#and i like that triumphant feeling of 'we have to keep fighting. its fucking hard and youll want to give up but we have to' IDK ITS GOOD

[feline-evil]

Aoetic desecration and S.O.S both having this rising section of guitar, but in AD it ends after just a few rounds whereas in S.O.S it just keeps climbing and climbing and climbing higher and higher; and the way that section version of that guitar section puts me in mind of the visuals of Nathan climbing that hill during Knubbler's training, making it feel as if S.O.S is triumphant not effortlessly but with great effort and exertion to keep rising and not falling- because failing or giving up is easier sometimes but that doesn't make it the right thing to do, same as sometimes persevering and succeeding and doing the right thing is sometimes hard fucking work but that doesn't make it worthless or not something you should do.

This isn't a hidden theme, its just textual it's literally what Nathan's arc entails, i'm not saying anything big nor smart lol- but i do just like how narratively the instrumentals of the movies music drive the movies themes home too in this way! It adds so much more to feel and sink your teeth into when it comes to this plotline about him having to put the effort in to be a better person and to grow and do the right thing instead of just resorting to giving up or falling back on old habits and what he knows and does best!!

#jay talkin #metalocalypse #army of the doomstar #aotd spoilers #i care him so fucking much i do i cant deny it and this movie is my fuckin everything #im so tired i got no idea if im making sense rn im rlly just saying shit. anyway. aotd fucking good #n also hey w the themes around nathans wellbeing in this movie i also fuckin connect to like #IDK. IN A METAPHORICAL SENSE BEING A GUY IN A SIMILAR POSITION B4. LESS APOCALYPTIC BUT YKNOW #yyouuuu can see some of this to be abt recovery to and doing better and it makes it feel like. acknowleged that YEAH ITS FUCKING HARD #and i like that triumphant feeling of 'we have to keep fighting. its fucking hard and youll want to give up but we have to' IDK ITS GOOD #DUNNO. s'not intentional probably but i can see smth thats meaningful to me personally in there #not coherent enough to figure this personal feeling out rn maybe ill ruminate and type it out another time. im tired.

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

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I have a feeling I missed someone, if I did, let me know!

#august walker #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #august walker x you #august walker x reader #august walker smut

[gleamglows]

hii since you said the requests were all fluffy and sweet here I am with smut 😌can I request something with James x bratty reader pleaseeee

asking for it

pairing: james/reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: james’s brat taming method.

content: ‘daddy’ usage, spanking (tiny bit), fingering, mocking? (i mean there’s a little), praise, james has this ego thing i don’t know how to explain it, i don’t know what else to add i guess there’s not much, ITS BRAT TAMING WHAT ELSE DO I SAY

um hey, YES THE FUCK YOU CAN!!! okay so i actually wrote and rewrote this like three times just cause i really wanted it to be perfect but i’m still not that happy with it. HOWEVER, i’m gonna say that it’s all james’s fault!! this whole thing made me realize i have to write brat taming blurbs for remus and sirius too because i just don’t think james is as good of a brat tamer as them and i felt it was my DUTY to portray that as i wrote him. anyway YEAH thank you for this request, sorry it’s a bit short!!

“Hands to yourself,” James chides as you start to snake a hand towards your wet heat.

He’d settled between your legs after having rid himself of all his clothing except his boxers, and you were nearly drooling at just the sight of him. Hair messy as ever, prominent bulge tenting his boxers, pupils blown wide in a lust filled haze - really, it was his fault for looking so good.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you drew slow circles against your clit, very much against James’s wishes.

“They are,” you offer in retaliation and he gives you an unamused look.

“Be quiet and hands off.” He repeats, tone harder now, quickly losing his patience. “You know that’s not yours to touch.”

“Yes it is,” you counter with a cheeky grin, feeling particularly bold as you continue to run your fingers through your slick folds.

“I’m not gonna ask again,” he warns.

You don’t remove your hand. Instead you give him wide, faux innocent eyes as you bring a finger down to your entrance. You’re just about to slide it inside but then you’re quickly being grabbed by your hips and turned onto your stomach.

With your backside now exposed to him, James lands a sharp smack against your bare ass.

“Ow!” you hiss out, squirming a bit.

You had only just gotten finished with a spanking, and your skin was still sensitive from it.

“I thought we were done,” he tells you, sounding disappointed. “Wasn’t twenty enough? Did you want more?”

“No!” you snap angrily, but it only earns you another harsh blow that knocks the wind out of you.

“‘No, daddy. I’m sorry, daddy.’” James corrects you, voice sardonic, and you have to fight the urge to kick at him.

Instead, you huff. “No, daddy,” you grumble stubbornly. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

“That’s better,” James says, and then flips you back around so you’re lying face up, on your back once more.

The sudden friction against the sheets has your sensitive backside stinging unpleasantly, but you have no time to dwell on the pain. Without warning James is lazily running a thumb along your folds, occasionally grazing your clit, and you let out a pleasured sigh despite yourself.

“What is it, hm? Why aren’t you being a good girl?” he murmurs as he shifts his hand.

Now his middle finger gathers up your arousal, effortlessly sliding around and starting to prod at your entrance. Your breath hitches in your throat as James pushes the digit into you just an inch before pulling right back out.

“I am good, I-” you attempt to retaliate, but James doesn’t let you.

“Not right now you’re not,” he interrupts, pushing that finger into you all the way until you’re squirming beneath him, desperate for more. “I think you’re misbehaving on purpose,” he adds with a wry smile, and you can’t help but laugh.

“S- so?” you voice, pretending to be unbothered by his (very accurate) remark.

In turn, James slides a second finger into your pussy and you let out a quiet, drawn out moan as he starts to slowly pump both fingers in and out of you.

“Should I fuck some manners into you?” he asks you, but the way his fingers are stretching your inner walls leaves you speechless. “You’re fuckin’ asking for it with all this bratty behavior, aren’t you?”

When he starts to thumb at your swollen nub you moan out in bliss as the sensation sets all your nerve endings afire. You then remember that he’d asked a question.

“Y- Yes! Yeah!” you manage to get out, writhing under his touch.

“‘Yeah’ I should fuck some manners into you or ‘yeah’ you’re asking for it?” James questions with a grin and you groan.

“Yeah!” is all you can say as his fingers start to curl inside you, prodding at your g-spot so deliciously that you have to grapple at the sheets around you to anchor yourself.

He laughs at you, delighted at all your reactions. “You’re much nicer once I start making you feel good, huh?” he observes, sounding as if he’s talking to himself more than you. “But you don’t have to be a needy brat for daddy to touch you, baby. You can just ask.”

You nod blearily, feeling too pleasured to form any more bratty thoughts. Perhaps that had been his plan.

But then his fingers leave you and you whimper, feeling empty once more.

“Ask, then,” James says, wiping his fingers on your bare thigh, eyes focused on the way your arousal coats your skin. “Show me you know how to be a good girl.”

“Daddy,” you start, wasting no time at all. “Will you please fuck me? Need you so bad, daddy, please.”

James smiles, triumphant and smug. “Atta girl. See?” he starts to pull down his boxers and a quiet breath escapes you as his hard cock springs up to his stomach. “Knew you had it in you. And now you can get what you want.”

He hooks both hands around your thighs and pulls you towards him before lining himself up, the tip of his cock tantalizingly sliding along your folds in a way that leaves you whining.

“Daddy,” you groan, but James shushes you.

“Come on, keep being good for me,” he croons, and then he slowly starts to push into you and you gasp.

He fixes his gaze downwards, eyes glued to the way his cock is sinking into your heat completely. He lets out a quiet groan as you involuntarily clench around him, his grip on your thighs tightening.

“Whose pussy is this, do you remember now?” he asks you voice gruff with restrained sounds of pleasure.

You whimper a bit, but your need for him to move outweighs your embarrassment at his words.

“Yours, daddy,” you answer emphatically.

“That’s right.”

And then he pulls almost all the way out of you before pushing right back in, setting his pace against your pussy. He starts slow, letting you adjust to him first, and then gets quicker as you let out moans and whines. His cock stretches you out so wonderfully that your eyes flutter shut for a moment, relishing in the feeling of fullness he’s giving you.

James takes all your reactions as encouragement, greedily drinking in every sound and movement you make and doing everything he can to pull even more out of you. One of his hands leaves its place on your thigh and then you feel him thumbing at your clit, rubbing quick circles against it that tear guttural moans out of you.

He keeps at it until you bring your hands up to palm idly at your breasts, just for something to do while you’re completely at James’s mercy. The action has him cursing under his breath.

Suddenly he stops, and then in one quick motion he tugs you towards him and up higher so your hips are elevated off the mattress. When he resumes his thrusts he reaches deeper than before, and you cry out in pleasure as the head of his cock hits your g-spot repeatedly.

James barks out a laugh. “Is that the spot, pretty girl? Does that feel good?”

You try to respond, but all that comes out of your mouth is a long, staccato moan as the force of James’s hips against the backs of your thighs repeatedly jolt you around. You’re in such a state of bliss that you can’t even seem to speak.

He snickers amusedly. “Forgot all about being a brat, didn’t you? Did daddy fuck you speechless?” he questions mockingly.

You somehow manage to nod your head and moan your assent, thoughts too muddled with pleasure to form words. There’s a pressure in your belly growing more unbearable by the second, and you know that at any moment you’re gonna give in to it. James can tell too.

He grins down at you. “Gonna cum around my cock, baby? Say ‘please’, yeah?”

“Please!” you blurt out in an instant. “Daddy- Can I- Please!” you blabber, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him.

“Go ahead, then,” he tells you, clearly close to his release as well. “Give me it.”

And then the pressure becomes too much. You’re overtaken with euphoria as your orgasm hits you, the pleasure causing you to writhe and squirm and bury your fingers into the sheets around you. Above you, James’s hips are stuttering as your cunt clenches around his cock, and then you feel the warmth of his release painting your inner walls.

“Fuck,” he hisses out in pleasure as he pounds into you, riding out the last waves of his own orgasm.

Your chest heaves and you shudder as James’s thrusts start to slow down, and you watch through heavy lids as he bends down towards you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You reach up and wrap your hands around the back of his neck, wanting him closer, and he smiles into the kiss before pulling away.

His cheeks are a lovely flushed pink, pupils still dilated, hair messy as ever. He grins at you.

“Told you I’d fuck some manners into you, didn’t I?”

.

.

.

taglist <3 // @isxfisticated @l-adysansa @tomshollandz

#requests #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter #marauders smut

[dyketubbo]

im rewatching doomsday (comps of all povs of course) and. yeah i just.. feel bad for the lmanburgians. i dont know how i could just. say these people deserved it, when they all sound, panicked and desperate and so so fucking sad. long long ramble under the cut as i recount the events and pick out a bunch of little things

even the day before then is painful. ranboos panic room. ranboo and tubbos talk (tubbo admitting that hes wrong, saying he believes that history is repeating itself and trusting ranboo because he believes in his loyalty), fundy showing the ring toss. tubbos surprise at being told to kill dream before stating that quackity would be in control if he didnt (god, did he plan to fail?). tommy being so so excited. everyone playing ring toss and cheering on jack. tommy still believing in tubbo. tubbo panicking. ranboo and tommy and techno talking, ranboo giving them info. dream placing walls and quackity instructing tubbo on where to kill dream. dream lying about the community house. the entire community house debacle. just, everything.

and then doomsday itself. having to frantically get there because it started early, tubbo only having diamond armor to protect him, fundy standing still after he sabotaged them. tubbo and ranboos genuine despair about the apiary.

tubbo eventually going nonverbal and actively putting himself in danger, not even moving away from techno at first and getting in the way of the firework launcher. tubbo trying to save tommy from the fireworks, ponks broken "dont come over here!" after she was trying to save his cat, tommys face falling and desperate attempts at convincing techno, ranboo going "its all gone", niki spiralling and silently burning down the tree, quackitys pure anger. all the death messages.

jack going "what is there left to protect", tommy brokenly trying to accept that its gone as tubbo and quackity blankly do accept it. jack going "i lost everything again". tommy desperately trying to understand dream, on the verge of tears as he asks why dream didnt just hurt him. his low health and food as hes unable to do anything anymore, his quiet gasp as he spots ghostbur, tubbos tiny shake of his head when dream says dream and tommys story wont be over.

tubbo and quackity breaking the repeaters. ghostburs "i didnt even know we were fighting". ghostbur finding out phil let friend die, hes pained "phil? but i- i gave, i gave phil to look after. and dream found me friend, and technoblade said we were friends", tommys pained talk about technoblade. "we were never his friend. to him, all of this was just an act of politics, an act of clout and a-a social ladder, and you won't remember. tubbo you will, and to you big q, this was a friendship. but to technoblade, this was a ladder. and techno climbed to the tippity talk. do you wanna know the only way you can go? on the ladder? -- and once you reach the top of the ladder tubbo, you can only go down."

quackity asking to sing the anthem again, him strumming as ghostbur sings (and tubbo and tommy joining in). ghostbur forgetting the second verse because it blew up. quackity remembering it, them stumbling through it. tommys "tubbo? im so so sorry", tubbos quiet "its okay." the four all singing together. tubbo looking at the lava with an ender pearl in his hand, tommy correcting quackity and going "our l'manburg". ghostburs speech about friend, about people not taking him seriously just because he has memory loss.

meanwhile.. phil and techno were laughing. cracking jokes. phil mocks them as he spawns withers on the apiary, going "ohhh noo not the bees!". techno shouts at tommy and shoots at him and tubbo. he kills jack and doesnt even notice that it was one of his lives lost. jacks death itself proves that it doesnt take any particular intent, doesnt have to mean anything to the killer. techno and phil were willing to kill people. it would be foolish of them to act as if there were no risks in the terms of canon lives, especially with phil. phil doesnt take ghostbur seriously, treats his despair as an opportunity to drill in a lesson. the most either of them lost was some of the dogs and used up potions, fireworks, and wither skulls

and then theres dream. dream whose been harming the l'manburgians since the beginning, who had taken tubbo hostage, offered eret a chance to betray them all, who had been the man in tommys walls and offering money to tubbo and jack to try and get them to destroy things, who tried to get tommy to kill tubbos villagers. dream, who took tommys discs over and over, who killed tommy twice in one day, who stopped caring about his friends that loved him and were so so loyal. dream, who helped schlatt and pushed wilbur deeper into his spiral, who even then tried to manipulate tommy.

dream, who helped destroy l'manburg the first and second time, who took advantage of tubbo so he could have a premeditated kidnapping of tommy. dream, who abused tommy, physically, psychologically, emotionally. dream, who degraded tubbo and had taken ranboos memory book (which btw, since ranboos memory loss counts as a mental disability with the memory book as his aid, thats dream taking the thing that aids ranboo in dealing with his disability).

dream, who had been the reason l'manburg was created. dream, who got to destroy l'manburg three times. dream won. and techno and phil dont regret it, dont care.

maybe l'manburg was never meant to be. and sure, it started with stealing and an attempt to monopolize on potions but. that wasnt even l'manburg then, was it? it was just wilbur and tommy having fun. l'manburg came after. after the police hurt them. l'manburg started as a silly little revolution, led by a naïve man who thought he could win wars by saying no. it was a place for a family, a place for them to escape from dream. it was a place to try and escape the harm of those outside the walls. it was meant to be safe, even if those against them made it hard to be. it was made from love. it was meant to be happy. it was a symphony, however unfinished.

so. i don't know. i just feel, bad. they never really won, did they? tragedy after tragedy, death after death, destruction after destruction, betrayal after betrayal, hurt after hurt. and now what's left of them, really? out of the founders, erets doing the best and even shes doing awful, forever trying to make up for what he did. tubbos paranoia led him to developing nukes in a desperate attempt to stay safe, because he was taught to stay quiet and keep his emotions to himself, because his death was "justified", because nukes and walls and weapons are the only way he can feel safe anymore.

tommy went through months of abuse, lost all of his lives and suffered upon coming back, suicidal but unable to bring himself to do it because limbo is worse, feeling lost and like he has no family anymore other than wilbur, who he knows is hurting him but cant bring himself to leave, who loved lmanburg so so dearly and only wanted a home, still doesnt have one (tommy from everywhere, tommy from nowhere at all). niki who loved lmanburg and wilbur so much that it hollowed her out and made her bitter and shes so used to being spoken over that all she can think to do is raise her voice and get pissed, who cant see wilbur as a good person anymore because shes hurt and hasnt truly recovered and she doesnt know how to cope without being angry.

jack manifold feels forgotten, hes lost all his lives and crawled out of hell and no one truly noticed, he doesnt even believe that niki really cares, hes desperate and has made his purpose to be spiteful and angry because he cant deal with the emptiness that comes when he realizes theres no point. fundys desperate to have friends, family, a partner, anyone thatll love him, anyone thatll keep him safe, slowly killing himself with cigarettes and disowned because of giving too little too late, because he was too little too late.

and wilburs lost himself. spiraling, paranoid. a young, naïve man who wanted to fight swords with words, who wanted to impress his father, who wanted a nation of his own to feel safe, who was so effected by erets betrayal that he cant trust anyone but himself, whose possessive nature eats him from the inside out, desperate for control and unable to let go of the only person he knows loves him unconditionally

all because outside forces kept pushing, kept destroying, kept ruining them and hurting them and traumatizing them and taking away their homes and pets and loved ones. and i just. cant feel happy for the ones that hurt them, i cant feel victorius, triumphant, any of that. i just feel bad that the l'manburgians never got to be a family. i know they arent the best people but shit, i love them anyways, love them because theyre flawed and because theyre *people*, people who tried so so hard and got pushed so so much and. fuck, i cant be happy that the people who loved nature and play fought and laughed by campfires and read poetry and re-enacted theatre and loved each other and wanted to *live* (even if they were willing to die, if it meant giving everyone else a chance).. lost. they lost.

canonical years of work down the drain in one day. records of history gone, now only remembered in full by a traumatized teenager who was taught not to talk about his negative emotions, and even he misremembers some parts. they didnt even lose fairly. they had no chance. they couldnt have prepared for withers, for tnt rain, for the hounds. they were poor, weaker than their opponents, sabotaged by one of their own. thats.. tragic.

doomsday was a tragedy. i cant agree that it was deserved. i cant agree that they had it coming, that they deserved to lose homes and pets and limbs and lives and land because they werent the greatest people around.

a small country of less than 10 people (at both creation and destruction) now a giant crater in the ground, remnants of a parisitic egg taking over the land. and it wasnt even lost fairly. three people were stronger than an entire nation, even with all of its allies. two anarchists working with an abusive tyrant. so, no. doomsday wasnt deserved. people dont deserve tragedy. there were better ways, i truly cant be happy that the way chosen was violence. i cant.

l'manburg's citizens deserved better. they really did. the ends dont justify the means. and god, am i fucking tired of "justice". if justice means choosing violence over love and respect and caring about those less strong than you, i dont wanna hear about it. fuck that man, id rather love and be loved than constantly give a shit about making up for hurting others by getting hurt, thats stupid and cruel and i cant see it as okay on a moral level. not when the people that got hurt deserved to be loved and cared about and protected and *talked to* instead of constantly shot down.

of course for the narrative i can enjoy violence and characters getting hurt and i do like how "real" it all is, the despair and dissonance in tone and how terrifyingly messy it all is. out of story perspective- honestly rather cool even if it makes me feel bad. in story perspective- holy fucking shit no that wasnt deserved and god i hope everyone hurt will be able to heal and learn to love and be loved again because thats such a terrifying thing to go through. from a detached pov i can appreciate the insight into everyone involved and i like the plotlines that came from it, but from a compassionate pov i just wish the l'manburgians were allowed to be happy and treated as equals so they didnt have to go through all of this

#dsmp #long post #this issss 22 paragraphs i think? woo boy! #most of it is liveblogging but after a while it just gets into my thoughts on the whole situation #c!technoblade critical #c!philza critical #c!dream critical #im just stating what happened but like im sure if i dont put those tags ill get fuckin jumped lol #tubbo #tommy #quackity #ghostbur #ponk #niki nihachu #fundy #ranboo #dont think i missed anyone but if i did. whoops #also shoutout to the ppl i didnt mention i do still appreciate their contributions (like puffy hbomb sapnap etc) #amputation ment #death ment #abuse ment #uhhhhhhhh #ableism ment #mask mews #kidnapping ment #suicide ment #l'manburg #ask to tag #doomsday dsmp

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 6// Not Happy About It

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse

Chapter Summary | steve and y/n argue. Bucky and y/n fuck.

Warnings | smut, vaginal sex, oral (f recieving), fingering, kissing, Bucky in a towel, Steve being a bit of an asshole

A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Shaken, dazed and scared. The mood in the quinjet was far from jovial or triumphant as it glided across the clouds, Clint taking the controls as Bucky comforted me. Steve stood starting out the front window, hands on his slim hips and a scowl settled over his face.

"Somewhere safe." I caught the end of Clint and my dad's conversation, but my attention was captured along with Bucky's when Steve cleared his throat.

"We need to make another stop first." Steve cut in, captain America voice heavily put on.

"And where would that be, Cap?" Tony sassed, spinning to face the super soldier. Steve glanced over to me before looking back to Tony, a sigh on his lips.

"To take y/n someplace safe. Maria said she has a job y/n could help with, out of harm's way." Steve explained.

"What? No! I'm fighting with you guys!" I protesting quickly, lurching out of Bucky's embrace as the brown-haired super soldier tried to grab after me.

"The hell you are." Steve said authoritatively, blonde brows pulling together. "Do I need to even explain why with what just happened?" Steve asked rhetorically, taking a hand off his hip to gesture towards the direction of where we had taken off from.

"So I'm just some baby, now? Come on, Steve! I'm not the only one that was affected, so if you're going to use that as your argument half the bloody team should be bunked off!" I retaliated, looking to Bucky for back up. But my super soldier simply gave me a pitiful smile before shrugging.

"I'm sorry, doll. We just want you to be safe." Bucky said softly. Steve sighed, putting his hands on my shoulders as pulling me into his firm chest. His nose was buried in my hair, and he took the time to take in my scent.

"Do this for me, sweetheart. For us. Just listen to me for once." Steve pleaded, eyes falling shut as he fought the urge to cry. I let out a huff, finally letting my arms wrap around Steve's waist as I leant my head on his chest.

"Okay." I mumbled into his suit, a small smirk playing on my lips despite my defeated tone.

"Thank you, doll." Steve mourned into my hair, placing a loving kiss there before pulling away. I hid my smug expression, knowing full-well I'd be there for that fight.

...

"Y/n?" Steve called, a frown heavy on his brows and question in his tone. "What are you doing here?" He continued as y/n got closer, stopping a few feet away from her boyfriend. "You're supposed to be with agent Hill, safe." He hissed through gritted teeth, letting the axe in his hands fall down harshly, splitting through the block of wood effortlessly before tossing the tool aside.

"I'm trying to figure out why to still treat me like a...like a baby, Steve! I'm here to help!" Y/n exclaimed, a scowl on her face as she sighed exhaustedly. Steve shook his head, hands on his hips.

"It's too dangerous, y/n. And you're going to get hurt." Steve declared, tone unwavering. The girl rolled her eyes in a huff, her arms folding over her chest. "We've discussed this, we've talked about it."

"We didn't discuss anything, Steve! You decided! And as if I can't fight my own battles? Come on, Steve!" Steve exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away for a moment. Y/n opened her mouth to speak again, but he beat her to it.

"And what if Ultron hurts you, y/n? Huh? Or worse, what if he kills you?" Steve demurred, voice breaking, and she shut my mouth, stunned into a momentary silence. "What then?" His voice was quieter now, broken.

"You know you need me, Steve." Y/n testified, frustration lacing her tone icily.

"We're supposed to fight so we can go home. So I can come home to you." Steve reminded, voice raising as he took a few strides towards y/n - closing the gap between their bodies.

"When are you going to stop being so- so old fashioned?!" She insisted, breathing heavy as it mingled with his as Steve stood barely a few inches away from her. His hard gaze stared down on y/n, blue eyes clouded with an angered concern. "It's my life, Steve! It's my choice what I do with it, and I want to fight!" Y/n lamented, eyes downcast as she muttered the last of her words, "and do you know why I want to fight, Steve?"

"And why's that, doll?" Steve spat, voice unforgiving and hard. Y/n looked back up at steve through her lashes again, a tear pricking at her eye.

"Because I'm terrified that if I let you go, and I'm not there to- to save you, you won't come home to me." Y/n sobbed, voice crackling with the remnants of her injury but urged on by the girl's sadness. Steve let out a long sigh through his nose, eyes falling shut with guilt. "And that thought, that thought haunts me - it keeps me up at night, Steve. I can't lose you, or Bucky, I can't."

"I can't lose you either, doll." Steve finally admitted after a moment, pulling her into his arms and resting his head atop y/n's.

"So you'll let me fight with you?" She mumbled into the skin of his neck, a smile curling her lips. Steve scoffed a sigh, rolling his eyes - although y/n couldn't see that.

"Fine. But I'm not happy about it." Steve finally caved, letting me go and picking up the axe. "Come on," he gestured to the house with a tilt of his head and okay begun to scramble after him, "I heard Laura's making pizzas."

...

"Doll?" My head snapped up to see Bucky saunter into the room via the adjoining bathroom, towel handing low on his hips as he used another to wring his hair dry.

"Hey Buck." I smiled, pushing my hair over my shoulder.

