#*​frantically scrambling* does any of this make sense so far???

[flowercrowngods]

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

part 1 / 7 | or: read on ao3

The fog rolls in like a heavy cloud that morning, leaving the city in eerie darkness as Steve hurries toward the heavy door to the steel manufactory, scarf wound tightly around his neck to keep out the cold so uncommon for late September.

“Thanks,” he mutters to the gruff, broad man who holds open the door for him. He sees him every morning but has never had the chance to ask about his name. The question is on the tip of his tongue when, with a nod and a touch to his sturdy-looking hat, the man walks down a different corridor than Steve.

Where outside the fog was so thick that all noise seemed dulled, like cotton in his ears, the manufactory is a cacophony of banging and clanging, hissing and whirring, and Steve needs a moment to breathe the polluted, heavy air that’s always just a tad too hot for his lungs.

He doesn’t mind the work, is good with his hands and enjoys the single-minded focus it provides on a good day, the deafening noise loud enough to drown out most of the comments the other workers throw his way; comments about his father, his upbringing, and his rather sudden downfall when Richard D. Harrington decided to disown his eldest son three years ago without rhyme or reason.

Steelwork, engineering, intricate cogs that work massive machinery — they fascinate him, they keep him busy fourteen hours a day, and they leave him dead to the world when the shift is over and graciously let him sleep through the dreams that have been haunting him ever since he can remember being haunted.

It’s always the same dream, in the fall more than in the spring. A lighthouse trapped in the sea, waves rolling and crashing, water rising so high that it might as well swallow the lighthouse whole. And through it all, a beacon. And through it all, a voice he cannot make out. And through it all, a ticking that echoes through his skull even long after he gasped awake with a lungful of water that Robin says might be Tuberculosis.

He blinks away the gloom that has laid over his heart like the fog over the city, shakes off the trancelike feeling that overtakes him every time he tries to think about the lighthouse when he is wide awake, and rubs away the headache that comes with sleep deprivation. It’s fall again, which means he spends his nights haunted by ghostly images of a lighthouse he’s not even sure exists, robbed of all chances at resting if he doesn’t work himself to the point of absolute exhaustion.

They are earlier this year, the night terrors. Everything is a little earlier this year.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder as Emerson arrives behind him, leading him to their station with idle chatter about the weather and the horrible, horrible fog that Steve has not the patience to partake in today — which is just as well for Emerson and his sunny disposition, he’ll simply talk enough for the both of them. Steve is fond enough of him to let him be as he falls into the routine of working steel and breathing overheated, coal-stained air.

They work in unison until noon, the headache dull enough as long as he keeps busy, but almost blinding when he stops for even a second. A booming voice makes him look up from his station, though, as he is being summoned to the office.

It’s never a good sign, and Steve can feel the blood draining from his face, pulling the ache with it as it travels down his spine and settles in his centre in a pit of nausea.

“Oh no,” Emerson murmurs under his breath, even managing to sound genuine about it. “What did you do?”

Images assault his mind. Prison, if he’s lucky. Asylum and electroshock therapy if he’s not; if his father changed his mind about making it public that his eldest son and heir deserves punishment, or treatment for moral insanity. Steve tries not to think of that too often, tries not to look at men like that anymore — tries not to look at anyone anymore until the public forgets about him.

But every time he is reminded that he exists is another time of fear. Fear of being found out.

“I… have no idea,” Steve says after a while, looking up to where the door to the office looms above all of them, leaving them to feel like prisoners in a panopticon.

“Better not keep ‘em waiting, then. Probably too late to run, eh?”

“Probably,” Steve says, dazed, not really listening to Emerson as he kicks into motion and walks briskly up the stairs, pretending not to feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

It is out of a nervous habit that he pulls the watch from his pocket, its silver chain linked to his vest. It springs open in his hands as he takes the steps one by one, providing comfort for no reason other than it’s his. It doesn’t show the time, never has, but after losing everything at his father’s whim, the pocket watch stayed with him.

“Keep it,” Richard had sneered. “The blasted thing isn’t worth a penny!”

The fingers only ever moved incrementally over the years, and backwards, but still there is something about the watch that makes him keep it close at all times. Collecting himself, he closes his hand around the light metal and filigree ornaments and mentally counts to three before putting it back in his pocket and knocking on the door.

“Ah, Harrington,” the superior manager says, his voice sounding like gravel as per usual. The man has a habit of competing with the steel manufactory’s chimneys, only he smokes cigars instead of coal dust like his workers. Steve remembers the smell of fine cigars, and this office smells like the best among them.

It only helps to strengthen his disdain for the man.

Still he nods and aims for a pleasant smile. “You asked for me, sir?”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, leaning back in his thick leather chair and motioning for Steve to take a seat at the sturdy, delicately engraved mahogany desk. “Sit down, sit down, time is money and I give you more of that than you deserve anyway. I have a proposition for you and you are in no position to decline, yes?”

“Yes?” Steve says dumbly, taking his time to sit down just to spite him.

The man, however, is not as easily perturbed. “That’s what I want to hear, I have to admire your morale, Harrington. Here,” he turns and reaches for a cabinet, rummaging around for a minute before—

The blood in Steve’s veins freezes, leaving him cold and too hot all at once.

Underneath the beefy hand, he makes out a photograph — or possibly a postcard — showing a stark white lighthouse trapped in the sea, gigantic waves crashing into it, threatening to tear it down and carry it along to wherever the tides lead. The beacon of light is steadfast and stubborn, guiding and pointing at something that’s out of the frame, but what Steve can only assume is absolute nothingness out in the open sea.

He slides it over the table to lie in front of Steve, and he fights every urge to recoil, only gripping the arm rest far too tightly.

“See, we got a telegram earlier today that they’re having problems with the lighthouse up north. They say it’s something with the generator, not fit enough to last in the cold, where the air is made of saltwater more than oxygen.”

Steve nods, though he is only halfway listening, his heart hammering in his chest at the picture of the lighthouse, etched onto the paper like it has no idea it is also etched on the very forefront of Steve’s mind — has been, for almost three decades now.

“And since you’re the only one here traditionally educated in reading and writing,” the man continues, either unaware of Steve’s dizziness or delighting in it, “and you know your way around a machine or two, fixing the generator and handling the light shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even an offer.

Steve wonders if maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head, if maybe the sleep deprivation is finally leading to hallucinations like Robin keeps warning him.

“You want me to fix the lighthouse?”

“That is precisely what I want, yes. Stay there a while, find out what seems to be the problem.”

He’s getting up, walking over to a cabinet, pulling out a half-empty bottle of what Steve can only assume is whisky. A biting, earthy smell floats through the room, thick enough to cling to his clothes if he stays here much longer.

“You’ll find yourself familiar with the equipment, as it is us who supply them. In fact, you have built generators and fixtures and engines like that. You’re a bright spark, Harrington, I can admit that. You’re the best fit. And I’m not asking.”

His jaw clicks shut, his hands clenched into fists beneath the table as he meets those dark eyes head-on.

“When do I leave?”

An ugly grin spreads the man’s face, gaining too much joy from other people’s powerlessness down the food chain.

“Tomorrow. If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you do not have much business to attend to, and even fewer things to pack. I trust you will find your place at the train station at five tomorrow morning. Emerson will know to fill your shoes in your absence.”

How long will I be gone? he wants to ask, but is too afraid that the answer will only be another cruel smirk and a sip of whisky.

He gets up, certain that he is being dismissed, and getting no sign that he’s wrong.

“Oh, and Harrington.” He stops with his hand on the door already. “Perhaps this is a good time to mention that the lighthouse is without a keeper. I have offered your services for the time being, seeing as you will already be there. The salary, of course, will be thrice as much as your usual.”

The daze is back, smelling of saltwater air and whisky, rushing in his ears like waves bursting on the cliffs.

“What happened to the old keepers?” he dares to ask.

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it does. What happened to the old keepers?”

“I think you shall find out soon enough.” A beat of silence — horrible, tidal silence. Then, “You’re dismissed.”

***

The train ride is blessedly pleasant, the first class ticket providing the luxury of comfortable seating and relative silence, the wheels occasionally clicking along the railway loud enough to drown out the near-deafening rushing of the ocean in his ears — or perhaps it’s not the ocean, perhaps it is his own blood, pumped with fear and apprehension.

The only upside to all of this is the telegram he’s been gripping tightly all morning so as not to lose it, not to forget about it, not to think it was a dream. A childish, hopeless dream, a longing for company to battle the fear of the dark.

I’ll meet you there. 3 days.

Signed: Robin Buckley. She never took his name, said she did not want to be associated with Richard and the Harrington wealth that came with the Napoleonic wars — never mind that they happened almost a century ago.

Blood money isn’t wealth, Steven, she’d said to him on many occasions, and he loved her for it all the more.

Maybe it will be fine if Robin is there with him. Maybe they won’t end up succumbing to madness like people are wont to do, subjected to the endless loneliness of lighthouse keeping. Confronted with a darkness so deep it needs human invention to remain habitable. Maybe, he wonders idly and with shortness of breath, the world will end if all its lights are gone. Maybe all that will remain is nothingness and the ruthless sea — maybe, until the sun rises again and the light returns. But up north, the sun doesn’t stay all that long. Up north, they say the darkness is different. They say it’s sentient. They say—

A servant offers him some tea or coffee if he pleases, ripping hit out of his obsessive spiral of apprehension and fear.

“Yes, thank you,” he breathes, miming quiet politeness to cover up the lack of air in his lungs. The servant nods, not at all perturbed by Steve’s rather horrific disposition, and moves along.

The tea helps a little. It’s hard to think horrible thoughts when there is a steaming cup in your hands smelling comfortingly of herbs and just a hint at something spicy. It feels almost primal, his fear of the lighthouse — but just as primal is the comfort he finds in the warmth spreading from his hands all the way through his body. The shaking stops after a minute, and breath has returned to his lungs in a way that doesn’t leave him scared to let it out.

It will be fine. The sea will lose its terror, and so will darkness. He will read, and fix what needs to be fixed, and laugh at it all with Robin by his side, who will teach him about birds they will never see, about authors that don’t live anymore, and about the stars they get to watch.

It will be fine. He will be fine. Always, with Robin.

***

He arrives at the seaside town just before nightfall, and the first thing he notices is not the rushing of the ocean, but the crispness of the air that feels vastly different in his lungs to the grey and brown, polluted city air. It’s like he’s a babe taking his first breath in this world; and just like a babe, he is overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, only pinches the bridge of his nose and grabs his bags — two of them, filled only with clothes and books to pass the time.

The walk to the next inn is a long one, and by the time he arrives there — guttural laughter coming even through closed doors and windows — he is frozen to his bones. If he’d thought that fall was quick to arrive in the city, he might as well have entered an arctic winter up here. The half suspects, though, that the cold comes from his empty stomach and the bitterness that replaced the fear just as well as the actual, biting cold.

And to think it’s only just early September.

He pushes the door open and finds it blissfully warm, a large fire roaring in the fireplace and in the hearth, leaving the food steaming on the plates. Silence settles almost immediately, and Steve freezes on the spot. Being perceived in a situation he has no control over has never been his strong suit, and he wonders just what these people have heard about him. If they heard anything at all.

“Come in or get out, but leave the cold out there,” a large lady says from behind the bar, an apron wrapped around her skirt and a towel in her hand as she eyes him with wary but not unkind eyes.

“Forgive me,” Steve says, stepping further into the inn and letting the heavy door fall shut behind him.

“Ahh,” someone says from where he’s sitting on a round table with six other, quite burly men. Fishermen, Steve assumes, or harbour workers, if their sun-tanned skin and general muscular build are any indication. He places his jug of beer on the table and eyes Steve rather closely. “You’re the boy they sent. Who will fix the lighthouse, aye?”

“Aye,” Steve says stupidly, internally cringing at himself. Then, turning towards the woman, “Have you a room to spare?”

“Have you money to spare?” she retorts, clearly mocking him for his odd choice of words — it’s hard, laying down his aristocratic upbringing, especially in a town auch as this.

“Of course,” he says. “For food, drink, and someone to bring me to the lighthouse in three days.”

Another man of the group snorts loudly, shaking his head and studying his ale like it would tell him the future.

“No way, boy. Ain’t no one gettin’ close to that thing.”

“She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close. ‘S what lighthouses are for, eh? No getting too close. You get too close, you die. Simple as that.”

Steve takes it in, the pale faces of the men all nodding along, the thousand yard stares they all have in common — and his fear is back. But greater than his fear is his annoyance with men who insist on calling him boy and decide to speak in riddles instead of making sense.

“Haunted?” he asks, taking one of two spare seats at the table, nodding at the woman in thanks as she brings him an ale that only barely smells like piss. “How?”

“Haven’t you heard?” a fourth man, the oldest of them, speaks up. “There’s a curse on the lighthouse. No one gets out alive. We only ever bring her new stock, like cattle to the slaughterhouse. She takes. She takes and takes, boy.”

“So you do bring them,” Steve points out, far too tired and irritated to listen to a ghost story before he’s even had a proper, warm dinner.

The men still, and Steve places a tower of money in the centre of the table.

“It’s yours,” he says, looking at each of them, one after the other, “if you take us there in three days. Four, if the weather decides to play.”

“Us?”

“My wife,” Steve says.

“Fine,” one of them, the one who first spoke to him, grumbles, reaching for the money. “Now go. This table is for grownups, boy.”

With an eye-roll and an air of arrogance, Steve gets up and finds a seat at another table closer to the fireplace. Soon after, fresh stew is placed before him and he dives in.

***

The lighthouse towers on top of the cliffs and Steve watches, mesmerised, as he makes out its shape even in the pitch black darkness. It’s eerie, the power it emanates, the myths and legends that weave around it and its kind. Legends that would be fascinating learning about them in the safety of one’s bed, but which are horrifying to remember days before the nameless fates could be one’s own.

The darkness of the night really is endless here without the lights of the city, and he can only imagine how the lighthouse would help, how it would bring back hope and security, a promise of safe passage. It’s brings him a sort of peace; a purpose, imagining this town in the lighthouse’s beacon. Safe for the night, safe until the sun comes back.

Still it doesn’t ease his night terrors, filled with whispers as they are, growing in urgency and almost clear enough to make out.

Three days pass. Four. Five. There is no sign of Robin. Anxiety grows within him, because Steve knows Robin was going to take the seaside route from the Cunningham estate — well, one of them, at least.

She has a mind of her own. She takes and takes, boy. She’s haunted. Has a mind and a life of her own, and she’s made it clear that no one is welcome to get too close.

What if…

No. No, there is simply no way. Haunted lighthouses taking lives. There’s no— no way. He won’t fall for their ghost stories.

Unfortunately, however, they don’t fall for his charm either, and on the seventh day, when the sea is calm and the sun steady above them, the man who took they money — Old John, apparently — approaches him.

“We’re leaving now,” he says, shoving Steve ahead of him, deaf to his protest that they have to wait, they have to wait. “Your sweetheart ain’t coming, kid. Don’t think she’ll be coming anywhere ever again if she really took the ship. They talk of a ship that got lost in the storm, burst on the cliffs because there was no light. I’m sorry, kid, but I won’t risk waiting any longer.”

A ship lost in the storm?

But… No. No!

“No,” he whispers, letting himself be shoved onto a tiny boat and rocked this way and that, feeling nauseous for more reasons than one.

He’s wrong, Steve knows; feels it in his very soul. Robin is not dead. She’ll come.

She… She will come. She won’t leave him alone, all alone, in this place that has been haunting him for years and years.

She’ll come.

The lighthouse towers above them, perched on top of cliffs that make Steve understand why nobody wanted take him here. There’s no safe way of getting close, let alone climbing up the stairs carved into the cliffs, leading up to the door with no railing, no rope to hold onto. One large wave crashing into him, and he’d belong to the ocean.

He wants to cry again. Wants to curl in on himself and weep as the reality of everything begins to settle in the deepest, darkest places of his heart.

If he leaves the boat, he’ll be trapped with no way of getting out, no way of contacting the land they’ve left far, far behind. Supplies are said to last several months, he knows, he studied the file he got. Several months without human interaction unless Robin magically, wonderfully appears in a few days after all.

“Good luck, kid,” is the last thing he’ll ever hear of Old John as he pulls himself onto the cliffs, reaching for his bags from the old man’s hands. The sea is deafening here as waves crash and burst relentlessly, and he can’t hear what else Old John is saying, but he thanks him and salutes, which the seaman returns with an air of melancholy.

Steve climbs the stairs, soaked to the bones by the splashing water, but somehow — miraculously — malign his way up. As he turns around, fog is starting to gather above the water, but he can make out the tiny silhouette of the boat.

He watches, and it’s meant as a last goodbye, one last glance at his one way out. But terror fills him as he watches, helplessly, powerlessly, as Old John’s boat keels over and disappears. He keeps his eyes fixed to the spot, not daring to look away until there’s proof of life. But Old John doesn’t break the surface again.

And Steve is left filled with horror and the absolute certainty that he might not make it out if he sets foot inside the lighthouse.

Behind him, the door opens with a horrible, terrifying creak, and the beating of his heart is too loud for any other noise to exist in Steve’s world right now.

🌊 part 2 (coming 26 October)

tagging (trading tags for kindness): @klausinamarink @vampeddie @steviesummer @sharpbutsoft @auroraplume

#steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #spooky lighthouse au #dio words #this is so long i’m so sorry 😭😭 i’ll try not to let the other parts be so extensive with exposition hdhdh #it will go up on ao3 when i’ve had the time to proofread this but as things are rn we just fuck around and ignore typos #*​frantically scrambling* does any of this make sense so far???

[cmyk-anaglyph-honeycomb]

Hazbin Hotel Episode 3 & 4 Opinions and Story logic (mostly)

(ignore any typos, it's 3 min til midnight and I have a con in the morning and was at one all day, i'm not reading through this)

(Episode 3: Scrambled Eggs)

It’s weird to me that Vaggie wants to get rid of the egg bois cuz like??? Are they not also sinners that need redemption? Don’t they need to be saved too? The problem was that they kept building weapons that Sir Pen told them to make. They just needed something else to do, like idk, act as staff for the hotel. They can build, so maybe they can fix the hotel up a bit more.

I get it was just so one of them could spy for Alastor, but like, just have one follow him randomly. That isn’t out of character considering the eggs don’t have one.

It doesn’t make sense to me that Vaggie is so broken up by not getting the hotel guess to bond with each other. I get that she feel like she’s failing Charlie, but like, Charlie has accomplished literally nothing up at this point.

Yeah, so far there’s only 4 episodes, and the most Charlies done in all of them is get the exterminations moved up to every six mouths and fuck over Angel majorly ( I'm soft-balling that right now).

Like she signs a random paper without reading it, which, like girl, you are the daughter of the devil, there is now way she doesn’t know about the importance of contracts. Not only that it absolute FUCKS OVER everyone in hell. And it’s just brushed off??? Like no?

The exterminations is a big deal to all sinners, no matter the rank. Even if no one else knows what she did, Charlie should be more effected by this. The contract thing should have happened mid season or at the end, with her becoming more frantic to prove that her idea work so she can save sinners. But instead its treated like an oopies and she does trust falls and bond activities as if that’s going to make anyone a better person. Them liking each other doesn’t redeem them of anything.

*episode 3…im talking about that…*

Its my favorite so far. I like Zestail, Carmillia, Velvette and that dino lady are my favorite characters. Genuinely surprised I haven’t heard more about Respectless because it is my favorite song. (But it did come out next of ep 4, so it make sense.)

I hope Carmillia’s daughters are adopted or where her kids in life cuz the idea that the sinners can have kids are stuck in hell like the imps is messed up.

I’m glad Velvette gets development in this episode. I was worried that she’d just be the woman (tm) character of the Vees and be pushed to the side, so I was happy to see her upfront so soon. She’s now my favorite of the three, sorry Vox. I also like that her hair style keeps changing, that’s a nice touch for the fashion oriented one of the Vees.

