#CLEANER SHEDDING REAL TEARS

[crystallakec]

hello this is the anon talking ab ur selfship from before!! here is a quick doodle of your handsome mascot and mr thragg before i go hide in your tumblr again!!!

https://ibb.co/HKmnSd5

HUEEEEEEEEE WUGHEEEEE AAAAAHHH.....A HEEM HEEM......WHIMPER..........WUEEEEEEEEE..!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖💖‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

#CLEANER SHEDDING REAL TEARS #I LITERALLY SCREAMED OUT LOUD AT HOW CUTE THIS IS ?!?!?;? #love love LOOOOVE HOW YOU TURNED HIM PLUSHIE SIZED OOOOH MY GOD HES SO LITTOL HES SO SCRUNKLY #🥹🥹🥹my handsome mascot……?v!!?!!YOU DREW HIM SO WELL TOO I CANT DESCRIBE HOW MUCH JOY THIS JUST GAVE ME #thank you for being so nicey i wish i could draw something for you too……!!! #don't just hide in my blog waaah if you ever want to send me something non anonymously feel free to! #maybe we could do art trade even…🫶only if you want to ofc ahehe #THIS IS SO CUTE. THANK YOUAGAIN . DEFINITELY MADE MY DAY #清洁工碎碎念²

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Infection control

A Cody Burns gets abducted by aliens fic.

Cody wasn't even aware anything was happening. One moment, he was camping with Frankie and Boulder, painting the night sky and splattering paint on each other. The next, he woke up in a filthy cage surrounded by all kinds of familiar and alien animals.

There was a bot, at least. A yellow and purple one, talking in what Cody recognized as cybex to a computer terminal. It took some effort, but Cody eventually switched on the translator on his comm link.

It was worse than he thought. The bot seemed to be haggling a price out of the unknown caller. He was getting angrier and angrier, finally ending the call with a huff and stomping over to Cody's cage.

"You," he said, practically vibrating with anger. "Are going to get this whole operation shut down. Of course, out of all the places I go to get a test sample of a potential product, it had to be Autobot central. Not only that, you're apparently the offspring of one of the prime's pets. Now, I am way too far away to just shove you in an escape pod and hurl you back into that cursed marble's atmosphere, and, on top of all that, you're a juvenile, which means that everything I do right now is way more illegal then I can get comfortable with." The bot grabbed a sack of some sort of kibble out of a cabinet. "And if you think you're getting any of this, you are sorely mistaken!" He shouted, riling up the animals. The bot portioned out the kibble to each animal, occasionally swapping it with different meats and vegetation.

Cody decided it was best to play dumb for the time being, sitting on the floor of the wire cage. The cage had a mesh bottom, with holes to the sides. After watching the bot use a hose to clear away droppings from the bottom of a similar cage, Cody got a better idea of what he was sitting in. Good thing he was wearing his ratty painting clothes.

He shivered, and he wished he had his warm, heavy jacket. It was being washed, having been dropped off at a dry cleaner specializing in old textiles.

The jacket had been passed down from when his grandpa had been his age, and they literally didn't make them like they used to. It was all real leather, wool, and cotton, and was almost indestructible. What little wear and tear that showed up was almost always fixed with some leather shoe polish or a trip to the dry cleaners or tailor. He knew that his siblings were saving up to get him a new one made by a professional historical tailor when he stopped growing. It would quite possibly cost more than a month of any one of his siblings' salary, but he had proven time and time again growing up that he had a knack for ruining clothes. His signature green t-shirts were bought in bulk from the same uniform company that produced the rescue team's uniforms.

He looked the bot in the eye as he made a big show of skipping his cage.

Too much time passed by before the bot, Swindle, he found out, finally gave him some of that kibble stuff and murky, gritty water. But, it was water, cold, like everything in this place, and he drank every drop he was given, making a face as the grit made a slime on his tongue.

A few of the animals had been sold to various buyers, a few touring the room they were in. One or two seemed interested in him, and Swindle would take him out of the cage and rattle off the same list of attributes associated with humans and, occasionally, make a big show of showing them his feet and hands, particularly his nails, which he had been growing so Frankie could paint his nails.

They had a running gag that Frankie was going to take him to the nail salon in town and get hot pink acrylic nails together. Usually, Frankie just gave him dark green or a color that matched his skin tone so well that the bots thought he had shed them. That was a hilarious conversation to have.

But, no one bought him. Swindle was starting to get frustrated, and when he got in that mood, water was scarce, and food was even scarcer.

Cody was starting to lose hope that he would ever be fed when a loud boom echoed through the ship. He could only stay awake long enough to hear the sound of bolt cutters sniping through the first few wires of the cage before he couldn't stand anymore, and the disgusting cage floor rose up to meet him.

Cody first woke up in too bright room, the sounds of beeping and indecipherable voices in languages he couldn't understand rushing to his ears. He tried to cover them but found that he couldn't do much more than squirm, a soft fabric, half damp against his wet skin, trapped him in a fetal position. He was on his back on a hard surface, a bright light in his eyes as blurry shapes darted around him. A too big hand with - three fingers? Put a gloved hand over his face, giving him relief from the light. He could feel the fabric his arms and legs trapped loosen, and something metal and cold gently pulled his arm out of the fabric wrapping. He felt the pinch of a needle in the crook of his arm and felt the thumb of the gloved hand over his eyes stroke his cheek, wiping away a few tears.

Cody woke up again in a pile of soft blankets, his head pounding. The first thing he felt after the headache started to subside was that he was wearing different clothes. He looked down to see he was dressed in a clean, two-piece garment that seemed to be closed by overlapping panels of stretchy, soft fabric. His nails had little neon rubber caps over them, the surface ridged so he could still pick things up easily.

The lights in the room were dimmed, the walls white. Cody looked down again to see that he had two disconnected IVs still in the back of his left hand and crook of that elbow. He stretched and could feel a few bandages on his shoulders and upper back. He jumped when a panel in his room turned out to be a screen.

Other than a pleasant blue background and a pair of white outlined boxes, the screen was blank. Cody got up from the pile of blankets and wobbled slowly into view of the screen.

As soon as Cody settled into frame, the screen started playing prerecorded audio, with translated captions scrolling slowly off to the side.

"Hello there, Cody. I know you might not be feeling well, so I will keep this brief. If you are here, you were taken by a pet trafficking ring or were exposed to a disease originating from a world known for its pet trade. Of course, you are sentient and will be treated as such. Unfortunately, protocol dictates that you have to serve a mandated equivalent of two earth week quarantine before being returned to Earth. The faction known as the Autobots will be receiving you after the quarantine. Now that the fancy legal stuff is over, I can talk a bit nicer. My name is Dr. Rav'ac. I will be attending quarantine with you along with my two medical students and three nurses. We appear as depicted onscreen."

Cody examen the photo realistic models of each of the aliens. As he suspected, Dr Rav'ac had three fingers on each hand. He was a dusty oranage color and had four legs configured like a spider's underneath him. The medical students were both from his race, while the two nurses, a shorter, many armed blue insectoid and a tall and lanky pale green being that reminded Cody of a giraffe.

"All medications will be dispensed below the screen." Rav'ac continued, pausing to let Cody be distracted by the screen. "and you will be required to take all of them. If something isn't agreeing with you, tell us immediately. We are required by law to take blood and other samples for lab testing. On those days, there will also be a small cup of blue gel. I will tell you now that it is meant to make you feel drowsy, and it includes some very mild painkillers to remove any discomfort. You will still be conscious and should be capable of answering simple questions, but I feel like it is better to know beforehand. You were put under anesthesia when we brought you in due to the fragile state you were in. After passing a basic health exam, we cleaned off the waste that was eating at your skin and got you into a nice climate controlled room to help keep up your body temperature. There is a seated waste disposal directly across from your bedding, and a clean water dispenser right next to it for washing your hands and drinking water. If you want food, just tap the screen and ask, and we will get some for you. Again, if any medicine you take, food you eat, or anything you come in contact with causes a reaction or pain, please notify us immediately through the screen. Do you understand everything i have told you today?"

"Yeah, I think so." Cody said, digesting all that information slowly.

"A transcript of this conversation will be available to you for review on the home screen. I will let you rest for a few days before the first round of mandated tests. For your sake, I hope this is all a waste of time." Rav'ac said solemnly, ending the call.

Cody used the toilet, then curled up in the tangle of bedding. The lights dimmed even lower, and he drifted off to sleep.

Rav'ac had bad news the next morning. An animal that had died on the ship had its autopsy results come back, and it was positive for a bacteria well known for jumping from species to species. A short quarantine had now become a two month enforced stay, with near daily checkups and enough blood and tissue samples to leave Cody constantly a little dizzy. Antibiotics became a constant, and Cody was thankful that the medical staff was more than happy to entertain every little request they could along the way. The gel became obsolete, as Cody was eager enough to get out of quarantine that he almost never put up a fight.

Well, except when they tried to take blood from his head after he blew a vein. He may have tried to bite someone. Who knows? It never made it to official reports.

Luckily, the bacteria never made an appearance, and after one last week of quarantine, Heatwave and Optimus picked him up. Cody wasn't even ashamed of curling up in Heatwave's backseat and crying himself to sleep on the way back to Griffin Rock. He was mobbed by his siblings and dad as soon as Heatwave opened the door. Charlie carried his son to the red couch quietly, tucking his head under his chin and rubbing his youngest's back as the rest of his children piled around him. The five of them fell asleep there, all curled up together. The photo, taken by Optimus before he left, was shared with all their phones the next morning.

Cody practically ripped off the hospital clothes he had been given and snuggled into one of Kade's old t-shirts he had stolen when he was little. He was kinda sad that it was now starting to fit him properly. Old pj shorts were a necessity, along with his jacket and a day off with his whole family, bots included. For once, the island let the family of heroes have their peace, not a single disaster in sight.

#tfrb cody #maccadam #transformers rescue bots

[zephyrwatering]

Maintenance Tips to Extend the Lifespan of Your Water Hose Reel

The water hose reel is the most trusted partner in the garden. It keeps your garden hose organized, reduces tangles, and makes watering easier. However, like any industrious instrument, your hose reel needs basic maintenance to perform well and survive for years. Don’t worry, keeping your reel in good working order is simple! With a few simple measures, you can ensure that your hose reel will serve your gardening requirements for years to come.

The Hose – The Heart of the Reel

Your hose reel is only as good as the hose it holds. Here’s how to maintain your hose in great shape:

Fight the Kink

Kinks are the archenemy of hoses, generating weak places and dangerous bursts. Avoid them by coiling your hose loosely into huge loops. When you are finished using the hose, unwind it entirely and allow it to rest before coiling it for storage. A water hose reel wall mount will be useful for storage. This allows any held water to drain while preventing mildew development.

Keep It Away from Sunlight

The sun’s ultraviolet radiation can destroy the material of your hose over time. When not in use, remove the hose from the reel and store it in a cool, shady location, such as a garage or shed. If this isn’t possible, try purchasing a UV-resistant hose cover for extra protection.

Winter Problems

Freezing temperatures may cause havoc on your hose. Before the temperature hits low, disconnect and empty the hose. Consider utilizing a hose blowout stopper to remove any remaining water. Look for hoses labeled “all-weather” or “winter hoses” to increase cold-weather resistance.

Inspection is key

At the start of each season, thoroughly examine your hose. Look for cracks, leaks, bulges, and other signs of wear and tear. A tiny leak can easily escalate into a major catastrophe, so rectify any concerns as soon as possible. Worn-out hoses create needless pressure on your reel, so replace them as needed.

The Real Deal – Maintaining Your Workhorse

Now that your hose is fine, let us turn our focus to the reel itself. Here’s how to keep everything running smoothly.

The Power of Prevention

As the proverb goes, “A stitch in time saves nine.” Perform a short inspection of your reel at least twice a year. Check for evidence of deterioration, such as cracks, loose screws, or corrosion. Tighten any loose nuts and solve any small concerns before they become major problems.

Keep Things Slippery

Friction is the enemy of smooth functioning. To ensure that your reel retracts and expands smoothly, oil the axle, wheel, and any internal working parts using a silicone spray lubricant once a year. This decreases friction, wear, and tear, allowing your reel to operate like new.

Weather The Storm

Much like your hose, the reel needs protection from the weather. Sun, rain, and snow can hasten wear and tear. If feasible, keep your hose reel in a garage or shed during inclement weather. Invest in a wall-mounted hose reel so that it can be kept safe. If this is not a possibility, get a weatherproof cover to protect it from the sun’s rays, dust, and excess moisture.

