#him being saved is not a necessity for this

[lets-try-some-writing]

Forbidden Sight

With the threat of the Fallen forcing Bumblebee to act and Megatron long since out of the picture, he is left with no choice but to seek out the aid of the divine. Unfortunately, meeting the divine is not all it is cracked up to be, and sometimes the price is not worth the sacrifice.

(Please note: This is LONG and there is body horror going on so do be aware.)

“No, I am not going down there again.” Ratchet clutched his dented arm possessively, his optics flaring in fear of all things. Bumblebee stilled as the Doctor’s plating flared, his servo doing a terrible job covering obvious digit shaped imprints. What could have possibly caused such damage?

“Ratchet, you are the only one who knows the way. You went with Optimus when he-” Ratchet cut him off with a look of pure terror and grief that ran so deep it was clear to see in his body, field, and expression. Bumblebee couldn’t help but stare in shock as the Doctor shook his helm frantically.

“No. No. I will give you the path I mapped, but I will never go down there. Not again.” Something had shaken him to the core. Ratchet was never like this, at least not around anyone who could see or hear what he was dealing with.

Bumblebee took a moment to meet the gazes of his team. They were worried. They looked to him for guidance. None of them said a word, but Windblade’s dipped wings and Strongarm’s nervous twitching told him everything he needed to know.

None were looking forward to the journey ahead, even in light of its necessity.

“Ratchet…” He trailed off as everyone fell silent. Guilt radiated in Ratchet’s field, but he did not budge. He wouldn’t be guiding them, no matter how much Bumblebee pleaded.

In order to defeat the Fallen, they needed information that no living mech, save for perhaps Megatron, possessed. With Megatron lost to the stars, Soundwave stuck in the shadowzone, and other possible sources similarly scattered or deceased, there really was only one choice. It was a faint hope, but Optimus had made the journey to Primus’s core long ago in search of both an end to the war and a way to restore their world. There were none left alive who knew the exact details of what went on that cycle, but Ratchet and a small cohort had journeyed with Orion Pax and they knew that when he emerged, he was greater than he was before.

Orion Pax gained knowledge on that dark cycle. Bumblebee’s hope was that he could do the same.

Optimus was gone, dead, and given to the Well. There was no one else except Ratchet, who might have had the faintest idea as to how to get to Primus’s core safely. And yet he was shaking, terrified to the point of being unable to move, regardless of how badly his field flared with the desire to flee. Something had happened, and that fact did not give Bumblebee any confidence.

“I… I will wait for you here. But Bumblebee, you must listen to me.” Ratchet released his death grip on his damaged arm, leaving it free for all to see. Sideswipe cursed softly somewhere behind him, but Bumblebee could only stare at the damage in horror.

Deep, dark, and dangerous dents that turned into tears ran across Ratchet’s arm. Rust and dried energon bordered the wound, nonlethal, but a testament to something powerful down in the depths. There were four clear imprints, huge and imposing digit marks—dug into metal that for all intents and purposes, appeared delicate now. If Bumblebee looked closely, he could see a fifth imprint running along the underside of Ratchet’s arm.

Ratchet had been grabbed by something. And whatever that horror was, it had destroyed the long maintained stoicism of a mech that had never so much as flinched in the face of danger, save for the sake of another.

“Don’t touch him. Don’t even try to damage him. He will not hesitate to leave a far greater mark.” Ratchet’s entire being spoke of desperation. His plea rang with true terror, not unlike the horror that had been evident in his voice when the Unmaker woke. Still, this was deeper, more… personal.

“I understand.” Bumblebee didn’t bother trying to convince Ratchet to come. He was dead set on remaining, and based on his reaction, it was a miracle he wasn’t already high tailing it all the way back to Iacon.

“Here are the coordinates of the tunnel entrance and mapped paths I recorded.” Ratchet sent a message over a private link, a file quickly blaring red across Bumblebee’s vision. He accepted it easily and shared the information with his team.

“Be careful. You won’t like what you see.” Ratchet stepped away, his gaze turning anywhere except the giant hole in the ground leading down to the core of their planet. Bumblebee nodded and gestured for his team to follow. There was no more time to waste and he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on Ratchet’s warning.

Bumblebee half expected to have to rock climb down the Well in order to get to his target, but according to Ratchet’s map, there was a path for him to follow. It did take him and Drift arguing over the thing for half a groon before they found the entrance, but once the journey began, any mirth evaporated in an instant.

“I don’t like this…” Strongarm muttered, breaking the silence for only a moment before it became suffocating once more. She shivered, and not even Sideswipe was willing to talk as they delved into the depths. Bumblebee did his best to lead confidently, but the road was long and there were things that shifted in the dark the deeper they went. The entire area felt oddly… holy, but only in the vaguest sense.

Controlled seemed like a better word. The path was controlled. Everything was methodical, placed with purpose, even if Bumblebee was unable to parse it out. Drift and Windblade made a few awed comments off and on, but as the light dimmed and the tunnels became more cavernous, his team refused to speak. Bumblebee couldn’t blame them, especially not when there were pedeprints in the dust from mecha who traveled with Optimus Prime millennia ago.

This place carried too much history to be disrupted for longer than absolutely required.

“We are almost to the core. Stay together, and don’t touch anything. This is a place for Primes and Primes alone.” Bumblebee shivered instinctually as his internal map alerted him to the fact that they were close. It was hard to keep track of the time so deep beneath the surface, but he assumed they had been on the move for around a cycle. He expected the trip to take longer. Wasn’t Primus at the very core of their world?

The tunnels made no sense. They hurt to think about.

“Sweet Primus…” Sideswipe cursed, but it was lost in the void as they stepped through a final arch, quickly finding themselves basked in the light of their maker, or at least, his core. Bumblebee had to pause and look on in both awe and a degree of existential dread as cogs larger than life turned in a rhythmic manner, adhering to laws and designs long forgotten by any living being save for the one who ordered their continued functioning.

A thin pathway led closer to the core, one large enough for a mech or two depending on frame type. A few stray Predacon corpses long rusted littered the ground, dark energon leaking from their battered frames. They were lifeless, but they were a reminder of the battle hard fought and won.

“Everyone, keep a ways behind me. If something goes wrong, one of you needs to get out of here and regroup with Ratchet and my old teammates.” He held out an arm, not thinking too deeply on the motion as he cautiously moved forward. He could sense his team moving slowly a few dozen feet behind him, watching him like techno-hawks as he followed the curved pathway toward where he assumed he could address the slumbering god of Cybertron, or at least attempt to commune with the Primes of old.

Everything seemed to pulse and hum around him as he walked. And yet, there was no noise. Not a sound, not a creak, not even his own pedesteps as the light of Primus washed over him in waves. He might have been imagining it, but everything about the area felt intelligent, even alive. If mythology was to be believed, then his senses would be correct. However, it only served to unsettle him as he noted the marks of small pedes moving forward and far larger pedes heading toward the entrance.

How long had it been since the soil was disturbed? Were these Optimus’s marks? Or had someone else made the journey down to Primus to cry out to their absent god? He didn’t think so. The marks matched Optimus’s specs. That thought bothered him, although he could not pinpoint why. The dust should have moved. Something should have changed. Despite that, the echoes of a darker time remained engraved in the very path he walked.

He stepped cautiously, his optics drawn to a series of cables and connectors hanging down from where Primus’s core reached an accessible level. He momentarily wondered if Optimus’s body was stuck amongst those of the Predacons, or caught in wires beneath the thin path he carefully tread. Was the body of his leader hanging limply, forgotten by all but the void that embraced him?

Bumblebee wished that were the case. By Primus he wished that were the case when he finally ascended, following the path as close as it came to Primus’s core.

He wanted to purge as he set optics upon the tattered mess that hung from countless wires and cables. There was no denying who it was. No other mech bore red and blue so proudly or carried a relic of a forgotten age within his spark chamber. He was thinner now, seriously emaciated with rust and dried gore of all kinds spattered across his frame at various intervals. His plating hung off him at odd angles, some pieces even missing altogether. His left finial was broken and the optic on the same side was damaged to the point of almost appearing crushed.

The connectors attached to him dug beneath armor and protoform alike, bloating his frame in strange, unusual places. Blue tinted ooze dripped from unnatural wounds, falling down into the void beneath. The cables seemed to slither into him, creeping into every seam and strut, pulsing with the waves of Primus’s light. The Matrix glowed in time with it all, seemingly content even as its bearer hung lifelessly.

“Optimus, I’m so sorry.” His digits shook, and it took all his willpower to not turn away and purge as he stared at what remained of his mentor, his leader, and the only fatherly character he had ever known. The Prime was not honored in death, not like this. His body hung up like some sort of twisted trophy.

It wasn’t right. Optimus deserved better than this.

“I wish I could bury you properly, but this will have to do.” He stepped forward, doing his best to not look at the deep gashes along Optimus’s back where his jetpack had once been. He could see cables slithering there, sliding deep and along Optimus’s spine. He fought the urge to gag as he readied himself to act.

He would take the Matrix out of Optimus’s chassis and use it to find a way to commune with the Primes of old. His leader’s body would then be cut free, and he could rest without being strung up like a tormented attempt at taxidermy. It was the least he could do. After everything, Optimus should be allowed to pass without being held up in a grim state of disrepair.

“I wish you weren’t like this… I wish things were different.” He found himself murmuring softly as his digits barely brushed against the relic. However, his movement seemed to stir it, and Bumblebee leapt back with a yelp as the Matrix became encased in arcs of electricity. Optimus’s body convulsed, the cables holding it up twitching and shifting as the body was lifted higher, away from Bumblebee’s reach.

“Bee!” Sideswipe was the first to move forward, with the rest of the team following behind him. Bumblebee wished he could curse and ward them all off as what remained of his leader contorted in horrible ways. The legs squirmed, kicking at nothing, as power rippled through the living corpse. The arms tensed up, digits twitching madly as the body’s optics began to flare without rhyme or reason.

His spark flared in its chamber, terrified as the corpse gave another unfortunate spasm, a deafening crack echoing amidst the eerie silence. The entire chamber seemed to lurch in a spiritual way before the lights all dimmed, Primus’s very core lowering in intensity. Nothing happened for a klik, and Bumblebee was half tempted to try and reach out again as the body fell still. Maybe it was just… lingering processor function acting up. Perhaps the Matrix was trying to awaken a host that had long since gone offline. There were always possibilities-

“Bumblebee.” The garbled designation in that oh-so-familiar voice shook him, freezing Bumblebee in place as the corpse’s helm raised. The lone functional optic blazed bright enough to blind a mech as it settled on Bumblebee and his team. There was no way Optimus was alive. He couldn’t be. That… the thing hanging from wire and cables was a corpse. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be real.

“You have come to seek wisdom.” The corpse shuddered, its staticky voice steadying with every glyph uttered. Its helm tilted, the lone functional optic cycling in on Bumblebee in what could have been interest if it weren’t for the fact that there was no spark to power the frame that continued to defy reality.

“You come for my knowledge, that which has been lost to you, dear children.” The cables holding the corpse shifted, growing as more came down from the void. They slithered and writhed beneath the corpse’s plating, allowing the body to lower closer, almost to the point of being within touching distance. The blazing optic that illuminated the entire chamber flickered off and on, its gaze seemingly so glued to Bumblebee that it felt like fire on his plating. Yet, at the same time, it seemed the corpse was looking right through him, not seeing so much as observing.

“Little Orion came to me long ago. He too sought out my guidance.” The living corpse shifted, its arms moving in haphazard, jagged movements. Its digits twitched, seemingly trying to gesture and grasp at nonexistent objects. It hurt to watch as ooze leaked from between cracks, forced out by movement that should not have been possible. A few of the cables loosened, allowing the corpse to move a degree. It leaned forward, its tattered frame straining as its derma failed to match the syllables of the glyphs being uttered.

It was sickening. Bumblebee wanted to retch and flee, but his very spark lurched in his chassis, frozen before the entity that wore his father figure’s frame like a suit. There was no escape. Not for him, not for his terrified team.

“What will you give for that which you seek?” The corpse’s neck cracked and energon so old that it was little more than a tank churning goo dripped from torn ligaments and connectors. The corpse remained focused on him, a smile beginning to form on its face, cracking the delicate facial plating that once gave Optimus his classical reputation.

It reached out. Its arms gestured to Bumblebee as the light of Primus’s core pulsed behind it, shadowing it while also making it impossible to look away. It was a mockery of all Optimus was, and Bumblebee couldn’t help the rage that began to pool in his spark alongside the dread.

“What will you offer when my Champion gave me everything?” The Matrix flared, power arcing off it as the entity spoke. The corpse’s helm tilted a little too far to be possible for a normal mech, almost shifting a full ninety degrees. It grinned, its arms pulled close to itself as viscera and torn cables seeped out from between cracks in the corpse’s armor.

This thing was not Optimus. It merely wore his frame and mimicked his voice. Bumblebee’s desire to flee quickly found itself overshadowed by grim determination. Whatever the entity was, it could not be allowed to continue desecrating the frame of his leader and father.

“Who are you?” A slight tremor entered his voice as he spoke. His team huddled close to each other, stepping back from Bumblebee as the thing descended lower, its smile wide enough to tear through facial plating with ease. Bumblebee could see molar derma showing through the gashes that formed as the thing pushed Optimus’s body beyond its limits.

“I am the one below, he who formed your sparks from fire and starlight.” The entity’s smile softened, although it did nothing to take away from the rotted scent that emanated from the corpse. Rusted metal, stagnant energon, and the rancid smell of corroding internal fluids long since left to rot. That one optic blazed with renewed fury as Primus’s core brightened for a moment, joining the entity, the god as it, he spoke.

“I ask you again, what will you offer? How much are you willing to give for victory?” The cables slithered ever deeper into battered protoform, puppeting limbs as the god of all Cybertronians hung within the confines of Optimus’s corpse. Bumblebee’s digits shook as the being known as Primus continued to stare through the optic of his father.

This was so very wrong. What use would a god have for a mortal frame? Why would Primus do this to his chosen? Why would he demand sacrifices when already they had given all they could?

“I… I will give whatever is required.” He clenched his jaw, steeling himself for whatever was to come as Primus continued to stare, uncaring, unnatural, and yet so very loving all at once. His team’s fields flared in horror, and distantly he was aware of Windblade and Drift dropping to their knees in submission, be it out of fear or reverent respect. Strongarm and Sideswipe continued to step away, terrified as more cables wrapped around Optimus’s frame, supporting it so that the god could pilot it more freely.

“How noble of you. Optimus tended to you well. I can sense his touch, feel his influence all throughout your very being.” The corpse moved, the cables dragging it through the chamber as it did a slow circle around Bumblebee and his team. The god kept a safe distance away, remaining half submerged in shadow at any given moment as the spotlight that was Optimus’s optic continued to illuminate Bumblebee and those with him.

“I was right to let him keep you.” The voice echoed from all around and yet nowhere at once. Primus hung directly above Bumblebee for a moment, the corpse of Optimus Prime dripping fluids that made him want to gag. He resisted the urge, trying with all his might to not show how frightened he was as the god returned to his former position in front of the core, seemingly content.

“What does that mean?” The implications of the god’s words were startling to say the least. He spoke as though he controlled Optimus as easily as he did now, moving his body and commanding his voice. Would Optimus have left him if Primus had not ordained the Prime’s acquisition of Bumblebee after the destruction of his home city? Did Optimus have no free will? Or was the god toying with him just as Unicron had all those years ago?

“Nothing to you. It is of no consequence.” The god continued to smile in that sickly way that was only found on corpses where the mortician simply couldn’t manage to make the expression look natural. Optimus’s other finial snapped and fell into the void below as Primus contorted Optimus’s frame again, forcing it to jerkingly return to a somewhat comfortable position resting within the wires.

It didn’t look comfortable at all, not with wires and cables threatening to burst from every line and seam. If Optimus were alive, Bumblebee had no doubt that he would be in agony. He sincerely hoped his father figure wasn’t still functioning, trapped by some divine will within his frame as it twisted and shifted in ways it wasn’t meant to.

“Why are you doing this? Why can’t you let him rest?” Anger returned in full force as Bumblebee shook. Why did the monster that called himself a god have to do this to his chosen? Had Optimus not served enough?

He got his answer as the god paused, and then laughed.

It was a deep guttural and almost pained sound, one that bordered on a wheeze and the buzz of radio static all at once. Fluid must have been gathering in Optimus’s vocalizer all throughout his time rotting in the Well. The laughter merely emphasized that fact.

“Sweet child, have you no optics to see? Look upon this form, see that which it is and what it represents.” The god haphazardly threw Optimus’s arms open in a mock mimicry of an embrace. Primus smiled even wider, shattering further pieces of Optimus’s face as he forced it to match his design. He must have seen himself as benevolent and holy. He did not seem to understand the sheer horror of a god speaking through the deceased and rotted frame of a Prime.

“That means nothing to me.” Bumblebee stood defiantly, his door wings locked in place as he forced his hydraulics to stiffen. He refused to shake, to show weakness in front of an entity that bordered on maliciousness at every moment.

“A pity. No others have ever matched this one, my dear Optimus.” Primus spoke and almost lovingly forced Optimus’s arms to wrap around himself. The god tenderly caressed the Matrix, lovingly looking down upon it with what would have been an adoring expression if not for the rust that crept along the corpse’s face.

