#like he’s called a coward for … not wanting to go against his abuser?
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I always thought and I think I’ve even read fics that have it like this that iirc from the books they’re all still on the bus when they find out about Neil so Kevin is sitting down when Andrew comes at him and ends up choking him :( my bby ugh the angst of it all
okay yeah this definitely makes sense. (ik we focus on how Andrew broke his promise to Kevin for Neil as like showing how into Neil he is or whatever but also yeah Kevin deserved better :( Andrew was supposed to protect him and even if he didn’t protect him, to be the one that attacked him? That must have hurt a lot.)
#if anyone has fics dealing with this I’d love it tyvm#I love them all so much but I hate how Kevin’s trauma and all isn’t very acknowledged?#like he’s called a coward for … not wanting to go against his abuser?#he was with riko for what. half of his life??#ofc he’s terrified of them#idk I just think Kevin shouldn’t be ignored#(I love him your honor)#Kevin day#aftg#all for the game#andrew minyard
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I have so many feelings about Vander, he's such an interesting, flawed, sympathetic, tragic, and infuriating character. I'm obsessed with him.
He is introduced as this genuinely loving father and nurturing provider, he loves and wants more than anything to protect his kids. He is kind, he is stern, he is protective. The sheer devastation and fear in his eyes chained to a chair watching his little teenage daughter go to fight a man twice her size for his sake absolutely haunts me.
But looking back on his parenting objectively, it really was far from perfect. He parentified his oldest daughter and made her out to be responsible for the well-being of her siblings (Zaun seems to have a culture of free-range parenting, so his lack of supervision isn't a problem so much as the fact that he pressures his teenager to be the supervisor).
Furthermore, he's struck a deal with Grayson to keep enforcers out of the Lanes business in exchange for them not interfering with topside's affairs, but there is an obvious failure on Grayson's end to uphold her end of the deal. We see enforcers in the Lanes multiple times, in the Enemy mv, and also it's stated by Vi to Powder that one time enforcers chased Claggor until he got his foot stuck in a gutter, then proceeded to harass him and LEAVE HIM THERE where he wasn't found until morning. Like, Vander, the cops hassled your child and put him in a very dangerous situation, but you keep your mouth shut and do what they say? It's clear that his fear of another violent conflict has resulted in a problematic level of complacency where he allows violence to be enacted against his people but acts in fear of fighting back. Sevika was right to call him a coward.
But it's also clear that he does struggle with mental illness to some extent, which I truly truly wish was explored more because it's such an interesting aspect of who he is as a person. The way in which he lashes out at Silco is horrifying. Whether they were friends, lovers, or even just comrades at that point, it is clear that Vander did not have his mental health and his anger under control at that point in his life. And I think that's why he was so complacent. He wasn't afraid of the enforcers, he was afraid of himself. Afraid of what he would do if he let himself be involved in another conflict. Afraid of who he would hurt next, if he was so capable and willing to hurt people he cared about before. Benzo? Sevika? Vi? Powder? Mylo? Claggor? It is my genuine belief that when he said "there are worse things than enforcers out there," Benzo understood it to mean Silco or at least the other Chembarons, but Vander was fully talking about himself.
Then, in the main timeline, he is "saved" and turned into the very thing he'd spent the last several years of his life trying desperately not to be, even at the expense of his people's freedom-- a bloodthirsty, violent monster with no self control. In a way, Warwick is the person Vander used to be. The person who lashes out and hurts people he loves, but also is willing to go to any length of violence to protect them. I don't like the idea that Warwick's violence comes entirely from the animal or something external to Vander, it should be very clear that this monster is Vander.
I also think it's so interesting. When he finally becomes violent at the Cannery, and chokes Silco out again, it is only after his sons have been killed. In the AU, a lot of people criticize this idea that it depicts a "utopia" where Silco crawled back to his abuser after finding the letter, but I don't think that's what's being depicted. It's never stated or implied that he found the letter in the AU. What is stated/implied? Vander's daughter was killed. On a job that she took out of bitterness against topside. We know Silco didn't give a shit about Vi at that point, I don't see this triggering him to find the letter or come crawling back. But we saw in the main timeline, that when Vander loses his children, he's able to become the violent revolutionary he once was. Which is exactly what Silco wanted, so I reckon that's what happened. He came back to Silco, and they fought for Zaun together again.
Losing people he loves pulls violence out of Vander like nothing else.
He's just-- he contains such multitudes. He is all of these things. He is a kind, protective father and a nurturing provider. He is a flawed parent. He is a coward. He is a monster. He is a sick and violent man who is willing to hurt the people he loves. He is fiercely protective and driven to intense violence and madness when people he loves are killed.
Vander, the man that you are.
#arcane#vander arcane#vi arcane#jinx arcane#zaun family#silco arcane#silco#vander#zaundads#arcane alternate timeline#arcane character analysis
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A/N: Toji makes some bad decisions, and Y/N discovers Megumi's heartfelt wish. One so pure and perhaps, impossible, that it just might break her heart before Toji gets the chance. Chapter 8 — Self Destruction. Comment, like, and follow for more! ALSO, please comment below if you wanna be tagged next chapter! Happy Reading, my darlings! <3 Story Warnings: SLOW BURN, Sexual Tension, Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Past Child Abuse, ANGST
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

The next day, Toji Fushiguro does something stupid. And not just regular stupid — astronomically stupid.
The woman he's fucking, by all other parameters, is gorgeous. But even he knows that she doesn't feel right.
Too thin. Too whiny. Wrong eyes. Wrong hair color.
Just wrong.
He tries to ignore it. He tries to make the best out of this while Megumi's at school. He tries to ignore the whiny, too-high pitched sound of the woman's voice as he snaps his hips.
He tries to ignore the traitorous organ in his chest that beats for you and only you.
"Oh, fuck, Toji–"
Wrong. It's all. Fucking. Wrong.
He's a fucking hypocrite; didn't he see red yesterday afternoon just for Sukuna kissing your hand?
He doesn't even want to, not really. There's a reason that hasn't called anyone up in months. The first time he'd tried, he kept imagining you – just like he is now.
How you'd sound beneath him, the way your perfect lips would part for his tongue. And even worse, what it would feel like for your lips to press softly against his temple, brush over his cheeks. How you'd run your fingers through his hair and whisper three words so softly into his ear.
You'd give him that perfect fucking smile and piece him back together. You'd rake your nails over his back and moan softly into his ear.
You'd be perfect.
So. Fucking. Perfect, he thinks with each snap of his hips.
He's so goddamn angry with himself that he presses her head down into the mattress. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can pretend that it's who he wants it to be.
A low, tortured sound crawls out of his throat, and the woman's fingers fist into the sheets with a pathetic little moan.
She thinks it's for her – it's not.
"Admit it," you say breathlessly. "You're running from your feelings."
Well-the fuck-aware, he thinks. Because why else would he be fucking another woman that he doesn't actually want?
Well, it's simple.
He's Toji Zenin, and self destruction is what he does best.
"I know your heart, Toji Fushiguro. And you're not the monster you say you are."
The memory makes him rip away from the woman – he doesn't even remember her fucking name.
You're under his skin. He can't get you out. He doesn't want to.
"What the hell–" The high pitched tone makes him fucking sick.
"Get the fuck out," he grates between his teeth. When she doesn't move, mouth opening and shutting in surprise, his eyes narrow.
"Now," he hisses.
Cruel, because he can be. Because that's who he is. Because no matter how much good you see in him, he's still him.
Deep down, he's still Toji Zenin.
And Toji Zenin doesn’t fucking deserve you.

That very same day, Toji Fushiguro does something stupid again.
"Y'got a fight for me?" he rasps through the phone. He's off early, and he wants to go home to you and talk things out. But…
But he's not sure if he actually deserves to see your beautiful face and that still-soft smile that you gave him before he dropped Megumi off.
Like the goddamn coward that he is, he couldn't even look you in the eye — not until you reached forward and straightened his uniform with your small fingers.
You had smoothed over the wrinkles with your palms, making his breath hitch in the most pathetic way as they ran over his chest, stopping just over his heart.
"I know your heart, Toji Fushiguro. And you're not the monster you say you are."
He didn't deserve you.
But you smiled at him anyway.
"It's okay, Toji," you whispered sadly, low enough for Megumi not to hear. "We're good. Have a good day, okay? I'll be sure to drop Megumi off at the Itadori's, so don't worry about getting home late. I'm sure you have…other plans."
He wasn't sure what it meant when you said it that way — with a finality that he's not ready for. Other plans?
"Sweetheart, I—" He reached for you without thinking, because he didn't know why you looked so goddamn sad when you waved him off with a smile.
"You'd better get going or you'll be late. Megumi, say goodbye to Daddy, okay? He'll pick you up at Yuji's tomorrow morning."
The way you said it made his heart fucking hurt.
"Love you, Dad! Bye!" Megumi had beamed at him. And Toji had to look away, because his son was happier than he'd ever been, with his little fist twisted into Y/N's sweatshirt.
"You want me to book you a fight?" Shiu exclaims in surprise, snapping Toji out of his reverie. "Why the sudden interest? I thought you were out–"
"I am," Toji confirms. "M'not callin' you for a job. I'm callin' you for a fight."
He needs something to fill his chest besides this feeling. He figures rage will be a good respite for now, but he knows he'll be thinking of you even then.
"Why aren't you runnin' then, doll?" He'd asked. And instead, it's him. It's him who's running from whatever this is like a goddamn coward.
"Shame. We could really use you for work right now," Shiu drawls jokingly. "I'll see what they've got. Sukuna might be fighting tonight–"
"Just book me, Shui," Toji spits, annoyed at the mention of Sukuna. "Someone who can actually put up a goddamn fight this time."
Toji hangs up the phone, and pretends that he's not thinking of the way your gaze shuttered when you looked at him.

You're not surprised that Toji couldn't seem to look you in the eye.
You expected it after you so thoroughly stripped his emotions bare yesterday. You don't feel bad, though, not even a bit.
Especially when your eyes zeroed in on the splotchy new hickey's that covered the side of his neck.
You wish you hadn't seen them, but you did — you do. They're still dancing in the corners of your mind, taunting you in every way imaginable with thoughts of a more-than-willing woman that's not you having something someone that you want.
It makes you think, with a sliver of uncertainty, that maybe Toji wasn't bluffing.
"I don't do feelings, sweetheart," he'd said. "I'm the asshole who fucks and doesn't stick around to find out. M'not good for you. And yer lyin' to yerself if ya think I'd treat ya right. So stop dreamin'."
