#I kNOW i reblogged my last version to death but look. look this is the new version

[devilmademewriteit]

If You Lie Down With Me

pairing: (pre-ellie) dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: there’s only one guy in all of boston that can get you a morning after pill. unfortunately, on top of being a huge asshole, Joel Miller also happens to be your dad’s closest peer.

warnings: rough sex / smut (masturbation, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; unprotected sex; light choking & restraint; light dom/sub dynamic; fem afab reader; reader has long-ish hair (that gets touched); plot-typical violence (guns, death); plot deviations (no Tess); medication ingestion; pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, no explicit consent).

word count: 6.5k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all I’m baaaaAAAaack! so this is basically the other version of Dark But Just a Game that I started back when I was writing it & figured I’d finish it to get out of my hiatus. like any devilmademewriteit fic, it’s dark and nasty and deprived like meeeeeee <3 hope u enjoy !

don’t forget to reblog, check out my masterlist, sign up for the taglist, & leave any comments / feedback / & suggestions!

(ps: new part of Salvatore up next !)

—

“three times the guy I ever thought I would meet, so don't say you're over me when we both know that you lie”

— lana del rey, ‘If You Lie Down With Me’

—

Fuck.

Waking up to a racing heart, a pounding head, and a stomach swimming with nausea was never ideal, although it was always a better experience alone — when you could squint and hiss at the light slicing through the weaknesses in the drapes without hearing your groans echoed by a lower, louder, and annoyingly more pitiful voice.

Right. What was his name?

Jared? Jordan? Jermaine?

Ah, who cares.

If he’d wanted a safe place to nurse his hangover, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in your bed. Sure, the odds of dad being conscious at this hour (especially the odds after a party like last night’s) were Kate Moss — no, Rolling Stones — slim, but the man would get up at some point, meaning that this poor J-whatever was likely sleeping through his only window of escape from certain homicide.

You whisper. You shake him gently. You gingerly tap the roundness of his bicep.

Huh — Not bad.

You congratulate last-night-you for reeling in this morning’s good-looking catch.

Still… nothing. Not a twitch. Nary a croaked ‘lemmesleep’ graces your ears.

After loosing an exasperated sigh and running through your options, you decide to take the most effective (and least girl-next-door) route. The corner of your elbow collides with his ribs, and the boy jumps up, his loose, blonde curls as wild as his eyes, searching the room for his attacker.

You want to smile at the scene, but the motion hurts your head.

“Y’gotta go,” you croak out, thumbs rubbing circles against your aching temples.

He collapses onto his back, copying your movement with his own fingers to his brow. “God. I feel like shit.”

Despite muttering your agreement, you let your eyelashes flutter closed and your weight turn you away from last night’s paramour: no use figuring out who he is after the (f)act — that just makes it personal.

After a few breaths, the boy moves back up to a shakey sitting position.

Probably sourcing for his clothes.

He reeks of booze and sex — but then again, so do you. His roughened, unfamiliar tenor climbs to barely above a whisper, “Z’something stuck on my leg… blood, or something…”

His interrupting your suffering comes as a deeply unwelcome annoyance, so you try to sort him out to clear him out: “Prolly just the condom,” you mumble, rolling back onto your shoulders, reluctantly supervising his movements.

He lifts up fully, sitting criss-cross and pulling his calf towards him.

“No,” he tries to laugh but succumbs to the nausea, settling for a low breath instead, “S’blood, dude, from beer darts — and I didn’t use a condom.”

Your eyes immediately dart over, settling on his naked, wretched, shivering form. He notices your ire and the hitching of your throat, immediately defensive.

“I asked if you wanted to.”

Unfortunately, he had. The memories of your drunken entanglement start to resurface inside your mind. “It just feels better without one.” This time, you curse last-night-you for being such a careless, inconsiderate, horny bastard.

You’re making problems for me, girl.

“J’s get out.”

J-whatever spares no time complying, collecting his few strewn belongings and staggering out the front door. Once it slides shut, so too do your poor, weary eyes.

Shit.

There goes the afternoon.

Getting your hands on condoms in the QZ was at least fifteen times easier than snatching a morning after pill. Those were a hot commodity, especially among the younger, less responsible crowds.

Luckily for you, as a member of aforementioned younger, less responsible crowds, you knew where your best chances lay in finding whatever it was you needed (if what you needed was deeply immoral or wholly illegal). Unluckily for you, that ‘best chance’ happened to be your dad’s closest and longest-running business partner: temperamental, judgemental, frustratingly competent, Joel ‘Local Asshole’ Miller.

But that could all be dealt with after another eight hours of sleep.

—

Opportunity strikes sooner than expected.

Miller’s in your living room by the time you wake up, the low rumble of his southern baritone recognizable even through the closed door. After scrambling to throw on some clothes, you press an ear to the chipping paint, hoping to determine the number of bodies gathered in your home.

Not many. Just Miller (and the old man, of course).

The latter’s presence bodes ill for you. This would all have to be done in secret, which was not an uncommon strategy where ever the former was involved. No one dealt with Joel Miller to conduct clean-cut, wholesome activities. No one was calling him up for a spare copy of the holy book.

No, getting him alone was essential.

A drink slams down on the counter. After a good, patient ten minutes, you hear your father (‘s rather crude way of) excusing himself to the washroom and heavy-set footsteps decrescendoing down the hall.

This is it.

You slip through the door.

At first, your company takes no notice of you, his eyes still glued to the maps and papers littering the counter before him.

Then, a low grumble: “fun night?”

His voice makes you weak in the knees — an involuntary, near ritual-like response you’d noticed around your mid teens and hadn’t managed to kick yet.

You swallow before responding. “Yes.”

It’s all you manage to muster. Miller finally looks up, wincing slightly as his back straightens. He looks tired, at least more than usual, with his wild, grey-streaked hair tousled and the lines by his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

You’re sure you don’t look much better, a suspicion proven by the man’s slowly spreading, barely-noticeable smirk. That gaze makes you self conscious, mute; your right hand snakes up, absent-mindedly dragging a fallen bra strap back to its proper position.

“So, what was his name?”

He’s teasing, sure, but Miller was there last night. He’d always had sharper perceptions than your father did, especially — and ironically — when it came to you. That skill tended to squander your confidence as the daughter of a modern-day mafia-boss and the owner of a hard, violent heart.

Rushed by the sound of your father’s footsteps, you default to honesty.

“I don’t remember.”

“Try.”

“Josh.”

Amusement flits across his stern expression. “Again.”

“Jamie.”

“Warmer.”

“J-J-something—”

“Gettin’ colder, sweetheart—”

“I need the pill.”

It just tumbles out, an exasperated, desperate plea. Miller, a bit taken aback by your candor, drains of his previous playfulness. You almost notice the split second those dark eyes glaze over. For a second, you’re almost convinced he’s distracted by his imagination’s recreations of the act that had you making such a request.

You almost notice the tingling between your thighs.

He stares. You stare back.

Fuck.

It was moments like this that made you wish Tess was still around. Oh, she wouldn’t be any kinder — no, not at all — but she’d certainly be more professional. Tess was all work, no play. Joel was…

You’re enjoying this, you bastard. You’re enjoying that I’m cornered like this, aren’t you?

The bathroom handle clicks when it turns, and your heart drops into your toes.

Maybe Miller really wasn’t going to help you. Maybe he didn’t have the pill and you’d just embarrassed yourself for nothing. Or, maybe he did, but preferred outing you to your dad at the very first opportunity — letting him deal with you the only way he knew how.

Your fears seem confirmed: his eyes leave the grace of your own, trailing back to his big, splayed hands on the countertop. Unwelcome tears burn the corners of your eyes as the panic begins to set in, as footsteps begin to fall…

“Mine. Tonight.”

It’s low and rushed, but it’s clear, cutting off to the sound of your father lumbering in. A man who saw, thought, and lived through transactions, he’s (thankfully) blissfully ignorant of the tension collapsing around him.

“Morning,” he throws your way.

A taunt, of course — it was well past noon.

You nod in acknowledgement, slowly backing into the doorway of your sacred, beckoning room. They resume their conversation from before, letting you sink into irrelevance.

Before shutting yourself in, you catch a few of Miller’s hushed words. They’re spoken casually to your father but, you later decide, surely meant for you:

“Not that one kid — Jeremy — don’t trust him.”

The door seals (well, not seals… it creaks on its rusty hinges and squeezes into its shrinking frame), and relief courses through you, reaching the very tips of your fingers.

That only lasts a minute.

Soon, you’re negotiating with the rising anxiety of being at Miller’s place alone, asking for his help with a problem that could’ve been avoided if you’d only kept your legs shut.

Alone with Miller, the both of you knowing that you hadn’t.

Crawling back under your covers, you begrudgingly make a vow of celibacy. If this was the cost of attention and a (potential) mid-range orgasm, you were about to become very frugal.

Dreams come easy, but they don’t come sweet.

Flashes of last night’s sins overlay Joel Miller’s unintelligible speech, his voice from the next room over lulling you into a rather confusing, disturbed sleep.

—

At nighttime, it’s a short walk to his building.

Down this alley, past this street, up this back stairwell. Part of being in with Boston’s seedy underbelly gained you access to the best and most up-to-date intel; by the age of twelve, you could run the safest — well, least policed — post-curfew routes from memory.

(Which had come in handy in situations a lot more dire than this.)

Sneaking in was easy, although you cursed him for being so preoccupied during the day. Coming in at this hour required some delicate maneuvers through a half-shattered window, and a less-than-graceful leap down left you with a nick on your cheekbone and a shallow cut along the side of your hand.

Thankfully, the blood mostly dries on your walk up the six or eight or ten flights of stairs. You don’t resent the exercise; it feels good to move, putting the jitters building in every still moment in abeyance.

Still moments like the kind that passes after a barely-audible, coded knock delivered by a girl sucking on the side of her hand, almost wishing for the door not to open.

It does.

He’s in jeans — dirty jeans, dusty — and a simple flannel. It’s Miller — it’s Miller at his most Joel-Miller-like-ness.

So why am I so fucking nervous?

He holds the door open, brows knitting at the sight of your hand in your mouth.

“Window,” You offer.

He mouthes a silent ‘ah,’ before leaning forward to duck his head out the door and, in the process, somewhat sandwiching you against his chest.

Maybe it’s because he smells like forest-fires, but your skin burns red-hot.

Miller looks both ways, checking the status of the hall (empty), then nudges you into the dim light of his place with the weight of his hand against your lower back.

The door shuts behind you.

You’d been here at least a million times before, but the thoughts rising now feel so… new. The jacket strewn on the side of the sagging sofa is his — Joel Miller has sat at this table and showered, slept, fucked inside these walls.

Cut it out. It’s just ‘cause you’re alone. And older.

But what about it, now that you were alone and older?

Old enough to know what goes on between a man and a woman and a little bit of desperation at just the right amounts… and there sure was a lot of him, and some desperation, too…

“Nervous?”

Your feet hit the floor, all thoughts evaporating at the sound of his word. Blushing, you try to de-code his taunt, spoken with playfulness and too much condescension.

“Wh — what’d you — nervous for what? No.”

He’s already across the room, sifting through a box of miscellaneous items. A yellowed lamp shade catches his side-profile, illuminates the smirk spreading across his face. Then, a low command:

“Relax,” and your spine settles, acceding to his wish. “Some girls get nervous, y’know, takin’ it the first time.”

Oh.

You clear your throat, daring to take a step into his place, incensed enough to trace the indents and stab-marks decorating his kitchen table.

“No.”

You’re taken aback by the accuracy and the strength underpinning your answer. It’s true, you aren’t afraid, and hadn’t been afraid of much in a very long while.

What’s a Joel Miller to your best friend’s public hanging? What’s he to a dozen rows of semi automatics raining down on your zigzagging toes? What’s he to a period cramp?

Like a bolt of lightning hitting you in the chest, that cocky, gauche and indelicate rebel you’d grown into reappears.

“I’ve been told I take things pretty well my first time.” The tension rises — this time, at your command — just as Joel does, carrying a leather pouch in his right hand. “And it’s not, anyways,” you add for good measure.

The leather drops onto the marked-up table. Joel crosses his arms.

“Not sellin’ me on givin’ you one of these, sweetheart.”

He gestures to the bag.

A mock-frown as you draw closer to him. His eyes, although severe, reflect the playfulness dancing in your own.

“Why not?” You ask, voice dripping with false innocence.

Joel’s gaze doesn’t stray as it hardens, focused on your own. “They’re for accidents, mistakes, attacks,” he explains, deep and dangerous, “Not girls who can’t keep their pretty lil’ legs together.”

Oof.

On one hand, it sounds like he’s genuinely chastising you for your careless behaviour. But, on the other, he sounds jealous, taunting, hungry.

I’ll play that hand.

Sleeping all day had left you wide awake, and that long-time, school-girl crush on the man before you was dying for content to fantasize about. Even if he pushed you off, you’d get to feel the weight of his hands on your body, right?

So, you return with a taunt of your own: “You think my legs are pretty?”

He shakes his head, his signature scowl spreading as he mostly ignores you. “I think you should at least use condoms,” a breath, “N’ know their first names.”

Ouch.

“I usually do.” you murmur, “and it broke last night.”

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit?”

Joel sighs and lowers himself into one of the four old, rickety chairs lining the table. His hand comes up to his temples and you notice how his legs, exhausted, part.

The man doesn’t deign to respond.

Irritation begins to well in your core, sneaking through your arms and up into your throat. The muscle in your jaw must be twitching like crazy.

How does he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Across the QZ, as a skilled liar and born and bred bandit, people tended to hold whatever image of you that you’d crafted for them.

Not Joel. Never Joel.

He saw through you in a way that had always felt… intimate. It was one of the reasons, you guessed, he didn’t dare spend too much time alone with you and why you’d always been curious about him (as a man, of course). Now, there was no avoiding your obvious vulnerability from either of you — you were stripped bare, your dressings in his hand.

It makes you want to flee as much as it makes you want to leap into his arms.

You snatch up the pouch, opening it up to find a mass of differently coloured and shaped pills. Rifling through, you ignore Joel’s stare boring into your hands’ erratic search.

“Yellow ones,” he says.

“I know what they look like,” you retort.

“‘Course you do.”

He moves faster than he should be able to.

One moment, your palm is slicing through the air, headed straight for the highest point of his cheek. The next, you’re facedown on the table. Your attacking hand is caged in by a much larger, much stronger one, pinned to the decaying wood; the other, he pins behind your back. Pills litter the floor — Joel’s boot crunches into a wayward one as he adjusts himself behind you, leaning over your struggling, smaller frame, immobilizing you with his weight.

“Let go of me—” you hiss, words smothered by the wooden surface pressed to your profile.

“—Shut up ‘n listen,” he commands, leaning over to tower over his trapped victim. “Try that again n’I’ll do worse’n kill you. Understand?”

Despite the authenticity of his threat, a strangled laugh wracks your lungs.

“Gonna turn me in for contraband, Miller? Watch them gun me down in the square?”

You smile through your heavy breaths. There, behind your hips, is a growing movement indicative of some other kind of punishment he’s got in mind.

“Or,” you continue on coyly, “Give me another reason to need that pill?”

Joel pauses, untangling your meaning.

Then, an exasperated scoff. His hold tightens on your wrist and you wince. “You always thinkin’ of the fastest way to get a man to fuck you?”

“Only when his cock’s pressed against my ass.”

He goes quiet — only for a moment. Somewhere outside, rounds echo through the night.

“Z’that what you want?” His voice is deep and threatening, promising of the kind of hard, mind-numbing fuck you’d been craving for weeks.

After a hard swallow, you nod, catching the raise of his eyebrows in your periphery.

A moment passes as he mulls over your answer. Only your shallow, anticipatory breaths populate the quiet space.

“Alright.”

And he lets go.

Heart racing, wrists aching, you flip around to his neutral, impenetrable expression.

“Get down on your knees.”

Without taking a moment to decide whether you’re living anything more than just a really fucked up dream, you sink to your knees, folding your hands in your lap (to stop them from shaking). Before you, Joel’s bulge twitches while he watches you yielding to submission, and you try to ignore the excitement building between your own two legs.

His eyes burn into yours: black, starved, weighty. He tells you to shut your own and you do, unable to resist the tone of his command. Within the self-imposed darkness, Joel’s following order — ‘open your mouth,’ — parts your lips as if they were under his spell. You wonder what you must look like to him, needy and ready to receive whatever you’re given.

He speaks again.

“Show me your tongue, angel.”

The gruffness punctuating his arousal doesn’t let you stand a chance. You let your mouth fall open wider.

Next, there’s rustling. You try to remember whether or not he’d had on a belt, listening and failing to hear the soft clinks of a buckle coming undone.

Too soon, something wraps around your chin — thick, calloused fingers — and the pressure of a thumb running down the middle of your tongue sends a rush of electricity down every stacked vertebrae. It’s slow, tantalizingly slow, as if the man were trying to memorize the feel of every groove, ridge, and bud on his leisurely way out.

When Joel drops his hand, a small weight remains at the back of your throat.

“Close.”

You do, opening your eyes to meet his own: severe and wanting — or wanting for severity?

It’s a pill. That much is obvious once the taste begins to spread, bitter and chemical and totally gag-worthy. He follows up with ‘swallow’ for his own sick enjoyment; by the time he says it, it’s clear that you already have.

What kind of game is this, Miller?

Your cheeks burn when your company kneels down. He places his big, broad hand partly on your neck, partly to the side of your jaw, and you’re still too taken aback to tear it off. The feel of his rough palm against your racing pulse silences every urge to enact revenge. Words don’t come — too quickly forgotten on one’s knees.

“You’re way too easy for your own good, sweetheart,” he near-whispers, shooting to kill in a blow packed tight with condescension. “Don’t let me see you here again.”

And that’s it: your cue to get lost.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Miller pulls away from your reddening skin, straightening to stand. You follow suit soon after, heart pumping lead, tongue bruised by the memory of his touch (more overwhelming than the metallic residue dripping down your throat).

He turns, running a few fingers through his hair. It’s the last look you get before resigning yourself to the journey back home.

Still, before turning the rusted handle, in a brief moment of respite, of clarity, you seize the final word:

“I’m only ‘easy’ when I’m drunk. Or interested.”

Silence courses through the room as Joel registers the meaning behind your confession.

“Goodnight, Miller.”

With that, you see yourself into the hallway, checking its status before tearing into the stairwell.

You barely breathe.

He wanted me — he had to have wanted me.

Miller was a pragmatic player; surely, he’d only bother to play with toys he liked like that… right?

Right?

Unable to clear your head or cool the heat radiating through your core, you take the long way home, the distant sounds of a war between rivals soothing the cacophony of noise swimming between your ears.

—

For the next two weeks, all you’re able to think about is him.

You think about him when he’s gone and when he’s in the room, grumbling in hushed tones to your father. You think about him when you’re unable to fall asleep, letting your hands slip beneath the waistband of your shorts, imagining your own fingers as thick, tan ones running through the warmth between your legs.

He takes no notice of you — a fact you deeply resent. Even in your skimpiest clothing, he’s like a damn horse with blinders on. You decide, in the past weeks, he’d either acquired the patience of Job or purged every sinful craving from his system when he’d stuck his fingers down your throat.

Naturally, you’re more than happy when, at breakfast (two in the afternoon), your father gives you the heads up about tonight’s gathering at the Bar (which was really just an asbestos-ridden basement equipped with enough prohibition-style gadgets and architecture to host a good ‘strategic meeting’ every other month).

“Everyone’s gonna be there,” he mumbles. “Need you to keep your ears open. Had to take a couple rats out last week…”

Everyone’s gonna be there.

Smiling to yourself, your thoughts start to spin out. Business, distractions, booze. Tonight would host a million opportunities for you to get him alone.

Hope blooms through your chest.

Do your worst, Miller.

—

“Man, I wish we could’ve experienced cocktails. Straight hooch is ass.”

A peer named Mel, just a year older than yourself, cringes as she sips on whatever murky liquor’s found its way into her cup.

You don’t mind the taste so much, having grown mostly immune to its taste and burn. In fact, you’d come to welcome the subsequent lapse in breath and judgement.

There was little else in this world that made you feel alive.

“Mhm,” you respond absent-mindedly, looking for a familiar scowl among the mass of scowls peppering the crowd.

A sigh to your right. “Always awesome, having your attention.”

The criticism snaps you back into your body. You smile sheepishly at your friend, apologizing through a wince.

She shrugs, her raggedy, pin-decorated jacket jingling with the movement. “S’okay. Known you long enough to know that look.”

For that, she receives a quizzical glance.

Mel comes back with a scoff. “No victims tonight?”

“Oh god,” you shoot her a look of disgust. “Do you mind not using such weird vocabulary? Make me sound like a predator.”

As the words tumble out, you zero in on the object of your search. There he is: eyebrows knit together in concentration, drink in hand, unsurprisingly (and annoyingly) in conversation with your father. A few other stragglers are in the mix, too, but they’re easily overlooked. Time slows to a full stop in his wake —only for the briefest of seconds —

“Well since the last guy actually wound up dead a week later, I think it’s fitting.”

Once again, Mel’s managed to wrangle your interest.

You stare blankly into her onyx eyes, ringlets falling through molasses around her face. “Jeremy?”

And she’s bewildered. “You didn’t hear?”

This time, both of your heads turn in the same direction.

“Ratted to FEDRA about the storehouse off tenth,” she explains, gesturing towards Miller and your father with a tilt of her head. Famous for her bravery, she stoops into your shoulder, averting his gaze and speaking under her breath, “Judging by the way they found him, my guess is it was mostly Miller’s stuff.”