He looked so serene, and strangely enough, even holy. In Bumblebee’s mind, what he saw before him was a true depiction of their god. A rotting power of the old world who in turn chose new champions to pilot, corrode, and ultimately make just like him. Broken, and so very divine.

“So strong, so dutiful, so very faithful.” A look of pure joy spread on the corpse’s face. A piece of Optimus’s shoulder plating broke away and fell into the darkness. Primus did not react as he forced the arms of the corpse to stretch beyond their limits, as if to embrace the god’s chosen Prime with even more adoration.

“Always obedient and kind. He was, he is perfect. A true beacon for all my wayward creations.” The frame shuddered, almost like a clockwork engine as it let off steam. Energon long unused began to sizzle as the spotlight that was the god’s borrowed optic again returned to Bumblebee.

His team shook behind him. Sideswipe and Strongarm had long since fallen, their plating rattling as they unknowingly found themselves bowing. Bumblebee refused to budge. He clenched his servos into fists, unwilling to show the god before him just how frightened he was. Primus could destroy him in an instant, he was sure of it.

“How could I relinquish such perfection? He gives himself to me so very freely. Total submission, true supplication. Much unlike others who have come before and after him.” Again, the corpse moved forward, coming closer and closer to Bumblebee until it hung only a little ways off. He could almost touch his father’s broken face if he so desired.

But what truly set him off was not the proximity of the living corpse. Rather, it was the red and white paint that had been transferred onto the left servo of Primus’s borrowed vessel.

“You, did you-?” Realization dawned on him like a lighting strike. The corpse merely tilted its helm with its ever present smile.

“You think of the doctor, my Champion’s dearest friend. Yes, the damage was done by this borrowed servo. He dared to try and take what belongs to me and me alone.” Primus clenched the corpse’s fist, cables bulging within the limb in question as they were forcefully bloated with energon to facilitate movement. Bumblebee bit his lower derma as images of Ratchet’s terror and possible experience conjured in his processor. This thing had hurt him, that much was clear.

“He might have been a fine vessel once. But he is too tainted, no longer pure. Wise perhaps, and dutiful indeed. But he would never heed my call.” Primus reached up to cup his, or rather Optimus’s face. Weathered servos touched scuffed and dirty facial plates with all the delicateness one would give a porcelain doll. Bumblebee wanted to recoil in horror as the implications hit him. No mech should be subject to whatever in the name of the Thirteen this was.

“Optimus… my beloved Optimus. His faith has been a delight after so many ages of silence.” Primus maneuvered his borrowed servos down, brushing up against thin and frail armor plates. The singular functional optic Primus had to use trailed every movement, watching those servos which he controlled as they caressed the body the god inhabited. It was disturbing to watch. It almost looked like some sort of convoluted assault with how pleased the god looked as he forced Optimus’s body to examine itself.

“He gave himself to me willingly. Anything to win his little war. He called himself a sacrifice, but I have named him my Chosen.” The body shivered in what looked to be pleasure. Bumblebee couldn’t help the gag that he let out at the sight. The corpse merely continued to grin as it forced Optimus’s body to embrace itself, prompting a series of cables to burst and oozing energon to slide from new wounds.

“He obeyed my every command, listening to my whispers and calls for my brother’s return to slumber. He was so dutiful that he chose me over all others, even the likes of you.” The god laughed again, a sweet chortle that did not match Optimus in any capacity. Then, as if that weren’t enough, its helm tilted again, this time even further than before. Something snapped as Primus forced the corpse to comply with his wishes, ensuring the rotted frame’s helm all but swiveled into an impossible one hundred and eighty degree angle.

Anger swelled in his spark at the mere idea of Optimus throwing everything away for some dying deity. It wasn’t like him. Optimus was a Prime for the people. He would never cast away everything just for… some god who hardly cared. But what truly shook Bumblebee were the tears that began to fall from the singular functioning optic Optimus’s body still possessed. The tears were discolored due to rust and other contaminants, but they were real, and he highly doubted it was Primus who ordered Optimus’s coolant stores to empty themselves.

“He gave himself back to me entirely, and yet as he fell, he thought of you.” Bumblebee took a step back as Primus’s tone turned sharper, edging on something akin to agitation if not hatred. The god rattled, his borrowed frame shaking as the smile fell away.

“You and your fellow companions, his little playthings meant to guide and serve.” The god’s helm swiveled back into proper position, another unsettled crack echoing as something or other broke in Optimus’s battered frame.

“Be quiet. You don’t know him.” Bumblebee shot back, wrath, anguish, and everything else he had been doing his best to bottle up swelling to the surface of his mind and spark. Primus didn’t know slag. He had not been there as their people died off during the great war. He had not so much as offered one vague prophecy through his Prime throughout all the time Optimus carried the Matrix. He had no right to speak on the behalf of a mech who gave everything for their world.

“But don’t I?” Primus’s tone was sweet like freshly purified energex, but he did not smile.

“I know his spark. I lived within him throughout your entire war. His thoughts were mine to glean and his affections mine to allow or deny.” The corpse was moved, again shifting away from its lighted position and into shadow. Bumblebee couldn’t see it as Primus maneuvered through the dark, silence reigning for a long klik. The urge to activate his weapons was almost suffocating as he scanned the darkness, desperately trying to pinpoint the lurking threat.

His team didn’t so much as twitch as they remained in various states of terrified worship. Their optics flicked around, following Bumblebee’s lead as they too tried to track the threat. Not a spark spoke, not when the core of their world pulsed so calmly, serenely even. There was no acknowledgement of the body that hung in living chains, lurking in the dark and almost certainly observing.

“Do you miss him? Does this voice make you wish he were here?” The corpse called out, this time without any undertone of Primus’s interference. It sounded almost exactly like Optimus, and it came from all around. He had to fight back the instinctual urge to cry as the familiar gruff softness reached his audials.

It wasn’t Optimus. That wasn’t his father. Optimus Prime was dead and a god was making a mockery of him.

“Come. Come greet him.” He turned around, facing the way he came to try and determine where the voice was coming from. But when he returned to his previous position, the corpse was a mere few feet away, far closer than ever before. He let out an undignified scream as the corpse leaned in, its arms outstretched.

How had it moved so fast?

“You must come closer. He cannot hear you so far away.” The tone of the thing was sing-songy, but Bumblebee shook his helm rapidly in primal terror. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t HIM. The thing that smiled and watched him with one wide and far too bright optic was not his leader. The mech he wished he openly called father would have never done this. Optimus would have never beckoned him like some sort of… creature.

He stepped back, his bravery falling in the face of true fear. His venting hitched and he prepared to run as the corpse tilted its helm again, a snarl forming on its features for the first time since it began to speak.

“Why do you flee from me? Am I not your maker?” The thing lurched forward, its movements so stiff and unnatural the Bumblebee scrambled back just in time to dodge its attempts to grab him. The god seethed and Bumblebee’s team quickly floundered in their attempts to get to their pedes as a wrathful field pressed against them from all sides.

“Come here.” Primus looked enraged. His borrowed face contorted into anger so rarely seen on Optimus in life that to Bumblebee it looked like the mech he once called his leader was possessed by the Unmaker himself. The god looked a klik away from forcing his borrowed frame into combat before he stuttered, power arcing off him until at last, he stilled.

“You… must… run.” The voice of the corpse whirled to life once more, but unlike the clear sound that Primus produced despite the state of his borrowed frame, this sound was pained. It came in a wheeze that gurgled and croaked, finally matching the tears that stained the corpse’s face.

“Leave. Go before he can take you.” The body looked up, and the movement was smooth, evidently practiced. The optic that settled on Bumblebee was not nearly as bright. Rather, it was dim and flickering, sickly in the purest sense. It was a light that should not have been there with how badly the frame it was emanating from was damaged.

Bumblebee’s processor scrambled for an answer, but the conclusion was obvious. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that his leader was at peace, if only in spark. But seeing the desperate expression on Optimus’s face… he knew who it was that spoke to him, and he wanted to kick, scream, and cry all at once as the body spasmed and control returned to the god of their world.

“How dare you.” The corpse bore no expression now. Only the words came out with a thick vile venom that stung just to listen to. The ground began to shake as Primus’s core pulsed rapidly, wires convulsing and ancient gears stalling for nanokliks at a time.

“How dare you taint him.” The voice rose in volume, no longer sounding like Optimus at all. A maelstrom of sound and sensation assaulted him from every conceivable angle as voices that were few and yet singular at the same time all converged on him. Energon and thick viscous fluid exploded out of Optimus’s throat as Primus’s speech shattered more and more of its components.

“He belongs to me.” The corpse stiffened, its singular optic blazing so brightly that smoke rose from places, prompting more tears to fall. But instead of smiting him as Bumblebee expected, the god instead fell still once more, his borrowed optic flickering as something seemed to change.

“He is innocent. Merely a child.” Optimus, the real Optimus spoke out in the gloom. His words were slow and agonizing, grating just to listen to. But Bumblebee found himself crying all the same as his leader began to plead, desperation evident in every glyph he uttered.

“I serve. I serve willingly.” He sounded like he was in agony.

“Glory to the one below. He who slumbers and gives us life.” Prayers flowed from his torn derma, regardless of the absolute torment he was likely enduring. Optimus held his servos in a loose symbol of the Primacy, his gaze unsteady as he spoke.

“Praise be to His holy station. His will is our demand.” He did not look up, but his stuttered venting spoke of life forced to continue operating regardless of its viability. Bumblebee couldn’t find the strength to wipe away his tears, not when his Prime pleaded for his very existence.

“There is no greater purpose than to offer Him our loyalty. For He is the truth where lies fester.” The prayers continued for kliks. There was no pause between them, nor did Optimus look up even once. Eventually, the prayers changed and strange glyphs that made no sense began to emerge in something akin to a babble. Bumblebee couldn’t tell if Optimus was too pained to continue or if something deeper was happening, but ultimately, the shaking stopped and everything returned to its previous state.

“What will you give to achieve victory?” The question was repeated and Bumblebee was not given time to move before the corpse swept down, grabbing his face with one monstrous servo so tightly that he could feel his jaw creaking. That lone optic all but blinded him as the god held him in place, all but lifting him off the ground as Primus demanded his answer.

“Would you give me your spark?” The servo that was not holding him still wandered to Bumblebee’s chassis, sweeping over his plating in a seemingly fond manner. He wanted to curl in on himself in shame, horror, and something that had long since evolved beyond terror. However, he was helpless to stop the god as he ran his borrowed digits along transformation seams, his expression hopeful as if he expected Bumblebee to open for him.

“If not yours, would you give me theirs?” Seeing his lack of reaction, Primus looked over his shoulder, down at Bumblebee’s team. He flailed, but the death grip the god had on his face was all but unbearable. Fear ran so deeply in his spark he couldn’t find a way to produce words. Linguistic codes were gone, far out of reach as he stared, meeting Primus’s gaze properly for the first time.

He saw his team reflected for a moment in that lone optic as it flickered and struggled to remain online. They were terrified, but similarly frozen. They were at the mercy of their god, and they had no say in the matter once he decided what to do.

“I am not a cruel maker. I am willing to make deals.” Digits reached up, dirty from energon, rust, and years of contamination. They brushed his derma, tracing around his optics and facial features like a lover would. He wheezed, tears falling from his optics with greater ferocity than ever as the god watched him with that strange apathy and love all balled together into a disgusting mix that left him wishing it could all be over.

Primus continued to touch him for a long few moments, a hum bubbling in his borrowed throat. Bumblebee sobbed softly all the while. This wasn’t right. Optimus was his father. All of this was wrong on a fundamental level. He only wanted information, a way to save their people. Why this? Why did it have to be like this?

“Ah… it seems the debt has been paid by another.” Suddenly, without warming, Primus let go of his face. Bumblebee fell to his knees gasping in sheer relief as the corpse pulled back, slowly returning to its original position.

“There shall be no sacrifice from you this cycle.” It spoke soothingly, as if nothing at all had happened during their interaction. Primus smiled in that divine manner that should have been comforting but only served to remind Bumblebee that this entity was a god more than capable of violence.

“You shall have your victory, when the time is right.” Weathered arms stretched out as the corpse performed a mock bow, at least as much as it could with the way it was bound.

“I will lend him to you for a time, at least until the threat is removed.” It straightened, more cables coming from the walls of the chamber to connect to Optimus’s battered frame. Bumblebee continued to shakily vent, observing in silence as the god pulled his puppet back, far out of reach.

“Go now. Tell the doctor and prepare yourselves.” Optimus’s arms were crossed over his chassis, an almost respectful position if it weren’t for the sheer amount of damage inflicted all over him from Primus’s attempts at controlling a mortal frame. Optimus’s lone optic flickered and glanced around for a moment before Primus uttered a final statement that haunted Bumblebee throughout his return journey.

“I know he was too afraid to stand before his god once again.”

Huh.

So what if he was?

Bumblebee couldn’t say he blamed Ratchet for much of anything anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if getting Megatron would have been the easier decision. At least the warlord wouldn’t condemn his spark to the void if he failed to show proper respect. At worst, he would be disemboweled. And quite frankly, compared to Primus’s little attempts at touch, he would prefer that any cycle of the vorn.

“I told you not to touch him.” Ratchet’s first comment was simple, but without any malice. Bumblebee all but collapsed into his arms, the aching marks on his face clear to see.

Ratchet didn’t comment after that.

No one did.

What happened that cycle was never spoken about, at least not in public. Bumblebee did his best to forget, especially when Primus seemed to keep up his end of his supposed… deal.

Optimus came back, pristine and shiny as if he’d never been dead to begin with. He showed no signs of distress or the vaguest recollection of events down in the Well. He played it all off as if he had been peacefully deceased and promptly returned to existence at the drop of a hat. But after everything, Bumblebee now knew the faint look in his optics, the shadow that followed him wherever he went.

Primus was watching. There was no escape from the god of Cybertronians and his precious Champion.

Over and over again Bumblebee found himself haunted, hearing the words replay again and again in his mind whenever Optimus’s optics met his.

”The debt has been paid by another.”

By the Thirteen. Just what had Optimus given to ensure no others suffered as he did?

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers robots in disguise #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #sideswipe #strongarm #windblade #drift #primus #the matrix of leadership #robogore #religious imagery #body horror #yupppppppp here yall go #another brain worm that went nuts

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 36

Eminem x Female Reader Fanfiction

Synopsis : Reader and Em celebrate their first Thanksgiving together and she finally meets Kim.

MARSHALL’S POV 

-FLASHBACK- 

The last thing Marshall expected was to get married again. After his second failed marriage to Kim, he swore he was done with marriage, and that he was done with her. He still loved her very much but he had to admit it eventually : it was never going to work between the two of them. Letting go of her and of their relationship was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do (even getting sober seemed easier than this), but he knew he had to, at least for the sake of his daughters. Every time they got back together after a breakup, the girls got their hopes up and it was heartbreaking. Plus, they were growing up and already smarter than their parents. It wouldn’t take long for them to realize that they were struggling, constantly cheating on each other, abusing substances… They simply couldn’t keep going on like this. When he got out of the courthouse after their second divorce was final, he swore he would never get married ever again, much less get back with her. And yet, more than a decade after, he was standing in a chapel with Kim, a minister and Paul as their witness. It wasn’t your usual wedding. In fact, it could barely qualify as a wedding. There was no service, no white dress, no guests… It was probably the best kept secret in America. Save for Paul and the minister, no one knew they were tying the knot again, not even his daughters. In fact, they were the last people he wanted to find out. They would never understand why their parents were getting married again. The first time, they got married on a whim, right before a tour. Kim had pressured him to propose because she feared he would be unfaithful while on tour (which eventually happened). The second time around, he actually pressured her into accepting when he proposed on the occasion of the fifteenth anniversary of their first date, only to file for divorce after less than ninety days of marriage. This time, though, that had nothing to do with love. He was marrying Kim out of necessity. She had tried to off herself, once again and, this time, she almost succeeded. If paramedics hadn’t been remarkably quick to save her, she would have left four children behind. Marshall was distraught by the thought that his kids could lose their mother. He knew he had to step up and do something. Especially when he was the one to blame in the first place for her substance abuse. 

Kim was a bit hard to convince this time, when he suggested they get married, but she ended up agreeing that it might make sense. If he was her husband, he would be able to make medical decisions and if, God forbid, something had to happen to her, it would be his responsibility to take care of her funeral, estate and her son’s upbringing. Otherwise, it would fall onto his daughters to do it all and care for Parker, but they were far too young for this. Kim didn’t love him anymore but she had always relied on him and his support when it came to her health, so she accepted. None of them were especially happy to tie the knot again but, at least, things would be taken care of. 

They got married in the utmost secrecy, Paul being the only person they knew who was aware of the wedding. Of course, the manager tried to dissuade him from marrying Kim again, but to no avail. The whole thing was expeditive : it took ten minutes, both of them wearing sweat suits and sneakers, no rings, going their separate ways after. Him leaving for a studio session in California, her going back to her rehab center. 

After that, they didn’t see each other for months, though they often spoke on the phone. They didn’t really mention being married again, save for a couple of jokes about how it might actually be their most successful attempt at a marriage. Maybe it was the best kept secret after all : you can be successful in marriage if you don’t love your spouse, don’t live with them and are only in this for practical reasons. They also didn’t really worry about a potential divorce. They had signed a prenup that would make it easy but they highly doubted it would come to that. They were pretty adamant about never getting married ever again (for real this time), to anyone else. They’d been broken up for a while and they didn’t love each other like that anymore, but they were in agreement that it would be unlikely for any of them to fall in love again, with anyone else. She wasn’t in a psychological state to date, and he was unavailable emotionally. As far as he was concerned, music was the only lady he was committed to, and he could make do with one night stands. When your relationships with women have been failures, you start to resign eventually. So he was at peace with his decision. It wasn’t like he wanted to be in a serious relationship with someone ever again anyway. 

