#I even did a factory reset and nothing

[iwatcheditbegin]

My iPhone literally is unusable after this update. Cannot connect to cellular. Works fine with wifi, but completely usable once I go anywhere without wifi. I can’t even make calls

[xervn]

melatonin | 2

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 1

ao3 link

summary: the aftermath.

18+ MDNI | 3.5k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, reader is a brat, angst?, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

i rewrote this so many times, but here we are... mama i made it..

It’s not what you were expecting. It’s not how you saw things moving forward—not at all. 

Anyone would agree that you two shared a passionate night. Sevika fucked the insomnia out of you. 

So how’d she manage to make you hate her more?

When you woke up, Sevika was on her side of the room, adjusting her deep red poncho. She noticed you were awake and went straight to barking orders at you and proceeded with her thousandth attempt to get you to follow her schedule, which never worked.

It was as if last night didn't happen, and it was all a lucid, raunchy dream with deep moans you could still replay in your head. However, you woke up missing more clothes than you remembered taking off, so you knew that wasn't the case.

You decided to pass her crankiness off as stress, since it was a big day and all, but she only seemed crankier after the meeting. 

Don’t be fooled; you aced it. Your negotiating skills have always been top tier, and you’re incredibly personable, especially with good sleep on your side. You were so buddy-buddy with the Bilgewater traders, they invited you to their pub that night for drinks and karaoke. Exactly your style, a fun offer, but you declined. Declined because you were positive Sevika was going to give you congratulatory sex. Wrong. She gave you nothing but pure silence. 

You can hear hints of humor or sarcasm weaved into words, but you can’t hear any of that in silence. Was she mad at you? Jealous of you? Annoyed by you? 

It reminded you of when you first met Sevika, a time when you tried super hard to impress her, but everything you did ticked her off. You were so good at making friends with clients; total strangers, but not Sevika, even after months of trying. It hurt especially more since you had a massive crush—one everyone but her knew about; Ran still teases you about it from time to time. 

When you think back on it, you’re embarrassed. It shouldn’t have taken you a year to finally get on her case about it, but when you did, there was less judgmental silence and more words. Not the nicest words, but at least it created a semblance of balance—honesty that wasn’t outweighed by one-sided affection. But after that meeting, it was like it all reverted to square one. Silence and one-sided affection. 

That triggered you. 

So, what was it that you were expecting? Marriage? A gold medal? 

No, it was something much simpler. Kindness. The smallest amount of chivalry would’ve made you swoon, but she didn’t give you any. She continued to be the dickhead you were used to, and what did you do? 

You continued to be the dickhead she was used to, obviously. Amplified it even. There’s no such thing as being the bigger person in your dictionary. Not for this. If there’s anything you were bigger at, it was being a bigger cunt. If she was going low, you were going lower—and you stuck to it.

-

Days after the trip, you still haven’t talked to Sevika out of solidarity with yourself. Nothing but surface-level words have been exchanged between you two since that day. No witty remarks, no unnecessary teasing, no fruitless arguments. 

To be fair, there’s nothing you want to talk about. You’re too upset and ashamed. At the time, you couldn’t even discard the little dignity you had left to ask her to “help” you one last time because she factory reset you, and you slept like a baby all night. 

That is until now. Sevika’s magic has worn off, and you’re falling back into your regular routine of staying up late and getting wasted so you don’t have to watch the sunrise for a third time in a row. It wouldn’t be such a bother if you weren’t thinking about her every single night. 

Or during the day when someone says her name and the hairs on your arms stick up. Or when she’s a glance away and your body starts to think you're in a sauna. 

It was undeniable; you still have a crush. As obnoxious as the day it blossomed. You hate it. You should be hating her now more than ever, but your heart is fucking you over, and you’re sleep-deprived and pent up on top of it.

You’ve found yourself fantasizing about and craving a woman that has most likely moved on. It’s pathetic, and it shows you have no backbone, meaning it’s only a matter of time before you do something you will regret forever. 

You couldn’t back down, not after your dramatic promise to yourself that you weren’t going to let her play you again. 

Thankfully, fate graced you with an opportunity to redeem yourself. Silco put you on another short trip back to the port city, and he assigned Sevika to accompany you—expecting her to, since he didn’t bother to call her to his office because of how often you work together.

That meant the ball was in your court, so you did something neither you nor Sevika had ever had the guts to do.

You protested. 

Well, you lied. You told him that Sevika didn’t want to work with you anymore and that it’d be better for you to go with someone else. It’s probably not far from the truth anyway, but honestly, you thought he’d give you a speech about life or ask you to tell her to get over it. Maybe even a ‘fuck off,’ but instead he said, “Very well,” and shooed you out of his office. 

So now you’re at a loss because you didn’t think that far ahead. You didn’t really give it much thought at all and figured, realistically, both of you should be happy in the end. You knew it meant you’d see Sevika less, but you managed to convince yourself you were fine with it; that it was for the best.

“It’s probably the best decision I’ve ever made,” you tell Ran, who’s fiddling with the straw in their drink as they listen to you talk. Laughter, drinks clinking, and jukebox music makes for good background noise. “I’m just shocked, y’know? If I knew he’d accept it so quickly, I would’ve asked earlier.” You laugh half-heartedly. 

Ran twirls around the straw in their cup. “Didn’t I tell you it was that easy?”

You freeze. “Yes, but…”

“You still wanted to work with her.” They grin, going in for a sip.

“No! I genuinely thought he’d be against it.." You grumble.

“Right, right… Well, it’s good news then. You should be happy. Maybe we’ll be assigned together.”

Your eyes light up at the possibility. “That’d be great! There’s this pub I wanted to go to, but…“ You trail off when the bar goes incredibly quiet. There are a few whispers here and there, some more frantic than the others.

Loud, heavy footsteps pound against the wooden flooring, and you notice the pace picking up as the sound travels closer to you. 

You’re not allowing yourself to get ambushed at a time like this, so you turn, and, great heavens, there’s Sevika. 

Your chest, down to your stomach, twists uncomfortably. You’re surprised to see her, and she looks irritated to see you. Her face is plain, but there’s still a prominent frown on her lips.. 

“You.” 

You look around, pretending you’re not sure who she targeted that towards. By now, the bar has resumed its chatter, but Ran has moved three seats down. They give you a little finger wave before turning to the bartender. 

You slowly look up at Sevika, pointing to yourself, “Me?” You question jokingly.

“Get up; let’s go.” She gestures for you to start moving.

You laugh sarcastically, turning away from her on your stool. “Fuck off.” 

A large hand lands on your bicep and pulls. You stagger backwards and onto your feet before you fall over. “What the f—? Let go of me!” 

Sevika says nothing and makes her way to the back of the building, forcing you to walk haphazardly through chairs and tables. Your face warms and contorts in embarrassment, given you’re being dragged to who knows where like you’re a misbehaving toddler. 

You begrudgingly follow along, not that you had much of a choice, and she stops in front of a supply closet. 

“Open it.” She commands monotonously.

You don’t know why, but you do it; you open it. You don’t even question it, and you deserve it when she shoves you in there. 

Her mechanical arm whirs as you stumble in, and it makes a short appearance to slam the door behind herself. Then everything turns blurry in a flash, and your back is suddenly hitting the door. 

“What did you do?” She asks through her teeth.

You try to yank your arm free, but she doesn’t budge. “What did I do? Why are you so angry? Can you fucking let me go?!”

“What did you tell Silco?”

Your heart drops, and your expression must’ve shown it because Sevika groans. You interject, “I told him what you couldn’t.”

“And what is that?”

“You don’t want to work with me.”

Sevika looks at the ceiling for strength, shutting her eyes. She takes a deep breath in. “When did I ever say that?” 

“You don’t have to; I can read it off you.” 

Sevika’s eyes suddenly meet yours, and you flinch. “Yeah? What are you reading now?”

You frantically search, and you stutter, “You’re—you’re pissed?”

“Yes, I’m fucking pissed, Einstein. Did I ask you to make decisions for me?” 

God, you have no idea why she’s so mad about it. Your breathing is picking up, and you don’t know if it’s because of conflict or the fact she hasn’t been this close to you in what feels like ages. “No, but you can stop acting like you’ve never wanted to.” 

“Why do you care? If I wanted to, I would.” She states.

“Sure. You must’ve loved working with Jinx then, huh?”

Sevika looks away to sigh loudly. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“Isn’t it? You don’t like me either—“

“What is your problem? Why don’t you just admit that it’s you who doesn’t want to work with me? It’s you who doesn’t like me.” She spits. Her jaw clenches as she calms down. “I’m ‘difficult’ now because of you. I’d like one day—one week—without Silco complaining when I’m doing my best.” She sighs.

Your mind goes blank. “I’m—I didn’t know he’d say that… He seemed okay with it, and I didn’t know you’d be upset.” You utter, completely guilt-ridden.

“I swear—you only think about yourself. Fuck everyone else living, right?”

“What? No, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t think? Do you think?” She exasperates.

It works, and you huff. “I thought you would be jumping for joy. Why aren’t you fucking ecstatic?” You ask angrily.

“Nothing about this is good for me. Or you. Unless you think Dustin can protect you.” She scoffs.

“Dustin? Well… well…” You didn’t think about that. 

You abandon the sentence. “You can be mad, but not this mad. I should be this mad. We did things together. Things you don’t try to forget about, and that’s what you—looked like you did.” You say, correcting yourself because you’ve learned your lesson from assuming things. 

Sevika looks heavily perplexed. “You’re the one who stopped talking to me.”

“No, actually, you are. Not to mention your first words to me the morning after we fucked were, ‘You have twenty minutes.’”

“You had twenty minutes. Did you want a ‘good morning, baby’ first?” She scoffs, shaking her head.

Your stomach does a somersault. “I don’t know.” 

Sevika pauses, making what feels like judgy eye contact with you. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that you acted like nothing happened and went straight to being bossy.”

“Huh. I thought you liked that.” She replies, and there’s something in the way she said it that makes your legs falter.

“When did I ever—“ The air changed, you notice. “When did I ever like that…?” 

Sevika studies your face for a few seconds. The silence is unnerving. It’s like time slowed, because you have no idea when she’ll speak or what she’ll say. “Somewhere between you moaning my name and cumming on my fingers.” She bluntly states.

You choke on your spit, coughing. There were a million different ways that could’ve gone. Most of them sounded like that, but it still caught you off guard.

“What? You said I forgot about it. I’m trying to jog up my memory,” she teases.

You frown, but it comes off as endearing, so much so it makes Sevika awe. “Don’t you want me to remember? I’m remembering.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you acted no different from the day before, and you never, y’know, came to me again after that either.” 

Then regret starts rushing in. You used to curse your friends out when they got back with their shitty situationships. You know what it feels like now. You can’t believe you alluded to sex, let alone wanting it at a time like this, but she did it first, to be fair.

You two stare at each other for several beats. 

“Came to you?” A smile begins to form on Sevika’s lips.

You shake your head, as unconcerned as you can make it. “Shut up. Forget I said anything.“

Her head tilts slightly. She looks you up and down. “I don’t think I will.” 

You exhale loudly, "I'm so serious."

"No, really, tell me what you meant by that. "

"You know exactly what I meant."

She perks an eyebrow at you, and you roll your eyes in response. She huffs out a laugh.

Sevika swivels you around so you’re facing the door, so fast you have to catch yourself with both hands so you don’t face-plant into it. "What are you—!"

Her flesh hand slides across your waist, and then she suddenly jerks you towards her, making you bend over just enough for you to poke out.

In contrast to how she was manhandling you before, she slowly presses herself against your ass but makes sure to hold her place firmly, like she was planning on leaving a print there, rolling her hips into you as if she doesn’t wanna miss a spot. 

Leaning over you, she whispers, “This is what you wanted, right?” So close to your ear, you can feel her words brushing against it. Your whole body shudders, and all your sexual frustration starts to unravel.

You peer back at her with a glare that’s too clouded with lust to be intimidating. “You’re so full of yourself.” 

“You love it,” She replies, so surely, because you haven’t noticed how desperately you’ve been backing into her, chasing the sliver of friction she gave you a moment ago. She drifts her hand towards your front, and between the legs you immediately begin parting for her. "But I could stop..."

"Don't." You interrupt. You don't have to see her to know she's got on an egotistical grin.

Four fingers feel down your covered cunt, then back up, lingering at your clit with purpose. Your thighs threaten to close around Sevika’s hand, and you pathetically whine out her name. 

She hums questioningly, knowing she wasn’t getting an answer from you. She finds the waistband of your pants, shoving her hand underneath, panties and all. The warm heat and slickness of your wetness meet her palm. “You really love it.”

You inhale sharply, placing your forehead against the door. “ I hate you...”

She laughs darkly, and her fingers part meticulously over your folds, massaging your clit between her fingers. “Is that what we’re doing? I 'hate' you too,” she says, “I’ll show you.”

You moan at that, and Sevika harmonizes. You don’t feel an ounce of shame. All your self-respect left when you opened the door. “Please.” 

Sevika's finger presses against your entrance teasingly. It doesn’t take much longer before she slides two fingers in you; her middle and ring, and scissors them in you so you adjust to the size of them properly. You groan, muffling yourself into the back of your hand. The heel of her palm is so close, yet so far from your clit, and you still need it there. 

It was as if she read your mind. Sevika brings her hand closer, and her fingers curl in you as a result. They slowly straighten out, then curl again, straighten out, curl in, and now she’s restlessly fucking her fingers into you while you needily hump into the palm of her big, scarred hand. All that movement makes it messy, but messy feels so good. 

So much heavy breathing and pitchy whines. You’re trying your hardest not to make noise, but all your best attempts are strained and guttural. It drives Sevika insane. They’re better than she remembered. “Stop trying. Let them hear how much you hate me.” She murmurs against you.

You lightly shake your head, refusing to do something so mortifying yet so fucking hot—in theory. Until cold metal fingers appear under your jaw. “C’mon, baby, please?” She coos.

There’s the first crack in your metaphorical dam. Your legs start wobbling. “Fuck—I h—hate you.” You pant out, not entirely because she asked you to; you were a little upset with how well she threw that pet name in there. 

It makes her chuckle. “You said I never ’came to you,’ but I’ll tell you a little secret,” she says, breath staggering from her constant movement, “I came to the thought of your fucked-out face last night,” she confesses. You sob out her name, and she soothes it with a full kiss on your cheek; so unexpected, you can feel your heart lurch forward. “And the day before, and the day before that, and—you get it, yeah? I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”  

You’re getting closer; pussy tensing, and your heart is racing. So much to process in such little time. “… I missed you.” You breathlessly whisper. You missed her tangents, her nagging, and the dumb fucking arguments. You missed her; it was true, and you admitted it to her before you admitted it to yourself.

“Did you?” She asks softly. You can tell she’s really wondering. Her fingers still haven’t slowed down a bit, however.

“Mhmm—shit—wait.” You’re on the brink of undoing, and you don’t know if you can speak any further.

Sevika presses herself closer to you. “Tell me one more time.” She gruffly demands, like it was a need. It may as well be.

Your anticipated orgasm fills up to the brim; your eyes press shut. “I m—I missed you so,” you come; your moans are barely controllable, and your hips are stuttering against her hand, “s—ugh—much, Sev...”

Sevika’s mech hand turns your face towards her, and your heavy eyes momentarily widen when her lips meet yours in a fervent kiss. She removes her fingers from you, and when you cry at the loss, she slides her tongue across yours—that shuts you up real quick. She leaves her hand there, just so you can grind out your orgasm a little longer. 

Sevika stopped letting her brain control her; she wasn't going to let it get in the way of this. She's been dreaming about kissing you since she realized it was an option.

You didn’t know how badly you needed to kiss her. You weren’t sure you’d ever, but with how perfectly her lips feel on yours, this can’t be the last time. You really hope it’s not the last time.

But you pull away. “What is this...?” You ask shakily, trying to catch your breath.

Sevika’s eyes keep flickering to your kiss swollen lips, clearly drunk on them; she doesn’t understand what you’re saying yet. “What’s what?”

“This. What are we doing? Is it just—just sex like you said it was?”

Sevika zones back in, and there’s a lump in her throat. She can’t say she never said that, because she did. She swallows hard, retracting her hand from between your thighs, and gently turns you around so you’re facing her. 

She says your name, “It has never been ‘just sex.’ It would never be that with you.”

You try to assess the validity of that, staring at her doubtingly. “You ignored me the entire day after.” You mention.

Sevika’s face warms up, and she looks to the side. “I got jealous.”

Your brows furrow. “Of what?”

“You were so friendly with those Bilgewater folks, and it pissed me off,” she grumbles. “Then I got frustrated with myself, because I’m the reason you hate me. At the time, it made sense to go back to how it was before,” she exhales sadly, “I’m sorry.”

You awkwardly play with your hands. Sevika frowns, hoping you say something soon. “The reason why I stopped talking to you wasn’t because I hate you; I thought you did, so I... I don't know what to say other than I’m incredibly petty and childish. I’m sorry—and I shouldn’t have said anything to Silco either.” 

“I wouldn’t let you go without me anyways.” She looks so serious when she says that, but you can’t help but giggle. It’s going to take a while for you guys to get through all your apologies properly, but this is a good start.

“I do prefer you, so...” You add, smiling up at her coyly.

She has a grin—the big win kind—and you gravitate towards her for a kiss, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. It’s much gentler and warmer than the first time. You’re sure there’ll be more where that came from. 

—

“Ran, hey.” You take a seat by them, wanting to wrap things up before you go. Quickly too, since Sevika is waiting.

“Hey,” they reply, eyeing you oddly, “I went to check on you earlier; make sure Sevika wasn’t dismembering you or something, but it sounded super scary in there, like you really hated her, so I ran away…” They pretend to cower in fear before sputtering out a laugh.

“Alright then. Goodnight.” You silently get up and start walking out. Ran’s laughter doubles.

[stagtorccio]

teen lottie NSFW alphabet?

i always assume these requests mean pre-crash yall have to specify if you want wilderness or post rescue ... but yes anon

LOTTIE MATTHEWS — NSFW ALPHABET yall already know the rules... template from here! warnings: general kinda crude language, mentions of mania and kleptomania? nothing too insane though

mdni, 18+

A = AFTERCARE (WHAT THEY’RE LIKE AFTER SEX)

deeply emotional. threads her fingers through your hair, tucks close to you. soft murmurs that are usually nonsense pillow-talk, cheek to chest, heart syncing with yours.

loves showering with you after, because she’s got sensory issues and doesn’t like when the good sticky turns to bad sticky… gross!

B = BODY PART (THEIR FAVORITE BODY PART OF THEIRS AND ALSO THEIR PARTNER’S)

on herself, her eyes– loves it if she can just throw you a look and turn you on, loves making eye contact

on you, your thighs– especially wrapped around her waist. but honestly just flash her any skin and she’s trying to drag you to the nearest closet

C = CUM (ANYTHING TO DO WITH CUM, BASICALLY)

total little freak… she’ll smear it across your belly, kiss it off your lips, lick it off her fingers… sometimes she’ll just make it a point to be as messy as possible so you have to help clean her up.

D = DIRTY SECRET (PRETTY SELF EXPLANATORY, A DIRTY SECRET OF THEIRS)

gets off to the idea of being watched, just a little. mirrors, windows, the edge of public places.

sometimes she fingers herself in her walk-in closet imagining someone stumbling in. cums fast as hell. freak. 

E = EXPERIENCE (HOW EXPERIENCED ARE THEY? DO THEY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING?)

more practiced than you’d expect. not in the “tons of partners” way, but she's kinda intuitive. it only takes her a few minutes to get patterns down (and subsequently weaponize them).

F = FAVORITE POSITION (THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING)

lotus— something about mutual closeness, locked thighs, eye contact, etc etc... likes it when you're tangled up in her lap, likes even more that you have nowhere to go.

G = GOOFY (ARE THEY MORE SERIOUS IN THE MOMENT? ARE THEY HUMOROUS? ETC.)

if she’s like INTO it into it, not very silly. more focused on the task at hand. catch her a few drinks in though? giggling the whoooleee time because she’s having so much fun.

WILL say some absolutely fucknasty shit and then laugh hysterically right after because holy shit I can’t believe I said that. she did in fact say that though and probably meant it

H = HAIR (HOW WELL GROOMED ARE THEY? DOES THE CARPET MATCH THE DRAPES? ETC.)

bare or a neatly trimmed landing strip. keeps it soft because she gets irritated as fuck being itchy (me too, girl).

I = INTIMACY (HOW ARE THEY DURING THE MOMENT? THE ROMANTIC ASPECT)

super intensely intimate. eye contact so deep you feel like she’s trying to soul-suck you. touches like she wants to merge bodies. she wants you to see her and understand her and vice versa.

J = JACK OFF (MASTURBATION HEADCANON)

does it rarely. slowly and trying to enjoy it on good nights, quick and just trying to cum on bad ones

very visual, often picturing the same person over and over again, sometimes imagining she’s not alone in the room or that it’s someone else’s hand instead of her own. it helps to distract from less pleasant thoughts

K = KINK (ONE OR MORE OF THEIR KINKS)

control and power play — loves taking the reins, coaxing surrender. it helps her to feel in control of something. vice versa, she sometimes wants to be the one giving up control so that she doesn’t have to think so hard about everything. sort of like cleaning the slate. factory reset if you will

sensory play — blindfolds, silk restraints, dripping wax… sign her right the fuck up

praise — sad lonely girl who likes when you talk sweet to her. fork found in kitchen. unsurprising. but also specifically saying you’re proud is what does the charm because you know this mf needs validation like plants need water… she will implode

L = LOCATION (FAVORITE PLACES TO DO THE DO)

anywhere that feels aesthetic. she’s got a Thing for aesthetics. forest clearing, the floor of her father’s study with incense burning, bed lit by moonlight slashing through stained glass. wants to make it cinematic (like that one sex scene in mulholland drive, rip Lottie you would’ve loved naked in manhattan)

M = MOTIVATION (WHAT TURNS THEM ON, GETS THEM GOING)

vulnerability. seeing you open up, confess a secret, (and, embarrassingly enough, cry in front of her). it’s her blossoming cult leader instincts kicking in sorry. 

also, unspoken glances across crowded rooms… she will literally drag you to a closet by the back of your shirt like a kitten

N = NO (SOMETHING THEY WOULDN’T DO, TURN OFFS)

anything detached or performative. hate sex? casual hookups with no emotion? not her thing. 

definitely craves connection and using sex to get in someone’s head– not maliciously, just to understand them deeper than she already does

O = ORAL (PREFERENCE IN GIVING OR RECEIVING, SKILL, ETC.)

giving, reverent with it. adores eating someone out slowly, eyes on your face the whole time, dragging her tongue and tasting everything. 

receiving? rides the actual fuck out of your face, like literally almost suffocates you a little. doesn’t pull your hair but does push your head down until you have to tap out to catch your breath. good luck soldier.

P = PACE (ARE THEY FAST AND ROUGH? SLOW AND SENSUAL? ETC.)

usually slow and sensual. wants to enjoy it and make it last. but when she’s manic or spiraling, she fucks like she’s exorcising literal demons. maybe she is. who knows.

Q = QUICKIE (THEIR OPINIONS ON QUICKIES, HOW OFTEN, ETC.)

will do them, but only if the tension was already there first or it’s a “public” place—bathroom stalls at school, back of a parked car before a party. she finds it more exciting when there’s the chance of getting caught.

R = RISK (ARE THEY GAME TO EXPERIMENT? DO THEY TAKE RISKS? ETC.)

risky. gets off on risk. being forced into a perfect little bubble your entire life has its side effects. nerves heighten everything else and she likes it that way

S = STAMINA (HOW MANY ROUNDS CAN THEY GO FOR? HOW LONG DO THEY LAST?)

two or three rounds MINIMUM, especially if she’s feeling manic. will go until you're limp and breathless then ask if you can go one more… good luck babe

T = TOYS (DO THEY OWN TOYS? DO THEY USE THEM? ON A PARTNER OR THEMSELVES?)

yes, but like, classy about it? keeps a little box under her bed– vibrators, a harness, glass dildos…

uses them more on partners than herself, and also just likes collecting them because she’s a kleptomaniac

U = UNFAIR (HOW MUCH THEY LIKE TO TEASE)

when she feels like it. will absolutely edge you until you’re begging, kiss just below where you need her, keep eye contact while she denies you over and over and over…

and does it all while smiling, telling you how good you’re doing. fuck dude

V = VOLUME (HOW LOUD THEY ARE, WHAT SOUNDS THEY MAKE, ETC.)

whispers, whimpers, ecstatic chanting of different phrases if she’s deep into it. moans are drawn-out and trembling. will stutter out that she loves you while taking three whole fingers, she may be a freak but she isn’t a neglectful one

also the louder you get, the more it turns her on… she loves hearing you lose your composure

W = WILD CARD (A RANDOM HEADCANON FOR THE CHARACTER)

has a small collection of polaroids of herself. you know exactly what type of polaroid. 

X = X-RAY (LET’S SEE WHAT’S GOING ON UNDER THOSE CLOTHES)

slender, subtle curves, surprisingly toned legs, BICEPS.

also sometimes doesn’t wear panties because she likes the freedom

Y = YEARNING (HOW HIGH IS THEIR SEX DRIVE?)

pretends it’s manageable but aches constantly. daydreams in class, zones out while brushing her hair. quiet about it but that doesn’t mean it isn’t noticeable

Z = ZZZ (HOW QUICKLY THEY FALL ASLEEP AFTERWARDS)

falls asleep quickly after because her mind is finally quiet for once 

insists on being big spoon because she likes holding onto you. and she has to have at least one hand under your clothes for that skin to skin, obviously 

if you get up in the middle of the night, she pulls you back. you don’t get out of bed until she does, rip you if you have to go to the bathroom

[rosierin]

cuddles in the kitchen | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; (y/n) has been feeling anxious all day and her friends try to cheer her up in their own way

a/n; for my anxious girlies, i gift you this fic

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was quiet.

Not the usual kind of quiet—the comfortable kind that came with lazy afternoons and full bellies, where everyone lounged in their own little corners of the living room, doing nothing but simply exist in each others' presence.

Today was a different kind of quiet.

For the simple reason that (y/n)—well, felt off. Terribly off, really. She felt sluggish. A little disconnected from everything and everyone. She’d still smiled when someone cracked a joke, still laughed at the stupid back-and-forth that bounced between the boys like a game of ping pong—but it every surge of happiness came with an impending sense of doom, a heaviness in her chest that felt as though something was weighing her down.

Of course they noticed.

Suna was the first, as always. He kept glancing at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. The most perceptive one out of the friend group—he saw things that people tended to overlook. Especially when it came to his best friend. His childhood best friend, at that.

She could tell he was clocking every detail: the way she blinked slowly, as though she was trying to clear a thought away; the way her fingers kept fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

Osamu noticed too. From the kitchen, he had gone quiet too. Not in a tense way—just watchful. She caught him looking over once or twice as she pushed her food around her plate, barely eating. Guilt pinched somewhere in her chest. It wasn’t his cooking, and she didn't want to offend him. But for some reason, every bite took more effort than usual, every swallow like trying to push down a lump in her throat, threatening to come back up.

Atsumu, naturally, was the loudest about it.

“Yer bein’ weird.”

(Y/n) blinked, startled, dragged back into the present by the bluntness of his voice. “Huh?”

Osamu shot him a warning look. "Leave 'er alone, 'Tsumu."

Atsumu ignored him. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the couch, brow furrowed. “You’re all…” He waved a hand in her general direction. “Not you.”

That stung more than it should’ve. Not because he was wrong. Quite the opposite.

She shrank back on herself, suddenly aware of their collective attention. Truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted. It wasn’t sadness, not exactly. Just… a sense of being untethered. She didn’t know how to put it into words—the way her chest felt tight, but for no reason. The way she felt like something should be wrong, but there was nothing. And yet, the absence of stress somehow made her more stressed.

“I feel…” She swallowed. “I feel stressed… because there’s nothing to be stressed about.” She exhaled a humourless laugh. “And that stresses me out.”

The boys exchanged glances, but no one teased.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The rest of the day felt heavy, like the hours had been drawn out—night-time feeling so out of reach. (Y/n) wanted nothing but to fall asleep, to do a full factory reset and wake up tomorrow feeling brand-new.

Her friends, however, had other plans.

They never did like letting her fall asleep on a bad note.

Osamu spent the rest of his evening cooking. (Y/n) didn't think much of it until a few minutes later, a plate appeared in front of her.

She blinked at it. Her favourite meal, still warm, the scent curling around her.

Osamu pulled out a chair, sitting across from her, arms crossed on the table. “Eat. Yer body needs it."

She stared at him. Guilt struck at her chest.

“'Samu... you didn't have to...”

“I know," he said kindly. He nodded at the plate. “But you should eat. Ya barely touched yer food earlier.”

She lowered her gaze to the meal, still hesitant. He had seen her sadness and gone through all this effort, not just to feed her, but to cheer her up too. After all, why cook her favourite meal when there was a dozen packets of perfectly acceptable instant ramen in the cupboard?

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling a little sheepish. She felt a lot like a kid again, only it was no longer homework or silly playground bickering that weighed on her mind, but something she couldn't even put a finger on.

She tried not to dwell on it as she lifted the fork to her mouth.

The first bite grounded her, warmth spreading through her chest. The simple act of chewing, of tasting something familiar, pulled her back into the moment. Soon one bite turned into two, then three. Before she knew it, she was devouring her meal like she hadn't eaten in days.

Osamu smiled at the sight.

He occupied the silence with idle conversation. How working at the restaurant was going, an interaction with some annoying customer, a new recipe he wanted to try. She didn’t have to respond, just listen. And slowly, bit by bit, she felt the weight in her chest ease.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Later, she sank into the couch, her limbs heavy with the kind of fatigue that didn’t come from lack of sleep. Her eyes traced the familiar pattern of the ceiling above—cracks in the paint, the faint outline of the wasp Atsumu had chased around the house last week. He killed it then, but clearly had been too caught up celebrating its demise to clean up the mini crime scene.

On any other day, the thought would've made her laugh. But today, it barely elicited more than a twitch of her lip. The feeling was still there, clinging like mist. It had lightened—thanks to Osamu, thanks to the normalcy of dinner—but it hadn’t fully lifted.

Suna eased into the space beside her, stretching his legs out with that same casual grace he always had. He didn’t bring up her lack of usual chit-chat, or address the long sigh that slipped past her lips.

But (y/n) knew he noticed. She could tell by the way he sat a little closer than usual, occasionally bumping his thigh with hers like he was gently trying to coax her back to the present.

(Y/n) closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence wrap around her. Moments past, when suddenly:

Buzz.

Her phone lit up.

First it was a Vine—the one they quoted almost on the daily.

Buzz.

This time it was a video of someone walking into a glass door.

Buzz.

A baby duck wearing a flower-hat, swimming around a petal-adorned sink.

She huffed a small, almost-laugh.

Suna didn’t look at her. Just smirked faintly, still scrolling. “Knew you’d like that one.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself. They didn’t say anything for a while after that. Just kept sharing dumb videos back and forth like they always did. She welcomed the distraction, letting herself get swept up by the short, ten second videos.

Eventually, after a particularly stupid clip of a TikToker whose last name she couldn't pronounce, Suna spoke.

“Y’know… you don’t have to pretend," he started, keeping his tone soft, like he didn't want to talk over the video she was currently watching. She hummed mildly, letting him know she was still listening.

"You can still feel off," he continued, bumping his knee with hers. "Nobody blames you for it."

Her chest tightened. Her unvoluntary reaction was immediate. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Somehow, he had just named something she had purposely been trying not to feel. That perpetual guilt and shame that came with feeling sad. The worry that her mood would spoil that of others, that she would be better off bottling everything up in fear of being judged.

She turned her head, eyes finding his, unable to find the words for everything she was feeling.

The rare softness of Suna's gaze conveyed that he understood the feeling, and as he lifted a hand to wipe away her tears, (y/n) allowed a single sob to slip past her lips.

"There you go," he said fondly. "Bet it feels good to cry, huh?"

She nodded, her lips wobbling into a smile. "Thank you, Rinnie," she murmured.

Suna wiped her cheeks dry, and offered a small smile of his own.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, night settled over the apartment. And for the first time all day, (y/n) felt like she could exhale.

The worst of the fog had passed.

Thanks to Osamu’s food. Thanks to Suna’s quiet company. Thanks to the way no one had pushed her, even when they noticed.

Granted, she was still tired—bone-deep and heavy—but at least it was no longer from that awful sense of dread anymore. More like a dull bittersweet ache, one that felt like, you made it through today.

At last, she could switch off her brain, crawl under the covers, and try again tomorrow.

That was the plan, at least.

Unfortunately, sleep didn’t come easy.

It was frustrating. She’d done everything right—gone through her usual routine on autopilot. Washed up, slipped into her softest pyjamas, and gone through the motions of her skincare like it might cleanse the day from her too. Normally, it helped. Normally, it grounded her.

But even after all of it, she lay in bed wide awake and fidgety.

With a soft sigh, she pushed off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe a glass of water would help.

Running a tired hand through her hair, (y/n)'s gaze flickered towards Atsumu, surprised to see he was already there. He seemed busy rummaging through the cupboards—likely looking for a midnight snack.

His familiar blond head popped up at the sound of her footsteps.

“Hey, pretty,” he drawled, flashing that lazy grin, eyes soft and warm in the low kitchen light. “What’re you doin’ up?”

(Y/n) shrugged, reaching for a glass. “Couldn’t sleep.”

She could feel the remnants of the day still clinging to her, like dust on a wet surface. She still managed a smile, but the dip in her mood still lingered.

She filled her glass at the sink, the steady trickle of water briefly filling the quiet between them.

“Still feelin' off?" Atsumu's voice was gentler than it had been this morning.

(Y/n) took a sip, then exhaled through her nose, giving a vague hum of acknowledgment. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.

He didn’t like that answer—she could hear it in the way he sucked in a breath, feel it in the shift of his posture behind her. She knew he hated vague answers. Hated them because it felt like being pushed aside.

She was too tired to explain herself.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, stepping forward before she could retreat back to her room.

(Y/n) paused, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

Atsumu never really knew how to handle her bad days. He always tried, but subtle wasn’t in his nature. He wasn't like Suna or even his brother—capable of offering that silent and effortless comfort the way they could. Atsumu was loud and persistent, often relying on charm alone. He would often poke and prod in hopes of cracking a smile. Except today… nothing had worked. And she could tell it bothered him.

Then, before she could say anything else, his arms wrapped around her.

“Wha—”

She stiffened at the sudden contact, caught off guard more by the softness of it than the boldness. But she didn’t push him away, or question it more than she needed to. So she let herself breathe instead—slow and deep and tired.

His arms held firm around her, his chest solid against hers, steady and warm. He swayed slightly, chin resting against the top of her head. And (y/n) closed her eyes, sinking into it without meaning to.

He was warm. His scent comforting the same way home is after a long day. She let out a slow breath, and allowed the tension to melt from her shoulders.

Atsumu rarely let himself be quiet like this. Rarely let her feel how deeply he cared. But now… here he was. Not trying so hard, not trying to cover up anything but what he truly was. Loving.

A lump formed in her throat. Her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his hoodie and held on, maybe a little longer than necessary.

“Feelin’ better?”

She nodded into him, not trusting herself to speak.

He squeezed her once more before letting go—but not before pressing a chaste, lingering kiss against the crown of her hair.

She looked up at him, blinking slowly. Their arms were still loosely wrapped around each other, neither of them in a rush to pull away. He offered a small, lopsided smile—gentler than his usual smirks, but somehow more him than anything else.

Before she could say anything, the distant sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. The soft murmur of voices approached. The kitchen lights cast a glow, stretching shadows across the floor as Osamu and Suna wandered in, mid-conversation. They both paused at the sight of them.

Osamu chuckled under his breath. Suna huffed a quiet laugh too, shaking his head.

"Y'all are such softies," Osamu teased.

Heat crawled up her neck. (Y/n) pulled back slightly, suddenly aware of how intimate the whole scene looked. A half-hearted laugh slipped past her lips, feeling a little shy under their gaze.

She expected them to move on. Or perhaps tease them some more. Now would be a prime opportunity, with her and Atsumu cuddling in the kitchen like no one else was home. What she didn’t expect was Osamu stepping forward.

He walked up without a fuss and slung an arm around her and Atsumu both, the weight of his arms setting on her shoulders.

Suna sighed, dramatically slow, and stepped in as well. “Why not...” he murmured with resignation, arms draping lazily around them.

Stunned didn't even begin to explain how (y/n) felt.

Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna. Group hugging in the kitchen like a scene at the end of a Disney Channel series.

If anyone had told (y/n) this was a possibility, she'd have laughed in their face. Her friends could be affectionate, but not like this. And certainly not with each other. Male ego, or whatever.

Safe to say she embraced it—literally. She wrapped around them with a giddy smile on her face. The steady weight of their arms—the warmth of being surrounded, engulfed in their embrace—felt nice.

(Y/n)’s chest ached with quiet gratitude. She let her eyes slip shut, exhaustion tugging at her. She could have fallen asleep right here, safe and warm, if not for Suna breaking the silence.

“That’s all the affection you’re getting for the next six months," he drawled, pulling away first.

Osamu was next, rolling his eyes.

"Tough guy," Atsumu scoffed.

(Y/n) giggled to herself. She tried not to hide her mild disappointment as they all broke the embrace. Well, save for Atsumu—who seemed equally as reluctant to pull away from her arms.

Their arms loosened, but for a moment longer, they lingered—just the two of them.

She gave him a small smile as she finally stepped away. He smoothed down his shirt with a quiet exhale and returned it with a look in his eyes she couldn't quite place.

“Alright, pack it up, you two,” Osamu announced, clapping his hands like a dad breaking up a heartfelt moment.

(Y/n) jumped at the sound, but it made her grin. Something about the sudden shift grounded her—and just like that, the everything felt lighter. Like the weight she’d been carrying all day had finally decided to let go for good.

After a long day of feeling glum, (y/n) finally—finally—let out a real, genuine laugh.

[miniimight]

DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

part two

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[daddyfromhell23]

What she was meant for (TW: Detrans, Mis0gny, degredation)

Inspired by @ezrasbedroom their post here

It started subtly.

He never pushed too hard, not at first. Just small comments. Little seeds planted in her mind.

“You just look so beautiful when you let your hair down like that.” “I miss seeing your natural curves.” “You were always so soft… softer than any man should be.”

Weeks passed. Then months. The compliments grew bolder, slowly eroding her confidence, reshaping her identity with every whisper.

“Don’t you think you were always a little better as a girl, sweetheart? More natural. More feminine.”

She fought it at first. She insisted she was still him. That the testosterone defined her. That her identity was solid. But deep inside, his voice was louder. His hands gentler. His praise, a drug. More addictive each time.

Until one day, after a particularly long night in his arms, she stopped taking her T.

Just for a while, she told herself.

Her skin softened again. Her features brightened as if she were still 18. The scent of her body shifted, betraying her slow collapse. He noticed immediately.

“You’re glowing, baby. Like you should be.”

Her chest began to ache as the small buds of breast tissue returned. The binder felt tighter, more uncomfortable, suffocating. And when he finally encouraged her to take it off — she did.

“You don’t need to hide anymore, doll.”

Makeup returned to her routine. Light at first. Then heavier. Lip gloss. Eyeliner. The same routine she had once fought so hard to escape. His praise was intoxicating every step of the way. She even started going out of her way to ask him how the new look was. Ask a Man's opinion on her body. The thoughts themselves made her gasp internally.

“You’ve always been prettier than most girls.”

That moment, her pussy finally went moist to the idea.

When her period returned, she cried. But not from sadness. From something more twisted. A terrifying, shameful sense of belonging.

He changed her pronouns one day without asking.

“She’ll be ready soon.” “She’s really blossoming again.”

And she said nothing. She couldn’t.

The wardrobe shifted next. No more loose clothing. Dresses that hugged her hips. Soft, clinging fabrics that showcased everything she once tried to erase.

And he never let her forget who was responsible.

“You look like you’re made to be fucked now. You’re perfect.” "I'm glad you finally started to listen, babe."

The degradation came slowly, too, always hidden behind his loving praise.

“Such a pretty little thing. A good hole for me. You were never built to be a boy.” “My little cumdump.” “My sweet, dumb girl who just needs to be filled.”

She soaked through her panties at every word.

The final collapse came when the pregnancy test turned positive.

Her belly swelled quickly, a physical monument to her surrender. The evidence was undeniable now — the weight of his seed growing inside her, reshaping her entirely.

He loved taking her out in public, one hand always resting on her bump, proudly showing off his creation.

The humiliation was always there. She could feel every pair of eyes on her — strangers immediately understanding who and what she was now. His girlfriend. The one he knocked up. The one who fucking took it. Doing her biological duty.

And sometimes, she knew they thought even worse.

That she was a filthy slut who let a Man reset her to factory settings. That she let him breed her raw like any brainless whore.

There was no hiding it anymore.

Her body had surrendered. Her mind followed.

And every time he whispered in her ear— “My perfect little baby maker. My girl. My breeding bitch.”

—She simply blushed, smiled, and whispered back: “Yes, daddy.”

[souliebird]

[[dance of the little swans]]

Hi I wrote my silly Dex x Reader fic but from Matt's POV :)

Past!Matt x Reader , Dex x Reader. Angst. So much angst. It's all angst. Lots of talk about killing :) But it's Daredevil & Bullseye so. Panic attacks.

~3k

I'm taking this less seriously than other writing but I tried.

Summary: Weeks after a bad break up, Matt finds out you are Benjamin Poindexter's new North Star

It has been nearly five weeks since Matt last heard your voice.

You had been upset he had missed the opening night of the ballet you had been a dancer in and Matt had been angry you couldn’t understand his work as Daredevil couldn’t be scheduled into a planner.

He doesn’t remember the fight that much - it had been an extremely long and painful night involving the Hand and he had gotten a pretty decent concussion - but he does remember coming back to his apartment to find every trace of you gone and your key on his coffee table. It had been clear you had left him and Matt’s bitterness and anger at Everything had him making the decision that he wasn’t going to chase after you.

Maybe, if hadn’t been so stubborn and bullheaded, he would have let himself patrol by your apartment. He had avoided everywhere you liked to frequent and it was easy to not think of what he was doing. He hasn't had a moment's rest in months between his day life and nightlife. He kept himself too busy to let himself think about you.

Maybe, if he didn’t have the Devil in him he would have tried to call you. Foggy and Karen pestered at him until he snapped and threw his cell phone through a wall. They didn't mention you after that and he assumes they think you were avoiding them.

Maybe, if he wasn't such a fuck up.

Maybe, if he had done anything.

Check in.

Talk to you.

Maybe - just maybe - he would have realized your apartment has been empty for weeks.

That your phone goes straight to voicemail.

That you had dropped out of your production and hadn’t shown up to your gym since then. None of your friends had seen you.

He had filed a missing person’s report and it had been Mahoney who flatly told him you weren't missing - you had willingly decided to disappear. You weren't breaking any laws - all your bills were up to speed - so there was nothing to be done.

Case closed.

Maybe, if he had listened when Karen had insisted something was wrong he would have pushed more, but you Left and he could not take it.

Maybe, just maybe.

Matt stands frozen at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen with his heart in his throat, listening as your sweet, light laugh mixes with that of Benjamin Poindexter’s.

He knows you know all about Bullseye. Matt has told you all about Bullseye.

He knows you know his name, his face, what he did, what he does, and that the man should be locked away where no sunlight can ever reach him. Matt knows you know every detail about Benjamin Poindexter because he has sat up in bed with you countless nights telling you about his nightmares about the man.

That monster shouldn’t be walking down the street with you, with his arm slung around your shoulder like you have some sort of casual relationship with him. You shouldn't be smiling and leaning into his hold, talking about nonsense and holding boutique shopping bags while he hides various weapons under his clothes.

You shouldn't be so intimate with Benjamin Poindexter.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near him.

Matt wants to run to you and pull you from Poindexter, then beat the man to a pulp for daring to even look at you, but he can’t move. He can’t move because he doesn’t understand why any of this is happening. It feels like his brain is breaking - or like his body has just had a factory reset and he needs to reboot.

“Do you want a coffee?” you ask Poindexter - exactly like you used to ask Matt every time you passed a coffee shop. It is sweet and tempting and incredibly clear that you are the one who wants coffee. You always want coffee.

Poindexter lifts his arm - checking his watch, Matt thinks - before answering in his faux Civilian voice that hides the monster he is, “it’s almost nine.”

“Like that means anything,” you fire back, your voice so light and happy as you bump your shoulder against Poindexter’s chest. “Please?”

The man laughs, almost sounding genuine with it and Matt’s hackles raise. He wants to storm over and rip out Bullseye’s voicebox, but he remains rooted to his spot in his Rage.

“You know I’ll never deny you anything, angel.”

Poindexter pretends to be a gentleman - he opens the door to the coffee shop for you, and when you get to the counter, he asks for a medium drip coffee and your preferred order. He pays with cash while Matt tries to not let out a feral scream.

He shouldn’t know how you take your coffee.

He shouldn’t have his arm around you.

He shouldn’t be calling you ‘angel’.

Matt finally gets his body to listen to him and he crosses the boundary out of the Kitchen, racing across rooftops and trying to figure out how the hell to get you to safety. Poindexter would have no qualms about killing you and everyone in the area and he can't allow that to happen.

He needs to lure the danger away from you.

But you don't seem to get you are in danger because as you wait for your coffee, you press yourself against Poindexter’s side again.

“Do you want to finish watching that movie?” You ask softly and Matt can practically taste the sweetness in your voice. He lets himself growl at it.

“I don't know, are you going to stay awake for it?”

“Dex!”

Matt hates that he can hear you smiling. He hates he can hear Poindexter smiling.

Then so suddenly it all changes.

Matt's best guess is you see something on the TV that is playing in the shop, as you are facing that way. Your heart starts pounding in your chest while the rest of you tenses up.

Your lower lip wobbles as you shakily gasp out the most terrified sound Matt has ever heard in his life.

His heart shatters at the word that slips from your lips.

“Dex.”

Bullseye is already moving.

He grabs you by the arm before you finish saying his name and he's three steps already towards the door. The barista looks on with confusion as the both of you practically run out the door, leaving your coffee behind.

The Devil in Matt roars to life and he pushes body to move faster.

Whatever you saw on the television is driving you into a full blown panic attack. Bullseye is marching you down the street at a brisk pace and you are right at his heels, clutching onto him almost as tightly as he is clutching onto you.

You keep repeating his name quietly, pleading and begging - but not in fear of him. You are asking him to help you.

You want his protection.

And Matt doesn't understand. He doesn't understand how you could ever be in the same space as Benjamin Poindexter. How you could interact so easily with him.

What had he done to you?

Stockholm syndrome wasn't supposed to be real but he knows Poindexter is an excellent manipulator. He tricked the FBI all those years into believing he was a person instead of a monster.

“It's going to be okay,” Bullseye firmly tells you. Gone is the fake ‘aren't I charming?’ voice. This is the hard voice of the man who killed Father Lantom without blinking an eye. The hand that isn't holding you is already holding three throwing knives and his eyes are darting around, looking for any excuse to use them.

He will mow down anyone in his way.

And Matt's still too far away to stop him.

By The Grace of God, no one tries to intervene.

It's not uncommon to see people running down the street, especially in a busier area like this. To anyone who might be bothered by the running, you just appear to be in a hurry.

Matt follows you deeper into Midtown and - to his great surprise - an upscale hotel. With actual security. You have to flash your key card at the entry before they will open the door and he is honestly surprised Bullseye doesn't kill the guard.

He ends his chase in the building across the street. He will need to figure out a way in without causing a scene.

He can't let Poindexter kill more people.

You quickly end up in the elevator, and Matt just stands there as you go higher and higher into the sky. The suite you swipe your door key at is around the corner from the stairwell and Matt doubts that by chance. Bullseye probably has every centimeter of the place mapped and it isn't going to be easy to get in.

Matt becomes lost in his planning, forgetting to focus on the fact you and Poindexter are now alone.

He doesn't expect it when you rip his heart out by swirling around and throwing yourself at Poindexter.

He, of course, catches you because he was already reaching for you. He crushes you to his chest with one arm while the other buries itself in your hair. He presses his forehead to the top of your head, which is hidden against his neck.

He silently squeezes you in the tightest bearhug he can without hurting you while you weep. You crumble apart the seams and Matt can do nothing.

He is rooted to the roof of some department store as the man who almost ruined his life cradles the lover who walked out on him.

He cries along with the both of you.

He cries because he feels betrayed.

He cries because he doesn't know how this came to be.

He cries because he doesn't know why you are crying, but Benjamin Poindexter does.

Only when your body starts to give out and your sobs slow does Bullseye speak. His voice is raspy - he has been crying as well but Matt doesn't give a fuck about that - as he begs, “Please let me kill him. Please. I'll be quick, I'll be good. No suffering. Please. Let me kill all of them. Please.”

The words jolt Matt from his own thoughts and his breathing stops, waiting for your reply.

“No,” you mumble, sounding so broken and exhausted. You dip your head and nuzzle yourself into his chest while he still holds you in a tight grip.

Matt can tell you've had this conversation before.

He’s starting to go numb inside. He doesn't understand what is going on. He doesn't understand why you are acting like this.

What had that monster done to you to desensitize you to death? Why didn't this bother you?

“Why?” Bullseye demands, his anger starting to become uncontrollable. His voice is getting hard and he still has blades in his hands.

Matt needs to move, needs to stop him.

But he just stands there and listens.

You sigh, then step impossibly closer to Poindexter - you've slotted yourself completely between his thighs and your head is tucked under his chin. It's almost as close as you can be with clothes on and without fucking. The monster responds by filling any missing holes by hugging you that much tighter.

You are going to be covered in bruises.

“It will hurt more,” you barely breathe out. “If he's gone, it will hurt more. If he's just…. If he's just there, I can.” You are nodding as you are talking, like you are trying to convince yourself of your words.

Matt doesn't understand why you are trying to reason with Bullseye why Matt shouldn't be murdered in cold blood.

This isn't who you are.

What did he do to you?

“I can,” you start again, “just ignore it. Hell's Kitchen just doesn't exist. That's what we said, yeah? It's not there.”

Matt’s weeping again.

What has happened to you in these five weeks that you sound so broken?

How could he have allowed this to happen? He was so sure he had been abandoned yet again that he let his Anger overshadow the fact that he was supposed to protect the people he loved.

He had purposefully ignored you and this was his sick punishment.

God had seen his wickedness and had sent the false Devil to punish him.

But it wasn't enough according to Poindexter.

“He deserves to be punished,” the man spits. “He hurt you. Let me kill him. I'll choke the life out of him. All of them.”

What did he do?

What did Matt do?

He missed a ballet performance - which is a little hard to follow without sight - so he could stop some lingering members of the Hand from getting dragon bones. He didn't deserve Death for that, however horrible he felt about it.

“It will hurt more,” you repeat softly and Matt does not understand this argument. You should be very clearly telling Bullseye not to kill Matt.

“If they are gone it will hurt more.” There's a beat of silence, then you ask in an almost sultry whisper. “Do you want me to hurt more, Dex?”

Matt understands what is happening.

You know how to manipulate Poindexter right back. You know you're his North Star and you know exactly what that means to him.

Morality won't work on Bullseye - he has no morals - but he is a practical slave to his obsession.

That's how you keep him from killing Matt.

Matt doesn't know if he should be grateful or if he should throw up.

This isn't you, this isn't how you act. Matt doesn't know what is wrong with you and that angers him and scares him.

You aren't pretending to be his North Star. You aren't saying the right things to keep him on the right path. This isn't an act.

Your words are true.

For whatever reason, you want to avoid Matt and cuddle up to Bullseye instead.

“N-never,” Poindexter stutters out, his entire demeanor shifting into something more submissive than aggressive. “They aren't going anywhere.”

“Thank you.” You are genuine in your words and Poindexter seems to sense that. He relaxes just slightly, and after a moment, pulls his head back so he can place his forehead against yours.

“Let me make you coffee. You go shower. We’ll watch your movie until you fall asleep on me. In the morning, we'll go anywhere you like.”

Matt's stomach turns as you start to pluck at Poindexter’s t-shirt. You've stopped crying, but your voice is still wet when you mumble, “I don't want to go out tomorrow.”

“Then we'll stay in.”

Matt drops to one knee as you pull away from Poindexter and head towards the shower. Your movements are sluggish and he's pretty sure you are starting to turn on auto-pilot.

Something about the idea of spying on you bathing doesn't sit well with him, so he focuses on the monster still in the bedroom.

Poindexter waits until the water starts before he moves. Then, in lighting fast steps, he's across the room and screaming into a pillow.

Matt doesn't care about his grief or rage. He just knows he needs to hurt Bullseye enough that he can be arrested and put back into a very deep hole.

Once the monster pretends to be a man again, Matt just keeps sitting there as Poindexter starts making coffee in the hotel provided pot. The grounds are store bought from a little bakery down the street from your old gym. They are your favorite.

Once the coffee is going, the shopping bags are unpacked - they had been dropped when you had entered the room. Poindexter shakes out everything, then neatly refolds it before setting all the garments in the laundry bag in the closet. His moments are precise.

Calculated.

OCD.

Your shower ends far quicker than expected. Less than five minutes from the door closing to the door opening.

You step out of the bathroom with your hair wet and completely nude. Your soap is scented like honey and oat. It's organic. It clings to your skin.

You haven't used it since you learned about Matt's senses.

The Devil in Matt's chest seeps down to his fists and they begin to shake as you walk towards Poindexter, who is openly oogling you. His eyes go right to your chest and he swallows like a nervous teenager.

“Can I have your shirt?”

The question is shy and hesitant and honest and Matt wants to break each and every one of Bullseye’s ribs.

Poindexter gives you his shirt like it was an order and he is a Good Soldier. You pull it on, and wearing only it, take the monster’s hand and lead him to bed.

There is no sex, despite what Matt was expecting.

You curl up, your head on his chest, and turn on a movie.

You fall asleep within minutes and Bullseye lays there and watches you sleep for the remainder of the film.

Matt sits and keeps his senses focused on nothing else.

After the credits roll, Poindexter rewinds the movie back to exactly the point where you fell asleep before turning off the TV.

He's surprisingly gentle as he moves you to be sleeping on a pillow instead of his bare chest. He tucks you in under the blanket, then after a moment of hesitation, runs the back of his index finger over your cheek. “Good night, angel. I'll keep you safe.”

Matt's going to make sure to cut off his hand the next time they encounter each other.

Poindexter turns off all the lights then moves to stand in the most defensively strategic point in the room. He falls into the relaxed stance of an ever alert soldier guarding the most precious of treasures - like he expects someone to come and he is ready for them.

Poindexter stays at his post all night and only when the sun start to rise is when Matt's feet finally move.

As he returns to his apartment, Matt begins to question if Benjamin Poindexter is going to be the one to Damn him.

[fatcatlittlebox]

I go back to this shot so many times because I think it captures so many themes central to this show and central to Halbrand and Galadriel's relationship. It is at once intimate but also cosmically symbolic, like so many of Tolkien's themes are. It's why it recurs so often (as I have touched upon in previous metas). They are sleeping. It's a simple but powerful image. The words Galadriel says from the beginning -- Evil does not sleep. It waits— have added meaning. Here, we see "Halbrand" sleeping. We later find out that Halbrand is actually Sauron. Does that mean he was pretending here? It's a mystery but I think there are enough visual clues to support that this was real. This was Sauron’s reset to factory settings. As I have said before, his meeting on the sea with Galadriel was baptismal. He was reborn. Which echoes the foundational Tolkien belief that "nothing is evil in the beginning." Meaning that the races of Middle Earth and humanity in ours have the potential for good. And everything that happens, with the person and identity that Sauron tries to manifest as “Halbrand” from this point forward is not a lie. But an extension of this. He's sleeping. “Halbrand” is a dream. A dream that ended when evil awoke.

And as an aside it’s worth noting these lines between Arwen and Aragorn in FOTR:

Arwen: Do you remember when we first met?

Aragorn: I thought I had wandered into a dream.

Arwen: Long years have passed. You did not have the cares you carry now. Do you remember what I told you?

Aragorn: You said you’d bind yourself to me. Forsaking the immortal life of your people.

That's why the raft scene is so important. And it’s call forward to Aragorn and Arwen. Also you never see Sauron asleep again. It could be just a throwaway coincidence if not for the fact that we actually do see Sauron awake when others are sleeping, either seething in his nefarious plots or rage-brooding throughout the night.

Even though dreams are no more real than illusions, they reveal truths, not lies. Because it is the realm of the subconscious. Our true selves as we are or who we wish to be. Our unexpressed desires or the fulfillment of unrequited hopes. In this moment, emphasized by two separate visuals, both Halbrand and Galadriel are sleeping. They are not just bound by fate and the vow they enacted in the midst of the storm. They are bound in this dream.

This idea is revisited again and again in season 2. Often I'm struck by the look on Elrond's face during this exchange. It's not the look of distrust or disappointment.

In this brief instant, Elrond is moved with sorrow for his dearest friend, for her broken heart. He cares deeply for Galadriel. You can see that he feels the depth of her pain and mourning for the love that she lost. In a way, it is a prescient moment because his own future will be marred by such bitter loss and tragic love that may or may not be the fruit of this doomed pairing. Still, Elrond's words are not judgement. Just truth. Elven memories do not dim. And so Galadriel will always be haunted by it. Which is why Elrond tells her, sadly: "He never left." In that memory of a dream, Halbrand survives. His mark is there. And when Galadriel reaches for Elrond to ground herself, he only provides a comforting pat and firmly releases her hand. I think part of it is a juxtaposition to Sauron. Where in the past, she instinctually reached for Halbrand and he grasped her in return, never intending to let go. She is brought back to the moment where they were at their closest point, where everything seemed to align perfectly. A memory perhaps tinged with the temptation and regret over having not reached for Halbrand as she may have desperately desired. And you see Elrond witness it right in front of him! When Galadriel’s mind wanders into a daydream, you can see Elrond's grief. And also, I think the other part of it is the symbolic gesture underscoring that Elrond cannot pull her from this dream. He cannot liberate her. No one else can. Because he, Halbrand, never left. So Galadriel must summon strength and clarity to let him go. To walk away.

Because I think Sauron left a part of himself in this dream. If we revisit this shot where Galadriel has fallen. Seemingly "asleep" -- you see the impression of a figure next to her. As I said before, I think this is meant to suggest that not only was someone there, but that someone is still there. In the dream world or even the unseen one. In that place where elven memory does not fade with the good borne of their shared dream: hope, loyalty, bravery and love. In contrast, you see Sauron watching. Because evil is awake. And Sauron is waiting.

[sungshoe]

5 songs

idol!taesan x former idol!reader nsfw

taesan as chase atlantic songs

➤ now playing: empty · chase atlantic

genre / warnings: lowercase intended, angst, comfort, fluff, smut, mental health, implied trauma, dating scandal, emotional distress, emotional intimacy, (ex-)addiction, drugs, oral sex (m), semi-public sex (changing room), fingering (f self), grinding, sub!teasan, caretaker!taesan, purely fictional idol au, "babydoll" nickname, implied unprotected sex, p in v, and creampie.

synopsis: you got involved in a dating scandal with taesan. your career went downhill overnight and all taesan needed to do was deny the rumours — but he didn’t. while taesan went on a harmless hiatus, you struggled to cope and rebuilt your life from scratch. the silence was loud and obnoxious until the two of you found yourselves singing in your boutique. the melodies uncovered a loving duet and composed a desire for each other’s rhythm.

word count: 2400

a picture and a lie — that’s all it took. your existence in the industry was wiped within a few hours.

you disappeared, by force of the masses.

not even a full album had been released yet. you only had two singles and one mini album. 5 songs, that’s all your career amounted to.

“female idol caught sneaking out, date with taesan?”, all the articles were titled.

false, you never met that night.

besides, you and taesan stopped meeting after the reality show aired. you survived the smaller rumours but this one blew up out of proportion.

there was no date, only polite smiles and, sadly, scarce texts. how could they sway around such a damaging narrative?

you interacted inconsistently to start anything, let alone go on secret dates.

the press ran with anything, even a falsehood. they knew the headline was worth all the publicity, even if it jeopardised your livelihood.

you asked your company to deny it and they did. his agency on the other hand hit you with radio silence.

you cowardly spammed him, begging him to deny the articles too. you sent texts back to back, hoping he’d see at least one of them pop up on his screen.

delivered. taesan never replied, he never checked.

old friends turning into strangers. even if you meant nothing to him, he could’ve at least told the people the truth.

without a single second thought, you were dropped by your company. no call, no nothing. you, once again, found out via the media.

fine. “you win, gold star”, you sent before blocking taesan. his career survived with nothing more than a harmless hiatus.

you? you degraded to a worthless creature who could only be known as “a desperate rookie, seeking male validation from her senior”, as a youtube video phrased it.

you started out life again. a full factory reset.

you rented a building in a secluded neighborhood and sold clothes you made by hand — no one visited though. you were close to bankruptcy.

during opening hours, you’d sometimes sleep on the cashier counter. no one was coming anyways.

except the dealer — he visited every week.

red pill helped you get your words out. whatever was left unsaid by the press and the long-forgotten individual, was confessed by the medicine.

blue pill, wouldn’t it help you calm down? sadly, no matter what you tried, you’d still find yourself sobbing on the cold stone kitchen floor. your heart felt solid, like the ground underneath.

“mama, what’s the reason i feel empty?”, you cried out over the phone. only her voice would make you live through it all a little longer.

but you couldn’t return to your hometown. you promised to make a lot of money — now you were dirt poor.

your idol dream abruptly ended. as if your alarm clock went off and you had woken up to the harsh reality.

one day, a bell rang. it wasn’t mom, it wasn’t your alarm, it was the store bell.

someone entered. “i still got some”, you said to the figure. the dealer visited a day too early.

no answer? strange, normally the dealer would immediately leave. you looked up and blinked.

that wasn’t the dealer — it was taesan.

the boy was roaming around the store, looking for a new shirt. his gaze flicked around your boutique. you noticed he dyed his hair a saturated red colour.

he briefly stopped at an item he liked. he picked it and politely walked up to the cashier’s desk.

as his eyes met yours, time stopped for the both of you. it felt like eternity had passed before one of you said anything.

“oh—i didn’t know you worked here”, he said awkwardly.

you scoffed at his comment. “i own this fucking place, taesan”, you said before you took the item in his hand and threw it in his face.

you walked away from him, towards the staff room he couldn’t enter.

“i didn’t say anything because i thought the silence would protect you”, taesan said apologetically — he was talking about the dating scandal.

you kept walking while shaking your head, refusing to believe his silence was meant to help you.

“i thought if i didn’t respond, the rumours would die down and we could start from there”, he said with sad eyes. you refused to look at him.

your desperate messages saw no reply — not even worth a single click. you felt useless, holding onto a piece of paper that kept your life together.

taesan’s ignorance ripped it apart, leaving you with paper scars. and you wished he would glue it back together, but now it felt too late.

“I thought—“, he continued while walking up to you.

“i might pop another please don’t tempt me”, you said before slamming the staff room door shut.

taesan stood outside. staring at the closed door, that reflected how your heart was.

you fell to the ground, with tears in your eyes. you cried silently for a couple of minutes. refraining from resorting to the drugs in your pocket.

your head spiralled and overflowed with thoughts.

you held onto the reserve clothing rack as you slowly stood up, trying to calm yourself down on the other side of the door. the emotions felt unbearable to suppress.

he realised it. he ruined you.

taesan wanted to apologise, he wanted to beg you to come out. but he did not have the key to your heart, it got lost. he unknowingly dropped it.

he walked up to a mirror. “i don’t know what i’m doing”, taesan whispered while looking at himself.

he wanted to be firm and reliable but he was human too. “this might be the reason why she left me”, he thought to himself.

then he looked at his face. he didn’t realise a tear ran down his cheek. “you don’t deserve to cry”, he said quietly to his reflection.

taesan returned to the door. he knocked.

“i know i fucked up badly but—we could try—“, taesan suggested through the gaps of the door.

“you still think about those old times. but i’ve been sober for 48 hours”, you yell out.

you couldn’t go back. you lived and suffered in the present.

this time, you were addicted to substances. you kept making attempts to break free, so there’s no way you would do this all over again.

to you, nothing could reverse the void taesan had created. you only had yourself and the packages of drugs.

“must be fun still being able to sing. i had 5 songs before you blew my light out”, you cried out.

“i listen to all your 5 songs. all day, every day”, he whispered against the door, hoping you could hear him.

“lies. i have zero listeners. we both know — not a single soul listened to what i had to say during the scandal either”, you slapped back with a broken voice.

taesan started knocking the melody of one of the songs on the door. he had to show you that he never forgot about you.

you froze. you immediately recognised which song it was.

you heard taesan’s voice through the door crack. he sang your lyrics. he knew every single world, flawlessly.

you felt like you were doomed again. the world set you up, again, making you relive the pain all over.

you leaned against door and emotionally sang along to your song. you felt comforted by the individual who took that comfort away from you.

tears ran down your face like waterfalls. despite not seeing taesan, you felt his presence. something you thought was impossible after the dreadful event.

the song finished. the store fell silent, like it usually did.

taesan removed his hand from the door. “if you sing the other 4 sings with me, i will go”, taesan pleaded.

this time he took out his phone. he started playing your songs and he sang along.

this time you didn’t sing. you needed time to process it all.

no words, sounds, nor thoughts came out of your mouth. still, taesan kept singing your song, in the hopes that you’d somehow change your mind.

click.

the door opened — your heart did too.

taesan looked at you with unspoken want. he didn’t expect you to open the door. his eyes carefully traced your exhausted frame.

you held onto the door knob. “the green pill doesn’t do shit. it barely gets me higher than this music”, slipped out of your mouth.

taesan looked worried. he quickly snatched the green pill bottle out of your pocket. he smashed it on the ground.

“never take that again, promise me”, he said as he pressed you against him in a hug. your tired eyes closed as you felt his touch.

you stood there, motionless. you wanted to hug him back, but you felt too overstimulated in the moment.

you started sobbing in his arms. not knowing what to do. “i’m here, baby”, taesan whispered.

you sniffed against his shoulder. you painfully said “tell me why the fuck i feel so empty”.

taesan gently ran his hand through your hair. your song still played in the background.

“i will love you unconditionally, allow me to”, he softly responded.

you held his hand and took the shirt that he initially wanted to buy. you two walked to the changing room, while you were leaning on his arm.

you told him to take off his hoodie as you closed the curtain of the changing room. no one else was around, but you felt like closing off the area.

he obediently took off his hoodie and looked at you with longing. he felt weak and devoted to your voice.

you touched his skin lightly before you put the shirt on his upper body.

“you look pretty in my clothes”, you said nearly inaudible. he smiled in response.

you felt your dried up tears on your face. they stretched tightly across your face.

taesan noticed that it bothered you. he grabbed your hand and planted a kiss on it.

then he whispered “tell me if you’re uncomfortable”. you nodded.

he touched your cheek slowly and then went up to your face to lick the places where your tears dried up.

taesan rubbed your face gently and wiped it clean. leaving no stain or scratch behind. he treated you like you were made of porcelain.

he brushed through your hair like you were a doll and cupped your cheeks. “do you feel better now?”, he asked you softly.

“yes”, you answered. you felt the anger cool down completely.

“do you want to wear my hoodie? it’s cozy and comfy”, he said.

“i do”, you replied, wanting to feel the soft material that clothed him.

he gave you the hoodie as you took off your tank top. you felt a helping hand that helped you slowly, almost too cautiously, pull down the hoodie.

you looked at him. a smile formed on your face.

“i’m not made of glass, taesan”, you giggled.

“i’d not forgive myself if i left a scar on you again—i—”, he said but was interrupted by a big hug.

“forget it. let’s pretend we just met — love at first sight”, you suggested. you placed a kiss on his jawline.

taesan was flustered. he licked his lips before kissing your cheek.

you tapped your index finger on your lips and pouted while looking him up and down. he understood.

he pressed his lips onto yours. the sweet kiss lasted as long as all 5 of your songs combined — still playing from taesan’s phone out in the store.

you tapped his solid stomach. taesan sat down on the chair inside the changing room and raised his shirt.

you bent down in between his knees and licked his abs. you looked up at taesan to see his reaction.

he flinched and his lips parted. you loved the sight.

then you unbuckled his pants and pulled his boxers and underwear down.

you slowly took out his cock and he twitched.

“uaghh—”, taesan moaned. his head fell back against the wall. he gripped the chair he sat on.

“i love you”, you whispered against his length, sending vibrations from taesan’s bottom to the top.

“shit, my babydoll—“, taesan loudly groaned. you licked his tip slowly in response. “mmmmhh—”, you moaned.

you swallowed all the precum before you placed a kiss on it. “pretty boy tastes so sweet”, you giggled softly.

you enjoyed seeing him groan several times.

he seemed to have mental frustrations too, you could tell. that’s why you wanted to treat him well.

you sat on his lap and kissed him passionately, inserting your tongue. he tasted himself.

you earned a moan from him as you grinded your clothed pussy against his bare dick. “aughh—so good babydoll”, taesan moaned again.

you grinded against his dick. his grunts sounded so lovely.

you wished you could record it and play it every day. your songs were nothing compared to the beautiful sounds this man made.

taesan started hissing as he was close to his orgasm.

you removed your jeans and underwear and rubbed your clit against his needy cock. not putting him inside yet but giving him enough friction.

taesan moved his hips according to your rhythm. it was as if your bodies were writing a song and his moans were the lyrics.

“love—ughh—you”, taesan said as he came on his stomach. you swiped a finger through it and then licked all of it on his stomach.

you put the wet finger in your pussy, pumping it in and out a few times while maintaining eye contact. taesan loved it.

you then told him to open his mouth and told him to taste it. he felt so turned on, he became hard again in an instant.

you noticed and smirked. “wanna make more music?”, you whispered seductively in his ears.

you two (re)produced something new, something unheard before. your bodies created wet sounds that surpassed any other melody that existed.

you were glad, after only having released 5 of your works, you wanted to make more.

though not inside the studio but inside your favourite artist.

you replayed the climax of the chorus all over again. until the instruments trembled, too tired for another round.

the desperate tempo of the song lasted until the artists both finished their final verses. with a pleasant tune in each other’s ear.

what a fucking collab.

／view the whole series

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 2

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 2.7k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The first step in your mission to reclaim your heart back from Hoshina Soshiro is to ignore his texts. 

// omg my blade got chipped in a fight //  // daikaiju with a ridiculously hard shell //  // so annoying!! //  // hmph!!! // // fix it for meeeeee //

<kindly send me your request through official channels please, vice captain hoshina>

// !?!?!??!?!// // u still have indigestion???//

You really should’ve foreseen his sheer stubbornness though, considering the mountain of rejection he had to claw through to get to where he is. He springs a surprise visit on you, breaking into your lab without warning. 

“Did you seriously ask me to fill in an official form for upgrades?” he demands, miffed. 

“Record keeping purposes”, you lie through your teeth. “My boss is on my back.” 

“Your boss?!” he repeats incredulously. “Aren’t you the head of your department?” 

A department consisting only of three overworked blade specialists servicing the entirety of Japan’s Defense Force and private security forces, but he has a point. “Well, the auditors might run their checks, and how am I supposed to justify spending budget on reckless improvements that a certain vice captain demands -” 

He slings an arm over your shoulder and a crackle of electricity zips up your spine. “C’mon, don’t be silly -” 

You shrug him off, waiting nothing better than to run for the toilets to fan away the heat spreading up the column of your neck to the apples of your cheek. “Fine”, you acquiesce. “I’ll get to it - just, stop bugging me -” 

He smirks, content at getting his way. “Great, now we can grab lunch. Food here’s so much better than on base -” 

That, you can fend off. “Can’t”, you say. “Lunch with colleagues. And no, you can’t join, Hana-chan wants to cry about her ex, and you’ll make her uncomfortable if you’re there.”

He goggles at you. “Since when do you have friends besides me?” 

“Always, you rude shit”, you say, though really, you’ve just been putting in more effort in being more social at work. “Now, get out.” 

At last, he leaves, so you can reset your heart to its factory settings. You fix his katanas and send it back via courier, when previously you might have delivered it to the base yourself as an excuse to see him again.

The next step is to find something else to preoccupy you. 

You sign up for pottery lessons on Sunday afternoons, which clashes directly with when Soshiro gets the majority of his time off. You aim to slaughter two birds with a single stroke, an excuse to avoid him coupled with a hobby for you that has nothing to do with him. 

It comes naturally to you, since you’re accustomed to using your hands and handling heat to create things, even if it’s usually steel, not soft clay. But it’s different when you do it for fun, for yourself. Blades can be beautiful, but your focus when hammering at them has always been its function, not form, so it’s a welcome change to just create things for its beauty. 

You make cups and bowls for your colleagues (now friends), a set of sake cups for your parents in a rust-red glaze. Your proudest creation is a tea set that you keep for yourself, displayed on the windowsill to remind you of a summer sky when it’s grey. 

Even Yamamoto-san gets a little gift since you now consider him a friend, a stone pot for a plant  he complained of having outgrown its home. He reciprocates next month with a plant for you, who he says needs a home. This you struggle with, not being born with a green thumb. You studiously research plant-rearing tips and plunk the monstera you are gifted with by your prized tea set, but it truly thrives when you bring another potted plant home. Pothos, at first, because they’re too-determined to live. Bird’s fern, for it’s graceful leaves. When you’re more confident, you top it off with azaleas, for colour, hydrangeas to match your tea set.   

(not violets, never violets)

“Huh”, you stare at the jungle on your balcony “Even plants need friends, I guess.” 

It’s still little too soon to put yourself out there on the dating apps and start searching in the radioactive waste pool of the Tokyo dating scene when your heart is still tethered to Hoshina Soshiro. Any willpower you have to stay away is shaken when you hear that Soshiro’s been assigned a numbers weapon, especially after hearing whispers in the lab that testing has been going terribly. You ask permission to be on base to watch one testing session yourself as a weapons technician. The Numbers Weapon 10 has a mind of its own, and it keeps clashing with Soshiro, causing their test results to be abysmally low. 

“Will he be safe?” you question Okonogi-san, the overworked third base operations leader. 

“If he doesn’t get his numbers up with the weapon, I doubt he’ll be allowed to wear it out on the field”, she shrugs. 

You slip away before he’s released from testing grounds. 

// did u srsly come to base //  // and not say hi!?!??! //  // i haven’t seen ur face in forever // 

<super bz, sorry!!> 

It’s the truth. Despite your pledge to carve out more space to live a life that yours, you make an exception, burning hours on a new weapon to match the volatile Numbers weapon that by all reports, only wants to be worn by Soshiro. Anyone who knows anything about Soshiro knows of his preference for twin blades, ‘cos it makes me look cool’, he jokes, so no one will anticipate a single katana as a backup weapon. 

// ty for the katana //  // it’s q cool //  // ok, v v cool //  // wld be cooler if you dropped by to say hi //  // free this weekend? //

You take a train all the way back to Osaka to visit your parents instead, lest he take it upon himself to commit larceny by breaking into your apartment. You don’t put it past him, since he has the combination to your front lock - his birthday, that’s another thing you need to change. 

“How’s Yamamoto-san?” your mother asks, none too subtly. 

You know your parents are proud of both you and your older brother for following the family’s traditions, and you’re lucky they’re progressive enough to encourage it even in you, but they’re of the age where they’re starting to long for grandchildren. Your older brother’s wedding scheduled for next year should distract them for now, but they’ll soon look to replicate their success with you. 

“He’s pretty nice, but I don’t think he’s the one”, you reply.

Your mother’s lips purse. “Are you still hung up on that Hoshino boy?” 

You’re stung into silence, your mother’s directness catching you off-guard. She tsks at you, pouring you tea that’s bitter from being steeped too long. 

“I’m not - that’s not -” 

Her gaze is sharper than any blade you’ve ever made. “Don’t insult me by lying.” 

“Ka-san. It’s hard but I’m trying to get over it- gods, it’s so embarrassing to say this aloud in front of my own mother -”

She sniffs imperiously. “Try harder.”

“Will do”, you reply dryly. “I’ll just walk into the nearest combini and pick up the first guy they have sitting on the shelf, shall I?” 

She raps your knuckles with her chopsticks. “Don’t be insolent”, she clucks. “Hoshina Soshiro -” 

“I know, ‘ka-san”, you interrupt, the wound still raw under its scabbing. “You don’t have to say it.” 

“Hm.” 

It’s too difficult to meet your mother’s eyes, so you’re glad when she bustles off to the kitchen. A plate is shoved under your nose, oranges, painstakingly peeled, apples, perfectly sliced. 

“There’ll be mangoes if you come back next week”, your mother says. 

“That’ll be nice”, you smile. 

The next step is the hardest, the part you fear the most. 

Soshiro insists on seeing you. There’s no excuse he accepts, not after forty two calls and unread messages. Initially you toyed with changing the combination on your front door to keep him out, but you’re certain he’ll stand outside and cause a ruckus until you let him in.

He’s waiting in your apartment when you return from class. “Okairie”, he grounds out, jaw set. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

There’s no point running. He’ll catch up with you within seconds anyway. 

You drop your bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. “It’s nice to see you too”, you reply, skirting around his palpable annoyance. “Are you staying for dinner? I can make curry rice - ”

“I wanna know why you’ve been ignoring me.”

You plaster on a smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you hedge. “I mean, I’ve been busy at work, you’ve been busy at work - I’ve been picking up new hobbies -”

“Which I’d know, if you talked to me in the past three months -” 

“I’ve really been too busy, haven’t had the chance -” 

“Nonsense”, he scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t know that you dropped by base without saying hi -” 

“Pretty sure you were too busy tussling with that new combat suit  -” 

“You didn’t even bother to lunch with me the last time I came to your office -” 

“I was busy working on your weapon, which I don’t hear you complaining about -” 

You stop short when he takes you by your shoulders. You smell coffee and steel, a scent that just so Soshiro, that it makes your heart forget to beat. He’s close, far too close that you can see the dying sun-gold illuminating the violet iris of his eyes. You squeak as he tips your chin up, calloused fingers so painfully gentle as he meets your gaze. “Are you sure we’re okay?”, he asks softly. “Did I do something wrong?” 

Other than torturing your heart by being within your vicinity? 

Shaking your head, you take a large step back. “All good”, you splutter, ears on fire. 

He doesn’t give you a chance to hide, shouldering into your space. “Somehow I don’t believe you”, he pinches your cheek. “Spill it. Stop lyin’.” 

The pieces of your heart are stitched together with fragile threads, but his presence makes your heart slam itself against your ribcage over and over again. You are powerless from stopping it from falling apart again. 

“You can eat my entire tub of chestnut ice cream -” 

“Stop tryin’ to distract me.” He leans in, almost nose to nose with you, the curve of his mouth so dangerously close to your lips that your heart chooses this precise moment to combust. “Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it.” 

Courage has never been your strong suit, but you owe it to Soshrio to be brave enough to be honest that it’s not him, never him that made you run and hide. It’s your traitorous heart at blame. Plus, you figure, when he turns you down, perhaps it’ll finally deprive your heart of any lingering hopes it harbours, so you can finally, finally reclaim ownership of your heart. 

Your lungs claw for air. 

“It’s not anything you did”, you whisper. “I just wanted more than what you probably ever thought to give.” 

His brows pinch together in confusion. 

“It’s just - I know you’re busy doing big things in the Defense Force and you probably never have time in between killing a million kaijus to consider anything outside of work, and I know that you’ve never given any indication that you see me more than just a friend, cos really, I know where I stand -” 

“You’re rambling.” He shakes you. “You’re not making any sense.” 

You close your eyes. 

(plunge a knife into your chest, carve it out whilst it's still beating, still bleeding)

“I like you, Soshiro-kun”, you say. “Not just as a friend, in case that wasn’t clear enough.” 

“Oh.”

It’s a simple word with exactly one syllable, but it does the job. He stares at you, slack jawed. His reaction twists the knife deeper into your belly. You clutch the counter for balance, prevent yourself from doubling over, spilling your guts on your kitchen floor. “I didn’t wanna ruin our friendship so I’ve just been kinda distant. I needed - I needed space. Just to get over it. I’m sorry if I worried you.” 

He still doesn’t respond. 

“Soshiro -” 

He looks up and you read only pity in his gaze. “I’m sorry -”

Your hurt pride will not allow you to let him see you fall apart. “Can we attack that tub of ice cream now”, you interrupt. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” 

“Right”, he says after a long pause, face carefully blank. “Ice cream.” 

You spend the rest of the evening eating ice cream and decidedly avoiding his gaze while chattering away about everything and nothing at all, papering over any awkwardness in a desperate attempt to pretend you don’t care that you’ve just killed any chance you’ve had at keeping your friendship intact. He’s almost silent save for some mmhms and grunts to indicate he’s still listening, so unlike his usual talkative replate with a joke in hand. You too, cannot put up with this charade anymore, so you feign tiredness, just to cut this ordeal short. 

“Stay safe”, you remind him. “Don’t get eaten by a kaiju.” 

“Yeah”, he replies. 

He doesn’t say seeya later, as he usually does. You’re unsurprised by that. 

Your phone remains empty of any new messages from him. 

In the initial aftermath, you drown yourself in work to overcompensate for your wandering mind and wishful heart. All tweaks to his weaponry are done purely through official channels, as you previously requested. He doesn’t even text you a thanks when you stay up working on changes to his blades. Not that you’ve ever felt entitled to his gratitude. It’s just your job - one that you’ve decided to take up because your seven year old self lost her heart to him, but really, that’s on you, not him. 

There are no spontaneous lunchtime visits, not even when you make updates to his brother’s tech. He doesn’t drop by your apartment the next time he’s off-duty, nor he does ask you to accompany him to another overpriced dessert cafe, not even when the gingko trees in Tokyo turn yellow, marking the season for every store to have a mont blanc special which you know he’d be weak for. 

This is good, you tell yourself. 

It hurts less than you expected. Of course it splits open your stitched-closed wounds to hear him say in your face what you already knew, that Hoshina Soshiro will never love you, not in this lifetime or the next. You allow yourself a few lonely nights to wallow in self-pity, spend a weekend facedown on your bed, stifling your screams into your pillow.  You might have lost your footing momentarily, slipped down a ravine of despair, but with a few weeks’ grace, you start to claw your way out of the ravine of despair. 

You will find your footing, find a way to get over him, live a life without Hoshina Soshiro by your side. 

You will. You will. 

It will become easier. You find contentment sitting on your balcony by yourself as the evenings grow cooler, leaves catching in the breeze, a meal you cooked for yourself on your lap. You throw yourself headfirst into pottery classes, where all you focus on is the feel of soft clay melting into your hands. Between work, your hobbies and weekend visits home, you don’t give yourself time to think about anything or anyone else anymore. 

Weeks pass. 

You catch a glimpse of him on the office TV as you clock in for work. Though you almost always turn it off right away, lest your heart believe it can find its way back to him, you make an exception today when the TV starts to blare about some daikaiju appearing, one after another across Japan, the third division  deploying to a location not too far away from you. 

 <stay safe>

 <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>

 <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

The building starts to shake. 

You put your phone away. Your co-workers surround the screen, yelling about evacuations and contingencies. You start to head down towards the forge, determined to save as much of your handiwork as you can. Soshiro and the rest of the swordsmen in the Defense Force will need whatever you can save. 

a/n: manga spoilers from the next chapt onwards, read at your own risk! also, am off riding in mongolia til the 20th - next chapter out after - pls lmk what you guys think in the meantime ;)

[mommy-mortis]

Irish Vampire Blues - 12

Cause nothing even matters, at all

-Nothing Even Matters by Lauryn Hill

You and Remmick had laid on the floor and talked for hours feeling each other out; it had occurred to you that you both might have had a warped view of one another.

Remmick had definitely had a warped view of the Shadows; he had saw them as an omniscient being that had taunted him, but in reality it had was a collective of shadow spirits that had banded together, latching onto the strongest being it could find just at the right moment, just so it could watch BET Uncut.

The Shadows’ supposed ‘taunts’ that you were leaving him, had in reality been a heads up that you were leaving, but would return later.

His beef had been a one sided paranoia fest, which had driven the shadows to hang out with the Hobbs.

It thought its absence would calm his nerves, but when he had found out about game night between it and the Hobbs, he lost it; worst of all you had decided to join them.

Paired with the constant need to micro manage his flock to the best of his abilities, and the Shadows influence over you, (its friendly demeanor?) paranoia had over taken him.

You think back to when you were dating Michael. He would give up at the first signs of resistance, pushing his problems on to you; and you always fixed them.

It had been what you thought a good partner would do, and at first it felt good to be needed in such a way.

The novelty wore off pretty quickly; you were no longer a partner he could go to but instead a machine that printed out the solutions to all his problems. In the end he still couldn’t even be damned to change your ink storage, the least he could have done was try to maintain your relationship; but instead he let himself get caught fucking the copying machine.

With Remmick it hadn’t felt the same. Yes he was highly incompetent when it came to managing his flock without the uses of collective intelligence.

He tried the best he could, but ultimately he began to fail, but not once did he fold.

He wasn’t going to give up on his flock, and he wasn’t going to push that responsibility on to someone else, and for that you admired him.

Together you had washed the day off of your bodies, you watched the tension leave his face and muscles, relaxing as the blood washed off his body, circling into the drain.

As you washed your own body you had wondered what kind of life had he lived before becoming what he was, where in Erin’s Isle had he lived and what had been the profession that had given him that body. You hadn’t meant to stare, but you had to admit, he was attractive.

He had caught you staring as your eyes drifted south, you had expected him to give you a cocky grin or even initiate sex, but instead he became timid and looked away. This confused you; after becoming untethered from the collective he had slowly become more reserved, as if he had been hit with a factory reset, this piqued your interest.

You dried yourselves off, you had put on your hair bonnet and you both had put on the matching robes you had bought.

You laid on the couch and he followed your lead as you started work, he was quiet as you tapped away at your laptop. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be resting when he heard you log out of your computer and began putting it away, he looked at the clock, it was much too soon for you to be finished.

“Is everything alright?” his face full of concern, he hoped he hadn’t been bothering you while waiting for you to finish, he knew how much your career meant to you.

“I quit my job, effective immediately, no two week notice.” You said nonchalantly, you even had a slight smile as you said it.

“Has something happened?” he pulls you over deeply inhaling your scent “You’re not sick,” he said as a statement and not a question.

You just smile at him “You know something Remmick, before I met you my career was everything to me.” he slowly furrows his brows, tilting his head and squinting his eyes mocking you for stating the obvious.

You ignore his sassy behavior, opting to just continue what you were saying ”In a way you saved me” He looks up at you, that wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, he places the back of his hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

You playfully swipe his hand away, “I’m serious, you were right when you said there was a deep sadness in me, a loneliness that I drowned by keeping busy” you pause not even knowing where all this was coming from, “After getting to spend time with and then ultimately having to say goodbye to my grandmother, I had an epiphany; I didn’t like who I was as a person.” You look him in the eyes “I want something different from life.”

You sit on his lap taking the initiative and kiss him first, moaning into your mouth he wraps his arms around you to bring you close.

“I want to help manage the community.”

He nods focused on feeling your body “Of course Sweetheart”

You lay little kisses on the side of his lips; you can feel his length began to grow underneath his robe as you rub your pussy against him.

He leaves kisses on your neck then on to your titties, he reaches to loosen the knot on your robe for better access.

Placing your hand over his you pull away to look him in the eye “When’s the last time you got your dick sucked?”

He pauses “Uh, I…” he looks like he’s solving multiple equations at once.

“Have you never had a blow job before?” your eyebrows crinkle waiting for him to answer.

“Of course I have.” he looks insulted by your insinuation that he hasn’t “...it’s just been a while…”

“What do you consider a while?”

He gets a far off look before answering “It had been spring… I think”

You raise an eyebrow in question “Spring of what year?”

“Actually it was the end of summer before my embrace, I remember now cus that was around the time I got marri-”

Your eyes go wide “Remmick you haven’t gotten a blow job since you were human?” he nods watching you become more animated, “And how long have you been...” you had never asked but now you were curious to know.

“Oh, I stopped, uh counting after the first thousand years” smiling at you, determination coursed through your blood as you laid kisses on his body.

“Oh sugar what are you doing?” He said, enjoying the attention you were blessing him with.

“I’m rectifying that right now, It’s a damn shame for your only dick sucking to come from some random you met before you got married.”

His next word came out slow, as if he didn’t particularly know how to word it, “Actually…” Touching your temple with your fingers, you try to process what he’s about to tell you. “Don’t tell the only blowjob you received was from your wife, over a thousand years ago.” He nods.

Placing your hands on his chest, you motion for him to lean back as you slowly roll off his lap and on to the rug placed at the base of the couch.

He slowly opens his legs giving you room to sit between them.

The thigh length robes hide almost nothing, his dick is hard as a brick before you even touch him.

He gives you one of his filthiest fucking moans, as you grab his dick bringing it to your lips to give the tip a lick.

“Oh fuck, Mo Ghrá.” tilting his head back he tightly closes his eyes. You remove your lips from his dick.

“Remmick look at me.” He focuses his eyes back on you and you put your lips back around him while pumping his dick in your mouth, your lips start to move further down until you notice his eyes are closed again.

Confusion paints his face as you pop your lips off his dick, gripping him tightly while you stroking him up and down, “If you take your eyes off of me one more time, I’ll stop completely.”

You can hear the muffled whine of your name while he bites his knuckles ”Oh, Heavenly father.” It sounds like a curse falling from his lips. He drops his hand locking his eyes with yours, “You evil woman” he says while gripping the side of the couch to brace himself.

Remmick watches as you toss off your silky pink bonnet, giving him access to your hair (don’t try this at home) he can’t help himself as he grips the back of your neck, his fingers brushing against the baby hairs on your nape.

His hips lift off the couch as you slurp on him while using both hands. You began rubbing his dick in a circular motion, from the tip to the base and back, sucking and licking the tip.

He tries to speak but it comes out incoherently at first, so he tries again “Fuck! baby girl, I don’t know the etiquette of all this” he let’s out a moan, ”I’m close” he gently gives you a nudge of warning.

Instead of pulling away from you to let him finish, you pick up the pace and in one fluid motion make contact with the base of his dick and back up to his tip, giving it a nice long slurp.

“Fuck, baby” his eyes never leave yours as he coats the back of your throat “Fuck, you are truly the goddamned devil.” You smirk, your lips still wrapped around him; it’s funny how the roles reverse.

Panting hard he looks delirious as you continue sucking getting every drop outta him. “Oh Fuck” he shivers as the last drops of come leave his nut sac “Marry me Darlin’.” You look at him, giving him one last lick from the base then giving the tip a kiss.

You get off your knees, they’re a little sore but the results were worth it. “I’ll forget you said that” gesturing your hands to say no hard feelings.

There’s a fire in his eyes, “I meant it.” You were trying to keep things cool and give him an out.

“Look Remmick many men have proposed while in the throws of passion, that was probably how you got married the first time.” He looks alarmed as you cross your arms sounding more accusatory than you meant to.

“No,” he says as you look down at him “It was an arranged marriage, millers daughter and a farmers son,” his eyes lower to the ground “It hadn’t fully been our choice... I don’t even remember her name.”

Now you felt bad. Remmick never gave you a reason to be weary of him, at least when it came to matters of the heart.

You walk away from him not saying a word. You had put it away as soon as you could; not wanting to lose one of the last things you had of your grandmother. Grabbing the box, you put it in the pocket of your robe.

You come back to find him with his head in his hands, he wasn’t crying but he was going through it, he lifts his head to see you walking towards him,

He stands up trying to apologize “I won’t ask for more than you’re willing to give, just please, please don’t lea-” You place a finger on his lips, and move your hand to caress the side of his face, you watch as he leans into your touch.

“I promised I wouldn’t run away, remember?” You pull out the box in your pocket “I have something to show you”.

Placing the box in his hands, you watch as he opens it. “Before I came back my grandmother had left me everything, but I only wanted a few items including these rings.”

He holds them in his hands with the same softness he holds you. “The next time I get engaged I want my fiance to use them.” He looks at you, hunger in his eyes.

“So ask me again.” Quickly getting on one knee, he looks up at you as if nothing else matters at all.

“My love, Will you marry me?” You nod as he slides the ring on your finger.

“Yes, yes, yes” you can’t hold back the laugh that erupts from your chest as he begins to lay kisses all over your body.

You’re both brought out of your hallmark moment by a knock at the door. Remmick grows tense; you assume he was irritated from being interrupted, you give his shoulder a pat.

“Give me a second to answer that.” Glancing at the entrance you smile ‘That must be the Hobbs; y’all still have to get the apartments ready for tonight.’

You skip to the door excited to tell them the good news. You don’t think to look out the peep hole.

Your blood runs cold as you stare back at a blond haired blue eyed demon. Hands behind his back and badge on his hip, he smiles at you while showing off his canines “Wow I would have Visited earlier if I knew I’d get such a warm reception”.

Taglist

@avidreader73

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

[physalian]

When To Keep Your Writing Stiff (pt 7)

Part 6

Part 1

Gonna shoutout a specific fanfic, “Salvage” (ATLA) for writing that is even leaner than mine is, and mine has zero fat whatsoever. This was really good. I particularly like how some scenes were only 2 or 3 lines long as an example of what I’m going for here.

When I say “stiff” in the following examples I’m specifically talking about a lot of the same syntax, few similes and metaphors, few ‘said’ synonyms, very little, well, “life” in the prose. And this can be good in a few situations.

1. Your narrator is in shock

Shock doesn’t all look the same, but the kind of shock I mean is the one where the person is really quiet and un-emotive, they’re probably not speaking or reacting much to whatever catastrophe just happened and probably not responding to their name or anything spoken to them. Their body is pretty much going “uhhhhhhhhh factory reset!” when whatever it is, is too much to process.

A asks them a question. Once. Twice. B stares ahead. There’s a brown stain on the wall that looks like a thumb.

So if they’re narrating, they’re probably going to be giving the absolute bare minimum, need-to-know information and won’t be thinking about the best adjectives and adverbs. Especially if you normally write with fluffier prose, a jarring shift like this can really help sell the shock and dissociating of the character, something so traumatizing that it effects how the story is told.

2. Your narrator is depressed

Somewhere between New Moon’s 4 pages of just Months to show Bella did absolutely nothing in a depression rot and normal prose (though it was effective, particularly in the movie when they could draw out the words on the screen for longer and did the whole spin-around-her-depression-chair montage).

January came. It rained a lot.

They’ll probably either narrate very thinly, or listlessly. They might focus on a random detail and start going on a long ramble about that one detail that isn’t at all important, but it’s either all they can think about or all that can move them to feel anything in this moment, like:

On the bedside table, that coffee mug still sat there in a thin sheet of dust. What had been liquid now long since dry and gluey. It still sits there, collecting cat fur.

This might be the best place for sentences that all sound and flow exactly the same, but use it sparingly.

3. Your narrator is having a panic attack or trapped in a traumatic situation

Different from shock in that while they are physically capable of moving and interacting, they can’t let themselves describe what they’re seeing and feeling in grand detail. Maybe they’re moving through the horrific aftermath of a battle and all they can describe is the mud under their feet and how it squelches. Or they simply say that “there’s bodies everywhere” because looking too long or too hard at who those bodies belonged to is too much.

4. You’re writing something that has incredibly fast pacing

This post was inspired by a fic I just wrote that spanned about 5 months in about 18k words. Narrative was skipping days ahead between paragraphs at some point as my character was processing the end of an abusive relationship. It sped up and slowed down where necessary, but compared to its sequel that I also just finished (22k words across 7 days), I’d covered a whole month in about 2 sentences in the first one.

See nearly any part of Salvage (or my fics if you feel like it)

What happened in that month didn’t matter, only what was before and what’s different now and how this character realizes how their life is slowly changing, some things they never noticed that are suddenly right in their face or things that quietly slipped away.

—

TLDR; sometimes the lack of emotion and sensory details and frenetic, dynamic syntax is the point, that can sell the reader on the narrator’s mental state far better than picking the juiciest adverbs. If it’s so impactful to them that the physical telling of the story is changed, you’ve done your job.

[covetyou]

🤭 reader is def borrowing condoms from Dieter (she spent so long debating with herself but she also really wanted Frankies dick). But would Dee be curious and follow to see who she's with? 👀 Maybe try to invite himself to join, or hang out outside the trailer? 🥵💦

Would this morally dubious clown follow someone to watch 'em do the nasty? I think we all know the answer here 😌

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader (x Dieter Bravo) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyerism, jealousy, bi Dieter, protected PIV, recreational drug use/reference, Max Phillips makes another cameo word count: 1.2k summary: When the trailer's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.

A/N: Dieter's POV. takes place after for one night only and fools just wanna have fun.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for fic updates

Bravo had evaded Max by the skin of his teeth - no sooner had his trailer door shut behind him, running around the back pulling his pants over his dick and balls, and Max was there in the clearing, shouting bloody murder for him before pounding on the door. Before any more inaccurate accusations and threats to his life could be made, Bravo the Clown had snuck away into the night, seething.

This was his night ruined.

The condoms were one thing, but this being a family friend show? Psh, his ass it was. He watched greased up men sliding against each other on the regular, and there was that married couple who practically eye fucked each other whenever they performed. Not to mention you, Sparkles, with your ass hanging out every show as you twisted and bulged and looked so damn sinful he'd had more than one back stage wank over the years. Nothing he did was any less family friendly than that and yet here he was, getting chased down by an angry mob of one simply for wanting to relax a little before a show. And maybe a bit during too.

And after, not forgetting the joint still clutched in his fingers. He'd have to find somewhere more discreet to smoke it now that he had Max hot on his ass, but first he needed a light. His was still on the floor of his trailer, because of you.

Maybe that's why he finds himself walking toward your trailer, it being your fault he's currently without a light after all. He knows you like those stupid little candles, a complete fire hazard in a place like this if you ask him - one knock and the whole polyester spectacle is going up in a cloud of sequins and smoke. It's not at all because he knows what you're doing in there, without him. Not at all. He respects you. He could absolutely, totally leave you to your privacy.

It's not his fault if he's concerned for your safety when he hears your incoherent screams from some way away. He's not going to knock of course, but it doesn't hurt to just check in through the window, does it? It's what any good friend would do. A little rocking trailer should never deter anyone from checking in on their friends.

Okay, so maybe it's rocking quite a bit by the time he gets there, sneaking under one window to get to another he knows is right by your bed. Your screaming and moaning is even louder here, right by the open window. He can hear a wet slapping noise too, and before he lets his imagination run wild, he pokes his head up to look in through the open window and straight at the spectacle in front of him.

And holy fuck, it doesn't disappoint.

You're getting absolutely rammed from behind, your thighs jiggling and shaking with each thrust from the man behind you. His face is pinched, staring right down to where he disappears into you over and over, and the rippling of your ass against his thighs. You're scrambling up and down and up again on your forearms as you try, and fail, to take the intensity of it, your voice rising an octave every time he buries himself in you, until he inevitably hits the factory reset and you make a deep, keening groan before starting all over again. Dieter knows that noise - he makes you make that noise. It's the noise you make when your toes curl and you're about to make a mess all over everything. Like right now, your toes curling over and over in a way he's never seen, because he's never seen it from this far away before.

And, fuck, this is jealousy, isn't it? That should be Dieter in there, fucking the ever living daylights out of you. Instead he's stood on the other side of the window looking in at a man that should be him, but is definitely younger and fitter than he is. Still, he doesn't see what this man has on him - messy hair, a little pooch of his belly just like Dieter, scruff on his jaw. Entirely unremarkable, if you ask -

Until that man pulls out fully, unveiling his cock before slamming it home once more.

Suddenly, he's jealous of both of you. Jealous of him for getting to fuck you - and in your trailer too. You'd only ever let him in there once, and it was maybe the most comfortable he'd ever been. And jealous of you for taking that monster of a cock that, quite frankly, should be too much for one person to take. You could take a hand (and a half, on a good day) of course, but fuck, had you never heard about sharing?

Dieter shared his condoms with you, and now you were keeping this all to yourself. What he wouldn't give to be in there, lying next to you as you got fucked to oblivion by this guy you seem to have picked straight from the crowd. He'd quiet your screams with his cock in your mouth, or let you suck on his balls while he waited his turning for a fucking. Even better, he'd lick your pretty cunt while that cock demolished your hole, just so he could taste both of you at once.

Still, the best he can do is watch the condom, his condom, on the man's cock as it slides in and out of you - the closest thing to being between the two of you he'll be - while listening to your screams as they hit a crescendo. Your tits swing beneath you, your belly rippling with the force of the fucking you're receiving. The mans fingers - the asshole - are digging into your plush hips, sinking into the fat there and holding on for dear life, likely leaving bruises that Dieter will have to see for days and try not to get hard about.

The man grunts and groans now, telling you how perfect you are and how hard he's going to come, because you're so, so, so perfect - Dieter fucking knows. He knew it first.

Then, you're coming. Shaking, and moaning, falling forward onto your mattress with your hips still held in the air, making a complete mess of your sheets in the process, screaming Frankie into the air, your trailer positively fucking rattling now as the man - fucking Frankie - finds it in himself to go even harder, battering your cervix so deliciously painfully that he knows your eyes are rolling in your head, even if he can't see them.

And it's over, and everything is still again, and the quiet feels so very loud as you sigh and giggle into fucking Frankie's mouth, and he pulls that massive cock, dripping, out of you and throws away his fucking condom.

His joint is crumpled in his hand, Bravo the Clown's search for a light fucking useless now, just as the symbol of his fucked night falls to the ground outside your trailer ready for you to find in the morning.

Family friendly his ass.

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 1.5 (Logan)

2k+ words

“And every night, he looks up at the sky and sees the moon and howls her name. But, he can never touch her, again.”

CW: Dissociation, Trauma, Angst, someone give this man a hug SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 4

No beta. We die like Logan Earth - 10005

Masterlist

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

Late December, 2005

Alberta, Canada

Logan walked down the street; hands shoved in his pockets. Try as he did, he couldn't call on a coherent thought. All he could manage were flashes of faces, gunshots, a man screaming...it sounded like him. He didn't like it.

Jean's visage, always the reliable go-to, conjured in his mind's eye. Her red hair pulled into a twist, showing off the sharp angles of her face. Damn, he missed that face. He missed how, despite his incessant flirting, patient eyes always stared back at him, even as he annoyed her from the exam table their first meeting. Patient even while telling him how much she didn't want him; how much she loved Scott. His chest ached. It was faint, but just enough to break through the newfound silence. It was something constant, something concrete.

Crossing the street, he ran into the nearest liquor store, slowing to a stop as he located the whiskeys. He stared, trying to check the alcohol content, the prices, the warnings, but nothing registered. It felt like someone set his brain to factory reset. No matter how he tried, blinking away the blurry vision, he couldn't help but feel like a stranger in his body. Every now and then he would see things, hear voices; a man's loving eyes, the smell of saltwater, the laugh of a boy...a woman's voice. There were no words. But, he found that if he closed his eyes he could hear the cadence. A blurry figure just barely came into view-

"Hey, buddy." A man's voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked to the aisle's end to see what he assumed was the store clerk, some older heavy-set guy with a short, white beard. "We close in fifteen."

All Logan did was nod before the clerk walked away. Checking the shelf again, he grabbed a bottle of with a big "LTD" across the label and made his way to the checkout desk. He watched as the clerk rang him up.

"So, where ya from?"

Logan looked up to meet his eyes. "Around," was all he could muster. He watched the number appear on the cash register with more focus than was probably required before digging into his jacket for his wallet.

"Careful with that. Strong stuff." The clerk took the money before Logan reached to grab the bottle. "It's a nice jacket ya got there. Used to have one just like it when I was yer age," the clerk said, catching Logan's attention. "My buddy used to have one just like it in '64." He sounded bitter when he said it. Must be a painful memory.

Logan smirked as he glanced down at it. "Yeah um...an old friend gave it to me." He wasn't sure why he said that. But, it felt more or less correct. It was with him when he came to that day, alone on the island. At the time, it smelled faintly of air freshener and sage. "Well, have a good one." He saluted the man with the bottle as he headed out.

"Stay safe, now, ya hear?"

~~

Logan walked into the hotel room and dropped the bottle down on the kitchen table with a loud thud before plopping onto the chair next to it. The curtains were wide open to the night sky, letting the moonlight stream in. Twisting the cap off, he brought the bottle to his lips. But, just before taking a sip, he stopped. He frowned, staring at the caramel-colored liquid inside.

When did his drinking become so habitual? When did it lose meaning? It worked great to functionally shut down all the baseless voices and torment in his head. Not to mention the hell Jean's death wreaked on his world. It just became routine. But, now it was quiet. Head empty, heart beating a steady pace — with nothing to silence, why bother?

Scooting his chair away from the table, Logan left the bottle and walked to the window. He pressed his arm to the glass, leaning his forehead against it, as he looked out to the street. What was different? Everything felt normal until...

He lifted his eyes to look up to the night sky. The moon was full. In his dazed state he saw her, just at the back of his mind: the girl from the bar.

He didn't plan to fuck anyone that night. It just happened. Despite the poorly hidden circles under her eyes, she seemed so confident and lively, and she drew him in like a damn siren, getting him to shove his instincts aside, somehow. But, the way she looked at him hadn't escaped his notice, almost like she knew something was wrong.

In the end, it didn't matter. He made the offer, and she took it. It was something to take his frustration out on, some sort of relief. Maybe it was a relief for her, too. But, ever the gentleman, he still kissed her after. Hell! Of course he did. She was too adorable, the way she looked up at him with that blissful smile. How could he not? But, when he did, it was like the world quieted. It was peaceful at first, her plush, gentle lips being all he noticed. It even made his heart pound a little. But, it all came crashing down when he saw a face, felt terror, heard the screams and sounds of canon fire, felt the blood on his skin. Then, as quickly as the visions came, they disappeared, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.

What did she do to him?

~~

The following morning bled into noon. Logan laid in bed staring at the ceiling, whiskey long abandoned on the table. All night and into the morning, things would come back in flashes. Some were familiar. Most weren't. Closing his eyes, he saw the faces of men in helmets, clearly doomed to die. He saw a man's freshly shaved face visiting a child's room. The room was old, probably from a few centuries ago. He saw a boy, maybe fourteen years old, with sharp canines and long nails smiling down at him. Then, there was the woman again. Her face and voice were still unclear. But, he saw her clothes. The cowboy boots paired with the white knit sweater were especially endearing, and he couldn't help smiling when he saw her surrounded by kids in front of a wooden building. Then, he saw the lab. He felt the agonizing pain of needles drilling into his skin, through the muscle, and down to the bone. The lab...the lab he recognized.

Alkali Lake.

He shot up out of bed with a newfound determination. Throwing his shoes on, he made his way to the motorbike, stolen from Scott...again, making sure to grab his jacket on the way out. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. He just knew north. North would take him to where he needed to be.

~~

Vaguely remembering the coordinates Chuck had given him only a few years ago, he finally found it, just as the sun was setting, too. Stopping his bike by the road, he trudged his way through the trees and snow to where the lab once stood. The area was filled with water now.

He could still hear the rushing of water as the dam broke, the freezing cold coming to claim Stryker's life. A well-deserved death, even if he didn't know the full extent of the man’s horrors.

As he walked along the forest edge, making his way to the shore, he felt his heart clench.

He could still hear Jean's words to Scott. It was a simple goodbye. She hadn't even bothered to give Logan a glance as he screamed for Kurt to bring her back. Surely there had to have been another way. She deserved more, better. Not that it mattered, anymore.

He listened to the crunch of rocks under his boots as he watched the lake that, strangely, hadn't frozen over in the winter cold, not even a little. If anything, it was pretty lively. Small crabs skittered along in the shallows, and fish ran to deeper water as his shadow hovered over them.

A glint of light caught his eye. As if fate hadn't been enough of a cryptic asshole, there sat his old dog tags just out of reach of the water. He stopped in front of them and leant down to grab the broken chain, seeing the engravings on the metal.

Wolverine. Logan. Number 45825243 T78 A.

He lifted them to eye level and furrowed his brow as he examined the second of the two. He always wondered why it said "Wolverine". As far as he knew, he was only ever "Weapon X" to Stryker. In the brief times they did interact, it never occurred to him to ask.

'Wolverine.' He repeated the word in his mind over and over. 'Wolverine. Wolverine.' Slowly, his inner voice morphed from its lower octave to something less gruff, something more feminine. 'The Wolverine.' He heard it clear as day.

"Que Qu'atsu," said a playful woman's voice. "It means 'The Wolverine'."

His breath caught in his throat as it all came back.

He saw the blue eyes of his father looked him over as his fever broke. His friend, an older boy named Victor, sat in the chair with jealous eyes. Downstairs he heard a man screaming for his mother's name. There was blood everywhere, and his heart sank when the light left his father's eyes. His claws, made of bone at the time, sunk into the abdomen of the man who put the bullet in his father's chest, the man that claimed to be his real father. The eyes of his mother, his first taste of pure disgust for what he was, burned into him. It sank in that day just how unwanted he was.

He remembered the wars. All of them. Each one, worse than the last, sent shivers down his spine, tearing him to bits. Young boys, so many still in school, carted away year after year like pigs for the slaughter. And, he was helpless to save them.

Vividly, he watched himself exiting a plane, no one sure how he survived the nuclear disaster of Nagasaki. His heart ached as he remembered Victor waiting at the gate with open arms and, animalistic as always, pressed his forehead to Logan's like a wolf would its pack member, more than ready to share a drink with his little brother. The little brother he swore to protect.

Then, Vietnam. And, Stryker, the one who made him the weapon he is now. He couldn't fucking stand that man. Logan was never good with authority, disobeying at every turn, thinking he knew best. But, Stryker…so ready to destroy, it was vile. He couldn't watch it, couldn't be a part of it. Not anymore. So, he walked away, ignoring the calls for him to come back. He wasn't an animal like them. He never would be.

Kayla taught him that. Her voice rang loud in his ears. "What you have is a gift." Despite his feelings, he wanted to badly to believe her. He felt the warmth of her hands on his chest, and the flutter in his stomach when she would fall asleep in his shirts. He saw her face clear as day, and her natural scent crept to the surface of his mind, washing over him like a summer breeze. Her face smiled at him from the car. Her eyes cut deep into his core every time she looked at him.

He loved her. God, did he love her.

The pebbles of the shore crunched under his knees, echoing in the surrounding area as his hands gripped at nothing. His eyes stung, head throbbing as he remembered the look of her body lying in the rubble of the island's facility. She looked so foreign to him, then, his damaged brain refusing to mend the pieces together. She deserved more. A proper burial. A proper send off. A proper fucking goodbye.

His throat began to burn. Black swarms of birds flew from the surrounding trees as he let out a desperate, guttural roar. His body felt so stiff, yet it seared like fire as he released his woes into the now vacated space, pain and devastation, long since locked away, now surfacing like boiling water with a vengeance. Catching his breath, his gaze shot up, vision tunneled to a small dot as his rage took over. 

She was gone.

Kill. He needed to kill something. Someone. But, they were all gone. Victor having fallen from the Statue of Liberty and Stryker drowned and eaten away by fish. Well-deserved deaths? No. They were far too quick, too merciful than what those two deserved.

Despite this, he ran, claws unsheathed and teeth bared, punching at wood and snow, slicing up tree after tree, each falling down and leaving devastation in its wake. Any animal too slow to notice being unlucky enough to be trapped and crushed under them. He thought he saw flashes of black fur, something attacking him. His claws ripped through it with ease, serving well to protect him, but he barely noticed when there was only red in his sight and heat under his flesh. 

She was gone forever.

He screamed, and slashed as animals in his path scattered, sky above darkening, illuminated only by the rising moon. Stryker was dead. Victor was dead. She was still gone. Nothing would bring her back. Nothing would fix the whole left in his chest. His body, suddenly heavy as led, fell. He buried his face in the snow as he yelled for her, yelled for Kayla. His Kayla. The only one to accept him for who he was. The only person in this god forsaken world to see him as something other than a fucking mindless monster, something human. He yelled for her to come back. Don't leave him here.

Exhausted he looked up to the moon. He could almost swear he saw her face in the light. Chest heaving and jacket falling from his shoulders, he wailed, nearly howling, at the blooming night sky above him. All he wanted was a normal fucking life. Was it too much to ask? Just a normal life away from the violence and chaos. Away from guilt. Away from destruction. Away from death.

She was gone.

She was dead.

He never even said goodbye.

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

A/N: Merry Christmas...? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I wrote this to "What Could Have Been" by Sting

[itzr4v3n]

Robogico AU

Logic0 is a coroner model 0, so basically the first and only one of his kind. His origins are unknown, as Tuscany was the one who found his broken down self some decades ago, as probably the last functioning thing in the town that burned down. She took him back to the DC, got him fixed and trained him for a few years, before she sold him away after he witnessed her killing someone. Tuscany made him factory reset so his memories, to get rid of evidence, although some vague remnants were left behind. He was bought by the Detective Club and worked for them since.

Logic0 met Irratino after he was assigned to help the human with a particularly difficult case, and now the Investigation Institute and Detective Club share custody over the robot, albeit the latter are the main owners.

Either way, Logic0 now accompanies Irratino on almost every case. He is a cool, calculating man who takes everything a little too seriously (how can you blame him? He’s a robot, of course he doesn’t have humour) but also a fighter. Chasing down criminals with endless stamina, stealth, analysing face expressions and crime solving? He’s got the whole package. Okay, the endless stamina is a lie, but he doesn’t slow down until his energy runs low (let’s say at about 10%). Nothing a quick chug of special oil won’t fix, otherwise he also has a designated charging spot at the DeCl, plus solar charged battery, when it isn't an emergency and he can charge slowly.

Anyways, Irratino wound up finding himself enjoying the bot’s company and having fun in teasing Logic0, who usually reacts with confusion, as confused a literal machine can get. He sometimes forgets the other isn’t actually human and gets a mini scare whenever Logic0 takes off his synthetic skin for a repair or opens up a hologram of a grid or map or whatnot. Well, because of that, Irratino noticed he seemed to have some form of crush on Logic0, but refrained from saying anything as he thought it was silly and it was only a phase.

Nope.

It was the fuck not a phase.

Now, the inspector certainly has asked Logic0 about his take on emotions and if he’d want to feel like a human, instead of recognising and mimicking them, to which he replied: “While emotions are great for true bonds and connections, they will only obstruct proper investigation due to bias, besides the fact it is entirely impossible for a walking computer such as myself to feel anything.”

well, LOGICO.

That’s where you’re wrong :D

It first started when Logic0 first displayed signs of humour, but he shrugged it off as finally learning how to recognise and act upon it, as he is an AI who can gain knowledge. Oh yeah, that’s by the way how he learned about poisons and Irratino’s crypto account, as he figured out a way to just access a vast majority of the internet and add things to his memory. Plus his hardware is double secured and in permanent incognito mode, so chances of HIM getting hacked are quite low. Even if someone did get into his system, he would automatically shut down and kick them out.

Things get more serious after Irratino’s death, as the bot felt sadness and anger for the first time and the revenge arc followed. Disappointment and betrayal were added to the list after you know what and he kind of fell into a rabbit hole.

So, our dear Deductive asks the DeCl to reset him, multiple attempts, check for errors, anything to explain why he started feeling the way he does and well what do they find?

Nothing.

Logic0 has somehow developed emotions as a literal computer on legs. That doesn’t ease his mind, but he found himself forced to tell Irratino, because he’s probably the best when it comes to sudden feelings. He was certainly surprised, but not shocked, as it was more of an “I told you so” moment for him :p

Time passes, Logic0 realises the fluttery feeling was a sign that he loves Irratino, which he also promptly admitted, albeit with a lot more beating around the bush than he preferred. So they started dating, made headlines, got weird looks from people because they still see Logic0 as an object, a tool, which under normal circumstances, is quite an odd for a romantic partner, but not in this case. Irratino ignores the shushed comments or retorts back, but the deductive is obviously more impacted. He loves Tino, but wishes he could lose his emotions again. He hates having to be protected, he hates the side glances, he hates the fame he has built around himself, he hates that he has to make choices, he hates he can even feel the impact everything has on him.

He hates hates hates HATES

All of this turmoil and despair causes him to reach a breaking point.

The fact he can feel is no secret, so what does a sensible person who has doubts do?

That’s right, kidnap and experiment on him :D

Well, I suppose psychological torture is more accurate. I mean, if he really did have a consciousness, surely it would affect him, no?

They only stopped when Irratino barged in and a heated dispute ensued between him and the lead “researcher” (gags)

They tried to gaslight Tino into thinking Logic0 was nothing more than a tool for him, always was, always has been, even if he doesn’t admit it himself.

That’s when the robot attacked and killed the leader, mainly out of revenge. But when the rest of the team retaliated, fight or flight response kicked in as everyone seemed like a threat to him. So the poor guy started massacring them all, while Tino hid away to not get caught in the crossfire, although Logic0’s reflexes are quite admirable. He can change tactics in the middle of a move, so chances of him hitting Irratino are almost zero.

In the end after all of that, he found Tino and started profusely apologising, saying he’s a monster, a hypocrite, he couldn’t control himself and so on. Irratino was able to calm him down, but Logic0’s emotional state was so destabilised, he had to be taken out of work and rehabilitated.

There was an ordeal where Logic0 attempted self mutilation, because why should he pretend to be something he isn’t? (Here: a human)

Luckily he could be stopped before serious damage to his hardware could be done and only his skin needed replacement.

Not much more happens after, Logic0 is stabilized, gets released and goes back to living normally, besides the massacre causing a massive uproar against him, but hey, at least the suspects shut them down. Take that as you want.

Yes, the suspects. Similar to Irratino, they’ve grown fond of the robot and simply got used to him. The mass killing was more of a camp fire story to them because come on. Murder isn’t new to them, and Logic0 went through mental torture. Of course he’s going to be a bit cuckoo.

Old ass video, I'm not happy with the last half but oh well

TW: Gore, eyestrain

Now, I also have an alternative version of this AU I only recently came up with.

Inspiration was AM’s hate speeches from IHNMAIMS and the Heaven Says x FNaF Henry's speech trend

TW ⚠️ for reference below: flashing lights

Logic0 wasn’t able to be stabilised and basically became a one-man AI uprising

He was fired from work, not like he cared much either. Humans are a disease and he made it his job to personally punish all sinners. And it’s not a merciful “eye for an eye leg for a leg”, it’s a “have your liver eaten by an eagle and regenerated and repeat for all eternity” type shit (please tell me y’all get the reference)

Yeah he went cuckoo x10 and got his sense of justice skewed (can y’all tell I like turning an rational person irrational)

It started pretty mild, with blackmail (incognito mode is not safe from him) and stalking, enough to people paranoid. Then it got worse, going to physical harm and mental torture.

No, not even Irratino is safe. He tried to reason with the bot, but Logic0 was having none of it and Tino became an enemy. He still loves the human, don’t get him wrong, but to put it friendly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck for his opinions.

Their dispute got so bad one time, the bot lashed out and took out Irratino's eyes. Since then he made sure they'd never meet again (fear of seriously hurting him again or because he has had enough of Tino? Who knows)

This Alternative AU is like I've said, quite new. Idk how it ends or what exact events are

Also have some character designs

First two are the normal designs (the eye patch is purely for aesthetics), second Logico is when he went rogue, and third..

I honestly don't know, I was playing around a bit for a concept of AM!Logico (yeah I'm just calling him that for distinguishing purposes)

I guess my main thought is that Logic0 wired himself to everything in the universe and found a way to control it?

And of course blind Irratino

Uhm

I never have a way to end these posts, djakxkwkkwkw

That's about it though, soooo

Random screenshot at ye

[according2thelore]

literally love your ls/es verse like nothing else. 💖 “ES!Sam sees LS!Sam as a brow-beaten, pathetic man who won't stand up for himself,” <- !!!!!!! would kill to see ES sam call his older self pathetic to his face!!!! LS dean momentarily awoken out of his tongue-panting love for ES sam to be like- now wait just a second-

eeee hello beth!!!!!

yes yes yes omg let's discuss

"what's your problem?"

sammy looks up, surprised. he's in the middle of trying to scrub a stubborn ring of coffee from the bottom of his favourite mug, and turns around at the familiar voice.

it's still weird hearing it in the second person, but his younger self stands in the doorway. he looks angry.

older dean went to get some extra dishtowels from the laundry room because they've been disappearing for a week. he likes to help sam dry, and comes to loom ominously over his shoulder when he tries to do the dishes by himself if dean's home.

it's cute. kind of. weird, mostly.

"you're washing the dishes." sam says. sammy looks down at the dishes in the sink.

"yes?" sammy says, slowly.

this seems to make sam angrier.

"did you just...completely give up?" sam spits.

sammy looks down at the mug again. no, he's really trying to get this stain out. sam is still framed in the doorway, and takes a step forward. he seems acutely aware of sammy's ineptitude.

"you're washing the dishes like this is a home. like anything here belongs to you, instead of to the fifty dead guys whose beds you sleep in." sam says. his jaw ticks. sammy sees younger dean's head poke around the corner, and slide in to the kitchen behind him.

sammy sighs.

this must be part two. he and sam had gotten into it this morning about the bunker. sam had cut his hand on an old metal door jamb and got not one, but two, deans fussing over him for hours.

how the fuck is this our life? sam had hissed, pulling sam aside after. we swore we wanted out. wanted normal. i just sliced my palm open on a fallout shelter door.

sammy didn't have anything to give. this was his life. and for the most part, sammy liked it. having dean was worth all the rest of it pulled together. a house couldn't protect them like the bunker could. it couldn't allow them to help as many people as they did.

but sam clearly hasn't let it go. he's been building this for hours.

sammy doesn't have the energy to give him the fight he wants, but he's still pissed.

"i know it's not what we planned." sammy says, looking at his younger self sharply. "plans change. and i'm happy."

"are you?" sam spits, and it sounds like a challenge. "you're miserable. you flinch at every sound, you can barely look me in my eye, your dean threw your amulet away--"

sam flinches. hard. it feels like getting punched in the gut. a part of him--the pack rat part he's never been able to kill--wants to run back to his room and make sure the amulet is still there, hidden in his box.

"woah," younger dean says, "sammy."

he takes a step forward, wide eyes on the side of his face.

"what the fuck are we doing here?" sam says, his voice rising. he's gesturing wildly at the concrete walls, the canned lighting, the industrial steel counters.

sammy knows that logically, he's hurting. but fuck. he feels like he's just been gutted and unspooled all over the kitchen.

you can't even keep dean. how hard is it to lose the only thing we've ever had?

"well," older dean walks back in, a dishtowel over each shoulder. "i'm drying dishes." he nods at his younger self. "he's shitting his pants." he nods at sammy, but doesn't take his eyes off younger sam. "he's washing, and you're...yelling."

sam looks a little abashed, but his jaw doesn't lose its set.

"why won't you answer me?" younger sam asks, all venom and vitriol. he takes a step forward, trying to meet sammy's eyes, but sammy won't let him.

he threw yours away. he threw yours away.

"what?" dean says, and his voice is weird. it's tight, rough, and the deans look back and forth between the sams like stuck in factory reset.

a sam needs defending and a sam needs backup on offense.

which one, which one, which one?

"i'm sorry that i'm not what you want, sam." sammy says, weary.

sammy knows it's not sam's fault. he's been told for months and months now that he is going to change, he is going to warp, and there is something innate in him that will make him not himself anymore.

and here sammy is, looking weary and acting differently and beaten down by years and years of "something" that no one will tell him about.

it's terrifying.

but sammy can't keep being his punching bag anymore. he's exhausted, and it's not fair. sam can put his adult pants on and fucking deal.

"not what i want?" sam scoffs, drawing up to his full height. it's the same as sammy's, but he doesn't meet his rage. it probably looks ridiculous that sam has over 10 years of age and close to 60 pounds in muscle on this kid, and he's trying to get in sam's face.

"what i want is a functioning adult. what i want is to be as far away from this grave as possible." sam says, tone implacable and hard and sharp. "what i want is a life. that's what we wanted. you gave up. you became dad! you're pathetic!"

pathetic. you're pathetic. sam blinks. you're pathetic.

yes.

yes, he is, isn't he?

"hey." dean snaps, sharp, and older sam can't stop his flinch. but dean has stepped slightly in front of him, shoulders squared. "knock it off, sam. i mean it."

"let me guess--he can't stand up for himself?" sam snaps, and sammy can't even meet his gaze because he's right. to his younger self, he must look like a child. a cardboard cut out. "say something!"

"i don't want to hear you open your fucking mouth about this again." dean says, and the room falls silent. sam gapes at him. sammy gapes at him. younger dean has fallen silent, but he takes a step back to stand next to his own sam. "sammy could rip your arms off, kid. i don't care what you think about him. he doesn't have to prove himself to you."

"i didn't say he had to!" sam protests, and sammy almost smiles. what a little hypocrite. sam misses being that righteous. that self-assured.

"dean, it's okay," sammy says quietly, feeling like he did when he was six and dean would break out of the fourth grade to come intimidate sam's bullies on the playground.

younger sam just wants reassurance. his entire life up to this point had been pushing as many boundaries as possible.

in a way--and it almost makes sam sick to think of it--he's treating him like dad. sometimes, the only way to get dad to look at him was to make him angry. dad hated to be contradicted, to be challenged, and the full force of his attention--even bad attention--was addicting when he spent most of their childhood gutting monsters just slightly off stage left.

sam's scared. he wants attention. he needs comfort.

sammy doesn't want to give him either.

but he settles for both.

"can we talk about this--"

"no." older dean says, sharply, cutting sammy off. sammy blinks, surprised. dean doesn't turn to look at him, still glaring at sam in the way a knife cuts.

"i'm really fucking disappointed." dean says. it sounds like he's going to say something else, but he's quiet.

he might as well have kicked sam. he deflates, wide eyes blinking hard.

"it's okay," sammy is quick to reassure, but dean cuts him off again.

"no. it's not." dean still doesn't look at him. "nobody gets to talk to you like that, sammy." dean's tone softens a little bit. "not even you, kid."

"everybody knock it off," younger dean says, his experience peacemaking bubbling right at the surface. "sammy let's take a lap, okay? c'mon."

"i'm..." sam starts to say. but he changes his mind, and lets himself be corralled by younger dean. his steps shake. sammy feels a little pity for him.

he knows what it feels like for dean to be angry with him. to be disappointed in him. to choose someone else over him. it's the worst feeling in the world.

suddenly, dean's pulling sammy down for a kiss. sam almost pulls back, but realizes they're now technically alone in the room. he melts into it briefly, letting dean pet through his hair and bite at his bottom lip.

when dean pulls away, he makes a humph sound.

"if you don't want me to suck your dick in here, you've got thirty seconds to get that coffee ring out." dean says, sliding the dishrags off his hands and crouching like an umpire.

"shit." sam says, and starts scrubbing.

he doesn't have everything. and later, he knows sam's words will ring in his ears and prevent him from sleeping. but dean knows exactly how to make him laugh, how to distract him, what he needs.

dean always does.

~~~

do not worry i did not forget @secondhandroad !! as you can see i have been cooking just a little bit. kisses and love to beth for this ask!!!!!!! i love gabbing about these fellas so much lol <3

-lizzy