It’s as if she’d screamed it.

The subject of your conversation turns to face you right as your company’s words drift off. Despite the level of noise, the amount of people, and the cloudiness of the air, you’re trapped in the corridor of your mutual stare, cornered.

The challenge, the knowing marking his expression.

“I need some air.”

You twist into the body standing behind you, shoving row after row of criminal scum out of the way. Mel doesn’t follow — she’d never hung around to comfort you, only to inform you. A mutual, typical relationship for the age, and just how things worked in the QZ.

You slam into the door, stomping into a deserted, silent alley, empty save for a few drunk strays. Your lips begin to tingle and a scream builds inside your lungs. Stalking blindly into the night, unsure of your direction, alone in half a top and a plain, ass-length skirt, shivering despite the warmth of the air…

You’re practically begging for trouble.

Just as your eyes catch the numbers on the old, rusted street sign above, just as you realize you’re on a monitored street tonight, only safe after curfew every other Monday and Wednesday, you’re grabbed by the waist, pulled into the space between two buildings, and shoved into a sheltered nook.

A dim, yellow light clicks on automatically. There’s a door (chained closed) leading into the building to your left and darkness to your right.

And there’s Joel Miller above you, his expression indeterminable.

“You asshole,” you barely hear yourself breathe over the sound of the blood rushing in your ears before lunging forward in a useless attempt to, once again, strike his profile.

He catches your wrist, no doubt having anticipated the attack. It’s written on your face, in your eyes, in your shallow, uneven inhalations. He takes your other hand before you’ve even thought to use it, lifting it above your head and slamming it against the old stucco behind you.

“You’re violent,” he says flatly.

He tightens his hold when you struggle against it. “Proud of yourself, yeah? You’re a killer.”

That inspires a slight smirk. You half expect him to return with an ‘as if you didn’t already know that.’

Instead, he says, “Sweetheart, you didn’t even know his name.”

“You should’ve told me.”

And that’s the real source of this anger: it’s rage at being the last to know.

And for what? To protect your feelings? Since when had anyone in your life bothered to do that?

“And don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” you add for good measure.

You’d wanted him to touch you so badly for weeks now, but here, scorned at being left in the dark and confused at the death of a paramour, you only want to get free.

“And what’d he call you?” He spits, leaning down and in, inadvertently pressing his thigh between your legs — when his breath grazes the skin of your ear, it causes them to part (against your better judgement). “Got lots of names, right?” He continues to tease, “Heard your boyfriend’s pretty one for you before I shut him up — ‘that fuckin’ slut,’ f’I’m rememberin’ right.”

Despite your rage-shakes, you’re warming at the core, Joel’s pressure against it dizzying your already-addled head. It confuses you, makes the scorn easier to access.

“How did I come up, Miller?” You exhale, jutting your chin towards him. “Couldn’t help asking for all the dirty little details, could you?”

He smiles, and the act lacks any sort of kindness. “‘Lot easier gettin’ him alone once he thought he was meetin’ you.” Joel slams your wrist harder into the wall when you try to wriggle away. “Not sure you wanna keep making that kind of impression, angel.”

It’s hard to rationalize with him so close, as his pet-names echoe inside your head. He’d used your name to enact gang-law violence on a boy who’d been inside you, and yet, all you can think, all you can hear, is the way ‘sweetheart’ sounds tumbling off his lips.

“Fucking let me go, Miller,” you manage to exasperate, resenting the begging edge to every word. “I don’t need another abstinence lecture from you.”

Kicking one ankle off balance, Joel turns you around, pressing your stomach to the wall, your back into his chest. Ignoring your whines and pitiful struggle, he wraps a free hand around your neck, pushing your head against his collarbone. Your stomach erupts with butterflies as the rough pad of his thumb traces the front of your throat.

Yes — no — yes, he wants me — no, no, this is wrong, this is so wrong —

“‘Be wasted on you, anyways,” he says, rough and earnest, like his hand sliding down your chest, your breasts, your stomach, “Startin’ to realize if I can’t fix your dad’s mistakes…” and he’s finding the hem of your skirt and yanking it up, bunching the fabric around your hips —

“Might as well take advantage of them.”

He moves hungrily. He’s everywhere, sliding into your underwear and across your breasts, his big arms and suffocating biceps enveloping your entire frame.

“Joel—”

But he claps a hand over your mouth, silencing any hope of your pleas being effective.

“Think I haven’t seen you? Your lil’ looks…” a low laugh, “n’ those fuckin’ clothes?” God, the rumble, the sheer want in his voice hammers at your initial resistance, and you feel yourself welcoming the feel of his thick, long fingers, sliding between your wet folds. You’re clay, melting against the curved, firm wall of his chest.

You mewl pathetically into his palm.

Another low laugh wracks his lungs, dances at the top of your ear.

“Knew you’d be this wet for me.”

“Knew since you got down on your knees,” Joel continues, uncovering your mouth only to ease a few fingers between your lips — lips that part as though commanded, and a mouth that welcomes and caresses whatever it receives, “‘N opened this pretty lil’ mouth for me to fuck it. Can’t close my eyes without seein’ you like that — so fuckin’ needy.” He exhales from between his teeth, signalling his approval while you suck him down to the knuckles.

His fingers tease your clit and you give him your thanks by pleasuring those of his other hand.

When his hands move, it’s to hold you steady and balanced as he drags your underwear down your legs. That thick, heavy cloud of arousal hides any and all rational thoughts from view.

And he knows. He knows you’re past the point of no return, restraining you only out of his desire to rather than out of a real need to. He knows from the whine you breathe at the loss of his hand against your clit, moving to work at his belt buckle instead.

“Gonna use a condom?” You breathe, emboldened by your clearing senses at the temporary lack of stimulation.

At first, you think he’s missed your taunt.

He backs up, pulling your hips along with him until the tips of your fingers are no longer touching the decaying wall before you. Joel pulls you upright and against him with an arm around your waist and a hand around your throat, turning your head and tilting it back to meet your eyes.

You grasp onto his forearms, failing to stand, unable to breathe. His hardness digs into your back, and his cruel eyes show you just how much pleasure he takes in your struggle.

“Don’t like to waste ‘em,” he finally answers, rocking his cock against your spine, “But I will if you beg. You gonna beg?”

He manipulates your answer, fingers moving to your red-hot core — he barely grazes the nerves, only dancing over the needy flesh. You can’t tear your eyes from him either, tethered to your body through his gaze.

Joel Miller was a frustrating lover.

“N-no,” is your answer, slightly strangled and softly stuttered.

He smiles. “S’what I thought.” Then, “Show me what you can do, angel,” he coos, lips just inches away from yours, his hold on your body relaxing —

“Use your pretty lil’ hands n’ put my cock where you want it most.”

And you both know exactly where that is.

After a nod, Joel allows you to bend forward slowly — it’s like moving through honey. Your legs burn with effort as you reach between your legs to wrap a hand around his thick, hard length.

Christ, he’s huge.

He groans when you touch him and uses his own hand to help guide his tip between your folds. One hand holds your waist, fingers extended under your ribs to support your weight in a skilled show of experience.

With his tip at your aching entrance, you try to lean back, to slide yourself slowly down his many inches.

But Joel doesn’t allow it.

He pushes into you in one go, clicking his tongue at your strangled gasp —

The man hadn’t even bothered to open you up with his fingers.

“Ah, c’mon,” he condescends, “You can take it.”

Then he’s setting a hard pace, hands moving from your hips to your ribs to your biceps to your hair to your neck — anywhere he wanted to go, he went. One eventually comes to the front of your throat, tilting your eyes back and up towards the ceiling. Every one of his thrusts arches your back further until you’re contorting into a half-moon shape, standing only by the grace of his support.

And it feels so good. Joel fills you up to the brim, takes you to heaven and floods your ears with hymns, punishes you in the kind of way you’d only experienced in dreams.

Words tumble out, but they’re filled with nothingness. “Joel,” “fuck,” and “yesohgodyes,” quickly become staples of your vocabulary.

He laughs whenever you sob, grows harder every time you moan, restrains you when you try to run away.

The hand around your throat tightens, digging unforgivably into the flesh as you start to let go, as your walls begin to clench and flutter appreciatively around his cock.

“M’I making you happy, sweetheart? My cock making you smile?” He asks gruffly, pulling you back into his chest. Joel readjusts you into whatever shape you need to be in at the new angle, hips still slamming into your ass. Struggling to stand on your tiptoes, he steadies you with his arms and his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look up into his rugged face.

“Mmhm,” is all you can offer him, the pitch jumping up halfway through when the head of his cock grazes that perfect spot inside your cunt.

He doesn’t let up.

“Show me, baby—” he commands, out of breath, too, but not nearly as tortured as you, “—Show me your smile.”

You do your best, smiling up at him, degrading yourself even more at the hands of Joel-fucking-Miller. And he eats it up, loves the way your grin turns into a bitten lip and knit eyebrows over closed eyes, slowing his thrusts to rock even deeper inside you.

You moan something unintelligible, and a laugh rustles through your tangled hair.

“Am I makin’ you come?”

You nod, feeling that familiar rush of pressure blooming somewhere within that throbbing bundle of nerves under his spell.

He smirks in pride and victory, the last look you get before your head falls against his shoulder, your muscles going lax as the peak builds, as your half-sobs grow louder.

“S’it, baby, tell ‘em,” he coos, nipping and sucking the skin on the side of your throat. “Gonna tell the whole street how you take it like a good lil’ slut.”

His fingers fall to your clit, enticing you right over the edge. You vision blurs and your legs shake, but Joel talks you through your orgasm, sweet nothings starting with, “S’right — show me — yes, fuck — good girl…”

And then —

He stops.

You whine, stars dancing before your eyes as the mean, mean man inside you refuses to fuck you through your climax.

“Joel,” you plead, grinding back against him in a pathetic show of need, “Come with me.”

He does the opposite, sliding himself out of your sore opening. You turn to face him, restoring your balance with hands against his chest, gazing up at him in desire-stricken reproach.

“Use your mouth,” he says, voice gruff at your ruined sight and from his own hand on his cock, keeping his arousal level, “Not gettin’ any more help from me.”

It’s unclear whether ‘help’ means pills or his cock, but you assume both to be safe.

You try to argue (having spent the last few weeks dreaming of Joel dripping down your legs) but he just won’t budge.

Then, his voice softens.

“You know your dad’d kill me, angel.”

And it’s really the sweetness of his tone that does it.

Sinking to your knees, it’s déjà vu when you open wide for him, steadying your shaking knees with both hands on his half clothed, half naked hips. Gravel and debris dig painfully into your bare knees, but you ignore the sting, smiling instead at the taste of yourself on Joel’s cock, lips sliding adoringly down the thick length of it.

He groans his approval, tangling his fingers in your hair to help guide your movements.

As you take him in again and again and again, pleasing every inch of him, he chokes out a laugh.

“Never seen you so quiet,” he muses (mostly to himself), caressing your cheekbone with his free hand —

“Gagged by an old man’s cock.”

You pull off, pumping him with both hands, asking breathlessly, “Are you all so big?”

He smiles, eyes darkening at the dirty compliment. “Give you a few numbers n’ you can tell me.”

God, he’s beautiful from down here.

You hold his attention and lick a slow stripe down the underside of his cock, half-grinning up at his lust-filled expression.

“I only want yours, Joel Miller.”

An uneasy inhale as you take him back in, his brows furrowing and his cock growing impossibly harder. Your words please him, he returns by groaning orders and praises like: “S’all yours, baby — take it all — take aaall that dick — good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s so close and you know it, moaning in submission at his hand’s pressure against the back of your head. With your nose crunched into his abdomen, you hold your throat open for him to use it however he pleases — reduced to nothing more than the man’s plaything.

There’s a low “ah, fuck,” from above, and then you finally know what Joel Miller tastes like.

It’s better than the Plan B.

You hear nothing beyond his recovering breaths, feel nothing past pride, lust, and exhaustion.

Eventually, he loosens his grip. You pull off of him delicately, drawing a groan from between his gritted teeth when you make sure to suck every last drop of his seed into your mouth.

Sitting back on your ankles, you roll your head up to face him.

He swipes a thumb under your lips, clearing the saliva connecting you to his softening cock.

“Still mad at me?” He asks.

You’d be crazy to say yes.

“Only for pulling out.”

You note the twitch at the corner of his mustache.

Joel helps you back on your feet, using one hand to pull you up by your arm and another to arrange himself back to decency.

You adjust your shirt; Joel fixes your skirt. It’s a strange kind of silence settling inside this pocket at the side of a random, ruined building.

Then, your company clears his throat, that mask of seriousness falling over his expression once again.

“You gonna be smart?”

What ever could he mean?

Stay away from him? Stay away from men? Practice abstinence? Use protection?

Either way, you’re not one to make promises you know you can’t keep.

You cross your arms.

“No.”

He sighs.

Well, looks like things are already back to normal.

His face softens and he shakes his head, already regretting his next words. “Just — just come find me, then. I won’t do… this again, but — but I’ll help.”

You frown.

“What do you mean, ‘this’?”

He stares down into your accusatory eyes with a look you’d received many times from him, one screaming, “get real.”

“Fine,” you mutter, breaking eye-contact, “Thank you.”

With a stoic nod, he walks around you, heading back into the night. You try, in vain, to watch him go in silence — god knows you had some thinking to get to — and find that, instead of getting it out of your system, the entanglement had only left you wanting for more.

And more and more.

“Is this what you meant?” and you hear his footsteps halt, “When you told me you’d do worse than kill me? When I tried to hit you?”

It comes out before you can help it, and you twist around to face his still, broad shoulders.

You can hear the smile teasing his lips as he utters the words.

“Why are you askin’ me that?”

Still facing his back, you break into a smile of your own. “So I’ll know what I have to do to get you to do it again.”

You watch him shake his head, grey-streaked ripples in the low light.

“Try your best not to find out, angel.”

With that, he disappears into the darkness, leaving you in the flickering doorway. Thighs aching, heart racing, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of what it felt to have them taken from you by Joel Miller.

A feeling you’d chase.

—

Put your red boots on

Baby, giddy up

Baby wants a dance

Baby gets her way

Dreamy nights

Talk to me with that whiskey breath

Twirl me twice

I'll treat you like a holiday

And don't say you're over me

When we both know that you ain't

Don't say you're over me

Baby, it's already too late

Just do what you do best with me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like a ballerina, super high

Dance me all around the moon

Light me up like the 4th of July

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When we both know that you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

When you lie down right next to me

Get your jacket on

Be a gentleman

Get into your truck

And pick me up at eight

'Cause we were built for

The long haul freight train

Burnt by fire

Without trial like a stowaway

And don't say you're over me

When they all know that you ain't

If you lay down right next to me

Dance me all around the room

Spin me like ballerina super high

Dance me all around the moon

Like six times 'til I'm sick and I cry

Once, twice, three times

The guy I ever thought I would meet, so

Don't say you're over me

When they all know that you're lying

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

If you lie down right next to me

Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie

Lie, you lie

When you lie down right next to me

—

TAGLIST (cont’d in reblogs): @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @redhotkitchen @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @kamcrazy123 @wclverine

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #dbf!joel miller #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

[dirtyvulture]

Natasha Romanoff x Sergeant!Beefy!Reader

Set in my Sergeant Beef universe

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: sgt beef getting deployed and not coming back 

:( poor nat 

AN: The people asked for angst, so I delivered! 😈

No pronouns used.

Natasha holds her handkerchief in a death grip, the white fabric drenched through with her tears. Steve sits next to her, his presence a familiar comfort and anchoring her to the present when all she wants to do is stand up and scream, run away and never look back.

This wasn’t supposed to be how she saw you after your 12-month deployment. She was supposed to greet you at the airport, running into your strong arms and trying to pour one whole year’s worth of love into a kiss. She wanted you to carry her back to the car, take her home and make love to her until the sun came up.

But that never happened. In fact, it was only three months into your deployment when General Fury authorized the high-risk operation that cost you your life. Your six team members came home to their families, but you came home in a box.

Natasha doesn’t listen to the speeches. She hardly reacts to the gun salute. She sobs silently into her handkerchief once more when “Taps” is played on a bugle. Steve puts his hand on her shoulder as they watch the flag on your casket neatly folded over 13 times, into a blue triangle with the white stars showing outward.

Sam Wilson approaches Natasha, kneeling and holding out the folded flag to her. 

“Sergeant Romanoff,” he says, and Natasha forces herself to look at him. He was quite possibly the last person to see you alive, as you had sacrificed yourself to enemy gunfire to give him and the other five soldiers time to escape. Natasha knows she can’t blame Sam for surviving when you didn’t; she sees the heartbreak in his eyes and knows he will carry this guilt for the rest of his life.

“On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.”

Natasha hesitates, as if not accepting the flag will mean you’re not really gone. She doesn’t want this flag. She wants you. She wants you standing next to her, making a dumb joke that has her laughing and cringing at the same time. She wants to spend the rest of her life with you by her side, exploring the world, trying new things, starting a family. But now that was a fantasy that would only exist in her head.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers next to her.

With shaking hands, she extends her arms and Sam gently places the flag in them. He stands and gives her a salute. Natasha clutches the flag to her chest, hastily wiping away her tears so they don’t drip onto the fabric.

Steve stands and walks with her to your casket. He maintains a respectful distance away as she shares her final moment with you.

Natasha leans forward and says the three words you never got to hear while you were alive.

“I love you.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: This is not canon to the main universe. But I still screamed and cried while writing this. :)

To read the canon version, click here! 

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #sergeant beef au #natasha romanoff x reader

[jasntodds]

Too Heavy | J.T.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Request: @just-lost-inbetween-worlds​ : Can I get Jason Todd (doesn’t matter which version) with the prompts: bloodied knuckles, wiping the others tears away, as well as crying into their chest. Maybe bloodied knuckles bcs of punching something in a mental breakdown and then the rest happens.  Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompts

Summary: Sometimes things get a little too heavy for Jason

Warnings: Angst, blood, mentions of death, mental breakdown, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,802

A/n: I was listening to a lot of Too Heavy by The Plot In You while I wrote this so here we are lol If you wanna be added to my tag list, click the link below, send me an ask, or comment!! You can also follow my library blog @peteprkerlibrary​ !! If you like this, please reblog it and/or talk to me about it!!

masterlist | request info | tag list

Everyone has bad days. They come and they go. It gets better. It always gets better. But for Jason, his bad days are sometimes so rough and harsh, the world collapses from under him. He falls through the cracks into a black abyss, surrounded by every failure he’s ever had. He falls and falls and falls until he finally hits the bottom and the wind is sucked from his lungs in a hard smack. Leaving him alone in the pitch black coldness. Today is one of those days.

He’s just gotten back from patrol and he was quiet not to wake you. He walks steadily to the bathroom but his thoughts are circling the drain. Every step he takes is like twenty pounds added to his ankles and another thought joins the damned ride. Jason’s chest grows heavy as he finally reaches the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The worst nights of patrol involve kids and tonight did. It’s always the most innocent of people that get to him. Most nights, he can handle it because it’s part of the job. It’s one of the reasons he puts the helmet on every night. But tonight is different. Tonight is different because it didn’t have the hopeful ending it should have and it’s not fucking fair.

Jason’s hands grip the bathroom counter so hard he thinks he might shatter it in his palms. He almost hopes he does. He looks at himself in the mirror, his back slightly hunched over and he looks hollow. A discarded shell of who he should have been. And he can’t stand it. His head spins while his eyes slam shut and his grip tightens harder against the cool stone.

His chest starts to heave as his breathing quickens. His chest grows heavy and he wants to start ripping out every single one of his organs in hopes it’ll lift some of the weight. The heaviness is suffocating and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think this would be his end.

But he knows better.

And this is the never-ending hell he’s trapped in while the inability to save the kids tonight triggers memories to flood back like overflowing rivers in a flash flood.

There’s the echo of metal on concrete seeping into his blood stream and that menacing laugh that never should be called a laugh beats against his eardrum. The feeling of the panic he felt that day wraps him in a cruel and painful hug as if to be living off of his inability to breathe properly. Images of the Joker and the look on his mom’s face flash across his eyes and he can’t take the heaviness of it all anymore.

The grief he suffers with is nearly paralyzing and it is agonizing. They say grief gets better but when is it that supposed to happen? Because it’s been years and he can’t breathe and he wants to rip his lungs out of his chest just to feel anything other than this. He was just a kid.

Jason was a just a kid.

Tears burn his eyes, one slipping by and sliding down his cheek and he grits his teeth so hard they nearly shatter under the pressure. All he wants is for it all to stop for even a second. He wants one damn second of relief.

He looks up at his own reflection once more and he can see some bruising from last week and he hates it. The white streak in his hair almost seems whiter in the light of the bathroom and he hates it. He hates it. He hates it and he can’t do it. He punches the mirror in a quick motion, just once and it shatters into the sink and over the counter.

“Fuck.” Jason groans because he knows it was loud and he can’t stop the tears now. They’re drenching his face and his breathing is racing, quivering.

Blood spills into the sink as Jason hovers his shaking hand over it. Not a single part of him even cares or pays the stinging any mind. All he can do is try his best to breathe and shake his thoughts away but nothing works. They’re still there. Flashing across his eyes like lightning in the middle of a raging storm.

