only a fool would drop a girl like you." He smiled. That sentence made Y/N ironically feel like she was in heaven, a strange warmth rose to her cheeks. She heard the laughter of the overlord who was now offering his arm to walk beside him, "Alastor, my hands are chained." Y/N began, "I can't hold your arm."

[amoreva]

yes i’m so glad you’re writing for clarisse because im obsessed with your writing.

could you write something with reader being a really confident and vain daughter of aphrodite who channels her mothers war goddess attributes and is one of the best sword fighter in camp? also playful teasing from reader and sparring because 1 i need justice for the massacre of aphrodites character and 2 clarisse x aphrodite!reader is essential to my life force. haters can hate.

maybe also show how other campers interact with her as well, like luke showing percy around idk

LOVER AND A WARRIOR

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pairing: clarisse la rue x daughter of aphrodite!reader

summary: clarisse has always been a hard hitter and a tough lover, but a certain someone from aphrodite makes her soft. and she doesn’t entirely mind it.

warnings: use of “y/n” once or twice, kinda switches to percy’s pov, fighting, almost death(?), fluff, mentions of beckendorf!!

a/n: i really hope i did this request right! enjoy! i was trying to crank this out as soon as i could.

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Everyone thought you’d be claim by Ares (even though your dad was still very present and not a god) or at least by Athena. You were smart and a hell of a lot strong; both mentally and physically.

So it came to a surprise when Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, claimed you.

Though, Clarisse knew you were her daughter. You were every bit of passionate: about life, hobbies, interests, her. You paid attention to every little detail that flew out of her mouth (she noticed).

It didn’t help that you channeled your mother’s past title and abilities. After all, in Sparta, she was known as Aphrodite Aeria, “Aphrodite the Warlike”.

Clarisse was head over heels for you the minute she saw you fight (you even bested Luke, how was she not supposed to not fall in love with you?)

You and Clarisse started dating at the peak of the Summer Solstice and never looked back. No one knew Clarisse could be so…tolerating to someone outside of her cabin, especially to one of Aphrodite’s daughter.

Percy surely didn’t expect it either.

Clarisse was so callous and you were compassionate. He guessed that thing about opposites attract was true.

“Look, you want attention here, dummy?” Clarisse spoke condescendingly to the newest camper. She just couldn’t believe a scrawny kid took down the Minotaur. “You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Clarisse made Percy flinch and walked past Hermes’ kids. An amused smile plastered on her face. Luke shook his head as Ares’ kids passed which begged the question. “Why don’t they mess with you?” Percy asked.

“They know better.” Luke smirked.

“Luke’s the second strongest swordsman in camp.” Chris added with a proud grin.

“Who’s the first?”

“Y/N.”

Suddenly, you walked by in perfect timing. Percy’s eyes glued to you. You witnessed the whole situation and went to talk to your girlfriend. “Clarisse…” You muttered.

Percy watched Ares’ daughter soften at the mention of her name from your lips. Nothing in the facial expressions, it was all in the eyes.

“She doesn’t look menacing or intimidating—” Percy acknowledged.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Luke reminded as he glanced back at you and Clarisse. “Got my ass handed to me when I sparred with her.”

Percy looked at Luke. “Really? Can I train with her?”

•••

It wasn’t odd to find Clarisse in Aphrodite’s cabin; nor was it odd to find the two of you cuddling on your bunk. Sunlight beaming onto the two of you and the only sounds were the campers outside. All of your siblings when do go enjoy camp activities while you read to Clarisse.

Ancient Greek flows from your mouth like the water from River Styx. Clarisse had one arm haphazardly thrown across your abdomen. Her head perched on your shoulder.

Silently, she admired the way your lips moved. The way you were invested into the story. The way she can see all the tiny details on your gorgeous face from this position.

Clarisse found herself falling for you more and more with each second of the day. She was aggressive and intimidating. She was Ares’ favorite daughter after all, but she found herself becoming more softhearted to you.

“You’re my…everything.” Clarisse whispered fondly. It might’ve been a slip of the tongue, but it made you blush.

She never failed to make you blush. Your rosy cheeks complimented with a sheepish grin. “Clarisse…” You mumbled and put down the book.

“I mean it.” Clarisse stated firmly and sat up on her elbow. Her heart locket fell from her orange Camp t-shirt. It matched yours, except you had a sword charm. Clarisse insisted on giving it to you (after threatening Beckendorf once or twice) for your two month anniversary.

“I know.” You reassured and pecked her lips quickly. Clarisse smiled and dived back in to press her lips into yours

A giggle erupted from you. A rush of dopamine intoxicating your brain. It always felt like the first kiss with her. “I love you, I love you, I love you—” You repeated into her lips.

“I get it, lovergirl.” Clarisse chuckled as she pulled away. Her cheek tinged with pink. “I love you too.”

She continued. “Will you keep reading? You sound so beautiful when you read—”

“Clarisse!” You exclaimed. Your blush even more prominent.

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend she has a voice from the sirens that could bring the Big Three to tears?”

“Clarisse…”

“Keep reading, lovergirl.”

•••

“This is safe, right?” Percy asked Grover.

“Yeah! Perfectly safe.” Grover reassured with a smile.

Luke had recruited you to help train Percy (Clarisse just so happened to tag along). There were swords in all of your hands. You were going to fight Clarisse and Luke and Percy doubted you were that good.

It was all to help Percy learn more about fighting with the sword and a great way to show off. The forest clearing gave enough room to really show your talents in combat.

“Don’t go easy on me!” You yelled at Clarisse and Luke on the other side of the clearing. Percy and Grover were sitting on rather large rocks anticipating the battle.

You took a deep breath and your eyes hardened. It was like switched had been flipped within you. You shifted your foot, sliding it in the dirt. The air felt different. Tense, sharp, lung-crushing.

Clarisse and Luke tightened their grip on their swords and gave each other a confirming nod. Percy and Grover watched as the three older half-bloods charged one another.

With precision and quick-wit, you were able to keep Clarisse and Luke on their toes. Luke shifted his weight in his feet before charging you again. You clashed swords. Celestial Bronze against Celestial Bronze.

Your ears perked up on shoes slapping against the dirt. You ducked causing Clarisse to swing at Luke. There was no trace of a your warm sweet smile Percy saw, only your hardened gaze.

It was kind of scary to see Aphrodite’s daughter switch up so fast.

Clarisse cursed under her and swiped her sword as if flicking off imaginary blood. She met your gaze, her heart skipped a beat. She rushed you again and swiped your legs. You jumped back with the grace of a swan, but Clarisse parried her sword immediately after.

You riposted Clarisse when Luke cane out from behind Clarisse to continue an onslaught of attacks. You scoffed quietly, but you could never complain. It was a good workout.

Yet, a particularly heavy swing from you knocked Luke’s sword from out of his hand. His sword flinging at Percy’s head. Percy shouted and ducked.

“Oh my gods!” You exclaimed and slapped your heads over your mouth in surprise.

Clarisse and Luke stopped their attacks and looked back at Percy and Grover. Luke’s celestial bronze sword was sticking out of a tree. Percy centimeters away from the blade.

You apologized for your reckless behavior. Percy was more scared of how fast you switched from your focused nature to a worried attitude.

“It’s okay…” Percy laughed nervously.

“He said he was fine!” Clarisse called out and walked towards you, pressing a small kiss to your cheek.

“Sorry, Percy.” Luke apologized.

“A lover and a fighter. Got it.” Percy noted in his mind as you complained to Clarisse about feeling bad about impaling Percy.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[love-toxin]

Cattle -> Harley Kunuk

plot: a world in which the realm of monsters & yanderes has merged--that's the au you find yourself in as a low-producing cow hybrid. you've never impressed any master as working cattle, always cast aside in favour of prettier, more talented cows. that might change once you get dropped off at the wrong farmer's ranch.

(cws: fem!cow hybrid!reader, chubby+naive reader, yandere themes, explicit smut, lactation, fondling, dry-humping, chest worship, dirty talk/soft degradation, clothed sex/cumming in pants, kinda monsterfucking, power dynamics, reader refers to him as 'Mr. Harley')

a/n: welcome to the long-awaited 'harley x cow hybrid reader' saga LOL

wc: 4.7k (art by milove @the-zipper !! <3)

If not for the grace of the gods, you'd surely be thrown into the ditch or to the wolves by now.

The transition between seedy motels has never been easy, sure, but you've reached new lows since your last rancher kicked you to the curb. Besides, nor has having to deal with the treatment from your superiors been easy when most of them see you as nothing but what your brand reads out.

Cattle.

If farm hybrids have anything, it isn't rights–at least not for undesirables like you. There's probably places out there like Runerhéa where you could live in peace, but this new world is even tougher than the last. When the realms merged as one, everyone on the lower side like you thought it would turn out to be a blessing. Maybe you'd finally get a break and wouldn't have to live like a piece of meat. But so far, it's only been a curse.

Ever since you were passed into the hands of these “livestock traders” your life has been absolute hell. Your last master had at least left you be most of the time, preferring to pay attention to his other, better-producing and prettier cattle rather than get on your case for this or that. These guys that have been toting you around since then have been complete nightmares to deal with–they're callous and cruel and they never let you rest properly, they keep you up all hours of the night with their hollering and drinking and gambling on those awful card games.

Yet, even when you were told that your time with them would be coming to an end, you weren't excited about it. Not one bit. How could you be, when you've been surrounded by horrible people saying such horrible things about your abilities? They've called you “moon-face” and mocked your pitiful history as working cattle, to the point that they've joked about re-branding you and making you a sex toy or something instead, because that's probably all you're good for. You can't even moo right, much less make any milk that doesn't taste sour or curdle within minutes. You're totally useless, and whoever your new owner is, he's quickly going to come to that realization too. Your handlers have been quick to remind you of that, just in case you happen to pick up some worth in yourself on the way there.

That's all you've thought for the past three days since you've been here, too scared to come out from the back of your stall for fear that the big, scary farmer with the loud voice is going to yell at you for not turning out to be what he hoped. You heard him arguing with the traders when you were delivered: ”What the hell is this?! I bought a cow, not some girl! Is this a joke? Did Elias put you up to this?” and since then you've cowered in the corner, refusing even to touch the water and food he brought and left at the door for fear he might just poison you to save the trouble of bringing you back. You've never been kept with real farm animals before, yet even now there's not much interaction you have with them. The big guy put you in a stall far away from his other animals, probably because he thinks you might infect them or something. It's always something with you.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. You've been hearing those noises from outside for the last two days, the sounds of wood scraping and hammering pervading your fuzzy ears and filling your mind with all manner of horrors that might await you. Is he building some kind of horrible torture machine? A rack? A device to forcibly milk you? Oh, that thought sends a chill down your spine. Or is he simply building your coffin? It could be any one of those possibilities or many, many more horrible ones, and it leaves you to tug your floppy ears down and try to block out the noise as you cry softly. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die, even if I'm bad at being a cow. I just wanna live another day.

You pull the scratchy woolen blanket he left in here closer around your shoulders, hoping and praying with your head bowed that this won't be the end. With the clunk of the barn's door sliding open, with every step you hear thudding closer and closer towards your stall, you tremble harder and hurriedly wipe your tears dry while you pray to the Deity to shelter you from an early grave.

Kh-chunk. The clasp on your stall comes undone from the other side, and with bated breath, you watch as the door rolls open and lets in the streams of light you'd forgotten existed in this endless darkness.

“...Oh.” The farmer utters his surprise softly, his brow easing up as he looks you over. He's perched at the entrance to your stall still, not quite ready to cross the threshold yet. Maybe he's still trying to prepare himself as he sizes you up for the slaughterhouse. “You look…cold.”

You shake your head meekly and throw off the blanket. Straws of hay flutter about your knees as you do so, some of it already stuck in your hair and your meager clothes that don't cover enough for him not to blush and avert his gaze. “Uh…c'mon. We need to move you somewhere else.” He meekly produces a harness from his overalls, but it sits lightly in his hand like he's not really keen on using it. “It'll be safe. C'mon.”

