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tojisun · 6 months

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dbf!simon is very much dear john by taylor swift coded

my goodness?? no yea absolutely!! im??? WHAT???? i cant move on, this hurts terribly

toxic!dbf!biker!simon was sent to me so i can hurt all of us and yk what? im actually sorry for this one because dear gods simon is mean

!! made simon unlikeable (ooc, even) and im really sorry for that; suggestive; age gap; power imbalance // biker!simon mlist // prev - 01, 02

simon’s late.

of course he is. when was he ever on time? when has he ever prioritized you above all else?

he said he’d pick you up at six and promised that he’d bring you the helmet that’s only ever reserved for you. it’s a pretty pink one with a little skull painted on the right top of the shell, personally customized by simon.

“reminds me of you, sweet girl,” he whispered the first time he presented it to you, grinning as though he’s the only man who’s made you feel special; as though he knows he is.

he promised to bring his bike because he said it’s faster; because he said he’s got somewhere to bring you. some place, probably in the outskirts of the city, where he can spoil you. because that’s all you are to him anyway: a secret. a fling. someone who he knows he can always turn to.

and you should’ve known that simon’s promises are ephemeral. that all that they’re good for is to make your stomach swoop and your heart flutter, long enough that when the betrayal hits, it hits harder. you should’ve known that his promises are but cacophonies that get smothered in the wind because simon doesn’t follow through. he never has.

but you never learn, huh?

too busy being in love, too busy being starry eyed. too busy counting down the hours, minutes, seconds because for some reason, for some stupidly heartbreaking reason, you think he loves you back. you think that he even can.

you think that once simon comes, he’ll be all apologetic, begging for your forgiveness as he whimpers his i’m sorry’s and his i’ll do better’s on your forehead or on your cheeks or even on your lips. that he’ll cradle you in his arms like the precious jewel that you are, careful and tender, before helping you get on his bike.

but an hour has already passed and the next hour is just eleven minutes away from being completed, still, simon has yet to show up. your messages remained unseen and your calls continued to be unreturned.

you’ve bitten your lips raw, not enough to bleed but just enough that you feel the sting whenever you sigh. you’ve taken to walking around the lounge area of the library to stretch your legs out and to give your numb butt a break, occasionally bumbling towards the water dispenser to grab a quick drink, because you wished that all these little things can eat up time faster. you wished that if you just distracted yourself enough, then time will speed up and simon will finally come.

still-

“hello everyone, the library will be closing soon. i repeat, the library will be closing soon. please proceed to the checkout for those who want to bring home items, otherwise, thank you so much for coming in today! we open at 09:00 am tomorrow!”

oh.

you gather your things with a sigh, pretending that the back of your eyes aren’t stinging as tears begin to prick and pool. you ignore your trembling fingers as you swipe at your phone again, checking to see if simon’s called or messaged, only to feel the remaining pieces of your heart shatter at seeing nothing from him at all. you throw your phone back in your bag before zipping it close and slinging it on your back. you stomp out of the library, your breaths stuttering at the weight of your heartache.

you fall into a quiet autopilot as you get on the bus and trek back to the dorms. you remember that your mom had asked if you were going to come visit soon and you decide that perhaps what you need is a change of scenery for now so you dig for your phone just to tell her you’ll be home for the weekend, dutifully ignoring the desire to check if simon’s replied.

(it takes a heartbeat before you do check, thrums of morbid anticipation being chased away by the lack of notifications from him. this seals your need to flee back home.)

you mumble a hello to your roommate and to her girlfriend before locking yourself in your room to pack a duffel bag. you continue to pretend that you are not hyperaware of your phone as you stuff your bag with clothes, your laptop, and your books.

a knock brings you back to reality.

“hey lovie?” your roommate asks, her voice trembling from exhaustion.

“yeah?” you respond as you pad towards the door and open it for her. she smiles when she sees you. “what’s up?”

“someone’s downstairs, buzzing for you.”

“oh,” you say because you already know who it is.

“yeah,” she replies, standing up taller in sudden attentiveness, her previous sleepiness dispelled at hearing the dejected timbre of your voice. “you want me to chase him off?”

“no!”

you cringe at the ferocity of your reply, which makes her flinch, and you awkwardly clear your throat when the moment settles.

her girlfriend peeks around the corner to check on you two. “everythin’ alright?”

“yeah,” you say, coughing. “i, uh. i got it, thanks.”

you wave off their concern as you snag your keys from the counter and slide into your shoes before taking the elevator back down. you worried your bottom lip again, your brows furrowed as reality rushed back into you—simon’s come to your dorm. simon’s come to you.

you play with your fingers as you step out of the building, your lungs constricting at seeing simon parked just a few feet away. his helmeted head is turned towards the entrance of your building, and even though he’s got his face hidden by the visor, you know simon’s seen you.

still, he doesn’t stand.

he doesn’t make any effort to come to you. so you stay there by the building, blinking your eyes at him, waiting for simon to come close. for simon to be the one to take that first step into apologizing—because why else would he be here if not for that? if not for a pitiful and pathetic apology which you will digest as you are starved of any inkling of affection from simon?

but simon continues to remain still and even if you are desperate for everything he has to give, a bigger part of you knows this is too much. so you turn, sniffling as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes, and move to walk back into your dorm building.

“love, wait!” simon calls, but you remain facing the building even as your ears pick up the sound of scuffed boots against gravel, speeding towards you.

you whimper when simon’s hand closes around your wrist, tugging so that you are facing him again. his helmet’s still on but the visor’s pushed up and you bite a whine when your eyes meet his stormy ones.

“i said ‘wait,’ sweetheart,” simon murmurs, his hold tightening before he tugs you ever so closer to him. close enough that you see the lines on his face and the lone scar that runs from the side of his temple before disappearing into the tresses of his hair. close enough that you smell a faint vanilla sticking to his leather jacket. close enough that you see a littering of faint hickeys on his exposed neck.

“fuck you.”

simon’s head rears, not expecting the vitriol from your voice. he barks out a laugh.

“where’d my sweet girl go?”

“i’m not your fucking sweet girl!” you snarl, shaking his hold off of you. “i’m not your fucking anything!”

simon sighs like you are being difficult on purpose. like you are the one at fault. like you are the one who made him wait for two hours as he hanged onto the promise that you whispered to him nights ago. like you are the one who didn’t show up and forced him to find his way back home even amidst his heartache. like you are the one who chose to fuck someone even when you knew he was waiting for you.

because simon knew. he wouldn’t be here in front of you if he didn’t.

and isn’t it almost laughable how you thought he was going to apologize?

“love, is this about-”

“just leave, mr. riley,” you breathe out, the fire of anger that burned within you was extinguished into quiet sputters of your agony. “i made it back anyway. you don’t have to be here anymore.”

simon huffs a humourless laugh, the sound almost resembling a growl instead. “oh, so i’m ‘mr. riley’ now?” he pulls you even closer. “what happened to calling me ‘simon’? or even ‘si’?”

he leans towards you, his helmet bumping your head. “what happened to calling me ‘daddy’?”

simon steps back far enough that your hand misses his head, a hit that would’ve been futile anyway given his helmet.

you choke on your sob, the sound ripping from the base of your throat and tumbling into the cool air. and even then, even amidst the display of your heartbreak, simon continues to just stare you down.

“fuck you,” you repeat, your voice a quiet rasp.

simon hums, his boots crunching against the gravel as he turns. then, he says, “call me when y’r ready to talk to me like a mature person, kid.”

you run back into your building, not bothering to respond to him or to watch him drive off. you barely make it into the elevator before you crumple to your knees, your head dizzy with the intensity of your misery, your heart shredded into pieces.

made myself tear up too yey!!! @prttyangelz u got me sobbing teehee <333

#suns.f #prttyangelz #dbf!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley #simon riley #suns #ask #PLEASE DONT GET MAD ST ME FOR THIS!! i just love dabbling into diff aus :((

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

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I'll Always Be Here

Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Routledge!Sister, Rafe Cameron x Routledge!Sister (reader and characters are all over 18)

TW:18+, mention of domestic violence (nothing graphic), mentions of mental abuse, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of a gun, angst

Summary: JJ Maybank has been your best friend and keeper for as long as you can remember. So what happens when you get caught up with Kook prince Rafe Cameron and he discovers its the not the fairytale it seems.

Word Count:4.6k

Despite popular belief, JJ is a smart man. He may be the hot head of the group, always coming up with harebrained plans, but he's extremely intuitive and observant. He's been your best friend for years.

It's kind of a given, seeaing as you're John B's little sister. You're only a year younger, and for as long as JJ has known his friend, you've always been by his side. Even when John B whined about having to bring his baby sister, JJ has always made sure you had a place in the group.

He's always made you feel like you belong and took you under his wing. Which is exactly why he knows something is wrong. He can read you like a book, and he sees the signs before anyone else, even your brother.

He wasn't happy when you got tangled up with Rafe Cameron and tried to warn you that there's a darker side to the aggressive kook. You insisted that you knew, but that he's never been anything but gentle towards you.

It's such a cliche, falling for the man who's an asshole to everyone except you. It made you feel special, like you were the only one who got to see the real Rafe. You were young, barely 18, and naive. Oh, how wrong you had been.

You've been under Rafe's thumb for just over a year now, and the switch in your personality has been mind-boggling. JJ knew something was wrong when you blew off your own birthday party at the Chateau, but the rest of the Pogues wrote it off as you getting caught up in the kook lifestyle.

They had even been mad, spouting off about how you thought you were too good for the cut now. Too good for them. JJ knew better though, and that's when he started paying closer attention.

You all but live at the Camerons now, only coming home to retrieve more clothing. Though, there's not much left for you to take at this point.

JJ saw you for the first time in three months at Midsummers. You briefly locked eyes with him before quickly averting your gaze and slinking into your boyfriend's side. His eyes raked over you, taking in your small appearance.

He didn't miss the way Rafe was gripping you a little too tight, or the way that you only spoke when spoken to. The expensive fabric of the dress clung to your body and JJ almost thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he noticed a yellow bruise in the last stages of healing on your inner arm.

He thought it must be the lighting, or that maybe you just bumped into something. The gnawing feeling in his gut screamed otherwise, but he pushed it aside against his better judgment. You would come to him if you needed help. Right?

You avoided him for the entire night and he tried to ignore the sinking feeling as you were pulled inside by Rafe.

He sees you around town a little more after that, always in passing. If you see him you don't acknowledge it, but that doesn't stop him from staring at you every time.

He notices that you're dressed differently now, clad in designer clothing that looks stiff and out of place on your frame. Your hair is neatly styled; soft and void of its usual charms and braids, a stark contrast to the usual messy tangles caused by saltwater and surfing.

Your makeup is perfectly applied, and it causes him to frown. In almost two decades of knowing you, he's never once seen you with more than mascara and lipgloss. You look full kook now, and it makes his stomach lurch.

You're playing a role that Rafe has molded you into, he knows that much. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that this isn't your doing. You've always preferred a bikini top and comfy jean shorts, usually covered up by one of his t-shirts that swallow you whole.

He tries to tell John B, hoping he can get some intel from Sarah. The younger Cameron has written off her older brother, claiming that he's a psycho. When he pries for more details and discovers that Rafe tried to strangle her, he got into a fight with John B.

"You're telling me that you're okay with her shacking up with the man that tried to kill his own sister? That doesn't set off any alarm bells?" JJ shouts and John B just sighs.

"She's her own person, JJ. I can't control her."

JJ stares at him in disbelief, disgusted that he's so pussy whipped he's disregarding his own sister's safety.

"What about when he tries the same thing on Y/N? Will you care then? You haven't noticed the way that Rafe has completely erased her identity?" He screams, shoving the Routledge back.

Kie steps in and pulls him away, her eyes sad as she stares up at the blonde.

"I know you're worried, JJ. I am too. But we don't have any evidence, maybe it's time to accept she's just changed."

JJ scoffs and backs away, sending his found family daggers before racing off on his dirt bike.

He tried to reach out to you since then, only to find your number had been disconnected. He only tried to approach you once, but the fear in your eyes stopped him cold in his tracks. He knew that look, it had stared back at him in the mirror more times than he could count.

He also knew that trying anything would only make it worse, so he let you go.

Fast forward to tonight, it seems the entirety of OBX is at the kegger. Everyone is too wrapped up in their own shit to notice you arrive with Rafe, but JJ spots you immediately.

It's like he has a sixth sense that tingles whenever you're around, alerting his mind to your whereabouts before his eyes even land on you.

You look miserable, the thick layers of makeup doing nothing to hide your sunken eyes and exhaustion. He fights with himself internally for a few minutes, debating whether he should talk to you or not.

He doesn't want you to suffer because of him, but it's been so long since he's heard your voice or felt your arms around him, and every cell in his body is aching to be near you. He finally says fuck it, and his feet carry him forward on a mission.

He stops a few feet in front of you, and your eyes shoot up to look at him in shock. He smiles down at you but falters slightly when you don't seem the least bit happy to see him.

"Hey, Peach."

He notices your lips quirk slightly at his nickname for you before they fall back into a flat line. You'd earned the moniker when you were sixteen. JJ got you drunk for the first time on Peach Schnapps and you had made an absolute fool of yourself before throwing up in the bonfire.

Ever since then, you couldn't escape the embarrassing memory, though it never really bothered you. It was one of the best nights of your life, and your heart squeezes a bit at the thought.

You give a short nod and he doesn't miss the way your hands wring together obsessively or how your knee is bouncing rapidly. He doesn't get a chance to say anything else before Rafe speaks up.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the trash king. Fuck off, Maybank. She doesn't want to talk to you."

There's a cruel mocking tone to his voice and JJ's hands clench at his side before he smirks and turns to the kook.

"Funny, I don't remember speaking to you. If she doesn't want to see me, she can tell me herself."

He's casual as he says it, but there's an underlying bite that sends a chill down your spine. Your eyes dart between the two men in front of you, unsure of what to do.

You can see Rafe start to tense the longer you stay silent, anger coursing through him at your reluctance to tell your best friend to go away. You know it's in your best interest, but you can't bring yourself to say the words.

You feel bile rise up your throat, and with each passing second you're painfully aware that this is only going to get worse for you.

Rafe turns to you and you recognize the fire in his eyes as his pupils start to overtake his irises.

"Tell him, baby."

You cringe just barely at the pet name, an involuntary reaction you didn't fully realize you had. JJ catches it though and immediately knows it's now or never.

He can feel the anxiety rolling off of you in waves, and that's enough confirmation for him.

"Come on, Peach. The rest of the crew have missed you. You can at least come say hi to John B."

Your throat constricts at the mention of your brother, and JJ sees the tears on your lash line. You don't make a move, and Rafe laughs bitterly.

"See? Go back to your side, pogue."

JJs on his last strand of patience and you can tell. He's always been extremely protective, but he's tried to stay in the shadows and wait for you.

He knows that you won't leave until you're ready, but he's hell-bent on being there to catch you when the time comes.

JJ is intimately familiar with being mistreated by someone you love. He knows the shame that comes with admitting it, the desire to protect the person even though they're hurting you.

He isn't sure if Rafe has put his hands on you, but he's damn certain that he's got his talons in your mind.

And he's also certain that if Rafe hasn't hit you, he will. It's only a matter of time.

"I'm getting real sick of hearing your bitch ass voice, Cameron."

His voice is sickly sweet, and he takes satisfaction in the way Rafe's eye twitches. He knows the man isn't used to being talked back to or having someone stand their ground.

You look on helplessly as Rafe squares his shoulders, clearly not above resorting to violence. JJ laughs darkly, looking forward to beating the absolute dog shit out of the man that's terrorized you for a year.

"That's not in your best interest, man."

JJ tries to warn him, but you know Rafe. Now that he's started this, and people are watching, he won't back down. You also know JJ, and he could kick Rafe's ass on a bad day.

But standing here now, with months worth of rage waiting to be let out, you're convinced he could kill him.

JJ stands relaxed, not a worry on his face, as Rafe pants heavily and turns red. He's already got him where he wants him. Even if JJ did lose this fight, he's already won.

He's under the kook's skin, fucking with his head and he knows that Rafe is going to make impulsive swings with no real method.

He sees it coming from a mile away, picking up on the way Rafe's body shifts back as his arm winds up. He dodges the punch easily before landing a right hook.

Your hands fly up over your mouth as you gasp, and your boyfriend stumbles back.

His hand comes up to his cheek, wiping at the blood from where JJ's ring broke the skin. The entire crowd moves back as Rafe tackles him and you watch frozen as the two of them land blow after blow.

You vaguely register hands on you as Kie and Sarah pull you away, sobs wracking your body. The three of you watch from a distance while John B and Pope try to break them apart to no avail.

When JJ pulls out a gun and points it at Rafe's head, everything goes into slow motion. Your boyfriend takes a step back with his hands up defensively, and JJ has that manic smile he gets when he's about to do something stupid.

Your voice sounds foreign to you as you scream JJ's name, pure terror coursing through your veins. His eyes meet yours and you shake your head, a silent plea to put the weapon down.

He searches your face for a few seconds before lowering the gun, his features softening as he sees the state you're in.

You barely register the sting of the ground scraping your skin as your knees give out and you collapse in heap, gasping for air.

Sarah does her best to get your head between your knees so you don't faint, and Kie rubs your back soothingly. You look up as two feet come into your field of view, Rafe staring down at you with nothing but hatred.

"Let's go."

You start clambering to your feet before Kie pulls you back down and Sarah gets nose-to-nose with her brother.

"Fucking leave and don't ever look at her again or I swear to God I will go get that gun and pull the trigger myself."

Her voice is quiet but lethal and Rafe scoffs before seeing how serious she is. He spits at the ground in front of you, and you flinch as more wails rip from your chest watching him walk away.

In the blink of an eye, JJ is dropping to his knees in front of you and wrapping you up in his arms. You collapse into him, your tears soaking his shirt as he rocks you back and forth.

"Shh, it's okay pretty girl. I'm right here, you're safe."

The girls share a look before walking back over to John B to give you and JJ space. Your brother watches the interaction with his hands in his hair, completely distraught. JJ tried to tell him, and he didn't listen.

Now look at you, a shell of your former self and completely broken. He should have protected you and he failed you. Murdering Rafe flashes through his mind before he pushes it to the side to focus on you.

His eyes follow every movement as JJ scoops you up and carries you into the chateau, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt so hard it looks like it might rip.

Sarah wraps her arms around him as tears start flowing freely, and he leans into her. What has he done?

Inside, JJ sits you on the bathroom sink and puts a cold washcloth under your eyes to help the swelling. You sit like that for a few minutes before hopping down and gently instructing him to sit on the edge of the tub.

You pull out a first aid kit and start disinfecting his wounds, your hands steady and a little too efficient. He frowns as you go through the motions as if this is second nature, and feels his head spin. You're too practiced at this.

"How do you know how to do all of this?"

You seem to know just the right amount of pressure to apply to stop the bleeding without hurting him and what creams to use, a skill you didn't have before.

He knows this because when he wrecked his dirt bike a while back, you tried to clean him up and it almost hurt worse than the accident itself.

Your hands falter slightly and he stares at the side of your face as you resume your previous movements without answering. He takes a minute to really look at you in the bright lighting and his heart shatters.

Now that he can really see you, his worst fears are confirmed. Your face is covered in foundation, but it doesn't hide the swelling of your cheek and eye. There are dabs of concealer on your neck, perfectly spaced and the size of fingertips.

He goes to move your jacket down, wanting a better look at the rest of your body but freezes when you flinch.

"What has he done to you?"

It comes out as a broken whisper and you fight the fresh tears threatening to fall.

"I'm fine, JJ."

He shakes his head and you sigh, dropping the hand that's holding an alcohol pad.

"No, Peach, you're not."

There's a finality to his tone and you know you can't get around this. He grabs the wet washcloth and rubs at your face and neck, almost throwing up when the dark bruises start to peek out.

He knew Rafe had a hold on you, but never in a million years did he imagine it was this bad.

You avert your eyes, not wanting to see the look of pity you're sure is blanketing your best friend's face.

JJ feels sicker with each new mark that's uncovered and gently brushes his fingertips over them. He shakes his head as he finally pulls your jacket down, your arms covered in fresh and old bruises.

He doesn't even want to imagine what the rest of you looks like. He notices you trembling and gently lifts your face to his with his index finger and pointer thumb.

There's a multitude of emotions swimming in his eyes, but pity isn't one of them. Your lip quivers as he stares at you with the same love and adoration he always has, despite feeling like you're hideous and worthless.

As if he can read the thoughts racing through your jumbled mind, he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours gently.