Quality Matters

A nice hose reel may improve any garden, but a cheap, weak one may not last long. Consider investing in a high-quality and best water hose reel from a recognized company, such as Zephyr. A high-quality reel will be made of long-lasting materials and engineered to resist repeated usage.

Give It A Bath

Over time, your reel may gather dust, filth, and grime. To keep it looking good and performing properly, give it a brief cleaning with a moist cloth and mild soap. Avoid using strong chemicals or abrasive cleaners, which may harm the finish.

Bonus Tip – Uncoil The Right Way

The manner you wound your hose onto the reel has a big influence on its longevity. Here’s a professional tip for coiling your hose for storage.

With the spray nozzle pointing away from the reel, start coiling the hose in loose loops around your arm.

Avoid tight coils, which can cause kinks and tension on the hose. Aim for loops at least 2-3 feet in diameter.

To avoid overusing any one area of the hose, distribute it equally around the reel.

Once properly coiled, do not leave the hose under tension on the reel. Detach it or relax the guide slightly to avoid undue strain.

By following these basic maintenance instructions, you can keep your water hose reel running well for years to come. Remember, a little maintenance may go a long way toward keeping your garden sanctuary prospering. Further advantages of keeping your hose reel intact for years are that it saves money and time, reduces irritation, and improves efficiency.

To summarize

Cleaning your water hose reel is a simple yet rewarding chore. With a little effort, you can keep your reel running smoothly, preserve your hose, and have a hassle-free watering experience. So, the next time you finish up in your garden, spend a few minutes to follow these maintenance guidelines. Your hose reel and plants will appreciate you.

SourceLink[https://digijournal.org/maintenance-tips-to-extend-the-lifespan-of-your-water-hose-reel]

#retractable water hose reel #garden hose reels #rubber hose #water hose reel #water hose #garden hose

[careeralley]

4 Careers You’ve Never Considered

‘So, what are you doing with yourself then?’ is a question that strikes fear into the heart of every new graduate. I’m sorry to tell you that you’re going to hear it a lot over the next few months. You’re only just recovering from the dissertation when suddenly everyone from your boyfriend’s mum to the postie wants to know your next big step. Well-wishers they may be, but their concern can trigger an existential crisis that’ll have you meekly accepting any job that comes your way. On top of that pressure, trying to figure out what you really want to do is hard when most career advice comes from stuffy offices with outdated ideas about CVs and climbing the corporate ladder. That’s why we’ve compiled a quick guide to four of the wackiest careers out there – give it a read and you might just discover a dream job you never even knew existed. At the very least, you’ll have an answer that’ll shut up even the nosiest of ‘concerned’ neighbors. Crime Scene Cleaner If as a student you spent your lazy weekday afternoons binge-watching CSI and Bones, this one might just be for you. Emergency services aren’t responsible for cleaning up crime scenes, so after they’ve done their investigative work they leave behind all traces of trauma. We’ve compiled a quick guide to four of the wackiest careers out there – give it a read and you might just discover a dream job you never even knew existed. At the very least, you’ll have an answer that’ll shut up even the nosiest of ‘concerned’ neighbors.Click To Tweet It falls to landlords or the victim’s family to sort out that unsavory mess, and that’s where you’ll come into play as a specialist forensic cleaner. You’ll need the stomach to handle it but this is a job that’ll definitely earn you some respect, and bring awkward dinner party chat about what you do to an abrupt end. Pest Control Expert We’ll admit that being an exterminator isn’t exactly glamorous, but who cares about that when you’re earning big bucks? Pest control services are always in demand, so whether you join an existing company or go it alone (we’d recommend you take some intensive training if that’s your plan, some of those chemicals are pretty nasty) you’ll be paying off your student debt in no time. Professional Funeral Mourner This one sounds made up but is 100 percent a real and factual job up for grabs in 2016. The title really says it all. You’ll be paid to attend a funeral, pretend to be a family member or friend of the deceased, and shed a few mournful tears. If you can fake cry at the drop of a hat, then this could be your chance to claim a piece of an emerging market – apparently renting mourners is just starting to get popular in the West. We know, who’d have thought it? Bingo Manager Someone has to run the Bingo games and at many casinos, bingo can be big business. This position generally doesn't require a college degree.  As with most jobs, the more experience you have the better.  While you may not be able to start as a Bingo manager at a casino, you can work your way up by managing smaller bingo games. The job involves approving jackpots and payouts as well as managing any issues. Have you got a unique job or business idea? You can always leave a comment and tell us all about it. Land Your Dream Job: Join the 2% Who Make it Past Résumé Screening $14.99 Apply to your next job with confidence.While other books focus only on crafting the perfect résumé or cover letter, the truth is, you need a strategy for the entire job application process.A strategy that communicates your expereinces, achievements, and results in a way that provides value to hiring managers. Buy on Amazon Buy on Walmart.com We earn a commission if you click this link and make a purchase at no additional cost to you. 04/11/2023 09:43 pm GMT Read the full article

[merhigroup]

Top 8 Benefits of Demolishing an Old Building

If you’re contemplating demolishing an old building and rebuilding something bigger, better, and more valuable, it’s better to note the benefits beforehand. Before starting this big demolishing project, hire a professional demolition contractor in Dandenong and have all the information you need to make your final decision. We’ve laid out some benefits below in order of importance to help make things easier for you.

Benefits of Demolishing an Old Building

An old building is likely to be an eyesore, especially if it has been neglected or abandoned. Having such structures demolished by demolition contractors in Dandenong is one of the best remedies.

Here are some of the benefits of demolishing an old building that you should know:

1. Clear Space for New Construction

The demolition contractors in Cranbourne say that If your building is very old and in poor condition, it may be ready for demolition. You can replace the existing building with something that meets updated safety and efficiency codes while also being aesthetically pleasing. However, before you consider demolishing an old building, make sure it’s impossible to renovate or update it. You may find that demolishing the whole structure will be more cost-effective.

2. Remove Environmental Hazards

Old buildings usually have contaminated soil, mould, and unhealthy radon levels. If you live near such a building or know someone who does, a professional demolition contractor in Melbourne is often your best option for safety. Clearing out an old building will improve air quality and create space for new construction. Enlisting qualified professionals will help ensure success and better protect you from harm while you seek alternatives to demolition.

3. Create an Open Space

One of the benefits of demolishing a building is creating open space. According to the demolition contractor in Melbourne, the easiest way to use open space effectively is to add more parking lots. Some businesses, however, can get creative with their newly-created open spaces by using them for features like dog parks, mini-golf courses, or putting greens. Whatever you decide to do with your new open space, make sure you plan everything out carefully with the help of a professional demolition contractor in Dandenong.

4. Improves Safety Around Your Property

If you have a building no longer in use, it can be a liability. That could be anything from a shed or garage to an old apartment complex or warehouse. The building itself might not seem like a hazard to you, but others could wander into your property and get hurt.

5. Cleaner Landscape

If your building is in disrepair and needs to be demolished, a demolition contractor in Melbourne will remove it as quickly and safely as possible. In addition to clearing a large amount of debris from your property, they’ll also lay down clean topsoil so that your landscaping returns to its original appearance. Onsite soil cleanup is required by environmental regulation in most areas, making it a common practice that allows the elimination of hazardous materials while improving your landscape.

6. Gain Value from Salvaged Materials

Salvaged materials can be some of the most valuable building supplies in a region. A demolished building is often a source for reclaimed lumber, wiring, piping, fixtures, and other materials that can be repurposed or recycled. In many cases, salvaged materials are worth more than their replacement counterparts. Even if they aren’t immediately reused onsite, these old items can be sold to local construction companies as new raw materials—meaning you’ll get some extra money to put toward your next project.

7. Increased Demand for Property

When you tear down a building, it opens up a lot of property for sale. You’ll find it difficult to get your hands on that prime real estate with an old building; once you’ve demolished it, you’ll find it much easier to sell or develop. In addition to increasing your options, demolishing an old building will help increase demand and drive up property prices across the neighbourhood. Once fewer buildings are available, buyers are more likely to start paying higher premiums to secure one that meets their needs.

8. Creates Flexibility with Future Use of Property

Whether you need more space or your old building is outdated, demolishing a structure gives you control over what happens next. For example, if your business is growing and needs extra room to expand, you can decide whether to purchase another existing property or build a new one. If you need to move around in the future—due to changing priorities or wanting a fresh look—demolition opens up your options for future use.

To Conclude

There are many benefits to demolishing an old building and starting fresh, whether for a new building or an expansion project. All you need to do is have the back of professionals like us. Merhi Group stands to be the finest demolition contractor in Dandenong; with our team of certified and skilled professionals, we deliver excellent demolition services. We are just a call away, contact us soon and get your property demolished in one go.

#partial demolition #house demolition Melbourne #residential demolition #Demolition company Melbourne #demolition melbourne

[islenskihesturinn]

Me: *casually watching a stormchaser’s vid on all the weather stuff he photographed and filmed in 2019*

Hank The Stormchaser: *comes across a painter, who is trying his very best to paint a tornado in the short time that it’s touched ground*

Me, mouth full of Ben and Jerry’s: wait, that guy’s wearing an Ariat jacket. That’s a horse brand, isn’t it?

Video: *shows a painting of a cowboy with a tornado raging across the plains in the background*

Me: ah.

(video here, painter at 11:55)

#I stumbled on these videos for some ???? reason about two weeks ago #and apparently had immediately struck gold #a guy who doesn't scream and shout when there's a tornado but who stays calm and collected #and more importantly: explains the whys and whats of tornadoes and thunderstorms and sprites #I am a simple dutch lady #all we really get here is spouts #water or land #the one in Amsterdam last year was a waterspout-turned-landspout I believe #ripped off a few roofs and blew up windows but there was no need to sit in a bathtub in the middle of your house #hoping you'll make it out alive #unlike those monsters you get in the US ._. #we had a waterspout that came onto land here about 7 or so years ago and no thank you never again #it did a merry circle around our property before lifting the roof off our neighbour's large shed #and then proceeded to fuck up That One Specific Tree Because Fuck That Tree Specifically #by tearing all its leaves off #and then vanishing in the middle of the road #all I know is that it sounded like a very huge vacuum cleaner and that my childhood nightmares became a little too real in that moment lmao #you can look up the video in the link - the painting's really good! and so is the footage #went to find more vids later on and all I got were people screaming and being a little too excited about potential death traps #all sensational and no interesting information #and a bit of a lack of humanity #hey what this is a horse blog what am I doing x) #(showing you a link to a pretty decent painting is what)

[seat-safety-switch]

Human hair is the Achilles' heel of virtually any precision system. You name it: dishwashers, sex androids, spacecraft. Anywhere a person is involved, we're shedding a ton of hair from every part of our body directly into the workings of a meticulously-designed machine.

Generally, this is fine. Sure, once in awhile you'll notice a fan getting clogged up with hair, or a lot of gross gunk building up in your washing machine's filter (go clean it out if you haven't) but it doesn't really impede function until it gets too bad. And then there's vacuum cleaners.

A vacuum cleaner's entire job in life is to pick up hair and put it into a central tank for later disposal. It turns out that this is an impossible task: if you have long hair in your house, you'll spend more time clipping chunks of hair out of the boiling-hot rollers of the vacuum cleaner than you will actually cleaning. The apologists will tell you to do something radical, like vacuum the floor more than once every three months, but now is not the time for drastic solutions. Now is the time for a grotesque application of horsepower.

Here at Switch Labs, we've determined that the problem with these vacuum cleaners is that their wimpy-ass little motors just don't have the grunt to push through some measly hair. And that's understandable, if you're building to a budget, and also if your company is run by some kind of British asshole who looks like he does cocaine with Harry Potter in the planetarium at the science centre. I make it clear to my employees every day: I will not tolerate the words "enough power" under any means. I've fired like fifty of them.

Of course, this sort of revolutionary change doesn't come easy. It turns out you can only put about six hundred horsepower through a jet turbine before the carpet tears. We had to step it way back with reduction gears, which means that it's a little delicate to get the vacuum started in the morning. That's where the starter cart comes in: we got these Buick V-8 powered babies from military surplus, real fuckin' cheap. And we passed the savings on to us. Who says sucking is easy?

[hooterhorror]

Massive tw for this post, I can't add a cut cus Tumblr just doesn't allow that for me for some reason, so pls heed these warnings:

mentions of toxic home life, a*use, childhood trauma, alcholosim/drinking (light), etc. this is a post summarizing what I feel like the Sinclair brothers lives were like in foster homes as a way to explain what they're like now. not proofread + cursing btw.