If you weren't a lowly, domestic cow hybrid, one of the very lowest of the monster hybrid species, you'd be tempted to ask if he's always this awkward. He can't even look at you, he barely even breathes once you finally stand and skirt past him out of the stall. And he doesn't dare to touch you as he leads you out of the barn even though you're his property–it's like he doesn't even see you as cattle, but as…you don't even know what.

At the very least, despite the uncertainty around your new home, the first deep breath of fresh air as you step outside reminds you of the home you knew in childhood. Rolling grass in a sea of green, woods out across the field that are far from predators, safe fences and even a big, old farmhouse on the lawn that gives you a sense of homey nostalgia. As big and scary as he looks, maybe he's not so bad after all…maybe, as long as you do everything to appeal to him, he might treat you like nice cattle and not the nuisance you've long been defined as.

As you step out onto the grounds, the farmer introduces himself as Harley. He waits while you sniff around the fresh, clean air a bit before leading you around the side of the barn–that's where a small, shed-like attachment has been built on to the side of the structure, which opens into a surprisingly comfy and spacious area that he must have put together in a hurry. The floorboards have a nice rug over them and there's a soft, downy mattress in the corner on a little frame, and it's all built in and warm like it's an actual room. But when you turn to Harley with a quizzical look on your face and he tells you it's yours, you don't even know how to respond. So you just look at him blankly.

“It's…yours, y'know? It's, uh, like your…bedroom, I guess.” He looks around the space and rubs the back of his sweaty neck, seemingly sheepish about the simple construction even though you're standing there dumbfounded. “I didn't think you'd wanna live in the barn with the animals, but, uh, you wouldn't come in the house. So…yeah.” The silence between you is agony up until he just huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, this isn't ideal for me. I don't deal well with people, and you're…sort of one, I guess. To be honest, I hate the idea of sharing my farm with some stranger.” He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair, incidentally messing up his long ponytail that's just barely keeping all that thick hair tied up. With his hands set on his hips, he looks you dead in the eyes in a way that makes you cower at his sternness. “But you're here now, so whatever. Just behave yourself–and if some guy in a cowboy hat comes around, make yourself scarce. I don't want him messing with my-” He catches himself, but in your bovine wisdom you finish his sentence for him.

“Cattle?”

Harley swallows dryly and nods. “...Cattle. Yeah.” In any case despite the awkwardness and the tense air between you, he shows you how to work the little water pump he built the shed around so you can wash up and drink, your bed and blankets, and where to use the bathroom–which he insists you do inside the house, for no reason that he elaborates on other than the fact that you're able to, so you should. With that he leaves you be, letting you sit and ponder this newfound haven that he so casually dropped in your lap.

By the third day in your little mock cabin, six days since you've arrived here, you're pretty sure you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley. He won't tolerate you calling him ‘Master’ because it makes him all red in the face when you say it, so despite him insisting on no formalities at all you've settled on referring to him as ‘Mr.’ Harley.

It's been an easy process to say the least. Mr. Harley is gruff and speaks bluntly, but he never lays a hand on you and has never called you any mean names. He feeds you more often than he does his other animals, and despite getting annoyed and scolding you if you don't eat like you didn't the first three days, he's always gentle and doesn't yell or kick things over when he's mad. Plus, he treats his other farm animals real nice–you've heard him cooing and calling them by their names when he pets them, and most of them come running or perk their ears up when they hear his voice from far away. One of the chickens even tried to peck you when Mr. Harley was showing you around, and had his hand on your arm as he showed you how to feed them. They love him so much they even get jealous, and it's easy to see why. Mr. Harley is so caring and kind-hearted. He's got pretty brown eyes and such a low, deep voice, and big muscles, and soft hair, he's more handsome than any other master or trader you've come across in your whole life. It's no wonder you've fallen in love with Mr. Harley.

Where it's becoming an issue, however, is with your milk.

The first little while you were here, Mr. Harley didn't even make a mention about your production. There wasn't any bucket around for you to show him anyways, so you've been sitting around letting the milk build up and up and up until you're sore and swollen. The only reason you're sat in your shed with a bucket in your lap now is because Mr. Harley noticed your discomfort (because he's such a nice and caring farmer…) but, with you being too worried about your quality and Mr. Harley being too red-faced to stick around and watch, you're coming up on the end of the day without a drop to show for it. If you don't give him anything, he'll think you're a disobedient cow! But if you squeeze out your milk and it tastes sour, or makes him sick…oh, you couldn't bear to think of making Mr. Harley hate you with the taste of your milk. It's quite the dilemma that you have no easy way of getting out of, so you do what's likely the better option: you milk out just enough to make the swelling go down, but not so much that the taste will be too strong if it's bad.

But even with your clever thinking, your knees shake as you perch on your bed and listen to the big, thudding footsteps of Mr. Harley coming towards the shed. The moment the door slides open you spring into action, and pick up the bucket a quarter full of milk to hand to him, hoping beyond hope that he won't be upset over how little there is.

“..Huh.” After he jolts slightly at your sudden movement toward him, Harley glances down at the bucket and back up at you as he takes it gingerly, peering down at the milk as if it's some sort of magic that you've managed to fill it even as little as you did. He raises his hand and your instincts force you to flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as you anticipate a hit or something equally awful. But the moment passes because Mr. Harley pats your head instead, stroking your hair and your fuzzy ears gently before hiking up the bucket to grab and hold it by the handle. “Good girl.”

Good girl? Are those words for real? Was that…praise? And so easily given, at that?

You're practically on your knees by the time he steps out of the shed, they're so wobbly and weak, but before he can make it outside he halts and turns back to you. “So…” He lingers at the doorway, the bucket hanging from his closed fist. “...Where does your milk come from, exactly?”

Oh. That's…hard to explain. You had a sense that Mr. Harley already knew, but then again he owns farm animals, not hybrids. So you meekly point at your own chest in answer, and Harley's reaction takes you by complete surprise.

“...You're shitting me.” He breathes out in what comes off as disgust, but is really shamefaced embarrassment as he tries to avert his eyes but can't tear his gaze off of your…well, udders. It was obvious that they were impressive, but he clearly wasn't expecting such a blunt and simple answer. Harley clears his throat and tries to get something out, but sooner than he's able to he gives up and just wishes you a good sleep as he shuts the sliding door behind him.

The rest of that night is full of whimpers and soft cries throughout the shed as you weep out all your worries. Mr. Harley doesn't like me anymore! He thinks I'm gross! You sniffle into your tear-drenched pillow as the thoughts grow so loud in your head that they overwhelm you. In time, you cry yourself so dry that you can't help but drift off, your sleep peppered with bad memories and anxious nightmares of what Mr. Harley might do with you tomorrow, now that he's seen how worthless and disgusting you really are.

Though by now you're used to the rooster's screeching to wake you up, your morning is riddled with half-awake mumbles and drool caking your pillow as you try to remember what you were doing. It's not until you rub your eyes and look around that you notice the light filling the shed, and realize with a cold twist in your belly that it's almost midday and well past the time you should've been up and about. The sounds of Mr. Harley's boots in the barn next door rattle you out of your covers and up to your feet, your knees knocking and hands shaking as you try to figure out what to do.

Mr. Harley always comes by your shed to check on you after he's done with the animals, and by the whinnying of the horses as he sprays the hose you can tell he's just about finished up with filling their water trough. And if that's what he's up to now, that means you're next–and gods know what he's gonna do now that he doesn't think you're cute anymore! You're not sure now if he would kill you, or chop you up to sell your bits in some underground meat market, but he might give you back to the traders! You can't let that happen, you can't!

Little do you know that while you've bustled around your shed in a panic trying to figure out what to do, Harley has been pacing anxiously outside the barn doors before finally slamming them shut and heading towards you. Each step rings out like thunder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump-

The door to your shed slides open, eliciting a startled shriek from your lips as you drop the bucket. It clatters to the ground and rolls to a stop just by Mr. Harley's boot. The two of you lock eyes and he utters a string of words that totally throw you for a loop.

“You had trouble getting your milk out yesterday, so I'm gonna help you.”

The air that hangs between you is heavy once he says that, pierced only by the gentle clinking of the bucket's thin wire handle as he reaches down and plucks it up off the hay-scattered ground. Harley rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his steps taken slow and quietly as he slides the door shut behind him and approaches your skittish self.

“You want me to help you?” His voice remains stoic and strong, but when you nod so meekly that your ears twitch his face burns a bright red all the way down to his collar. He coughs into his hand and asks you to move into a comfortable position while he stands awkwardly and prepares himself for what's about to come. You can barely make eyes with him in the meanwhile, every bit of you is trembling as you sink down to your knees.

Mr. Harley sets the bucket down beneath you. The soft, almost imperceptible thunk rings in your ears like a dinner bell. A thought flashes over your head and you wonder if you should get on your hands and knees–but the shame of such a position quickly overcomes whatever else would compel you to do so, and you sit quietly and patiently with your ears flicking nervously in rhythm with your tail. He gets down on one knee and mutters something in your ear to soothe you, but you can barely hear anything over your own breathing as you try to will your heart into slowing down from its fervent pace. When he asks you to pull down your top, however, you certainly hear that command loud and clear.

The moment the fabric swishes down your chest in one clean motion, Harley has a look of utter redness and embarrassment all over his face. He's a bit more composed than yesterday, but he can barely tear his eyes away from them; your udders. They're so soft and weigh so heavy on your torso, it's a surprise you can even lift them up yourself. That's what he thinks, anyways–you can't even comprehend his awe when you're so self-conscious over your nipples pebbling in the drafty air. Your fingernails scrape against each other in a nervous tic while you wait. He has to get prepared, and he warms his hands by rubbing them together; the very action of which sends heat straight to your nethers and a twitch to your soft, fuzzy ears.

“M-My milk doesn't taste good…” You whimper to distracted ears, but still, Mr. Harley holds his hands back from reaching out and he meets your eyes in contemplation. Your worries explode out of you before you can halt yourself. “B-But I'll–I'll try really hard to make it sweet, Mr. Harley!”

To your shock, he just shakes his head. He scoffs, but then–then it's a chuckle. It's laughter, low and gravelly, but it's laughter all the same.

“You taste good.” Mr. Harley murmurs, and his eyes don't look at all daunted. He doesn't correct himself, either. He leans closer, reaches out, and then the callused pads of his hardworking fingers are brushing under the tender skin of your breasts.

The moment is…saccharine. It's divine. It's godlike! You can't see, can't hear, can barely breathe, and you've never felt more exuberance bubbling up in the back of your throat–you want to scream and cry and beg but the emotions jumble themselves all together and leave you stunned silent. You can hardly let out the gentlest exhale of disbelieving breath as Mr. Harley's hands fold over your chest, and you feel a warmth you thought was only reserved for cows of a much better pedigree than you. The man that's bigger and stronger and sweeter than you shuffles in closer, he wants his lips right against your skin; he wants to taste you and touch you while he gives you a squeeze, and when his tongue flicks out to dab the sweat off your neck you could just cry, it feels so exhilarating.

“M-Mr. Harley-” You gulp, your tone betraying your enjoyment in how it trembles with desperate need. Harley's hands start pressing and pulling on each teat, and in no time at all he's coaxing the milk from you as easily as he would his own dairy cows. No mess, no fuss, and no tears–not ones devoid of joy, anyways. You can't help your own instincts in this moment of pure, primal hybrid heat. “I-I love you, Mr. Harley.”

His head raises and tilts down to look at you. He doesn't even have to look to make sure he's getting it all in the bucket, he's so experienced. Something seems to brew behind those dark, cocoa-coloured eyes…and his words stir up the heat within you like a potent, bubbling love potion.

“I'm so fuckin’ glad they got you mixed up.”

With that admission of very Harley-like affection, he buries his tongue in your mouth and presses your lips firmly together in a wet, forceful kiss.