-END OF FLASHBACK-

He never really expected to regret marrying Kim for the third time. That was until Y/N walked in his life and things became more than serious between the two of them. At the beginning, even though he was head over heels in love with her, he sort of expected things to blow up between the two of them, so he didn’t bother telling her he was married. And sure enough, that’s what happened : they broke up because they were not in agreement when it came to the future, namely the topics of marriage and kids. He was distraught when she left but he didn’t blame her : she deserved to be happy and to have all her dreams come true. He knew he could not marry her and give her kids anyway. Letting her go was hard, but he loved her enough not to stand in the way of her dreams. But, by some divine miracle, she came back to him and their relationship got serious pretty fast. They even moved in together. He knew he probably should tell her, but he could never find the right time. First, they got back together, then some drama ensued when she learned that his assistant almost blew him a few days earlier, then they went on vacation with his family, then they almost broke up because he was a trauma-ridden asshole… He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want to lose her. He could have gotten over his guilt by telling himself that no one else knew anyway, but when she mentioned him not being married to Kim anymore, he could barely ignore it. He knew he would have to tell her eventually, and hoped that she would understand. Because there was no way he could live without her. She was the one he wanted to grow old with. She might very well be the love of his life. So much so that, if he hadn’t been married to Kim, he might have considered proposing. That’s how in love he was. But for now, he could only pray everything would go well for their first holiday together. 

Y/N’s POV 

It was your first Thanksgiving with Marshall and you were happy to spend your first holiday together as a couple, after an eventful week. It was your first time seeing his brother and his family as an official girlfriend and, most of all, you were finally going to meet Kim. You knew you didn’t really have anything to worry about - Marshall had been pretty adamant - but you were starting to feel nervous as she walked through the door and you set your eyes on her for the first time. She was much taller than you, rather charismatic. There was something about the way she carried herself that made her sort of impressive. 

Hi ! You must be Y/N ! I’m Kim. It’s so nice to finally meet you, she said in a friendly tone. 

You too, you said shyly. 

Marshall stroked the back of your hand before greeting her. Their daughters were here, as well as Parker, Kim’s son, which made things less awkward. Nate and his family arrived too and the house was soon filled. It was a laid back atmosphere and Marshall seemed happy to have the people he loved around him. He was joking around with his brother and his nephews, whom he hadn’t seen in a very long time. They also remembered you and seemed happy to see you. 

Uncle Marshall ! Is it true that you have a girlfriend now ? Carter asked. 

It’s true, Marshall beamed. 

Hard to believe, huh ? Nate chimed in. The old man finally found someone to put up with him ! 

Where is she ? His nephew asked in excitement. 

I’m right here, you chuckled. 

Wait… I thought you were Hailie’s age, Liam asked with a hint of confusion in his eyes.

This is going to be fun, Nate said with a huge grin. 

Everyone was staring at the two of you with smirks on their faces. You blushed a little. You absolutely weren’t ashamed of your age difference, but you knew Marshall was a little more prone to this feeling. Also, there was something a bit unsettling about a child confronting you about it. 

Well, uh… I am Hailie’s age, you simply said. But sometimes, grown-ups fall in love with people who are a bit older. Or younger.

Yeah, but Uncle Marshall is like… really old, Carter said. 

Why, thanks, buddy, Marshall replied with a grin. So you expected me to end up alone or…?

No ! I figured you’d make friends at the retirement home, Liam shrugged. 

Everyone burst into a fit of laughter. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes and you could resist pecking his cheek. « I’m not that old » he muttered grumpily. Everyone hung out together and, once again, you proved bravery was not your strong suit. You methodically avoided standing anywhere near Kim. She was towering around six feet and you were feeling ridiculously small next to her. And she was definitely impressive, with some sort of mysterious aura. She was nice but, at the same time, keeping to herself and, whenever she spoke, she had some sort of sultry voice. For the first time ever, you felt conscious about your own voice and accent. Up until now, you had managed to stay sane and reasonable but you were starting to wonder what Marshall saw in you. You were not like Kim at all. Were you even his type…? Even Tracy had more in common with her. You, you were younger, nowhere near as charismatic either… To add to your misery, Kim even managed to make Marshall laugh. They obviously had their own inside jokes. Hailie, Alaina and Stevie seemed happy to spend the day with the two of them, though, and that was obviously the most important thing. 

I have a present for you, Stevie told you. Well, you and Dad, actually. 

I didn’t know we were supposed to exchange presents, you said shyly. 

We don’t, she giggled. And it’s nothing fancy ! But I hope you like it ! 

She handed you a small bag and you sat on the couch to open it, Marshall by your side. It was a photo album of gorgeous pictures she had taken with a disposable camera during your family vacations in Europe. There were a lot of candid shots of you and Marshall, that you hadn’t noticed her taking in the moment. One of the pictures was printed out and put in a frame. 

I thought you might want to have at least one picture of the two of you on display in the house, she said. 

You hugged her, almost emotional. It was a really beautiful shot of the two of you in Capri. It was taken from the back and Marshall was holding you and kissing your temple. You had spent a day on the island while you were in Italy and you absolutely loved it. You looked at the pictures in the album, reminiscing of your time in Europe. Some of them were really cute and sweet : Marshall sleeping on your shoulder on the jet, you, Hailie and Alaina drinking mocktails in Italy… Everyone looked at the photo and the girls provided commentary. 

We should really do this again, Alaina said with excitement. Europe was great ! 

It was, Marshall said with a smile. Maybe we could do that again. 

You got this man to travel and actually enjoy it ?! Nate asked you in disbelief. 

And she got him to reduce the amount of security, too, Stevie pointed out. We had a great time in Europe ! 

Who are you and what have you done to my brother-in-law ? Ashley joked. 

Is it Thanksgiving or is it “Let’s make fun of Marshall” day ? Marshall asked with an eye roll. 

Overall, you had a good day with everyone. You got to watch Marshall win his basketball game against Nate and everyone seemed to enjoy your cooking. Kim complimented you on your dish and joked that Marshall would definitely put on a few if you kept on feeding him french food. They joked around a lot and seemed like friends. In a way, they probably were. After all, Marshall had told you they met when he was fifteen and stuck together through thick and thin. After dinner, the whole family lounged in the living room, playing video games, drinking mocktails, talking… You had a great time with Nate, who made a point to call you his “favorite sister-in-law”, loud and clear right in front of Kim, who just rolled her eyes and pretended not to hear a thing. You didn’t really have the details, but you gathered they didn’t exactly get along. At some point, though, you realized that her and Marshall were nowhere to be seen. You did your best to appear unfazed. Once you were done, you stepped outside for some fresh air. You weren’t exactly big on gatherings and could feel a headache was on its way. You spotted Marshall and Kim talking from afar, seemingly having a serious conversation. At first, you didn’t think too much of it but jealousy poked its ugly head out when you saw her giving him a hug. You scoffed and went back inside, not willing to subject yourself to that. Hailie came to see you, making small talk. 

I wonder where Mom and Dad are, she said. Have you seen them ? 

I think they’re outside, talking, you replied with feigned ignorance. Do you want to go and get them ? 

It’s fine, she said. They’ve been out a long time, though. They’re probably talking about Christmas presents or something like that. 

You shrugged and quickly switched to another subject. The two of you went to the kitchen to make some tea and talk about what you could get Marshall for Christmas. She gave you a ton of ideas, which was pretty great. At some point, Kim and Marshall walked in and he chastised you for clearing the table and doing the dishes without him. 

You could have let me do it, he groaned. 

There it goes, Kim said playfully. Not a holiday unless Marshall gets grumpy. 

Not an actual day if he doesn’t get grumpy, you said with a smirk. 

Seems like you know him pretty well, she grinned. 

I don’t like this, Marshall sighed before pulling you to him and kissing your temple. 

They’re ganging up on you, Dad, Hailie warned. 

At least my children are nice to me, he said. 

Only because I need a favor, she said with a small smile. 

I knew it, he said with faux exasperation. What do you want ? Or should I ask how much this is going to cost ? 

Do you remember that one jacket that you had in one of your music videos ? I’d like to borrow it. We’re recording a new podcast episode soon and I have an outfit idea in mind, she said. 

Don’t you have your own clothes, though ? He asked with a smile. 

My followers love it when I pay tribute to you, she said. I’m merely indulging them. Please ? It’s Thanksgiving. 

Fine, he shrugged. But I’m going to need more details because “that one jacket from that one video” is a bit vague, Hay. 

Let’s just go look ! 

They went upstairs, leaving you alone with Kim. You were tempted to run away from the kitchen but it was impossible for you to do so without being painfully obvious. You were uneasy but she, on the other hand, seemed pretty comfortable. Why wouldn’t she, though ? She’d lived in that house for a while and she wasn’t new to the family either. She wasn’t the one out of place, here. You were. 

It’s, uh… It’s cute that she’s paying tribute to him in the podcast, you commented in an attempt to make small talk. 

It is, she replied with a smile. They have such a great relationship. He’s a great Dad. 

Yeah, he’s a great person, you said honestly. The best.

You’re all gushing, she teased. 

Sorry, you said awkwardly.

No, it’s sweet, she said. He’s really amazing so I’m happy he is with someone who sees it. 

I mean, he’s always been incredible to me, since we met, you confessed. 

About two years ago, right ? She asked with genuine interest. 

That’s right, you said. Our relationship is more recent, though. 

This, he told me, she chuckled. I probably shouldn’t tell you but he won’t shut up about you. 

Really ? You asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Oh, absolutely, she said. I think he even told me about you before you started dating. But that stays between us. 

Only if you told me what he said, you replied with a smile. 

The first time he ever mentioned you was when you had that incident at the bar, she said. He was pissed and worried. I could tell you meant a lot to him, by the way he talked about you. 

Oh wow, you said. I wasn’t expecting him to tell you about this. 

He doesn’t tell me everything, don’t worry, she chuckled. I happened to catch him on a day when he was pissed about it and he ended up telling me. But I could see he liked you. You know, it’s not often that he falls so hard for someone. 

I guess I’m pretty lucky, you said. 

I’d say he’s the lucky one, she pointed out. Seems like you gave up a lot to be with him. I mean, you moved to another country.

Yeah, well… He’s worth it, you said. I tried being without him and I didn’t like that. 

I saw him when you were broken up and he didn’t like it too much either, she said. You’re good for him. 

You think ? You asked with genuine curiosity. 

Well, you’re the only woman who got him to do therapy, she pointed out. Tried for years and he never agreed to it. 

You were surprised he told her about that, too. It was definitely weird, discussing your relationship with his ex wife, but her attitude put you at ease. It seemed like she genuinely wanted him to be happy. 

I’m really happy for you guys, she continued. I also wanted to thank you for having me today. I mean, you could have refused to meet me or have me in the house at all, a lot of people would have, but you didn’t. 

You debated telling her you couldn’t have put up much of a fight even if you had wanted to, since Marshall didn’t really give you a say in the matter. 

You’re welcome, you said. It’s a family holiday, both of you should be able to enjoy it with your kids. 

I’m really glad you see it this way, she said. It looks like we’ll be seeing each other a couple of times a year for a long time, so I’m really glad we get along. 

You’re not at all like I imagined, you couldn’t help but say. 

Meaning ? She asked with a grin. 

I mean… You know. You’re nice. 

She let out a hearty laugh and placed a friendly hand on your shoulder. 

Did you expect me to be the mean ex-wife full of spite ? She asked with a smirk. 

No… I mean… Kind of ? You explained sheepishly. For the record, no one spoke ill of you. But I figured… You know, there’s history. And usually, ex-wives and new girlfriends don’t get along. 

Well, there comes a point in life where you just have to accept that things don’t work out, she said. I’ll be honest : I will always love Marshall. He has saved me in more ways than one. But I’m just not in love with him anymore, you know ? Now, we’re just rooting for each other to be happy. And if that’s any comfort, I was a bit anxious to meet you, too. 

Were you ? You asked in surprise. 

Of course ! He told me you were amazing, and I know the girls like you, but… you know. You’re still the first person he fell in love with after me. It’s the end of an era. I’m not proud of it, but I guess I sort of liked having this bond with him, she explained. But hey, I’m happy for you guys. I really am. I mean, you’re so much nicer than the last one I met anyway… 

Who was it ? You asked with curiosity. 

Tracy, she said as she rolled her eyes. I hate that woman. 

Just like that, the two of you were like old friends. Proof that no one gets people closer than hating on the same person if there was ever a need for one. There was no real depth to it, just Kim feeding you old gossip and hating on Tracy. You were giggling like schoolgirls when Marshall walked back in the kitchen. 

Everything alright ? Marshall asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Yes, you said with a genuine smile. 

I’m telling your lovely girlfriend what a terrible man you are. Just so that she knows what to expect, Kim said jokingly. 

Marshall glared at her, obviously not amused by the joke and she simply shook her head before going back to the living room, leaving the two of you alone. 

She didn’t say anything, you reassured him. 

What’s with all the giggling then ? 

Secrets, you chuckled. You’re right, she is pretty cool. 

Mmmh, he said with a small frown. 

He seemed pretty preoccupied, as if he were actually worried that Kim might let something slip. However, you didn’t pay it too much attention. You’d had a few talks about how abusive he’d been in the past, and you figured he just didn’t want you to be reminded of that, especially when you’d gone through a rough patch. You took advantage of no one being in the room to pull him in for a deep kiss. 

I’m so in love with you, he said. 

I love you too, you said. I’m so glad we’re celebrating our first Thanksgiving together. 

Me too, he replied. I can’t even tell you how happy I am that you get along with my family. Nate told me earlier how great he thinks you are. You’re so perfect. I’m so blessed to be with you. 

So… Am I on the list of what you’re thankful for ? You mused. 

You are the list, he said before kissing your forehead. 

The two of you went back to hang out with the others. Everyone was sitting on the couch while Stevie was showing them something on her iPad. 

You guys are just in time for my yearly presentation, she said with a smile. 

Shit, I thought I managed to miss it, Marshall chortled. 

What presentation ? You asked. 

Every year on Thanksgiving, Stevie tried to guilt trip us into adopting pets from the shelter she volunteers at, Nate explaied. 

They need a home, she pointed out. 

As long as it’s not my house, Marshall said with a grin. 

We usually get out of it by donating a bunch of money, Alaina said. 

You sat on the couch, curling on Marshall’s side as Stevie did her presentation, starting with dogs. Then, she got to cats and, as soon as you saw the first one, you fell in love. It wasn’t a cute kitten you would have expected to swoon over. It was a thirteen year-old cat with feline dwarfism that gave him a grumpy look. He had a few patches of missing hair and wouldn’t qualify as a beautiful cat but there was something about him that drew you in. 

Oh my God, he is adorable, you said. 

Adorable ? That… thing ? Marshall asked with a grimace. 

Have you seen him ? You asked him with love in your eyes. 

Have you ?! 

He’s old, and he’s grumpy, and I love him already, you said. 

Old and grumpy… I think that woman has a type, Kim said, causing everyone to laugh. 

Marshall looked at you while you made eyes at him while whispering “please, please, please”. After a few seconds he sighed and agreed. 

Alright, he sighed. I guess we’re getting a cat. But please give him a cool name. I can’t have a cat with a stupid name like “Fluffy”. 

It should be rap-related, Alaina suggested. 

I like that, Marshall said. 

How about Mew Tang Clan ? You asked. Or Wiz Catlifa ? He looks like a Wiz ! 

Ok, Marshall chuckled. Anything you want. Let’s go for Wiz Catlifa. 

You jumped at his neck and kissed his cheek, feeling like a kid on Christmas Day. He wrapped an arm around your waist and kissed your temple. You’d had a shitty week but you were incredibly happy, with the man you loved by your side, who agreed to go to the shelter with you the following week. 

Eventually, after a while, everyone left. Kim was the last one to say her goodbyes. As she went through the door, she turned to Marshall and looked at him with a smile. 

Oh, and, Marsh ? You’re off the hook. Happy Thanksgiving. 

You had no idea what that meant, and you figured out it was one of their inside jokes or something like this. You were just happy that everything had gone smoothly. Plus, you actually like Kim and were happy to get along with her. Marshall, however, seemed a little puzzled. He nodded silently. 

You were all relaxed as you went to bed. The nerves had drained you out from your energy.

Are you alright, babe ? Marshall asked as you rested your head on your pillow. 

Tired, but I had a good time. I can’t believe we’re getting a cat ! You said giddily. 

Only you could make me agree, he chuckled. When our last cat died, I swore we wouldn’t get another one. But if it makes you happy… 

It does, you said with a smile. I love him already. Have you seen him ? 

I have. You picked me so I knew you had bad taste but this… This is ultimate proof, babygirl, he chuckled. 

Shut up, you said with a pout. I won’t have you speak ill of our cat. 

“Our cat”, he said pensively. I like the sound of that. It’s like starting a little family with you. 

You giggled and nuzzled his neck, placing a small kiss there and prompting him to pull you closer to him. 

You’re all romantic, you said. 

You’re worth it, he said. I love you.  And the whole family fell in love with you, it seems. 

Did they ? 

They did, he nodded. Even Kim. I don’t know how you did that, honestly. 