Your eyes shutter again, stuck in your thoughts when a small hand reaches over to cover yours.
"Y/N? Why d'you look so sad?"
When you manage to look up, Megumi is leaning his little body over your table, brows furrowed in concern when he doesn't see you smile the way he's used to.
"Oh," you mumble. You hadn't realized that you were so lost in thought. A soft, genuine smile curls at your mouth at his concern, and it makes Megumi mirror your smile in relief. "I'm good, Megs. I stayed up really late reading. I'm just a little tired."
Megumi's mouth twists sassily, "Why don't you let me stay up late to read?"
"Psh," you scoff before reaching over to pat his cheek. "Maybe on the weekends. Now finish up, sweetheart. I still gotta meet Yuji, y'know. Hurry it up so we can get going, yeah?"
Megumi merely wiggles in excitement, rushing to finish his homework as quickly as possible.
You wish that your mind didn't drift so quickly back to him, but it does.
And it makes your heart hurt all over again.
Not even an hour after, you and Megumi are standing beside each other with your hands on your hips. You're inspecting the contents laid out on the dinner table; ready to be shoved into Megumu's overnight bag.
"Toothbrush?" You ask.
"Check." He answers proudly.
"Got your jammies?" You inquire seriously.
"Check." He answers again, rather smugly.
You raise a joking brow at the deep blue pair that he'd picked out very carefully, "I mean...are you sure you don't want the cool ones with the firetrucks on 'em? Cause—"
"I'm seven," Megumi sasses insistently. "I don' need the fire truck ones anymore. Blue is cool," Megumi folds his arms cutely, and you can't help but burst with pride.
"Almost seven, big man," you confirm with a grin. "Buuuuut…I'd say you're just about ready for your first sleepover."
Megumi looks downright smug before offering you his fist in silent victory.
With a soft sound of contentment, you bump it softly with yours.

"I…"
Your head tilts another few confused degrees as you look at the man in the doorway, Megumi's hand tucked safely in yours.
"Where did your…" You blink a few times before asking dumbly, "Are you…I'm so sorry but…are you related to Sukuna by any chance? Or did he just lose fifty pounds of muscle and wash off the ink?"
It's a fair question, considering the man in front of you could be considered a carbon copy of the Sukuna you'd met at the martial arts gym. Or, at least, a domesticated version considering the dad-polo and sneakers.
The man grins from the doorway, "Ah, so I see you've met my brother."
Brother, you think. Of course.
How were you just figuring out that Yuji was Sukuna's nephew? Then again, Toji probably wasn't enthused to give out more connections to Sukuna — not when he seemed to absolutely hate you being around him.
"Ryuji's, uh…well, he's an old friend. I trust 'em, so don't worry your pretty lil' head about it."
You smile at him warmly before holding out your hand. "Sorry for the mix-up — you look like you could be twins without the tattoos," you joke. "You must be Ryuji."
"And you must be Y/N," Ryuji confirms with a shake of your hand. "We've heard so much about you from Yuji already. We're so glad that Toji—"
"Megumi!!!"
You're both startled by a shot of pink hair that darts around his father's thigh. You can't help the grin that takes over your face when Megumi smiles, lets go of your hand, and gives his friend a bashful little fist bump. You're beginning to see that the pink hair genetics must be almost impossible to avoid, because Yuji has the same soft pink locks as his uncle and his father.
"Hey, Yuj," Megumi says cooly.
"Wait 'till you see—" When Yuji's eyes finally find your face, he suddenly becomes very quiet. His mouth drops open in awe, running his brown eyes over your smile as he finally blurts, "You're real pretty, Miss Y/N. Just like Megumi said."
Your heart burns in your chest as you lean down in a crouch, coming to Yuji's level, "You've heard of me, huh? I've heard of you, too. It's nice to finally meet you, Yuji. I'm Y/N."
Megumi beams with pride at his friend's opinion of you, as if he'd been bragging about you for weeks, "Told'ja she was pretty. Miss Y/N is the prettiest in the world. And she's the best. She even let me pack the Chamber of Secrets with me. It's limited addiction, y'know. That means it's special. Gotta keep it real safe n' stuff."
You hide your giggle. He's right — it is indeed your limited edition copy.
Yuji has the decency to look impressed with his friend, as he usually does, and you can't help but grin at Megumi's boasting of you.
"Oh, my! You must be Toji's fiance! My gosh, you're younger than we thought — and so gorgeous!"
The very pregnant woman making her way across the yard means well — she really does — but you're too busy choking on your own saliva to greet her properly.
"Fiance?" You sputter out at the same time that Yuji, with his little hands on his hips, asks, "What's a fee-nan-say?"
Megumi nods at the question, also unfamiliar with the word as he looks to you for your usual confirmation, "Yeah, Y/N, what is a fee-nan-stay?"
"I, uh," you swallow hard, still reeling from the questions. "Why don't you guys go play? I have to confirm a few things with Yuji's parents and then we'll get you settled, okay Megs?"
Megumi has a few words of protest already on his tongue but luckily, Yuji comes to your rescue with that contagious enthusiasm as he tugs him towards the play set across the yard.
Finally, you straighten up with a sigh just as the woman joins Ryuji at the door, grabbing your hand with an enthusiasm that you can equate to Yuji's.
"I'm Hina. It's so lovely to finally meet you! We've heard so much about you from Yuji — Megumi talks about you quite a lot," the woman beams.
You chuckle half-heartedly, and you have a good guess on where they got the idea that you were Toji's…
Fiance. Your throat constricts tightly at the term.
"Soooo," Hina drawls before you can get a word in. "When's the wedding?!"
Wedding. Wedding. Holy fuck, a wedding? Your mind is reeling just from the imagery, and you can't help the blush that crawls up your cheeks at the implication.
"Hina, please," Ryuji chides at your expression. "Let the woman speak."
"Oh, c'mon!" Hina whines, "This is Toji we're talking about! Excuse me for being excited for—"
"I'm not Toji's fiance," you interrupt softly.
Finally, that shuts her up.
The two parents share confused looks before Ryuji opens his mouth again. "But…Yuji said that…oh."
"We're not even dating," you confirm with a sad smile. "Toji's not…well, I don't think he's ready for anything like that." Your heart begins to hurt again, because you're remembering those purple bruises that decorated his collar this morning.
"Oh," they say in disappointed unison before Hina picks back up. "Well, we're sorry to hear that. Megumi, well, he's a completely different person with you around, y'know. He used to be so much more…closed off. He wasn't even interested in making friends before you came along."
Your heart hurts. It hurts and hurts and hurts and you can't take much more of this.
"I dunno," Megumi had said the first day you'd met him. "I don't have a lot of friends…"
Your throat closes up, and it becomes hard to swallow as you finally have the courage to ask, "If you don't mind me asking…what did Yuji say about me?"
What did Megumi say about me — that's what you're really asking.
"Well," Ryuji chuckles awkwardly. "He told us that you were going to marry Megumi's dad — that's why we just assumed you were engaged. He said…"
There's a pause, and a hiss of breath between his teeth as he finishes, "He said that Megumi told him you were going to be…well…he mentioned that you were going to be his mom."
You turn away — you have to.
You turn away with a mumbled apology and look at the sky. You cover your mouth with your hand, because it keeps the sob from spilling out.
After a few moments, you feel a hand on your arm. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"
Reality slams back into you, crushing you down like a load of crumbling bricks as you reel yourself back in. When you turn to face Hina, your mask has been slid back into place.
"Of course," you confirm softly. "Sorry about that. I just…wasn't expecting that from Megumi. Please…please don't mention it to him if you can. I don't want him to be embarrassed."
You're doing a wonderful job pretending that there's not a web of cracks beginning to form right where you don't want them to — straight down the middle of your heart.
How were you ever going to break it to Megumi that you might never be what he wants? Even if you want it more desperately than breathing — it's not up to you, is it?
Hina smiles in silent understanding, "Of course."
Blinking away the moisture in your eyes, you shout to Megumi across the yard, "Megs! It's time for me to get going, okay?"
You begin handing Megumi's bag to Hina — you're not sure if you can handle a hug from him without bursting into tears — when you hear him again.
"Wait!" Megumi yells with red cheeks. You can't stop yourself from turning towards him. How can you, when he's running to you at full speed and barrelling into your arms?
You don't hesitate to wrap him up in a tight hug, tears pricking at your eyes as he buries his face into your neck.
"Be good, okay?" You choke out, "If you need anything just have Hina or Ryuji give me a call, and I'll come right over. It's Friday today, so you don't have to worry about school tomorrow. Your dad will pick you up in the morning, alright bud?"
"Okay," Megumi exclaims into your neck happily.
It's all fine — it really is. Until Megumi leans back, arms around your neck, and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek.
"Bye, Y/N. I love you."
Your joints lock up, and you try to keep the tears in your eyes from staining Megumi's shirt as you grip him tighter.
It's the first time Megumi's ever said that to you — and it couldn't have come at a worse time.
From over Megumi's shoulder, you silently wipe the tears away with your free hand, plastering a smile on your face as you lean back.
"I love you, too, sweetheart," you say honestly. Because you can't possibly allow the smile on his face to fall, even if it means digging yourself an even deeper hole. "Now, go have tons of fun, okay?"
Megumi nods quickly, giving you one last squeeze before sprinting out of your arms and towards his friend.
"Y/N…" Hina starts softly, no doubt seeing the twisted helplessness in your expression.
"It was wonderful to meet you," you manage to say as you turn. "You have my number and Toji's, so if anything goes wrong or if Megumi needs something, you know where to find me. If you can't get a hold of Toji while he's at work, then please don't hesitate to call."
It's impressive, really — how far you're able to make it without bursting into tears.
But eventually, you do.
Just after you pull out of the driveway, hands shaking on the steering wheel as you return Megumi's wave, you let yourself cry.

"Hey, Miss Y/N!"
A tired smile finds its way onto your face, "Hey, Marc. Didn't I tell you to drop the Miss?"
"Uh, yeah. Sorry," he grins sheepishly before scanning the red hue of your eyes. "Everything okay?"
"Nope," you admit with a click of your tongue. "But that's okay. When in doubt, Marc, beat the shit out of a punching bag." You manage a wink in his direction as you scan your pass.
Marc scratches his head awkwardly, "Anything I can do?" Oh, bless his little awkward heart. Somehow, your laugh still manages to light up the entire room.
"Nope," you repeat. "Thanks for the thought, though. Just need some time to get myself together."
"Well, take your time," Marc informs you softly. "It's pretty dead this time of day and Sukuna is getting ready for his fight tonight, so no one should bother you."
"Sukuna has a fight tonight?" you inquire curiously. "I didn't know he still competed seriously."
There's a spark of admiration in Marc's gaze as he confirms, "Oh, yeah. Usually he sticks to really big events, but he's been real antsy this week. You should come! Seriously, he's amazing — b-but don't tell him I said that. Real talk, though…"
Marc gestures briefly to the trophies on the walls, "Sukuna is one of the best martial artists in the country. I think you'd have fun. And we've got extra tickets, so…"
You draw your lip between your teeth, pressing down on the skin.
"I'll think about it."


TAGLIST: @totallygyomeiswife - You're the first (and only) one to ask to be tagged, my darling! Thank you for your love and support. Enjoy!
#anime#fanfiction#fanfic#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jjk toji#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna#toji smut#sukuna#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna x yn#sukuna x you#toji zenin#fushiguro toji#toji x you#toji fushigro x reader#ao3 writer#ao3#ao3 fanfic
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𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: pirate captain! caleb x afab! cabinboy! reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the captain discovers his cabinboy isn't truly as they present themselves to be. if they want to act like a boy, then he'll treat them like one. 𝐜𝐰: noncon, abuse of authority/power imbalance, threats of death, degradation, anal, misgendering, masculinization. reader is referred to by gender neutral pronouns but is afab.

the ‘black siren’ cut through the churning sea like a blade through silk, sails full, hull groaning against the wind’s bite. it was a sharp, moonlit night, one of those rare, perfect balances between quiet and tension.
captain caleb stood at the helm, boots braced, gaze locked towards the endless dark. the wind toyed with the red-lined edges of his coat, and somewhere below deck, laughter from the communal baths echoed through the boards.
his barely heard it. his mind was elsewhere— caught on the small, clumsy steps and voice of his so-called cabin boy. and behind him, like a shadow at his heels, his cabin boy moved with silent dogged loyalty.
the boy was slight, scrappy, always too breathless, always wearing his clothes too baggy, hair pulled back in a messy tuft. he was skittish, awkward sometimes in the way he avoided bathing with the others or shrank from the casual slap on the back. caleb had watched it all in silence.
for months now, he’d let it go.
let the boy carry barrels he could barely lift. let him scrub the deck until his fingers bled. let him curl in his hammock at night, half-sick with exhaustion but still quick to rise at a barked command.
he worked hard, caleb would give him that. and hard work, even in a body too soft and too small for the brutal demands of piratcy, was worth something. but it wasn’t the lack of strength in his arms that stirred suspicion in the captain’s mind— it was the way the boy flinched when anyone got to close, how his shirts were always buttoned high even when it was sweltering out, the way he’d disappear when it was time for a dip in the sea.
caleb allowed all of it. he indulged it. had even, in weak moments, thought that their quiet loyalty, his trembling eagerness to please, was… endearing.
how pathetic.
the final straw had come that night— when he’d come down to the bathhouse himself and watched him scramble to cover a chest that shouldn’t have been there. the towel had clung too tightly. the blush at his cheeks, the fear in his eyes when their gazes locked— it said everything he hadn’t.
and caleb did not tolerate liars.
the door to his quarters slammed open, and he shoved him— **it** through.
barefoot, dripping, still clutching that cursed towel to it’s chest— it looked small. frail. like something fragile dressed in borrowed skin.
he hated it.
“you’ve got some goddamn nerve,” he growled, voice like cold steel. “paradin’ around this ship like a man. like my crew.”
their lips parted. “captain, i— “
“shut it.”
his hand shot out, and gravity buckled beneath their feet, forcing them to their knees, pinned— not by any form of touch, but by the sheer pressure in the air around them, like the weight of the sea pressing down on their shoulders.
“you think you’re clever?” he snarled, stepping toward them, slow, dangerous. “you think hidin’ behind a ponytail and a bindin’ makes you invincible? makes you one of the boys? gives you the authority to lie to me?”
his violet eyes burned into theirs, voice growing quieter, crueler.
“you’re not a man. you’re not even a good liar.”
they trembled beneath his gaze, lips quivering.
“i didn’t mean to— “ “you didn’t mean to?” he laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “you lied to my face. every damn day. you ate with us, sailed with us, slept under my protection— and all the while, you were hidin’ like a damn coward.”
caleb stepped in closer, gripping their wrist, hard enough to bruise. his other hand lifted their chin, forcing them to meet his eyes.
“you wanna act like a man so badly?” he sneered. “then fine, i’ll treat you like one. you’ll wake with the crew, scrub the deck ’til your fingers fall off. i won’t go easy on you either, not because you’re… whatever you are. but because you’re a dirty fuckin’ liar.”
they shook, trembling before the captain as their eyes filled with unshed tears, clumsy words spilling past their lips.
caleb simply sneered, his grip on their wrist growing tighter, nails digging into the delicate skin. “you’re not a man, you’re barely even a boy.”
he leaned in closer, breath hot and heavy against the cabin boy’s ear, his voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “but if you’re so intent on actin’ like a man, on bein’ one with my crew, then i’ll treat you like one.”
“wake with the crew, scrub the deck ’til your fingers fall off, face the same punishment as any other man caught in a lie. i won’t go easy on you either, not because you’re… whatever you are. but because you’re a dirty fuckin’ liar.”
caleb’s hand slid from their wrist to their throat, his fingers curling around the slender column, feeling the rapid flutter of their pulse. “and if you can’t handle it, if you try to run or hide like the coward you are…” his other hand drifted down to their chest, fingers splaying over the towel, feeling the racing heartbeat beneath. “then i’ll be forced to make an example of you. a reasonable punishment for a liar and a deceiver.”
he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against their ear, his voice low and cold as the grave.
“i’ll tie a cannonball to that little ankle of yours, drag you to the bow and push you overboard. let you sink to the bottom of the sea and feed the fish.” his hand tightened around their throat, not enough to cut off air, but enough to make his point. “that’s the fate of liars, boy.”
the captain’s eyes raked over the trembling figure kneeling before him, taking in the way the damp towel clung to curves he had previously ignored. he could feel the heat building in his groin, his breeches growing tighter by the second.
they were pretty in a delicate, fragile way. and despite the fear and desperation in their eyes, he could see the glimmer of something else.
his other hand drifted lower, skimming over the swell of their chest, barely concealed beneath th towel. he could feel their nipple stiffen under his touch, betraying their arousal.
“i’m not a liar, captain,” they gasped out, voice shaking but determined. “please, i didn’t mean to deceive you. just wanted to prove myself, to earn my place on your crew.” they insisted, their eyes, those damnably alluring eyes, meeting his.
caleb scoffed, his grip on their chin tightening after moving it from their throat. “you want to prove yourself? then prove it now.” his grip was punishing, forcing them onto their feet and shivering them against his desk, knocking over a pile of documents.
“you say you wanna be treated like a boy?” he snarled, voice dripping with disdain as he pinned them against his desk uncomfortable. “i’ll give you the same welcome a new boy gets on this ship.” his other hand fisted in their hair, yanking their head back, forcing them to meet his gaze.
“i didn’t mean to upset you, captain— “ they forced out, yelping softly.
“upset me? you lied to me, boy. straight through your teeth like a damn dog.”
he pressed two thick fingers against their lips, rubbing the pads roughly against the soft flesh. “it’s best you keep this clumsy mouth of yours shut.” he commanded, voice a dark rumble.
they parted their lips, and he shoved his fingers inside, pressing them down against their tongue, feeling them gaga and choke around the intrusion. drool leaked from the corners of their mouth, dribbling down their chin as he pressed harshly against the centre of their tongue.
eventually, he jerked his fingers from their mouth, allowing them to gasp for hair. he stared at the saliva coating them, grimacing before he wiped his fingers clean against the cabin boy’s skin, and then his own pants.
“beg for forgiveness,” he demanded, not meeting their gaze as his hands drifted lower, skimming over the flat plane of their stomach, the dip of their navel. the towel was discarded, pooled at their feet as they stood bare before the captain.
they panted harshly, chest heaving, tears streaking their flushed cheeks. “please, captain,” they choked out, voice hoarse from the short-lived abuse to their mouth. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to lie. i just— you know i’d never lie to you on purpose!”
“i don’t know you at all.” caleb forced out, brows drawn to a furrow as his fingers dipped between their legs, rubbing roughly against slick folds. he circled their clit, the sensitive nub stiffening under his touch, betraying their arousal despite the fear and shame in their eyes.
“this,” he pinched the small bug between his fingers, twisting cruelly. “such a tiny little cocklet you have. not even worthy of the name,” he mocked. “no wonder you tried to hide it ‘nd pass off as one of my men. no real man would want to be seen with a cock as pathetic as this.”
they whimpered, squirming beneath him, trying to close their legs but he forced them apart, forcing his leg between them.
caleb’s hand drifted lower, he could feel the heat emanating at their core, could see the glistening arousal coating their thighs. but he paid no mind to their dripping cunt, ignoring their body’s desperate pleas for stimulation.
instead, his fingers drifted further back, skimming over the tight pucker of their asshole. they tensed beneath his touch, a whimper spilling past their lips as they instinctively tried to clench themselves shut. but caleb was not deterred. he pressed the tip of his thumb against the tight ring of muscle, pushing insistently until the tip popped inside, forcing a sharp gasp from his cabin boy.
with a bruising force, caleb flipped them around, bending them over the desk. they gasped once more as their chest pressed against the cool wood, scattering the remaining papers and knocking over an inkwell. the dark liquid spilled across the desk, staining the parchment and dripping onto the floor.
“keep fightin’ me, and you’ll get a lot worse than a sore ass,” he growled, hiking their hips up and forced them to arch their back. he could feel the way their body trembled with fear and reluctant arousal as he grabbed the globes of their ass, squeezing the firm flesh before delivering a sharp smack to one cheek.
they yelped, trying to squirm away, but he held them fast. his other hand fumbled with his breeches, undoing the laces and shivering them down to his knees. his thick, hard cock sprang free, the swollen head already dripping and aching with need.
“;et’s see what passes for a cock on a lyin’ little thing like you,” he sneered, gripping their hips and forcing their ass cheeks apart. he spat crudely onto their tight rosebud, his saliva dripping down the cleft of their ass. it wasn’t the best aim, but he didn’t care. they didn’t deserve the luxury of pleasure.
caleb rubbed the head of his cock against their hole, feeling it clench instinctively at the foreign touch.
“so small,” he mocked, rubbing his thick length against them, spreading and smearing the saliva. “you make a damn pretty boy, i’ll give you that.”
caleb pressed forward, feeling the tight ring of muscle resist him. with one brutal thrust, he forced his thick cock past their tight entrance, the sound of their screaming echoing in his ears. he didn’t bother waiting for. them to adjust, just started fucking into them with hard, sharp thrusts that shook the desk and rattled the remaining bottles of ink.
the captain grimaced as their scream pierced the air, grabbing a fistful of their hair and yanking their head back, forcing them to arch their spine more sharply.
“shut your mouth,” he growled, his voice tight with exertion and cruel amusement. “no one wants to you scream like a dyin’ cat.” he shoved two thick fingers into their mouth against, pressing down on their tongue and muffling their thighs as he pushed them into the orfice as far as he could, knuckles uncomfortable pressed against their lips.
“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he grunted, gripping their hips hard enough to leave bruises. his balls slapped against their ass with each thrust, his cock plunging deeper, spreading them open around his thick girth. he set a brutal pace, fucking them hard and fast, not giving them any time to get used to the intrusion at all.
the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, punctuated by his grunts and groans of satisfaction. he was sure that their pathetic little boy-clit, their so called ‘cock’, was leaking all over the desk, aching for a touch it would never receive.
“bet your tiny prick is droolin’ all over itself now,” he taunted, slamming into them harder, feeling their whole body jerk with each thrust. “watchin’ a real man fuck your ass, claimin’ you, ruinin’ you for anythin’ else.” he could feel them trembling, could hear the muffled whimpers around his fingers as he used them.
“this is what you wanted, isn’t it? to be put in your place, to be reminded of where you belong? to be treated like a real boy?”
caleb could feel their slick arousal coating his cock, easing the way for his brutal thrusts. his fingers found their clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in rough circles, feeling it throb against his touch, forcing more thighs and more squirming from them.
“such a needy little thing,” he sneered, pinching their clit between his fingers and rolling it, tugging on it as he fucked into them harder, deeper. “i bet you’re close, aren’t you? ready to cum like the desperate slut you are?”
he could fee his own release building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside of them, thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied his heavy load deep into their bowels. caleb groaned long and low, fingers digging into the flesh of their hips, hard enough to leave deep, angry red marks as he rode out the waves of. his intense orgasm.
a pathetic cry left them as their own body convulsed, nails digging into the desk, trying to cling onto something, anything, but only leaving helpless scratches on the wood.
caleb could feel them clenching around him, their body instinctively trying to push out the foreign intruder, but he just gripped them harder, forcing them to keep his load inside.
as the last tremors of his climax faded, caleb slowly pulled his softening cock out of their abused hole. they whimpered as he withdrew, a flood of their combined juices leaking out to drip down their thighs. he gathered some of the excess on his fingers, smearing it across the back of their thighs, rubbing it against their folds, like a perverse mark of his claiming.
with a low sigh, he brushed their hair from their face, petting their head almost tenderly as they slumped over his desk, panting and shaking. “there now, such a good boy.” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer than before.
“you’ve got spirit, i’ll give you that, lad. and a tight, greedy little hole.” he chuckled, giving their ass a light smack that made them jerk and whimper. “i’ll think about forgivin’ you, boy. you’ve earned that much, at least.” he stepped back, tucking himself away and straightening his clothes.
however, his somewhat attempt at “kindness”, if you could even call it that, was short-lived. “clean yourself up and get dressed,” he ordered. “i won’t have you loungin’ in my office like a wanton harlot. don’t mistake my mercy for kindness.”
they clumsily obeyed, stumbling as they stood up on shaky legs, wiping at the mess between their legs with the cloth he had earlier thrown at them, smearing the evidence of his claiming on the fabric with shaky hands. he could see the way they winced as they moved, could imagine the ache in their ravaged hole.
“i want you gone by the time i’m back, boy. and you should rest up. you’ll need it, if you intend to keep up with the rest of my men.”
the captain didn’t look back as the door shut hard behind him, leaving them alone in the quiet, to pick up the remnants of the wreckage left in his wake.

𝐚/𝐧: i love pirate captain caleb... it's mermay so if you REALLY think about it, this is on theme too. i want to write stuff for mermay, thinking abt siren! reader nd pirate caleb or maybe siren! caleb... thinking hard.
#caleb x reader#love and deepspace#caleb lads#caleb love and deepspace#caleb x mc#xia yizhou#caleb x you#caleb x y/n#caleb smut#lads smut#calebmc#caleb x reader smut#caleb#caleb xia#cw noncon#cw masculinization#cw degradation#cw power imbalance#love and deepspace caleb
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PLATONIC yandere Percy jackson x mother reader
This is based off the head cannons by Lady-Ashfade @lady-ashfade ( thank you so much for letting me. )
I love Sally I really do and I tried to fit her in but I couldn't fit her in also Percy might be a little Out of character idk how I feel about this
Trigger warnings swearing , Gabe is more abusive like the books that the show , blood
Percy didn't like it when you're attention was on anybody other than him. Percy had never wanted to leave you alone with smelly Gabe and go off to some fancy school so he was relieved when he got home. Actually Percy had straight up refused to go to Yancy Academy because it meant he wouldn't be near you . Also you had gotten a few calls from Yancy saying Percy had sent someone to the hospital because they dared to make a joke about you but did you believe them? No you didn't because in your eyes Percy could do no wrong. Percy stood in front of the door to the apartment but stopped when he heard screaming and the sound of glass shattering and your pained yelp as soon as he heard you're yelp he aggressively opened the door. He saw you clutching your left arm which was bleeding badly and probably had glass in it from the beer bottle Gabe had smashed onto it.
Percy lost it when he saw you in pain . Percy hit Gabe in the back with the closes thing to him which happened to be a pen Riptide although Riptide wouldn't do any good since Gabe is a mortal so Percy just jabbed the pen really hard into Gabes back. “ HURT HER AGAIN AND I'LL SLIT YOUR…..” Percy started but you cut him off. “ Hey I'm ok sweetheart I'm ok.” You said interrupting him. “ I'm ok sweetheart.” Although neither you or Percy were entirely convinced of that. “ Mom you're arm…..” Percy said . “ I'm going to clean up then I have a surprise for you.” You said and walked into the bathroom about twenty minutes later you came out showered and you're arm wrapped. “ I forgot to give these to you.” You said holding out a bag of blue sour strings. “ Thanks mom!” Percy exclaimed. “ Of course sweetheart. That's not the surprise though. We're going to Montauk.” You said. “ Really? Just you and me?” Percy asked excited. “ You were serious about that?” Gabe complained.
“ Yes now give me the dam keys.” You said stretching your hand out. “Never. I'm not handing my keys to my car over to you.” Gabe said. “ Yes. You are.” You replied. “ Give her the fucking keys or I'll do far worse than stick a fucking pen into your back. I'll get a knife and shove it down your …” Percy started. Gabe handed you the keys. Well the trip went wrong quickly. “ Dam it I wish I had more time.” You muttered to yourself. “ Mom what's going ON???! AND WHAT'S THAT THING CHASING US???!” Percy shouted. Cue Grover trying to explain. It shattered the glass of the driver window and jammed its horn into the steering wheel causing it to be hard to do anything really. Well the car got flipped. “ Percy I need you to listen to me. What ever happens stay strong my brave boy. Stay strong and brave. I love you my sweet boy. “ You said gently before taking his jacket. “ Mom what are you doing? Mom you're scaring me.” Percy said. “ I love you my sweet boy. Grover make sure he gets to camp.” You said. “ Wait why do you need my jacket mom?” Percy asked. “ He smells half blood…. That's what he's after maybe I can confuse him.” You said.
“Mom No!” Percy exclaimed . You sighed softly pressing his forehead against yours. “ I love you sweetheart but right now you need to be brave.” You said before the minotaur roared again and you ran the opposite direction buying some time for Percy and Grover. The minotaur grabbed you. “ MOM!” Percy shouted . You felt your world go dark. “ NOOOO!” Percy yelled . He charged sword first. “ COME BACK WITH MY MOM YOU FUCKING COWARD!” Percy shouted he wasn't calling you a coward he was calling the minotaur a coward even though he saw it turn to dust. “ Fuck you dad you're a disappointment you couldn't even save my mother. You don't deserve this .” Percy said bitterly putting a blue sour string into the fire.
He jumped on the quest when he found out you might alive somehow. Honestly Percy and Grover were shocked to see you calmly sipping coffee ( or tea if you prefer it or are allergic to dairy) like nothing had happened with Persephone. Also Hades was chill as fuck. “ MOM!” Percy said literally tackling you off the chair and onto the floor into a hug. You chuckled slightly. “ Hi sweetheart.” You said hugging him back tightly. Percy had his precious mother back and he didn't intend to let you go ever again. Even if that meant he had to tear Mount Olympus apart .
Here's the link to Lady-Ashfade's head cannons
#x reader#yn#percy jackson#percy jackson and the olympians#platonic Percy jackson x reader#yandere percy jackson#percy jackson fic#female reader
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Tamlin is infinitely more redeemable and less abusive than Rhysand and I'm so sick of the bat manchild's stans going rabid at the mouth to worship him and demonize Tamlin.
Rhys is allowed to have trauma and to make mistakes because of it (which he will then never be held accountable for and his ptsd and trauma will also conveniently vanish, never to be seen again as soon as it isn't conveniently there in order to exonerate him) but Tamlins trauma is conveniently ignored or erased and his mistakes make him worse than apparently even the King of Hybern.
Rhys can play double agent and serve at Amarantha's whims to subjugate all the other courts- mind you he does this for 50 years and somehow never gets any secrets that Feyre or Tam could use against Amarantha- but Tamlin plays double agent and DOES get secret info against KoH but he's a coward and a traitor who sits on his ass and lets others suffer for him I guess.
Tannins magic (which he has been missing for 50 years, mind you) reacting unconsciously to his emotions and lashing out without his will makes him an evil abuser who 'would punch holes in walls when angry', but Feyres magic lashing out due to her emotions and harming the LoA is never addressed again after a half assed apology is fine, and Rhys literally addressing his volatile emotions by beating the shit out of his 'brothers' is a normal and healthy way to express things. Him threatening to kill Nesta when she reveals to Feyre the secret he kept from her is justified and fine (and iirc, he never apologizes to Nesta. Only to Feyre- he apologizes to FEYRE for threatening to murder Nesta bc she revealed how he was controlling his mate's body and health without her knowledge) but Tamlins the one with the dangerous anger issues.
Tamlin locking Feyre up when she isn't listening to him telling her not to go somewhere dangerous is the height of controlling and abusive behaviors but Rhysand making a magical shield over Feyre's skin so that not even her friends or loved ones other than him can touch her is romantic as hell.
Tamlin not wanting Feyre to train in her power and magic is horrible and awful (it is) but Rhys hiding Nestas powers from her and holding a vote about whether or not she should know about her own abilities is justified and right.
Tamlin locking Feyre up 'for her own good' is evil and horrible, but Feyre and Rhysand doing the same thing to Nesta is 'for her own good' and justified as 'rehab'.
Like I just. What??? What????????
And I'm sorry but people calling him 'Tampon' is... concerning. Especially when most of the people doing so are women in my age group.
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Yandere! HSR & Genshin Guys x Fan! Reader: Wriothesely, Zhongli, Jing Yuan 'Bird' reader
When you are in love different sides of love show…but when you stop being lovestruck and give up how far will the guys go to get it back and make you theirs again….
Flirty! Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley- Bird & Dog- Humor smut fluff some yandere. Trying to Rizz up Wrio goes Wrong or right?
Anxious Artist Readera! x Art Critic!Yandere! Zhongli- Coworkers-Bird & Snake- A Portrait of Morax: Phoenix & Dragon - workplace romance, courting, crush, yandere, manipulation
Shy! Baker- Bird & Lion- Jing Yuan - fav customer, manipulation, first crushes, fluff smut
Flirty! Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley: Trying to Rizz up Wrio goes Wrong or right?
Synopisis: A flirty prisoner trades slang with the guard and prisoners secretly teasing the Wriothesly the prison warden. As they have a crush but too shy to act on so resort to flirting badly as a joke. However Wriothesley does get the slang one day and reader is sure to pay…..
Hey warden where you at? With those Muffins….
“Wriothesly why not Wrio slay bae ~”
Yo got he got the whole bakery
“Buns in the back do slap"
“Oh a Joke show me then what you mean? Or am I not the dog of meriopoide or is it you?”- Wriothesly
Flirty! Reader x Yandere!Wriothesley
Trying to Rizz up Wrio goes Wrong or right?
Synopisis: A flirty prisoner trades slang with the guard and prisoners secretly teasing the Wriothesly the prison warden. As they have a crush but too shy to act on so resort to flirting badly as a joke. However Wriothesley does get the slang one day and reader is sure to pay…..
Hey warden where you at? With those Muffins….
“Wriothesly why not Wrio slay bae ~”
Yo got he got the whole bakery
“Buns in the back do slap” cleverly offered Reader delivering a tongue twister and a euphemism all in one.
The laughter fell to quiet among the frozen fellow prisoners. A shadow hovering above readers head. Literally as the shadow of the very person they were teasing was behind them
“Ahem and what are we doing here? Tapping a foot Wriothesly the prison warden questioned them with hands crossed looking intimidating though normally laid back…
“Making fun of your superior you do know I’m the warden right?” He continued with knit brows.
“Um All in good fun my lord duke warden wriothesly” you stuttered.
“I don’t mind some jokes I can take them but what do you mean by buns”
The rest had scattered cowards.
“Um “ You might die from embarrassment
“N-nothing sir”
“I guess this calls for interrogation then until you spit it out” he said Wriothesley spinning his cuffs and clapping them on you to drag you off.
Wriothesly blue eyes flash with hint of teeth predatorily looming over you in secluded hallway tp the staircase to the interrogation room you guessed.
“This is an abuse authority!” you protested stumbling behind him in the prison corridors
“One last chance tell me me or…” he trailed off menacingly
Wriothesly pressed up against you in the corridor hallway. Unable to escape your were restrained cuffed to him and pressed up against the cold wall. You were warmed only by his body heat.
“They were all compliments” you blurted out face burning eye squeezed shut in fear.
Wriothesly was generally was tolerant with prisoners given the welfare meals and boxing games he’d play. Perhaps teasing him was too far and felt like he lost respect
“Good job” he pats your head with smile as you sink in relief but are pulled into the room to your dismay squeezing eye shut in fear.
“Now tell me the rest” Wriothesly’s hand guides you unwilling to what you thought was the interrogation room but instead his plush office.
You blink in surprise and shock as he proffers a teacup to you
“Sooo who stopping me from having someone over for tea? Wriothesly cocked his head a sly teasing smile he wasn’t serious was he?
He just wanted in on the gossip and for you to spill the tea.
“No one— er you that is you ….assets” you gulp truth spilling out voice small with his feirce interested star like a dog wanting treats.
Wriothesly cocked his head like dog pricking up it’s ears amused to see you stumble to reiterate it as politely as possible
He approached with a tired sigh. A hand cupping around your to force you to look at him as he leaned in close enough to kiss to your mortified thoughts
“Oh do continue “ Wrio said going lower teasing as you realized he knew all along he was just teasing you!
Wrio held your arm up to his arm up to his own sitting beside you on the couch. Knees and arms touching as you were cuffed still by one arm.
The warmth of his breath and his chest pressing to your back as you blushed.
“This is what you wished right?” Wrio inquires as you Shake in anticipation fear as desire burns with humiliation.
“Err it was joke “ you stammer embarrassed and breathing heavily in shock unsure what would happen next or if you would want it or not.
Wrio grabbed gently but firmly and pushed you to fall face forward on his office couch “Time for interrogation then” he amusedly said as you sprawled hand and knees on the couch.
“ Well,then play around with me a bit more hmmm?” A curious head tilt like a dog the eager blue of his eyes cutting into you. As Wrio pulled you up by the chin to look at him
“Entertain me” Wrio hums assessing your eyes for lies. You crane your head to look at him from where he towering above you prepared to do god knows what what. Something Good or bad?
“Show me what you want” he says tipping your chin with boot as you like lip nervously to mirror you in anticipation.
“Or am I not the dog of meriopoide or is it you?” Yandere Wrio mocked .
000 Cut where out should be smut lol 0000
So dive in …. And eat that bakery hun…. Lol
Wrio Smut in a previous post for those thirsty for more~
Or
you hesistate from there Wrios stops hand up
“haha Just A Joke….just don’t let me hear other calling me that again” with a laugh and ruffle of you hair from you kneeling stepping away returning to his jokester self.
“But nothing, about you doing it~” he says with a wink as you gape.
Artist! X Yandere! Admirer! Zhongli : The Bird & The Snake
If art was priceless
What about the artist?- Zhongli/Morax/Rex Lapis
Synopsis: A starving artist takes a job at the funeral parlor and finds inspiration for their first portrait, the god Morax when seeing their muse as funeral consultant coworker Zhongli.
Unbeknownst, to Artist Reader, their coworker is the geo lord himself in disguise. Zhongli notices their art in an auction mostly landscapes of Liyue which he buy up and eventually finds the Morax portrait.
The artist!reader rises to fame so tries to quit job at funeral parlor to pursue art, but Rex Lapis won’t let them break the contract so easily…..after finding out they are the artist they adore.
As for a contract….How about we make another one, dear artist?
You may look and draw as much you want dear.
As long, as your eyes are mine alone- Rex Lapis
Artist! Reader POV x Zhongli
The doodles in your planner and sketches of his figures hurriedly hidden before you knew it. His beauty undeniable in the dying light.
Zhongli was well known as an art critic and while you’d love to receive a favorable opinion.
A bad one would crush you and any hopes and dreams of being an artist.
Zhongli was such a perfectionist you didn’t dare show him any of your art for fear of it being rejected.
Especially, of the ones you did of him idly in your planner when you were enamored by his beauty….
You couldn’t even draw him properly. You were too embarrassed and as a person you needed his permission to draw him….but….Morax a god based on the statues was fair game not like you would ever meet him….
It just happened to be your artistic decision that he looked a little like your coworker….after all not that you ever same though uncanny similar build or so you fantasized.
Not like you could see underneath his — you shook your head bit let fantasy run wild with a portrait of Morax instead
Still uncanny, they looked alike or was that just your silly crush?
Zhongli POV
——
A diligent worker but shy. Hu Tao’s antic salways seems to run off most employees. However, you were kind, calm and didn’t seem bothered by the director’s eccentricities.
Solid as rock
Perhaps that was drew him to you. That and your graceful delicate movements rearranging papers or sketching out coffin ideas.
Zhongli appreciated your refined sense of style and tasteful choices in decor.
Zhongli enjoyed the endless art discussions over lunch breaks that you seem to appreciate when others dropped off halfway through his monologuing.
—
Zhongli was an admirer of your landscapes of Liyue. The mundane made beautiful through few precise strokes.
Zhongli swelling with pride at what Liyue had become as encapsulated in the eyes of an artist and made into reality.
Zhongli was connoisseur and a collecter. So he of course bought all your artwork no matter the cost. A bidding war began and well those he could not acquire he found a way he was a god after all…
If art was priceless
What about the artist?
-----
“Why don’t you just kiss already” Hu Tao broke in to her glee and exasperation at your slow romance. A realization that broke Zhongli's resolve and shoes light that you were the artist he admired and one he liked.
After careful contemplation, Zhongli realizes he likes you and is just as stubborn as a rock when he resolves to court you.
However the traditions Zhongli uses for dating are so ritualistic old and esoteric that you do not realize that is what he is doing but appreciate the gestures….
The frequent lunches and dinners to talk about work that are dates in disguise…
Zhongli gifting a knotted red charm with jade for luck in marriage.
Zhongli insisting they exchanging a Phoenix hairpin exchange for a dragon handkerchief present around New Years.
----
Zhongli finds ithe protight of moraz after you decide to sell the morax painting after consideration the buyer is willing pay alot . ENough you coudl retire and continue painting and pursue yoru but unease teh loss of painting what liklihood hoo perosn based off it would find it?
You owe this mystery buyer and art critic alot too as your painting have gain fame and critical acclaim due to thier eye.
so you trun in you resignation.
"You cannot go" Zhongli Firmly said.
"You see me, as I truly am after all , you can accept all may flaws and facets. And see the true me behind the disguise" he hummed mysteriously as Zhongli revealed the morax painting you drew
"wh-where did you get that?" you gasped embarrassed.
"Would you consider a new contract perhaps?" . Now looking at him stunned and frightened with new eyes. Zhongli your coworker and funeral consultant who you crushed on was Morax, the god of contract and you had just broken one....
He continued taking you chin carefully with his fingertip to stare with serpentine golden eyes.
A Phoenix in dragons trap more like a bird in snakes nest the coils constricting tighter slowly without notice until asphyxiated.
As for a contract….How about we make another one, dear artist?
You may look and draw as much you want dear.
As long, as your eyes are mine alone- Rex Lapis
.
Yandere! Zhongli POV x Artist! Reader: The bird & the Lion
Admirer! Baker! Reader x Yandere Jing Yuan
Cat & Bird Bakery
How sweet you are and the sweets you bake
It always warms my heart, Can I have taste?
You offered first after all. - Jing Yuan
Synopsis: Yandere!Jingyuan a weathered war hero, finds respite in a quiet teashop where the baker is a fan of his and treats him on the house. He continued likening the baker to a shy bird flitting about tables to help as a people pleaser.
Jing Yuan POV
Jing Yuan is amused at how clumsy she gets with him around. His beauty distracted her to stare at him from the corner of her eye with an evident crush. He continues visiting the teahouse to ease her to his presence. Until one day he falls asleep past closing time….Reader gets a blanket but he’s awake and has been watching her the entire time….feigning tiredness to stay after hours…
“No need for that my dear I’m awake. I’ve been watching you the whole time”
Jing Yuan, yawns a flash of lion's teeth and golden eye. Now a hungry lion fixed on the helpless bird...
“I’m tired from work today and home is far away….”
Jing Yuan, lazily slowly meaningfully catching your hand to his and pressing it to his cheek nuzzling it so you cannot escape.
“Um you should get some rest its err past closing time” awkward fumbling emabrrassed being so close and handling your hand.
Jing Yuan blinked, slowly, lazily his hungry golden gaze freezing you in place and silencing your complaints before melting into a fervent pleading soft stare.
“Do you have somewhere I could take a nap?”
There was no way you would refuse him right?
Not the hero, the general of the loufu….
The prey he had been eyeing all along.
Slowly but surely he’d consume you in your entirety.
His little bird.
--
The Bird & The Dog lol more crack pair funny now relief
Concept idea
Because while reader is an obsessed fan have you ever heard never meet your heros? Fantasy is much different from reality….and in reality no one wants a yandere….
The stalker becomes the stalked sorta situation get what coming for em lol by time reader gets over the crush the crush reciprocates too late…
this become softer more recipircl than i thought but slight possievive obseeseive yandere love tinge if not mutual
#male yandere x reader#honkai star rail#honkai star rail imagines#honkai star rail x reader#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere male#jingyuan smut#jing yuan x you#jing yuan x reader#hsr jing yuan#jing yuan#zhongli x reader#zhongli smut#zhongli x you#genshin wriothesley#wriothesely#wrio#wriothesley x reader#yandere genshin x you#genshin impact#yandere genshin#genshin x reader
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\•~{Overblot Vil X Yuu}~•/
\•~{Sweet dreams my queen}~•/
I watched silently from a corner as the chaos unfolded before me. Vil, had over blotted after Rook and Kalim had stopped him from poisoning Neige with cursed apple juice and was currently talking, (more like threatening), with Kalim, Rook, Ace, Deuce, Epel, and Grim. He’d already released the poisoned gass and was about to strike when Jamil rescued them on the magic carpet, whisking them all to safty. Well, except me. I still stood there, shirt over my mouth trying to figure out if I should run or not.
“Rrrrrraaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Vil screeched at the top of his lungs. “Those incolent cowardes fools!! They shall not live after seeing me like this!! No one who sees me like this will live!!”
“Yeah….. I should probably go……” I thought, turning around.
“But, I might make an exception for you, Miss Yuu.” Vil's voice deepened as it carried to my ears, making me freeze in my tracks. I turned towards him, locking eyes with him when I came fully around. His dark look gave way to a smirk as he approached me, as I slowly backed up. I wasn’t really good at being all tough when people overblot, the reason why is because no matter what I know I’m completely helpless against them, so I couldn’t help but do what most antagonist x protagonist situations usually do. I back my stupid little ass right into a corner.
“My, my, my! Why so frightened my little potatoe? Have you finally realized my power now that I’m hideous and disformed?” His smile was a sickening evil sweet one as he looked down at the cornered pray, a.k.a. myself, with a unreadable glint in his violet eyes.
“I already knew you were powerful before this. I just didn’t care cause I knew you wouldn’t hurt me then.” I answered, swallowing as fear grew in my chest. How funny that I would one day fear my crush.
“And what about now?” He asked, bending more to my height, placing both hands on either side of my head. The fear in me grew as he did this, taking hold of my heart and making it beat so loud I swore he could hear it.
“I-I don’t- I don’t know.”
“hmhm, you are so cute when your scared.” His voice somehow softened as his cold gold claws ghosted my jaw and neck, finally resting on my shoulders. “It makes me want you more than I did in my weaker form.” My body stiffened as his warm breath kissed the side of my face.
“Vil…”
“Yes my queen?”
“Pl-please, stop. This isn’t you. These are not your thoughts it’s just the blot.” My voice cracked as I sank deeper into the corner. “Please for both are sakes.” My voice cracked again as I looked down to the floor. It hurts, somehow I’d grown feelings for him, and just like always, I kept them to myself because I feared rejection and the fact that he was way out of my league. These words that he spoke, each one drove a nail into my chest, hard sharp and precise with their aim. Nothing, no pain I’d ever felt had felt like this. Sharp and twisting mean and deadly, this was the pain of having the person you love telling you that they liked you when they were drunk, high, or not in their right mind.
“Its just the blot? Are you sure it’s just the blot my queen? Haven’t you ever heard that drunk talk is sober thoughts? Because this concept is the same in blot, blot talk is normal thoughts my dear girl.” He smirked devilishly down at me as his right hand ghosted my neck and jaw again before grabbing my jaw, the cold gold metal sending chills down my spine as he forced me to look up at him. “Do you really believe your own words, my beautiful queen?” He whispered the tips of his claws gently caressing my uper cheek.
My hand gripped the eage of my shirt, tighter and tighter with every word. And I thought Azul had a way with words….. But this!? This was just plain torcher! Abuse even! Well maybe… But can’t he- right he’s in blot……. Uggggg!!! Vil!!!! Just stop messing with my heart! Stop messing with my emotions!!! Please!!! I-I ahhh!!!!!!!
“Yes! Why would you ever call me queen and beautiful! You think I’m nothing but a hick from the sticks! I heard you say that Vil!! I heard you that night talking with Rook about how much of a disgrace I was to Pomefiore for even stepping foot in it! Why - why would you ever call me beautiful?! That’s how I know it’s just the blot you, Barbie doll!!!!” Hot tears streamed from my eyes as my composure broke into pieces. I hate people seeing me cry, but all I could do was cover my face with my hands as I tried to wrangle my feelings back in and thank Rook for getting me waterproof mascara and eyeliner. A minute of silence passed before he spoke again.
“Look at me, Yuu.” Vil's voice was stern and cold as he tugged my jaw upward. His grip tightened on my jaw when I didn’t obey him. “Miss Yuu, lower your hands.” His voice was now laced with frustrated anger, and this time, I obeyed him, lowering my hands to my chest and keeping them there. “Good girl.” He pured, sounding very much pleased with me.
“Vil, please just poison me and go.” I said, all emotion draining from me. He smirked.
“Oh trust me my queen, I will.” His smirk then faded replaced by a frown. “However before that I need you to believe me that I do want you. But it seems that you have convinced yourself that I don’t.” His face contained a unreadable expression. “Thus are the souls who are beautiful but can not believe it. Such a shame in deed.” He let go of my jaw but still looked down on me. “That night if you remember was almost half a year ago, my opinion has changed greatly since then, I have come to know you more, the girl that you are. Beauty is only skin deep for some people, for others, like you, beauty goes all the way to the bone. It’s not just your looks that are beautiful to me, your personality and quirkyness are also high on my list. Those things I was not aware about back then. Just like you weren’t aware of your crush on me.”
My stomach dropped as my eyes stared in horror.
“How did you-“
“Dear, I know by the way you act.” His eyes softened. “But I hope you know I’m not acting when I do this.”
Grabbing my face with both hands, he pulled it into his own, and my lips collided together with his in a kiss that I had never had before. It was so sweet and soft, bitter and hard, it was pure poison to us both, yet like with most poison, neither of us wanted to stop it. We wanted more. He started moving his lips, trying to get more of me than what he already had, and I him. My hands found their way to his hair, his glorious gorgeous gold and amathist colored hair, so smooth and soft to my inexperienced hands, like silk it was to them. My back became flush with the cold stone wall behind me as he tried to push himself further into my small frame, the crystals in his armor poking me dangerously, but I didn’t care. I had his soft poisoned lips on mine. My first kiss. So poisones it made my stomach flip. But why would I care? No one ever cares about the after effects of something so dangerous.
“Vil…..” I couldn’t help saying his name. It was like my body acted on it’s own in that way. Having the feeling of his lips vibrate under mine with just his name, the feeling it gave me was so wonderfully undescribable.
“Yes my princess?” He pulled away, though are noses were only a inch apart. I just stared at him, even in this form he was still the most beautiful person I had ever seen, even though he drove me crazy.
“I love you, Vil. The fairest one of them all.” I said, looking at him directly in the eye. “Your so beautiful.” Studying me for a moment, his grip tightened on my back and waist as my eyes became droopy.
“I love you to my queen. But for now-,” He paused, looking deeply into his beloveds eyes. “Sleep my dear, when you wake up, you will be mine, so rest while you can, I’ll go take care of those insolent cowards.”
“Sweet dreams, my queen.” He murmured, brushing away some of her locks and kissing her gently on her forehead before leaving for his battle.
My heart raced as i felt my body begin to shut down. My mouth went dry as i tried to speak, but nothing more than a squeek came out, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I looked up at him into his beautiful violet eyes. But my own eyes, the lids are so heavy….. I-I can’t keep them open, my mind….. so foggy….. Vil, w-what… h-have you…. Done to……
That’s when Yuu's thoughts stopped, her mind went black, and consciousness faded from her into nothing as the deadly poisoned queen went limp in her Kings arms. Vil carefully held her bridal style as he walked to NRC's dressing room and then laid her gently on one of the couches.
#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twst yuu#twst fanfic#twst#vil schoenheit#vil x yuu#vil x reader#overblot#kiss#poisoned love#pomefiore
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moments that we stole on begged and borrowed time
Summary: You and Andrew have been tiptoeing up to the line for some time now. Let's see what happens when you cross it.
Rating: Mature, 18+
Tags: cheating, mutual masturbation, smut, mentions of abusive relationship, mention of internalised homophobia, explicit sexual content, university
Word Count: 1213
Author's Note: Betaed once again by @comehereoohlala and @man-i-love-fanfiction - thank you for the help and encouragement ilyyy. Title is from ivy by Taylor Swift and was suggested by Pheebs thank youuuu
Requests are open if you're so inclined!
AO3 link / fic under the cut
You're both lying in your college bed, its thin frame barely wide enough to accommodate the two of you. You're fully clothed, strictly platonic, except. Well. That hand is not in a place one would exactly term platonic, now, is it? Your breath had hitched as he'd slipped it beneath your waistband, heat pooling in your core in anticipation of what was to come. Only, it never did, did it? As he took a shaky breath, he murmured something about how he was just going to keep his hand there. You could connect the dots well enough, knew he meant that if he didn't go any lower, none of this would be wrong. As if this wasn't already going too far. As if him being in your bed at 3am, his breath hot on your cheek, wasn't already crossing the line.
You weren't going to push it. You wanted him, and he wanted you, that was perfectly evident. You also knew all of the very good reasons that this just couldn't happen. Top of the list being his very long term girlfriend.
By the time you met Andrew, in the autumn of first year, just a few weeks after freshers, he had been in a relationship for two years. A miserable one, to be sure. If your suspicions were correct, an abusive one. Emotionally, at least. From what he'd let slip in the long night hours you'd spent talking together, you'd surmised that much. Whether there was any physical abuse, you couldn't be sure, particularly given a little over a year of their relationship had been long distance.
You wanted to be someone he could confide in, wanted to be something more, so much more than she would ever be willing to be to him. But you knew that crossing this line was worse for him than you. That ultimately, he had to deal with the fallout. He had to make the call.
So here you are, his hand as low as he can lay it without actively committing the sin he's trying so hard to keep at bay. You being a man doesn't help. He can tell himself it's different, that it's not quite cheating, that he'd break up with her if he could, and you believe him, but he doesn't know if he believes himself. Is he just being a coward?
You look into his eyes and hold his gaze for a second. You desperately want to touch him, dip your hands below his waistband and feel his cock against your skin, but you know he'd pull away.
Instead, you turn slightly, so you're facing him. His hand shifts with you and you gasp as his finger accidentally brushes something he definitely shouldn't be touching. He withdraws his hand like he's been burned.
You expect him to draw back fully, to get off your bed and run out of your room because this is too much, but he doesn't. Instead, he surprises you. He looks you dead in the eye and takes a ragged breath. You hold yours as you watch his hand go down, down until it slips beneath his own waistband. He swallows a gasp as he grips his cock in his hand and starts stroking it, slowly, methodically. He shifts until his forehead is pressing against yours and you can feel his breath hot in your mouth. When you don't immediately move to mirror the position of his hand with your own, he takes your hand with his free one, guiding it down until it, too, slips beneath the waistband of your trousers. He leaves his hand atop yours for just a second, until he feels your fingers start moving. Satisfied, he pulls his hand away and rests it on your back. This is definitely going too far now. But the line has been crossed and the price will be paid, and morals be damned, you want this.
He locks eyes with yours, glancing down to check the movement of your hand every now and then. You aren't sure what to do with your other hand, hovering near his back, his hair, until he takes it in his and sucks your fingers into his mouth. The noise you let out is nothing short of sinful. When he finally releases the suction on your fingers, he lets out a soft moan as his fingers slide over the tip of his cock. He shifts himself again so that you're cheek to cheek, the very edge of your lips touching. If either of you got up the nerve to say something, you'd practically be kissing already. You aren't going to cross that line, but maybe he will.
His hand moves up and down rhythmically, twisting when it reaches the head of his cock, making his breaths stutter and shake. Your fingers move fast inside you, thumb circling gently over your clit. You can't help wish that he'd replace your hand with his and make you see stars with those long fingers of his. As if he can hear your thoughts, he shifts his other hand so that he's cupping your ass, gentle pressure making you aware of his presence. You tentatively shift so that your own hand is lower on his back, waiting for him to stop you. He doesn't, and you keep moving it lower until it's inches away from where you really want to touch.
Without warning, he removes his hand from your body and you panic that you've pushed him too far and made him want to run. But somehow, you've done the opposite and now he's pushing his boxers to his knees. He even touches your hip briefly, gently, to indicate that you should do the same. And who are you to say no?
Now both of you are half naked and surely, surely this is crossing the line now. But he doesn't stop and neither do you. Both of you are panting, tongues practically swiping each others' lips as your breaths come rougher and harder now. You're both getting closer and closer, so close to being together but far enough to have some level of plausible deniability here. As if this isn't plenty wrong enough.
He finally, finally closes the gap between your lips and you're sure you're going to cum with his tongue down your throat. Your fingers are practically frantic now, pumping in and out as fast as you can manage, thumb almost causing friction burns with its pace on your clit. Andrew isn't faring much better. You can hear the lewd noise of his slick hand against the skin of his cock. Then he bites your lip and you're hit with a wave of pleasure crashing into you. The resulting moan that spills from your lip into his own mouth pushes him to his own peak, spilling into his hand, onto his stomach and yours.
When he pulls away, you're both flushed and sweaty. You're waiting for him to run, to tell you this was all a mistake, that he regrets every part of this. But instead he offers you a sweet smile, saying "Well, I guess we're in this now, huh?"
You return his smile and pull him into a sweet, sticky embrace.
#hozier#hozier x reader#andrew hozier byrne#writing#fanfic#hozier fanfic#hozier fanfiction#writeblr#writers on tumblr#hozier smut
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just wanted to bring this up since you commented on this in the tags of my post.
but i brought up Stolas and Ozzie's actions with defending their respective love interests because the episode showed a parallel to Stolas and Ozzie for the time they were in Stolas coward down and didn't defend Blitz or his relationship with him because he didn't have the courage at the time as he was still in that mindset of him being a goetia and the like. Mammon was doing to Ozzie what Ozzie did to Stolas and tried to embarrass him in order to get him to back down from protecting Fizz, but unlike Stolas, Ozzie didn't coward down.
It wouldn't be until Mastermind (which i did mention in the post) that Stolas would show his love for Blitz in the same manner Ozzie did.
so with Ozzie's that was meant to show Stolas at his weakest, then with Mammon's musical we were shown a glimpse and possible foreshadow for what Stolas must do, and Mastermind was the pay off.
I simply didn't bring all that up because it had nothing to do with Ozzie and Fizz in that episode, so i do think my comparison was fair.
I hold no hate for Stolas (if you check out my earlier blog i went into a lot of detail talking about him to show why he's so sympathetic) but i was being fair in showing a flaw that he had which he did overcome by S2's end.
I also don't hold anything against you this is just me trying to explain why i made the post the way i did.
hi! thanks for the reply. i didn't think that your post was aimed to hate on stolas at all! i'm just stating my view on things.
i just don't think there's a lot of place for comparison as i said, because ozzie and stolas were in very different places in their respective relationships and their feelings about it. i don't even think it had anything to do with stolas being a goetia.
we don't know how long ozzie and fizz have been together, but even by "ozzie's" it's clearly been a while. they live together. there's art of them together on ozzie's walls. even tho they try to keep in a secret, it's pretty well known they have a thing. even crimson, who lives in greed and probably doesn't care much about gossip, is aware that they're together. they're secure in their relationship, even if it's a secret.
stolas and blitzo? by ozzie's they've been sleeping together once a month for maybe 6 months. they don't really have a relationship. blitzo asking stolas out on "ozzie's" is the first time he'd done so. stolas is still struggling with his home life, trying to get away from his abusive wife and Octavia, who's clearly unhappy about her parents splitting and her father's relationship with blitzo. and ocatvia is definitely the most important relationship in stolas' life- this is very contrasting to ozzie, who's hiding the relationship with fizz to protect his own reputation, but doesn't have any interpersonal relationship on the line that could be damaged as a result (that we know of).
and now to the episode itself- in "ozzie's", stolas is excited about going out with blitzo. he doesn't mind being seen in public with blitzo. he didn't mind it in "loo loo land" or "the harvest moon festival" either. when verosika and fizz cornered blitzo, stolas was fully prepared to get up and help him until ozzie turned the spotlight on him.
and mind you, blitzo has spent the episode treating stolas very poorly. he lied to him about his intentions (stolas is sure this is a real date, but blitzo is just using him to spy on m&m) and he acts as if stolas is nuisance he has to put up with the entire night. now stolas is being put on the spot by a royal and getting called out for ruining his daughter's life?
of COURSE he's going to hide his face. he's not standing up for blitzo OR himself. because his relationship with blitzo is new and shaky, blitzo isn't giving him any reasons to think it's going anywhere, his homelife is a wreck, and ozzie has just turned a spotlight onto it.
you can call this cowardly, but it's easy to not be a coward when you don't have so much on the line. like, say, if you're a deadly sin in a secure, loving relationship getting called out by an equal that you don't even like in the first place.
like i said, i just really don't see any place for comparison here. stolas has his flaws, but not standing for blitzo in "ozzie's"? that's not one of them.
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How does Eris feel about cassian?
pre-acosf i think eris disdained him in the same way you might a small splinter in the side of your thumb. the majority of the time you don't even realize it's there — but then sometimes it catches on a thread or you rub against it the wrong way, and the pain is fleeting but sharp and unexpected, and no matter how you hold it to the light, no matter how you try to get it out, no matter that you think it finally gone, it stays stuck in there. maybe even gets shoved in deeper. it's similar to how eris feels about rhysand or azriel antagonizing him about the morrigan incident, except i think with cassian there's the added — you're the one who fucked her; your actions are what got her butchered at all. how can you revile me when your role in this is far worse? how is it my fault you didn't have the foresight to know how the game would be played, and i have no recourse but to play it? but cassian not knowing how to play the political game doesn't really affect eris yet, so that manifests more as just a general lack of respect / discounting any opinion cassian has as uninformed. plus of all the inner circle, i think cassian has the most moral righteousness. his shame is tied to his being a bastard, not really to any actions he has taken himself, so he doesn't know the shame of being Bad like azriel and rhysand do. this makes his interactions with eris, who doesn't really attribute morality to things / doesn't have the luxury of holding morality in high regard, even more unpleasant to deal with. plus plus general illyrian / lesser fae prejudice.
post-acosf... i'm sure sjm is going to make him seek nc validation and absolution as part of his character / redemption arc, but eye think eris wants to burn cassian specifically to an absolute crisp. throughout acosf, eris is constantly insulted and antagonized; has crucial information about the trove withheld from him by his chosen allies, while he is offering information they could not get elsewhere; is publicly made a fool of by his allies when they dangle nesta in front of him despite the open secret of her being cassian's mate; has his guards (who he got captured by because he cared so much for them that he refused to raise a hand against them when he easily could have killed them BTW) slaughtered and then tortured by said allies; gets captured and has his bodily autonomy stripped from him just to bait the night court; and then cassian has the audacity to call eris a coward after he endures his father's torture to preserve night court interests and alliances. like holy shit, u kno? and if i missed anything it would only further my point. eris overextends himself on behalf of the night court throughout that entire book and sees literally nothing in return. not even any real change in their opinion of him. just a scrap of cassian thinking he might be a good person, then insulting him for ... some reason? again, that constant air of moral superiority from cassian that eris cannot stand, weaponized at what is maybe the worst time to do so — when eris has just had the longstanding vulnerability of his abuse exposed in his efforts to protect those who only show him ingratitude and resentment. sooo yeah, i think eris would happily see cassian reduced to a pile of ashes, especially since he was the talking piece for the nc throughout acosf.