A kiss! From Mr. Harley! Your tail flicks to and fro with happiness while you're melting into it, into the softness and the strength of his tongue and the sticky wetness of your spit mixing with his. You've never been kissed like this, and when he pulls back you just have to lean in for more. He can barely stifle his lustful chuckles when you keep pecking his lips like a touch-starved harpy, hoping for more tongue and spit and warmth. He squeezes your left teat especially firm and a thick jet of milk spurts out, leaving you to hunch forward suddenly as a wet spot starts forming in the seat of your poor panties. Harley's slanted nose is the only thing keeping you up; he nuzzles it under your chin when your body threatens to pitch forward into the hard ground.

“So close.” He murmurs into your mouth as he seals his lips over yours again. His hair is mussed and he's blushing…a lot. “Almost there. Such a good product today. Nearly filled the whole pail. Good girl.” He whispers against your cheek as you try not to feel the delicate rumbles of his voice in your cunt. With a swish of movement, Mr. Harley maneuvers around your trembling body to slot himself up behind you, and lets his hands reach around you just so his thick, muscly biceps will keep you upright through to the end.

“M-Mr. Harley…I think I'm…I-I dunno, I feel-ah! Ah, weird. G-Good weird..” What feels like a brick presses up against your rear in that moment–you have a feeling you know exactly what it is.

“Yeah?” He scoffs with a thrilled smirk against your neck. “Dirty fuckin’ dairy cow. That's what you are, huh?”

“Y-Yes-!” You squeal, but whether that's an answer to his question or simply the reaction he's caused by bucking against you with a groan, it remains to be seen. Either way Mr. Harley is enjoying himself, and it floods your bovine head with vindicated glee that your master enjoys you. You're doing a good job. You're a good cow.

“Good fuckin’ cow,” Harley growls, completely lost in the softness between your thighs and the sweet warmth of your tits weighing heavy and milk-swollen in his hands. Your legs shake against his thick thighs as he pulls you back to practically sit on his lap, held up by the monster straining at his pants, begging to be let out. You've already left a soiled, sticky spot there through your clothes but Harley won't take any apologies–not right now, at least, when your milk is flowing at its peak and he's just about to lose his self-control completely…if he even had any left from the moment he held your soft, chubby body in his hands. A splash of milk jets from your swollen tits and splatters against the side of the pail rather than inside it, and with that you don't need to see Mr. Harley's face to know that he's reaching his end; in fact, he's already there.

A string of “fuck, fuck, fuck!”s erupts from his mouth that he buries in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, his teeth not only grazing now but biting down hard into your sweat-soaked skin. The spot you'd left on his jeans is nothing compared to the damp mess he makes as his thighs shake beneath yours, his hips ruthless and powerful as he slams them up into you with the desire of chasing that invaluable heat between your legs. You've barely held back from spasming in pleasure this whole time, but once Mr. Harley has his needs sated is when you finally allow yourself to give in to yours. Groans, panting, and soft mooing resonate within the homey little room that you've incidentally turned into a den of pleasure. Mr. Harley finally slumps back with his arms tucked tightly around your middle, and a wobbly, satisfied smile makes its way across your face as you look down and see a pail full of warm, creamy-looking milk. A few spots and tiny puddles litter the hay-covered ground around it from where you spilled, and some still soaks Harley's massive hands, but you still managed to fill it–a whole bucket!

“I did…a good job, Mr. Harley?” You ask in such a sweet, timid voice that he can only manage a breathless scoff in response.

“You think you did a good job?” He asks, but not understanding his tone, you start to fuss and squirm in fear that you've disappointed him. It's only once he manages to wrangle you against his chest and pick you up off your feet with him that he manages to calm you down.

“Relax, little one. You did a good job.” Careful not to let you lose balance, he sets you down on your feet and holds you there, steadying you against his effortlessly strong body. The moment you look up at him with those sweet, wet cow eyes, he can't resist his affections and lovingly strokes your ears. “Very good. You're a good cow. Look at all the milk you made,” He reaches past you to pick up the pail and hold it out for you to see. The glistening milk swishes with the heft of the bucket, so he steps away and ensures he sets it aside amongst the empty ones to keep it from spilling over.

“So…c-can I stay, Mr. Harley?”

It seems your voice does more than earn you an answer from him–Harley whips around to look at you with a dumbfounded expression on his face, and his reaction is more than you ever could have thought you deserved.

“Stay? What d'ya mean, ‘stay’? You're part of the farm. You're my family now. You're not going anywhere.” He reaches out for you and in that moment it takes for him to get to you, the tears are already flowing and you're blubbering pathetically into his chest with gratitude, which he seems much less awkward in accepting now.

“Hey–quit sayin’ such stupid shit. Stay…are you crazy?” He murmurs into your hair, his arms so tight around you you're reminded of the soreness of your hollow chest as your tits press up against his firm body. What he whispers to you then, in the silence peppered only by your weepy cries of adoration and love for your ‘Mr. Harley’, is the one thing that will stay with you for a long, long time–perhaps for the rest of your life.

“Not just cattle anymore, little one. You're…mine.”

[dummypwnces]

𓍢ִ໋ ⋆˚ ☕️ SO CLOSE, BUT SO FAR . જ⁀➴ |

Nahoya Kawata

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆ ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

warnings; sugar daddy! Nahoya, implied chubby! Reader, f!reader, a bit of degrading, pet names, oral sex f & m receiving, spanking, fingering, a bit of hair pulling, kinda brat taming, TIMESKIP Corrupt Toman! Nahoya, Mean! Nahoya, a bit of Dom! Nahoya, maybe bimbo reader?, porn w/ plot, first time writer so might be bad, Hoya is physically taller than reader and bigger, M!DNI PLZ!!!

Word count, 2.2K (૮ •͈ ‸ 𖦹 ა )

Nahoya Kawata. A feared captain of the fourth division of the delinquent gang Tokyo Manji or known as ‘Toman’ or at least he USED to be. Always feared, loving the feeling of beating someone’s ass regardless of who they are, side by side with his gang members and his brother, oh how he misses those days; but good thing he’s rich now!

You were just a simple barista, cleaning tables, dealing with rude people who thought they were better than you, and all KINDS of men. Hitting on you, getting mad when you rejected them, even threatening you on the job. But you couldn’t do anything, this job is what you needed to pay your rent, that was until you met him..

He walked in the cafe with his straight, orangish hair, clearly not used to it being locked from its curly form, a smile that could make your heart stop from fear and attraction, his eyes closed, the perfect voice mixed with a giggle and a deep voice, and a tannish suit that showed off his lean physique and god, the way he spoke his first words to you should’ve been the first red flag, but his words sounded like the sweet taste of honey from a bumblebee.

As normal like all the other guys that came for ‘coffee’, he asked for your number and stupidly enough, you agreed, feeling like you had to give him as his smile was slowly starting to curt. Slipping it to him on his receipt for the order of his coffee, black coffee with nothing but sugar, oh god how it matched him perfectly; you got a call later that night to find out his name as you picked it up, ‘Nahoya Kawata.’ It seemed so nice when it rolled off his tongue, you heard the voice of another girl in the background, yelling, screaming, crying even for his attention, another red flag you stupidly ignored because of Nahoya’s tantalizing voice. Asking you out for a date, which you agreed, and that’s how it all started with you becoming his sugar baby.

Always buying you lavish gifts, giving you money when you need it, making sure your rent is paid for, even getting you the apartment you dreamed of! It seems perfect, but god knows that money can’t hide it all. He always throws money at you, a new girl on his arm while you’re just old and the perfect toy he can always go for when he doesn’t get the girl he wanted for the night, and he’s found some new arm candy, again.

Once again stopping by your apartment you finally decide to confront Nahoya, which he responds with a callous tone mixed in with the high pitch of his giggly voice, the smile you once fell for making you disgusted at the way he talks back to your defiance. “Just shush and take the money, alright doll!”

You glared at the way he treated you, his words making you feel dumb and also insulted, trying to ignore the way his sweet voice always made you feel like putty. Arguing back with him with respect for yourself finally coming up again. “Fuck you, ‘Oya! Either I leave you or you make me your only girl!”

Nahoya couldn’t lie as he stared down at your angry face from his clean height of six feet tall. The smile on his face turned into something a bit more sadistic, he grabbed your face with the slender, fingers decorated with metal adorned rings designed into a skull, two more into initials of his name and his last and another it seems with the same last name.

For however long it seemed since you’ve met the man before you, you’ve never seen his eyes until now. Being met with the angry, deceitful, but hungry eyes of a pretty color of moss green darkly turning. His words resonated with you as his voice seemed to turn you even more into putty.

“Ah, ah, ah~ what I tell you first thing you got here doll? You’re not my top priority, but ‘f you gonna be such a bitch about ‘t, might just fuck you like the little bitch yea acting like!”

As Nahoya’s words finally clicked inside your nearly going cock-dumb brain and you haven’t even done anything yet. You felt him shove his lips roughly to yours, keeping your face clutched in between his slender fingers, ruining the cute, cherry lipgloss he bought for you, letting his other hand go up the Victoria Secrets blouse he bought you, continuing to ravage your lips as he finally lets go of your face. Feeling proud of the already fucked out face he made of you.

“Such a cute, fucked out little face… ‘gonna make sure you’re ruined by tonight!”

His hands also approached the buttons of your blouse with a gentle touch, but you both knew that wasn’t what he wanted. You couldn’t lie as your thong was almost soaked by the way he tore off your blouse with a hungry touch. Leaving you in just a lace bra with wire straps looking like it would cut your shoulders; his hands grabbing your soft hips and placing you up on the marble kitchen counter of your apartment. Grabbing the hooks of your bra and tearing it off with a smirk on his face that you’ve never seen before, be oh he knew it was all telling…

Finally sinking his mouth onto the nipples of your breasts, having to lean his head down a bit as he happily rubbed the wet spot appearing on your thong. Pulling and tugging at it to keep your puffy cunt warm from his teasing.

Your glossy smeared mouth mewling and whimpering from the pleasure and slight pain you felt in two places of your body, trying to rub your plush thighs together from the sweet tension growing in your thong.

A slap comes to your clothed cunt, a whimper escaping from your mouth as Nahoya talks about your needs like it’s a burden for him to take care of.“Such a pretty ‘lil thing, but too damn loud. Gonna make sure yea screamin’ my name by tonight.”

That was all you could hear before he his lips let go of your now puffy nipple with a wet *pop!*, smirking at the look of your soft lips in a tired ‘O’ your eyes teary eyed already and begging for the touch you hated only a few moments ago. He finally gave into your needs and sunk down to your knees, his fingers gently exposing the way your puffy cunt glistened in the light of your kitchen.

He sunk his long fingers inside of your cunt, making sure he put his mouth to work, his tongue working with his fingers as the wet muscle twitched and curled inside of your wet gummy walls. Your manicured hands trying to find its way to his forcibly straightened hair, your mouth continuing to let out mewls and moans loud enough for your neighbors to hear, your plush thighs wrapping around his head before you finally utter the words he’s wanted to hear since you started to get an attitude with him.

“H-hoya! Cummin’ ‘m cumming!-“

Your words sounded so pretty to him, the way you slurred your words, the way your gummy walls were clenching around him and sucking in his tongue and long fingers like a vice grip. You felt emptiness from your puffy, soaked cunt as your brows gently furrow, glancing down to see Hoya hovering over you with the same smirk on his perfect face, he grabbed you by the same hair he paid for only to be ruined by him now. Placing you on your knees as he keeps his eyes on you, waiting for you to pull down his tanned pants down to suck his cock.

You could only apply as your shaky hands gently hooked around the belt loops of his pants, being met with the sight of his raging cock having a bulge and a wet spot with his precum showing through his gray boxers, he scoffed out loud as he pulled down his boxers.

His cock bouncing up and down as it finally stopped against his abdomen, he had a slight happy trail of orange hairs that almost made you drool at the sight, his reddened tip slathered in precum as you gently placed your lips on the tip of his cock. Bobbing your head up and down on the six inch cock he had, almost too thick for you to take; feeling it hit the back of your throat as his hands was roaming through your perfectly done hair turned into nothing but a mess from all he’s done, hearing soft grunts, groans, and almost whines escape from his lips.