His legs start to feel weak as if he’s just gotten done running for miles on end. It’s getting harder to stand the more he tries to fight his own breath and thoughts. His head spins and he his stomach turns and twists into gnawing nausea. And he can’t even be bothered to stand anymore because that is just getting too damn hard too. His own body is growing too heavy with every passing thought and he swears that’s some sort of cruel joke.

Jason sits on the floor against the counter, hanging his head and pulling his knees up to his chest. Tears fall down his cheeks and he tries to fight them off with every thought he has but nothing works. They fall anyway, staining his cheeks in a wet mess.

“Jason?” You call from outside the door. 

The shattering of glass woke you up and for a few seconds, you thought someone had actually broken in. And you were nearly frozen, stuck thinking if you had a weapon of any sort in the bedroom you could use. But then those seconds faded and you didn’t hear footsteps or shuffling through the apartment. You didn’t hear anything and when you checked the time to see it was after three, you knew.

“Jay?” You call again, knocking on the door gently when he doesn’t answer.

Your groggy voice breaks his heart. He never meant to wake you up.

Jason slides his hands over his face and clears his throat. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.” Jason tries to stabilize his voice but you can hear the weakness and quiver. He’s mastered the art of hiding pain but not disguising the pain of crying.

Taking the knob in your hand, you twist it slowly, gently pushing the door open. You spot Jason still in his Red Hood gear, minus the helmet, sitting on the floor with drops of blood on the floor. He keeps his head hung and his forearms on his knees. You spot blood on his knuckle with open wounds before you see the broken mirror and your heart just breaks for him.

You step in slowly and cautiously as if moving too quickly will make him dissolve right into the floor. “Hey,” You crouch down beside him, tilting your head to try and get a look at his face that’s covered by his messy hair. “What happened, Jay?”

“I’m fine.” Jason forces the words from the back of his throat and he hates how weak they sound. 

You don’t like the answer because anyone who’s fine doesn’t break a mirror. Anyone who’s fine doesn’t sit on the bathroom floor at three in the morning with bloody knuckles crying. He’s not fine but Jason has never been very good at admitting to anyone when he’s not. He’d rather drown than ask for a life preserver.

You move in front of him, sitting on your knees. You reach out cautiously, putting your hands on his wet cheeks. Jason’s eyes shut down hard with your touch and you’re so gentle with him. Why? What’s he done to deserve it?

You pick his head up softly and Jason lets you. His eyes are bloodshot as he looks at you. His pretty blue eyes are now a haunting shade of navy, like the sky over the ocean in the middle of hurricane. Why does the world treat him with such cruelty?

“Please, go back to bed.” He nearly begs you because you shouldn’t have to deal with all of his trauma.

It’s not fair for you to lose sleep over him. He swears you shouldn’t and you don’t deserve it. All he wants is to be alone with his grief. If anyone has to suffer what he went through, it has to be him. It can’t involve you. Not you.

But you’re stubborn and that thing in your chest beats endlessly for him.

You can see his chest moving harshly with every breath and he might be Red Hood but he was Jason Todd first. A kid trying to survive the best he could. A kid who just wanted to learn and be a kid. Smart mouth and relentless as hell. But a kid no one looked out for. Red Hood looks out for so many people, but who’s supposed to look out for Jason Todd?

“Please, I’m fine.” Jason voice finally cracks as a tear escapes his bottom lid. “Just go to bed. I’ll be there a minute.”

You move your hands from his cheeks and he thinks, for a second that for once, you might actually listen to him. And he’d be lying if that didn’t hurt, too. But, it’s you and you were never very good at following his instructions even on good days so you move closer to him and stretch out your arms.

“Come here, Jay.” Your voice is soft, etched in worry and love.

He’s reluctant at first because he knows if he does, he’ll lose it entirely. Every piece of him that’s been able to hold in a sob will finally crack and that’ll be it. But he sees the worry in every tired line of your face and you always look so inviting.

“I’m worried about you. Please.” You plead with him, your voice cracking with a mix of tiredness and sadness. And Jason can’t hold it in anymore because you’re worried about him.

Jason moves his legs and moves closer to you, resting his head against your chest because at his point, it’s all too heavy for him to even try for a proper hug. And folding into you seems a hell of a lot easier for everyone. You wrap one arm around his side and rest your other hand in his hair. And just like he breaks.

A sob rips through his throat, echoing through the bathroom and you have to swallow the lump that forms in your throat. He shakes against you, sliding his hands to your back and holding onto your shirt. His grip is tight as if he’s stuck between thinking you’ll disappear if he lets go or that he’ll disappear if he does. Your hand runs through his hair and you try to console him, knowing there isn’t much that can help at this point. But you try by playing with his hair and whispering softly to him despite your own heart aching and breaking for him.

Tears brim your own eyes as you hold him against you. If you could, you would claw out your own heart and replace his with yours. Maybe that would help some of his agony. Maybe that would make his pain a little more tolerable. Maybe if you could swap out your hearts, you could take some of his pain away. You’d do it if it meant he wouldn’t suffer so much.

Minutes tick by and his breathing is still harsh against you but the sobs have slowed. His grip is still iron-tight on your shirt and all Jason wants is for the world to stop spinning. He wants the aching in his chest to stop and he wants everything around him to stop feeling so damn heavy.

You pick his head up, cupping his cheeks in both hands again. His cheeks are tear stained and you swear you’ve never seen him look so broken before. Your thumb awipe over his cheeks, brushing the tears away gently.

Jason nearly shudders with the action.

“It’s okay, Jay.” You assure him and your voice is strained as if begging him to believe you.

“It’s fucking not.” He sputters, his brows pulling together and you can see him clench his jaw. “It’s all shit and those kids deserved fucking better.” His breath is hot, boiling on your skin as he seethes. And you know what lead him here tonight.

He told you. Right to your face he told you he died. He left out the gory details of it all for your own sake but you know he was just a kid. And you know why he was there and about the Joker. He was just a kid.

“Kids?” You questions and you know Jason always has a bad night when it involves kids.

“Forget it.” He lets out a scoff because he doesn’t want to talk about it. You don’t need to know the details.

“Hey, no.” You shake your head, eyes scanning over his face as your brows pull together. “I’ll listen all night, okay? I won’t ask anything if you don’t want me to, okay? You can talk or not. But, you’re gonna be okay.” Your eyes lock with his and he wants to believe you.

But he also knows he’ll back here again. He always comes back here. Haunted. The ghost of who he was then and the ghost of who he should have been follow him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to shake them as much as he wants to.

He places his hands over yours and you can’t help but notice how big his hands are whenever he does this. “Just so damn sick of it.” His voice is rough and exhausted.

“I know.” You nod with understanding.

You’ll never be able to understand how he feels or what he goes through but you try. And you see it across his face. You see it in the way he turns in his sleep, when he actually gets sleep. You see it in the way he’s always observing everything around him, always on guard. And you can see it in the way he is with his weapons, there’s always at least two weapons on him at any given moment. As much as you want to understand exactly what goes on inside of his head, you won’t but you can see it. So, you try your best to help and just be there in capacity he’ll let you.

“Why don’t we get you in the shower? I’ll wash your hair, clean up your hand, and we can get into bed? I’ll rub your back and you can tell me what happened if you want. Or I can read to you until you fall asleep.”

He’s almost always reluctant when it’s been bad. He never thinks he deserves the kindness and care you offer to him. On good days, he can accept it. It’s something he struggles with still because no one ever been so kind and careful with him before. So, it’s hard but on good days, he finds it easier to accept. But on bad days, like these, he’s reluctant because if he can’t see the good himself, why should anyone else? But he looks at your eyes that glossy with worry and you give him this look that makes him feel like he’s been put under a microscope. And you would do anything for him.

“Thanks.” He mutters, taking your hands away from his face. “I got it.”

“I know.” You nod your head. “I want to.” You smile gently at him, tilting your head slightly to the right. “You’re not alone, ya know?” You assure him because you think it must be lonely dealing with everything he goes through. “I got you.” 

He knows. As hard as it is for him to accept the care and kindness you offer him, he knows because he notices everything. He notices how he always wakes up with a blanket on him when he falls asleep on the couch and the way you always have his favorite protein bars on hand even though you don’t like them. You’re the one missing sleep when you have work in the morning to sit on the bathroom floor with him. It’s hard to accept sometimes and he gets in his own head about it sometimes, but at the end of the night, he has you.

And you’ve always had a way of lifting some of that weight for him, maybe without even trying.

“Okay.” Jason finally agrees, still a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You get to your feet and offer him your hand.

He almost chuckles because you can’t actually help him from the floor. But he takes your hand in his anyway, getting to his feet. You look up to him with gentle eyes before closing the distance between the two of you and wrapping your arms around him as tight as you can.

It takes a few seconds before you feel Jason relax under your hug and his arms come around your waist. His chin lays on the top of your head and he feels like he can breathe a little better now. 

When things get a little too heavy, at least he has you to help lift some of the weight.

Tag list: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog​

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood fanfiction #dc fanfiction #dc fanfic #dcu fanfiction #dcu fanfic #jason todd one shot #badthingshappenbingo

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Mind games 'til we lose control (Soldier Boy)

Pairing: Soldier Boy X Fem Supe!Reader

Summary: You knew Soldier Boy a long time ago, and when three strangers show up at your door saying he is alive, all of the feelings you thought you had buried come flooding back. Takes place during eps 5 and 6.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, you know better than these mfs), fingering, creampie, praising kink, dirty talk, Soldier Boy bc he's a warning on his own, cursing. Spoilers for ep5. Read at your own risk.

WC: 7.2k I'm sorry

A/N: Yay more soldier boy bc we love shitty characters in this household. Hes so fun to write I'm sorry. And the finale left me in my sb mood soo I finished this piece that had been sitting in my drafts since ep5 came out. Pls father forgive for I have sinned. And so will you after reading this. Enjoy you sinful fucks

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Comments are reblogs are highly appreciated!

It had been decades. Half of a lifetime for some. But for you, it didn't feel like it had been that long. Once you left Payback, after Nicaragua, your life just felt like the same day repeating itself. And you didn't exactly look a day older than you did in '84, so ever since he died, it was like you got stuck in a loop of nothing but your own thoughts and your own company. 

Until these three guys came knocking at your door. You didn't know who the fuck they were, but they sure as hell knew a lot about you. Down to your close relationship with America's favorite supe, Soldier Boy. To the public eye it was always him and Crimson Countess. But before her there was you and him. You had… Something. You didn't know what it was. He was your best friend, and you fucked, a lot. Whatever that was, you didn't know. Though that last part was always kept under wraps. But it didn't matter because you weren't Countess, you weren't PR material. You were just the girl with the psychic powers and the purple eyes. But even when he was with Countess, he would always go back to you. And you to him. As fucked up as it was. As painful as it was, you just couldn't stay away from each other, and Vought really fucking tried. 

As painful and toxic as your thing with Soldier Boy was, you liked it. You liked it like you liked the control you could have on others, the power it gave you. But even he was more addictive than that. So his death was more painful than any pain anyone could inflict on you, because that you couldn't control. And as fucked up as it was, you loved him. In your own fucked up way. 

Soldier Boy is alive, they told you. 

He was fucking alive. 

It took you a minute to understand how. They took the time to explain. You weren't surprised to learn the rest of Payback's members had to do with it. Soldier Boy wasn't exactly the most loved. He was a fucking asshole and he knew it, everyone knew it. But you don't think he ever expected his team, his own girlfriend, who you knew he eventually grew to feel something for, much to your dismay, would ever betray him like that. Fuck, did he think you betrayed him too? 

The three men, Butcher, Hughie and M.M, you learned, asked for your help. You had nothing to do with what happened, they knew that, and they were hoping Soldier Boy did too. You didn't have his superhuman strength, or bulletproof skin, but you were pretty fucking powerful. Your powers, while psychic, were pretty dangerous. And you could be pretty useful at times, despite what most people thought. And apparently Butcher thought so too, because he wanted you to team up with him, Hughie and possibly Soldier Boy to take down Homelander, who you had unfortunately met at one point and personally thought to be a worse, less humane and completely psychotic version of Soldier boy. And those weren't exactly a good combination. 

That wasn't what you cared about though. You cared about Soldier Boy, about Ben. You needed to see him for yourself, alive. You could figure out the rest later. 

You would be lying if you said you felt bad for the Payback members who were most likely going to die by Soldier Boy's hand, an idea you seconded as soon as Butcher mentioned using Countess as bait. Your time in Payback was goddamn agony. Every member was an absolute ass to you, with the exception of Soldier Boy, who was only half an ass to you, but you had known him prior to joining Payback. Hell he was the one who got you into Payback in the first place. You were a psychic, and the team deemed you useless, like a cheap and weaker copy of Mindstorm. Even though you were the only one who was actually disciplined and skilled in combat. And you could do a lot more than just hear people’s thoughts and trap them in their own mind until they died. But alas, supes will be supes. And they harassed and abused you to no end. Countess being the worst out of them all. She pushed you around, verbally and at times physically abused you, and often used your mind reading against you until you lost control. Ben would step in at times, as ironic as it was, considering he bullied the entire team as well. But he drew a line with you, and he would break someone's back if they bothered you. Something Countess didn't exactly like, especially towards the end, where your on and off relationship with him was fading and they got more serious. She was particularly spiteful of you for years, and you wished you could say you gave a fuck. So this turn of events was particularly enjoyable for you. 

"You fucking lying cunt." You spat at the red head, your fist collided with her jaw with a particular force fueled by both built up anger from years of abuse and also for taking the only man you ever loved from you. Her head snapped back into place to glare at you, not being able to move much from her chained position. "You told me Ben was dead. You fucking cried he was dead. And I believed you. I cried for him for years. And what were you doing? Honoring his fucking memory at an amusement park while he was being tortured and experiemeted on."

"Awe, were you sad because you couldn't be Soldier Boy's fuck toy anymore?" She tilted her head cynically and pouted mockingly. "Or was it because he never loved you?" 

Your jaw slightly twitched, and your hands twitched at your sides, faint violet sparks radiating from them as your eyes also began to glow a light shade of violet. You lifted your hand, sparks coming from your fingertips as you opened and slowly closed one of your palms, your fingers moving back and forth ever so slightly. Countess started to gasp for air, her face turning nearly as red as her hair. 

"I should've crushed your fucking throat when I had the chance in the 80s, he would probably still be with me if I had." You closed your hand more, your eyes now fully glowing a bright shade of violet. Countess was red and was choking out gasps for air when you heard your name being called, or more like yelled. 

"Oi!" Butcher yelled at you, you of course didn't move a muscle. He grabbed your shoulder and said your name again. "Oi, Violet Storm, that's enough. She's Soldier Boy's to deal with, remember?" 

Your nose twitched, for a moment losing focus to eye the hand on your shoulder. You exhaled sharply, and groaned, shrugging his hand off your shoulder as you opened your palm again, releasing Countess with a huff. She coughed violently and you were wishing she choked in her own spit. But then again you wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing Soldier Boy kill her himself. 

"I'm really gonna enjoy seeing Ben kill you like the lying and traitorous bitch that you are." You smiled at her in the same mocking and cynical way she had mere minutes ago. 

You turned around to face Butcher, jaw tight and your eyes still glowing. He gave you a look, not of fear, but of like "holy shit", there was some amusement there too. You wondered if he enjoyed hurting supes as much as you enjoyed hurting each other. Probably. You said nothing to him as you walked past him and walked out of the trailer. 

Fuck, it had been a long time since you've used your powers, since you felt so much power course through your veins your eyes lit up and sparks left your fingertips. It was like they had died with Ben, but now that you knew he was alive your powers were too. Your fingers still sparkled and your hands were shaking. Did he still remember you? It had been decades. He was tortured and experimented on in ways you couldn't even begin to imagine, would he still be the same or did they break the little humanity he had left? Would he care to know you missed him and cried for him all those years? Jesus. You closed your eyes and sighed unevenly, shaking your head in disbelief with yourself. Why? Why did he still matter so much to you? It's not like he loved you like you did him. No, he loved Countess. You knew she was right, but that didn't make you need him any less. Most supes had their drug, coke, alcohol, sex, but he was yours. 

The two men joined you outside, Hughie having stayed outside that whole time. Butcher and M.M were looking at you, both with different attitudes of course. Butcher looked slightly amused, like he was glad he made the choice to find you. While M.M looked disturbed and like he disapproved of what you had just done. You didn't care about either of their opinions though. 

"What the fuck was that? You can't be pulling shit like that." M.M reprimanded you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed. These men had known you for a collective twelve hours, and they were already telling you what to do. 

"I didn't kill her did I? She's fine." You crossed your arms over your chest. "Besides, when Soldier Boy gets here, she's gonna wish I killed her first. She has it coming." 

"That's not what we're here for. And that sure as hell isn't what we agreed on when we came looking for you." M.M argued, seemingly tensing up at the mention of Soldier boy. Butcher stood close to him, almost as if to calm him down. 

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm here for Soldier Boy. I don't owe you guys shit." You said blankly, but your expression hardened and you dropped your arms at your sides when M.M took a step towards you, his jaw tight and body tense. There it was again, like the mention of Soldier Boy riled him up. "If there is a problem with that, you can say it to my face." 

"You're awfully loyal to a guy who wouldn't so much as bat an eye if you got killed in front of him. If he would kill his own girlfriend, what makes you think he'd be loyal to you?" 

You clenched your jaw and your fingertips twitched with faint violet sparks, "The fuck do you know about Soldier Boy?" 

"I know that he's a piece of shit murderer with no regard for the people he has hurt. I know that he's just like the rest of you supes. And you aren't any better. You are just as bad as Soldier Boy." 

You took a step forward, your hands releasing violet sparks and your eyes were starting to glow as well. Butcher stepped right in front of you, creating a barrier between you and M.M. 

"That's enough. We're all working together here, remember?" 

"This one full on kills Gunpowder but I'm the big bad supe for choking Countess. You don't know shit about me, or Soldier Boy I can tell you that fucking much." You glared at both of them, your face twisted into a tight expression as you turned to walk away. You heard Butcher call your name, but you ignored him and kept walking until you were away from their sight.

You were loyal to a fault. You often wondered if that was your biggest strength or your biggest weakness. And you were loyal to Soldier Boy, you loved him, though you would never admit that out loud. And you'd be damned if you weren't going to stand up for him. You hadn't realized how far you had wandered off from the property when minutes later you saw a blast and Countess' trailer blow up, leaving nothing but a ball of fire, rubble and ashes behind. Holy fuck, did he do that? 

You ran back to the others, and just as you were running in the darkness of the night, you ran right into a hard armored chest. Your heart raced as your eyes traveled all the way up until you were met with the pair of cold green eyes you had so foolishly fallen in love with. Fuck he was alive, he was here. You took a step back, your lips slightly parted as you tried to speak. You gave him a quick sweep with your eyes, full armor, still fit him perfectly, but no helmet, he had a beard and his hair was slightly longer than you remembered. But it was still him, the same freckled face, the same forest green eyes, the same lips. He hadn't aged a day.

"Ben," You said his name with a small sigh, tears pricking your eyes. You wanted to hug him, kiss him, touch him, anything. But you didn't. Your hands twitched at your sides, but you were frozen in place. You didn't know that he knew you weren't part of what happened. He was going to kill you too for all you knew. "Ben I— I didn't know—" 

"I know." 

"What?" 

He took a step forward, closing the gap you had just made and he ran his fingers over the side of your face as he leaned down. "I know you had nothing to do with this, it's okay sweetheart." 

"I got knocked out cold, and when I came to they told me the Russians killed you. I-I thought you were dead. I cried for you… For decades." You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to stop the tears from falling. When you opened them again, you saw him slightly tilt his head and his eyes were big with pleasant surprise, and maybe endearment? 

"You cried for me?" He asked with a small smirk, like that was even a question. You scoffed softly and shook your head.

"You don't believe me?" You half smiled, you grabbed both of his hands, his shield being left on the ground and you placed them on your face. He looked at you confused for a second but realized what you were doing when you gravitated your sparkling hands over his temples. 

"Woah, sweetheart you don't have to—" 

"Ben, I don't think I could ever say what I felt with words. Just let me show you." You closed your eyes, and after a second of apprehension, he did the same. 

Your fingers ghosted over his temples as you accessed his mind, and you allowed him to access yours. With your powers, whenever you intruded someone else's mind, it could be like a two way street. You could get a glimpse of their mind, their thoughts and memories. But they could also get a glimpse of yours, but only if you allowed it of course. You had created this shield in your mind, so that no one could ever slip into your mind. You had only ever taken that shield down with Ben. You would let him in your mind, you would let him hear your thoughts. He couldn't see images, but he could hear your thoughts, feel your emotions like they were his own. It had been a long time since you had deliberately read someone’s mind. You were high on painkillers and medication half of the time so you didn’t have to listen to people's shitty thoughts. And fuck, it was overwhelming. He felt nothing but agony and despair, a storm inside your mind. He could only imagine that was a fraction of what you felt when he supposedly died. 

An uneven breath left your lips as you let him explore the darkest and most secluded parts of your mind. You let him feel your pain, and you could feel his. You could feel all the pain he endured during his captivity, all the times he begged for someone to come save him. You felt a tear slip from your eye. And just when you were about to speak, you heard someone speak. 

"Oi! The fuck are you two doing? We've got to go. You can kiss and make up later." Butcher, ever the untimely man, called out to you, making you break the connection. 

You gasped softly when you came back to, your eyes glowing violet for a second before they returned to their natural color. You dropped your hands at your sides and looked at Ben. You found his eyes, and they were a mixture of sad and content. And you could return the sentiment. 