The hotel gang going to the bondage…idk what to call it..Club felt like a waste of time. It was there for a joke and that’s it. Then Vaggie takes them to a city war zone and throws Pen and Angel off the building while Husk sneaks away.

Admittedly Husk sneaking off was funny to me, but like why would Vaggie think this would make them trust each other. Angel has a mafia background and family. Best bet he’s had to get into a few fights with them, and if I’m remembering lore correctly, he hates most to all of his family but okay.

At this point I’m genuinely curious how this show is going to develop Charlie’s redemption plan, because everything we’ve shown them try has failed and been show to clearly leading to fail. I have a feeling that he show isn’t going to have an ending, its just going to end. Like, nothing regarding the redemption plot line had made a single step forward. There’s just one more of them not, that’s it.

The second song doesn’t feel earned from Vaggie’s side.

Conclusion: This one is the best so far. It being mostly away from the main cast is not a good sign but it’s only number 3.

(Episode 4: Masquerade)

*gestures to that hot fucking mess* I’m not touching most of it. If you’re reading this them you’ve probably seen better points than I can provide. So I’m just going working on the logic within the story.

Personally, I think the visuals are a little too much, and I can understand where it goes way to far for a lot of people. I’d like to note that while Helluva Boss has a working screen on every single episode this has jack shit which was a huge fuck up in my opinion. I don’t care what the shows rating is, adult content and sensitive content are two different things and need to be treated as such.

Any media that handles SA, SH or abuse needs a huge label like those FBI no pirating screens from back in the day. I am not joking.

*shit I toughed it moving back a bit*

Okay, so why did Charlie goes to Angel’s job KNOWING he was in the middle of working. Like she knows he makes porn. The episode starts with the hotel gang watching one and her being visible uncomfortable. Why would she go there? And not like, wait outside or something? (she was uncomfortable at the bondage place why wouldn’t that be any different here?)

Charlie not picking up how upset Angel was that she showed up to his job THE FIRST time is child levels of ignorance. Even without the seriousness of what was really happening, that was infuriating to watch. I get that she’s supposed to have rose tinted glasses but those things are opaque. By this point all of her ‘accomplishments’ have been fucking people over majorly. She is a hindrance to those around her and it is hard to watch.

*skirting around the trash fire a little bit more.*

( I’m not trying to make a joke about this but like, I don’t know how to express how fucking yikes this episode is. Like it’s such an uncomfortable topic and it’s fumbled so hard. And then for Viz to turn around and argue about it on twitter and shit, like come on.)

Husk and Angel arguing doesn’t make sense to me. Husk says doesn’t like Angel cuz he’s fake, ignoring that it’ coping, shouldn’t Husk’s reasoning that Angel makes him uncomfortable. He is clearly shown being bothered by Angel’s aggressive flirty and sex talk. Him being ‘fake’ comes out of nowhere. As does them fighting.

Three minutes in, Angel gets pissed at Husk dismissing his porno. Flirts with him when Husk reveals he knows about the other hotel gangs’ insecurities and secrets. Then gets pissy again when Husk does the same to him. If Angel is short with Husk this episode because of Val, then let that be that, but the back and forth is jarring.

Charlie being the one to go after Angel an comfort him would have been the one good thing she could have done in the show cuz to be honest she as done nothing but ruin things for everyone at this point.

The loser song happening IMMEDIATELY after Angel’s emotional moment is a gut punch. Like WTF. I could not imagine being on the production team, seeing this shit and not saying something. Like there’s not scene cut to Charlie writing those (pointless) letters, her talking to Vaggie about how she messed up, nothing.

Angel has his break down and Husk seconds later is singing about how shit sucks and he’s a loser. Without the context, that’s bad. With the context, it’s horrific.

Husk had/has a gambling addiction. Not to downplay that or invalidate anyone who has/is going through that but it is not the same as SA. Especially as Husk isn’t going through his problems right now while Angel had to go through it…what an hour before, two maybe. For a prolong period of time and has to go back to that.

Husk is talking about his problem in the past tense. Besides the Alastor thing, it’s behind him. Angel’s problem is in the present and future. And that’s not taking into account the guy at the bar who was going to drug him. Who Angel was going to let drug him.

I could not imagine being on the production team, seeing the script for this and not immediately being like, no. This show is making miss Helluva Boss I am not joking.

Positives: The song Poison is good. Just listen to the audio and nothing else and its great. Val’s coat being moth wings was neat to see (especially if you ignore everything that happiness before and after that one still shot). I like Valentino’s design. I’ve no people have a problem with his voice, but personally I don’t mind it.

Conclusion: I have mixed feeling on the aftermath of the episode. Acting like the problem is solved and not addressing it won’t treat the SA plot-line with the seriousness it deserves. On the other hand, I do not want to the show to touch anything like this again. If it just leaves it here, then at least its only the one episode instead of more.

Ignoring Viz’s response to criticism over this, the executives and people with money have likely seen this shit blow up, and if anything, might not be willing to let the show go near something like this again. Which, in my opinion, is the best option. I do not trust this show to do it well, so it might as well not do it at all.

I am going to keep watching, cuz, like Helluva Boss, I want to see how this turns out. I don’t have hope for the show, but I am curious.

Overall, I hope ep 4 will be a good example of what not to do for any media hoping to cover SA in one way or another.

If anyone want to talk with me about the show send me a message and tumblr mobile and social anxiety willing, I'll be able to get back to you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #one of mine #2 cents

[try-set-me-on-fire]

oooooooooh both the proposal snippet and the s7 fight snippet look SO freaking good. i know they’re probably both gonna break my heart a little bit, but you just do it so well that i can’t even be upset about it. what a gift for my day today. can’t wait to read the rest!!!

Hehehe. Here’s Buck drowning

“Alright,” Buck calls, voice getting hoarse from yelling to be heard over the roar of the water. “Let’s h-“

Something heavy slams directly into the center of his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs and any hope of finishing the sentence with it. He’s submerged immediately, and the impact was strong enough to make him lose his grip on the rope stretched across the river. Even with no air and who knows how far underwater he doesn’t panic, because he has the secondary line tethering him to the guide rope, he just has to wait for it to snap tight and follow it back to the surface.

The tug does not come.

He’s tumbling, no way of knowing which way is up, current too strong to fight against in any direction anyway. The only location marker he has is when everything gets dark. He must have reached the tunnel entrance already. He lashes out, trying to find the edge of it. Not that that would really help, he still wouldn’t be able to pull himself back out the entrance. Fuck. Panic starts to creep in. 40 yards. On a good day, with a lungful of air, he could do it easy. But he’s already half exhausted from the rescue and he certainly doesn’t have full lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Eddie was a foot away, Buck can’t believe this is happening again, he wants to scream but that would waste what little oxygen he has. He might be crying but there’s no way to tell in the dirty floodwater of the LA river. He doesn’t want to go like this, he doesn’t want Eddie to have seen it, to live the rest of his life guilty. His chest is starting to burn. He doesn’t want to go at all, he doesn’t want to die, not when he hasn’t made Eddie laugh again yet, it’s not fair, he just needs a little more time, they’ll be okay if they just have a little more time, fuck they’ll be so good together, he can’t die now, and he’s getting dizzy but he can’t die now, because he hasn’t told Eddie how beautiful his cheeks are and how nice his laugh is and how his sleepy face in the morning makes Buck want to cry because it’s too soft and vulnerable to be seen by anybody but he trusts Buck with it anyway and Buck just wants him to be safe forever and he’s seeing black spots now and he can’t really feel the cold bite of the water anymore and he needs to remind Eddie about signing the permission slip paper he forgot about in the glove compartment of the truck and he needs to- he needs to- come on Buckley you talk too much even in your head, are you really going to die in the middle of a

Pressure, on his chest, and then his face.

Again.

And again, and then his chest is spasming and gently frantic hands are turning him on his side as he vomits up water. Coughs up? He’s not sure if he’s expelling liquid form his lungs or his gut, it all burns either way. As he chokes on bile and gasps in oxygen in alternating turns other senses start to come back online. He’s fucking freezing, his chest hurts most but there other aches and pains all over his body. He’s soaked to the bone, obviously. And there’s a warmth, a weight above him, noisy exhales. Eddie. Bent over him like his body is a shield, making sounds that might be sobs even if they sound like relief. Buck’s body is clumsy, muscles not quite listening to him, but he scrambles a hand up best he can to tangle it in Eddie’s water rescue gear as he keeps coughing. There’s a pressure- Eddie’s hand, on the back of his skull, just holding on. Then more sounds, voices.

“-hear me?” Hen, somewhere nearby. “Buck, can you-“

“Yeah,” Buck gets out, though it sounds mostly like a groan. Eddie gasps, and there’s light as he sits up and Buck is no longer cradled beneath him. Buck’s fingers are still hooked on the fabric of Eddie’s suit so his arm follows him up, turning his body skywards with the motion. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the images going from his eyeballs to his brain. Then he wishes things were a little blurrier again because the full force of Eddie’s distraught face has always been awful to behold. “E-Eds-“

Eddie is moving, grabbing a flashlight and waving it across Buck’s eyes. He tries not to flinch at how bright it is. “Pupils equal and- and-“ Eddie’s face crumples and rebuilds itself in the span of a second, and he clears his throat. “Pupils equal and reactive. “Do you know what day it is? Where you are?”

“W- Wednesday.” His words are still a little slurred and he sounds like he’s been eating gravel. He takes a breath as he glances around. Mud, dirt, scrub, concrete. When he tilts his head back he can see the bridge with the tunnel a little ways away. Fuck. “River. We were… doing a rescue.”

Crumple, rebuild. Eddie looks away from his face and over his body, hands following the trail of his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Buck takes inventory as best as he can. Chest fucking hurts but he doesn’t think anything is broken. He wonders what hit him. He wiggles his fingers and toes, all good there. He’s cold. His head hurts but he doesn’t think it's because he hit it on anything. “M’alright.” He curls a little, trying to sit up.

“Careful, hey, easy.” Chimney. Is everybody here? Chim and Hen on either side of him help get him upright, Eddie kneeling in front of him with his mouth set in a crooked line. “Jesus, Buckaroo, only your luck…”

“What’appened?” He keeps looking at Eddie, and when they make eye contact Eddie crumples again, and it takes longer to put up scaffolding this time. Buck wants to reach out to him but exhaustion has slammed into his limbs like a train. Or a large piece of debris floating in a river, he supposes.

“Something hit you, broke your line,” Hen says, quiet and concerned. “You were gone so quick-“

Eddie makes a desperate little sound, face shattering entirely, and then his hands are on either side of Buck’s face and he’s being kissed. It only lasts a second or two, though Buck feels Chim’s hand around his arm tighten in surprise, and then Eddie sits back on his heels and pats his gear like he’s looking for something, a transparent attempt to pretend that didn’t happen. “Sorry.”

“Eddie,” Buck rasps, ignoring the eye contact he’s sure Hen and Chim are making over his head.

Eddie shakes his head, once, and then harder a second time. “I’m sorry,” he gets out, voice tight, a hand half reaching for Buck but stopping midair.

“Baby,” Buck says quietly, reaching out to close the distance, “I’m okay.”

#he’s okay :) #wip #i like how i set out to write this fic about them fighting and then skipped all that and put Buck in the meat grinder again. ah well #they’ll argue a lot too dont you worry #asked and answered

[rustycopper4use]

It’s Always Been You pt14

(Kyoya x Male Reader)

Chapter fourteen

-The Refreshing Battle Of Karuizawa!-

   The morning sun peeks throughout the kitchen, the floor reflecting off the light. the cool tiles sending shivers down Y/n’s back. 

   A cup in hand  he heads to the counter, and sits on the sliver stool.  

   For the last few days during summer break has been a drag. he has been working damage control ever since the newspaper incident. He felt guilty about hiding his involvement with a host club, but it was for the best.

   he was able to convince his mom it was all just a misunderstanding. couldn’t even remember the conversation itself, just ended up blanking out and spitting quick answers.

   But still, she wasn’t convinced but she let it go, she’ll definitely bring it up later down the road.

   However, now she’s back to nitpicking his every move. Least to say he was beyond exhausted, a miracle he hasn’t dropped dead. 

  Now here he sits barely functioning, a husk of the little glory he once was.

  Clutching his abomination of a drink. The now cold cup sat there and he just stared at the bottom of the cup, the cup seemly staring back. 

  Maybe he does need to take a break .

He would now have the time to himself-…

 Dudu du du~ 

His phone lit up.

Of course it would be Tamaki, before he answered he made himself another cup,

   He picked up his phone, answered and put in back on the counter.

 “SHE’S GONE!” Tamaki screeched. Making Y/n jump scrambling to lower the volume.

  “My beloved daughter has vanished off the face of the earth! She must’ve been kidnapped by a group of criminals! 

 I just know it! Contact the police! We have to request an emergency deployment of the S.D.F!” Tamaki rambled, pulling at strings.

    Y/n sighed already feeling the headache. Then takes another swig of his drink.

 “Wait slow down, you’re not making any sense. What?” The twins spoke.

   “What do you mean Haruhi’s gone?” 

“Haruhi went missing! And her family must’ve gone bankrupt!” Tamaki frantically tried to explain.

   “That must be the only explanation! I have tried calling her home phone and no one has answered.”

   “Boss please not so loud. Did you tried calling her cell?” Hikaru grumbled.

    “Cell phone! Why on earth would she have a cell phone!” He yelled, before taking a deep breath.

    “Of course, she was issued one by a secret underground network of commoners known as the Phebeian Exchange.” He genuinely believed. 

   “Tamaki how did you make it this far? You can’t really think that’s what happened.”  Y/n finally joined in, taking a sip.

  “Sorry to interrupt your delusion but, Haruhi is currently in Karuizawa.” Kyoya informed.

 “Eh? Haruhi was turned out of her home, kidnapped by criminals, and forced into servitude in Karuizawa?” Tamaki questioned.

   “Moron.” Kyoya plainly spoke.

 Y/n just hanged up the phone, it was too much to deal with Tamaki today. 

   He chugged the last of the drink and tossed it in the sink.

 Dudu du du~

“You got to be kidding me…” he whispered answering the call again.

   “What now?” He groaned.

Some shouts were heard from the other line.

   “Yeah sure, I can go to Karuizawa-.” Tamaki hanged up, ready to tell the others of his sane plan.

  “I can’t have a day off can I?” He

————-

   Now here the host club is in a charming building, the fresh smell of breakfast filled the area, and lively chatter accompanied it.

  “Oh my!” The woman swooned.

 “What dashing young me you are! These hunks must belong to Haruhi!” She giggled.

“Why don’t you call me Misuzu-chi?” She introduced herself to the group.

    “He’s an old friend of Ranka’s. They used to work together in the same shop years ago.” Kyoya explained, looking down at his black notebook.

   “Well naturally you would know.” Tamaki grumbled.

   “Kill me now…” Haruhi groaned looking off to the side.

 Misuzu starts to spin, emphasizing her point.

   “I went into business for myself two years ago, and believe me. Running this adorable little pension is like living a fairy tale~”

   “So then, is Haru-chan like your indentured servant?” Honey spoke holding Usa-chan.

   “She’s more like an unpaid employee. It Also happens to be Ranka’s preferred method for keeping track of his daughter while he’s busy working.” Kyoya pushes up his glasses.

 “What the?” Tamaki slides next to Kyoya irritated.

   “How do you know all of this stuff?”

 “Kill me…” Haruhi repeated, the bliss of this vacation away from the club is now ruined.

 “‘Take my little girl under your wing’, he says. He practically begged me. 

  And since I still can’t afford the expensive hired help, it works out for everyone!” 

    Miszu began to swing Haruhi around by her shoulders, as if she’s a ragdoll.

   “She’s a model employee, really it’s such a shame I can’t pay her anything.” She sighed and turned Haruhi towards the boys.

 “Tell me what you boys think of this cute little apron she’s wearing. I made it myself!”

  The host club all raises a thumbs up. Besides Kyoya who is now writing in his notebook.

  “You are quite an exquisite seamstress!” Tamaki smiled.

  ——

 The sun shined, the grass gently moved with the wind, clouds drifted by. 

   A prefect afternoon day, to spend with people you’re trying to avoid!

“A job huh?” Kaoru noted, 

 as the host club is now all outside enjoying tea.

  “I don’t get it, you turned down our invitation to Bali for this?”

   “And we even asked her to go with us to Switzerland, didn’t we?” Honey adds, as Mori is behind him.

   “We did.”

“Yeah well I still don’t have a passport remember?” Haruhi sighed.

   “Which is precisely why I recommended one of our domestic resorts, at a discount no less.” Kyoya wrote in his notebook.

    “Hell, even I asked her if she wanted to go to an aquarium, I offered to pay too.” Y/n leaned back on his chair with a huff.

  A blonde hair peeks out of the bushes.

“Traitors. Asking Haruhi to go on a summer vacation with you behind my back,” 

  he’s shaking with anger, causing some of the leaves in his hair to fall.

   “Have you no feeling of loyalty, of any solidarity?” He falls to ground.

   “Togetherness is our guiding principle. I work myself to the bone upholding and this is the thanks I get?” He began to dramatically sob 

     “It’s not our fault you don’t have the backbone to ask Haruhi out yourself.” Y/n grinned, as Tamaki began to throw more of a fit.

   “Why was your-“ Hikaru ignored Tamaki’s childish antics.

  “-Phone turned off?”

“I just don’t think about it really.” Haruhi shrugged.

Tamaki turned paled, letting out a gasp. 

    “You… say you have a cellphone?”

  “We convinced her she should borrow one of ours, so we can keep in touch.” The twins states.

   “It’s apart of a special friends and family plan.”

  “-Yeah we are in each other’s top five.” Hikaru showed his phone, with a smug smile.

   “Top five!” Tamaki gasped.

“Friends and family? But wait I’m your daddy and buddy, so I’m part of the plan too, right?” Tamaki nervously spoke.

   “Senpai, whatever planet you’re on, come home.” Haruhi deadpanned.

“Speaking of which-“ Haruhi turned back to the group.

  “Why are you guys even here? I’m going to have to see you guys everyday when the new term starts. Don’t I have the right to spend summer vacation the way I want to?”

   “Well, according to the handbook, jobs are prohibited.” Kyoya reminded, now holding up the school’s manual 

   “I- uh had no idea…” Haruhi stammered in cold sweat.

     “Hey did you hear? Haruhi went and got herself a job without the schools permission.” Hikaru loudly whispered to Kaoru with an evil grin.

   “-No way, that’s ground for expulsion.”   

   Honey is on Mori’s back, while they both read a pamphlet ‘A travellers guid to Karuizawa.’

   “I think Karuizawa is way better than Switzerland anyway.”

   “And overseas travel is so exhausting.” Kyoya spoke.

    “Of course, you do have the right to spend your vacation however you want. But like it or not, so do we.   

And you know, I for one find Pension Miszu to be exceptionally charming.”  Tamaki smirks tilting Haruhi’s head.

   Haruhi fell to her knees with a groan. Tamaki starts to daydream, with a blissful starry eyed expression.

   “Uh, senpai? Hello?” Haruhi waved a hand over Tamaki’s eyes, he was off in cloud nine.

    “Here I got this.” Y/n picked up a rock, a whipped it at Tamaki’s head. Hitting him straight at back of his head, the rock then pounced off his head landing back on the ground.

   “Hey! What was that for!”  He rubbed his head, tears in his eyes.

   “I’m so sorry boys! I’d love to have you as guests, but I’m afraid there’s only one vacant room left.” Miszu interrupted.

     “Only one room you say? Well that settles it, I’ll have to stay here to represent the club.” Tamaki points to himself.

    “Hey that isn’t fair…” honey starting to tear up.