“Shit.. y’know ya so pretty when you’re not running your mouth like a ‘lil bitch…~”

You’re sure you could feel your puffy cunt clench around nothing at the way he talked to you, a moan escaping from your throat as your moan made his cock vibrate, a grunt escaping from his lips as he shoved your head fully down to the base of his cock, warm, tart ropes shooting down your throat into your tummy. Letting your mouth come off his cock with a loud, wet *pop!*, licking your lips clean as you gently batted your lashes up at him with soft doe eyes that made your pupils seem like hearts.

“Aww, think this little act ‘s gonna win me over? Huh, honey? Let’s get you in the bedroom.”

Hoya couldn’t lie that he felt his cock harden again at the way you stared up at him from your knees; his hand picking you up from your soft hips and dragging you over to your bedroom. Throwing you down onto your queen-sized bed he bought you with a new-found roughness you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t enjoy.

‘Hoya grabbed you once again by your hair, making you choke on the cutest mewl you hid in your pouty mouth, feeling your tummy be pressed up against the rough, naked knee of him. Feeling his big hands nearly cover the whole half of your ass, raising his hand up in the air before he gives a hard blow to your ass.

A loud squeal escaping from your mouth as you squirm around your hips from the pleasurable but painful slap of Hoya’s hand. Feeling his other hand grab you soft, fucked-out face before giving it a hard slap. Making your pussy clench around nothing, you whimper quietly as you snatch your head back from his grasp. Trying to grind your puffy clit onto his knee.

Feeling a soft slap come down to your cunt, glancing back up at ‘Hoya with a soft pout that almost made him want to give you mercy *almost..* he placed one hand near your puffy cunt, another on your bottom as he starts to finger his slender fingers out of your puffy, tight hole going slowly before he picks up the pace, the squelching sounds of your hole getting his fingers all wet from your gummy, sensitive walls, still wet from your previous failed orgasm.

Your face contorting in pleasure, as you grab at Hoya’s forearm, trying to get his fingers out of your puffy hole before he makes you cum, squirt? Who knows. And finally your brain went fuzzy. Your brain going full cock-drunk as a weak, but cute smile appears on your face, he couldn’t help but smirk at the way you looked, his closed eyes finally back as he spoke to you mockingly.

“Aww, ‘s my little brat finally all stupid, just from my fingers?”

Hoya chuckled quietly as he pulled his slick covered fingers from your hole, grabbing your hair and forcing your face up to meet his. Flipping you back on your ass to sit you on the bed, forcing his long fingers in your mouth as you mindlessly suck on them to clean your juices from his fingers. ‘Hoya chuckled quietly again, grabbing you and with ease.

Hoya bent down in-front of your plush thighs, being face to face with your wet hole as it clenched from the cold air in your room. Hoya spat at your hole, smirking quietly at your soft mewls from your sensitive cunt, pushing in his fingers again as your back tastefully arched, and your lips turned into a soft, shiny mess of an ‘O’ ;feeling your earlier orgasm come back to life with a spark back bigger and better.

His fingers sissoring inside you as your mouth continued to let out more mewls and moans that you couldn’t keep quiet, your eyes teary once again as your tears threatened to spill from your eyes at the feeling of pain and pleasure from his long fingers inside your tiny hole.

Hoya finally pulled his fingers out of your sweet hole, smirking at the damage he’s done for you, getting up from his knees and lining up his pretty, thick cock with your tiny, puffy cunt. You couldn’t lie when your cracked voice choked out these words with a hint of uncertainty.

“‘H-hoya? ‘m thinking ‘ts not gonna fit!-“

You felt his finger come up to your mouth, the smirk still plastered on his face as his sweaty, perfect face was so pretty in-front of your fucked out, teary eyed face. It was all a distraction as he shoved his cock into your gummy walls, groaning out loud, his pace started out slow but rough, his hips making your soft ass ripple as he grabbed your hips and quickly flipped you over into your belly.

One of his hands gripping onto your hips, another gripping your belly with a newfound appreciation for your curves. Your mewls got louder and louder before they just turned into incoherent babbles from your little fucked out brain going cock-dumb, your orgasm growing faster and faster before it finally snaps, your eyes going wide as a soft whimper escapes your lips before your brain finally goes from his cock hitting your special spot.

All you could say now was incoherent babbles and soft mewls with your head down into the stained sheets of your bed. His hand letting go your belly to give you one final slap to your plush ass as he cums inside of your sweet cunt, a loud groan escaping from his lips as you can feel all the soft, warm ropes filling up your tummy. Your lips letting out an array of soft whimpers.

“‘m yours H-Hoya, love chu so much!”

“Aww, love you too baby, just one more round ‘n we done for tonight~”

You felt your puffy, ruined cunt clench around nothing at another thought, feeling your body get lifted up with ease as you open your teary eyes to be met with the sight of you sitting in his lap with his limp dick nearly standing proudly at your tummy.

You couldn’t help but let out a gentle moan, feeling his fingers rub your puffy clit, your mouth turning into a soft ‘O’ feeling your hips gently rock against his thigh in desperation for some more friction. Mewling, moaning, begging for Hoya’s fingers to go deeper into your pretty pussy filled from him.

Hoya couldn’t help but smirk as he sunk his fingers deeper inside of you just liked you wished hitting your sweet spot with a soft chuckle, your cunt clenching around his slender fingers as you feel the knot in your tummy finally release, squirting all over his fingers and staining his thighs with your juices.

You finally collapsed onto your stained bed, a fucked out smile on your face as you curled up into a ball tired and ready to go to sleep. Unknowing to the way Hoya had a smile on his face watching you sleep like the girl you are.

You woke up earlier that morning with the sight of Hoya anywhere in your apartment, you almost couldn’t lie saying you missed the man that treated you like he was yours for a might. But a note was on your drawer in his horrible writing saying he would be back later that week, and he wants you to be ready for him and someone special?

Thank you so much for reading this if you made it to the end!!! I hope you liked my first story and I would REALLY enjoy any criticism to help me be a better writer ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა also I’m very sorry if the gifs don’t work at first!! ૮ ��⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა

[katherinearandez]

I don’t think Tessa is one of the good guys

I have a lot of questions about Tessa. What are her goals? Is she really on copper 9 for the reasons she told us in episode 6? Does she have hidden motives, and if so, what are they???

The lines of “morality” in this show are super squiggly, so by “good guy”, I mean an individual with positive or helpful intent toward the main characters - in this case, drones. The concept of Tessa bearing ill-intent for drones as a ‘species’ seemed contradictory at first: after all, she’s so nice to N, V and J, right? We’re talking about someone who, as a kid, saved zombie drones from the dump(cough, mass grave, cough) where their human owners left them to rot after creating them by means of improper disposal. Why would she want to kill drones? Especially in the same callous, procedurally improper ways that created the threat of Cyn to start out with?

Well…

Let’s not forget about the evil AI that massacred her family and the guests of their gala. AFTER Tessa took her in as an act of kindness, against her parents wishes. Parents who did seem to look down on her pretty severely, regularly chained her up in her room as punishment(you don’t install heavy duty, floor anchored chains for the occasional time out) and possibly kept her socially isolated???

That last point is pretty speculative, since a lot about the earth of N’s flashbacks screams post-apocalyptic vibes. Maybe there just aren’t a lot of humans left for Tessa to socialize with. Tessa’s dad reinforces this idea in his speech by listing “currently being alive” as an attribute the Elliots are known for. It could just as well be a meta joke(since they are killed in the next few seconds), so lacking more context, I hesitate to extrapolate from this point alone.

Anywho, back to Tessa’s callous drone murder. Even if her parents were crappy by the usual standards, she clearly didn’t want them/the other gala guests to die. She tried to save them by “murdering her a robo-child”. Idk, does this blacked out redacted image of Tessa in the aftermath of the massacre seem upset??

Reasonable assumption. So adult/older teen Tessa has changed the way she feels about drones after these traumatic events. Maybe she doesn’t outright hate them, but she views them from a colder, more pragmatic angle than she did in her younger years. Does she still feel empathy for them and the horrible mistreatment they suffer at the hands of humans? Probably. But she’s now aware of the danger they truly pose and has good reason to eliminate them to ensure the absolute solver mutation no longer has a pool of hosts in which to spread and evolve.

So why the callous drone murder at the end of episode 3? We know you’re supposed to follow a 2 step procedure for decommissioning drones. Software death via lethal injection of a kill program(sounds fun!), followed by hardware death via “core removal” to ensure the decommissioned drone doesn’t reboot with corrupted software and an “increased chance for future errors”.

Did she hastily kill this random drone to keep her arrival on copper 9 secret, foregoing procedure for the sake of urgency? If so, who is she keeping her presence secret from? Is it the remaining drone population of copper 9, who Cyn used to collapse the planet core and kill all humans there? Possibly, Uzi is a prime example of anti-human sentiment, and during Mr Doorman’s parent-teacher conference he mentioned being on a “kill all humans kick when he was her age”. Perhaps Tessa assumes all the c9 worker drones are hostile to humans.

When you start making assumptions about what characters are assuming, it’s generally a good time to stop and just accept you don’t have the answers 🫠 so that’s where I will cut that line of questioning short. That being said, I’m not quite done yet…

What’s with this shelf of small human skulls in Tessa’s room? Why are the trash robots she “rescues” her only friends? Do her parents chain her up in her room because they suck? Or… do they have reasons not yet revealed to us, the audience?

Tessa’s perception among most of the fan base is fairly positive and on the surface there’s good reason for this. She’s presented as peppy, compassionate(except toward that one worker drone, lmao), ~tenacious~ and resilient. Actions like salvaging drones from the dump and perceived displays of affection and warmth for the disassembly drones leave viewers with the impression that she’s a good, kind person.

There is, however, another light in which to view her actions, and it casts a shadow on the motives we may have assumed were pure up to this point.

While it’s easy to parse Tessa saving drones from the dump as an act of altruism, it can also be interpreted as sinister. It could be an example of a character with a savior complex; a power dynamic wherein the “savior” exerts control over those they “rescue” by taking advantage of their gratitude and using it in manipulative ways. If this is the case, Tessa’s motives take a sharp left turn, flipping from selfless and kind to egotistical and controlling.

The show actually gives us direct evidence of Tessa using manipulation to get her drones to do her bidding.

“It wants paid time off…”

This instance of her using corporate buzzwords to drive J into a rage strong enough for her to bite through metal chains. Or how about her outright lying to the drones at the start of episode 6? Asserting that her intention was to “burn to the ground” labs Cyn was interested in, while later that same episode revealing to N that her “true” purpose was to obtain a list of drones infected with the absolute solver?

Preeetty manipulative. She manipulated and/or coerced Doll as well, in order to obtain the keybug. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if come episode 7, she switches it up yet again, revealing a new manipulation or perhaps, finally, her real mission.

Tessa’s manipulation of the drones she supposedly cares about isn’t the only hint that she might have a savior complex or similar egocentric tendencies. She’s also shown that she’s not very respectful of the drones autonomy, another red flag that can signal a propensity for narcissism and the controlling behaviors associated with it.

N is the example this time.

Tessa’s signature greeting for N, which is to grab his face and swing him around with excitement that borders on aggression. Maybe it’s just me, but his expression doesn’t suggest it’s mutually enjoyed. Looks more to me like he’s uncomfortable and only humoring her pep because he feels like he has no choice… after all, none of Tessa’s “dumpster pets” want to let down their saving grace.

We see this same kind of contact again throughout episode 6, with Tessa grabbing N’s face as a greeting again, and also playing with his hair on the way down to cabin fever labs. The way Tessa interacts with the drones(J and V as well as N) shows that she sees them as objects in her possession, rather than friends, peers or their own individuals with unique thoughts, wants and feelings.

Uzi even calls her out on this very mindset at the end of episode 6 after Tessa asks her sardonically to “don’t date my robot, please.”

Granted, I’ve got no solid backing, just observation, speculation and a suspicious mind. Tessa could be a great person… “good” or “bad” though, she’ll definitely try to kill our main character sometime soon, so… yup. Killing even an anti-hero typically slots you into the bad guy category, even in a show where the moral lines between good and evil are so artfully blurred.