"What's got my best girl so down, hm?" The nickname made me tingle - it was something he'd never referred to me as before and I very much liked it.

"I had a...disagreement, with Steve." I gritted out, and Bucky gave a knowing nod in return.

"I knew the punk wouldn't let you fight with us without some form of resistance." Bucky smirked, dropping the towel he was using to dry his hair on a chair in the corner of the room and turning to face me completely.

"You knew I'd be coming?" I asked, and Bucky almost chortled.

"C'mon, doll. You wound me." Bucky chuckled, placing a hand over his heart in mock-hurt. "Of course I knew you'd find a way; you always do. And besides, the face you made when Steve first said you wouldn't be coming gave it all away. I've never seen you so offended in my life." Bucky jester, sitting himself down beside me on the bed. "And anyway, I'm happy you're here. I really think we're gonna need all the help we can get with this fight." Bucky admitted, face dropping as his tone became serious.

"I'm glad to be here too." I mumbled, acutely aware of how we were both subconsciously leaning into each other more.

Suddenly our lips were moving against each other, lust and desperation pouring out of us into the kiss. His metal hand cupped my cheeks, titling my head so that he could deepen the kiss further.

Bucky's tongue smoothed over my bottom lip and I granted him access, feeling his tongue snake its way into my mouth. Our tongues fought for dominance before he won, his tongue now free to explore every inch of my mouth and so it did. I let out small moans into the kiss as he swallowed them, his fleshing hand inching up my thigh and making my core clench around nothing.

"I need you." He breathed in my ear and I let my hand rest over the bulge in barely concealed by the towel he still wore. I smirked into the kiss as Bucky growled against me, low and rumbling. Before I could tease him further he was lowering my back to the bed, letting the towel drop before was was laying on his stomach between my legs.

His breath was hot against me as he spoke, making my walls flutter and a pang of arousal to dance down my spine.

"Take that shirt of for me, darling." He cooed and I reached down to tug the bottom of my shirt up and over my head, discarding the love of fabric across the room as Bucky eagerly pulled the tactical pants from my legs. He bit his lip seeing my near-bare breasts and soaked panties. Bucky's hands rested on my thighs and parted my legs wide, keeping his hands there to give himself better access to my core.

"Hmm, lace." He hummed, swiping his fingers over the soaked fabric as I shivered and nicked my hips up into his touch. "You know how much I love lace."

He hooked his fingers into the waist-band of my baby blue lace panties and tugged them down my legs. He balled them up and leant over me, shoving them in mouth mouth before whispering, "The walls are thin here, and I'd hate for us to get caught before we get to the good bit."

Bucky kissed down my body until he got to my dripping core and placed small kisses on my thighs, making sure to drive me insane before he went any further. He held eye contact with me as he licked the inside of my thigh, cleaning up a trail of my dripping juices. His hands held my thighs apart as he licked a bold stripe up my heat, from my slit to my clit. He kitten licked my nub in little flicks, driving me insane, and I tangled my fingers in his long, damp hair. Bucky groaned as I tugged at the hairs at the base of his neck and enveloped my bundle of nerves in his mouth. I moaned out and he nibbled on my clit gently before dragging it out with his teeth and letting go of it before repeating the action.

Bucky's tongue ventured down to my slit and teased my entrance, making my toes curl and my legs tried to snap shut, but his grip was strong - strong enough that there'd surely be bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow - so they didn't budge. His tongue delved into my core and started poking in and out. My moans were muffled and he pulled away slightly, spitting on my clit and rubbing it with his fingers.

"You like fuckin' honey, I swears." He moaned before diving back in again. I started to thrust my hips against his mouth as my back arched but he used his metal arm to pin me to the bed, stopping me from thrashing beneath him, the cool metal a vast contrast to my flushed and hot skin. I started to moan louder and Bucky hummed into my core, sending vibrations through me and causing more arousal to pool at my entrance. His tongue and fingers switched places and he thrusted two into me the whole way, while my clit was taken back into his mouth. His lips puckered perfectly around it and I new if I wasn't gagged I'd be screaming his name right now.

"Come for me, doll." He mumbled against me clit, the vibrations of his words pushing me over the edge. The knot in my stomach released and my toes desperately curled and uncurled. I gripped the sheets and shook above Bucky as he smirked at me.

As I came down from my high he pulled out his fingers and licked them clean, still keeping my eyes prisoner with his. Bucky claimed up over me, spotting a leg between mine as I reached down to wrap my hand around his cock. He grabbed my wrist before I could do so, a little wine emitting from my throat.

"Don't worry about it, doll. I just want to please you." He whispered before tugging the balled-up lace from my mouth and crashing his lips to mine again in a hungry kiss. His tongue smudged saliva over my lips, pushing its way into my mouth and massaging mine.

Bucky teased my entrance with his tip before sheathing himself inside me in a slow thrust. The air was knocked from my lungs, a hoarse moan trying to escape my mouth but was muffled by his lips. He picked up a slow but hard pace, making me feel every inch of him as he thrusted in and out of my slick cunt. The second was passionate - and I couldn't help but feel like it was a 'just in case we die' gesture.

"So tight around me, shit." Bucky murmured against my lips, the sound of skin on skin like music to my ears. Bucky reached up, intertwining my hands with his as he held them either side of my head, resting more of his weight against my as his head dropped into the crook of my neck. His pelvis was grinding against my clit, my teeth calming down hard on my bottom lip to keep from crying out.

The sound of stifled moans and skin slapping against skin filled the room and the knot in my stomach began to form again, the metal of his hand starting to heat up against the skin of my palm.

"Fuck I'm gonna come." Bucky groaned and fastened his pace, trying to push me over the edge too. My breasts bounced in my bra and my walls clenched around him again, triggering his release. "Fuck, y/n." He moaned as he came inside me, his orgasm causing mine.

I squeezed his length with my walls and came all over him before he slowly pulled out and flopped on the bed next to me. I rolled onto my side to look at him, a blissed-out grin finding my face. I watched as his own pink lips curled into a boyish grin, blue grey eyes alight with the afterglow of sex. He stopped staring at the ceiling and turned his head to face me, his lips clamped between his teeth.

"We should probably shower again, right?"

#steve rogers #bucky x steve #steve rogers image #steve rogers x reader #steve x bucky #steve roger fanfic #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #captain america #chris evans #chris evans smut #seb stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #winter soldier smut #winter soldier #winter solider fanfiction #captain america smut #captain america fanfiction #marvel #marvel smut #avengers smut #avengers #marvel fanfic #avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff

[venusofthehardsells]

Lead You Back to Me [one-shot]

Sam WinchesterxReader

Summary: In the aftermath of a witch hunt gone very wrong, you find yourself slipping deeper and deeper into grief, pushing everyone around you away, including Sam. What will it take for the two of you to find your way back to each other? Warnings: angst, loss of a child, grief and depression, self-hate all around, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, lactation A/N: This is sad and I swear I didn’t mean to, I just wanted Sam to hold me and tell me he loved me. Shit happens. Enjoy or cry or whatever, I’m just grateful you’re reading! Let me know what you think if you want ♥

The hunt had been a bad one.

You knew it to the core of your being the moment you saw Dean's name flash on your phone screen in the darkness of your room.

Dean's name. Not Sam's.

Sam always sent you a text to let you know he was coming home to you, even if you didn't text him back, even if he'd only been gone a few hours. He always let you know.

If Dean was calling you, then…

Your throat was already thick with choked down sobs when your shaking fingers finally fumbled the phone to your ear just before it went to voicemail.

"Hey Y/N," came Dean's gruff voice. "We're on our way back."

You sighed in relief, but it came out as more of a quiet whimper.

"Still in one piece, your man, so don't worry, yeah? We're about four hours out. Listen, uh…" You could hear him hesitate as he considered his next words. "I know what you're going through ain't easy." He stopped again and you did your best to try and keep calm; something you had a hard time doing these days. "But this case… it was ugly. Sam's in a really bad place and he needs you. So be there for him."

Dean wasn't good with words, but his tone left nothing unsaid.

Since that witch hunt almost two months ago, you had barely left your bed. The days blurred together into a mindless cycle of sleeping, vomiting, crying and staring blankly into the wall or the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take you back into its numbing embrace. Hoping to not wake up again.

Your heart was in pieces. Every time you tried to pick them up and put them back together, the jagged edges cut you right back open and the seemingly unending grief inside of you poured into view until you were sure you would drown in it.

Sam had been there to cry with you, to hold your hair whenever the nausea forced you to your knees, to coax you into showers and back out again when you couldn't will your own exhausted limbs to move, to feed you even when you didn't want to eat. But most of all, he had held you in his arms long into the nights when the pain had grown so bad you could barely breathe and the only image in your mind had been of the witch's triumphant face as her magic ripped you open…

Through every nightmare, Sam had been there for you, steady as a rock you had hauled yourself against over and over.

The distress had made you blind to the possibility that Sam needed a rock too.

Ultimately, your grief wasn’t just yours to carry.

"Y/N?," came Dean's voice over the phone when you didn't answer, softer this time.

"Okay," you managed in a strangled whisper. It wasn't much, but it was all you could offer right now and it seemed good enough for Dean. You hadn't exactly been talkative lately.

"Okay. Good talk." He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. "Like I said, we're on our way. Four hours tops, we only stopped for gas. I'll see you when we get there."

He hung up and you were left once again in the almost total silence of the bunker.

Very slowly you lowered your phone to your lap, Dean's words echoing in your head.

Be there for him.

Be there for him like he had been there for you.

Be there for him like you hadn't been for a long time.

You swallowed and swung your legs off the bed, carefully putting your feet on the concrete floor as if it might bite at any given moment and force you to retrieve to the safety of your pillows and blankets.

When it didn't, you got up and turned on the light. It hurt your eyes at first; the only times you didn’t leave yourself in darkness was when Sam was there with you and decided you needed a break from the gloom.

The brothers had been gone for three days now and you had only left the bed to go to the bathroom once or twice during that time and your legs felt as solid as a five-tier mousse cake. The short few steps from the bed to the light switch had your vision blur and you were on the floor almost before you knew it, the dizziness surging over you with the force of the tide.You had to wait for it to ebb for several minutes before you attempted to get back up.

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have bothered.

You would have lain there on the cold, hard floor for those four hours it would take Sam to come home from the hunt and help you back into bed. Freezing, no doubt, every joint in your body stiff, and Sam would have been in a panic to find you like that, half-dead and not caring as he practically forced warmth back into you.

But now the guilt drew you to scramble to your feet and try again.

Be there for him.

You leaned on the doorframe as another wave of dizziness swept over you and waited with your forehead on the firmness of the wood until your heart had slowed down and the world stopped spinning. Sam was not going to find you on the fucking floor again.

With slow, careful steps, you made your way to the kitchen and took stock of the fridge.

It seemed your boys had kept it fully stocked on the off chance that you might actually eat something while they were gone. The shelves were loaded with your favourite things.

You had to blink away a few tears.

The only thing you’d managed to consume since they left was a single Mars-bar and you hadn’t even been able to keep that down for long. Nausea began to rise in you at the mere memory, but you fought it back down as you poured yourself a glass of water and forced yourself to drink it, slowly. When the glass was empty, you made yourself drink another.

Your stomach growled insistently. It had been several days since you had last felt hungry, as if your body had simply given up on trying to convince you to eat. The sight of food seemed to remind it that you needed more sustenance than air to survive and you had a lot to make up for.

With determination, you went to the pantry and found what you hoped you could endure: neutral crackers, white toast, a single apple.

You sat down on the doorstep and ate two of the crackers before even attempting to go back to the kitchen with your food. As expected, your vision turned blurry again, but it passed quicker this time.

It took you awhile to eat. Toasting the bread just enough to turn it crisp and shred the apple into tiny scraps seemed like small tasks, but in your state they felt herculean and very nearly made you give up. 

However, you refused to just go back to bed and wait to wither away completely. 

It hadn’t been far off. You wouldn’t move or speak or eat. Sam could only help you so much when you didn’t want to fight for yourself and he knew it, knew that he was losing you too. You had seen it in his eyes in the past week or so, the desperately buried knowledge that you were slipping through his fingers no matter what he did.

It should have made you angry at yourself, but you had been too far gone to really see it or care. All you had wanted was to vanish.

A large part of you still wanted that, but somehow those few, stern words Dean had spoken on the phone had flicked on a switch inside your head.

Be there for him.

You were not going to abandon Sam. Sam who had been strong for you even though he was probably hurting just as bad. You couldn’t do that to him. Even if all you did was hurt together, you had to be there for him too.

You couldn’t let that witch win.

With all the determination you could muster, you went back to the pantry and gathered a few more things. You were tired and wanted to sleep, but you reckoned you had slept enough for a lifetime already.

A look at the clock on the wall confirmed that you still had more than three hours before the brothers would be back and if it had been as bad as Dean had let on, they would no doubt be hungry and worn out. The least you could do was to make sure they had something to eat when they came home.

It was what you would have done in the past if you hadn’t been out with them on a hunt.

It was normal.

At least, it had been normal.

Now, the motions of turning on the oven and preparing the crust for the savoury pie you had made a thousand times before, felt foreign and unnatural to your hands. You chopped up vegetables at a quarter of your normal speed because your fingers wouldn’t quite close around the handle of the knife. The dough that you had once been able to knead in your sleep with your non-dominant hand now made sweat break out on your forehead and you had to take breaks to catch your breath.

Still, you went through the steps until the stupid quiche was in the oven and the smell of bacon and baked crust started to spread in the kitchen and made you bend over the sink to puke.

So much for eating, but at least you had put in the effort.

Feeling miserable and tired, but more accomplished than you had in months, you set the timer on the oven and went to take a shower. You were reeking of sweat and neglect beneath the scent of Sam’s oversized flannel shirt. He shouldn’t have to come home to that.

Not again at least.

The more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt and the more you realised just how much Sam had done for you.

You swallowed as you closed the door to the shower room and walked to the stall furthest from the door, the one you always used. All your products were stashed there, along with a few of Sam’s as well, and you stripped out of the flannel, grateful for the lack of mirrors in your little corner.

It still filled you with dread whenever you looked at the long white scar across your stomach where the witch had cut into you and stolen that tiny little life you had had growing there, barely even person-shaped yet and infinitely fragile, only covered in blood and magic.

You had to swallow hard and force yourself to turn on the shower.

The hot water streaming down on you eased the burning in your eyes and you were grateful for it. With movements small and shaky you began to gingerly wash yourself with your favourite shower gel, trying not to put too much focus on the body that felt so different and wrong under your touch.

There was the large scar on your shin as well from where you had landed on it when you tried to run from the witch and fell down half a flight of metal stairs.

Sam and Dean had been in two different rooms of the warehouse you had all been searching when they heard you scream and both had come running to save you, but by the time they reached you, it had been too late.

They had found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor, barely able to speak, while the witch had been trying to put that little, bloody thing into herself with magic. Before you could tell them what was happening, that they needed her alive to save you, to save the helpless little embryo in her grasp that your very soul was screaming belonged to you, the brothers had raised their guns and shot her. Dean through the head, Sam through the heart.

You clenched your teeth hard as you scrubbed on the skin of your arms, willing yourself back to the here and now.

Between Rowena’s best efforts and Cas’ waning grace, it had been difficult enough just putting you back together again. The other life inside you was irrevocably gone. There was no undoing it. You couldn’t go back and change what had happened, no matter how long you spent wallowing in the memory of it.

But you could make yourself presentable again and you could make sure there was food waiting for Sam and Dean when they got home from their hunt, even if it took every bit of strength you almost didn’t have.

When you deemed yourself to smell more like a clean human and less like a dead possum, you went on to lather a generous amount of shampoo into your hair that definitely needed a good rinse too. The soap stung your eyes, so you closed them and focused on the feeling of your fingertips rubbing your scalp. You had to admit it felt nice. And paired with the scaldingly hot water it helped distract you from the ache in your limbs, especially your breasts. 

They had been swelling with milk for a while now, even though you had no one to feed anymore. Rowena had warned you with pity in her eyes that the magic the dead witch had used to open you up would have side effects like this and there was nothing you could do but wait until it passed.

It felt as though your own body was betraying you by keeping you like this, reminding you every time you moved of what you had lost. The first time you had had to pump out the milk you had cried on the bathroom floor for hours; Sam had had to pick the lock to get to you. 

You just wanted it to stop.

Resolutely, you turned the water off and started toweling yourself dry. Unless Dean had finally foregone driving by the rules altogether, there was still time before the brothers were back. You could get yourself into some real clothes, set the table for the three of you and still have time to mix up a dessert.

It felt comforting having a purpose, but by the time you reached your room it became clear that you were spent. Plucking a pair of clean panties from your drawer and stealing a T-shirt from Sam’s almost made you topple over and as soon as you had put them on, you knew you wouldn’t get anything more done tonight.

In a haze, you walked to the kitchen and turned the oven off, letting the quiche sit in the residual heat to keep warm until the boys came back. Then you stumbled back into bed and drifted off into sleep almost immediately.

For the first time in weeks, it was heavy and dreamless.

You only got to spend one sorry hour in the darkness, though.

Maybe your body really had gotten enough sleep at this point or maybe you were just so attuned to his presence it automatically woke you up now. 

Whatever the case, you opened your eyes sometime during the night and found Sam standing halfway between the door and the bed, watching you with those big, mournful eyes of his.

You sat up slowly, still groggy with sleep, but somehow more alert than you had been in a long time. A slight tremor ran through him at your movement, but then his lips quivered into the smallest of smiles and he sat down next to you.

Sam leaned in and kissed you almost chastely on the forehead. He smelled of the Impala, of fire and smoke, and you reckoned he hadn’t showered after coming back, just gone straight to you.

“You cooked.” His voice was low and trembled a little, and you leaned into him, placing your arms around him and your head on his shoulder where you could sense the faltering rhythm of his breath. He was still wearing his jacket, hadn’t even bothered to unzip it yet and you felt your throat grow thick at the realisation.

Sam had practically existed for you since the witch hunt, been soft and considerate and stronger than anyone ought to be, but now he was sitting here still wearing his jacket, hardly even able to offer you his usual reassurances or words of affection.

Something had gone very wrong out there.

You squeezed his big, solid frame that suddenly seemed oddly small in your arms.

“Are you okay?,” you whispered, stroking his back softly and you could feel how he shattered beneath your touch.

He pulled you tight against him and burrowed his face into your neck, his body shaking with sobs. It broke your already helplessly crushed heart to feel him like this.

Be there for him.

Carefully, you crawled onto his lap in order to sit closer together and let him cry against you for as long as he needed to. You kept stroking his back and his head, never shushing him and never moving away. Instead, you did your best to make him know that you were there, breathing steadily to maybe let some of your brittle calm seep into him.

Whatever had happened on the hunt, you knew he blamed himself. Sam Winchester was the strongest person you had ever met, but even he couldn’t carry the weight on the world on his broad shoulders like he so often attempted and as a result he had spent all the time you had known him feeling painfully inadequate in nearly every aspect of his life. 

Maybe it had always been that way. People always died around him no matter how hard he fought, no matter how many he also saved, and in the end, he was left alone with nightmares full of faces of people he hadn’t been able to get to in time, an ever-growing list that had almost come to include you as well.

Right then and there, you knew you couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t leave him alone with the thought that you were one more person he had failed to save.

For something that felt like an eternity, you sat there with your arms around him, until finally his violent sobbing died down to sniffles and eventually faded completely.

You waited for a while before breaking the silence and asking in the softest tone in your register.

“Can you talk about it?”

He sniffled again and you could feel him draw a deep breath, bracing himself.

“Changelings,” he mumbled at last, swallowing hard. “We were… we were too late.”

His voice broke and took a piece of your torn heart with it.

“When we finally found their hiding place, it… it must have been days, I-I don’t know… I… We didn’t… I tried, I tried so goddamn hard, but he, he wouldn’t breathe and I couldn’t make him open his eyes, they wouldn’t open their eyes…”

Sam was shaking in your hold again and he clung to you now as if his life depended on it, clenching you far beyond comfort, but you let him. Your own fingers didn’t cease their almost mindless caress of his back. The front of your shirt was soaked in his tears and you realised your own face was wet too.

“They were just children,” he managed devastated and it felt as though a black hole had appeared right about where your stomach had been a few moments before. “They were so small and I, I couldn’t save them, I couldn’t… I’m sorry,” he sobbed and something in his trembling voice shifted. Somehow, your arms around him had never felt more inadequate. “If I’d just been faster, oh god. I should never have let you go back on your own, what was I thinking?! I’m sorry, baby, I’m so, so sorry. I nearly got you killed, I… I got our child killed…”

An icy cold fist closed around your lungs and squeezed.

He blamed himself. He blamed himself. 

Of course Sam Winchester would blame himself for this, just like he did everything else. How could you have been so self-absorbed?

He needed you more than ever and you had shut yourself away in your grief, from him, from everything.

"I don't know how you can stand to look at me," he admitted quietly.

A whimpering little excuse of a sob broke from your throat like water slipping through your fingers. His words hurt so badly you couldn’t help it.

You wanted to cry rivers, but fuck, hadn't you already done enough of that lately?

With a body that trembled to obey, you pushed away from him enough for you to softly place your hands on each side of his face and forced him to meet your eyes in the half-dark.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Instead, you just held onto his gaze until you could see that he understood you were not going to look away from him.

Very slowly, you leaned forward and placed your lips against his.

He hesitated at first, unsure of what exactly was kissing him: the woman he loved or a broken pile of grief that had assumed her shape, longing for oblivion?

The velvet of his mouth was not as easy to gain access to as you were used to, but after all this time, you supposed you deserved as much.

You pulled away just a fraction.

"Sam, if it weren't for you, I would be dead," you whispered, kissing his cheek the way he had kissed yours so many times when you had been at your lowest.

"You are everything to me." He let out a shuddering breath that might have also been a sigh of relief when you slowly kissed him on the other cheek too.

“And I love you”.

You didn't try to force another kiss on him. You didn't need to.

With your silent permission, he crashed his mouth to yours so fiercely you were glad of his arms holding you to him. His lips burrowed into you over and over again with a desperate hunger you were more than willing to sate, even if it meant you would pass out before coming up for air. He hadn't kissed you like this since it happened, hadn't let him. Instead you had turned your head away until eventually he stopped trying. Chaste pecks on your forehead had been all you had allowed in your liminal state of silent despair, but now you realised just how starved you were too.

You couldn't help but moan loudly when his tongue pushed past your lips and the sound made him draw back in surprise. His eyes had fallen shut as you kissed, but now they were wide open as if truly seeing you for the first time that night: freshly-showered, heat radiating off your body and irises blown black with want, mirror images of his own.

But, more importantly, behind the dark pools of lust, you reckoned he could finally see another person staring back. You were truly there with him in the here and now.

“I want you so much, baby,” he rasped and you realised that he was still trembling under your touch. “Please… let me make you feel good again?”

His lips were back on yours as soon as you nodded and you eagerly opened your mouth, wanting his tongue back. You weren’t just hungry, you were practically ravenous for him.

Moans started building up in your throat almost faster than you could let them out and Sam tilted his head to continue kissing his way down your jaw and your neck, reveling in the sounds he drew from you, but never straying too far from your lips.

Instead he used his fingers to trace patterns of electricity down your back and up your arms, across your collarbones and down your chest again. You whined a little when his hands grabbed hold of your sore and swollen breasts, but he quickly took the hint and went on to drag his hands further down your body. The heat nearly erupted inside you when he cupped your mound through your panties and proceeded to slide his fingers past the flimsy waistband to stroke your clit.

Immediately, you began to rock yourself against his hand. It had been too long, his kiss alone had left you soaked and your walls were already quivering with need.

“Sam, please,” you begged, fingers clutching at his hair. “More-mff!”

He cut you off by shoving his tongue back into your mouth, effectively swallowing your gasp as he pushed a finger in between your wet folds all the way down to his knuckle.

"I've got you, baby," Sam whispered between heavy kisses. "I've got you."

He easily stroked you right to the edge of what you could take, crooking his finger inside of you just right and you dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on tight as hot sparks of pleasure flared up from where he was touching you, making you groan into his mouth.

Your cunt greedily accepted another one of his long fingers. They filled you so perfectly you were certain you would die if he took them away. With the heel of his hand he kept rubbing your clit while scissoring his fingers in you, reacquainting himself with the feel of you until at last the pressure in you burst and you came with a wordless cry, head buried in his shoulder and hips stuttering against him.

Sam kept stroking you through the orgasm, prolonging it until you were so sensitive you had to squeeze your walls around him to make him stop.

He stilled his hand and you slumped against his large frame, breathing in his scent as you came down from the rush. A rush, you realised, you had missed more than you knew.

You hadn't touched yourself since the witch hunt, disgusted as you were with your own body and out of your mind with grief. The few times you had thought about it, any urge had wilted as soon as you slipped your fingers past the fabric of your underwear and you had ended up crying instead. And just as you hadn't let Sam kiss your lips, you had turned away from his hands as well whenever he had indicated he wanted more than to hold you. The knowledge that his child was gone from where it had been growing inside of you, that your body was now empty had made any further intimacy with Sam impossible to bear. Your mind wasn't idle telling you over and over again how spectacularly you had let him down, how you were worthless now, worthless and empty and broken. A failure, at everything.

You were nothing but a brittle shell of a person, fractured beyond repair and Sam would realise soon enough, too. 

"Sweetheart?"

You realised you must have sniffled out loud enough for him to hear.