Sinclair brothers and their homes

taglist: @crypticbrahms ur the only one I can tag hunt I hope that's ok <3

Bo.

the brothers were split up immediately by the system. As the self declared eldest, it tore bo apart. He worried so much about his younger brothers, especially Lester. Lester was barely 5 in all this mess and didn't shed a single tear as the ambulance took their ma and then their pa away.

Bo was sent to Texas to a large foster family. The other kids there were a bit older than him, 5 boys and one girl. The girl was quiet and taken out real quick. The older boys would pick on bo and start fights and bo, so filled with anger, had no problem putting them in their place and fighting tooth and nail against these bigger boys who expected an easy target. Let's get one thing straight, bo is not and will never be an easy fight.

because of that, he was given up on a few times before a family friend took him in. by then he was 15-16 and with a little gang of misfits, and he'd rarely spend time at that old lady's house that was so close with his momma. But she adored him and bo did have a soft spot for her. She didn't belittle it outright pity him, she understood him. Her house was busy though, she had her own kiddos running around.

when bo would visit, he was a bit of a baby sitter. the old lady had it under control, but the kids gravitated towards him naturally. He wasn't s very good influence though, always teaching them how to fight and giving a couple of them some cigarettes or beer if they'd bribe him enough. He'd get told off a lot, but he'd always be able to crash there if shit turned south for him.

at 19, he became Lester's caretaker and hotel hopped. After that it's pretty unclear.

Vincent.

Vincent had a hard time landing a home at first. he was taken away from his brothers pretty fast and distraught, which made him anxious and hard to click with for searching parents. Made him feel like a dog in a pound, tail between his legs and head kept low cus he was scared for his fuckin life.

eventually an older couple from Britain took him in. He was shocked. They were such a sweet couple and took him in, welcoming him with open arms. Mask and scarred face and all. They weren't scared, if anything they were sad for him. They were a weller off couple and so there were nannies when they weren't around and some cleaners who's visit now and then.

But the nannies were less than nice at points and cleaners avoided him and his room entirely. He was the quiet weird kid with the wax mask a deranged couple just had to take in after they lost so much

he was horrifically insecure and shut in, refusing to go to public school and outright crying in fear when it was suggested or offered. This couple wouldn't push him, in fact they swaddled him a little too much. But they showed him love with no expectations of perfection on his part.

I feel like Vincent's trauma with trust and doc isn't talked about enough. Sure, he was their prodigy, but imagine what they did or what they said when he messed up. Trudy made him a mask and taught him early on that he was a freak, to put it simply. And he adored his momma, he doesn't realize she fucked him up.

Vincent was 17 with long mussy hair and tired eyes but a warm home and a heart full with a still foreign and genuine love. He's just gotten some of his works accepted into an exhibit and commissions lay in his email. He's starting college early that fall when he turns 18. Life is good.

then he gets a call from Bo. They're home in ambrose, Lester's home fucked him up bad.... and they miss him.

he drops everything for his brothers at a moments notice and leaves everything behind for them. he's always been the selfless and somewhat impulsive with the best intentions brother.

Lester.

like his brothers, Lester got a busy environment. He didn't understand the situation he was in, he was too young. All he knew was a bright loud white truck took their momma away and he couldn't see his brothers. Why? why couldn't he be with them?

he was shy and confused, and so desperate to be loved. He didn't know that either, though.

his home was in a trailer park. a younger couple who couldn't have their own kids. Lester was called cig kid cus of his new family's smokin imprinted on his clothes. and he didn't understand.

He didn't understand that the bigger kids weren't really his friends when they'd leave him in a ditch in the nearby woods and throw mud at him and call him dirty Lester. he didn't understand that they weren't his friend even as they pushed him too hard on a rope swing and he broke his jaw, losing his only adult tooth at the ripe age of 10 and permanently fucking his lower mandible.

the only comfort he found was in the street dogs around. He'd take his snacks and find them, offering them scraps and love, warmth, friendship. What he didn't have.

Eventually the family friend got in contact with Lester's folks. They talked and Lester got to talk on the phone with his eldest brother for the first time in years. He almost didn't recognize him, but he had the biggest smile on his face and the fattest tears rolling down his cheeks as he sat with his knees drawn to his chest. The calls were frequent, bo finding pay phones as he wandered to find himself just to call his little brother. He'd read Lester the few letters Vincent managed to send. He'd let his shitty friends talk to his little brother, some of them calling him little man and asking if he had a girlfriend yet.

then the casual drinking between his folks got worse. The drunken have turned into screaming and barefoot Lester would grab a blanket when it got too much and wander outside. He'd curl up next to his favorite stray old lady, a pittie with clipped ears and a scarred muzzle he named yams. He'd lay next to her and share his blanket for the night, and he felt protected by her in return.

then he made that call. Lester was 12 and sobbing into the phone to bo that his folks had yelled at him and hit him and it hurt and he didn't understand again- why do people who say they love him hurt him?

bo made the five hour drive, picking up a shaking and still terrified Lester in the dead of night. The scared little runt begged to take yams- she was old, needed a friend like him- and dammit bo allowed it.

she'd pass a couple years later, and now her homemade dog tags the brothers made together hangs around Lester's neck right above his heart. The place her kind love had touched.

these brothers deserve sm better istg.

#slashers #bo sinclair #house of wax #slasher #vincent sinclair #fluff #angst #tw abuse #tw alcohol #tw animal death #tw yelling #lester sinclair #house of wax 2005 #headcanon #backstory #timeline #trudy sinclair

[theerurishipper]

Secret Santa Gift

This is my gift to @huxandthehound for the secret santa. I'm a big fan of your work! I hope this is to your liking.

Big thanks to @alemanriq and @laffitine for organising this whole event, hats off to you both. I hope everyone has a great year ahead!

The fic:

“Why hello there, little guy! Are you lonely?”

“Mrow.”

“Really? Great! You can hang out with me from today. We’re gonna be best friends, you’ll see!”

“Meow.”

Levi stared his nose down at Hange’s newest acquisition. “Get that away from me. It reeks.”

Hange frowned deeply. “Don’t be mean, Levi.” Turning to the tiny grey cat curled up in their arms, they cooed softly, “Don’t listen to Levi the meanie, Mr. Whiskers. He’s just jealous that you’re my new best friend.”

Levi scoffed. “As if there’s any reason to be jealous of that bundle of hair. Just make sure none of it gets on my carpet, or else…”

Hange saluted clumsily; dopey grin plastered on their face. “You got it! The carpet will be cleaner than you’ve ever seen! I promise I’ll wash it every day!” Levi frowned again, giving the cat a pointed look, before turning on his heel and marching out of the apartment, presumably to go shopping to replace the food that Hange had used to conduct their “experiment”. Hange sighed dramatically, holding up the newly (and spontaneously) christened Mr. Whiskers in front of their face. “I know, I know, he sounds like a real piece of work, but he cooks really well! You’ll get along soon enough. He’s pretty nice once you get to know him, you’ll see!”

Mr. Whiskers responded by curling up on the aforementioned carpet and began licking himself clean. Hange shrieked in both joy and horror. “Mr. Whiskers! I’m so glad you’re feeling at home here! But please, don’t do this on Levi’s special carpet! It was a gift from Erwin, and you know how Levi gets about him…” they babbled, as the cat paused for a second to regard them wearily before resuming its ministrations.

“Mr. Whiskers, please! He’ll kick me out and I’ll never get to eat his cookies ever again! Please!” Their wails of despair brought their neighbour and Hange’s only tether to sanity, Moblit, running into the house brandishing a very large broomstick. “Hange! What’s the matter!” he cried, wielding the broomstick like a staff, the very picture of chivalry. Hange almost shed tears of joy, but they were too busy crying over their supposed fate, a world where they were doomed to live without Levi’s cookies, their one and only means of survival.

“Moblit! Thank god you’re here! Help me get this cat of the carpet, quick! Before Levi comes back! If he catches us like this, he’ll send Mr. Whiskers away!” Moblit didn’t need to be told twice and began to creep towards the cat slowly. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he muttered, completely in the dark about the ways of the felines. He crept closer and reached for its tiny body.

“Ow! It clawed me!” Moblit drew back with a wince and a yelp as the cursed cat hissed. He held his hand and shook it frantically, wincing again at the sight of the thin line of blood dripping from his finger. Hange grabbed his hand and examined it closely, oblivious to Moblit grinding his teeth, feebly trying to extract his throbbing hand from Hange’s death grip. Mr. Whiskers, now thoroughly irritated at having been disturbed while grooming himself, leapt up onto the sofa instead.

Hange paid him no mind, instead magically procuring a first aid kit and beginning to tend to Moblit’s wound. Once that was done, they let out another deafening scream. “Moblit, this is even worse! What do we do!”

Their screaming attracted the attention of their other neighbour, Erwin, who chose that moment to poke his head through the door. “Hange, is something wrong?” asked Erwin, in that pleasant way of his that probably had Levi drooling and Hange in a fit of laughter, but this was neither the time nor the situation to warrant such actions.

“Erwin, help!” Hange wailed, pointing to the couch where Mr. Whiskers had made himself comfortable, stretching languidly and no doubt dropping hair all over its surface. Erwin smiled serenely and stepped inside, walking straight over to the cat and picking it up without receiving any scratches or nasty looks for his insolence. Hange and Moblit stared in jealousy and bewilderment respectively as Mr. Whiskers curled up against Erwin’s chest, purring contently as Erwin stroked its back.

“How did you do that? He was all up in our faces just minutes ago!” exclaimed Moblit, pointing his injured finger at Erwin with an accusatory look in his eyes.

Erwin smiled again. “It could be that your exuberance was startling. This cat seems to prefer the quiet and did not take kindly to you disturbing him as he was grooming himself.” Hange grinned widely. “Why thank you, Erwin! Now I know just what I need to do in order to take care of Mr. Whiskers!” This made both Erwin and Moblit pause. “Hange,” started Moblit slowly. “Do you know anything about taking care of cats?”

Hange beamed. “I know loads about cats! For example, did you know that cats are one of the most popular pets in the world? There are over 500 million domestic cats! We humans have been associated with cats for almost ten thousand years! Wicked, huh? And I also know that cats…” As Hange continued to ramble, Moblit quietly slipped out, muttering something about a drink, as Erwin steeled himself to listen to Hange talk for a while longer. A while became almost two hours, and Hange was still going.

“And that’s the jist of it, really! Cats are so fascinating; I can’t wait to study mine! Hey Erwin, are you listening to me?” Erwin nodded truthfully; he really had been listening. As much as Hange could be too excitable at times, Erwin knew that they possessed an unparalleled intelligence, and he admired their desire to learn and their endless curiosity. But as much as he did, he was also tired. And very hungry.

“Of course, but Hange… did Levi agree to this?” questioned Erwin, truly believing that Hange would forget such a detail, seeing as they had done so the last time, when they brought a puppy to the house which was now owned by Moblit, and the parrot before that which they had to return to the store, and…

Hange beamed. “Of course!” Erwin frowned. “Did he agree?” Hange continued beaming. “Yes!” At Erwin’s disbelieving look, they pouted. “You can ask him yourself, okay? Look, there he comes now!” Indeed, the door swung open mere moments later, and Levi stalked in, took in the state of his couch now covered in very visible cat hair, and turned to Hange with a murderous look in his eyes. “Bring me that cat. I’ll throw him out myself. And I’ll deal with you later, Four-eyes.”

Hange, normally unfazed by Levi’s threats, gulped nervously. If there was one thing that Levi hated as much as dirt and mould and Hange’s habit of conserving water and doing their part to save the environment by not bathing for more than three days a week, it was the sight of a mess, made even worse by the copious amounts of hair already covering the surface of his carpet and his couch, for good measure.

Levi’s eye twitched. Hange shuffled their feet. Erwin gazed from them to Levi, alert and cautious.

Then, of course, Mr. Whiskers decided that he’d had about enough of this tension, and leaped out of Erwin’s hands and into Levi’s hands instead where he proceeded to curl against Levi, rubbing his hair all over Levi’s sweater. Levi glanced at the sight for a few seconds, and asked in a flat, unfeeling voice, “Did this mangy cat bathe after you brought him home from the streets?”

Hange laughed loudly and nervously, rubbing the back of their head. “What? I’m your friend, Levi, I know how important cleanliness is to your heart, and-“

“Shitty-glasses.”

“…No, he didn’t. He’s still fresh off the street.”

