#I hate how frustrated and lonely it makes me feel. because I SHOULD feel more secure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminjamms · 6 months

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sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

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“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display.

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.”

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint.

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation.

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell.

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife.

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact.

Here went nothing.

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation.

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all.

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now.

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in.

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants.

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit.

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.”

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper.

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?”

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. “Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.”

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves.

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals.

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner.

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his.

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva.

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing.

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy.

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now.

Megumi.

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro.

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying.

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came.

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.”

The way you cared this much was adorable.

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?”

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.”

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway.

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back.

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?"

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch.

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this.

He patted your cheek and cooed.

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard.

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat.

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight.

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper.

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body.

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again.

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy.

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying.

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head.

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated.

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat.

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core.

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars.

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control.

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap.

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy.

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive.

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s.

And most certainly, not Naoya Zenin’s.

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him.

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done.

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls.

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears.

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response.

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies.

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

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sebastiansluts · 1 month

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Can you write one in which the reader has a very bad day but Bucky is out working and comes home late so y/n cries herself to sleep. She wakes up in the middle of the night to find Bucky continue his work in the home office. Oh maybe you can show mafia boss Bucky could be a fun addition ngl. Anyways he is very busy in his work and he wants to ask her to go to sleep but he realises immediately after seeing her that something is wrong. They maybe have needy sex? Like it can just start with her sitting on his lap while he works cause she missed him and she had a bad day and then she just starts kissing him on the neck or something. Starts unbuttoning his shirt and then mumbles that she just wants to feel closer to him when he tries to stop her. Maybe he cockwarms her for a while until he realises she just wants to feel good and forget about the said bad day and they have wonderful kind of sweet, needy, clingy, sex.

Bucky Barnes x Reader; mafia boss!bucky, cockwarming, spit as lube, vaginal sex, anal play, oral sex f receiving, creampie

ANY HATE WILL BE DELETED THIS IS A JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE DON'T LIKE, DON'T INTERACT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

It had been a long, awful day, where nothing had gone right throughout, everyone getting frustrated with you for some reason or another despite how hard you were trying. You knew they only allowed their annoyances to show because the boss wasn’t there. You couldn’t help but feel like that was part of the reason you couldn’t do anything, you were missing Bucky too much.

You ended up crying yourself to sleep, worn out and lonely in your big bed by yourself. Waking up in the middle of the night, thirsty, you went to get a glass of water, taking care to be quiet and not disturb anyone but the guards.

As you were walking back to the bedroom, you noticed the light on in Bucky’s office and you couldn’t help but look at the guard at the door, biting your lip before knocking quietly.

“What?” Came Bucky’s voice, harsh and tired, and you flinched, but opened the door. You slipped through, shutting it behind you, and Bucky glanced up, irritation on his face quickly melting away into surprise. “Babydoll? What’re you doing up? Go back to bed.”

You frowned slightly, and walked further into the room, stopping in front of his desk. You wrung your hands in front of you, biting your lip again, as you tried to think of how to explain how bad the day had been.

Bucky tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought, before he sat back in his chair, gesturing to you with two fingers. “C’mere, come sit while I work.”

You sighed in relief, going around his desk and climbing onto his lap, pressing your knees up by his hips, your thighs even with the armrests. You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck and sank into him, burying your face in his chest as he sat up straight.

“There you go sweetheart, you just sit here, maybe go back to sleep, okay baby? I’m gonna work on my computer, should be nice and quiet for you,” Bucky murmured into your hair, placing a hand on your back and stroking gently. You could hear the click of the mouse in the background, both of your breathing the only other sounds you could hear.

You sat contentedly for a little while, until all the thoughts started swirling back, the same ugly ones that kept you up before. You didn’t want to start crying again, so you tried to distract yourself, lifting your head a little and kissing Bucky’s neck gently. He didn’t react beyond his thumb starting to stroke your back, so you shifted on his lap gently, getting more comfortable before kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Baby…I said go to sleep,” Bucky warned, and you withdrew, hiding your face again, pressing your forehead into his chest, buttons making little marks in your skin, the pain grounding you.

You could feel his chin on the top of your head, feel his deep sigh as he pushed the laptop away, bringing both hands to your back, sliding up and down slowly.

“What’s goin’ on, huh? Talk to me,” Bucky said firmly, and you pulled away, still looking down, as you went to unbutton his shirt. He moved faster than you were ready for, hands gripping your wrists tightly, keeping you from reaching his collar. “Baby, I asked a question, I expect an answer,” Bucky warned, ducking his head to look you in the eye.

You couldn’t resist his gaze and looked up, tears in your eyes as you whispered, “Just wanna be closer.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed in concern, and he dropped your hands immediately, nodding, letting you go back to unbuttoning his shirt. He lifted his hands to cup your face, thumbs moving gently and catching stray tears as you blinked.

You started to get frustrated when the buttons on his shirt wouldn’t cooperate, getting stuck in the holes of the shirt, or slipping through your fingers. You grunted in annoyance, and Bucky hushed you, his hands taking over, easily finishing with the buttons on his shirt, opening it wide.

Bucky glanced up at you, a question in his eyes as he hovered his hands over his belt. You looked down, then back at him and nodded quickly, breath coming faster in anticipation. He undid his belt, opening his pants and pulling his partly hard cock out of his briefs.

Bucky quickly spat in his hand, stroking his dick to full hardness while you leaned in, pressing yourself against him briefly before pulling away, lifting your silk nightgown over your head, so you were naked on his lap. Bucky raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as you sank into his bare chest. He lifted your hips, tilting them so that his dick pressed against your entrance, sinking deep inside you as you sat back on his thighs.

“There, is that what my baby needed? To be full? Okay sweetheart, you just sit there and warm me, alright? Let me do some more work, then we’ll go to bed,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, sitting forwards and pulling his computer towards him, letting you wrap your arms around his back.

You buried your face in his neck, mouthing at his collarbone, sucking a light mark, and you could feel Bucky’s dick pulsing inside you. Bucky put one hand on the back of your neck and squeezed, making your body go lax on top of his, a little bit of drool spilling out of your mouth as you moaned.

“Unless, my girl’s ready to talk now?” Bucky asked quietly, gently releasing your neck to cup the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“...Had…Had a bad day,” you whispered, just barely getting it out as your throat tightened, tears threatening to make a reappearance.

Bucky continued to card his fingers through your hair, his other hand coming to rest on your hip. “Did somethin’ happen? Someone do somethin’? I can take care of it, you know I’ll take care of it, doll,” Bucky said lowly, thumb stroking the skin just above your hip.

You shook your head, finally pulling back to look Bucky in the eye. “I did something- wrong- all day!” you cried, putting your face in your hands as the tears finally fell. “I messed up all day, I n-needed help and lo-ooked s-stupid, and I missed you!”

Bucky pulled you into a hug immediately, wrapping his arms around you, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair as he murmured, “Oh baby girl…so sorry sweetheart…I should’ve known somethin’ was goin’ on, comin’ in here all quiet and afraid. You’re gonna tell me later who was givin’ you a hard time today, understand?”

You nodded, but still couldn’t help but cry. “B-but did y-you m-miss me?”

“Babydoll, how can you ask that when you’ve got my dick inside ya? I miss ya when you’re gone a minute,” Bucky laughed, pulling your hands away from your face and kissing you. You couldn’t stop crying for a moment, but slowly, your breathing evened out, matching Bucky’s, and your eyes dried until you were blinking away a final tear.

Bucky didn’t stop kissing you as he lifted your hands, placing them around his neck until you were hanging on, then he moved his hands down to grip your hips, rotating them slowly on his lap, grinding you down onto his dick.

You gasped into the kiss, your heart beating faster as you slid your hands into Bucky’s hair and gripped tightly. He bit down on your lip, making you whimper, and clench on him. Bucky soothed the sting with his tongue, slipping it into your mouth and sliding along the roof of your mouth, kissing you deeply.

You started to raise up slightly, Bucky helping you with his hands sliding around to your ass, squeezing your cheeks and letting his fingers graze against where you were joined. When his fingers were slick enough, he pressed the tips against your asshole, just rubbing, making you shiver and bounce faster on his dick.

Your chests were pressed together, sweat making you slide slightly with every raising of your hips, Bucky thrusting up into you after. You whimpered and he grinned, pulling away from your mouth and licking your neck.

“Fuck, you taste amazing baby, everywhere, gotta taste you, need more of you baby,” Bucky groaned, and suddenly he was standing, sweeping his arm across his desk and sending everything flying. He set you on the desk, slipping out of your cunt and making you whine, but he immediately sat back down and threw your legs over his shoulders, burying his face in between them.

You moaned loudly, unable to care that the guard at the door would be able to hear you, your hands braced behind you on the desk, holding you up as Bucky devoured you. He licked and sucked at your pussy like he was starved, tongue licking deep inside you before his lips would wrap around your clit and he would suck, tongue flicking rapidly.

“Need you, need you, need you!” You shouted, forcing one hand off the desk and into Bucky’s hair, pushing at his head until he looked up at you, eyes dark and chin shining. “Please fuck me, Bucky,” you begged, and Bucky nodded, licking his lips with a grin as you flushed, pulling him close once he stood, slipping his dick back inside you.

You moaned, biting down on Bucky’s shoulder as you were filled again, his hips thrusting into you quickly, building a fast pace. You were plastered against him, tits pressed tight between you, sliding up and down as he fucked you.

“‘Need me’, huh?” Bucky hissed, planting one hand on the desk by your hip, the other gripping your thigh tightly. “That’s all my girl really needed, isn’t that right?” You didn’t answer right away and Bucky thrust harder, making you gasp. “Don’t make me ask again, baby.”

“Yes! Needed you, just you, just this,” you babbled, one hand still buried in Bucky’s hair, pulling yourself even closer, meld into him.

Bucky grinned, kissing your neck, up your jaw until he was licking into your mouth, across your teeth and along your tongue. He slid his hand across your thigh, inside, towards where you were joined until he was rubbing at your clit.

Your head fell back, high pitched whines leaking from your mouth, Bucky chuckling as he flicked your clit. You clenched hard on his dick and he swore, hips stuttering briefly before resuming their steady pace.

“Fuck, ‘m here baby, I’m right here, now come for me,” Bucky assured, and you raised your head, pressing it into his chest, breathing harder as his thumb pressed down on your clit, rubbing back and forth, his dick pressing against a spot inside you that set of sparks.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, and he lifted your face with a finger under your chin, pressing your lips together, kissing you messily as you gasped, orgasm sweeping over you. Your eyes shut in ecstasy, your body tensing in Bucky’s arms, before relaxing, mouth falling slack below his.

Bucky held you tighter, pressing you back and down into the desk, fucking you harder as he chased his orgasm, your legs splayed open around his hips. He groaned as he came, fucking into you a few times before stilling, laying on top of you, braced up on his forearms so he didn’t crush you into the desk.

Pressing kisses all over your face, Bucky pulled out gently, kissing away the slight wince on your face. He did up his pants, bending to grab your nightgown and a flashdrive, pocketing that, then leaned back over you, helping you into your gown then letting you wrap your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist. He picked you up, your body wrapped around his tightly, and he carried you around the desk, stepping on papers and the broken laptop.

You tucked your face into Bucky’s neck as he asked, “Bed?” You nodded and he carried you across the room, opening the door and walking out, heading to your bedroom.

#rose writes #smut #no y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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neoarchipelago · 1 year

Text

And they were Roomates (part 3)

A/N: Wahoou... I didn't expect this to get so much appreciation. I remind everyone that i accept tips even thought my content stays entirely free for everyone as i don't really do this for money but for my horny demon persona. This is probably getting more parts at this point

accepting some headcanons, situation ideas for these two as i'm slowly running out, it might take me longer to write if i can't find stuff.

TW: violence, blood, crusing, etc.

Love ya'll enjoy.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You frowned, trying to make your laptops fit in your bag. You were heavily frustrated today.

It didn't exactly differ from your mood for the past three weeks. THREE WEEKS. He was gone for three weeks and you had 0 news. You stopped fighting with the zipper of your bag to sigh.

Of course, as if the situation wasn't frustrating enough, you had spent the last week on a mission with a team who's sergeant hated your guts. Sergeant Keller. You were just hoping to end this as soon as possible. Avoiding the sergeant was now your top priority. You had managed to get on his last nerve by defying him at the meeting and proposing a plan that was better than his. The furious look he had sent your way promised havok if he found you alone. Which you totally were right now.

The sound of footsteps made you freeze. Spinning around you cursed.

"Sergeant…"

You didn't have time to finish, thanks to the punch to your sternum making you drop to your knees, breath caught in your lungs.

Fuck…

"You are a little bitch."

The remark passed through you like a yawn. What bothered you the most was the blows you might receive. He wouldn't kill you, or actually hurt you badly because you were still a valuable asset to the government and the military. But he'd still make it painful.

"You're… just… mad… I'm better than you…" you hissed through breaths.

This time the kick to your ribs made you whimper. Grabbing a fistful of your hair he lowered himself next to you.

"Stop fucking acting like you're a hero. You're a fucking terrorist. You should be dead, a bullet through the brain. Know your damn place."

He hissed through gritted teeth.

"You want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid" you teased.

The two other kicks, one to your stomach the other landing on your wrist were expected.

You couldn't let yourself be spoken like that… it hurt but fuck you weren't going to let him talk down to you.

You were hunched over on the floor, hand over your ribs, and right wrist badly hurting.

The sergeant threw you one last glance before heading out. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You took several minutes trying to calm down the pain before standing up, grabbing your things and darting out. The cold hair made you huff out little clouds. The 21st of December… you had spent many Christmases alone… but you didn't feel as lonely as you did right now.

You bit your lip. Keeping the tears at bay… but had long lost this fight.

---

The way home was spent crying. You were thankful no one was out at this Wonderful late hour. You had managed to reach your apartment door, tears blurring your vision, and your aching side and wrist throbbing.

Your hand was shaking as you put the key in the lock. You pushed the door open slamming it behind you. You locked it, heading for the living room. You let your things drop on the couch. You spun around to the counter, flinching heavily as you sat down on one of the stools. You tried to breathe through the pain, throat burning as you tried to keep yourself from crying even more.

Suddenly your ears picked up a sound from behind. Jumping down and turning around you froze.

The silence was deafening. Rage and pain filled your brain. How dare he? Just… what?!

"Sparrow-"

"What the fuck?!" You half screamed, tears now freely falling.

"Sparrow." His tone now much more firm. "Are you alright?"

You chuckled, throwing the most cynical smile you could find in you.

"I'm amazing." You hissed.

"Stop. What's wrong? What happ-"

"None of your business." You spat.

You were furious. You were absolutely broken and in pain. He walked up to you, leaving a few steps in between.

God… you had missed his eyes… you mentally cursed yourself at the thought.

"I know you're angry. But tell me."

"Angry? You think I'm angry? I'm furious! You left ! Without a word! I'm in pain!"

That was true. Physical and mentally. You were trying to keep your voice down. But his words kept repeating in your mind. 'we're not friends'.

You took a deep breath, both staying silent for a long minute.

"Sparrow… tell me."

You closed your eyes for a second.

"Why?" You asked.

You looked at him, eye to eye for once. You were genuinely asking him.

"Don't tell me you care… you made it clear. We're not friends."

"Sparrow.."

"No. No. Not this time."

You felt the heavy crush of your exhausted mind and body. You wanted to escape. You needed to. You walked around him. He grabbed your bruised wrist making you whimper in pain.

The silence after was tense. His gaze had heavily darkened. He was… furious.

"Who?" Was all he asked. His tone was the coldest you ever heard him.

You walked to the cupboard, your initial destination, grabbing something inside. You ignored his question entirely. You placed the black mug on top of the counter. He eyed it. A white skull was drawn on it, with the letters lieutenant Riley. You had it made for him as a Christmas present.

"I figured, you hate Christmas. Though I read no stupid file, it was kind of obvious." You started. Eyes not leaving the object. "I still bought you a Christmas gift. And I know it's not Christmas yet, but. I don't think we'll spend it together."

You looked up at him. "Now you can hate me as much as you want…" you whispered.

You didn't wait for any answer at all. You simply headed to your room, locking the door behind you. You got into bed, wincing at the bruises now forming all over your skin. You cried. Letting the tears and tiredness take you to sleep.