Butcher and Hughie walked past you. No M.M. huh.. You didn't bother to ask and you simply followed them. Ben grabbed his shield from the ground and silently walked beside you, though you could feel his burning gaze on you. 

"I missed that." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Man I fucking missed bennies." 

You laughed at that, watching out of the corner of your eye as he crushed up the pills Butcher brought him and snorted them. That sure brought memories. 

"You know there's stronger shit out there right? Benzos barely have any kick." You said in your head, but he heard it too. He snapped his head up and looked in your direction. He looked at Hughie for a second, trying to figure out whether or not they heard it too. And then he realized you were talking in his head, using your powers. 

"Can you not talk in my head? It freaks me the fuck out." He said to you with annoyance. 

You tried to laugh and simply shrugged innocently, pretending you had no idea what he was talking about. "Sorry." Your voice echoed in his head again and he glared at you. 

"I'm sorry who's talking in your head?" Hughie asked with alarm. He probably thought Ben was having a PTSD episode and was hearing voices or something. 

"Mystic powers over here." Ben pointed at you. You smiled innocently and looked at him like you had no idea what he was talking about. "She likes to talk in people's heads to fuck with them. Be thankful she hasn't done it to you." 

"I do not. I just like to fuck with you." You said nonchalantly, casually levitating one of your knives in the air with a slight move of your fingers. 

"You can do that? Talk in people's heads like that?" Hughie asked with hesitation, his eyes a bit wide when he saw you so casually move your knife around in the air. 

"There's a lot of things I can do, kid." 

"Oh you got that right. The things this girl can do. You have no fucking idea." Ben said with a laugh, and this smug glint in his eyes when he looked at you. "The things she can do with her hands. Fuck, she can give you one hell of a time without even touching you I can tell you that." 

Your eyes widened at his unfiltered words and your jaw tightened as your face turned hot. He kept his eyes on you, and there was this shit eating smirk on his face, like he was enjoying your embarrassment. You loved him, but fuck sometimes he made you want to stab him. 

Hughie looked at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape and he looked both confused and disturbed, "You guys?" You could hear the double meaning in his tone. 

"Oh she didn't mention it? That breaks my fucking heart Violet." Ben clicked his tongue in disapproval and shook his head at you. You stopped the motion in your hand at the nickname. Nobody ever called you Violet, it was Violet Storm or your name, only he called you that. 

"I swear to god I'm going to shove my knife into your ear if you don't shut the fuck up." You hissed in his head and glared at him from the spot you had claimed on one of the beds. He simply laughed and took a swing straight from the bottle of whiskey Butcher brought him. 

"I always wondered why you never told anybody 'bout us. I mean, who wouldn't want the world to know they were fucking Soldier Boy?" He kept going, pushing at your buttons like only he could. He was doing this on purpose, antagonizing you, like he was trying to punish you for something. "But then again, you did always want a normal life, marry some ass-kissing corporate asshole, pop out a few girls with pretty purple eyes. It was quite the fantasy you had, what ever happened there?" 

You clenched your jaw, one of your eyes slightly twitching, "Well maybe not all of us could move on and settle for the first stuck up piece of ass Vought sat in front of us. I actually wanted someone that loved me, unlike someone who just settled for the next decent fuck." You said impassively. You tried not to show your emotions, your face remained blank. His, however, was like an open book. The way his nose and jaw twitched and the humourless grin on his face screamed that your words were getting to him, too. If he was going to bite you could bite too.

"Let me guess, nobody lived up to the expectation? It's kinda hard to find someone who can do what I can. Did I ruin all men for you sweetheart? Is that why the minute you heard I was back you came running? Couldn't bear to live without me?" You didn't know if it was the arrogance in his voice, the humiliation you felt or if you just wanted to find an excuse to get back at him for the heartbreak he caused you when he chose Countess over you, whatever it was, you snapped. 

Without thinking twice, you flicked your hand and the knife that you had just been levitating in the air flew straight to the small table Ben was sitting at. The tip of the blade sunk flawlessly in the middle of the burger he was about to grab. His face was fucking priceless. He looked down in front of him for a second or two before his head snapped in your direction, his eyes big and jaw tight. That pissed him off, and not because you could hurt him with your knife, but because that was your intention, deep down. 

"Oh Jesus." You heard Hughie mumble, probably scared to be in the middle of a supe dispute with no powers now that the Temp V had worn off. But what caught your attention was Ben's reaction. 

"The hell is wrong with you? The fuck did you do that for?" 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was aiming that at your fucking dick." You hissed at him, flicking your fingers, bringing your knife back into your hand. You watched him laugh bitterly as he stood up and you dead eyed him as he stood in front of you with a tight expression on his face. 

“Since when are you such a bitch? Did the lack of dick and cocktail of pills fry your fucking head?” He said harshly, huffing at you. You bit your lip, feeling your face grow hot and your fingertips tingle with electricity. 

You stood up in front of him, back straight and head high, even if he was an entire head taller than you, you weren’t scared of him. 

“Since you chose a red head stuck up cunt to have kids with. You really were never too bright were you Ben?” You tilted your head and you could see the way his jaw twitched, but he said nothing. “I saw her thoughts, I could see what was in her mind, and trust me, she fucking hated you. They all did. I didn’t. Not that it mattered to you, you only loved her.”

“Then why the fuck did you let them do that to me? Why didn’t you fucking stop them? Why weren’t you there?” He questioned you, his voice getting louder and louder with each sentence until he was pretty much screaming in your face. 

“I didn’t know!” You screamed back, no longer being able to control your bottled-up emotions, and you snapped. He wasn’t expecting you to answer back, and definitely not scream back at him. He pursed his lips together and glared down at you but said nothing back. So you continued. “I fucking loved you Ben, and trust me I would’ve done anything to protect you but I didn’t know. I stopped hearing their thoughts a few weeks before it happened. I don’t know why, Mindstorm probably did something to protect their minds from me because they knew I would’ve warned you. I would’ve never let that happen if I had known. And trust me had I known you were alive I would’ve looked for you, but I didn’t know. I thought you were fucking dead for fuck’s sake. So don’t punish me for something I had no control over, I punished myself enough for the last thirty years.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt your face get coated with hot tears. Your breathing was uneven and your hands were shaking. You had never told him that you loved him, not ever, you had never even said it out loud. You found his eyes, and they were softer, glossy even, and his expression softened the second those words left your mouth. It was like reality had smacked him across the face, a little too late. 

“Sweetheart I—” 

You shook your head, “Fuck you Ben. Just fuck you.” Your voice was quiet this time, soft and broken. You missed the look of genuine regret he gave you. But you weren’t looking at him anymore, you stared at the floor as you walked past him, shoving him out of your way and you headed straight to the bathroom.

Ben slightly flinched when he heard the door slam shut. He thought you ripped it off its hinges with how hard it closed. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, mentally kicking himself for being so fucking stupid. You loved him, how did he never see that? 

He was about to follow you to the bathroom when he heard Hughie speak, for the first time in the last five minutes, “Maybe you should let her cool off.” He said quietly and with caution, but he shrunk further into himself on the couch when Ben glared at him. 

“And maybe you should mind your own fucking business before I shove my shield up your ass.” He said to the brunette and smiled sarcastically at him. 

“Nope, I want nothing to do with this.” Hughie said as he stood up and went straight to the door, probably just to sit outside until Butcher came back, but he didn’t definitely didn’t want to be in there when whatever went down between you and Soldier Boy. Probably a good idea. 

Ben paid no mind to it, he instead turned his attention to you. He stood outside the bathroom door and knocked a few times. 

You wiped your face with your hands, keeping your face in them for a few seconds, silently screaming in frustration when you heard a few knocks on the door. You looked up and looked in the direction of the door and you had a feeling it was Ben. No, you knew it was him. 

“Fuck off Ben.” You called out, but instead you saw the door handle jiggle, but of course it was locked. Not that that would actually stop him. 

“Y/N seriously let me in.” He said through the other side, you heard him sigh heavily. You exhaled heavily and told him to go away again, but of course he wasn't going to give up that easy. “You either open this goddamn door or I’ll break it. And then we’ll have no bathroom door. Your choice.” 

You groaned out, running your hands over your face with frustration. He was fucking insufferable, and stubborn as fuck. But you knew he would just kick the door open so it wouldn’t make a difference. You sighed heavily and tried to compose yourself before you unlocked the door and opened it. You glared up at him the second he was in your view. 

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you.” You huffed at him, face fixed into a frown. Fuck he forgot how stubborn you could be too. 

“Don’t be fucking childish.” He rolled his eyes at you and invited himself into the bathroom, making you back up in the constricted space until your back was hitting the vanity sink. 

“Yeah because you’re so mature.” You muttered and rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and you kept your eyes glued to the shitty floors, but you refused to meet his eye, though you could feel his gaze burn on your face. 

He sighed heavily and took a step closer to you, he wasn’t all up in your face like before, but just enough to be in your way and in your view. And he spoke again, his voice smooth with cockiness, “Do you remember when we first met?” 

“How could I forget?” You chuckled dryly at the memory, it was still fresh in your mind, you thought about it every day. 

“So you remember how you flung me ten feet across the room for trying to kiss you?” He asked with a small smirk. You weren’t looking at him, but you knew he was smirking, you could hear it in his voice. You pursed your lips together trying to stop yourself from smiling, and you simply nodded. “The minute you threw my ass across the room and I saw those pretty eyes light up violet, you fucking had me. I couldn’t stay away from you. You know why?”

“Hm?” You mumbled, still forcing yourself not to look at him. 

He grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his eyes and fuck he had you melting the second his green eyes found yours. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours and he spoke, “Because you drove me crazy like nobody ever could, I wanted you from the minute I saw you. You said I didn’t love you, but you’re wrong, I did, I just didn’t think I could have you, not like that.” 

“Thinking was never really your strong suit, was it pretty boy?” You laughed softly at him, not fighting his hold, not fighting his gaze, you just melted into it, you were tired of fighting. 

“Fuck you.” He shot back with a chuckle and a small grin. 

You were about to respond when he crashed his lips against yours without a warning. You gasped against his mouth and inhaled sharply through your nose, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been dying to feel his lips on yours again. You kissed, him, and you fucking kissed him hard. You gripped his jersey so hard you thought you were going to rip it and you held him against you. He slipped an arm around your back and pulled you flush against his chest as his mouth covered yours. He bit your lip and your mouth fell open. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, exploring it like it was the first time, it sure as hell felt like it after so long. He held you tight and took as much as he could until you were gasping for air. Only then he pulled back, and he was tugging at your clothes like he wanted to rip them right off, he was tempted, too. 

“Fuck, I haven’t had some pussy in forty fucking years, I feel like a hormonal teenager. I really fucking want you, like right fucking now.” He rasped between breaths as he left open mouthed kisses on your neck. You hands were tugging his baseball Jersey off his shoulders when you heard him, and you couldn't help but snort. 

“Jesus. Everything that comes out of your mouth is so gross. Your head is even worse, it’s like fucking Herogasm up in there.” You teased, hissing softly with pleasure when you felt him dig his teeth into the pressure point on your neck, well at least he remembered your weak spots. 

He grabbed your jaw and pressed a hard kiss to your lips before he spoke, “Trust me sweetheart there’s a fuck load of shit up there. I can show you, some other time. I want to be inside this pretty pussy first.” 

“Fine by me.” You bit your lip, your thighs rubbing against each other with anticipation. 

You didn’t waste time, you knew Butcher would be back soon and off you would go. Ben stepped back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and he did the same with his, your clothes making a pile of clothes on the floor. You were all over each other in seconds. 

His mouth was on yours and his hands gripped your ass. You gasped softly when one of his palms collided with your clothed ass and he smirked against your lips. His tongue was back in your mouth and it was fucking messy and desperate, but you didn’t care, hell you loved it. In the process, he hoisted you up on the vanity and he stood between your legs. One of his hands tugged your jeans down your legs, your panties along with it. You kicked them off and you were pretty much naked, exactly how he wanted you. He pulled back, leaving you to chase his lips for a second. He smirked, bringing two fingers to his lips and he spat on them before he was pressing them against your clit. You gasped softly and your eyes instantly closed at the shock of pleasure. He spread the wetness of his fingers over the bud for a second before he was sliding two long digits into you. And you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming. 

“You’re so wet for me already aren’t you, pretty girl? I could fuck you right now, wouldn’t even have to finger you open.” He chuckled lowly as he watched the way his fingers slid in and out of you with ease. And you really wanted to fucking scream then. 

“Ben I know you like to tease and make me beg for it, but we don’t have a lot of time and I swear to god if you don’t fuck me I’m going to shove a knife into your ear while you sleep.” You threatened, one of your hands coming to grip at his longer strands of hair. And he laughed at you, you sounded more desperate than anything. 

“I forgot how desperate you could get when cock drunk. But I like it when you think you can tell me what to do, it’s cute.” He chuckled, mocking you even. But his fingers left you as soon as he said those words. As cocky as he was, you knew he was as desperate for intimacy as you were, the hardened silhouette of his cock said as much. 

He pressed a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he tugged his sweatpants and boxers down his hips and his cock sprung free. He pulled you to the edge of the sink by your hips as he slid into you. He swallowed your moans as he let out a groan of his own the second he felt your walls squeeze his cock. 

“Fuck,” He groaned against your mouth, sitting still for a second, the bare feeling of your walls being nearly enough to make him lose it. But fuck that, he didn’t spend forty years in a lab alone just for him to end this before it began. “I forgot how fucking good your pretty pussy felt around my cock. There was never anything like it.” 

You were barely listening to his words, it had been a long fucking time since you had been intimate with anyone, let alone since you had been with him, and you were already fucking gone. 

He grabbed your ankle and hooked your leg high on his torso as he drew back before he slammed back in with enough force to make you slide back on the sink. And again. And again. He held you by your hips as he quickly found a pace. It was fast and hard, but you knew him, you knew what he could do, and you knew he was holding back. And you didn’t want him too, whatever he had trapped inside there, you wanted him to let it out. 

“Ben,” You could barely trust your voice, but he heard you and he lifted his head, his green eyes small compared to the black of his pupils. You tangled your fingers around his hair and pulled, hard. “I’m not going to break, you know that.” 

He looked at you, his longer strands falling over his eyes as he panted, and he looked like something snapped in his head. In any other situation, you would’ve been able to see that he was holding back, why he was holding back, but your mind could only take so much. He knew he wanted to keep himself together, not lose control, but fuck, if you wanted all of it, he would give you all of it. 

He grabbed the same leg that was on his waist and threw it over his shoulder and snapped his hips, fucking hard. You actually screamed this time, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, the new angle allowing him to bury himself deep enough to brush against your most sensitive spot with each snap of his hips. He wrapped a hand around your hair and pulled your head back, his lips ravishing your neck as he braced himself on the mirror behind your head. There was nothing slow or romantic about the way he fucked you, it was rough and animalistic, like he was angry and also desperate for intimacy all the same time. 

“F-fuck Ben, don’t stop.” You muttered out, your jaw falling open as you felt a burn deep in your stomach and you could feel electricity run through your entire body. 

The hand that wasn’t gripping his hair for dear life gripped the vanity beneath you in an attempt to stop yourself from sliding back and forth with each thrust he gave you. You felt electricity run through your fingers and you felt something crank under your hand along with the warm feeling of sparks on your fingers. 

Well shit. 

“Shit,” Ben chuckled when he saw the way the vanity cracked under your hand and some pieces fell on the floor. “You wanna come sweetheart? You wanna come all over my cock until you’re a shaking, whimpering mess?” He coaxed into your ear, his hips grinding into you as he released your hair and pressed his thumb against your clit. He could feel your wall squeeze him and your legs shake, he knew you were close to tipping over the edge. 

“My pretty Violet,” He pressed a wet kiss to your jaw as he rubbed harsh circles on your clit, and he soaked in the way your lips parted to let out broken moans. “Look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes.” He demanded you, giving you a particularly sharp thrust that made your eyes shoot open, giving him exactly what he wanted. 

“Yeah that’s it, I missed making those pretty eyes lit up.” 

Your eyes were shining bright violet as your orgasm washed over you, leaving you breathless and you shook, your walls clenching around him as a wave of wetness seeped through you. You whimpered his name quietly over and over again as he fucked you through it, soaking in the way your walls squeezed him and it triggered his own release, he didn't have to control himself anymore. 

“Fuck, that’s it, just like that.” He pressed his face into your neck and squeezed his eyes shut, a low moan of his own leaving his lips as he spilled himself inside you with a sharp and deep thrust. You felt the mirror behind you shatter just as he came, his hand putting enough pressure to make pieces fall out the frame. And you knew he felt it too. “Fuck me.”

He stilled inside you and stayed there for a while. You held on to him and you honestly had no idea how long you even stayed there. You just knew that you both were breathing normally by the time he pulled out of you, your mixed releases seeping out of you. Ben still had his face on your neck, but you heard him mumble something. 

“I'm glad you didn’t forget me. I know I never forgot you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt different, the air, like you no longer could cut it with your knife. Maybe you just needed to fuck it out of your system. It tend to be like that with Ben, a good fuck would solve all of your problems. At least now you were being honest with each other. 

He was sitting on one of the beds now, and you were sitting on the other. Hughie had returned by then, not wanting anything to do with what had just happened so he didn’t inquire much, good. They were talking and you listened quietly, absentmindedly levitating one of your knives, though you knew you would have to talk to Ben about what he said. There were a lot of things you still had to talk about. But you would have time for that. So when Butcher came back with an address for the TNT Twins, you knew you were on your way to fuck some people up. 

You were suiting up when Bucther went to the bathroom and immediately came back with a distraught look on his face. “Oi, the fuck happened in here?”

You and Ben looked at each other, he had a small smirk on his face and his typical smug glint in his eyes. You were a bit more reserved and you felt heat rush through your cheeks as you looked down. Butcher looked at Hughie, and when the younger boy looked at you and Ben, Butcher groaned. 

“Fucking hell you two. I leave you children alone for an hour and you’re already fucking like rabbits.”

“Hey at least you didn’t have to hear it. It was fucking bizzarre.” Hughie muttered from his corner, looking extremely mortified. Ben looked at him with narrowed eyes. 

“I can still shove my shield up your ass. I guarantee you it feels real fucking nice, wanna try it?” He said to Hughie, slightly lifting the heavy shield in his direction and he flashed the younger brunette a perverted smile. 

Poor kid, he had to deal with the three of you. 

“Ben leave him alone, poor kid is already traumatized enough as if by your presence.” You said to Ben, slightly nudging his shoulder with your own as you leaned into him, your chin pressed up against his shoulder. He looked down at you and half smiled, his eyes bright and big. It had been a long time since someone looked at you like that.

You fucking loved Soldier Boy, and he loved you. In his own fucked up way. But you were okay with that, because you were fucked up too. 

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy smut #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys

[essektheylyss]

Ten Books to Know Me

@aboxthecolourofheartache reblogged her version of this from ages ago but she'd tagged whoever saw it and it sounds very fun and difficult so let's do it!

Tris's Book by Tamora Pierce - I had a habit as a kid of always picking up the second book in a series, so this was the first of Tamora Pierce's books I read. Emelan had an effect on me on a microcosmic level, I'm pretty sure. Anyway, the protag of a whole world of mine is named Tris now, in homage to Trisana Chandler, so. the particulate is still kicking around in my brain.

Ptolemy's Gate by Jonathan Stroud - Another childhood FAVE. This series as a whole started fucking with what I understood a book to be. Also the ending of it has a vice grip on me to this day, and it is probably why so much of my writing is very vibey and favors ambiguous endings.

Cyrano de Bergerac - This was the first assigned reading I had in high school that I utterly LOVED. I love this play so much, I love the tragedy, I love the quiet sorrow. This was also the first proper tragedy that I remember really loving.

The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan - This is a book of poetry and short stories by a Yale creative writing student who was killed in a car crash very soon after graduating, compiled by her professor after her death. I read it repeatedly in college; it is really quite lovely.

Underland by Robert Macfarlane - Apologies to Box who wanted reading recommendations, but she is who introduced me to this book if I remember correctly, and I have spent the two years since I read it habitually picking up Macfarlane's writing without even realizing it. Absolutely phenomenal writing.

Staying with the Trouble by Donna Haraway - @ professor Haraway I know you are a semi-retired scholar and also in the most expensive college town on earth but are you looking for research assistants cuz uh

The Mushroom at the End of the World by Anna Tsing - I actually read both Staying with the Trouble and this book on the same weekend in the start of 2021. I compromised on not including Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake, which I felt was very cliche of me, by including this book, which had as much of an effect. Read those three and Pantheologies by Mary-Jane Rubenstein and you will have some semblance of an idea of what the spiritual portion of my brain looks like. In the interest of not writing the same blurb four times I left the latter two off but know they make up a little microcosm of 'you could make a religion out of this' for me.

The Cat Who Saved Books by Sosuke Natskukawa - A Japanese novel about a cat who appears to a teenager after the death of his grandfather, a bookseller. I read it when I was very frustrated with trying to read contemporary fiction and it was a bright spot among that. (I am still very frustrated with the state of contemporary fiction and this book remains a light.)

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer - Okay I read this one most recently out of this list (over the summer) but it had been on my list for a long time and it really does live up to the hype because it is just so luminous in every sense.

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer - I had to put this one last simply because HOLY HELL. Rewired my brain. This is the goal I aspire to, this is the dream I dream, this is the highest peak among the mountain range of writing aspirations that I climb. If I can one day write anything even akin to the Southern Reach trilogy I will be ready to die, but that is an utterly unachievable goal so God's just gonna have to let me live forever, I guess.