If Levi were anyone else, his eyes would have bulged out of their sockets and fallen to the floor amidst his yells of horror and anger. As it were, his jaw clenched just the smallest bit, and he uttered, “Fuck you, you fucking Four-eyes.” Hange just grinned in sympathy as Mr. Whiskers, disturbed by the profanity and yet unwilling to leave the warmth and comfort of Levi’s sweater, proceeded to dig his claws into Levi’s arm, damaging his clothing and drawing blood in yet another victim, though how innocent this one was was still up for debate.

Nevertheless, Levi looked at Hange, and Hange glared at Mr. Whiskers as though he had signed their death warrant. Erwin took two steps forward as Mr. Whiskers simply gave Hange a dry stare in return before closing his eyes again.

Levi opened his mouth and stepped forward. Hange closed their eyes tightly, praying that whatever followed would be over soon.

“Wait a moment, Levi. This was simply a mistake on all our parts.” All their gazes whipped towards Erwin, who wore an expression of remorse. Erwin was an excellent actor no doubt, but Hange knew that the emotion on his face was nothing but genuine in this moment. “It was not just Hange who awakened Mr. Whiskers’ ire. All of us are to blame for this. We do hope you’ll forgive us.” Erwin bowed, and Hange got the hint.

“I really am sorry, Levi,” they said sincerely, knowing full well that Levi deserved an honest apology. “I should have taken better care of Mr. Whiskers and been more careful with your stuff. I promise to never let it happen again.” Mr. Whiskers meowed loudly in Levi’s arms.

Levi looked at them, gaze lingering over Erwin for a second, before he sighed and looked at Mr Whiskers. “Fine, whatever. Just clean this up and don’t do it again.” Hange’s face lit up. “Really?” they questioned, eyes alight. “We can keep him?”

Levi grimaced. “You can keep him. But if this ever-“

“Never again! You have my word!”

Levi simply nodded, taking the chance to look at Mr. Whiskers again. Hange glanced over to Erwin who sported the goofiest grin on his face, the dork. Levi stroked Mr. Whiskers’ back once, and gestured to Hange to relieve his burden.

As Hange scooped up their precious pet, they couldn’t help but comment, “You know, you and Mr. Whiskers are a lot alike, Levi. You’re both always grumpy, feisty, and you do act like a cat a lot, with how you curl up in your sleep or how unnaturally flexible you are, or how the both of you don’t really like being touched, or how you both like to stay clean, or how neither of you like loud noises and-“

Levi, whose expression had morphed into something that resembled faint disbelief when Hange had begun to rave about details regarding the way he slept, took another step forward towards Hange’s person. Erwin, the master strategist, also the master of resolving conflicts and controlling situations, noticed the warning signs immediately and attempted damage control. “And both have an unexpectedly sweet side that is endearing, to say the least.” As though on cue, Mr. Whiskers purred softly and adorably before rubbing his nose against Hange’s arm.

Hange squeaked softly in delight, and Levi’s eyes glanced towards Erwin in mild surprise before they moved back to the cat, softening imperceptibly.

“Whatever, Four-eyes,” he muttered, clutching the sleeves of his ruined jacket and tugging on them. “Just don’t let him get the place all dirty all over again, or you’ll be scrubbing shit off the roads for the rest of your life.” Hange saluted clumsily. “Yes, sir!” Levi rolled his eyes once before moving into the depths of the apartment.

Erwin stared after him with a fond look on his face. Hange stared at Mr. Whiskers with a fond look on their face. “He’s quite kind, isn’t he?” Hange glanced over at Erwin, and then over to where Levi had disappeared to. They smiled. “Yeah. He acts all detached, but he cares more than anyone. I admire that about him, the way he’s always so compassionate. He didn’t have to let me stay with him and mess up his life, but he did anyway. That’s just who he is.”

“And you as well, Hange. Your determination and curiosity are qualities I admire in you, and it’s a shame that people don’t recognise them and dismiss you.” Hange glanced over in some surprise, and then laughed. “Gee, thanks! But you know, I don’t really care what others think. I do have people who believe in my potential, so I have nothing to be sad about. And,” they looked away from Erwin, stroking the cat’s fur again. “Since we’re on the subject, I’m so glad to have friend like you who would believe in me despite my weirdness. Most people usually don’t do that. You’re a good man, Erwin.”

Erwin looked at them, looking unusually touched. A small smile graced his lips and he chuckled lightly. “Thank you, Hange.” Hange grinned toothily. “No problem at all!” The both of them glanced over to Mr Whiskers, who mewled loudly.

Hange smirked. “I bet Levi’ll be fawning over Mr. Whiskers more than I ever will in just a few weeks.” The glanced over to Erwin coyly. “You wanna bet?”

“I bet that it’ll take just one week.”

“You’re on. Let’s shake on it.”

As they shook hands, Levi walked back in, looking like he’d just stepped out of the shower. “You took your time, shorty.” Levi scowled in their general direction. “It’s cause of your shitty pet, remember? You’d better bathe it before it ruins everything again.”

Hange groaned. “But Leeeevi! I’m so hungry! Can’t you hear my stomach growling? Can’t I do it after we eat? Pleeeeease?” But Levi was not to be swayed, especially when it came to maintaining an appropriately sanitised environment. It was not an unreasonable request at all to hope for Hange to bathe at least once a day, he thought.

“Go, or leave the cat. I’m sure someone who does know how to take care of themselves will find it. Eventually.”

“Yessir, I’m going right away! Come on Mr. Whiskers, let’s go!” Hange carried the thrashing cat into the confines of the bathroom, and the door clicked shut.

Erwin chuckled. “How long do you think they will last?”

“Not even a few minutes,” retorted Levi annoyedly. “Hange has no idea how to bathe themselves properly, let alone a pet that hates water as much as cats do. Guess I’ll have to live with it.”

“Which reminds me,” said Erwin, rubbing his chin as though thinking deeply. “Hange said that you never objected to the cat staying at all this time. Any reason why that might be?”

“It’s nothing special, Blondie. I just got tired of telling them to stop. What,” he added, observing the amused expression in Erwin’s eyes, “don’t believe me?”

“I do not, of course. You are far too stubborn and patient to ever become tired of doing something you believe in, you would not have backed down even in the face of Hange’s persistence. There is some other reason for your behaviour.”

Levi sighed. “Hange’s ridiculous, but they’re passionate and driven. They have their goal to study every living thing ever, and I give them a lot of shit, but I’m not going to stop them from achieving their goals.” He glanced at Erwin. “You’re pretty much the same. Stubborn as hell, always looking forward, head all stuffed with your dreams, aren’t you?”

Erwin smiled. “Nothing gets past you, Levi. You’re quite a nice person.”

“And you’re full of shit, you walking thesaurus. But I guess you aren’t so bad.”

“That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Hmm.”

Levi looked at the clock. “It’s pretty late. Want to stay for dinner?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Also read on AO3

And I wrote another fic for this before I went with the one I posted above. So this is another gift.

The fic:

“You ever thought about what you’d do once we win this war?”

Levi looks up at them, perpetual frown becoming even deeper. “What sort of question is that?”

Hange can’t help but shrug. They don’t know why they asked, really. “It’s just…another year’s gone by, and we still don’t seem to be any closer to defeating the titans. It feels like we’re just giving ourselves false hope, by dreaming of something that might never come true.”

Levi drinks slowly from his cup, gazing out of the window. Snow is not uncommon inside the walls. Expeditions are scarce, death rates are virtually non-existent, since they never go far enough to see titans without risking being caught in a blizzard or buried under mountains of snow. Hange’s last months of the year consist of nothing more than experiments, theorising and strategizing with Erwin and the rest, trying to formulate the strategy that would liberate the people trapped inside the giant cage disguised as a barrier.

It's in times like this where everything is quiet, peaceful even, that Hange finds their thoughts wandering away to places where they do not belong. The winter has been long, the year filled with victories and defeats, steps forward and steps backward. Their rates of success are always a variable, the circumstances surrounding the equation different each and every time, but the one constant is always the pain and the loss of their precious comrades.

Just like the other constant is the ever-imposing wall towering above them like a fortress, impenetrable and unbreakable.

Hange is not one for introspection. They find it a waste of time that could be spent moving forward, focusing on what can be done next rather than bemoan their previous errors, but the stillness makes even them uneasy.

“Do you think…this is all really worth it? Will we defeat the titans?”

Continue reading on A03

#SNK #Levi Ackerman #Erwin Smith #Hange Zoe #Fanfiction #Eruri #Kind of

[secret-rendezvous1d]

what about spencer having the BIGGEST crush on you but he has never said anything abt it so he just wants to be near you all the time. one day he overhears a conversation between u and penelope talking about a guy so immediately he thinks its a guy that you’re talking to (when it’s not) and things go on from there

Oh, stop-

YN gets to a point where she can’t take it any longer; she needs to tell someone the goings on in her mind.

She’s been at the unit for less then three months and everyone had welcomed her so politely and so warmly and they invited her in like she had been there for years, sharing inside jokes with certain members of the team and holding a spot in the team that no one could fill if she wasn’t there due to illness or holiday. It was a hole that was massive to fill, shoes too big, a void that hung heavy when she wasn’t around. She had her moments with each member of the team, she had already made personal memories that she would cherish forever and she had bonds stronger to some than others... or to one other person, if she had to tell the honest truth.

Spencer.

From the very first day on the job and as soon as she stepped foot off the jet for the first time for her first case as an agent, she was plunged into an order with Spencer. He made it his priority to show her the ropes; what they did when they were travelling to a scene, what to expect when they arrived at a crime scene, what they spoke about with the victim’s families and how the dealt the grief that they felt when a case was taken to heart and he made sure to tell her that if she needed to take a break then it was more than okay to hide away and shed a few tears before coming back with a clearer mind. She remembered that so clearly and so vividly; it was their first conversation, apart from their brief exchanges of ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ when they arrived at the unit and saw one another before the day began, and and it was a conversation that started off and helped blossom their friendship. From then, they were almost inseparable at the office and they worked best when they were put on an order together... the ‘dream team’ was the name they were given by the unit and it stuck so perfectly that it ended up becoming personal and meaningful.

YN just never expects to gain feelings from it... 

So what was she supposed to do when she was three months into a job, three months into a friendship she felt so grateful for and three months into a chapter in her life which was something so incredible to her that she feared losing it over something as minor as falling for a colleague? A friend? What did she do?

Garcia seemed to be her only option. 

A sisterly figure who always seemed to be so chipper, so bright and spritely, so sweet and kind and caring and YN felt like she could share anything and almost everything with her without worrying she was going to spread it around the office as cheap gossip that she thought should be shared. A figure she adored from the moment she met, from the moment they shared their hobbies and from the moment she offered YN a pen holder that was eccentrically designed with paper clips and pom-poms and pipe-cleaners that were glittery and brightly coloured.

With an extra coffee in the cardboard holder and a warmed croissant in a paper bag that had Garcia’s name written in scrawny handwriting, she knocks on the door and enters at the permission she was given.

“Good morning, sugar plum. How may I assist you today?”

YN grins as she leans against the table beside Penelope and passes a coffee to her, which she gratefully accepts and takes a rather heart sip and lets the warm liquid trickle down her throat, a groan of pleasure filling the room.

“You know me all too well,” she smiles and squeezes YN’s hand, “what’s the matter though? You don’t normally bring me coffee or a croissant so what can I help you with?”

“I need your help, Garcia.”

“With what? Come on, fill me in.”

YN shyly giggles and looks at her feet, the support of the table holding her securely enough that she could lean on the heels of her shoes, her thumbs picking at her nails nervously. The tingling in her stomach made her feel sick; was she really about to admit a secret she had been dreading to say aloud? For some reason, she felt like if she said it aloud then everything became real and having it become real was something she hadn’t necessarily thought about.

“So, I, uh-” she coughs nervously and takes a glance at Garcia, “I think I’ve developed some feelings for someone I just met and, and I guess I’m little nervous about it because this is the first guy I’ve actually really liked but there are things holding us back and I think it’s against the rules to even go on a date with him.”

“Against the rules? Have you never read Romeo and Juliet?”

“It’s not so easy,” YN sighs, “I don’t think he likes me anyway so it’s not really a Romeo and Juliet love story. I’m pining after someone who doesn’t like me back in that way.”

Garcia reaches over and squeezes her hand.

What neither of them notice is the movement of Spencer appearing in the doorway of the office, feeling a little intrusive as he hid himself around the corner yet still at a distance where he could hear when the conversation came to its end. A conversation he didn’t really want to listen to because it tore him to bits on the inside. His heart almost torn to shreds because the girl he liked... the only girl he had ever felt close to, who he felt a connection with, only saw him as a friend and a friend only when he saw her as something so much more than that. A reason to wake up and get to work early, a reason to find the best result in a case, a reason to smile and laugh and joke because life was for living and he felt like he hadn’t done much of that in his solo reign. 