___

The morning was rough. You had called Laswell, informing her that you were unable to get to base that morning. She gave you immediate permission to work from home. You sighed. Getting up, you threw one of your signature baggy shirts that reached the middle of your thighs. Your eyes were puffy. You could see it in your bedroom mirror. The bruise on your wrist was bad but the one on your ribs was nasty.

You made sure that your long sleeves hid the bruise.

Your ears picking up sounds very unusual to your apartment made you frown. Multiple voices could be heard from the living room.

You opened the door, curious. You could hear ghost's raspy voice. You also managed to hear captain price's. You walked to the living freezing at the entrance. Many eyes were now stuck on you.

"Hum…" you tried.

Ghost was the first to move, straightening himself as he scanned your body, wrist, down to your naked thighs.

You blushed. You were a bit too underdressed suddenly. He was back after all. And he … had … guests?

"Ah ! Miss sparrow!" Price smiled happily.

His smile was so contagious you couldn't keep yourself from smiling back.

"Good morning captain price" you answered with a smile.

He walked to you, surprising you with a hug. A very suspicious hug as he barely squeezed you. It was more… testing the waters. As if, checking for any injuries. You still hugged him back. The rest of the men in the living room were still staring at you. They all had a giddy smile on their faces.

"Here. Let me present to you the rest of the squad." He said, positioning himself behind you, hands on your shoulders.

"This is sergeant John soap McTavish." He explained, pointing to the man with a mohawk.

"Hi!" He greeted, the taint of a Scottish accent on his voice.

"This is Kyle gaz Garrick."

The man with a cap stood and threw a wink at you. He sat down back down rather quickly for some reason.

"And this is Colonel Alejandro Vargas. Not really part of the squad but he's here on permission for a month."

The man stood walking to you, taking your hand delicately in his, dropping a kiss before smiling.

"A pleasure." His voice tainted with an accent as well.

You blushed. Sending a smile to everyone.

"And gentlemen this is… sparrow." He said.

He didn't have much more information to add so you did.

"I'm a hacker. I work for the military but I was actually your enemy a few years ago… my code name is sparrow."

The man with a mohawk, now Soap to you jumped at the information. Fear reached you, thinking that once more… this would be like sergeant Keller.

"You're a hacker?! Fuck that's so cool!"

You smiled, relieved.

"We were going to have breakfast. Would you like to join us?" Price invited.

"LT got muffins!" Soap added.

You glanced at the man in a balaclava, eyes widening as you saw him stand against the counter, a black mug in hand. He… was using your gift. The realisation making something burn in you.

"Hum… sure." You answered, smiling at the men.

Everyone answered at the same time a variation of happy words. Quickly interrupted by a very familiar raspy voice.

"She's going to change first."

Everyone turned to ghost.

"I..am?" You suddenly questioned his behavior.

He walked up to you, price stepping back from you.

"Sure, we'll wait. We'll prepare everything." Price said, with what seemed to be a signature smile on his lips. Ghost softly wrapped his fingers around your good wrist and positioned his palm at the small of your back, beckoning you to walk back to your bedroom with him.

Once inside he closed the door behind him. You were still mad at him, even though it seemed to fade by the minute. You decided that pushing his buttons would make your point.

"Why do I have to change? I don't want to change." You spoke, crossing your arms over your chest.

He froze in place looking at you. You could feel his eyes traveling down your thighs. You blushed heavily. Without a single word he managed to answer. So you teased even more. A bitter feeling at the words.

"I don't think your teammates are interested. And I don't think you'd care if they-"

"Listen carefully." He threatened now closing in, trapping you between the desk and his body, hands on either side of your body. Slightly hunched over you to get to your eye level.

"If Vargas looks at your thighs with that 'i want to fuck it' look again, I'm beating the fuck out of him in the living room."

You gasped, eyes glued to him. Was he…jealous?

"Now you do whatever you want." He said in a low voice.

"Are you jealous…" you answered in a low voice.

He flinched slightly.

"No." He quickly answered.

Of course not. Why did that thought ever cross your mind?

"Whatever… I have to get to base anyway…" you mumbled.

"We'll take you." He said, moving back and taking a last glance at you before stepping out.

You stood there confused for a few seconds. This man was unreadable. Terribly confusing. One moment he hated you, the other he threatened to beat up his friend because he was checking you out. You sighed, heading for your closet.

----

You were in the noisy car as you drove to the base with everyone. You had surprisingly spent a very pleasant morning with everyone, heading back to the base after lunch. You had to, unfortunately you needed to get back on the mission and you needed to be with the team for that.

You weren't exactly excited to see Sergeant Keller. You just hoped you'd stay out of his radar.

Arriving in the middle of the warehouses and building, ghost parked. Everyone jumped out of the vehicle, you following carefully trying to not wince. Ghost kept his eyes on you and it was hard hiding the injuries.

"What time you done sparrow?" Soap asked.

"Hum… don't really know…" you answered genuinely not knowing when you'd get out of the hell of a room you were about to get to.

"We can wait for you, we all have time to lose." Gaz added.

You were now incredibly sure ghost had somehow told them about the bruises he saw on your wrist.

"I don't know…" you tried.

"We'll wait. Text me when you're done." Ghost ordered.

You looked at him, deliberately rolling your eyes at him before heading into the building.

You could hear soap and gaz laughing before quickly shutting up.

---

The hours flew by you, and you were pretty glad of that. You just wanted to go back home. You were also very glad that the mission was finally coming to an end. Your part would be over tonight, so you'd be far away from sergeant Keller.

The clock showed 7pm. You watched everyone as they put away their stuff. Grabbing your phone, you texted ghost.

-"I'm done. In case you actually waited…

- "Copy."

You rolled your eyes again. You were putting down your phone when another notification rang.

"Of course I waited. We're out front."

You felt a ping in your heart. What was going on? Why was he so… protective all of a sudden? You stood up grabbing your things when a sharp pain to your ribs made you yelp.

Turning around you saw Sergeant Keller behind you. The asshole had poked exactly where he had kicked you the day before.

"You and I need to have a little talk." He threatened.

You looked around. The room was empty. Fuck. And of course you were caged in between the table and him. The door to your right would be hardly attainable.

"You really adore me don't you sergeant?" you teased, a little shiver of anxiety running through you.

"You have such a big mouth. Somebody ought to make you shut it."

The slap across your faces stung. You had managed somehow to bite your lip in the process, little droplets of blood on your tongue. God damn it.

"I literally didn't do shit this time Keller." You rang, rage slightly rushing through you.

"You're right. Just thought I'd make you remember your place one last time. So you wouldn't go pretending to be part of the good guys again."

"I AM part of the good guys for fucks sake!" You yelled.

He grabbed your throat. Making you grab his wrist.

"You think playing around with your little laptop after you were hunted down for multiple crimes makes you good? You think this is your redemption arc? Fucking idiot"

You hissed as he pressed against your ribs again. He let go of your neck, now grabbing your bruised wrist and squeezing. You yelped in pain. Of course… using the already bruised parts not to add anymore evidence.

"Fuck… stop Keller!" You yelled through gritted teeth.

"Little bitch." He answered, a punch to your bruised ribs, this time making you cry out in pain, vision darkening at the intensity.

You barely heard him walk in. You didn't fully understand why Keller was thrown across the room. When the pain was finally slightly down you looked up, eyes widening at the sight. Ghost had Keller by the throat against the wall. He had apparently punched him already, as by the evident blood running down Keller's nose.

"Ghost…" you tried.

"Get out." He ordered.

"What..?" You asked, shocked.

"Soap and price are waiting. Get. Out!" He ordered, barking the last word.

You flinched, but moved, hand over your ribs, running out. You heard Keller get punched one more time.

Fuck fuck fuck. Your eyes stung with tears. Throwing open the heavy metal door, cold air biting at your skin, your eyes searched for price and soap. They were right in front, heads turning to you, instantly running as they saw the blood on your lip.

"Sparrow!" Your heard soap.

You breathed heavily. Ears slightly ringing. Price and soap stood next to you inspecting you.

"Ghost…" you tried.

"What?" Soap urged.

"He's… he's beating up Keller… you got to stop him!" You yelled.

Alejandro and gaz showed up running up to price. Price cursed heavily.

"Alejandro gaz! Stay with her, soap, with me!" He yelled.

Soap and price rushed past you, as Alejandro and gaz surrounded you.

"You're alright princess.." Alejandro said, a worried look on his face.

"I'm fine… I'm fine… it's just a few scratches." You reassured.

You turned around staring at the metal door. You were shivering. It was probably the cold… or probably the panic coursing through you. You were so thankful that he had shown up. But you were extremely worried about the trouble he was going to get into because of you.

"Come on.. sparrow get in the car." Gaz asked.

"N-no… I… ghost " you stumbled over your words.

"He's coming back, don't worry. Price and soap are with him." Alejandro tried.

"No!" A whimper escaped your lips.

Your brain was a fuzz. You didn't know exactly what you were feeling. Any anger towards him had vanished. You were worried, you needed to see him.

"Come on Sparrow, we're taking you home."

You shook your head, making you even dizzier than you already were.

"We'll bring him back, we promise." Gaz assured.

You took a deep breath finally following them into the car. Tears fell down your cheeks, the cold hair had helped them turn your cheeks red.

You glanced one last time towards the door before Alejandro and gaz drove out.

Tags:

@lemontails @cabreezer0117 @tomhardy41 @brxghtixghtz @shuttlelauncher81 @pinkdazelight @sirenbunnylol @snortangeldust @novausstufff @gasstationfifacard @emotion-not-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @simpforavillain @minimisthios @catied32 @poohkie90 @watermaylon-writes @thereealink @meimhem @sorryi-mtrash @gaymistakeboi @bittersw33t-lotus @gh0stm3g @freckledmuffin @itsasecrets-things @xback1021 @connierk690 @feedthefandoms995 @friendlyneighboorhoodgothicpagan @dead-noodles @friendly-reject @critter-mylo

#price cod #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #gaz cod #alejandro mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #simon ghost riley smut #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost smut #lieutenant ghost #captain price #john price #alejandro vargas #fanfics #fanfiction #ghost mw2

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msookyspooky · 3 months

Text

♡ Obsessed Delusional Reader x Sinclair Brother's ♡

Bo Sinclair:

- "Wow, so you want me that bad, huh? 🤭😏 You tied me up because you want to keep me here? That's so romantic! 😍 And out of everyone in my group it was me?"

- Bo is staring at you, trying to scare you and even hurt you but...The drive isn't there with you being so...Willing? Like, there's no fun in this you lil nutjob!

- Match made in hell

- "Are you there? Is your head just decoration or somethin'? What the fuck is your problem?? I am CRAZY and EVIL and will FUCK YOU UP." You: "Okay bby, if you say so. 🥰" All while Bo is short circuiting.

- Alright, that's it. You're getting the glue on your mouth.

- Honestly about to cut something off to make you afraid or hurt...He might but also might not because you fascinate him so are you a person that fascinates him or a toy he needs to break?

- The bondage sex is probably banging though ngl he's even a bit enthralled by how eager you are compared to most victims

- When you are still not afraid and looking at him in a way that melts most hearts even his icy one he can't even truly torture you properly. Most victims he can shut that off because they trigger his sadism by screaming and fighting or cussing him out or begging him but all these years he's never had a victim act so lovey dovey even after finding out his darkest secrets

- At first this has him so frustrated he has to leave the gas station room; having a crisis cause this has never happened before!

- Doesn't trust you but decided to undo the mouth glue or tape and untie you after all the fun to see what you would do...When you follow him around like a love sick puppy he's both annoyed yet enjoys it

- Mad lil unloved boy in a man's body that is both flustered and irritated at his captive being so fucking smitten for him without manipulation on his part. He has to be in control and your feelings for him is out of his control and he hates it.

- "...What the fuck" -Bo after finding you drawing his name with hearts in a notebook and planning your wedding and future with your captor while your chained up in his bedroom instead of the gas station room bc he obviously is in love with you to move you to someplace more comfy; how sweet of him ♡

- You are dead ass scarying him.

- He should kill you but he thinks you're so crazy he's kinda nervous if he misses with his shotgun and what you'll do if he does because you so obsessed with him is a level of coocoo he ain't never had before

- Once you start to show dimension other than flirting with him (Bonus points if you have trauma like he does and it's why you're lovebombing him and so attached) he starts to look at you as less a pest and more a clingy pet.

- Like...You really just have that much of a crush on him after everything he's done? You both can trauma bond and lovebomb each other? (And manipulate even if he's too dumb to realize you're manipulating him too to love you)

- Is actually willing to be crazy with you after awhile and have you obsessed with him because why not? It gets lonely in Ambrose and he likes you as a pet at times. He'd put a ring on your finger as his spouse just to shut you up, claim you like someone claims their chair, and as an act to lure victims

- If you get extremely possesive and jealous and refuse him having anyone strapped in that chair in that room but you; he actually is so flattered you're that possesive of him. Like he secretly always craved a person making him theirs like this PLUS you know his dark side and still want him.

- He'd probably ease up on being so mean and try acting like a crazy possesive delusional married couple together after that even if he still treats you as a thing to easily manipulate and control and he's CLEARLY not being manipulated either (Poor dumb bastard.)

- Vincent is internally screaming and questioning why this person is in their house and has a wedding band from a victim on their finger and his brother is...Being sweet on them??? Lester is happy for you though.

Vincent Sinclair:

- "Wow...I'm your muse? 🥺💘 That's so swee-" *Paralyzing agent kicks in but you have heart eyes still*

- He literally cannot work with you looking at him like that. Stop. He can't even wax your brows off because you're looking at him in a way no one has before

- You weren't even afraid and it makes him hesitate because...He forgot his tools upstairs! Obviously...He'll try again later.

- Once the agent wears off and your spared for now it's ten times worse

- He is blushing so bad under his mask at all your praise and admiring his work and admiring him you're gonna melt his damn mask!

- He is harder to get through to than his twin (HC Bo is more desperate for affection as the least favorite bad seed unloved child than he let's on he just acts cold but they both crave acceptance)

- Vincent pats your head like Jonesy the dog when you smile at him while he works...You're not so bad. As long as you stay outta the way.

- May have to pick you up and move you where he wants like furniture sorry his people skills kinda suck being sheltered for his face then stuck in abandoned Ambrose half his life

- Bo acts annoyed with your obsessed ways but secretly enjoys the neediness for him. Vince is actually annoyed being much more reclusive than Bo and now you're staring at him while he works.

- Dead stares at you when you sculpt tiny little figures of you both holding hands with wax he let you have...He loves it or else he'd destroy it obviously ♡♡♡

- When he lost his mask and you fawned over him (He acted like Erik in Phantom of the Opera the DRAMATICS) he's absolutely panicking and startled

- Once you kiss that side of his face and praise him maskless how on Earth could he not fall for you too despite your odd ways??

- Becomes just as obsessed with you only in a more lowkey way than you. Making sculptures and drawing you all the time. Enjoys you talking, keeping him company etc.

- Bo is bewildered when you verbal rip his ass so viciously when he made a nasty remark to your angel bby his twin brother that this big guy was reeling back thinking you were gonna jump him. Probably said shit that he'll be secretly thinking about tonight with a heavy heart too. Vincent snickers and pulls his guard dog away as you glare at Bo the entire way back downstairs.

- You and Bo do not get along because of how protective you are of Vince and how mean Bo can be

Lester Sinclair:

- "Oooo, you got such a big hunting knife! Is it in reference to...Other big things?🤭😘"

- HUH!?

- His brain shut off because he had never had a victim he took to his brothers flirt with him like this. And while he's covered in grime and roadkill?!

- It's okay it just adds to his manliness. We love a man with hobbies! ♡

- Like...Are you being mean and joking? Are you...Alright up there in your noggin? He would take the long way and other roads to Ambrose just to talk to you more and figure you out (Even when Bo is in a hot ass suit in a Church with no air waiting and is ringing Lester's cell off the hook)

- When you are fascinated by what he does, praising his job, asking about him; he is a blushing mess driving. Then he tries flirting back and cracks his cheesy jokes. And when you laugh??? Ooooh it's over. He's crushing severely.

- Easiest brother to woe. He's keeping you. Gonna show up to the house like Spencer in that one episode of ICarly.

Bo: "...What is that?"

Lester drinking a smoothie while you cheerfully wave love struck on his arm: "A smoothie??"