Be there for him. 

Banishing all thoughts of your own misery the best you could, you leaned down and kissed him on the neck, just inside of the collar on his red and white flannel.

"Take this off," you whispered, slowly undoing the topmost button and you could feel a shudder run through him, all the way to his fingers still in your cunt.

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed and started in on the next button, brushing your lips languidly over the underside of his jaw.

A low groan began in the bottom of his throat, but he didn't move.

"I- I need to hear you say it," he demanded in a strained voice, clasping your hands in his unoccupied one before you could snap open the next button of his shirt. "I have to know you mean it."

Why did he have to see right through you like that? Even high-strung with arousal and the pent-up adrenaline and distress of a hunt gone bad, he still read you like an open book.

Your throat felt as hard and unyielding as a glass ball, but you managed to speak around it.

“I do want it, Sam,” you got out, briefly proud that you could keep your voice steady. “I want to feel you… here…” You clenched your walls around his fingers, keeping his hand in place. “Please, darling. Make me yours again?”

His fingers began to lose their hold on your wrists and so you eagerly continued unclasping the buttons of his flannel. You had to bite your lip not to whine too loudly when he pulled his fingers from the snug warmth of your pussy, but the sound quickly turned into a gasp as he tore the last few buttons of his shirt himself, shrugging out of the plaid and practically ripping the white undershirt next.

"Anything you ask, baby," he breathed onto your neck before kissing your sensitive skin there. You arched up into the feeling of his mouth, letting him guide your body down onto the sheets beneath him. His weight on top of you was a welcome one and you laced your fingers in his messy, windswept hair as he licked his way from your neck onto your tongue, keeping you close while his hands worked first on your panties, then on the zipper of his jeans.

As soon as all offending pieces of clothing were gone, you folded your legs around his hips to feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock against your core. You ground your hips upwards once, twice and Sam let out a strangled groan at the feeling of your soaked folds sliding over him, teasing him harder and harder.

He pressed your hips down with one hand to make you stop and grabbed his cock with the other, lining up with your entrance, still slick from your previous orgasm. As soon as the bulbous head of his cock began pressing into you, just the first inch, you threw your head back into the pillows with a cry. The stretch of him was divine, it was almost too much. Tears of pleasure rose to your eyes and you clung to his shoulders as he slowly sank into you until his thatch of dark hair was flush against yours and you were so deliciously full of him you wanted to scream.

“F-fuck, you feel so good, baby,” Sam moaned into the side of your neck. Both of you trembled with the desire coursing through your joined bodies and you whimpered when he drew his hips a little back from yours, only to thrust back in and make you gasp instead.

Sam set a steady pace of slow, deep thrusts that allowed you to savour each and every heavenly drag of his cock against your sensitive walls until you were sure you would lose your mind with pleasure.

The longer he moved in you, the more sloppy his mouth on your skin became, the more desperate his hands until he was practically forcing you down into the mattress and you realised through the haze of bliss that he was afraid you would disappear beneath his touch.

His hands found the hem of your T-shirt and gave it a questioning tug, halting his movements to a gentle roll of his hips against you. That grey T-shirt was the last piece of fabric separating you.

“Can I take this off you?,” Sam asked breathily, pleadingly and you found yourself nodding, allowing him to lift it up your stomach, then your chest, then over your head and toss it to the side. Only then did you realise that you had stopped breathing.

The thought of how your naked body looked in the mirror now was suddenly all you could think about, the long, awful scars marring your stomach, your stupid, painfully swollen breasts that wouldn’t stop leaking… Shit.

It wasn’t just Sam’s tears that had soaked the T-shirt. You had been so caught up in comforting Sam that you hadn’t even noticed. As if it wasn’t bad enough that it reminded you of your grief and your guilt all the time, now Sam had to look at it too and the thought alone was almost enough to make you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll go get cleaned up, I didn’t mean…”

The words died upon your lips when you caught Sam's expression in the half-dark. His eyes were sparkling, mesmerised by the white leaking from your sore nipples. Slowly, as if in a trance, he leaned down and placed his mouth on your breast, licking the trail of milk from your skin.

“S-Sam, you don’t have t-to… oh.” Oh. His lips closed around your nipple before giving it a tentative suck. “Ah!”

The little stinging sensation that itched in you at first was nothing compared to the almost ecstatic relief you felt when some of the weight was lifted from your breast, flowing into Sam’s gentle mouth. He moaned at the taste and sucked harder, making you whimper and arch your back up into him. You were sore, but Sam was all soft lips and hot tongue lapping and suckling at your flesh. Slowly, he started moving again, timing each brush of his cock against that sweet, aching spot inside of you with a suck on one of your nipples, stroking the warm, pulsing need in you until your entire body was throbbing with desire.

You clung to him almost as hard as he did you, digging your fingertips into his shoulder and the back of his head while he kept worshipping your breasts with his mouth, moaning deep in his throat you all the while. 

The sensations were all too much and at the same time not quite enough.

“Sam, please… I’m so close,” you mewled, the muscles in your legs straining around him.

“Me too, baby,” he panted, immediately making his thrusts come faster and the sound of skin slapping against skin started to mix with your cries and groans of pleasure.

Fuck, how had you ever managed to turn him down?

The white-hot pressure in you burst and you came around his cock with a loud cry and blissful tears running down your cheeks. You soared on the waves of your release, cradling Sam against you and with a groan muffled by your chest, he came too, stilling inside of you while the walls of your cunt milked him for all he had, prolonging your own orgasm until your vision began to flicker, black spots, white spots, an explosion of fire shooting through your veins.

Every muscle in you went limp and you fell back against the pillows with your arms still holding onto Sam the best you could. You didn’t move to push him off. Instead you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the tickle of his hair against your neck, his fingers still desperately digging into your hips and thighs, and the warm weight of his frame on top of yours, his cum hot and sticky between your legs where he was still buried in you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this good and safe, but surely it must have been before… well, before the witch broke you.

Sam lay completely spent in your arms, breathing heavily as he came down from his high. You didn’t want to let go of him ever again. Almost on instinct, you clenched him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t sure at first if he had heard it. The silent words were followed by the shadow of a sob, hardly more than a tremble in your breath and a new trickle of tears that all too easily turned your ebbing pleasure bittersweet.

“Why?” His voice was raspy and not much louder than yours. Just as you had feared, his hold on you started to loosen as he pulled back and looked down at your wet face.

“For putting you through this,” you managed in a choked excuse of a whisper. “For letting you down…”

“No, don’t say that. Hey! Look at me,” he urged when you closed your eyes again to try and stem the flow of tears. “Baby, I love you. Don’t you know? You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me in this cursed life and I can't…" Sam had to stop and swallow around the lump in his throat. "I can't fathom how you still want me, but as long as you do, I'll be there for you. Because I want to. You're not putting me through anything, okay?"

And as you looked into those sad, adoring eyes of his, you saw nothing but truth shining back at you. He meant it.

“Okay.” You sniffled, overwhelmed, but happy when Sam leant down to kiss you deeply on the mouth to accentuate his point. His mouth was sweet after having feasted on your milk and you couldn’t help a contented sigh as you sampled the taste. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought you ought to have been disgusted, but you didn’t really care when everything about kissing Sam just felt so right. You readily indulged when his tongue parted your lips to tangle with your own at a much slower pace than earlier. Arousal started to gather in your belly again until it felt like a pleasant hum stroking and relaxing your limbs. Your hands found their favourite position of their own accord: buried in his hair, while Sam’s arms gently folded their way back around your waist.

After a while of lazily making out, Sam finally broke away with a reluctant smile on his lips. It was the first time you had seen him so at peace for months.

“As nice as this is,” he muttered, his nose brushing yours, “we really ought to get cleaned up”.

“Don’t wanna move,” you answered, hardly ever breaking contact with his kiss-swollen lips and he grinned at that, making your heart soar so high and so far you almost thought it would never come back down.

“Neither do I,” Sam sighed, squeezing your body close. “But we have to. Come on. I promise we’ll get just as comfortable when we get back.”

“Fine,” you grumbled with the corners of your mouth turning upwards almost against your will. “But only if you say you love me again.”

His smile was as bright and as beautiful as the stars.

Tags: @renxzs​ @lilana56 @fouramtwohourstogo​ @corishirogane3​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @cake-writes​ @sagechanoafterdark​

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #sam winchester smut #sam winchester one shot #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #lol no one is following me for sam so i'm just tagging a few mutuals feel free to ignore #not beta'd i die alone

[elphiej]

Be My Light: Prologue

*Pairing: Yoonig X Reader, possible OT7 X Reader (Undecided)

*Genre: Mafia, angst, eventual smut, slow burn

*Warnings: N/A (Yet)

*Summary: In the city of Central, a dark shadow rises as an evil from their past threatens to destroy the members of Bangtan and seize control of the city. While struggling against the rival gangs, as well as their own inner turmoils, they find their journey intertwined with a girl who’s past is a mystery, even to herself. She is lost and broken, but finds she has little choice but to trust the gang members as she becomes a target of the rival gang and drug lords. As they protect their new charge, the boys start to feel things they haven’t thought they would ever have. Can she help them fight against the shadows of their past? Can she melt the cold persona of Bangtan’s second in command? Can they be a beacon for her in own darkness? And can they help her unlock the secrets of her past and help her find her inner strength? 

(I’m terrible at writing summaries. Please let me know what you think)

              Be My Light 

               The last few stars in twilight sky illuminates the chrome skyline, barely a soul was awake, as a black SUV pulled up to the curb by a half-constructed office space in the lower part of the City. Hardly anyone who lived in the massive metropolis was about at such an early hour. Especially in this lower section of Central City, where it was mostly cheap apartments, shops, and construction. Central City- barely anyone remembered its true name after the ‘First’ Gangs bestowed the code name upon the citizens. The driver gazed across the empty street to the massive skeleton of a building that loomed in the fading twilight, not liking the ominous feeling that radiated from it like heat from the car’s air conditioner.  Nothing about this seemed right and his anxiety settled deep within his gut. This was not the usual drop zone and too far from their own territory. The construction cranes and bulldozers that were deadly still, like a warning, loomed about the shell of the shopping center the civil government thought would bring some life and safety back to this part of the city. The massive, five story building had too many unknown factors for him; there were too many places to hide, too many shadows, too many things to use against them should things go south. He sank lower into the driver seat, anxiety settling like a stone in his gut. It didn’t matter how many of these drops he had done or how many times he had seen things go one way or the other, he still got nervous. He turned his attention to the other member in the car, trying to distract himself.

               In the passenger seat, seemingly asleep and unbothered, was a young man who was older in years but shorter in stature than the driver.  He had pale skin and platinum blonde hair, dressed up in a simple black shirt and ripped black jeans, with a blood red, long hooded coat, that gave him a vampiric or bringer of death vibe. Fitting for what may happen, the driver thought. His arms were crossed against his chest and his head was leaning against the window. The eldest had been in the same position since they had left their garage a few hours ago. He seemed almost calm, which the younger allotted to his hyung’s experience with the rival gang.  However, quite the opposite was the presence in the back, who had stretched himself to lounge on the back seat. There laid an angelic youth with golden, wavy hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes. He was yin and yang personified to those who had seen him in action. The angel had his phone above his face, tapping furiously in a game, the light illuminating his innocent features and smile. The driver knew that once they entered the building that the innocent look would change to something scary once they entered the building. If looks could kill, the driver trailed off. Having both his hyungs with him and both seeming calm should help put him at ease. It was a good team they had in the car and had done much harder things before. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that loomed over him.

               “Hyung,” he said, softy, looking at the sleeping passenger. The other seemed dead to the world, so he repeated himself louder. Only when the other made a noise of acknowledgment did he continue. “Are we sure this is the place?”

               The passenger opened his dark eyes and looked across the driver to the construction site. His eyes moved to out his own window before nodding. The angel stopped playing his game and sat up longer enough to confirm with this companion. It wasn’t quite the reassurance the younger man was hoping to get.

               “Hyung, I don’t like this” he said. “This doesn’t feel right. We’re doing a drop, right? This isn’t hallowed ground. It’s a half-constructed building that none of us have any knowledge of. This can’t be the site.”

               “This is where RM said to go. This is the place the asshole wanted to do this. Said they feel safer here,” the passenger said, his voice low and rough from being woken.

               The angel leaned forward between the two of them, thumbs still moving quickly across the screen. “Those guys are just scared,” he said, his voice as light and airy as his appearance. “They keep losing men because they don’t train them right. Once their boss disappeared, they can barely keep their heads above water. They think being on their turf will scare us or something. Think we’re more likely to agree in order not to cause any trouble. That we’ll be too cautious to draw any blood.” His eyes shifted to the driver, and the devil within shone through for a moment. “Not like that would stop us, right Jungkook-ah?”

               “Ease the blood-shed, Jiminie,” the eldest warned. “This is just an exchange. We get in and get out. They promised a standoff, no weapons. So we should oblige the goons.”

               “Then why do we have a weapon stash with us” Jungkook asked with a playful, knowing smile.

               “Because we’re not stupid. Ji may have been bound by the Accords, but he was still a deceitful fuck, played by whatever rule got him to where he was. And he taught his dongsaengs to do the same. Now that he’s disappeared, they’ve gotten more chaotic. Look what happened to Hoseok last month when they jumped him in the middle of the street. They’re getting messy. We’re lucky Moonbyul and some X-ers were in the area, else Hobi and some civilians would have been worse off.”

               “Come on, Hyung. Are you tell us that if Choi’s in there, you’re not gonna give him a couple more bruises to match the old ones? I’m sure he’d like a matching set,” Jimin said leaning back in his seat.

               “We’re not gonna stoop to their level. We’ll show them how to act. But,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a switch blade, and smiled, “if he is there and wants to start shit with me, I’ll be happy to give him a scar like he tried to give Hobi.”

               Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other, grinning. Within their own group, they were all remarkably close, basically family. They all looked out for and took care of each other. But their Yoongi-hyung was even more protective of his younger brothers, always secretly doing things for them when they least expected it. On the outside, he was hard, quiet, and calculating. But on the side, they knew he was softy (though they dare not say that in his presence).

               Yoongi slipped the knife back into his red trench coat’s inner pocket and checked his watch. It was not quite time to meet with the Royals, though they knew them better as Goons or Jackasses. But it was time to check in with their secret surveillance. He pulled out his phone and made a call. Ringing filled the silent car through the speakers. It did not take long before the ring stopped, and deep voice replaced it.

               “Hyung,” it whined, “you finally call! I’ve been freezing out here since sundown, watching this damn building. I’m cold and lonely!”

               “Lonely my ass, Taehyung. You’ve been texting Jimin since you got there and playing that damn mobile game since two. You do realize you’re supposed to be look out. Or do I need to find someone who actually care about our safety to replace you next time?”

               “What? Hyung, no! I’ve been doing my job, I swear,” Taehyung said frantically, his voice wavering as if he was about to cry. “I can multi-task, I swear. We’ve only played a couple rounds, I promise. Please, Hyung, have mercy on me! You know I don’t like being alone. Please don’…,” his voice trailed off.

               Jimin grabbed the phone from Yoongi. “Taehyung-ah, it’s okay. Yoongi-Hyung is just kidding. He’s smiling, really.”

               “If that’s what you want to call it,” Jungkook laughed.

               As quickly as Taehyung’s sobbing began, it just as quickly turned into a deep laugh. “I know. I can hear it in his voice. Not nice, Yoongi-shi. We really need to work on your people skills”

               “Anyways, what is happening out there?” Yoongi loomed forward to look out the windshield to the building across from the meeting place. A top the highest building, he could just make out the body sitting there. Had he not known what he was looking for, or had an idea where Taehyung had positioned himself, he would have missed him. The lookout had positioned himself across from the back of the building where the Goons would be entering at, in order to stay a few steps ahead of them.

               “Barely anything has happened since I got here. Once the sun went down, all the people cleared the street. It’s been quite here. The civilians are probably worried about the Goons’ new recruits causing trouble at night. Only three cars have come down this way. And you’re number three. There’s some more construction to the west, some little family shops and alleys to the east, and a couple apartment housings to the north of here. So the civilians are safe from the cross-fire, if there is any.” He stopped talking for a sec, only to let out a loud, triumphant ‘yah’. “Got you, Jimin. That’s for cheating last round. I win! You owe me some honey rice cakes.” Said cheater threw his phone on the back seat with a growl, which only made Taehyung laugh more.

               Yoongi rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. “Why did I not ask Jin-Hyung to come with me?”

               “Because Jin-Hyung is taking care of Hoseok-Hyung. And RM-Hyung is trading that ‘equipment’ we picked up with Solar’s crew for some more fire power,” Jimin explained, leaning forward to rest his chin on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Besides, we’re the dream team right here. Taehyung’s a great lookout with his attention to details. And he’s a strong back up in a brawl. Jungkook’s the most daring getaway driver, next to Jin-Hyung, and is the muscle. And you and I are the best shots. How can you top that?”

               Yoongi shrugged Jimin off him. “Fine, but stay focused. No more games, you two.”

               Taehyung chuckled deeply. “Ok, Grandpa. I promise.”

               From his place atop the building, Taehyung smiled down at the SUV. After so many hours of nothing happening, their reunion had woken him up and gave him some much-needed energy. He listened as Jungkook started asking Jimin about the game, and Yoongi grumbling every now and again. He stretched his long arms up, and checked on the screens in front of him. The time of the drop was approaching but there had been no activity in the building across from him. He and Jimin had snuck into the building a few days earlier and placed some hidden cameras all over. He tapped a few buttons on his screen, switching from floor to floor, his eyes taking in every detail. No change. The building was just as empty as it was when he first got there. He checked the time in the lower corner of his screen; it was only a few minutes before the appointed time and still no sign of the enemy. If there was one thing Taehyung liked about the absent head of the rival gang was his attention to time and arriving to an appointment early. Time was everything and, without him, they lacked it

               You’ve got shit timing, a voice echoed from the farthest reaches of his mind.

               His fingers froze on the keyboard. Why was that making an appearance? That deep, sinister voice had been lurking on the edge of his attention ever since Hoseok was jumped. His hyung didn’t remember most of that attack, let alone who was the spearhead. He recalled being jumped from behind by some lower level recruits that he may have recognized, and that he dealt with a few of them before they pinned him on his knees. And he remembered a pair of expensive, designer shoes coming into his line of vison before a cane cracked him in the face. Moonbyul, a member of the Mama gang from the Northern side of town, had been one of the first to come to his aid. Taehyung had only met her once but remember that she was a strong and intimidating, and a fierce fighter. Joohyun and Shownu of the X-ers he knew better from all their gangs’ interactions. They had been looking for a good restaurant when they heard the commotion and sprang to help. Joohyun swore that he saw the elusive Choi there in fray, yet neither Moonbyul or Shownu were sure if he was there or not. Choi had always been like a shadow, appearing and disappearing when he pleased. No one had heard of his actions for almost four years. And, in the two-year absence his leader, Ji, no one was quite sure who had taken over as temporary leader. There had been clues that Choi could have returned to take over; he was the oldest member of the generals, had been a right hand man for Ji, and was more secretive of his doings then some of the other Generals would have been. The idea of Choi being back in Central made Taehyung anxious; old, painful memories had started to resurface. Things that Taehyung had worked through and had lapsed into a comfortable mindset when they thought that bastard had disappeared. Just the thought that Choi may be back made him wonder if that meant Ji was back too and what that may do to his members.

               Taehyung didn’t have much time to dwell as movement from one of the cameras caught his attention. He clicked into the camera that was stationed on the opposite side of the construction site, where the back-loading docks were to see three black Royces with their lights off came to a stop. Here we go, he thought as pulled a folded bandana from his jacket and slipped it up under his dyed gray locks.  Zooming in, he saw a few Royal members that he recognized from past fights. Some were boxers and a few MMA fighters, but they were slower than his trim and light members. The rest looked new, young and jittery. Maybe just a training run, Taehyung thought. It wouldn’t be out of place. RM and Jin had taken him on drops and exchanges when he first joined.  Altogether, there were twelve Royal members. That alone made Taehyung nervous; there were too many factors playing out in his head. He knew that between himself, Jimin, Jungkook, and Yoongi, they could deal with them if they decided to do something stupid. One member Taehyung, Chen, knew well enough from their encounters was a high-ranking member and was normally the leader of the squad. He was slightly decent about following the Accords. Maybe this will go fine.

               That was, until he watched Chen go to the third Rolls Royce and opened the back door.

               The first thing that came into view was a pair of expensive, silver dress shoes. Then a matching ornate cane. Taehyung could feel his breath catching in his throat. Out of the car, dressed in a light colored three-piece suit with a white fur coat draped over his broad shoulders, stepped Choi. His gloved hand ran through his quaffed frosted hair as he gave instructions to his minions. The little smirk that appeared through the computer screen was all it took for Taehyung’s mind to instantly transport him back to the worst night of his entire life. He could feel those gloved hands on his neck and shoulder while Choi’s companion laughed like a crazed child behind him. That sadistic smile was one of the last things he remembered seeing before he was shoved deep into the freezing darkness.

               Here’s your punishment for your disrespect. Do me a favor and don’t die too quick. My brother wants his turn to play with you. Now, deep breath, Choi breathed in his ear.  

                    His heart started to beat harder and panic began to grip hold of him. He didn’t want to think about it, not now. He thought he was past all this. But, with the chances of seeing the general who tormented him, only made his breath check in his throat. Get a grip, he mentally screamed, get over it. Don’t let him win! But all he could focus of was the wet, chill creeping up from his toes, his lungs restricting, the muted sounds in his ears…He gripped his phone like a life-line, running through what his team taught him when he got like this. Taehyung closed his eyes and tried to count. He tried to focus on a happier memory, but the onslaught of panic surged onward. He tried to force himself to take an unsteady breath, shaking his dyed gray locks from his sweaty face. Focus, breath. He kept repeating it. But his lungs felt like they were in a vice, like they were filling up with ice cold fear. There were hands gripping him, dragging him deeper into the dark memory. And he felt like he was swimming against a current. It wasn’t until Jimin’s voice seemed to cut through the rushing in his ears that he felt he had a lifeline. Where his silence may not have seemed like anything to the others at that moment, Jimin seemed to sense the change, even without seeing him. Taehyung clung to his best friend’s words and took a shaky breath into his burning lungs. Then, another and another. Just like he did when this same nightmare plagued him for an entire year. And as quickly as it came on, the dark hands pulled back into the deepest part of his memory.

               Jimin called out to him again as his eyes opened, and Jungkook’s followed asking if everything was alright. Tae let his eyes fall on his computer screen to ground himself back into his reality. Everything is fine. Focus on the screens. There were only two men by the cars now, blocking the loading dock from any surprise attack. Where did the others go? Tapping quickly on the keyboard, he cycled through the different cameras. The ground floor was only occupied by the large support beams and boxes of different building material. The second floor had empty shells for stores. The third and fourth were much of the same, with only scaffolding, tools, and more large boxes. The fifth floor was were the designer had wanted to put an event hall based on the layout; wide open with decorative columns lining the middle of the space, windows that looked out to the distant skyline of the city, and a marble floor that hadn’t been finished yet. Like the other floors, metal scaffolding and work tables littered the area, and unpacked crates and such were dispersed. At the edge of the camera Taehyung had placed by the entrance, he finally spotted Choi and the rest of the goons. As his eyes darted about the screen, taking in every detail he needed, he sat a bit straighter and shifted from the playful Tae into a different being. Now in the position of lookout and back gunner was V.

               “Tae, you ok up there? You’re too quiet. I think Jimin’s about to scale this building to check on you,” Yoongi’s voice rang through the phone, behind it was Jimin’s quite voice asking the same.

               “Suga-Hyung,” V voice was much deeper and serious than Taehyung’s, signaling to the car that something was up, “They’re here. Three cars at the back-loading dock. Two men stayed with the cars. There are thirteen in total.”

               “That’s more than normal for a drop like this,” Jungkook wearily said.

               “Hyung,” V continued, “Choi is with them.”

               From his place in the car, Yoongi nodded silently. That was all the info he needed to know that this wouldn’t be a normal interaction like they had hoped. The confirmation that Choi was, indeed, back in the picture meant that the game was about to be much more dangerous. He looked across to his younger friends, knowing from the look on their faces that they understood that too.

               “Where are they V-shi?”

               “Choi and the others are in the fifth-floor hall like they said. Their situated in the back of the room. Take the elevator on the ground floor and it’ll open into the space. There’s enough room to keep some distance between you guys and there are enough obstacles, in case. I can’t see from this angle if they’re true to their word about the weapons but there’s a couple boxes I didn’t see when I set up.”

               “Good job, V,” Yoongi said. “Once we get into the building, make your way down and to the back. Pay the two lookouts a visit. Then, keep low in case we need you. I’ll have the in-ear if something comes up. Jimin, you’ll stay with me. Jungkook, you stay a little behind with the package. Everyone just follow my lead and stay alert. Let them think we’re as dumb as Choi likes to think of us. Got it?”