"Hey, none of this is your fault, okay? You did so good, Peach. You're so strong and I'm so so proud of you. You never need to feel embarrassed or ashamed around me, if anyone gets it it's me."

You give him a weak nod and wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and he kisses the side of your head as you nuzzle into his shoulder.

"Let's get you to bed, and we can talk tomorrow if you want."

He takes your hand and leads you out of the bathroom and toward your bedroom slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements or jostle your body around.

The rest of the group is inside now, quietly discussing the events of the night when you emerge. The conversation comes to a halt as their eyes land on you and John B feels ill when he sees your bruised body.

He stands slowly and carefully makes his way to you with both hands out as if he's approaching a wounded animal.

"I'm so sorry, Peach. Please, please know that I never would have let this happen if I had known." He chokes and you swallow thickly.

"I know, JB. I don't blame you."

He engulfs you in a gentle hug, his scent overwhelming you as you finally feel safe in your brother's arms again. He stifles his sobs for your sake before pulling away and letting JJ continue guiding you toward the back.

The second you're out of his sight, he darts out the patio door and empties his stomach on the lawn. He feels Sarah rubbing his back as he continues heaving, before plopping down on the steps.

"Rafe is going to pay for this."

In your room, JJ helps you change into pajamas and climbs into bed with you. The two of you lay there for a while, just basking in each other's company and listening to each other's breath. After a while, he hears soft snores coming from you and eases out of the bed.

His face is set in a deep scowl when he returns to the living room and everyone turns to him. He locks eyes with John B, the two of them coming to a silent conclusion as the man gets up off the couch.

John B turns to Sarah and Kie and nods toward the room you're sleeping in.

"Keep an eye on her."

Sarah bites her bottom lip, contemplating if she wants the answer to her next question.

"Where are you going?"

JJ tosses his friend the keys to the Twinkie and he catches them with ease.

"To get her shit and teach Rafe that no one fucks with the Pogues. Least of all my sister."

They don't wait for a reply before turning on their heels and making a beeline for the van. They climb in silently and peel out, speeding toward the Camerons.

"So what's the plan?" JJ asks and John B glances over at him briefly.

"Since when do we have plans? I'm getting my sister's stuff and you can deal with Rafe until I'm done."

JJ claps excitedly, already stretching out his hands and preparing to finish what he started.

The tires screech as John B stops in the driveway, both of them hopping out. They march up to the front door, and swing it open without so much as a knock.

Rose jumps in her seat, her eyes wide like saucers as she stares at the two men in her foyer.

"Don't even think about it. Where was she staying?" John B barks and Rose just points up the stairs.

"Last room on the left."

He doesn't spare her another look as he bounds up to the second floor on a war path. He starts grabbing everything that he recognizes as yours, as well as a couple Rolexes, and makes his first trip to the Twinkie.

He figures its reparations and slips the watches into the glove box.

As he's making his second trip he hears shouting in the backyard. He recognizes Rafe's voice and takes a second to place that the other person yelling is Ward.

He grabs the last of your things and whatever else piques his interest, taking them outside as well.

In the back, JJ is smirking as both men try to intimidate him. Ward goes so far as to offer him money, tired of dealing with Rafe's shit and never willing to admit his son's faults.

JJ laughs at the insulting suggestion and crosses his arms.

"You think that I'd let him get away with this for some cash? That girl is priceless to me, there's nothing you could possibly offer that would make me walk away from bashing this asshole's face in."

Ward's face drops as he realizes he can't get out of this and he makes a split-second decision. He may be loyal to his son to a fault, but he's getting too old to be fist-fighting.

"You're on you're own, Rafe. I told you this would happen."

With that, he slams the glass door behind him and stops for a moment when he sees John B walking back in the front door before continuing up to his office.

Rafe looks at JJ through his already busted eye, not willing to show any weakness. Deep down he knows what's about to happen is inevitable, but that doesn't mean he'll give the pogue the satisfaction.

JJ closes the distance with lightning speed, his fist colliding against Rafe's nose with a sickening crack. Blood starts pouring instantly and the man groans loudly.

JJ doesn't let him have any time to recover, pouncing on him and landing two more blows to his jaw and ribs. By the time John B joins, Rafe is almost unrecognizable.

He's curled up on the ground clutching his stomach and John B looks over at his friend whose breathing heavily with blood splattered on his face.

He decides JJ has done enough damage and opts to bend down to Rafe's level.

"If you ever so much as look at my sister again, I will kill you without a second thought." He grits out before standing again and nodding for JJ to follow him.

He pauses for a moment, wanting to add insult to injury.

"Oh, and thanks for the watches."

They leave without another word and climb back into the Twinkie silently.

"Shower when we get back, she doesn't need to see you like this."

JJ nods and rubs his sore knuckles, already seeing the black and blue blossoming across them. They're only gone about an hour and Sarah is tackling John B in a hug before his feet even touch the ground.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She frets, hands frantically roaming his body to search for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine, Sarah. I promise."

Meanwhile, JJ treks inside and heads straight for the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror, finally letting everything sink in. He drops his head as his shoulders shake, hot tears falling into the sink below.

He allows himself a moment before taking off his necklace and rings, stepping into the hot stream of water. He tilts his head back as the blood and grime are washed away, and feels more salty tears slip down his cheeks.

He knows what it feels like to be beaten until you're numb day after day. He knows how it feels when a fist collides with an old bruise, replacing it with a new one. He wouldn't wish it upon anyone, least of all you.

All he can think about is your frame cowered in the corner as you try to survive, crying and whimpering.

He wonders if you ever cried out for him and the thought makes him punch the shower wall. He should have been there, he should have saved you.

He briefly regrets not pulling the trigger. The only thing stopping him from doing it now is the fact that he'd go to prison, and leave you alone. He never wants to leave your side again.

He finishes up his shower, scrubbing until the water runs clear, and steps out onto the bath rug. He wraps a towel around his waist and pads down to your room, creeping in as silently as he can.

His feet shuffle over to your dresser and he pulls out a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants. You always have clothes for him, sleeping over in your bed isn't a rare occurrence.

He pulls them on and crawls back into your bed, sighing as his head hits the pillow. You seem to sense his presence and roll over to press your face into his bare chest, your legs tangling with his out of habit.

He runs his hand through your hair, his arm wrapping around you to pull you tighter against him. His eyes flutter closed as he inhales your sweet scent, coconut shampoo mixed with perfume that smells like burnt sugar.

It's familiar and comforting, and he tries to calm his heart rate as he grounds himself in your arms. You're here, you're safe, and he's never letting you go again.

You mumble quietly, your eyes starting to peek open.

"Shhh, go back to sleep, pretty girl. I'm right here, I'll always be right here. I promise."

He feels your lips press a soft kiss on his shoulder before your breathing evens out again and he stays up just watching you.

He's absolutely petrified that he'll wake up and you'll be gone, back in the arms of Rafe Cameron. So he doesn't sleep.

It's not until four am when you reach up and gently swipe your hands over his eyes, forcing them shut, that he allows himself to get tired.

"Go to sleep, JJ. I can hear the wheels turning in your head and it's keeping me up. I'll still be here."

He turns to lay on his back, pulling you with him so your body is practically on top of his.

The weight of you soothes him, and finally, he starts to doze off. Everything is okay now, you're going to be okay. He'll make sure of it, even if it's the last thing he ever does.

#jj maybank #jj Maybank imagine #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x reader #outerbanks fic #outer banks #obx #outerbanks #jj Maybank angst #rafe cameron #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader

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byerseason · 6 days

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why byler is the only logical way to end stranger things: a personal opinion

long post incoming. i've been thinking about what else can they do other than canon byler or is there any logical way which would please everyone. but i genuinely can't find any logical ending.

first of all, let's see the options i heard from people who doesn't think byler is gonna happen.

not adressing will's love for mike, mike never finding out about it and will's arc simply focusing on supernatural part : well, we all know that's impossible. not after spending a whole season to show us his deep love for mike. also it's confirmed that an emotional arc for him is what is gonna tie up the story.

"his love for mike was for him to explore his sexuality, he's gonna have another boyfriend." : they could easily show it to us without bringing mike into it. the byers moving to california was a perfect chance for it since it's a place better than hawkins when it comes to LGBT, they could easily give him a love interest, include him to their journey to find el just like they included argyle and give him a good character arc in s5, just like robin in s4. well, they didn't.

"mike is gonna reject will" : okay, then what was the reason of making him fall in love with mike? did the writers want to write a horrible story for the only gay child in the group? especially after showing us how miserable he feels about mike and how much he loves him? no.

now let's look deeper at the character arcs. my biggest reason to think byler is the only logical way is: will byers

i don't think i have to mention how much will suffered throughout the show and how he needs the happiest ending. they left season 4 at a point where everything about that love triangle is unresolved and they're obviously going to do something with it.

we all know mike is the one who understands will the most. he always been, since the very beginning. we've been shown that their bond is different and special. in a scenario where mike rejects will, we all know this is gonna be ruined. will is not gonna magically bury his love and go back to being besties with mike. and for mike, it's not possible for him to ignore will's love for him and stay friends as nothing happened. it would ruin their friendship for absolutely nothing.they can't simply take the only one who understands away from him.

will said he wants to spend the rest of his life with mike for two times. even if he doesn't have any hope, he desires it. so why giving him a love that he will never have? in this scenario will's character arc is literally "the gay kid always thought he will never have love just because he is gay, he thinks it's wrong and he is a mistake, well yes, he was right! he will never find the love and just watch the other straight people have it. thanks for watching stranger things." will's arc should be an arc where he is proven wrong, where he understands it's okay to love, where he is loved the way he loves, purely. otherwise his character arc is gonna be useless. where did we leave will in s4? he was thinking there's no chance for mike to love him and he has zero hope-- he ripped off the band aid. if mike rejects him the character arc and all the build up in season 4 becomes useless. he was at zero, and he is still at zero.

like i said giving him an arc where he is loved the way he loves was easy to be done without mike but now it's too late. they made it super clear that will doesn't want to be loved, he wants to be loved by mike. mike hurts him yet he still thinks mike makes him feel like he's not a mistake at all. that's not a simple crush. that's pure love. as a writer of a show you don't spend too much time to sympathize the characters love to the audience -something you never did with your other characters, at least not as much as will- you don't show them pouring their heart to a gift, just to waste it, just to make the character feel the worst they can feel just to make the person they love happy. will loves mike such a way that he prioritizes his happiness over his. this is what is gonna pay off.

the second character whose character arc needs byler: mike wheeler

mike has always been the most complicated character of the show, but most of his actions have no explanation other than him dealing with his own feelings. the show introduced mike as the leader of the party and i think it's okay to say he was one of the main characters in season 1 & 2. what happened after s2? a crazy character downfall. the audience started to dislike him and think he is useless. he didn't have any character development in the past 2 seasons. why? why? why?

because we all just watched him struggling. dealing with something inside of his mind that we don't know.

let's talk about a scenario where byler doesn't happen. this makes all mike's arc about being a love interest since s3. no development, no explanation for his behavior in the past 2 seasons. of course mike is traumatized and never talks to anyone which effects his behavior a lot. but there's still an unanswered question. why is he distancing himself from will specificially? the writers showed us that they understand each other the best, they know each other the best and notice if somethings wrong, so why is he distancing himself from the person who he needs the most as a best friend?

this is where we start to think if the problem is will himself, for mike.

why did we make will fall in love with mike just for mike to distance himself from will for no reason and make will upset? did we want will to suffer for no reason or create an empty storyline?

if mike is not how we think he is, he is going to end the show with an empty character arc who is nothing but a love interest, a side character. if mike ends up how we think he is, he is going to be the best onscreen representation of internalized homophobia. people think he is useless or just an asshole but he will turn out to be a perfectly written character who has his own arc.

people love to say "gay people didn't exist in 80s, byler would be unrealistic." which is completely wrong. gay people DID exist in 80s and they DID find love. did they have peace? they didn't. this is why mike and will are gonna be a real representation. we watched all the real struggles they went through. even if we don't get to see them as a couple, they will know they love each other by the end and that's what matters. and there's nothing unrealistic about it.

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler analysis #byler proof

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

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Hey sorry if this isn't your sorta thing but could I request a dragon that collects humans with special magic powers falling for reader?

I love this idea! Sorry it took me so long to get to this ^_^'

Dragon (Felix) x female reader

Word Count: 3k

W: yandere dragon behavior , some threats of violence, sfw fluff

Felix had dedicated his life to hunting the most miraculous humans, the most beautiful, the most powerful, the strongest, and the most magically inclined. He was fascinated with what made them tick. Humans shouldn’t naturally have magic. In his personal opinion, it was a bit of an abomination actually. Humans were meant to be servile, toiling around in the dirt with no wings or fins or fangs to protect them. That they should be dominated seemed to simply be the nature of things and he had no intention of fussing with that.

No, really, what he had was morbid curiosity and perhaps nothing else to do. Dragons' lives were very long and they had few natural enemies. Felix was a scholar at heart and something drew him to collecting. Over the years he’d captured and tamed hundreds of powerful, talented humans. Some cooperated with his experiments and lived in relative luxury in his castle; others had far too much pride, in his opinion, and had to be locked away for everyone’s safety.

Each one was more miraculous than the next. One man could draw fire from his hands like a fire fairy, but tests revealed he had no fire fairy blood in him. Another person could screech so loud they could break glass. Their vocal chords were fascinating to study. It seemed to be a totally natural phenomenon.

Still, after years and years of collecting he hadn’t found…perhaps the human he was looking for? Something still drew him to scouring the planet looking for…something. So naturally, he was quite surprised when he found you simpering and sniffling in a corner of his castle with tears on your face. You were just a maid. You had no special magic, you weren’t exceptionally beautiful, and your biggest talent was that you could make a boiled egg better than any of the other kitchen staff. It came out perfect every time with your technique, but that was it.

“Why are you crying little one?” he asked, perhaps because he was bored. Otherwise he would have probably walked right past you. He’d never noticed you before, though you’d worked in the kitchen peeling potatoes and boiling eggs for a few years. He’d had your famous boiled egg for breakfast every day for a long time without even knowing who cooked it.

You lived in a small cottage near the castle and came to work in the kitchen every day from sunrise until everyone had their last meal. Then you hurried home to the safety and comfort of your old hay mattress.

Our eyes filled with terror when you realised the master of the castle was talking to you and you quickly righted yourself, trying to rub the soup one of his talented humans had dumped on your head off of your face.

“I-it’s n-nothing my lord,” you stammered, trying to slip past his huge form.

He was just scraping nine feet tall, not including the silver horns emerging from his head. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the glittering scales that clung just above his cheekbones and along his jaw or his silver eyes.

“Stop right there,” he said, grabbing your shoulder with his big hand and swinging you back around to face him, “answer honestly when your master asks you a question.”

You blushed, unsure what to say. You didn’t want to tattle on Mira, the talented human who’d waited too long to eat her soup and threw a tantrum when it was cold hours after you’d delivered it. She was far more important and interesting than you, despite her temper. She could lift objects with her mind. You could boil an egg. You were not the same.

“I need to get Miss Mira more soup,” you decided to say, ignoring the glob of meat that wetly slid out of your hair and smacked on the floor with a splat.

“I-I’ll clean that up, right away,” you assured him, bending to wipe up the mess you were making with your apron.

The dragon frowned looking you up and down and tapping his chin. There was something about you that he liked. He wasn’t exactly sure what. You certainly weren’t remarkable and you looked a mess covered in red soup with bits of vegetables and meat in your hair. Regardless, he was curious about you.

“Do you have running water at home?” he asked.

You blinked and looked up at him for a moment, before catching yourself and looking back down to the soupy footprints you were trying to mop up.

“Erm…no my lord, only the castle and the merchant’s manors have piped water,” you explained.

You were not looking forward to hauling bucket after bucket of cold water to your bath to wash all of the food out of your hair when you got home. Only the rich could afford the metal pipes and enchantments that would bring warm water indoors.

He grunted down at you.

“Come with me,” he said simply, turning on his heels and marching down the hall.

You didn’t know what else to do, he was your boss, so you shuffled after him.

“My lord, perhaps I should get another maid to help you,” you said apprehensively as he led you into his personal quarters and bathroom. You hovered uncomfortably at the door, wondering what he wanted you to clean while covered in soup. You were making an even bigger mess wandering around the castle dripping wet.

“Don’t move an inch,” he said over his shoulder as he started the tap.

You started to tremble, unsure what was going on. This was highly unusual, working in the kitchen you hardly ever saw the master. Nothing good could come of him bringing you to his personal quarters. You had no romantic illusions about some noble lord taking an interest in you. You’d seen maid after maid chewed up by the male talents Lord Felix had in the castle. They went through them and then tossed them away like toys, leaving them penniless, without a job, and heartbroken. All you wanted to do was come to work, do your work, and go home without being molested or covered in soup.

You watched him pour a sweet smelling soap into the water that reminded you of the scent of peaches and made lots of bubbles.

“Go ahead and undress,” he said, as he sprinkled some kind of salt as well.

“No, my lord,” you said with fleeting confidence.

You were an employee, not a toy.

He turned to you and his eyebrows went up. He was handsome and very large, all things that were attractive to you, but you had some shame.

“No?” he repeated, scoffing.

“I don’t feel comfortable…” you said, your confidence waning.

“You’d rather spend the day covered in stew?” he asked.

You plucked a thread at your dress.

“No, my lord, but…”

He snickered at you as he crossed the room, looming over you and yanking the wool dress you were wearing over your head before you had a chance to fight him.

“How do you plan on stopping me?” he teased you as he pulled the chaste white panties you were wearing off and removing the bra you had on.

He wasn’t rough with you, but he also didn’t hide his strength, pinning you easily with one hand while the other worked on removing your clothes.

“My lord!” you sputtered, “this isn’t fair!”

He shrugged as he picked you up like you were just a kitten and carried you over to the bath water.

“It really isn’t,” he agreed as he gently set you in it, “but such is the way of the world.”

To your dismay he unceremoniously dumped a pitcher of warm clean water on your head so instead of fighting him you were busy wiping water out of your eyes.

“That’s better isn’t it?” he asked drizzling a swirl of shampoo in your hair.

This was probably the first time in your life you’d been fully immersed in warm water except maybe when you were an infant and the sensation was hard to pass up. It was warmer than you could ever get your water at home with just hot rocks heated in the fireplace and your skin felt smooth and soft from the salts he’d added.

If you wanted to argue, you didn’t have a chance, because he was quickly scrubbing his large, strong fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.

“Mmmm,” you hummed reflexively and he smiled, gathering a comb up to run it through your hair and remove all of the bits of vegetable matter.

“So have I softened you up enough to tell me what happened?” he asked, as you let your eyes shut, leaning back against the smooth back of the tub.

You tender bits were all covered in piles of bubbles, which eased your shyness.

“Miss Mira just has a bit of a temper,” you mumbled in total bliss, the gentle scrape of the blunt comb on your skull relaxing and soothing years of built up tension, “nothing to be concerned with, my lord.”

He chuckled at how a simple bath relaxed you and loosened your tongue, reminding himself to deal with Mira later. He didn’t tolerate badly behaved humans under his care, especially now that he’d taken an interest in you. No one would be dumping any food on you again under his watch. When he’d gotten you satisfactorily clean he pulled you from the tub and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, ringing the bell for another maid. When she arrived her eyes widened as she saw the condition you were in, shooting you a questioning look when Felix wasn’t looking. You shot back at her with a shrug and a pleading look indicating you had no idea what was going on either and begging her to do something, though neither of you had any idea what she could possibly do to save you.

“Bring…” he glanced down at you to get your name but you kept your mouth shut tight.

Frightened of angering the lord and to your dismay the other maid gave him your name quickly. He smiled.

“Bring (Y/N) another dress, something pretty,” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, tossing you an apologetic glance before she disappeared.

“Now,” he mused, looking back at you with his finger tapping his chin, “there’s something about you…”

He lifted a lock of your hair, before smoothing his clawed fingers over the column of your neck.

“You seem to be a normal human,” he murmured, “but I can’t seem to keep my eyes off of you…even for a moment, they are always drawn back to you…do you know why that is (Y/N)?”

You quickly shook your head because you really had no idea. He picked you up and you stiffened in his arms as he carried you to his laboratory. Terrified, you tried to fight him when your eyes grazed over the bottled body parts he had lining his shelves. Of course it was hopeless, he was far too big and strong.

“Don’t be so worried, little one,” he chuckled, “I have no intention of dissecting you. I’m only going to run a few tests.”