Maybe she’s just pretending, you said. 

I don’t think she is, he said intently. Whatever. I’m just happy they like you. 

You nodded and nuzzled his neck. 

Happy Thanksgiving, my love.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

[superloves4]

I would fight Tolkien himself over my absolute belief that Maglor not throwing himself into the water but singing in sorrow on the shores forever is simply the best possible ending fo him

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #feanorians #maglor #tolkien #silm #i feel very strongly about this #it’s so perfect in so many ways #and I’m not even saying he’ll eventually be saved #him being saved is not a necessity for this #but maglor throwing himself into the water cluching the silmaril is dumb #and boring #and after maedhros just plain repetitive #like i get that ur all for that death = redemption something something christianity #but mags deserves for his final act to be the abandonament of the silmaril #after spending the whole story following his family even when he knew it was wrong #also the fulfilment of feanor added ‘sing of our deeds forever’

[lord-squiggletits]

I think the key component to my personal reading of post-Delphi Pharma is that he's trying to be a horrible person on purpose. Not "on purpose" in the way that people have free will to exercise their own choices, but in that Pharma's "mad doctor" persona is a performance he puts on to deliberately embrace how much everyone else hates him. Basically, if people already think you're a "bad Autobot" and a horrible doctor who just kills his patients for fun, why try to prove otherwise to people who have already made up their minds about you? Just fully embrace the fact that people see you as an asshole. Don't try to change their minds. Don't plead for their forgiveness or understanding. Just stop caring. If you're going to be remembered as a monster, you might as well be a memorable monster, and eke as much pleasure and hedonism as you can out of it before karma catches up to you and you inevitably crash and burn.

I mean, I guess you could just go the route of "Oh, Pharma was always a fucked up creepy guy and Delphi was just him taking the mask off," but I really don't like that interpretation because, for one, it feels really wrong to take a character like Pharma becoming evil under duress and going, "Oh well clearly he did the things he did because he was evil all along," as if somehow Pharma breaking under blackmail/torture/threat of horrible death was a sign of him having poor moral character. As opposed to, you know, suffering under the very real threat of horrible death for himself and everyone he cares about while being manipulated by a guy who specializes in psychological torture.

The second reason is that it just doesn't make sense to write Pharma as having been evil all along. I mean...

Occam's Razor says that the best argument is the one with the simplest explanation. Doesn't it make way more sense to take Pharma's appearances in flashbacks, his friendship with Ratchet, his stunning medical accomplishments, and the few we see of him speaking kindly/sympathetically (or in the least charitable interpretation, at least professionally) towards his patients and conclude "This guy was just a normal person, if exceptionally talented." Taking all of these flashback appearances at face value and assuming Pharma was being genuine/honest is a way simpler and more logical explanation than trying to argue that Pharma for the past 4 million years was just faking being a good doctor/person. I mean, it's possible within the realm of headcanon, but the fact is Pharma's appearances in the story are so brief that there simply wasn't room in the story for there to be some sort of secret conspiracy/hidden manipulation behind why Pharma acted the way he did in the past.

I just can't help but look at things like Pharma's friendship with Ratchet (himself a good person and usually a fine judge of character) and the fact that even post-Delphi, pretty much every single mention of Pharma comes with some mention of "He was a good doctor for most of his life" or "He was making major headways in research [before he started killing patients]" which implies that even the Autobots themselves see Pharma's villainy as a recent turn in his life compared to how for "most of his life" he "used to be" a good doctor.

And although Pharma doesn't know this, we as the readers (and even other characters like Rung) know about Aequitas technology and the fact that it actually works, so... if Pharma really was an unrepentant murderer, why couldn't he get through the forcefield too? The Aequitas forcefield doesn't require that a person be completely morally pure and free of wrongdoing or else how could Tyrest get through, just that they feel a sense of inner peace and lack feelings of guilt. Pharma has murdered and tortured people by this point, and put on quite a campy and theatrical show of how much he sees it as a fun game, so why then can he not get through?

It circles back to my headcanon at the start of this post that the "mad doctor" persona is just that-- a persona. Delphi/post-Delphi Pharma's laughing madman personality is just so far removed from every flashback we saw of him and everything we can infer based on how other people see/saw him before that, to me, the mad doctor act is (at least in large part, if not fully) a persona that Pharma puts on to put his villainy in the forefront.

To avoid an overly simplistic/ableist take, I don't think Tarn tortured Pharma into turning crazy. To me, it's more like the constant pressure of death by horrific torture, the feeling of martyrdom as Pharma kept secret that he was the only one standing between Delphi and annihilation, the physical isolation of Messatine as well as the emotional separation from Ratchet, being forced to violate his medical oaths (pretty much the only thing Pharma's entire life has been about), etc. All of that combined traumatized Pharma to the point that the only way he could avoid cracking was to just stop caring about all of it. Because at least then, even if he's still murdering patients to save Delphi from a group of sadistic freaks, Pharma doesn't have to feel guilty and sick about doing it. As opposed to the alternatives, which were probably either going off the deep end and killing himself to escape, or confessing to what he did and getting jailed for it.

In that light, Pharma becoming a mad doctor makes sense. It avoids the bad writing tropes of "oh this character who was good his entire life was actually just evil and really good at hiding it" as well as "oh he got tortured and went crazy that's why he's so random and silly and killing people, he's crazy" and instead frames Pharma's evil as something he was forced into, to the point where in order to avoid a full psychological breakdown and keep defending Delphi, he just had to stop caring about the sanctity of life or about what other people might think of him.

Then, of course, the actual Delphi episode happens, and Pharma's own lifelong best friend Ratchet basically spits in his face and sees him as nothing more than a crazy murderer who went rogue from being a good Autobot. Then Pharma gets his hands cut off and left to die on Messatine. At that point, Pharma has not only been mentally/emotionally broken into losing his feelings of compassion, he's received the message loud and clear: He is alone. Everyone hates him. Not even his own best friend likes him any more. No one even cared enough about him to check if he actually died or not. He will only ever be remembered as a doctor who went insane and killed his patients.

So in the light of 1. Having all of your redeeming qualities be squeezed out of you one by one for the sake of survival and 2. Having your reputation and all of your positive relationships be destroyed and 3. People only know/care about you as "that doctor who became evil and killed his patients" rather than the millions of years of good service that came before.

What else is there to do but internalize the fact that you'll forever be seen as a monster and a freak, and embrace it? People already see you as a murderer for that blackmail deal you did, so why not become an actual murderer and just start killing people on a whim? People already see you as an irredeemable monster who puts a stain on the Autobot name, so why beg for their forgiveness when you could just shun them back? You've already become a murderer, a traitor, and a horrible doctor, so what's a few more evil acts added to the pile? It's not like anyone will ever forgive you or love you ever again.

Why care? Why try to hold on to your principles of compassion, kindness, medical ethics, when an entire lifetime of being a good person did nothing to save you from blackmail and then abandonment? Why put yourself through the emotional agony of feeling lonely, guilty, miserable, when you could just... stop caring, and not hurt any more?

#squiggposting #pharma apologism #i'm sure the doylist reason for the writing is just that pharma was a designated villain #so since he's a villain and 'crazy' it's fine for everyone even the good guys to treat him like complete trash #i just think from a watsonian perspective taking a sympathetic approach is way more interesting and logically consistent #what i mean is like. from a meta perspective one of the best ways to show that a character is super evil and not worth saving #is when even the good guy heroes. the ones who are supposed to be kind and compassionate and wise. see him as dirt #and this is also kind of a necessity in most plots bc TF is the kind of series that just needs action villains and long-term antagonists #so not every villain is written or has a plot to be made redeemable. and pharma is one of these bc he's not important or a legacy character #so from a doylist (meta) perspective you could read the autobots' disregard of pharma as a sign of #'this guy is not meant to have your sympathy as a reader. pay no attention to him' #but from a watsonian (in universe) perspective it paints a miserable picture of pharma being utterly forsaken by the ppl he served alongsid #and like yeah i'm super autistic about pharma so of course i view him with sympathy but like #the idea of being a loyal and good person for years only to be subjected to a Torment Nexus of #being blackmailed into breaking all of the oaths you held sacred. under threat of you and all your comrades dying horrible torturous deaths #then when your comrades find out about it they focus solely on the 'harvesting organs' and not on the 'blackmail' part #and then you get literally left for dead by your comrades and best friend hating your guts #and then you get rescued by a guy who uses you as a test subject for his evil machine #this is a fucking nightmare scenario like pharma could hardly be suffering more if the author TRIED to make him suffer #and for me it's like. the evil pharma did can't be decontextualized to what drove him to that. as well as the question of like #how easily ppl can write someone off as evil and turn a blind eye to (or even find satisfaction in) their suffering bc theyre evil #and either brought it on themselves or it's just karma paying a visit #like. i feel like if pharma WERE a shitty doctor and a terrible person his whole life then the delphi situation would feel like karma #but the way it's written and the lore retroactively put in makes it feel more pharma getting thrown in a torture carousel #and THEN becoming evil. but then being treated as if he was always evil or was some sort of bad apple #bc like i'm not opposed to LOLing when a villain gets a karmic torture/death related to the wrongs they committed #but in pharma's case it feels less like karma and more like endless torture + being abandoned by ppl who should have been more loyal

[buglaur]

this is virgil

#and i think i'm gonna play growing together with him... #when i get the chance that is #ts4 #ts4 cas #because wholesome big family interactions isn't really possible with macmahons this gen #with rox not even being allowed to interact with the kids #and i know the whole save file is going to blow up #so minimal cc + bare necessity mods only playthrough with this guy! #and his spouse that i need to make #don't hold me to any of this though #i might forget he exists in a week #but rn i think he's rlly cool #/virgil

[the-trans-dragon]

Y'know it was REALLY goddamn evil and nefarious that the oil fields gave my mom (a single mom working 3 jobs to raise 2 kids) a single $5,000 check in exchange for her signing a nondisclosure to never complain about them.

Of course we fucking took the money. Even with her working 1 full-time job and 2 part-time jobs, she barely made over $1,000 a month. Of course she took the money. We though about moving but we still couldn't afford it. She was so frugal with it, though. It did give us a sliver of financial security for years.

But goddamn. $5,000 is table scraps to them, and they bought her silence with it because she couldn't refuse the chance to slightly lessen the weight of poverty on her family.

#sorenhoots #i remember i was like 11 or something. she didnt know if she should sign it. and its not like we had or knew any lawyers. she had ME read it #over and even i was like “this is a nondisclosure and it means you cant ever talk about anything they do even if they do something terrible” #i recall being very proud of myself for knowing what a NDA was. lord knows where my middle-school self learned that from. she did eventually #have a lawyer of some sort look over it and they said the same thing but.... $5000 #it wasnt an option for her. that was more money than wed ever had or saved. she had two kids who would need cars bc we lived so far in the #country. she knew i wanted to go to college. i dont think i ever saw her buy herself clothes before then either. it was money for emergencys #and necessities and birthday presents and road trips and... i often wondered about the person who offered us that. i wondered where they #lived and wondered how much their clothes costed and wondered if their kids got to have art or piano lessons. i wondered if their home was #over 80 degrees in the summer and under 60 in the winter and if they lived in a house that wasnt filled with dangerous spiders (we had nice #spiders too but we did also have Very Dangerous Spiders) and id picture him in his office in a button up and slacks and it would break my #heart that my mom couldnt have all of that. we just had a $5000 check and a vow to not complain. #she still feels earthquakes from it. less nowdays but still. and sometimee it still smells like a jar of hot petroleum jelly. and the attic #smell is worse than ever and the tap water smells like sulfur and wet mold #goddamn what the fuck? jesus christ. she should move.

[dutybcrne]

Thinkings thinkings of Fatui!Kaeya have been reawakened in reviewing Arle's teasers/animations

#☆ ┆ ( .ooc. ); #//Whether it's Dad!Pierro or not; I do love the idea of him being left in the care of the Fatui/House of Hearth #//Tho timelines considered; he prolly would be in Pierro's personal care while Arle goes through her Traumatic Matricide Experience #//Doubt the man would want to leave him out of his sight; Khaenri'ahn/Alberich ties considered #//Or maybe he was raised/trained to fight under Signora. Or even for Columbina (her namesake's ties to Pierro's; considered) #//Tho also do LOVE the idea of Kae and Taru growin up together in the Fatui ranks and being the disastrous + shy boi duo #//Tho Kae'd prolly have less to hide/fear with them when it comes to his heritage. The strictness he'd be raised with though... #//Eh; Taru could bring him out of his shell even still jdbgfkf. If anyone can; he deffo could. His little wintry sunshine #//So maybe he'd grow into his peacock self a little more naturally; even if perhaps still out of necessity/for ease of his missions #//Less of a facade to hide his grief/missing pieces tho; more like the way Taru is charming & goofy to lower people's guards #//Still has his little habit of testing people deffo is Much worse and much more sadistic when it comes down to it #//Particularly towards fellow Fatui who disrespect him or their comrades; or just someone he ends up disliking in general #//Does 'test' new comrades; but is more willing to step in & help them if need be. Wants UTMOST trust; determination & loyalty in his men #//So will only ever take those who push to complete the mission at all costs; even themselves/willingly ask him for help when they need it #//Dislikes those who run; & LOATHES cowards who abandon comrades to save themselves; he WILL deliberately make sure they don't make it back #//Still employs his intel gathering methods as normal verse; but has preying mantis tendencies when it comes down to it nbcfjgf #//ESP if they try to take advantage of/blackmail him in some way. Or worse; those who betray him. He is meticulous & VERY ruthless abt it #//His signature is decapitation & an unmelting (Abyssal energy-laced) ice shard through the heart; around which he'd carve a stylized one #//If those informants keep being useful to him; they are safe; and treated so lovingly by him; spoiled rotten with gifts & favors aplenty #//Once they lose their usefulness...well; regrettably he cannot leave any loose ends. These become frozen as statues for him to keep #//'Precious mementos of lovers & conspirators'; he'd call them. He'd keep them in his private home in Snezhnaya #v; glacialis pavonis (fatui!kaeya) #//If he had to have a Harbinger title/name (maybe bumped up for when Scara erases himself); he'd prolly be l'Innamorato #//Fitting of his methods (is also the remaining role of Commedia dell'arte lololol). He is saccharine sweet; pretty & deadly as a belladonn #//Deffo would have tango-based motifs rather than waltz; would favor frost-laced roses. Might even leave those with his victims too #//Can you tell I listened to Rondo Across Countless Kalpas as I wrote this up jhbfjgkfhf #hc; kaeya #//I mean yeah lol. I have so many more thinkings abt this verse aaAAAA #//Am torn if I want his to use a Cryo Delusion; or have him with Cryo Vision and an Anemo Delusion. Do like that for Cryo Swirls #//Then his rage/scorn could be likened to a Blizzard. Do like that image. Deffo favors his Abyssal powers more tho; maybe THAT'd be better

[aleolusor]

When he allows himself the chance to take a more luxurious bath, Aventurine likes to let himself sliiide to the bottom of the tub and lay there for as long as he’s able before coming back up for a breath. It’s peaceful for him, to be submerged, drift away, and tune out the outside world for a moment.

#hc #//He doesn’t tend to stay down there for more than three mins; but the longest he’s been down there like this had been around 7-8 mins #//Hates going for that long though bc he always ends up sputtering and gasping afterwards #//With the most wicked headache to boot; THAT span of time is best saved to strive for in a pinch; not time of leisure #//He likes to pretend he’s sinking for good; sometimes #//Pretend he’s being sucked into the depths with no chance of ever coming up for air;never worrying abt fighting to; just letting it happen #//But he always makes sure to breathe each time—he’s got a real good sense of the timing to make sure he doesnt actually stay down for long #//But sometimes esp after extremely rough days; he just. Forgets #//Forgets he's NOT actually drifting away into the depths; that he's safely in a tub and NEEDS to float back up #//That’s incidentally what ended up developing his ability to hold his breath longer; not jic necessity for missions #//He would never Deliberately do it to himself though; he sometimes just feels too tired to move or gets so lost in his calm bliss #//And it's not until his body REALLY starts screaming for air or smth outside catches his attention that pulls him out of that funk #//No matter how many Incidents like this he's had; he doesn't really choose to stop. And won't #//It's his ONE time he can feel most at peace #//Even in sleep and dreams; he's not safe from anxieties and swirling negative emotions #//Not even trusted partners would see this side of him; in his eyes; it's his very PERSONAL escape. Pls let him have this #//Idevenk how to tag this #//Sb yell at me if I need to tag smth specific

[pucksandpower]

Lullaby

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which Max is the only lullaby you’ll ever need

Warnings: 18+ content

You stare up at the ceiling, wide awake. The numbers on the alarm clock seem to taunt you, the minutes ticking by as you struggle in vain to fall asleep.

It’s nearly 1 am and Max still isn’t home.

With a sigh, you roll over and bury your face in his pillow, breathing in his familiar scent.

It’s not the same.

Your body craves his warmth, the protective circle of his arms. Sleep just won’t come without him here.

You’ve always been this way, for as long as you can remember. A perpetual insomniac, tossing and turning through the lonely nights.

That is, until you met Max.

The first night you spent together, you were astonished to find yourself drifting off within minutes of being wrapped in his strong embrace. It was like magic. Now, months later, the spell hasn’t broken. Max has become a necessity, not just for your heart but also for your health.