               Yoongi had slid into Suga, the mafia persona he had adapted over the years. Suga was calculative, alert, intimidating to those who didn’t know him, and able to set the world on fire with a turn of phrase. He straightened his red coat and flipped up the hood to block against the cold as he pushed open the door. Jungkook let out a breath, nervous energy still rampant but his drive to succeed against all odd weighted it out. He mumbled a ‘goodbye’ to Taehyung and turned off the car, shoving the keys into his black hoodie’s pocket. He let his gaze wander in the rearview to see Jimin had already slid his rose-tinted glasses he had grabbed before leaving their hideout onto his face and ran his finger through his blonde hair. A bit of his bangs slipped back across one of his eyes. And with that simple gesture, the angelic, mischievous persona had been replaced with a devilish powerhouse one who wouldn’t stop until the job is done. The differences between normal Jimin to gang member Jimin would make anyone wonder if two different people. It still creeped Jungkook out when his hyung’s happy mask would slip when they got into a disagreement. Said hyung noticed Jungkook staring, and those dark eyes melted a bit when the younger’s doe eyes quickly looked away. He smiled a bit and reached for the black bucket hat that Jungkook had thrown into the back seat when they left.

               “Don’t look so worried. We’ll be good,” Jimin said, placing the hat over Jungkook’s long dark hair. The maknae wasn’t entirely sure if Jimin meant that the meeting would well or if that they’d behave. Honestly, he didn’t think it’d matter.

               Suga leaned his head back into the car. “Jimin, why don’t you let our guest out? I’m sure they didn’t appreciate all those pot holes JK decided to hit.”

               JK gave a small smirk as the wickedly, mischievous glint reappeared in Jimin’s eyes. He slid from the back seat and made his way around to the truck. He gave the metal a good kick before opening the hatch, the person inside letting out a surprised yelp as they were yanked out and down to the cold asphalt. The rat was blindfolded, gagged, and bound. He had tried to infiltrate one of their warehouses. He was young and inexperienced, trying to blend in with the new batch of recruits. And he almost went unnoticed, had they not had the best surveillance known to any gang in all of Central. Jimin almost felt sorry for him. Lord knows, he was treated better with them than his own group. But that wasn’t enough for Jimin not to scare him a bit more with a couple good shoves and breathy threats as they made their way through the crisp early morning air towards the uncertainty that lay inside the building.

               With each step towards the towering building, no longer were the three the friendly band of brothers who had spent the two hours driving around, laughing, talking, and singing obnoxiously loud to the radio. With each step, they were the most feared gang to walk the streets of Central since the Royals were in their prime. They were the most powerful group to rise from nothing to the greatest empires in the history of Central.

               They were Bangtan.

#bts fic #bts imagines #bts mafia au #bts mafia fic #yoongi x reader #bangta boys #ot7 x reader #min yoongi #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungguk #bangtan fanfic

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian Chapter 12 rewatch thoughts

- I would like to thank them for keeping in din’s harried yet triumphant ‘hAH!!’ when he gets the explosives to stick to gideon’s ship in the ‘hey remember when this happened last season’ section, that was a nice gesture from the showrunners to me personally, I assume

- this episode actually helped me find more enjoyment in the last one, because it’s such a nice reassurance that even though they’re pulling in more stuff from other star wars media this show won’t suddenly stop being its own thing and mando won’t suddenly stop being himself and it’s very comforting to me somehow haha

- the small hesitation before din calls out “do you... do you have the wire?” lol lol lol he’s completely aware of the bizarreness of what he’s doing here but hey being alive is already so damn weird etc. 

the softness of his voice the whole way through and the fact that he never, never blames the baby for not being able to do what shouldn’t really be asked of him in the first place, tho... ;____;  

- the tiny exasperated head tilt din does when he realizes the hatch isn’t going to extend all the way fdslkfhasdlashfs  

- din is looking down at the baby the entire time while greef talks to the mechanics ❤️❤️❤️

(the baby seems pretty drawn to/excited to see greef again and mando seems to notice which is extremely cute. he’s becoming really good at tuning in with the kid) 

he also greets cara baby first in much the same way as he does peli, like he knows what the main attraction here is lol, they do a very sweet bro nod at each other. god I wish gina carano wasn’t so terrible imagine if we could just have this BrOTP without hesitations :( 

I think greef is actually a bit worried to begin with after seeing the ship, he sort of takes din in intently before he huffs a little laugh and grabs his arm. it must be a bit stressful to be his friend and not be able to see his expression right away when you worry something might be seriously wrong haha

- people are finally treating the baby like you would a real baby and it’s such a blessing, everyone talking and cooing at him and baby babbling back

(I wonder if greef has children of his own? he does have an undeniable air of experienced grandpa about him in this episode, it’s adorable)  

- din does so much talking -- unprompted, even! -- these days, it truly is an embarrassment of riches 

- capital E Emotional about this shot with IG-11 right behind din and cara inviting him into the school in front of him. some past carried with us into the future shit going on here  

IG-11′s legacy’s still got our back y’all :’) I swear to god if gideon blows up nevarro at some point I’m going to lose it 

the ‘oh yeah?/that so?’ way din leans his head back after she says “wait until you see inside” is also amazing

- baby reaching out his hand like ‘can have?’ is so polite ;______; he takes after his father (including in the ‘fool me twice, I’ll fuck you up’ department haha. listen you get one chance to be cool about it and then no more mr nice mando/baby)

-

go ahead, kid, make a fuss about it. who are you going to tell, huh? who’s going to believe you? you gonna tell them you got bested by a baby? a magic baby? no? that’s right. I took your dignity as easily as I took your macarons, there’s nothing you can do to change it, and now you gotta live with that. sweet dreams.

(this is a joke. the baby is not evil. I hate that I even have to specify this but I’ve seen some stupid shit in the tags in my time you guys haha) 

- I can’t work out what anything on greef’s desk is supposed to be, but if that’s a computer it’s got to be older than even the razor crest lol

- friends: din yes?

mando: din no, only repairs

friends: din yes please?

mando: ... [sigh] din yes 

he truly has next to no defense against people he actually likes asking him for something huh lol. well a self care co-op mission clearly did him a world of good in this one at least it’s all fine

- “I’m starting to dehydrate, Boss” is an excellent line and delivered perfectly, I cackle every time (”You park your gills right there until I say otherwise” is a good runner up too) 

- it’s so nice to see the small moments of communication between them in this one after mando was so out of sync with the team in the last one (and tbf those guys didn’t even try to give him any pointers at all, they really left him to flounder through the whole thing if you watch it carefully haha)

- the mythrol’s jacket still looks so comfy, I want one

- aaaaah the way din says “I don’t like this” is just so... hnnngh it’s perfect, there’s a vulnerability and openness to it for a moment. greef glances over at him like he hasn’t heard him sound like this before too, which just sells it even more

u ok bro?

you know shit’s fucked up when din djarin expresses an emotion without even being forced to by circumstance (I think what I mean is that it’s actually really rare for him to state how he feels about something just to do it, usually his communication is more practically oriented, more along ‘I think this is the best cause of action because of a and b’ lines, or like when he tells omera he’s grateful it’s... more to inform her of it and make sure she knows than to express himself? but he’s starting to do it more with people he trusts now and it gets me in the heart? man I’m finding this hard to articulate let’s move on lol)

- I really, really wonder about pershing’s position in all of this. his plea for the child’s life did sound genuine -- he did try to guard him with his own noodly scientist body when he thought din was out to hurt him, remember -- but is that only because he knows he’s in deep shit himself without the blood the baby can give? is he maybe not quite cool with whatever gideon has him doing? (he does sound quite strained when he talks about the ‘body’ rejecting the transfusion and the ‘volunteer’ potentially suffering the same fate... hm.)

idk why I want there to be something redeemable in him so bad, maybe it’s just my weird yet enduring attachment to ladon radim in stargate atlantis messing with me they’re kind of similar in some ways (yeah don’t ask me I don’t know either sometimes the heart wants what it wants in ways reason can’t explain)

- tfw ur literally launching yourself across a pool of boiling lava because you’re Dad and your baby’s in danger T__________T he just does not stop running towards that kid for even a single second help

- there’s something so innocently pure and... old fashioned? about the scene with mythrol and greef screaming the entire time they drive off the cliff, it feels like something out of a movie from like three decades ago. that whole segment feels a bit like that, it’s just there to be fun and that’s okay sometimes

- every dog fight in every movie should have a baby nonchalantly snacking on a cookie in them, it elevates the experience immeasurably (he squishes his nose a little bit with the macaron when he misses his mouth at one point, which is more than anyone should be expected to bear honestly)

I love that even all fixed up again the razor crest groans and creaks like an old tired thing when din makes it flip to dive, he 100% did take out a bunch of ferraris in his stalwart morris minor of a spaceship and I treasure him     

- there’s so much life and emotion in din’s voice here I can’t!!!! I simply can’t!!!! imagine if we get to hear him openly laugh one day, would I even survive it??!!!!

 also the kid makes such pitch perfect ‘having my lil nose wiped and whining about it’ baby noises when din uses his cape to clean him up (din does turn the autopilot on before he turns around to deal with it, for those who, like me, worry about these things) 

- between carson showing up and the stuff the droid talks about in the lesson they’re doing quite a bit of outer rim vs. core worlds theme building in this one, I wonder if this is going to ramp up more or what

- god but gideon’s theme SLAPS tho 

he’s probably going to try to fuck up everything I love but you can’t fault him on the tunes he’s going to do it to 

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #and now off to bed like I should have been half an hour ago lol

[scarlettwitcher]

Úlfur minn Part One

Request: by @laneygthememequeen​: Hello lovely! I just saw that youre open to requests and are itching to write something for soft boi geralt! If you’re open to it, can I request a geralt x reader where reader seems like super innocent but is like an actual warrior/badass and he’s just like in awe. Or maybe where the reader is in like a dress for some reason and she usually doesn’t wear dresses because they’re inconvenient for fighting and ends up having to fight in the dress. take care and I hope you have a wonderful day💖

Summary: After Jaskier is finally able to convince Geralt to be his bodyguard for Pavetta’s betrothal dinner, shit goes down and Geralt has to make the decision of whether or not he should tell Y/n how he really feels.

Characters: Geralt, Reader, Jaskier, Calanthe, Eist, Mousesack, Pavetta, Duny, mentions of secondary characters in the show.

Word Count: 2336

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of guts, lots of angst, canon typical warnings, also the title is in Icelandic, it was just something cute for plot.

Author’s Notes: So, I’m not gonna lie, this one got away from me. I found that Episode 4, Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials fit this request perfectly. This will be a four part mini series. I’m actually really excited to release this to y’all. Million of thanks out to my girl @queenxxxsupreme​. She’s been such an amazing help with writing The Witcher. Everyone send her lots of love! I am accepting requests so please, send them in! If you’d like to be a tag as well, just let me know! Thanks for reading and feedback is always welcome!

“I tell you no lie. It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found!” The man took a second to breathe before scowling at another. “Of, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” The man stood up for emphasis as he recalled the events he had witnessed earlier. “The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a Selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth!” You tried to stifle your snort as everyone gasped. You took a drink of your ale, quickly scowling at the cup for the foul taste. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher… whole!” 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” You giggled quietly to yourself as you heard Jaskier and slowly reached over, poking his head gently making him look up at everyone staring at him in confusion. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh… and then what happened?”

“He died.”

“Eh… He’s fine.”

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own-” The door swung open, cutting the man off as Geralt slowly walked into the room, a thick awful smell filling the room. Everyone parted immediately, giving Geralt room to walk straight towards the man. Your eyes widened as you saw him, covered head to toe in guts and it took everything in you not to rush to his side to see if he was okay.

“See?” Jaskier let out a loud laugh and you elbowed him as you stood, making your way over to Geralt, touching his elbow gently before moving to the other side of the tavern, knowing Geralt would make his way over there.

“Oh… What’s that stench?”

“Selkiemore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” 

“Toss a coin to your witcher. O, Valley of Plenty o-oh-oh” As you heard the song leave the bard’s lip, you smiled softly to yourself knowing how much Geralt hated it. Soon everyone joined Jaskier and cheered as they were now monster free.

Once Geralt received payment, he made his way over to you, laying his sword on the table as you smiled up at him and pulled out your handkerchief that you always carried with you and started to wipe his face. Geralt watched you with a reserved softness that he only had for you. Before either of you could get a word out, Jaskier approached behind the both of you.“You're welcome. And now, Witcher, it’s time to repay your debt.” The bartender handed Geralt a mug of ale but before you could advise him not to, he took a sip, and immediately spit it out to the side, getting some on your pants as he stared the bartender down with what could be called rage. “What debt, you’re probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I’m asking for is a teeny, teeny-weeny little favor.”

“Jaskier, let the man breathe would you. He’s covered in guts.” The Witcher shot you a soft glance. He’d never admit it to anyone but he loved the way you cared about him. He never knew how you could be so kind, caring, and...innocent.

“Y/n, please. Geralt’s already ready for the nex-”

“Fuck off, bard.” You giggled as Geralt gave you a side smile and Jaskier rolled his eyes at your antics. He knew you both had some kind of feelings for each other but would never admit it, because frankly, you both were stubborn idiots.

“Listen Geralt, for one measly night of service you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile. And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-” You watched in amusement as Geralt turned around to leave, showing he didn’t care for what the bard was offering. “Fuck! Food, women and wine, Geralt.” 

This made Geralt stop in his tracks before slowly turning to look at the bard. Jaskier’s eyes drifted to you for a second, a bit of guilt creeping in as he saw the way you had momentarily slumped into yourself at the mention of women. Geralt sighed before nodding once, making his way out of the tavern, you and Jaskier following him in haste as you made way to an inn. Before long, you had rented a large suite for the three of you. You walked into the bathroom and prepared a bath for Geralt as he silently followed you into the room, carefully stripping himself of his clothes, not wanting to drop guts on anything else in the room. You knew what he was doing and instantly turned your back to him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You already saw him shirtless and felt the need blossoming in your chest like it always did when you saw him or any part of him. 

“You didn't have to.” 

“I w-wanted to. It gives me a chance to see how you are. Besides, Jask has been on you since we left the tavern and we have a few minutes now, Úlfur minn.”

“You worry too much.” With that, Geralt slowly sat inside the tub. You finally turned around to look at him and it took every ounce of strength of your being to not look down. He knew he was affecting you as your cheeks turned a darker red and smirked as he watched you.

“A s-simple thank you would've been nice.”

“Thank you Y/n.” Geralt mumbled softly. You felt yourself melt at the way he said your name and cleared your throat, moving around the room, getting the necessary items to help him wash off the monster guts now dried on his skin and hair.  You grabbed a chair and sat behind him, laying the objects on the floor. You rolled the sleeves of your shirt (or in this case, Geralt’s shirt that you suspected he never noticed you took) and scooted closer to him. If he didn't stink so much, you could have sworn on your life you would've laid a kiss on his head. Before you could even do anything, Jaskier barged into the room and grabbed the bucket of water you had on the side, dumping it on Geralt's head. He grunted angrily at Jaskier as he looked up at him with disdain. 

“Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night body guarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Oh. Oh, really? So, Y/n is your friend but I’m not? Do you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom or even Y/n?” You looked at Jaskier with confusion as you looked down at Geralt and you could’ve sworn he sunk a bit in the tub as he remained quiet and watched Jaskier, his eyes watching his every move threateningly. You took this opportunity to grab some soap and rub it into his hair, washing away all the grime he had. Geralt immediately relaxed under your touch and even leaned into your hands, relishing in the way you dragged your fingers in his hair, grunting quietly when a finger got caught in a knot. He would never say it but this was one of his favorite things: when you played with his hair.

“Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” Geralt watched unfazed as Jaskier threw salt into his bath and you smiled proudly at Jaskier’s confidence and even did a tiny fist bump in the air for him to which he responded back with a tiny, dramatic bow.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt scowled at him, already regretting the decision he knew he was going to have to unwittingly take. You scrunch your face at Jaskier, wondering how he could sleep with so many women, how the both of them could. You would never admit it to the Witcher but it always pained you to watch him walk off, knowing he was in search of a warm body for the night. Jaskier always consoled you in those dark nights but after a while, you became used to the pain. 

“Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.” Geralt grabbed the mug of ale you had brought him earlier, bringing it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Jaskier had plucked the cup and moved it away from him. “Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale.” Geralt groaned and you moved your hand quickly to his back, gently massaging him. It worked and he relaxed once more under your touch. Jaskier could only watch in amusement. You both acted like a couple but were just friends. ”A clear head would be best.”

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.” 

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time." Geralt glared at Jaskier before leaning into your touch once more. “Ugh, is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous? Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

You knew Jaskier was poking the bear. This wasn't the first time the bard asked Geralt this and probably wouldn't be the last but you hated how Geralt responded every time. You always scolded Jaskier when he asked the Witcher this. Jaskier was the only one who knew of your feelings for the big, white haired man and had bestowed the honor upon himself of getting you two together. But it never worked. It just confirmed your fears over and over. Geralt didn't feel anything for you other than strictly platonic emotions. Jaskier looked at you with sympathetic eyes before they dropped down to Geralt. He saw the conflict behind his eyes. His answer was always you. He wanted to tell you but since the first time you met, you made yourself perfectly clear that you only wanted to be friends. Ever since, he's got amazingly well at hiding his feelings for you. “I want nothing.”

Jaskier could only internally groan as he wanted to scream at the both of you. “Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” Jaskier stared at you as he spoke and your eyes widened as you shook your head violently. Jaskier sighed as he looked at Geralt. You looked down at your hands, thinking of an excuse to get away from the two men. You didn’t notice the way he turned to look at you, his eyes softening. He turned back around to Jaskier, his face hardening quickly.

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet…” You stood up so quickly, the chair you were sitting on fell back onto the floor. You almost ran out of the room, feeling your eyes hot with unshed tears. Jaskier sighed and shook his head, pointing towards the door where you had run out of. “Here we are.”

“Hm... Jaskier, don't start with this again.”

“If only you could see the way she looks at you.”

“I said don’t.” Geralt needed a distraction as his head was now invaded with thoughts of you. The way you ran out because of his words gave him just a little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, everything Jaskier bugged him about, day and night, was true. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in Selkiemore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway you’re not going tonight as a witcher and neither is Y/n going as the healer she is. I’ve got clothes for both of you, don’t worry about it.”

With that, Jaskier took his leave into the next room where he found you sitting on the bed with your head in your knees. He slowly approached you and rested a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at the bard, red rimmed eyes, staring down his sad ones.” I didn’t think he'd answer so….I’m sorry Y/n.”

“I-it’s okay Jask. You’ve just been wrong. He really doesn't even look at me as more than a friend. That's all I am, a friend. Besides, he doesn't want a prude like me.”

“You're not a prude Y/n.” You stood and took a deep breath as you walked around the room with pensive thoughts clouding your head. “Look, I was able to get you a rather beautiful dress and I might've bedded a hairdresser...She agreed to help.” You frowned at Jaskier as you quickly shook your dress.

“Dress? Oh no, no, no. I don't like dresses. You know this Jask.”

“You're gonna have to deal with it Y/n. If Calanthe can wear a dress, then so can you.” You groaned loudly at him as he laughed softly. You nodded at him to show you the dress and thus, you all prepared to attend the dreaded event.

*~*

Forever Tags: @iwantthedean​ @authoressskr​ @sorenmarie87​ @reigningqueenofwords​ @goldenolaf25​ @giftofdreams​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @chelsea072498​ @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian​ @itakeawfultoawholenewlevel​ @fictionalabyss​ @gabby913​ @angelkurenai​ @sea040561​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @carryonmyswansong​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @evyiione​ @supersassyprobablysad​ @sofreddie​ @sis-tafics​ @nitelotus​ @trexrambling​ @dancingalone21​ @manawhaat​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @winchest09​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @just-another-busy-fangirl​ @lovebodymindstuff​ @backseat-of-deans-67chevy​ @chook007​ @akshi8278​ @evansrogerskitten​ @bringmesomepie56​

#the witcher #geralt #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt angst #jaskier #dandellion #reader insert #angst #fluff #witcher x reader #witcher #witcher fanfiction #calanthe #eist #pavetta #duny #jensensjaredsandmishaslover's originals #original series #witcher series #geralt of rivia series #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n

[snippetsnitch]

(I have never written animals, so here I go with my first snippet! 😁 I always thought there was way too less phobia-whump, so please enjoy.😄 Also, can anyone guess the dog breed?🙈)

❗(TW: Panic Attack, Severe Cynophobia, Humiliation, Blood)❗

#10 - Beg

"Fuck, get this thing off me!!", [Hero] screeched, trying to push themself further into the cold stonewall behind them.

"Goddamnit, [Villain]!!", they sobbed, eyes searching frantically for something like mercy in [Villains] face.

[Villain] just looked at them with raised eyebrows and was seemingly not the slightest bit interested in whistling their companion back. [Hero] grew desperate. "Get it off!!"

The amorphous shadow growled, ready to attack whenever it got the deadly command. "Get it fucking off, [Villain]!!"

[Hero] hated dogs.

German ones in particular.

The one in front of them was only held by the thin leash in [Villains] hand and pulled heavily into their direction. It would shred [Hero] into pieces, if their enemy let go. They just knew that.

[Villain] looked unimpressed. They made one step towards [Hero], who whimpered from fear. "I will, when you talk."

Desperately, [Hero] turned their face, blinking away the tears that started to rise in their eyes. The dog pulled ever so strongly.

"I can't talk!! I don't have anything!! I-"

Barking. Saliva. Teeth.

[Hero] squealed. They were gonna faint.

"Out!"

And it was quiet. The only thing audible was [Heros] heavy breathing. They sank against the wall with shaking legs; cold sweat was covering their ashened face.

[Villain] looked at [Hero] with a strange kind of fascination. "Your record says that you have a problem with dogs, but I never knew it was this severe.", they said, eyeing their enemy with a calculating curiosity.

[Hero] said nothing. Apart from the fear, the hot feeling of mortification rose in their chest.

They knew it wasn't rational.

Even though the fleabag [Villain] brought was a realistic thread, they shouldn't be standing there with quivering legs and tearing eyes.

[Hero] could handle worse forms of torture. All of them painful and degrading, but they could stand it. They could always stand it.

But dogs...

"You were attacked by one as a child, right?", [Villain] drawled and grinned when [Heros] eyes lowered in shame. "Funny that something so silly can drive you nuts now..."

[Villain] snickered and lightly pulled on the leash. "Up!" A deep growl emitted from the dark mutt that obeyed instantly. [Hero] could not avoid the cold shudder that ran down their spine.

"To be honest, [Hero], I didn't think you were such a wimp!", [Villain] mocked. The criminal saw the impact of their words in [Heros] abashed face and continued with a nasty smile: "For real, how did you even get so far in your fucking job? Probably slept yourself up, huh?"

"Fuck off...", [Hero] hissed and balled their fists. They felt the heat creeping up their cheeks. A huge clumb formed in their throat, making them want to vomit.

It wasn't rational.

It wasn't fucking rational.

[Hero] was strong.

Had the abilities to finish this in less than a minute.

Shouldn't even bother about [Villain] and their grilling, should've just turned and left this fucking situation.

It didn't work.

Didn't work because of those teeth viciously gleaming in front of them.

Paralizing.

[Villain] grinned and looked at their watch leisurely, unfazed by the trembling human in front of them. "You know, even though I love chatting with you, I need to hurry. My boss wants that info really bad."

[Hero] shook their head wordlessly. They had nothing. They couldn't talk, even if they wanted to.

The criminal ignored them.

"And also...", [Villain] casted a look towards their dog and looked back to [Hero] with a wolfish grin, "...she's getting hungry."

It was visible how [Hero] tried to collect themself. To force themself to keep calm despite [Villains] teasing and the growling of their companion.

[Villain] saw [Heros] fight for control, even though they were loosing more of it with every passing second.

"Well...", the criminal drawled and gestured towards the dog, "I guess we have a solution to that..."

They let go of the leash.

[Heros] eyes widened.

"[Villain], don't-!!"

"Sick'em!"

Brown-black fur was flashing into the light and [Hero] jerked up their hands with a desperate scream.

"NO!!"

The monster sank its' sharp teeth into [Heros] forearm. Crimson blood.

They violently tried to shake it off, but it didn't let go.

Wouldn't give up its' prey.

"Call it back, [Villain]!!"

It bit down again.

"Call it back!!!"

Oh god, it would kill them, if [Villain] didn't do something!

It would tear them apart.

Oh god, their arm.

"[Villain], do-" [Hero] choked on the words.

Docked tail.

Sharp teeth.

They couldn't think straight.

Listed dog.

Dangerous.

Their brain filled with black mist.

Couldn't breathe.

They were going to suffocate.

[Villains], voice, ringing in their ears: "Tell me what I want to hear."

Had nothing.

Gone in the abyss.

"I-I c-an't, I-"

No air.

They were suffocating.

Didn't [Villain] see that they were fucking suffocating?

[Hero] only shook their head. They couldn't breathe. There was no air around to fill their lungs with. Underwater.

A cold hand harshly grabbed their collar, pulling them up. "Calm down, you useless piece of shit!"

[Hero] yelped, when [Villains] fist connected with their ribcage. The crack was clearly audible.

"It's not that hard to talk, you fuckin' wussy!"

They dumped them on the ground.

Cold concrete. The smell of trash and piss in the run-down part of the city no one would search [Hero] in. Dirt that mixed with [Heros] own tears.

...And [Villains] voice, sharp as a knife.

They couldn't take it.

Couldn't take [Villain] standing nearby, as they gasped for the air that didn't seem to enter their lungs. Couldn't take it when [Villain] knelt down and grabbed their face with a cruel grin.

Where was the dog?

[Villain] only gave a chilly laugh.

"I sent her away." Then, sneering: "I can get her back if you want."

[Hero] frantically shook their head.