- He did question your mental state at first but hell he grew up with Bo and Vince so what the hell? He's a lil crazy too! Just part of your charm is all.

- When you are talking about the future he gets a little nervous but not out right opposing it just give him some time, babe! He could give you a ring made of deer antler or bone wittled down and you'd cry and say yes.

- He acts cute with you. You both are so disgustingly sweet on each other it makes Bo gag and Vincent roll his eye whenever you both come to town.

- Both twins are so jealous their goofy dirty lil brother found love before them and they can't stand it

#house of wax bo sinclair #house of wax (2005)#house of wax 2005 #house of wax imagine #house of wax #house of wax vincent sinclair #house of wax lester #house of wax imagines

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

thinking fluffy thoughts about scaramouche.

When Nahida approaches you with a puppet, who drags his feet alongside her and looks like he’d rather shrivel than be here in this moment, she introduces him with an arsenal of aliases: a false god, the Balladeer, formerly Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, Kunikuzushi (a name he reacts to with a poorly concealed grimace). You’re delighted to meet him, offering him a friendly smile and a kind, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Scaramouche does not share your enthusiasm and only scoffs under his breath while Nahida happily informs him that you will act as guidance in his recovery. It’s up to you to help Scaramouche work through his emotions, sifting through past experiences and slivers of himself he’s buried so that he can heal emotionally. He’s in a poor physical state, bandaged all over in a way that’s reminiscent of mummification.

Nahida tells Scaramouche that he’s in good hands, and to that he scoffs again. How good could a pair of human hands possibly be? But he’s promised her that he’ll try to improve. This is part of his punishment, as much as he hates to think of it as such. Nahida has suggested he call it ‘taking a break from unhealthy coping mechanisms’ or, in simpler terms, a ‘vacation.’ Scaramouche rolls his eyes at such foolishness, but he follows you as you lead him to a clearing in the forest, a place surrounded with nature so vibrantly lush it practically breathes alongside him. He’d complain, but he finds that this view is much more freeing than a dreary hospital room.

An empty table with two chairs awaits the both of you, and you gesture for him to sit. Scaramouche lowers into the seat with a frown. He’s not sure what you’re meant to do—what guidance you’re meant to impart—or if this meeting is even going to help him at all, but he remains because he has to. Because he promised he’d do better. He was a fool to make another promise, but this time it will be he who keeps it. It’s he who controls whether or not he breaks it.

“How do you feel?” you ask, your eyes never leaving his.

Scaramouche can practically feel the way you dissect him, picking apart his body language with a keen pair of observer’s eyes, but, strangely enough, your stare isn’t unnerving. It softens when it analyzes him from where you sit, body angled directly at him. You’re listening, truly listening, and he’s never found himself in a civil conversation where his well-being is the subject. It’s...not a terrible thing, he realizes.

Still, his lips curl into a nasty sneer when he replies, “Like death.”

“I assure you death feels much worse.”

“You don’t know how I feel,” he snaps. “Don’t tell me there’s a worse feeling than this.” He gestures to nothing in particular, huffing loudly.

“Then, tell me, what does death feel like to you?”

He hesitates. What does death feel like? Is it anything like the panicked desperation that clawed his throat to ribbons when he watched Nahida take his heart? Was it the grief that overcame him in his past when each of his relationships met poor ends? Was it the emptiness he felt soon after the Gnosis was taken, where he fell from the husk of a robot, alone once again? Was it the world of pain and sorrow he awoke to in the aftermath, where Nahida had sat at his bedside and welcomed him into the world? Not as the false god, but as someone else. A clean slate. A fresh page in a book with a stiff, unbroken spine. Morning dew on tiny sprouts—whatever that’s supposed to mean; he’s learned that Nahida has an affinity for unique metaphors.

Scaramouche has yet to realize he’s been sharing all of these thoughts, letting everything fall in a torrent of anguished questions. He’s confused and hurt. He’s lonely and sad, but he’s not sure what the direct cause for all of this sadness is. He’s frustrated and alone. He’s ashamed. He’s...many things. He feels like he should hollow himself with a spoon so that he can stop feeling these horrid emotions, and as soon as he feels an oncoming onslaught of tears paired with a wavering voice he clamps his mouth shut and forces himself to look away.

You’re nodding at him and he has no clue what that’s meant to symbolize. What’s the point of this anyway? Is he supposed to split himself open for your enjoyment? This punishment feels more like death than anything else right now.

“You can cry,” you suggest and he scowls. “Crying helps. It’s not good to pack your feelings away. I think—and correct me if I’m wrong—you’ve put everything in coffins, sealed them tight, and allowed them to remain buried for years. And it worked for a while because they weren’t so stuffed. But now that you’ve nailed them shut over and over after filling them to the brim, things are bound to start overflowing. That’s what happened when you attempted to become a god, right? Some things broke free and you ran out of nails, and when a few nails came loose so did each panel holding those coffins together. And it became impossible to shove everything back down because it overwhelmed you and you didn’t know how to handle that.”

Scaramouche stares at you. He has half a mind to keep his jaw tightened, lest it slacken and reveal his astonishment. How did you get all of that from his rant? What sort of foul magic is this? Are you a Vision wielder? He can’t see one on your person. If you can’t manipulate an element, then how did you peer inside his head? Are you secretly a god? His guard raises at once, walls building faster than he can produce a retort.

“That’s not true,” he lies. “You’re wrong.”

You consider your next words with great care. He can tell because you hum lowly, a soothing sound that lessens the tension in his shoulders, and you retreat into your head momentarily. Scaramouche should get up and leave. He shouldn’t sit before a mere mortal and listen to such ghastly accusations! But he remains because he doesn’t want to be alone. Because he’s not sure he could live another moment in solitude with his thoughts. Because, despite everything that happened, he craves a genuine connection.

“Before we move forward, what would you like me to call you? You have many names, but I’m certain some of them carry more pain than others.”

Scaramouche frowns. You’re right. Again.

“You may call me...” He pauses, reflects briefly on each title he’s ever owned, and eventually says, “The Balladeer.”

A pleasant smile crawls onto your face. Scaramouche doesn’t trust it. Not one bit. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Balladeer. I look forward to working with you.”

He can’t say the same.

- - -

If Scaramouche thought he’d suffered enough misery throughout his existence, then this is just a cruel joke. Over the course of a few months, he’s spilled his emotional guts (slowly but surely) and you’ve read him like a book each time. He tries to be deceptive—to protect what’s left of his pride and dignity—but you see through that as well, and so now he just grumbles in his chair, his arms folded tightly around himself in his version of a self-assuring embrace. Nahida lied; this is far from a vacation. This is torture.

But you’re patient, and you don’t ridicule him when he falters and tears gather in his eyes. You validate his feelings. You tell him that it’s okay to react in these ways. His actions back then may not have been morally correct, but that was all he knew. It was all he thought to do because that was what guaranteed survival.

Scaramouche learns more about himself during these sessions than he ever thought he would. At some point, he stops viewing it with contempt and begins to look forward to the weekly meetings. He likes talking to you. Of course you should also feel honored to talk to him! He’s only speaking to you because he must. Because of his promise to Nahida. That’s all this is, so don’t get it twisted!

But that’s a poor lie. He likes you, and when Scaramouche likes something he treasures it.

When asked how he copes, Scaramouche could only offer a halfhearted shrug. How does one cope with so many emotions—with so much trauma? How is coping even possible? Is someone like him able to cope?

“Have you tried writing?”

“I know how to write,” he had snapped, furrowing his brow. You’ve gotten rather bold in the time that he’s known you.

“Writing creatively,” you corrected with that calm smile he’s begun to see in his dreams. “Poetry. Fiction. Even writing words on paper and destroying it is a creative outlet.”

“What good will that do?”

“A world of good if you allow it to do so. Think of it like...the sun. Everything requires sunlight. It helps us stay warm. It helps plants grow. All of this life around you was fostered under countless days and nights of moonlight and sunlight. There were rainstorms in between all of that, but even so these plants are far from complete. They’re still growing. Some are even healing.” You’d gestured in the distance, towards a Withering Zone that had recently recovered thanks to diligent forest rangers, and smiled at him. “You are that forest and writing could be your sun.”

“My sun...” He gazed skywards and pinched that ball of blinding light between his thumb and forefinger. “My sun...”

“You can write about anything. Your troubles. Good things that happened in a single day. Your favorite hobbies. Sights you see on your walks. It might feel like a chore if you force yourself, but writing can be very therapeutic if you let it.”

“What if I’ve already found my sun?”

You had blinked at him, partially surprised, before nodding encouragingly. “That’s good. Let that sun, whatever it may be, brighten your life. Let it heal you. But don’t rely too heavily on it. You have to put in effort, too.”

“Do you think my sun would think of me as a sun?” As soon as he had phrased it, he’d felt childish. Small. Insignificant. Like that discarded puppet who was cast aside for being too weak. Like Kunikuzushi.

The look in your eyes betrayed your thoughts. So his sun is not inanimate. “I’m certain your sun considers you the sky who cradles them.”

The sky... How laughable.

And yet so very meaningful.

Scaramouche sketched a cumulus-spotted sky with a bright, beautiful sun. He wrote a haiku on the back of the parchment. You can see the ink stains on his hands when he brings it to you outside of your usual meeting time.

“Read this,” he tells you, thrusting it at you like it’s something he wishes to discard immediately. “And...” He clears his throat, averting eye contact. “And tell me what you think.”

And so you do as you were told.

Vibrant break of day

A sweet, little sun rises

Over a rice bowl

“It’s very...you.”

“What does that mean?”

“I like it. It reminds me of you, little sun.”

“I’m not the little sun.” He huffs and snatches it from you, turning it over so you can view the accompanying drawing. What you assumed was just a speck of misplaced color is a petite bowl backdropped by an azure sky of pastel water colors. “I’m the rice bowl.”

“Is there a reason you’ve chosen to depict yourself as a rice bowl? And is this bowl empty or filled?”

“Empty...” he says slowly, as if considering the word. “But only because the sun will soon fill it once it rises. It’s as you’ve said. Sunlight grows and heals, and when it fills the bowl it gives it its shine. It gives it life.”

It fills me with life.

For once, you look speechless and that sparks both anxiety and pride in Scaramouche. It’s his turn to impress you with his intellect and yet doing so comes at the cost of scrutiny. He almost fears your response. The very thought of that would have seemed an insult to his past self. No mortal has ever struck fear in him—in Scaramouche! The ex-Fatui Harbinger Scaramouche. But he doesn’t want to lose you. He doesn’t want to ruin what he has, and so he awaits your answer with bated breath. He doesn’t have to wait long, for when you speak next your tone is wonderfully tender.

“Your sun must be very special.”

Scaramouche finds himself nodding in agreement. “Very special indeed,” he mutters and a small, secret smile grows on his lips. You’re so vibrant. You’re the sun to his moon. “My sun is the reason my bowl is repaired.” As if recalling something else, Scaramouche perks up. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Inazuman art of kintsugi?”

“I believe I’ve overheard a few scholars discuss it before. If I’m not mistaken, it’s when something that was once broken is repaired with gold.”

He nods and adds in a soft voice, “My sun is the gold that fills in every crack in my rice bowl.”

“That’s beautiful...”

His head snaps over to you. No one has ever used that adjective to describe his work. He’s only ever produced despair, hatred, malice. He’s only ever hurt others with his hands. He’s never created a miracle, love, hope. He is the catastrophe that swallows the helpless plant. He is calamitous, ruthless, and heartless.

But he feels like he can finally use his hands—this body—for good.

“Spare me of the flattery if my comparisons are foolish,” he grumbles, cheeks flaring with color. “I’m not an artist.”

“And yet you’ve made art.”

You grin at him, playfully casual in nature, and Scaramouche can feel himself falling even further. He wants to be the sky that protects that smile. The sky that holds the sun up.

For the first time since his creation, Scaramouche has found a new meaning to his existence—one that is not fueled by the vicious need for power and control.

- - -

Weekly meetings have become monthly now. Scaramouche’s mentality has improved and he seems so much happier. He manages his emotions well, and he indulges in the creative process to comprehend certain feelings. He’s getting better at expressing himself, and when he struggles he discusses it with you and you listen and provide advice as you usually do. He’s grown to trust and value you and the friendship you provide. He writes about his precious sun—a sun you’ve yet to meet. That is something Scaramouche keeps hidden from you and when you try to pry he shuts himself away and grows defensive.

He’s begun to travel. It started as small trips outside of the city borders and it gradually grew into week-long excursions. He always finds a souvenir for you. He never forgets you. He always, always returns to his home in the city. To his sun. To his heart. Scaramouche huffs if you tease him about his generosity. “Either take it or I’ll gift it to the fish in the river,” he tells you, glaring impatiently. There’s a shelf in your home that’s filled with the trinkets he’s gotten you. Little pieces of his travels. You suspect you’ll need another shelf as the current one is running out of space.

But you’re more than happy to accept his gifts. It’s sweet that he would think of you even when he’s so far from you. Last month he brought up wanting to travel to Mondstadt once more. You had found the idea simply delightful and had encouraged him to make lots of memories. Scaramouche, his resolve cracking, invited you along for the journey and you’d smiled a sad, distant sort of smile.

“I would love to,” you had admitted, “but I need to stay in Sumeru. I have other clients outside of you and I can’t take a vacation at the moment. But next time I’ll come with you.”

“Is that a promise?” he challenged with a smirk.

“It’s more than a promise, Balladeer.” You slid a bracelet off of your wrist. A dozen suns have been carved into the metal, and when it caught the light it winked at him. You held it out to him. “It’s a vow.”

Scaramouche stared at the bracelet in his palms. This is the first time he’s ever made a vow which, arguably, is far more special than a promise.

- - -

When Scaramouche visits you, it has been a full year since he first started working with you. Like a bird drawn to its nest, he returns, waiting at your doorstep with stories of his most recent travels on the tip of his tongue. This time, however, there’s something different about him. His attire has changed and there’s a pretty Anemo Vision over where his heart would be if he were human. Your eyes widen at the sight.

“Look at you!” you exclaim, pulling him into the comforting warmth of your home. It’s humble and cozy; Scaramouche prefers this to any inn he’s ever stayed at. He likes it because it smells pleasantly of delicious cooking and when he lingers in the sitting room he can wrap himself in the scent. “You’ve got a Vision!”

“Of course I do,” he replies, puffing his chest out, a proud smirk settling on his face. You admire it fondly. “I’d get one sooner or later, even if I had to pry it from a god’s hands.”

You glance at him sharply and he rolls his eyes.

“Pardon me. I would politely ask for it,” he teases, and you chuckle.

“That’s better.” You disappear into the kitchen for a moment and when you return you’re carrying a plate of sweets and a pot of tea with accompanying cups. “Make yourself comfortable. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

And he does just that, his fingers tracing the bracelet around his wrist. When you sit across from him, an eager smile adorning your lovely face, he’s overwhelmed with adoration. His sun has always shone brightly, but they’re the brightest when pure happiness scrawls itself on their features.

"You haven’t forgotten our vow, have you?” he asks while you fill the cups with fragrant, herbal tea.

“I’d never!”

“Good.” He’s smirking yet again, as boastful as ever. “I’d have to politely remind you if you forgot.” As a cheeky afterthought, he adds, “Little sun.”

You laugh, but the sound sticks in your throat. “L-Little sun?”

Scaramouche hesitates for a moment before reaching for your hand. “Can I...call you that?”

Your nod is too quick, but it eases his nerves. The tension in his posture dissipates and his confidence reignites.

“But only if you’ll call me something else. Otherwise you won’t be my little sun. You’ll be my very big, tiresome burden.”

“Like what? I’d never want to burden you, so please tell me what you’d prefer.”

His fingers interlace with yours. You gaze into his indigo hues. “Wanderer.”

No longer The Balladeer. No longer Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers. No longer Kunikuzushi. These names are his coffins—coffins he’s dug up and learned to accept. And going forward he won’t bury anything anymore. From now on, he’ll wander the world and unearth all that it has to offer, and he hopes that his little sun will join him. Until then, the vow will stay with him in the form of a cherished bracelet.