TLDR; I think there’s more to Tessa than meets the eye, and even though Cyn is still probably Murder Drones “big bad”, I feel like Tessa has an element of villainy to her that I hope will be further explored in canon.

[uchihaharlot]

Hello there, i really love your headcanons tbh maybe the realest ones here

Since I'm here its obvious im in Uchiha hell so,

Could I politely ask for uchihas turn ons and turn offs? I swear to god when i think about them horny it brings a tear to my eye from blissfulness

The realest ones? Nonny, you honor me to the highest degree and I am forever grateful you feel this way. ❤️🥹

I think a better question would be what doesn’t turn these men off (I also think I answered this differently than you might have wanted, I hope not though). 😮‍💨😌 Though none of these men are shallow individuals, so rest assured, anyone would be their type.

Semi-NSFW; just some things that make an Uchiha melt inside

Madara:

All natural women. I’m gonna be honest here; in Madara’s time, the more rounded a woman. The better (for breeding). But in all honesty, he appreciates all shapes and sizes.

His turn off is weakness, she needs to be confident. Which sounds callous, but if she’s not at minimum as much a firecracker as he is. The chemistry is off. Madara needs someone who is going to keep him on his feet with excitement, not someone who will make him second guess their intentions. The more outgoing and confident. The better.

If Madara’s laying her in his bed, she’s going to have to be a very patient woman. This man can go for hours, and a woman who can appreciate his stamina without complaint is high on his priority list, possibly good for breeding. Madara needs to fuck her this way, ok? A test drive so to speak. It’s just how he does it, raw and unadulterated lust. He also won’t tolerate a quickie like some men.

Obito:

Its no secret that Obi, bless his soul, is the black sheep Uchiha. The quiet ones are easier for him to talk to, not because they’re touch starved or anything. But because they are legitimately sweet and soulful. A woman who is confident won’t really make him feel nervous. But what he really wants is to kinda be taken care of, tenderly.

He definitely doesn’t like loud noises or sudden changes, so the more ground and constant, the better. So a woman who has a temper, is not for him. He might get riled with a little spice, but Obito definitely doesn't and won't be a push over, even he has his limits. Obito thrives in a static environment where he can make mistakes without being treated like a child, even better if she babies him a little. I'm sure there is a mommy kink somewhere to explore.

And in bed, he’s a total mess for her, does whatever she wants. If she wants to be treated like a pillow princess and owned, he'll be man enough for it. If she wants to make him beg underneath her, that too.

Shisui:

Shisui 🥹🔥 he’s so fiery!! Definitely is turned on by a woman who is into self care. Bonus points if she agrees to partner stretch with him, it's so hot being able to feel her this way and not sexually...yet. Someone who eats well, the occasional bad food here or there isn’t a problem, but damn if she’s into good diet and exercise, sign him up and don't forget, sparring is like foreplay for him. So, if she ends up pinning him down (like he planned all along), he’s gonna be so desperate for her. And she has to be loyal; to him, to the village and morality.

As for in bed? Their chemistry is so far off the charts, neither one can keep from switching positions. I really think Shisui is one of those men, like most Uchiha but on a different level even to his family, that can go for hours. Just because he can and because he likes to see her all fucked out, it's different from her usual mouthy self, which reminds me. She needs to be just as spunky and spontaneous as he, maybe not on the same level, but a woman who is down for whatever is the best kind of medicine. Especially for a man with the whole village on his shoulders.

Itachi:

I love him, he's such an old soul. They say opposites an attract and while I think he would like someone like himself, I also feel like someone who could keep him on his toes a little. If she's a scholar, this is perfect. Itachi would really enjoy someone who he can discuss world politics with. Not too in-depth, but casually. That level of self awareness the sharingan gifts them with can often leave many Uchiha feeling mismatched, but someone who has wits to his is a godsend.

As for in the sheets, Itachi is someone who is very reserved when it comes to matters of the flesh. Trust and sex go hand in hand, he's not like Shisui who can stick it anywhere, pretty quickly too, (he once told Itachi he used a spaghetti squash as a fleshlight). Trust is earned, gained and has to be absolute. Once this is accomplished, he's so damn tender. The softest moaner, but he does it right in your ear. Hearing and seeing you enjoy sex with him is what ends up getting him going harder. Even better if you speak your desires as he rearranges your insides. As time goes on, you learn what a closeted freak he really is and end up in the false atmosphere of his Tsukuyomi.

[sapphic-agent]

I feel bad for Mitsuki. She has a parent's worst nightmare to raise, and people are legit calling her abusive because she doesn't worship the ground at Bakugou's feet.

Maybe I'm a bit biased, because she reminds me of my stepmother. Her family spoiled her son rotten (he was never as bad as Bakugou, but he did have some severe behavior problems that alienated him from a lot of people), and she was the only one trying to instill rules and discipline in his life, which made her the bad guy in many people's eyes.

Someone tried to make the case that Mitsuki and Katsuki (calling them both by their given names for this ask) are both horrible and abusive and I'm like no way José.

Compare Katsuki's introduction to Mitsuki's. One of them is inherently painted to be more cruel and callous and it isn't Mitsuki. In fact, I'd say that Mitsuki is actually a lot more friendly. She didn't get hostile until Katsuki did. Calling her abusive from what we've seen when she did it in front of his teachers and they didn't say a damn word is so... Disingenuous? I don't even know what to call it.

A playful tap on the back of the head is not physical abuse. If her intention has been to actually hurt him, this would be a different story. But it isn't. She wasn't even upset during the first hit, so what about that screams abuse?

I'm not averse to saying that Mitsuki could be verbally abusive. But even then for me, it's more like she's careless with her words than intentionally cruel. Like when she says, "Oh hush. This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't gotten kidnapped and caused all that trouble." I sincerely doubt she actually means, "It's your fault you got kidnapped." To me, it's more like, "You were careless and other people are suffering because of it so get off your high horse."

Because as much as I agree that the LOV's actions (and UA's negligence) are not on Katsuki, he very much was careless and that contributed to him getting kidnapped and putting his classmates in danger. Which also was the reason everyone had to uproot their lives and move into the dorms. I think Mitsuki is trying to make him more humble and aware of how his actions affect others by saying this. I don't agree with how she communicated that, but I sincerely doubt her intention was to be cruel.

The problem is that Katsuki stans take one scene and run with it. But they also somehow miss the part where Mitsuki thanks Aizawa for sticking up for him and humbly asks him to make him a good hero. She even playfully ruffles his hair and he doesn't pull away. An abusive mother wouldn't care so much about her son's dream.

This same scene also implies that she regrets letting adults feed Katsuki's ego because she knows it made him worse. That's probably why she's harsher on him now, because she's aware that the temper of a 4 year old and a temper on a 16 year old are two different things and doesn't want him to continue to be violent and temperamental into adulthood. She's doing damage control the best she can.

That's probably why you relate her to your stepmother (who sounds awesome btw). Because you see a woman who's getting hate for trying to correct her violent, bigoted son's behavior before it escalates.

(Female Katsuki stans are such boy moms. No one can say or do anything to their precious Kacchan and nothing is ever his fault because he's just a poor child who doesn't know any better so who gives a fuck about his victim)

[oinkinpigprince]

I’m at the hairdresser, I can feel the chemicals flow into my brain. She also kept tugging at my thick, lush, luxurious, curly, hair. Which really hurts cause I have a tender ass head.

Drayton keeps calling Bubba’s hair nappy in the movies which makes me think he also suffers the same problem, I want to brush his hair.

Bubba x curly haired reader

You were sitting in your shared room brushing through your curly hair. Watching the little springs bounce in place. It was mesmerizing to say the least. Bubba shuffled in curiously, to see you admiring yourself in the mirror. They adored your hair, running their fingers on the soft locks was heaven to them. You never let them brush through it, always swatted away their needy hand. They always want to, maybe now that you brushed through it you’d let them, it must be detangled now.

Walking up behind you cautiously, they slowly reached their hand over to your head before gently stroking your head. You looked up and smiled at Bubba, giggling at them. They interlocked their fingers and began to run their fingers through your hair, til they hit a knot and you made a sharp hiss sound.

“Kssss, ow! Bubbie that hurts, I told you not to.” You groans raking your own fingers through it properly, not hitting a single not. How did you get so good with hair?

Bubba asked you a question. You had been teaching Bubba American Sign Language for a while and they were getting really good at it. Signing questions to you, their brothers could understand them but you weren’t blessed with that intuition.

‘How do you get your hair to be so smooth?’ They signed, tilting their head a little. You shrugged running fingers through your curls.

“I had to learn how to brush my hair without it hurting,” you started “my dad didn’t know how to brush it right and my mom gave up after I hit her. I never mean to but it just hurt so damn bad.” You sighed looking back at bubba. “I’ll teach you how to brush your hair.” You offered, Bubba gasped and squealed with joy.

You sat Bubba down and laid out all the things you used. A spray bottle painted your favorite color, a plastic flimsy comb with a few teeth knocked out, and another bigger brush.

“Now, we both got curly hair. Which means we need to brush it differently than those other people with their boring straight hair.” Beginning to explain, Bubba listened enthusiastically “You take a water bottle and you have to get your hair wet.” You began to sprits their hair wet, until it was nice and wet, having to pick up certain pieces due to how much hair he had to get the underbrush.

Once it was completly damp you began to slowly brush their hair. Gently raking the little plastic comb until you hit a knot, bubba got ready to wince but was surprised when you pulled out after just barely grazing the tangle. Repeatedly you combed out the knot, pulling out of their hair completely every time you hit a knot.

Slowly you began to detail their hair, watching as it went from a mess of tangles and rats nests to beautiful black curls. Bubba’s hair always felt like straw, rough and callous. Water wouldn’t fix that but that was a different problem you’d save for later. Slowly their hair transformed into beautiful locks which made your heart flutter and your face flush. They were your handsome man.

“Your hair is beautiful Bubba! It’s a shame you couldn’t maintain it.” You cooed, Bubba couldn’t help but blush. You were so sweet to him.

The feeling of the comb gliding through their hair was something Bubba never experienced. Every time they had to go brush their hair they dreaded it but, your comb flowed through his hair teasing the tangles away until. Gentle movements flowed through his hair. They slowly closed their eyes, falling into a trance. Tingles flowed through their brain as you raked your fingers through their hair.

You hummed, happy to see Bubba so relaxed, so calm and tranquil. You sang softly, wondering if they’d fall asleep in the chair if you let them. You could see the tension in their shoulders leave as they felt your hands. Once you were done combing their hair you grabbed a bottle filled with special oil, and began to scrunch their hair back up. Watching as small curls formed with each time you moved.

Bubba snapped out of their trance and saw you were done. They looked at his head and never seen it so, clean. They washed it whenever they could but it always tangled and knotted so they never bothered. They looked up at you and you looked down at them. You booped their nose.

“Now do you see how to brush it? It’s a little more work but it’s well worth it once it drys!” You asked rubbing their cheek gently. Bubba nodded

“Do you wanna try brushing my hair?” You asked and they practically jumped so excited to show what they learned.

Bubba gently began to stroke your soft hair, twiddling the strands between their fingers. They adored your hair as much as you did. The way it shined and bounced, they hoped their hair could shine like yours. Slowly they began to comb through your hair like you did for them. For the first time, you felt someone else’s hairs flow through your hair.

[gojoidyll]

Yandere!Demon!Amajiki x Reader

You believed, wholeheartedly, that not all demons were bad. Mainly because of the friend you made, the demon who had saved you from falling from a cliff. If all demons were bad, then surely, he would have let you fall, right? Or maybe…he was the one to push you to begin with.

One second, you were falling. The wind was whipping past you, your eyes focused on the ground that was getting closer and closer. You didn’t scream, or at least, you didn’t think you did. You couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t focus on anything else except for the ground that you were racing towards.

What you could sense though was how cold you felt, how your whole boyd broke out into a cold sweat. You could feel your eyes widen, your breath hitch. You could feel how hard your heart hammered in your chest. And the only thing going through your mind was your family. Your parents, your siblings, your friends.