  “Dont you have any loyalty, no feeling of solidarity? How could you betray the hosts club guiding principles!” Y/n mocked Tamaki.

    “I’m hurt..” he pouted, mimicking Tamaki’s voice.

   “My own words twisted and thrown right back at my face…” Tamaki looked down at his hands.

“Here’s an idea. We bet you’ll like it, why not a little competition?” The twins announced.

   “Call it, The Guest Relations Odd Jobs Contest at Pension Miszu’s!”

Tamaki looks at the twins almost excitedly.

   “It’s very simple, we all lend a hand around the place for the afternoon-“

  “-And whoever makes the best impression on Miszu-chi gets to sleep in the vacant guest bedroom.”

      “That’s brilliant! I think it’s an absolutely delightful idea! Yes, the winner of the contest will be determined by how refreshing they are! Remember, refreshing is the name of the game in guest relations.” Miszu proclaimed.

     “Refreshing yay!” The twins threw their hands in the air.

   “Now don’t think this will be a walk in the park, I’m planning to work you boys to the bone.” Miszu points the group.

   “Sounds like a blast….” Haruhi completely gives up.

    And so the club is off on their way to win another challenge. They were going all in, they’re willing just about anything to win that bedroom.

   Tamaki tried to repair the fence, emphasis on tried. He bashed his finger with the hammer.

   The twins greeting the guests at the door, and were doing an amazing job.

   Haruhi on the other hand-

  “So what’s a refresher point?.” They asked.

   Miszu went on a monologue about the refresher points, how this place is the getaway from the city life and things of that nature. It was nice to see someone so passionate about something.

  Off to the side sat Kyoya and Y/n, kyoya writing in his prestige black notebook. And Y/n digging through his endless abyss of bag.

     After Haruhi noticed the two lack of involvement and came by their table.

 “You guys seem to be keeping your distance from all of this.” Haruhi notes.

   “Of course. Winning means id end up staying here alone, which frankly doesn’t appeal to me. I much rather just sit back and watch things unfold, then head back to the cottage.” Kyoya looked up at Haruhi.

    “Cottage? You mean, your family’s?”

  “That’s right. We all have one in the area.”

   This clearly bothered Haruhi, why go through all the trouble to stay here.

    “So who’s your favourite to win? There must be someone you have in mind. Care to bet on it?”

   “Hm no thanks, I don’t have a clue.”

 “Boooo you’re boring.” Y/n teased.

 “Really? It’s easy enough to tell at a glance Honey-senpai’s brand of cute doesn’t quite fit Misuzu’s notion of refreshing. So I’m afraid he’s out. 

   Tamaki comes a little closer to the ideal, provided he keeps his mouth shut. 

   But, we both know the likelihood of that. Ordinarily you’d figure Hikaru and Kaoru. Then again, it seems we have a dark horse.” Kyoya looked over to Mori chopping wood, shirtless of course.

   “So then you think he’s the one?” Haruhi looked over to Mori as well.

   “Mori wouldn’t go along with it without Honey with him.” Y/n explained.

“Wait now that I think about  you never explain why you aren’t competing, Y/n.” Haruhi looked back.

  “I just don’t want to.” 

   “So that means…”

three turned to look and saw the twins at another table.

   “Victory will be ours.”

   “Well maybe not, I couldn’t help but notice that the only room still available is a single bed. Even if you did win, you both couldn’t stay there.” Haruhi  mentions.

   “No big deal, we can just bring another bed over from the cottage.”

  “-yeah, or we could even squeeze into the single.”

   “How sweet, I guess you guys are always together, huh?” Haruhi gave a little smile.

“Always.”

  “-the two of us have been together since we were born. So we haven’t ever needed anybody else.”

   “We never bothered making other friends up until a few years ago. We thought the world was made up of idiots.”

   “Oh really?” Haruhi tilted her head.

“But then…. Hm, well that was before we knew you. We’d totally let you sleep with us.”

  “…Uh thanks, I’ll pass...”

  “The contest isn’t quite decided yet. There’s still a number of ways to make this game more interesting.” Kyoya pushed up his glasses.

  “Oh yeah? Thinking about helping the boss, are you?”

   “-We’re not going to lose, it’s no use.”

 “-there, all in a days work.” Tamaki wipes his forehead, behind him was the… fence, if you can even call it that.

   It had screws and nails protruding everywhere, none of the fences were even straight, paint somehow already chipped off. A blind person with one hand couldn’t done a better job.

    “Oh your repairs are totally unrefreshing. Three point reduction.” Miszu cringed at the ‘fence’.

   Tamaki screamed hiding in a corner    “He used so much of his energy trying to be refreshing that his work suffered for it. Is he alright in the head?” Haruhi looked over to Tamaki in shambles.

    “He’s never had an actual job before y’know.” Kyoya looked up from his book.

    “I’m still not over the fact that he did such a bad job Miszu had to make up a word to even describe it.” Y/n laughed under his breath.

   “—Hey cut it out! That’s cold!” Kaoru smiled. As they played with a garden hose outside.

   “We have to chill the watermelon, that’s how the guests like it~” Hikaru basically purred.

   “Oh so refreshing!” Some of the guests squealed.

  Tamaki was fuming, how could those shady twins be better than him!

   “She has to understand that I am worthy of being considered part of her top five!” He blurted out.

  This doesn’t go unheard, and Kyoya finally gets his plan in motion.

   “Grandiose ambitions aside, I think your approach to winning is a bit skewed.”

    “Kyoya can’t you see that her esteem for me as a father figure hangs in the balance?”

   “If I may offer some advice-“ Kyoya stood up from his seat over to Tamaki.

  “There’s something only you can pull off-“ Kyoya looked off to the side of the room.

  “That is if you choose the right music.”

 Tamaki look surprised before he walked off to the piano with new found determination.

    When he got there he started to play, all sense of noise was stopped. Everyone stared at him as he played.

   No one talked louder than a whisper.

Miszu stared in awe at the blondes skill.

   “The twins are gonna have a hard time beating this.” Y/n whispered over to Kyoya.

  They both stood by the entrance, looking at Tamaki perform.

  “Look out!” Kaoru voice screamed, coming from just outside.

  “What do you think happened now?” Kyoya glanced outside.

   “He’s probably fine.” Y/n shrugged.

———

A new day comes and the morning is relaxed, despite the club’s history.

   “Get us some breakfast please.” Hikaru, now with a bandaid over his cheek, sits down with Kaoru.

    “-I’ll have two pieces of baguette toast with clarified butter and garnet seal syrup.”

   “I’ll take poached eggs with bacon and a bowl of whole grain cereal, the kind with the pieces of dried fruit in it.”

   “Hold on! We don’t even have that stuff on the menu!” Haruhi notes,

  “Huh?”

 “Hey-!” Tamaki runs over and smacks them both in the head.

   “Just who in the world do you think you are? Acting like  members of some privileged aristocracy on holiday.”

    “We are an aristocracy.”

   “-and so are you, boss.”

 “You are missing the whole point!” Tamaki holds up a serving platter.

   “When in Rome, do as the Roman’s do, that’s what I say.” Tamaki opens the serving platter showing array of dishes.

   “Just look at this. Karuizawa cuisine fit for a king!”

   “-cold pasteurized Jersey steaks, fresh juice, highland vegetables, smoked salmon cooked over cherrywood; the local pride I might add, and last but certainly not least freshly baked breads with homemade jam. Bon appétit.”

    “Since when have you-“

   “Been such a connoisseur?”

 “Oh, since he started learning from Miszu, he’s been  in the kitchen all morning.” Haruhi joined in.

 Tamaki holds up a big book.

   “While the two of you were sleeping the day away, I decided to do start a refreshing host workshop. I even wrote a Manuel.”

    “This is what happens when you enjoy life a little too much…” Y/n muttered, now reading said book.

   “While you are acting as my apprentice you may not treat me as your senpai. That is the first rule I have written.” Tamaki reads out.

  “Wait-… Rule number five says all members have to be up by six am.” Hikaru notes.

   “Kyoya is gonna hate this.” Y/n chuckled.

 Tamaki freezes, and screams out in fear. Kyoya and Honey are the worst to wake up, it’s a death wish to make a rule like it.

    “We didn’t mean to bring up such painful memories!” Kaoru 

   “Well I did so-“

 A Bell chimes throughout the room.

 “Good morning! Arai Produce!” A browned hair boy walked in holding a box.

   “Good morning to you! Working boy eh? A highschooler?” Miszu smiled.

   “Yes ma’am. I’m helping my uncle’s shop for the summer.” He politely smiled.

    “How refreshing!! Haruhi would you put these in the refrigerator for me?”

    “Okay.” Haruhi came over.

 “Haruhi….. Fujioka?” He mumbled out almost star struck.

   “Hey… Arai.”

#x reader #lgbtq #lgbtqiia+ #gay #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya x reader #kyoya is gay #ouran fanfic #ouran kyoya #kyoya ootori

[nikibogwater]

Aight, y’all know the deal by now. I’m someone who takes stories way more seriously than I’m probably supposed to. I revel in a good emotional shake-down brought on by an epic tale. Time to put on my Sentimental Goggles and really dig into this latest Zelda game, and see if I can explain why I feel it has the darkest and hardest-hitting story of any in the series so far. TotK Spoilers begin below the cut. 

To start, we must acknowledge the precedent set by Breath of the Wild. BotW, despite being set in a post-apocalyptic wilderness teetering on the brink of destruction, is very much a story about hope. Zelda even says as much during the game’s opening: “You are the light--our light--that must shine upon Hyrule once again.” In the midst of a devastating catastrophe, one little seed of hope survived--Link. BotW follows this little seed as it at last blossoms into a force that is powerful enough to defeat the Calamity and put Hyrule back to rights. It’s a pretty straightforward and feel-good plot, even if it does have its fair share of bittersweet elements.

The thing that makes Tears of the Kingdom so effectively dark is that it begins by mercilessly ripping away that sense of hope that was a constant in its predecessor. Everything Link and Zelda fought for is undone in an instant. Hyrule is in even greater peril than before. This is no longer a tale of a budding seed of hope, it’s a frantic, desperate scramble to preserve what little remains of their world. 

Throughout much of this story, Link’s biggest motivation is reuniting with Zelda. While he serves as a light for Hyrule as a whole, Zelda has always been a light for him, and for us as the players. I don’t think it’s too much of a controversial statement to say that BotW’s iteration of Princess Zelda is the most well-developed in the series to date. Zelda has always been the heart and soul of the series, but this is especially true for BotW because she is no longer just Link’s partner in destiny or childhood friend. She is a fully-realized protagonist with a character arc that endears her to us as the players. She isn’t just important to Link, or to Hyrule at large. She’s important to us. Which is why I felt a legitimate sense of grief and despair when Link discovered that she couldn’t be rescued this time. No joke, there were a few minutes where I actually wanted to stop playing after seeing the final Dragon’s Tear memory. 

Breath of the Wild’s story is a statement of hope. By contrast, Tears of the Kingdom’s story is a question, one that most of us don’t want to even consider: What do you do when hope dies? What do you do when your light is taken away from you? The answer is perhaps as merciless as the question: you just keep going. Even if there is no Zelda waiting for you at the end of the fight (at least as far as Link knows), you still have a job to do. You still have to face the dark depths and the nightmares that dwell within. You still have to fight, even when it seems like there is no chance of winning. 

In this way, both Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom feel like more than just games to me. They’re the kind of story that I carry with me into the real world. The kind that I look back on when I need to feel hopeful, or push through my own dark depths. Sure, it’s not a masterpiece of literature or anything, but it was a story that resonated with me all the same, thanks in no small part to TotK’s commitment to embracing the dark and the hopeless. There are times when it is enough to be reminded that I am strong, that I am capable of overcoming any challenge set before me. But when that challenge is no longer a puzzle or a personal flaw--when it’s say, grieving the loss of a loved one or longing to return to a happier time, it is just as comforting to be told, with brutal honesty, that yes, this feels hopeless. This feels like it could never possibly turn out alright in the end. But you must keep going. You must fight until you find your hope again, even if it can’t be the same as it was before. After all, that is what it means to be the light--their light--that must shine upon the world once again. 

#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #tears of the kingdom #loz botw #loz totk #totk spoilers #meta analysis

[kujojotarolover]

Also o for Rohan please

cw: Yandere Themes, Allusions to Stalking, Mentions of Stalking, Obsessive Thoughts / Nature, Angst, Dire Situations, Torture, Graphic Descriptions / Thoughts, Brainwashing and / or Memory Wiping Allusion, Thoughts / Mentions of Death, General Dark Themes not Suitable for Immature Audiences. Reader-Insert, Gender Neutral. Uncomfortable scenarios included, read at you own discretion! 18+ ONLY!

author's note: Totally not inspired by House of Wax or anything, nah. This is my first ficlet involving Kishibe Rohan, I hope that you enjoy this delusion man and this creepy fic! These "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" were written and coined by @/nanasparadise . That original post can be located here. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is not a good situation! I hope you enjoy this!

PROMPT: Orchid (love, beauty): "My, you're breathtaking. Your beauty needs to be cherished."

word count: Approximately 1.8k

Swish. 

Swish, swish. Swish. 

Swiiiiiiish. 

Everything dimmed and blurred in a flurry haze. Bright light like you’ve never known before shone and rushed like a hurricane, circling and widening and engulfing. You quickly tried to shut your eyes from the blinding hues, but something pulled uncomfortably against your face. Your mind scrambled. 

Why couldn’t you blink? 

Your pupils whizzed in frantic dashes, desperately trying to escape the maddening light that started to dull more and more and more and… wait. Hey, yeah. This… you’re standing in a room. It’s not a room you’ve ever seen before and that worries you, but you can finally pick up the faintest edges and outlines of details now. You want to squint, but the pressure from earlier comes back fast so you just settle for letting your eyes slowly adjust. 

Swish, swish, swishswishswish. 

There it is again. That noise: the sound that had brought you forth into this waking world. Your brain can’t quite comprehend what it's hearing, but it distinctly reminds you of the strokes of a paintbrush. Which, funnily enough, only brings more questions than answers. So, you turn your head. 

You… turn your head. 

Panic emerges from your chest in a rupture as you start straining your muscles. Why can’t you move your head? It feels like it’s pinned in place, pinioned by that weight from earlier that kept you from closing your eyes and that petrifies you. This doesn’t make any sense, none of it does. Your head is whorling in nasty waves and you start to struggle. 

A rattling, like cracked porcelain. Muffled panting, the sound of terror huffing against something solid. You breathe. You try to breathe in but your lungs refuse to expand very far—held down, immobile. You think you’re hyperventilating now, shaking in place like a ball filled with too much kinetic energy and you feel like you’re going to explode with madness. 

Then, a voice. 

“Oh, you're waking up now, are you?” A deep siiiiigh. “Well, I suppose I did only write ‘until Kishibe Rohan finishes painting the initial coat’, didn’t I?” 

A lackadaisical, nasally voice rhetorically questions himself before the swish swish swish begins once more. You don’t recognize the voice. Or, no, you do. The tone and intonation tickle the furthest reaches of your mind and you wrack your brain to call it forth. The name, think of the name. Kishibe Rohan. Why does that sound familiar? You feel something twinge. Yes, you do know him. 

“That doesn’t matter now, of course,” Rohan comments, “just stop panicking. The clay may be dry, but you’ll be irreparable if you accidentally tear any of it off at this stage.” 

What… What in the hell did he just say? 

“It will also bring you unbelievable amounts of pain,” Rohan pauses. Something clacks against wood. He had set his brush down. “But to see you in such agony and in such disarray would cause me more misery than you’d ever imagine.” 

Rohan picks up something—another paintbrush, probably—and leans in close. 

Your dry eyes have finally cleared and the image before you is flawless. 

The room looks unique, for sure, with a triangular bookshelf pressed against the side wall and the artisan desk not too far ahead. There’s also various prints framed and hung around the extra space of the room. The floors are hardwood, the walls are flamingo pink, the room’s trimmings are mauve, and the blinds are a rich royal blue. Everything is dimmer than you’d originally expected, but you notice a singular curtain is drawn up to allow beaming sunlight to gleam across your face. Nothing looks familiar, you’ve never been here before; so, the only logical conclusion is that this is Kishibe Rohan’s office. 

Another hopeful scan of the room births nothing of use to you. There’s a flame that withers inside, you can feel a flicker of hope diminish in your chest. What will help you escape? Another fretful glance. What can get clay off of your body? 

But your eyes can’t take in the details quick enough before a dark shadow looms before your eyes and you’re forced to focus on that instead. 

Kishibe Rohan.

He looks as eccentric and as fashionable as he did the very first time you laid your eyes upon him. That lusciously vivid sacramento green hair of his swoops over his forehead and stays tucked away by the lime eggshell headband he dons. Intense emerald orbs pierce through you, awash with such emotions that you feel a queer turn in your stomach that make your body involuntarily hitch. Rohan’s expression is tense, but focused. He calmly watches your eyes meet his and the corner of his lips quirk upward. 

“Good, my little muse,” Rohan’s eyes close briefly as he sighs again and starts to titter. “Though the clay is much too solid for much to shift it out of place, I’m sure the heat of it and the nature of the substance has caused it to permanently iron itself to your flesh.” 

Your heart thunders against your ribcage. 

“Moving it or grinding against it could possibly disrupt it and, well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what will happen after that,” Rohan’s sudden humor is once again lost as he lifts his arm back up and brings the paintbrush towards your face. 

But you can’t even care about that! What the hell else were you supposed to think about? You’re permanently trapped in this clay prison and moving will flay you alive! And you want to freak out even more. Want to flail, kick, scream, throw a damn tantrum to break free—but it’s futile. It’s so absolutely futile and that’s why you feel like your world is suddenly swinging around you like a merry-go-round. Streaking, and slurring, and swimming, and you pant. you pant. you pant. 

You feel painful tears sting against the rims of your eyes. The sclera are so desiccated, so aired out from being held open for this long that tears feel like stabbing needles prickling the very organs. Your head reels noisily. 

The paintbrush dabs against the clay of your cheekbone as Rohan finetunes the precise details. You can’t focus. You feel so absolutely lost, you’re so helpless, fuck fuck fuck—is this how you’re going to die? Standing, posed, in this crazy man’s home covered in model clay as you slowly starve and dehydrate to the point of no return? Tortured by a man that you met by chance… once? 

That’s when you really became flighty. Your head thumped loudly, right behind your sinuses, and you felt so so full. You’d only met this stranger once! All because of a mishap at a local art store. Fuck, you can’t even clearly remember the memory—that’s how long ago this happened! You think you ended up helping him out, there was a miscommunication. You can’t recall. You’re teetering on the edge of passing out and going numb from how heavily you’re breathing against warm, damp clay. Your appendages are tingling and you feel like you’re floating on clouds. Why is he doing this? What did you do to deserve this? 

Rohan’s paintbrush feathers over the bridge of your nose and he releases a pleased hum. 

“Absolutely stunning,” Rohan’s free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, but he stops and jerks back. “Not quite yet. I would hate to tarnish my hard work, especially after all of the trouble I went through to get you here.” 

The memories before this very moment feel fuzzy. They’re like minnows, swaying along with the currents of a stream and constantly going. On and on and on and on and on. You see them fade and disappear, they wink out and more minnow follow their ilk. You cast your line out in distress, the hook glimmery in the light of your conscience, and watch it dip into the water. It gets sucked along and the line screeches as it’s pulled into nothingness. 

“Buuut this was very much worth it,” Rohan states. “I’ve been following you for so long, watching you and studying you to make sure you’re really what I believed you to be the first time I happened upon you.” 

Oh, Gods, you just want to sob. You want to start weeping and curl up into a tiny ball, but you’re frozen solid and you’re forced to listen to Rohan’s words. You’re forced to listen to the ramblings of a man long gone. 