#this was SO difficult I'm ngl #I had several more that I agonized over #the fact that there is no le guin on this? insanity. but regardless #also there were some that I didn't include cuz I read them too recently and didn't want to go too hard with the recency bias but #if anyone has read both underland and braiding sweetgrass 'the language of trees' features both authors and is STUNNING #megs is reading #also everyone read the alan dean foster novelization of star trek (2009). that was the other one from my childhood that hit so hard

[starboyshoyo]

RAAAH 6TH TIME TRYING TO SEND THIS 😡😡😡 i hope this works

so i wanted to metaphorically cash in this request you said i could make, and i thought i’d do that as a reward for me getting into color guard!!

can i request the twst boys (surprise me on the characters) with a s/o who dresses in the dark academia aesthetic, listens to classical music all the time, and reads classic literature a lot? (totally not how i wanna be LMAO) thank you so much <33

https://www.tumblr.com/starboyshoyo/712163095699750912/permission-to-just-reblog-all-your-works-cause

A/N: @lacuna-at-dawn hello!! I have finished my AP exams and now have time to write. I didn’t get the other five rqs so it’s good you sent it in again hhhh. Dark Academia is my best friend’s favorite aesthetic so I know a little about it! If I get some things wrong lmk! I listened to the Enkanomiya soundtrack from Genshin Impact while writing this. 

Pairings: Malleus Draconia x reader, Cater Diamond x reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: general, romance

Malleus and Cater with a Dark Academia-esque s/o!

Malleus Draconia

Oh, dear Child of Man. You were made for him, weren’t you? 

While Malleus knows better than to judge on appearances, he just knows you would fit right into the beautiful, thorny landscape of his home in Briar Valley. You may not be feared by others like he is, but he can’t help but think you might understand what a life in the shadows means. It’s not all dreariness- it can be beautiful too. 

Your fashion sense is apparent to him on days when you’re not confined to your school uniform. It’s not all-black like his; instead, you opt for a mix of muted colors like wine reds, browns, and forest greens. It’s like you’re a lighter version of him- you are the shade to his shadows, the slumber to his death. 

When he accompanies you around the school, he’ll always be one step behind you. It makes him feel as if he is your protector- though it is a bit funny to see Sebek and Silver trail behind Malleus, who trails behind you. Occasionally, Rook will join in (read: stalk them) as well, and then other students will wonder if someone had started a conga line in the hallways. 

Malleus’s view of time is a little bit skewed in comparison to humans, so when he sees you reading classical literature, he might question if it’s a new release because he swears he met the author of the book just last week- nevermind, it was last century. Well, either way, he’ll go out of his way to finally get around to reading it, just so he can discuss it with you. Sebek is a big help in this regard as well- he’ll be more than happy to tutor Malleus in English so he can have more in-depth conversations about literature. 

Classical literature also gives Malleus another way to spend time with you alone. During quiet hours in the NRC library, he’ll pull up two seats by the fireplace and invite you to sit with him, curling his arms around you protectively. You’ll take turns reading out loud to each other- and when you get tired, he’ll continue in that deep, relaxing voice of his until you drift off to sleep. Then, he’ll carry you back to his room in the Diasomnia Dorm, watching over you and keeping you safe until you wake again. 

Besides library dates, Malleus’ most memorable time with you came when he asked you to show him your favorite songs. The music is somewhat melancholy and romantic, and he’ll close his eyes for a moment as he picks apart the notes. It’ll remind him of the slower songs played in the Briar Valley castle at mealtimes- only this time, he isn’t alone.

When he realizes this, he’ll stand up, striding over to you, and hold his hand out while looking at you with the love of the world in his eyes. 

Child of Man, may I have this dance? 

Cater Diamond

Cater is an expert on all things aesthetic. He’s a Magicam influencer, after all, and he needs to keep up on the times! You’ll immediately become a star, with Cater setting up a couples’ page where the two of you post various Dark Academia songs, art, photos, and other media. 

Cater is used to dressing in whatever is trendy, but the more time he spends with you the more he’ll be converted to your fashion tastes. You’d better be ready to see Cay-Cay in turtlenecks, slacks, sweaters and the occasional pleated skirt! He’s not afraid to try everything at least once to find what he likes. 

The two of you will have many dates where you’ll go to swap meets to find academia-esque clothing. He’s open to letting you dig around in his closet to find pieces you like as well. Cater will want you to pose in the mirror with your outfits, so he can snap a photo and post it to your page. The rest of Heartslabyul might be a little surprised with Cater’s change in looks, but they’ll definitely support him when they see how happy you make him. 

TBH, Cater isn’t really into reading much. Books are so old school to him! The fact that they have no screen bores him. The middle-ground you find is digital books. When you introduce him to it, he might be doubtful at first. But he’ll quickly find himself absorbed in the stories as old as time and soon enough, he’ll fall headfirst into the classical literature rabbit hole. Don’t expect him to go to the library though! Just looking at the outdated computers makes him want to retch. 

On the flip side, your boyfriend has always enjoyed classical music very much. Sure, he likes pop and country and rock too, but there’s something super calming and refined to the classics. He enjoys sharing earbuds with you while you walk down the hallways, listening to a mixed playlist of your favorites. 

Over time, Cater will find that he enjoys the calming darkness of your aesthetic over the cutesy, bright one that used to cover his Magicam page. It makes him feel a little more seen- like he can be vulnerable under it all and not have to keep up with appearances as much. 

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twst wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond #birdie.request

[baratrongirl]

Comparing JP and EN Ace Attorney 4

I fell into a rabbit hole looking for some Ace Attorney essays, and ended up finding a barely-reblogged set of posts comparing the Japanese to English text of Ace Attorney 4. I thought it might be interesting to highlight them considering the Ace Attorney 456 re-release.

Parts 4, 5 and 6 are where things get really interesting.

Apparently in Japanese, Ema refers to Klavier as jara jara oniisan (jingle jangle man) and Jarajarashita kenji-san (Kenji means prosecutor).

In Turnabout Serenade, there's a part in Japanese where Klavier (Kyouya) deduces that Romaine LeTouse could not finish his sentence before he died. This doesn't exist at all in English. Japanese: Mokugeki…..Mega….mi (Eyewitness…Goddess) –> Mokugeki ….Mega….Mi(rarenai) (Witness….is not able to see) Kyouya: His last words, the last part was lost to the darkness because the god of death was grasping onto the victim’s throat. What he wanted to say was INCOMPLETE!

Some of the part where Apollo and Daryan discuss Klavier is extremely different in Japanese.

In English, Daryan says: He may look flashy and showy but he’s as straight as an arrow….’Cept when he’s depressed.

But in Japanese, he says: He looks like he’s flashy and stuff but he’s so forward it’s depressing. No…in reality, he’s a gloomy person.

In English, it seems like Klavier is only depressed occasionally, whereas in Japanese it suggests that he's usually depressed but pretends not to be.

I wonder why they changed this part?

Klavier: Interpreter? I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere. I only speak a few phrases, such as, “I love you,” and, “Where is the toilet?”

Kyouya: Interpreter… sorry about that. When it comes to Borginian, I only know a smattering of it.

In English, what Klavier says is not only funny, but also builds his character as a flashy rock star. Why else would he know "I love you"? In Japanese, it's just a straightforward sentence.

And this is something completely unknown to English players:

Daryan: See, me and planes got a difference of opinion. We don’t like each other much.

Dayan:  I’m not good with planes. The seats are far too cramped for me.

It makes sense that he'd have trouble fitting his hair in!

#klavier gavin #apollo justice #daryan crescend #aa4 spoilers #apollo justice trilogy #japanese to english #some very interesting stuff from the JP original #please check out the OP's posts! #ace attorney 456

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Ryo’s Gun & Jane Austen

It’s hard to see, but in the OP Ryo’s gun (and it is Ryo’s gun, I made the mistake in a previous post of thinking it was Kazuki’s, whoops! But I have noted that correction in a reblog, so definitely check that out - I’ll link it below) has a quote on it from, what Google is telling me, is Jane Austen. The quote is:

I want nothing but death.

Those were her last words. 

Seeing those last words on Ryo’s gun in the OP with the current situation and the Episode 11 preview and everything - it can certainly seem scary. 

But, I’m going to focus a bit on Jane Austen as a writer, what her styles and themes are, and what that might mean for Buddy Daddies or how it might be reflected in Buddy Daddies. Since Kazuki’s VA did mention that we should think about what message the director is sending in this last act.

So, let’s take a look. I think the main two ways that Jane Austen’s style and themes can be seen in Buddy Daddies, is how her writing was considered realism and with a lot of emphasis being placed on “the everyday” that was accompanied by comedy:

Text: Jane Austen's (1775–1817) distinctive literary style relies on a combination of parody, burlesque, irony, free indirect speech and a degree of realism. She uses parody and burlesque for comic effect and to critique the portrayal of women in 18th-century sentimental and Gothic novels. Austen extends her critique by highlighting social hypocrisy through irony; she often creates an ironic tone through free indirect speech in which the thoughts and words of the characters mix with the voice of the narrator. The degree to which critics believe Austen's characters have psychological depth informs their views regarding her realism. While some scholars argue that Austen falls into a tradition of realism because of her finely executed portrayal of individual characters and her emphasis on "the everyday", others contend that her characters lack a depth of feeling compared with earlier works, and that this, combined with Austen's polemical tone, places her outside the realist tradition.

(From the Wikipedia Article on her style, which will be linked to below).

We see aspects of this with Buddy Daddies. In Episode 4 we have a critique being made about the ridiculous levels of paperwork and prep work that needs to go into sending a kid to daycare.

While we get depictions of everyday aspects like Kazuki cleaning or Rei and Miri playing games together. 

Another aspect of Jane Austen’s writing style is about character’s growing to become “better” and more moral versions of themselves.

Text:  Her plots are fundamentally about education; her heroines come to see themselves and their conduct more clearly, and become better, more moral people. While Austen steers clear of the formal moralizing common in early-19th-century literature, morality—characterized by manners, duty to society and religious seriousness—is a central theme of her works. Throughout her novels, serious reading is associated with intellectual and moral development.

We see that happening in Buddy Daddies as well, through scenes like Rei’s thoughts on how he just mindlessly killed in the past:

Or with the discussion and prevalence on change:

There are other elements and themes to her writing as well, like the focus on women, of course. But I don’t think we can really speak on that aspect too much until the series is said and done. 

Of course, the quote is likely also there due to Ryo’s curiosity with death, final words, and the reason for why humans exist. But, I would like to think that this quote wasn’t picked solely for that reason either.

Also, I’m not super well versed in Jane Austen stuff (I know some of my moots are though! Though I don’t know how versed they might be with Buddy Daddies), but if anyone who is more versed with her as a person and her works wants to chime in or add to this (or correct me on anything I may have gotten wrong!) please feel free to do so in a reblog, comment or even in the tags. I always love to see what others write or contribute to the conversation! <3

#Buddy Daddies #BD #Jane Austen #KazuRei #Kazuki Kurusu #Rei Suwa #Ryo Ogino #BD spoilers #Buddy Daddies spoilers #long post #image heavy post #meta post #analysis #themes

[deejadabbles]

Echo and Comms (Echo x Reader) Chapter Two

Summary: Who could know that a simple night out with your friend would lead to this? A life of danger and the man of your dreams. Echo x Communications Officer Reader (gender neutral). Friends to lovers/star-crossed lovers.

A.N. Woo part two out in a pretty timely fashion! I'm actually really proud of this one, but I hope you guys like long content because this is a big boy! Some of this is pure fluff, but, I will warn you, there's other parts that are pure heartache.

Please comment your thoughts in the replies or reblogs <3

Warnings: Explicit acts mentioned but not in detail, mentions of war and death, soldier death, grief, (assumed) main character death.

Part One /// Part Two /// Part Three /// [Part Four coming soon]

Three days. Three days of going to work, having lunch with Mavis, and eating alone in your apartment. You didn’t really mind, per se. You had had way too many experiences with boys not calling for it to truly affect your normal life.

But you were a little…disappointed. Maybe Echo wasn’t as interested in you as you had thought. Maybe he had just wanted someone to talk to while his brother had fun. Maybe he had forgotten about you the next day.

Ugh! Why was the shower always the place where annoying thoughts like that popped up? You groaned as you rinsed product out of your hair, trying to chase away the thoughts. Why did this even bother you so much? It wasn't like you felt an almost instant connection to the trooper or anything, right? Definitely not, and you certainly didn't think he was the cutest man who'd ever bought you drinks.

Just as you reached for your body wash, you heard a noise: the sound you had set for notifications on your data pad. It was likely Mavis, asking you what time you wanted to go see that vid she had mentioned. You knew you had plenty of time to answer her, so you made sure to take advantage of the hot water and soothing quiet. You stepped out a while later, patting yourself down with your robe as you strode over to your table where the pad sat.

Oh!

It wasn’t Mavis after all and you tried to ignore the giddy smile as you read the message over.

>Hey there! This is Echo, from the bar the other night? I know you’re probably busy but I figured I’d send this. Hopefully none of my brother’s have bothered you at the bar since I’ve been gone?<

You snorted in laughter. He was certainly an awkward one, you wondered if the message was missing a section in the middle, or if he just wasn’t used to sending out things that weren’t military reports.

Of course, you had no idea of the turmoil that had happened on the other side of the screen.

Echo was a nervous wreck. Even with the timeless vacuum of space, he knew that it had been several rotations for you back on Coruscant, several rotations of Echo not knowing what to send you. He had written and deleted maybe thirty versions of that message, always backing out and thinking he could craft something better- until Fives had had enough, snatched his data pad from him, and pressed ‘send’ on whatever drivel he had typed out in the moment.

Now Echo was staring at the “sent” message, rereading it over and over as if it was his death sentence. It might as well have been, for how long it had passed with no reply from you.

“So hottie hasn’t written back yet?” Jesse smirked.

“I’m gonna kill Fives,” Echo muttered, ignoring the crude nickname that Echo had scolded Jesse for using for you before.

Fives heard, even on the other side of the room and looked back at him with incredulity, “Me? What’d I do? You’re the one who kept chickening out of doing anything, I just sent it for you.”

“I sound like an idiot, Fives!”

“You are an idiot, Echo!”

Jesse cut in again with a laugh, “Oh yeah, and you’re mister smooth talker. That's why you got sent home from the bar alone last time?”

“Hey!” Fives waggled a finger at him, “My angel sent me home because she was- what’d you call it, Kix?

“Respecting your inebriated state.”

“Exactly,” Fives confirmed with a nod, “she was being respectful.”

None of Echo’s brothers seemed to care that he was spiraling deeper into despair the longer he sat there, they just went on arguing among themselves. It had been way too long without a reply, and he just knew that you were laughing at him on the other end. Maybe you had even hoped he wouldn’t message you, maybe you were just being nice when you gave him your comm code, maybe-

His heart stopped when the screen flashed from a new message. Eyes wide in disbelief, Echo could feel said heart in his throat as he read over your reply.

>Hey, Echo! I’m glad you didn’t lose my code. I heard the 501st shipped out the next day, hope you and your brothers are staying safe out there. And speaking of, don’t worry, I know how to take care of myself ;) <

It was a better reply than he could have hoped for. You even responded to his dumb little attempt at starting a conversation and was that a smiley face at the end there? No, it was winking! Echo didn’t even know people could send those in personal messages. He’d have to try it out, once he got the hang of talking to you in the first place, that is.

Kix was weighing in on some argument that had broken out between Fives and Jesse, but it was all background noise to Echo as he leaned back, smiling at the screen as he typed back to you. 

Maybe Echo wasn’t too terrible at holding a conversation over a screen. For the past couple of weeks, Echo looked forward to the time he would have a quiet moment at night to check his data pad, to see your latest message sitting in his inbox. Both of you had decided on that first night that, given both his and yours busy schedules, you wouldn’t hold each other to replying on the spot, rather, just answering whatever was last said when there was time.

He appreciated the understanding, knowing that the life of a soldier rarely granted him enough leisure to shoot messages back and forth for any decent length of time. Sometimes, when the stars (or, specifically, your time zones) aligned, both of you could talk for at least a few short text blocks. One night, after he and his brothers made camp on some remote planet, he found he was lucky enough to have one of those fortuitous alignments.

>Can I ask a weird question? <

He had sent it with the intention of setting his pad down and working on checking his blaster, only hoping that he might get an answer sometime in the next day, but felt his heart race when there was an almost immediate ding in reply.

>Sure. You can ask anything, but my reply depends on what the question is. <

Echo swallowed hard, realizing that it was now or never.

>Would it be weird if I asked for a picture of you? <

He sweated the whole two minutes it took for the text to go through the thousands of comm buoys between there and Coruscant.

>A picture? Aw, you miss me that much, I’m flattered, mr soldier boy. <

You ended it with a cheeky heart and Echo knew his face was hot with a blush.

>Well everyone else in my contact board has a picture, everyone but you so I just thought I’d ask <

There, that response neither confirmed nor denied that he may or may not want the picture for other reasons. Like missing you, and wanting a reminder of how cute your face was.

Far far away from that backwater planet, back in the beating heart of the republic, you were sitting in your tiny one room apartment, biting your lip. So, the cutie wanted a picture did he? Currently you were sitting on your couch, work clothes tossed across the bed and the news playing in the background while you ordered take-out as a treat.

You weren’t the most put together, you admitted, but, after a quick scroll through all your pictures, you didn’t think any of them suited your needs either. After looking yourself over on the camera screen of your pad, you decided you looked good enough. Hair wasn’t bad, and, well, your oversized lounge top dropped off your shoulder in a way that, if you posed just right, looked very good. Just enough for Echo’s imagination to play with, if it wanted to play at all, that is.

After you were satisfied with the pic, you sent it before you could change your mind. The question was fair game, though, and the second the picture got through, you added a note to it.

>Your turn <

Was all it said, but it was enough.

Or, maybe not.

>My turn? <

He asked, which made you roll your eyes. Surely he wasn’t that dense. Your reply was quick.

>Uh yeah? I want a picture of you too, silly. <

While you waited on him, your dinner just so happened to arrive in a glorious knock at the door. Despite your eagerness to see what Echo did next, he would have to wait- you were starving after the day you had. You took your time getting your dishware, finding something other than the news to put on, and dishing out your food.

You had just settled back down on the couch when your pad went off again.

>I’m just not sure why, I have the same face every clone does it’s not special. <

You nearly choked on your dinner. What the kriff? Did Echo really just say that to you? You didn’t pretend to be an expert on clones, but even you knew that sharing those basic genetics didn’t mean all that. 

Another short message dinged through then and it only made your jaw drop more.

>What I mean is you can just get any picture of a clone off the net and it would work. < 

You thought your next words over long and hard. Afraid to say the wrong thing or go overboard with your reaction. In the end, you settled for something simple, and hoped he understood the full meaning behind it.

>But it wouldn’t be you, Echo. <

Back on his cot in that makeshift camp, Echo swallowed hard. He had never expected you to want a picture in return, and he definitely hadn’t expected you to say that when he expressed his confusion. His chest was all warm now, he didn’t know his insides could feel…what even was this? It felt almost prickly, but soft, it felt hazy, or fuzzy, maybe. He shifted around on his cot as he turned on the camera feature- then had to figure out how to take a picture of himself, which he’d never done before. Of his brothers? Sure, he had plenty of times, with his brother too, also plenty of times. But not him taking one of himself.

In the end it wasn’t a terrible attempt, his smile looked a little goofy, but the second time he tried it just looked like he had a bad toothache, so he went with goofy. Unfortunately his little photo shoot did not go unnoticed.

“Why’d you send that one?” Fives said as he read the messages over Echo’s shoulder.

“It was the best I could do,” Echo shrugged, it was too late anyway, it was already sent.

Fives snatched the data pad out of his hands again- why did his brother not understand personal belongings?! “Ah no no, we can do better! Come on, grab that rifle, we’re gonna make you look like a badass.”

It didn’t take long for the other troops of the 501st to get involved, and soon Echo was posing this way and that. But what really mortified him, was when General Skywalker himself chimed in, having them move to a spot just beyond the camp where an expanse of rugged desert stretched behind him.

“Okay, now tuck your helmet under your arm,” Anakin encouraged with an amused grin, just as Rex stepped back from adjusting the kama around his waist. 

“Now that is a pose worthy of an ARC trooper!” Kix grinned as he held up the camera.

And that’s what they took, a shot of Echo standing in the desert, one foot propped up on a boulder, rifle held like a staff in one hand, and helmet tucked under the other. The moment Kix took the photo, Fives once again snatched the pad up and began typing.

“Have this pic instead, baby,” he said out loud as he typed, making Echo’s blood go cold, “it’s much more me, winky face and-”

“Fives dont se-!”

“-send!” Only then did Fives hand the data pad back to him, grin smug and full of himself, “You can thank me later, Echo.”

Echo’s brain had stopped working as he looked over the horror his brother had sent you. He had called you ‘baby’! Not once, as much as Echo had wanted to, had he ever used a pet name when talking to you! And the picture, it was worse than he thought. Sure it made him look heroic, but also like an egotistical ass who was trying to grandstand in your private chats.

“I think it looks great,” Tup said as Echo started to smack his face with the pad.

Thankfully he didn’t see your reaction on the other end, the way you rolled around on your couch in laughter at the portrait that definitely was not ‘him’. You much preferred the adorkable grin in the first picture to whatever that second picture was.