The sound of the front door opening stirs you from your restless thoughts. Muted footsteps make their way to the bedroom and you feel the mattress dip down.

“Hey,” Max whispers, his hand grazing your shoulder. “Sorry I’m so late, the meeting ran long. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting up.”

You roll over to face him, drinking in the sight of his tousled hair and tired eyes. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He offers you a soft smile, the one he saves only for these quiet intimate moments, and your heart skips. No matter how many times you see it, that smile never fails to make you melt.

“Let me just wash up and I’ll be right there, okay?” He squeezes your hand gently before disappearing into the bathroom.

You listen to the familiar sounds of him getting ready for bed, a ritual you know by heart. The splash of water, the electric hum of his toothbrush, the soft thud of his clothes hitting the hamper.

When he emerges in just his boxers, you lift up the covers in silent invitation. He slides in behind you and tucks your body against his chest, legs tangled together.

You fit so perfectly, two puzzle pieces made for each other.

His arms wrap around you like bands of steel and you feel yourself begin to relax into him. Here, cradled against him with your legs interlocked, is the only place you’ve ever found true peace.

Max brushes his lips over your hair. “Did you miss me?” He murmurs.

You smile into the darkness. “You know I did.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” His voice is husky with fatigue. “I’m exhausted but I had to get back to take care of my girl.”

You snuggle deeper into his embrace. “My hero.”

He chuckles, low and warm like honey flowing over you.

You talk softly as you both unwind from the day, voices hushed in the intimacy of the night. He tells you about the team debrief that ran late and you fill him in on the book you started today, trading thoughts and details as the fuzziness of sleep starts to seep into the she of your consciousness.

Eventually conversation tapers off, words replaced by contented silence. Max’s breathing deepens and you know he’s nearing slumber. But your mind still buzzes, body fighting against its own weariness.

You shift restlessly and Max instantly tightens his hold. “Shh I’ve got you,” he soothes. “Just try to relax.”

One large hand begins massaging gentle circles on your back and you focus on its hypnotic motion, on the sensation of his calloused fingers tracing delicate shapes.

He starts humming softly, a nameless tune that fills you with wistful melancholy. You’ve never asked where he learned it. It belongs to these fragile midnight moments, when he coaxes you to stillness with his voice and touch.

Between the comfort of his embrace and the lullaby reverberations rumbling through his chest, you finally feel sleep approaching. Your thoughts drift away until only the present remains — Max surrounding you, his warmth, his scent, the combined rhythm of your heartbeats.

Just as your heavy eyelids begin to close, Max shifts suddenly and cages you beneath him. You gasp as he presses urgent kisses under your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Max!” You squirm half-heartedly. “I was almost asleep.”

“Not quite yet, schatje. We’re not done.” His voice is gravelly with arousal that makes your belly swoop. “I need you.”

He kisses you deeply until you’re clinging to him, nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. This man unravels you with barely a touch, your body open and pliant to him like a flower turns to the sun.

When he enters you it feels like coming home. You let out a shaky exhale, overwhelmed by the perfection of his body joining yours. This connection, this wholeness, is all you’ve ever wanted.

Max sets a slow, deep rhythm. His eyes blaze into you, grey flickering with lust and love and possession. “You’re mine,” he rasps, thrusting harder. “This is right where you belong. Under me, surrounding me, taking all of me.”

“Yes, yes I’m yours,” you gasp. The slide and drag of your bodies is maddening, tension coiling at the base of your spine.

Max grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to drive himself deeper. “No one else gets to have you like this. You only come apart for me. I’m the only one who gets to feel you shatter.”

You cry out as he hits that perfect spot inside, stars bursting behind your eyelids. “Max, please …”

He crushes you closer, thin control fraying. “Please what? Tell me. I’ll give you anything you need.”

A particularly deep thrust wrings a wanton moan from you. You’re so close now, balanced on a knife’s edge of bliss. “Just you,” you manage to say. “I just need you.”

Max smiles, satisfied. “That’s my girl.” Then his lips slant over yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure as his hips piston faster. The tension crests, higher and higher, until finally it breaks and you’re swept away on waves of dizzying ecstasy.

Max tenses and follows you over with a rough groan, your name a prayer on his lips. He collapses heavily against you, breath coming in harsh pants.

For long moments you just cling together, fingerprints bruising, heartbeats thundering through one another.

Eventually Max stirs, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. But he doesn’t separate your bodies. He knows you’ll rest easier staying connected, so he simply shifts just enough to take some of his weight off you.

You let out a small sigh of contentment, his warmth seeping into every inch of you like a blanket. Utterly spent and sated, you quickly begin drifting off. But before sleep claims you, Max’s quiet voice cuts through the haze.

“I’ll always come back to you. Every night, just like this. You’re my home.”

His words wrap around your heart, a vow and a lullaby in one. You manage to murmur a quiet “love you” before finally succumbing to sleep, safe in the harbor of his arms.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen #mv1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen drabble

[dante-mightdie]

Ok I work at a bank where there’s at least one day of the month and construction workers trying to cash out $20,000 checks. Like damn *shock pikachu face*

Bluecollar!Simon being able to get that much per paycheck per month.

Also would the reader and Simon share a acct or does reader ask Simon for money so she can buy xyz necessities?

daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry

now hear me out you little suckers

letting daddy handle the finances whilst you stay at home bein’ his little homemaker 👉👈 he budgets out his paycheck, giving you cash for groceries and a lil allowance to treat yourself

puts money away for date nights and a secret savings account he’s keeping for when you start popping out little ones for him :) or to buy a nice plot of land in the middle of nowhere and spend the rest of his days chopping wood for fires and getting fat off your cooking

giving him a slow, sloppy blowjob under the table whilst he eats the dinner you cooked for him when you want something :( licking the cum up from his slit and giving him your best doe eyes whilst you ask him for extra money to buy these pretty bedsheets you saw

#mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #bluecollar!simon

[satoruhour]

HIHII hope you are doing well!!!

I have a request but if you're not comfortable writing it's completely fine too!!

Anyways~ can you write something with University professor geto x top student reader??? They have a lot of sexual tension and geto continuously targets the reader in his lectures only for her to storm into his office after a test in which he didn't give her the marks she deserved just so he could piss her off and eventually leading them to blow off some steam together hehe-

HEJSJSH ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT REST OF THE DAY💗💗

-🍒

I GOT THAT DUMB D*CK !

a/n: hi cherry 2! saying 2 because i already have another cherry anon, thank u for waiting for this btw sorry this took so long omggg!!! i wanna make it similar to the short blurb i did here, but ill leave out reader being a camgirl! a lot of lore talk, just a warning

wc: 8k (sigh ....)

warnings: so much lore lol sorry, no beta we die like men, age gap (32 / 24), professor!geto, fem!reader, geto is also a cam worker, masturbation (both f and m), toy use during f! masturbation (vibrator), fantasising, pet names, praise, degradation, use of ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, oral (m receiving, f receives briefly at the end), dumbification (ig?) face-fucking, deep-throating, spitting in mouth, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, cum eating, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

no one could really pinpoint the reason why professor geto had picked on you, called you out so much, and why you entertained the incessant questions. it was unbecoming of a prof., he knew, it was never smart to favour one person (negatively, in this case) in a room of bright students who could read between the lines. but he just feels himself so drawn to your furrowed eyebrows and words laced with venom, because at the end of the day, he can see that you aren’t all talk.

you challenge his views and you do it in a way that catches him off-guard. you propose insane arguments that you willingly would die at the grave just to find evidence for; or it could just be because he was staring too much at the way your mouth moved and your eyes expressed everything to pay attention to your words, finding that you were just too beautiful to be chasing a linguistics degree.

this was another thing: geto suguru could possibly have anyone he wanted. he was fine. shoulders pulled back in proper posture, hair either tied up fully or just halfway, and always, always wearing shirts with sleeves that reach his wrist. to that, everyone could see just how bulked the man was, top looking too tight all the time.

geto knew he was fine, too, because on top of (and before) being a professor, he found that he could get a good amount of money by just streaming — camera propped below his neck and obviously tight button-up shirt discarded to reveal his tattooed body, while he has his legs spread and the thirsty, horny comments flooding in on the platform. it’s been a norm by now, started from his uni days where he needed some extra money to support his fees and living necessities.

one year turned into two, two years turned into stagnancy during his third and fourth years (save for a few occasional streams), and up came a little funny graduation stream suggested by his best friend. geto had spent a good half ’n hour talking about his time in university and thanking his viewers, changing up the setting almost immediately by showing hard he was.

[uzum4kisl0ver]: YEAAAH we’re getting to the good stuff, thank u for feeding us so well these few years uzumaki-san!!

[minstash96]: Congrats on graduating Uzumaki-san!! I rmb joining during your third year and found out from everyone u were getting busier </3 but Im glad youre back again!!!

[g_bigdick_s]: fellas is it gay to support your best friend’s graduation jerking off stream

the flood of “yes”’s replying to gojo made the streamer laugh, thankful that his best friend had listened a little and at least changed gojobigdicksatoru to just his “G.S.” initials to avoid people finding his LinkedIn. from there, geto had gotten into the true nature of his stream easily, fishing out his cock to stroke and loving the sounds of tips coming in, the name of his alias Uzumaki continually commented. since then, it’s become a side hustle — finishing his masters, training to become a professor, it’s all natural to him, taking even further steps to make sure he isn’t found out.

exactly, he could have anyone he wanted — a fan from his streaming account, or one of satoru’s regular fwb’s but instead he finds himself drawn to someone else, you, the second year student in his bilingualism and multilingualism module that he has no trouble teaching despite his freshly employed status.

at the start of the week, the gods decided thought it would be funny to delay the campus bus that would take you to the english department for a consultation session with your professor. you couldn’t focus in lectures due to bad cramps, you were behind on your non-major related courses, the bad luck just seemed to seep into one day after another. you had woken up late, putting on a terrible outfit that no one really cared about, except your professor who just had a smirk on his face.

“if you notice, runes were created as they were spoken — spelt as they are said which almost look like ‘pictographs’,” prof. geto switches to the next slide with the runes and their meanings alongside a jumble of symbols that send the whole class into hysterics, “can anyone sound out the phonetics of these runes to me? hint: even though i said they look like pictographs, the first rune is definitely not an E.”

he was known for asking questions during lectures, pleased with anyone that would even try because he knew how quiet lecture theatres could get. he was exactly like that in university, too, letting satoru take all the attention due to the many unknown people in the same room. now, he found that asking the questions was a little entertaining, seeing the way students look back down at their laptops and avoid eye contact. but he doesn’t need to do anything and his body is already turnt towards you. he’s not even pointing physically, which he thinks he’s done a good job of restraining himself.

ᛊᛃᚨᚾᛖᛚ

“the words and names should be as they sound — so ‘s’ or ᛊ should translate into a ‘c’ since they didn’t have a C back then and it’s the closest sound to C. ᛃ can’t be ‘h’ because of the usage of H in hagl . . its pronunciation is different and plus, we’ll spell it how we say it, so maybe it’s ‘j’?” you mutter to yourself, an urge to answer the quickest, always. you aren’t sure where this streak came from, but you’ve been smart always, “sja . . it either can be chanel or channel since there’s a rule you can’t use the same rune twice in succession . .”

professor geto already knows you’d be the first to answer, raising your hand even without looking since you were still calculating the other four letters which you put together fairly quickly.

you take the safest route, “chanel, with one N.”

geto clicks his tongue and sucks in a breathe, “so close, miss (y/n), but it’s because i cheated a little on my part.” you can feel your blood boil and the grimaces of other students when he switches to the next slide and there’s a little grin on his face. it says — ‘there is no distinction between capital and small runes, nor can you use the same rune twice continually.’

“you are right, partially, but i did want to drive home the point,” which he’s sure you already know. “that words with two N’s or L’s or whatever, would only show up in the runic language as only one character.” your face morphs into something of annoyance and the grin on professor geto’s face only widens — that defiant, headstrong nature is something he loved, but the grin drops a little when he imagines something . . out of the classroom. his pants tighten.

you mirror him, clicking your tongue and reluctantly taking down the note in your documents before sinking into your chair — not even chō, you friend, could find the proper words to comfort you. you spend the rest of the lecture, sulking, unwillingly answering his incessant questions with a scowl on your face and a headache forming.

this never stops—

“miss (y/n)?” one-on-one meetings were the bane of your existence, but it was the only way to connect with your professors properly — here, geto calls you to talk about your latest essay where you were the last on the roster. by then, everyone has filed out with nobara waiting for you just outside the classroom.

“don’t have to call my name, i’m the only one here.” you mutter under your breath, and geto feels a little annoying today.

“what was that?”

“nothing—”

he hums, scooting his chair closer once you sit, and while you find the gesture a little weird, you’re overcome with just how good he smells and it only fuels your hatred more. it’s no fair that he’s so . .

“miss (y/n).” you sigh with an apology, frankly not ready to hear how he’d be attacking your essay. it was written on a rushed timeline, you didn’t cite your sources properly, you knew some criticism was warranted as much as you didn’t like to hear it from your professor’s mouth.

“. . you do know you can’t just rely on your brain, right?” geto speaks softly and you feel your heart flutter at his tone. he points to the places where you forget your in-text citations.

“but professor, information about syntax and phonetics just comes like second nature . .” you mumble, ignoring how he closes his eyes and hisses, “and all the sources on the internet say different things.”

“then just find a reliable one.”

you tsk, taking the paper from him and flipping to the next page, “well, i did one here.” the paper makes a sound when you press your finger into it, aware of how close you are. from here you can feel the heat radiating off his body, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together.

“too long ago, needs to be within five years.” geto’s lying through his teeth.

“no, it does not!” you pull back and look at him incredulously. ah, the feeling’s gone, “not in language related papers, at least!”

“but that claim was from the 2000’s, miss (y/n), for all we know it could’ve been resolved by then.”

“then why didn’t you say anything about chō’s scholar article from the 1990’s?” you’re standing up, now, furrowed eyebrows depicting the very thing you feel: confusion, agitation at being treated like this. given you weren’t in the best condition when you wrote this essay, but you still gave it your all.

“her argument was about the interconnectedness between the romance languages — yours,” he punctuates while leaning back in his chair. you don’t like how your eyes flit down to his lap, but you’re forced to look up when he stands up too, “is about the use of ciphers in comparison to an immature language developed on the internet that created in the 2019s. any scholar claim before that would be void.”

your blood boils just like that day. alas, he had a good point, but like always, the gentle slit of his eyes and the all-knowing smile didn’t match the bullying he was laying on you and you despise it.

even! even, as you notice how there’s probably less than a inch between your faces as you puff out your chest to look more intimidating and yet geto suguru towers over you. and even when your heart beats loudly in your ears, feeling his hot breath fan over your own face while you don’t miss how he licks his lips and glances down to yours not-so-secretly.

you swallow at the silence, until there’s the annoying notification of his Outlook cutting the tension and soon you’re snatching the essay from him, walking to where your bag is. although you want to let your anger overflow, all you say is a tame, “noted. thanks, prof” with a glare, eye twitching.

you made sure to slam the classroom door with shaky hands . .

. . but you’re not very good at capping your rage. “i swear to god! he better fucking check his mirror and admire himself because soon i’m going to beat him up so bad that everyone can’t recognise him.” geto’s lips turn up in a small smirk at your flared expression he just witnessed — he just loves your dirty mouth and he finds himself thinking of it more and more often.

chō only can tut, “so you find him attractive?”

“what? how the hell did you infer that from my rant?” you scoff, shoving her to the side, not aware that your whispered outburst is heard as he’s packing up. he simply enjoys looking at you walk away through the glass slit of the door, hips swaying unknowingly.

“bad news, guys,” geto, or rather Uzumaki, sighs on screen, adjusting so the lens of the camera rested just below his collarbones. easily, his chat fills up with a mixture of horny comments and genuine questions, chuckling to himself as he unbuttons his shirt. he feels more like a sinner at this point, suddenly flustered with the confession he’s about to make.

“i think i’ve taken quite a liking to someone,” geto hums, hands going to his trousers to palm his bulge. he had to get home immediately after that, cancelling his meetings for the day. with a single text to gojo, the white-haired man was excited to hear everything about this new person, thankful that his best friend will finally not be alone.

[g_bigdick_s]: TELL US! TELL US!!!! TELL US!

but professor geto is lost instantly, imagining you as he massages his erection. thinking about your anger transforming into pleasure, into obedience for him as he forces your mouth down on his cock. oh . . how’d your mouth and hands feel, how’d your pussy feel.

geto groans, already removing his dick from the constraints, and pumping it to full length. he doesn’t even talk much, only the endless comments and tips reminding him he was still on live. spitting on his hand, he wraps his hand around himself again, thumbing the tip and hoping it’d be your tongue swirling around it.

what would you look like on your knees, taking each inch of his cock down your throat? would he be able to wipe the defiance off your face? would he be able to fuck his smart student, dumb?

“you need a good destress, woman,” chō suggests over the phone, voice a bit uneven due to it being stuck in between her shoulder and ear, “go on camstar or something, i’m sure you’ll find something hot there.”

“chō, i am not going on a porn streaming website! i’ll very much settle for my smut fics, thank you.”

“boo, don’t you get bored? i get that normal adult industry videos are super inaccurate but . . when was the last time you’ve watched an unfiltered, unedited jerk off vid? that’s the hottest.”

you scoff, “yeah, like you would know, miss complain-whenever-you-get-dick-pics.”