“You’re so pure, so unlike other people, so kind,” Rohan seems to shudder and you want to just collapse under his loving stare. “When you first gazed at me with those beautiful eyes, I fell deeply in love with you. It felt like my heart was going to burst when you departed from me, but… don’t worry, I made sure to keep you within my sights.” 

Swish, swish, swiiish. 

“I followed you, every day, every waking moment that I possibly could,” Rohan admits. He then withdraws the paintbrush, dips the end into a swatch of color, and continues detailing. “You were filled with this admirable justice, this sense of innocence and purity. Of truth, of precision. Your honesty, your soul… everything about you was like a flame and I was consumed like oxygen into the laps.” 

Everything and nothing makes sense. You would shake your head, would avert your face away from Rohan’s lecherous eyes, and try to plug your ears to mute this insanity. But you can just be his little statue. Listening. 

“And after a while… watching you from afar started to bore me, honestly.” Rohan huffs, as if he were absolutely bothered by the notion and then turns his stare over his shoulder. “So I waited and waited and waited. There was much to think about, you know. As an artist, I had to make sure this wasn’t sloppy. I had to be positive that you were the one, that nothing would tarnish you. I… I needed to immortalize you.” 

Your eyes gape in horror at Rohan as he drags another long sweep of the paintbrush across your cheeks before arching back. 

Rohan scrutinizes your face thoughtfully, romantically, and an excitedly giddy grin smears across his lips. 

“My, you’re breathtaking.” Rohan shivers, his eyes widening with something wild as he drops his brush to the palette and laces his fingers together. “Your beauty needs to be cherished.”

It feels like the floor is opening up, is dropping you in, and you’re flushing away. You're going so fast, so soon, so terribly. And you just look into Rohan’s eyes, disbelieving, and you feel like your heart 

stops. 

“My own personal Astraea, that’s what I’ve made you, my muse.”

#rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #yandere rohan #yandere rohan kishibe #rohan x you #rohan x y/n #jjba x reader #yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #18+ only please #your average wfsn

[resident-mercie]

Carlos Oliveira Fic - Halcyon Days (Chapter 3) (NSFW).

notes: canon violence, infection, no nsfw allusions for this specific chapter, mature themes regardless, perspective switches.

➵ While you should be on the train out of Raccoon City, Carlos has a sinking feeling that not everything has gone to plan.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

You are now reading Chapter 3.

September 29th. 2:47am. An eerie silence, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness, now Carlos had been separated from the one breath of fresh air he’d met during his time stationed here.

“It’s been a while. The subway’s gotta be clear of the city by now, right?” Carlos asked his comrade in a hushed voice, hoping not to raise any attention from the undead.

“What, along with your hot date?” His comrade, Tyrell, scoffed. “Listen man, I wouldn’t get attached to any of the freaks around these parts. I mean, if you’re desperate to get laid, then go for it. But this chick? Won’t be long until she ends up like one of them.”

Carlos felt the anger inside of him rise, his blood becoming scalding hot.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know anything about her. Hell, she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before. I’d rather it be her here with me right now than you.”

“What, so the power of love can save you? Give me a break, Romeo. We’re here on a mission, so keep your head screwed on. This is the police station. You know what we’re here to do.”

My world was spinning. Last thing I knew, everything had faded to black, but the smell of engine smoke was what roused me from my involuntary slumber. Every cell in my body ached with a dull pain, and for a moment, I considered letting the world take me. Only for a moment though, as my promise to Carlos came floating to my mind’s surface.

“Together…”

It was no time to mope around, and no time to die either. I scrambled through what was accessible of the wreckage, desperate to find supplies, more bullets, or maybe even—

“A radio. Could I…?”

With frantic desperation, my hands ran across the radio in a frenzied manner, pleading with everything in me that I could make contact with some of the UBCS members.

“Hello? Does anyone read me? The train with the survivors— it’s derailed—“

“Meu querida? Is that you? What the hell’s happened?”

It was some kind of sick miracle. The voice I had longed to hear, was echoing its way through my last ditch attempt of finding anyone who could save me.

“Carlos! Oh, thank god it’s you! You were right about Nikolai, he locked me out of the only safe carriage. It’s because of him that Mikhail is… Listen, I don’t know where the hell I am, but I really need to find you. I know you had a mission to attend to, but I’m scared. I need you.”

Carlos gripped his radio in hand, his stoicism wavering at the pleading emotion in my voice. Screw Umbrella, and screw Raccoon. So long as he could be with his evacuee, then he could die a happy and contented man. Even if we were to both become infected, and turn in one another’s arms, it would be a far better ending for us both than dying alone on opposite sides of the city, never meeting in the apocalyptic life that supercedes our human one. I was right about Carlos being a sanctuary beyond this hellscape, because even if I could be in his arms just once more, dying didn’t seem so bad. There was nothing to fear when we were unified, even death.

“I need you to get above ground, querida. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come and find you. Whatever you do, fight those bastards off like your life depends on it. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“On my way above ground. I’ll let you know where I am as soon as I can.”

Taking in my surroundings, and nabbing a few more supplies from the wreckage, I soon found my way to the surface, exhausted from undoing a plethora of bolts and shackles to make my way past some of the locked maintenance rooms of the underground.

“Carlos, come in? I’m near some kind of bridge over looking the river. Do you want me to cross it, or—?”

A roaring torrent of water from underneath the bridge abruptly cut me off, and as I watched, frozen in my place, my stomach sank to a completely new depth.

“What the fuck? It’s back?”

“Querida, are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong—“

As much as I craved the reassurance of Carlos, I remembered what he said earlier - to fight like my life depended on it. Yet the creature that had rose from depths, my second encounter with the large amalgamation of flesh, was a presence that threatened my very existence. With just a handgun, any attempts at preserving my life, and taking its, would have been trivial. So, I did the only thing I could.

I dashed across the bridge, frantically leaping across sections of the track where the flooring had fallen through, praying that the creature would be stupid enough to take a misstep and plunge back into the azure depths below me. Whatever the hell this thing was, however, was a creature built for the sake of pursuit.

I ran until it was impossible for me to go any further. I was trapped inside the courtyard of the clock tower, the creature stalking my every move.

“Clock tower. I don’t know how much time I’ll have left.” I sobbed, a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. With one amalgamated tendril, the creature grabbed ahold of my arm, and before I had time to futilely shoot the creature with my handgun, the world around me faded once more.

“No, no! God fucking damnit!” Carlos shouted, overcome with despair and rage, devastated he couldn’t have made it to the clock tower any earlier. He produced his radio from his breast pocket, seething at rage for both the creature capable of inflicting such harm, and at himself for letting this happen.

I promised to protect her, and now she’s infected. What kind of shit platoon member gets their evacuee in so much danger?

“Tyrell? I need you to come in. It’s my girl. That creature we were warned about, code name nemesis. I— I think it got her. I need to take her to the hospital. See if that Bard guy has any chance of curing her. I need you to meet me there.”

Returning his radio to his breast pocket, he hoisted his infected sweetheart onto his back, a civilian who was unfortunate to meet a fate not too dissimilar from the many others around her.

“Take it easy, querida. I’ll get you cured, even if it’s the last thing I’m able to do for you.”

#resident evil #fanfic #fanfiction #carlos oliveira #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil fanfic #carlos oliveira x reader #resident evil 3 #resident evil 3 remake

[thedemonscrawler]

Desperation (Hope)

I have no excuses, @sinistershepherd / @bitterkarmaa wrote a non-canon oneshot for their Karma is Bitter series (which y’all should read) and then I got brainworms and wrote this in like 12 hours instead of working on chapter 10 yaaay -6am cheer-

---

A stranger. 

There is a stranger in the library.

A stranger who wears the face of his master, a face that Sun hasn’t seen in so, so long but still glimpses in the pristine polish of marble tile and in glass window panes overlooking a darkened kingdom because it is his own face, a pale reflection of something grander. This stranger is a reflection, too; burnt orange and charcoal, silvery scars and soldered rays boasting proudly of conflict survived and surpassed. A slender frame draped in clothes nicer than any Sun has ever worn.

One of his eyes is dark, blinded, while the glowing orange pupil in the other is barely more than a pinprick, reflecting alarm that nearly matches Sun’s own. He does not belong here, and he knows it.

“Don’t say. A word.”

The harsh rasp of the stranger’s voice, barely louder than a whisper, spurs Sun into action. The voice is even more familiar than the face, bored drawl sped up by a fear and urgency that he’s never heard before, yet it strikes deep into a lifetime of conditioning. 

He sympathizes, he really, truly does– but the fear his master inspires outweighs any sympathy. The stranger realizes this too, launches himself forward to cover Sun’s mouth before he can make a sound. The servant immediately cringes back, going still, trying not to provoke– but the expected pain never comes, just the press of careless clawtips into his cheek from the force of the other’s panic.

“Sun? What did you find?” 

That was the drawl he recognized; irritated, impatient. Dull and lifeless like the building around them, a promise of punishment lurking just under the surface. A battered hand twitches at his side, unsure if he should try to pry the hand from his mouth, but the stranger makes the decision for him by releasing his grip. Sun doesn’t question it, only whirls on his heel with the intent to get away, and almost immediately runs right into his master. 

He doesn’t bother trying to catch himself, an action trained out of him after one too many books knocked from the shelves by his uncoordinated flailing. Get away is still thrumming in his circuits but his frame is frozen, pinned under his master’s bored disdain.

“I-I was surprised, sir! You h-have to understand, I-“ he begins, and the disdain sharpens into a glare that severs his words, cutting off his frantic babbling. His master’s attention shifts, moving off of his servant and onto the intruder, and Sun knows that’s as good of a dismissal as he’s going to get. He scrambles away without bothering to climb to his feet, yet knows that he’s actually about as safe as it’s possible for him to get. 

His master has something far more interesting to torment right now.

Tucked down next to a nearby shelf where he can observe without drawing attention, Sun follows the exchange between god and mortal with curiosity smothered by dull resignation and the fear that being in his master’s presence always sparks. It is interesting only in how it brings a little variety to the otherwise unchanging days, and soon the stranger will become nothing more than a memory– until his master decides to rip it from his head. He cannot imagine that even a scrap of someone who wore his master’s face would be allowed to continue existing.

Especially not someone who was going to talk back. Sun’s hands clench, fingers digging thoughtlessly between the spines of identical books, and he doesn’t know if he should feel pity or fear or faded appreciation as the glint in the stranger’s eye shifts from utter terror to anger, injured pride apparently overriding sense.

The look of dark satisfaction on his master’s face is expected.

The glow that emanates from the center of the stranger’s chest isn’t.

Sun’s eyes widen. He stops trying to meld himself with the countless books that line the shelves, stops trying to make himself even smaller and less important, and raises up on his knees so that he can see better. Damaged rays scrape and catch as they try to move, an instinct that has yet to fade completely despite only bringing tears of pain to his eyes.

He recognizes that light. 

A white-hot glow, branching out from the center of the stranger’s chest, snaking up his throat and face, crossing his darkened eye. Cracks that do not bleed, causing no pain that Sun can discern. The brands of something much greater than the vessel that bore it.

The star.

Sun sucks in a hissing breath, and his gaze cuts to his master’s face. He expects to see recognition as well, perhaps irritation or intrigue– and yet all that he can make out is confusion. His master peers at the machine in his too-tight grip as if the stranger was the volume of a book incorrectly shelved, nothing more.

Does he not recognize it, too? Was he so blinded by the light of his own star that he could not recognize its glow in another?

The crack of metal on metal makes him flinch, drawing Sun from his thoughts, and the servant watches as the stranger is hurled into a wall, hitting it with bone-jarring force. He winces, tucking himself back down against the books, hands brought up to clutch his own arms and pulling them tight to his frame in dull sympathy. He knows all too well how much his master’s ire can hurt.

Perhaps he’d been mistaken, perhaps he’d been wrong like he so often is wrong. Stupid, stupid, how could the stranger have a star? Of course his master hadn’t reacted, of course Sun had been wrong–

Scraping, claws against a solid surface. The stranger pushes himself to his feet, single pupil a furious ember, and he launches himself at the master of this world with deadly intent. They hit the floor together, hard enough to splinter wooden boards.

Sun… cannot recall ever seeing anyone attempt to challenge his master like this. 

Something sparks; a tiny sliver digging into his core, frightening in its unfamiliarity. For a moment he fears that this is it, that he’s drawn his master’s ire one too many times and this is the first pinprick that heralds his unmaking, but grasping at his chest reveals no wounds, no new damage. 

Sun’s eyes drift over the white-hot cracks twisting over the stranger’s dark frame, glowing faintly under fine clothes now torn and streaked with dust, and he inhales sharply as that light resonates with the feeling struggling to ignite in his otherwise empty chest.

Hope?

His battered hand twists in the fabric of his shirt, scratching roughly against the equally battered casing underneath. No, no, he dare not name this feeling something as fragile as hope. Any hope he had was crushed by his master's hand a long time ago, scraped out and discarded, leaving him hollow. All that he has now is fear and boredom and aching loneliness. Whatever this feeling is, it's not that. 

The painful scrape as his rays try to move is barely acknowledged, and he grits his teeth on his permanently manic grin. Sun thinks about the hard glint in the stranger's single eye, fear and fury melting together. Something familiar, something he recognizes.

Desperation.

Sun has nothing to live for except the tired routine of life itself. A body of metal that rusts but never breaks, a mind of circuit boards and files that corrupt and fragment but never enough to stop him from functioning. He lives by his master’s hand, and he’s long since wearied of the leash that ties him to this world of empty halls and dusty volumes, lacking the strength or willpower to snap his bonds.

This stranger wearing a familiar face has the anger needed to fight back. This stranger has the power of the star needed to succeed.

When his master acts, an armored hand gripping his attacker by the back of his two-toned vest and tossing him aside as if he were nothing more than garbage, Sun is already scrambling to his feet. Too fast ventilations almost stop as he tracks the other’s trajectory, he does not hope he can only despair, please don’t take away the opportunity he has only just recognized. A heart he doesn’t have catches in his throat as golden claws reach out, snag the wooden banister, arresting the stranger’s fall. 

Desperation, a last chance. If he does not seize it now it will slip through his shaking fingers, and he will have nothing but his own inaction to blame. 

Sun has never moved so fast in his life. 

The stranger’s claws slip and skitter, losing purchase on the polished wood just as Sun reaches him, reaches out to grasp a black and gold hand as tightly as he can. The weight nearly drags him over the side of the bridge, his shoulder screaming at the sudden abuse, but he digs in with grim determination, fighting back against gravity’s embrace. 

He looks down, into a softly glowing pupil swimming in confusion, and the explanation spills breathlessly from him. “You have one.”

“What?”

It was a good thing that holding the stranger aloft requires him to engage nearly his whole frame, because it leaves almost nothing relaxed enough to flinch at the question in stereo. His master stands just a few feet away, and he can only imagine the expression that lurks on his face, the anger surely bubbling to the surface. Sun has been loyal for his entire life, a loyalty bought with fear and cruel conditioning, and this act of betrayal will not be well received.

A last chance, then. There will not be enough left of him for another, after this.

“You have one!” A response for the stranger only, twisted up with desperation and urgency as Sun pulls, trying to drag the other back up onto the bridge. He isn’t very strong, and the damage he’s incurred over the years has chipped away at his strength even further, but he can at least get the stranger far enough to pull himself up the rest of the way. 

Confusion still reflects in the stranger’s– in Eclipse’s good eye, a confusion that isn’t dispelled when Sun presses a finger to his chest, to the center of that gentle white glow. He can feel unevenness to the casing underneath, a scar of hastily repaired metal.

He cannot understand how the stranger doesn’t realize what he’s talking about, how someone can be a vessel for such power and yet apparently unaware of its conspicuous marks, but they do not have time for lengthy explanations. His gaze flicks along shimmering cracks before returning to Eclipse’s eyes, one a burning amber, the other the barest hint of orange. “Use it.”

The tap of metal on wood, the click of metal against metal. Eclipse’s gaze refocuses over Sun’s shoulder, confusion replaced by wary anger. Out of time, they were out of time.

Sun does not know anything about this stranger that wears a familiar face, burnt orange and charcoal, silvery scars and gunmetal grey. He does not know what this Eclipse is like, if he is kind or if he is cruel. He knows that he could very well be trading one kind of hell for another.

But…

Eclipse had been afraid, as only those who still remembered what it was like to feel pain and loss could be afraid. The fear of a mortal who has trespassed against their will, the fear of someone who has suffered and would like to avoid more suffering.

Eclipse had been angry, fueled by his own fury and the gentle light of a star. Angry enough to pick a fight that he had no hope of winning, too proud to simply bow his head for the sake of his own life.

And with the god of this world bearing down on them both, Eclipse stands, steps forward to put himself between servant and master. An intent to protect, and it didn’t matter if it was motivated by pity or gratitude, only that Eclipse intended to bear the brunt of whatever punishment was coming.

So Sun tucks himself behind his savior, trembling hands clutching the soft fabric of a goldenrod sleeve. His damaged rays scrape and tug, trying to retract, and he buries a whimper of both pain and fear in Eclipse’s shoulder. He is not brave, he cannot bear to watch as death approaches.

Desperation and hope. Two emotions of such similar color, a gentle white glow that could either warm or scorch. In hands like Sun’s the power of the star would be useless, the servant lacking the willpower and the intent needed to take that final step.

However, Sun isn’t the one with the star.

“USE IT!” 

#fanfiction #karma is bitter #i am pretty sure this might be longer than the original oneshot #because i have writes too much disease #OTL the bit about 'there is no way this is hope' sunk its teeth into my brain and would not let go #im sensing a pattern with my SAMS brainrot which is i have got to write it down in some fashion or it will not leave my head #Google Docs Exorcism #s!Sun thinks Clip is kind of a badass #fanfic

[addicted-to-12th-intro]

TGAA: Mastermind Swap AU (so far)

“Perhaps, it’s so that rain and spray don’t find their way in when the seas are rough.”

“Maybe that’s it, Susato-san,” Ryunosuke responded unenthusiastically and turned from the ventilator grille back to the table. “I suppose - wait, what?”

Someone was sitting under the table, and he wasn’t there a minute ago. He didn’t seem to be alerted by a startled yelp.

“Oh! How did he...?” Susato exclaimed.

Ryunosuke muttered frantically, watching the man for reaction. “I have no idea who he is, or how he got in here. But he looks suspicious and...” He faltered. “Tall! Suspiciously tall.”

Not only did the man seem very tall, but he also was wearing a Western-style green overcoat. Perhaps he was European? Ryunosuke could make out his silvery-white hair and tan skin, but that could belong to anyone.

“Naruhodo-san, don’t tell me... Do you really not know who that is?”

Taken aback, Ryunosuke scrambled for words. “Um, well... no. I don’t have any foreign friends or acquaintances.”

“Well, in that case... we simply must talk with him!” Susato looked oddly excited.

Ryunosuke cautiously approached the man who had decided to sit cross-legged on the floor instead of on the perfectly fine chair, tinkering with something and still paying no attention to either of them.

“Um... excuse me.” Nothing. He crouched down to get a better look. “Excuse me! Do you have a moment to spare?”

The man snapped his head to the side, and Ryunosuke found himself looking into disturbingly pale blue eyes on an unexpectedly young face.

“Greetings,” said the man, throwing out his hand - for a handshake, probably? “I am Mael Stronghart, a consulting detective.”

***********

As you might’ve guessed, the high concept of this AU is swapping some characters’ roles and moral alignments (and ages when appropriate), centered about the opposition of Herlock Sholmes and Mael Stronghart.