“Garcia, he’s driving me mad. Like, the good kind of mad. It’s the kind of mad where I’m thinking about him constantly, I’m imagining what it’s like to be with him in certain situations like when I’m cooking breakfast or making dinner or watching some television,” she sighs and even though her shoulders dip down, she feels a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, “heck, I even think about them when I’m you know what-ing, Garcia. That’s not healthy, is it?”

“I’m no profiler, sweet-cheeks, but I think you’re in a little too deep for this guy. He’s lucky. You should go for it with him, don’t hold back on what you feel on the inside,” she softly pokes a fingertip into YN’s chest, “your heart tells you a lot and if thats how you’re feeling towards him then ask him out. Be that big and bold girl I know you are.”

“You think so?”

Spencer desperately wants to hear Garcia deny everything that she had said before; don’t encourage her to date some idiot who didn’t know about a neat thing called respect when she could have someone who treated her perfectly, he thought to himself, someone who was standing under her nose and praying she saw him like he saw her.

“Absolutely, YN. And you have to bring him to meet me and the rest of the team as soon as possible, okay? I want to know all about the guy who stole your heart and turned you all soft and happy,” Garcia smiles.

If only she knew that she’d already met him, YN thought. xx

#spencer reid chats #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagines #matthew gray gubler imagines #also hello 2am!! this is a new time for me

[adarlingwrites]

Restraint

noun: control over the expression of one's emotions or thoughts

Given the circumstances of their relationship, with Charon being the Lone Wanderer's patient, and the Lone Wanderer being Charon's employer, acting on any attraction they had for one another would be out of the question.

Still, they kept each other in their thoughts.

II - Pillow Talk

(Part I)

How did it get to this?

A few months ago he was rotting in his corner in the Ninth Circle, and now he’s living with a smoothskin girl in a house in Megaton.

It’s not that Charon was complaining. No, he’s thankful for her. No employer of his gave him this much respect and freedom. Percy’s been an angel.

And that’s the problem.

Being brainwashed into his contract, Charon never knew friendships, much less romantic relationships. Percy calls him her friend but he had never known what that was. Slow and steady, her words and actions teach him friendship.

So whenever he feels aroused at the sight of his mistress, he feels confused.

Was it normal for friends to experience this?

Charon feels dirty, looking at her while she’s bent over that motorcycle she’s been trying to get up and running. His eyes trace the curve of her ass, clothed in that stupidly tight Vault-tec jumpsuit, and he felt himself harden under his armor. She turns around, pointed nipples poking through her sweaty, grease-stained shirt, and gives him that damn smile of hers.

He shouldn’t be thinking of her in such a way. This employer of his gave him free room and board, ammunition, and above all, privacy. If she finds out that her hideous ghoul bodyguard is thinking of her in such a way, she’d probably get rid of him. He’d lose the one good thing that came into his sad excuse of a life.

So, after acknowledging her silent greeting, he tears his eyes away from her and goes up the stairs, into his room, closing the door shut.

Charon sheds the pieces of his armor and puts them in a neat pile beside his mattress. Head against the pillow, he closes his eyes, planning to take a nap. Maybe it would take his mind away from the shameful thoughts he has about his mistress.

The problem was, the pillow smelled like her.

Percy found a cleaner pillow a few days ago, so she gives him the one that she had been using ever since she moved in. At that point, her scent is imprinted on it.

As much as he tried to will it away, thinking of his unsavory experiences with other employers, or literally just Ahzrukhal’s ugly mug, his thoughts always go back to Percy, and his dick isn’t going limp anytime soon.

It must be the damn pillow.

Grabbing it, Charon looks at it with a frown. It’s soft, just like Percy.

He remembers a wet dream he had about her, sweating like the real one a floor under him, desperate to be touched. Of all the fucking dreams to have...

Fuck it. If he is granted privacy, he might as well make use of it.

The ghoul unzipped his pants and released himself from his boxers, the cold air making him hiss. A drop of precome has already formed at the tip, and he smears it all over his length, thinking of his mistress’ fingers in place of his.

In Charon’s mind, Percy is eager, and he thought that it’s what made the fantasy dirtier. Humans and ghouls don’t fuck. At least, that was the norm. Bigots would lynch both parties. So, imagining this pretty smoothskin girl going crazy over ghoul dick amped up the perverseness of the fantasy and made his cock get harder.

The ghoul would run his tongue against his smoothskin mistress’ neck, and feel her shudder underneath him as he sucks on the pale skin on her throat. He’ll kiss and lick every inch of her body.

Percy would moan and sigh his name. An angel like her deserves all that attention.

Then, Charon continued where he left off in the dream: his cock, skin rough and some tissue underneath exposed, poised to service his mistress.

Pressing the pillow against where his nose would be if it didn’t fall off from his ghoulification, Charon inhaled Percy’s scent. In his mind, he was sneaking some licks and bites on her nipples as he slowly rocked her.

Her small hands would pull at what little hair he had, begging him to go faster, and using the word “please”.

But he was made aware of reality by his rough hands, and he felt disgusted at his own touch.

Sighing, he lets go of himself, and puts the pillow down.

“Dammit,” he cursed to himself, member twitching and still eager for stimulation.

How will he make this work?

Sitting there unsatisfied, Charon was even more frustrated than when he started.

Eyes flicking to the pillow, an idea forms in his head.

His rough hands reached for it, and he shoves it under his crotch, pressing his hips against it. The pillow’s now pressed against the mattress, and Charon’s pulsing cock.

Performing an experimental roll with his hips, he grinds himself against the pillow. Soon enough, he finds a steady rhythm, and he closes his eyes. In his mind, Percy’s ass was in the pillow’s place, slapping against his hip as he fucked her raw, dick stretching her virgin pussy.

Their size difference would make things look even more depraved. The mental image of a cute and petite smoothskin getting penetrated by a monstrous ghoul twice, or perhaps thrice her size would make anyone dizzy.

His mistress would writhe and whine under him, and he’d toy with her clit before shoving his digits in her mouth, making her taste herself on his fingers.

The imaginary Percy looks up to him with a lustful gaze, and tells him, “Charon, I want you to be rougher, please?”

And he would oblige. He would flip her over, place her legs over his shoulder, and fuck her deep and hard. Charon would reach to grab her tits, rolling and pinching her nipples, and allowing it to bounce as he fucked her.

Percy would say his name, over and over, and her muscles would clench and pulse around him as she comes, milking his cock of his own orgasm.

But he wasn’t done yet.

The ghoul would flip his mistress over again, and this time, he’d make her ass feel good, too. Imagining Percy lying on her stomach, he’d prop her up, and he’s ghost his fingers over her back entrance as he continued to fuck her from behind, balls slapping her clit.

He can imagine her voice.

“Charon, please, put it in.”

And he’ll obey. He would put his thumb in the vaultie’s ass, the tight ring of muscle clenching and unclenching around his digit. It’ll drive her crazy, moaning and crying under him as he pounded her. Then, he’d remove his thumb, and make her whine for more.

The imaginary Percy then presses herself against him, allowing him deeper entrance.

“Charon, finish inside me, please.”

Eyes screwed shut, Charon’s thrusts become rougher, more precome staining the unfortunate pillow, pouring his frustrations into every single one.

“Fuck, Charon, make me yours. Please, make me yours.”

In his head, he’s curling a large hand around Percy’s neck, pressing her against his chest possessively. His other hand would fondle her tits, or reach for her clit, he wasn’t sure. One thing he was certain about is that he was hers and hers alone, and in his fantasy, she belongs to him too.

Oh, he was so close.

Wild, dark eyes would look up to him. The imaginary Percy’s pink lips parted, and her cheeks were flushed. She’d reach up and wrap her arms around his neck. She’d give him that look the real Percy does; the one that’s filled with trust and devotion, but it would be tainted by shameless fucking desire.

“Charon, please. I need you. I love you.”

With one violent thrust, Charon shudders and comes, his thick, radioactive cum staining the unfortunate pillow. He started to slow down, eyes still closed, imagining how his seed would both paint his mistress’ inner walls white, and how it would leak from the tip of his member to her smooth belly.

Breathing hard, Charon opened his eyes.

He made quite a mess.

Shit, how will he clean this up? The entire thing is soaked in cum.

Poor Charon is mortified. Maybe he might need to throw this damn thing out after all.

While dressing himself and trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do, something about his earlier fantasy made him stop.

Did he just get off at the thought of his employer telling him she loves him?

Oh, he’s in deep trouble now.

#nsft #lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #charon fallout 3 #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout #fallout charon #charon x lone wanderer #oc: percy zhou #fanfic: restraint #series: through river acheron #writers on tumblr #not beta read #fallout fanfic

[weclassygirl]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞

Word count: 928

Pairing: young!elder x f!reader 

Summary: the young elder comes into a new town, he connects with a woman there, somewhat of an origin story

Warnings: angst mostly

Author’s note: so this one i had in my mind since the discord gang listened to tamino “indigo night”, tamino… our young elder <3, aslo inspired by the said song. take care, hope you enjoy <3

Gif credits (x) 

The boy comes into the city at midnight. His clothing worn down, his face covered in specs of dirt. He heard a stream, running down the side and stepped closer to it. His hands submerged into the cool water as he washes his face in it. He doesn't notice a group of women that watch him from afar. 

One woman from that group keeps a more observant eye on the strange boy. They move closer to him as he stands up, his face now cleaner. He turns to face the group and stills in his movements. 

"What are you looking here for?" one of the girls asks, a leader. Her face is covered in a soft material that only shows her eyes. The man holds his head high. 

"My father used to live in here. I've come to continue his legacy." the boy says, he locks eyes with each of the women when one in particular stands out. His sights stay on her a bit longer and she tilts her head slightly. He can see her smile faintly under the dark wraps. 

"Come. We'll show you to a place you can stay for the night." the boy follows the girls, he passes them and locks his eyes with the girl once again. 

They lead him to a place filled with intricate designs on walls, marble floors. All of them gather around a table prepared for dinner. The boy sits at the head of it, the curious girl sits almost next to him. 

"Where did you came from?" the girl asks, his dark eyes lock with hers. He can only see her eyes, beautiful, holding so many secrets but also a sheer of happiness. 

"I've seen the world's most beautiful places." he begins. His eyes still burning into hers. The other girls listen intently but also see how the boy looks at one of their own. "But somehow I feel like it's all a dream. That I'm not here, that I've been moving like a machine for so long, that I don't know what even real." the words spill out of his mouth, the tiredness laces through them. 

The girl sees that and stands up, reaching her hand out to him. He looks up at her and then at her hand. "You seem tired from your journey, I'll show you to your room." she says and after a moment he takes her hand. 

She leads him up to one of the spare guest bedrooms and gives him a fresh set of clothing. The candles lit in the room make it look mysterious. His features show the light bouncing on them. She leaves him in his room, but before she exits she places a soft kiss on his cheek. She lingers for a moment and pulls away, looking into his eyes. 

They feel the pull, something that draws them together. They whisper a faint goodnight as the girl leaves his room. 

They start to meet every night in secret. The girls group suspecting nothing as her face seems to glow more and more each day.

The boy stays with them for longer than he suspected.                                                            

The girls take him up on a hill in midnight. The sky is dark blue, the stars shine above them. He got closer to the girl, that pull brought them together, that unexplainable force. 

They walk hand in hand as the girls gather around him, talking to him about various pleasures of life. Soon enough they all leave, yet the girl stays. 

"Why are you so kind to me?" he suddenly asks. The girl looks up at him and smiles. Her hand rises up to put an unruly strand of hair away from his face, she then puts her hand on his cheek and he closes his eyes. He feels comfort around her, a sense of belonging. She does too, for the first time in years. 

"You've been on your own for long enough. Soon you'll leave to take up on your father's legacy, I want you to still have someone outside of that world." she whispers to him as he leans into her touch.

His legacy. The legacy that he came for in form of a most important piece on the chess board. His father left it to him, knowing that he would rule it well. That he would be able to guide people through it. To oversee the incoming events. 

That life that he's lived in, covered in blood, broken promises, lies. Right now he just wants to stay on that hill with the girl that stole his heart. But he knows that it's not possible. That soon he will have to leave her and never look back. 

He takes her hand from his cheek and presses a delicate kiss on the inside of her palm and then to her lips. The girl melts into it, feeling whole again. They wish to stop that moment, to let them live in it for ever. 

But they know that it's not possible. 

The girl pulls away, her eyes gather with tears, knowing that as soon as they leave the hill he will leave too. He wipes the one shed tear and kisses her on the forehead, a last goodbye. 

She watches as his figure disappears behind the horizon into the desert. But she doesn't know that in a few years she'll meet him again. Under a different circumstances, more bloody. She won't recognize him at first but he'll know it's her from the first look.

After all, the Elder never forgotten his first love. 

#the elder x reader #the elder john wick #john wick #said taghmaoui #tamino #indigo night inspired #little something i thought about #thank you discord gang #keanu reeves #john wick 2 #john wick 3 #john wick parabellum #not related to any story #feedback much appreciated

[dukethomas]

29, Steph

Steph wakes up in a shed, sweat dripping down her face and sand in her toes. It doesn’t exactly take the world’s greatest detective to figure out something’s wrong. 

And as she stands, she finds the biggest clue: Robin (sans mask, but it’s not like Steph recognizes him, so). Robin has just returned, to the best of her memory, a tiny twiggy kid. Word on the streets is that he’s not the previous Robin, which means that the old one is officially dead. Which is weird to think about, considering how Steph is making her own costume right now so she can run away and hit the streets to foil—no, spoil—her dad’s stupid crimes.

Wait.

She looks down and she is wearing the costume she knows she’s only in the process of, except cleaner and with more actual protective armor-type pads than Steph could afford.

Something seriously shady is going on here.

Steph bites her lip—and through her full-face mask, so she’ll stop that—and pulls down her hood. Why is she wearing a hood? The costume is bad enough, in what feels like ninety degree weather in what should be January, but the hood and the mask just put it over the top. 

On second thought, she tears off her mask as well. At least now she can breathe.

She peeks through a convenient doorway with no door, and shrinks back. There’s only desert as far as she can see. How the hell did she get so far from Gotham?

Squeezing her eyes shut, Steph breathes. Inhale, exhale, which should be easy enough except when it isn’t. She needs help, and Robin is right here.

Steph kicks his leg. Is he alive? Did this one die not even two months into his career? Is it the Robin curse?

Robin’s eyes flutter open as he gasps, jolting straight up. Steph feels a pang of familiarity resound in her chest, but she has no idea why. Or why a name that’s not Robin is on the tip of her tongue, but when she reaches into the depths of her memory for it, she comes out empty-handed. 

“Robin,” she says, hoping the fogginess in her head would clear up. “You awake?”

Robin pats the area around his face and his pupils dilate when he realizes he’s mask-less. He digs through his utility belt and applies a new one wordlessly, and then he responds, “Who are you and what do you want?”

Well, that’s a surefire way to make a girl feel welcome. 

“I’m Steph,” she tells him, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “I was hoping you knew what the hell’s going on, because I don’t.”

Robin shook his head. “Last thing I remember, I was helping Batman with a case. To track down the Riddler. Where are we?”

Steph blinks and stares at him. 

If Robin doesn’t know, how the fuck are they going to get home? 

“In the middle of the desert,” she says, drawing out the words. “I woke up in here with you,”—she jabs her thumb at him—“wearing this, and I have no idea what’s going on.” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s actually kinda creepy, someone must have finished this costume, I wasn’t going to be done with it until next month.”

Robin purses his lips and stands. “That’s weird, because there are several compartments on my belt that I don’t recognize.” He catches her staring, because he is the only person for who knows how far, and he flushes. “So I’m in the same boat.” 

“Good to know,” Steph says. “Do any of those new compartments have something we can use?”

“Uh,” says Robin. He presses a finger to his ear. No, actually, when Steph peers at it more closely, it looks like he’s pressing the grey piece of tech in his ear—comms. “Batman, come in. Batman, do you read me?” He shakes his head. “Nothing. No signal, I think.”

Robin glances down at his utility belt. “But I think it’s safe to say we’re dealing with some form of memory loss here. No real way to tell the extent of it, but it’s probably at least one month. Most likely more.”

Oh. Oh. That makes sense. So Steph did end up finishing the suit herself, probably. No creeps undressing her. That’s good. And now Robin is semi-competent. (And Steph is, most decidedly, not. But she woke Robin up, that has to count for something.)

“So we’re helpless,” Steph concludes, ever-so-helpfully. “But we can at least wander around the desert hoping there’s signal somewhere. D’you have a Bat-Canteen in that utility belt, or...?”

Robin rummages through his belt. “I’ve got... protein bars. No water.”

“Well, shit.”

Robin flinches at the curse, and Steph thinks, Oh, you sweet summer child.

“We just,” Robin tells her, pausing for a moment before his voice grows deeper and firmer in a way that sends a shiver down Steph’s spine, “have to hope for the best.”

“That we do,” Steph agrees. “And the longer we spend in here is time wasted, so let’s get to it, Boy Wonder.”

About an hour later, Steph and Robin are arguing about pirates versus ninjas.

Steph’s right, she thinks ninjas are cooler, duh. But Robin argues that Batman is like a ninja, and Batman is not as cool as he seems, so pirates. Steph finds herself letting her guard down, and letting herself be charmed by Robin’s nerdiness. 

In return, Robin stops being all wide-eyed whenever she talks to him, and becomes sharper and wittier. Steph would be lying if she said she didn’t think he’s cute. He didn’t seem like her type at first, and he still doesn’t, but maybe he can be a type all on his own. 

And finally, as Steph concedes to Robin after he told three embarrassing stories about Batman in succession, they come to a stop back at the shack they started from.

Steph shouts incoherently and punches the stupid (clay?) wall. She hisses and steps back, only to trip on a fucking huge branch, only to fall backwards. And if that isn’t mortifying enough, Robin catches her in his arms, and they have a moment staring into each other’s eyes. It’s not nearly as cool as it could have been, considering Robin’s eyes are currently covered by white lenses. 

“I know we only met a little while ago, but you seem to be falling for me,” he jokes, grinning.

Steph scowls. “It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” Robin freezes and his arms pull back, leaving Steph to fall onto the ground with a thud. “I can’t believe you dragged me back to where we started.”

Robin is now standing straight up, holding his chin in the classic thinker pose. “We walked in a straight line in one direction,” he points out. “With no obstacles in the way. It’s highly improbable that we’d end up back here, so something is...”

“Oh yeah,” remarks Steph sarcastically. “We’re in the Matrix. Go figure.”

“We’re in a training simulation!”

“A training what—”

The desert fades away and so does the sweat clinging to Steph’s skin, which she now realizes, tugging at the not-damp fabric of her suit, was probably fabricated. Damn it. 

And the last thing to go back to normal is her memories.

Tim is a fucking idiot. 

She remembers him tiredly poking at the buttons, and he accidentally slammed down on the wrong one and what happened next was she woke up. And didn’t remember a thing. Blame the faux-Martian tech Bruce installed into this to make the simulations feel more real. That man has too much money.

“Oops,” she hears Tim say, the memories probably coming back all at once to him, too.

Steph knows Bruce is on a Justice League mission, and if it’s still today (not memory-loss-today but today-today, which is over a year later), he shouldn’t be getting back until tomorrow.

She locks eyes with Tim. “Not a word,” she tells him, and he nods. “If you don’t say anything about how embarrassing past-me is,”—she means, come on, ninjas? Pirates are so obviously better—“I won’t mention how bad your pick up lines are.”

Tim swats her and sticks his tongue out. “Says the one who says I have a bad case of the Stephs.”

“Yeah, but you love that one.”

“...no.”

Steph leans in to his face, thankfully sweat-free, lingers close to his mouth and at his awkward thumbs-up to the side, moves in for the kiss. It’s done quickly, but Steph still finds it hard to pull away. 

And Tim looks adorably like a kicked puppy when she does. “See?” she laughs. “Bad case of the Stephs. That’s not a bad pick up line, that’s just fact.”

Like she would ever admit her pick up lines are bad. That’s like getting Tim to admit he needs sleep, and if he won’t do that, Steph can at least have her bad pick up lines.

#ask #leap tag #crys writes #aka when i rip off a tv yj storyline #make that two of them #tim drake #robin #stephanie brown #spoiler #timsteph

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“shh, shh. you were having a nightmare.” + Alec/Seregil <3

Boop Boop I feel like shit so I wrote this, turns into smut at the end

----

He has seen blood before, more than any faie his age should have. But he has seen it, his own and others, staining hands, clothes and blades, its smell familiar to him by now.

But this blood burns.

It feels as though it's his own heart’s blood as it runs down his fisted fingers, in the gaps between them and down his wrists, the pain is so unbearable. The way it seems to scorch his skin, the sickening, too fast throb of agony inside him, the tension in his throat as he screams endlessly, it could be his own life blood leaking out in a slow, implacable stream.

And by Aura, he wishes it was.

But he is whole, though he knows he shouldn’t be, he tried damn hard to change that. Whole but not unbroken. His mind still frantically searches for ways out he knows are hopeless, he can see with his own eyes where the arrows have struck and how deep they’ve sunk, he knows the sharp, cruel slave catchers’ points that are buried deep in the flesh and will shred everything in their path if removed. He knows there is no hope but still his mind searches, only to drive the agony deeper.

Because there is nothing to be done but cling on as if that will do anything to keep a soul in its place, scream and hurt and watch as his love dies in his arms.

And to think the whole time it was meant to be me…

“Seregil?”

Aura, why couldn’t it have been me…

“Seregil? Shh, love, shh, it’s all well, it's just a dream…”

Alec…

“Seregil!”

His eyes snapped open but he wasn’t seeing, his hands moving when he hadn’t asked them to. Old screams were caught in his throat, old tears on his cheeks and his heart was hammering so hard he felt he might vomit. All he saw was that Palmarian plain and Alec’s blood staining it’s grass.

But then a firm hand grabbed his flailing wrist, like taking the collar of a panicking dog and bringing it to heel. And suddenly there was soft skin underneath his fingertips, fine, down like hair and a steady, regular heartbeat that called out to his own.

“Shh,” Alec murmured, his voice gentle and his face an inch from Seregil’s, “Shh, you were having a nightmare. Just a nightmare, nothing more.”

The room they always slept in at Watermead solidified around him, the darkness became the comforting and cosy variety of a candlelit night. It was a feather stuffed mattress underneath him and soft cotton blankets over his legs, the rest of him bare and covered in drying sweat. He smelled treated oak and fresh hay and beeswax, family and home baked into the air.

And Alec was holding his hand, pressing it to his own chest, letting his talímenios feel his heartbeat. His nightshirt was rucked up around their entwined fingers, his hair tousled with sleep though his eyes were wide and awake, full of concern.

“It’s all well,” he murmured, voice raspy, “I’m here and I’m safe. Remember?”

Seregil drew in a shaky breath and nodded, voice trembling as he tried to explain himself, “It just...it only felt so real, I…”

But Alec was already shaking his head over his protestations, seeing nothing that needed forgiveness or explanation. He just pulled him closer, cradling the back of his head, letting the tremors run through him until the tears dried up. After a moment, Seregil found himself clinging to him like his life depended on it, never taking his hand from his chest, needing to feel that steady rhythm.

And then he remembered what day it was.

“Has it gone midnight?” he murmured into Alec’s shoulder.

“I think so,” he heard the smile in his talímenios’ voice and realised he was thinking along the same lines.

“Well,” his voice was still reedy around the edges but the terror of the dream was fading and he was beginning to feel like himself again, his usual crooked smile regrowing,  “Happy wedding day, talí.”

Alec laughed gently, still keeping his voice low so as not to wake the sleeping house around them, though it may be too little too late after last night. And every night before, of the weeks they’d been staying here. Being betrothed had seemed to sparked some fire between Seregil’s legs that Alec was more than happy to indulge.

In just a few hours the sun would come up, warming the fields around the humble country manor house, illuminating the clearing that had been set up for their ceremony, the flower arch that Illia had been working on for the last few days under which Valerius would call them husbands in a patchwork quilt of Dlanan wedding custom and Aurenfaie marriage rites; the hay bales that would serve as seats for their few guests, arranged in neat rows by her brothers under Illia’s strict command and the space cleared for a dance afterwards. It would certainly be a lot less lavish than any party thrown in their Wheel Street house and it would count for nothing under Skalan law but it would mean everything to them.

And as nervous as he was, those few hours still felt like far too long to wait for Alec.

“Maybe we should have slept apart for a night,” Seregil chuckled, though his joking tone was threadbare.

“We’re hardly a traditional couple, talí,” Alec pointed out, leaning back against the pillows so Seregil could rest against his chest, “I can’t believe it would make much difference. And we’d bang heads in the middle of the hallway as we snuck into each other’s beds.”