#meraki mumbles #scaramouche x reader #he deserves the world and everything in it <3

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pearlsinmyhair · 8 months

Text

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: death. suicidal thoughts. grief. angst. miguel being a hardass. cursing/adult language.

notes: ok, here we go. the last part. star girl kisses hobie on the cheek, and they have some romantic implications. HOWEVER. i did not write them to be romantic. i just see hobie as a very physically affectionate person (especially since i’m this way.)

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

word count: 2.6k

part v : void

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

cursed daughter,

uttering insanities no one believes,

do you regret taking the vow?

“you die.”

it felt like the ground was dropping out from under you, like the void had somehow traveled from your dead universe to this one to drag you down where you belonged.

in the grave. in the ground. gone.

you were staring at lyla. or maybe you weren’t. her orange form blended and swirled as tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. all the fight, the rage, the energy, was gone. snuffed like a candle flame.

just like you should be right now.

“i was supposed to die.” you whispered, more to yourself than miguel or lyla. “but i was somewhere else.”

anger lit in your chest fast, ignited by the frustration that had grown for months in your mind, words yelled at mirrors and whispered to the ceiling.

you turned to miguel, still on the ground as you raised your voice.

“i was somewhere else because of your sorry ass beating a mother fucking teenager to death! because i had to protect a child! from you!” you stepped up, rising slowly even as your knees shook. “if i hadn’t been worried about miles or you or your determination to keep the canon intact, then it would have been fine! i would have died, and everyone in my universe would have been okay!”

deflect, ignore the problem, fight, rage, scream.

you hated how similar you were to miguel.

you hated him.

he stood still as a statue, watching you with a defeated expression as you self destructed.

“y/n…” he tried, voice the softest you had ever heard it.

and you broke.

your knees buckled, but he was there in an instant, hands looping under your arms so that you didn’t fall. he pulled you into him, even as your fists beat against his chest.

“i hate you so fucking much. i hate how you make me feel and i hate what you did and i hate you-“ you sobbed, trying and failing to grapple with the weight of what had happened.

and through it all he just held you, tucking your head under his chin.

“i know, mija.” he whispered, his hand resting against the back of your neck to pull you against him.

“if you hadn’t been an asshole and chased a kid then it would have been alright. all those people would be alive and-“

“and you’d be dead.” he finished, his arm around you tightening slightly. “and i think we both know i wouldn’t let that happen.”

you felt repulsed, like his hands were burning, a betrayal to a boy beaten by the same palms. but you were also desperate, clinging to a life you lived for nine months only to be stripped from it completely. you wanted this contact, craved this hug.

your mind cried TRAITOR and your heart cried HOME. it was a contradiction that made you ache, a reminder of what was gone and would never return.

your hands clenched the material of miguel’s suit tight, bunching it as you wheezed. you felt so small, and yet so large. grief scratched at you with newly sharper claws, and guilt followed at its heels.

miguel’s hold tightened.

your mind switched to analytical thinking, trying to procure a solution, to fix what you had broken.

the answer came clearly, emerging from the darkest spot of your mind like a banished creature.

“you need to kill me.”

miguel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to your upper arms to grip you in an unyielding hold. his eyes filled with a solemn determination that made you want to sob, made you want to scream.

“it won’t bring them back.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “nothing you or i or lyla or anyone does will bring them back.”

the void at your toes, ready to swarm. an ocean of black silence, waiting to drown you.

“there has to be a way, miguel. please. if my universe collapsed because i didn’t die, then maybe if i died it would come ba-“

“do you think i didn’t try that when gabriella’s universe disappeared?” he asked, voice firm but expression soft. “i tried for weeks, never truly sleeping. i went through data and experimentation just for a chance to reassemble a universe. it doesn’t matter.”

your chest tightened, your breath limited as you tried to force a rhythm.

in, hold, out.

all those children.

in, hold, out.

mothers and fathers.

in, hold, out.

AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT.

miguel pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

the thoughts muted, the world dark and warm as you pressed your face to his chest. his arms, keeping you safe from the outside.

the tears didn’t stop for a long time, and neither did your choked cries. but it didn’t matter to him. it didn’t matter that there was a wet patch in his suit that most definitely included snot as well as tears.

he guided you through breathing, moving his hand in rhythmic circles on the upper plane of your back as he whispered “in, and out” over and over until your heartbeat calmed.

miguel knew that this was just the beginning. there would be late nights and frustrated yelling and breakdowns for a long time. it would take months to heal, months to work this guilt out of you.

but he’d be there every step of the way.

he refused to leave you again.

“you’re a hypocrite.” you whispered, and again he pulled back to look at you.

your eyes were set in firm decisiveness, as though you’d been thinking about this for some time. his gut twisted and his frustration flared slightly, but his inclined his head to let your speak.

you took a breath. “you’d save me for the sake of your own benefit. you care for me- i make you less lonely.” she held up her hand when his mouth opened, and his words died on his tongue. “you’d let my entire universe die just to have me.”

your voice faltered as tears balled in your throat, but you swallowed and carried on. miguel needed to hear this, and you were pretty sure you were the only person he’d hear it from.

“that’s selfish. incredibly so. but.” she trailed off, piecing the words together and preparing for his rebuttal. “when miles wants to save his father, it’s a cardinal sin.”

“y/n, it’s diff-“

“no, it’s not.” you cut him off, and again his mouth shut. he had forgotten just how quick your words were, no doubt sharpened by your temporary grounding.

“you’re sympathetic to me, but you slam a boy, a boy, miguel, into a train because he wants to save his father. meanwhile, you’d save your daughter without so much as a second thought? that’s hypocrisy.”

his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“all i ask is that you give him the same grace. can’t you understand why he refuses to follow your orders?

miguel sighed, keeping his eyes on you.

“miles is an anomaly, he’s was never meant to be spider-man-“

“enough of that. that has nothing to with the canon event. the universe didn’t collapse when he was bitten. it’s not his fault.”

“he is the beginning of this, the reason why there even is a spider society.”

your eyes narrowed, anger rising as you remembered the broken boy with bandages on his chest. “so you’re going to traumatize him? as punishment? he doesn’t deserve this blame, and you should never have reinforced it into his head. he’s fifteen, miguel. fifteen and scared. and now his head is full of your rhetoric, full of this hate that he doesn’t deserve. it’s not fair.”

you paused, and miguel worked his jaw, speechless.

“there must be another way. the canon has been flexible before. we can’t bring my universe back, but maybe we can save his. without making him watch his father die.” a tear slipped from your eye as you shoved down your sadness, forcing yourself to move on in order to help miles.

miguel’s thumb caught the tear before it fell, and you leaned into his palm.

“i think you need to sit this one out.” he whispered, eyes full of concern as your own blinked open. “i made the mistake of training you too early after your mother died, i won’t make the same mistake by allowing you to rush into this while you’re falling apart.”

you watched him, processing his words.

he was right, of course. it wasn’t healthy to push grief aside for later, especially this kind. the kind that poked at your throat and dug into your stomach. but the clock was ticking. a little less than two days.

you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a bed and cry. but you didn’t have time.

“i need to do this. and i need you to be there with me when i do, at my side. not against me. and after we figure this out, i’ll go to therapy and we can eat ice cream or whatever shit people normally do when they’re sad. ok?” you said.

this was the price of the name. sacrifice. pain. suffering. all for the greater good of the people.

miguel’s thumb stroked across your cheekbone as his jaw feathered.

“please. let me finish this.” you whispered.

miguel’s decision appeared in his eyes before it came out of his mouth.

“is this our tradition now?” he asked, and your face broke into a watery smile.

“fucking shit up despite our metal health? i guess so.” you laughed as you rubbed the heel of your hand against your eye, rubbing tears from your face.

“lyla?” you called, and she appeared at your shoulder. “can you help me reach hobie?”

lyla nodded, but miguel’s eyes hardened. “what do we need him for?” he asked, already sounding exasperated.

you smiled. “if you want to really fuck the system, you call the anarchist.” you said as you tapped at your watch.

i need some help defying the canon. you in?

it only took a few seconds for a reply.

let’s raise hell. meet you at my place in an hour.

i have miguel. but he’s leashed.

miguel looked over your shoulder, scoffing at the message.

“leashed?” he asked, and you smiled wickedly.

“you will be if you don’t listen. i’m not above webbing you to a wall and taking Rapture away from you.” you patted his shoulder. “just behave.”

you opened a portal when a thought rose suddenly.

“do you have any causal clothes?” you asked over your shoulder, and miguel raised a brow at you.

“for what?”

you grinned. “hard to be incognito in a spider suit. we need to blend in where we’re going.”

he smirked. “and what about you? think no one’s gonna stare at that suit just as much as mine?”

your teeth flashed as your grin widened. “i have clothes at hobie’s place.”

miguel’s amused expression dropped, and the glint in his eye told you that you may have to stand in front of hobie when he came back.

when he returned with clothes, grumpy as ever, you turned to the portal and jumped in, miguel at your heels.

₊ ⊹

“i cant fold it right, mine keeps bursting open.” you sighed, showing miguel the embarrassment of an empanada in your hands.

he shook his head at you, having already made a pile of at least ten. “it’s too much filling. you’re smart: use deductive reasoning.”

you elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be wounded, letting out a fake gasp of pain.

you had both gone to the grocery store as soon as you entered earth-138, grabbing the necessary ingredients for a meal for the kids.

you had resolved that, if miguel couldn’t fully verbally apologize yet, then he could at least make them dinner.

and miguel had dragged his feet, refusing to give his input as you walked the aisles of produce and food. but when you fixed him with a glare and a sharp word, he had straightened up, explaining what exactly you needed.

and that brought you here, assembling empanadas with salsa verde and mexican rice on the counter of hobie’s house boat.

the group was late, though hobie had messaged you telling you that it was because they were talking miles into actually going in. the boy was terrified, but hobie and gwen were assuring him that everything was fine.

miguel placed the empanadas in the oven as the door to the boat clicked open and the spider band stepped though.

thank god it was spacious, you thought as the filed in.

you stepped forward to hobie, who embraced you with an arm around your waist and his mouth to your ear.

“one word and he’s a dead man.” he murmured to you as his eyes stayed fixed on miguel over your shoulder.

you garnered that miguel was staring back based on the tingling feeling of your skin.

“i got it. but noted.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pulled back.

his hands found your shoulders, leaning down to level a look at you. “you good?” he asked earnestly, his eyes concerned.

your smile was small, but it was a start.

“i’m good. better now.” you whispered, and he squeezed your shoulders.

he moved to the side, and your eyes caught miles’s, who stood with his arms limply at his side in a corner of the room.

you walked over to him, and his jaw clenched.

“i’m so sorry.” he whispered, and your heart ached.

“its not your fault. fate is a bitch sometimes.” you said as you slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. his arms wrapped around your back gratefully.

you reached a hand to gwen and pavitr, and they joined the hug.

“my baby spiders.” you cooed. “i missed you.”

you pulled away to look around at the others, nodding to noir and peter b and fist bumping peni.

you met miguel’s eyes, and he nodded.

deep breath. it’s not like this is the end of the word or anything.

“we have less than two days to find a solution to save miles dad. the cannon is temperamental, but it is flexible. there must be a way other than jefferson’s death that can prevent earth-1610 from collapsing. any ideas?”

you gazed around the room to blank stares and thoughtful expressions. silence pressed against your ears as no one replied.

“my dad stepped down.” came a hesitant voice.

you turned to find gwen staring at you with a hopeful expression.

“he stepped down from being captain.” she said again. she looked to the side at miles. “after he found out my identity.”

something like hope grew in your chest as you glanced again at miguel. he looked back with a soft expression, tilting his head at you.

“he’ll never step down.” miles sighed, his fingers finding his temple.

“but it shows that there’s wiggle room.” you said, and miles’s eyes peeked at you.

“nothing is black and white. it’s not simple, but it’s a start.” you said as you walked over to the oven, getting out the empanadas.

“brain food?” asked peter b, and you smiled.

miguel stood beside you, preparing plates.

“not bad, y/n.” he said, and you leaned your side against his for a moment.

“where there’s a will, there’s a way.” you said, passing out plates before taking a seat next to hobie on the floor.

you looked around at the group, a smile rising on your face.

“spot’s on the move in 1610.” announced lyla, and hobie turned to you.

“okay, star girl. what’s the plan?”

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　fin　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

taglist: aka my little stars

@brittany69 @ladyfairenvale @teamwolverine @kinkybandages @lunamhm565i @dhadiirah @pearlssdiary @zeyzeys-stuff @alexisabirdie @ifuckyourmom @hagdgishr @migueloharaslxt @ladynecromancer @leviathxn @khaylin27 @dulceteris @mouthfulofpearls @alecmores @kissitoffme @mvlanchqly

oh my goodness. thank you all so much for your love and kind words. this is my first finished series, and it’s crazy to think that it all started with a thought of

“what if miguel had a daughter who’s universe collapsed?”

and it’s become a series with followers and people who love it. i’m so incredibly thankful for both your love and your patience- i went through a very hard friendship breakup that kind of ruined my spirit for a while. hence why this took so long.

i know there will be some of you who are not satisfied with this ending. i myself am never truly honestly satisfied with what i write. but i wanted to get this out into the world. BUT. my asks are always open for questions, requests, and headcanons for this story. it’s very dear to my heart, and i’m just so amazed at you all.

my little stars, i hope you enjoyed ‘the price of the name’.

all my love,

pearl ♡

#—the price of the name #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #dad!miguel o’hara #dad!miguel x daughter!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #platonic!miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara

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undercoverpan · 10 months

Text

Spit in my face, my love, it won't faze me

Spider felt a lot of things at the moment. Cold, hot, empty, full. But mostly he felt lonely.

His vision was going blurry, darkening at the edges. He couldn't make out his own hand in front of his face, but he recognized his own blood coating it. If he had to guess, he had wounds on his stomach, arms, legs and back. His whole body was just one big bruise at this point, aching and throbbing like never before. In a sense, he got the blue stripes he'd always wanted. Nevermind the fact that they weren't stripes, just blue spots that were close enough together for him to mistake them as such.

The thing that definitely hurt the most was the cut around his throat, bleeding sluggishly and coating his body in blood. He had a feeling that it was the source of his trouble with breathing, come to think of it.

Now that he was laying on a cold ship deck and 100% dying, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. It was like all the emotions and trauma he'd been compartmentalising these past few months decided to pull a quick one on him and now he had so many fears and regrets. He regrets going to the shack, being born, trying to be Na'vi, not doing something while they hunted that tulkun, not doing more when the Na'vi were being threatened. And he was afraid, were the others safe? Did Quaritch let Kiri go? Have they fled the ship just yet? Are they safe?

A selfish, horrible, human part of him wishes they stayed. And because he is dying; he decides to indulge himself with those selfish fantasies of his. He imagines Lo'ak being there, telling him about the trouble he'd gotten up to without him, Kiri talking about the plants and the animals. Tuk showing him a cool shell she found, maybe Neteyam venting about his frustrations or something. Anything but the sound of fading screams and crackling flames.

The smell of blood and petrol hung in the air like a thick fog; clouding his senses with the copper scent. The ocean breeze felt like hell against his open wounds. It was freezing out here, and incredibly dark. Really, he should be happy the others got away. Overjoyed, thankful even. But he selfishly wishes to not be alone right now.

"Spider?"

The voice echoes in his ears. Oh. Oh, it sounds familiar, oddly so. He felt a strange sort of calm rush over him; something like acceptance. It felt like a warm blanket on his beaten and broken body; one he desperately needed. No one has made him feel safe like this, ever, except for maybe….

"J--Jake?"

He hates how weak and uncertain his voice sounds, carried like some kind of fragile chord over the winds. He feels a set of hands, warm and realer than what he could've imagined by himself, pawing at his injuries. He sees blue skin and yellow eyes, and he has to laugh at the absurdity of it.

"Jake, you came back…" he says in astonishment, not seeing the hurt look flashing over the man's face. "Are the others okay? Where are they?" He asked, spluttering out a cough and tasting metal in his throat.

"They're okay, Spider, son, they're okay." He says in English, and Spider doesn't think that's weird at all. He nods to the best of his ability, giving him a wide grin. "Did--did we get them? The demons? Did I do good?"

"Yes, son, we got all of them. Everyone is safe. You did so good, you were amazing, I promise."

He sighs in relief. At least he had that little bit of solace during his last moments. At least he had that. And you know, he had Jake. Jake was here, and now he wasn't alone. He hadn't realised he was scared of being alone until he was. Dying alone, he'd never considered it, but that was his reality until a couple minutes ago. Jake saved him from having to face that, even if he couldn't save him from his wife. In his heart of hearts, he knows he never intended to.