Disclaimer: this is a “haha funny similarity” AU rather than an “actual character analysis” one, fueled - who am I kidding - by the aesthetic enjoyment of imagining characters at different ages. With that out there, I present my logic and reasoning spectacular the Mastermind Swap AU! (under the cut)

The Masterminds - Sholmes and Stronghart: [this AU started with me thinking about the tropes they share and now we're here!] Remember how Stronghart has Damon Gant's looks but a more subdued personality? Well, Lord Chief Justice Sholmes gets a less subdued personality. I have no other way to describe it. Detective Stronghart is more high-strung than Sholmes, takes himself very seriously in comparison. I'm thinking this AU wouldn't have Dances of Deduction in the same form, because the guy wouldn't like to even pretend to be wrong.

The Mentees - Iris and Barok: Iris here is the adult younger sister of Klint, while Barok is his unknowing son (would his name even be Barok?). While Iris gets her fair share of angst here, she does develop a sort of carefree personality under Sholmes' mentorship, and it's only intensified by the Reaper accusations and her pretending that everything's fine (which only makes the public more sus, and the Reaper nickname or a variation of it sticks). Overall she's a bit like Regina Berry in the "does she even know we're not playing some game in court" sense. Little Barok is his usual grumpy self, now in precocious mode. Just this very serious little gentleman. Also now he's the team's engineer gets to build more than miniature crime scenes!

The Forensic Right-hand-people - Yujin with Susato and Sithe with Maria: same age, same job, same role, nothing needs to be said here. Not too unlikely that Lord Chief Justice Sholmes decides to corrupt the last Japanese student too. Logistical problems (how does Yujin stay in Britain while Sithe goes abroad, and how does everything go if they don't do that?) are to be had, though.

#mastermind swap au #tgaa #dgs #the great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #tgaa spoilers #dgs spoilers #herlock sholmes #sherlock holmes (dgs) #mael stronghart #hart vortex #iris wilson #iris watson #barok van zieks #yujin mikotoba #mikotoba yuujin #courtney sithe

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: this has been in my head for so long

Waking up in MHA

* Your eyes stare back into two symmetric pools of evergreen, wide and easer, unblinking as they look back at you

* “Will you pl-“

* “No.” You answer before he can finish

* Thin pink lips go taught as they curl down

* You won’t lie, you do feel a little bad but his body just wouldn’t be able to take it

* Your head tilts in your hand, eyes trained on the dejected expression on his face

* Seeing the famous Izuku tears might be kind of cool though

* “Don’t look so down cutie.” Your curl a finger under his chin, you can practically see the shiver that racks through his body

* He’s so easy to tease

* His face goes bright red

* “C-cutie?”

* You don’t know why he’s acting so surprised, how can Izuku Midoriya be anything other than cute? Except maybe a little sexy when he takes off his shirt - the boys oddly jacked for someone with such a kind face

* “Do you prefer hottie?” You can practically see his soul stretch out of his mouth

* “Stop! Sexual harassment is against our school policy!” Iida basically appeared by your side, emphasizing each word with his hands

* “Harassment? I thought I was just flirting?” You run your fingers through Izuku curly hair “isn’t that right Izuku?”

* “I-I-Izuku?!” He stammers face growing even redder

* Iida yammers on about conduct and behavior but you don’t pay him any attention, you eyes fixed on the clock on the far wall.

* Just two more minutes, maybe three - you would pull out your phone to make sure but Mr.class rep has been standing next to you this entire time

* It’s been several months since you met Iida but you still can’t get used to his uptight attitude, people are dying out on this world does it really matter if someone is a minute late to class?

* How many worlds has it been now?

* Four? Maybe five?

* The first time was fun, you’ll admit, you spent time with some of your favorite characters and you lived a nice, long fulfilling life- so when you woke up again in a body that felt a little unfamiliar with a face that looked like yours but different, you were confused

* You were sure it was a fluke

* But then the third time happened, another world, another life

* By the fourth you had accepted that whatever was happening would keep happening, and so you’ve strengthened your resolve

* What might it mean to be in your own body? To feel truly at home in your original universe, as mundane as it may be

* So when the clock strikes 2:13 exactly you push away from your desk, ignoring Iida’s frantic lecture and make your way to the door

* “Are you ditching.” The gruff words manage to stop you in your tracks.

* He’s just a boy, a boy with a power far inferior than your own, but still you feel sweat line your neck

* “Aw worried about me hottie?” You feign a teasing smile, but Bakugo’s doesn’t fluster like the others do

* It’s a bit of a survival tactic you had developed early on, for as powerful as these kids were they were all fairly inexperienced - a few compliments here and there were enough to throw them all off-kilter

* It made sense, you’re sure the only thing most of them thought of was becoming heroes

* Bakugo was the only one who wasn’t entirely fooled, his eyes narrow as he stares at your unwavering grin

* “If you ditch we all get penalized.”

* That’s bullshit, but you keep you temper in check, instead widening your smile

* “I’m not ditching I’m just going to the reserve classes,” when his heated gaze doesn’t falter you add “besides Midnight probably got pulled out for a villain situation, that’s why she’s late.”

* You can’t be a hundred percent sure, but you’re betting on it, right now the teachers are all probably scrambling to find a replacement

* Bakugo sneers, and even Iida seems perplexed

* “Why would you be going there?” His genuine confusion doesn’t irk you, it makes sense - these are all the main characters at this point they don’t care about -as Bakugo would put it- some extra

* But your mouth quirks into a wicked grin

* You’ve been dying to meet him for months now, it’s a shame it took you so long to figure out the reserve classes schedule, and even more time to find a good opportunity to approach him

* “I heard there’s a kid with a wicked quirk.”

* Bakugo’s glare is fixed on you as you leave the classroom, it’s only when you’re two hallways over that you let yourself sigh

* “I’ve got to be careful around him, Izuku too.” You murmur

* You’ve been suppressing your power, not that it’s undefeatable with someone like Aizawl you don’t stand much of a chance with hand to hand combat, but still showing your quirk in a more limited range is better

* Still, you get the feeling Izuku’s interest in your quirk isn’t just because he wants to see it in action

* You’re hoping he’s not suspecting anything

* You stop, a grin curling on your mouth as you stop in front of the class, a familiar tuft of purple hair seated against the glass window

* “Hey are you Shinso?” His eyes fix on your hands splayed on his desk, and up your arms until they reach your eyes.

* “Depends on why you’re asking.”

* Your grin only widens

* “Heard you’re the one with an awesome quirk.”

* He doesn’t flinch away from your gaze, and then almost slowly he says:

* “I’m pretty sure you’re the one with the awesome quirk (L/N).”

* So he knows about you - it’s just for a second, but the surprise catches you off gaurd and for a split second you feel the blue aura radiate from you - tue despair creeping out of your body, a single tear slipping from the corner of his eye

* Shit shit shit shit

* You breathe deeply, imagining the box shut close one more

* No one else noticed but Shinso is looking at you with wide eyes

* You have to make him think it was on purpose, but you’re not sure if you can do that if you stay around him any longer

* Better to retreat for now

* “I think you and I are in the same league,” you make a show of glancing at the clock. “I gotta go, Midnight will kill me if I’m late to class, but I’ll see you around later cutie.” For good measure you boop his nose, sighing once you’re outside the classroom, out of eyesight and earshot

* “That could have gone better.” You mumble

* “Young (L/N)! What could have gone better!”

* Oh great, he’s here now too

* You practically creak as you turn to face, in all his seven foot tall glory, All Might in his signature yellow suit

* He’s looking at you with that goofy twinkle in his eyes

* “Love problems?”

* You scoff

* “Don’t be silly All Might, I was just saying hi to someone I admire.” You want to slap yourself the second you say it - that sounds like a stupid thing a teenager with a crush would say

* It catches All Might off guard though

* “You admire a student from the reserve class.”

* It’s strange to think the pillar of hope himself has such a narrow view on hero’s, you thought he would be more open minded especially considering that he chose Izuku

* Well somethings are hard to un learn

* You tug him closer to the doorway, pointing at the purple haired boy

* “That’s Shinso Hitoshi, he’s got a quirk where he can brainwash someone if they answer his question.”

* You can practically see the gears turn in his mind

* “That’s…an interesting quirk” he finally says, the bravado completely gone

* “He’d make a great hero - think of how many hostage situations he could dissolve, or bloodbaths he could stop.”

* “That’s an interesting point,” All Might’s hand is cupped under his chin. “But I have to wonder - how did you find out about him.”

* Because you’re not so full of yourself to realize you’re not the only main character here

* And also you come from another world where you know every even to take place for the next year or so

* But you won’t mention that for now

* You shrug

* “Why shouldn’t I, as far as I’m concerned the only difference between me and him is that I had connections to get into the hero course.”

* And it’s the truth, your power wouldn’t stand a chance against robots, it only works on humans

* If you’d gone into it like everyone else you probably would have failed. Though there’s the off chance you could have wowed the judges by Incapacitating everyone else in the arena

* Luckily, your body seems to be related to some rather remarkable individuals so you got in with a sparkling recommendation

* “That’s fair, your quirk isn’t exactly built for combat against anything but humans.”

* Your quirk, is a power that’s followed you into every world - sometimes as a spell others as a disposition, but it’s always, always there

* Like an aura, you have the power to bring absolute, crushing despair to anyone around you - to the point all they can do is kneel and gasp

* All Might looks at you with renewed interest

* Well that no good, you need him to be solely focused on Izuku from here on out

* “It is what it is, that’s just the world I guess.” You shrug, still Shinso will find a way, you already know he’s got everything it takes to be a hero

* You have no plan on being the hero in this story, you have your own agenda, and for it you might need Shinso

* “Were you heading to class 1-A? I think we’re a little late.” You give him your best smile, trailing behind him as you get closer to the classroom, he turns and gives you his signature smile letting you into the classroom first and you smile back

* All Might’s got a place in all of this too, of course he is considering he’s the sole connection you have to One for All -

* The one person in the world who’s your closest bet to getting home

* You sigh as you settle in your seat watching All Might write down math problems on the board

* “Hey (Y-Y/N),” Izuku stutters, his voice barley a whisper, “do you think I can go with you next time you go to meet the student with a cool quirk in the rescue class?”

* You can feel Bakugo’s glare in your back, and Iida’s practically crawling out of his skin seeing you talk during class.

* Well, might as well have fun while you’re here

* “Yeah, sure hottie, I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.”

#my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagine #boku no hero academia #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia #izuku midoriya x reader #deku imagine #deku x reader #izuku midoriya imagine #midoriya izuku #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #iida tenya x reader #Iida tenya imagine #shinsou x reader #shinso hitoshi #waking up in bnha #superhero—imagines

[tetsuwhore]

𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 | 𝐨𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐮

Description: you’re so soft, so pliant against him, innocently fluttering your eyelashes as you look up at him. it makes Oikawa want to ruin you. so, he does.

Warning: explicit smut - corruption kink, overstimulation, one mention of videotaping, soft dom!Oikawa, shy!Reader

Length: 4.1k words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oikawa had only wanted to kiss you goodbye.

That’s all he had meant to do - end the night a little sweet before leaving your doorway for the drive back to his apartment. Maybe even whisper something in your ear about how he couldn’t wait to see how pretty you looked in your outfit for the next date night, just so he had one last chance to see your face grow pink at his cheekiness.

But he doesn’t even reach that far, because before he can pull away, you’re grasping on to the thick of his shoulders, bringing his lips back against your soft ones. You’re kissing him hard, with far more vigour than he was expecting. It’s uncharacteristic of you. He can’t bring himself to pull away. 

He wants to lose himself - to the saccharine scent of your perfume, to the magnetic pull of your arms as they loop around his neck, to the feeling of your soft tits pressing up against the hardness of his chest. Suddenly, Oikawa’s intoxicated, and it has nothing to do with the wine from earlier tonight. No, it’s you; you’re everywhere, all around him. And he’s so tempted to simply give in to the inebriation. 

But he shouldn’t. It was too early, wasn’t it? No, he should wait until you’re ready. That would be the right thing to do. All he had to do was gently pull away from you and-

“Oikawa-kun… I need you to, um, to touch me? Please?”

Fuck. You’re practically begging him to fuck you. And he wants to. Oikawa wants to. 

Maybe he should. He considers the thought - it would be cruel of him not to, wouldn’t it? To deny you, even when he can feel the needy undulation of your front against his crotch, and your hardened nipples poking through the thin fabric of your blouse. 

And when you begin moaning into his mouth, whining about how you wanted him - no, needed him - to make you feel good, Oikawa knows that he physically can’t push you away. 

So he makes haste of fishing your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the door, and swiftly bringing you inside before he lost all his senses and fucked you right there at the doorway of your apartment. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

It’s amusing, really. 

How the moment Oikawa has you laying on the bed, with him hovering on top of you, you lose all remnants of that forwardness. Every trace of the boldness from earlier melts away, and left behind, is his shy, timid girlfriend. 

He’s stripped your pants away, leaving your bottom half naked, save for your panties. It’s a flimsy thing, with fabric so thin that he can practically feel the dampness soaking through to his pants. And it does absolutely nothing to protect you from the rutting of his hardening bulge against your clothed clit.

It’s the slightest motion, just a simple brush every so often. And yet, you’re already a shaky mess under him, blushing and quivering at every movement. You’re unable to even look at him, tilting your head to the side, eyes pulled tightly shut.

“You need to be touched here,” Oikawa coos, his fingers lightly ghosting along the length of your clothed slit, “don’t you, baby?” He chuckles at the sight of your frantic nodding, moving off of you to support himself on one elbow. Thumbing your panties, he looks to you for permission, “How about we get this out of the way, hmm?”

Upon receiving your shy nod, he loops deft fingers into the waistband, slowing prying the fabric away from your dripping cunt. Oikawa has to contain himself - take a deep breath in so he doesn’t cum in his pants - as his eyes follow the clear string of slickness left behind as he slides your panties along your quivering thighs, all the way down to your ankles, before placing it aside. 

Your eyes are still screwed shut, likely from the embarrassment of being so exposed in front of him. But when a second passes, then one more, and then another still, your eyes flutter open. You turn to him, confusion evident in your expression as you watch him remain where he is - idly resting by your side on one arm. 

“Touch yourself for me.” 

Your eyes are the size of saucers now, gaping up at him as you stutter over your words.

“I- I can’t- That’s too…”

“Go on, baby,” Oikawa coaxes gently, “For me.”

He follows your shaky hand as it ghosts along your abdomen, before finally reaching the place between your legs. He’s patient, waiting silently as he watches your eyes fall shut again, listening for the soft whimpers that escape your lips as your fumbling fingers brush against your quivering inner folds. 

You have your bottom lip pulled tight between your teeth - a habit of nervousness, he’s learnt. Nervous about what? Nervous about… him? The thought of it makes Oikawa grin to himself. Even with your eyes closed, he knows you’re aware. You’re painfully aware of how he’s watching you, silently scrutinizing your slightest movements, your every reaction.

It’s a tinge sadistic, he knows; he really should be doing more to make you feel more at ease. And yet, the sight of you so self-conscious and awkward under his sharp gaze, so desperate to make yourself as small as you can… 

It just makes him even harder.

“Oikawa-kun… I can’t”

He’s quick to card his fingers through your hair, softly rubbing them against your scalp in soothing motions. Planting a light kiss to your forehead, Oikawa whispers reassuring praises in your ear, hoping it would be enough to coax you into continuing the ministrations of your fingers.

“No, I really c-can’t…” your voice is so small that he barely catches what you say, “I don’t- I don’t know how…” 

Huh. How interesting. 

Oikawa raises a brow in curiosity, “You’ve never touched yourself before?” Shaking your head, “Just on-once,” you quietly confess, “but I didn’t, um… y’know…” 

Very interesting, indeed. 

“Tell me about it,” he presses gently, “What did you think about, hmm?”

“It was that day after you, um, you t-took me to… to watch you practice,” your voice is laced with embarrassment now, uncontrollably shaky, “I couldn’t s-stop thinking about you...” Gulping, you keep going, “So, uh, after you dr-dropped me home, I- I-” 

Oikawa hums, hoping the feigned nonchalance of it was believable enough to hide how crazy your words were driving him. 

“I tried to, um, you know, t-touch… d-down there... but all I could t-think, oh-” your breath hitches in surprise as you glance down to find his other hand drawing slow circles on the skin of your thigh. Hovering so, very dangerously close to the heat of your cunt. And yet, he keeps his eyes on your face, waiting for you to continue.

“I kept thinking about… about y-your fingers… how they’re so much longer and, ah- and th-thicker than mine,” his eyes are growing wider, darker at every utterance slipping from your lips. Did you have any idea what you were doing to his ego?

“And how mine got too… um, too t-tired to continue, but yours,” you’re struggling so hard now, voice so shaky that you’re barely coherent, “yours would pr-probably m-make… make me… oh-”

But now those very fingers are lightly tracing the outside of your pussy lips, and the rest of it comes out so garbled that Oikawa isn’t even sure it can be considered speech. It’s okay, he can forgive you. Because fuck, this was really too much, and he would be a hypocrite to chide you for it.

Oikawa would be a hypocrite to judge you when his own thoughts were completely scrambled, swarming all over the place as he zoned in on the mental picture of you. 

Of his cute girlfriend, lying alone in her bed that night, fingers sunken deep into her dripping cunt as she fantasized about him. Of his little sweetheart, realizing in frustration that her tiny little fingers weren’t enough to make her cum, that they could never be enough, because she needed him to do it for her. Of his-

“Oikawa-kun, please!” your shrill pleading interrupts his thoughts, “I-I need… I need…” 

Him. You need him. 

And oh, he wanted to give you what you needed. Oikawa wanted to fuck you up, he wanted to ruin you, he wanted to use his fingers, his tongue, his thigh, his cock, all of it, until you were completely and utterly tainted by him. 

Still, he was selfish. He couldn’t just give you everything that easily, right? He was ready to spoil you (and he did mean in both ways), but he needed something from you first.

“Okay, cutie, okay,” Oikawa has to hide the laugh bubbling in his throat when he hears your breath of relief, “But first, I think you need to address me properly.”

“Huh? Oikawa-kun, wha-”

He tuts disapprovingly at that, trailing his fingers away from your clit, now throbbing from being neglected for so long. He chuckles when you try to grip on to his arm, weakly attempting to bring him to where you needed him most. Except, he was Oikawa Tooru - professionally trained athlete. It wouldn’t work. 

You’re still shaking, skin still flushed that gorgeous shade of crimson. But there’s a desperation in you now, a hunger for more, and he sees it perfectly in your frenzied movements as you grind your hips up in a feeble attempt to reach his straying fingers. 

He hears it loud and clear in your shrill whines as you beg, “Oikawa… I’ll do a-anything, just- just touch me!”

This time, Oikawa does laugh. It’s low, dark, as he takes in your words. Were you even aware of what you were saying, of the magnitude of that word - ‘anything’? But as his gaze returns to your face, as he watches how you peer up at him through tear-glazed eyes, eyelashes fluttering ever so innocently, he realizes. 

No. You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re offering him, the power you’re placing in his hands. It’s dangerous. Because again, Oikawa - ever the opportunist - is selfish. And when you offer him an inch, he’ll always go after the mile.

“My little cutie is willing to do anything? Just so I make her cum? Hmm, how about...” he hums against your neck, grinning at how you shudder at the feel of his hot breath on your skin, “...you call me by my name then?”

You look up at him in confusion, “W-What? Oik-”

“My actual name.”

It’s such a simple thing really, so easy to overlook. Getting you to drop the formalities. One by one - first with the lack of honorifics, and now, using his first name. To anyone else, it may have seemed so trivial. But this was you. His shy little girlfriend - so respectful, so polite, always ready with your pleases and thank yous.

“Please make me cum… T-Tooru…” 

And so, it was more than enough for him. 

Suddenly, he’s on top of you again, hot mouth swallowing your surprised whimpers as he kisses you hard, rough, hungry. Oikawa’s ruthless as his teeth tug down on your bottom lip, giving way for his tongue to slither in and taste the sweet inside of your mouth. It swipes against the edges of your teeth, licks up into the roof of your mouth, before finally tangling with yours. 