"I don't have anything!", they wheezed against the hands that had grabbed their wet cheeks. "Please, I don't have anything!"

An awfully triumphant grin formed on the criminals face. They pulled [Hero] closer.

"Huh...? What was that word?", [Villain] crooned in an almost gentle tone of voice.

Only now, [Hero] noticed what they just had said. Blood shot up their face.

"Say it again for me, come on. Or do you want one more round..?", [Villain] purred.

[Hero] sobbed.

No.

No more.

They couldn't take more.

Eventually, the need for survival pushed away the last bit of dignity inside of them, when they whispered:

"I-... P-please don't get it back... Please, [Villain]..."

The criminal pondered for a moment before shrugging their shoulders with a wide grin. "Hm. I guess you really are as useless as you claim. Still... Hearing you beg was worth the shot."

They stood up and gave [Hero] a last painful kick in their stomach.

"Tell me, does your team know what a sissy you are?"

[Hero] remained quiet.

The words hurt.

Hurt more than the kick, the broken rib or the arm.

Hurt, because they were true.

"If you were one of my henchmen, I would've killed you for being such a disgrace. You're lucky that your team is pitiful enough to keep you..."

[Villain] turned to leave, stepping out of the alley and whistling to get the dog. A last aspersion to put the boot in:

"Your weakness is really disgusting... You're pathetic, [Hero]."

[Villain] was long gone when [Hero] finally got up. Cold wind blew on their wet cheeks and their shaking body. Only too slowly, they managed to stop the wheezing. Took too long to get aware of their surroundings.

They were safe.

They were safe now.

With a pang, [Villains] voice echoed through their head:

You're pathetic, [Hero].

They let out a dry sob.

[Villain] was right.

It was true.

It was true and [Hero] knew it.

...They knew it wasn't rational.

#whumperflies #whump writing #whumpee #emotional whump #whump #whumplr #whump drabble #whump art #villain prompt #villain x hero #villain #super hero #hero #hero prompt #supervillain #superheroes #writblr #writing inspo #writing prompts #writing #snippet #cynophobia #dog #sidekick #henchman #fear #panic attack #psycological torture #torture #whump fic

[scribbleb-red]

Neil is a lying liar who lies AU

A Morning AU - with a fab prompt from @djhedy

There’s a new boy in Andrew’s class and there’s something not quite right about him. He’s mouthy and sharp, the kinda kid that should end up in detention three times a week but never does.

They are seven years old, though the new kid looks five, with eyes like a wide open sky. 

He is very pretty - that’s why Andrew notices him first - he looks like a fairy prince. 

And it’s because Andrew is watching that he notices though: the kid is a big bad lying liar who lies. 

The day he joined, the kid said his name was ‘Stefan’ to Mrs Stewart and ‘Chris’ to Mr Brasenose. The next day he was just ‘Neil’ and was given a fond, exasperated warning to keep his make believe in the playground. 

 But the kid didn’t stop lying.

Some lies were big and others were small. 

On a Tuesday, Neil announced that he’d had a huge feast for breakfast - listing all the foods and making everyone’s mouth water with the descriptions. (But Andrew saw how he winced nd held his stomach like it was empty.)

On a Thursday, Neil said he grew up in England and proceeded to spend the next week speaking in a post English accent. (But he later admits at lunch it was just a couple months).

On a Friday, Neil whispers that his house is haunted and he’s scared to go home for the weekend. (There’s a little too much truth shining through those eyes as he talks about the ghost in his house. Andrew doesn’t doubt that he’s scared of something).

The following Monday, Neil explains his bruises by saying he spent the week learning to skateboard. 

“My cousin visited and let me use her skate board. It was pretty rad.” 

(Andrew eyes the split lip, it could be true. But then he sees the hand shape around Neil’s thin wrist and knows the truth: it’s a lie.)

Through it all, Andrew is very quiet and very alone. He knows how this goes - he’s seven years old with more cracks in his heart than a fifty year romantic - but he kinda enjoys Neil’s lies and how he gets away with them.

He particularly likes the outrageous ones: 

My father parachuted into Paris because he’s a spy. He died landing on the Eiffel Tower. I once wrestled a monster. I won but it stole all my mom’s apples. I’m telling the truth. My tongue goes green when I lie. I met Kevin Day.

Andrew won’t pretend he’s not intrigued. He thinks Neil is interesting and his lies are ones he can often hold in the dark, imagining over and over when he’s hurt and wishing to be anyone, anywhere but here.

Plus Neil is funny - he always snarks at the teachers and gets away with the most ridiculous things. Other kids always want to play with him because his games are brilliant - epic journeys, castles and wizards, magical tigers, patchwork villains made from the skin of children. 

Some of Neil’s tall tales are part fairytales, part nightmares.  And Andrew isn’t sure which part Neil actually belongs to. There are times where he’s the brightest, prettiest boy on the playground. And times where his eyes are haunted, mouth wicked cruel. And then there are times like today, where Neil is quiet and blank - a little too familiar to what Andrew sees in the mirror these days, looking like someone has scooped out his insides and left nothing but darkness behind in its wake. 

Andrew almost talks to him then. 

Almost.

But he doesn't. Not for another few weeks. Not until Neil's facing down Greg Doyle - the fight has the vibe of a hissing kitten against a rottweiler. 

 There's no way Neil can win. Greg is a third grader and big beside. 

But Neil doesn't look scared. He looks ferocious.

Not that appearances are going to help. Neil could have the sharpest claws of them all and he'd still weigh nothing against Greg. Neil dodges and ducks the first few blows. He snipes and snarks, that liar's mouth rattling off stories of how he took down a SWAT team once.

But dumb luck can’t do everything and finally Greg gets a thump in, straight across Neil’s jaw - hard enough to make him stagger. 

"So much for a SWAT team, fucking liar." 

There are gasps at the bad word from the growing first and second grade audience. 

"Tongue turns green," Neil says. He spits out blood.

Andrew's had enough when he sees the blood. 

Neil might be an idiot but Andrew knows that there's no way to win this one on alone He steps forward and puts himself between Neil and Greg. 

"Oooo who's this, your boyfriend?" 

Andrew would roll his eyes, but can't be bothered. He is the tallest kid in their year at nearly 4'5. He can look the nine year old Greg in the eye without trouble and he can see the bigger kid calculating his chances of taking Andrew on instead of the skinny little creature that was Neil "motor mouth" Josten.

"Back off," he says. He doesn't inflect. He watched a cartoon where a character spoke completely flat and it was really scary so he figures this might make Greg cower too. "Leave him alone."

Greg nearly steps into Andrew's space but someone has started a whisper: 

Andrew Doe is the kid who killed his parents. Andrew Doe is the kid that burned a house down. Andrew Doe is the kid who took on Bertie Becker from fifth grade and flushed his head down the loo.

It's the last one that gives away the source of these rumours - Neil has started a chain of Chinese whispers. And Greg hears them swirling from mouth to mouth, ear to ear, each more terrifying than the last. It makes Andrew want to grin, so he does. Greg actually whimpers.

The crowd laughs when Greg runs away - he can’t save face when he’s fleeing from a first grader. 

Andrew feels triumphant. 

 Especially when Neil steps up beside him, shy smile and summer sky eyes. “Thanks Andrew.” 

 Neil Josten knows his name, Andrew thinks. Wow wow wow.

Neil’s mouth is swollen but he’s still the prettiest boy in the playground so Andrew doesn’t say anything. 

“Want to play a game?” Neil says. 

 Andrew shrugs. 

 “Yes or no?” Neil says again. “I won’t force you but I’d like to play with you to if you’d like to play with me.”

Andrew thinks about it before saying yes. 

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

*

They start with games - make believe quests and imaginary journeys. They visit magical worlds in their heads and fall about laughing when one of them (mostly Andrew) doesn’t break character even for class.

They become inseparable - two boys with home lives full of ghosts but dreams that can take them anywhere. The lying liar is the better story teller but the stoic hero a better actor. And sometimes in games they hide their truths - violent families and horrifying pasts.

Neil shows Andrew his scars, “I sometimes say they’re from a shark or ninjas and stuff but...” 

“That’s from an iron.” 

“Yeah.”

In turn, Andrew tells Neil about his foster family. 

“We could poison him,” Neil says. “I heard we can make poison from apple cores. Applesenic or something.”

If only it were that simple.

It happens just before the end of the year - summer is nearly there and Andrew can only imagine how fun it'll be having a friend to adventure with for the first time. And then he finds out that his foster family is getting rid of him. He'll be packed off at the end of term.

"I think mom and I will move too," Neil admits. "We never hang around anywhere long." 

"Because of your dad?" 

"Yeah..." Neil plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "He's in prison but mom is still terrified. She moves us a lot." 

"Maybe you can move to the same place as me."

They pretend that the world isn't going to split them apart. 

They pretend that they're going to have the summer together. 

And the year after. 

That they'll start middle school together. 

And be best friends all the way to the end of high school.

And go to the same college.

"We could play exy together all the way through," Neil says. It's his new obsession. 

"I'm not going to play stickball. I prefer playing games with you." 

"We can play games on the court. You can be the fierce dragon and I'll be the knight that looks after you."

"You'd steal all my dragon gold." 

"Would not." 

Andrew raises one eyebrow. 

"Okay, yes I would. I'd be the knight trying to take your gold. But I'd be sneaky about it." Neil's laughter is high and bright. "Does that mean you'll play with me?" 

"Yeah okay," Andrew says.

But it doesn't work out that way. 

Neil vanishes like sun behind a mountain the day after term ends. 

Andrew's bags are packed. He's dumped in a new home near the beach. He hates the beach. He misses Neil the way his lungs miss oxygen when he's stuck in the swell of a wave.

He does play exy though. 

He does it because he figures one day he'll find Neil on a court too. 

He'll either face him down or by some miracle they'll be on the same team. 

He'll find Neil again. He will.  

He tells himself this every day. 

Even when it feels like a lie.

*

Something like an epilogue

Years pass before Andrew hears anything about the little boy who - for two semesters when he was seven - was his best friend. So many years that if it weren't for one polaroid from a cheeky arcade photo-booth, he might have let the idea of Neil go.

But he keeps the photo with him - through home after home, through Cass and Drake and juvie and Aaron and Nicky. He hides it in books, folds it into pockets. Makes sure to hold onto Neil and the memories of those few happy months.

He plays exy. Keeps track of other teams and their players. The sport does nothing for him - but sometimes he closes his eyes and imagines Neil with his flashing blue eyes mischievous smile and that long ago conversation. He remembers why he's doing this.

At 13, he asks Pig Higgins to do a search on Neil's name but the policeman refuses. 

At 14, he goes through the entire directory for California and when that's exhausted, he starts searching every state from West to East. 

He calls 362 Jostens across the USA. None are Neil.

When he turns 16, he uses a fake and has two small dragons outlined on the top of his left shoulder. 

When he's 17 he meets Riko and Kevin Day. He remembers Neil once saying he'd met Kevin and wonders if that was true or just one of Neil's many many lies. He turns the Ravens down.

He signs two weeks later with the Palmetto State Foxes - taking his brother and cousin with him. 

He watches as the lists of drafted players on other teams go up. There's no Chris or Stefan or Abram - not with the matching face Andrew wants. There's no sign of a Neil Josten.

Andrew smooths out the photo at night, slipping it between the pages of Whitman's Leaves of Grass every morning. 

Maybe it's time to put the memory of Neil to rest, but he can't. 

Neil is one of those beautiful ghosts that he can't help but hold onto. The one unspoilt thing in his memory.

Unspoilt, that is, until a Monday when Kevin Day announces he's recruiting a nobody from a nothing town in the middle of nowhere Arizona and the nobody's name is Neil.

"Neil what?" 

"Josten. Want to see his tape?" 

"Nope," Andrew says. But his heart is a thunderdrum, hope cutting through the medicated hyper mania easy as a knife through butter. "Actually yes, gimme the tapes little birdie." 

Kevin grimaces at his nickname but says nothing until they’re watching the tape. And then he can’t shut up about the player’s potential, his speed and natural flare on the Court. 

It's not Andrew’s Neil. 

But it is too. 

The striker on the court is a brunette with dark eyes but he runs like Neil. He's ferocious and plays like it's the last thing keeping him afloat. He has that little flick of his racquet before he goes to score, a telltale that would never get passed Andrew but no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Andrew says as much to Kevin. 

"Exactly," Kevin says. "That's why we have to have him."

So they go to Millport. 

And Andrew knows Neil well enough to anticipate that he'll run. 

Knows him well enough to trip him with a racquet and catch him as he falls. 

Neil hasn't grown much either - he's still small and sharp and far too pretty to be real.

"Stupid little liar, you should watch where you put your feet." Andrew wishes he were sober. Wishes he didn't have to greet Neil with this grin splitting his face. 

Wishes wishes wishes. 

But his one wish has already come true, Neil is here with him. Warm and lithe and alive.

"Drew?" Neil says, but the word is choked and breathless. Neil’s voice does something to Andrew’s insides and Andrew feels the muscles beneath his hands warring between flight and relief. 

"Neil," he replies. 

"Oh my god, Drew." 

And then Neil's arms are around Andrew's shoulders, and his face is turning into his neck and Andrew realises they're hugging and he shouldn't want to hug back but he does. He does because it's Neil. His friend. His pipe dream. The little boy with the pathological need to lie and an imagination that could create whole worlds from a handful of dust. 

He hugs Neil tight. 

Never wants to let go.

Kevin of course ruins the moment. 

But Neil isn't going to say no to the Foxes. Not now. 

And even though Andrew can recognise the lies slipping passed Neil's lips, he doesn't tell Wymack. Doesn't call out his idiot's new ouchies. Doesn't answer any questions when Kevin demands answers.

"Sign," he speaks only to Neil. He means, Stay with me. "We can play a game. Yes or no?" 

"Yes," Neil says and his smile is a little wild, a lot wonderful. "Let's play a game."

The End.

#andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #kind of a kid fic #morning au #andrew and neil meet in first grade #neil is a pathological liar #andrew thinks he's amazing #andrew has probably loved neil since they were seven in this #does that make them childhood sweethearts? #andrew is tallest in the class #neil is a mouthy little shit #pre canon #pre slash #squint and there's romance #promot fic #in every world they're meant to find each other let's be honest here #truth for truth #yes or no

[betweengenesisfrogs]

The Triumph of the Marginalia

Marginalia, n.:

1 : notes or embellishments in the margins (as in a book)

2 : nonessential items

-Troll OED

Is it just me, or is Nepeta and Equius’s arc the most slept-upon piece of brilliance in all of Homestuck?

A brilliance, might I add, that culminates in possibly the most triumphant, fulfilling emotional moment in the entire work:

https://www.homestuck.com/story/7928

*stands back and beholds its majesty while from the background comes the sound of James Roach brutally murdering ska*

No, but actually, I mean this 100% unironically, and by the end of this post, I think you’ll agree with me.

By now, I think we all understand the Act 6 double metaphor: the series of temporal loops and universes that Lord English commands is paralleled with, and in fact totally identical to, the narrative of Homestuck. Our characters’ lives exist within this context. They struggle to escape it, and are defined both by it and by the rejection of it.

Enter Nepeta.

The metaphorical meaning of Nepeta in Homestuck is irrelevance, and that’s why she’s the most relevant character in any discussion.

Nepeta was one of the characters killed off during the Murderstuck arc. Hussie argued that she was perfect for this role. In fact, I believe he said something like “Nepeta is sweet, but if you look up the dictionary definition of ‘expendable character,’ you’ll see a picture of Nepeta playing with a ball of yarn and looking very cute.” She’s an endearing combination of shipper girl and apex predator, but not one of your Vriskas or Terezis in being a driver of the plot. Hussie, it seems, created her just to round out the troll cast. He described one of his purposes in Murderstuck as being to axe some of the less necessary trolls to reduce the scope of his character list.

Except that didn’t really happen, did it?

Like a cat with nine lives, Nepeta just keeps coming back.

Equius is another addition to the troll cast who gets pushed away from the main action. He was a character-writing challenge: how do you make someone who’s gross, uncomfortable, and racist kind of likable anyway? I’d argue Hussie succeeded, in large part because of Equius’s relationship with Nepeta. By the time you finish with Hivebent, you’ll probably have a little fondness for their moraillegiance. And if that doesn’t do it, the conversation that serves as their swansong in Equius: Seek the Highblood will tear your heartstrings to shreds.

Because Equius dies, tragically clownmurdered. There was, at the time, some stink over this from Equius fans. Would he have really let himself be killed so easily? Hussie countered: yes, and it was the most in-character thing he could have done. He died doing what he loved: being asphyxiated erotically and horrifically by a superior. Truly, there could be no more fitting end to his character than that.

And yet.

No sooner did Hussie complete his self-appointed story cleanup challenge than he immediately began to undo his own work. It’s almost as if, in declaring his intention to own those who preferred more characters to narrative economy, he immediately had to own himself??

By the time we get even a little way into Act 6, we’re deep in the dreambubble landscape, meeting dead characters left and right. And who should show up there but Equius and Nepeta? Equius attempting to get it on with a bunch of Aradias, who dump him. And Nepeta, living out her romantic dreams as a representative of a timeline where she got together with Karkat. They both appear as symbols of this deadness, this irrelevance. Except that that brings them back into the story, into the spotlight – the opposite of where they’re supposed to be!

Like many bits of commentary, Hussie continues to incorporate the metaphor Nepeta=Irrelevance into Homestuck. Karkat’s remark on their journey that he would love to meet “FIFTY FUCKING NEPETAS” and embark on “NEPETAQUEST” alludes to formspring remarks to the effect that, no, Homestuck was not going to have much time for the minor characters. Except it clearly did.

Why couldn’t the narrative let the meowrails go? Was it that despite the economy of Murderstuck, something was still incomplete? After all, one of Equius’s charms was that he appeared to be growing into a less repressed, kinder person. In Seek the Highblood, we see him letting his guard down enough to roleplay with Nepeta for a change. Their love for each other: wasn’t that ultimately what could redeem Equius in our eyes? So his dying and thus failing to protect her–isn’t that something that should be addressed?

You could imagine many a Nepeta and Equius fan saying this to Hussie back in 2011.

But Hussie was already saying it to himself.

The duo come roaring back into the story in the Trickster mode arc, mid Act 6, thanks to Gamzee’s ridiculous resurrections. True, Nepeta is still reduced as part of Fefeta, the character formed from killed-off girls who never speaks onscreen. But doesn’t using that fact as a running gag kind of draw our attention to it? Doesn’t the fact that Fefeta talks to Roxy constantly offscreen inform us that once we get outside the frame of the narrative, Nepeta has a rich inner life and countless stories to tell?

And it’s here that Equius gets something he never got in his original “arc:” the chance to apologize to Nepeta. You’d be forgiven for missing it since there’s so much else going on at the time, but he does, while fused with AR. Here’s what you’d miss, though: he’s grown as a person in the afterlife. He’s come to regret that moment of weakness, where his fetish kept him from protecting his moirail. Impossible as it seems, he’s continuing his character arc.

The scene ends with Fefeta exploding (she’s also, after all, dealing with Eridan), but it leaves us with a tantalizing question:

Will Nepeta forgive Equius? Is there even a plausible time and space in that story when she could respond to his words?

Do you see what’s happening here? Instead of being erased, Nepeta and Equius are starting to slip the bounds of the story that killed them. They leap in and out of the frame, half-mythical figures. Marginalized, they write their own stories in the margins. They exist in complete defiance of the original logic of Homestuck.

Lord English is an alt-Author figure, a dark, brutal reflection of narrative control and narrative necessity. His world, in which horrible choices are necessary, in which the alpha timeline is a ticking clock leading inexorably to his manifestation, is one that beats down people not deemed important enough by his narrative. Which makes it identical to the one we’re reading. Throw all the unnecessary characters in the trash. Kill them off, if it suits my purposes. The world doesn’t need Nepeta.

Which is precisely why it does. Because isn’t defying Lord English the entire point? Isn’t it what Homestuck reveals as truly heroic?

What might Nepeta be capable of?

Let’s talk about two other victims of English’s forces of marginalization. Davesprite might be the most quintessential example. He teaches us what the alpha timeline is and how it works, by going back to fix a doomed timeline and submitting to being doomed himself. Except he merges with a bird and avoids that fate. Okay, but he clearly gets killed off fighting Jack in Jade: Enter. Except he comes back and hangs out with Jadesprite. Okay, but he dies in the planetsplode in the Retcon. Nope, he comes back from that, too. Huh. He keeps slipping the fate decreed for him by – who else? Lord English.

But it’s a struggle, clearly. He’s caught up in various cycles of guilt and shame. Over being “not the real Dave.” Over his feeling that he has to be a hero in the sense Bro demanded he be. Hussie describes Davesprite as fitting the “way of the unbroken sword:” his experiences have led him to believe in being strong and capable at the expense of all else, in contrast with the other Dave, whose belief in Bros’ toxic ideas is beginning to slip – the “way of the broken sword.” And where did Bro get his toxic ideas from? At least in part, the whispering voice of the soul of Lord English.

Now we turn to Dirk. Like Dave, Dirk has a marginalized, “less important” splinter self but it’s more of a pressing concern. AR shows Dirk’s darker side: exhibiting manipulative tendencies that human Dirk is trying to move away from. He’s also a copy removed from humanity, who feels an understandable amount of disillusionment about being removed from physical existence and his own identity. But as much as Dirk may splinter, like his dumb anime sword, he never breaks. What this means in the symbolic language of Homestuck is that Dirk lives fully, instinctually, in the way of the sword. He believe in a world of hard choices, masculine heroism, and necessity. Ultimately, this, too, is part of what makes Bro so harmful to Dave. In AR and Davesprite, we have a strange parallel: two splinter selves, both of whom are enmeshed in the logic of LE.

Except AR, unlike Davesprite…kind of is LE.

What is Lord English composed of? Well, there’s Caliborn, the most unrepentant shithead of all time. There’s Gamzee, embodiment of horrifying clownery. And then there’s AR, a version of Dirk even more removed from the person he wants to be.

And…Equius?

Allow me a moment to get really indulgent and take a big puff on my Homestuck scholar’s pipe.

The metaphorical meaning of Equius in Homestuck is: sort of growing out of being a creepy racist.

Or maybe let’s say: the opportunity to do that. We said that Equius was on the verge of being redeemed (even had been, in the eyes of many readers). What does it mean to stick him in with Lord English’s souls? It means two things:

1) Equius is a product of his society, which was shaped by Doc Scratch, aka by Lord English, both of whom are kind of him, but Scratch picks up on his traits especially. This is a recognition of that fact: the part of him that sucks is, itself, Lord English in a dizzying loop.

2) Equius’s story is a tragedy. It is the story of a kid who started to escape his society’s tendencies, but was sucked back in by the evil force behind them.

Although…maybe that’s not the whole story.

Because both Equius and AR aren’t really that bad. AR’s pretty understandable, and by no means beyond the possibility of goodness. And the combination of the two? Honestly, pretty harmless. They counter each other’s worst tendencies by devolving into a weird goofball. In fact, AR even says he wants to do something heroic: to sacrifice himself for something really important. He does, kind of, mustering a last-ditch robohorse assault on Caliborn. But at the same time, this is the substance of his tragedy. A hero whose defeat of a great evil forces him to become the substance of that evil. Which could not be a more fitting summary of how these characters function in their story.

But maybe that’s still not the whole story.

Enter Davepeta.

At first glance, the creation of Davepeta seems like Hussie’s most batshit troll move yet. I feel pretty confident in saying that even those who predicted either of these characters returning didn’t see that one coming. However, a few pages of Davepeta’s presence reveals a fundamental truth:

Davepeta is fucking amazing.

In them, Davesprite’s depressive moods are buoyed up by Nepeta’s upbeat optimism. Nepeta’s reclusive shyness is balanced by Dave’s tendency toward brash banter. Both of them gain confidence from being the new person they are. They quickly let go of ideas inherited from the world that kept them from self-knowledge and happiness. Dave, his toxic masculinity; Nepeta, her fear.

A great point I’ve seen made is how much Jasprose and Davepeta resemble fantasy selves for Rose and Dave: indulgent, technicolor manifestations of people they could be if they let go of inhibitions and limitations. But I think Davepeta is the most unambiguously positive of the two.

The metaphorical meaning of Davepeta in Homestuck?

Growth.

Not giving a fuck about what the world thinks. The world, aka Lord English. Because Lord English could never have predicted that his machinations would also spawn a confident, powerful fusion of two beings he had discarded as totally irrelevant.

They’re also a multicolored non-binary furry, so that’s even more points in the pissing off shitheads column.

They are someone Lord English never conceived of, never could have conceived of, but which lay as potential within his domain all along.

And if Lord English is a reflection of the author, of what Hussie feels one has to destroy or sacrifice, than Davepeta is an indulgence existing in defiance of all that.

And this makes Davepeta the most powerful person of all.

They are the light at the end of the tunnel. They are the person you could be, if you could get past your mental shackles and just grow. It may not be possible to ever get there as a mortal human, may only be for a godlike sprite, but striving to be like them matters, is purpose and fulfilment enough.

And they love ARquius.

Nepeta believed in Equius, believed he could grow, and was growing. So as much as ARquius traps himself in a Lord English loop of his own making – grown, perhaps, out of Dirk’s belief that there should be a loop, that importance is admirable—Davepeta pulls from him, in his last scene, his finest qualities. His love.