This was death.

“Got you.”

Though, as soon as the realization his, you had felt someone grab a hold of you. Their arms holding you tightly against themselves as your feet dangled. Were you suspended in the air, but how? People couldn’t fly?

Turning your head, you were met with a kindhearted face, but it was no hiding the fact that he was a demon.

“Are- are you alright?”

His voice was timid, almost too soft to hear over the wind.

“I- I-“

You tried to find the words, but they were lost on you. And the demon holding you to him panicked at the situation, “wait, wait, wait, please don’t worry! I- I saved you! So please don’t scream and alert the villagers. See? I’m bringing you right back up to the top! No harm, no foul, right?”

His words were all jittery, his nerves were as clear as day as he brought you back to the top of the cliff and far away from the edge, your eyes couldn’t help but to focus on the flowers that were near the edge. You planned to pick some before you found yourself falling…

And soon enough, his words held true as he set you down onto the ground. Though, the moment he let you go, your legs felt all wboly, causing you to fall forward, but luckily, he caught you again.

“I-…,” you glanced up at him, a small smile on your face, “thank you, …would you like to be frineds?”

Which was how you met the demon Amajiki Tamaki and stayed friends with him for the next few years.

Secretly, every day, you would leave your small village without anyone noticing to go meet with him. And you both would have all the fun in the world until night would fall and Amajiki would escort you back home. And that was how your friendship remained until he told you how he fell in love with you…

“I’m sorry, Tamaki, but I- I can’t be with you.”

When the words left your mouth, you thought that that would be the end of the conversation and you both could go back to being friends, but his timid demeanor was so quick to change as he grabbed a hold of your wrist.

“You don’t feel the same?”

His voice didn’t hold that softness you cam eto adore nay longer. Instead, he sounded so cold, so callous, so distant. Even his eyes matched his voice perfectly.

“T-“

“Well, whatever,” he said, cutting you off as he pulled you against him. Your chests pressing together as you squirmed in your hold, “maybe I can push you off the cliff again? Maybe you’ll change your tune then, wouldn’t you?”

“A- again?”

He smiled so sweetly at you.

“Again.”

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Following Along (Tony Stark X Son!Reader) *PARENTAL

Characters: Tony Stark X Son!Reader, Peter Parker X Male!Reader (Platonic)

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Mention of serial killer, mention of dead body(s) (Both vague)

Request: How about a fic Tony Stark X Son Reader fic, where reader of a Sherlock type when it comes to his deduction, intelligence but also sometimes callous behaviour. Maybe Tony makes him hang out with Peter and his friends and it ends up him then following him around while he handles a case and it ends up with the Avengers tailing him.

Tony had known ever since his son was just a few months old that he was a little… quirky. He never really interacted with other kids at nursery or on playdates, and while other toddlers played with shapes and blocks, either together or alone, whenever Tony picked up Y/N and asked what he’d gotten up to, the answer was always something that was always… off. Like the time you made a poster detailing different bugs in the garden, drawing them and how they were different, or another day when you spent the entire time investigating and locating a little girl’s lost dinosaur toy, which sounded really sweet until the caretaker had to tell him that when you found it in another kid’s backpack, you dumped it out in front of everyone, pointed to the kid and called him a thief and made the kid cry. 

Now, any normal parent would show at least some concern about their kid’s behaviour, maybe put them in therapy, try and get that behaviour out of them. However, Tony saw something in you that stood out. You liked to investigate. You liked knowing things, you liked to solve puzzles, and as you grew older, this continued and grew, and instead of punishing you for being rather blunt or rude at times, especially when you pointed things out about you, Tony instead set up a simple rule of “You can only do that if the person was being mean in the first place or you have a good reason to” and gave you frequent tasks to keep you occupied. That worked fine for the most part, until you reached middle school. That was when he started getting called into the school because of incidents. 

It switched between you being bullied for being weird and quiet and rude at times, and you pulling stunts that always seemed to blow up and cause drama among the school. Like the time you blasted one of your classmates and bullies in the middle of an assembly for stealing other student’s work to get an award, even providing proof then and there, or the time when a teacher called in Tony about your behaviour, and you pointed out that you had been doing all your work and extra, and also that she was picking on you and suggested she stop unless she wanted her affair with another teacher to be announced over the speakers the next morning. All with a straight face, no mischievous smirk, or a glint of malice in your eye. It was also around that time when Tony suggested that you set up your own amateur detective agency, partially to hopefully help you in the process of pursuing a job you would clearly strive in, and also to stop you from investigating and exposing your teacher’s affairs. 

Well, that amateur detective agency, where you started off with helping students with their own problems, very quickly became far more professional when you started taking on older, paying clients and being an actual private detective in the city, gathering information for people, and in more than one occasion, actually working with the police with it. Needless to say, Tony had to ask Bruce to get in touch with his cousin as an emergency rep in case any of this backfired, though you assured your dad you had been working with another lawyer called Murdock or something on some cases.

Tony had a lot of mixed feelings now about your job that you were doing. On one page he was immensely proud of you, and he knew this was only the start of a successful career and he was already prepared to help you set up an actual office for you when you were old enough, he loved to hear from you about your latest successful case, and when you came to him for his opinion on your cases to look for leads and he got to see your mind at work. On the other side, he was worried about you. You stepped on the cop’s toes often, and your lack of filter frequently got you in trouble with them, and then there were the dangerous cases with high profile crime involved where you were at actual risk of being hurt, and of course, the long standing problem of your lack of social life, and it especially worried him since you just started High School. 

“Peter, can I ask you a huge, huge favour, and I’m being completely serious.” Tony asked of his intern on one of the rare times Peter was on base to update his suit. Peter looked up from where he was doing some homework, waiting for the update to be complete to look at Tony. 

“Of course Mr Stark, what can I do?” Peter inquired, admittedly maybe a bit too excitedly.

“As you know, I have a son- Y/N. He’s not the best socially, and he has this private detective work going on outside of school, and it’s actually getting pretty serious. He told me about a new case he’s started, and I feel like he might actually get in trouble- can you just watch him please? Make sure he’s not in any actual danger?” Tony asked. “I don’t want you to feel like this is a babysitting job- it’s really not. Y/N’s cases are usually actual criminal cases, but he’s a year younger than you and I’m genuinely worried his bluntness is gonna get him in serious trouble with the wrong people.” 

“I can do that!” Peter assured him with a smile. He of course knew about Y/N Stark’s private detective work, people talked about it who were in middle school with you as well as the stunts you pulled, and quite often people would ask if you were involved in a recently solved case, and sometimes you answered in the affirmative, so he knew that you were in serious stuff. “Would you like me to be with him or tail behind or..?” 

“Tailing won’t work, he’ll notice immediately. Just tell him you want to follow along and be his back up if anything goes south- he worked out you were Spiderman before I did, you’re not gonna hide anything from him.” Tony explained. Peter didn’t have time to properly process the fact that you knew who he was before he’d already accepted his task and had left the base to prepare for tomorrow.

When Peter arrived to school the next day, as soon as he entered the school, he was greeted by MJ and Ned, who could see he was on a mission and had something on his mind as soon as he came in. “What’s going on?” MJ asked as she watched him look around the hallways, over people’s heads. 

“I might need to skip school today. Mr Stark’s given me the task to follow his son around on a case he’s doing. It’s dealing with some serious crime so he wants me to be there in case things go sideways.” Peter explained to them.

“An actual criminal case?” Ned asked, and Peter nodded. “Any idea what it is?” 

“No, Mr Stark didn’t state, but I’m gonna ask Y/N when I join him.” Peter answered. 

“Can we tag along?” MJ asked, leaning on the line of lockers. 

“Uh… are you sure? It might be dangerous.” Peter asked, wide eyed, getting a nod from the girl, and Ned got an excited grin on his face. “Okay, but if we actually get in trouble, run at the first chance you get, okay? I’ll worry about Y/N.” Peter told them, and after getting the affirmative, the three of them went on the search for you. 

 For Tony, he took no news as good news. He’d not heard anything on the news, Peter hadn’t called or texted, neither had you, and FRIDAY was silent about anything to do with the spider suit. It took that as things were going more than smoothly, you and Peter were playing nice, and hopefully you’ll have a new friend by the end of the day, and so he let himself relax a little bit and actually focus on his work.

It wasn’t until Pepper waltzed into his lab that he realised something was up, since she came in around the same time everyday; 5pm, long after school had finished, when you should be home, when FRIDAY would let him know Peter was using the suit. Something was off. He wasn’t sure if it something was exactly wrong, but it was off at least. His first course of action was to drop a text to Peter, asking how the case had gone, presuming by now it would be over and done with and maybe the kids had lost track of time and maybe were busy just being teenagers and having fun. He watched the screen after sending the message for a few seconds, watching as Peter read it, and started to respond, before the text popped up for him to see. 

We’re still working on it

Now THAT was weird. It was vague with no details, almost like Peter was busy or focussed on something else. Tony didn’t feel great about that, and so immediately called his son, turning to Pepper who had been watching him since she came in, trying to figure out why he was suddenly in a panic with her showing up. After a few rings, you answered. “Dad I’m kind of busy right now.” You answered him 

“Y/N, can you give me an idea of what’s happening? You’re usually home by now and I’ve not heard a peep from you all day.” He asked, glancing at Pepper who immediately understood what was happening. “Is Peter with you?” 

“Yes. And Ned. And MJ. They’re being really helpful, thanks for sending them.” You answered, your voice being slightly muffled with the sound of fabric, and Tony could tell you had the phone pressed between your head and shoulder. “You know how I was hired to track that man’s movements before he went missing?” 

“Yes, it’s in the newspaper, your biggest case- insanely proud- did you find something big?” 

“Oh yeah he’s the victim of a serial killer and I’m working on finding the other victims and the killer.” You answered him far too calmly for your father’s liking. 

“What- how are you doing that? Please tell me you got the police involved and you’re not planning to go body hunting as an after school activity- where’s Peter and the others?” Tony demanded towards you.

“Of course I’ve got the police involved- I sent them to look for the bodies in the places I think they are about… 4 hours ago? Anyway- dad can you get FRIDAY on the call please I need her. Peter forgot his spider suit.” You requested, answering a few questions your father had but adding so many more. FRIDAY, at the mention of her name immediately inserted herself. 

“How can I help Mr Stark? She inquired, her inserting herself immediately putting your call onto speaker. Pepper came to Tony’s desk and stood beside Tony, who put his phone down on the desk and just leant over to put his head in his hands. 

“FRIDAY, I need to narrow down who lives on Gallow Way, New York. We’re looking for a Man, within the 40 to 60 age range, possibly married in the past but now divorced and living alone.” You detailed.

“Y/N Stark you better not be thinking of confronting a killer!” Pepper spoke up, and silence fell over the phone. 

“Does it help if Peter’s here, police are on route and his technique for killing isn’t a gun?” You inquired to her. 

“Absolutely not- stay right there, I’m coming.” Tony ordered, calling his suit and immediately flying out the building to go collect his son and intern. In retrospect, he guessed he should have known that Peter would get caught up in your shenanigans and aid you in them rather than calming you down in these situations. Still, he was just glad that you had Peter with you- that did make him feel a little bit better in the prospect that you did face off against a serial killer. Not a thing he thought he’d be saying to himself when he became a father. 

By the time he got there, the police were already there, having already arrested the man and were searching the house, and he spotted his son talking with an officer who was taking extensive notes, Peter, MJ and Ned not far away. He walked over to them first, and they saw him as soon as he landed and straightened up a little as he walked up to them. “What I’d miss?” He asked, before quickly adding “Please tell me you didn’t see a dead body.” 

“No, we were just following the person’s last movements before I guess Y/N realised he’d seen something similar and quizzed us on some other missing people to see what we knew. We did a bit of googling for more information before Y/N announced it’s a serial killer and sort of just… put together a description of what the guy would be like who did this, looked at a map and picked some spots where the bodies could be then called the cops.” Michelle explained to him in a confused tone, which was understandable. 