And fuck, you’re moaning, you’re moaning into the kiss, because now his bulge is right against your naked cunt, rubbing up your swollen clit.

You flinch when the sound of ripping fabric echoes through the room. 

His large hands pull the shredded remnants of your blouse away, allowing him a second to drink in your trembling form, now free of the oppressive cloth hiding you away from him. Oikawa trails his eyes down your heaving chest, focuses on the slight jiggle of your naked breasts as you attempt to control your staggering breaths. 

You remind him of a porcelain doll - pretty, delicate, probably been treated like fragile glassware all your life.  And your skin… your skin is smooth as china; it’s completely clear, with not a single blemish in sight. 

Yet, all Oikawa can think about is tarnishing it, bruising it, treating it like his own personal canvas and splotching it with angry blooms of red, blue, and purple. 

So, he does. His mouth ravages the expanse of your skin, sucking and kissing and licking and biting, exploring every crevice. But wait- you’re pushing him away, fingers wrangling with the hem of his shirt. Pulling apart, Oikawa makes haste of yanking his shirt off, hissing when he finally, finally feels your dainty hands grasping on to his naked skin.

Then he’s back to abusing your skin, delving into the soft cups of your breasts, into the crook of your neck. And he can hear all kinds of sounds escaping your lips - from pleasure, desperation, maybe even… pain? 

He can’t tell; and he would’ve been more concerned, but right now, he simply doesn’t care, because you’re moaning for ‘more Tooru!’, you’re gripping his shoulders closer to you and you’re arching your back up so he can latch his mouth onto one of your nipples.

Your thighs are already quivering as he glides down to hover over them, slowly trailing kisses along the skin of your midriff before finally settling in between your legs. You watch, breath bated, eyes wide in trepidation as Oikawa slowly hooks one calve over his broad shoulder. The other thigh, however, he presses flat down on the mattress. 

“Don’t move this one.”

You’re blushing fiery red, clearly mortified at having your cunt spread open on display in front of him. And yet, you see how much his eyes have hardened, now a murky black as they lock on you. There isn’t any option available other than to nod. 

“Good girl.”

And as Oikawa peers down at your glistening folds - his face so close that he’s practically inhaling the smell of sex, of sin - he wishes he had the patience to draw it out, to explore every part of you properly. But your desperation is practically palpable, with the frenzied undulation of your hips, and the way you’re chewing on your bottom lip in anticipation. 

He decides to be generous. 

With one clear, fluid stroke, he’s dragging his tongue up the length of your slit, and he’s dragging the most wanton moan out of your lips. He can’t hold back his own sounds either, because fuck, you’re delicious. You’re saccharine sweet, and all Oikawa can think about is how he wants more, more, more.

So he takes it. Straightening his tongue out, he moves it past your slit, dips it into the warm cavern of your cunt and laps up all the slickness he can reach. His nose is nudged up against your clit, brushing against it as his slick tongue continues to explore the inside of your slopping pussy. 

Oikawa tilts his head to the side slightly, stealing a glance at the thigh that isn’t in his grasp. It’s trembling, hovering ever-so-slightly off the mattress. And yet, he can see how painfully tight the muscle is strained as it remains in its place, just like he asked (or rather, ordered). Even with his mouth buried deep in your folds, he feels his lips draw into a smile. You’re such a good girl for him; so obedient. 

Deciding that he had indulged enough, Oikawa withdraws his tongue from inside you and begins furiously lapping it up, all the way from your slit to your throbbing clit. He keeps it up, repeating it again and- wait, suddenly, he realizes that you’ve fallen quiet, and he looks up, and... are you- are you wincing? Concerned, he pulls away slightly. 

“Something wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

His warm hand caresses up and down your thigh, reassuring you as you attempt to muster up the right words, “I- I like it. But, um, c-could you… could you, maybe go… softer?”

Oikawa chuckles to himself, as he settles back in. Of course. How could he allow himself to get so carried away? His little cutie was delicate, so utterly sensitive to his every touch. He needed to keep in mind that he couldn’t just ravage you at every stop.

(Even if the thought was a little more than enticing). 

And ah, there it is. That’s the sound he was looking for. Oikawa knows he’s got it right when you’re squirming in his hold, sharp whimpers and mewls bubbling out of your lips over, and over, and over again. So he swipes his tongue the same way you seem to enjoy so much.

Over, and over, and over again.

You’ve shed away all inhibitions now, shamelessly grinding your cunt against his face, smearing your slick all over his chin and cheeks. His peripherals roam up your quivering body, settling on your face. Your neck is jerked forward slightly, granting him the perfect view of your expression. You have your eyes screwed shut, mouth pulled slack, cheeks reddened and slightly wet with your spit running down the sides.

Fuck. You’re gorgeous like this. Oikawa wants to brand the image into his memory, keep it safe so it can resurface every time he’s alone and got his hand wrapped around his dick as he thinks about you. Or maybe... maybe, you’d even let him get a camera to record it?

Well, he’ll have to remember to ask about it, but later. Because suddenly, your tiny fingers are tangling themselves in his chocolate locks, your lips sobbing a string of “Tooru! Tooru! Tooru!” You cum violently, messily as your cunt practically drools on to his tongue. Oikawa eats you through it, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure on his flattened tongue. 

And then, he keeps going.

He doesn’t pull away even as you cry out at the oversensitivity, your knee knocking into his temple in a frenzied restlessness. Oikawa simply grips your hips down into the mattress and keeps his tongue buried in the folds of your hot cunt, tangling his tongue against the little nub. He only settles back once you’ve cum again, sending a fresh new pool of slickness dripping down his chin. 

You don’t expect it when he surges up to place his body on top of yours, his lips already finding yours in a hungry kiss. It’s messy, with your release smearing all over your cheeks and chin from his face. Oikawa pulls away once he’s satisfied, giving you the chance to finally, finally catch a short breath. He grins at the fresh slick now coating your lower face. 

Parting your lips with his thumb, he smears it across your tongue, grinning as he asks, “Tastes good, don’t you think?”

He watches as you tilt your face to the side, casting your eyes away from his piercing gaze. You respond with a shy nod. 

“So, cutie,” Oikawa begins, a smug smirk on his face, “You must be pretty tired, I don’t think you can handle my cock right away. Maybe we should leave it at this, hmm?” 

And fuck, it’s all worth it when he sees the desperation, the pure need on your face when you rush to grip on to his forearm, begging him to keep going, that you could take whatever he had to give you, that you needed something to fill you up.

Sure enough, when he glances down, he sees how your cunt pulsates, clenching around nothing. Fuck, he wasn’t going to be able to hold back. 

“Since you seem so insistent,” he feigns a cocky tone, as if he isn’t the one with the raging boner, “You want me to fuck you then? Stretch you out with my cock?”

You remain silent, choosing to nod again. Oh, that wouldn’t do. “No, no,” Oikawa shakes his head in disapproval, “Use your words, baby.”

“Want you to-” your lower lip trembles as you speak, the embarrassment causing hot tears to gather at the corners of your closed eyes, “want you to- to f-fuck me… Tooru...” 

Hearing such filth escape your lips is the last straw. His patience is now replaced by a ferocious need, a craving, a hunger. 

From that point, the rest feels like a fever dream. Oikawa remembers sheathing himself in you, gritting his teeth and hissing as your tight cunt somehow manages to resist the entry of his cock while simultaneously sucking him in deeper. He can feel the sharp sting of your nails as they scramble for purchase on the sweat sheened surface of his broad back. 

He definitely remembers the way you tighten up as you cum, your body succumbing to his strong thrusts and harsh rutting against your clit. The silky walls of your cunt clamp up around his dick, making him have to work harder and harder to move every inch. 

Oikawa recalls you whimpering into his ear, sobbing about how it was too much, how you couldn’t handle more, how you were far too sensitive. And yet, he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, because it’s you who is pulling his hips deeper into you with your legs, and it’s you who has got your arms wrapped around his shoulders in a deadlock. 

What Oikawa can picture most vividly, however, is you cupping his flushed cheeks, pressing your lips against his in a sweet kiss. The tenderness of your touch, of your warm mouth, of you, so soft and pliant under him - it’s all such a stark contrast to the harshness of his thrusts. 

Then, your gentle voice is at his ear again, but this time you’re telling him you love him, you love him, you love him, you-

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*⋆.*:･ﾟ: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

The room is dense with the sound of your staggering breaths intermingling with his. 

For a moment, Oikawa allows himself to black the world out, closing his eyes and resting his head against your heaving breasts. He can faintly feel a soft pressure against his temple - he realizes that it’s your lips, planting one, two, three kisses along his skin. 

Lifting his head up, Oikawa allows his eyes to fall open, so they can face yours. 

And then, you’re both breaking out into giggles. 

“Fuck, you deserve an Oscar for that.”

“God, yeah, I definitely do,” you laugh, “Hell, I almost believed myself during some of it.”

“It was incredible, baby. Really,” Oikawa’s tone grows uncharacteristically hesitant as he continues, “But… you enjoyed it too, right? Wasn’t uncomfortable or anything?”

“Relax, Tooru. No, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you shake your head, your hands moving to gently cup his face. “I knew I could trust you. Besides, t’was fun playing pillow princess for a bit. But, uh...” you stretch out your leg, wincing at the ache, “my thigh is sore as a bitch right now.” 

He chuckles at that, a long arm already extending down your leg to massage the cramps away. 

“Really though, who would’ve guessed - world famous athlete Oikawa Tooru is really a freak who fantasizes about ruining his-” you snicker as you make a mock attempt at imitating his silky tone, “his ‘innocent little cutie’ of a girlfriend.” 

“Hey! It’s not that weird,” Oikawa whines defensively. “But, fuck, you really pulled some of that stuff straight out of my fantasies. Like, that whole thing about not being able to touch yourself properly because you needed me to get you off? It’s so-” 

“I would like to interject and remind you that you cannot possibly expect me to believe that you’d know how to get me off better than I would. No fucking way a dude knows my body better than I do. That’s some weird porn shit right there.”

��Shhh, it’s a nice fantasy, though - my girl fucking herself silly on her fingers, only to get frustrated when she can’t cum because it doesn’t feel right and she needs me to do it for her. Don’t spoil it, let a man dream.”

You roll your eyes at him, flicking his forehead with your finger, but nonetheless, pull his head back against your chest. Oikawa settles against you with a satisfied yawn, strong arms wrapped tight around your middle. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Tooru...”

Oh no.

He can feel the incessant tapping of your fingers against his fingers. Looking up, he groans at the sight of the mischievous grin on your face. 

“I know you want to,” he sighs, “Just say it.”

“...even if you are a freak.”

#oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

I want this to be a short request but how would crushing!companions react to sole who holds their hand whenever they get scared and it slowly turns into a habit for them to always hold onto his hand?

omg this is literally so cute, bye. 🥺💗 i hope you enjoy, anon.

to keep it short, i’ll just write their reactions to when sole holds their hand and i will put ‘companions react to sole holding their hand as a habit’ in a separate post! <3

-

Danse:

it’s nothing new in his life— he’s experienced his fair share of people holding onto him during stressful and terrifying situations, so it’s something he’s used to. however, sole is an exception in this case. it’s been quite a while since he’s caught feelings for his companion, so it’s different in certain situations with them.

when they first get startled and hold his hand, he tenses up, his mind going completely blank as they wrap their fingers around his palm. though millions of people have done the same action to him in the past, this one feels different and he swears it makes him feel emotions he’s never truly felt before. before he can question what their intentions were, he noticed how they drew closer to him, eyes frantically scanning their surroundings and he realizes that there may have been an uncomfortable presence around.

so danse slowly takes a breath and squeezes their hand in return, looking down at them with red cheeks and a nervous expression. “you’re safe, don’t worry. if there appears to be any threat within our vacinity, i will neutralize it as best as i can.” when they look at him with a relieved smile, he feels his heart swell with emotions he’s never felt in his lifetime. he doesn’t dare to let go until sole feels safe enough to do so and even when they do, he fights the urge to take their hand in his once more.

instead, he impatiently waits for the next time he has the chance to hold their hand in his again, already excited though he refuses to admit it.

Deacon:

deacons not a very affection man nor has he received any affection from any other individual besides his late other half. To say this situation was terrifying for him was an understatement. he’s probably already dreading the fact that he has an unavoidable crush for his companion, not wanting to deal with that type of stress no longer.

the first time his crush rushes to hold his hand out of fear of their surroundings, he immediately pulls away out of habit and stares at them with a lump in his throat, words scrambled and refusing to leave his mouth for a moment. “i-, uh-“

with a mortified expression, sole waves it off with a flush on their face and an embarrassed tone, “shit i’m sorry. it’s just a habit, please don’t mind me.” they slowly distance themselves away from him and deacon quickly gets his act together, inwardly panicking that he may have hurt their feelings unintentionally. “no, it’s fine. i just- uh.” they tilt their head with a confused expression and instead of explaining himself, he lets out a soft apology and awkwardly goes on his way to save him the embarrassment. when he thinks about it later, he feels a pang of guilt hit him and realizes he may have been too harsh, so he tries to make an exception.

next time around, when sole does accidentally jump to grab his hand, it takes him a moment to calm himself down but does gather the courage to return the gesture. he would notice the surprised expression on soles face, and even though he’s internally losing it, he musters up the same shit eating smile he always has and cracks a joke; “charmer, i know it’s hard to stay away from me, but you could at least try.” when sole doesn’t respond and sends him a confused expression, he gives them a small smile and tugs their hand, “that’s okay though, i don’t mind. good ol’ deeks will scare the monsters away.”

when sole lets out a small chuckle, he feels himself grow agitated and immediately whips around to hide the blush on his face as he drags sole along with him. “we better get going if we wanna get outta this scary place. yknow, before you jump out of your shoes.”

Maccready:

he’s very to himself in most situations and values his personal space just as much as most people do in the commonwealth. he believes in a personal bubble and really enforces that idea, respecting his own personal space as well as others. however in this case, mac is probably just as scared as sole is, though he may be a lot better at hiding it.

when sole does grab his hand, he doesn’t give attention to it at first due to him being scared as well but when he does notice them showing signs of fear, he tries to reassure them, even though he’s flustered at the sudden contact. with a deep breath, he sucks in his negative emotions and decides to step up to bring comfort to them.

“hey, you okay?” when sole doesn’t respond, he just pulls them closer and squeezes their hand gently to grab their attention. when they do look at him, he smiles awkwardly, a inevitable blush dusting his cheeks. “earth to sole?”

when they explain their habit of doing so, he tries to lighten the mood by telling stories about his life in the capital wasteland and how he felt during his time at little lamplight, letting them know that he had similar fears and still continues to have them despite him experiencing the wasteland for years.

soon enough, their hands naturally find home in each other as they both continue exchanging similar experiences they’ve had, laughter filling the silence that sole feared just moments back.

Hancock:

hancocks a very touchy man and people do show him quite a lot of affection, so just like danse, he’s used to the constant attention others show him, only this time, the perspective is a little different. he enjoys it far more than other companions and doesn’t mind when they rush to hold his hand, though it catches him off guard.

for a moment, he processes the events occurring but once he does, he lets out a soft smile and a chuckles under his breath. he wants to let out a flirtatious comment or two, but fights the urge and instead, soothes their fear instead of embarrassing them.

“don’t worry, sunshine. you know i wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.” he’d rub his thumb against their knuckles and smiles when he sees the tenseness in their body melt away. “in fact..”

when he lets go of their hand, he sees the panic grow on their face and lets out a small chuckle. with a swift movement, he gently throws his arm over their shoulder and pulls them closer, rubbing their arm reassuringly.

“.. this might be a little more comforting. no matter what happens, i’ll always be ready to protect you this way. don’t you agree?” when they chuckle and nod at his suggestion, he pulls them closer to his body, whispering loud enough for them to hear.

“ ‘m always here for you, sunshine. you don’t ever have to be scared, especially with me around. don’t ever feel like you have to hide it from me.” sole lets out a small hum before leaning into his touch, trusting every word that left his mouth.

Nick Valentine:

nick is very understanding with a situation like this and doesn’t mind it one bit. though he does get a bit flustered, he tries to play out the scenario in a way where they won’t feel embarrassed about the events occurring. he’s aware that everyone has their fair share of fears, no matter how tough you play out to be.

“things can get pretty scary around here, i know.” when he smiles down at them, they feel a sense of ease and relax into his touch instead of having the urge to pull away. “waking up 200 years later in a completely different life will do that to you.”

sole would sigh and hold his hand tighter, their voice barely a whisper as their cheeks flush with embarrassment. “i wonder how you do it sometimes.”

nick lets out a small laugh at their reaction. “it wasn’t always like this, sweetheart. i was just as scared as you, maybe even worse.” sole looks at him with curiosity as he continues on, “theres always something new everyday but soon you’ll learn how to adapt to it.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.” his words are full of reassurance and comfort, allowing sole to let go of any negative feelings that filled their chest.

“good thing i have the best companion in the wasteland to guide me around this hellhole.” sole puts it out as a joke, but knows a part of it was the truth that she was wholeheartedly grateful for.

he proceeded to rub his thumb on their knuckles, feeling a sense of happiness in their comment, “i’ll do my best to meet your expectations, partner.”

Preston:

poor boy. he’d be a blushing mess if sole were to ever do something as simple as this. if they were to dart to grab his hand, even out of fear, he’d stutter in confusion, obviously flustered at the idea of them latching onto him. “w-what are you d-doing?”

his body would immediately freeze upon contact, stopping in his tracks despite the possibility of getting attacked at any given moment. when he catches the terror in their expression, he’s reminded that the general has their weak points too. so instead of questioning their actions any further, he tries to reassure them despite his pounding heart.

“did you wanna turn around? we can always find another route. we could even send a team of minutemen to do this for us.” when sole shakes their hand and swallows the lump in their throat, preston lets out a soft sigh and smiles at them softly.

“just leaving the suggestion out there, general. say the word and we’ll turn right back around.” sole would shake their head, their stubbornness peeking through the look of fear twisting on their face. “it’s fine. i can’t be selfish and let it get to me.”

preston would feel his heart swell at their sacrifice and the determination that they held, despite the odds going against them. gently, he squeezed their hand and looked down at them, seeing the curious expression on their face. “if that’s the case, just know i’m confident that nothing will tear you down. i have your back every step of the way,” he pauses for a moment, rubbing the nape of his neck nervously with a dorky smile, “even if it mean- uh -holding my hand. i’d be more than happy to.”

after a few moments of silence, sole processed his words and smiled at him in response, returning the squeeze. “thank you, preston.”

Sturges:

sturges is aware he isn’t the strongest man in the commonwealth nor does he have the ability to protect sole in most situations. however, if he had a choice, he would do the best he could and he knows that sole is aware of his intentions. yet, when they yelp with fear and lunge to him, taking his hand in theirs, he realizes that maybe he isn’t as weak as he sought out to be.

“you holding up ‘lright, sweetheart?” when they notice their actions, their expression slowly twists into a terrified one and they attempt to retrieve their hand as quickly as they can. sturges doesn’t stop them from doing so and instead just laughs heartily and offers his hand to them despite their reaction.

“i’m fine with it, yknow. i wasn’t complainin’ or anything, just wanted to check if you’re okay.” sole hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering from his hand to his face before replying. “are you sure it’s okay? it just gave me a little scare, you don’t have to-“

before they could continue, he moves closer, taking their hand in his with a light blush on his cheeks and a reassuring smile plastered on his face. “it’s the least i can do for you.” his actions are more than enough to reassure sole and they nod, accepting his offer. “thank you, sturges.”

Gage:

he doesn’t like crushes— gage is so used to the habit of a one night stand and constant hook ups that he absolutely forgets how loving someone feels like. as sole grips his hand in fear, he chokes up for a good second and immediately gets himself together, retreating his hand and glaring at them.