Equius asks forgiveness again, and this time, Nepeta’s able to give it. Davepeta easily accepts ARquius’s apology, an apology which never could have existed within the confines of a normal narrative. A reconciliation that both of them fought for by defying their narrative, by existing outside it. By being not the trolls who lived and died, but their broader, conceptual selves, who exist beyond lifetimes. Beyond the comic page. And they consummate that reconciliation with that most cherished and loving of gestures:

A hug.

And even as this is Equius and Nepeta’s reconciliation, it’s also Dirk and Dave’s. Which, I should mention, is also taking place, simultaneously and circumstantially simultaneously, just below. It’s a more difficult one, certainly, especially as filtered through the splinters of Davesprite and AR. Here forgiveness is not quite the right word. But – knowledge, and recognition, and a kind of peace. It’s Davesprite’s chance to reunite with the part of his brother he loved, while also being a person who’s grown beyond him. And it’s AR’s chance to be loved.

Oh, sure, the art is ridiculous, the pose absurd. But that’s what makes it sublime.

I mean, what did you think that Sbahj comic was really about?

A boy distancing himself from his feelings through irony, never acknowledging that the story he’s telling is about two bros who desperately want to hug each other, but don’t know how.

Here’s the hug.

I want to dip into Epilogues territory for a moment, but it’s territory which is fairly well implied by Davepeta’s statements and role in Collide. The Meat Epilogue, I think, only illuminates what was already there.

Lord English is uniquely vulnerable to Davepeta.

And why shouldn’t he be? They, like so much else in Homestuck, are a consequence of his actions spiraling far beyond his control. But it’s more than that. Davepeta is finally able to lay the unbroken sword to rest by following the “prophecy” about Dave defeating Lord English. On the one hand, that’s kind of what happened. But it’s also completely different from what English intended, antithetical to his desires and goals. Which makes the victory all the sweeter. But at the end of the day, Davepeta doesn’t fight for the reasons Davesprite did. They’re free of that, now. Instead, they fight from a place of genuine compassion. Because Davesprite, like Dave, knows the true meaning of being a hero: caring about one’s friends.

But the most important thing about Davepeta is that they know Lord English, on a level that perhaps neither he nor they recognize. Both AR and Equius are in there, and both are capable of redemption. It’s only Gamzee and Caliborn who are truly beyond it.

How does Davepeta defeat Lord English?

With a hug.

They wrap their claws around him, and carry him into the sun like a piece of garbage. It’s an aggressive hold, but it’s also effectively an embrace.

And I have to wonder: in those final moments, did they sense a connection there? Did Equius and Dirk stir somewhere within Lord English? Did they give him a moment’s pause? Resist him? Make it just the tiniest bit easier for Davepeta to do their work?

If so, then that, too, is heroism.

At the very least, it’s circumstantially simultaneous with the hug we see in Act 6, and so it carries the same message:

Redemption.

Not for the shitheads, but for those who wanted to be better.

And if this isn’t enough, there’s a third reconciliation here, too: between author and reader, or to put it in other terms, author and character.

If Lord English is a shadow of the author, what part of the author can be redeemed? Maybe not the destructive, antagonistic urges. But the part that plans and designs and philosophizes as Dirk does. That part of Hussie wanted Davepeta to be there, to strike that final blow, and made it happen.

Because, when you get right down to it, as much as Hussie pretends to be antagonistic toward his readers and the characters they enjoy, it’s the fans, the shippers, the furries, those whose hearts go out to a cute, shy cat girl that he most celebrates.

Hussie fucking loves Nepeta.

Nepeta and Equius are, sneakily, the best characters in Homestuck, because they understand its fundamental message: that to succeed in Homestuck is to defy Homestuck. They defy everything it throws at them, and somehow, improbably, come out on top.

All of this is there on that page, a whole edifice of storytelling culminating in that singular, grand, supremely indulgent expression, a feast of looping leitmotif and color and imagery and meme and sound. It’s all there, if you know where to look.

Nepeta and Equius love each other, and that’s pretty fucking great.

See? I told you.

<> Ari

#nepeta #equius #davepeta #homestuck analysis #arquius #meowrails #davesprite #hal #trying to get out ahead of hussie's commentary for a change #happy 4/13 :33 #<3 #stay tuned #feast of homestuck 2020

[dented-nado]

Well I mean, since you asked for requests - “If you want me, come and get me.” Maybe with the trinity? I can picture Bruce saying it as Diana and Clark try and force him to go to bed like a normal person 😂 or you know, whatever strikes your fancy!

[[HELL YES. Bruce is slightly ooc because he’s incredibly sleep deprived and I saw it as an opportunity for him to act a little loopy lol. That’s how I am at least when I’m very sleep deprived, so pulling from personal experience here. Enjoy!!]]

“It’s only been one night. Give me a break.”

“Bruce, Honey, I know its hard to tell in Gotham, especially in the winter, but it’s been several nights you haven’t been getting any sleep.” Diana pulled the chair Bruce was sitting in away from the bat-computer against Batman’s wishes.

Bruce was sure she and Clark were exaggerating, it couldn’t have been that long. Besides, he wasn’t even tired, not even a little bit.

“I’m fine, you two can stop clucking over me like hens, thanks.”

“I’ll cluck all I want when it comes to your sleeping schedule mister.” Clark declared firmly.

“Especially not after you convinced me that some humans can be ‘totally fine’ not sleeping for several days and making me feel like I wasn’t quite so weird for a split second before that all came crashing down.” Clark crossed his arms, pouting just a little bit. He didn’t seem actually that annoyed but…

Admittedly, he still felt a little bit bad about that.

“I know… I lied when I said some humans. I meant me, specifically, because I’m fine, I’m great, I’m good, I’m bursting with youthful vigor now both of you let me work. There’s crime afoot.” He declared, trying to pull his chair back forward, only to frown as he realized Diana still had an iron grip on it, so instead he stood up and walked back to the computer instead.

“Bruce, your being ridiculous… and you said "There’s crime afoot” out loud. You’re tired.“ Diana said exasperated with a hand on her head.

"Also, no offense sweet bean… but you look like you’ve been through hell, you have probably the most intense looking bags under your eyes I’ve ever seen.” Clark said, trying to be gentle but serious.

“I look fucking awesome.” Bruce protested in annoyance, not even sure what he was really doing on the computer outside of looking busy. “You’ve heard Harv, I’m a fucking pretty boy. And I feel fan-god-damn-tastic.”

Clark and Diana gave each other a look that said “Yep, he’s lost it.” That Bruce didn’t much appreciate.

He forgot what he was even doing, his new ultimate goal was to not go to sleep no matter what because he was f i n e dammit.

“Bruce, please come to bed. Besides, you know, we’ll be right there with you, we miss you.” Clark pleaded, giving Bruce very tempting puppy dog eyes.

“We can spend a little time tiring you out if you want Bat.” Diana said, soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

Tempting. But he was the god damn batman, so… “No, no bribing me doing the horizontal tango, I have a job to do.”

“The horizontal…” Diana began.

“T a n g o. Bruce, pl ea se , you need to sleep.” Clark finished.

“Why can’t I use creative words without you two thinking it means I’m tired, hmm? Clark’s called me a bean before, I am but a bean, let me live my bean life.” He momentarily felt a little dizzy and a little like he was loosing track of time and space, but regardless he made his way to the bat-mobile to go… somewhere…. who knows.

“Oh-ho-ho no, absolutely not, you are not driving like this.” Clark said immediately super-speeding in front of Bruce acting as a big warm teddy bear-like wall between Bruce and his car.

“I can do what I want. I’m rich, I’m bi, I’m batman, and I fight crime. Now ”scoot your boot.“ as they say where you come from.” Bruce said, trying to move around Clark who was so freaking fast for some reason.

“I have never said scoot your boot.” Clark said with raised eyebrows.

“Really?” Bruce asked somewhat deliriously. “Seems like a cowboy thing…” He  mumbled while moving the cowl up slightly so he could rub at his eye.

“…Would you come to bed if I dressed like a cowboy?”

Tempting. But not even saving a horse and riding a cowboy could get him to give up on his current stubborn crusade that he couldn’t even remember why he had to be on so bad… why had he been up in the first place??

“…No, so yeehaw your ass out of my  w a y .”

“No way, and your yee-haw-ing your a… s…… booty up to bed now,  you’re completely delirious.”

“Fine… maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, or why right now, but I’m the world’s greatest detective, I’ll figure it out.” Bruce grumbled in annoyance.

He started walking back to his computer since he apparently couldn’t go to his car, but when he tried to sit back down he nearly yelped as it seemed Diana had thought ahead, so he had sat down right into her lap and now her very strong muscular arms were now wrapped around his waist.

“Gotcha.”

“Fu c k.” Bruce mumbled.

This was quite the predicament Batman had gotten himself into! Would he be able to figure out how to escape the strong arms of the Wonder Woman? Tune in next time, same bat-time, same bat-channel!

… Bruce squirmed for a moment grumbling before bowing his head.

“Fine… you’ve won, let’s go to bed…” Bruce conceded.

“That’s more like it” Diana said with a sigh as she gingerly let go.

That was when Bruce took his chance to escape with a triumphant and slightly evil laugh as he took off into the depths of the bat-cave.

“BruCE!” Diana chided.

Bruce just continued cackling, dropping a smoke bomb as he completely forgot that would do nothing against Clark’s super vision as he decided to head for the bat-plane. Good thing he had several bat-themed vehicles.

“Bruce get back here!” He heard Clark call sternly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt!” Diana yelled.

“If you want me, come and get me!” Bruce taunted with an incredibly delirious smile, not realizing he was about to run into a wall.

He would have, if Clark had not been in front of him again in an instant, causing Bruce to collide with Clark’s chest rather than a rock hard wall. Clark scooped Bruce up into his arms despite the Bat’s protesting and flew him back over to where Diana had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot.

She softly flicked the tip of Bruce’s nose to get his attention and to stop flailing. “Now are you going to be a good bat and change out of the suit yourself, or are we going to have to rip you out of it kicking and screaming?”

Bruce frowned, before getting another idea and perking up slightly. “…There are other ways of getting me out of it~” He said putting on his flirtiest Brucie voice.

“Nice try B, but you blew your chance at the 'horizontal tango’ when you decided to bolt like that.” Clark said looking down at Bruce now with his own smirk on his face.

“Aw, nuts…” Bruce grumbled in surrender, going limp as Clark set him down, pulling off the cowl as he knew he was defeated.

“Your not getting any nuts B, keep up.” Clark said absolutely delighted.

Diana rolled her eyes. “You pick now to make a joke like that Kansas?”

Clark grinned. “Judging by how sleepy he is he won’t even remember that I made my first ever joke like that in front of him.”

“How devilish of you.” Diana commented with an amused smile.

Bruce grumbled as he stripped off the rest of the batsuit. “I wanted nuts though.” He mumbled. “nuts sound good. I like nuts… especially cashews.”

“Your right, he’s definitely not going to remember.” Diana commented, taking Bruce’s hand once he was down to the black undershirt and thin pants he wore under the suit.

Clark put his hand on Bruce’s back as the moved out of the cave. “Come on sleepy-head, off to an adventure called 'bed-time’.”

“But I wanted to fightttt…” Bruce slurred slightly.

“You can fight exaustion by sleeping.” Diana suggested.

“I’ll kick exaust-ian’s a s s.”

“That’s the spirit.” Clark laughed as he gingerly lifted the incredibly tired bat onto his bed before going to get ready for bed himself along with Diana.

“What are we going to do with that man?” Diana whispered, unable to help a small smile, after they had changed into their sleep clothes and came back to find Bruce completely zonked out , snoring slightly with his mouth hanging open.

“We’ll force him to have a normal sleep schedule yet.” Clark whispered, getting into bed and pulling Bruce close in order to spoon him.

Diana joined in on the other side, snuggling Bruce’s head against her chest and putting her arm around both him and Clark as she got settled.

“Our new mission?” Diana suggested.

“Our new mission, will kick ’'exaust-ian’s” butt.“ Clark whispered with a grin.

Diana had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"You’ll make a joke about Bruce wanting 'nuts’ but you’ll never say the word "ass”, will you?“ She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope.”

They shared a quiet chuckle before settling in to fall asleep themselves, their very tired, but at least now very asleep bat cuddled between them.

#causeimamerican #superwonderbat #superbat #superwonder #wonderbat #prompt fill #my writing #<3

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame

Chapter 11

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot

Warnings: Denied/Ruined Orgasms, Restraints, Vibrator, Tit-Fucking, Slight Male Receiving Oral...?, Abuse/Manipulation of Power, Crooked Power Dynamics, Slight Choking, Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Slight Bloodplay?, Degredation, Somewhat Dubious Consent/Hypnosis, Possessiveness, Vampires (Biting, Blood-Sucking, Reference to Death), Language

Words: 8.2K

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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the muse touched me inappropriately with this one, alright lads i apologize in advance lmao

The apartment is…

Unextraordinary.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting as you’re lead up the stairs, through the plain, industrial doorframe and into the entrance hallway. But it isn’t what you’re met with. Somewhat cluttered with odd paraphernalia and boxes, but clean, and entirely unimpressive. The ceilings are low, the light fixtures scarce, and the floor is scuffed in places. You think to Jin’s house and it’s jarring, the difference between the two.

The boys file in ahead of you, Yoongi disappearing into the first door to your immediate left without raising his eyes from the floor. There’s a brief glance of the dark interior and mechanical lights before he shuts it behind himself. Hoseok and Namjoon both continue into the main area—a combination kitchen and living room—wherein Hoseok drifts towards the worn couch taking up the majority of the space. He drapes himself over it, resuming his hazed, relaxed stare into space.

“Don’t sit there too long,” Namjoon warns, tossing the keys into a bowl on the counter with a clink. They almost slide out and he moves to catch them, but the irregular sides convince the set back into the middle just as his fingers stretch out. It looks like someone’s art project, glazed weird colors and somewhat misshapen. It’s been broken, and then carefully glued back together, judged by the lines crisscrossing over the surface, the chipped edge. “You’ll get the couch moldly.”

Hoseok hums.

“So,” Namjoon continues, and you look to him as he addresses you. “This is it. Home sweet home.”

“It’s…” You start, hesitant, unsure of how to phrase what you’re thinking in a way that doesn’t sound...mean?

“It’s not Jin’s carnival house, but the rent is definitely cheaper,” His eyebrows raise with a dismissive look as he shirks his jacket and throws it at a nearby bar char.

“Carnival house?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t Jin’s house like…a mansion?”

Namjoon grins, his eyes squishing when his cheeks push upwards. Is there a joke you’re not getting?

“It’s an abandoned theme park hotel.”

“…what?”

“You really thought we could afford a mansion?”

“I—I didn’t really…think about it.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. We bought it ages ago. The park is condemned, but the hotel is fine. It never got big so the price on it wasn’t too bad after a couple lifetimes of saving up. Plus, you know. Abandoned. It was perfect for us.” His smile fades. He blinks, turning away quickly and busying himself with taking his shoes off. “When it was all of us.” He adds, quiet.

“You and Jin have history, right?” You jump on the chance to ask directly, “I keep hearing about it, bits and pieces. What—”

“So let me give you the tour,” Namjoon interrupts. He doesn’t look you in the eyes as he straightens, gesturing for you to follow him under the arch leading to the right. You decide you won’t push the matter, not when he has that kind of expression furrowing his brow. He’s not even the fun kind of upset.

The fun kind? What? You roll your eyes briefly, away from him so he doesn’t notice, banishing even just the beginning thought of whatever the ‘fun kind of upset’ is.

 “Bathroom’s through here, all the way on the end.” He strides down the hallway and opens it as you trail after him. Just a regular bathroom, maybe half the size of the ones at Jin’s, toilet, sink, shower. There’s an odd kind of relief that you feel at noting that the shower is not, in fact, big enough to hold more than one person.

“And this is the other room.” He continues, leaning back out of the bathroom and opening the door to its left so that you can peer in. After a beat, he walks inside, arms wide as if showcasing it. The first thing that strikes you is that it doesn’t look fully moved into. Boxes, just like in the living room, shoved under the desk, set precariously on top of the nightstand. The bed covers are rumpled, but hastily pulled up in a semblance of order. And the second thing you notice is that there, on the overflowing bookshelf, you immediately spot a familiar face. A ceramic frog statue. He’s wearing a hat and brandishing a fishing pole. His painted eyes are slightly crossed.

“There’s only two bedrooms?” You ask after a moment, looking away from the strange creature. “For all three of you?”

Namjoon shrugs, reaching to scratch at the back of his neck, lips pursing. “We don’t usually sleep at the same times, so we kind of all have an agreement. We all need space sometimes, but we usually use the other room for that. It’s got a computer.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“We make do.”

You make a sympathetic noise. Something sparks in you, something more understanding than you expected. Like dorm rooms. It reminds you of your dorm room at university. It always felt so crowded, and the privacy was…

Namjoon steps forward and your half-memory dissolves in on itself as he doesn’t stop moving, crowding you against the wall. You try to be indignant that he’d wreck another of your rare returning memories but the look he gives you makes you hesitate.

 “Do you have a minute?” he asks. His eyes are completely unreadable, but his tone strikes below your belt and you have to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

“I can check my schedule,” you squeak. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t help.

“Cute.” He doesn’t look amused. “I’d like to talk to you about the way you talked to me in the car earlier.”

“I don’t think I’d like to talk about that right now.”

“Somewhere better to be?” His voice is so low.

“Anywhere?” You offer, shrinking at the embers in his expression.

“You disrespected me. In front of my coven.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You shouldn’t have asked it.”

 Momentarily, the spell breaks, from the sheer audacity of him and your knee-jerk reaction that rises to spill from behind your teeth. You frown, shifting back so that you can look at him properly, the back of your head resting against the wall.

“That’s really fucking unfair.”

Satisfaction claims your chest when it’s his turn to balk, his face turning incredulous, lips parting, brows raising. His head cocks, as if to consider his reply, and you take the respite to continue.

“You can’t tell me I’m a slut one minute and then beg your comrade not to brainwash me the next. It’s not fucking fair. You can’t have it both ways.”

“You have a real mouth on you when you’re awake.”

You surge forward, pressing a triumphant finger into his chest and ignoring how muscular the swell of it is. “You see? There you go again. ‘When I’m awake’.”

“I’m not going to give you a lot of warnings.”

“Answer my question.”

Namjoon stares down at you. You stare up. Finally, he blinks, wrapping one large hand around your knuckles and pulling your finger off of him.

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s bullshit, Namjoon.”

“I’m not wrong,” he continues to argue, but he’s still holding your hand by your side, distracted. “Haze can’t put you in danger—“

“That is also bullshit—“

“—That you don’t ask for. I notice you didn’t tell anyone to stop in the diner. I gave you plenty of opportunity to.”

You hesitate, and he reclaims the space you took when you stepped forward, crowding you again.

“You didn’t tell Hoseok to stop in the car. You didn’t run away from Jin’s.”

“I…I was hazed—“ You’re faltering and he picks up on it way too quickly.

“Right as you almost jumped out his window.”

You search his eyes, looking for your out. Your argument. You don’t find it. It’s hard to keep tabs on it when he’s staring at you like that, the surface of your skin prickling with phantom touches, wish fulfillment and dark desires stirring inside you. His expression clouds back over, head craning so that you can feel his breath on your cheek, hear his rumble in your ear.

“So you hesitated.”

“…I’m not—“

“And I’m not judging. I like sluts.”

“…f-fuck you.”

His hand snatches your chin and forces it up, daring you to meet his gaze again. A humorless smirk is growing at the corners of his mouth as he regards you dismissively and it sends dangerous thrills skittering down your frame.

“Only if you begged.”

Fuck him. Fuck him. But his teeth peeking out from behind his plush lips has part of you thinking of kisses and bites—god, especially bites. Your throat has gone dry. His fingers at your chin, so close to the mark he made on your neck, what feels like so long ago. It’s so easy to be mad at him, to be angry with his excuses and rhetoric, his fucking high horse, but the way he watches you tremble with rage is just that little bit off from calculating.

He’s getting off on this. And it sucks that you are too.

You rip your hand away from him, pressing forward with a sudden rush of adrenaline, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, only staggering back briefly, but it’s enough for you to turn on your heel and rush for the door. One step, all of your weight behind it, mind reeling, making a beeline for the hallway. Your thoughts spin dizzingly, fingers reaching for the handle, rush down through the door, you can make it. You can make it.

You know that you won’t.

Iron circling around your waist, your momentum carrying you into the warmth, the unyielding muscle of his arm, effortlessly swinging you around, and your feet leave the ground entirely, the world tilting, soft mattress and blankets cushioning your less-than-graceful fall, legs akimbo, tangled in the hoodie, world darkening when he blocks out the light above you, and you screech, smothered by soft skin, heat, lips pressing into yours bruisingly. Your fingers scrabble for his hair, coiling in the damp strands, wrapping it around your knuckles, tugging rough when his tongue licks into the cavern of your mouth, smothering you, filling you with his scent and his taste.

His kiss is nothing like Yoongi’s. There’s no tenderness, not soft touches. It almost hurts, the way he drags his teeth against you, sucks harshly, pushes you down into the cushion. He’s pinning you, to command your movements to a halt even as you squirm, raking down the front of his own hoodie to knead at your breast, pinch and tug mercilessly. He ruts against you like an animal in heat. And as he growls, you’re hissing, snarling, rutting back, biting and roiling with him, impatient and angry and hot.

He breaks for breath first, with a groan deep in his chest, dragging his tongue across your bruised lips as you pant.

“Are you hazed right now?” he growls through his teeth, calloused palm slipping to your neck. He squeezes, sharp, and when you gasp throatily, he eases off but only just. “Hmm? Are you hazed right now?” he repeats, low, grinding his crotch against your center. The hoodie rides up over your thighs, and the rough fabric chafes against your pussy as you buck away from the sensation. “You’re so fucking wet, think I didn’t notice? Tell me again.”

“I’m not a slut,” you spit.

He laughs, and you could tear it out of his throat. “Good girl.”

“Would it even matter if I told you to stop? Would you?” you bite, wrapping one leg around his midsection to pull him closer, and you don’t know now if the dark patch forming on his jeans is you or him.

“Is that what you want?” Namjoon nips at your lip a little too hard, pulling it with him, and it makes you arch. “You want me to stop?”

“No.” You answer a little too quickly, tugging at his shirt, desperate to pull it off him, but he doesn’t comply and only hovers, nosing into your neck as he thrusts against you. You settle for clawing up his sides under the fabric of his shirt, feeling at the muscle there, trailing up his ribs.

“What do you want, then? Hmm?”

A huff leaves you, turning into a whimper when he bites teasingly at your jaw.

“You want my fingers again?” Long, searching digits trace the bottom of the hoodie, pushing it up and away from your lower half entirely, and you can feel them ghosting against your belly, resting to hold your hips to the bed. You have to swallow down by force the plea that nearly escapes you.

“My tongue? You want me to lick you up?” Hot wetness, licking a stripe to your clavicle, dipping inside the hollow of your throat, swirling. You shudder, trying to shove him closer, but he resists with a deft movement.

“My cock?” It drips from his mouth so heavily, so thick with promise. His hips move to punctuate his words, digging into your pelvis, and you can feel him. He’s so hard, and the outline of his member snatches the air out of your lungs. “You want me to stuff your greedy cunt full of my cum?”

He chuckles again and it’s breathless, as if taking him by surprise. “You’re so greedy.” He leans back to better survey your flushed face.

“Yes.” You hiss, through gritted teeth.

“Yes what.”

“Yes, sir. Yes, sir, I want your cock. I want your fingers and your tongue. I want everything you can give me because I’m greedy. Please, sir.” You growl. The storm building in your head, in your cunt, is so loud you can’t think but for the pounding of your heart, the absent clenching around nothing. You need him to touch you, kiss you, bite you.

He barks another laugh, nose scrunching, shoulders quaking.

“Better. I like it. But,” he tsks and cocks his head, heavily lidded eyes casting over you. “No. No, you don’t deserve it yet.”

You whine, hips bucking up underneath him, brows pulling together with pure frustration. He pushes you back down, sliding ontop of you again, crushing the air out of your chest, chasing your lips so that when he speaks again you can taste his breath, can feel his plush mouth brushing yours.

“You have to earn my cock, baby. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to be good for me?”

Briefly, you almost go back to swearing at him. But you break easily when his hips shift, humping, dragging his obvious erection against your drenched core with a delicious mixture of too much and not enough, insistent, smooth.

“Yes,” you chatter. “Yes, fuck, please, just—“

 Namjoon smirks toothily. Flicks his eyebrow up and suddenly sits back up, crawling off of you. The light hanging from the ceiling, past him, blinds you momentarily and you shield your eyes with a grimace. The bed creaks and shifts as his weight moves, and finally springs back when it’s just you left on it. But he’s not gone for too long.

You’re still blinking away the harshness from your eyelids when you feel a warm, calloused palm collecting your wrist. Metal. Cold, unmalleable, setting in place with a click. He lets go, and your hand hangs above your head, pulled short by the bite of the metal. Blearily, confused, you tug at it curiously as he takes your other hand.

Handcuffs.

Click.

Adrenaline shoots through your chest and you’re struggling upwards, but it’s no use, the son of a bitch has handcuffed you to the headboard and no matter how violently you twist, grasping the chain, kick out and bounce on the mattress, there’s no give and you remain stuck in place, your hands suspended above you.