“Have they found anything yet?” He asked next. 

“Apparently they did find something at one the spots Y/N highlighted a few minutes ago… which is terrifying.” Ned commented. Tony nodded quietly, before going on his phone, selecting a few things, before looking back at the kids in front of him. 

“Alright, a private car will be here in 5 minutes, it’ll take you home, okay? Peter, do you want to go with them?” Tony asked, getting a rushed nod from the teen, and Tony was starting to regret asking him to tag along with your antics. Maybe he’d been too lenient with you. Maybe he should restrict what cases you can take on…

“Mr Stark?” Tony glanced up from his thoughts at the sound of Peter, humming to tell him he was acknowledged. “If Y/N has any big cases again, can I tag along? Other than the whole serial killer thing… it was kind of fun and interesting. I learnt some things that could help me if I need to do my own investigations.” Peter requested, getting slightly wide eyes in response. 

“Uh… sure, just ask Y/N beforehand to be sure he’s comfortable with it, okay?” Tony responded, and Peter grinned and nodded, before Tony turned and started to make his way over to his son, still rambling to the cop who on close inspection almost looked frazzled. “Y/N.” He called, making you stop and turn to face him. 

“Hi dad, I’m nearly done here, just letting them know what kind of things they need to be looking for in the house and stuff.” 

“I’m sure they can figure it out with the extensive notes you’ve already had them writing. Say anymore and they might thing you’re the killer, not the detective.” He joked with you, giving an apologetic smile to the cop as he took your shoulder to pull you away. “If you have any other questions don’t be afraid to call us- I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.” He excused, starting to lead you away. “Did you go in the house?” 

“No. But I did snoop in the back-” Tony interrupted you with a sigh. He swore you were going to be the death of him one of these days.

Hope you like it! Sorry for the super slow posts, I’ve been overwhelmed recently with things I need to do and it’s making me not want to do anything creative. If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

TAGS:  @klanceiscannon14​  @marvelhoeingismyhobby-blog​ @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort  @freyathehuntress​ @abbybills22-blog​ @mutantjediavenger​ @theoraekensnotsosecretlover​ @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp  @rebellionofthecattle  @hello-love-youre-pretty @werosemagic   @courtneychicken​  @graysonmalfoy​ @bellero​ @originalpottervengerlock​ @supernatural-pan​ @esoltis280​ @lady-of-lies​ @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980​ @cdwmtjb8​ @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines​ @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe  @petersparkers3

[wreckingtickles]

Tama v. Bakugo

Yep, this tickling fic was inspired by Tama's absolutely stellar Bakugo piece, which will live rent-free in my mind... probably forever?

Fun fact #1: Bakugo broken with ruthless foot tickling is my favorite thing in the world, it's not even a contest. No. 1 lee, no. 1 spot. Just perfect.

Fun fact #2: Many of the lins the characters say are taken straight from Tama's drawings depicting Bakugo and her favorite teases.

Words: 2,678

What the fuck is happening?

Bakugo glances about in the infinite blank space. White everywhere the eye can see, even below him there isn’t so much as a hint of a floor; and yet, it’s undeniable the contraption he’s sitting in is resting on something; heck, he himself must be sitting on something, though he can see nothing under himself.

Right, the contraption: a set of purplish-gray stocks encasing his ankles, raising them just enough that they’re almost level with his chest, which juts prominently forward as massive manacles restrain his forearms together behind his back. The top of the stocks is a black and curved, and, on top of blocking Bakugo’s view of his feet, he can feel that each of his toes has been tied to it, keeping his soles perfectly spread, vulnerable and immobile.

The only other thing he can see is a small, round table right next to the stocks, lying on something that should be below the floor, and on top of the gray table, a squat bottle of clear fluid, purple-capped and purple-labeled.

Suddenly, a tall, curvy woman is standing right in front of him. Everything on her person is some shade of yellow. What stands out right away is her slip-on dress, barely cladding her buxom form; then, her sea witch-like hair, like carefully permed algae, and… is that a raw egg on her head?

Each of her fingers ends in a long, sharp nail, painted yellow, of course. She’s brandishing an oversized detailing brush, which is almost as big as Bakugo’s foot. There’s something ominous about its purple shell and the hundreds of bristles under it.

“And who the fuck are you?” asks Bakugo, resolute not to show any trace of doubt or fear.

The woman’s voice is saccharine. “Maybe someone who thinks you need an attitude adjustment. Maybe someone who wants to see you relax and laugh. Or maybe someone who’s about to torture you for information.”

She notices Bakugo stiffen at that last remark, so she presses on. “Wanna go ahead and tell me where your hero friends are??” Her request sounds both ecstatic and devious, like she’s not trying to wring information out of him, but about to pull a prank.

“Get fucked,” he deadpans.

“Suit yourself!!” she trills, far too happy at his refusal. But he has no time to linger on her response, because something is leaving a fiery trail on his left foot, starting from the heel and traveling up, towards his toes. Fuck no. Not that. He stills himself, biting his lower lip, determined not to make a sound, to keep his face expressionless.

Her fingernail completes its journey and withdraws, and for a single moment, Bakugo allows himself to hope that will be it; but then, he feels four nails gently scratching at his heel.

“How’s that?” she chirps. “Heels aren’t usually very sensitive, and I’m sure yours aren’t either, right?”

She lets her fingers roam the mound for a few more moments (damn his Quirk for keeping his soles soft and callous-free!), then a single nail starts scratching at the point where his heel begins to flatten into his arch.

“Now this tends to be a loooot more sensitive,” she continues, and Bakugo has to grind his teeth together to keep from making a sound. It’s just one finger. Shit.

But then all four fingernails are dragged up his arch, and the corner of his mouth threatens to betray him. She says nothing, dragging her nails up, then down, then up again. No, he won’t smile, he won’t laugh, he won’t break, he won’t, he won’t! But then the four wanderers reach the ball of his foot.

“Khh!” escapes his treacherous lips, fruitlessly attempting to jerk his foot for the first time, but he immediately regains his composure… or something that resembles it.

“Yes, I think this ball here is very, very sensitive! But where does it tickle the most? Under? Right in the middle? Just above? I think it looks even more ticklish than the base of these toes, and these look sooooo ticklish!”

Bakugo would be cussing her out if he wasn’t so intent on repressing peals of giggling – giggling, him! He won’t answer, not like he needs to, because his warped features, the unrestrained snorts, the twisting of his upper body tell Tama everything she needs to know.

Yes, indeed, it’s even more sensitive than those nice-looking toes. That ball is ticklish indeed, extremely, excruciatingly ticklish. And she’ll play a game with it and the foot it’s attached to.

She makes a show of resting the brush on the table, and Bakugo would be relieved if his eyes weren’t squeezed shut in a long-failed attempt to hide his reactions.

But then four more fingers start scratching at his right foot, and the seal of his lips breaks. “Keh! Shit… Shit-!”

Tama smirks deviously, her hands still moving with the theatrical deliberateness of a clairvoyant interrogating her sphere… except the answer to her question is already quite obvious.

She’s teasing his arches, still going slow, she told herself she won’t start being sort of mean until the dam breaks… and she knows it’s about to.

In fact, it only takes a couple more seconds for his helpless struggling to become that much more desperate, for the volume of his voice to increase so…

“KEH!” he exhales again through gritted teeth, his face flushing rapidly and… poor guy, he already has tears in his eyes.

Tama lingers just a fraction of a second longer on his toes – her nails can easily slip between them, reaching skin that was never meant to be touched – and…

“S-SHIHIT!!” tumbles out of Bakugo’s lips… giving Tama the go-ahead. And as her fingernails begin to move with practiced spit and masterful precision, the professional hero realizes he never stood a chance.

“BWHAAAAAA! BWHAHHAAHA HAHAAHA HAHAHAHA HAHAHA!! HAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAAHHAAHAH!! SHIHIHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!”

With pinpoint precision, Tama targets the top of his heel, then the base of his toes; the bottom of the ball of his foot, then the stems; the center of the arch, then the middle of the ball; the top of the ball, and between the toes. It’s an expert flurry that not even someone far less ticklish than Bakugo could resist, and with both feet at her disposal, perfectly vulnerable, she can target different spots on each foot, introducing Bakugo to a new level of hysteria.

“HAAAAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAH HAHAHAHA AHHAHAAHAHAH!! FUHAHAHAHHAHACK HAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

“Theeere we go!!” trills Tama, scratching at the pads of both big toes.

“Now that’s a happy face,” she continues, her left hand focusing on the right heel.

“Don’t you feel so much better just relaxing and laughing like this??” she questions as she slips a finger between each set of toes.

“Seriously, you’ll give yourself wrinkles if you constantly scowl!!” she advises while her right hand wreaks havoc just under the ball of his left foot.

“Happiness is a much better look on you!!” she proclaims, happily scribbling at the base of his toes.

“You are just EXPLODING with laighter!!” she quips right before all her fingernails converge right at the center of the balls of both feet, making Bakugo howl.

“FUUHUHHAHAHAHUCHK!! FUCK! FUCK! GggrrRAHAHHAHHHRRGHAAH!! Fucking stoOHOOP!! THIS IS TOHOOHOHORTURE!! AhGHAGAHGAAHAHAHAHH!!”

Tama doens’t bother pointing out that that is the point – as far as he knows. No, she just flexes every inch of her incomparable skill to make sure that she’s extracting the most distilled form of hysterical agony every second – each one of which feels like an eternity to tickle-addled Bakugo.

“Awwww, so ticklish!! Gitchy gitchy gitchy!! How about here~? Or here~? My my, you’re just a walking tickle spot, huh? Are you just soooo ticklish??? Tickle tickle!!” she teases, knowing full well that Bakugo can understand one word out of three, but her cooing tone is enough for him to realize he is being teased, and that stokes the fire of his powerless rage. He even tries to insult her through the deafening peals of laughter… too bad surge of high-pitched mirth cuts him off when she focuses on the ball of his right foot and the base of his left toes at the same time.

How deliciously he is thrashing, flushing, tearing up, laughing, laughing, laughing, hating her, but really his own off-the-charts sensitivity.

And naturally, Tama goes on teasing him. “You’re such a gigglebox!! Sooo cute!! You just gonna giggle yourself to death?? What if I get those toes, huh?? What are you gonna do then??”

Bakugo is in hell. The worst thing is that he doesn’t even care about the humiliation anymore. He just wants – NEEDS it to stop.

And she does, about ten minutes of desperate laughter later. Not because she’s taken pity on him, no. She needs his sense sharp, lest a single scratch of hers be sub-optimal. And she wants him to be able to make sense of her words.

So as the phantom tickles keep him flailing about, she reaches for the bottle and, calmly, opens the cap, squirts its content in the palm of her hand, puts it back on the table, closes it, and rubs the lotion into her palms.

By then, his laughter has tapered off into steady giggling, which is also dying down. She notices the tears in his eyes and smirks. Then, she proceedd to rub the red soles with her lathered hands.

His limp body instantly stiffens when he feels her touch – Ah, what delightful fear she’s instilled! – though he is too tired to pretend he can put up a fight, and warily lets her rub his ravaged soles, secretly relieved that her touch is dispelling the phantom tickles.

Poor guy, he has no idea how much worse this is about to get, and will keep getting. So she is extra nice with her massage, as if to make up for what she is about to do, while waiting for his sensitivity and his reactions to recover fully. How unfortunate that he has such good stamina!

“Sooo, anything you want to tell me?” she enquires.

It takes Bakugo a long time to answer. “G-get… fucked…” he repeats, his hoarse voice breaking as he’s still trying to project strength.

Tama chuckles. How delightful. But she wears her best scowl as she says, “That’s not nice at all!! I think someone owes me an apology!!”

Bakugo breathes in, then out. He sits upright, blinks off the tears to scowl at her. “Get… fucked.”

Oh, how hard she has to fight to suppress that chuckle! How thoroughly he’s taken that bait! Gobbled it right up, as soon as she lured him into a sense of self-possession, that maybe he could take this.