“the fuck you think you’re doing?” despite his tough demeanor, his voice becomes slightly shaky and a small tinge of pink dusts his cheek. this doesn’t go unnoticed at first, but sole knows they’re too distracted to point it out.

they would apologize with an embarrassed expression and he’d avert his eyes elsewhere before continuing on; “yer the damn overboss, some stupid shit like this shouldn’t scare you. you gotta be tougher than that if yer gonna survive in this world.”

he doesn’t realize the words that leave his mouth until his eyes fall on sole, who’s clearly embarrassed and overwhelmed with the situation and immediately feels a tinge of guilt. with a quiet groan, he slows down and averts his eyes elsewhere, waiting for them to pick up the pace. when sole lets out a confused hum, he forces the words to leave his mouth.

“hurry up and get in front of me, why don’t ya’? yer acting like i’d let the overboss get hurt on my watch.”

they would pause for a moment at his words but feel a sense of reassurance knowing that gage had their back, despite his attitude towards them. “okay.” sole would smile at him softly and he’d scoff, fighting the blush threatening to creep up on his face. this stupid love bullshit was doing nothing but holding him back.

“yeah, yeah. lets get a move on before i leave ya out here to get eaten.”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 reacts #fo4 reacts #fallout+4+companions+reaction #fallout reactions #fallout 4 reactions #danse #paladin danse #hancock #john hancock #robert joseph maccready #maccready #nick valentine #preston #preston garvey #sturges #porter gage #gage #fluff #scenario #imagine

[starryhyuck]

mark! (m)

pairing: dom!mark x sub!reader x dom!yuta

words: 2.2k+

summary: mark is scared of stepping out of his comfort zone with you. therefore, you enlist yuta’s help to get your boyfriend a little more comfortable.

genre: smut

warnings: threesome (kind of), anal sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, breeding kink

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

You sigh. “Mark, stop being such a scaredy cat.”

The frown on his face is positively adorable. You want to squeeze his cheeks so badly. “I’m not a scaredy cat!” He protests, but it only makes him look more soft.

You giggle and press a kiss to his lips. “Whatever you say. Besides, Yuta won’t be back for a while. I don’t know why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared!” He argues again, eyebrows furrowing together in the most adorable way. “I just- this is Yuta’s bed. It’s kind of impolite to be doing anything on a place where he sleeps.”

You sigh. “Mark, I think we both know what kind of a person Yuta is. I’m pretty sure he would do the exact same thing on your bed.”

His nose scrunches as the thought passes through him.

“Ew. I didn’t need that visual.”

You flop down on Yuta’s comforter before bringing Mark with you. He’s still very reluctant, despite connecting your lips together. You try easing him up, hands moving over his shoulders as you pull him closer and closer.

Your sex life with Mark was always more than satisfying, but he was constantly scared to take risks. Being an exhibitionist yourself and considering how shy Mark could get, it was really difficult to get your boyfriend to even hold your hand in front of the other members, let alone kiss you. You’ve tried on more than one occasion to suck him off at the dinner table, but he was always too on edge that someone would walk in.

To combat your curiosity, you enlisted Yuta’s help.

Your eyes carefully watch the door as Mark’s tongue explores your mouth. Yuta stares through the small opening, watching you with a heavy glare.

You giggle into the kiss and Mark eases up a little at the sound. Your fingers dance around his neck as you pull him closer and closer, observing as Yuta casually walks into the room. Mark is too lost in you to notice.

After letting you make out for a few more minutes, Yuta finally clears his throat. You swear Mark jumps five feet in the air and scrambles away from you. His whole face is flushed pink at the sight of Yuta, quickly stuttering to provide an excuse.

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “And what were you two doing exactly?”

You blink innocently. “What do you mean?”

He smirks at your act. You’re still sprawled out on his bed, hair tangled from Mark’s fingers messily running through it. Yuta wonders how pretty you would look with his cock sliding in your mouth, beautiful lips eager to taste him. He leans closer to your frame, ignoring Mark’s surprise at his older member’s proximity to his girlfriend.

“I mean you and Mark trying to fuck on my bed.”

“W-We’re sorry, Y-Yuta!” Mark frantically says. “W-We just- I just-“

Yuta chuckles, and the deep sound shoots straight to your core.

“It’s fine, Mark. You weren’t putting on much of a show anyways. Why haven’t you touched her?”

Mark looks like his brain is going on overdrive. “W-What?”

Yuta’s fingers graze over your exposed thigh. He picked out the skirt you were wearing for this occasion, knowing it would make Mark incredibly flustered.

“Why haven’t you touched her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

You quickly nod. “It’s what I want. Touch me, Yuta, please.”

Yuta grins, his eyes darting back to Mark’s. “Can I, Mark?”

You think your boyfriend is really broken. He’s nervously twitching, shaking his head as he tries to gather his thoughts. You decide to give him a little break.

“I thought Yuta could help us out a little, Mark. I asked him to come so we can have more fun.”

Yuta nods. “If you’re uncomfortable, Mark, I can leave.”

The silence in the air is deafening. Mark finally clears his throat. “Can you show m-me how you do it?”

Yuta smirks. “Do what, exactly?”

The blush fully appears on Mark’s cheeks again. “Um, how you eat her out.”

Your eyes widen. You were definitely not expecting him to say that. Yuta’s smirk widens at the request.

“Definitely. Sit down and watch.”

Yuta’s staring at your clothed core in no time, playing with the hem of your skirt. He chuckles when he sees your choice of underwear.

“Lace,” he hums playfully, snapping the elastic against your skin as you squeak. “Do you always wear such pretty panties for Mark?”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “I have prettier ones in his top drawer.”

“I’d love to see them some time, doll.”

You eagerly watch as Yuta pulls down your panties, making a show as his hands slowly caress your thighs. He throws the pair of red lace to Mark, who easily catches it and groans. Yuta yanks up your skirt so he can fully gaze at your exposed cunt.

He chuckles. “You should be nicer to her, Mark. She’s got such a pretty pussy.”

You moan when his fingers play with your folds, goosebumps spreading across your skin. You quickly learn that Yuta is a tease, patient as he touches you.

“Please, Yuta,” you beg, wanting him to do something already.

His smile appears again. “What is it, doll? What do you need?”

“Need your mouth,” you whine. “And your fingers.”

You’re already turning into a blubbering mess. Mark, on the other hand, could not be more nervous. He finds this whole situation incredibly arousing, but also dangerously intimidating. He wonders if Yuta will be better than him, and if you’ll like Yuta way more than you like him. All thoughts are thrown out the window when Yuta’s tongue takes a lick up your slit. Your moans shoot straight to Mark’s hardened cock, and Mark has no doubt in his mind that he could cum in his pants right now.

He takes silent notes as Yuta teases you, never fully giving you what you want and watching as you continue to beg for him. Yuta slips a finger into your hole and you cry out, your body reacting to every single touch.

Yuta’s gaze returns to Mark. “See? She likes it when you don’t go too fast. Draw it out, make her beg.”

Mark swallows at the sudden lessons. He’s always been really quick with you, never letting you wait this long.

“Yuta, please, please,” you continue to whimper, hands reaching for him. Yuta is quick to silence you, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Be a good girl and I’ll reward you. No touching until I say so.”

You nod in submission. Mark’s eyes zero in on Yuta’s tongue exploring your folds, finger slowly pushing in and out of your weeping pussy. Mark swears he’s never heard you this wet before, the squelch of Yuta’s finger entering you echoing throughout the room. When Yuta adds a second finger, you almost lose it.

“Please please, Yuta, I want to cum. Please let me cum,” you cry.

“That’s up to Mark,” he states, and the younger boy freezes. “Can she cum, Mark?”

Your eyes are glistening with tears as you stare at your boyfriend. You whimper when Yuta furiously begins eating you out, your orgasm dangerously approaching.

“Wait, wait, wait-“

“Give her the signal, Mark,” Yuta instructs, attacking your pussy with his tongue and fingers.

Mark waits until you’re right on the edge, seconds away from sobbing. He walks over and leans down until he’s whispering in your ear.

“Cum, pretty girl.”

You fall apart, clutching your boyfriend’s arm as you clench around Yuta’s fingers. He helps you ride out your high, licking up any remnants of your orgasm.

You blearily come to your senses after that mind numbing climax, Yuta and Mark discussing quietly. There’s a faint ringing sound in your ears until Mark cups your cheeks.

“Okay?”

You giggle. “Okay.”

He laughs at your delirious state.

“Does she always get like that?” Yuta questions.

“Only when it’s really good,” he replies. His focus turns back to you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

You giggle again. “Okay.”

He smiles fondly at you, and butterflies swell in your chest like they always do when Mark smiles at you like that.

“Make it rough,” Yuta chimes in. “I want to see her really cry.”

You’re flipped onto your stomach in no time, Mark’s fingers threading your ass. Yuta’s taken a seat not far from the bed, switching roles with Mark as he watches you this time. Mark’s thumb gently grazes over your other hole and you gasp.

Yuta’s voice is full of curiosity. “She likes it there?”

“Sometimes.” He pauses before making a decision. “Can I fuck you here, baby?”

“Yes, Mark, please.”

You can practically hear his grin. “Okay.”

Yuta tosses him the bottle of lube he keeps in his nightstand, and Mark quickly preps you. You moan when he fingers you, scissoring and stretching you to make sure you’re ready to take him.

You and Mark rarely do anal, mostly because he’s always afraid of hurting you. You know now, though, that he wants to put on a good show for Yuta.

Once you’re prepped enough, you feel the tip of his cock circling your hole. You both groan when he sinks the tip in. Unlike the other times, Mark doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He pushes into you roughly.

You cry at the intrusion, already feeling the first batch of tears painting your cheeks. Around this time, Mark usually pulls out and apologizes, checking if you’re okay. He’s turned into a completely different person in front of Yuta.

You grip the sheets as Mark relentlessly pounds into you, stretching you harder than he has before. It isn’t painful at all because even though Mark is rough with you, he always knows how to make you feel good.

You’re incoherently blubbering for him. “Y-Yes, feels so good. Feels s-so good, baby. Such a big cock inside my small little hole. So good, so good.”

Mark grunts, fingers tangling into your hair again. “Yeah? You like it when I fuck your tight little hole? You like making a show for Yuta?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob.

You can barely make out Yuta’s figure as he grows closer to you, wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

“Aren’t you such a pretty sight? Really selfish of Mark to keep you all to himself.”

Mark pinches your clit and you scream, diving headfirst into your second orgasm. Mark hisses as you clench even harder around him, pulling you as close as possible before shooting his cum deep inside you. You both release little moans as you recover.

Yuta laughs when you both are done. You swear you could pass out right now and sleep for at least twenty four hours straight.

The ringing sound echoes in your ears again as Mark and Yuta quietly converse once more. You whimper when Mark pulls out of you, his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Baby?” Mark’s voice pulls you out of your reverie. “Yuta wants to ask you something.”

You blink as Mark gently flips you on your back again. Yuta’s eyes grow darker.

“Are you on the pill?”

You nod.

“Can I try something?”

You nod again.

Mark leaves you to go get cleaned up and you observe as Yuta pulls his cock out, tip leaking and begging for attention. He runs his hand up and down his shaft for a few times before lining up with your pussy.

“Can I?”

You nod again, feeling too tired to form words. You gasp when Yuta pushes in, his cock much thicker than Mark’s.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes focusing on how his cock disappears into your cunt. “So fucking perfect.”

He builds up a steady rhythm, and you finally understand what he wanted to try when he’s balls deep inside of you.

“Gonna breed you, doll. Gonna stuff my cum into your cunt until you’re dripping. Would you like that? Walking around with cum dripping out of both of your holes?”

You openly cry at his filthy words, clenching harder around him.

“Oh, pretty doll likes that. You think I’d never notice how many times you’ve tried to get Mark to fuck you while we’re eating dinner? How many times you’ve sat on his lap in the dressing rooms and tried to get him to fuck you in front of us? Naughtily little slut.”

“Yuta, Yuta,” you gasp, your third orgasm of the night building. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Want to cum? Why don’t you cum for me then? Show Mark why he should be more protective of his girl.”

You follow his command, seeing white as you cum again. Yuta’s right behind you, still hissing dirty confessions.

“Always wondered what it was like to see you stuffed full of cum. Pretty little girl, just waiting to be bred all the time. Practically made to take cock.”

He growls and with a few more snaps of his hips, he shoots his cum deep inside you. You whine as his warmth fills you, Mark’s cum still leaking out of your other hole.

You feel absolutely used when Yuta pulls away from you. You didn’t even notice Mark had entered the room again until he starts cleaning you up. You smile sleepily at him.

“I hope that was okay.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “More than okay. Get some rest, I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As you slowly drift off to sleep, you faintly hear Yuta say, “We should do that again, I could die a happy man in your girlfriend’s cunt.”

#nct smut #mark lee smut #mark #yuta smut #yuta

[notanotherreidgirl]

idk if this is too intense for you, if it is feel free to ignore but i wanted to send in a request :)

Catching perv spence looking in elles bag somehow and then bringing elle in to punish him together and you make him wear the panties while degrading tf outta him and slapping his ass and pulling his hair and all that good stuff! if you want to add or take anything out that works too btw! have fun with this :)

Three's Company

Summary: Reader catches Spencer stealing a pair of Elle's panties

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Elle Greenaway x Reader

Warnings: sub!spence, perv!spence, threesome, spencer wearing panties and a skirt, oral sex (female receiving), degradation, spanking, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, face riding

Word Count: 1374

A/N: This is straight porn. I could not look my mother in the eye for hours after I wrote this. This is part 1 of the Mommy & Ma'am series.

Elle’s door opened silently and you smiled to yourself, excited to be surprising her for once. Neither of you was too keen on labels but at some point after a month of covert glances and late-night calls and hands not-so-innocently brushing against each other, Hotch had the good sense to make you share a room. That was three weeks ago. Three weeks of mind-blowing sex and maybe - just maybe - the beginning of something more.

So imagine your surprise when you found Spencer in her room instead. Shy, adorable Spencer who could barely look at you for 5 minutes without flushing a deep scarlet and stumbling all over his words. You often caught him blatantly staring at your chest and it would be a lie to say that he didn’t prompt you to introduce more low-cut blouses into your work attire. Just the other night Elle had teased you about him, saying that you should put him out of his misery before he had an aneurysm in the bullpen. He was crouched by the foot of her bed and you took a cautious step forward to see what he was looking at.

You sucked in a sharp breath. It was a pair of Elle’s panties, delicate black lace that fit her like a second skin. They were a gift and you couldn’t help the heat that pooled between your thighs when you recalled how Elle thanked you. Unfortunately, you had alerted Spencer to your presence and he whirled around in shock, still clutching the underwear in one hand. “Y/N, shit! I’m not - This isn’t what it looks like!”

“Oh really? Because it looks like you’re stealing Elle’s panties.” You tried to look mad but an amused smile pulled at the corner of your mouth. He scrambled to find an excuse, some explanation that would exonerate him but he came up empty. What could he say? Instead, he opted for a pleading look. Those puppy dog eyes nearly persuaded you to be merciful but Spencer always had the worst luck.

“Put them on.” Elle’s voice took both of you by surprise.

She kicked the door closed behind her and cocked her head to the side, a telltale sign of growing impatience. Spencer’s eyes widened and he looked between you and Elle in disbelief. He tried to seem reluctant but the truth was that he was incredibly turned on which was quickly revealed as he undressed. His hands trembled as he pulled the panties up, gasping slightly as the coarse material scraped over his leaking sex.

“You like playing dress-up, don’t you?” Elle crossed the room with three long strides. Spencer gave a weak nod but she didn’t bother to look, already rooting around in her bag and unearthing a little red skirt. “Put this on too. If you’re gonna act like a slut, you better look the part.”

He complied without hesitation, much too excited to be living out one of his biggest fantasies to be concerned with his ego. The air was knocked from your lungs when Spencer managed to squeeze the skirt up to his hips. He was so pretty, you had to sit down to stop yourself from pouncing on him.

Elle lifted the front of the skirt with a finger. “Look how cute his little cock is in my panties. I should make you wear them all the time.” But her mood darkened when she saw that they were already soaked with precum. “Y/N bought me these panties and now you’ve ruined them”

“No, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to” he looked at her with pure desperation but Elle was not known for her forgiveness. “Get on your knees”

He dropped so quickly it gave you whiplash and you hardly had time to process the fact that Elle was guiding him in front of your parted legs. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Y/N”

He started to stammer out an apology but Elle shut him up by grabbing his chin harshly. “No. None of this ‘I’m sorry’ bullshit. Apologize properly”

He looked up at you frantically as you gathered your wits about you and quickly shimmied out of your underwear and sleep shorts, unwilling to incur Elle’s wrath. Spencer nearly fainted at the sight of your glistening core and he didn’t waste any time pushing himself up on his hands and knees to lap at your folds. He explored you fervently, barely pausing to breathe. Just as he began to relax, Elle bunched up the back of the skirt and brought a hand down hard. You felt him jump, moaning into your cunt as she laid three more blows in quick succession. He whimpered at the harsh sting and the vibrations sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine. “I’ll stop when you make her cum”

That was all the encouragement he needed, doubling his efforts. He flattened his tongue and licked a stripe up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. A strangled cry left your lips and you threw your head back, relishing in the sound of Elle ceaselessly slapping Spencer’s raw flesh. It was all too much and you were tumbling over the edge in no time, moaning out a string of obscenities as the force of your orgasm wracked through your body. As promised, Elle stopped but she immediately grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so he was looking up at you. “What do you think, Y/N? Does he deserve to cum? Was he as good as me?”

She smiled wickedly as she asked her last question, already anticipating your answer. “No one’s as good as you.”

Spencer was incredible. At one point, you were convinced he had transported you from this earthly realm to another of pure, unadulterated pleasure but Elle was on a whole other level. She could have you shaking in seconds, drawing out one climax after another until you couldn’t see straight, much less think.

“That’s just too bad” she shook her head in disapproval as she pulled him up by his hair. “No, no, please. I can do better. I swear. I’ll do anything you want”

“You’re so fucking pathetic, Dr. Reid. Begging for it like a whore” she pushed him onto the bed and gestured for you to straddle him. She pushed the panties to the side and drew her hand up his length. “Do you know how to use this?”

He nodded vigorously, desperate to please. “Prove it then.”

Elle’s free hand settled onto your lower back and you leaned into her touch as she guided you down his length. You let out a little gasp when you were fully seated, feeling impossibly full. Spencer wasn’t doing much better, head thrown back against the pillows and eyes screwed shut in an attempt to hold back his release. But Elle wasn’t done. She joined you on the bed, swinging a leg over Spencer’s face and bracing her hands on his chest so she could watch you ride him. “I don’t care how good it feels, you don’t come until we do”

Feeling bold, Spencer grabbed onto Elle’s thighs and brought her down closer with no regard for his respiratory needs. As far as he was concerned, if this was how he went he would die a happy man. He pulled out all the stops, circling her entrance with his tongue before delving inside and tipping his head forward so his chin brushed against her clit. All the while you were bouncing on his cock in search of your release, letting out soft moans each time he bottomed out. You were so close, needing just a little more to reach your climax. Elle was lost in the paradise that was Spencer’s tongue but she managed to make out your pleading look and brought a hand to your clit. “Come for me, darling.”

It was like you set off a chain reaction. Your release propelling Elle to come on Spencer’s face which was all the permission he needed to flood you with warmth. With uncoordinated movements, Elle reached forward to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss as the three of you were swept up in each other.

#thx for sending <3 #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #unsuitable for work #mommy & ma'am

[from-a-reckless-writer]

The first tell was the body next to her. The second was the warmth. Her bed was never warm these days. The first two things had already clued her in that there was something off. Off was an understatement. She’s certain she passed out on her office floor clutching a bottle of alcohol and Jess was going to kill her in the morning. So, how the fuck-

The longer she stays there, eyes closed, feeling the breathing of a stranger, the more she’s convinced she’s suffered from amnesia. 