He set you on his work table before producing what looked like a doctor’s kit. While you shivered in terror, odd drops of water dripping from your hair down your neck, he took some of your blood and tapped various pressure points with some kind of tool to stimulate your reflexes.

You watched him hum and wrinkle his brow as he tried to sort out what made you so special, examining your blood sample under a microscope only to find your cells were perfectly average human cells.

“I assure you, my lord, I’m just a normal human. There really is nothing unique about me,” you said when you’d calmed down enough to catch your breath.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he informed you curtly and you shrank back.

There was a knock at the door and the maid appeared with a dress in your size. He took the dress, waving her away and carefully pulled it over your head, letting you slide your arms through the sleeves. To your surprise he very adeptly braided your hair and secured it with a pin.

“Follow me,” he said, pulling you down off of the high counter you were sitting on, onto the floor.

He took you to the male’s quarters and with a shout gathered all of the male special humans from whatever they were occupying themselves with.

“What do you think of this human?” he asked them, pointing to you.

Most of them looked bored, while a few looked a bit interested.

“She’s just a pretty girl,” one of them said.

“Not that pretty,” another commented.

“Yeah, she’s not really my type,” someone else said.

“I think she’s pretty, in a sort of farm girl type of way…” someone piped in.

“Hmm,” Felix said, pushing you behind him and considering the data he’d collected.

For some reason, he didn’t like these males looking at you, assessing your attributes, even though that’s what he’d asked them to do.

He led you back to his laboratory more confused than before. The males of the castle seemed to think you were a normal human. You didn’t have any sort of excessive seductive powers. So why did his heart flutter when his eyes met yours? Why were his hands sweating like he was just a schoolboy? While the other men seemed relatively ambivalent, when he looked at you, your skin seemed to glow and your smile made him want to press his lips against yours.

“My lord, don’t you think I should get back to work?” you asked, hoping his curiosity was satisfied and he would let you go.

“No,” he said, “you’re not to leave my side. I’m adding you to my collection.”

You gasped. You did not want to be one of your master’s collection. You were a maid, an employee, not a doll! You didn’t know what else to do, so you ran…or at least tried to run, but you only got a few steps before he hauled you back to him.

He pulled you up to his eye level and glared at you with his reptilian, golden eyes.

“Do NOT do that again,” he snarled, curls of smoke leaking from his nose.

The idea of you running away from him was infuriating. You were his. He was sure of it.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but you will not get away from me. Try to run again and I will remove your legs,” he snapped.

You nodded your head quickly, trembling in his arms.

Pleased that you understood, he led you to the other side of the castle to find Mira.

“Oh, hello Master Felix,” she cooed when he entered her room, batting her eyelashes at him, “I’m so pleased you’ve come to see me.”

Her eyes focused on you in your fine dress and she frowned.

“What’s she doing here, bringing me more cold soup?”

Felix snorted and a small flame burst from his nose.

“I’ve found a new use for your talents, Mira,” he informed her, “from now on you will work in the laundry washing linens…I think your skills can be useful to the other maids.”

He rang the bell in her room and a different maid appeared, her eyes popping at your dress. You gave her another confused shrug, before she had to turn her attention to your Master.

“Bring Mira a maid’s uniform,” he spat and she hurried away.

“You can’t be serious!” Mira shouted, various items in her room levitating around her, “I’m not a maid! I’m special!”

“(Y/N) is special,” he said, glancing down at you, then back up at her, “you are nothing more than a biological anomaly that apparently needs to be put to more productive use.”

While Mira shot daggers at you with her eyes, you tried to return her look with the most contrite, sympathetic face possible, but that didn’t stop the shower of hair brushes, hair pins, and makeup that came sailing in your direction with murderous intent.

With a wave of his hand the sundry items dropped to the floor with a clatter, just before they reached you.

“Try that again and you’ll be dissected and pickled,” Felix growled.

Mira blanched and the maid returned with one of the plain wool dresses you used to wear.

“Change and report to the laundry, the other maids will tell you what to do…if I see your face out of the laundry again there will be consequences,” he hissed, scooping you up like you were a treasure and carrying you from the room.

You blinked up at Felix, feeling bad for Mira. You were an employee, you had the ability to go home, but Mira was a captive…and now a servant.

“My lord,” you gasped, “are you sure you’re not being too harsh? I’m really nothing special…”

His eyes sparkled and he chuckled at you.

“That’s where you are wrong, my darling,” he said, “I think you are the human I’ve been looking for.”

“Looking for?” you murmured.

“Since I started this project of collecting humans I could never find the one that would sate my hunger for searching…but with you in my arms…I seem to have lost the desire to collect them at all…I would rather spend my time studying you.”

You blinked at him and swallowed thickly.

“I am not a doll…or a biological anomaly or whatever you said,” you pouted, using your last bit of pluck.

He turned your face to him and his golden eyes searched yours.

“That you are not,” he admitted with a smile that revealed his sharp teeth, “but you are still mine and I have no intention of letting you go. From now on you will be my companion.”

You blanched. His companion? You weren’t sure you liked the sound of that, but there was nothing to be done about it if you wanted to keep your legs attached to your body.

“Now,” he said with a sigh, smoothing his fingers over your soft cheek, “let’s have a nice day, shall we? No more silly attempts to escape and no more bowls of soup on your head, hmm?”

Your heart fluttered a bit, you were unsure if it was from fear or interest, but you accepted his words with a nod as he carried you off to the garden to enjoy the sunshine and your new life.

#dragon yandere #dragon fluff #dragon x reader #yandere x reader #yandere fluff #yandere male #yandere #monster x reader #monster fluff #x reader #fluff

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mr-president · 11 months

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I think one of my favorite Funtermina things is how it uses characters as narrative foils, specifically in how those characters interact with each other and everyone else.

Karin and Daan’s is the most discussed as it’s probably the most apparent within the text: their volatile opposing viewpoints on life via their upbringings (despite being extremely similar otherwise). When Karin and Daan interact, it’s like a person arguing with themself. They clash like ammonia and bleach, unable to reconcile how similar they are (haha cleaning chemical analogy) yet toxic in their association.

Marina and Levi represent the different realities of Prehevil, what with Marina’s privileged upbringing versus Levi’s absolute shitshow of an existence. And yet, they get along incredibly well and form a cadence with one another because through each other, they can reconcile their upbringings in Prehevil. Levi is the Prehevil Marina tried to escape—Marina is the Prehevil Levi hoped to return to.

Marcoh and Olivia are interesting because—and I will argue this to the death—their relationship is wholly as siblings. And they’re also deeply connected by their relationships with their sisters, specifically how those sisters formulated and defined how they see themselves. Marcoh has done nothing but live to protect his sister, while Olivia has forever lived in her sister’s shadow. Their identities revolve completely around their sisters, and this also colors their relationship with each other as siblings.

I wish it was explored more, but I think there’s a level of disenfranchisement when Marcoh fervently tries to protect Olivia the same way he protected his younger sister (edit: rb for amendment). He clearly sees her in that role, and Olivia’s already got guilt written into her about her disability making her a “charity case.” I say this also because of their different opinions on guns, power, and death: Marcoh has no bloodlust and seems exhausted when he has to hurt others, while Olivia becomes almost jubilant when she receives a gun. And those reactions to enacting violence are directly informed by their relationships with their sisters: a begrudging responsibility vs empowerment.

My favorite is probably Abella and O’saa as foils. As characters they’re probably my favorites, and their foil makes it even better.

Abella easily connects with everyone around her, ensuring that they’re all getting along (or not killing each other) and she tries desperately to help everyone, even at her own detriment. She cares, so much, even too much.

O’saa on the other hand, is the exact opposite. He actively chooses to connect with everyone as little as possible, to the point where you can kill someone in front of him and he won’t give a shit. This is, obviously, to his detriment in terms of his goal towards enlightenment. He cares too little, even if at all.

They perfectly represent the dichotomy between altruism vs selfishness, the mundane vs the macro, democracy vs individualism. Fundamentally, both Abella and O’saa get shit done, and what makes them so compelling as foils is how similar the results of their different processes are.

Both of them are the only two that are capable of saving everyone. Abella does so by interacting with many of the other contestants, while O’saa does this by ignoring everyone and just occam’s razoring that shit. They both get shit done and to the greatest net success, but in both cases, because they operate on extremes, it’s to the detriment of themselves. The game shows this literally because, well, they sacrifice themselves to Logic for the greater good, but the game also implies this detriment via their moonscorches.

Chaugnaur represents how others have reduced Abella to a sexual object for their pleasure or a mindless brute for labor. It is a physical manifestation of how interacting and connecting with others can be to one’s detriment because Abella often cannot control how people see and define her. Mastermind, on the other hand, is O’saa’s brain swelling and overtaking everything else on his head to the point where he is blind (save for the eye) and mute, only able to speak in mumbles. Mastermind is how O’saa values logic, knowledge, comprehension over anything else, becoming blind to other viewpoints save for his own. Additionally, it’s unable to communicate or connect with anyone else, only able to ruminate get never share its thoughts.

Abella is one of the first to Moonscorch; O’saa is one of the last. I love them as foils because even though they’re the most different in terms of anything, they don’t hinder one another at much all. They’re just kinda chill. And this makes sense because their dichotomies aren’t volatile like Karin and Daan’s, nor complementary like the others. Rather, they operate in balance—you cannot be too altruistic without some selfishness. To help everyone and to achieve enlightenment, you must consider both the mundane and the greater picture. Society operates on a shared democracy and on empowering individuals.

Still, the fact that even operating on the extremes has the greatest positive effect (in terms of utilitarianism) really says smth abt whether these values even matter. But I’d argue that they do matter, cause it’s that question of whether it’s worth it to suffer or even sacrifice for the greater good.

As a whole, each foil represents a central theme/motif of Fear & Hunger: internal vs external locus of control (Karin and Daan), environment dictating identity (Marina and Levi), relationships and their impact (Marcoh and Olivia), and the thematic shitshow that is Abella and O’saa.

Tldr; the game is about some girls and their boy best friends.

#fear and hunger termina #i could be stretching all of this and completely delusional but i wanted to do some thematic analysis on funger since i haven’t seen much :#feel free to add on #also for the record i don’t ship abella and o’saa mainly bc abella is a hunky lesbian and o’saa is highkey aro ace to me #they’re like the ‘can u text this for me? oh don’t be too mean tho’ besties if thag makes sense #mr president’s state of the union address #i’ll draw soon trust u gotta hear mh deranged analyses first tho

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

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My Whole Life Is Ruined

Summary: When you hold me, it holds me together, and you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

Surprise @talons-and-teeth! I'm sorry for the wait- I was not your original secret santa. I pulled this together based on what I know about you and I hope you like it! @acotargiftexchange

Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for making a moodboard with practically no instructions other than one Taylor Swift lyric and the description "Azriel has been hiding the fact he's Gwyn's mate and they have sex about it."

Insomnia was nothing new.

Gwyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d fully slept through the night. The past chased the present, running in circles as she ran after her tail, almost grasping it before she woke covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Sometimes, bathed in nothing but moonlight, Gwyn wondered if there would ever come a time when she didn’t dream of her sister, of a life long gone.

It didn’t rattle her as badly as it used to. Sitting in the bed Nesta had so graciously offered up, Gwyn pushed the blankets from her legs to let the cool, winter air caress her overheated skin. Leaving the library still felt like a picked over wound. She didn’t want to go back, cloistered away from her friends and the life she’d begun to enjoy living. That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.

Anxiety seemed to thrum beside her heartbeat, a constant presence she could only just shake if she was otherwise occupied. Right then, in the dead of night, Gwyn felt it snake around her until it was wrapped tight around her throat, choking a scream that always seemed so close to escaping.

She didn’t bother changing out of her thin nightdress, certain neither Cassian or Nesta would be up this late. If they were even back—they’d gone to Hewn City that evening for some meeting with a Day Court prince, giving Gwyn full run of the House of Wind. Not that she did anything terribly interesting with all that power—Gwyn got a book and some hot chocolate and spent the night curled in a chair reading until she finally dragged herself into bed.

Maybe she should have trained on the roof first. Really worn herself down so her brain was too exhausted to conjure up memories of the past, all the while whispering of how she might have prevented it, if she’d only been stronger, smarter, cleverer. Forcing her to relive it, to pick it apart to see what could have been different.

That was exhausting, too.

Cold air hit her the moment she pushed open the door, howling a greeting that might have scared someone else off. Gwyn liked the biting cold, the raucous yelling, the silhouette of the mountains looming like shadows in the distance. A half moon poured light over the rooftop, causing sleeping weapons to glint beneath. Maybe, she thought ruefully, she should have put on socks. Hair caught against her lips, and as Gwyn worked to push it out of her face, wishing for a hair tie, too.

It wasn’t too late and yet she was already here, wasn’t she? Might as well just power through, ignoring her discomfort like she was so accustomed to. The bite of cold was a reminder she’d survived—she was alive. So what if it burned a little? Sometimes Gwyn thought she fought better when she was in pain.

And more often than not, she suspected she deserved to feel it. That the curling peace was a mistake and everyone was going to realize what an imposter she was. They’d tell her she didn’t belong with them and cast her back out. Gwyn was always just waiting for it, a hammer that might fall at any given moment.

A blade just against her neck, never quite striking.

Gwyn pulled out a dagger, her favored weapon, and held it for a moment in her hand. Nesta was all brute strength, and Emerie terrifying yet easy grace, but Gwyn liked to be the shadow in the dark. The knife at someone's side rather than a screaming sword coming for a person's throat. While Nesta and Emeries radiated the kind of beauty that made men cower, Gwyn liked to think she was sweeter, more unassuming. People looked at Nesta, at Emerie, and were taken by their perfection.

They looked at Gwyn and wondered why she was with them. So Gwyn trained harder, made herself someone that couldn’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway. She was good at hiding, besides, taking to trees, blending into the background so often that on more than one occasion, Cassian and Nesta didn’t realize Gwyn was in the room until she cleared her throat.

Unbalanced, Gwyn took a second dagger and for a moment, was the wind itself. Recalling the movements Azriel had been teaching her, Gwyn stepped like a dance, twisting her body and slashing her blades against invisible foes.

A real ones, too. A shadow moved from the edge of the ring, catching her by surprise. Gwyn darted, and just as Azriel had taught her, grabbed them, slamming their body to the ground. It was thunder the way that massive, familiar form crashed against the world, a mighty god dragged from the heavens themselves.

Azriel groaned, eyes closed even as his hands grabbed her waist, holding her knee painfully against his ribs. “That was good,” he gasped, fingers curling into her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied, dropping the blade she’d pressed to his throat. A thin line of blood snaked over golden, tattooed skin, staining the rather lovely black jacket he was wearing. Why was he up here, she wondered? Shouldn’t he be enjoying himself with his friends and family?

Azriel swallowed hard, opening hazel eyes that cut through the otherwise oppressive dark to look at her.

“I’m not.”

And then he released her, letting her scramble backwards, heart thumping in her chest. Azriel didn’t move, wings spread wide around against the ground. He looked like a fallen angel and Gwyn was awed at the sight, the realization that it had been her who’d felled him. He was looking right back at her, his expression clouded by shadow. Was he angry? He said he wasn’t, but surely he didn’t appreciate being assaulted in his own home.

Not that she saw much of him since she’d moved in. Azriel, who maintained a bedroom in the House of Wind, was suddenly gone and when Gwyn was really down, she sometimes thought it was because he didn’t like being around her. Here he was, though, clambering to his feet, his eyes sliding down her body. She could feel the heat of them like he was touching her skin and was grateful for a sudden burst of wind hitting her like a bucket of ice water.

Careful, she warned herself.

It was hard, though. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful Azriel was. She wasn’t stupid. It didn’t hurt that in her worst moment, Azriel’s had been the very first she’d seen. A savior—a dark angel, come to wreak bloody vengeance on her sister's behalf. It had been Morrigan who’d taken her away to safety, but when Gwyn thought about how she’d escaped, she always remembered Azriel’s curved, lethal blade, sliding cleanly through the bodies of the same males who had killed her sister.

She’d always been grateful to him for it, even if she’d never tell him. He’d never once looked at her like he remembered, had never betrayed an ounce of pity. She’d expected him to say something back when he’d first joined their training, wary and distant. And maybe he knew, because he kept his distance until it was safe, had held himself at an arm's length and let her decide how much or little of him she wanted.

The problem was Azriel himself. Outside of being the most beautiful man he’d ever seen, he was just nice. Not in the way Cassian was, with big smiles and silly jokes, but with serious eyes and a dagger in hand, forcing her to move again and again and again. Your steps are off, Gwyn—you’ll get yourself killed that way. Eyes on your opponent, don’t look away. Hold your breath, don’t let them know you’re there.

Because he knew it mattered to her. That she wouldn’t be caught off guard ever again, that Gwyn would never let someone hurt her. Often, she wondered if he didn’t understand that pain, if it didn’t mirror some tragedy of his own. They didn’t talk about it—they didn’t need to. It was an understanding between them, something so intimate she would never share it with another living soul.

She kept waiting for Azriel to step back, to tell her she’d done enough, that she should finish with Cassian. He never did. Even when he was gone, Gwyn practiced knowing he’d want to see the progress she’d made while he was gone. And when he returned, he’d wait on the roof even when she’d flippantly told him it would be easier to just send word via letter.

I don’t mind waiting.

Those words still felt so charged to her. Like he was trying to say something else, eyes glittering and bright like the stars overheard. Gwyn pulled herself from her thoughts to look up at Azriel looming overhead, his wings flared around him as if he was trying to make himself seem larger. It was working—he was massive, muscular and tall and just like before, half fallen angel, half terrifying god come to earth so he might reign.

“You look cold,” Azriel commented, caught looking at her.

Gwyn put her hands on her hips. So what if he was? “I’m not.”

“Bullshit.”

Smothering a smile, Gwyn asked with faux outrage, “Are you calling me a liar?”

She swore the corners of his lips twitched. “To your face, even.”

“The cold doesn’t bother me,” Gwyn said, shifting from one leg to another, a gesture he seemed to register with sharp-eyed interest. Proof, she realized as his fingers began making quick work of his jacket. “No, that’s not—”

“Suck it up,” was Azriel’s dark voiced response, draping the warm jacket against her shoulders, leaving himself only in a black shirt stretched over his muscular torso. His eyes slid back down to her legs, lips flattening as he realized she was without shoes, too. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

Gwyn could smell the heady, masculine scent of him coming from the fabric, her arms far too small for the large holes. Still, she didn’t protest, turning to look toward the outline of the mountains instead.

“Maybe. But what a way to go.”

“It’s hardly heroic to die from the cold,” Azriel murmured, turning to follow her gaze. Did he know what she was thinking? How they had nearly died in the blood rite, thrown in wearing only a thin night dress against well-armed warriors? She wondered if Azriel would have found that heroic, even if it had been the cold that had gotten them.

Gwyn blew out a breath, the steam of air curling between them as one of his shadows darted out, illuminated by starlight. It wasn’t the first time and she wondered if they thought she, too, had a shadow for them to interact with.

Or if it meant something else.

Something more.

“Inside,” Azriel finally said, a gust of wind ruffling his night dark hair.

“You’re fussy tonight,” she grumbled, not protesting when his fingers pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door. Heat pulsated from the touch, settling low in her stomach. “Did something happen?”

Azriel pulled open the door with his free hand, his touch never quite leaving. “No. Hewn City is unchanging.”

She glanced up at him, the light softening the harsh lines of his face. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s predictable.”

“I want to see it,” Gwyn declared, though in truth she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Still, the corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched a bit, as if the whole thing amused him.

“You would devour them,” was his easy, good-natured response. “To their endless delight.”

“And yet I’ve been snubbed yet again,” she teased, elbowing him gently in the ribs. “Do I file my complaint with you…or…?”

“You were spared the grating presence of Vanserra,” Azriel said, cocking his head with a half smile. “But I will pass along your discontent to the High Lord.”

“Be sure that you do,” Gwyn replied, grinning by the time Azriel deposited her into a chair in the study. He didn’t go far, sitting on the arm, his wings draped behind them. She could see the flexing muscle of his thigh beneath his well-tailored pants. If she’d wanted, she could have touched him.

It was obscene how badly she wanted to. How she had to clench her fingers to fists to keep from reaching out, well aware that Azriel would withdraw entirely and, perhaps, never speak to her again. He’d been nothing if not unfailingly polite, besides…though…he had been looking at her in the clingy, short nightdress, hadn’t he?

Just because you were cold, her mind reminded her. After all, she was still wearing his jacket. Gwyn shrugged out of it, heat blooming over her cheeks as she shoved it into his lap. There. She’d gotten to touch him without him knowing and give him back his jacket before she convinced herself to keep it.