>Your brothers made you take that, didn’t they? <

Was all you sent in answer, deciding to spare him the string of laughing faces you wanted to add.

>Yes. And Fives typed the message with it, sorry. <

>Not to worry, but, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick with the first pic. <

>I’d prefer that, thanks. <

.

Thankfully those weren’t the only pictures sent over the next few weeks. Chances for cheeky moments came up, like when you two bonded over how loud Mavis and his brothers were as the Professional Pod Racing Finals were aired. 

The boys were mostly just excited that they got to see the broadcast live for once, but Echo still thought it was amusing and sent you a picture of the boys yelling at the holo screen in their barracks. In turn you sent him a shot of you, sipping on some fizzy drink with eyebrows raised as Mavis stood on your couch in the background, making a choking motion at your own holo screen. “I know your pain” was the text across the picture, which made Echo laugh.

Another time you expressed interest in seeing his full armored ‘get up’ since you hadn’t when you met at the bar that night. Echo was happy to oblige, even goading you into sending your own ‘work selfie’ and getting a very nice picture in return. He wasn’t sure how you managed to make those gray officer uniforms look good, but you did, staring down at the camera from under that hat in a way that looked commanding and mysterious and-

Echo had to stow the picture away when his armor started to feel too tight.

But of course, photos weren't the only things you shared. You surprised Echo again and again with all the ways you showed him that you valued the time you two talked together. Like when you asked him if he liked games, then immediately found a version of Word-Path that you two could play together across the net. Much like your messages to each other, the game could be played during any free moment available, the board waiting patiently for the next move no matter how long it took one of you to make it.

Before he knew it, you were filling every free thought Echo had, and he was glad for it. He could pack away his feelings and fantasies when needed, he was still a damn good ARC trooper, but when there was a free moment to breathe? You. All you. Smiles over something funny you had said. Daydreams of seeing you in person again. Mulling over what to send you next in order to sound charming and witty and cute-

Cute, that’s right, you had called him cute the other day and he still felt giddy over something so small.

Kriff, Echo never knew someone could be as amazing as you. Never knew someone could make him feel the way you made him feel.

So, when the General gave them today’s good news, Echo knew he had to tell you ASAP.

>We’re coming back to Coruscant soon <

>That’s great! When? <

>We’ll be heading into hyperspace at 16:00 standard time, and with how long we’ll be in hyperspace, probably two rotations? <

Echo halted his typing, his mind seeming to stall. How was he going to ask you if you wanted to see him again? How could he come off as cool and calm without sounding like a jerk? Giving you the wrong idea was the last thing he wanted but-

>So, have any plans already? Maybe you could squeeze lil ol me into your schedule? <

Once again you proved that you could stop his heart without even trying. He held his breath as he read the text over again, like it was a dream come true. It was his dream come true, in a way.

As he typed out his reply Fives came up behind him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “Guess who’s getting another shot with his angel,” he sang as he shook Echo. “Just told her we were heading back, and she invited me over for dinner at her place!”

“That’s great,” Echo said with a genuine smile. Though that first night had ended for the better, Echo knew that he had liked Mavis quite a bit, and, knowing she was taking an interest too, made him happy for his brother.

“So you know what that means,” Fives continued to beam.

Echo faltered, “Uh, that you’re gonna…not get drunk and get lucky this time?”

“No- well, yeah, actually, but no! I was talking about you and your own little hottie,” he winked, “this leaves you two open to have a night all to yourselves.”

A cough found its way into Echo’s throat then. Mostly just in surprise of course, because, the moment he thought about it, the more he liked that idea. He took a breath, and was able to type out his next words to you with little to no hesitation.

>Fives just told me that he and Mavis are planning a night together. Are you okay with it just being the two of us? <

>Sounds great. Is 79’s your usual hang out? <

>It is, but if you have a better idea I’m all ears. <

>If you’re up for it, I know a great spot. Has a stunning view and great food. Aaaand considering you bought my drinks last time, dinner can be on me this time.<

Well, how could he say no to that?

Two days later, Echo was certain he could have never properly prepared himself for this date. He had never thought about what a perfect date would be for him, but somehow, you had nailed it. 

As if you could get any cooler, you had picked him up from the garrison riding a custom speeder bike, telling him to hang on tight as you shot into the air. He had never seen half the buildings and markers you pointed out to him as you drove, giving him a list of places you might visit later if he wanted. Of course, he was only half listening, mostly he was preoccupied with the way you felt between his arms. He was glad he had only left on the key parts of his armor today, letting the warmth of your body creep through his blacks.

Eventually, and almost to his annoyance, the speeder came to land on the tippy top of a building that, if Echo remembered your tour right, was some sort of office tower. Someone had taken up the roof with a rather ingenious idea: A cargo speeder converted to make and sell food, and the rest of the roof was taken up with little tables and picnic cushions. It was also the cleanest roof he’d ever seen, with a scutter droid booping about to pick up wayward trash and hovering lights bobbing about to cast it all in a romantic glow. Apparently, given the setting sun, you told him it was the perfect time to visit.

As soon as the pair of bothans handed you two your order, you were grabbing his hand again- which was not helping how sweaty and tight his skin was feeling at the moment. He didn’t want you to let go, though, and was glad you didn’t until you led him to the very edge of the roof, where one of those picnic-like futons lay.

He was chuckling while you pulled him down eagerly, crossing your legs and waving your hand at the open sky before you, “And here’s the view I promised you!”

Echo knew his face might hurt later from smiling so much, but he couldn't help it, there was definitely a view, he just didn’t have to look at the sky for it. 

But, he did, because you asked him to, and though he’d rather look at your face, the city did look spectacular up here. Smaller buildings and lanes of racing speeders spread out before you both like a spider web, but the best part was that it was high up enough to see the sun dipping lower in the sky, a rare sight in this place of such tall skyscrapers.

“So…?” you drew out an expectant tone.

“It’s,” he laughed a little, eyes already back on you, “totally wizard.”

The proud smile that lifted your lips made his heart jump and he had to distract himself by unwrapping his food and shoving the first bite into his mouth.

Just like your communications, conversation seemed to spark easily enough. It truly amazed Echo how you two were always able to talk as if you had known each other for years. Anything and everything was on the table, though the lighthearted tone called for silly stories the two of you had yet to share with each other. You particularly liked his story involving Hardcase and Fives mimicking Jedi as they played around with broom handles- only to be caught in the act by General Skywalker.

The food was long devoured, the sun having set, and the food stall closed for the night. If Echo cared about anyone but the two of you, he would have noticed that you were the only ones still sitting on the rooftop. That was fine, preferable, even. He would shut out all of the world when he was with you.

In fact, the only thing that distracted him was something crackling overhead, and your face lighting up. “Ha! The forecast was actually right for once.” You nudged his shoulder and pointed at the sky, at the dark clouds collecting overhead. “I was hoping it would rain tonight, you’re gonna love this.”

Echo raised an eyebrow, looking around at the open roof exposed to the elements, and failed to see why getting rained on during your meal was something to love, but he supposed he trusted you.

“It rains a lot on Kamino, right?” your eyes shifted back to him, tone quiet, perhaps wondering how Echo felt about his homeworld, since he’d never mentioned it before.

He nodded, “Almost constantly. It was a bit weird, realizing how little rain some planets get.”

“Yeah, Coruscant doesn’t get much, but when it does, you wanna be in a place like this,” you nudged his shoulder again, turning back to the clouds just as another rumble of thunder groaned. “Ah! Here it comes.”

Echo looked up too, automatically squinting his eyes to prepare for the raindrops- but they never hit his skin. Those eyes went wide at the sight above you both. The rain was coming down in a torrent, but each drop was caught some meters above, dancing in midair before rolling off to the side of some invisible bubble. It was like watching thousands of tiny glass tears collecting to make a canopy above you.

“They have an antigrav device to keep stuff from falling on the roof,” you explained, and the intimacy of your tone caused Echo to tear his gaze away from the sight and back to you.

Though your eyes were still entranced by the dancing water above, Echo was enraptured by the soft look of utter awe and appreciation on your face. 

“What do you think? Beautiful, right?”

If Echo was familiar with cheesy holo videos, he’d realize that saying “Yes,” in a dreamy tone while his eyes were wholly on you was one of the oldest tropes in the book. But, even if he did know that, it wouldn’t matter, he knew in that moment that his eyes would always be for you.

Swallowing hard, Echo took a chance, braving his impulse before he could back out. He leaned in closer to you, and brushed the very tips of his fingers across your cheek. That got your attention away from the sky above, and you turned your face to find him just a breath away.

That’s when his lips brushed yours.

It was feather light and sweet, a gentle press, he wanted to give you every opening to pull away if you wanted. Instead, your hand reached up to grip his bicep as you pulled him in closer. The fingers that had grazed your cheek were now cupping your face, drawing you in as the rain pattered overhead.

Despite the overwhelming feelings brewing in his chest, Echo managed to keep the affection from getting too wild. He liked this, liked how delicate the act was, careful, unrushed, enjoying the tenderness like hints of sugar on the tongue. You let out a little noise as you took your other hand and splayed it over his chest and he was about to wrap his arm around you.

But then, his commlink went off.

Only then did you two break apart. After blinking away the sugary haze of the kiss, you both looked down at his wrist. When Echo saw the comm code, his heart wanted to start a descent into his stomach. It was Captain Rex.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, starting to scramble to his feet, “let me take this?”

You nodded silently, and he thought he saw some worry etched on your face as he walked some ways away. The worry was warranted. His conversation was short, but his heart sank lower and lower the longer it went on and even after the call ended, he stood there for a moment, mind reeling against the news.

Swallowing hard, he straightened up and walked back to you, trying to keep the disappointment off his face. Even after he sat back down at your little picnic, he stayed silent for a few heartbeats.

“Anything important-”

“We’re shipping out again.” Echo didn’t mean to interrupt you, but the words came tumbling out like a toppled crate. “Got an emergency mission, shore leaves' been canceled.”

“O-oh.” Your reply was short, surprised, but Echo thought he could already hear the disappointment in your tone. That he had disappointed you. “Do you have to head back immediately?”

A breath left Echo’s chest as he finally met your gaze again. “We leave in ten standard hours, I have to make sure I’m on duty by then.” Another breath, this one harsher, pushing through his teeth like steam, “I just thought I’d have more time.” Thought I could have more time with you.

Ten hours, it wasn’t enough, hell, ten days wouldn’t be enough for him to get his fill of you.

“I wanted more time like this,” Echo admitted, and he hoped that looking into your eyes the way he was conveyed exactly what he meant by ‘this’.

He saw your throat tighten and your eyes narrow slightly in thought. “Ten hours?” you asked and he nodded. Another moment of thought passed, then his name was on your lips, a whisper as tender as the kiss you had just shared. You leaned in, your hand cupping his face. “Echo…come home with me.”

He blinked, “Wh-what?”

You were sliding closer to him now, leaving no space between your bodies. “I was just thinking, you have so little time left, maybe I could help make the most of it.” Those gorgeous, now half lidded, eyes of yours were trained on him as you dipped your face closer to his. Hot breath ghosted over his chapped lips, causing a pleasant shiver to ripple down his spine. “Echo, do you want to come home with me?”

He had wanted you since the moment you walked into that bar, so he answered, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back into that intoxicating kiss. It was less careful this time, as he finally let some of his eager need bleed through. You didn’t seem to mind, wrapping your arm around him as you moaned against his lips.

When you finally parted again, his verbal answer was barely more than a hot breath of a word, “Please.”

You were still panting from the heat of the kiss as you obliged. Not taking your eyes off him, you took his hands as you rose, and walked him back to your speeder.

Your apartment felt like home.

Echo had grown to hate the sleeping pods on Kamino, and the only reason he still considered the planet home was because of his brothers. The barracks on the Resolute were a little better, livened up by members of his legion, his family. But you little home? The little oasis tucked away in the city? It was warmth and comfort and safety. He had only spent a few hours there, but he wanted to curl up in its inviting and personable air, wanted to lay with you in this private haven for days.

But Echo didn’t have days.

He stepped out of the refresher, armor back in perfect order, and he was glad he hadn't shut the door, as the sound of it might have woken you. The lights were dimmed, casting your gorgeous body into a romantic glow. You were laying on your stomach, arms tucked under the pillows and face buried in the sheets. The covers were barely covering you, giving him a wonderful view. He stepped closer to the bed, smiling softly at the peaceful look on your face, the way your hips shifted to a more comfortable pose, and how your hand reached out to knead at the vacant pillow beside you.

He didn’t want to leave.

You had been so perfect with him. Taking him apart piece by piece, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. Patient and sincere, you didn’t expect too much, but took everything he offered. Letting him- begging him to get lost in you, praising his hands, moaning for his lips, taking all of him. The phantom feel of your touch was still making him shiver, and the record of your voice playing back in his mind would haunt his lonely nights for years, he knew it.

Maker, you were perfect.

It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but when Echo had pulled you close afterwards, when he held you, he mused that maybe he wasn’t made for the war. Maybe he had been made for you. Fives was right. He was a stupid romantic, and all he wanted was to be your stupid romantic.

He needed to go.

The fleet would be leaving in little more than an hour, he needed to go, but he was glued to the spot, watching your form in the dim light. Maybe he had put too much of himself into this, maybe you didn’t feel the connection the same way he did, maybe he was just being clingy and hyperbolic, maybe-

You stirred, brows scrunching in a cute little frown, and it was only then that Echo realized that he had reached out to stroke your hair. You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep clinging to your smile.

“Hey,” your voice was husky, even more so than when you had called his name hours before. Then, your eyes took in his armor. “Is it really time to leave already?”

He nodded, and had to clear his throat before speaking, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no,” you lifted yourself up and the blanket fell from what little it had been covering before. “I’m glad you did, better than waking up to find you gone.”

That put some of his earlier thoughts at ease, and even more were soothed when you sat on your knees at the edge of the bed, put your arms around him and kissed him again. His hands went to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer, hoping the cold hardness of his armor wasn’t too harsh against your naked body. Your fingers found their way to his hair, just like they had when he was on his knees for you.

He had trouble opening his eyes when you broke the heated kiss, the haze of lewd memories clouding his mind. When they did flutter open, the hand that wasn’t holding you close moved up to cup your cheek. You hummed at the contact, placing a kiss on his palm.

“I…I wish you weren’t going,” you whispered suddenly, and Echo felt his heart soar. “I know you have to, though, ‘out there fighting for all of us.”

“For you,” the words tumbled out in a hushed breath, but he didn’t regret them. “C-can I see you again?” Damn, why did he have to stumble in his words now? “When I come back, I mean.” He swallowed, “I’d really like to see you again.”

You blinked up at him, smile sweet, sincere, as you repeated the same reassuring word he had before you took him home. “Please.”

 .

Work was agonizing for you now.

Before, your breaks had been a welcomed reprieve from the frequency bans and code lines, but now your those moments were just filled with thoughts of him. Worried thoughts. Echo, your sweet, gentle Echo. You weren’t sure when you started thinking of him as yours, maybe after you’d spent hours worshiping each other, but you didn’t suppress the thoughts, not now.

You had to focus on work.

But how could you when your heart sank any time a coworker mentioned the 501st? How could you when in the back of your mind you wondered if he’d had time to send you another message, time to assure you he was still alive despite being sent to the front lines again. Some part of you wondered how anyone could blame you for being distracted, but, thankfully, an even larger part of you pulled yourself together. It was hard to think straight with Echo never far from your thoughts, but you had to. Your work was too important, it could save too many lives. So you buckled down and told yourself that worry could wait for down time.

And oh, by the force did it.

You found yourself watching the news more and more often at night. Caught your fingers opening your inbox just to double check that you hadn’t missed a message. Maker, you had it bad, didn’t you? Thankfully the man who had so effortlessly stolen your heart was good at easing your worry. His messages to you hadn’t slowed, he contacted you any moment he could, played his next word in your ongoing game, sent pictures of him and his brothers with that dorky smile on his face.

How could you not fall for him?

And that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? Somewhere between the silly pics and kisses in the rain, you had fallen head over heels for the trooper. Fallen faster and harder than you ever had before. It scared you at first, how deep your feelings ran, but you didn’t have the heart to hide from them, not when you remembered the way he had held you, not when he had looked as though his heart was breaking when he left you that night.

Even still, you couldn’t tell him, could you?

Just how deep the well of your feelings for him were. It was too soon to say all that, perhaps. So you’d be content with those cute messages and online games. Well, not quite. One night you couldn’t resist the urge to see his face again. While you were making dinner, he had replied to your last text, mentioning that they would, thankfully, be in hyperspace for a while, giving them a much needed break. So, you tried something new, and asked if he had time for a holo call.

Your heart was leaping stupidly when, not five minutes later, there was a beep sounding from your home holo device. You pressed the ‘accept’ button without even checking who it was and, from the waist up, Echo’s image flickered to life. His brows were high, mouth open just slightly.

“Cyare, is something wrong? Are you okay?”

A relieved laugh came out as you leaned against your kitchen counter. “I’m fine, I just…wanted to hear your voice? Or maybe see your face.” Or maybe both, you added to yourself.

The holo crackled as he let out a breath, then, his image was smiling back at you. “In that case, I’m glad you asked me to call, because I…” he scratched the back of his neck, “I missed your voice too, and your face.” His eyes went wide. “The face part sounded weird, didn’t it?”

Another laugh, “No, it didn’t, it’s nice to know my face is missed.”

And just like that, you two settled into conversation, just like at the bar, just like on that rooftop. Everything just felt so right with Echo, even your heart wrenching worry. 

That wasn’t the only time you two spoke via holo call. Though, the second time was more heartbreaking than your constant worry, because it was a reminder of why you worried.

You had just been cleaning up before bed when the message came in.

>I know it’s late on Coruscant, but are you awake? <

Quicker than you thought possible with all the space between you two, the moment you replied “yes” a call came in. And your heart sank at the sight that flickered before you. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes apparent even in the blue hues, face unshaven, short hair ary as if he had been pulling at it.

“Hey,” his voice was too horse, too…broken.

“Echo, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He was silent for a bit, eyes averted, then, he drew in a breath, shaky, ragged. “We…we lost a lot of brothers today.” There was a sound behind him, like plastoid scraping against durasteel. The shake of the holo that followed confirmed that Echo had slid down a wall. Where was he? The background was dead silent so not the barracks, you prayed he wasn’t curled up in some random hallway alone.

“Talk to me,” you whispered, “I’m here, Echo, whatever you need, I’m here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling another ragged breath between his teeth. “They hadn’t even been here that long,” he whispered, “they were so proud, so ready to serve in the legion. Some didn’t even have their names yet-” your name fell from his lips with a sob and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your arms around him, pull him close so he knew he wasn’t alone. “No one’s gonna remember them, no one but me and a few others who bothered to talk to them. That’s all I kept thinking about, that no ones even gonna know what they were like, or know them well enough to miss them.”

You swallowed the tears that were building behind your eyes, Echo didn’t need that right now, he needed you. “Tell me what they were like.” The words were out before you could think them over, but you doubled down on the sentiment. “Talk about what they were like, so I can remember them. I’ll grieve for them with you, Echo.”

When his eyes darted back to yours, you saw something trail down his cheek and oh, how you longed to brush that tear away. You raised your hand to where his face would have been, hoping that he at least got the sentiment. He closed his eyes, perhaps imagining your palm on his cheek. A moment passed, and his next intake of breath was at least a little calmer.

“Okay.”

Hours passed, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. He told you about all of them, the ones with names, the ones with numbers, the ones he’d only spoken to once. Told you all the little quirks and subtle traits they had, every notable thing they had said to him. And, he told you about their deaths.

It got harder to hold back those tears, but you managed it for him, because it was what he needed. Eventually he was spent, drained of anymore words for his fallen brothers. He still looked so tired, but you were glad when he told you they had another three days before their next mission. At least he had some time to rest. 

Though, your heart clenched when he mentioned the possibility of a covert operation of some kind.

“I should let you sleep,” he said eventually, “ ‘m sorry I kept you up this long.”

“Don’t apologize, you needed to talk.” When all he did was nod you added, “Are you sure you’re ready to hang up?” 

Something told you not to hang up, to keep him as close as the stars allowed. 

“I can stay on and-”

“No, no, I think I’m ready for bed too,” he somehow managed the smallest smile then, “thank you. Thank you for staying up with me this long.”

You smiled back at him, still longing to pull him into your embrace. “Echo, anytime you need me, I’m here, you know that, right?”

He was silent for a beat, just staring back at you with tired, almost astonished eyes.

“I love you.”

Who would have known those words sealed your fate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and before you could even fully register what he said, he whispered your name, and repeated the affection with a firmer tone.

“I love you so much. I probably should have waited til I saw you in person again, but, I couldn’t stomach waiting, not after what happened today. I…I hope it’s not too soon or…”

“I love you too, Echo.”

Some more tension left his shoulders, and his expression relaxed. “When I see you again, I’ll say it properly, with you wrapped up in my arms.”

People rarely see heartache and pain coming, and your fate was sealed.

“I’ll hold you to that, trooper. But, for now, you better get some sleep, okay?”

A fate of longing and grief.

“Okay, goodnight, cyare.”

You couldn’t have known your love wouldn’t last.

Three days later, Echo warned you that he had to go silent, that their next mission was a covert op, that it might be awhile before you got another message, but that he’d call you the moment he could.

To tell you he was okay.

The ding came when you were on your lunch break.

To tell you he was safe.

Hoping it was Echo you opened the message instantly.

To tell you he loved you again.