"Jake, I'm tired–, it–, it hurts. I'm just so tired…" he whispers, strength draining from his body like a river flowing to the ocean. He feels a kiss pressed to his temple as Jake pulls him to his chest; the feeling of his vest against his skin all too alien. The man bit back a sob, instead breathing heavily and unevenly.

"It's okay, son, it's okay. You can go to sleep, you've earned it. Me and the others, we'll all be here when you wake up, okay?" He promises and Spider desperately agrees. "You did so well, we're all so proud of you and we love you, you know that, right? Everything that happened before, that doesn't matter. I love you, Spider." He says with the desperation of a prayer.

"Really…? Even Neytiri?" He asks weakly. The other nods, running a hand through his dreads. "Yes, even her." The boy has to smile at that. "It's so cold." He says, and Jake adjusts his grip so they're better pressed together. "Better?" He asks, and Spider offers a weak nod.

"Oel ngati kameie, Jake.." he whispers. It is the last thing he says before he goes, hopefully being accepted by Eywa. "Oel Ngati kameie, son." His voice sounds broken, but certain. It is the last thing he hears before the world goes dark and his body goes limp.

Quaritch looked at his son's dead body and felt cold. He wonders if this is the same chill Spider felt just now. Like a gaping hole in his chest that the wind passes through, carrying its saltwater breeze like poison. Sully and his brood are gone; left him behind without a second thought. The children had this look of shock when Spider crumpled to the floor the first time, victim to their own mother. They might have screamed. They might have cried. Quaritch doesn't remember nor care.

In his final moments, Spider wanted Jake, the man who left him for dead twice now. And Quaritch could've corrected him easily, but it seemed so needlessly cruel. Spider was dying, his son was dying, why deny him the fantasy in his head? The dreams of family and acceptance that he was never afforded, not by the people he desperately needed it from. So yes, he let his son think it was Jake who held him while he died, and that his crazy wife really did care, even though she's responsible for this. It was disrespectful to the highest degree, but Quaritch thinks that his son is allowed to spit in his face, just this once.

It was enough for Spider, who looked peaceful in his arms, eerily still and pale. He wonders if he should leave him here, let the Sullys find him and give him the burial he wanted. He wonders if the fish would get his body first, or the fire. He wonders if they'd return at all, opting to let the ship burn itself down. It certainly sounds like Sully. He sighs.

Mind made up, he approached his ikran. The journey to the Omaticaya would be long, so it's best that he starts moving. At the very least, he'd make sure his son would be put to rest where he called home. He wouldn't take that from him, not in death, at least.

___

Decided you guys should feel sad, hope you liked it!!!

#avatar spider #avatar twow #spider socorro #miles spider socorro #jake sully #miles socorro #spider soccoro #miles quaritch

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elliespassagerprincess · 7 months

Note

The air is getting crisp fall is coming so a bôa song is definitely needed can you do twilight by them

Twilight - (ellie williams x reader)

hi anon! Your wish is my command! Ugh I wish it was fall where I live, it's literally so fucking hot lmao... I hope you enjoy it <3

this story is based off the song Twilight by Bôa, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are always open, feel free to leave one!

HUGE Warnings: descriptions of violence, murder, death, gore, sadness, small mention of depression and graves (don't read this if you aren't in the right mental state)

Summary: In which you couldn't win Ellie's heart

Authors note: ladies and ladies, the violence is back! Idk man it's been a while since I've written something like this. Remember you are loved <3

Your word and my word and her word is

Yesterday, today and tomorrow

And twilight gives me, an inner sanctity

And you're feeling, and you're hungry for her

And you don't understand it

But you know you haven't planned it

Your feelings and mine are all lonely

And dawn comes you're there lying with me

And you reach out to touch me, but I am in the twilight

You heard Ellie let out a sigh as she continued venting to you about Dina.

Stupid Dina.

Seems like all Ellie could talk about was her.

Why her? Out of all the people on the fucking planet why did it have to be Dina?

"She said "hey Ellie" and she didn't even smile with me! like what the fuck???" Ellie practically yelled with frustration.

You rolled your eyes at Ellie.

"Ellie calm down maybe she had a bad day"

Ellie stopped pacing around the room to look at you.

"Yeah.... you're right! She doesn't hate me she's just tired" Ellie said with a small smile.

You watched as Ellie lowered herself onto your bed and she looked up at you with a shy smile. She reached out her arms in your direction "cuddle?" she asked softly.

You let out a sigh as got into the bed spooning Ellie. She let out a hum of satisfaction.

"Ellie you need to stop doing this"

"doing what?"

you only shook your head and thought: "making me fall in love with you"

"friends don't cuddle" you brought up.

"Friends do" Ellie argued.

"Dina wouldn't like this" you added.

"well Dina isn't here right now" Ellie spoke matter of factly as she snuggled closer to you.

All you did was sigh as you brought your hand up to scratch Ellie's head. She let out a moan and she closed her eyes.

"You are a great friend, you know that?" Ellie spoke through a yawn.

Yeah, you were a great friend.

Your feelings and mine are all holy but,

You know and I know it's untrue because

When day dawns you're there lying with me

And the dawn can fly away

And you know I love you but you know that

There's nothing you can do about it

Because you love her, and you still want me

If I could be her... but I'm not her and she's not me

And you're somewhere different, on a different planet

You loved Ellie. You loved her a little more than a friend should.

Every time you saw her, your heart raced. She made you feel hot by just giving you a smile. Ellie made you feel things. Things you've never felt before.

You loved her.

But you knew she didn't feel the same.

You lay many nights next to Ellie, listening to her complain about Dina who's oblivious to Ellie's feelings.

It hurt you.

Seeing how Ellie always smiled when Dina walked into a room. Seeing how excited Ellie got, every time Dina said something. Every time Dina complimented Ellie, she almost exploded with joy.

It made you sick.

You tried being Dina.

Maybe Ellie would love you if you were someone else.

Maybe it was the way you did your hair? Was it the way you dressed? Was it the way you looked? What made Dina so special?

You tried cutting your hair the same length as Dina. You started dressing like her. You even copied her stupid music taste.

You tried. You tried so fucking hard.

But you could never be her and Ellie would never see you like that.

You knew Ellie loved you. She wanted you, but not in the same way you wanted her.

You were her best friend.

The girl she could go to with her problems, the girl who would help her with her hair and outfits.

You were nothing more than a friend.

You wanted to be Dina and you prayed to the gods that you could become her. But you didn't. You were nothing more than a friend in Ellie's eyes.

You saw how much Ellie's crush on Dina affected her.

How much it hurt her knowing that Dina most probably doesn't feel the same. And you being the amazing friend that you were, you decided to help Ellie.

You made it your mission to get them together.

Even though it hurt you knowing Ellie would never love you, as long as she was happy, you'd be happy too.

That's how you got yourself in your current position. Sitting across Dina in her apartment.

"So" you stared as you took a sip from the orange juice Dina gave you.

"we need to talk"

"about?"

"Ellie" "What about Ellie? Dina asked confused.

"do you have feelings for her?" you asked.

You watched as Dina burst out laughing, you watched as she threw her head back from laughing.

Anger sparked in you.

Why the fuck was she laughing? What's so fucking funny about liking Ellie?

After a while of Dina laughing, she slowed down breathing heavily before she let out a "Why would I like her? She's weird".

You felt your eye twitch before all hell broke loose.

How dare she say that about Ellie?

Your Ellie?

Ellie loved her so much and this is what Dina had to say?

This was the girl Ellie loved. She didn't deserve Ellie. If only she knew the amount of tears Ellie cried for her.

fucking bitch

You leaped from where you were sitting onto Dina, you straddled her as you punch her over and over again.

"How-"

*punch*

"dare-"

*punch*

"you"

*punch*

You don't even know how long you sat on her, and listened to her beg.

"Please" she whimpered as she tried getting you off her.

You eventually got off her breathing heavily as you looked down at your hands.

Your knuckles were bruised, and your hands covered in blood.

Dina's blood.

You looked over at her, seeing her slowly breathing. She didn't move, she didn't even make a sound.

Maybe she was unconscious.

You couldn't even recognize her with all the blood and bruises.

If Dina woke up, she would call the police. She would tell Ellie. Ellie would hate you.

You couldn't let that happen.

You slowly walked back from Dina, as you heard glass shatter. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound.

You saw pieces of glass scattered everywhere. And your orange juice was all over the floor.

Fuck you wanted to drink that.

You slowly bent down to pick up a shard of glass, and you held in your palm.

You walked towards Dina and you slowly pushed the glass into her trachea. You watched as the blood seeped from the wound.

You took a step back, leaving the glass shard in place. The blood dripped all over her throat and clothes, blood came out of her mouth.

Soon after Dina stopped breathing.

You killed her. You fucking killed someone.

You knew you made the right decision by killing Dina, because now you finally had Ellie to yourself.

And you still want it

The inner sanctity

And it's an evil

But the evil is necessary

And you're still hungry for her

And you still want her loving

But she doesn't love you

You watched as Ellie sat next to Dina's grave. She was sobbing.

Why the fuck was she crying over someone who didn't feel anything for her?

After Dina's death Ellie really struggled. She struggled to accept that the girl she loved wasn't here anymore. And what hurt Ellie the most was that Dina never knew.

Dina never knew the love Ellie had for her.

You watched Ellie spiral. You watched how she suffered.

Your plan was get rid of Dina, not the hurt the girl you loved.

Late at night when Ellie would lay in your arms you would sometimes feel regret for what you did. You didn't know it would affect Ellie the way it did, and you never wanted to hurt her. The guilt you felt soon get's replaced with pride when you realize that you got rid of the girl that was only going to hurt Ellie.

You saved Ellie. You saved her from rejection and embarrassment.

You knew she would get over it eventually.

Ellie's life wouldn't stop because her crush died. At some point she'll just have to accept it and you'll be here waiting for her with open arms.

You quietly walked towards Ellie as she sobbed next to Dina's grave, you raised your right hand putting it on her shoulder.

Ellie looked up at you, and in her eyes you could see how broken she was.

"It's ok Ellie" was all you said before she continued to sob into her hands.

You let out a sigh at the sight.

Months after Dina's death you realized that Ellie wasn't going to forget so easily.

You watched as she printed out pictures of her and Dina, and she placed it all over her apartment. You watched as she went to Dina's grave every week.

You listened to Ellie cry almost every night.

Even though you knew Dina didn't feel anything for her, Ellie still wanted her. Ellie still craved Dina.

Yes, she got affection from you, but you were never going to be enough.

All she wanted was Dina.

And you knew in the years to come Ellie wouldn't be able to move on and forget.

Even though you were there for her through everything. Even though you showed her nothing but love, the only person Ellie ever wanted was Dina.

She wanted Dina's love. Dina's care.

You were nothing but a friend. The realization made you sick.

You did everything for her.

You even killed for her.

But you'll never be Dina.

All you could was comfort her and hope, she'll one day feel the same.

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jenanigans1207 · 3 months

Text

Hi, please accept me being weak and sharing even more of this fic that I'm working on because I'm too impatient to hold onto this until the fic is done.

For context, the whole point of the fic is that Dean gets hit with a curse that forces him to tell the truth if asked a question.

(enjoy the angst of me projecting onto Dean Winchester!)

----

“You don’t get it.” Dean grinds out, all frustration and sharp edges, words cutting his own throat as much as they’re cutting Cas.

“Dean—”

“Ask me.” Dean says, throwing his arms out to the side. “I can’t fucking lie so ask me.”

Cas stares at him for a long moment and it’s not hard for Dean to read the expressions on his face. Up until this point, Cas had been very carefully and delicately choosing his words every time he spoke to Dean, careful to not accidentally phrase something in a way that would come across as a question. He has been diligent in his attempt to respect Dean’s privacy and Dean’s wishes, steadfast in his belief that Dean should not be forced to tell them things, but should only volunteer things willingly. Even though Sam had been practically chomping at the bit to finally get Dean to talk about his feelings.

But Dean was giving Cas permission to ask, to force the curse to bring the words to the surface. This was about as willing as Dean got when it came to feelings and Dean could see the exact moment that Cas accepted the permission he was being granted.

“Why do you always push me away?” Cas asks after a moment, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid of receiving the answer as much as he’s afraid of what delivering the answer will do to Dean.

But Dean doesn’t need the curse to bring up the answer. At this point, everything is such a fucking disaster that Dean’s willing to answer that honestly all on his own.

“It’s easier.” He says, and he notices the way Cas steels himself for whatever else Dean is about to say, as if he’s prepared for repeated blows to the heart. “If you leave because I push you away— because I’m a short-tempered asshole who crosses the line and says shit he doesn’t mean, I can live with that. Because that— that’s my fault, Cas. And at that point, just add it to the list, you know? Everything is my fault— Sam being back in the life, everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s happened to you, the fucking end of the world was my fault! So yeah, if you leave because I pushed and pushed and pushed until you couldn’t bear it anymore, I’ll just add it to the list of reasons I hate myself and cope with it the same way I cope with all the other reasons— too much alcohol and even more denial.”

Cas’s lips part, clearly surprised by the answer he’s getting. “That’s—”

But Dean isn’t done. “I’ve spent my entire life hating everything about myself, Cas. And yeah, I’m not sure I ever hate myself more than I do when I hurt you that— that is a new low, even for me, but it’s still in the realm of things I understand. But if— Cas, If you—” Dean’s throat is so fucking tight that it hurts and the words almost can’t get out. He clenches his jaw, swallows, and decides to put himself out of his fucking misery. “If I asked you to stay… If I told you how badly I always want you there, how nothing is ever right when you’re gone, how I never want you to leave and you— and you left anyway? If I told you the truth and you still chose to leave despite that? Cas, that would kill me. It really would.” Dean can’t look Cas in the eye now that the words are out in the open. “So instead, I push. If you’re going to leave no matter what, at least I can blame myself for it. It at least makes it a little easier to breathe in those lonely moments. Gives me something to do, too, you know? Instead of missing you every second of the day, I spend at least a few of them kicking my own ass for what I’ve done and continue doing to you.”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows the words and Dean honestly doesn’t know how he expects Cas to react.

“And you—” Cas’s voice is as strained as Dean’s had been and Dean glances up at him briefly, unsurprised to find the pain reflected in his face. It’s not like Dean’s unaccustomed to hurting Cas, he shouldn’t be surprised that even his honesty manages to do it. “You think that I would leave either way? You think that I— I want to go? That I would choose to go even if you didn’t push me away?”

It’s several questions all jumbled together, but it doesn’t really matter because they all have the same answer anyway. “Yes.”

Dean had hurt Cas a lot of times in the past, he knew that. He wouldn’t say he’d come to terms with it, wouldn’t say that each and every time he had said something intentionally harsh, cruel, or uncalled for wasn’t tied for number one on his list of reasons he hated himself more than any other creature on earth. But still, he knew that he had done it and he often replayed it in his head, hurting himself with the memory of hurting Cas. But despite that, nothing prepares him for the way Cas’s face crumples at his answer, for the way he looks more dejected, more hopeless Dean has ever seen him. Suddenly every other time Dean has hurt Cas barely even makes the list of reasons he hates himself because this— this just took every spot in the top one hundred.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get the image of Cas’s broken, faithless expression out of his mind.

Dean almost expects Cas to try and school his expression into something a little more neutral, something to disguise the hurt in his eyes. He usually does, just to spare Dean the pain— or maybe Cas thinks it’s the satisfaction— of knowing that he’d landed another winning blow. But Cas doesn’t do anything to cover up the agony in his expression, doesn’t even attempt to pretend that he’s not breaking to pieces right before Dean’s very eyes.

Dean fucking Winchester, the man cursed to save the world that does not love him and to break the only actually precious thing he’s ever been given.

“Why?” Cas finally chokes out. “Why would you think that?”

Dean answers his question with a question, “Why would you stay?” Cas stares at him with eyes that are impossibly blue and unfathomably sad. For someone who knows only disappointment, Dean’s surprised to find that it hurts so much to find it reflected in Cas’s eyes. “I’m not— I’m not a fucking joy to be around, Cas. I’m not shining sunshine out of my ass, I’m not Mary freaking Poppins. I’m an asshole— clearly— and I… Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking disaster, a basket case. There’s more wrong with me than there is right. Me constantly pushing you away is an example of that!”