Beyond scared she opens her eyes, hoping, praying that she didn’t bring home some idiot from a cheap lesbian bar. Her eyes land on blonde hair and an all too familiar set of defined shoulders and Lena lets out a gasp of surprise. She sobers up, jerks upright. Jolting the pair of arms wrapped around her waist and making her companion wake abruptly. 

“Lena- Wha- Why’re you awake?”

“Kara-” That was all she was capable of as of the moment, because Kara was sitting up and flicking on the bedside lamp, letting Lena glimpse the small clock on the nightstand that read 4: 00 a.m. 

Kara’s voice was all raspy and sleep-laden and she was looking at Lena with concern. She was looking at Lena like they’ve done this all the time. And they did. 

Once. 

She remembers jerking awake screaming from nightmares and Kara holding her; remembers waking up to Kara’s screams and holding her. 

But this-

This wasn’t right. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” She asks, crinkle forming. And Lena just stares and stares and-

“Kara, this isn’t real.”

“What? Oh, baby, come here. That dream must’ve really done a number on you, huh?” Kara coos and she gathers Lena in her arms. Lena can do nothing but melt and follow Kara’s movements, her mind is still reeling. 

Trying to decipher the events that had led here. This wasn’t real. This-

A tremble shakes the bed. Lena’s heart rate ticks up, Kara seems to have heard because she’s tightening her embrace and more words come out of her lips, but Lena doesn’t hear a word of it.

“I’m here, you’re safe. I’m here.” 

Lena finally finds her voice and she slowly tries to extricate herself from Kara. She can feel her hesitating to let her go. 

“This isn’t real,” She repeats and Kara is ready to protest, “Please, Kara. Please listen to me?”

She nods. Kara was never one to deny Lena anything, anyway. Lena sighs a breath of relief. 

“Thank you. Uh- I think this isn’t real, Kara. I think I’m inside a Black Mercy induced dream.”

And as if it heard a cue, the bed and the rest of the room vibrates as if ashamed of being called-out so easily. 

“No, no, no. You aren’t. You’re real. I’m real, You-” Kara is scrambling for words, “Look- Here, feel this?” Kara frantically grabs her hand and presses it to her own chest, “Can you feel it? This is real. Don’t say it isn-”

Lena feels like sobbing, because it does feel real. The strong beats underneath her palm thundering through her very soul. It feels so so so fucking real. She’s never wanted something to be real as bad as this. She wants to believe, because Kara is looking at her with those baby blue eyes and she wants to say that ‘Yes, I believe it real. We’re real.’

She can’t.

“Kara, the bed is trembling. Can you feel it? This isn't real. You’re in my head.”

It was brutal. She watches Kara’s face fall. She retracts her hand back. 

“How are you so sure that this isn’t real?”

The question was asked with so much fear. 

“Because,” she starts shaky but certain, “I hurt you, Kara. And that is the one thing that I can never forget.”

It was true. She can never forget the way Kara crumpled to her feet. Can’t forget the way the Girl of Steel broke by Lena’s hands. Can’t forget the tear-stricken face. 

Can’t forget the pleas. 

“Don’t do this, Lena. Please, come on. Please, stay. Don’t leave. Not you, please I can’t-”

“Oh.”

The silence was deafening. She can’t look at Kara as she processes everything. So she takes the time to survey the room. And God, every inch of the room screams how much they’ve stitched their lives with the other. 

There were books haphazardly stacked in one corner, a painting easel in the other, Kara’s cape shining in the dim light of the lamp, Lena’s old MIT sweatshirt at the foot of the bed. 

A wedding portrait. They were married here. Fuck. 

Lena chances a glance at her left hand and not only does she find a ring but also a matching gold bracelet. A Kryptonian mating band. Now, she notices that Kara’s ring was worn on her neck next to her Mother’s necklace Lena supposes she wears it underneath the Super suit and a matching bracelet sitting on her left wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” Lena says ‘for everything.’ she wants to add but she remembers this isn’t her Kara. She doesn’t have a Kara. She doesn’t have any part of Kara. Not anymore.

“What are you sorry for? If anyone could figure out they were inside a parasite induced dream, it would be you.  You’re a genius but you’re dumb for apologizing. You should reject the fantasy now, Lena. You’ll die.”

Damn it, even here. 

Even here Lena is still hurting her and Kara still wants to save her. 

The tears finally fall. The sobs come next. 

“Oh, Lena. Come here. It’s okay. I’m here,”

“I- I know, I’ll die but God, Kara, I want to stay here. I- You’re my everything, you know?”

“I know, Lena. I’ve always known. You don’t have to die because I’ll always know. You need to get out of here now,” She whispers against Lena’s temple and Lena takes the time to breathe her in. God, even the scent smells real. 

“Y-you’re right. I should go, but-” Lena doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants. That was what her therapist had said the first time she booked an appointment.

“But what?”

“Tell me about our life here first?” At that Kara pulls away a bit to look into her eyes; gauging if this is really what Lena wants. 

It is, it’s what she wants but more than that it’s what she needs. The reassurance that somewhere out there, there was a world in which they made each other happy. That in a universe out there--whether real or not--the both of them had a taste of a happy ending.

“Okay, okay yeah. But first, promise me you’ll get out of here as fast as you can, once we’re done?” 

She was never one to deny Lena Luthor anything, remember? She was more than happy to recount the entirety of their love story to her.

“Thank you.” And Lena can’t help but press a soft kiss to Kara’s cheek. 

“Where do you want to start?”

“Do we have a dog?”

“Krypto,” Kara says with a shy smile as if she knows that Lena would laugh at the goofy sentimental name choice, “And a cat, Streaky Jr., you don’t allow pets in the bedroom so,”

“I’m impressed we have the time for pets,” Lena whispers as she shifts closer to Kara in the bed. Heart now beating in a steady calm rhythm, gone was the panic earlier, now replaced by a sense of security, no matter how false it is. 

“Well, you decided to distribute most of the workload to Jess--who you promoted to board member by the way, and to Sam. And since, Wednesday is my first day as Editor-in-Chief, my schedule’s not as busy as it was.”

It was nice to hear that. The way they have obviously chosen to grow into themselves together. She was glad that in her perfect world she hadn’t forgotten about Jess and Sam.

“Oh, and also you spend most of your days in our home lab with Jack anyway. So, the pets get plenty of love.”

“Jacky’s alive here?”

“Yeah, you reversed the nanotech matrix. You saved him.”

And the crying fest begins anew. 

“I miss him, so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lena doesn’t have to explain her reaction, Kara knows how to read her anyway.

At the reminder of Jack, Lena finds the courage to ask a question she’s never thought she would want to ask.

“What about Lex and Lillian?”

“Well, your brother’s probably drunk in an L-Corp gala somewhere and Lillian’s probably plotting about how she’s going to insult my next article-”

So, she still has her brother and it seems like Lillian’s not much of a xenophobe as she is in reality but she senses that she still is a bad mother with the way Kara talks.

“When did we get married?”

“Two years after we first met. We had two, actually.”

“I’m guessing I insisted on a Kryptonian wedding and you insisted on a human one?”

She knows that one, because she’s been thinking about it. Well, at least she was before everything went to shit. She wanted to give Kara a Kryptonian ceremony. She had wanted to show her that Lena would be honored to share everything Kara’s world had to offer.

“Are we-” she hesitated, “Are we happy, Kara?”

She wasted no time in answering, “The happiest. You make me the happiest soul alive in this universe and in any universe.”

Fresh tears fall down the side of her face and Kara wipes them away before speaking, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Well, I guess it’s only fair.” Lena sniffles and prepares her mind for what she knows will be an emotionally-charged exchange not that this has been an easy conversation thus far.

“Out there, are you happy?”

Lena’s air is stolen from her. Well, she doesn’t know how to answer that one. 

“Sometimes,” she whispers. She’s not happy most of the time but sometimes she is.

Sometimes, Ruby calls her to tell her about a science project or sometimes Nia sends her meme even though she hasn’t been to Game Nights for almost a year now, sometimes Brainy takes her out for a drink and she feels like she’s got a little brother to call her own. 

So yeah, sometimes. Because the thought of perpetual happiness without Kara in her life is impossible. 

“Only sometimes?” Kara asks, brow furrowing.

“Yeah, only sometimes. Not like it matters, anyway.”

“Well, of course it matters! Your happiness matters!” Kara exclaims, old habits die hard what can she say?

But then Kara takes a turn from defensive to curious again, “Am I happy? Out there? I mean?” 

“I- I have no idea.”

Lena waits for the answer to sink in to Kara. 

“What? What do you mean you have no idea?”

“Remember when I said I hurt you?” 

Kara gives her a nod.

“Well, I haven’t seen you for a long time. I’ve been avoiding you. Normally people tend to not seek out their exes, you know.” 

She’s trying to keep it lighthearted. She’s trying not to let this Kara see how much she craves her presence, how much she wishes she could see Kara again. Don’t get her wrong, Supergirl is plastered every minute on the news, but- 

That’s not who she wants to see. 

“She’s miserable,” Kara answers point-blank leaving no room for argument, “If you’ve been avoiding me, I’d be miserable.”

That has Lena speechless. 

Because miserable would be an understatement of how things had been ever since they ended things. 

Ever since Lena ended things. 

“I don’t like not being with you, you know?” Kara states as if Lena doesn’t feel the same.

“I- I don’t like that either.”

“I know.”

She has to go. Lena knows she has to go but Kara is looking at her so sincerely and she can feel the love and she knows this is nothing but an intricate trap formed by an alien parasite slowly killing her. She has to go but-

“Lena!” 

The both of them are startled and four eyes immediately land to-

Kara?! No, not Kara. Supergirl.

“Supergirl,” She says; surprise coloring her voice. She didn’t know Supergirl would go in and save her. Hell, she didn’t even know how she found her. But then again, she’s tried solving the puzzle that is Kara Zor-El but had never been able to piece it together. 

Supergirl takes a look at her doppelganger in bed with Lena; a scene so familiar to her. A scene she’s replayed again and again in her head. A scene that was once their reality then a memory and now an illusion. She takes a step closer.

“Lena, we have to go, please. Please believe me, this isnt-” 

“-real,” Lena finishes for her and Supegirl looks stunned, “I know, Supergirl. I know how to reject my own fantasy. I’ve had plenty of practice, after all.”

She aims for sarcasm, because fucking fucking hell, how the fuck does anybody expect her to function if there were two Kara’s in front of her?

That was asking for too much. 

Beside her, Kara had gone silent. It seems like she knows what comes next. She knows what Supergirl intends to do. They’re the same person after all. 

“It’s okay,” Lena hears Kara say and she breaks away from the hero’s gaze to find Kara looking at her with those eyes again.

“It’s okay, Lena,” She repeats, “It’s okay, Supergirl’s here. You’re gonna be safe. Stay safe for me, yeah?”

“Lena we have to go. Now,” Supergirl commands from the other side of the room. 

“Okay, yeah,” She whispers then she turns to Supergirl, “Just give me a chance to say goodbye, please?”

Supergirl stares at her for a moment then at Kara then she gives them both a nod and turns back to give them privacy.

“Last question?”

“Hit me.”

“What’s your surname?”

“Luthor.”

Fuck. She shouldn’t feel this surprised but damn, hearing Kara confirm it? Lena doesn’t know how to feel about that. She doesn’t know how to feel about all of this. 

“Just like you promised.”

“Just like I promised.” 

The words are echoed back to her and Lena hates the way she’s noticed how stiff Supergirl’s posture had become in her periphery. Ignores the fact that Supergirl has superhearing. 

“Thank you for indulging me, Kara.”

“Always.”

Goodbye, darling.”

And then everything fades to black.

author’s note: hiya lovely people send me an ask if i should write a follow-up for this.

#supercorp ficlet #supercorp ficlet of sorts ig? #it's another black mercy au y'all #it's very angsty #the reckless writer somewhat writes?? #the reckless writer writes #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp #rcklss writes

[happysoot]

waking up together || dream smp blurbs

✧ pairings ↠ sapnap x reader, karl x reader, quackity x reader, niki x reader.           ↠ dream smp!characters; in-game au; gn!reader.

✧ warnings ↠ none! this is very, very fluffy.

✧ word count ↠ 1.6k.

✧ a/n ↠ this is my first time writing for any of the dream smp characters, but I had a lot of fun with this! soft gentle domestic fluff makes my heart happy :’) ! if you have any requests or suggestions, please please send them in! <3

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ

✧ sapnap x reader ✧

waking up beside sapnap is like waking up beside a teddy bear. when he sleeps, he runs hot, and that means that every time you wake up together, you’re smothered in a warm embrace that heats you up completely. once it’d become clear that you enjoy sleeping beside him, you’d had to adapt, taking on a few traditions to balance out the warmth you get from his cuddles.

you sleep in less, choosing light pyjamas or t-shirts over a hoodie like you might’ve previously done. the duvet you rest beneath is thinner, and often you’ll end up kicking it off in your sleep. all you need is sapnap, and the warmth of his arms curled around you, and despite the changes that you’ve had to make, you wouldn’t want it any other way. nothing beats how safe you feel wrapped up with your face buried in his chest.

sapnap likes to wake you up with gentle kisses up your neck. he’ll shyly run the line up to your jaw, often leaving a chaste kiss to the tip of your chin before shuffling down and burying his face in your neck as he whines about the gaps in the blinds. it doesn’t matter what time it is, nor how much sleep you’ve both had—sap never wants to wake up, and you never want to let him go.

so you cuddle together, often into the afternoon. if you’ve both had busy weeks and haven’t spent much time together, cuddling in the mornings is the best way to recharge. he’s always so cute, too. nothing brings out sapnap’s adoration for you like the gentle warmth of the morning, and he loves showering you with his favourite pet names. with his inhibitions sleepy and lowered, he’s quick to shower you with any nickname that comes to mind, mumbling them into the air without a second thought—sweetheart, angel, cutie.

he’s so doting, constantly lifting his face so he can kiss you, or running his hand soothingly over your side. sapnap holds you like you’re his entire world—and maybe, with the way he holds you so tightly and whimpers every time you try to shift away—you are.

✧ karl x reader ✧

karl is always frantic in the mornings, his eyes widening with panic the moment he stirs awake. with desperate hands, he carefully runs his fingers all over your face, tracing the lines of your nose, your cheeks and lips with his fingertips. it used to confuse you—you never understood why he held you so tightly and seemed relieved every time you opened your eyes to smile at him, but then you found out about the spaces in his memory, and things became clearer.

he has a routine now, some steps he likes to complete each morning to calm himself. as soon as he wakes, karl turns in the bed to face you, pressing his cheek onto the same pillow as yours as he lifts his hand to rest on your face. while he waits for you to wake up, he gently strokes his fingers across your cheek, his eyes analysing every line of your face, every ridge of your skin, and every strand of your hair as he scrambles to print them to his memory.

when you blink open your eyes, he’s usually looking at you, or he’s resting close with his eyes shut. you let him know that you’re awake by cuddling closer and linking your hands together, squeezing his fingers until he hums. you have a quick exchange of muttered words, neither of you wanting to break the softness of the silence—

‘did you sleep well, baby?’ / ‘yeah, karl. did you?’ / ‘mmm. you look so pretty in the morning.’

like his hands, once you’re awake, karl likes to run his mouth across your face, learning your skin with his lips. following this, he likes to nudge you onto your back and climb on top of you, warm body resting over yours as he holds your face in his hands and studies you attentively. you always like to tangle your hands in his hair, loosely playing with the messy strands of his hair as he whispers words of affirmation between gentle kisses to your cheeks, his loving words doused in soft pink—

’i love you so much, baby, you look so perfect today… so cute. so beautiful. i'm so lucky.’

he holds you with purpose, always keeping at least one hand on you at all times. you’re like a grounding force to him, and he hates straying too far from your side. even when you both eventually get up, he slips his hand in yours and you let it stay there, swinging between you, for as long as he needs it to be there. sometimes you stay connected all day.

✧ quackity x reader ✧

quackity is a very busy man, always scheming, always plotting. you don’t get to spend much time together during the day, so he always makes the most of the moments you share each morning.

he’s the type of person who finds the energy to spring to life suddenly every morning, possessing the quality of being able to wake up one moment and then be fully alert the next. though he never tries to intentionally rouse you, he somehow always ends up coaxing you from your slumber, either through trying to tug you closer or muttering his adoring coos too loudly.

he’s always quick to apologise and offer up tighter cuddles or soft kisses in reparation, and really, you think it’d be hard to hold a grudge against him. quackity is always so cute in the mornings—he melts around you so easily, losing his brash sense of humour whenever you rest together. he might be calmer, but he’s still got that charmingly boyish twinkle in his eyes, and if quackity’s feeling particularly mischievous, sometimes he’ll let his hands go on a wander around your figure as he rasps praising profanities into your ear.

quackity’s usually the first out of bed, and though he leaves you alone to go and make some breakfast, he always comes back, bringing with him your favourite foods and drinks. you sit up against the headboard and he stretches out across the bottom of the bed, staring up at the ceiling with one of his arms in the air, the other resting on the bottom of your leg as you chat. he always likes to know what your plans for the day are, always likes to see if he can find small slots in his schedule to break away and meet up with you.

when he leaves you, it’s never in a hurry, even if he’s got places to be. he prioritises you over everything—hangs onto your lips until he has to go, buries his face in your neck to inhale your scent, squeezes your hands until your fingers ache. both of you treasure the mornings because they’re so serene and so safe, and he keeps the memory of you tucked up together locked away in the back of his mind as he goes about his day, falling back to it every time things get tough. you are his favourite daydream.

✧ niki x reader ✧

since niki started baking again, it’s less often that you’ll find yourself waking up beside your girlfriend. most mornings, niki is gone hours before you stir, enjoying walking through the rays of early-morning sun as she goes to her bakery to start preparing the food. you’re used to an empty bed beside you, but it never deeply upsets you.  

niki always leaves small reminders, hidden all around the house, to express her love towards you even when she can’t be by your side. she always tucks you in before she goes, and she carefully smoothes your hair from your face. sometimes, if you’re sleeping lightly, you’ll rouse just enough to feel her kiss your forehead as she goes out. she is always so soft with you, even so early, closing the doors gently and leaving your favourite mug out by the kettle.

though you’ve told her a thousand times before that you don’t mind her absence—how could you, when being in the bakery makes her so happy?—niki always tries to make it up to you. most days, she’ll drop by briefly when her loaves are rising just to see you again, always with a fresh pastry or a loaf of your favourite bread, scattered with the seeds in the shape of a heart. 

she kisses your cheek and asks you about your dreams, letting your hands swing between you both, your fingers wrapped in hers. when she has to go back to the bakery, you’ll usually walk with her, pinkies interlocked, listening to her tell you stories from her morning and letting the sounds of her laughter light up the air like the sweetest birdsong.

as much as you’re used to the empty bed beside you, on the rare mornings where niki does sleep in, it has to be one of your favourite things.

she curls up into you, face nuzzled into your chest. her hair always smells of sweet strawberries, scent drifting up your nose and alerting you to her presence before you feel her. niki is like a soft ball of warmth, so gentle even in her sleep, never moving too much. she’s usually awake before you, but she never rushes you to wake up. she waits until you’ve got your eyes open too to do anything, and even then, nothing is rushed.

it’s all gentle caresses and forehead kisses, shared whispers about dreams and the cosiness of your bed. you savour the feeling of her nose pressed to yours as she giggles. you like to have a hand wrapped around her, your palm resting on her back as you hold her to you, and she likes tangling your legs together and playing with your hair. things are gentle in the mornings with niki, and like the actions of the rising sun, she coaxes you into the day with ease.

#sapnap x reader #quackity x reader #karl x reader #niki x reader #dsmp fanfic #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader