#this is coming from a place of compassion

[mingwrites]

how ateez fuck

seonghwa ~ with love. love, kindness and compassion are what drive seonghwa, including in sex. always treating you gently and looking after you while taking care of your needs, sex is a way seonghwa expresses his love for you.

hongjoong ~ rough. while he’s incredibly respectful and explicitly conscious of informed consent, once he has that consent, he will have his way with you. he likes it fast and hard, and isn’t afraid of (in fact, loves) leaving bruises.

yunho ~ playfully. both in his demeanor and actions, coming at sex from a lighthearted and somewhat casual place. he loves making you giggle during foreplay, and when fucking, he loves to tease you, fucking you deep one second and slowing near to a stop the next.

yeosang ~ relaxed. yeosang is a very low-key guy and has a very casual outlook on sex. as such, he doesn’t get preoccupied on anything other than the moment when he fucks. also, he prefers being on bottom anyway.

sannie ~ skillfully. he has dancer’s hips and knows how to use them. he’s conscious of his partner’s likes and adjusts to meet them in speed, aggressiveness, angles, and positions. san always hits all the right spots.

mingi ~ dutifully. mingi has an insane ability to hold out as long as humanly possible before cumming, and it is always his mission to get you to cum around his dick first. he succeeds nearly every time, as the man knows how (and loves) to please.

wooyoung ~ energetically. when wooyoung gets horny it fully takes him over and he won’t stop until he gets what he needs. he’s also someone who somehow has more energy after cumming, so get ready for round after round.

jongho ~ softly. a little shy and very concerned about his own strength, jongho likes to fuck new or sensitive partners as softly as he can bring himself to. though he prefers things rough, he errs on the side of caution, treating you gently before amping it up.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez blurbs #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez headcanons #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #san ateez #choi san #mdni #18+

[riririnnnn]

More random things in Blue Lock I find endearing:

-> Brothers

LOOK AT THE HAND PLACEMENT OF SAE. JUST LOOK AT IT. LOOK. AT. IT. OHMYGOD I'M GONNA CRY.

Oh god.

It's tough to explain, but to see him supporting Rin's arm instead of the trophy makes me want to punch a wall. It feels like, "Yes, we won this together, Rin." OHMYGOD! AAAAAAAA!!!

-> Hushed wisher

I really don't think we have ever seen Noa coaching any player other than Isagi, so him silently rooting for Kaiser caught me off guard real hard. Of course, it doesn't seem like much of a big deal, but to see that Noa hadn't completely taken his eyes off of Kaiser and that he hadn't completely pulled away his trust from Kaiser hits a certain type of emotion in my heart.

Considering that Kaiser wants to win over Noa too—a fact Noa, probably, knows—makes everything feel a bit.. bittersweet.

-> CHEERS!!

The above panel happened after Shidou scored a goal against Barcha and honestly—

CUTE!!!

I mean, BM was next in line to face PxG—it's probably the reason why they were watching the match live—and they were going to face Shidou which makes them rivals, and yet, when he does something cool, they all go, "WOOHOO! THAT'S COOL!!" instead of worrying or being jealous.

It's called sportsmanship, I guess?

It's sweet.

-> BM's Dad

There's another translation, but I find the above one way better because it's so... soft.

I mean, Noa has always been shown as this cold, emotionless person who inhales and exhales logic, so it was sweet when he tried to reassure Kiyora—when he showed some kind of compassion. It was like, "Hey, Kiddo! It's okay, don't worry, you'll play the next time! Cheer up!"

It also makes it sound like even if Kiyora were not to have the required stats for the next match, then Noa was prepared to against his own ideals and let Kiyora play regardless.

Sweet!

-> Protective

When Nagi got pissed off because Barou's violent behaviour nearly hurt Reo. Like, just look at that stance, he was ready to beat the crap out of Barou if Reo wouldn't have stopped him.

No matter what label you give Nagi and Reo—lovers or friends—you can't deny that they are probably the best thing that happened to eachother.

I really want what they have.

-> "It's their love language"

They barely knew eachother and yet when these two started to brawl, they all intervened immediately—Nanase and Isagi are literally hanging onto them with their dear life. It's tough to explain, but I found the gesture really sweet, like, they didn't know them! They could bash open their skulls—it wouldn't affect them at all and yet, they are trying to stop them!

Adorbs!!

Also, Chigiri was on the other side of the field, I guess. He came running!!! So sweet!

-> First friend

The way Bachira blindly believed in Isagi. Like, he had full trust that Isagi will come and play with him. He never doubted him at all! The healthiest duo of Blue Lock!

Also, look at his duck lips. Cutie.

-> "Welcome to the academy!"

Anybody who has shifted to a completely new place full of completely new people knows how good and relieving it feels when others make an effort to help you feel welcomed.

No idea if those three extra characters got selected in the tryouts or not, but they were nice. If Kaiser would've met them earlier, then they all would've surely been good buddies.

-> Beloved Ace

The way everyone instantly got mad at Shidou when he hurt Sendou—sweet! Also, the fact that they all refused to play if Sendou didn't play makes me giggle.

I adore bonds like these so much.

.

.

.

Pt: 1, 2, 3.

Probably the last of this series.

#blue lock #bllk #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #noel noa #bastard munchen #kiyora jin #nagi seishiro #mikage reo #bachira meguru #michael kaiser #sendou shuto #雪 ranting

[vodika-vibes]

Hey !🌸🌸 can you please write something about

,, what made them fall in love with you“

It doesn’t really matter who it is about but since I’m a Wolffe fangirly it would be really nice to read something about him 🩷 and crosshair , Rex as well thank u 🌸

What Made Them Fall In Love

Pairings: Commander Wolffe x Reader, Captain Rex x F!Reader, TBB Crosshair x F!Reader, ARC Trooper Echo x Reader

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I added Echo to make the number even, lol. I hope you don't mind. Sorry this took so long! I hope you like it!

Commander Wolffe

Your fingers tangle in his hair as Wolffe dances with you around the living room. The music is quiet and slow, and his heart beats steadily against the palm of your hand, which is resting on his chest. 

He gazes down at you with his mismatched eyes, and you offer him the warmest smile as you lean in and brush your lips against his with a content sigh.

“That was a heavy noise, cyare.” Wolffe murmurs as he leans in and bumps his forehead against yours.

“A happy noise,” You reassure, “I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

He chuckles, “I’m glad to hear it.”

The pair of you fall into a comfortable silence for a moment. “Wolffe?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you choose me?” You ask, it has been weighing on your mind for a while.

He looks confused for a  moment, and then he smiles and cups your face with his hands, the dance slowing to a stop, “The first time we met, you punched someone for calling me a meat droid.” There’s something painfully fond on his face, “It was that fire, that passion, that drew me to you. But it was your heart that made me love you.”

You beam at him, “I love you too.”

He chuckles, his hands falling back to your waist, “Good. Now, I’m not done dancing with you. Come here.”

A giggle falls from you as he tugs you against his body, and you eagerly go with him.

Captain Rex

“You’re back!” A delighted laugh falls from her lips as she throws herself into his already open arms.

Rex catches her with ease, lifting her up and spinning her around, before pulling her into a tight hug, “I am back.” He replies, his voice muffled by her hair, “Stars, I’ve missed you.”

Her arms tighten around his neck and she shifts to rub her cheek against his, “If you had told me that you were coming back, I would have prepared better!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Rex replies, his arms sliding under her thighs to support her weight as he walks into the apartment and blindly hits the door control panel to shut and lock the door behind him.

She isn't paying any attention to that, though, as her hands are framing his face, and she’s scanning his face looking for any new scars or bruises. 

“I’m alright, sweet girl,” He promises, and she smiles down at him.

“Maybe I just want to look at my handsome man,” She teases, “I missed you so much.” She lightly rubs his cheeks with her thumbs, “Oh, but I don’t have any food-”

Rex’s smile softens, and he pulls her into a deep kiss. This, right here, is why he fell in love with her in the first place. Her compassion, her love, the way she wants him around.

He’d burn Coruscant to the ground if she asked him.

But for now, for now he’ll just kiss her.

Crosshair

Crosshair’s gaze is soft as he peers up at her, his hand warm as it presses against her cheek. The sun of Pabu is hot, bearing down on both of them, but he doesn’t mind.

“You’re staring,” She says as she positions herself so that her head is hovering over his.

“I can’t help it.” He murmurs, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’re not too bad yourself,” She teases, leaning in and kissing him softly, gently. As though afraid that her lips would break him.

He loves that about her, it’s why he fell in love with her in the first place. Because she looked at him and didn’t just see the soldier, the sniper, the asshole. She saw the man who needed a little softness, and was more than happy to give it.

Crosshair smiles at her.

“What?”

“I love you.”

She ducks her head, seemingly embarrassed about his words. “I love you too.”

“Enough to marry me?”