“N-Namjoon, wait, wai—what, fuck, pl—you—“ you’re babbling, incoherent, flailing. But the slick between your thighs only grows with the thought that now, now you don’t have any choice but to obey him. Like hazing, but completely, painfully, awake. Warmth grows in your belly and fills your limbs with electricity.  

He’s pressing your legs back down to the bed, scooting forward to pin you again, his hand travelling to your hair, petting it away from your face, caressing your jaw, your neck, as he shushes you playfully.

“Shh, baby,” he coos. You hazard a glance up at him, chest heaving, but he looks so incredibly pleased with himself that arousal shoots straight to your cunt at the absent, hungry smile curving his lips. “Shh. You want to be good, right?”

“I’ll be good, I—Namjoon, you don’t have to do this.”

“I believe you, baby. You’re gonna be so good for me. But you have to be quiet.”

“I—“

“We don’t want to wake Hobi up, do we? And Yoongi…” He flicks a conspiratorial glance at the door, licks his lips nervously. “It’s probably not a good idea to scream for Yoongi. Right? We can agree on that.”

“I-it, this, this is dangerous, Namjoon,” you try to reason, halfway convinced yourself, but the attempted direness in your gaze is only met with a steady, predatory stare. “You know this is dangerous. I-I can’t even defend myself like this.”

“Apparently, you can’t defend yourself anyways,” he interrupts, brows raising. “That’s what you keep telling me.”

“N—“ Fingertips travelling from your face downwards, past the hoodie, finally, finally, find themselves between your thighs and you lose your train of thought as you feel them slip through your folds.

Namjoon huffs thoughtfully, blinking, looking back to you with his eyes hooded just as he circles your clit. “Fuck, you’re flooded. No wonder you’re so desperate.”

You can’t think of anything but the stroke of his fingers, the way he parts your lips, the drag against your electrified clit, your hips itching to follow him, but he doesn’t let you, forcing you to lay and take whatever he gives you. Seemingly content to rub and caress, as if only to familiarize himself with your most intimate parts. You’re gasping like a fish out of water, pulling absently at your wrists in time with the pleasure that shudders through you every time he so much as twitches his fingertips.

“Here’s what I’ll do for you. You’ll behave yourself, right? And if you’re good, I’ll forgive you. Good girls get what they want. Everyone wins.”

“P-please,” you’re begging with every other breath that leaves you but he only shushes you again, quiet.

“Greedy, greedy girl,” he pulls the words through his teeth. “I told you to stay away from Jin’s boys, didn’t I?”

“N-Namjoon—“

“Didn’t I?”

“Yes…”

“And you fucked all of them anyways. All of them.”

“I…” Your eyes threaten to roll back, but that stubborn streak alights in you once more and even as you clasp your thighs together, trying to trap his hand there, you’re talking back, petulant. “I was hazed.”

“That again.” Despite your best efforts, he yanks his hand out from between your legs, expression stormy. “Are you hazed now?”

Fuck, you wish.

“No,” you seethe.

“Would you fuck them now?”

You don’t answer fast enough, and he grabs your chin again, pressing your lips into a pout. He watches, mesmerized, brow furrowed, as he forces one, two of his fingers past your lips and flat against your tongue. You taste your own arousal and shiver around him.

“Would you fuck them now?” he repeats, slow.

Your cunt leaks, leaving you sticky and cold where it’s drying, too wet and too wanting where it’s still hot. Your wrists already have begun to ache. The mark at your chest flares at the thought of taking their fangs again, your throat aches with the memory of Taehyung sliding down it. How perfectly Jungkook and Jimin fucked into you. You whine, strung out by this game he’s playing, but nod. You would. God, you would.

Namjoon grunts. “Yeah. I know you would.” He releases your face, trailing an embarrassingly long line of spittle that stretches and breaks into nothing. He leans over to the side, and you hear the pull of a wooden drawer. When he comes back up, he has a small device with him. It’s unremarkable, smooth and long as his hand, but for the bright pink color. His hand disappears back between your legs and you jolt at the unfamiliar sensation of the object rubbing against the insides of your thighs, circling over your pussy lips, slipping between them to stroke down past your clit.

You hear a click, and suddenly it springs to life and you have to bite your lips hard to stop the moan that escapes you when you feel it jittering against your clit.

“We’ll borrow this,” he continues as he traces your labia with the vibrator, sending shockwaves up your spine with every nerve he nudges, “I bet Yoongi won’t mind too much.”

When he slips it down, it sheathes easily, too easily, inside of you, and your back arches at the subtle pulse that resonates in your wetness. You keen, and he hurriedly claps a hand over your mouth to cut off the worst of it.

“Have to do something about that…” he mumbles. You hear him digging around in a drawer again, but you’re bucking, thrusting towards the vibrations teasing your pussy from the inside, enough to tickle and arouse but not enough to take you to the edge. Your eyes water, and even muffled, you’re whining with every breath you take, unable to stop. His hand slides from your mouth, replaced with something soft. You look down in confusion as he pushes cotton past your teeth, encouraging your jaw open just enough to keep your noise low, muffled by the fabric.

“It’s clean,” He assures you quickly. “Can you breathe?”

Breathe…? You can’t think. The thrumming from the vibrator fills you up, snakes out through your veins and reverberates in your limbs, taking you so close and leaving you there at the mercy of something that doesn’t, can’t care how much you need, how much you want. Your hips rock, trying to soothe the feeling, trying to gain some traction, some relief, but all it does it nudge it against the crevices inside you, presses it from one overstimulated area to another.

A sharp slap lands directly on your clit and you scream at the cruel pleasure that shatters through you, garbled by the fabric locked in your jaw, arching and thrashing.

“I asked you a question,” Namjoon pulls your attention back to him, and you can only whimper, going limp, staring at his form through the tears blurring your vision. “Can you breathe?”

You whine, but nod jerkily.

“Good.”

The vibrator moves, pulled smoothly outwards and you twitch, relieved it’s being removed, disappointed it’s being removed, but it fucks back into you, slowly presses harder, deeper. You moan around your gag, jolting at the hand that forces your hip down again, stops you from roiling and curling as he slips it out and back in again, each time angling it against your clit as it comes and pressing it as far in as you can take it, the vibrations curling around the base of your spine.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, thick, barely heard above your stifled cries. “You’re making such a mess. These sheets are going to smell like greedy pussy forever now. Stained. No amount of washing will clean that off.”

Your eyes roll back, hands clenching, ears full of the sound of your wet cunt, the low buzzing of the toy, your own mewling. You can’t move but for twitching your extremities, toes curling, occasionally jerking away, but held in place.

The toy sinks in again, gliding in as deep as you’ll allow, jiggles firmly as if to make sure it won’t slip out, and stays there, pulsating against your walls. The hand at your hip leaves, returning at your hairline. You meet Namjoon’s eyes, blinking through the tears gathering in yours, and it hurts, it hurts, the expression he’s wearing now as he strokes your temple.

Quiet adoration, almost. Proud. Kind and warm. You hate it. You hate it. You wish he would kiss you. You wish he would fuck you. Sink his fucking teeth into your skin. You drool around fabric and arch towards him, keening. He watches you and his smile grows.

“You wanna cum, baby?” he mumbles.

You nod fervently, body trying to press to him.

He leans up to brush his lips against your forehead in the gentlest of kisses. After a beat, he cranes away, and you almost cry in disappointment as he backs up and slides off the bed. You watch him stand, pulling at your restraints helplessly and whining, rolling at the vibrator that still thrums inside you.

“Then go ahead,” he says gently, and you sob. “I’ll be back.”

He reaches for you again, and you’re pressing your head into his hand like a deprived animal, nuzzling into his palm, trying to encourage him closer.

“Be good for me,” he adds, quiet. “If you’re good for me, I’ll forgive you. Okay?”

You catch an eyeful of his crotch when he bends to gift you another kiss at the top of your head. He’s rock hard, straining, hand at his side absently rubbing down his front, striving for relief. You don’t understand. You don’t understand. Why doesn’t he just fuck you? You need it, you want it, you’ll be good, you’re so good, you want it inside you, you need his cock, not this unfeeling toy that teases and shakes. Your blubbering is completely unintelligible, mutilated by saliva and cotton.

He only chuckles. He straightens, casts a long, long look over your prone body, pulling his plush bottom lip through his teeth. He turns. You whine. He goes to the door, opens it, and walks through it quickly, as if he can’t afford to hesitate.

You’re alone.

The buzzing is so loud, you can feel it, taste it on the back of your tongue, your pussy so fucking wet and untouched in the ways you need, aching, teased to the brink and unallowed over the edge. You huff, whine, cry, arch and tug at your handcuffs, but nothing offers you any relief. Your legs kick out, bouncing on the bed, but you can’t even coax the vibrator out of you, only managing to jostle it from one side to another.

You writhe, panting, chest heaving, but it’s no use. Pleasure creeps up through your body, coiling in your gut, fizzling out in your limbs, setting your fingers and toes on fire, coaxing you to curl, but the release never comes even as you keen and moan and cry, fat tears of overstimulation oozing out from the corners of your eyes.

You don’t know how long you twitch and buck, sweating against the damp sheets, pressing your thighs together, rattling your chains, moaning and shrieking past the cotton, coming to the edge of pleasure only to feel it slip back away with a pang of disappointment. Your arms ache. Your jaw aches. You cunt aches and blazes, and all you can think of is kisses and teeth and bites and cock. Hands across your tits, the way Jin felt inside of you, the way Taehyung stroked his own cock, Jimin shuddering under your hands, Jungkook pounding you into the mattress. Yoongi’s lips against your core, Hoseok’s member between your fingers, his voice at your ear.

 A shape moves at the edge of the room and you look up, startled, hope and desire flooding your chest. You try to blink away your tears, but your vision is so blurry, it’s so hard to see, is it Namjoon? Is he back? You twist invitingly, humming, too drunk on the sudden euphoria, the hope, that washes over you, to realize you didn’t even notice the door opening. The light from the hallway siphons out with a click as he door closes again, and you blink again, sharply, able to make out your companion as he turns around. Your stomach plummets into your pussy.

It isn’t Namjoon. It’s Hoseok. And the way he looks over you, appraises your every twitch, deftly unbuttons his jeans, tells you that the haze is gone. He smirks, wide, trailing two fingers over the outline of his dick, your eyes snapping to follow the movement, hunger flaring between your legs and up through your throat. You moan, desperate.

“Hello,” he greets lowly. “You look busy.”

He skirts around the bed, crawls onto it, and all thoughts of self-preservation have fled your mind because you’re trying to push towards him as he slides over, watching you bounce with amused hunger coiling about his lips. He licks his teeth, his grin widening even more, pushing his eyes into crescents. His hand at your flank has your back bowing with the warmth, the rush of heat that answers inside you.

“I told him you could take it,” he cackles, hushed. “Look at you.”

Fingers trail from your hip to your pussy lips, flicking through the arousal that flows freely, rubbing it against your inner thighs and bumping your clit to watch you jump, exhausted but wired.

“Yoongi’s vibrator,” he hums. “He’ll want that back.”

Your stare burns holes in his underwear as he slips his hand inside, pulling his dick out and stroking once, twice, lazy. Even with his fluid motions, you can tell he’s more excited than he lets on, his catching breath and purpled head giving him away.

“He’ll want it back,” he repeats, shuffling closer. Fire bursts in your belly and you rattle at your chains, huffing through the fabric. “But I bet he’d appreciate it more if you didn’t clean it first.”

He giggles again at your expression when he scoots again, pulling his pants off and then his underwear, tossing both over the edge of the bed.

“I won’t stay for long,” he says. “I’m being bad. Naughty Hobi. I knew you were gonna be in here. I thought you could help me with this.” he punctuates his offer with a slick-sounding tug at his cock, visibly pleased at the craving in your eyes. “I’ll help you, too. We can help each other.” He licks at his lips again. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Your neck cracks from disuse when you nod fiercely, whining through your nose.

“I’m gonna take the sock out of your mouth,” he adds. “But you have to stay quiet. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Hobi?”

You nod again, looking at him beseechingly.

The fabric between your teeth is tugged, once, twice, and finally your jaw relinquishes it from your mouth, and you can feel how soaked, heavy, with saliva it is as he takes it away and places it somewhere behind your line of sight. Your jaw hurts when it’s finally allowed to resume its proper place but it’s nothing compared to the way your cunt flares, your legs opening shamelessly to coax him between them, trying to rub the inside of your knee against the outside of his, pelvis rolling up, hands clenching and unclenching.

“Please, please, please,” you croak, hoarse, words sticking in your throat from how roughly you’re trying to get them out. “Please, fuck me, please touch me, please—“

“Shh,” he interrupts, sliding closer, so his hot breath ghosts over your chest, over the hoodie hiding your painfully hard tits, curving his palm around his cock and continuing to pump, but you can’t help the whine that crawls out of you.

“—please, Hobi, please fuck me, I can’t—“ You try to adopt his nickname, but his free hand snakes out and coils long fingers around your throat, choking off your pleas. Your eyes roll as he starves your oxygen from your lungs, but his thumb is brushing the bitemark at your neck and it’s getting you closer than you’ve been with just the vibrator, you can almost feel it as it throbs under his touch, and even though he’s taken your ability to speak, you beg him soundlessly to continue as your orgasm threatens to finally, finally overtake you, legs going into spasm. Your entire body feels fuzzy, shaky, rushing up from your toes and cresting over the top of your head. Your vision starts to darken around the edges, but you’re so close, so close—

And he lets go, hand dislodging violently to clasp around your mouth to muffle the disappointed cries and choking noises pulled from your chest.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hums low, harsh. His smile has disappeared. “Are you going to listen or do I need to leave?”

You shake your head, trying fiercely to repress the hiccupping coughs until they subside, slowly.

“You want me to fuck you?” he says after a quiet beat, the playful tone sneaking back into his voice.

“Please,” you murmur as if in prayer, hushed, cracked and strained. “Please, it hurts.”

Hoseok’s grin returns.

“Your tits are so pretty,” he crows, and his hand ghosting over your breasts almost forces you to shriek again, your legs trembling as the vibrator continues its cruel torture inside you. “I’d love to see my cock between them.”

You sob. “No, no, please, H-Hobi, please, I can’t—“

“Let me fuck your pretty tits, pretty girl,” he interrupts, heavy. “Let me slide between those perfect little tits, and I’ll think about stuffing your cunt.” He sidles up again and you huff a disappointed whine when he officially moves past your legs, straddling your waist. His legs, thin but strong, radiate heat, and when he flicks his dick against the top of your ribs, it leaves a trail of precum that oozes from his tip to the hoodie, leaving a dark patch.

Finally, you nod.

“Yeah?” he coos, shifting to grab the edges of the fabric, shuffling it upwards to reveal your chest to him. You shiver at the cold air, but he’s already brushing his warm hands over them appraisingly, slipping his hard cock in the valley between the mounds, hissing at the softness of your skin. “Yeah?” he repeats, low.

“Yes,” you whimper, “Yes, please, yeah.”

“Mm, yeah.” His cock slides against you, eased by the way he leaks all over your skin. He gathers a tit in each hand, pushing them to the center, so he can properly fuck between them, his head briefly throwing back with a sinful groan. “Yeah, just like that.”

You bend your neck to lick at his tip when it emerges, hungry, desperate, and he grunts in appreciation, shifting his pelvis to encourage you to lave at more of his velvety head over the bunched up sweater. The bitterness of his precum lays thick on your tongue but you can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, just like that,” he chuckles, “Yeah, just like that, fuck that’s so filthy. Such a filthy little girl. You like that?”

You whine in the affirmative, trying to quell the itching in your arms to pull him closer, the neediness in your legs that wishes you could feel the supple motion of his thrusts inside you, but he said he would, he said he would, and you try to keep that in your hopes even as the vibrator brings you again to the precipice and fizzles out in your limbs.

His pace quickens, his breath coming harsher, pressing your tits closer, harder, fucking into them smoothly, sharply, quick and intent.

“Fuck, yeah, fuck, yes,” he encourages sloppily, hair hanging over his face when his neck bends, but you can still make out the flash of teeth as he bears them in a grin and grunts, rutting against you.

His breath catches, his hips stutter, and suddenly he stills, cock pulsing, and paints your chest in warmth, white spurts draining, leaking from the tip. He curses quietly, drawn-out and feral. You shift, uncomfortable, as the mess oozes off your chest, leaks into the sheets beneath you, his pants and the steady hum of the vibrator the only sounds in the entire world.

“Ahh, such nice tits,” he grunts appreciatively, tweaking your nipple and you jump towards it, twitching. “Clean it off for me, pretty girl.”

Obediently, you lick at as much of him as you can reach in your awkward position, slurping, twisting your tongue around his softening cock, tasting the salt of his cum. Satisfied with your work, he lifts his hips off you and swings his leg around, dismounting from the bed swiftly.

His hand disappears around you as he bends and your hips rise in reflex, but he retrieves the sock from behind your line of sight and you cry out in dismay.

“Y-you said,” you whine, struggling, but it’s of no use, he raises his knee to pin you down in the center of your chest and even as you thrash your head side to side, he’s collecting your face between his fingers, pressing the spit-soaked fabric back to your mouth. “You—mmph”

“I said I’d think about it,” he interrupts, chuckling deeply. He sits back to inspect the mess he’s made of you, eyebrows raising, devilish smirk growing. Your shoulders tremble as you shake in earnest, disappointment claiming your throat and pushing fresh tears from your eyes.

“And I did.”

He casts another approving look down your breasts, raising his knee. He shuffles, pulling up his underwear, tugging his pants back on. You slump. You’re defeated, sore, aching, and pathetically upset. And still the vibrator shakes cruelly inside you, keeping you wet and wanting.

Fingers curl around your jaw and angle it to face him. Hoseok pouts mockingly as you stare.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing,” he soothes, “I’ll fuck you for real later.” He rubs his thumb over your lower lip, gaze turning mildly thoughtful. “I’ll fuck you real good later.”

He pauses. His grin returns in full force, baring his teeth and he shakes your face playfully, raising his brows comically.

“Cheer up!” He croons in a childish voice.

He pats your cheek before straightening. He turns to the door and opens it just enough to poke his head around—looking to the left, then right before finally stepping through and closing it quietly, stealthily, behind himself.

 Again, you’re left in the room all alone. You can’t believe you believed him. Hurt wells inside of you and escapes in the form of tears, knotting in your throat. You try again, futilely, to rub your thighs together, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. You sob.

You were almost there. Fuck him, but he almost had you, when he was pressing on your windpipe. You would’ve let him wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze until you passed out so long as he kept the pressure on that scab that made you see stars. The bitemarks. You blink.

When Hoseok choked you, that was what almost did it. It was the bitemarks.

You grab the chains, adrenaline flooding your limbs at the fevered thought of forcing your own release, mind overrun with the need to orgasm, the need to finally reach that peak. Your legs are jelly, scrambled, impossible to maneuver, but somehow you manage to flip over, wincing at the sticky, wet mess on the sheets beneath you as you shift.

But now that you’re belly-down, you can pull yourself up just that little bit, the fresh wound on your chest grazing against the hem of the hoodie. You almost shriek in triumph at the pleasure that washes through you, commands your legs to convulse. It’s hard going. It’s awkward, and Hoseok’s cum is drying on your chest, into the fabric, but you manage to get into a strange, humping, swaying rhythm, rocking against the mark. Every time you press it, you feel another surge of endorphins, you remember the way they fucked you, made everything good and bright and perfect. You’re whimpering and cursing around your gag, but it’s working, fuck, it’s working, and you’re climbing those familiar heights, mounting with every twitch and every burst, singularly-minded. You’re panting, and there’s a flood of drool escaping your mouth but you can’t care, you don’t care, your eyes are rolling back and you’re approaching heaven.

 Hands suddenly appearing, gripping your ankles, and you scream in shock, fury, as they rip you upwards, flip you back over, tearing you back from the edge, and you’re trying to kick out, thrashing and writhing with renewed energy until it suddenly subsides and you’re left to arch pitifully before sinking down with another huff, swallowing down what you can of the desire to cry, though tears still slink out at the fading, abused feeling in your cunt. You look up at whoever still has his wide palms against your ankles.

Namjoon stares back at you, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. The light from above bathes his outline in gold, and you find yourself missing the paintings at Jin’s. He casts disbelieving looks down your body as your chest heaves with labored breath and you twitch.

“H-holy shit,” he breathes. “Fuck, baby.”

Gently, slowly, he parts your ankles, scalding a path with his eyes up your legs to where the vibrator hums inside your wetness, a trickle of arousal flowing steadily down your thigh. He moves to slide his hand up there, still watching in amazement, and you don’t even have the energy to jump away from him. There’s a ‘click’ and the vibrator is finally, finally stilled, and you’re crying anew, unsure if you’re disappointed or relieved. He withdraws it inch by inch from you, agape at the amount of arousal that coats its silicone surface.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he says again, his voice catching in his throat. “Oh, my god.”

He sets the toy down on the sheets, reaching forward again to slide the sock out of your mouth, tender, careful, watching as you gulp down steadying breaths and rework your jaw. Before you can speak, he’s rushed forward, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you passionately. You welcome it, sinking into his warmth, closing your eyes, taking comfort in the familiar taste of his tongue as it sweeps your mouth. He’s moving as he kisses you, shuffling and you hear the vague clink of metal. There’s a click above you and suddenly your wrists are released from their imprisonment, dropped onto the mattress heavily, like a marionette with its strings cut. You cry out into the kiss, and he takes the respite to curve his hand through your hair, cradling the back of your head. He pecks at your lips, the sides of your mouth, reverent and attentive.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans, his voice rough. “You’re so fucking wet, god. I am going to kill Hoseok, but, you, you did so good. You did so good, baby.”

He pulls back slightly to look over your face, puffy and bruised from crying and kissing, but the way he beams adoringly at you would have you thinking that you were the most beautiful person in the world. “You did so good,” he repeats, “How many times did you cum while I was gone, baby? Hmm? Did you have fun?”

“Hated it,” you wail, sniffling, between the kisses he begins raining down on you again. “Hated it, I-I couldn’t, didn’t cum, please, please.”

“Not at all?” He leans away with a confused look, but you’re already trying to move your sore wrists to his shoulders, shuddering and shaking, weakly pulling him closer.

“I-I have to cum, please, fuck, please,” you’re babbling again and he shushes you, expression turning concerned, but still excited, pleased at your change of heart.

“O-Okay, okay, shh, it’s alright. It’s alright.”

He’s shucking his pants and you’re breathless, grabbing for him, but he’s already, awkwardly, shuffling out of his bottoms. He pushes you down gently, and you let him, sinking into the sullied sheets with a relieved sob, parting wobbly knees to encourage him between your legs.

“Please,” you whisper again.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Namjoon’s lips find yours again, and you can feel his length hot against your core. “I’ve got you.”

You sag against him, too tired to do much more than wait, the muscles in your belly contracting painfully in anticipation. It’s obvious that he’s trying to sink into you slow, let you adjust, but you’re so wet and needy that you swallow him whole without so much as a stutter, your hips thrusting towards him as he slides forward. He fills you so good, so well, his cock taking every inch of you that the vibrator couldn’t, soothing the desire there with the heat and hardness of his member, swelling to stretch your walls around him.

“F—shit,” he swears under his breath, catching in his throat when you buck against him. You thread your fingers into his hair, clutching at his shoulders, humping upwards to take more of his cock into yourself.

He fucks back into you hesitantly, but quickly loses his composure at how sopping you are around him, how eagerly you welcome him inside, how you pant and grunt like a creature born of pure lust, and it only takes a few thrusts before he’s pistoning into you, hips crashing to yours with such incredibly lewd noises, breathing hard with the effort.

“Fuck,” he mouths against your lips. “You’re so hot, baby. You’re gonna make me cum. I’m so fucking hard…”

You can’t speak, can’t think—can’t do anything but jerk underneath him, trying to pull him closer, convince him deeper, deeper, purring and mewling when you feel him nudging secret, hidden away places inside of you that spark and flash. But it still isn’t enough and you hiccup a groan when you realize he’s faltering, pace turning erratic, fucking hard and fast, but too close to his own end.

“N-Namjoon,” you blubber, grabbing at what you can reach, his hair, his shoulders, frantic at the threat of again being left without the orgasm you’ve earned, you need, you need. “Namjoon, pl—I need, I—“

“Mm? What is it baby?” he growls, nipping at the base of your neck a little too sharply. “What is it, what do you need? Fuck, I’m so close.”

“N-no, I need,” you’re scrabbling for his hand, you have to make him understand, you have to have him touch the marks, he has to touch the marks, you have to cum. He allows you to drag his fingers to your breast but he becomes too eager to help and goes to squeeze at the nipple as he thrusts, impaling you on his length.

“This? You need me to touch your tits?” His voice is snagging on his ragged breaths, hissing through his teeth. “Are you gonna cum for me? Are you gonna cum on my cock, baby?”

“No,” you howl, clenching your fingers around his and pressing him more firmly to the pinprick scabs on the inside of the swell. “No, here, I-I need—I need this.”