“that’s because it’s unsolicited! plus all the men who send me pics have ugly dicks. if anything i’m more open to get unsolicited pussy pics rather than consensual dick pics at this point.” your friend nonchalantly says, spreading her fingers to look at her manicured nails, “but anyway, prof geto is on your ass too much lately. maybe he wants to get in your pants?”

you don’t recoil at the suggestion as much as you expect to and you’re puzzled at that — “please never say that again.” just as you’re saying this, you’re typing in camstar.org even though you told yourself not to but deep down, you know that you’ve been craving more than just twitter links and porn with plot stories. on the front page, you’re seeing a video thumbnail of a guy with a fairly big . . feature, countless tattoos lining his body while you can catch a faint glimpse of his long hair in the dark room — it’s the only one that draws you in, other streams merging into a blur.

chō’s voice fades off when you notice just how popular the stream is, cursor hovering over the title (“just a ramblefap, need to release some tension”) almost tempting you to click.

“okay, will get back to you,” succumbing to your needs, you shamelessly grab your vibrator just as she cheers into the phone. you can hear that’s my girl! on the other side as you stifle a smile, bidding a goodbye before you settle into bed. from there, you do what you always do: relax for a few, slow your breathing, get yourself wet a little—

click.

The stream you have attempted to view has ended a minute ago. We apologise for the inconvenience caused. View more livestreams below:

you shove the vibrator under your pillow and bury your head into it, screaming.

“i mentioned in yesterday’s lecture that Latin evolved from the dialects of the Italic peoples of ancient Italy, or Latium, a region in central western Italy. over time, Latin absorbed elements from other languages, such as Etruscan and Greek, and it became the main language of the western Mediterranean.” professor geto rambled on in classic geto fashion — it was his passion that made him so easy to listen to, as with the many enamoured girls with googly eyes and the guys who wish they could carry themselves the way geto did.

you’d say the same thing: his love for his subject of study made him attractive — charming even — as much as you didn’t want to admit to your friend, but you’d be more open with your attraction like everyone is if he wasn’t—

[9:52am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] so fucking annoying and cocky and picking on me all the time!!!!!! im soooo sick of him im so serious omfg ....

but today, he’s looking less at you and more at other students, or even marvelling at the terrible paint job of the classroom as he goes from slide to slide. he talks about the derivation in which French separates from Latin, borrowing similar spellings and meanings from the old language while separating the way they are spoken.

“French is the most divergent of the romance languages because of strong Gallic and Frankish influences. The Celtic Gauls spoke a language similar to Old Dutch but adopted Latin as the Romans invaded Gaul.” you don’t even have to look at him to get him thinking of lewd things, spiralling into his fantasies ever since last night. geto is a little fatigued, too, having lost sleep over his fucking student which he just can’t help bothering. excitement at having you in class before is now turning into dread with every week that passes, and this week is just one instance.

“uh— i-i know you guys aren’t well-versed in either, but with your knowledge of both languages,” geto pulls at his tie. he feels hot, “discuss with your tutorial groups, the differences between the two and list down examples. just come up with one difference, but preferably name a few instances.”

[10:01am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] wish u were here im so bored 😭😭 profs acting so weird today tho

[10:01am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] is he looking hot and bothered, nervous ??? like he wants to cry? im tellin you he wants you fr

of course she’d come out of her sickness-induced sleep just to bother you about him having the hots for you.

[10:02am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] you’re so ... i swear pls shut up he may want me but i do NOT want him

[10:03am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] not even while you were just ranting about how his side profile looked a little too good in lecture yesterday?? anyway i hope you’ll be able to get that nut tn 🙏🏼 that guy on camstar sounded hot asf

[10:04am, (y/n) -> chō 💟] ikr i cant believe i got cockblocked by a fuckin livestream ending 💀 thank you fr i need it atp

“any progress here?” he comes out behind you and you slam the phone so hard you give the both of you a scare while your other friends exchange giggles with each other. what you don’t know, is how his arm is positioned upon the back of your chair and his whole body hovers just beside yours. you’re threatened to look, but you know if you do, you’d be falling deeper into the pit that you promised yourself not to fall into.

“yup, we’re just discussing things about how in terms of grammar, French has conjugation but almost no declension. but— uh, it rather uses word order to express some of the intricacies that Latin expresses through word endings.”

you can see geto nod from your peripheral, “good. good answer, any examples to show me?”

your friends nod towards you since you’re usually the one with all the information about different languages. they aren’t foreign to the way geto keeps calling on you to answer him, too, so you shouldn’t have any problem with this, right?

wrong. you’re stuttering through your answer, turning your head finally and being met with the sight of prof geto looking down on you like a deer caught in headlights. you think that being in lecture theatres, sitting near to the back and your hatred in general has desensitised you to the beauty of your professor, because being under him like this makes your core pulse uncomfortably and your voice shaky.

“. . hm? what was that?”

“i was uhm— saying how— uh,” the way geto nods at you makes you more nervous, painting you as someone who someone who had all bark and no bite, but the other knows very well that you had a nasty bite. you’re smart and witty, pretty, hot as fuck, and if anything, it’s taking everything in geto not to bend you over and show you your place in this very classroom in front of everyone, too.

“little lady got nothin’ for me today?” geto purses his lips and lets his teasing side take over, an easy-going smile taking over his features that you just want to kiss and slap off at the same time. wait.

“i didn’t get enough sleep because i was too busy trying to rewrite the damn essay you said i had outdated and missing sources for,” you speak through gritted teeth, feeling a mixture of arousal and pure rage for the man hovering over you.

geto juts his lip out in a pout, face getting dangerously close to yours and challenging you. he just hopes your two friends won’t say anything, “well, darling, if you picked an easier topic to argue about, you wouldn’t be doing that, would you?”

“well, sorry i’m always trying to outdo myself. are you, professor geto? what with your boring suits and black and white slide designs?”

you click your tongue and turn back to your phone to pull up your chat with chō while geto takes a deep breath, desperately hoping the hard-on wouldn’t show through his slacks. your other two friends only giggle even more at the exchange, because for the rest of the class, professor geto is on edge, unable to teach coherently.

[11:17pm, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] YOU DID WHAAAAATTTTT...???? GIRL YOU SAID THAT???!!!!!!

[11:18pm, (y/n) -> chō 💟] bro what if i get expelled.. i shouldnt have but he was pissing me off so much... i did put an apology in the end tho

by then, you’ve already submitted your rewritten essay, putting in a short note at the end for your behaviour in class. although you don’t take it back, you’re still trying to play it safe especially with how much you paid to get into university. you scroll along camstar, bored out of your mind and hoping to find something as compelling as the inked guy from last week, but nothing really draws you in. until you’re refreshing the page, and just like the previous time, the popularity of that same bulking guy seems to push his video to the top.

and finally, before you’re clicking into the video, you check out his profile: in his early thirties, started this account when he was 24 and in university. you smack your lips at that — he’s been doing this for almost ten years? that’s dedication. in curiosity, you scroll down his account, seeing the progression of which this guy built up his figure and tattoos that litter his body. he’s kept the same format, camera showing his body chest down until you’re lazy to scroll more, a little disappointed in not being able to find any indication of his face.

you think that maybe you saw a glimpse of that wrist tattoo that matched the tattoo on your professor’s wrist, but you could just be imagining things.

“alright guys . .” the man on the screen huffs, clothes already discarded to get straight to the point, and you’re recording a small snippet of the same guy you told chō about. “had a rough day today.”

the onslaught of comments going i can make u feel better!!! Take ur anger out on me Uzumaki-san makes you sputter and laugh, sending that video first before you’re taking another. your attention is stolen for a moment, seeing chō react with emojis to your video message (“let’s see what emails i got today, huh?”), but the structure of sentences that the man speaks soon brings you out of jollity and into shock.

“how cute, an essay sent straight to my email.” geto wants to do anything but look at emails right now, but ever since he’s gotten your rewritten assignment, it’s all he’s wanted to check out if it wasn’t for the many meetings and errands he had to run today. “yadda yadda . . oh?”

“i’m sorry for today’s lesson,” purposely pausing to leave out his name, geto continues on, “i shouldn’t have reacted in that way no matter the situation.” a smirk forms on his face while your body fills with dread. in your panic, you pull up your own document whilst catching all of this on camera, tracking each word as the man on camstar.org continues to say out your apology word by word.

and then bit by bit, you’re making out how the man behind the camera might, just might be your linguistics professor. the broad shoulders, the jawline, the long hair, the manspread . .

but even with your heightened combination of excitement and revelation, you don’t click away, blindly sending the video to your friend and then shamefully digging under your pillow to grab your vibrator.

“teaching people is so difficult sometimes, guys,” he grunts, pulling down his underwear and revealing his already hard cock. he lets out a shaky sigh as he wraps a hand around his shaft, “you usually get the people who won’t do any work, the ones who are absent half the time — usually they go hand in hand.”

professor geto laughs and you twitch at the lovely sound. “but . . there’s this one girl . . in my classes— f-fuck.”

you’re entranced, watching your professor masturbate in front of thousands of people who possibly didn’t know a thing about this man while you try to get your jaw off the floor, “who is entirely different from these categories.”

“she’s smart,” geto groans out and you watch transfixed as he starts to pump himself, hips grinding up into his palm, “she’s so smart that i’d want to get to know her one day and just talk about anything.”

“s-she’s so fucking attractive, too, you guys won’t even— oh goddd . .” you feel like you’re being watched, so you’re careful with how you’re putting your vibrator to your core and once you start it, the moan that leaves you lines up with geto’s deeper groans. it turns you on so damn much.

with his head tilted back, he’s long gone as he moves his hands faster and faster, the slick noises of his pre-cum and spit mixing in together — geto only wishes he could act on his desires once the course was over, but knows you’ll probably be mortified at the prospect. at least here, he can imagine that it’s your mouth or cunt doing all the work.

“s-shitttt . .” the professor sounds out, hissing when he thumbs his tip and even more pre comes spilling out and while you watch, you’re hypnotised by the beautiful moans in its perfect cadence and the thickness of his cock. by now his chest is heaving and he’s holding onto his bedsheets so tight you wish it was your thighs.

“i want to fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head and get her dumb on my cock,” geto whines, hips fully bucking up now while you press your vibrator deeper into your clit. you’re left wondering how his mouth would feel, to shut him up by pressing him into your cunt until he can’t breathe, soak his stupid fucking suits, “want to hear her moan my name.”

you whimper at all the things professor geto swears he wants to do to you, grinding into your hand while he speeds up as well. he doesn’t speak, simply stroking himself as he thighs tense up and he squeezes his shaft with head full of visions of you in terribly lewd positions, making disgusting sounds, and all for him. it isn’t long before geto cums with a loud drawn out moan, shooting his cum onto his torso with a sigh before taking a sticky hand to his lips, licking it off — “i’d want to see my cum dripping out of her one day.”

that sends a chill down to your core, biting your pillow before you release softly all over your hand and vibrator; you spend the rest of the night watching professor geto’s other videos.

[12:32am, chō 💟 -> (y/n)] oh. OH..........

“i should’ve just taken an off-day today, i do not want to get back our results.” chō rubs at her eyes and temples, wanting anything to do with the return of test marks, but unfortunately it was the week after midterms and it was inevitable, “don’t need to ask you though, you’re probably not worried at all.”

“trust me, i am,” you bite the inside of your cheek. it’s been at least . . two weeks after that whole debacle, and despite your intense vents with your friend and the continuous picking on by prof. geto, nothing out of the blue was happening. except, maybe, your growing physical need for your professor and your simultaneous, increasing hatred for him.

“it’s only midterms — you don’t need to worry too much since it doesn’t contain a high percentage. what you should be focusing on are your finals. we’ll work on your shortcomings and mistakes here so you guys will do the best when the time comes.”

and when professor geto comes around to hand you your test, all you do is glare up through your lids, taking it from him before feeling your whole world crumble.

“a B+?!” your mouth gapes open at the blatant 65/100 mark that glares back at you. you know that you would’ve gotten anything but a 65, willing yourself to study harder and harder just to rub it in his pretty little face that you weren’t falling behind in his class. at this point it’s got to be personal, so soon, you’re packing up your things angrily with the intent to storm his office after your other classes.

it’s late in the afternoon when you finally finish your other tutorials on a short fuse, him clearly getting ready to head home by the darkness of his office when you shove your way through the door.

professor geto is sat in a laid-back position, tie hung on the hooks installed in the office and a few buttons are unbuttoned, revealing the very familiar tattoos you’ve become acquainted with.

“to who do i owe the pleasure?”

“cut the crap, prof.,” you scowl, using your foot to slam the office door close. despite the late nights being buried in your sheets, you won’t let yourself be treated like this, “i deserved anything but a 65 on midterms.”

geto tilts his head, sitting up and gesturing out to you; you realise he wants to see your test paper.

“ah!” with a finger, he makes a show of finding for your obvious mistakes which was minimal — but the way he marks obnoxiously tells you everything you need to know, “here. your comprehension of the similarities between Latin and Ancient Greek was too surface level, you didn’t explain why—”

“i. did!” you press down into the paper like the first time, leaning over his table and reading out the exact answer you wrote just a few days ago, “here, since your blind ass wants to act like i wasn’t answering the question.” you push yourself into his desk more, eyes levelled with his. you dare him to say something smart.

“well, your explanation of the six cases in Latin left out the locative, the last one, and there were some problems in the conjugation that the test asked of you.”

“bullshit. show me, if you’re so confident.”

professor geto knows he’s hit a dead-end. he was telling lies, full of it, but he’s enjoying every second of the anger that translates into your features, of the growl in your voice. he leans back further the more you close in on him.

“nothing, right? so tell me, do you hate me that much?”

geto simply laughs, crossing his arms and reminiscing on the many nights he’s spent doing anything but.

“quite the opposite, sweetheart.” the name catches you off-guard for a moment, but your sour face returns soon enough.

“then what the fuck do you think you’re doing, picking endlessly on a student?”

your professor sits forward, prompting you to cower back. you think it’d be good to bring up whatever he’s got going on on camstar.org but you’ll wait to a good moment before you say anything about your trump card, until geto snaps you out of your stupor by towering over you. the sheer difference makes you swallow.

“because i like seeing you flared up and angry and mad.” professor geto surprises you with each second, the nonchalance in which he said it, the stupid, attractive smirk on his face. now’s the time.

you compose yourself, thinking of the best way to phrase this, “you know you’re not entirely safe, either, you know. i could report you with the frequency in which you’re picking on me.”

you point a finger to his chest, thinking you could get him to lay off immediately with this as much as you were hoping he wouldn’t. the attention was unwarranted but not entirely . . terrible, “that wouldn’t look so good on your record, right, Uzumaki-san?”

you relish in the surprise that seeps into geto’s pretty features but it’s a short-lived victory when he goes back into a relaxed state, expression neutral — “so you know.”

“know . . what?” your professor pulls away and walks around his desk, finally in close proximity to you like he’s always wished.

“how badly i want you.” he whispers, but doesn’t go past that, rather letting you figure everything out for yourself.

“‘. . fuck her silly, fuck all of those stupid facts out of her head’, right?” you mumble softly, not admitting to even chō that you had watched that livestream over and over enough to memorise the few sentences. geto wraps an arm around your waist to tug you closer, faces so close that you could just shut him up.

“go on.”

“you want me to go dumb on your cock,” professor geto mutters a correct which undeniably sends a thrill to your core.

“you want to hear me to moan your name.” “—want to hear her moan my name.”

a small smile spreads across his face (even if you left out the most important thing) as he finishes his own sentence with you, eyes clouded over with lust and your scent and he’s positive he can smell your soaked panties from here if he tries hard enough.

“that’s right.”

“sooo . .” by god, you fucking hated the man, but seeing someone stroke their cock to just the thought of you — how could you pass off such a good opportunity? “do you prefer professor geto, or suguru?”

geto groans at his first name usage, setting you on his desk and presses himself into you at the sound of papers flying to the floor, stationary falling to the ground. he can only hope no one walks in. he’s fully hard, loving how your legs naturally spread for him.

“whatever you want, baby.” and after, it’s all history with the way geto crashes his lips into yours, letting you pull at his jacket and shirt, practically ripping open the buttons to see his tattoos that you’re begging to see. slowly, he lets you trace them while he kisses down your neck, roughly pulling your sweater off of you. you have the cutest tits, packaged nicely in your bra which he has no trouble taking off. there’s a small sound that escapes his mouth when he unclasps your bra and your breasts come falling out.

“didn’t tell me you had such a nice pair . .” you giggle.

“yeah, like i would straight up tell my professor that.” with a hand, your hand follows the ink of his dragon that wraps around his body and torso, right down to his happy trail, “but i mean, you get the honour of seeing it now.”

with a squeeze to his bulge, you whisper, “maybe i’ll let you fuck them next time.”

geto lets out a little moan, “fucking minx,” before he latches his mouth onto your nipple, kneading the other greedily. a soft moan leaves your mouth as you knead his erection, a culmination of your combined groans in the quiet office. soon he’s giving attention to the other, a hand trailing down into your panties where he rubs your clit to test the waters, and he smiles into your skin at the way your hand falters and your head hangs forward.

“p-professor . .” it’s clear geto can’t wait, because he pushes a finger into you easily with how dripping wet you are, panties showing a dark patch of your juices. “s— so thick—”

“i know, baby, gotta stretch you out,” a soft pop! is heard as he comes off your nipple before he meets your lips in a sloppy kiss. he shoves his tongue into your mouth the moment he pushes a second finger in and he swallows your moans, letting you feel around his body to dig your nails in — it was just too damn much.

“so— suguru, your f-fingers, they’re so—” even with your protests, your hips grind up against his thick fingers that are pumping in and out of you, taking every last piece of fire in you as you succumb completely.

“what, miss (y/n)?” geto memorises the exact way all your previous blazing words are reduced to mere mewls and whimpers, alongside your pleas for more, more, more.

“i need something—” you whine when he pushes all the way inside, stretching your cunt so well as you clench around him like a vice and sucking him in, “i wanna make you feel good—”

you get at least a little resolve in the time it took you to say that, drunkenly unbuckling his belt before pulling his cock out. his tip is positively leaking, fingers curling instinctively in your pussy and your moans mingle together again.

“c’mon, prof, please?” geto tuts, reluctantly removing his fingers from your cunt which he wish he could spend more of his time in, but gives in to you as you switch positions, pushing him against his own desk. from there you’re going to your knees, marvelling at the cock you’ve watched on your very own screen.

“better than you imagined?”

you roll your eyes, “shut up or i’m blue-balling you.”

geto exhales forcefully, cut off when you put your mouth gently over his tip. you suckle on it like a pacifier, swirling your tongue around the mushroom head and looking up at him through your lashes; the sight is heavenly. the hair from his bun had fallen out, framing his pleasure-filled face, and the veins on his arms pop out so much from how harshly he’s grabbing the wood.

“f-fuck, baby . .” his words are lost once you start bobbing your head, encasing his shaft deep in your mouth as you suck and lick and slobber over his thick cock, using your hands to stroke the places you can’t reach. a choked moan weasels itself out of geto when one of your hands deviate to play with his balls, squeezing lightly at the sack while you continue to lick the underside of his length.

“take me like a slut, don’t you?” geto says breathlessly, fingers going through your hair to gather the strands into a makeshift ponytail, cradling your head to guide your mouth, but he soon starts to thrust into your waiting mouth.

“want me to fuck your dirty whore mouth?” your professor asks and you hate how much it turns you on as he brings you off to let you breathe for a moment. you stick out your tongue, big doe eyes just pleading to be used as your hands anchor themselves down to his belt loops.

“y—yes, prof., give me everything you got,” geto hums, seemingly satisfied with your answer as he taps your tongue with his tip, cock so heavy and thick it makes you whine a little before he shoves it in without warning. the moan that rumbles deep in your throat sends vibrations up his body and he starts a pace immediately.

“that’s it, that’s it—” you breathe through your nose as geto face fucks you, two hands covering the back of your head as he thrusts into your throat. your mouth’s just so damn warm and tight it has geto groaning non-stop while your eyes start to well up with tears. he uses you like a cocksleeve, abusing your throat each time his tip meets with it.

“fuuuckk— yes, yes, your throat’s so—” geto tilts his head back when he buries his cock in you, the deepest he’s ever been and your nose meets with his pubes, the smell of his musk and sweat making your eyes roll back in pleasure. suguru is all grunts before moving again, the gagging, gawking noises filling the small space.

“mmhm— mmf!” you moan around his length, trying your best to move your tongue along the underside of his cock. a hand goes down to quell the growing need of your cunt, slipping a finger or two in.

“dirty girl just can’t think straight when she has a— s-shit— cock in her, huh?”

you hum in agreement, eyes fluttering when you feel his tip twitch in your mouth and geto spills right into your throat with a long moan. your lids flutter close, taking as much cum as you can before coming off with a deep breath. strings of his cum and your saliva connect you to his cock, the lewdness of it all showing clearly in how sloppily you sucked your professor off.

“open.” and you show your tongue still full of his cum, taking the opportunity to lean down to let a ball of spit fall from his mouth. it drops painfully slow to your tongue, closing it only when you hear the rasp of swallow, “good girl.”

“think i’ve kept you waiting for too long, need to be in you,” geto brings you up by your upper arms, propping you up nicely onto his desk where you already start to leak into the wood, “do you want me to be in you?”

“only if you promise to stop picking on me, prof.,” you pout. really, a changed girl once you get some cock, huh?

“but you’re too cute not to bother, baby.” your pout deepens and geto feels a tug on his heart. oh, you were too adorable, knowing you’d kill him the next time he mentions this. he hopes they’ll be a next time.

“i mean it, suguru,” you murmur as he uses his tip to play with your juices, smearing it around your cunt. “treat me like a proper person.”

“can i at least treat you like a slut behind closed doors?”

you bit your lip, he’s asking for a next time, and who are you to reject him?

“whatever you want, professor,” you wiggle your hips along his cock, hoping for some friction which he grants to you with no problem, “use me. treat me like your cum dump.”

geto hisses at your tightness and your words as he bottoms out in you. he’s had your pussy once and already cannot get enough of you, moaning each time he moves in and out of your cunt. your walls hug him so snugly, sucking his cock in endlessly.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . your pussy’s so fuckin’— good—” he grunts into your ears, hips starting to thrust slowly into you. he swears he can see you in your tummy, asking you to look down, “look at how deep i am in you, sweetheart.”

you moan at just how big he was as you glance down, but you’re more focused on the way your pussy spreads for him, the cute veins on his length as he moves in you. you’re leaking so much that it’s effortlessly, the way he rams into you.

“sugu— suguru . . mmfuck—” geto groans upon feeling you rub your clit, your own hips bucking needily into his own as your juices start to drip down his balls. this was everything that he hoped would happen; your features morphed into pleasure, you descending into stupidity just from some dick, feeling your pussy, finally.

“hear yourself?” your professor proposes the question and you’re confused for a moment until he slows down and you whine at the sudden change, brought to attention just how soaking you were. the soft shlick, shlick, shlick sounds take your breath away, as with the translucent sheen of your juices coating his cock.

there, your professor resumes his pace, “hear how fuckin’ sloppy this pussy is for me. listen to her,” your senses are all overwhelmed: by how he hits all your sweet spots, the sweat on your back, your fast-beating heart and you let out a mangled whimper, “yesss . . that’s what i like to hear.”

geto smirks at how you can’t even answer, picking up his pace into a regular one. with his cock buried deep in you, you have no choice but to let your body move with his thrusts, jerking each time his balls meet your ass noisily.

“is this what the little lady needed? just some professor cock to get her to not be so damn uptight!”

“y—yessss . .” you’re delirious, “yesyesyes, suguru!” you squeal when he holds your legs up and pushes your legs into your chest, tongue lolling out at the deepness that he was in you.

“fucking slut,” geto mumbled, hips turning sloppy with fatigue taking over, but your cunt was just too good to stop, “where d’you want me to cum, baby?” he knows you’ll answer how he wants you to, especially after watching his livestream—

“i-inside— inside, pleaseplease,” the circles on your clit are messy, now, chasing your high more than ever, but your pussy is grasping onto him like a vice, prompting groans deep from his throat. “want your cum dripping out of me, prof—”

those words alone has geto shooting his load with a strangled grunt, switching to shallow, quick thrusts to pump you full of his cum. it comes out in hot, thick spurts, filling your insides more and more until it spills out the sides and you follow soon after, whole body convulsing from the intense orgasm you can’t stop shaking violently.

“take it— that’s it, attagirl,” he whines out, stroking his length to make sure you’re getting every last drop out of him, “take all my cum . .”

geto is sure he’s getting old by the way he feels lightheaded, having had to hold onto the edge of the table for a minute — but in that 60 seconds you’ve stumbled off the table and laid your chest over it, perking your ass up where your pussy continues to leak hot, white cum.

your professor takes one good look at your ass, hands going up to knead at them and spreads your cheeks. with his tongue, he eats his cum out of you, making your jerk at the sensitivity.

“oops, i’ve cleaned you up of my cum — guess i gotta give you a couple more loads,” geto props a leg up, eating you out, “it’s only right since my brightest student has suffered so much at my hands . .”

tagging @arminsumi @shidouryusm @suguruplsr @crysugu @slttygeto @suget @sonarspace @marimogf @hannzai &lt;3 ok gn

#kinda hate how this turned out goodnight loooooool #luna u sending in that ask made me think of this song LMFAOOO and i rlly didnt know what title to use so i just... dumb dick i guess LMAOAO #asks #🍒 anon 2 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #getou suguru #geto smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto x you #getou smut #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #jjk thirsts #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen geto #geto suguru #getou x reader #suguru geto #getou x you #suguru x reader

[lgbtlunaverse]

This page from the adventurer's bible makes me want to cry

Like basically any neurodivergent dungeon meshi fan, I see a lot of myself in the Touden siblings. But I was blindsided by just how much I suddenly related to Falin in this little comic from the adventure bible's complete version.

It's about the Touden siblings' differing relationships with their parents, and why Laios still holds their treatment of Falin against them, while Falin herself doesn't.

We know that Falin was isolated and ostraziced by their village after she saved Laios from a ghost, displaying her uncanny affinity for magic. Her parents, instead of defending her, sent her away, which angered Laios so much he ran way himself before Falin even left for magic school, hoping to make a living so he and Falin could live together alone.

He tells Marcile this, but when she goes to Falin, she says she sees things differently. Her father sent her to magic school to protect her form the rest of the village without having to cause a conflict. He didn't explain that, and we actually see her burst into tears when he says it.

But, well... Laios was gone for a year before Falin went to magic school, and everyone else in the village avoided her. The understanding Falin has with her parents to me looks like one borne out of necessity, she literally didn't have anyone else to talk to.

And this is where we get to the page that made me want to cry

Like I said, I relate to the Toudens because I'm neurodivergent myself. that feeling of suddenly realizing you're disliked, but not knowing what you did wrong or what you should have done instead? Yeah... that's one I recognize.

When I was around 9 years old, the same age Falin is in this comic, a bunch of kids in my class decided to make a "game" where you lost if you touched me. It was basically the 'cheese-touch' from diary of a wimpy kid, except I always had it and couldn't pass it along. They'd pretend I was poisonous or disgusting and run away from me screaming or gagging. The point was to make fun of me. But my autistic little 9 year old ass thought "Oh I get it! It's tag but I'm always it!" So I... played along. Running at a boy and having him fall on the ground screaming in fake pain because you tapped him is, in isolation, pretty funny.

It wasn't until months into the "game" that I realized it was meant to be meanspirited. That the reason I was the one who was always 'it' wasn't an arbritrary rule but the whole point. Because I was weird and gross. I wasn't in on the joke, I was the punchline.

Falin may have come to understand her parents' intentions, but she didn't always. The adventure bible actually tells us that she at first didn't even notice that the rest of their village disliked her. She clearly knows now, but she had to be told. So when her mom tried to exorcise her, she just saw it as an activity she got to do with a mother she usually didn't get to spend much time with because of her poor health. It's only Laios who notices something is wrong.

(Sidenote, Laios being hyper-aware of people's poor attitudes towards Falin but completely blindsided when he's in the same spot, like with Toshiro, is also very relatable as an eldest sibling)

It probably also took Falin months, until after her brother had left and she had no one but her parents, to realize why her mother had been doing all those things.

And I know they're not the same. Even misguidedly, Falin's mom was trying to help her, not make fun of her like those boys in my class. (Though, as a queer person who also cares a lot about the queercoding in Falin's storyline, a parent trying to 'exorcise' their child of a fundamental part of them the parent thinks is evil or corruptive? yeah... that's not perfectly wholesome)

But do you know what I did, when I finally figured out the game was always meant to make fun of me?

To me, it looked like I had a choice.

See, those boys eventually figured out I didn't understand that they were being mean to me. I'd laugh every time I managed to catch one of them, I was visibly having fun. And while it no doubt only made me more of a weirdo in their eyes, they never informed me that I shouldn't be enjoying myself. That the point was for me to feel hurt.

So now that I did know, I had a choice. I could either get upset, and let the insult land as it was supposed to. That wouldn't stop them, because making fun of me was the original goal. Or I could ignore it and go on as usual. They had already accepted that I didn't get it, and they weren't gona stop me from having fun, so why should I?

And the thing is that I had... one friend, in that whole class. One person who actually liked talking to me and hanging out with me. I was lonely. And the 'game' provided me with another social interaction, mean-spirited as it was, that I desperately needed. And it was so delightfully simple. Navigating actual friendships as a kid with autism and adhd was so fucking complicated, and I'd never know when I might break an inivisble rule. But I knew the rules to the game perfectly!

Sometimes, if I was chasing one of them, the others would trap him and hold him down so I could tap him. In those moments it actually did kind of feel like I was playing with them, rather than against them. And it didn't change much, they didnt start actually liking me. But they were willing to roll with the fact that I wasn't upset, and I took advantage of that because I needed to.

So you can look at Falin seeing the best in her parents as her being naïve, but I look at this page and I see myself, at first unable to differentiate between playing and being made fun of. And then later, when I did see the difference, deciding not to get mad about it because that'd mean losing that social interaction, and I couldn't afford to.

Like I said, Falin probably first realized this in the year she spent with her brother gone, and everyone else avoiding her like the plague. If she refused to talk to her parents, like Laios did, she'd have no one left.

I see a lot of people relating to the fight between Laios and Toshiro. that frustration when you realize someone you thougth was your friend actually hates you, and they never said anything, never gave you a chance to fix it because you had no idea that you were even doing something wrong! And I can see that, too. But sometimes, when people don't fully hate you, it feels better to go along with the pretending. Because adressing it won't fix it. Because the problem isn't a specific behaviour, it's you. And if they're willing to tolerate you, despite the fact that it's you, then you'll take it. Because other people do hate you, so this is the best you'll get.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi meta #falin touden #laios touden #neurodivegent #autism #adhd #long post #this one got REAL personal oops

[aphroditesmoon]

Hiiii! Love your clarisse oneshots ^^. Could you possibly do one where Fem!reader is the daughter of Hades and has a hellhound as a pet that absolutely adores clarisse? Reader also has a similar personality to clarisse, loves to fight and has a big pride but only lets her guard down around Clarisse.(also possibly has her own electric weapon of your choice)Thank you!!

creatures of the night

clarisse la rue x fem!hades'cabin!reader

warnings: none

a/n: sorry this is so short, hope u like it<3

wc; 1.1k

You would never consider your relationship with your father as better than anyone else's relationship with their own parent in camp.

But when you had been claimed by Hades as well as being gifted a long black javelin with gold wrapped around the sharp edge on the same night you arrived at camp Half Blood, it seemed well established to everyone else and including yourself, that your father acknowledges your existence proudly.

Being one of the people in the small list of forbidden children, had created a fearsome reputation around your presence, and honestly speaking, you enjoy the privileges that come with it.

Although it was hard making friends considering your less friendly personality, some campers stuck by your side anyways. Those who bore you enormous respects and had been intrigued by your mysterious air instead of intimidated.

One of them being the infamous child of Ares, Clarisse La Rue.

Beautiful, strong and hot headed, Clarisse La Rue.

The two of you are often compared as the two sides of the same coin. Your personalities differ from eachother in many ways, but when it came to your goals and aims, you both are usually on the same team.

It's safe to say that you are less hostile than Clarisse. You prefer to keep to yourself whilst she prefered to assert dominance onto the other campers. And yet you are the more feared than her.

Clarisse is commonly brutal and unrelenting, but you usually saved up the worst of your tricks for when necessity calls for it. For now, intimidation worked well enough.

What's funny enough, is how Clarisse herself had a certain trepidation when she first befriended you. She learned soon that you were just another demigod girl just like she was, glory aside.

One of the instances where she felt that she had truly seen you as you are, all the facade dropped down, was when you first introduced her to your hound, Cerberus.

Your father had gifted him to you for your 15th birthday. It was one of yoir proudest moments in life. Demigods are almost never cared for that much by their parents, and so to have your coming of age be recognised by your father was a huge thing.

"Is that not the same name as Hades' own three headed hound?" She asked, staring at it for afar from the corner of your bed.

"I know, that's why I named him that." You explained to her as you're sat criss-crossed on the floor, scratching the beasts' chin.

Cerberus, once he deemed Clarisse as not a threat, rolled down on the ground on his stomach.

"Look at him, such a good boy." You were distracted by your new pet all day, ignoring your poor girlfriend who had come over to your cabin to spend time with you. "He's almost as tall as you." Clarisse spoke sarcastically, picking you on your height.

"That's not a fair observation. Most things are almost as tall as me." You responded, still not looking up.

"Are you just gonna keep standing there staring at me?" You asked her finally, realising just how weird the distance between you two were.

Clarisse was hesitant, frowning at your pet like he was some sort of threat. "I...think I'm good here." She muttered loud enough for your ears. "Oh, come on."

Clarisse shook her head as you complained about her irrationality. "Look at him, he's friendly." And he was, Cerberus had warmed up to you quickly and have not shown a single tendency for violence against your girlfriend.

"Come and say hello to him, Clarisse." You called out to her again.

You hear her sigh from the other side of the room. After a few more minutes pass, her footsteps grow louder as she moves nearer to you.

Clarisse squats down to meet Cerberus and flinched as he lifts his head up to sniff her. You reached for her hand, trying to get him to smell it. She pulls her hand back at first, but after a few more pulls, Clarisse relents and lets the hound give her knuckles a lick. "That tickles." She mumbled under her breath.

"He likes you, see." She gives a resigned look, like she's just going along with what you're saying. "No, I'm serious, look at how nice he's acting." You nudged your head towards Cerberus' head, encouraging her to give him a pet

Clarisse braves herself to give him a few strokes on his ears and found that he particularly likes that notion. "I guess he's not that bad." She admitted at last, pulling out a smile from you. "I told you."

"So what is he then? Some sort of guard dog?" She inquires. The gods would gift their children with tools that can be used, never something useless, like a domesticated pet. And from the looks of it, Cerberus is definitely not meant to be a some cute little friend.

"I don't know." You answered honestly.

"It's not like my dad does a lot of talking to me, but he gave me something from the underworld, something that's set as a reminder of him and his place above. I'd like to view it as some sort of stepping stone. Like I'm one step closer to him because of Cerberus."

It's not surprising that your end goal is to follow on your father's footsteps, no one really knows what the real secret to make their godly parent to care about them is.

It is often assumed that glory was the key, and yet, the best fighters in camp a

re usually the ones who resent their parents the most. You often prayed and hoped that you wouldn't ever have to cross that threshold.

"I'm sure he sees it that way too." Clarisse offered kindly. She knew all too well how much it meant to be noticed by their absent fathers, even if so slightly.

She slso knew deep down that even if your father refused to notice the lengths you would be willing to go for him, she did. And she would break the world in two for you if your father wouldn't. And you would do the same for her.

Clarisse leans her back against the lower frame of the bed, a small smile on her face as she watches you scratch the hound's chin whilst kissing the spot in between his eyes.

It is truly rare to catch sight of either daughters of Ares or Hades' being as gentle and playful as this, and Clarisse is grateful that these kind of intimacies are reserved for small private moments.

That same night, as she sleeps with her arms around your waist, Cerberus laying down by the foot of the bed, Clarisse realises that she would do anything for the bond between the two of you to prevail.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #pjo series #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #dior goodjohn

[andvenuscried]

toxic!anakin skywalker hcs

↳ description box; small collection of nsfw drabbles for anakin x reader; i love my insane pookie

warnings; nsfw warnings; basically anakin is absolutely crazy, deranged and utterly obsessed with you. insane psychos are so hot bUT THIS BEHAVIOUR IS NOT TO BE ROMANTICISED!! and also minors dni

has an unhealthy habit of always checking your phone. he has a physical need to know who you’re talking to and why—that coworker named joseph you’re talking to? yeah, he CLAIMS to want to discuss your work schedule, but anakin’s so sure he wants to take advantage of you. and because anakin’s so smart and knows everything better than you do, you should just trust him and let him delete his number. and the number of every guy you have saved on your phone. but since anakin’s so smart, he’s surely right!!

he NEEDS everyone to know you’re taken and that you’re his. he’ll always have an arm slung around your shoulder casually, his hand resting at your hip, his fingers intertwined with yours or you wearing clothes that are obviously his (he really likes you in his clothes!!). but sometimes, that’s not enough, and he knows it’s pathetic but he literally can’t stand seeing you with any other guy except him. so sometimes, necessities like pretty bruises on your neck or marks on your chest are needed. he’s just letting everyone know you’re his, you wouldn’t object to that… right??

he can and he WILL stalk you. what, you’re going out without him? to go clubbing?? with your friends??? at NIGHT????

he can’t just possibly let you do that, he literally can’t stand the thought of even a mere possibility of you getting hurt somehow, it genuinely hurts his heart because how will he survive without you? you’re his world, and he’ll do anything to keep you. he just cares about you so much :(

anakin definitely has problems with sharing you with your friends, especially your male friends, and you’re so grateful he’s letting you talk to your female friends you’re not even considering talking to your guy friends again. oh, he looks out for you so much, awww

he’s a master manipulator and a professional gaslighter. all of your friends hate him, and are telling you to break him with him because he’s “toxic and obsessive”. baby, he’s not!! he’s just jealous sometimes and just very protective :( it makes him so sad every time you bring this up because why’re you trusting your friends over him? he’s the one you should trust the most, isn’t he? does that mean you don’t love him anymore?

needs your attention 24/7, all the time. he absolutely hates being separated from you, and even in his sleep, it’s like he won’t let go of you. he’ll always have an arm draped over your body, or his hands hooked on your waist. anakin is a naturally light sleeper, so he’ll wake up every time you get up—be it to use the bathroom or when you’re leaving for work. if everything went his way, he’d never let you leave him.

definitely thinks about locking you up in his big mansion. you’re so pretty he can’t stand the lingering gaze of other guys checking you out. he wishes he could be the only one to see your beauty.

likes to be in control and to be in charge of every situation regarding you. he knows he’s very intense in everything he does. that’s why he’s so grateful you put up with all his needs, but anakin is a very sceptical and careful person, he needs to know where you are and who you’re with—it’s no surprise he persuaded you to have your location on at all times. for your safety, he claims, and for his easement.

absolutely gets off on the height difference between you. you’re smaller than him, and he loved how cutely tiny you look next to him—and how you look when he uses you as his fleshlight!!

loves having you all submissive and obedient. his favourite positions are every one in which he can look at you, he loves seeing small tears forming in your eyes, loves you looking up at him in adoration, all trapped and utterly defenceless in his toned arms, mewling and gasping, moaning his name. especially loves when you’re sucking his cock, all pretty and desperate beneath him. just the way he likes you best.

why are you working? he makes enough money to provide for you AND a child; he has a house and a car. what do you need more? he knows you like your job, but he’d rather have you at home at all times. where you’re safe.

spoils you so much. he’ll buy you pretty clothes, sparkly jewellery, expensive shoes and anything else you want, he’d buy you an entire country if you asked him to. it’s not about flaunting his money or wealth or anything, he just gets off seeing you wearing stuff and knowing that he paid for it, so essentially, you’re walking around with his clothes.

for your birthday, he gifted you the cutest and most beautiful necklace!! if only you knew about the tracker inside it. he knows he has your location and you’re such a good girl for him he’s sure you’d never turn it off, but… just in case. (he’s lowkey paranoid)

if he could, he would carve his initials on you. (possessive much?)

but since you’d be hurt and he doesn’t like seeing you cry, he’s tried convincing you of getting a tattoo on your collarbone with his initials, and he’ll get one with your initials on his hip bone. you’re scared to death of needles though :( he’ll have to work on that for a while, but he knows he can get you to do anything for him with the right method and the right time.

has thought excessively and extensively about knocking you up. he knows you wouldn’t ever leave him if you were pregnant with his baby, god bless your sweet, kind and loving soul, and he loves to have that reassurance. so when condoms start to accidentally break, he accidentally forgets to wear one in the heat of the moment and he just can’t stop thrusting his load into you, you should’ve known those were not accidents.

but it’s too late now, anyway, you’re trapped, so you might as well just enjoy being trapped by him forever :)

“keep those legs open for me, doll. you can do that f’me, can’t you?” he mutters against your lips hoarsely, and you’re crying of the overstimulation.

“can’t,” you sniffle and your legs tremble adorably, “ani, ‘s too much… ‘s too much, i can’t…”

his gaze hardens, “you can and you will.”

#toxic anakin #anakin skywalker #obsessive anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #star wars smut #star wars anakin #star wars #sub anakin #anakin imagine

[grlpartdoll]

Azriel is quiet, yes, but not for the reasons people might think. It's not something he does to be mysterious — or to frighten others. Sure. It works well for that, too. But.. Truth is, he has been quiet all his life ; perhaps a symptom of always being belittled when he tried to speak up for himself, be that by his step brothers, his stepdad, or by Rhysand himself.

Azriel has never really had the luxury of having his own opinion. His life has been — for better or for worse — a binary code, 0, 1, a black and white painting, and an immense quantity of yes' and no's.

Since living with the shadows, he's had his step brothers to fear, and then when he goes into the camps, he has Cassian and Rhysand to fear — to watch his mouth around.

But of course, as the story is told, things change, and then before he knows it, he's following his new brothers into battle because even beneath it all, ignoring the fact that he has suspicions that he does not exactly belong within their troops, they're brothers, damnit, and he will walk through fire for them.

And then they grow up, and the war ends. He becomes Rhysand's father's spy, and he goes into that job without any beliefs of his own, his life built around trying to survive his abuse and then the Illyrian camps.

And when he and Cassian and Rhysand finally become old enough, and Rhysand takes the throne, well, at that point he's got an unbreakable devotion to the night court and the citizens within it, and to his brothers, too — beaten into him, caking under his nails like blood, running through his veins like some type of venom to which no one has the cure to.

But even then, when things begin to settle, and everyone finds their place in the Inner circle, he doesn't really know himself, doesn't know where his place truly is. Sure, he's devoted to something, and likes these people enough to forget himself, but. Who is he, really? What does he want? Where does he belong?

Which is why — when he meets you, something wild and free and immovable in your own beliefs and person, he can't help but find refuge there ; in your wild, unkempt person, in your loudness, your clinginess, your unashamedly huge heart.

You're a freshly born… something. The girl born from the Mother, they call you. You're created from the necessity of there being balance again in Prythian during Amarantha ; sent by the Mother to hunt the falsely crowned High Queen of Prythian, and then kill her.

For your service, after you've killed Amarantha and redistributed the power around to their respective High Lords, everyone takes an oath to protect and shelter you whenever you need it.

You spend years between Courts, refining your skills, your powers, enlisting the help of all the helpful High Lords and their Ladies. Rhysand and Feyre, after a few years and the war finally passing, both deem it safe enough and decide to introduce you to their inner circle. You're introduced to them as the person who saved Prythian, as the girl who freed Feyre and Rhysand from under the mountain.

You fall in love with Velaris, and you take a liking to the members of the inner circle. But you become closer friends with Azriel than anyone else you had ever met before.

You, from some kind of instinct or because of the unspoken link you share with Azriel, know he is lost. You are, perhaps, the first to see it.

It's easy to follow and do the same, you suppose. To copy you, devote himself to something new, something other.

But you don't want him to take you as just another thing to protect. To lose himself in. You don't want him to follow in your footsteps just because he has a personal debt unpaid to you for saving his family members, you don't want him to be to you what he is to Rhysand.

So at first, you reject him. And he takes it as well as a man like him takes any sort of rejection. He withdraws easily like a tortoise into its shell, and for a great many days, is unavailable emotionally as well as physically. You don't see him, don't hear from him.

Eventually, Feyre falls pregnant, and you're the one, with your powers, to save her and the two males along with it. Rhysand gifts you lands of your own for it. Drapes you with the honours of being their Saviour one more time.

So you go to that place — to your new home in the wild, unowned lands beside the prison — your paradisiacal islands, and begin building a life for yourself. You make your own home, on the highest cliff you can find. Rhysand provides you with workers and builders, and eventually, a tiny town begins to bloom in the islands. It's slow living, like water lapping at the shore, every member of your tiny budding city lives happily, feasting on their hunts, and on the plentiful fruits of their plantations.

Azriel comes around often by means of checking on you for Rhysand. And you accept it, even though it is a lie. Eventually, your friendship rebuilds again, though. And you know that there is no shifting point, no sudden change — but it sure feels like it, when one day you are standing miles apart, and the other, you're in his arms, letting him sway you to the sound of the waves.

The progression is slow, but as you coax him out, with a bit of rough love and a handful of gentle praise, you begin to see the little things.

His armour loosens by the day. Sometimes, when he comes to see you, meeting on the beach down the mountain where your home resides atop of, he wears only warm weather clothes. His truth teller is left behind, and he lets himself be free of what it means to be the ShadowSinger, while enhancing what it means to be HIM.

And one day you catch him drawing. He'd told you once that a lot of the things in his head often begged to get out, to find a way to be put down and kept down and out of him. You suggested drawing. And he'd huffed at first, shaking his head and murmuring about how his hands would never being able to draw up those things. Good or bad.

You'd smiled gently and shrugged ; telling him that practice made perfect — that you hadn't become good at what you do in a day, either.

The first drawing he finishes is a portrait of Velaris. As though it is something he is trying to purge from his soul — the hold this city has on him. He tries to give it to you, but you refuse. You tell him that this is a part of him and no one else should be allowed to own these drawings. That this is him, on paper, all these little sketches, and that he was the only, sole owner of them.

So he begins to put them up in the room you keep for him in your humble home atop the mountain peak. You take your time keeping them in extra good condition, and as you lay down on the sofa while he sketches you, he asks you why you spent so much of your days in his room, cleaning and removing dust, making sure everything was kept safe and remained beautiful.

And you reply that if they were precious to him, then that meant they deserved to be cherished. And it takes a moment for him to register that — sure, the inner circle loved — loves — him, in their own way, but he'd never been loved the way he needed it. Had never been so seen by someone. Rhysand saw him as his most trusted weapon, but never as the lover he could become. Rhysand did not see Azriel ever being a good lover to any of the women in his inner circle. He never saw him being good — whole — enough for it.

Cassian saw him as his brother in arms, he saw him as a man he could trust with his life when it came down to violence. But when it came to gentleness, Cassian did not. He did not blame him for it.

And Feyre, the woman he considered a sister, only saw him as the protector of her family. She had always been closer to Cassian, from them starving so young, and then finding a family of their own, they could relate. Azriel could not relate to her that way, and she knew it, too, which kept him an arm’s length from the true her.

And Mor — Mor saw him only when she felt it convenient for her.

But you. You cleaned those pieces of paper where horrors he’d seen with his own two eyes were depicted and did not flinch. You saw those happy moments, and did not ignore them, either. You did not pick and choose which sides of him you wanted. You appreciated him wholly like no one ever had.

Progress after that day only doubles.

He begins to stand up for himself. Says no to the missions he knows will only break him inside a little more when he is just starting to stitch up all his broken pieces.

He draws. And sings. At first, he sings only alone, in the vulnerability of his own room, for himself. It's a way to get his feelings out — again. But then one day you take him to the bar in Velaris during one of your stays there, and he decides to sing for you. He'd done it for himself first — because it made him happy, but now, he wanted to show you, too, that to the bottom of his soul, he was starting to find himself.

And when you cry as the song ends, he gathers you in his arms and rocks you until you can breathe steady again.

After that night, many things change.

He's away from you more, but when he is around, he's the happiest you've ever seen him be — as though a weight has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. He stays no longer than a day at a time, and each time he comes back, he brings you a new story to tell — a new discovery he's made about himself.

A year later, you're in your garden, knees in the dirt, knuckles deep in the roots of an orange tree when you hear the familiar flap of his wings in the distance. He lands outside the tiny fence you keep around the garden to limit wild bunnies munching on your fruits. He has a bag on his shoulder, no heavier than a few shirts and pants. No armour in sight. He smiles, tired and worn out, but no less free, and no less in love, and you don't question it. You only raise yourself to your naked feet and step towards him. He cups your face, and you smile, nuzzling in it, that warm, scarred hand.

“Welcome home.” You say, soft and gentle but as firm as you can make it.

He presses his forehead to yours, dips down, and kisses you.

The next morning, you wake up with sunshine lapping at your bare skin like waves, your opened french doors letting in salty sea air into the room, shifting the curtains forward and back. Your body is draped over Azriel’s, who holds you loosely at the waist, his face serene with his eyes closed and eyebrows softly curved upwards.

You trace the small smile on his lips with your longest finger. His lashes flutter, and his hazel eyes find yours. He massages your naked waist as he comes to, blinking a few times, bringing you in closer.

He touches you with reverence, with so much love it's dizzying. “I resigned from my place as Shadow Singer of the night court. I trained Nuala and Cerridwen to take my place.” He announces after a few kisses that steal the air from you.

You don't say anything because you know that at this point in time, he doesn't need your approval, or your point of view on it. He'd done this for himself, and you were beyond proud of him for choosing himself above his prior court for once.

After that day, Azriel finds himself a place in your own little world. In that community you're growing in the mountains. He doesn't leave for Velaris anymore, and when you're called in, he will join you only rarely. Not in an attempt to forget — but because he does not feel the need to. He sees Rhysand and Cassian every month, and Feyre comes up with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie and Elain sometimes to see you, maybe once every two months, to have a girls night of sorts.

And eventually, years down the line, your little community continues to flourish. You work hard to build a safe heaven for the people that trust you — that up and left their own courts to find you. Some people from the night court, others from spring, and a grand majority from other islands faraway.

Your home builds itself so beautifully over time, that the other courts agree to count your Island as the last court of Prythian — as a sign of respect, and some kind of political grant you don't truly understand.

You don't delude yourself into thinking you're any sort of High Lady, but as you see Azriel helping your citizens with their farms, deep brown skin tanned and slick with sweat instead of blood, playing with the kids with that beautiful, beaming smile on his face, shadows dispersing to trick and make toddlers and youngsters alike giggle, helping fix homes up after rather rough storms hit your village, you think that he'd make a perfect High Lord.

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[meatmensch]

nothing will ever be as insane as lazarus rising. dean winchester went to hell and was resurrected and we have NO IDEA HOW and he CLIMBS HIS WAY OUT OF HIS GRAVE. then TERRIFYING, STRANGE THINGS START TO HAPPEN. they don't know what this creature is that raised him from the pit but it telekinetically shatters glass and demons are shouting "the end is nigh" (this creature hasn't even arrived yet) and the meer sight of it burned out a woman's eyes. then dean is stupid enough to summon it. (but is it just stupidity? is it also curiosity, awe, necessity?) he barracades the doors. he puts up every protection symbol he can find. he wields the most powerful weapons he has. the creature breaks down the doors without lifting a finger. walks through all of the sigils. remains unharmed despite being shot and stabbed. and he says "i'm an angel and i saved you because you deserve to be saved, because you're important to heaven and to god. because we need your help."