Her head snaps up, surprise clear on her face, and then warmth crosses her face, “Nothing would make me happier.”

ARC Trooper Echo

Echo’s arm is tucked under his head as he lays on the couch. You’re straddling his hips, your hands resting on his bare chest for balance, and he’s grinning at you.

“Well, what do you think?” Echo asks.

You glance at his face, and then drag your gaze down to his chest. There’s his skeletal hand tattooed on the right side of his chest, his symbol, how people recognize him when he’s in armor. 

It’s not a new tattoo.

The new part is the delicate flowers twined around the skeletal hand. Flowers that you're named after. Lightly, you trace one of the vines of ivy, “You did this for me?”

“Partly, but mostly for myself.” Echo places his hand over yours and moves both of them so they’re resting over his head, “I like being able to look at my tattoo and remember you. Your voice, your smile, your eyes, your lips-”

Slowly, he pulls you down so that he’s able to catch your lips in a kiss. And that single kiss turns into two, three, four-

“I have loved you since the moment we first met.” Echo whispers against your lips, “Since the day you looked at me and saw me, and not just another clone.”

You smile against his lips and kiss him again. You could kiss him forever and never grow tired of it.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy, cyare.” Echo promises. “I swear it.”

#star wars #tcw #tbb #commander wolffe x reader #captain rex x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[el-255]

One thing I like in full speed ahead is that we’re given a very insightful view of the dynamic between Odysseus, Eurylochus, and Polites right off the bat. Eurylochus is the more no nonsense right hand man who is willing to do whatever it takes for all 600 men to make it home to Ithica whereas Polites is more the moral compass who keeps Odysseus and the crew’s values in check.

What’s interesting to me is that we’re sort of fed the comparison of the angel and devil on Odysseus’s shoulder but the question is, who’s who?

Most people would instinctively say that of course it’s Eurylochus who is the devil and Polites the angel. Eurylochus is immediately willing to raid the island despite being unaware of whether the people on the island are innocent or not whereas Polites wants to try and resolve things peacefully and barter with the people for food.

But the thing is, I think both have the capacity to be the angel and devil in this scenario.

Yes, Eurylochus is often willing to take the violent route but he is also a man who has been at war for 10 years and knows the price that must be paid. No, the things he does aren’t morally right but when we think of how far he would go to protect the men he has known and have likely become family to him over 10 years, would any of the men think him wrong for doing his best to look out for them even if it meant harming others?

Yes, Polities is doing his best to try and reserve the last dredges of their humanity after spending 10 years fighting and killing in the war but oftentimes it is his naivety that gets them into trouble. No, he doesn’t mean for this to happen, everything he does comes from a well meaning place with his attempts to find peaceful solutions to make it home but would the crew who lose their life to the cyclops and later to Poseidon appreciate his efforts?

In this situation dealing with the aftermath of a horrific war, they’re both right and justified in what they’re doing which is what makes their characters so endearing and interesting. Neither of them are to blame for their differing ideologies and both do their best to protect the crew and Odysseus.

Because, of course, at the end of the day, it is all down to Odysseus to make the final decisions as the captain but he values both of their opinions greatly, Eurylochus as his second in command, and Polities as his closest friend, which means he ends up listening to them more often than not.

Odysseus is a perfect mix of the both of them at the beginning of the musical, both rational and merciful as he has both of their counsels at his disposal, but it is this exact thing that leads to his downfall: he needs both of them to maintain his status as a good captain which is why it all goes to shit when he leans too heavily on either side. It’s his guilt over the death of the infant that leads to him utilising Polities’ ideology and getting into the whole debacle with the cyclops. And after Polities demise, he is left with only Eurylochus to guide him which leads to his descent to monster and losing the trust of his men.

Without this balance between two greatly contrasting perspectives and ideologies, Odysseus is unable to use either without causing great damage to his crew and himself. Whether Polites is the angel and Eurylochus the devil and vice versa, this is what eventually leads to the mutiny of the crew and demonstrates why it is only Odysseus who makes it home.

#epic the musical #epic: the musical #epic the troy saga #epic the cyclops saga #epic the ocean saga #epic the circe saga #epic the underworld saga #jorge rivera herrans #this is not attacking either of the characters #i love eurylochus and polites very dearly #but i find it very interesting how this is set up #this all stems from my latest listen to full speed ahead #character study #sort of

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 7

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, and drugging. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

......................................................

Author's Note

The climax of the story is getting closer and closer, and now you meet someone who knows what kind of place you're stuck in.

Hello!

Sorry for the long delay, but I was finally able to get back to writing! The story is slowly coming to an end and the last important character enters.

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

.................................

The eerie silence of the forest penetrates every unprotected pore of your cold body like a latent sickness, as if the ominous uneventfulness would be a precursor to a deadly disease that can push you into a sick bed festering with ulcers at any moment. And you know that this calmness is only a fleeting mirage, because in every dark corner, in every hidden hole, something terrible can be lurking, which can ruin the unsettling ease with which you fled from your pursuers. Even though you're surrounded by the soft breeze of the night, the sighs of the branches dancing in the wind passing through the trees, the frightened shuffling noises of the feet of animals coming to life under the dead leaves, and even though the owls try to lull your suspicions with their melancholic songs, you already know this horrible prison all too well. And thanks to the last few hours, you won't make the mistake of trusting in its mercy again. Because in this fever dream, there is no benevolence, no compassion, only survival. And you do everything to win, because there is no other way out.

The time you spent wandering in the woods in the pitch-black night seems endless, and even though you know you're far away from the lake and the deformed creatures that turned the water into a putrid graveyard, the dull stabbing pain in your lungs reminds you of with what hurry you managed to disappear from the watchful eyes. You were just a hair's breadth away from being caught in the violent embrace of a beast, and if you hadn't found the pearls, you wouldn't have had a chance to make that daring escape with which you threw yourself into the thick of the forest before. 

If you had any hopeful foolishness left in you, you'd think the game had given up on its cruel pursuit of fun and finally presented you with a generous gift. But you know that this goddamn purgatory feeds on the sweet nectar of suffering and will do everything to squeeze every last drop of luscious misery out of your flesh and bones. And as it flashes before your mind's eye, how the red and purple stains of the damaged blood vessels drawn into the tissues disappeared from your leg following the cool caress of the beads, you become more and more certain that it was all just a morbid coincidence. Maybe even this nightmare-like torture chamber can make a mistake, because you doubt that it offered you this miracle voluntarily. Like when a bug appears in a video game, causing the world embedded in pixels to slip for a moment, and through the distorted chaos, the system reveals secrets that you should have never seen. And maybe it did. Maybe this diabolical place is finally starting to crumble under the weight of its own evil. 

But you know that now is not the time to ponder how the well-known hell will turn into a completely new kind of horror, because you only need to take a look at the map resting in your hand to know what your task is. On the yellowed page, the unknown gray building stands out with such definite outlines, as if someone had painted it there with liquid metal, and for a minute the sharp lines of the rough sketch seem to dance in front of your tired eyes. While trekking through the wild vegetation, you had time to decide where your path should lead you next, and although the knife-like anxiety in the depths of your stomach relentlessly pumps the warning acid of uneasiness into your limbs, you're aware that this new location didn’t appear without purpose. There's something there that makes this place important enough to have a prominent spot on the map, and that's enough reason for you to risk another disastrous adventure. After all, you have nothing to lose, right? A new killer, a new death, another damn mark on your skin, but a chance to find an exit. And at this point, you're ready to seize anything to get out of here.

It's almost cartoonishly comical, the way a small blood-red line on the stained page traces your journey so far, like a path sketched up with a crayon in the middle of the splotch-like woods, and this small detail only makes you even more certain that you're stuck in a grotesque game. The system keeps track of your progress, and although the knowledge that you cannot hide from the invisible gaze only increases the uncomfortable tightness in your chest, for once this atrocity has at least some benefits. For the dull edge of the gray building emerges with an uncanny glow from behind the dense curtain of foliage and branches, like a glimmering fragment of the imagination that may fade away at any moment. Even though the game follows your every move, it helped you to reach this point, and you're terribly grateful for it.

You keep your eyes fixed on the slowly approaching house with an unbroken focus as you carefully thread through the thicket of dry bushes, and it’s only due to random luck that you catch on your periphery those tiny, uncertain little blobs that rest serenely on one of the nearby trees. And when your brain finally registers the stimuli, you suddenly halt in your march, as if an unknown force had severed the nerve fibers wiring your muscles. There is something sickeningly familiar in the way the small human-like figures sway between the withered branchlets, and it dawns on you a few seconds later why your mind thought it was important to stop here. Because you saw the same dolls made of sticks at the shrine, where the map was waiting for you, and no matter how much this is a sure sign that you're moving in the right direction, you're unable to banish the instinctive sinister feeling stirring in your brain cells. At first, you thought that maybe they had erected that hideous monument in honor of the tentacled creature that lived in the lake, but now you know that they wanted to pay homage to something completely different. And whatever that unknown entity is, it doesn't bode well for you if teeth pulled from jaws, brown with blood, and clumps of hair lead to its grace.

But a completely new kind of confusion comes over you when you shift your attention from the sprawling tangle of dead twigs and finally spot the boot lying on the ground, almost hidden under the dry crown of curled leaves surrounding it. Perhaps you could chalk it up to a morbid coincidence, a background element without meaning, which fades into oblivion eventually, but the game has engraved in your mind with blood and pain that nothing here is just an insignificant detail. And as you step closer and examine the forgotten footwear, you discover those tiny, white shards on the faded leather covered in muddy dirt, which shine under the filtering moonlight like glitter. However, there is something quite unsettlingly velvety in the way the crushed pieces stand out from the grimy material, and as your vision finally sharpens enough to recognize the tiny red specks between the zig-zagged edges, you know what sits so innocently on the surface of the boot. Small pieces of grounded bones, which cover the abandoned object as if someone sprinkled it with granulated sugar. And this makes your stomach turn with such an elemental force that you stagger back from the horrible surprise, as if the very sight of it could breathe death into your cells. Because however that bone dust ended up on that unfortunate shoe, you don't want to suffer the same fate as its owner.

However, you’re jolted out of your stupor by an unexpected crack, which deafeningly pierces into the motionless quite between the tree trunks, and you crumple the map deep into your pocket with reflexive panic and turn in the direction of the noise, as if someone was pulling you on a string. And a completely impossible relief ripples through you, loosening the tennis ball size knot your stomach has shrunk into, as you find yourself face to face with an old woman, who freezes with her wicker basket full of chopped-up wood clutched to her chest, her face pale with a look of horrified shock like yours. You see the fright reflected in her eyes, as she looks you over slowly, and the thought arises in you that maybe you yourself might not present a more inviting sight than the boots. Because although the mementos of your wounds, colored with bruises, have disappeared, your dirty, wet clothes clung to your battered, paralyzed body, and at this moment you're quite sure that with your eyes widened with fear, you must remind her of a trapped wild animal.

A torturous, tense moment of stillness passes, and when you see the frail, worn-out old figure relax, anxiety releases its grip on your insides as well, and you let out the breath that has been trapped in the supple prison of your lungs with painful tension until now.

"Oh my… are you all right, sweetheart?" Comes the sincere question in a strangely accented voice, and the tenderness in her words hits you completely unprepared. And although an intimate, motherly concern moves between her features, as her thinning eyebrows meet under her gray hair with worry, you still can't suppress the flicker of doubt that whispers from the back of your skull to be careful. You don't dare to trust anything anymore, and a stranger rarely means good in this damn world. Yet, your tortured soul yearns for the tiniest spark of humanity with such pitiful force, that you involuntary let your spine loosen the painful stiffness that resides in it.

"I'm lost." You answer, carefully rolling the syllables on your tongue, savoring the caution that instinctively settles in your mouth and restrains your sociability. Although the woman seems defenseless, you already know how unnoticed a beast can hide behind the mask of sweet kindness. At best, she’s an insignificant NPC, an additional character who merely fills the void, who, like Pam and Rebecca, is condemned to eternal death, and waits unsuspectingly for the killer to appear to strip her of her aged flesh. And you want to hope that she's just a helpless puppet of the storyline and not another threat, because you want more than anything to have someone else suffer instead of you finally. Because you lost the compassion that would be appalled at this thought long ago.

"How about you come to my house?" She makes the timid offer, and as her gaze catches the thick layer of mud embedded in your T-shirt, you can see how her mouth curls into a line full of doubts. As if she would understand without asking any questions, that you've been through an endless hell that has soaked itself into your pores through the soft cotton, and can't be expressed with words. "I'll find you something warm to put on." She adds, and you feel the awareness with which she tries to dispel the restless rigidity radiating from her to not frighten you. As if she were talking to a trapped fawn, which would be able to take flight at the slightest thoughtless move, even if its shackles would flay its legs, trapped between the razor-sharp metal, alive in the process. And it makes you realize how pitiful it is, that the events of the never-ending night transformed you into a raw, pulsating nerve so easily. But you suspect that this is what has kept you alive until now.

Although the suspicion of the stranger has already settled into the depths of your consciousness, you still make yourself nod, because even if you don't know the woman and have no idea what might be hiding behind the defenseless exterior, you're aware that you're serving yourself as easy prey for the monsters in the forest.  And you know it's only a matter of time before they catch a scent and appear breathing down on your neck.

"Alright... Come on, I don't live far from here!" She motions towards the building resting in the distance with her head, and you immediately know where her home could be. And if you had doubts, now you're quite sure, you've become involved in a new storyline, no matter how accidental this unexpected meeting seems. The game can always surprise you with new horrors, but as merciless as this world is, it's also as predictable. Because it's addicted to its habits, and you have learned to interpret its hidden signs. There are no coincidences, only tools that lead to your doom. And if you were already on your way to another trouble, then you let yourself be lead into its open mouth.

She hesitates for a few seconds, waiting to see if you change your mind and retreat into the desolate depths of the forest, but when you continue to stare at her like statue frozen in place, she turns around with the ghost of a small smile on her face, and beckoning you with her knobby fingers, she aks you to follow her. And you join her a moment later, keeping that respectful distance that speaks more to the mistrust swirling in your belly than to the thoughtfulness you feel for her. Perhaps an onlooker would think that you're just a scared little girl tagging along with her in the maze of tree trunks, but you feel the energy slithering through your legs, ready to run off at the very first odd move. You may be a slow learner, but you could repeat this lesson even after waking up from a dream. Don't let yourself be fooled. Because you've outlined the ideal possibility, but even the whirlwind of your imagination cannot authentically paint the worst-case scenario for you.

After a few meters spent in wordless peace, as the last remnants of the wild vegetation, frozen from the autumn cold, disappears, the concrete building, for which you decided to drag yourself through the goddamn forest, emerges almost abnormally in the small clearing. It stands out from the dark foliage as strikingly as an old silver ring forgotten in a black velvet box, and there is something quite unsettling about the way the tiny windows stare down at you from the monotonous walls. Like hungry mouths, waiting for a victim that they can grind up with their glimmering glass teeth. And you notice, what grotesque similes your brain is making, but you're unable to suppress the voice in your head that tells you, that there is no one in this artificial world who would call this their home with peace of mind. Because the structure looks more like a slaughterhouse with its inhospitable, barren frame, on which the holes from the crumbling plaster and the dry carpet of faded lichens bordering them gape like scars left behind by smallpox. The building may have been standing here since the game's universe was created, and in light of this, it’s even more baffling to you why it appeared only now.

But you can't ponder on that now, because you reach the house, and the old woman hurries to the shabby entrance with an agility that belies her age, pushing in the thick wooden panel covered with flaking red paint with a light movement, and opens the door of her home to you with the same helpfulness with which she led you here until now. Even though she doesn't say a word, you still understand the gentle plea with which she invites you in, because you see the worried light dancing in her eyes, with which she examines the uncertainty glued onto your features. And you want to believe in this softness more than anything, but what helps your leaden legs move the most is the knowledge that you know you can't turn back. Because Johnny and Simon are out there looking for you, and even if you were to avoid them, you'd already delved into a new thread of events. And you fear how the game would punish you if you were to deny its generous gift. Therefore, gathering all your remaining composure, you force the faint curve of a weak smile into the corner of your mouth and head towards the interior of the house, fighting the instinctive feeling that makes it seem like you're walking straight through the entrance to the scene of your execution.

As you cross the threshold made of rickety boards, the characteristic smell of old houses snakes into your nose, the fusty stench of moisture that has soaked into the walls over the decades and the stale essence of powdery, old perfumes, which awakens nostalgia in you with an almost visceral force. And there is something extremely homely about the old chest of drawers, forgotten in the small hall, and about the lace tablecloth spread on the top of it, chewed by time, on which a bouquet of worn plastic flowers sits in a glass vase, like the last witnesses of a couple of long gone, sentimental memories. The old nick-nacks accumulated over the years rests in neat order, and even on the walls, the frames, covered with pale gold, hang with measured precision, with black and white photos of unknown people in them, testifying that perhaps, according to the story, the woman might not have lived here alone once. They looking into the camera with blank expressions on their grim faces, and you swear that they're staring into your soul with their dull, dot-like eyes.

And when the woman rushes past you towards the inside of the house, disrupts the thin layer of dust that settles on the worn surface of the furniture, and as the musty smell traveling with the tiny particles settles into your nose, it occurs to you that, despite the homely atmosphere, it's as if no more than a few stray ghosts would actually live here. And your subconscious warns you about this small intuition, which makes you sneak after your host with careful cat-like steps, like a curious child who knows she's straying into an area that adults have told her a thousand times not to venture near to.

The lamp hanging from the ceiling is the only source of light as you enter the kitchen after the the old woman, and the light bulb casts filmy, yellow rays from under the milk-like porcelain onto the battered furnishings of the little room. She’s already busying herself, and shoves chopped pieces of wood into the dilapidated stove, scaly with peeling white paint, glancing over her shoulder as she hears the shuffling of your shoes on the worn linoleum.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea to warm you up!" She speaks up, and by now all uncertainty has disappeared from her voice, giving the impression that it was not a torn stranger, but an old friend who appeared in front of her humble abode in the middle of the night. And, as she digs out an ancient teapot from one of the cupboards, and the faucet turns on with a loud creak, as she steps to the sink and fills it with water, you wonder what will come next. Now you can't rely on your routine, with which you were able to tell exactly which breath followed the other in the cabin, and this creates an uncomfortable, gaping hole in your insides. And that sends a robotic rigidity into your limbs as you walk over to the table in the middle of the kitchen and settle down in one of the thick oak armchairs, because fear begins to twist in the bottomless pit that anxiety has opened in you, as your eyes scan the room for danger. You should feel bad that you're so persistently looking for a trap in the woman's hospitality, but you have experienced firsthand how big a mistake it is when you let yourself to be overconfident.

"A few minutes and it's done." She comments on her haste, and turning towards you, she leans against the shabby kitchen counter, finding you with her searching gaze again. Now that you have entered the scene of another dangerous mission, your consciousness automatically accepts the stimuli that your brain may have tried to push away until now. And you see the sparks of interest swimming through the pools of her eyes, but despite the soft expression still sitting on the worn face, the stress is too strong for you to let your guard down. You'd like to think that only your paranoia brings out this visceral suspicion, but you're smarter than that. "How did you get lost?" She formulates the completely legitimate question, and your ear once again discovers the accent that, despite the light tone, gives her words harshness. As if tiny little pebbles would be gurgling in her mouth, making every consonant flow out a little harder from her paper-thin lips. Maybe Russian?

"We just went for a walk with my friends. I lost them." You finally break your silence with a half-truth, which is just honest enough so that your tone is not colored by the sound of lies. You have no reason to tell her what happened during the endless torture of the past hours, and you have a gut feeling that it wouldn't help you if you mentioned to her what kind of monsters this demonic place has entwined your fate with.

And when the telltale shadows of doubt creep across the old face, you become quite sure that you have made the right decision. You can tell from the little quiver that makes the corner of her mouth twitch that she doesn't believe you, but there's just enough goodwill in her not to try to inquire further. You see how suddenly her throat jumps as she swallows the demanding questions, and you're quite sure that she knows exactly what happened to you. She must have resided in the middle of the forest long enough to know its every evil nook and cranny, and you doubt that her innocent facade is what has kept her alive. Whatever the purpose of this storyline, it is not a coincidence that she lives here in the middle of nowhere, and there is even less chance that it was thanks to some harmless tricks that helped her home to stay so undisturbed. This also raises a series of dangerous assumptions in you, and you can almost feel how the buzzing of suspicion in your head sharpens as a result.

A sudden whistle interrupts the thread of your thoughts sinking into ever darker pits, and the woman, breaking your silent examination, settles back into her caring role, turning to the teapot angrily steaming on the stove amid soft curses. And you take advantage of this to explore the hidden corners of the room, searching for small signs that can reveal what you're dealing with. It’s quite obvious that another important clue will be hidden here, and you have to do everything you can to find it, because you don't know how much time you have until the two men or another killer find you, one who has been lying dormant waiting for the opportunity to play with you until now.

And now that you take a closer look at the room, you discover more and more little details you missed when you wandered in here. You can see the touch of old hands in the order that resides in the small hole of the kitchen, but you can spot the silky blanket of spider webs that weave the plates decorated with flowers on the shelves, as if no one has used them for decades. There are rich bouquets of dried plants hung on nails on the wall, but below them, you can clearly make out the yellowed newspaper articles written in a language unknown to you, on which the same black and white people you saw in the hall look back at you. And when you squint and try to observe the figure emerging from under the withered flowers of one of the herbs, you see how a little boy, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, is cut through by the unknown mark, which almost decapitates him with the edges engraved with graphite. At first, the drawing may seem like a simple scribble, but you recognize the needle-sharp points of a star in it, as if someone had carved a grotesque crosshair there…

The knocking of the mug's porcelain jolts you out of your investigation, and you wince with the surprise of a small child caught in mischief, turning your gaze back to the woman, who takes her seat across from you with a much tighter smile than before. And the tenderness on her face turns into something completely cold, as if only habit would keep the friendly curl in the corners of her mouth in place, and the softness that used to be able to inspire sympathy in your soul has disappeared from them. Now her expression transforms into sharp lines, which are deepened into gloomy furrows by the yellow light filtering down from the lamp, as if would the woman transform into someone completely different in an instant. Someone you shouldn't be around.

"Drink up. It will help." She pushes the cup towards you, and you know it's not just your ears when you feel the impatient tone in her voice, from which the offer sounds more like an instruction than a well-meaning nagging. And you don't react for a tense moment, and despite the anxiety churning in your stomach, you try to keep your cool, because now you recognize the fleeting shadow that hides under the gentle warmth. Like a hawk waiting to strike, she follows your movements as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the mug, but she can no longer deceive you, because you've seen the same expression before. Although it's not Johnny's handsome face and the sparks of his sky-blue eyes that want to divert the suspicion that is scratching your insides, the disguise of an old woman feigning cordial concern would just as effectively put anyone's doubts to sleep. But she can put on any mask, you're already able to distinguish the vileness under the sickly sweet surface. And this woman wants to hurt you, you're sure of that.

Still, you pull the steaming beverage in front of you with almost automatic movements, trying with every cell not to let her figure out that you suspect something. You need her to reveal herself, because that's how you can get her to lead you to the clues that can get you out of here. There is something hidden in this damned house, and you feel it in your bones that it’s important to find out what it is. All your fake innocence seeps into the way you touch your mouth to the porcelain, and the luscious scent of herbs and fruits snakes into your nose. And although you don't feel the sting of poison in the steamy clouds rising from the tea, it fills you with a bad foreboding when the woman leans forward with artificial benevolence frozen on her face, watching with almost intrusive interest how you start sipping the hot liquid. And you feel more and more tense with each passing second, like an ant stuck under a magnifying glass, which has just begun to feel how the rays of the sun breaking through the lens burn its legs into charcoal stubs. And you see the dissatisfaction when you hesitantly lower the cup.

"Drink it all. You need it." She encourages you, almost cooing, and her accent is more reminiscent of an impatient mother who tries to dictate medicine to her protesting child with a barely controlled temper. Gentle, but just as much as boiling water forgotten under the lid. And you feel how the little hairs rise on the nape of your neck, as her glassy eyes fixate on you with unblinking persistence.

Uncertain silence settles in the tiny kitchen, which makes the saliva in your mouth thicken into molasses as you return the woman's stare. Under the flickering light of the old bulb, everything seems to change, and out of the corner of your eye, it looks as if the flowers painted on the wall would turn into wax, dripping off the plaster dirty from grease. But you’re unable to turn your gaze away from her, as she studies you with the immobility of a predator, and you have to forcefully suppress the trembling that awakes in your hands as you raise the mug to your lips and take another small sip. And the excited light that passes over her features does’t escape your attention for a minute, as she follows the almost painfully sweet liquid traveling down your throat. And now you're sure that no matter how harmless this elderly woman seems, evil is hidden under her frail frame. Because the pearls hidden in your pockets come to life with an almost warning glow, as the strange, bitter aftertaste sits on your taste buds, which the sugar has been able to suppress until now.

Under the pulsation of the little red spheres, the light buzz, that the brew wants to envelop your brain in, has no chance of spreading, but you know you have to pretend that she was successful, whatever she smuggled into your drink. Because there's a reason why she's trying to knock you out, and maybe if you make her believe that you let her trick you like an unsuspecting fool, then she'll reveal what she's up to. That's why you let the fatigue throbbing in your limbs creep onto the fibers of your muscles, numb with lactic acid, and you let the exhausted yawn loose that, now that you're finally resting, falls through your mouth sincerely. And you hear that satisfied little hum with which the woman finally leans back, when she assesses the unexpected force of the sleepiness washing over you.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for the night." She offers, and there is nothing to unsure about the way she presents her proposal to you. A selflessly offered opportunity, behind which lies a statement to which no opposition is expected. And it’s exactly this determination that dispels the previous softness, and fills her old joints with an almost youthful energy, when she springs up and starts towards the kitchen door, giving you one last, almost painfully fond look. "You just stay here and rest." She adds, and you feel nauseous from the kindness under which the poison of cruelty ripples, and which creeps into your ear canals with snide unsolicitedness.

When, after an uncertain nod, you lay your head down on the table with languid weakness, she hurries away towards the maze of the corridor giggling, with such immense glee, as if an unexpected present had fallen into her lap. And you, closing your eyes, order every part of your body to remain motionless in anticipation, slowing your breathing to a trembling evenness, listening through your own shivering for the woman's footsteps. You have to remain unnoticed because you're sure that if she realizes that her tea has failed to relax you enough, she'll come up with something much more painful to get the desired effect. You're not sure what her goal is, but you don't have time to create unnecessary excitement for yourself.

For minutes, only the soft puffs of the air flowing through your nose fill the room shrouded in an almost disturbing quietness, but despite your pulse pounding in your ears with an almost deafening noise, you wait until all the sounds die down between the old walls. And when you decide that you have wasted enough time, you carefully push yourself away from the worn furniture and stand up with your eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the door, watching for an unexpected visitor with every move you make. But, when nothing happens, and only the low buzzing of the light bulb and the hooting of the owls filtering in from outside travel through the empty house, then you sneak towards the hallway.

As you step out onto the corridor, it takes a few uncertain seconds for your eyes to get used to the dense darkness, and when you're finally able to make out the pitch-black outlines of the furniture, you set off into the unknown. The age-old parquet floor creaks under your shoes, reminiscent of the soft squealing of a mouse, and with each step you take, the presentiment tightens its grip on your insides. Because you have no idea where the old woman could have gone, and the fact that she can appear from behind any of the doors lined up next to each other is just enough to awaken the needle-like prickling of stress in your muscles. As if a thousand tiny ants would be crawling under your skin, and clenching your teeth, you fight the tempting compulsion to escape. You know you're wading into the swampy abyss of certain danger, but you also know you have no other choice. And not finding a clue is not an option. You have to move on or you'll be stuck here forever.

You wouldn't be able to tell how deep you ventured into the uninhabited house, but everything turns into an unsettling uniformity as a dull entrance follows another insignificant door, and the pictures hanging on the walls serve as your only companions in your wanderings.The lifeless eyes following you send shivers down your spine involuntarily, because although they're nothing more than the imprints of strangers lingering in the past, yet there is something bleak in the faces of the people on them. But when you discover something familiar, you stop dead in your tracks to take a closer look at the many of photos hidden in the frames, and you don't have to think long to recognize the boy from the kitchen. Although he may be much older here, and the childish roundness of his face has already been banished by the hormones of adolescence, but the light eyes stare at you with the same stern expressionlessness as they did from the shadows of the herbs. There is something hard in them, something angry, lurking beneath the frozen stillness, waiting to strike. And the longer you stare, the more the unpleasant feeling intensifies in you, which plants the impossible idea in your mind that the next moment he will come to life and, reaching through the scratched glass, wraps his pale, thin fingers around your neck.

A thunder-like bang tears into the empty quiet of the building, and you, shaking in terror, break out of your paranoia-woven imagination to spin around and start searching for the noise with the alarm of a frightened animal. And when the sounds don't die down, but are enriched by the clanking of a chain and the murmur of a muffled conversation, then you come upon the worn door, ajar, on the tattered surface of which a star-like scribble greets you, roughly sketched up with blood-red paint, the same that someone drew on the boy in the newspaper article. And you become aware with an uncomfortable certainty that the game has finally revealed your next destination to you, no matter how much every cell of yours protests against venturing towards the source of the increasingly loud clamor.

Every single nerve of yours tenses as one, as you move closer, keeping your eyes fixed on the cracked varnish clinging to the wooden surface, considering each step before the next, and the closer you stray, the sharper the violently snapping words become, and even though you don't understand them, you can feel the simmering ire in them. You open the door with your trembling fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and the saliva crawls down your dry throat almost like shards of glass, when you try to dispel the lump that has grown there. But nothing welcomes you, only a set of stairs covered in faint light, which leads you down into the uncertain darkness, and you feel the force of fear twisting your guts, as you muster up your courage and set off to the rickety steps.

The lower you go, the wider the hidden world of the basement opens up in front of you, and the more painful the horrible smell, mixture of the sweet stench of rot and the sting of sweat, pierces your nose. With each breath, the stagnant, moldy air penetrates deeper into your lungs, and if your brain weren't occupied by terror, you would wonder what kind of disease you're filling your chest with so voluntarily. Although to your own ears, every noise your shoes mak on the old stairs is ear-splitting, you know, even through the uncontrollably roaring fear inside you, that the sounds of your arrival will be drowned out by the wild discussion unfolding on the other side of the wall bordering the stairs. You recognize the woman's voice in the furious foreign expressions, but that's not what makes you halt hesitantly on the last step. It's that unexpected, raspy male baritone that stops the momentum of your curiosity from taking you any further, because even though you can't see the face associated with it, you feel the deadly threat traveling in the growl-like rumble.

"ублюдок!" The woman erupts, and even you cringe instinctively from the caustic rage that sits in her tone. "You ungrateful wretch!" She spits in a way that you finally can understand, and you hear the crunch of the dirt and dust sliding under her shoes as she take a step forward, as if she were moving closer to someone, but further away from your impromptu hiding place. "I should have let them take you!" The end of the heated cursing snaps, and with this the stormy exchange of words turns into painful silence, as if the shadows hiding on the dirty floor had absorbed not only the rays of the faintly flickering light, but also the sounds. And from this, even you know that something came out of the woman's mouth that shouldn't have.

The basement falls into an icy stillness, and the tiny hairs on your skin rise as you lean against the wall and listen, wondering if you made a mistake by coming down here. However, as your frightened eyes wander around the dimly lit room, you discover something in one corner that catches your eye with its golden glow. And you lean forward like someone who has been mesmerized, trying to decipher through the dying light of the old bulb hanging on the ceiling, what might be hiding in one of the shelves under the piled-up, dusty mountain of junk. And the relieved joy that washes over you when you notice the lost key that leads to Johnny's attic, is almost ridiculous, and for a fleeting moment, you're sure that it's just your eyes playing games with you. But the tiny little object winks back at you with an unmoving serenity a few long seconds later, and you already know what your task is.

"Oh, my little boy... don't be angry! Mommy loves you, you know that, right?" You hear the apologetic shush, and you're filled with an ominous feeling as you lean forward from behind the wall, clinging to the crumbling bricks, to see how safe it is to get the key. And your eyebrows knot together in confusion when you're greeted by nothing more than the old woman, who, stepping towards one of the dark corners, spreads her arms as if waiting for someone to fall into her arms. Although at first, you're sure that age and loneliness have warped her mind so much that she imagines one of her loved ones in the shadows, but as your gaze falls on the mattress, brown with dirt, lying by the wall, and the plates soiled from the rotting leftover food, you dismiss your naive assumption. Someone is here, and based on the dried, yellowish stains on the torn bedsheet, they weren't forced to retreat here now. But you don't care about that. Whoever is imprisoned here, you're not here to help them.

"I found a new friend for you... She is much prettier than the previous ones! You want to see her, don't you? If you're a good boy, I'll bring her down for you... You do as mommy says, yes?" The woman continues, mumbling the kind words with an almost atoning tenderness, and it becomes painfully clear that whatever lives down here, this old bitch tried to drug you because of it. And when you remember the boot sprinkled with bone dust found in the forest, you banish the idea of thinking about what could have happened to those who were dragged down here before you. You have more important things to do than brood over the deaths of imaginary strangers… as cruel as that may sound.

But just as you finally take the first brave step and leave your hideout with careful stealth, the chain rattle comes to life again, and you freeze, forgetting about the key, when a dull crack silences the old hag. Like when a ripe, juicy melon cracks and splits into two when a knife sinks into it, but deep down you know that it's not fruit juice you hear splashing on the floor in fat drops. And you're unable to resist the pull of fear, which draws you in the direction of the noise against your will, but as soon as you see the woman slowly staggering back from the dark corner, you immediately regret giving in to the impulse. Because when your eyes find the handle of the large knife protruding from her head, you clamp your hands to your mouth, trying to force back the horrified scream that rises in your throat. 

The woman clumsily stumbles backward, and you see the uncertain surprise in the trembling hands with which she reaches for her hair, slowly covered into a crimson veil from the blood, touching the wooden handle almost in disbelief. And there is something quite pitiful in the way she turns around in confusion, amidst frightened whimpers, brushing away the strands stuck to her eyes by the red streams running down her forehead. And you, swallowing the bitter taste on your tongue, take a terrified step back, as you suddenly see how impossibly tight the skin clings to the edges of the bones emerging from the sunken face, as if a parasite were about to break through a thin membrane. The pale tissues look unsettlingly papery, and you have a lingering fear that the dull, matte white of her jaw might penetrate them at any moment, as the woman's mouth opens in a silent scream. Unfocused eyes find you, and you're horrified to realize that maybe she wants to ask for help when she wobbles towards you with shaky legs, but you're frozen in terror, as you stare at her motionless, like a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. And you watch in shock, when after what seems like eternity, she, with a gurgling rattle, finally sprawls out on the dusty ground, like a sack full of rotten potatoes.

"You're finally here." You hear the hoarse voice from before, and as you look for its owner in terror, you see how a strong figure emerges from the darkness of the shadows, dragging the heavy shackle of the chain hanging from his thick neck behind him with a metallic clang. But what worries you even more than the muscles hidden under the torn clothes, is the pair of impossibly blue eyes that emerge from under the mask covering the unknown man's face, which look at you with cheerful interest, as if he had found a small bird with a broken wing. And from the cruelty glimmering in them, it immediately becomes painfully clear that he is the kind of person who would rip your wings out by the stem to free you from suffering. "I was waiting for you, Bunny."

(ублюдок (ublyudok) - bastard).

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #johnny soap mactavish #simon riley #cod ghost #simon riley x reader #soap cod #soap mactavish #soap x reader #simon riley ghost #ghost simon riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #ghost cod #ghost x reader #john soap mctavish #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #simon riley x you #cod könig #könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #cod nikto #nikto

[luvlilyz]

relax a bit

w/c: 820, short

note: fluff, fiancé geneticist miguel, nurse reader. he isn’t spiderman in this au. this is my first time writing a fic im so nervous to post this so have some compassion 😭 thx!

Sliding the tray of freshly cubed potatoes into the oven and closing the door with a thud. Wiping the olive oil from your hands onto your floral apron, a job well done.

 Cooking was supposed to be a soothing way to relieve stress. After enduring 10 excruciating hours of dealing with the blatant disrespect and disregard from senior residents at the retirement home. It had left you, emotionally numb, feet sore and bone tired. Fed up with those old hags shoving you around. 

You grudgingly continue to clean up before dinner is done cooking. Placing dishes into the dishwasher and wiping the counters before you had begun sweeping, the front door creaks open. 

The sound of his numerous keys being dropped into the bowl at the front door, a heavy winter coat being hung in the closet, and his beloved brown dress shoes being taken off draws your attention.

 “Hey honey, how was work?” You call out brushing up the mess from the floor. 

Miguel‘s large form is heard approaching before he's seen in the doorway of the kitchen in your shared Nueva York apartment. Being together for five years and living together for two you had become accustomed to his habits, it’s almost second nature. 

He grumbles and groans in response to your question as he encircles his muscular arms around your waist, dwarfing you by comparison and burrowing his face into your neck. 

“Rough day I assume?” You ask in a sympathetic tone. 

He responds “Always,” he replies, “but I can’t complain... I love my job. And I love coming home to the sight of you.” He kisses your shoulder and you reach behind to gently stroke his head.

 “You should go take a shower to relax. Dinner will be done soon”. There's a muffled “Yes ma’am.” You smile as you watch his looming figure, descending down the hall to your shared bedroom. 

A delicious dinner, an amazing conversation and a couple glasses of your favorite wine later. You find your fiancé and yourself curled up on the couch underneath a thick quilt watching a cheesy romance movie. 

You both needed this, your hectic schedules hindering you from spending much needed time together. His job as a full time geneticist at Alchemex and you being a full time nurse at a retirement home made your relationship quite difficult. 

You glance at the ticking clock hung in the hall as it reads 12am. Your heart shatters, knowing that this rare domestic occasion has to come to an abrupt end because your next shift begins in 6 hours. A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. Miguel's attention shifts from the television.

“Something wrong?” He raises a brow in concern and rubs comforting circles into your back.

You rest your head onto his chest looking up at him with saddened tired eyes.

“It’s just that…it’s already late and I have to get up soon….I feel like I never have enough time to spend with you.” A frown forming on your plump lips.

He pulls your body closer and places his chin atop of your head embracing you.

“I know sweetie. Our hours aren’t ideal, I miss spending time with you too.” He replies reassuringly.

A silence falls over you both. The sound of dialogue from the movie and the ticking of the clock blending in with the noises of the city that never sleeps. You break the silence first.

“Do you really have to go to work tomorrow?” Your best attempt at using your sad eyes to sway his decision.

“You know I’m the head geneticist. My team wouldn’t know what to do without me.” He chuckles.

“They can figure it out. Don’t you think I need you more than them.”

He looks down at you “Aren’t you needed at work as well? I’m sure they need their hardest working employee.” 

"Screw them; they can figure it out. I need a break, and I know you do, too. He scratches his neck, exhaustion visible on his mature features; a strand of his salt and pepper hair, which you adore, falls forward on his forehead, wrinkled in thought.

“It’s just one day.” He mumbles. You give your widest most convincing smile. “Exactly, just one day, they’ll survive without us won’t they.” Your tone takes a bit of a joyful tone.

He smiles gingerly “Okay, I’ll call out tomorrow.” A small cheer is heard from you. “But don’t think giving me those sad puppy dog eyes is going to work in your favor every time.” He says sarcastically. You kiss him on the lips

“Well it’s never not worked for me.” You reply.

You can feel the stress, anxiety and tension from the day leave your body as you lean further into the loving warmth radiating from the giant man. 

“I love you.” He says. “I love you, too.” 

You both eventually fall into a much needed deep sleep soothed by each other's embrace.

a/n: thx for readinggg <3

#miguel o'hara #miguel fanfic #miguel fluff #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara #writing #miguel o'hara x black reader #husband miguel #I need to marry him or I’ll implode #my man fr #fanfiction #fanfic #itsv #nurse reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman #miguel 2099 #spiderman 2099 #marvel 2099 #sm 2099

[faithshouseofchaos]

Heeyyy!! is it okay if I ask for another kmag fic??? Like maybe after Kevin had a long and hard day he comes back home to you and becomes super clingy and you just play with his hair until he falls asleep 💤

I will take any and all Kevin Magnussen requests you have 🤭🤭🤭

Tranquility— Kevin Magnussen x reader

Fluff

Word count 569

As he entered his home, he wearily dropped his bags by the door and let out a heavy sigh. Another grueling race week had come to an end, culminating in yet another trip to the steward’s office to address the penalties he seemed to accumulate every weekend.

"Kevin, is that you?" he heard you call from the bedroom.

"Yeah, it's me," Kevin responded, his weariness evident in his voice.

As he made his way into the bedroom, he found you waiting for him, your warm smile and open arms offering a much-needed balm for his weary soul. Without a word, he collapsed into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder and seeking comfort in your presence.

"I’m so tired," he breathed, his voice muffled against your chest.

You gently caressed his hair, your fingers running through the sweat locks, soothing his troubled thoughts. "I know you are, Kevin," you whispered, your voice filled with compassion. "You’ve been working so hard, and it takes a toll on you."

He lifted his head from your shoulder, meeting your gaze with tired eyes. "Why do they keep penalizing me?" he questioned, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing soothing circles over his tense muscles. "I don’t have all the answers, Kevin," you replied softly. "But I do know that you’re an incredible driver. You push yourself to the limit every race, and sometimes that leads to penalties."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing momentarily as he soaked in your words. "I just want to do well," he admitted, frustration seeping into his voice. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing soothing circles over his tense muscles. "I don’t have all the answers, Kevin," you replied softly. "But I do know that you’re an incredible driver. You push yourself to the limit every race, and sometimes that leads to penalties."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing momentarily as he soaked in your words. "I just want to do well," he admitted, frustration seeping into his voice. You tightened your embrace, your body pressing against his. "You are doing well, Kevin," you reassured him, your voice filled with conviction. "You have the talent, the passion, and the determination. And I believe in you, even when it seems like the world is against you."

He snuggled closer to you, seeking refuge in your arms. "Thank you for believing in me," he mumbled, exhaustion seeping into every syllable. You gently guided him towards the bed, your touch filled with love and care. As he settled onto the mattress, you draped the covers over him, creating a cozy haven. "You need your rest," you whispered, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

His eyes closed, but he reached out, his hand searching for yours. You entwined your fingers with his, offering a silent promise of support. As he drifted into slumber, his grip on your hand loosened, and his breathing evened out. You sat by his side, watching over him as he slept, your heart filled with love and admiration for this man who pushed himself to the limits every day.

You continued to caress his hair, offering silent comfort and assurance in his moments of vulnerability. As he slept, his exhaustion faded, replaced by a sense of tranquility in your presence.

#kevin magnussen #kevin magnussen x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x you #f1 x y/n #formula one x y/n #formula one x oc #km20

[i-cant-sing]

Dr snow hear me out. So I’m North African right now? Ikr so cool anyway if I was in the 12th century I would be a direct descendant of dihya al Kahina and I would be angsty and upset about the loss of my royal status as princess in the matriarchal amazigh society after the Arabs came so I would train and become the best archer in North Africa and look for ways to restore my dignity and honour the matriarchy of my great great great great grandmother. I would wake up one day and get a tanit tattoo on my forehead and then seek help of the one and only in all of the levant….king Baldwin , we would meet in some random setting in the desert , I would ride a camel and he would have a white horse , I would come unarmed fierce and feisty to impress him with my bravery or so he thought because I did in fact have a dagger strapped to my thigh under my royal blue satin dress with a slit that he can’t see so he would never know I truly was armed…He would see an angsty angry upset wretched hurt soul within me instead of the fake strength mask I had put on through his wisdom and imaginable charisma . We would play chess , I would win , he would agree to help me after that . In the end , he would heal my soul from hostility towards Arabs and from the dangers of revenge and I would become a delicate rose with a tempered soul who was truly strong and possessed a lot of wisdom and compassion instead of an angsty reckless impulsive little girl. We would live happily ever after then and throw balls every season.

idk why but the visuals is reminding me of assassin's creed odyssey and im a sucker for AC games

honestly, yes baldwin would help you but he would 1000% know that you are armed and he would NEVER lose a chess game. im sorry but u could be idk magnus carlson, and baldwin would still be able to beat you. the only way youre winning is if baldwin lets you win because you might be a sore loser and ur angsty ass needs a win for once.

baldwin is the embodiment of beauty with brains, and this dude is so wise and smart, most people actually underestimate him because of his age (because they think age = experience) but its also because baldwin often downplays his intelligence. he's not the type to immediately spring into action, no- baldwin likes to observe, likes to set everything into place and let the dominoes fall into place. he's not someone who waits for an opportunity, no hes the one creates an opportunity. only a fool would wait for the circumstances to be in their favour. baldwin makes the circumstances favour him.

#yandere baldwin #yandere king baldwin

[lillithhearts]

hi! I have now been thinking about the lack of people to own overlords, so, I have an idea. imagine an overlord reader who's older the zestial, using Vox as a side table. like, vox was being cocky and a brat, so, they forced Vox to kneel beside their chair, turn his head up, and just place a stack of books on his flat ass face. hell, maybe Vox could start begging after hours in the position, and reader is like, "You were ungrateful as a pet, so, a side table will have to do.

welp, thanks for reading my rant!

Vox x Reader˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

ׂׂૢ pairing : Vox x Reader

ׂׂૢ cw : Not proofread, Author being out of practice.

ׂׂૢ Reader is Gender neutral

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

Being an Overlord was a big deal, Money, Safety, fame. People were afraid of you, respected you; every single overlord had an image, a persona and a facade to keep up, something that kept people at arms distance. Never seem weak or vulnerable, people will jump at any opportunity to see you fall. People will berate you, belittle you and ridicule you to make you step down; everyone considered a mere peon would kill to become one of the Sinners on top.

Vox was once one of those Sinners. Envy and jealousy were the only things he felt, wanting to be strong, feared, respected. And he, begrudgingly; came to you, one of the biggest and baddest overlords hell had ever seen. You were cold, calculated and a prominent power for centuries. Everyone wanted to be you, Vox included..alas Vox came crawling and begging at your feet for advice, guidance; anything he could get his clawed fingers on and you delivered, not in the way he wanted but, "power is power" he thought. A simple contract signed, a hand shook and an understanding made. His soul was yours, and you had to simply lift a finger to skyrocket him into success, you watched him get stronger, striking fear and unease into lowly sinners, his powers and connections grew along with his Greed,pride,ego and self-Image.

Vox began speaking to you and treating you as if you were just another of his pathetically weak minded employees, a sly grimace plastered on your face as you let the slip ups happen, making him forget who owns him, who he belongs to until finally you have had enough, which was today; calling him into your living room you flicked through your phone, hearing his heels clack on the floor up to the room, his cool facade waning as he walked closer and closer. The realization of who you were suddenly dawned on him for the first time in a while.

He knocked on the door, patiently, nervously waiting for your response

"come in."

Vox adjusted his tie and stepped in, his eyes quickly scanning the room and your body language, were you in a bad mood? What was happening here? Unease further setting in when you were unreadable to him, he cursed himself for hanging around such emotional and brash people like his Fellow Vee's, now he couldn't see what you had planned. You snapped your fingers and pointed to the side of your leather chair.

"right here, on all fours"

Vox felt a pulling in his chest, his hands getting sweaty and clammy immediately and his breath got stuck in his throat, he hesitantly walks over and does as told, getting on his hands and knees he lightly flinched feeling your phone being placed on his back. His mind racing as to what you have planned or even what's currently happening as he looks at the clean, pristine floor, you voice forever ringing in his ears.

"you've been really, really bad. I'm above you, I always have been and I always will be. You need to relearn your place."

Your voice is as ever cold, malicious and mocking as it always has been, not an ounce or crumb of compassion or feeling lingering in your vocal cords. You stood up and grabbed a considerably thick book from a neat bookshelf you have had, books collected from places around hell. Before seating yourself back down you grabbed a nice glass of Neat whiskey, setting it onto Voxs head as you sat down, opening the pristine book from the very start.

"you are going to stay in this position till I finish this, if I hear that glass fall and break you'll be doing a lot more than sitting there like a dog."

Your voice sent shivers down his spine as he simply whimpered a "understood" before returning back to silence. Halfway through your book you hear the "overlord"s voice quietly whine and protest.

"My knees and elbows really hurt..ive— I've learnt my lesson can I please be done?"

Your eyes flick over to the shaking TV demon as he stays obediently as ever in the position he was in hours ago, dog earing the page you were on you slammed the book shut and swung it at the Whiskey glass, shiny glass shattering against the nearest wall as Vox felt the air of the book go by him.

"Tables, do not speak. So shut up, before I do it for you."

Authors note : I kinda hate this..I really hate this actually, but hello I think I'm back!!

Taglist : @anni1600 @d0nutsaur @ihavetoomanyfictionalcrushes @k1y0yo

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #vox hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox

[evolutionsvoid]

There is no denying the violations that have been done to this world, how else can a land of plenty be stripped down to the bone? The ages of prosperity made it seem like the riches would never cease, that there was always more to be dug up or sucked from the earthen flesh. Temperance was preached, but never followed. And after decades of endless wealth, the wells have run dry, and the bountiful corpses of the buried past now are nothing more than empty husks. What riches were wasted in these good times, leaving only scraps to be fought over. Now as the war rages on and the people of the world struggle to get by, what little remains is still being ravaged and hoarded. Even the sea, in its endless bounties and offerings, seems emptier than usual, the journeys for blubber and oil going further and further to find the leviathans. We have devoured all that we can find in our own homes, and now raid others to feed our ceaseless hunger. After all we have taken from the deep, is it any surprise that some that ascend bear arms?

The armored fishy beings that dance through the shallows and slither upon the shore have gained the title of "Knights," what with their plated upper bodies and consistent use of weaponry. Like any denizen of below, they seem to appear without warning or fanfare, simply appearing from the water as if they had been there the whole time. But these fish folk do not come bearing words of wisdom or carvings of ambergris. Instead, they lurk in the waters or wait upon the sandy shores like silent guards, waiting for the signs of greed and violence. Fishermen with bulging nets or voracious traps have found their equipment shredded and their boats under attack. Whaling ships that have targeted any and every living beast in its path have witnessed these strange beasts climbing the hulls and assaulting the decks. Even those walking upon shore, raiding nests and sleeping colonies can discover spears of abyssal bone leaping for their flesh. Some of their reasons are obvious, clearly the Knights target those who would take everything the sea has to offer, and yet sometimes they lash out at seemingly random. Is there a reason that we do not understand, or have these individuals concluded that the people of the dry world are all guilty of this avarice?

Some have found these Knights with no aggression or judgment towards them. They may see them slip past their boats without a fuss, or basking in odd positions on the shores with no sign of anger. Have they found these few folk free of sin, or worthy of peace? Or do they see a kinship within some people, a part of our very essence that we still do not understand? We know that there are individuals who find themselves drawn to the sea, enamored with the abyss. Perhaps these Knights can see a fellow and know to stand down. Or maybe it is simply that many of these encounters mention a lack of weapons in the hands of the observer, causing the Knight to see they mean no harm. If that is the case, than one would think it easy to win their favor, simply divest yourself of your arms. But remember what world we live in now, and the dangers throughout. Walking without a weapon may save you from the Knights, but there are plenty of other horrid deaths eager to claim you in their place.

In recent years, the sightings of these Knights has increased, no doubt rising with the madness that consumes these lands. It is said that pods of them can be spotted in places where atrocities to the sea have occurred. Lingering warriors mourning over a great loss, and waiting to ensure that this affront never happens again. More boats have been attacked, more deaths upon the shores. There is a great peace found in the abyss, and many denizens exhibit mercy and compassion. Yet, as these Knights appear more and more, as well as other aggressors of the sea, one must wonder if we are stripping away this kindness as well? How patient can they be when faced with our endless war and stealing? When do they realize that many wise words fall upon deaf ears? Many pray that this day does not come, and they give offerings back to the sea to remind the ones below that goodness still remains on these shores. We can only hope that they see these gifts and hear our pleas, for the land has already forsaken us, and if we are to lose the sea as well, who else would take us?

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

"Knight of the Sea"

Hey look at that! Something more overtly mermaidy for mermay!

#sea monster #knight #mermaid #mermay #fish #art #drawing #fall of ichor

[charredpages]

[Alt text] ten screenshots of text posts by the user themme_fatale on Instagram. The text reads:

(1/10)

Do you remember the exact moment that anti-masking stopped being a far-right talking point

And became advice you were willing to follow?

(2/10)

I try to make the ways I communicate about COVID as compassionate and non-judgemental as possible because I understand that we have all been failed in this and my primary anger is always upwards.

BUT

I also need you to understand - if you are not taking precautions, you are aligning yourself with eugenicists.

The person who actively says “fuck disabled people they deserve to 💀” and never masks, and the person who never masks because “It’s annoying and besides-no one else is” are BOTH devaluing people’s lives.

(3/10)

And that might feel confronting for some of you, and I know the knee-jerk reaction is probably going to be to deflect by accusing me of “shaming people” or whatever.

I’m not shaming anyone though - it’s just uncomfortable to sit with because if you’re the kind of person who follows me chances are you don’t actually want to be engaging in eugenics.

And re-engaging with the idea that COVID is not only still around, but still actively dangerous is asking a lot of you when the alternative is the comfort of denial.

Especially when so many of the tools to keep ourselves and each other safe have been taken away from us. But the thing is none of that is actually a reason not to act.

(4/10)

There are people IN YOUR COMMUNITY relying on you to take precautions so that they don’t d1e.

(5/10)

With love, and compassion for the fact that this shit is hard - ignorance is running out as an excuse. It’s time to do better, and help your mates do better too.

People in your community shouldn’t have to constantly remind you not to put their lives in danger. Surely you can see that’s a pretty fucked up dynamic, right?

(6/10)

We shouldn’t have to push so hard on “it’s good for you to protect yourself too!” Like it still absolutely is, but saving the lives of people in your community should actually be enough to motivate you to act.

It’s genuinely fucked up to be ok with a whole proportion of the population being either being locked in their homes indefinitely or at risk of 💀 on the daily.

(7/10)

It should be considered more socially awkward to engage in eugenics by k1lling and isolating disabled people in your own community than it is to put on a mask

The fact that it’s not should embarrass all of us until we change it.

(8/10)

It should be considered more selfish to put people’s lives at risk than to ask to be kept safe

Your choices can change or reinforce that culture.

(9/10)

Government inaction puts a weapon in your hand

Pretending it’s not there puts us all in danger

(10/10)

Why do you require a mandate to care about other people?

#it makes me nervous posting this #but the friends I have on here are some of the people I trust the most #like OP says #this is coming from a place of compassion #and as much as I want to be #we’re not don’t with covid yet #covid #covid 19 #long covid #covid conscious #covid is airborne #covid isn't over

[stuckinapril]

It really is so true that you never know what someone’s going through behind closed doors. I’ve made being gentle and kind my default bc I’ve had super put together friends disclose the most harrowing time of their lives to me and it’s like oh?? You were going through that???? I would’ve never guessed

#It’s easy to reduce people to side characters or caricatures but you never know. You truly never know what someone’s going through or what #Could push them over the edge. Cruelty will never be worth potentially causing someone permanent damage #I’ve realized this after having a conversation w a friend of mine who sailed straight to med school #Tons of leadership roles #Thriving social life #Yet she just told me her hair was falling out from anxiety. Never in a million years would I have guessed that she was struggling #But she was and lots of people play things close to their chest like that #I really wanna be kind each time I can and to also come from a place of compassion #Bc ik I’ve been misunderstood by people before who reduced me to a caricature or just didn’t know what was happening in my life #I want to actively work on extending the benefit of the doubt to the same people I would want to extend the benefit of the doubt to me

[wakeupthemembersofbylernation]

Where did this idea that aggressive harassment, sending death threats, bullying, doxxing, telling people to kill themselves, using homophobic and antisemitic slurs, attacking people’s looks, encouraging hate crimes, threatening to release sex videos, and engaging in a wide range of genuinely psychotic behaviors from behind a screen is reasonable and acceptable and even necessary “progressive” activism come from?

Yes, this is about the Noah Schnapp situation, but it’s about more than that, cause I’ve noticed this kind of mindset becoming more and more normalized, and I’ll never agree with it. How does this kind of behavior help the Palestinian people (or any other cause you’re being an “activist” for?) How does this kind of behavior encourage Noah or anyone else to change their views? How does wishing for Hamas to brutally murder the entire Schnapp family lead to peace and justice? How does saying Noah should dig up his dead dog and eat it stop bombs from dropping on Gaza???

I think all of us can agree that what’s happening in Israel/Palestine is horrible and stomach-churning. And I think most of us can agree that Noah wielding “Zionism is sexy” stickers when children are dying is tone-deaf and extraordinarily foolish at best. Please don’t mistake my words for saying that no one should ever be criticized or an endorsement of Noah’s reckless actions. But if you don’t have ANY compassion for the anxieties Jewish people face at a time when antisemitism is skyrocketing, that’s very concerning to me. Why can’t two things be true at once?

There’s this insidious notion that cruelty/calls for suicide/bullying are tools to weaponize against “bad” people, as if human decency, kindness, and empathy are food items to be snatched away whenever folks are deemed problematic (whether the reason is valid or not). People fancy themselves radicals, as if they are fighting in the French Revolution, when they are… not. I promise you that tweeting like this all day doesn’t make you a hero. It makes you look foolish:

#noah schnapp #byler #I know this is a controversial post but please know that it comes from a place of love and compassion and kindness #I know emotions are at an all time high and I debated whether I should post this but I believe it’s important #I just want there to be peace #in our world and in our fandom #the best way to be an activist is NOT by sending death threats on social media #the best way to be an activist is to be an activist

[nothorses]

I understand that there is absolutely a reason for folks to argue that there are no "good enough" conditions under which religion just disappears, and I agree that it's an incredibly hateful and harmful position to hold in the first place. along with being, y'know, completely fucking nonsensical.

however

if your argument to this is "the thing that makes humans human is religion" respectfully I need you to re-evaluate with people who are not religious in mind & consider what kind of impact that has on a group that is already dehumanized. for not being religious.

#this is a vague because i cannot find that post again to reblog it (bc mobile is a mess) #and I say this from a place of genuine compassion- i think the people making this argument are hurting and I do not fault them for this #i think it's an oversight more than anything #and i trust these folks to have compassion about it #if i were approaching this directly it'd be done differently but I'm also using this to vent some frustrations coming from elsewhere #bc it is indirect #okay I'm done qualifying now 👍

[scrawnytreedemon]

Seriously tempted to make a highkey detached headcanon/pseudo-analysis post regarding Zant and gender. Probably a bad idea.

#scrawny rambles #zant #strong emphasis on the pseudo it's red string pins and corkboards fueled by audhd & months if not cumulative years of hyperfixation #my thing is that the optics are awful and this is tumblr #when it's like. alot of finding my gender issues and feminine rage in a character that... does not play *well* with that #it could be seen as crossing a line when i'm closeted transmasc and i see them as. well closeted *something else* #if that makes sense #it's deeply meaningful to me and comes from a place of compassion #but i think even someone in good faith can see the obvious issues with that #let alone the numerous people who either don't/no longer have the patience #or are looking for a fight #idk man. don't really have anyone personally to talk about this with that has the same extensive bg on the guy as i #i've got good and eager friends #but i'm giving them the context— the conversation is inherently led and skewed by my biases in a topic i have wayyy too much investment in #and they don't. yknow? #as opposed to presenting it to other people who share it and have wider context #and the sense to know if i'm bullshitting #the lens ends up being an addition instead of the groundwork; y'feel? #it's 1am god help #seasonal depression has my sleep schedule in a shit pit. sad! #tl;dr: things that look bad unfortunately compell me and that's why i give villains 18752489 flavours of queer biracial and neurodiv. ty. #just like me fr frrrrr

[womenaremypriority]

Roisin Murphy said such a common sense and kind position and she was still cancelled… it’s insane. Why would any movement that sincerely cares about children with dysphoria/transgender kids want to vilify everyone who is concerned about their wellbeing???

#How they treat anyone with even mild concerns #About safeguarding around children transitioning #And how men could take advantage over these new laws etc #Is pretty clear evidence that they’re not actually coming from a place of compassion at all #And are driven by ideology #And in cases of doctors and politicians money #radblr #radfem #radical feminism #radical feminists do interact #gender critical #My post