He pauses, eyebrows creasing, but it’s too late for him and he surges forward with a powerful thrust, two, jaw dropping open as he accidentally claws at you, blunt fingernails breaking the skin, grunting and gasping, but it’s perfect, its perfect, the pain at your chest blossoming into everything you needed and you arch, shrieking, his cock shoved so deep in your cunt, filling you so entirely, stretching your wet hole around him, forcing you to feel him pulse, shake, wet heat erupting in your walls, oozing, leaking, your orgasm finally reaching the final heights and plunging you into ecstasy so intense you can’t even make any noise, body seizing, trembling, toes curling, pelvis crashing into his violently as you milk it, you take it, feeling the juices from both of you running down your thighs, nails turning to talons in his skin, the dam bursting behind your eyes and flooding your entire frame with pleasure.

He rocks into you unsteadily as you clamp down on him like a vice, easing the dregs of his high out of his cock, whispering unintelligible profanities. The intensity of your orgasm finally breaks and you ease down, all too aware of how every inch of you throbs, aches. When he slides out of you, spent, you both wince.

You attempt to catch your breath, a pang shooting through your stomach with every inhale and exhale, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Slowly, you become more and more aware of how hard Namjoon is breathing, and spare a glance towards him, unable to move your head for fear of breaking it clean off your sore neck, but still throwing a flick of your eyes towards where he still holds himself above your body. His hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his ears, his forehead, the nape of his neck. His eyes are staring, laser-focused, at your chest. He swipes two fingers across the blood that beads up from where he’s reopened your wound, swirling, intent on gathering as much as he can, before hesitantly, falteringly, raising his fingers past his plush, swollen lips and sucking on them. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his jaw work as he slips his tongue about his own digits, his eyelashes flutter closed briefly.

He removes his fingers from his mouth, his mouth lingering as though loathe to stop, licking at his lips. His dark eyes flit to yours.  

 “So.” He says after a heavy beat that begins to settle in awkwardly.

“The bite marks, huh?”

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#bts smut #bts vampire au #bts fanfic #bts x reader #reader x namjoon #moth to flame #something seriously possessed me during hoseoks scene like i was legitimately taken over #i dont know dude #reeses in pieces LMAO

[morgana-ren]

A Little Respect (Shigaraki x Reader)

Summary:  Life is hard for a outlaw down on their luck. Especially hard when you're cold, starving, and desperate. As fate would have it, the League of Villains just might take you in. If you can survive their temperamental leader, that is.

Rating: This particular chapter is E for everyone but Shig is rated R for Real Fuckin’ Rude. Mild cursing and sexual innuendo from Dabi. Will advance in rating as the chapters come out.

A03 mirror if you prefer to read it there

Sorry guys, it’s not the Filthy Smut™ I promised earlier but I got an idea at like 3am and wanted to get it out. 

Tomura Shigaraki does not like you.

Wait, that’s an understatement.

Tomura Shigaraki does not like you at all. It might even be fair to say he hates you.

From the moment he first saw you, he was decidedly unimpressed. Beady, vermillion eyes narrowing in irritation, lip twitching almost indiscernibly behind the shadow of his hand-mask. He’d only looked you over for a brief moment before casting down his judgement, deeming you unworthy of his attention.

It didn’t matter to him that you had taken time out of your day to be here. Seems a bit ungrateful, if you were honest. After all, he was the one looking for new recruits, not you. That was why you were standing awkwardly in the middle of this dingy bar that smelled like cheap liquor and ashes, prostrating yourself before this man-child in hopes of a job. Yeah, you’d seen him on TV and heard of his exploits, but nothing could quite capture the sheer arrogance of the real thing.

He had turned his nose up at you so easily, ripping his focus from you without a second thought. When he spoke, he didn’t even bother addressing you. You were a waste of his time. He instead turned to Giran who stood nearby, sucking down his cigarette as if the acrid smoke filling the bar didn’t add unnecessary drama to the already tense atmosphere.

“Where do you find this trash?” Shigaraki waved you off, mind already made up that you were nothing but a nuisance. “This NPC is really bottom of the barrel.”

His uneven, scratchy voice only served to spike your agitation. Admittedly, you were a proud one on occasion, but this was outright ridiculous. This low budget comic-book-villain-reject looking fuck was calling you trash? Now that was funny.

Giran had moved to speak up on your behalf, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You’d always had a hot temper and an even bigger mouth. It had gotten you into trouble quite a bit, and it was probably responsible for the current financial predicament and various bruises you found yourself saddled with now. Despite that, you had a really hard time controlling the venomous thoughts that came out of you. Sometimes, it just tumbled out before you could consider stopping it.

“What’s with all the hands? Compensating for something? Or is it just a fetish?”

Giran flinched as the words left your lips, mouth closed in a grimace as he exhaled the smoke from the most recent inhale through his nose. You knew you were making his job difficult, but this second-rate walking lotion commercial had already made up his mind, right? You didn’t feel you had much to lose.

Shigaraki visibly stiffened, fist clenching into itself as he held his thumb out to the side. You’d made him mad. What a bitch.

“Rude and bratty with no manners. I’m starting to think you just dumpster dive and bring whatever you find at the bottom to me.”

Even though his tone was sharp and held an edge that hadn’t been there previously, he still refused to look at you, even as he flared at your disrespect. Your antics hadn’t been entirely unappreciated, however. There had been a slight chuckle from the figure standing beside him. A man with charred skin and striking blue eyes with wild black hair was looking you over, eyes glimmering with amusement.

“I like her.”

“You would. You’re just as annoying as she is. But at least you can be useful on occasion.” Tomura scoffed, visibly irritated now as he tapped a long, pale finger on the wooden surface of the bar.

“I really think you ought to give her a chance, Shigaraki. I honestly believe she could be beneficial to your organization.” Giran gestured to you, maintaining a nonchalant smile. You knew he got paid either way, but he did consider himself a professional. He’d work his magic until this breathing temperamental tantrum decided he’d had enough, and then it would be back out on the streets for you.

“We don’t need another loser in our party.” Shigaraki crossed his arms over each other, pointer fingers carefully hovering above the fabric of his black shirt. You knew what he could do, what those fingers were capable of. One grip on your bare flesh and calling you fish food would be generous.

You found it unfair that kind of power had been given to such an impudent dick.

Giran motioned for you to step forward. “Go on, show him.”

You rolled your eyes but obliged, moving into the forefront of the room. You felt like a dancing monkey, but if it would put money in your pocket and food in your mouth, you’d play along. Even if it meant kneeling for one of the biggest jerkoffs the underworld had to offer.

You closed your eyes, focusing for a moment before releasing a breath and bringing your hands together. Light began to shimmer in front of you, swirls of color blending, stitching and intertwining. Bright flashes of blues, reds, and yellows formed a pattern and came together, slowly taking form. Seconds later, a perfect recreation of All Might was standing directly in front of the bar, mimicking his stereotypical pose. The mirage turned its head to the toward the villainous duo seated nearby, legendary smile gleaming in the dim bar lights. It raised an arm, giving a thumbs up.

“I am here!”

The voice was so loud and lifelike that Shigaraki recoiled, looking absolutely feral. His eyes shot open, widened in a mixture of confusion and rage. He had lurched himself half-way out of his chair, posed to lunge at the imposter before him, hands at the ready and poised to attack. “What is this shit?”

A small smile cracked on your face. You focused again, summoning another illusion from the air, this one comprised of mainly blacks, whites, and reds. It wasn’t long before a flawless imitation of Shigaraki himself appeared behind the illusory hero, creeping up behind it, hand outstretched and reaching. It made eye contact with the authentic Shigaraki, grin spreading past the boundaries of the decomposing hand placed over his face.

“Not anymore you’re not.”

The duplicate’s hand made contact with the All Might mimicry, all five fingers pressed against the blade of its shoulder. As the spindly fingers dug in, All Might’s uniform and skin began to decay, spreading and unweaving the flesh and muscle until bare bone was visible beneath as the body began to decompose rapidly. Tendons snapped and plasma leaked to the floor, sending the usually impervious hero to the floor in a whimpering, grimy mess.  Soon enough, All Might’s likeness was nothing but a whimpering pile of dying, ashy viscera beneath fabricated Shigaraki’s red sneakers.

Eventually the illusion faded, and not one person spoke. It took effort for you to hold back a triumphant sneer. Your little production had been no Hamlet, but it garnered the desired result no less. The real Shigaraki was paralyzed in place, eyes still glued to the spot on the floor where the fake All Might had perished, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

And he was right, he couldn’t.

Real All Might was still out there, traipsing around and being a massive pain in someone’s ass, but Giran had hinted to you that something like this might get Shigaraki’s dick hard. His hatred of All Might was all encompassing and exploiting it might give you a fighting chance. Apparently, he had been right. You had a feeling that if you let him, Shigaraki would just keep staring in disbelief until someone actively shook him from his stupor.

“I couldn’t get your voice quite right but it’s the best I could do on short notice. I’ve never met you before today.”

You were the first to break the silence, since everyone else with the exception of Giran was dumbfounded. Might as well get the ball rolling. Either you were in or you weren’t, and if you weren’t, you had a corner store to rob before it got too late.

Achingly slow, Shigaraki turned his head back to you. You couldn’t quite get a read on him, not with that giant hand on his face, but judging by the fact that his hands were shaking, and he looked murderous, the prognosis didn’t look too good.

“What is it?” He hissed, copper eyes narrowing on you. “Your quirk. What the hell is it?”

“Illusion. Tricks of light and sound. Basically, I can mess with light and sound waves temporarily to create whatever vision I desire.” It sounded way cooler than you explained it like that. “I can’t do it on a large scale, and I have to understand the exact representation and mannerisms of whatever it is I’m creating if I want it to be accurate, hence your voice. Also, they’re incorporeal. I can’t create a physical form.”

Shigaraki was staring at you blankly. You’re losing them. Play it up.

“Other than that, I can create whatever I want. As long as it’s not too exhausting, I can hold it for a while too. As you can see, there’s not a whole lot else I can really do with it since the visions can’t actually touch or be touched, but it’s great as a distraction.” You shrugged, letting your shoulders slump as you realized just how ridiculous this entire situation really was. “I figured maybe you could use it for subterfuge or something.”

“Doll, you have got no imagination at all.” The blistered one spoke up again, simpering mischievously. “I can think of plenty- “

“Shut up!” Shigaraki growled, flexing his hands by his sides and clearly not in the mood for either one of you. His invasive stare was studying you again, eyes resting a little too long on your face to make you comfortable. You wanted to make another smart-ass remark, but Giran smelled that a mile away like a dumb-shit detecting bloodhound and opted to speak first to keep you from ruining your chances.

“So? What do you say?” He leaned over, smashing the butt of his cigarette into a nearby ash tray, waving away the excess smoke that rose. “You think that’ll be helpful?”

You could see deep frown lines and the shadow of a scowl on Shigaraki’s face. He didn’t answer immediately, choosing to glare you down instead. You weren’t sure you wanted to be a part of the League anymore, anyway. Not if it meant working under this broody, angsty little-

“She can stay.” He turned, storming out the doors without sparing you a second glance. “But if she gets on my nerves, I’ll dust her.”

Well, a job is a job, even if your new boss is the world’s biggest blowhole. If it meant a warm place to sleep and clothes on your back, you’d take it.

“Guess we’ll be working together. See you around, doll face.” The scarred guy gave a slight indifferent wave in your direction before heading out through the exit. You weren’t quite sure how to feel at the moment. It wasn’t exactly the definition of a warm welcome, but then again, you were working with a criminal organization that was currently at the top of Japan’s most wanted list. You couldn’t really expect a hug and a welcome tour.

Giran, on the other hand, seemed ecstatic. He slapped you on the back, grinning wide and no doubt pleased at the bonus commission he’d be ringing in. “See? I think that went great!”

“That was great to you?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. That had to have been one of the single most awkward experiences of your life. The infamous Shigaraki had the charismatic presence of a flaming pile of dog shit.

“Definitely. He didn’t even try to kill you.”

Your mouth dropped. “That’s a thing that happened? That’s a fuckin’ thing that happened and you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh yeah. The last two I brought his way didn’t sit well with him either. About 2 minutes into the meeting and he tried to kill them both. Would have been a real mess if it hadn’t been for Kurogiri stepping in.”

You rolled your eyes, huffing out an exaggerated breath. “Thanks, man. A warning would have been nice. I know he’s temperamental and all, but it would have been good to get a little bit of notice if I had to get my affairs in order.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not so bad. He’s an alright guy. A little rough around the edges but he’ll grow on you. Just try to keep that mouth of yours in check?” He smiled nervously, reaching in his pocket for another cigarette.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s worked out so well for me in the past.”

“You’re a smart girl. You’ve can do it. Just do your job and stay out of his way if you can.” He flicked his lighter, inhaling the smoke deeply before turning to you again. “The last people I introduced to the League worked out well for him, and while he talks a lot, they seem to get on just fine. I know Shigaraki can be difficult, but maybe you’ll find some comfort in the others.”

“They’re villains, Giran. How amicable can they really be?”

He laughed, giving a small shrug. “I don’t know. You’re technically a villain, and you seem fine to me.”

You opened your mouth to speak but stopped short when you realized you didn’t exactly have a retaliation to that. “Fair.”

“Come on, let’s get your stuff and get you settled in here. No sense in keeping anyone waiting.”

“Your paycheck, you mean.” You side-eyed him, following him out through the bar doors.

“Yes.”

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #Shigaraki #bnha

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who’s willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

XXII

January 5, 2278.

Percy tosses aside her wrench and huffs, putting her hands on her waist and admiring her work. “Looks like you’re finally ready,” she says to the motorbike that she has been tinkering with for weeks.

“Now let’s see if you work.”

My partner hums as she leads the cruiser through Megaton’s gate, ignoring gawkers and onlookers. We wear our helmets, which Percy picked up from Moira this afternoon.

She sits on the motorbike seat, exclaims a triumphant “Yes!” when the engine roars to life… and screams when the damn thing went careening around in circles.

I caught her before she could crash, and the bike fell to its side as she got off of it, legs shaking.

“Dammit,” she curses, clinging on to me, breathing hard. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“If it’s too dangerous to use, we can still travel on foot, but it may delay our plans,” I tell her, steadying her to her feet.

“Delaying is not an option we have the luxury to choose now,” Percy sighs, pulling the bike back into position.

“Then I suggest that you navigate with your PipBoy. I’ll drive.”

My partner looks at me curiously. “You know how to ride a bike?”

“Yes. I am proficient in driving pre-war vehicles.”

Percy clears her throat. “Was that a part of your training?”

I run my ruined hands through the driver’s seat’s worn leather, and get on.

“Yes.”

I start the engine, and Percy gets on the passenger seat behind me.

“Now, hold on tight.”

She did as I said, wrapping her arms around my waist, and letting out a surprised scream when we zipped away from the gate.

As we sprinted past jet-addled raiders and freaked-out mole rats, Percy was whooping and laughing, her body warm against by back despite the winter air blowing.

“Holy shit! This is fun!” Percy yells, and I feel her heart pounding through her chest.

I’m glad she’s behind me, or she would’ve seen the smile I had when she held me tighter and leaned on me.

I could get used to this.

As we rode our way to our destination, my mind wandered back to the conversation we had with Doc Church earlier today.

Percy got inside the clinic first, and I followed suit, looming over Church, who was sitting on his desk, looking over a medical clipboard.

“Unless you’re dying I- Oh. It’s you.”

“Doc Church. Do you have any patients with you today?”

“None. I’m not sure how that is any of your concern, though.”

“Charon, guard the door,” Percy instructed me, and Church was about to get up when Percy pressed on his shoulder, forcing him to sit. I lean against the metal and watch the two intently.

“We know about Paradise Falls.”

All the color from the doctor’s face drains.

“You’re training to be a doctor too, am I right? The oath requires me to offer my services to whoever is in need. Slavers included. Even so, I’ve put that all behind me when I opened this clinic in Megaton. Please, don’t hurt me,” Church blurts out, defensive.

“I understand your intention to follow the oath. Don’t worry, we’re not planning to hurt you. In fact, we need your help.”

“Aside from offering my services as a doctor, I have nothing else to offer. I’m sorry.”

My partner turns to me, and nods.

I come forward, cracking my knuckles in a show of intimidation. The old man shrank in his seat even further.

“I know you remember me,” I tell him, and he gulps. “And I know you remember the people you worked for.”

“We need information about Paradise Falls. Names, a layout of the location, and anything that could help us take down the slaver operations there,” Percy continues.

Church’s eyes widen, and he gives us an incredulous look. “Even if I give you the information you need, you can’t take down Paradise Falls, kid. Those slavers have contacts everywhere. You’ll have a target on your back for the rest of your lives.”

Percy shakes her head. She drags a chair and sits in front of the doctor.

“I’ve gotten used to looking over my shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, doc. That doesn’t concern me anymore. What concerns me is there are innocent kids who were snatched from their home by bastards who think that people are a commodity to be sold. I know you think that’s fucked. Why else would you pack up and leave? This is your chance to make things right.”

“Make things right? Kid...”

I felt the urge to speak up. I look at Percy, asking for silent permission, and she seems to understand, taking a step back and allowing me to take the helm.

“Percy is right. Why else would you leave that life behind and start a clinic here, where people needed your help the most? You feel guilty,” I tell him.

He was as still as a stone.

“You still think about the horrible things you saw in Paradise. You regret being instrumental in keeping those slavers healthy and alive as they hunted down more people to sell as slaves. This is an opportunity to let go of that guilt. You don’t get that chance every day. Don’t waste it.”

“What, do you have psych training now too?” he asks me, mockingly, disbelievingly.

“No,” I tell him. “It’s an observation, from a ghoul who’s in the same boat.”

Tense silence fills the room. Finally, Church relents, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

“I’ll look for a piece of paper.”

I let out a breath that I was holding. Percy sighs in relief too.

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor.

The old man sketches the layout of Paradise Falls on a yellowed piece of paper, and tells us all he knows about Paradise Falls before his departure.

As he went on, my memories of the place started becoming clearer, but I have no desire to dwell on them.

When we got back to the house, Percy looped her arm around mine. Percy looks at me with those eyes again, filled with trust, devotion, and now… admiration.

“I’m proud of you, big guy.”

I stroked her hair and went on with our preparations.

My mind snapped back to the present as we reached Tenpenny Tower, and I parked the bike as Percy rings the intercom. Taking off my helmet, I look up at the tower, which sticks out like a sore thumb in the Wasteland. The people who lived inside were obsessed with the finer days from before the war. Worse, Tenpenny was a landgrabber, their chief of security, Gustavo, was a gung-ho bigoted bastard, and their doctor made assumptions about ghouls without even looking at one up close.

They reminded me of the people I used to serve, the ones responsible for my indoctrination.

Percy hated them so much.

However, we need all the ammunition we can find, and Gustavo trades them.

“Huh, no one’s answering,” Percy mumbles. She touches the gate lightly, and gasps when it opens on its own.

“Did you think something happened?” she asks me, and I retrieve my shotgun, loading it with bullets.

“I thought you hated those people.”

“Yeah, but, after helping the Warrington station ghouls get in I thought I’d give them a chance to change their mind about ghouls…”

Percy trails off as her eyes scan the courtyard. There were no more human residents present, only the ghouls she helped get in the tower.

“Don’t tell me...”

Gasping, Percy pushes the gate and rushes inside, pushing the heavy double doors open. She runs up to a ghoulette, the one called Bessie Lynn.

“Bessie, where’s the rest of the residents?”

The ghoulette squirms in place, nervous. “Oh, I don’t know where they are. But everything is fine! Roy said not to worry about the other residents.”

I could tell she was lying, and Percy could too, so she moves on, running past the timid woman. Michael Masters, another one of the Warrington ghouls, sits in the lobby.

“Michael!” Percy exclaims. “Where are all the humans?”

The ghoul laughs. “Roy took out the trash. You better steer clear of the basement storage room. I’m glad I lost my sense of smell.”

“He did fucking what?”

Percy brushes past Masters, footsteps heavy as she stomps her way to the basement. As she opened the door, her hands flew to her nose at the stench of rotting bodies.

Most of the corpses were unrecognizable. They were brutalized. The only one I could recognize was the old man’s. Herbert Dashwood. That one was the only human resident who didn’t insult me when we first visited this place.

His face was bloated and decaying. I looked away.

Percy retches, eyes wet and shiny with tears, and I grab her, pulling her out of the room and slamming the door shut behind us.

She was shaking. I pressed her against my chest as she trembled and sobbed.

Then, I heard a mocking laugh. I looked up, and the leader of the Warrington ghouls was strolling towards us. Roy Phillips.

“Hey kid. Thanks again for helping us get in.”

Wiping her tears away, Percy faces him. She wore that expression she had when she talked to Ahzrukhal, when she confronted Wally Mack, and when those Talon mercs ambushed us.

That look on this angel’s face is one of the few things in this world that frightens me.

“Nice pile of bodies in the storage room, Roy,” Percy spits, shoulders tense. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Assholes had it coming,” Phillips spat back. “But I don’t answer to you, or any other smoothskin. In fact, you’d best piss off before you join them.”

Muscle memory kicking in, I shield Percy with my body at the bastard’s threat. He looks at me, disgusted.

“What the hell are you even doing, defending this smoothskin? You should be with your fellow ghouls.”

“Charon, this is hopeless. Let’s get out of here,” Percy tells me, touching my arm.

“You get out of here,” Phillips interrupts. “I’m not done talking to him yet.”

The asshole turns to me, looking at me from head to toe.

“Not man enough to ditch this little girl and stick with us? How much is she paying you for you to betray your own kind?”

Phillips gave me a hard shove when I didn’t give him an answer.

“Huh. ‘Not man enough?’ Wow, sounds like someone is projecting his insecurities about his masculinity,” Percy interrupts, hand flying to the spot on my chest where the other ghoul shoved me. Phillips’ eyes flick to my partner’s hand, and he gives us a mocking smirk.

“Oh, I get it now. This kid gives you a taste of smoothskin pussy and now you’d tail her ass around like that stupid dog of hers? You’re her fucking gigolo?”

“God, you’re disgusting. How could someone as nice as Bessie stay with someone as horrible as you?”

“Keep your mouth shut, smoothskin bitch.”

Percy grabs him by the collar, knocks him off-balance with her footwork, and slams him against the wall, like she did with Wally Mack.

“No! You listen, you piece of shit! I helped you get into this fucking tower in hopes of a non-violent solution to everyone’s problems. I guess that was a fucking mistake, huh? I’m not going to shed tears for Gustavo and the other bigots who wanted you dead. But Dashwood? Does it make you feel like a bigger man, killing a senile retiree? You killed the only person in the tower who viewed you as people, too.”

“That asshole was gloating about having a ghoul manservant. I’d fucking do it again. Of course you’d defend him. You have one too, you two-faced bitch.”

Percy falters, but then slams Phillips against the wall again, his head hitting it with a dull thud.

“Charon is not my manservant. He is my friend. You don’t know a single fucking thing about us. Forget it. You can rot in this tower for all I care.” She lets him go. Then, she turns to me.

“Charon, let’s get-”

As Percy turns around, Phillips lunges for her neck, but I move her out of the way and grab the other ghoul’s arm, twisting it and shoving him to the ground.

“Traitor,” Phillips spits at me. “Goddamn smoothskin titsucker! You’ll pay for that!”

“Percy is my contract holder,” I start, towering over him. “And my friend. I don’t care what she is. I am loyal to her.”

“Is that it? That’s all you ever want to be? You’re fucking hopeless, kid. She’ll use you and throw you away once she’s done with you.”

The mere suggestion of Percy abandoning me coming from his mouth made me want to shut him up.

“Big guy, don’t listen to him. C’mon, let’s just go.”

“Once she finds a human who can protect and fuck her better, you best bet she’ll put you down like the dog you are.”

He should shut up.

Shut up. Shut the hell up!

I’ll fucking shut him up!

“Charon, enough! Stop! I order you to stop!”

Small hands were pulling me away, and Percy’s orders went in my ears as sharp barks.

Conditioning kicking in, I freeze. I look down, and my hands are bloody.

I smeared Roy Phillips to the ground.

Fuck.

Around us the other ghouls, his followers, were too shocked to even fire their weapons. Lynn runs over, looks at me, then her boyfriend’s brains on the ground, and lets out a frightened wail.

Percy grabs my arm and pulls me towards the entrance. “Charon, we need to get out of here!”

Behind us, they were firing their guns like crazy. One of the bullets grazed my thigh, but I kept going, the pain numbed by holding Percy’s hand.

We rode our way out of there.

It’s getting dark and unsafe to drive.

Making camp on the side of the road, Percy treats the bullet graze on my thigh in silence. Then, she stares into the fire, eyes glazed over.

“Charon, what have I done?”

I scoot closer to her, and she begins to cry.

“You couldn’t have predicted that Phillips would turn against his word.”

“No. I trusted him and now people died because of me.”

Doing my best to soothe her, I stroke her hair. “Can I make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, angel.”

Percy sniffles, and looks up to me.

“You know, I hate it when people call me that. I’m just a kid who’s also imperfect and makes mistakes… not some Wasteland Avenger, and definitely not an Angel.”

“I can stop, if that’s what you wish of me, Percy.”

“If it’s you? It’s fine. Consider it my thanks for allowing me to call you ‘big guy’.”

Pulling her closer, I chuckled.

Percy kisses my cheek, yawns, and settles in my arms.

I smile.

#lone wanderer #female lone wanderer #charon #fallout charon #charon fallout #fallout 3 charon #charon fallout 3 #oc: percy zhou #charon x lone wanderer #tenpenny tower #fanfic: absolution #series: through river acheron #fallout 3 #fallout #fallout fanfic #writers on tumblr