Seregil gave a thin laugh, “But I wouldn’t have woken you up with the same bad dream I’ve had a hundred times.”

“Well then,” Alec combed his fingers through Seregil’s hair, teasing the knots from it, “I’m glad we’re together so I could be here for you.”

Seregil felt the tears threaten again but they were fresher this time, cleaner. He was glad to see them, glad that he could shed them in front of his talímenios with none of his old shame or need to appear stronger than he was.

“Make love to me?” he asked softly, kissing Alec’s chest where his tears had fallen.

“One last time before you’re stuck with me forever and the passion dies?” Alec teased, grinning as he rose to obey, rolling Seregil onto his back.

“Naturally,” Seregil grinned, letting his legs fall open, “You are only marrying me for my money, after all.”

Alec smirked at their old joke, fuelled by the rumours running through the Noble Quarter at the sight of the ring on Alec’s finger where a blushing bride would wear hers, “And because of the baby.”

“Ah, right. The dark spawn I planted in you with forbidden Aurënen magics. I forgot.”

“Odd thing to forget. What kind of sorcerous father are you?”

And then they were just laughing, kissing each other as their bodies moved to their familiar positions, fitting together like pieces in an exceptionally clever puzzle box, Seregil’s legs falling open and Alec’s hips moving to fill the gap, Seregil’s arms snaking around Alec’s shoulders.

There was still slack in his muscles from the night before, a looseness that meant Alec needed to only wet his fingers slightly from the bottle on the nightstand, a few quick thrusts and he judged his talímenios ready.

Seregil moaned as he moved into him, staying achingly slow so he’d feel every inch of the stretch. Then it was a teasily prim kiss to his forehead before Alec began to roll his hips, making certain to hit that sweet spot inside him at the apex of every thrust. Seregil rewarded him with trembles and sighs, soft, sweet cries that only drove Alec on, kindling that need inside him.

It was the small details that took root in his mind, as things grew more frantic and wild. How Seregil’s dark hair spread across the white of the pillow, looking almost black. How his pupils inched wider and wider, more blown out with lust until he seemed almost otherworldly in his beauty.  How his mouth grew more slack, the tension in the muscles of his neck, how his fingers scrabbled at the sheets when he struck those nerves inside him.

It was over all too soon, the sudden release cascading through him, hips jerking, filling Seregil with his heat. That sensation was enough to push Seregil over that same precipice, his cry of Alec’s name high and strangled as he painted his stomach.

Alec sighed, contentedly, sitting back, muscles going slack as the tension left. He smiled down at Seregil with a mix of smugness and tenderness.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“I will when you come here,” Seregil panted, pulling him close, kissing at him with a tired messiness that only made Alec giggle.

“Here, I’ve got you,” he grinned, returning to more or less the positions they’d occupied before they made love. He wasn’t intending to sleep again.

Seregil couldn’t have felt further from the terror of his nightmare. That pain was past and couldn’t hurt him here, anything that wanted to claim his talímenios now wouldn’t find it half so easy, be it human, faie or god. He’d put it into his vows if he had to.

Before he slipped back into a much more restful sleep, Seregil kissed Alec’s skin where his heartbeat was now pounding a much stronger beat, lying so he could feel it against his cheek.

It was it’s gentle, constant rhythm that brought him sweeter dreams.

#nightrunners #alec i amasa #seregil i korit #alec x seregil #angst prompts #smut #stag and otter #please reblog

[samsexualdeancurious]

Late Night Visit

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 2,299

Summary: The reader gets an unexpected visit from her boyfriend and his brother.

Warnings: Hurt!Sam, brief description of injuries, this did not go the way I thought it would but I'm actually really happy with it.

Written for Susan for her November 2019 Angel request.

Betaed by @saxxxology

---

“I’m coming, keep your pants on,” you grumble as you hurry down the steps. “Who the hell bangs on someone’s door at midnight anyway?”

When you open the door, you get your answer.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, staring at the sight of your boyfriend being held up by his brother. “Sam!”

“He’s gonna be okay,” Dean assures you, more dragging than guiding Sam past you into the house. “I just need to patch him up and you were the closest.”

“In here.” You direct Dean to the kitchen, where he lowers Sam onto one of your dining chairs. You hover nervously close by, unsure of what to do. When Dean steps back and you see the blood on Sam’s shirt, your hands fly to your mouth. “Oh my god.”

“He’s gonna be okay,” Dean repeats, patting Sam’s cheek lightly to get him to perk up. “Right, Sammy? Gonna be just fine. Sit tight, okay? I gotta get the first aid kit from the car.”

“Right,” Sam mumbles, blinking sleepily around him until his eyes land on you. “Y/N?”

“Hey, baby,” you say, somehow managing to keep your voice calm as you drag another chair over to sit beside him. “Hi.”

He smiles, a little sleepy, and you don’t need medical experience to know he’s probably got a mild concussion. “There’s a nice view.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. Even injured and concussed, he’s still as charming as ever.

“Don’t worry,” he says,  patting your cheek with his cleaner hand. “Dean’s gonna take care of me.”

“Damn right I am,” Dean responds as he reenters the kitchen, bag in hand. He sets it on the table and begins pulling out supplies. “Hope you’re not too attached to this shirt, little brother, cos it’s gonna have to come off.”

“Need new ones anyway,” Sam says with a small shrug that makes him wince.

Dean quickly unbuttons Sam’s flannel and eases it off his shoulders, taking care to not jostle his left one too much.

“Oh,” you breathe when Sam’s injuries, previously hidden by the folds of his flannel and the dark splotch of blood, become clear to you - four distinct claw marks across his ribs and sternum.

“Just need stitches,” Dean assures you as he pulls out scissors and begins deftly cutting away Sam’s undershirt. “How’s the shoulder feeling?”

“It’s fine.” Sam rolls it a little and winces. “Sore.”

“Dislocated,” Dean explains. “Grab me a bowl of water? And we’re gonna need some towels.”

You jump into action, eager to have something to do. You get the bowl first, filling it with lukewarm water so. hopefully, the temperature isn’t too shocking for Sam, and then fetch some raggedy towels from the upstairs hall closet.

“Put a couple of towels on Sam’s lap,” Dean instructs, pulling a clean rag from his bag and dunking it in the water. “I don’t want to make a huge mess of your floor.”

You nod as you spread two towels, folded in half, over Sam's thighs and bunch them a little around his waist. As soon as they're in place, Dean begins squeezing water over the wounds. The water, colored a ruddy pink with Sam's blood, runs down his abs to begin staining the towel.

"Oh no," Sam says, blinking down at the sight. "That's gonna be ruined."

"It's okay," you assure him, reclaiming your sit by his side and taking his hand. "They're old towels anyways."

He nods and then winces, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Stop moving," Dean grumbles, now carefully picking any remaining debris out with tweezers and a surprisingly steady hand. Once he's satisfied, he cleans the edges with an alcohol wipe.

"Stings," Sam mumbles.

Dean ignores his brother as he sets the wipe aside and tears open a little sterile package to reveal a needle, already threaded with a fine black thread you recognize. Sam's come home to you many times with bandages covering carefully stitched wounds, perfect black lines that always heal beautifully. It's now that you realize who exactly stitched those wounds.

"Gonna be fine," Sam promises. "Dean's good at th's part."

"I know," you respond, meeting Dean's mildly stunned expression with a watery smile. "I've seen his handiwork before, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." You scoot your chair closer and Sam leans against you with a happy sound. "'S nice havin' you here - ow."

Dean shrugs, drawing the thread through and continuing his stitches. “Sorry. Gotta get a move on.”

“That hurt,” Sam whines.

“You’ll live.”

Dean works quickly, deft hands flying. You have to tear your eyes away, the sight of black thread pulling the edges of the wound together a little too much for you. You focus on keeping Sam’s focus, speaking softly to him and smiling at his slightly slurred responses. It feels like no time and yet too much time passes before Dean snips the final thread and sits back.

“Good as new,” he declares, wiping the wounds clean with the clean end of the damp rag and digging a roll of gauze from the bag. You catch a glimpse of the stitches before he covers them - neat little black lines, perfectly spaced - and something inside you relaxes. Dean knows what he’s doing. Sam’s going to be fine.

Dean tapes the gauze down and sits back. “How’s the head?” he asks, wiping his hands clean with a new rag.

“Hurts,” Sam replies.

“Yeah, probably does. Want some ice?”

Sam gives a tiny shake of his head, wincing as he does. “No. Just Tylenol and sleep.”

Dean’s already pulling a little red and white bottle from the bag. You jump up to grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it from the spout in the fridge door, and then help Sam take the two pills Dean shakes into your palm.

“Bedtime?” you suggest.

“Yes, please,” he answers, smiling up at you.

You press a kiss to his hair and then make a face. “Maybe a shower first?”

Sam hums. “That sounds nice.”

“We’ve got some waterproof bandages,” Dean offers, already digging through the bag for the items in question. “Lemme put these on real quick.”

Sam holds still while Dean applies the clear cover, carefully smoothing down the edges so no water will get in.

“There ya go.” Dean straightens up with a nod. “Need help getting to the shower?”

“Probably,” you admit.

Thankfully your house is single-story so there’s no need to try and navigate Sam up a set of stairs. Dean helps you get him down the hall to the bathroom. You had your shower built with a bench opposite the showerhead just because you like the convenience - not to mention how much easier it makes shower sex. You’re especially glad for it now, though, because Sam has somewhere to sit.

Dean steps back. “I’ll clean up the kitchen,” he says. “And then get a room for the night.”

You’re already shaking your head. “You don’t have to do that. The couch is a pullout. Sam, will you be okay for a minute while I show Dean the sheets and get an extra towel?”

“Yup,” Sam says, leaning back against the shower wall and toeing off his shoes.

You lead Dean to the hall closet to get him some bedding and one of the extra pillows from the top shelf. Once he’s on his way, carrying more than enough blankets to stay warm, you snag a clean towel and return to the bathroom.

Sam’s exactly where you left him, except now he’s naked. He’s kicked all his clothes - boxers, jeans, socks, and shoes - out of the shower. You pause to set his boots where they won’t get in the way and to dump everything else into the hamper for later before turning your attention to your boyfriend.

“Shower time,” you announce, pointing the showerhead straight down while the water warms up. You quickly shed your own clothes, dropping them in the hamper as well. By the time you’re naked, the water has reached an ideal temperature. You redirect the showerhead to spray at an angle across the stall. Sam hums when it reaches him, stretching his legs out.

“Feel good?” you ask, stepping under the water.

“Uh-huh.”

You get to work washing him, grateful for the detachable showerhead when you realize there’s no way you can hold him up and wash his hair. Sam’s more than content to just sit there, eyes closed as you clean him up. Then you dry him and guide him to the bedroom, where you fetch a pair of clean boxers from the dresser. Thankfully he’s bought things to leave at your place for when he spends the night.

Sam’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. You dress in your own pajamas and then stand there a moment, just looking at your sleeping lover, and that’s when the reality of the situation sets in.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, one hand coming up to cover your mouth as you take a step back.

You know what Sam does - you’ve known from the beginning. Your mother runs a shop that caters to hunters who know the right questions to ask. Despite that knowledge, tonight is the first night you’ve seen the aftermath of Sam’s job - the gory, gritty part that happens before Dean patches him up - and that knowledge is like a weight on your chest.

You decide to head down to the kitchen again, hoping a cup of tea will ease your racing mind and heart. When you pass through the living room, though, you’re surprised to find Dean sitting upright on the edge of the pullout bed. He’s cleaned up, changed into blue pajama pants and a loose grey t-shirt, and he looks exhausted in the light of the lamp in the corner.

“Dean,” you say softly, determined to be a good hostess even if you really want to cry - or throw up, you can’t decide which. “Is everything alright?”

He startles, head jerking up, and then relaxes. “Yeah,” he answers, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Everything’s fine. Why are you still up? Figured you’d be with Sam.”

You shrug, looking back toward the bedroom. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“It never gets easier.”

Your head snaps around. “How’d you know…?”

“I know that look.” Dean pats the bed beside him. “Worn it myself more times than I could ever count.”

You tentatively sit. It feels a little weird, sitting on your pullout couch in your dimly lit living room with your boyfriend’s older brother, who you hardly know, but you’re coming to realize that Dean is the only person who, at this moment, might have even an inkling of what you’re feeling.

“Tonight…” Dean pauses, sighs, and then tries again. “Tonight was your first time seeing him like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, staring down at your hands in your lap.