“Dean, if you’d let me, I would—”

“Let you?” Dean repeats, somehow incredulous despite the absolute trainwreck of a situation. “Let you? Cas, I may push you away, but I don’t physically shove you out the door. And I’ve never once locked it behind you, never once stopped you from coming back. You get that, right? I may push and push and push but you? Cas you leave.”

Somehow this is getting worse by the second and if Dean weren’t so unbearably miserable, he’d be impressed that he’s managing to fuck everything up further with every word that comes out of his mouth. Looking at Cas now, he’s honestly not sure which one of them hates the situation they’re in more, which one of them feels worse. Cas looks like he’s about to collapse in on himself, like the only thing he’d ever been fighting for just gave up and surrendered the battle. He looked like his entire purpose had just been ripped away from him.

“I don’t ever want to leave, Dean.” Cas says brokenly.

“Then why do you?” Dean asks, just as broken, just as quiet, just as desolate. And when Cas doesn’t immediately answer, biting back a reply that he clearly knows, Dean laughs, bitter and humorless. “Right, ‘course. Forgot, I’m the only one who has to be honest, here. Fucking fantastic, Cas, that’s just great.”

Cas takes a tentative step forward. “Dean—”

Dean has always hated how much he loves the way Cas says his name. Cas, a former Angel of the Lord said Dean’s name reverently, like a prayer, like it carried some sort of holy meaning or importance. Cas said his name like it was a blessing to be able to speak it at all, like it was the only name he ever wanted to say again.

And Dean can’t take that right now, can’t let Cas say his name like that while refusing to meet him in the middle on this. “No, just—” He’s breaking, he’s breaking, he’s been broken for so many goddamn years at this point and yet somehow he’s still breaking. “You— you were supposed to fight, you asshole. You were supposed to come back and see that the door was still open. You were supposed to— to try. And you never did— do. You never do. So I keep pushing and you keep leaving and it’s easier for me to blame myself than it is for me to blame you but god, Cas, it doesn’t matter whose fucking fault it is because it hurts every time you go.”

Dean doesn’t know if angels cry. But if they do, he’s certain that Cas would. If there were only ever one angel in all of history that cried, Dean would know with absolute certainty that it was Cas. And Cas isn’t even an angel anymore, technically. He’s just a stupid human with stupid human emotions and the even stupider human inability to deal with them. But he looks like he might cry, like he might prove to Dean to that all of his celestial holiness was just a rouse and that he’s always been harboring this deep seated sadness underneath.

“I—” Cas starts to say, but whatever response he had is lost to the sound of Sam opening the door finally.

“Hey,” Sam says hurriedly, and there’s a smear of blood on his cheek. He stumbles into the room, the hand on the doorknob stopping him from toppling over completely. Once he makes it in the room he pauses, seeming to notice the tension that’s suffocating them. His eyebrows rise as he glances between the two of them. “You guys good?”

“No,” Dean answers immediately, the curse beating Cas to the punch. “We’re not.”

That seems to catch Sam off guard and his hand slips off the doorknob as he regards Dean. He probably wants to ask some question that would make Dean rehash this entire thing, probably wants to do something stupid and sentimental like sweep him up into a bear hug and tell Dean that everything will work out. But he seems to sense the severity of the situation, the levity of the expressions on both of their faces. He shuts his cakehole.

“No,” Cas agrees after a moment, and his voice is thick with emotions and whatever words he was forced to swallow back down when Sam barged in. “But we will be. Right, Dean?”

Even the curse doesn’t have an answer to that one, leaving his throat completely dry as he tries to swallow, letting him give whatever kind of response he wants. “Yeah.” He chokes out after a moment, not meeting the gaze of either of them. “We always are.”

#i keep skipping ahead to write the really emotional scenes #because i can't get them out of my head #so enjoy this #and know that the fic has a happy ending #whenever we get there #i actually already wrote the confession lmao #anyway #as usual i can't keep shit to myself #destiel #spn #supernatural #angst

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hippolotamus · 8 months

Text

Tagged by @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz (definitely go check their works!) Thank you loves 🥰

I now return you to angsty Buck in you're where I wanna go

She visibly relaxes, but refuses to look at him as her words hang in the air between them. “I really wish you hadn’t asked, but now you know. Satisfied, Mr. Buckley?” That- that was not at all what Buck was expecting to hear. It takes several moments for her evaluation to sink in, to get past layers of skin, nerves, muscle and bone until it’s absorbed into his cells. Had he been that obvious? So transparent that even a stranger could see through him? It’s not as if he has a choice in any of this. Confusion bleeds into irritation the more he considers his situation. “You don’t have to understand,” he informs her curtly. “A-and you’re the one who’s been inserting yourself by approaching every one of them. Acting innocent by offering ‘the young lady a flower.’ This is my burden to bear, regardless of the misery it causes.” “But why?” She shoots him a frustrated glare. “Why shouldn’t you at least get to be with someone that you don’t have to pretend for?” Pressure builds at his temples and hot tears sting the corners of his eyes. He’s not going to do this. Not here. “Because I don’t get to have that! You want to figure me out so badly, well there. This is the position I’ve been put in and I don’t get a choice. Any chances I had of a fulfilling, ecstatic existence are gone.” Images from another life that no longer belongs to him tick by in his brain. Dull fragments that have faded, but not nearly enough, and probably never will. Part of him hopes they don’t. He wipes away a lone tear beginning to roll down his cheek, following a well worn pathway. Lucy’s face displays a mix of guilt and sadness. He hates how pleased that makes him. But if she’s going to pry him open, she should feel terrible about it. “I’m sorry, Buck. You’re right. It’s not my place. I will stay out of your business from now on.” Fuck.

no pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @alyxmastershipper @stereopticons @vanillahigh00 @elvensorceress @spotsandsocks @buddierights @911onabc @heartshapedvows @statueinthestone @chaosandwolves @spaceprincessem @jesuisici33 @forthewolves @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @the-likesofus @barbiediaz @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @pirrusstuff @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @watchyourbuck @apothecarose mi amor @lizzie-bennetdarcy @cowboy-buddie @ladydorian05 if you wanna

#things *are* getting better #but our baby boy golden retriever isn't done being hurt quite yet #i'm gonna give him a little break tho... as a treat #hippo writes #fic: you’re where i wanna go #seven sentence sunday #sunday sentences #buddie wip #this is almost at 8k with no end in sight #🫣

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thatthoughtatthebackofyourmind · 9 months

Text

In Defence of Albus Dumbledore:

Look. I know this is an unpopular opinion, so I’m going to write this here because putting it anywhere else (like at the bottom of the fics which have inspired this frustration) would seem mean, and it would probably end up coming off as unintentional flaming, which I would never do to anyone ever. Also, as I’m less frustrated with individual works than I am with an entire situation, it wouldn’t really be fair to direct it at one specific person.

Get ready. This is going to be very ranty and long and I can't promise not to get off topic and onto a tangent a few times.

I understand that we all have grown up a lot since first reading Harry Potter. I get that once we realized how grey a few of Dumbledore’s decisions actually and the ways in which they affected the characters we love we all felt rightfully upset.

But can we please stop being so narrowminded about it?

There are plenty of redemption fics out there. A lot of them are works that redeem characters like Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Draco’s parents, various Dursleys and loads of other people. I’ve seen fics that have Sirius confronting the realities of his juvenal behaviours and having to atone for past wrongs. I’ve even seen (but admittedly never read) fics that redeem Voldemort himself.

But the least popular person for a redemption story in fanfiction by far seems to be Albus Dumbledore.

I get it.

He was supposed to be an infallible genius who did no wrong and he let us down. But please.

Can we all please just admit that we’re using Dumbledore as a stand in?

The hatred we as a fan community levy at Dumbledore is influenced by so much more than his actions in cannon.

It’s the dissolution we feel at growing up. The need as young people to bite back at overbearing authority. It’s the conviction that leaders should never be allowed to fail if failure means the death of innocent people. Even though we can all recognize on a personal level that our failures are typically unintentional and are definitely what make us human.

Of late, it’s very clear that Dumbledore is a stand in for the betrayal we feel at JK Rowling’s anti-trans standing.

We all loved her so much.

She gave us this world.

She promised it to everyone.

And then she said that it was all a lie, and that it was never meant for some of us anyway.

The parallels are clear.

While we were first reading, we loved who Harry loved. Simply because he loved them, and we loved him.

When we grew up, we started acknowledging the ways in which the characters mirrored people in real life, and we chose the people we found the most familiar to love instead. Personally, I understand the reason I read Severitus so often is because I had a largely absent father who I idolized as a child, and that father was a bit of a rockstar like person. Dark, intelligent, and cruel when he wanted to be. Artistic, genius, condescending, and amazing.

As an adult, I still long for his love and approval. Learning that Severus was capable of so much good at the very end of his story, that he was in fact good all along, even when he looked exactly the opposite, gave me hope that my father was too. Even though I now understand that redemption for my father is just a fairy tale it’s still a story I hold close to my heart. A story I long for. It’s a possible happy ending for both a lonely child and a jaded grouchy adult.

Albus Dumbledore was different.

This was a man that we trusted to have everyone’s best intentions at heart. We were told he was safe. We were told he was the smartest man in any room. And then he failed us. And we looked back at all he had done, and rather than seeing the good he had tried to achieve, all we could see were the mistakes he had made.

I firmly believe that the reason that so many people hate him so strongly now is because we all loved him so much first. Like Harry, we all believe that he was incapable of mistakes. His mistakes in cannon aren’t any more morally condemning than anyone else on the light side.

Keep in mind that I said, “in cannon.” I feel like I need to distinguish that. In cannon, though Harry asked if he could stay at Hogwarts during the summer, he never told Dumbledore about living in a cupboard under the stairs. His letter was addressed to there, but we have no way of knowing whether it was physically or magically written on the envelope. And besides, that letter was signed by Professor McGonagall, not Dumbledore. Harry also never mentioned to him the Dursleys withholding food. Or locking up his trunk so that he couldn’t do his homework. He made it clear that they disliked him, that they thought him a burden, but think. Really think. Dumbledore is the head of a school full of children. How many children misunderstand and exaggerate even in their own minds how much their families dislike them.

Let me be clear; when I say kids exaggerate I don’t mean in terms of abuse. I only mean typical things such as, “My mom’s always grouchy when she gets home from work and she never notices that I’ve tried really hard by cleaning the bathroom if she told me to clean the kitchen before she got home and I decided to do the bathroom because I wanted to clean it instead of doing the dishes and now she’s yelling at me that she just needs me to help her sometimes, and I don’t feel like that’s fair because really I do. Look, I cleaned the whole bathroom by myself! And I straitened up the living room too! The only thing I ‘forgot’ was the kitchen and now she’s acting like I do nothing. This means she hates me and appreciates nothing I do. I am clearly a burden to her, and I should go live under a rock so that she doesn’t have to deal with me anymore.” Really, your mom probably isn’t saying you’re a burden. Your mom is more than likely overworked, over-tired, and almost certainly depressed in a society that doesn’t cater to mental health awareness, and on top of all that she was raised by a generation that was allergic to admitting and self-regulating their true feelings so she can’t articulate that and she’s instead taking her frustrations out on you.

This is wrong, and she shouldn’t do it. But consider. Why didn’t you want to clean the kitchen? Was it because you had a long hard day at school and you’re overworked, over-tired, and definitely depressed in a world that doesn’t cater to mental health awareness, and all you really wanted was a break from the hardest job and you just wanted to compromise by doing the ones you felt emotionally and physically able to do? Because I promise, that’s probably exactly how your mom feels about the damn dirty dishes that she’s going to have to deal with before she can make dinner after being cussed out and yelled at by customers and or bosses all day in between doing her actual work and that’s the real reason she’s yelling.

Because, though a lot of teens believe otherwise, parents are still just people and the feelings that overwhelm kids still overwhelm adults just as badly. And they’re even less likely to know how to help themselves because they didn’t grow up with the internet where everyone shares their feeling and gets back validation and advice, so they mostly just believed those feelings were personal failings that indicated something broken specifically only in them and that they should learn to live with it and never tell anyone ever because complaining is for babies and liberals. Okay, maybe that last bit is a little too specific to my own mother, but you get the idea.

It’s a cycle that’s been going on for years. Hopefully, we can eventually all learn how to communicate peacefully and compromise on chores sometimes so we can end it someday. Or everyone can just switch to paper plates, and then we’ll worry about how we’re killing the planet later and no one will have to do the dishes ever again.

The point is, while that isn’t the best parenting style, and it can cause issue’s with your familial relationship as you age, it isn’t technically abuse. And it especially wouldn’t be considered abuse in the 90’s while Harry Potter was taking place or the early 00’s when it was being published.

Harry was not bruised when he arrived at Hogwarts. He didn’t show obvious outward signs of abuse. He never told any adults what his life was like at the Dursleys at all. He really didn’t even say much about it to Ron or Hermione either. Mrs. Weasley sent him treats for his birthday, which was a sweet motherly gesture. Hermione and Hagrid did as well but think about it. Do you believe for a second that if Molly have-another-serving, can-I-get-you-some-more-bread, try-the-potatoes Weasley honestly thought the Dursley’s were starving Harry that she would first wait until the end of July to send Harry anything, and then only send him sweets? She would scale the Dursleys’ house and stuff a full six course meal through the bars multiple times a day before she let that boy live off stale birthday cake. When she asked if the Dursley had fed him enough she meant it in the same way she always meant it, in the if ‘I can feed the world I can love the world’ way.

Hagrid sent him rock cakes, but again, think about it. Hagrid had shown up with a cake for Harry’s birthday the day he first delivered the letter when he couldn’t have yet known of the way Harry was treated. He just wanted to show Harry he was loved and missed.

Of the people who sent him food, only Hermione really knew Harry didn’t get to eat his fill at the Dursley’s and she still only sent cake because all she knew was that he was being forced to diet with Dudley. Which is why she sent him the kind of food one would eat if they weren’t on a diet instead of true sustenance. A fourth of a grapefruit as a meal is not a diet, no matter what Petunia called it. And if he had told Hermione specifics, she likely would have told Harry that, but again, he didn’t tell anyone specifics.

Everyone knew that Harry was unfavoured by the Dursley’s and that they wouldn’t be celebrating his birthday, and he wouldn’t receive cake or presents, but they really didn’t know much else. Ron and Hermione only understood he was being starved in the way most naive well-fed kids from happy families can understand. It sounded cruel, and they did try to tell people, but because they didn’t understand the full gravity of the situation, they couldn’t properly communicate to trusted adults that Harry was actually experiencing abuse. Plus, Harry tended to downplay it even to them.

When Dumbledore speaks about knowing Harry would come from a less than happy home, you can tell he is picturing a world where Harry is liked second best to his cousin. Where he never feels fully at home. Like an overextended visitor in a relative’s house. He thinks they’ll treat him like the weird cousin who came to stay and never left rather than an immediate family member.

He isn’t picturing Petunia Dursley slinging a frying pan at Harry’s head. Or refusing to let him drink his fill of water on a hot summer’s day spent weeding her ridiculous flower garden. Or an overly restrictive diet enforced on an already undernourished body simply to make Harry’s morbidly obese cousin feel better about his doctor changing his eating habits.

I think we’ll all agree that feeling less than welcome by stuck up relatives sucks, but it’s better than whatever Voldemort’s loyal leftover followers will do to him if they manage to track down the person responsible for their dark lord’s downfall.

I understand why a lot of people feel like Dumbledore should have just put Harry under the Fidelius Charm and hid him rather than sending him to the Dursley’s but consider: If Dumbledore trusted Sirius the way he must have done to not betray James and his family, then it makes sense that he felt Fidelius was no longer an option. He fully believed Sirius was the secret keeper. Sirius, the Potters, and Pettigrew were the only ones to know of the change. It’s likely that after learning that the Death Eaters had convinced Sirius to betray the Potters he was jaded enough to take it as a sign that no one could be a trusted Secret Keeper. No matter how much they loved the person under protection.

He also likely would have insisted on a trial for Sirius had Sirius himself not told everyone that he was the one who killed James and Lily while descending into hysterical laughter. We know what Sirius meant, (he felt responsible for them dying because switching to Peter at the last minute had been his idea) because we read the third Harry Potter book, but Dumbledore didn’t have that same advantage. All he had was the word of an apparently mad man. A man who had just tracked down another dear friend and apparently killed him and 12 innocent bystanders in a fit of insanity.