“Just know I won’t stop until you’re ready to apologize, ok??” she says, and then scratches.

Bakugo YELPS. As much as they’d tickled him, none of his friends had ever introduced him to baby oil. She pauses just long enough for the realization to sink in and register on his features.

Then the kiddy gloves come off.

“AGAGAGAGAGAHHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!! HAHHAHAHAHAGAGAGAGAAFFFFFFFHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAGAGAGAGAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”

The next ten minutes are unadulterated, coerced hysteria, Bakugo caught in a losing battle between his will and his body. Tama says nothing, only humming to herself. She knows the last of his defenses are coming down. But that’s no good reason to go easy on those footsies, is it?

“RRRRHAHAHAHAGAGAGAGAGHHHH!!!! HAHAHAHAHFHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! PLHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PHEHEHHHAHAHAAHHA!!!”

She focuses on his toes.

“SSSSSTHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!! GHAHAHAGHAAGAHAGHAAA!! PPLHEHEHEHEHAASEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

His arches…

“HAHHAHA!! STOHOP!! PLEHEHASE!!! STHAHAHSTAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAP!!”

Begging, uh? Oh, if he could notice… No matter, he will, later. The ball of his foot.

“FUFUFHAHAHAHAHACCKK!! PLAHAHAHA!!! STHAHAHA!!!! PLEAPLEAHAHSEPLEASEHEHEHE!!! IHAHAH!!! I’M SOHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHA!!!”

There it is. He’s cracked. Though, to be fair, he probably hasn’t even realized it.

What he does realize is that Tama won’t pause to let him apologize. After all, if he’s too sensitive to even speak, that’s not her fault, is it?

“HAHAHAHAHSSOOSOHAHAHAHAHAH!!! MMHAHAHAHAH”” I’m SOHOHAHAHAHAH---!!”

Oh, he nearly did it! How tragic he’s been consigned to the pit of silent laughter, so close to the finish line! His eyes are vacuous, incredulous, his mouth open and frozen into a manical cackle that just won’t come.

Well, if he won’t apologize, he can take more. So Tama doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent. It takes him all of 30 seconds – probably two hours in Bakugo-time – for all the words he’d been wanting to say to erupt in pitiful string. “STOPPLEASESTOPOKAYI’MSORRYI’MSORRYSTOPITSOHOHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”

How loud he is! But, always true to her word, Tama does stop.

Oh, how he instantly crumbles! Like a puppet whose strings have been cut. How he pants, like he’s just run three consecutive marathons! Beautiful. Just beautiful. “Theeere we go!! Now that wasn’t so hard!!”

She rubs his sore feet again – with more oil, of course. His crimson soles positively glisten.

Now for the offer he can’t accept. “Remind me again, where are your hero friends??”

He freezes. He’d forgotten. Ah, that surge of resolve! Now that he’s been reminded of why he has to endure, he’s somehow convinced himself he won’t falter again. She snickers. It’s too easy.

He says nothing – just stares at her defiantly, flushed though he is, tear-trails down his cheeks, soaked hair stuck to his forehead. She smiles. And grabs the brush.

And something inside Bakugo dies as he feels the bristles scratching at his right sole. “FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHACK!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!!!! HAHAHAHHA AHHAHAHAAHHA!!!”

“Ohh, what a scream!! Is this the sweet spot, right at the top?? Perfect, I’ll just keep the brush right here for a while then- no?? Ahaha! Now why would I tickle you anywhere else, when this spot makes you beg for mercy so deliciously~?”

It was a half-lie – he didn’t have the capacity to beg for mercy anymore. Or maybe he does. Well, it is gone for sure the second her free hand makes contact with his left foot, all while the scrub keeps going up and down, up and down…

No amount of screaming or crying will save Bakugo. He’s just there to take it – he can’t, yet he will.

“Wow, your soles are so red. And look at all those nail marks. That must really, really tickle, huh?? Like seriously, it looks unbearable. Good thing you have to take it and not me, huh??”

He can’t understand her, but she keeps teasing to shatter whatever spec of ego is left. She moves the brush to the other foot, but her nails aren’t deserting the first.

He just screams, and laughs, and drools, and begs. Nothing else he can do. And soon, he can’t even do that anymore. Silent laughter. The brush switches foot. Screaming, crying, drooling, begging! He doesn’t even remember what he’s supposed to say to make it stop.

It is pure self-preservation that somehow cuts through the laughter as the brush scrubs up and down his right foot, and her fingernails focus on the very center of the ball of the left. The kill. “AUGKHAHA HAHA HA HAHA HAHA! I’LL TALK!!”

She doesn’t stop.

“BFHAHAHAHA! I’LL TALK!!”

How long until he burns himself out again?

“KGAHAH! KEE! MAKE IT STAHP!! GYA!”

She doesn’t stop. But he’s running on fumes, and he can understand her again. Not for long. So she trills, “In only 30 minutes? And you were such a little toughie, too!!”

She won’t stop. She sees it in his eyes, the moment the realization hits.

“Let’s make it an even hour.”

And a second brush materializes in her free hand. Bakugo bellows – screams – groans – this can’t be happening, but it is. He’s broken, defeated. Two brushes energetically scrubbing at his feet, and having gone through all four stages of grief without any of them diminishing the torment one bit, his mind short-circuits. He’s been reduced to a machine that can do nothing but laugh.

But he doesn’t make it through the hour, no. He doesn’t even last 10 minutes after the second brush is introduced before his body surrenders. He goes limp, still twitching, breathing deeply, passed out, with the biggest cackle frozen on his face.

Tama stops. Smiles. “Until the next drawing,” she trills.

[lgwifey]

hey would you ever do a part two to delusions (robert x reader). id love to read it! x

DELUSIONS PART TWO

Robert keating x fem!hewson!reader

Summery : Y/n’s being carted away to stay with her brother and coincidentally there’s only one person in when she arrives.

Warnings : not proof read, bad spelling ✨, cringe xx

MASTERLIST

PART ONE

2023

"I'm really sorry about you award tonight, I thought your new album was defiantly better than hers, smiley face"

Y/n turned around to face Anais and Issac whilst she lounged on their sofa in their living room where she had invited herself to stay for the night since Eli was in a strop and her dad was too concerned with him to notice she'd disappeared.

"How does that sound ?"

"Maybe rephrase the last sentence ? Something which is less," Issac paused for a minute before mimicking her frequent squeal, "I've been in love with you since I was thirteen oh my gawd you're so gorgeous."  His face turned to its regular serious after the dramatic second.

"So get rid of the 'your new album was defiantly better than hers' ?"

"Maybe something like 'I'm sorry about your award tonight, maybe try being a better musician ' ?"

The Irish girl turned to Anais with a mortified expression, quickly closing her phone.

"Maybe I should just leave it ?"

"Maybe ."

"Shut up Issac, no defiantly dm him at least, like he was giving major signs tonight."

The blonde gave the younger girl a suggestive wink before laughing, causing the other two to laugh as well.

"I'm not getting my hopes up anymore, but I'll just send a normal, platonic message to him which he probably won't see but what can ye do."

"That's our girl."

Issac have a small round of applause before leaving to go to the kitchen to get a drink after having to deal with the message rehearsals. Once he left the room, Anais made her way over to Y/n with a grin on her lips.

"What about a little snap, like just with a bra in the background ?"

Once again, y/n looked at her with a look of horror.

"My brother is with him !"

Y/n dragged her suitcases to the front of the terrace house, a glare to her dad who stood beside her. He knocked on the bright door whilst she gave another complaining huff.

“Look you don’t want to stay at your granny’s and your ma isn’t dealing with you by herself for three months so Elijah is the last option y/n. Trust me it took a while for him to agree to it.”

“I’m 21 and being babysat by my brother. Are you even able to comprehend how sexist that it. He was touring without anyone at 20 !”

“That’s different.”

Y/n just gawped in shock before letting out a very unusual noise that resembled something between a scoff and a choke.

Before her dad could say anything else, the door was swung open and none of the than Robert Keating stood there with wet curls and a towel wrapped around his waist.

Y/n flushed bright pink, immediately turning to look in the opposite direction, noticing the neighbours had a camera pointing at her as she did so.

“Oh sorry, thought yous where coming over tomorrow.”

“We where but plans changed, I texted Eli?”

“Oh the other three have been out all night, they ended up staying at some hotel I think.”

Y/n looked back to where the semi-naked 23 year old was stood, trying to make it look like she wasn’t overly fussed by his presence.

“Will you two be ok if I just leave her here, I’m already running behind.”

He looked over to where the younger girl stood staring intently at the wall next to him and let out a small smirk, barely noticeable since y/n had lost most of her vision from eye strain and Bono was busy with tour plans on his phone.

“Ai yeah, that’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“Thanks Bobby, I’l see you in a few months y/n, yeah ?”

She just behave a nod before pulling up her suitcases’ handles. As she went to pick up her duffle off the floor, another hand met hers, a slightly bigger and callous one. She looked up to meet the bright blue eyes of Inhaler’s bassist and hugely her face go even redder.

“Urm…”

“Don’t worry love, I think I can handle a bag for you.”

He gave her a smile again and she knew if Anais was here she’d be eating up every second of this like Corrie.

[thesiltverses]

I wanted to let you guys know how important this story has become to me in light of the war in Israel. There’s no way you could have intended this, but your meditations on the callous disregard for human life in favor of capitol and the way governments side with power over their people are hitting me so hard it’s unreal. Carpenter in this recent episode worrying about the idea that people are just people who still choose to ignore and perpetuate horror made me legitimately tear up.

Thank you very much - that's really kind of you and it genuinely means so much to hear it.

Yeah, that line really whacked me back in the face when I was working on the sound design, too. (It really helps that Méabh so magnificently captures the quiet, angry, wondering humanity of Carpenter so well in that moment.)

It's a very minor thing in the wider context, but it's been swimming in my head all day and all night; yesterday we had the Prime Minister of the UK briefing to the press that it is inherently "provocative and disrespectful" for people to march through London for a ceasefire in Palestine during WWI's Armistice Day next weekend - because the "sanctity of the day" must be protected.

On one hand, that feels a breathtakingly obvious and cynical strategy to defame, misrepresent and (I think crucially) exogenise dissent against the government's foreign policy.

But it also feels, in a way that I hope we've always been clearly trying to yell about with TSV, like a real symptom of how deeply fucked-up our country's narrative-building around itself truly is; the bewilderingly successful extent to which strong, emotive, reassuring stories delivered from positions of authority continue to be used as a cover for base hypocrisies, inhuman cruelties, and selfish interests.

And the invocation of "sanctity of the day" to mean "pure and unchallengeable supremacy of a century-old war in our hearts, minds, and newspapers" really speaks to that. (I guess it feels like an inverted version of that Dr Strangelove quote, doesn't it? 'Gentlemen, you can't fight in here, this is the War Room.' / 'Armistice Day is no time to call for peace.')

Our media and political classes can lead a call to worship the 110-year-old icon of peace, the half-fled and semi-religious memory of it and the comforting traditions and rituals surrounding it-

-and they can use that icon, in turn, as a weapon to condemn hundreds of thousands of their own citizens from all faiths and all backgrounds who are marching for peace right now (while continuing to ignore the three-quarters of the population who want them to call for a ceasefire).

They can use that icon of peace to callously dismiss the lives and livelihoods of Palestinians suffering right now under a brutal succession of atrocities, and to downplay Western complicity right now in allowing those atrocities to continue unchecked, all in favour of the reassuring idea of showing respect for and paying silent obeisance to a ghostly Tommy soldier in a Brodie helmet with a plastic poppy tucked into his lapel.

A man who was sacrificed, and who must be forever remembered for his sacrifice.

If the superstructure is big and loud and hungry enough, maybe we won't pay too much attention to the screams coming from the base.

Anyway, to find a grace note - we know that we're writing often quite bleak and cruel stuff at a very bleak and cruel time. And while we of course didn't intend a direct comparison to current-day events, it really means a huge amount to hear that someone's finding it meaningful rather than, as we often fear, just too much of reality. So thank you again very much.