And possibly sleep in it.

Azriel arched a dark brow, hazel eyes staring at the rumpled fabric now balled in his lap. “What did the jacket do to offend you?” he asked, taking it in broad, callused hands. He’d removed his siphons, leaving the scarred skin wholly on display. She wondered what had happened to him—and why.

If he’d ever gotten his revenge for it.

“It’s yours—that’s enough,” she replied flippantly. Holding her gaze, Azriel picked up the jacket and brought it to his nose. Time seemed to stop, frozen entirely as she watched him do this.

And he watched her, daring her to say something. She opened her mouth, gaping, only to close it.

And Azriel smiled. Broad and unrestrained, as if he were so delighted he couldn’t help himself. Tilting his head toward the roof, he murmured, “House—some tea, if you don’t mind.”

Of course the house didn’t mind. Two cups of steaming tea rattled on the coffee table before them, complete with sugar and honey, if either of them wanted it.

Gwyn didn’t think she could pick up a cup without betraying the rattle of her hands. Why? Azriel had discarded the jacket casually, tossing it to another chair like it was uninteresting to him. And was he closer, now? His thigh was, she was certain, but had his arm always been behind her. If she moved a few inches, he could have slid into the seat to join her.

He could pull you into his lap if he wanted.

Which, of course, he didn’t

Didn’t he?

“Why are you here?” she asked, hating that breathless quality of her voice. Azriel heard it, too, head snapping to the side, nose flared as though searching for something she couldn’t place.

“I like to be near you,” he replied. He could have thrown her across the room and surprised her less. Once again, Gwyn opened her mouth only for no sound to leave her throat.

“You—you’re never here,” she finally managed. Azriel leaned forward, the faelights gilding the dark ink of his tattoos scrawled over his biceps. He took one of the cups and handed it to her, fingers brushing her own.

“I can’t stand being around you,” was his maddening, level response.

Gwyn’s stomach sank. “What?”

She couldn’t drink—not when such a strange admission hung between them. Azriel, so unused to verbosity, was now forced to explain himself. It occurred to her just as he turned fully to look at her, some of the color drained from his otherwise beautiful face, that perhaps he wanted this confrontation. She didn’t, though, and wished she could have told him so. Things were fine between them—distant, maybe, and filled with a lopsided yearning on her end, but that was better than whatever he was about to do.

Gwyn had the distinct feeling Azriel was about to crush her. Emotionally ruin her. Destroy her so recklessly there would be no coming back.

“You still don’t feel it?” he asked instead, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “After all this time?”

A new fear speared through her gut. There was only one thing Azriel could possibly feel—and one thing she could possibly not. Gwyn had to set the shaking cup of tea down before bolting from her chair, arms wrapped around her chest.

“You don’t feel anything,” she declared, deciding if she felt nothing, neither did Azriel.

Pain lanced across his expression, replaced by grim determination. As he stood, Gwyn knew Azriel wasn’t going to let it go until they both felt exactly as he did—until she felt the mating bond.

Gwyn shook her head, backing away as he advanced. “Don’t do this, Azriel—”

“Is it that terrible, then?” he asked her, his low words filled with a familiar emotion. One she recognized all too well—the loathing, the self-hatred, the expectation that of course she would reject him.

“It’s—” Gwyn couldn’t breathe for the closeness of him, for the wanting to touch him. And maybe she did feel it, in her way. Had felt it the moment he’d strode into that cursed, wrecked room looking like the god of vengeance. She’d merely been too hurt to know it, too broken, too emotionally devastated. He should have frightened her and he never had.

Even then, towering over her with his muscular frame, Gwyn didn’t flinch away. She merely met his gaze with blazing defiance.

“You’re wrong,” she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed at his chest so she could slip around him. “Or mistaken. There is no bond and I’m certain if you saw a healer, they’d—” Azriel grabbed her wrist, spinning her so her back was pressed to the floral papered wall behind her. Dipping his head, Azriel ran his nose the length of her neck.

“You’re no mistake, Gwyn.”

“I am,” she whispered without meaning to. Azriel could do so much better. Surely…surely he wanted better. What had that been like for him, she wondered, and before she could stop herself, she added, “When did you feel it?”

Something primal flared in those bright eyes of his. “Dinner with Nesta and Cassian. You touched my hand and I…” Holding up the offending hand, Azriel flexed his fingers in memory. “I felt the snap.”

That had been almost a year. It had been the last time Azriel had dinner with all of them, and right after she’d formally moved into the House of Wind. Gwyn still remembered that night—Azriel had bolted before dessert, murmuring something about needed to talk to Rhys. Gwyn had thought nothing of it—might never have thought about it again had he not pinned her against a wall to declare that had been the moment he’d felt a mating bond snap.

“We’ve been training together for months,” she replied with no small amount of outrage. He’d been keeping this secret for that long?

“I thought you’d feel it,” Azriel all but growled, eyes bouncing over her face. “And when you didn’t…”

“Rhys knows?”

“And Cassian—”

“So Nesta, too?!”

Gwyn shoved him again, harder this time. Azriel let her, she suspected, stepping back so she could have some breathing space. “They all know but I don’t.”

“And you’re taking the knowledge so well,” Azriel replied with a bite of sarcasm.

She whirled, wishing she had a dagger in hand even has the dried blood from his healed wound still taunted her. “I think I deserved to know before Cassian.”

“I needed his help,” Azriel admitted, running a hand over his mouth. “I needed to know how he managed it.”

“How difficult could it be,” she asked flippantly, intending to leave him there so she could think. Foolish to turn her back on a predator. Azriel had her again, wrapped in one strong arm, the other holding her jaw so she had to look at him.

“Hell,” he rasped, his anguish plain. “Every minute of it has been hell.”

In Gwyn’s defense, she managed one, final, protest. “It’s just—”

His mouth covered hers before she could finish that statement, could say what they both knew she’d been thinking. As if he found the words so abhorrent he wouldn’t hear them, would swallow them until he’d snuffed them from their very existence.

Gwyn forgot what she’d been about to say at all. She’d thought about what it might be like to kiss him. If his mouth would be soft or rough, if he kissed like he fought or if there was passion bubbling beneath his icy exterior. She hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like or how desire would overtake her so thoroughly she didn’t care about anything else. Were those her hands cupping his neck? Her lips hungrily kissing him back like a crazed, desperate creature?

Her tongue meeting his own, her legs moving until he had her back against the wall so he could press the length of his body against hers?

There was only one thought in her name, an echo repeated over and over. Mate. Mate. Mate.

Maybe he should have just kissed her at that dinner. Skipped the yearning, the anguish, the uncertainty. At least they would have been kissing, anyway. Gwyn forgot herself entirely, nails digging against his shoulder until Azriel helpfully hoisted her into the air so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“Don’t talk about my mate like that,” he panted, dragging his teeth against her neck. “I love her.”

Gwyn whimpered. What did she say to that? As it turned out—nothing. Azriel kissed her again, sparing them both whatever incoherent nonsense might have tumbled from her lips. She might have sworn she loved him too, if only to convince him to keep kissing her like he was.

Gwyn was certain Azriel’s kiss had ruined her life. How was she supposed to go back to things as they were before? It wasn't knowing that he was her mate, but knowing the way his hands felt cupped against her face and the way wildfire sparked in her blood when his tongue slid into her mouth?

The worst of it was when his hands left her ass, letting her slide down the hard slab of his body before she was ready. He pulled away, lips swollen and eyes wild, to take a healthy step away from her, though it seemed to take an immense amount of effort. For her part, she kept herself pressed to the wall, unsure what was happening.

“You know now,” Azriel managed, his voice hoarse, “and that’s…that’s all I wanted. I ah…I should go before—”

“You’re leaving?” she asked, strangely hurt by this new rejection. Gwyn knew all about mating bonds. What fae didn’t? Before she’d come here, she’d once dreamt of her own mate, giggling with her sister in their bunks as they imagined what that person might be like. If they existed at all, given the rarity of such a thing. It was almost funny that he’d been right here all along, close enough she could literally touch.

And he was going to leave? He didn’t want to accept it? Did she? It was all happening so fast but of course you didn’t reject a mate. She could see the wariness on his face, could watch in real time as he pulled up his defenses as she realized that yes. That was exactly his expectation.

Why? She knew from Nesta’s stories that Azriel was well sought after. And she wasn’t blind. What female didn’t dream of a male with his bone structure? He was powerful and close to the High Lord, and beyond all that, Azriel was kind. A genuinely good person, the sort of male one could spend centuries with if they wanted.

What could she even offer him? Gwyn’s thoughts raced, listing all the reasons he ought to have stopped, why keeping this a secret made so much sense. She didn’t notice Azriel creeping closer and closer until his fingers were under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous. “Thinking unkind thoughts about my mate.”

“You can’t tell me what to think,” she shot back, her own voice trembling a little. He was so certain, so unbothered and in her entire life, had anyone ever immediately felt that way about her?

Nesta and Emerie. Catrin.

Azriel.

“You have it all wrong,” Azriel murmured and she wondered if perhaps he could read her mind. “It is you who could do so much better.”

His words drew a gust of laughter from her lips. The mother had certainly chosen well, putting the two of them together. What a pair—she wondered who would relent first? Her, or Azriel? Who would believe they deserved a mating bond first? It occurred to Gwyn, as she reached for his arm to pull him closer, that she was a shade too competitive—she wanted it to be him who broke first. Who relented first, who believed he was worthy, was deserving.

And she could see, from that golden glint burning in his own gaze, that he was thinking the exact same thing.

“You’re stupid,” she whispered, surging up on her tiptoes to kiss him again. She could taste the smile spreading over his face, sweet against the warm heat of his mouth. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to realize he wasn’t smiling because she’d told him to stop talking, but because she was kissing him. Gwyn hadn’t even considered not kissing.

He was her mate, after all. He was hers. She felt that the way she felt her own heart, the possession, the desire, the heat. She didn’t feel the cord the way everyone spoke of, but perhaps that was mere metaphor. After all, Gwyn believed Azriel wouldn’t lie to her about something so life altering.

Besides. She liked kissing him, new as it was. Azriel was unhurried and thorough, just like every other task she’d ever seen him undertake. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered what it would be like if he paid her that sort of attention in the bedroom. They stood there like that, his arm keeping her on her toes, steady against his warm, solid body. Momentarily, Gwyn wondered what might happen if Nesta and Cassian were to come in and decided she didn’t care.

How many times had she walked in on them in far more compromising positions, besides?

Tiny steps had Gwyn flush against the wood wall, pressed against Azriel’s hard body and oh. He wanted her. Wanted her in a way that emptied her mind of all other thought beyond the desire to touch him.

And she was allowed, she realized with giddiness. He belonged to her. It was a possessive thought that overrode everything else, including all her good sense. He was hers.

“Mine,” she whispered into his mouth, not meaning to. Azriel groaned, tangling a hand in her hair to tilt back her head, his tongue delving back between her teeth to really taste her. Without the leathers he usually wore, it was surprisingly easy to find the golden buttons on his jacket, undoing them before Azriel’s own brain seemed to catch up with what was happening.

His wings flared, enveloping around them for a moment as he pulled back, his breathing heavy.

“Cassian will be home soon,” he whispered, holding her close against him as if he expected his friend to take her away. “Nesta too.” “You have a bedroom here, right?” Gwyn said with more daring than she felt. Azriel’s once half-lidded eyes flew open, those hazel eyes searching her own.

“I do,” he whispered, swallowing audibly. “There’s no rush—”

“Please?”

One moment she’d been standing there, her hand flat against the white, linen shirt Azriel wore beneath his jacket and the next her feet were in the air, her body cradled against him as he walked.

“I can’t think when you’re around,” Azriel was saying, his steps echoing against the wood. “Can’t think just looking at you. Sometimes I think I’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream.”

“It’s real,” she replied, pressing her lips to his neck. “I’m real. We’re real.”

He shuddered, all but running up a flight of stairs. There was no reaction when his wing clipped a door frame nor did he say a word when he had to use his nice shoe to slam his bedroom door shut. Gwyn wasn’t given the opportunity to really look around his space, either—though it seemed sparse and filled with dark, moody colors.

Azriel had her on the bed, his own body over top her own before she could exhale the breath she’d just taken.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, the maddening male. She would have told him she didn’t want him to, but he was kissing her again, his burning lips all but bruising her own. Drawing a leg up, Gwyn could line up their otherwise mismatched bodies so he was pressed exactly where she wanted him.

They were going to do this. She wanted to do this. When she managed to take a breath, the taste of blood faint against her tongue, she rasped, “Take this off.”

Azriel was on his knees in a moment, shucking off his jacket before all but ripping off his shirt, too. There in the dark with nothing but silvery moonlight to illuminate him, Gwyn was allowed to really look at him.

He didn’t move, a lock of dark hair half obscuring the intensity of his gaze. “All of it,” she decided before she lost her nerve.

Azriel cocked his head, his lips pursed as though he’d tell her no.

“Please,” she added.

Azriel groaned again, softer this time. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed closed and a mingling of male and female voices rose like music, a soothing hum in the background as Azriel slid off the bed entirely.

Wings tucked tightly against his toned back, he quietly locked his door before turning back to her. “We don’t have to,” he said, his fingers hovering over the laces of his pants. Gwyn had a suspicion Azriel would spend the next century saying this and she’d spend the next century reassuring him that she wanted all of it. All of him.

Maybe he’d realize in the morning when she snuck into the kitchen and begged the house for his favorite meal. She had no idea what it was, but surely the magic that governed this place did? Would he eat it from her hands? Or would he balk, certain this was just another dream?

“I know,” she said, leaning up on her elbows. “Take it all off, anyway.”

Gwyn knew what Azriel was wondering but her past was murky—forgotten in the dark, the ugly replaced with his easy, unassuming beauty. Still, she held her breath as he undressed entirely, drinking in the sight of him. This was the male she’d knocked to the ground, the very same that could kill another person without a second thought.

Underneath the thick, armored leathers and weapons lay just a male made of skin and bone. Gwyn’s eyes traced the tattoos adorning his shoulders and chest, the intricate swirls snaking up his neck and vanishing behind his back. Every inch of him was muscled, softer now that he was relaxed and still present just below the warm brown of his flesh.

And between his legs…

Gwyn giggled. She couldn’t help herself. It was so big—surely they weren’t supposed to be that large? That thick? There was an air of male pride shimmering around him, his legs spread a little wider as if to say, drink it all in.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, his voice a dark, teasing growl. Prowling forward, Gwyn’s heart spiked loud enough he must have heard.

“I wasn’t prepared for…” For what? For him? Azriel was so quiet, so unassuming…she just assumed if he had all that going on he’d brag a little more? Swagger about the way Cassian always was?

“I’d be a poor mate if I left you wanting,” he replied, his eyes glazed over once his knees hit the edge of the bed. Perhaps it was the sight of her, still dressed, scrambling on her hands and knees so she could crawl toward him. She just wanted to touch, to feel if his cock was as hard as it looked.

Azriel sucked in a breath when her fingers curled around the base of his shaft, just barely touching. Looking up, she murmured, “Is this what you like?”

“I like you,” he replied, scooping up her hair in his hands as Gwyn stroked him experimentally. He choked out a sound, his heartbeat thudding in her ears. She supposed that was her answer—he liked the way she touched him.

Pride filled her chest knowing she could please her mate, even with something as simple as touching him. Gwyn stroked again, letting her wrist twist at the end as her eyes refused to leave his face.

“Gods,” he whispered, his wings tightening against his back. “I’ve imagined…Gwyn…”

She was allowed a third pass before he pushed her back, her clothes pulled off her body so quickly all she managed was to lift her hips and raise her arms.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve laid in this exact bed and imagined you just like this?” Azriel began, his voice a dark, sultry whisper. “Splayed out…naked…undone?”

“No,” she squeaked out in response, half embarrassed to be undressed before him. Azriel’s gaze burned against her skin, warming a path from her collarbone to her thighs.

“Would you like to know what I dream about at night?” he questioned, sinking to his knees so he was eye level with the edge of the bed.

Arousal ribboned through her, making a fool out of her. “Yes,” she replied, strangely excited to be the object of this man’s fantasies.

Strong, scarred fingers curled around her thighs, pushing them wider before hooking them over his shoulders. He was staring at her cunt, now, studying her like she was some priceless piece of art.

“I dream of tasting you,” Azriel breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning against her. Gwyn squirmed when he kissed her inner thigh—the left, and then the right—before using his tongue to lightly take that first taste he’d been dreaming of. Gwyn might have asked him how he liked it had it not felt so good.

Besides, she knew he liked it—Azriel groaned loudly, spreading her apart wider with his fingers so he could taste her everywhere. Gone was his slow exploration, his desire to take his time. All of it had been replaced with the animal kneeling between her legs, licking and touching her cunt like his life depended on it.

All traces of her embarrassment evaporated, leaving only instinct behind. Gwyn surrendered to the urge, letting desire wash over her until it was all she knew. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, well aware he probably couldn’t.

Azriel pushed a finger into her gently, moaning at whatever he felt. Gwyn hadn’t considered what it would feel like to share space with him—to feel him inside her own body but now…

“Az,” she panted, her hips rolling against his mouth and hand. She wanted him to stop licking, to replace his fingers with his cock. Heat was building in her chest beyond simple arousal, heavy like a chain.

Unbreakable.

A bond. A real thread she could follow straight to the male between her legs. It reverberated and then snapped just as Azriel sucked her clit into his mouth, eliciting a scream that was half his name. Could he feel it too? No—his had snapped months ago and he’d just been living with it.

Gwyn couldn’t see how. If she didn’t have him right that second she might go insane. Reaching for his powerful biceps, Gwyn tried to pull him off her but the waves of pleasure made her hands shake.

“Az,” she tried again, his name a breathy moan against her lips. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against him in what must have seemed like encouragement to keep going. Maybe it was—she didn’t try very hard to get him off her.

Azriel managed a third finger, a whine slipping from his throat at the effort. Gwyn just barely registered any of it, her body jerking a second time from pleasure so bright and heady she could have died from it. It was too much—Gwyn was burning, was in free-fall with no one to catch her.

Digging her nails into his skin, she yanked at him. Azriel emerged, lips wet and eyes wild. “Please,” she heard herself saying, the magic words that, apparently, could convince him to do anything she wanted. “I need you.”

His fingers were wet as they skimmed the side of her body, palm grasping her breast before his lips found hers. He tasted sweet and she supposed it was herself, truly, she was tasting on his tongue. He was hurried, his desperation making him sloppy. When his teeth clashed with her own, nipping the sensitive skin of her bottom lip, Gwyn had enough.

“Az—”

“Don’t beg me,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against her own. Caressing her cheek, Azriel added, “I’ll do whatever you want. You don’t have to beg.”

“I feel it,” she replied, running her hand up and down his spine. “It’s a real thread.”

Azriel exhaled with relief, a smile ghosting his pretty face. Whispering something that sounded like gratitude toward the gods, he adjusted his body until she felt the blunt head of his cock pressed against her. How had he stood it? The waiting, the wanting, the utter need that Gwyn was all but drowning in. If they didn’t do this, she thought she might die from it.

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you.” It wasn’t a request, though Gwyn had no intention of telling him anything. She expected a little pain, expected little pleasure. Why else had he used his mouth first?

Gwyn had read enough books to know that there was blood and pain and so when Azriel slid himself an inch into her, she braced herself against him, her nails digging into his biceps. She could feel his eyes on her, searching for even a hint of discomfort. There was something reassuring about knowing he’d stop if she wanted. That he cared if she enjoyed herself.

Gwyn didn’t need a book to know not all males cared about such things.

Azriel took his time—like he knew he had eons of it, that he didn’t have to rush. Gwyn loved him for it, eyes burning with unshed tears at the thought. She’d tell him all this later, when they’d had a chance to breathe and eat and really talk about everything that had otherwise been left unsaid. Instead she dragged her lips down his neck and focused on the feeling of his cock in her body, pushing further and further without any of the accompanying pain she’d expected.

She was slick enough that he felt less like an intrusion and more like a welcomed guest, and once he’d seated himself entirely, it seemed as though they’d been made like two puzzle pieces destined to fit.

It took a moment to get used to the stretch, to breathe despite the feeling of fullness. Azriel gave it to her instinctively, as if he knew exactly what she both wanted and needed. There was that same sense of I have all the time in the world, despite her knowing he was desperate. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, rolling down his neck and his arms shook from restraint.

He didn’t move.

Not until her mouth made its way to his collarbone and she whispered, “Give me more.” He groaned loud enough to shatter the silence, pulling himself out with a slowness that bordered on madness.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, burying his face into her neck. “I’m losing my mind.”