“My first time was when he was sixteen,” Dean continues. “It wasn’t even that bad - he got pushed down a flight of stairs by a ghost. Minor cuts and bruises but he broke his ankle and I had to carry him out of there. Thankfully, he didn’t reach giant status until a year later and I could still carry him.”

You can’t help a small smile at that.

“Dad was furious, of course.” Dean picks at a stray thread on the knee of his pants. “It’s my job, ya know? Looking out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I know.”

“It’s scary and that’s never going to change.” He looks over at you, green eyes soft. “Not as long as you love him and maybe even when you stop loving him.”

“I’m not planning on stopping any time soon.”

Dean smiles. “Figured that out the first time I saw you two together. Never thought Sam would find someone after Jess but you?” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “I like you. You’re good for him - someone normal, stable, who knows what he does and doesn’t try to stop him.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” you admit. “Especially after tonight.”

“Tonight was rough,” Dean agrees. “But we got through it, we’ll learn from it, we’ll do better next time. That’s how it is. I’m just glad Sam’s okay and that seeing all of this hasn’t changed your mind.”

You shake your head. “Not one bit. I do still want a cup of tea, though. Would you like one?”

“Nah. I’m not really a tea guy.”

“Suit yourself. See you in the morning, Dean.”

He gives a little wave as you resume your journey to the kitchen again.

You fill the kettle with water and let it boil, careful to catch it before it starts whistling and waking the whole neighborhood. Once your tea is ready, you sit at the bar and drink it, letting your thoughts settle before you head back to your room. Dean’s turned the light off and the living room is dark when you tip-toe past.

Sam is sleeping soundly, covers pulled up to his nose, and you smile at the sight of him - a little battered but safe and warm in your bed. You flick the light off and round the bed to crawl under the covers on your side. You’d planned to snuggle against his back but even sleeping Sam senses your presence and rolls to face you. You’re more than happy to worm your way into his arms, pressing your nose to the soft skin of his collarbone and inhaling what your brain will always recognize as Sam, no matter how long it’s been.

The gauze covering Sam’s wounds brushes against your arm, a stark reminder of just how bad tonight really could have gone, but you don’t allow yourself to linger on that thought. Sam’s here and that’s all that matters.

---

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#sam x reader #spn fanfic #my writing

[whothehellisyn]

Cat and Mouse | Ch. 2

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Quentin Beck x Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: You found out who Mysterio really is behind closed doors. You’re about to learn just how dangerous a man seeking revenge can be when you get in his way. He’s a predator on the hunt. And you’re the prey.

Warnings: explicit sex, unreality and use of illusions, restrained sex, dubcon, Dark!Mysterio, predator/prey sexual dynamics, (almost) choking,

It’s still dark all around you but you don’t stop running, not even to familiarize yourself with newest illusion. You just keep fucking running hoping to get some distance between you and Quentin Beck. You wonder if it’s pointless to try and hide, he can probably see you right now, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to pounce on you. You think you’re in the maze he showed in the display, but who knows anymore. Certainly not you. You’re turning endless corners, praying and hoping you don’t end up in a dead end. You can hear Quentin treading behind you, but you don’t know where or how far behind you he is.

It scares you to think he’s so capable of acting like a sweet and loving man and completely destroying your sense of reality moments later. You believed in Mysterio. In Quentin Beck. You cried when he retold the story of him losing his wife, his family. Of how powerless he felt to save them because of one unexpected final Elemental. You fucking cried of real sadness while he shed crocodile tears for a family that never existed in the first place.

It’s only been a few minutes but it feels like an eternity navigating this dumb fucking maze. You can’t see barely anything, let alone if you’re going the right way. So far you haven’t fucked up, and you take solace in that.

But then you hear it: multiple sets of footsteps. He’s using the illusion technology to find you. There could be dozens of Mysterios hunting you right now. You continue to navigate, listening hard for approaching steps as you run tiptoe. There are only two turns in the corridor you’re in and you pick the wrong one, falling into a body of water. What the hell even is this outside of the illusion? You swim around trying to find your way out and drink some along the way. It tastes clean, making you wonder if it’s a natural body of water or if it’s a pool of some sort. You realize the only way out is through the way you tumbled in and swim to it.

It’s hard to get to because of the depth of the water, but you manage to climb up into the maze again. You’re sopping wet, but hydrated and somewhat cleaner than before. Count your blessings, you suppose. Not a moment too soon are you so sure you’ve been punished for prematurely celebrating. It’s only seconds later when you feel him behind you.

“Found you.” Quentin says in a song-song tone, mere feet away. But just as he’s about to grab you, you dart into the other turn of the corridor, wet feet slapping against the ground. He’s close behind you, not quite running but not quite walking either. “I love a good chase!” He yells, with just a hint of exertion behind his tone. He’s working hard to keep up with you, clearly preferring hunting you down slowly to running up behind you now. You wonder if it’s part of his foreplay, if he needs to do this to get off.

And then it finally happens. You hit a dead end, and turn to see he’s blocking the only way out. Jesus fuck, Quentin is smiling like he’s about to devour you whole, with a gut-churning sexual glean in his eyes at the same time. You begin to cry, silently as he takes a step towards you. You back away, until you’re flat against the wall and then he’s right up against you. He leans in close to your face, and when you raise your hand up to strike him he grabs it tightly and turns you so your chest is against the wall, twisting your arm behind you. You squirm against his grip, but you’re just too weak to be able to get it loose.

“Now,” Quentin grunts, twisting your arm further to stop your squirming, “Good girls don’t have to be pliant. In fact, I don’t want you to be pliant. Not immediately of course.” You yelp in pain and he groans deeply, taking pleasure in your hurt. Quentin leans in close to you, forcing you to bear most of his weight. The armor presses into your wet clothes with an uncomfortable chill.

“I prefer this. You, fighting me. It makes it all the more worth it when I fuck it out of you every time.” A shiver rolls up your spine as his lips brush your ear as he adds, “And let me tell you, honey, I cannot wait to unravel you.”

You fight against him again with a more urgent panic, jerking around harder this time as adrenaline courses through you. You manage to get your arm loose from his grip and you elbow him in the ribs, hard. Quentin reels backwards in the pain but he’s also laughing, darkly and in no way cheerful. You run, you run and you don’t look back. You get three turns in when two mysterios grab you unexpectedly, and they take you forcefully by the wrists and pin you against the nearest wall. They’re twice as strong as Quentin is, though not nearly as dangerous. You swallow hard as he appears in front of you, not seeming too angry at the fact you tried to crack his ribs. You realize now that the elbowing has probably only encouraged him.

“That was fun.” He smirks, rubbing the spot where you had gotten him. “But now it’s my turn.”

Quentin takes this moment to look at you, scared and disheveled, before your shirt is torn away along with your bra, and you’re left topless and defenseless in front of him. He’s rubbing his cock through his suit, eyes dark with lust at your state. A lion appreciating its kill.

You let out a defeated and humiliated little sob as the two mysterios lift you higher against the wall by your wrists and your biceps so Quentin can tear your pants off, leaving you in your underwear. Your crotch is face level to him now, the two mysterios hovering as they keep you restrained. He pushes his face into your panties, and inhales your scent with a dark groan. It’s humiliating, and yet it feels titillating all the same.

Having had enough of smelling you, he pulls your underwear to the side unceremoniously to push his face in further, licking into you. You try to close your legs to stop him but his clones grab each of your knees and force them apart, and when you squirm more Quentin licks deeper and harder, clearly more turned on the more you resist.

“Please, stop...” You cry, unable to get away from his mouth. Your vocal protests do the same to egg him on and you realize this is a situation where you can’t win but you just. Can’t. Stop. Fighting. You haven’t stopped fighting against the mysterios, and they’re so much stronger than you, and you’re still weak from the running. But you don’t want to give up. Even when you can feel your body acclimating to Quentin’s mouth, your entire being softening to feel what’s being done to you. Your own body, betraying your terror. You think he knows it, too. He works harder and swirls his tongue around your clit, wanting to you to climax, needing you to climax.

You can’t stop fighting because you know part of you lies this. Even with how much you’d have preferred never knowing Quentin this way, of wanting to go back to when he would just take you to dinner in whatever country you were in, he feels good working his tongue on you. You’re horrified of who he really is, but part of you is drawn to him still. You’re disgusted by it. You hope it’s some sort of sick survival instinct and not just you. You hope.

You can feel yourself getting close to orgasm, reluctantly but all the same. You know you’d be enjoying this if it weren’t in the depths of his illusions, if you were back in his hotel room. If you were being eaten out like a fucking human being instead of a sexual meal for a dangerous predator. If Quentin Beck was really Mysterio.

He fucks you with his tongue as you climax, hard. He doesn’t stop until your legs are shaking and you’re whimpering and thrashing against him from overstimulation, and only because he can’t wait to finish off himself.

He waves his hand and you’re lowered enough that he can reach you, grab your hips and have the Mysterios support your legs for him. He starts fingering you, and though he starts with only one finger he’s clearly impatient to fuck you and it’s not long before he’s using two and three to stretch you to take his cock. You feel shame at the slickness he’s able to use from your own body and the sounds as he pumps in and out of you, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.

The entire time he touches you he’s grinning, and humming to himself triumphantly. You’re a conquest to him. A prize he has taken or a piece of meat he’s appreciating. He uses his thumb to circle your clit, still sensitive, and you let out a overstimulated whine in response.

“God,” Quentin groans, fingering you faster, “I hope you sound like that when I’m inside you.” You cum again, shaking harder with it being so soon after the first orgasm. He starts pulling off parts of his suit, getting his cock out and rolling on a condom. At least he’s not trying to get your pregnant, you think. He’s hard already, and though you try not to look you realize he’s on the bigger side and if you don’t relax right the fuck now you’re going to get hurt. No matter how fucked up this is you’re going to have to take it, no matter how fucked up you are for wanting to take it.

“I can’t wait until you’re begging for my cock, honey.” He says, rubbing the head of his dick on your clit, against your vagina. “Until I own you and you don’t want anything else besides me.”

“Quentin please don’t, please—“ You try to beg, despite knowing its likely useless. He pushes inside you and doesn’t stop until he’s buried his cock to the base and he lets out a deep moan, dropping his head against your shoulder. A human at last. You let out a gasp, in shock from the sudden change in pressure inside you. The stretch makes you ache, the warmth inside you unpleasantly comfortable and betraying the atmosphere. It breaks you a little, knowing what you must look like. Getting fucked by a fake superhero in a fake, dark maze while his fake clones hold you up for him. The only thing real right now is your two bodies, pressed together. Reality at last.

He sets a quick and unforgiving pace, fucking you hard into the wall behind you. The grit digs into your back uncomfortable and you fight against him again in protest. Quentin isn’t having it, and he grabs your throat in response to force you to look at him.

“Tell me you’re a good girl.” He says, hips snapping into you. “Tell me who you belong to.” He squeezes your throat as a threat to say the right answer and a tear threatens to fall on your cheek with the shake.

“I’m your good girl Quentin.” You whimper, body strung out and breaking. “I’m yours.”

He moans again, louder. “That’s right. You’re fucking mine now.” He fucks you even harder, clearly chasing his own release supplied by your words.

“I’m going to break you until you’re nothing but fucking putty in my hands. Understand?” He’s close, you can tell. He’s trying hard to get just the right rhythm to cum. He reaches for your breasts and pinches one of your nipples to get you to answer.

“Yes, sir.” You yelp, twitching and arching away from the pain. It puts him over his limit and he cums with a guttural groan, stilling deep inside you. He just sits there for a minute, breathing heavily and you can feel his cock idling inside you. It’s a horrible and primal feeling, one of being marked and being used.

When he regains his composure minutes later, he slides out of you and the Mysterios drop you to the ground without ceremony. Once Quentin gets tucked back into his suit, he picks you up onto your feet. You feel so disgusting as he strokes your cheek sweetly, and smiles, “Yeah, that’s a good girl.”

While you stand there, arms crossed to shield your chest and shoulders haunched to protect yourself, you watch him change into the Mysterio character, just like that. He smiles at you sweetly, and your soul twinges at its near genuineness, aching for comfort after this ordeal. He claps his hands cheerfully, and puts an arm around you like he didn’t just obliterate your sense of reality and fuck you in a digital maze.

“Let’s go get dinner, shall we?”

—————

And that’s chapter 2! This is as far as I had saved up on my computer. Please by all means send me concrit and how you feel about this writing! I really only get the writing bug when I’m extremely tired so my sentence structure is quite poor, but rest assured I’ll edit tomorrow when I’m more awake.

#quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #nsft #cat and mouse