Your heart stopped when you saw that it was Fives, not Echo, but his brother in arms using his comm.

In the end, he was a hero.

The device clattered to the ground, rage and tears wracking your body fast and hard.

>I know he would want me to tell you, so it didn’t come from some stranger. <

Your body was soon to follow and Mavis was by your side in an instant.

>He was trying to save our shuttle <

She held you tight as the sobs tore your throat apart.

>He was a hero. <

You didn’t want him to be a hero! You wanted him here and safe and alive!

>I’m so sorry. <

#echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #clone x reader #star wars x reader #arc trooper echo #series: echo and comms #deeja writes #echo x you #arc trooper echo x you #sw

[horanghater]

Ad Nauseam

Summary: Wonwoo desires to herald in a new age of technology, but summons a monstrous deity instead.

▸ Pairing: Wonwoo x gn!oc (but it doesn’t really matter tbh)

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ / horror, angst / 1900s au If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: violence (adults + children), light gore (not graphic, but descriptions related to meat processing), major character death

▸ Word Count: 3.6k

▸ A/N: This was inspired by Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs. It may not be the most popular entry, but it's the one that stuck with me the most so far in the series. I wrote the original version of this literally years ago, but did a slight rewrite so I could put it back out there. GIGANTIC thank yous to @onlymingyus and @wonwussy for beta reading and helping me clean the draft up after my eyes totally glazed over!! I apologize in advance for anyone that may be upset by this story. Know that some members' ages have been flipped and it's going to be rough for everybody involved. You've been warned. ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Mid November, 1899

“The industry is changing you,” Minghao says, standing as he stacks a pile of papers and files them into a folder.

Wonwoo smiles tiredly and looks up at Minghao from the other side of the desk, where he sits. “That’s alright as long as we change the future.”

Late February, 1900

“No, Wonwoo, this is you,” Teddy spits, wringing their hands on their slacks. 

The room smells like copper, and young Seungkwan weeps in the corner while even younger Chan sits next to him, stone face turned to the floor and bandaged hands balled.

Teddy and Wonwoo had lost plenty of people in the making, in the maintenance of The Machine. They’d both known the risks beforehand, and Teddy had reservations about bringing in children, but they needed the cheap labor, and Wonwoo had promised they’d never lose their children. Their boys. The only children the orphanage would let two odd industrialists near because it was considered a victory to just be rid of the adolescents by the time they’d become old enough to bully and fight. 

“He…” Wonwoo can’t meet Teddy’s eyes. He fixes his gaze on the window behind his partner instead. “Hansol wasn’t ours or mine.” Hansol was simply the boy that would not go home, that chose to sleep in alcoves among the machinery. Wonwoo can barely swallow his sentence, and the saliva that gathers in his mouth tastes like soot.

Seungkwan wails so loudly that for once, Wonwoo can’t hear the drone of engines in the back of his mind. He hates it.

Teddy moves to pick their children up from the floor, motions too smooth and slow. They don’t speak until the boys are in their coats, bundled up for the winter cold with oversized scarves and mittens. 

“The factory isn’t anyone’s either. It owns you. It’s changed you.”

Wonwoo knows his lover is right. He’s known for years, long before anyone had ever told him.

Mid August, 1899

The first time had been an accident. Wonwoo is certain that all the children had collected their payment and gone home for the evening. Teddy has a strict 7pm rule to ensure that they would not be wandering about at night and causing trouble. 

Wonwoo is certain.

The Machine is deafening. Over 13,000 pieces of nearly autonomous metal spanning throughout 8 floors of basement work to process meat for the masses. 

Wonwoo is absolutely positive that the children under their employ have retired for the evening, so, like clockwork, he cranks the furnace’s dial up and pulls the lever that opens the floodgates to clean the blood and marrow from the massive pipes of The Machine.

Hansol approaches him the next day in his office, smelling of oil and sweat. “Sir, may I have the day off?”

Wonwoo places his reservoir pen on the desk and stands to stretch. “What’s the matter, Hansol?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” the boy explains. 

“It’s amazing you sleep any night, laying about in the factory.”

Hansol is the type to grin awkwardly and offer a weak excuse, but today he can only shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know; it just sounded like someone kept screaming.”

At this, Wonwoo frowns. Despite having a home life that drives him to remain within the bowels of machinery, Hansol is a rather easygoing child. He definitely isn’t one for night terrors or hallucinations. Perhaps he’d snuck into Chan and Seungkwan’s room to exchange ghost stories again.

Nonetheless, Hansol looks haggard, and his odor is starting Wonwoo on one of his many migraines. “It’s been...three? Four days by now? Go upstairs and bathe - do not talk back to me. Wash yourself and stay out of trouble today.”

That evening, Wonwoo reminds his children that their bedtime is not optional and that while Hansol may not carry their last name, he’s treated as if he does. When they’re tucked in, Teddy stops Wonwoo in the hallway to tell him that four of the boys who worked for them hadn’t shown up for work that day or returned to their families the evening before.

They are never found. Hansol does not complain about nightmares for months.

Wonwoo can hear cogs whining in the section where skeletal remains are crushed. Among the scraps are bones too big to be pigs', slowing down the humming that had become his lullaby some time ago.

Early October, 1899

Teddy does not care much for the engineer Wonwoo hired to oversee the construction of a new grinder. He is too well spoken, too charming, too close to Teddy’s most prized treasure. But Minghao is smarter and has smaller hands that can move nimbly between the complicated maze of wire and metal when The Machine aches.

Wonwoo had been unable to soothe The Machine when it cried for weeks. Nothing he did made it stop, and Teddy said he was hearing things. When Wonwoo reached out to old acquaintances for useful contacts, they referred him to a brilliant mind from China that had been to Britain to have a firsthand look at how humanity could marry machinery to ease everyday production.

The rumors about Minghao are more than true. Wonwoo wonders if the man can hear the pleas of The Machine as loudly as he does, if he can hear it singing to him in his sleep.

Hansol only hears pained howling. Like clockwork every other night.

Wonwoo gives him tea and sends him off to bathe. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that the nights Hansol loses sleep are the nights The Machine doesn’t make a sound.

It doesn’t take long for Minghao to notice, either.

Early December, 1899

Minghao breaches the subject when he’s accompanying Wonwoo on his rounds of the bottom four floors. 

“Mr. Jeon, have you thought about other methods to power the factory?”

Wonwoo looks up from his clipboard. “Is what we have not sufficient?” Of course it isn’t. Every time a child went missing, Teddy would pace about their bedroom and fuss. After twelve disappearances, they insisted that the two of them switch their patrols: Teddy would oversee The Machine’s top floors, where most of the children worked, while Wonwoo oversaw the bottom. It didn’t placate Teddy’s worries by any means, but it was the best compromise that Wonwoo would concede to. At least they could finally do a proper attendance count. 

Minghao presses on, apparently unswayed by a polite demeanor and easy posture. “I’m sure your profits are plenty by now, but if this factory were to switch completely to steam power--”

“I’m not so greedy as to put youth out of work. I… My family is doing fine. Everyone is fine. We don’t need more money.” Wonwoo pushes thick spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. The Machine is sniffling next to his eardrums.

Minghao can see a vein on Wonwoo’s forehead. His default, calm expression is falling into exhaustion. “This town looks like it could use plenty of farmhands. I’m sure kids’d make better use of crops than a few nickels.” 

Wonwoo has to tell himself not to yell over The Machine. It’s gotten unbearably louder in seconds. Perhaps Minghao cannot hear it after all. “The people need this factory, Minghao.”

“No, it’s the factory that needs the people.” 

The Machine screeches, and Wonwoo panics. Weren’t the grinders supposed to be floors above them? He doesn’t have time to question it or what’s making him rush the shorter man, not with his ears ringing from the agony of noise. 

Wonwoo lets go of Minghao’s jacket just inches before his fingers touch the blades. He hopes Hansol doesn’t seek him out tomorrow, talking about shrieking. He’ll have enough to deal with trying to convince Teddy that the blood on his shirt is his own.

Teddy does not care much for Minghao, but they’re unsettled when they ask about the man’s whereabouts and Wonwoo shrugs absently. 

“He had to leave suddenly.”

January 3, 1900

The Machine has stopped screeching in Wonwoo’s ears since it was last fed. Knowledge, it wanted. Blueprints. 

Hansol falls asleep alone and wakes beneath pistons to the stench of foul water. 

Wonwoo allows Seungkwan to shadow him as he goes about tending to The Machine. Chan hasn’t much interest in going, preferring to follow Teddy on expeditions into town to procure more laborers.

Seungkwan asks many questions. “What does this machine do?”

“Didn’t so-and-so work on this floor once?”

“How do you turn this on?”

Wonwoo doesn’t notice the absence of small footsteps until The Machine sighs. When he turns around to address his son, no one is there. A door is shut behind him. He squints at Minghao’s copy of The Machine’s map. They should have been just beyond the grinders. What door is this?

Wonwoo sweats before he even breaks out into a run.

In his rush to find Seungkwan, Wonwoo nearly trips over the guardrails that separate him from an abysmal plunge into machinery. When he returns upstairs sobbing, Teddy is speechless only long enough to figure out the intercom console and plead for their son not to wander aimlessly but to follow the pipes up and out.

Teddy doesn’t talk to Wonwoo. Wonwoo does not eat. Four agonizing days pass before Seungkwan wanders into the study, covered with the same filth Hansol often wears. Teddy holds him tightly, and Wonwoo is frozen, having seen a peculiar flash in Seungkwan’s eyes that only the sickly dim lights in The Machine’s sewers can match.

Late January, 1900

Seungkwan has lost weight since the incident, but doctors can’t find any illness. He looks tired, more so than his overworked parents. He is on indefinite bedrest, and Hansol visits daily.

The young squatter is already there one evening when Wonwoo enters the children's room with snacks from the local bakery. “Ah, Hansol.”

Hansol rises and greets Wonwoo, but all that Wonwoo hears is The Machine. Spare them the world you have created, it says.

“Mr. Jeon?” Hansol looks worried. “Are you alright?”

Wonwoo blinks and remembers to breathe. “Yes, I’m-” The Machine is grumbling, “I’m alright.” He sets the bag of pastries on Seungkwan’s bedside table and kisses the child’s forehead, making a point not to brush Hansol, who is but a foot away. “Don’t forget your manners because you’re sick, Kwan. Share.”

“Of course, Father,” Seungkwan says as the man withdraws.

Wonwoo tries not to flinch. Spare them.

January 16, 1900

Teddy questions Wonwoo for days.

“Why won’t you look at Seungkwan? You’re hurting him.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Do you want to move?”

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“You won’t even look at me now?”

“What happened to us? To this family?”

Wonwoo can only hunch over and look away. The Machine speaks through nearly everyone to him. When others talk, they’re far away, while The Machine whispers on top of his eardrums. Chan is the only one he can hear without distraction.

Seungkwan’s voice pleads for the freedom of the masses. Teddy’s warns of disasters humanity will bring. Hansol’s is the worst of all. It bullies him, instructs him, twists his dreams into monstrous things, and in the same breath reminds him it is necessary. It is what they both want.

For weeks, Wonwoo has seen Hansol standing at the edge of catwalks. He’s seen the juvenile’s eyes among the bones of pigs and sacrifice. His young, growing arms help him swim through a sea that Hansol’s ghost says is made of the blood of swine. Some nights he dreams of Hansol’s hands pushing small bodies over railings and burying fractured skulls in the woods on the edge of town.

He does not see the boy, only the apparition of an atrocity.

January 30, 1900

When Wonwoo wakes on the study’s daybed, he nearly screams when he is faced with an apathetic Chan. The boy is kneeling next to the bed in his pajamas. It must be some time in the early hours of the morning.

“You’re loud, Father,” Chan says.

Wonwoo swallows and looks around the room. He does not see Hansol or hear anything speaking over his son. The usual, low hum of The Machine is nothing. “What?” is all the man can manage. 

“You and Hansol,” Chan clarifies. “You speak through your night terrors. Loudly. I can hear you upstairs.”

“What? I… How?”

Chan rolls his eyes. Teddy has been aggravated by this recent addition to Chan’s repertoire of poor manners, but Wonwoo welcomes the humanity of it. “Father, with my ears. I use them to hear.” He scowls. “Even when I’m trying to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, son,” Wonwoo laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair for the first time in years. “Go back to bed.”

“What about Hansol?”

At this, Wonwoo’s heart beats twice in a second. In his tiredness, he’d overlooked part of Chan’s complaint. Or perhaps it was selective hearing. Perhaps he hears only what The Machine wills him to.

“Where does Hansol sleep?”

If Chan picks up on Wonwoo’s panic, he does not show it. “With me or Kwannie, of course. Every night since December. He said the factory isn’t comfortable anymore - whatever that means. How can he sleep with all the racket in there?”

Wonwoo hears Hansol, hears The Machine. He does not sleep.

February 6, 1900

Wonwoo wishes The Machine would go back to simply calling to him so he could baby it. Now it’s grown and learned to speak more than he can handle. It’s maddening.

“Go upstairs and rest your nerves,” Teddy instructs him. “I’ll check everything tonight.”

The Machine chuckles and cries simultaneously. “N-No. I’ve got it. Let’s patrol like normal.”

Teddy doesn’t miss the recoil in Wonwoo’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, we can...work something out. You can even stay in the bedroom tonight, ok? Just go.”

Hansol and The Machine call Wonwoo from the bowels. “I can’t leave you here,” Wonwoo insists. I will change the walls, It/He warns. We will rewrite this place and then the streets.

“Wonwoo.” Teddy places hands on their love’s shoulders, desperation seeping through their fingertips. “Please.”

It is too late. I live. “No!” Wonwoo snaps. 

Teddy lets their hands fall and looks Wonwoo over. “Your mind is fevered.” Wonwoo has retreated within himself as always and won’t answer. He can’t. “Fine. Check your precious machine.”

I am this city. I am– He/It starts. Wonwoo can feel Teddy’s warmth leaving and quickly grabs at the tail of their jacket. “No, Teddy, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight, really.” I will fix the world with or without you. Make the right choice. “Let me run a bath for when you’ve finished...”

Ignore me all you want, but you cannot ignore what’s coming. Teddy turns and grins, pleased. There’s an ember of hope for their love left within them that Wonwoo feared had long since disappeared. Even if Teddy’s voice is barely there, their perseverance is enough.

You did this. 

February 16, 1900

Listen to your heart. I am your heart. You know you are with me. You created me to save this world. I am your friend.

February 22, 1900

Can’t you see it? We must save this world with blood now to avoid a far greater slaughter in the future.

February 25, 1900

Round up the orphans, and the world will thank you for it. You started this. We can finish it together.

February 28, 1900

Wonwoo awakes to the shrill cries of a pig.

Teddy’s arm is slung around his waist, and they snore lazily, undisturbed. 

The Machine hyperventilates all around him, and the pig squeals pound on him like gunfire. Kill him!

Wonwoo jumps from his bed, knocked from his daze, and barely pulls on a robe as he flees to the basement. The door has changed from wood to steel, but when he rams his body against it, it opens all the same. You are too late! 

Down. Even with The Machine’s innards changing around him, Wonwoo knows to go down. The noise gets impossibly louder, and the mocking does not cease as he descends, but fear propels him. 

Let me save them.

“Don’t kill him! Please!” Wonwoo has to stop and grab his chest. It’s tight and on fire. The pig sounds a lot like Seungkwan now. The Machine sounds like the self-made orphan, yet it feels to Wonwoo as if the voices have been one and the same from the beginning of his nightmare.

He blinks and he is on a single catwalk above the tenderizers. A sea of bodies are crushed beneath them and the bones don’t stop breaking. The crackling sounds like fireworks. Hansol is trying to push a struggling Seungkwan over the railing.

Wonwoo is frozen.

“I will set them free,” The Machine/Hansol says. His/Its voice is clawing at Wonwoo’s insides. “This is what you planned.”

“I never wanted this.” Wonwoo’s throat makes him feel tiny. His eyes water, and his legs want to buckle. All he can see is bodies.

“You wanted to change the future,” Hansol/The Machine reminds him smugly. “It is dirty. You’re all dirty.” It grabs Seungkwan by the neck to still him. “We have to start over. I can purify you all.”

Wonwoo hears war rattling in his skull and feels his body being painted with mustard gas. He wants to vomit, but when he opens his mouth, all he tastes is fetid flesh and maggots on the back of his tongue.

“This is your sacrifice, Wonwoo. I’m just the shepherd to lead you and your world to salvation.”

Seungkwan barely breaks free, wriggling from beneath Hansol’s body, and stumbles toward his father. Finally, Wonwoo can move and reaches with outstretched arms to hug the boy.

But Seungkwan, frightened by something Wonwoo can’t see, stops short of his father’s fingertips. Hansol takes the opportunity to grab the child by the wrist and slam him into the railing. A crunch louder than the tenderizer below rings out alongside Seungkwan’s pained yowl.

“You are misguided, Wonwoo!” The Machine/Hansol exclaims as It pulls Seungkwan back and hurls him into the railing once again, this time face-first. His body slumps in Its arms. Wonwoo hollers, but the sound is lost among the racket. 

“I am no more evil than you! I am you! Of all the blood we’ve spilt together, the first drops were from your hands alone. But when you steeped me in blood, I understood what you wanted. You want what the world needs. You birthed me to help. But to start the world anew, we must first cleanse it of all the filth.”

Hansol shakily hoists Seungkwan up by his chest and manages the unconscious boy halfway over the edge of the catwalk. “This is the vision we shared. We need to make them free.” 

Hansol pushes a final time, and The Machine grunts. Wonwoo scrambles on his hands and knees to close the distance just fast enough to catch a still-limp Seungkwan by his calves, dangling him precariously above peril.

The Machine laughs, and Hansol kicks Wonwoo. Hansol, on his own, is weak. He seems to have become weaker since the man last laid eyes on him. Wonwoo is able to pull Seungkwan up and lay him gently on the ground, ignoring the feather punches to his side and the grating in his mind. 

Hansol/The Machine huffs,, and steam engulfs the area below them. The pulverizers turn into grinders, and the air reeks of salt and congealed blood. Chan’s voice pierces Wonwoo’s consciousness, and he can feel steam burning his son’s hands as if they were his own.

“I am already everywhere. Don’t fight what you created.” 

It doesn’t try to fight as Wonwoo yanks Hansol’s small body up by his tattered collar and shakes him, asking how he could possibly be this cruel. 

“This small thing means nothing to what you’ve built. Be it now or tomorrow, the boy will have to be cleansed as well.” Hansol’s mouth moves as The Machine, but his face is red and blotchy with tears and snot. 

Chan is in agony floors above him.

“My greatest work has already begun, Wonwoo. I will make pigs of you all if I must.”

A door that wasn’t there before bursts open, and Teddy steamrolls in, panicked. Another pig squeals before blood sprays on their robe.

March 3, 1900

Wonwoo hears screaming day and night. Orphans, whores, thieves, It says. No one will miss them.

Teddy has taken their remaining children across the ocean to a young country that dreams of crafting buildings to the sky. 

Even without workers and without Wonwoo’s family, The Machine operates. It prepares cattle for slaughter, as Wonwoo had hoped. Whether it is for people or of people is beyond importance. 

It offers no resistance as Wonwoo enters the lower floors, almost mindless for the first time in two days, not even bothering to shift the walls around him. 

He stops when he reaches the meat grinders and looks down to see the faces of many. He looks up and sees bodies sizzling in the pipes above. 

Only through our work can you ascend to the skies and claim the future as your kingdom.

Wonwoo feels only heat as he climbs over the railing and sets his feet between the massive blades of machinery. 

Bones and ashes sow the seeds of a new future.

Wonwoo does not know of the coming age, he decides. He does not know prophecy from fiction, from nightmares. He is only certain, now, that The Machine is him. Hansol’s body may have had little weight, but surely his own must be invaluable as the Creator.

Be proud, for this is your design. His skin rips like tired leather, and his teeth scatter like mice as he is finally crushed. Everything is finally quiet. It is finally sated. He has found an existence so much more peaceful than this.