Why, when last he had heard Sirius was the Secret Keeper, would he doubt a verbal confession from a man who did nothing to try and save himself from Azkaban? The Marauders never told anyone of their animagus abilities. No one but Sirius could have understood what Peter had done. Why do we expect Dumbledore to have known better?

So, instead of Fidelius and hiding Harry away for his entire childhood, he gave him the best protection he could think of under the circumstances he had been given. He sought to give Harry a normal life and to keep him safe from the remaining Death Eaters.

Dumbledore understood that fame was power, and that power could corrupt even the best of people with the strongest of minds, so he kept Harry away from the limelight. He also understood how fickle people where about fame. This was the right decision even if the Dursley were a bad choice in guardians. We saw proof of this numerous times while Harry was at school. His fame only ever seemed to bring him more hardships. In book two they said Harry was a dark wizard because he was a Parselmouth and that that’s how he overpowered Voldemort. In book four even some of Harry’s friends refused to believe he wasn’t just a glory hound and that it hadn’t been him who entered his name in the tournament, but rather someone trying to kill him. In book five, almost everyone refused to believe Harry was telling the truth about Voldemort’s return. Every single time Harry’s name entered the limelight, it was in a way that harmed him. Imagine how much earlier it would have started had he grown up in the wizarding world. They would have been debating his kindergarten finger paintings if they could have.

Why does the entire fandom also assume that Dumbledore thought of himself as the wisest most all-knowing man in any room? The only people who canonically acted like they believed that about him were the Golden Trio, and they were enlightened otherwise multiple times throughout the books as they grew up. Just as everyone learns new truths about trusted adults they thought of as perfect as they grow.

The fact is, Albus Dumbledore has always been just a man.

He was a great and powerful but flawed man who wanted more than anything to make sure that evil could not prevail. He obviously still holds plenty of shame and guilt over his dealings with Gellert Grindelwald in his misspent youth. We have surmised that when he looked in the Mirror of Erised he likely saw his sister Ariana, or something as equally heart-breaking which he recognized as his own fault. He fully understood that he was just a man. He encouraged everyone to understand that fact about Voldemort as well.

He was not a god, and he didn’t pretend to be.

Not in cannon anyway.

Fanon Dumbledore, on the other hand, tends to be anything from a meddling idiot to a full on manipulative dark lord complete with moustache twirling and nefarious intent. Which, I believe, further influences and enforces the fandom’s collective bad opinion of him. Most of us haven’t reread the real books in years. It gets hard to remember at some points what was something he did in canon vs. what was something he did in fanfiction.

Every other character seems welcomed to grow in the world of fandom.

Severus was canonically a willing Death Eater in his youth, a bully to children in his care in his adulthood, and a petty grudge-holder who couldn’t let go of the past. We accept that we can’t fully know how much of his behaviour towards the students was an act to fool the Death Eater’s children, but we can assume it definitely wasn’t all of it. Still, he gets plenty of redemption fics. He had literal access to Harry’s traumatic childhood memories but still saw no signs of abuse because he was too busy trying to keep a 15-year-old child from gaining any ammunition about his own past.

Looking back, it seems obvious that as very few of Harry’s childhood memories were shown in the Occlumency scenes, he likely wasn’t as bad at clearing his mind as either he or Snape assumed, but it was also possible that Severus didn’t see those memories because that wasn’t what he was looking for. The memory of Harry getting chased up a tree by Marge’s dog as the rest of his family watched and laughed should have triggered at least a couple of red flags, but Severus was typically determined to only see the bad in Harry, so he overlooked it.

James Potter who is often thought of as the better choice for Lily was also a bully. And he spent years relentlessly pursuing a relationship with someone who had never given him any indication that his advances were welcome and had in fact outright told him the exact opposite of that many times until he finally wore her down and convinced her to give him a shot. That’s gross, unacceptable behaviour but I guess it is technically better than dating a budding racist that sees you as the exception to his views on your people, so James is rebranded as a lovable hero who changed after having a slightly misspent youth rather than a mean spirited bully who likely grew bored with his main target once he no longer saw him as competition (there would have been no reason to bully Snape if Lily wasn’t friends with him anymore after 5th year which was conveniently around the time he began to “grow up”) as well as a pushy loser who wouldn’t take no for an answer even though Lily said it multiple times. (There’s also the point that once Snape knew about Lupin being a werewolf, James likely wouldn’t have bullied him anymore so as not to provoke Snape to reveal the secret and get Lupin thrown out of school and possibly killed.)

Ron told Molly outright that the Dursley’s were starving Harry and had fixed bars on his windows to trap him after weeks of being concerned when he didn’t reply to Ron’s letters, and she still ignored it, assuming instead that Ron was exaggerating and never even tried to check with Harry to learn that he wasn’t.

Remus spent a year teaching Harry individualized lessons to repel Dementors and never once asked him why he was so sad that they affected him in ways that none of the other students experienced. I mean really, he couldn’t have been the only orphan attending that school so Remus couldn’t have thought it was just that. And Neville’s backstory was nearly just as sad (and just as well known to Remus) and even he didn’t faint like Harry. Yet, he didn’t question Harry once.

Sirius (who is also a bully and a petty grudge-holder) never wondered why a child would want to move in with an escaped prisoner who he had never met before that had just mangled his best friend’s leg and tried to commit murder in front of him instead of the relatives he had been with his entire life. Even when until that very night he had believed that prisoner wanted to kill him?

Arthur actually met the Dursley’s and saw Vernon’s rage at magic when he came to collect Harry for the Quidditch World Cup and he still questioned nothing.

Half the Order found Harry locked inside his bedroom with locks affixed to the outside of the door, and all they did was give vague unfulfilled threats to Vernon and send Harry back. You could blame that on Dumbledore, but I think that’s ridiculous. They were not under Imperious. They made their own decisions. Every adult there had a responsibility to that child, and they all failed him individually.

Yet time and time again I see Dumbledore condemned so overwhelmingly in the very fics that redeem and or absolve these other characters of those very actions.

Even McGonagall, who knew from the start that the Dursleys were awful people, never pulled Harry aside as his head of house and asked him anything about his home life. And, as I stated earlier, her name was the one on the letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. She also made it very clear that she wasn’t someone for Harry to confide in by constantly dismissing any concerns he presented her. The way she reacted about the Stone was ridiculous. And her non-concern over the amount of detentions Harry received from Umbridge followed by the ‘have a biscuit’ scene rubbed me the wrong way. And yet, of late she seems to be revered in the fandom community as some kind of badass grandmotherly character. All because she protested one time about leaving Harry with the Dursleys and then never brought it up again.

It’s getting a bit ridiculous. I’m exhausted by the way the fan community continues to rewrite cannon to fit their dissatisfaction with our once trusted role-model JK Rowling through Harry Potter’s once trusted mentor Albus Dumbledore.

Just once I would like to read a Harry Potter fic without having to think about the various ways in which JK Rowling let us all down. And with everyone rewriting Dumbledore as the ‘real villain all along’ I can’t help but be taken out of the fic and forced to relate it to reality.

#anti dumbledore bashing #pro albus dumbledore #albus dumbledore

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 5 months

Text

i've seen some other people do this, so let me share some songs that remind me of catradora.

Adora's POV:

“Her eyes and words are so icy

Oh but she burns

Like rum on the fire

Hot and fast and angry as she can be

I walk my days on a wire.”

[…]

The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine

Open hand or closed fist would be fine

Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.”

— Cherry Wine, Hozier

•

“L-O-V-E damn 4 letters

You sugar-coat it with L-O-V-E every time

Selfish, I will never be enough

Even when I pour out all of myself for you.

[…]

As long as you love me

The good or the ugly

Everything is alright

It’s like you control me

Without you I’m lonely

But you don't feel the same.”

— Gunshot, KARD

•

“You said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard?

You can't love anyone cause that would mean you had a heart

I tried you help you out, now I know that I can't

Cause how you think's the kind of thing I'll never understand.

[…]

I used to think I was smart

But you've made me look so naive

The way you sold me for parts

As you sunk your teeth into me.”

— Vampire, Olivia Rodrigo

•

“You only think of yourself

As if that’s natural

I’ve been foolish enough to try to please you

It tortures me, keeping me lonely till the end.

[…]

I have to adjust to you

Every time, that’s okay

It repeats like this every day

If you're taking advantage of my kindness

There's something wrong with that.”

— Egotistic, MAMAMOO

•

“The stars, the moon

They have all been blown out

You've left me in the dark

No dawn, no day

I'm always in this twilight

In the shadow of your heart

[…]

I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map

And knew that somehow I could find my way back

Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too

So I stayed in the darkness with you.”

— Cosmic Love, Florence + The Machine

•

“Hey girl, wake up

There are better people out there

But even though he acts like that

There's still some good in him.

[…]

So foolish, I'm being manipulated

So stupid, should I break up or…?

This is the end, yes, bye bye

I want to say it but I can't

I'm frustrated but I'm stuck on you

I'm still into you.”

— TRAP, AAA (Misako & Chiaki)

(just replace “he” with “she”)

•

“I can’t stop, I found you

But feels like I’m the only one who feels this way, it makes me mad

I don’t understand

But hurting this much? I’m used to it

[…]

Don’t pity me, no, do as you always did

Because that’s you

Even if you break my heart

And spit out careless words

It’s only you for me.

[…]

I don’t want to be obvious

What if you think I’m weak?

I’m so pathetic, pathetic.”

— Love & Hate / Worthless, Moon Byul

•

“If it was for you I could

Pretend to be happy even when I was sad

If it was for you I could

Pretend to be strong even when I was hurting

[…]

Love you so bad

I molded a pretty lie for you

Love it's so mad

Try to erase myself and make me your doll.”

— Fake Love, BTS

•

“I’m falling endlessly

And you’re playing with me

You got me losing my mind, you intruder

It’s so dangerous I want it

Even if it costs all the pain.

[…]

Oh god, why are you leading me into temptation? Is it a call from hell?

Can’t stop, how am I going to escape from her?

The self-control you gave me has torn in pieces in the dark black hole

Can’t control myself, it’s like sugarcoated poison.”

— Oh My God, (G)I-DLE

•

“My sensitivity making me tense

Your honesty stabbing my heart

Why does this only apply to me? It’s too unfair

[…]

I’m not easy I hate that

I adjusted to you

I loved you more than me.”

— Easy, Wheein

Catra's POV:

“I'm breaking every rule

I want to keep tormenting you

[…]

Hate me as you want, I don't care

The more you break, the more you'll want me.

[…]

I swear I need you, my desires are growing

I’m playing with you like a kid

Hovering like your shadow and whispering to you

I’m your light and your darkness.”

— 28 Reasons, Kang Seulgi

•

“I don't want none, I just want you

If I can't have you, no one should

[…]

I might kill my ex, I still love him though

Rather be in hell than alone.

[…]

Now I'm in the basement, planning home invasion

Now you laying face-down, got me singing over a beat.”

— Kill Bill, SZA

•

“I’m creepin’ in your heart, babe

I’ll flip you over, break you down and swallow you up

I’ll steal you and indulge in you

I’m gonna mess you up

[…]

I’m a bit impatient

I’m not that gentle (I hated you)

But I want you

That’s right, my type

My heart doesn’t lie.”

— Monster, EXO

•

“You fuel my jealousy

Growing everyday

Following your shadow

I’m with you, in every breath you take.

[…]

Call me evil

I'll show you more

I get what I want,

but I can't get enough.”

— Propose, Dreamcatcher

#there are a lot more but i don't want this post to be an entire essay lmao #HIGHLY RECOMMEND all of these songs btw go check them out!#also yes i listen to kpop a lot #spop critical #spop #spop salt #spop criticism #spop discourse #she ra #anti catradora #anti catra #anti c//a #anti spop #antic//a #anticatra #anticatradora #songs

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 1 year

Note

I love doting husband so much there are no words to describe it all. I just want to smoosh lil kisses all over his face until the creases between his eyebrows from frowning all the time goes away.

Have a smut. As a Finals week treat.

"Brucie."

"Hn."

You roll your eyes and pull his chair away from the bank of monitors he'd been staring a all-day before stepping into his eyeline and hopping up on the desk and crossing your legs demurely "I'm bored."

Bruce blinked for just a second and reached up, stroking the smooth skin of your thigh, "That so?" he hummed.

He should be annoyed. But. There's a mouthwatering amount of skin on display. How you'd managed to get into a corset on your own, he'd never know. But. He made a mental note to find you more of them.

"Bored enough that I went shopping today."

"I see that," he purred, pulling himself closer to the desk and pushing the button to lock all the doors. "You hate shopping."

You pout and lean over slightly, scritching the back of his neck lightly bringing your breasts closer to his face- satisfied when he swallows hard. It's not often you can catch him off guard. "I tried to send you pictures and you ignored me," you pout.

"When-"He broke off and glanced at the notification window on the bottom corner of a monitor. The one for personal communications. And sure enough. There was 5 unread messages. With photos. And he tutted. "My poor baby," he hummed.

"I'm very neglected and sad about it," you tell him, kissing his forehead sweetly.

He tutted again and stood up. His frustrations forgotten for the moment as he uncrossed your legs and stepped between your thighs. "What am I gonna do about it, baby girl?"

"Well. Hopefully pay attention to me," you tell him, reaching up and lacing your fingers behind his neck. His eyes are dark, stormy. The frustration of the last couple days being replaced with other feelings. Less than tender feelings. And it's enough to make your pulse race. And when a massive hand slides up to close lightly around your throat, his thumb stroking the pulse point in your neck it's all you can do not to whine.

Bruce smirk a little and stepped close enough to kiss your nose. Making a satisfied growl deep in his chest as your legs wrap around his hips to keep him there. "Such a bad girl," he tutted. "Getting me all worked up for your own entertainment." Slowly, he ground his erection against your silk panties and tightened his grip on your throat just slightly. His smirk turning into a grin when you whimpered.

"I was lonely," you pout, not able to play at being petulant. Not really. Partly because it was true, but mostly because you were trying not to giggle.

"Well," he rumbled, "You won't be when I'm done with you."

"Promise?"

You look up at him, wide-eyed. And he knows the innocence in your voice isn't all part of the game. It tugs at his heartstrings and when he leans down to kiss you, he brushes his nose against yours, reassuringly. He's not going to be gentle, but you're safe. You're safe and you're loved. And if he had his way, you could wear corsets and kitten heels every day. "I promise," he murmured. "Remember your safe word?"

And when you nod, swallowing a needy whine, his grin turns feral. "Good... Now. I'm gonna splay you out on the hood of a car and you're gonna take it until I think you've had enough."

#Bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne x reader #doting husband!bruce #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert

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whumpcloud · 1 year

Text

Things End | People Change - Go For The Throat

taglist: @whumpsday @whumpycries @whumpwillow @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @whumpshaped @suspicious-whumping-egg

content: lady whump, vampire whumper, kidnapping, begging, fear of death, defiant whumpee

He's always hated silence. Too many things creep into his mind when it's silent. He walks with heavier footsteps, trying to drown it out.

He hears them, hundreds of little heartbeats, from the windows, down the alleyways. There was a time where this wasn't the case, but it's so far away now that even the idea seems fanciful.

He was human, once.

Vincent Maddox was an Oxford student studying classics. Vincent Maddox was barely an adult, isolating himself in a foreign country, when he met someone who he felt respected him, who offered him the chance to feel that again. Vincent Maddox was naive and trusting.

Vincent Maddox died when he was twenty-two, and he's still walking around, trapped in his own corpse.

He breaks the fence he kicks and it doesn't lessen his frustration in the slightest. He was too polite, too demure to ever take his anger out like this when he was human, and there's zero release in it when he could rip almost anything apart with his bare hands without even trying.

When was the last time he cried? Perhaps it was on the ship back to England in 1846. 1844? Does it matter? It should, shouldn't it? Perhaps it was when he visited Henry's grave in… it must have been the 1910s, before he finally did. Long after Henry had died. Vincent remembers begging his brother's gravestone for forgiveness, but he isn't sure if he cried.

Vincent covers his mouth with his hand. The tight feeling in his chest is just that - a feeling, with nothing he can do to stop it.