She couldn’t help the exhaled smile, raking her fingers through his hair. “Did you dream of this, too?”

“No,” he admitted with a grunt, sliding his cock back into her body. “I didn’t dare.”

“Why?”

“Couldn’t,” he managed, thrusting again with a little more intensity. “Would have gone crazy from wanting you. Surprised you couldn’t smell it on me.”

As if she would have known what she was smelling. There was no point in telling him so—not as Azriel confessed the depths of his devotion, the lengths he’d gone to give her time, space, and whatever else she’d wanted. Would he have continued to do so forever?

Gwyn kissed his cheek. “I want you. I want this.”

He groaned again, sliding his hand between their otherwise flushed bodies to rub at her still swollen clit. She’d been half distracted by his words to pay attention to her body but right then, when his thumb began making tight circles, Gwyn was pulled back under the depths of shadowed darkness, half consumed by the male laying on top of her.

Their mouths met, messy and unrestrained. Strange how kissing merely heightened the pleasure coiling through her—Gwyn wouldn’t have guessed that. In her books, everything was so neat and clinical. They kissed, they touched, they fucked with nothing in between. In real life, sex was messier, more fluid. Or maybe she and Azriel merely had more passion than the people in her stories.

Those love stories had once brought her such joy. Now they seemed dimmed in comparison to what was happening to her and her own feelings.

“I need to feel you come,” he whispered, betraying how close he must have been. Gwyn felt the same way. She needed to feel him, needed to see him wholly unraveled. All because of her—no one else was allowed to know what he sounded like, what he looked like. They got control, they got the ice but she got the heat, the impulsivity—everything he was, everything he’d ever been.

Gwyn came to the thought of that future, tightening around him as her back arched her into his chest, offering very little give. Azriel kissed her, swallowing the sound of her moans greedily. They belonged to him, anyway.

He came mere seconds later, his own noise of pleasure delightfully loud for a male that was so often silent. Gwyn kept herself wrapped tight around him, arms winding against his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. His pumping was erratic, uncontrolled and a little desperate. Gwyn was obsessed with this side of him—wanted more of it.

Azriel didn’t withdraw when he was done, his heart thudding against her breast. “It’s not enough, is it?” she whispered, thinking they both ought to feel sated. She didn’t. In her books, the heroine was always spent, the hero falling asleep not long after. The pair would wake in each other's arms, content and glowing from the night before.

Gwyn wanted to shove him to the floor and climb atop him. Wanted to hear him beg, too—wanted more of the whimpering, the groaning and everything in between.

“It was never going to be,” he panted, kissing her softly.

“How long will it last?” she wondered, brushing a damp lock of hair from his face.

“Eternity, I imagine,” he replied, his eyes burning with that same unflinching intensity. “For me, at least.”

Gwyn’s heart exploded, racing in her throat. “Are you hungry?” she whispered, deciding she couldn’t wait for the morning. She wanted to do this right now. Wanted him to know that this meant something to her, even if she was scared, too.

Azriel went still. “There’s no rush—”

“That’s yes or no, Azriel.”

A smile broke over his face. “Starving,” he admitted in that dark, sultry voice.

“You have to get up,” she reminded him, pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder. Azriel lowered his mouth for another kiss.

“In a minute.”

Strange how a minute could stretch.

Into lifetimes, even.

#gwynriel #I DID IT

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writeforfandoms · 5 months

Text

Waking Lions 20

Find the series masterlist

We're changing things up a little this chapter! I felt you guys needed a POV switch to really get a better picture of what's going on.

So, let's check in with Price and see how he's handling this, shall we?

Warnings: swearing, yelling, game typical violence, war crimes probably, Price needs his own warning, canon typical violence against nameless goons.

Word count: 2.3k

In his defense, Price had a lot on his mind.

But no. That was no kind of defense.

Especially not when it came to you.

He'd sent you away because he had to, because otherwise you'd be too distracting. He had to focus on the task at hand.

Not on thinking about everything he'd just learned about you. Everything you'd let slip in your fluster.

He knew you well enough to know that you'd be mortified, later. You kept so many things to yourself that knowing an entire room full of people had heard that would probably send you into hiding.

From the way Laswell glanced at the door after you left, Price knew that she was thinking the same thing.

But there would be time later to console you, to apologize for being an ass, to make sure you were alright.

For now, he had work to do.

Now that there were three groups involved, it was easier to split up the targets. Easier to send Soap with Alejandro and Rodolfo, to keep Ghost with him and Gaz, to let KorTac keep to themselves. This wasn't the kind of mission he wanted to test by putting together potentially explosive personalities.

(Price could admit, if only to himself, that he didn't trust himself to work with those three. Not right now, not with the new intel still so close to the surface, not with his own curiosity burning a hole in his stomach.)

The three targets were, of course, not near each other.

“I can arrange transport,” Laswell said. It was not an offer for the 141 or the Vaqueros, but it was an offer for KorTac.

“We've got our own,” Declan said, a relatively gentle refusal. “Timing will be tight.”

“Just have to coordinate,” Alejandro said, unbothered. “We won't give them a chance to warn each other.”

“Give me a little time to coordinate the flights,” Laswell said, stepping closer to Declan. It was as close to a dismissal as the rest of them would get. She didn't need them hanging over her shoulder while she worked her magic.

So Price stepped out of the room, his boys behind him.

“Think Ace is alright?” Gaz asked softly. He was a smart, perceptive lad. Cared so much still. Probably too much, sometimes.

“I'll check in on her,” Price murmured. He still had one phone number that worked for you, fortunately.

It rang through to voice mail.

Okay. Not to panic. Didn't mean anything.

Soap and Ghost ran off to get lunch for everyone, since planning was best done on a full stomach.

Price tried calling again. No answer again.

It could be a thousand things. You could have your phone on silent. You could be mad at him and ignoring his calls. You could be busy with something else.

But his paranoia was rearing its head, undeniable and ugly.

You were right in the middle of all this, of course he was going to be concerned about you.

So he went on a little walk. To help clear his head.

He didn't see any sign of you. Every bit of his hard-won paranoia was screaming that something was wrong. That this wasn't like you.

One more phone call. One more.

Then he'd move on to more drastic measures.

The third call also went to voice mail. You weren't picking up. One he could excuse, two was iffy. But three calls?

Something was wrong.

“Gaz,” he called as he strode back into the building. “Need the laptop.”

Gaz was quick to produce it, giving Price a curious look. “Need any help, sir?”

“Maybe.” Price pulled up one of the programs Laswell had given him. Normally this kind of work was more up her alley - CIA shit, as Simon more or less affectionately referred to it. But Price wasn't clueless, or useless.

Gaz behind him, watching over his shoulder. Price didn't discourage him, focused on putting in your number and letting the program do its job.

Let this be nothing. Let him be paranoid. He could handle your temper, your hiding, your embarrassment.

So long as you were safe.

The tracker put your phone in a mostly residential area, well out of the way. Not near the hotel, not near anything the two of you had talked about.

Something was wrong.

It didn’t take him long to pull up CCTV in the area, flipping through them. There wasn’t a lot, and his jaw tightened in frustration.

“Wait,” Gaz said over his shoulder. “Go back one.”

Price obliged, going back to the previous angle.

“There, in the grass on the far side of the street.” Gaz pointed, shifting closer.

Price’s heart sank right down to his boots. A cell phone lay in the grass, abandoned. He knew you well enough to know that you wouldn’t just leave your cell phone. Not without reason.

Wordlessly, he backed up the footage until he found you. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The car. You, standing back just a little. The man clearly encouraging you in.

He backed up until you came into frame.

But you weren’t alone.

“Laswell!”

The door slammed open and Laswell was at his elbow moments later, leaning over his open shoulder. “Fuck,” she hissed, which was all the confirmation Price needed.

The man with you was Gray.

“How did he get her into the car?” Gaz, quiet and reasonable.

“Threats,” Price grunted.

“Me,” Laswell added, lips tight, fury in the crease of her brow. “He’s using me against her.”

Price scowled. Gray needed to be taken out. Immediately. But they couldn’t give up the mission, either.

“Track the car,” he told Gaz, pushing the laptop to his sergeant instead. “I need to know where they’re going.”

“Sir?” Gaz blinked at him, even as he pulled up the program.

“I need some supplies.” He looked to Laswell next.

“I’ll have them for you.” Laswell glanced back at Gaz, putting things together a little faster. “The op?”

“Needs to move forward.” Price shook his head. “I’ll be back in time, or I won’t. Gaz, you and Ghost are still on.”

Gaz frowned but didn’t object. Good lad. “Car’s left the suburbs,” he reported, a map pulled up on his phone. “Heading south.”

“We’ll find it again,” Laswell said, nodding to Price. “Here. Go here, take whatever you need.” She handed him an address scribbled on a piece of paper. “I’ll update you when we find the car.”

Price took the note with a nod and strode away. He didn’t wait for the elevator, hitting the door to the stairs hard enough it bounced off the wall of the stairwell. He didn’t slow, even as he hit the front door and just sidestepped running into Soap.

“Captain?” Soap called.

“Ask Laswell!” Price called over his shoulder, car keys in hand. He didn’t have time to stop and explain.

It took very little time to get to Laswell’s supply stash, and he took what he needed. Fortunately, she was well supplied, and he made a mental note to thank her for it.

But for now, the only thing on his mind was you.

You’d been gone for hours by now, and from the time stamp on the CCTV, you’d been in the car with Gray at least an hour.

He stopped at the curb next to where Gaz had spotted your phone, getting out. And there it was, still sitting in the grass.

Still open to show a new recording.

Price listened the whole recording, jaw clenched tight, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

Gray knew more than he should. He had sources, clearly.

But Price couldn’t bring himself to care much about that. No.

He cared about the little waver in your voice, the way he could hear you putting up a brave front.

You were terrified. And he wanted to rip Gray limb from limb for making you so scared.

Gaz called. Price barely glanced at the phone before he connected the call.

“We’ve got a location,” Gaz reported, voice even. Almost too even. Price could hear the stress he was hiding.

“Tell me.” Price didn’t even pause as he memorized the address, just in case. “Picked up Ace’s phone.”

“Anything?” Gaz tried not to sound hopeful.

“Ace got a recording before she got in the car.” Price had to pause for a moment, clenching his jaw. “He knows too much. Knew about us, said he’s got something planned for Laswell, too.”

“Fucking hell.” Gaz drew in a deep breath. “Sure you don’t need backup, sir?”

“I’ll keep you updated.” Price barreled through a yellow light, ignoring everything not an active danger to him. “How are your preparations going?”

“Laswell’s got the flights arranged,” Gaz said, a little reluctantly. “Timing is coordinated. We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“Rog.” Price doubted he’d make it back in time. And if, by some miracle, he did, he didn’t know if he’d be in the correct frame of mind to be on mission.

“Take the next left.”

Price obeyed without question, only breaking one or two traffic laws. (It was fine, Laswell would clear it up later.) “The others?”

“Up to date,” Gaz reported. “Had to talk Soap out of going after you.”

Price snorted. Surprising - he hadn’t known that sergeant had much fondness for you. Then again, Soap could just be reacting because Price was fond of you. Sometimes that was enough. “I trust Ghost is behaving.”

Gaz huffed. “Define behaving,” he grumbled, overly dramatic. Breaking the tension a bit.

“He hasn’t killed anyone yet or there’d be a lot more yelling.” Price scowled at the driver ahead of him, who was going exactly the speed limit.

“Laswell’s on top of everything,” Gaz assured him. “Go right, cut up two streets, and then left.”

Price grunted as he followed Gaz’s directions, pushing his foot down as soon as he was out from behind the slow driver. “How far?”

“Rate you’re going? Fifteen minutes.”

Price breathed slowly. You’d have been alone with Gray for near two hours by that point. He had no idea what condition he’d find you in. If you’d even be alive. The thought sent pain through his chest, clenching and sharp, but he forced himself not to shy away from it.

It was a possibility, even if it was one he did not want to face.

If it was true… if you were already gone…

He’d burn Gray alive.

Price switched from the call to a comm unit he tucked in his ear before he headed out of the car. He’d parked a little ways away, just in case. The abandoned hotel was in clear sight, fortunately no taller than the surrounding buildings. Still too many hiding places, sniper spots.

That was fine. Price would just clear the entire fucking building room by room until he had you back.

“Careful, sir. I count six outside.”

“Together?” Price crept forward, using a parked van as a hiding spot.

“Spread out. Three teams of two.”

Price’s lips thinned. Time to thin out the herd, then.

The first two fell so quickly they were almost simultaneous. Price moved around the van, keeping low and creeping towards the next pair, the silenced pistol firm in his grip. This was normal, easier. It was easy to view these people as the enemy, easy to clear them out systematically, coolly, silently. And they were the enemy - they were working for Gray, who had clearly allied himself on the ultranationalists and terrorists.

Which all meant that Price felt no guilt, no remorse, not even a flicker of hesitation in taking down every single man between him and you.

“I have no cameras inside,” Gaz told him as Price finally approached the door.

“Copy,” Price grunted. “Going dark.” He breached the door as quietly as he could, looking around.

So far, so good.

The ground level of this building was an absolute wreck of furniture, graffiti, and rubble. Dust, dirt, and debris covered most of the floor. The main area was a mess of footprints and an open crate of supplies.

No good hints as to where Gray had taken you.

Price cleared the ground floor methodically, cold rage spurring him on. He didn’t spare any of the bodies that hit the ground a second look.

They were nothing more than obstacles.

The last door was more than just a room, though. There was a half-open door, with a staircase going down. Maintenance, at a guess.

And soft voices from down there.

Too far away to tell if you were down there. But if Price had to bet, he’d guess that you were. Gray would keep you contained and out of danger, at least until he got what he wanted from you.

“John,” Laswell said over the comm.

Price paused, pulling back from the open doorway, pitching his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Laswell.”

“I found some backup for you. You’ll recognize him.”

Price blinked but didn’t allow himself any other sign of surprise. “Copy that. I’m headed downstairs - room near the back of the building has stair access.”

“I’ll pass that along.” Laswell drew in a breath, and Price waited. “If you can, bring Gray back alive.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth. “No promises.”

“Good hunting, John.” Laswell clicked off the comm.

Price breathed in deep. Someone would be coming behind him, backup. He just needed to not shoot his backup. And possibly not shoot Gray.

That would depend entirely on how you were when he found you.

Price nudged the door open enough to slip through, descending silently.

The first guard went down silently, and Price dragged the body out of the hallway and into a closet. That would buy him a little time if any other guards came through.

A double tap through the com got his attention, and Price half-turned to find a familiar face walking down the corridor towards him.

Price grinned, probably showing a few too many teeth. “Good to see you again,” he murmured. “Let’s get on it, sergeant.”

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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that-sarcastic-writer · 9 months

Text

Twisted Love

Billy Russo X Latina!Mercenary!Reader

Summary: based on this moodboard murder date with Billy made by the love of my life @fluffyprettykitty thank you for the inspo

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors yall better dnfi, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, blood kink, choking, hair pulling, degradation, he calls her a whore and she likes it, allusion to gunplay & knife play, Billy and reader get turned on by questionable acts, def dark themes, dark!Billy, dead bodies, actual murder, many acts of violence, and Billy canonically likes it rough and painful, they're both just unhinged

Reader is referred to as she/her, speaks Spanish here and there and is described to have long hair. If this is not you, that is okay. This is solely based on the moodboard. I use no further specifications so you can enjoy it regardless :)

WC: 4k

A/N: I'm sorry in advance for the person that I am, I blame selene for encouraging this. You have been warned, you read under your own responsibility. I missed Billy and his murderous questionable kinks, so here we are. (If you actually enjoy this you I guarantee we will see each other in hell)

"Billy." You groaned quietly, the voice in your earpiece shutting up at the sharpness of your voice.

"Yes darlin'?"

"I can't focus on shooting your target if you keep saying how you're going to fuck me stupid tonight. Or how you've been really wanting to fuck me with your gun." You said the last part through your teeth as you did your best to remain professional and stay focused. You were a mercenary, sure, but you were a professional one.

"If you keep talkin' back, I will do so much more than that. You like knives, don't you?" You could hear the smug smirk he probably had on his face through his voice, even through your earpiece.

You couldn't help but groan, your skin growing burning hot under all of your gear, and it was getting hard to control your breathing the longer he kept spitting filthy words at you.

"This is your op, Billy. So we can either have phone sex or I can shoot your target. Can't do both." You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on your handgun as you tried to ignore the heat between your legs. You heard him chuckle.

"You're gettin' paid either way darlin'," he reminded you. "But if you get a headshot, I'll give you your bonus."

You actually laughed at this, a smirk of your own falling on your lips, "You know I never miss. Don't gotta double tap if I shoot 'em in the head."

This was like a little game of yours. Any time Billy called you— for anything other than a good fuck— it was for a target mission off the books. Legally, he was just a private contractor. Private security was his main gig. But off the books, he was still getting paid to take out targets for his old military superiors. When someone pushed at his buttons too much, he called you. Because you were like a ghost, in and out, no one even knew you were ever there. And he thought your post-op adrenaline made for killer sex. You getting paid was just a courtesy on his end. You had honestly stopped caring about the money a long time ago. But he paid you your part anyway. So it was a win-win situation for everyone involved.

"Mhmm, I love it when you talk dirty." He sighed a long breath and you smiled to yourself, holding your gun close to your chest as you quietly walked through the dark, otherwise empty house. You could hear movement and indistinct voices on the other side of the wall

"I hear voices in the next room. Two targets so far. Standby for confirmation." Billy laughed at how official you sounded. You truly never did get rid of that military part of you.

You peeked your head through the crack on the door of a large study. You chewed on your bottom lip as you tried to identify the targets. One was the man Billy had hired you to kill, a Marine Colonel that had gotten too greedy and was making threats. That didn't exactly sit well with Billy or anyone else involved. The other man, though, you weren't sure, but he also seemed to be military.

"I'm looking at your target. But I'm not sure who the other one is. Looks military, though. What do you want me to do?" You whispered the question to Billy. He stayed silent for a few seconds. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, growing inpatient at his silence. But he spoke before you could yell at him.

He groaned first, clearly something hadn't gone according to plan. "Just take both of them out. I don't need witnesses."

"Whatever you say, pretty boy." You took in a deep breath, your heart starting to race as the adrenaline started to pump in your blood.

"Remember, I want you in and out, don't worry about nobody else. That's what I'm here for, baby."

"You're such a romantic, mi cielo." You bit your lip, you heard him chuckle in response.

You waited another second, long enough for them to be close enough for you to take them out both at the same time before the other could draw their gun. Stealth was your specialty anyway. You were thankful the large doors didn't creak when you opened them further. Both men were facing away from you. Good. You took a step inside the study, and with a grin, you pulled the trigger.

One.

Two.

Both men dropped to the ground with a thud. You sighed out the breath you had been holding and you slowly approached the two bodies. And you smiled at your work.

Headshots.

"I'm done here. Getting out now." You said to Billy. You heard him give you a quick hum of confirmation.

You nodded to yourself, picking up your shell casings before you hurried out of the study. You went around through long halls for what seemed to be an eternity, until you came to the hall that led to the foyer of the house.

Almost there.

"Don't you fucking move." A voice rasped beside you. You saw out of the corner of your eye the barrel of a handgun. Well so much for Billy taking care of everything.

You closed your eyes, slowly raising your hands to show your handgun. You turned your head enough to look at the man. More military. Great. This was going to be shit show.

"Who the fuck are you? Why are you here?" The man screamed at you, his gun still on your face. You said nothing, you simply stared at him. He couldn't really see your face, not through your balaclava. Only your eyes were visible. "Give me that fucking gun and get on the ground. Now!"

You stared at him, not moving a muscle. The only man you would ever get on your knees for was Billy. This one could shoot you for all you cared.

"I said get on your knees or I'll shoot!'

"Shoot me then." You said dryly, hands still in the air.

Just get a bit closer, you thought.

The man seethed at your response and stepped closer. Your lips irked up. You turned your body, your free hand gripping his gun and diverting it away from your head. The man squeezed the trigger. You grunted loudly, your ears ringing, but you didn't care. You wrestled with the man, landing a punch on his face that made his nose gush with blood. He stumbled backward but didn't fall. If anything, that made him more angry, and he lunged at you. He reached for the braid that stuck from under your balaclava and he pulled, really fucking hard. You grunted out in pain when he tugged your hair to drag you close enough for him to grab you. You fought against him, but you could only do so much against a man twice your size. His fist hit your jaw with enough force to make you dizzy for a second. And he took that opportunity to grab your vest and threw you over a nearby coffee table. Your body slammed so hard against it you ended up on the floor, with it in pieces.

You weren't a religious person, but goddamn, you were seeing God right about now. You groaned in pain as you tried to push through. You tried to sit up as fast as you could, but the man was already towering over you, and a large boot forced you down by your chest. You forced down the cry of pain you wanted to let out, only breathing out sharply instead. You couldn't find your gun, and you had one, pointed right at your face now.

"Fucking bitch." The man spat, leaning down to tear your balaclava from your face. You grunted, your face twisted into a scowl as he pulled it off. He scoffed. He was about to say something into his walkie when a voice you were all too familiar with caught his attention.

"Hey." Billy stood a few feet away, having heard the gunshot and ran in. He didn't even flinch when he pulled the trigger. The man dropped dead a second later.

You blew out a breath of relief, and you laughed, running a hand over your face. Well shit. You were hoping you wouldn't get any blood on yourself tonight.

Billy was beside you in a split second, a large hand pulling you up to your feet. His eyes were big with a mixture of panic and anger, and he scanned your body for injuries. His hand landed on your lip, split and bleeding. His jaw ticked but you shook your head at him.

"You okay?" He asked with a heavy breath. You nodded at him, your own hands touching his face. Blood stained his neck and part of his face. But you had a feeling it wasn't his. "Si?"

You nodded again, "Si."

Billy plastered a hard kiss on your lips, his hand holding the back of your head. You hummed against his lips, gripping his own vest. He pulled back after a few seconds, and his eyes landed on the dead man lying next to him. His neck twitched, and his jaw tightened as he pulled the trigger two more times. The man was already dead, Billy had shot him in the head the first time. But he needed to get that out of his system.

"That was by far the hottest thing you've ever done for me." You breathed out, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You kissed him this time. Much harder. He groaned into your mouth, the side of his handgun brushing your hip as he gripped them with both hands.

"Did you do what I asked?" He muttered against your lips.

"Headshots. As always." You smirked against his lips, your skin growing hot just as the ache between your legs grew.

"Mhmm, that's a good girl." He pressed another kiss to your lips. "Come. Gotta get outta here."

You nodded, looking on the ground for a second for your handgun. Your eyes skimmed around for a bit before you smiled and you happily picked it up from the ground. When you looked up, Billy was looking at you with an irked eyebrow.

"Que? It's my favorite gun. I wasn't gonna leave it here. It's got my fingerprints all over it." You shrugged, casually walking past Billy towards the kitchen. You came through that backdoor. It'd probably be easier to leave that way as well.

Billy watched you with a raised eyebrow. It did always turn him on to see you in your tactical gear. He laughed to himself and followed you. He stayed close behind you, within hand reach at all times. He was so close that he actually bumped into your back when you stopped abruptly. You turned around, and one of your hands came to grip his vest while the other held up your handgun. He frowned, about to question you when you forcefully moved him to the side an inch or two.

"Agh shit!" He grunted out, a bullet still catching the plate on his back with enough force to make him stumble.

You kept your grip on his vest as you pulled the trigger twice and he heard a loud thud a second later. When he turned his head he saw a guard on his back, writhing in pain as blood gushed from his chest. Shit, he must have missed the guy when he was clearing the outside of the house.

He draped a hand over his shoulder where the bullet hit, eyes never leaving you as you quietly walked over to the guard, gun held up. The man began to stammer, coughing up blood as he tried to crawl away. You blinked, head tilted and jaw tight as you pulled the trigger two more times. The man stopped moving with that second bullet. Your face twisted with disdain when you felt blood splatter on your face. Again.

"Agh, puta sangre de mierda." This fucking blood.

You harshly wiped your hand over your face, probably making a bigger mess than there already was. You flinched, your gun held up and stopped at Billy's chest. He had a wide smirk on his face, his hands raised, but he was just mocking you.

"You wanna point that gun somewhere else, pretty girl?" He taunted with a smirk. You gritted your teeth and clenched your jaw.

"Estás fucking sordo?" Are you fucking deaf? Billy couldn't speak Spanish. But he had learned to pick up on your angry Spanish over time. His smirk only grew wider when you holstered your gun and slammed your flat hands against his chest, attempting to shove him, but he didn't move much. "Did you not hear the motherfucker coming? Are you okay? Did the bullet go through the plate?"

He found your angry concern amusing, endearing even. But the mocking smirk on his face only made your blood boil more.

"Aw, my pretty mercenary is worried about me?" He taunted you more, and the fire in your eyes made him completely forget about the throbbing on his shoulder blade. Though he felt a different kind of throb when he felt your flat palm collide with his cheek.

His eyes widened for a second as he processed the heat spreading through his cheek. He breathed a laugh, but it wasn't a humorous one. Not in the slightest. He ran his tongue over his lips, he could taste the smallest bit of blood. He counted in his head. Six guards altogether, three Marines inside. There were five dead bodies outside. Four inside. Good.

He didn't say a word as he reached out to you, he grabbed the back of your braid and crashed his lips against yours with so much force it gave you whiplash. You didn't protest though, you welcomed it, actually. You gripped his vest tightly as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth. He hummed with satisfaction as you clung to his vest. He gripped your hair tightly as he made you back into the kitchen island behind you.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him hoist you up on the counter.

"The fuck are you doing?" You pulled back enough to speak, not that you were arguing with him, you had been wanting him ever since you got here. He flashed you a sadistic grin as he gripped your vest and pulled you to the edge so that he was standing between your open legs.

"Gonna fuck you stupid. That's what." He replied in a heartbeat as his fingers unbuckled the clasps of your vest. He tossed it aside and his eyes instantly landed on the blood splatters staining your jaw and neck.

"Right here?" You gave him a wide eyed look, lips slightly parted as he ridded himself of his own vest, leaving him a plain black long-sleeve compression shirt.

"Right here. You did everythin' I asked, and more. And you know I'm a man of my word." Your long-sleeve black shirt was gone next and his lips immediately attached to your jaw. "You don't gotta play innocent with me darlin'. Bet if I touch you you’ll be soaking wet."

Fuck, you wished he didn’t know you so well. You were real fucking good at pretending with the whole world. But you couldn't pretend with him. And you couldn't deny that you had been wanting him to fuck you senseless the second you saw his face that day. And that tactical uniform of his, fuck it didn't help your cause in the slightest.

"You know I always want you, doesn't matter when or where." You answered through a ragged breath, your eyelashes fluttered as he ran his tongue over the skin of your neck, and at the same time, he shoved his hand into your cargo pants, right past your panties.

"Yeah, you want me? You want me right now? Covered in blood and everythin'?" He pulled back enough to watch your face as his finger brushed over your cunt. And he was pleased by how right he was. You were so wet. Your mouth fell open as he slipped a finger into you with ease. "You are such a fuckin' whore. You've been this wet this whole time, haven't you? You just killed three men for me, and you're wet?"

God, you should feel disgusted with yourself, with him, but you felt nothing of the sort. If anything, it aroused you more. You ground your hips against his hand, desperate for more as your shaky hands fumbled with the belt of your cargo pants. You tugged until you ultimately got them off one leg once you managed to kick off one of your combat boots. Billy only watched with amusement as you struggled. But he otherwise didn't help you. He liked watching you struggle.

"Goddamn you're so needy. Such a needy whore." He mocked you with a laugh, but he rewarded you with another finger nonetheless.

"Yes, yes I'm a whore." You whined, holding yourself upright by gripping his shirt. "I'm your whore. Fuck— Please, I did good."

Billy nodded at this, the pathetic pleads coming from your mouth making his cock strain against his cargos even more. How such a fierce and vicious mercenary like yourself could give in so easily to him he had no idea, but he sure wasn't complaining. Not in the slightest.

"Yeah. Yeah, you did. I'm gonna give you exactly what you deserve, don't worry." He spoke through a groan, he rutted his palm against your clit, brushing against it as he curled his fingers against that one spot that made your thighs shudder.

You bunched his shirt around your fist as your mouth fell open in a silent moan, your hips involuntarily grinding against his hand. Billy watched with amusement as you desperately rocked yourself back and forth on the counter while he undid his pants with his free hand.

His fingers left you abruptly, leaving your chasing and jaw slacked. You whined, your mouth opening to curse at him but he was gripping your braid with one hand as he brushed his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick.

"Yell at me again and I will fuck you with my gun until you cry." He spat, his jaw twitching as he forcefully slammed into you with a snap of his hips.

You actually cried out this time, your toes curling and your nails dug into his chest. He pulled you to the edge of the counter until your legs hung loosely over his hips. He wound up his hand around your hair, pulling your head back as he rutted himself against you. He held your neck on full display as he dipped his head and ran his tongue over where blood stained your skin.

"Fuck baby— you always feel so good. But goddamn, you fuckin' taste like heaven." He breathed against your skin, dragging his tongue from your pulse point to your jaw.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tangling around the chocolate locks to the root. And you pulled, and you pulled so hard he actually grunted in pain.

"Dios Billy." You moaned, your lips against his ear, and he slammed into you so hard then he made you slide back on the counter.

"Not God, baby. But I can be." He breathed out a laugh, his face pressed against your cheek as he wrapped his long fingers around your throat. "Trust me, darlin', when I'm done with you, not even God is gonna make you get outta bed tomorrow."

You choked out a cry as he brought you closer against him— if that was even possible— and threw one of your legs over his shoulder. His cock hit so deep it actually made you roll your eyes back this time.

"O-oh shit— shit Billy. I'm gonna come. Please, I wanna come." You spoke in between pants, what you could manage to say with his hand on your throat. You were holding on to him for dear fucking life, both arms thrown over his shoulder as if he was the only thing keeping you from slipping off the countertop.

"You wanna come? My pretty mercenary wants to come? You earned it, didn't you?" He pulled back enough to watch your face, and he released the grip on your throat so you could respond.

"Yes! Coño I earned it, please." You sounded so desperate but you didn't care, if there was one man in this world you could let yourself be vulnerable for it was Billy.

"Mhmm, of course you did." He slipped his hand between your bodies and his thumb rubbed harsh circles on your clit and he drilled into you, pretty much holding you in one place with a tight grip on your ass. "Yeah, like that? Yeah just like that, come for me. You're good at following orders, so come."

You were seeing white the second his thumb was on your clit and your fingers tugged at the roots of his hair as you came with a silent cry. You eyes were screwed shut and your mouth was hanging wide open as you gripped him tight enough to make his cock twitch. He breathed out a sigh of satisfaction and his lips curled up as he felt your wetness coat his cock. He looked down, and the sight of his cock slick with your come almost made him lose it.

With a grunt he held you to his chest with a tight grip on the back of your neck and his fingers dug into your ass, holding you still for him as he fucked you.

"Yeah, you take it just like that. Fuck— fuck that's a good girl." He moaned out the words, his head falling back ever so slightly. Enough for you to press your lips to his neck. But what made him completely lose it was your tongue, on his neck, similarly licking up the dry blood on his skin. "Ooh fuck me."

His fingers dug deep into your scalp, enough for you to feel a slight burn, but you didn't fucking care. You dragged your lips up to his jaw as he fell still and you breathed out a laugh of satisfaction when you felt him spill himself inside you. He dragged his hips lazily, once, twice more before he just stood still. His fingers were deep rooted in your hair and his eyes were closed. You closed your own eyes as you pressed your forehead against his chest with a lazy smile on your face.

Billy was silent, his fingers loosening on your hair until only his fingers were lazily dragging his fingers through the now loose strands. You kept your face on his chest, simply listening to his rapid heartbeat that matched your own. It slowly went steady, back to its normal rhythm. Only then Billy pulled back enough to look at your face. His dark eyes watched your face with something much softer and his fingers brushed over your bruised lip.

"'M fine Billy. You've done worse." You sighed softly at him, your hand coming up to hold his wrist. He furrowed his eyebrows at you.

"That's me, though. I've never hit you— without your permission anyway. But I've never bruised your face. It ain't the same." He frowned, and you couldn't help but grin at his protectiveness.

"I said I'm fine, mi cielo." You squeezed his wrist and shot up your eyebrows at him with a suggestive smile on your face. "Does this place have a master bathroom?"

Billy thought for a second, he had been here once at least before. He figured a house this big probably did have a large bathroom.

"Probably, why?"

"Wanna wash this blood off me?"

Billy's scowl was quickly replaced by a wide smirk of his own and he could feel his cock twitch the slightest bit as your suggestive tone.

"For this pussy? Baby, I'd kiss the fuckin' ground you walk on."

Billy was a fucked up man that had met his fucked up match. And he'd be damned if he ever denied you anything.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #billy russo x you #billy russo smut #billy russo #the punisher

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queerregulusablack · 2 years

Text

Deaf!Regulus AU is a lot sadder than Blind!Regulus actually.

Regulus isn’t cursed deaf, he’s born that way, the inbreeding and his mother’s somewhat more reckless behaviour while pregnant with him causing it - after all, she’s already got her heir, and while Walburga doesn’t lose her mind and start hurting her children until Regulus is toddling, she lets loose a little more while pregnant with the spare - and from the first instance of her being told, the nurse smiling sadly at Walburga and offering her back her carefully swaddled youngest, she is... disappointed.

Walburga’s disappointment is sharp edged, and ruthless. Regulus learns to lip read as fast as he otherwise would have learned to talk because he has to, if he wants to avoid punishment; he learns to speak, too, diction and tone perfect, because his mother drills him in it, day after day, until you’d never guess that he’s actually deaf.

Orion is the one who learns and then teaches him sign language, and he and Sirius are the only ones who use it to speak to Regulus, before he starts at Hogwarts. It’s as much as blessing as a curse, because it’s French sign language, rather than the BSL he’s far more likely to come across while living in the UK, but it’s better than his entire family expecting him to communicate the same as everyone else, and punishing him when he doesn’t respond to conversation starters he doesn’t see.

He gets really good at knowing when Walburga is about to speak, and at keeping his eyes locked on her so he hardly ever misses her addressing him. Sirius adapts around this, when they’re children, waits until he’s sure their mother is finished before tapping Regulus on the wrist and talking to him.

This changes after his first year at Hogwarts, after he starts arguing with Walburga at the dinner table, and Regulus is so caught up trying to look between the two of them to keep up with the words flung back and forth that he misses both of them trying to drawn him into the conversation, gets a disappointed scowl from Sirius that hurts almost as much as the hexes from their mother.

When he starts at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat speaking into his mind startles him so hard he almost falls off the stool, the first instance of something like hearing someone leaving him wide eyed, staring up at the brim; and McGonagall watched him with a concerned frown, even as the other students giggle at the dramatic reaction.

The only person who knows to make sure they’re in his eyeline when they speak to him is Evan - they’re cousins after all, have known each other since they were six, and Regulus told him he was deaf long before Walburga enforced the rule that he was to tell no one, that it was a shameful thing to admit - and Regulus quickly gets a reputation for being the rudest First year there’s ever been, flatly ignoring anyone who isn’t the professors or Rosier.

Until Pandora susses out that his rudeness isn’t intentional - not yet, the self defence of sharp words still forming - and makes it her mission to learn how to talk to him, and to make things easier for him in general, having decided Regulus is to be her best friend.

She learns sign language, makes Evan - and then Barty and Dorcas - learn it with her, and then they all learn BSL as a group.

(The first time Sirius spots Regulus communicating with his new friends by signing but can’t understand it, he’s so angry and hurt he can hardly breathe. He demands the Marauders as a group learn BSL, and never tells them why, and they don’t find out for years.)

The night Sirius leaves, Regulus isn’t woken up by the arguing, but does stir when Sirius shakes him awake, face covered in blood from his broken nose, eyes wide and frightened.

Sirius begs him to leave with him; Regulus tells him no, but promises to stop Walburga following him. Promises to distract her until he’s settled.

Sirius hugs him tightly, and whispers something Regulus can’t hear but can feel against his temple, and leaves.

(Regulus distracts his parents by finally telling everyone that he’s deaf at the first society event they attend after Sirius runs away. Rabastan Lestrange grabs him by the shoulder and demands that he pay attention, calls him rude; and Regulus sneers back at him, and replies in a carefully loud voice that ‘I’m not rude, I’m deaf. I’d imagine the rude one, Rabastan, is the one blaming the person incapable of hearing him for not responding to his words. You should be embarrassed.’

The delighted amusement at how thoroughly Regulus dresses down Bella’s brother in law is only just surpassed by the shock at the revelation. By the time he returns to school for his fifth year, most of the Pureblood children his age have been put through lessons in BSL; he starts communicating with his friends in the original French sign language again to keep their conversations private.)

Side points:

-Lily already knows BSL, and knows Reg is deaf long before anyone else. They keep each other company in Slug Club, gossiping in corners. Regulus has some of the best observational gossip to share; when Sirius and the rest of the Marauders figure out that their favourite gossip from Remus came from Lily who got it from Reg, they Lose their collective minds.

-After the start of Fifth year, when Remus has moons that leave him suffering from sensory overload, he sits in the back of the library with Regulus and takes sign language lessons from him. They don’t talk, and Sirius knows to stay away, and eventually Remus figures out that Regulus has access to the best hot chocolate, courtesy of being friends with all the House Elves.

-When James starts his pursuit of Regulus, he tries similar things to when he was pursuing Lily; namely, charming things to serenade him. It takes him an embarrassing number of attempts to realise just why it’s not even garnering Regulus’ irritation; Sirius laughs so hard he falls off his bed. James switches tactics sheepishly.

-Sirius and Regulus’ reconciliation is a stuttering kind of thing, but when he eventually apologises for the arguing and how it got Regulus hurt, he tells him to stop. Sirius absolutely should be sorry for how he treated Regulus when he wasn’t able to speak in support of him, but he doesn’t need to apologise for their mother. She was never Sirius’ fault.

#regulus black #sirius black #starchaser #jegulus #james potter x regulus black #headcanon #deaf regulus #not me promising a mermaid au and throwing out this instead #I am but a humble magpie I follow the shinies

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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Hello Miss Raven!!!

So you know some fanfics about Yuu/MC getting kidnapped by RSA cause they think that "They are too good for NRC"? Well do you think they ever tried to convince Silver to leave NRC? Because he literally has the qualifications to be a little Disney princess/princess(being that hes inspired by Aurora)

I don't know, RSA doesn't really seem like the type to kidnap or poach people for their school...? (Unless you were being completely hyperbolic when you used the term "kidnap" www) If Yuu were to go to RSA at all, I picture it more as being more of a temporary exchange student program or an offer extended to them by Ambrose the 63rd. I feel that we see this idea a lot in fandom works because we are curious about the RSA boys and/or want Yuu to go here and to help solve their issues too.

I personally love seeing RSA!AUs (both art and writing) for the various TWST characters, but I don't think this will actually be done in canon. If we're specifically talking about Silver, I don't think he has a current desire to leave (and nor would he be tempted to), especially since his Diasomnia family is at NRC. Additionally, while he may be princess-like, Silver also has qualities which are trademarks of NRC. For example, he is shown to be competitive with Sebek in matters of knightly duties and has difficulties with expressing himself to others. He's not really what I'd describe as spoiled or prissy either (derogatory descriptions given to describe the RSA kids), he can get quite serious and willing to fight when it comes to the safety of the people he cares about. Yes, he talks about wanting everyone to get along but that makes sense as a part of his character on account of how he was raised (while the RSA students are presented as inherently trusting). Silver may be more agreeable than your average NRC kid, but he's still got some of that school's spirit in him. He's definitely a part of Night Raven College's community.

While Silver may not be everyone's bestie, I don't see them finding him off-putting enough to want him to go somewhere else. Even if his peers saw him in a positive light, they wouldn’t think he’s “too good” for NRC—not when NRC kids think they’re better than RSA. They don’t see RSA as “better”, and nor would the generally prideful students of NRC confess they think anyone is “better” than themselves, Silver or otherwise.

I also just disagree entirely with the notion that "good" people go to RSA and "bad" people go to NRC. We may view it that way on a metatextual level (as players who are familiar with Disney villains), but it definitely isn't presented that way in-universe. (Why would Kalim, Rook, and Silver be attending NRC if only "bad" people attend?) RSA and NRC both just happen to be prestigious magical schools and rivals, and nothing more than that. Judging people by the labels of "good" and "bad" by themselves are also blanket terms which ignore nuance. Just because a character does something good or is generally well-behaved doesn't necessarily make them "good", and nor does doing something bad or being ill-mannered necessarily make them "bad". That's one of the major themes of Twisted Wonderland, getting us to see the "good" in "bad" people. I'm sure that if we delved into RSA's population, we'd also find that the perfect presenting students aren't so perfect after all.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Kalim Al-Asim #Silver #Rook Hunt #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #Ambrose the 63rd #Yuu #Sebek Zigvolt

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thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed · 1 year

Text

One of Your Kind (Ch. 5)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10

Word count: 5.2K

Summary: Jenna is getting very flirty with you and you notice that on several occasions, only you try to ignore everything until your friends decided to set something up…

Warnings: maybe a little bit of angst? Otherwise nothing really

Pairing: Jenna Ortega X Fem!Reader

———

November 2021

A couple weeks passed since your fight with Tim, but you didn’t want to see it like that. You wanted to see it as two weeks passed since you opened up with Jenna, since she slept in your bed as you both cuddled, that’s how you wanted to see it. Jenna had made it her personal goal to make you feel better, to make you trust people again and to just… be happy. She wanted to see you happy, she wanted to spend time with you. It started off small: at the start she would come in your trailer or you would go in hers, you’d play games or talk about anything or even watch movies together, actively avoiding horror movies as she knew you didn’t like them, you were more into fantasy and sci-fi and she took a liking to those genres too, and it often happened that you’d fall asleep in her bed, snuggled up to her. Even if she was the one in your trailer, you both snuggled up to each other and you’d always fall asleep first.

You never knew that Jenna purposely stayed awake longer to just watch you sleep and play with your hair, sometimes even tracing your skin with her fingers - she was glad you always slept soundly. You looked so relaxed whenever she was around and she noticed that, your face muscles were always tense at work, unlike how they are when you’re around her. You looked peaceful around her and she loved that. She loved how you felt safe whenever you were in her proximity. But you were too innocent, too innocent to realize that she was looking at you differently, too innocent to realized that maybe - just maybe - Jenna had feelings for you. However, you were still, just best friends.

You were indeed happier thanks to her but you had no doubts about that. You had been trying to reach out to her for a year and now that you spent the majority of your time with her, you were happy. You were slowly feeling better and starting to open up to people again, though only Jenna knew your actual experiences, only she knew how you truly felt and she was glad she did, because she was there whenever you had those small break downs, she was there when you were scared to lose your job. Slowly but surely you started hanging out with everyone else again. They had questions but you dodged them thanks to Jenna’s help, she always wanted to protect you and you couldn’t be more grateful to have met her and even though you were quiet at first, soon enough you were really good friends with them: you were back at laughing, back at joking. You were the girl you used to be when you first met Jenna and you barely knew any english.

Once again, it was thanks to Jenna’s help that you went back at work. You talked with Tim and you both apologized to each other and as a director under his teachings you were becoming as precise and as meticulous as he was, which is why most of the times he gave you the job of combing Jenna’s bangs. He was so obsessed with it, he needed each strand of hair to be in a particular place and he trusted you to just know what was gonna work for the episode and this morning that’s exactly what you were doing. As Jenna was sitting in a chair after getting her hair braided you were trying to find the right position to comb her bangs. If you knelt down she was too up high, if you stood up she was too low, if you bent down your back hurt… however you were trying to do your best.

“Wouldn’t it be best if you sat on my legs? I can see you’re having a hard time” Jenna said, and you gulped nervously as you tried to hide it with a giggle. “Nah don’t worry I can still work with this” you said and she scoffed. “Oh come on! We’ve known each other long enough. Plus you’ll get a better view and a more comfortable angle to work from” you eventually gave in and sat on her legs straddling her, you were nervous and she sensed that, but why were you nervous? You were doing your job, and she was your friend. Right?. Jenna’s hands found their place on your thigh which only incremented your nervousness, a pink shade appeared on your cheeks but she ignored it. Ha! She made you nervous. she could basically hear your fast heartbeat and As much as she enjoyed that, she also needed to calm you down and she did so by moving her head repeatedly and messing up your work, causing you to laugh at the faces she made as you definitely did calm down “stop it! Come in I need to get this done” you laughed and she did too, but she continued on moving her head from side to side, making it impossible for you to get the job done but you didn’t care, you were having fun.

That was until you noticed it was getting late and Jenna soon needed to be on set. Without thinking of it you very gently grabbed her chin, making her stop her movements as she looked at you and you did the same, her eyes moving from your eyes to your lip and for a brief second you did the same. Silence filled the room for a while, your hand stil having a hold of her chin as you looked at each other, slowly leaning closer to her until the door was opened and Emma stormed in. You quickly stood up and off of her as Jenna removed her hands from your thighs only to place them in her own lap. “Hey Jen you need to-“ Emma stopped talking when she saw you get off of Jenna, having briefly seen that you were sitting in her lap. “Did I interrupt something?” Your reply came quicker than expected “no not at all” you said laughing nervously. “Hmmm. Okay. Jen you’re needed on set” Emma said before leaving the room and you sighed of relief before turning back to Jenna, none of you saying anything for a while as you went back to work on her bangs, this time standing up. Only after a couple minutes you noticed Jenna smiling slightly at you.

“Why are you smiling?” You asked her and she slightly shook her head as to not ruin your work. “Nothing, you just look cute, all focused on me” you blushed brighter than earlier, this time trying to hide the smile. Oh god, was she flirting? Yes, she was flirting and you were falling straight into her trap. “Come on let’s get you on set” you said, avoiding her attempt at flirting but Jenna smiled anyway, she was the reason you were nervous, - a happy kind of nervous indeed - and she was going to take advantage of it. Of course Tim was more than happy with the way you combed her bangs, if only he knew how long it took you to make it this right.

You and Jenna never talked about what would have happened if Emma hadn’t come in the room and you were still acting the same way with each other, she was as flirty as ever, but you’d often take it as a joke. You didn’t think she liked you, maybe she didn’t and you were there deluding yourself of what could be if she did like you, would you a be a happy couple? Would she want to make it public? And would she hurt you? This is what you were mostly scared of. You were scared of betrayal, you were scared of being abandoned again. Maybe this is also why you never replied to her attempts at flirting. However, Thanksgiving was soon, very soon. In Italy there’s no such thing and you had never celebrated it in America either so this would be very, very new for you. Everyone was making such a big deal out of it and you didn’t know why, it was just a lunch with a turkey in the middle of the table… right?

They were going to celebrate it on set too, and of course you were invited too. In some ways it reminded you of the huge Christmas dinner with the whole family everyone has in Italy. You missed your home country in some ways, but not because of your family. No, you hated them. However, when the day came you were all having lunch on set, you had a restaurant prepare you all the food and take it on set so you didn’t have to move to go to a restaurant and of course, you were late. The night before you had gone to bed late because you were watching a movie and you forgot to set your alarm so you had to prepare in less than five minutes and head to the lunch. When you arrived, everyone had already arrived “I’m sorry for being late” you said and caught your breath, you had ran there. “Over here!” You turned to where Jenna was calling you from. “I saved you a seat next to me”

It was a pretty normal lunch, you were sitting next to Jenna and you were both amongst the rest of the cast. You were the youngest amongst the recording crew so most of the free time you had you spent it with the cast. As much time as it took you, you enjoyed their presence and they enjoyed yours. Once again, or maybe we should say like always, Jenna was flirting with you. “Girls you would make a really cute couple, you know that right?” Emma said. You were really good friends with her too, so she could afford the confidence she had with you, but her comment made you blush. “W-What? No we’re just really good friends.” You said as you drank a sip of your water, trying not to choke at Emma’s next comment. “Yeah mhm. You’re always in each other’s trailers and you know what I always say about couples? “And they were roommates” which you are basically and I’m never wrong” you sunk in your chair after having almost chocked, and you failed to notice the blush that had settled on Jenna’s cheeks too.

It was a really nice lunch and you ate A LOT. But after the lunch, like all the time Jenna invited you to her trailer. Recently you’d help her revise her lines, so you thought that this is what you two were going to do today as well. “God my back hurts a lot” Jenna said, grunting slightly as she bent to put her purse down. “Is it because of the stunts?” You asked her, and she nodded, sitting on her bed “we told you to get a stunt double… you’re not used to all this, you should have expected to get back pains” you said, still standing awkwardly in her trailer as you heard her chuckle “you sound like my mom” that made you laugh and shake your head. “Do you need a back massage? I’m pretty good at that” Jenna looked at you with pleading eyes and you smiled, taking your jacket off having understood what she wanted “take off your shirt and lay down on hour stomach” you turned around as she did so, and when she said she was ready you walked over to her, climbing on the bed and straddling her lower back.

As soon as you started massaging her you felt how tense her muscles were, and you heard her grunt of pain first, which turned to relief. You started from her lower back where her ditches of venus were. “This feels amazing…” she nearly whispered, she had her eyes closed and a small smile on her face, her head resting on her arms. The more you went up the more she relaxed and you had to move her long hair out of the way. At some point though she reached her hand back to unhook her bra, and you could say you panicked. “W-what are you doing?” Jenna could feel you had gotten tense. “Relax… I just unhooked my bra. I’m just giving you some more space” she said, “I’m not stripping off, we’re not there… yet.” As she giggled after her own comment, you gulped nervously and resumed with your massages. To say you wanted to bend down and kiss her bare skin was an understatement, and you really refrained from doing so.

The rest of the massage you were both quiet, and only when you were finished did you notice that Jenna had fallen asleep. You smiled and gently climbed off of her, hooking her bra again very gently, as you looked at her. She had been filming a lot recently and she looked exhausted. The freckles on her nose and cheeks even more visible when she wasn’t wearing make up, and you moved a strand of hair behind her eat to give her a better look, god was she stunning. You hesitantly leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, only to see her smile slightly, making you smile as well. “Sleep well Jen” you whispered and pulled the covers on top of her before going back to your own trailer.

December 2021

Christmas was near and you couldn’t wait to spend it with your friends. These past years you didn’t like Christmas but this year you were really excited, you knew it was hugely celebrated in America and even if now you were in Romania and they didn’t celebrate it like you guys do, you had ordered a Christmas tree from Amazon as well as some Christmas decorations to put up in your trailer and around set. In Italy it’s a tradition to put up Christmas decorations on the 8th of December and you were going to do the same thing here and you couldn’t be happier. You woke up earlier than everyone else, so that when they woke up they would see what you did. Useless to say that the cast was very happy with what they saw, you could see all their jaws drop. However, the “grownups” weren’t as happy.

“You need to get this stuff off of everything” director of the cameras said, and you pouted “oh come on! It’s Christmas” you said and he only scoffed “make everything disappear within ten minutes” he insisted “but-“ “now, (Y/N). We need to start filming” you sighed “gee, the grinch has a better Christmas spirit than you” you said, and without looking at the cast you climbed on the ladder to start with the higher up things, only… the ladder wasn’t as stable as you thought and you lost your balance, taking a really bad fall as your head hit the ground, though luckily you didn’t pass out “(Y/N)!” You heard someone yell, and by the time you sat up you saw everyone around you look worried. Well at least you thought so. Your vision was blurred, you saw double and even your hearing was confused: everyone was speaking and asking you questions but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. “Guys I don’t- I don’t understand what you’re asking me” you said and rubbed your head where you hit it, you were loosing some blood but it wasn’t much.

“What happened?” You asked as you tried to stand up. “No no no don’t stand up” Jenna said but you couldn’t understand any of it. However she was late, because you had already stood up but you lost your balance again. Luckily people were around you and made you sit back down. “Guys I’m fine” you kept saying, their voices sounded all mixed together and you couldn’t make out their faces, but you were sure Jenna was there. “How many fingers do you see?” Jenna said, holding out two fingers. hers was the only voice you understood. “Uh five? I don’t know” you said as you held your head and grunted. The next thing you knew you were in an ambulance, being taken to the hospital with Jenna coming with you. The whole situation was all a distant memory and you barely remembered it had happened when you got back from your trance state. “Ouch that hurts-“ you said as you felt the pain in the back of your head, it was bandaged and you had a couple stitches.

Only a few seconds later you realized you were at the hospital, and Jenna was there. Wait, wasn’t Jenna supposed to be filming? “What happened?” You asked as you sat up, looking at Jenna. She looked extremely worried, leg moving up and down at a speed as she fiddled with her own fingers. She was still in her Wednesday clothes for set. “You fell and hit your head,” Jenna started. “You scared us, (Y/N). You couldn’t stand up straight, you didn’t understand what we were saying, your vision was confused, I was scared” well, you had no recognition of all of this, you blinked twice and Jenna looked at you with glossy eyes as if you were seriously injured “it’s alright Jen, I’m okay now” you tried to reassure her and she nodded “I know… you just scared me big time” you looked at her again “want a hug?” You said with a smile, opening your arms for her. She seemed hesitant at first, but before any tears could leave her eyes she moved in your arms and a shaky breath escaped her lips as you held her tight. “I’m okay”

You left the hospital that same afternoon as you were better, and as you got back to the trailers you remembered why you had took that fall. You were asked to take the Christmas decorations off, and because of that all your happiness for Christmas vanished. “Are you gonna come to Percy’s trailer to play some Uno?” Jenna asked you with a smile, which you gave in return, only a smaller one. “I think I’ll go back to my trailer. In italy we put up the Christmas tree today and I want to do it. Those idiots already ruined the Christmas atmosphere, I at least want to have a Christmas tree in my trailer, you know?” Jenna looked at you with a small smile and a look of admiration, maybe even love- no definitely not love but it was different than any other time. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You giggled “I know it’s childish but it’s important to me” you said and waited for an answer “no it’s not childish at all, I admire that,” there it was, admiration. “Tell you what, I’ll come help you later tonight, okay?” She said. The thought of that made you happy, and you smiled brightly “see you later then!”

You definitely had your hopes up because she did not show up. You had left a few Christmas decoration for her to put on the tree including the star that goes on top, but she didn’t come and she didn’t even send you a text warning you, and to say you were a little bit sad was enough, though you didn’t blame her, she was probably really tired… but at least you expected a text. You had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for her only for her to not show up. That day you didn’t talk to her the whole day even if she had tried multiple times to apologize. “(Y/N) I’m sorry okay?” She said for the thousand time, following you back to your trailer “will you listen to me!?” She said and you finally turned to look at her, leaving her speechless for a short moment. “I’m sorry. It was late, I was tired. I didn’t even know what time it was and when I noticed, I had to go to sleep because my alarm would have rang two hours later. You get that right?” You sighed and nodded, looking down “I do get that, I don’t blame you for that. It’s just that I was waiting for you, I had left you a few decorations to put up and you didn’t show up, you didn’t even send a text… I’m just sad, that’s it” you said and shrugged

She apologized again and you replied with “it’s okay, I put them up this morning so the it’s fully decorated now” You saw her nod after that, and then move her eyes to the ground. Now she felt guilty. It was only a week later when you found yourself in a very, very awkward situation with Jenna. Emma and the others had been confabulating something and you knew it, they were looking at you and you would give them confused glares, and you didn’t know that but they were looking at Jenna, too. Were they maybe trying to set you up on a date with her? “Hey (Y/N), can you come here real quick?” Emma called for you, and you were anxious of what was waiting for you. “STOP!” You stopped dead in your tracks. “Stay there, don’t move” she said and then proceeded to call Jenna too. “What’s the meaning of this?” You said, only for your voice to be cut off by Emma’s voice calling for Jenna, and she walked over to where you were and stopped next to you. “Perfect!” Emma said, almost jumping of excitement. “Now look up” you gave her a glare before looking up.

Mistletoe.

Oh no you thought, this is bad. This is way worst than what you had anticipated, this was worst than a set up date, you had expected anything but some mistletoe, now you had to straight up kiss her. “You can’t be serious right now” you brought a hand up to your face, perhaps to hide the blush that had made its way in your cheeks and neck, you didn’t dare to look at Jenna, but she was looking down shyly too, bangs covering her eyes as she tried to suppress her smile, until you had what you thought was a brilliant idea. You stepped away from under the mistletoe, just one step. “Well I’m not under the mistletoe now so we can’t…-“ you were quickly interrupted when Jenna grabbed your arm, to prevent you from moving any further away from her as she pulled you in close, arms linked around your waist as yours automatically found place on her shoulders “… kiss…” you whispered, now that both your faces were inches away from each other.

You could feel her hesitant hot breath against your own lips that were parted ever so slightly, her eyes moving very quickly from your right eye, your left one and then your lips, creating some sort of triangle shape. Now that you were this close you felt your breath falter, heart hammering against your chest and you were so scared that it was going to come out of it if you didn’t calm down, however how could you? How could you calm down when Jenna was looking at you with nothing but love in her eyes? Her arms tightened their grip around your waist to bring you closer to her and only then you thought, oh how ethereal she looks. She looks like an angel, a goddess and any kind of positive affirmation you could come up with. “J-Jen…” you whispered nervously, you were really tense in her arms but she wasted no time in taking care of that when she leaned in to place her soft lips on yours. The beating of your heart only increases as you finally relaxed and gave in to the almost foreign feeling, everything else became background noises, eyes closing and your hand hesitantly moved from Jenna’s shoulder to her neck and then cheek reciprocating the kiss that felt so intense, yet so soft, and both foreign and familiar at the same time. You have no idea how long she has been wanting to do this for, and she hummed against your lips at the realization that this was finally happening. You could feel her smile against your lips and at some point you even moved forward for more.

Though when you pulled back from each other, as you saw her smile you felt… you felt scared. Scared that whatever happened with your ex could happen again. Scared she was going to hurt you, abandon you, talk bullshit about you and you didn’t want that, you couldn’t have that. If it happened again you would fall back into that depression Jenna found you in when you met again here in Romania, and in that case she would be the one that got you both out and back in it. You wanted her, you really wanted her. That’s what your heart kept telling you but your head wanted otherwise. This time you decided to follow your head, even if you knew that this would probably be the worst decision of your life. “I’m sorry I- I have to go” you said and pulled away from her embrace as you used the back of your sleeve to wipe the single tear that had rolled down your cheek “(Y/N) wait-“ Jenna called but you completely ignored her and ran to your trailer.

You considered yourself lucky, because the next day everyone would be flying back home to spend Christmas with their families and you really, really didn’t want to talk with Jenna, you were too scared. However that day she sent you lots of texts and called you multiple times, but you never replied to any of them. You even closed your trailer windows so she couldn’t come look inside and you had locked your door, but that didn’t prevent Jenna to come try and talk to you, and that’s exactly what she did. “(Y/N) why are you ignoring my calls?” She called softly, she sounded worried, but you were too scared to face her right now. “Look I don’t know what happened after that kiss that made you want to run away but really, I’m sorry and I want to help, please let me help” she begged and for a short moment you felt a soft noise, Jenna had laid her head against the door “I don’t want it to ruin anything. If you want we can forget it ever happened, what do you think?” No, you didn’t want to forget it, you wanted to do it again but you couldn’t. Oh how you wanted to just hold her and kiss her… however you said nothing. “Please…” it sounded more like a cry coming from her and once again you didn’t reply, and soon enough you heard her sigh and then walk away.

That same night, Jenna came again at your door, and you recognized that it was her just from the knocks, three like usual. “I bought you some food, it’ll be out here in a bag if you want it… there are also some plane tickets inside… if you ever want to come spend it with me and my family, I don’t want you to be alone here for Christmas so if you’re coming just text me okay? I lo-“ she stopped mid sentence. Please don’t say it, please don’t say it… “I’ll miss you for these two weeks” you sighed of relief. You did want to hear those words coming from her but on the other hand you knew that if you heard them, you would fall at her knees.

You didn’t have to hear those words.

On December 30 at midnight you took your first flight that would take you to Los Angeles. You had calculated how much it would take you to get there and if the flights were on time you would arrive at her house at 7.30 pm of December 31. You didn’t text her, deciding to make this a surprise… you had given up, you ended up following your heart as always. This time it felt different, Jenna was different. You knew she was the one and you couldn’t lose her.

Your second flight was late and you were freaking out. You needed to get to LA, get a bouquet of roses and get to her house in less than two hours or you wouldn’t make it to her house before midnight stroke, so for the first time in your life you decided to use your “famous person” privilege and get a private Jet, which was faster and comfier and at 11.50 pm you were in front of her door, the beautiful bouquet in your arms. There was music in the house, you knew she wouldn’t hear the bell ring, so you called her on the phone. “(Y/N)? How are you?” She asked, and you avoided her question “I’m here, open the door” Jenna went quiet, confusion all over your her face and her relatives questioned what it was about. “What do you mean?” “The door, dumbass” you giggled “I’m in front of your house and it’s freezing, just let me in” within seconds Jenna hung up the call and rushed to the door to open it.

As soon as she saw you, she gave you a bright smile and a confused look, then she saw the flowers, which you handed to her. “What’s the meaning of… this?” She said, gesturing to the flowers. “I didn’t like how our last talk ended… but it was my fault” you were definitely nervous but for now Jenna decided not to question that. “I wanted to end the year on a good note… and start the new year in an even better one” you said and took a step closer to her, she didn’t know what to say, she was just glad you were here.. and she definitely wasn’t expecting what was going to come next, because you pulled her in from her waist, (roles reversed from the first time you kissed) and a couple seconds before midnight stroke, you pulled her in for another kiss. This time it felt even better than the first one you had shared. In some ways it felt desperate, it even felt relaxed and soft. As one hand of yours stayed on her waist, the other one went to cup her cheek, caressing it with your thumb as fireworks started exploding around you, both literally and figuratively. The new year had just started and people were celebrating it with their loved ones and for the first time, you were doing the same.

You smiled in the kiss and when you both pulled back - still being only inches away from each other - you continued cupping her cheek, looking at her with love and lust in your eyes as you saw the colors of the fireworks reflect on her skin, and she looked at you the same way you looked at her.

“Happy new year, (Y/N)”

“Happy new year Jen”

A/N: WOAH this was definitely a rollercoaster of emotions, this was definitely my longest chapter posted and It’s probably the best chapter I’ve written so far 😭😭

Tags: @idkjustliving2 @tundra1029 @engenelxver @rainbow-love4ever @gimaximoff @smromanoff @wol-fica @lum13 @eviekensington @i984

#Jenna #Ortega #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x r #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday adams #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader

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theheirofthesharingan · 3 months

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You know, I think a lot of hate and misunderstanding towards Itachi comes from the fact that he is designed like he is 30 or 20-something by the time of the massacre. Pleople would empathize with him more if he looked like the child he was. In some flashbacks he looks and sounds more like Sasuke's father than his big brother. He is expected to act perfectly and to take the best decisions in all that involved Sasuke, as if he was the responsible grown-up in charge, and not just another child.

Yes, that's also a major reason. The first time he was introduced, he looked like a 16-17 year old to me, and in all the flashbacks he looks more or less the same. I don't relate to the sentiment of anyone hating him for this, though, or thinking he wasn't a child when it's been repeatedly told to us, but I guess usually it's not so for everyone.

I read somewhere that the reason he looks older than he is, is because of Sasuke's perception of him. Kishimoto draws him with more nuance, and he does look like a child in manga.

When, for the first time we see him as a child in Sasuke's flashbacks in manga, he looks like a 12 year old. He's very similar to how Sasuke would look without the marks on his face. Anime messed up giving him an adult voice and the similar appearance. Boruto does a better job at portraying him as a child in appearance and voice.

And, yes! Itachi having to act like an adult could have been explored with his Boruto look and voice too. It would be much more tragic to watch him slowly lose his grip on his sanity when he looked like a baby he's meant to be.

Another reason for the lack of sympathy from a lot of people towards him is that his story is told to us through a series of unreliable narrators. Sasuke, for example, gives us two different versions of Itachi. The evil and the good one. The good one (in the flashbacks before the massacre) shows us he was a good and kind boy. Kishimoto uses Itachi as a plot device to further Sasuke's story. If some information regarding Itachi is important to establish Itachi as a character, but is not relevant to Sasuke's arc, it will not be discussed. Otherwise we'd have gotten some information on the time Sasuke trained under Orochimaru and his own guilt for pushing Sasuke into that path. I'm not saying you have to give us all in real time, but after his death, through Kisame (who'd be a better person to talk about Itachi to Sasuke) we could have gotten some more info on him. But nope.

Obito is also an unreliable narrator. As is Hiruzen. Sasuke tells us about Itachi, his brother. Obito tells us about the tragic figure/martyr Itachi, and Hiruzen tells us the perfect Shinobi Itachi was.

There's very little of real Itachi himself in all this.

Sasuke didn't know everything about his brother. Obito didn't either or it didn't matter to him enough to reveal more details about Itachi to Sasuke. Hiruzen also had his own guilt and lack of information on Itachi, therefore he only tells us what he knows and considers right about him.

Everyone is telling us about their version of Itachi that they know is right. Itachi is probably the only character whose story is told us like that. For other characters the narrators are very much reliable. Madara's story, for example, is told through Itachi, Obito, and Hashirama. And Hashirama is the most reliable narrator, so we can ignore what Itachi and Obito said about him. It isn't the case with Itachi. In his case we have to draw the conclusions based on all the information we've received from other people.

I don't agree with people who say he's inherently cruel or evil. (I wrote about it here) Unlike many others, if given a slightly better option he would have made better choice. Who else in the Narutoverse had to make the hard choices that Itachi did and he stood by them? People can stay mad with countless 'he could have/should have done this differently' but they're speaking from an outsider's POV who has the luxury of not having been through the trauma the character they're criticizing did. Everything they hate him for can be countered using manga penals. I know this is the bird-eye view of things, but these penals are self-explanatory.

Itachi is one character who did everything wrong, but with proper context that 'everything wrong' can be explained, understood, and to some extent, even justified. If people are going to remove, twist, distort, deny, or downright ignore that context to continue their hate, then I have a very bad news for them. More on this here.

It's why I tend to disagree with most of the discourse on Itachi. People dropping the context depending on their convenience to talk shit about him. And I applaud Kishimoto for creating Itachi. Imagine creating a minor character in a 700-chapter long manga and people being mad about his fanbase. He's a very popular character and some folks like to feel intellectually and morally superior for hating on popular things. They also like to think they're different and hence very special.

#itachi #itachi uchiha #uchiha itachi #naruto #ask #anon

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 5 months

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Hi I wanna know how would the tfa bots elite guard and cons react to meeting a female bot who is like Barbie who came to life by an allspark fragment and developing a crush on her

-Optimus feels ashamed of his crush because he doesn't think he's worth her. She's just so... so perfect. Beautiful, kind, funny, intelligent. She's got it all and Optimus doesn't. He'll probably try to avoid her for some time after realizing how he feels about her.

-If Optimus feels ashamed then Ratchet feels embarrassed. He's an old mech, past his best years and he's not supposed to go after some young, pretty bot that's just started figuring out life. Not to mention that he's long since given up on having a love life. Like Optimus he'll probably avoid her if possible in an attempt to smother these feelings.

-Despite his claims, Bumblebee don't have a lot of experience with lady-bots. You know what, scratch that. He's got ZERO experience. That doesn't mean he'll dive right in and do his best to impress her. Super nervous about making a fool out of himself but he masks this with false confidence. Starts stumbling over his words whenever she smiles at him though.

-Bulkhead in love is just so wholesome. He realizes he's got a crush on her when he finds himself painting nothing but portraits of her. Tries to woo her the old fashioned way, with flowers and poems about how pretty her optics are. Will ask her to model for his paintings as an excuse to spend time with her.

-For Prowl, him having a crush is divided in two parts. First, he ignores it. Ignores her. Tries to be smooth about how he leaves when she shows up but he's just desperately trying to avoid her so he won't fall deeper in love. But he can't focus on anything, all his thoughts keeps drifting back to her so eventually he accepts it. Now he's determined to woo her though he feels intimidated by how amazing she is. How is he supposed to prove himself?

-It's been centuries since Ultra Magnus last had a crush but he just can't help it with this bot. She's everything he looks for in a conjux. Graceful, gentle, determined, intelligent, kind. She would make a perfect First Conjux (cybertronian version of First Lady). Now, he's not been in the dating game since he was a new frame but he's still confident that he can muster up the old charm.

-Fuuuuuck, Sentinel is so damn annoying about his crush. He flirts, says a million different pick up lines that makes everyone else cringe yet he fails to notice how hard he's failing. In his mind, a perfect mech like him deserves nothing less than a perfect bot like her. Thinks she's got a crush on him just because he can't imagine otherwise. Tries to impress her all the time.

-Jazz, just like Sentinel, flirts, but he's so much better at it. At first the flirting is mostly playful, trying to test the waters and see if she's interested, and once he's more confident then he'll lay it on real thick. Loves coming up with improvised love songs on the spot, singing about her many amazing qualities.

-The jettwins, Jetfire and Jetstorm, are like two puppies the way they follow her around, desperate for any scrap of attention. Like, they are down BAD. They hang onto her every word and think she's the most incredible bot in the world. Desperately try to impress her.

-Every lord needs a lady and that includes warlords so of course Megatron is determined to make her his. While she's a little too kind for the position as Lady of the decepticons he doesn't mind it. Her intelligence and charm more than makes up for it. Super suave with his flirting.

-Starscream tries so badly to impress her, be it with his intelligence, power or by flying. He tries to to act confident and suave with her but the moment she does anything he feels completely lost because she does everything with such ease. She's naturally graceful, doesn't even have to try to make people like her and that's everything Starscream wishes he had.

-She's got Blitzwing's personalities rapid switching because they all want to spend time/look at her. Hothead's usual anger and bravado turns into a blustering mess around her and all he can say are simple sentences like "You're pretty" or "I want to hold your hand so badly". Gets so flustered by his admissions that he willingly switches out. Icy is better, he is calmer about his crush and tries to woo her by being a gentleman. Too bad Random suddenly switches in and ruins it by saying that he wants to eat her so they can be together forever. Awkward.

-Look, Lugnut already got a conjux that he loves and adores so he feels super guilty about his crush. Whenever he sees this bot he will shout at them to stay away, calling her a temptress. Secretly though he's wondering if Strika would like to meet her. He's pretty confident that she'd like this bot and she's always been up for a third.

-Shockwave is torn between acting professional and ogling her like an idiot. She's perfect in every way, sense and form and he'd be an idiot to just ignore her. But because she's so perfect he finds himself so taken off guard that he doesn't know how to react.

-Yeah, Blackarachnia feels terrible. She's got a crush on her bot at the same time she's super jealous. This bot is beautiful and highly sought after by everyone and she feels so lacking in comparison to them. Might try to flirt but honestly don't think it will go anywhere, even if they for some reason were interested. Blackarachnia simply couldn't bear constandly comparing herself to this perfect bot.

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unknownfacelessfanfictions · 2 months

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Living Sanctuary

Hemmer x fem!reader (can be read as romantic, however is more platonic with developing feelings) Words: 2.3K Summary: She never really learned anything about his home. Until one day she did Inspired by this post from @nichestartrekkie0-0 (If fanfics not your thing, just ignore this :)) so please chek out their art it's AMAZING

A drop of sweat ran down her forehead, down her temple, down her cheek and was wiped aside by her sleeve before it could fall to the floor.

Her arms felt heavy, but she didn't dare move them for fear that the objects in them would fall to the ground and shatter. Something she could not afford, after all, Hemmer needed these things. At least she was certain there was no harm in them.

The cooling system was offline and no matter how hard the engineers tried, it wasn't getting any better. In the end, it had turned out to be a fault in the system, which could be rectified by a simple reboot.

The problem: this reboot took several hours.

Hours in which the Enterprise had become uncomfortably warm, at least by her standards. She knew from Spock that he enjoyed the temperature and Uhura also had few problems with the change.

However, apart from the fact that everyone felt temperatures differently, she knew that there was one person who would not like it at all: Hemmer.

Based on what she had heard from some of the junior engineers, Hemmer was in an even worse mood than usual, and the temperature was so bad that M'Benga had sent him to his quarters to rest for fear that the Aenar would suffer heat exhaustion. Something that would be even more fatal for Hemmer's species than for her own. M'Benga had eventually interrupted her, lying panting on the sofa, and asked her to check on the Aenar. After all, they both knew how incredibly stubborn their friend could be.

She had agreed without hesitation. Hemmer might have his rough edges, some of them deadly sharp, but he had a heart of gold and she cared for him deeply.

He was a good friend on whom she had always been able to rely, so she would not let him down now. Even if he was still unaware of his luck.

With her elbow, she managed to press the button next to his door, alerting him that someone wanted to come in. For a few moments she stood in the corridor, people walking past her and looking at her strangely, wondering if he was even there. Perhaps he had thrown caution to the wind and gone back to work?

She immediately shook her head and dismissed the idea. Hemmer might be stubborn from time to time and not listen to advice, and when he did he did so reluctantly, but he was not self-destructive.

If Doctor M'Benga told him that the work posed a risk to his health, he would follow the doctor's instructions, grumpily, but he would do it.

Hemmer didn't give her much time to think about it. The doors opened and she quickly entered to avoid standing around stupidly in the corridor any longer. Inside it was only slightly less stiflingly hot than outside, but it wasn't any hotter either, which she saw as a plus.

She looked around searchingly, but couldn't spot the engineer. "Hemmer?" Carefully setting the items down on the sofa, she decided to take off her uniform jacket.

The top underneath would have to do, otherwise she would suffer from heat exhaustion. "Are you all right? Where are you?"

There was silence for a while and she began to wonder whether the door had opened by chance and he was actually somewhere else, but at that moment Hemmer's muffled voice rang out. "I'm fine."

She wheeled round to the bathroom where his voice had come from and only now did she realise the faint sound of falling water. Of course, she silently scolded herself. When the air was too hot, water was an excellent way to cool off.

With long strides, she walked to the door and stopped so that the opening sensor could not detect her. "May I come in?"

A grunt sounded and she frowned worriedly when an approving grumble came from Hemmer.

"M'Benga asked me to come round," she explained as she stepped into the bathroom. "Besides, I was worried about you, I mean, I'm almost dying in these temperatures, I can hardly imagine that it's pleasant for-" As soon as her gaze fell on Hemmer, she faltered and stopped, stunned by the sight before her.

Hemmer seemed to have noticed, as she fell silence surprised and huffed.

"I know I know, I look like a drowned beaver, or whatever you humans call it. But it's the only way to survive this heat."

She broke out of her stupor long enough to lift the corners of her mouth in slight amusement. "It's 'you look like a drowned rat'. And, that's not what caught me by surprise."

Even if this was of course partly to blame for her sudden hesitation, after all she had never seen her friend in such a position before. He sat on the floor of the shower, clever idea the tiles were also cold, and let the cool water run down his body. Consequently, his hair clung to his face in lengthy strands, while his antennae swayed in a dance-like manner, evading the droplets in a game known only to them. But as already mentioned, it wasn't that which had left her speechless.

It was the sight of Hemmer clad in nothing more than shorts, snugly embracing his well-defined muscles, stretching just halfway up his thighs, which intensified her warmth.

This alone would have been enough to induce a blush, but something else caught her off guard. The tattoos.

Dark blue, almost black, tattoos meandered in wavy patterns across his physique, from his chest to his shoulders to his arms, down to his legs and, she surmised, down to his back. They reminded her somewhat of the traditional tattoos of the Maori or the Polynesians, indigenous peoples of Earth, but at the same time they looked completely different, like two worlds at opposite ends of the galaxy.

Hemmer cleared his throat, apparently waiting for an answer, and she squatted down in front of him to be at eye level with him. It may not have done him much good, but she felt more comfortable not having to stare down at him. "Don't take offence, but I didn't expect to find my best friend naked in his shower."

"I'm not naked," he grumbled and she grinned slightly as he tugged at his trousers like a grumpy child. "Besides, I didn't realise you had tattoos." His antennae went up for a moment before returning to their dance and Hemmer frowned. "No? I thought you knew." She laughed softly as she watched drops of water drip down his cheekbones. "How was I supposed to know? It's not like you're regularly parading around half-naked in front of me."

"Do I hear disappointment?" His voice and his grin were provocative, teasing and elicited a laugh from her. "Definitely not." Still, she couldn't ignore the tingling in her stomach, even if she tried her best.

They were silent for a few moments before Hemmer sighed and gestured for her to come closer. "I can feel the heat radiating off you. What's the point of you falling over on me here?" He did his best to sound disinterested, but she knew him well enough to know that he was genuinely worried about her.

She hesitated for a moment, but decided that modesty really wasn't appropriate at this point, and kicked off her trousers and socks so that she was squatting in front of him in her top and panties. No problem, she thought to herself and shifted her weight onto her knees.

She crawled over to him and let out a low cry of shock as the cold water hit her heated skin. It felt like tiny needles were piercing her skin and she pulled back, however Hemmer didn't seem to let that happen.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him with such force that she bounced against him and only prevented him from headbutting her by resting her hands on his chest. Not that she would have done anything to him.

She would have been the one with the concussion.

The cold water beat down on her mercilessly. She squealed and wriggled on Hemmer's lap, only realising later that she had landed there, but he didn't allow her to escape.

"You're burning up," he murmured and pulled her a little closer to him so that her hot skin was pressed against his pleasantly cool skin. "So stop squirming or I'll tie you up."

"Kinky," she murmured as her body seemed to slowly acclimatise to the difference in temperature. "Keep it down," came the reply and she grinned softly, slowly relaxing. The water felt good.

Gradually, she felt the feeling of stifling warmth disappear and her glowing skin lowered to temperatures that seemed more bearable, judging by the fact that Hemmer was now relaxing beneath her as well, even leaning into her touch.

"Aren't I too warm for you?" He just shook his head before leaning it against the tiled wall behind him, a slight smile on his face. "It's acceptable. Besides, I know my skin is cool enough to give you relief." She snorted at his posturing, but made no move to free herself from her place on his lap.

"Actually, I came to help you with that." He chuckled softly. It was a sound that came from deep in his chest, where she was still resting her hands, deep and real, and she felt warmth spreading through her again, but this time a different kind of warmth.

"I'm used to getting used to this kind of heat. Have you ever been to California? It was just as bad." She nodded, giving in to exhaustion after a while and leaning her head against his shoulder. "You are indeed nice and cool."

Her hands wandered from his chest to his arms when something struck her and made her lift her head. "Wait, are your tattoos prominent?"

Her fingers danced over the patterns of his tattoos, eliciting a shudder from him that she didn't realise, and sure enough, she could tell that the tattoos weren't just ink poked under the skin, but actually stood out with slight bulges.

They were barely noticeable unless you were sitting half-naked on top of each other, though she guessed it was a lot easier for the heightened senses of the Aenar to detect.

"It would be strange any other way," Hemmer returned with amusement, placing a hand on hers and running it along his collarbone. "Considering we Aenar are blind." Heat rose to her face. She had actually forgotten for a moment that Hemmer himself was blind.

" They're beautiful," she murmured softly, fascinated as she continued to run her fingers tentatively over the patterns of his skin. "You are beautiful." Hemmer left it uncommented, but closed his eyes and his antennae followed her movements.

"Do they mean anything?" He nodded slightly and guided her hand to his upper right arm, where a ring wrapped around his bicep. "Every male Aenar gets a tattoo like this when he comes of age. It's a symbol that we're old enough to serve our people and contribute."

Next, he went to some lines that snaked down his neck to his shoulder blades. To reach them, she had to lean so close to him that his hot breath brushed her face. "These lines symbolise my connection to my family. Can you feel the corners where they end?" She breathed in agreement. "Each of those corners represents a member of my family." There were five in total.

Next, their hands travelled together to his thighs. "These tattoos symbolise the balance of our society, our harmony with nature. The Aenar must live in tune with their environment and learn to live with it to prevent the deadly cold from overtaking them. They humble us, in a good way, and remind us of our place in this world, this universe."

Finally, Hemmer brought her hand to his chest, where the lines formed an intricate pattern that she could not describe in words. "These represent my devotion to healing, to repairing. They are not mandatory among the Aenar, but this pattern represents our pacifist representations. They visualise my duty, my morals, my life."

He did not guide her hand further, but did not release it, so that her hands, covered by his, rested on his chest. Her gaze fell on his left forearm, which was the only part of his body, with the exception of his face, that was completely free.

"And what about here? Is there a reason why there are no tattoos here? Or is it some kind of cultural ban on having them there?" Hemmer shook his head, chuckling softly, and carefully clasped his hands with hers, causing her breath to hitch.

"It's not a cultural taboo to have tattoos there, quite the opposite. The tattoos there represent the family you have established. After the wedding, a band of blue colour is applied below the elbow, decorated with small ornaments. For each child born from this marriage, another band is added."

Fascinated, she looked at his arm and, releasing her left hand from his, ran it over his skin, where a marriage bond would probably be visible in the future. "And what if you get divorced? Are these tattoos reversible?"

"No." Hemmer took her hand in his again and traced invisible patterns on the back of her hand. "However, divorces are very, very rare for us. We choose our partners with great care, nothing less than perfect comes into question."

She slowly raised her eyes and released her hands to continue tracing the patterns on his skin. "So, has anyone caught your eye yet?"

A hint of a smile appeared on his lips and he carefully lifted his hand to brush a wet strand of hair that was stuck to her face behind her ear, where it remained against her cheek. "Maybe."

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