#kvanity #svthub #wonwoo #wonwoo x oc #wonwoo angst #svt angst #wonwoo horror #svt horror #wonwoo fic

[simplyacerola]

folklore (acerola's version)!

in which acerola interprets song lyrics from folklore to fit with various scenarios. these will be either gn!reader or fem!reader depending on the context of the song, story, or featured person.

see this post for the order. add yourself to the folklore taglist

thank you all so much for the support on this blog! it honestly means so much to me. my life has changed a ton (for the better!!) and having this blog gives me an outlet to express creativity that otherwise would sit in my google drive or never be written at all. i see and read every single like, reply, and reblog and it means all the world <3

track one: the 1 — bellamy blake

fem!reader; established relationship, angst in which bellamy and (y/n) look back on their relationship before being separated for 5 years.

track two: cardigan — karl jacobs

gn!reader; established relationship, comfort in which karl is (y/n)’s rock, knowing exactly how to make them feel loved.

track three: the last great american dynasty — timothée chalamet (p1)

fem!singer!reader; established relationship, hurt/comfort in which (y/n), a singer, and timothée chalamet are caught on a date, revealing their relationship to the ruthless public.

track four: exile — regulus black

fem!reader; second chance love, angst in which regulus runs into (y/n) at slughorn’s party after their breakup—but she’s escorted by someone else.

track five: my tears ricochet — peter parker

fem!villain!reader; lovers to enemies in which (y/n) becomes a villain and has to fight both spider-man and her lingering feelings for him.

track six: mirrorball — georgenotfound

gn!reader; established relationship, comfort in which (y/n) wants nothing more than to cheer up george.

track seven: seven — nancy wheeler

fem!reader; friends to lovers, self-discovery (wlw) in which nancy and (y/n) are best friends who spend every summer together. they tell each other all of their secrets—all except one.

track eight: august — regulus black

fem!muggleborn!reader; lovers to strangers

track nine: this is me trying — dylan o’brien

fem!reader; struggling relationship, second chance love, angst with good ending in which a break in their relationship only makes (y/n) and dylan realize how much they need each other.

track ten: illicit affairs — sapnap

fem!dreamsibling!reader; brother's best friend, forbidden relationship in which (y/n) is sneaking around with her brother’s best friend behind his back.

track eleven: invisible string — dreamwastaken

gn!reader; soulmates, strangers to lovers in which (y/n) and dream are soulmates.

track twelve: mad woman — thomas

fem!reader; established relationship, angst in which (y/n) will do anything to avenge newt’s death and only has thomas holding her together.

track thirteen: epiphany — stiles stilinski

fem!were!reader; friends to lovers in which stiles stays by (y/n)’s hospital bed after she risked her life protecting him.

track fourteen: betty — jack champion / ethan landry (TBD)

gn!reader; second chance love in which (y/n) jeopardized their relationship due to jealousy and tries to win him back at his upcoming party

track fifteen: peace — steve harrington (p1)

gn!cursed!reader; established relationship, doomed fate in which steve will do anything to protect (y/n), even after they’re cursed to die.

track sixteen: hoax — steve harrington (p2)

gn!cursed!reader; struggling relationship, doomed fate in which (y/n)’s condition worsens to a hellish extent, but steve refuses to let them go.

track seventeen: the lakes — timothée chalamet (p2)

fem!singer!reader; established relationship, escapism in which (y/n) and timothée stay at a remote cabin to get away from the media.

#acerola’s version #dreamwastaken x reader #karl jacobs x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #peter parker x reader #georgenotfound x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #dylan o’brien x reader #sapnap x reader #thomas tmr x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #steve harrington x reader #regulus black x reader #wilbur soot x reader #x reader #bellamy blake x reader #jack champion x reader #ethan landry x reader

[skyfall8600]

Sucked In. Chap 1: In Loving Colour

A/N: Welcome to my first ever Eddie Munson Fanfic! This is going to be a long series, and I apologise if I get any details wrong.

I love seeing your reactions so please comment and Reblog!

Warnings: Swearing

Pairings: Eddie x y/n. 

Summary: What happens if you get sucked into the world of Stranger Things, and come face to face with the big brown eyed metal-head you couldn’t get enough of. 

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist <3

[0.9k Words]

It has been a year since Season 4 of Stranger Things had graced your TV screen. After ugly crying over that devastating death of Eddie Munson in the last episode, you found yourself even more fascinated and captivated with that world and him. 

For Halloween 2022, you rocked your Hellfire shirt and joined your friends as makeshift versions of the Stranger Things gang. Your friends did nothing to stop your obsession, giving you small bracelets and pins for your birthday. 

“What’s your take on this one?” your friend said, showing you her phone screen with the latest theory on how season 5 might continue. 

“Vampire Eddie?” you laughed and blushed slightly, “I’d let him have me.” 

“Y/n!” they squealed, nudging your shoulder slightly. “It’s rather cool though, can you imagine? He’d be the second blood sucking Edward you’ve ever loved!” 

It was natural for them to make fun of your first movie crush, you had been so young when Twilight came out, but it seems as though some things never change. 

“Yeah... yeah.. laugh all you want.” You muttered, your eyes darting back to the inked pages of your book. “I have no shame in loving fictional men, they’re better than the real thing.” 

You remembered your attempts at normal teenage romances, most of the boys you dated often turning out to be disgusting pigs or unbearable to be around. It almost made it even more heartbreaking to know that you’d most likely never meet anyone with the same charm, passion and respect as the fictional men in your heart. 

At the ripe of age of 19, you were the last one in your group to never had a proper boyfriend, to never have that desire or passion of needing to be close to someone. You were constantly wrapped up in all your fantasy shows, books and imaginations. 

“Oh fuck, its 1am! I’ve gotta head off, see you next weekend yeah?” they said, grabbing their things and heading out of the room slowly. 

“I can’t do next weekend, got a job interview at that book store.” You replied, your face falling a bit. Ever since school ended, it has been getting harder and harder to see each other and stay as close as you used to. 

“Are you serious?! This is the fourth time you’ve had to cancel on me lately.” 

“I know, I know! It’s just so hard to find times, between college classes starting soon and trying to get some work-”

“Save it. I’ll see if Rebecca would wanna come instead.” they huffed, avoiding your eye. “I’ll see you around, text me whenever you’re free.” 

You said your goodbyes and were left alone in the silence of your small apartment. You looked fondly at the few pictures frames scattered on your bookshelf, missing the days of having a tight nit group. From 6 of you, it’s slowly died down to just the two of you. 

You sat quietly on your bed, trying to not let your emotions get the best of you. You turned on the TV and let the bright lights flicker around the room. You let Netflix play on random, continuing the end of Season 3 of Stranger Things. You knew that you would fall asleep, but hearing the voices of the characters gave you a small sense of comfort. 

The night air was unnaturally cold as you slept, causing you to shiver and pull the blanket above you as you stayed cocooned on the couch. Your whole body started to sweat, the air almost thick and slicing down your throat. 

You shifted slightly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the couch underneath you feeling almost as hard as stone. You opened your eyes and instantly panicked, your room gone and replaced with rocks, leafs and trees. 

“Did I fucking sleep walk?” you mutter to yourself. Your eyes trying to see between the trees, the soft glow of the sunrise giving you more colour to your surroundings. 

You followed the path, hearing slightly more commotion and cars speeding past. A small milk bar was near by and you walked in instantly, everything was oddly familiar but outdated. 

“May I help you miss?” the shopkeeper asked, he looked you up and down with a raised brow. You had fallen asleep in your clothes from the day before, not really understanding why that made him eye you down. Him on the other hand, had the highest, thickest and curliest set of hair that radiated the smell of hairspray from a mile away. 

“Um, am I able to use your bathroom?” you asked. He nodded his head to the right, giving you the approval. Walking slightly you noticed the so called store phone. “Oh no way, is this some sort of joke?” you laughed.

The man just stared at you, “What’d you mean sweetheart?” 

“It’s a fucking dial up phone! Oh my god, its still ringing! That’s sick as.” 

“I wasn’t aware there were any other types of phones, darlin’.” 

Your eyes widened, suddenly taking in all of your surroundings. Your chest became heavy, “Do you.... do you have today’s paper?” you whisper on a whim. 

“Here you are.” The thick news paper slapped down in front of you on the counter. “21st February, 1986″.

1986

1986

1986..... Hawkins Daily News.

“I’m sorry, WHAT!” You screamed. 

___________________________________________________________________________

And that wraps up the first chapter! This is a little side project for me, so not sure how often I will be able to post more BUT there is definitely more planned. Sorry no Eddie yet! 

TAGLIST:  @preciousbabypeter

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things 4

[sparklyslug]

I've never watched the mandalorian but your past dinluke reblogs have got me Very Interested. Obviously they never meet in the show (or am i really out of the loop?) so like what's the deal with the pairing? where does it come from?

ANON! I am happy to tell you that they DO IN FACT MEET IN THE SHOW! Short version (possibly full of inaccuracies because I watched it a while ago): season 2 of the mandalorian ends with baby yoda putting out a magical force call for other Jedi—a call answered by one badass Jedi master Luke Skywalker, who arrives just in the nick of time to fuck up a bunch of bad guys and save baby yoda and Mando from almost certain death and defeat. Luke offers to take baby yoda away to train him in the ways of the force, and Mando (VERY EMOTIONALLY) removes his helmet so that BY can get one last look at his dad’s face.

In the show the Book of Boba Fett (which honestly about halfway through became the Mandalorian season 2.5, kinda disrespectful to Boba but there you go) we see Luke and BY training, and BY’s ultimate decision to go back to his dad, with Luke’s blessing (something along the lines of how Luke would give anything for more time with his father, I got v emotional about it honestly EDIT SORRY that wasn’t in the show that was commentary but still wow my heart). I haven’t watched Mando s3 yet so I don’t know if that’s it for Luke or not, from my descent into madness of literally the last 48 hours I gather he doesn’t show up again.

SO YEAH that’s the canon context. I think there’s also much made of the old enmity between Jedi and the Mandalorians, the respective attitudes towards foundlings/younglings, and the mandalorian tendency to get horned up over great warriors who are also passionate defenders of their family and young. And they’re both adherents to a creed, both with some complexity and dysfunction and the need to decide what adhering to that creed means for each of them personally, which is fascinating. And the good ol single dads sharing custody dynamic, with a heaping side of “the apparently grouchy stoic one is actually a sweetheart and the seemingly sunshine cheerful one is actually a huge bitch” which is SUPER DUPER MY FAVE.

#dinluke #thanks to everyone who is along for this ride with me #Star Wars #the height difference is yummy too if that’s of interest #mandalorian is a Very Good Show imo I enjoyed it in a normal fan way before this pairing unlocked my brain #book of boba Fett tbh I disliked until it became mando 2.5

[pablopascal]

Another Love

Dabi x fem!reader word count: 1.2k warnings: death, abuse, lots of angst, some fluff, slowburn in the beginning, spoilers, Dabi’s pov is italicized A/N: Recommend listening to another love by Tom Odell (Slowed version) Also this is the first part of the fic. more parts to come when I'm not busy. please reblog, comment, like much appreciated!! sorry for spelling mistakes. *DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE*

GIF by tokoyamis

-

Touya and you were best friends before he died, always together. His father hated it, not wanting his children to associate with anyone. Touya and you were tied together by the universe or so his mother always said. But it was until the night he died; the universe tore you both apart from each other. You were saddened by the death of your best friend, knowing he wouldn’t want you to be sad forever. You lived every day for him because he couldn’t.

Touya was always at the back of your mind every day, he would never be forgotten. Deep in your heart you wanted him to be out there in the world safe away from his father and not dead. You knew he would never come back, and the world would move on from the death of Endeavor’s son Touya Todoroki. That’s what happened: everyone moved on with their lives and forgot about the death of an abused, scared little boy that wanted some form of love from his father. The sad truth was that he never really died that night. 

-

“I brought you daffodils in a pretty string

But they won't flower like they did last spring”

-

Dabi sighed as he watched from afar where he was “buried”, there was the same person he loved as a child. He always watched over her since he “died” and never once did he abandon her. He wished he could walk up to her and wrap his scarred arms around his beloved friend.

The one that truly believed in him when his father didn’t. The one that always stood strong in front of him when he couldn’t get back up. He saw the tears run down her cheeks as she pressed a kiss to her fingertips and then put those lightly kissed fingertips to the gravestone of Touya. He watched as she walked out of the cemetery with her head held high with fire in her eyes.

-

“And if somebody hurts you, I wanna fight

But my hands been broken, one too many times”

-

You were always trying to exploit the abusive ways of Enji Todoroki and what you had witnessed watching Touya grow. The torture that he pushed Touya through before his death and what he put Shoto and the others through.

After Touya died you never left the little brother’s side because you wanted to protect him when you could. But of course, Enji was able to keep you from the youngest Todoroki three years after Touya’s death. You made it your life’s mission to tarnish the hero’s reputation. 

-

You were on your way to meet Natsuo for your weekly study group. You both go to the same college and he is the only way you can stay in touch with Shoto. Walking into the library, you see the white-haired teenager sitting at the usual table but you notice someone next to him as you get closer.

You pulled the chair out in front of Natsuo and looked up to see no so little Shoto. Your smile grew in size seeing the kid that you promised Touya you would protect. You felt a sense of security that he wasn’t at home with his father, knowing the torture he has probably gone through. 

-

“Hey Shoto! How are you doing?”

He looked up from his phone realizing someone was talking to him. He was taken back to see the girl that Touya always brought home to play with his other siblings while he was pushed into training endlessly. Shoto blanked for a few seconds and then came to his older brother waving his hand in front of his face. When he blinked to make his eyes focus on you and his brother, he saw the concern on both of your faces.

“You okay sho?” you asked. 

 He looked at you saying, “Yeah… Yeah...  I’m just surprised to see you after all this time.”

You smiled at him, “You’ve grown so much, Sho. I hope you’re enjoying going to UA this year.”

He looked at you and smiled while saying, “Yeah it's good. I’m making some friends too.”

You nodded your head saying, “Good Shoto for you. Touya would be proud of you. I’m proud of you everytime Natsuo says something about you.”

Shoto shockingly looks at his older brother, “You talk about me to other people?”, who just looked at him with a toothy smile. 

Natsuo turned back to you with a serious face saying, “So you still out to get my dad? Not that I care! He has it coming.” 

You nodded your head yes with a sad smile, Natuso started speaking again, “I hope you are able to show the world the truth about Enji. He deserves to be torn down from his throne.” 

You looked at him with a smile, “I’ll tear him down even if it kills me in the process, Natsuo. Just make sure to take care of each other if I die, okay?”

Natsuo looked at you sadly before nodding his head at you in agreement, “I know y/n. I’ll never let anything happen to them.” 

Shoto during this whole conversation was thinking about how you were going to bring down his father and how it was going to destroy you in the process. He knew his father would do everything to save his reputation. Even making you disappear would be something he would do. When Shoto came to after his thoughts, he looked up to see you smiling at him with a sad look on your eyes. 

“Okay let’s get studying so I can leave and start my plans to destroy your father's reputation,” you said laughing while getting your books out. 

Shoto and Natsuo saw that the smile didn’t reach your eyes. To be honest you were scared of the outcome of showing the world the true Enji, but you knew that you had to do it for Touya’s sake. You looked up to see the two boys smiling at you with concern, you sighed. 

“C’mon stop looking at me like that… I’ll be safe. It’s my middle name,” Natsuo rolled his eyes, “Natsuo I saw that. I’ll be as safe as I can. I promise. Now c'mon let’s study. I have work after this, I can’t be late again.”

Before you guys got into studying you said something towards Shoto, “You know Sho, you look so similar to Touya when he was a kid. That makes me happy that I can still see him in some ways.” 

You said this with a sad smile on your face before looking back at your textbook. Shoto and Natuso looked at each other then back at you to see you wiping away the tears that were falling down your cheeks on to the textbook. Natsuo reached out to touch your hand in a comforting way. 

Looking up at him smiling and then looking at Shoto, “I’m proud of you four, especially after what you dealt with. None of you deserve that treatment from your parents. I will do everything in my power to show the world the truth.”

-

“So I'll use my voice, I'll be so fucking rude

Words they always win, but I know I'll lose”

-

#touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #touya todoroki #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi angst #dabi my hero academia #dabi x y/n #dabi is a todoroki #dabi x reader #dabi #dabi x you #dabi imagine #dabi touya #dabi todoroki #mha spoilers #mha fanfiction #mha #mha angst #dabi todoroki x reader #todoroki touya #bnha toya #mha toya #mha touya #natsuo todoroki #todoroki family #reader #x reader #reader insert #Masterlist pablopascal

[cosmoshard]

Ohhh, can you elaborate on the Mutant/Yokai apocalypse au??

Okay funny thing: i wrote this au back in 2021 when Rise was just beginning to air its second season, so I had no way of knowing we were gonna get a movie, nor what its plot would be like, so imagine my surprise when I look back at this au and realize its just an alternate, (much more amateur) version of the Rottmnt movie premise. Now its not plot for plot, there’s a ton of differences OKAY LEGGO!!✨

Like the movie: the turtles are all adults and the leaders of the revolution, with the help of their friends. They are in hiding from the rest of the world because of lack of warning before the invasion/revolution and are slowly fighting back. All the turtles had roles to play: Leo was a fighter pilot/foot-soldier, operating from the air where he had a birds eye view. Rlly leaned into his cocky do-it-his-own-way attitude lol. He also adopted a small yokai girl he found one day on the battlefield.

Raph was the tank, the one always on the front lines, first one there and last one out. He got real tough over the years so he was always using himself as a shield. He also saw a lot of allies die so he became quieter and more stoic. The opposing side called him Walking Death because whenever he arrived he would lay waste to thousands of their kind, mind stuck in savage raph as a way to cope wt all the violence. Raph had a relationship with a mona lisa type character and he has a small kid named enan, who’s a mutant Gecko/turtle hybrid.

Donnie was the brains of the operation as usual, in classic neurodivergent fashion he forgets to take care of himself and holes up in his underground lab where he tries to constantly stay on top of the Yokai’s mystic magic with new inventions. A bad lab accident left his shell and backbone exposed along with destroying his left arm and scarred his side pretty bad. He now has a robot arm and is bionically attuned to his inventions. (I have a more on his inventions but i dont want to spoil it all as i might keep them for future ideas :D)

Mikey is the cook/home-base man. Making sure everything stays running and doing his best to keep the family together. He is fastly becoming more doctor Delicate Touch moreso then Soft Mikey as he used to be. He is also gets to babysit the most often cuz he’s always at home 🙄/lh

April became their resident Medical Expert and has appointed herself as Donnie’s daily nagger to get sleep and food. She also ends up being a sort of therapist for the resistance but doesnt give herself the same luxury even tho the bros offer many times. Because she stays in base most of the time her and Mikey end up shouldering the same responsibilities and they understand each other on a deeper emotional level then most of the family.

Other Characters Roles:

Shredder is back and is the leader of the yokai’s, but is distant and only using them to conquer the world and become emperor. Baron Draxum is his Star General and the one mostly in the spotlight, therefore directly influencing the yokai below them, (and any major decisions they came up with.) Big mama demanded to be called Empress and she commands most of the army

A couple more things✨

Shredder’s whole plan is to reach the core of the planet to find the source/core of all mystic energy (which was later revealed to be canon!?? in the s2 finale wt the empyrean spring beneath the hidden city.) the resistance has to find it before shredder can so they can turn the tide of the war.

That’s basically it, other than plot points, thank you for asking!!! It took a little bit to make it coherent because i write in bullet notes lol, if ya want to know we can dm or reblog chain :3

#My chest of treasures #Rottmnt #manga-toons #THANK YU FOR ASKING IM SORRY IT TOOK A WHILE TO ANSWER #I MEANT TO ANSWER THE SAME DAY :((( #rottmnt movie

[suvidrache]

NSFW Alphabet - Uryu

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 507 / Read it on AO3 | Offline Version

A: Aftercare - What they're like after sex?

He's going to do what he can to help you out. Carry you to the bath, change the sheets, etc.

B: Body Part - Their favorite part of themselves/you?

His hands and your ass/breasts.

C: Cum - Taste, texture, etc?

A clear color, slightly salty, and sticky.

D: Dirty Secret

He has an album of the images you sent to him.

E: Experience - How much experience do they have?

None, he's never been in this position before.

F: Favorite Position

Lotus, missionary, any that allows him to see your face better. Occasionally doggy.

G: Goofy - How are they: serious, funny, etc?

Not entirely funny, but will try to relax the tension as much as he can.

H: Hair - Shaved, not shaved, color?

Trims every once in a while, black.

I: Intimacy - How are they romantically?

Very romantic. He's going to lay out petals and try to make each time different from the last.

J: Jack Off - How often do they masturbate?

Every once in a while. Maybe even more, he doesn't want to admit such things and is embarrassed he even does things like that.

K: Kink - Their kinks?

Breeding, watching you in the mirror, tying each other up.

L: Location - Favorite place(s) to do it?

The bedroom, nowhere else.

M: Motivation - What gets them into it?

Lingerie, tight-fitting clothes, and short clothes (crop tops, short skirts/shorts, etc.) Flirting/being suggestive.

N: No - Will not do/turns them off?

Anything that will cause pain, bleeding, or death. Threesomes.

O: Oral - Giving, receiving, skill?

Loves to receive, but prefers giving just because he doesn't want to seem needy. Over time, he'll be more confident and willing to voice how he feels.

P: Pace - Fast, rough, slow, etc?

Slow and hard, he'll go harder at times.

Q: Quickie - How often?

Every once in a while. Very rarely unless you initiate it. Again, when he finds more confidence, he'll voice his opinions.

R: Risk - Willing to take risks/experiment?

Highly unlikely.

S: Stamina - How long/many rounds can they go?

3 or 4 for about 45 minutes.

T: Toys - Do they have any/will they use them?

No, but he would be willing to use them to satisfy you. He would be blushing if you used them on him.

U: Unfair - How much do they tease?

Not much, because he knows that if you teased him enough, you would leave him a blushing and stuttering mess.

V: Volume - How loud are they?

Pretty vocal, but not too loud.

W: Wild Card - Something random?

He'd love to spy on you, but it would leave him with nosebleeds, so unfortunately, he just looks at the photos you sent him in a locked room.

X: X-Ray - Size, appearance, etc?

7, pale with some noticeable veins, a big vein on the underside, cut.

Y: Yearning - How high is their sex drive?

High, but he doesn't speak about it until he's confident. 

Z: ZZZ - How quickly do they fall asleep?

He falls asleep once you do.

© SUVIDRACHE — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

Tag List: @thevoidwriting, @eli-chris, @stygianoir / Join My Tag List Here!

#uryu x y/n #uryuu #bleach uryu #uryu x reader #uryu ishida #ishida uryū #ishida uryuu #bleach x y/n #bleach x you #bleach imagines #bleach x reader #bleach headcanons #bleach smut