It needs it to stop. He needs to make it stop. He wants it all to stop!

"Are you alright?"

Vincent's gaze snaps up towards the source of the voice. A young woman is staring at him, head tilted in concern. Human. Her heart thumps softly.

"Am I alright?" he whispers.

"That's what I asked," she smiles. Is she trying to make him feel better? Her smile is nice.

"It's late," he mumbles. "Dangerous."

"Here? What's gonna get me out here, huh?" She raises an eyebrow. "You? I could beat you up."

He finds himself lightly laughing at that. Not maliciously, not because she's wrong. It's just the way she says it. The confidence in her tone.

When was the last time he laughed and meant it?

She sticks out her hand. "I'm Clary. Anything I can do to help?"

Stay. He swallows. He is stronger than her. He could grab her hand and take her with him before she could even blink.

What is he thinking? He doesn't know her at all. He can't be so achingly lonely that this is all she needs to do for him to decide he needs her.

He needs someone. He isn't friends with any of the vampires around here. Sure, they'll tolerate his presence, but he hears second-hand about gatherings. Sometimes he thinks about searching for Lyfelde, being somebody's companion again, but then the scar under his eye itches and he remembers how terrifying it was to wake up like this, and he banishes the thought from his mind.

Clary waves her hand a little bit. "Hello?"

"S-Sorry," he mumbles. "Vincent."

He takes her hand, and he makes the decision almost on instinct. Hand over her mouth, arm around her torso, and he runs, dragging her with him, in no more than a second.

She starts to scream and kick, but holding her just a little tighter makes her stop. Did he crack her ribs? He hopes not, he hopes he can do this without injuring her, but he's never been able to control his strength. Lyfelde tried to teach him, but Vincent left, and lied, and it's so much effort to not damage things.

His place is close by, and he just breaks the lock on his front door instead of trying for the keys buried in his coat. There's an extra bedroom he never uses, the only room in the house with a window - he bought this place before the repeal of the window tax and never bothered to reinstall them - and he drags Clary into it and pins her to the floor.

She gasps. "Y-You fucking-!"

"Be quiet!" he hisses, trying to sound threatening. "Just be quiet, okay?"

"Make me!" she spits.

It takes a moment of wrestling with her, but he grabs both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head, and covers her mouth with the other.

"Shh," he says, softly, in that slightly menacing way that he's seen other vampires do, just in the hopes that it works. "Just shh. Everything will be fine. I won't hurt you."

He smiles, showing his fangs. Her heartbeat quickens, but she doesn't let it show on her face, not even a little. Brave. He knows that humans are aware of vampires, but their day-to-day life is, for the most part, unimpacted. It's one of those things that they always think happens to other people.

Clary swallows. He doesn't seem interested in killing her, that she can tell. She nods, and stays quiet. He removes his hand from her mouth.

"Okay, good," he says. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Clary. You're Clary."

"Mhm," is all she replies.

"This is going to be your room, okay?" Vincent says. "If you want anything else for it you can ask."

"Y-You can't-" She bites her tongue. Rephrase. She doesn't know if she can risk pissing him off. "You're keeping me here?"

"Yes," he responds. His voice seems to… tremble? "Keeping you. You're mine."

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, his smile returns.

"Mine." His fingers find their way to her chin, tilting it slightly. "I like the sound of that."

Clary glares and flinches away. "Fucking freak."

He digs his fingers into her skin. "Don't speak that way. I hate swearing."

"And how are you gonna stop me?" He's bruised her plenty, but she's already pushed, so she might as well keep going and see what else he'll do.

"Can't you be nice?" he snaps. "You were being nice."

Clary blinks at him. "What?"

"Is it so hard?" Vincent's grip on her wrists tightens. "All I'm asking is for you to keep me company, and let me have some of your blood. That's it."

Clary genuinely can't help it. She isn't a patient person, and she isn't easily scared, either, even though she knows what a vampire could do to her if they wanted to. Danger isn't real if it isn't happening, and really, what is he doing to her right now?

She snickers.

"What… what are you laughing for?" Vincent seems more confused than anything, and that's Clary's cue to go for the throat.

"You want company." She grins. "You couldn't get anyone else to hang out with you? You're so unlikeable that you had to kidnap some poor little human to get a friend?"

"Sh- Shut up!" Vincent grabs her by the hair, but she doesn't react, even though she swears she feels him pull a few strands out. "I said I wouldn't hurt you, so don't make me, okay?"

"What made you do it?" she asks, leaning up. "Because you were upset? I bet you were crying about something stupid and it just made you so happy that someone was finally nice to you. Fucking loser."

Vincent doesn't say anything. His eyes flash, and he pulls Clary's head up and to the side so he can sink his fangs into her neck. She gasps with the sudden pain, a sharp sting that only gets worse the longer it goes on. And he just keeps going.

She pulls at his shirt, kicks, scratches, and it doesn't do a thing. "S-Stop, stop it!"

Her hands are becoming clammy and cold, and she shakes. It's too much. He really is going to kill her, she went too far and Cai is going to have to identify her drained, dead body, and she doesn't want to die.

"P-Please!" she tries. "I'll be nice, if you want me to be nice! Stop, don't kill me, please don't kill me!"

Vincent's grip tightens for a moment, and he lingers, then lets go. Drops of blood trickle down her neck. She whimpers softly.

He wasn't going to kill her. He thought he would, for a minute there, but he never would have. It wasn't even the begging that stopped him.

He doesn't want to be alone again. Even if she's going to snap at him, he can… fix that. He's not the first vampire to take a human, and he certainly won't be the last. There's people he can ask, and they might smile and say he's done well, or even, at least, seem proud of him for something.

"Just… relax, okay?" he says softly. "I'm going to lay you down."

Clary lets herself be lifted up and placed down on the bed. It's clearly had no use for years, and that could be any number, depending on how old Vincent is. But it's a bed, in a windowed room, and frankly she could be worse off.

"Rest as much as you need," Vincent says, putting the blankets over her. "I want you to be okay."

"How could you think this was a good idea?" she mutters.

Because I'm alone. Because you were nice. Because I can't take being like this anymore. Because the consequences of my own actions are crushing me and I need someone to tell me it wasn't a mistake, even if they're lying, I just need to hear it, please.

"Because I can do what I want," is his reply. "Get some sleep."

He walks away and locks the door behind him. Clary supposes sleep would be nice, and turns away from it.

#polly's prose #clary nikitin #vincent maddox #lady whump #vampire whumper #me: vincent is my guy my poor little meow meow my pathetic man im going to make him a hot choccy #also me: lol get his ass clary <3 #things end | people change

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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Can I get uuuuuuh reader who quickly figures out Breg is jackin it over the phone and proceeds to order him around & tease him?

As always, you're a fucking gift to all of your horny fans Pinnie 💕 thank you for being a glorious beacon of debauchery. Rereading your stuff is getting me through my second case of rona. Bless 🫶

--🍆🩲

[Yikes. Hope you're doing well, I only had it once. Fem reader. This a little shorter than usual.]

[Based on this post.]

He looks at the phone in pure agony.

Come on Breg, it's been, what... Half an hour longer than you said you'd be home?

It's natural to be worried, of course, but the breeder knows he could probably just text you to make sure everything's alright. Thing is, he hates texting. It's harder for Breg to read and write than the average person. And how could it not be? He learned those basic skills much later than he should have. It's only natural that he struggles sometimes, that he'd prefer to call you, which doesn't involve spelling- Aka, the bane of his existence.

Plus, he wants to hear your voice. F-For no specific reason...

It's not like he's getting lonely. It's not like he hasn't been thinking of bending you over in his hands and stuffing your holes until- Fuck.

Breathe. Think.

The whole house reeks of you, and he's getting antsy. Breg feels sorry that he's so sexual in nature, that you have to deal with this. That he's not strong enough to just turn away from the phone and jerk off like your run of the mill pervert. Nah, he's done that too much already while he was waiting for you to come back. Now he needs more. Dropping the used shirt the monster was twiddling between his digits, Breg reaches for the device and speed dials basically the only person he bothers to use the thing for, his free hand dropping to his slit in shameless preparation.

Takes a while before you pick up. As if you were debating whether or not to do it in the first place.

" ... Yes? "

Finally! His tail immediately starts wagging.

" Angel! "

There's a pause, then a very tired sigh.

" Breg. "

It's more of a groan than a greeting, something that definitely has the monster biting his lip, purposely misinterpreting the noise. His fingers drift up and down his slightly slick opening.

" Hi. "

It seems he's gone stupid. Or maybe it's just that he's focused on exposing himself.

There's the sound of shuffling from your end. " Uh, yeah- Is something going on? "

Well... That's about as far ahead into this endeavor as Breg thought. Time to toss random shit at the wall and see what sticks. The monster dips a finger into his slit and sighs quietly, the sound easily going unnoticed.

" Uhm no- I mean, yes! A-Aren't you late? You should be home by now. " He stresses.

" Mm? Yeah, I'm just doing some maintenance shopping, I'll be there soon. "

Not soon enough for his tastes.

Two fingers are now dipping into that sheath, rubbing and coiling until they find the tips of his cocks. He shivers a little, jolting at the first real touches to his members. " Do you have to do that now? "

Silence.

" ... Yes? Why? "

The breeder exhales again, this time in frustration, insistently coaxing his lengths out. It's a bit hasty of him, and Breg whines at the stretch of his unprepared slit when the roots of both cocks pop out, then relaxes back onto the couch cushions.

" Breg? You there? "

Shit. What did he say again?

" Uhhm- " Ah! " No, it's just that, I mean, we can do that tomorrow, right? You're not working then, so... Come home? " Very persuasive, that'll work.

There's another long pause of pure silence, one he's not too happy about, since the sound of your voice was helping him feel good just moments ago. The monster lightly strokes his left shaft, waiting, breath picking up slightly.

" Be honest, did something happen? Because it sounds to me like you fucked up again and you don't want to tell me. "

Breg gets a brief flashback of the handful of incidents where he set something in the kitchen on fire and quickly scrambles to soothe you. " No no, I swear! " He stops touching himself for a second. " I- I didn't do anything. "

But what if he had done something?

What if he purposely broke some of your stuff, what if he said he tossed all your plates out the window? Would that make you get home faster? Would you race here just so you could yank the breeder down and put him in his place? Punish him. Hips jut as he resumes pumping, circling the head of his cock with a thumb while he pictures you forcing him to the ground, smothering him for endless time as discipline for being bad. Fuck, he can almost phantom the sensation-

" Breg! "

The monster startles, a whine escaping him at your tone, tough he quickly coughs afterwards. It was far from a smooth maneuver. Never once does he risk stopping the flow of continuous pleasure, switching to his right dick while the left one twitches for more.

" Hhn- Y-Yes? "

" Have I been talking to no one all this time?! "

Not at all. The monster may not have gleamed a single word of your monologue, but he was very attentive to the familiar melody of your voice throughout it. " I'm... " He has to muffle another noise, tail thrashing against the coffee table. " I'm sorry, I got distracted. "

" Doing what? "

Oh, the usual, fucking myself to the thought of you. " N-Nothing. "

Idiot.

This next pregnant pause feels intentional, as if you're pressuring him. " Mhm, yeah. Well, I'm hanging up. "

" NO! " Breg shouts, half in anger half in dread, before he realizes that might have deafened you a good bit. " Please, just don't... "

There's a noise like a snort from your side, then more rustling. " Uhuh, why? "

Well fuck. What can he say now, if not the truth? He's never been good at lying, and you know that as well. He'd rather just tell you the truth and deal with the consequences than try to keep up a ridiculous charade. Breg grips the base of his shaft, pulsing.

" You're jerking off. " It's not even a question.

" I- I just wanna hear your voice... "

Painful quiet.

The breeder flusters, suddenly quiet. " No. N-No, I'm not. " Flawless, you must have been totally convinced by the awful crack in his voice.

" I've been hearing the slick of your hand on your dicks for minutes now. "

Breg halts instantly. Is... Is it really that noticeable? He's not quite sure what to say, maybe apologize? Yes, it feels like you're mad at him.

" Why have you stopped? It's not as if I'm going to ground you for beating off. " A hum, it sounds like you're moving something. " Even if you're a gross degenerate that can't keep it together. "

The insult wounds him a little, though bounces right off when he processes your first words, throbbing against thin air. " You- You want me to keep going? " The disbelief is palpable.

" Do you want to keep going? I didn't start this. "

The ambivalence you're displaying does nothing to calm Breg down. It's as if you expect this from him, which honestly, he can sort of understand when he thinks about all the other less-than-adequate situations you've caught him in. Still, the fact that you'd so nonchalantly let him get away with this is exhilarating.

" I want you here... " The pale monster whines out.

The laugh that rings out is jovial and marvelous, making him shiver and squirm. " Well, I'm not there, so make do. Don't let me stop you. "

Breg's not even sure what he's thanking you for. The fact that you haven't hung up? That you're letting him touch himself to your voice? Who knows... His pace resumes, a little more fevered this time, the breeder makes no effort to muffle his heavy breathing.

" Thank you, angel! "

" C- Can you keep talking? " He requests, in that voice where you'll be able to tell he's wagging his tail like a pup.

" Ugh, so needy... " You click your tongue. " What do you want to hear? "

" Just say things. "

Once more, very helpful of him. But it's not like the monster can spare much thought to eloquence when he just wants to orgasm.

" You know Breg... " The breaks between each word sound measured, either his mate is making an attempt to listen to him or you're just teasing for the sake of it. " Jerking off on a call, licking my used clothes, fingering me in my sleep- I don't think you deserve anything nice at all. "

" N-... No? " His cocks jump anyway, it's not as if he enjoys getting reprimanded, but the breeder is intrigued nonetheless.

" Nope. " You chirp. " What are you gonna do to make it up to me? "

Ohh fuck, anything! Anything anything anyth-

" W-Whatever you want! " If he wasn't pistoning into his own hand before, he is now, whimpering in the back of his throat. Why can't you be here??

" Yeah? " Breg nods, then belatedly realizes you can't see it. " And what do you think I want? "

A series of images flash through his mind's eye like a reel show of senseless depravity. It stuns him. Breg gives a full body shudder, tail tensing upwards while he immediately starts scrambling for words to describe half of what he sees.

" I- I can- Do you want to f-fuck my face? " He's been plagued with thoughts of it lately. You forcing him to kneel as you grind yourself over his features, spreading your scent and your mark on him. " It- I promise it'll feel good, I'll make you feel so good, I love the taste of your sweet pussy I'll- Ahn! Mmf- " A frustrated little moan derails his speech as the breeder gets too lost in his own fantasies, as usual.

" Just talking about it gets you in that state? " There's a bit of incredulity behind your tone.

" Yes, yes- Can you please come home? Please? Angel, I need you... " Words cease altogether as the monster parts his mouth in mounting pleasure, furiously chasing his climax, beads of drool splattering to his chest while he groans nonsensically, a sort of pathetic displeasure that you're not there to help him along. Or lick his cum off, fuck, you always look so hot when you do that.

" Hey, hey- Hands off your junk. "

Breg almost wants to scream. Instead, he hisses quietly, the noise tapering out into a muffled snarl.

" Don't give me that growling! "

Well, you weren't the one told to stop out of nowhere!

" Buh- But you said I could! "

A huff. " I said you could keep touching yourself, not that you can cum. "

" But I wanna... " He pouts. As if that wasn't obvious enough.

" Oh, so you don't want to cum in me then? " It's like you enjoy twisting words, and frankly, that might just be the case.

" N- Wait-! I want to, I want it, please please I'm sorry- "

" Then stop. "

Another grumble.

" Breg. " You warn. " Plug that sopping slit and don't move a fucking muscle, you hear me? "

" ... Yes. " The monster doesn't want to ruin his high, but he's also very much driven to please, sinking two fingers into the space between his opening and the members that stand tall and swollen with need.

" If you can follow those simple instructions, we'll do what you said when I get home, okay? " Breg picks up on another sound from your end, jingling keys, then the revving of an engine. Your car.

His tail is a swishing blur.

" Okay. " Anyone can tell he sounds miserable about staying still however.

There's a hum of approval. " What do we say? "

His cocks pulse. " T-Thank you. "

" Good boy. "

When you hang up, the breeder almost wants to cry, rutting into his own digits as he waits.

He's a good boy.

#Bregory #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #monster x reader

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