#ask#acotar#acotar meta#eris vanserra#*eris#i guess i'll tag this as#cassian critical#ic critical#but it's uhh literally just the canon events of acosf so i don't rlly think it is#anyway yeah i thought i'd have a little more nuance to it than this#but as i pondered this question i just kept coming back to eris in that final scene he's in#and how absolutely furious he must have been as cassian walked out of that door#there is obviously the part of him that wants what cassian has — the love the trust the goodwill the kindness the family#but i don’t think he wants it from the nc#he wants it for himself from his own family#and that makes him resent cassian even more#thank you for sending this in 💖💞💗💕💓#these always make my day
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Till Death Do Us Part (Miguel x Reader)
Miguel x Husband!Reader W/C: 9.5k
#NSFW, exhibitionist kink, praise kink, hurt/comfort, infidelity, toxic relationships, brief verbal abuse, mending relationships, mentions of medication, mentions of mental illness, difficult/complex feelings and emotions, things work out in the end, nobody dies, the zombies aren't that important, old men just really going through it
Note: I cried a lot writing this lol please also cry and enjoy! (I also tried my best with the Spanish and tried to reference good sources, but I apologize if it sounds whack lol I only know EN and JP o(--( )
-- Till Death Do Us Part --
"(Name), where the fuck are you?" Miguel ran his hand through his hair as he watched the news, as he stared outside at the cascade of chaos. He waited for you to pick up the phone. He'd already called so many times, but you weren't picking up. Why weren't you fucking picking up?
"Miguel, he's probably fine," Dana cooed as her arms looped around him from behind. "You need to worry about what we're gonna do."
Miguel shook his head and shoved Dana's arms off of him. "Our daughter–Gabriella–"
"You mean our daughter?" Her tone was vile. So, so fucking vile.
"Shut up," Miguel barked before ripping the phone from his ear when your voicemail picked up again. He shot you another text, asking where you were before his fidgety fingers scrolled the log up and down, cruelly reminding himself of the messages he'd ignored from you just a few days ago.
November 18th 7:04am babe come home 7:04am please 12:19pm we can talk about it 12:20pm we'll figure it out 12:46pm gabi misses you 9:34pm call me tomorrow
November 19th 7:35am you still ignoring me? 7:40am gabi wants to call you 7:41am you gonna answer if it's her? 8:05am i'll tell her you're busy with work 9:50pm i miss you
November 21st 9:56pm call me
November 23rd 12:01am i shot someone 12:01am i had to 12:01am but i can't stop thinking about it 12:32am i need you 1:12am please 2:07am miguel
November 30th 7:16am miggs shit's crazy outside 7:17am lock the doors, don't let anyone inside 7:17am maybe stock up on food first idk this might take a while 7:18am but DON'T help anyone who's bit or injured 7:19am they evacuated gabi's school but i don't fucking know where they're going 7:19am i'm gonna find her, i promise 7:20am i love you. stay safe.
December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry
Miguel rubbed his eyes. He sped past his own wall of text starting from that day, December 3rd, and sent another plea, another wish that you'd respond back sooner than a week from now.
"Oh my God, just give it up–"
"Dana, shut the fuck up, just shut up."
He called you again.
And this time, you answered.
Miguel's heart jumped. "(Name)?"
"Babe?" You sounded like you were panting, like you were straining against something. "Are–are you okay? Where are you?" A string of coughs punched out of your lungs in rough staccato, pinching Miguel's nerves with every ghastly beat. He was scared. He was so fucking scared.
"I--I'm," Miguel stammered, still unable to have that conversation, still too much of a coward in the end. "Does it matter?"
"Just keep the doors locked," you continued. "Keep 'em locked, and…and I dunno if you're in a tower or a house or fucking whatever, but don't leave until things get quiet." You picked yourself up from the ground, Miguel could tell by the scratch of gravel echoing wherever you were. "Don't get bit. Don't help anyone who is bit. Put yourselves first."
"But, I–you–do you have Gabi?" Panic gripped his throat as jets flew overhead, high above the city. The engines roared a gruesome apology, a sound Ouranos himself must have made when his own children slew him, so filled with godly enmity.
Then, molten death rained on the city. Miguel stared at roaring explosions dotting the cityscape, watching pillars of flame feed into the world's chaos. His hands trembled when the same carnage screeched through your phone.
"I'll find her. I-I promise, Miguel, I'll find her and--and I'll–shit."
There was gunfire. Gunfire encased in wild snarling. It devoured the crack of plastic hitting concrete, the noises you gasped out, the–
Silence.
Miguel hated his mind. He hated how it remembered that one moment so clearly, like it'd happened just a minute before the present. Sometimes, when he felt like torturing himself more, he wondered what your face looked like in those last moments. He wondered where your life flickered out. He wondered when he'd see you stumbling through the streets and have to put a bullet in your head.
But he'd force good memories to the surface when he found the light growing too dim; that confession and first kiss, starry nights spent lazing on the hood of your jeep, the look on your face when you finally held little Gabriella for the first time–it all chased away the darkness. It all made him feel whole again, it let him see clearly again. But with clarity came the difficulty of accepting what he'd lost.
He found a way to do it. He found a way to talk about you, too. It was hard not to–your old colleagues, other officers of the lost world, were an integral part of the Alchemax colony. Jeff Morales and George Stacy, amongst a few others, had known you, and by proxy they knew Miguel.
"He was a good guy," Jeff had mentioned when the moment felt right. "Bragged about having the best-looking and smartest partner around. Now, I ain't gonna say he was right, but he wasn't wrong." That brought warmth to Miguel's chest, but guilt smothered it too quickly.
"Never stopped talking about your daughter either." George smiled when he recalled it, but it was something small and morose. "Gabriella, right? Yeah, he said she was a smart cookie. Kind of a brat, apparently, but hey, with that guy as her father? Hah! I'm not surprised."
Miguel liked having them around. He liked the happy memories they brought to your name.
But on bad days, vulnerable days, Miguel wanted to break their necks and watch them turn so he could kill them again in their undeath; they still had their children, their families. How could they bring up what he'd lost while they still had everything?
Today was one of those days, too, one where your memory hurt just a little more than usual. Maybe it came with the snow whirling in the blue-drenched outdoors, or the sudden darkness the world lost itself in. But he knew the frostbite decaying his heart came from the eternal proof of your lost existence:
December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry
Why did you apologize? Miguel sighed, and carded a hand through his hair as he paced Alchemax's halls. Enough of that, Miguel. You need to focus. Focus.
And once he stepped foot in the control room, the routine morning check commenced: doors remained sealed with no record of tampering, security cameras still functioned, the solar panels still collected more than enough light to keep things rolling. Good. Perfect.
"Hey, hey, how's it lookin'?" Peter asked, a cup of coffee in one hand and his little girl tucked in the other arm. It would've been a wholesome sight, if Peter hadn't ruined it with a too-loud slurp from his mug. Ugh.
"Fine," Miguel grumbled. "Everything's in the green. Nothing to worry about." He ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "Just have to clear the snow off the solar panels later today."
"Oooh, snow! It is that time of the year, huh? December already! Who woulda thought. Time goes by pretty quick when you're not worried about getting eaten all the time." Peter looked at his little May and cooed. "Isn't that right, Mayday?"
Miguel rolled his eyes fondly and shook his head. "If you're that excited about snow, I'll put you on shovelling duty, Parker."
"Oh, wow, I'm suddenly deaf and can't hear you." Peter shuffled away in his stupid slippers and stupid bathrobe. "Oh, right, right, MJ made bread! Can you believe it? I feel like I haven't had a bread-carb in forever! We really gotta do another supply run or we're eating canned beans all winter long. Y'know what? I'll put it on the 'to-do' list!"
Miguel threw a glare at Peter over his shoulder. He was annoying, but he wasn't wrong. They did need more food, more supplies, more ways to sustain themselves. Scavenging the dregs of supermarkets and convenience stores wasn't cutting it anymore; there were too many mouths to feed, and shitty, packaged foods wouldn't suffice much longer.
Miguel braced his hands on the centre console after pulling up a satellite map of the surrounding area. The lab they called home laid nestled away from prying eyes of citizens, making it a safer place to start to rebuild the semblance of a normal life. Though, at the same time, it made it more difficult to get in and out of the city in good time. They had to pick their destination on the map, calculate the time it'd take to get there, and then execute the plan with little to no hiccups. It was hard. It was a pain in the ass. But it had to be done.
Miguel took his time scanning through the map, trying to spot any buildings they hadn't already marked off as empty and not worth the trip. These days, they had to get creative, they had to think of places that'd have food where people wouldn't expect, where the average scavenger wouldn't think to look and–
"Shit," Miguel breathed before rushing to move the map. "How could I forget?"
He spotted a small building on the map, one they'd never ventured to, one they never thought to go to. A chain link fence surrounded the perimeter, giving about five metres worth of breathing room around the building. Clusters of huge garden pots dotted the area randomly, along with whatever outdoor trees and shrubs that'd survived all these years on their own.
Miguel covered his mouth as he smiled.
"You might've just saved us, viejo."
Because you were a country boy. A farmer's son.
You convinced (begged) him to pull over, to go to the new garden store that'd appeared not too long ago. Miguel, far too smitten with you, couldn't find the heart to say 'no' to the excitement buzzing in your voice.
The store was filled with beautiful plants, ranging from common houseplants, to tropical rarities that Miguel never knew existed. All sorts of bushy plants, tall single-leafers, and vining beauties lined the displays and bathed in the gentle, constant mist raining down on them. It really felt like a tropical jungle landed in New York.
You'd sauntered over to the seed section while Miguel wandered through all the store had to offer before finding you again. You had several sachets in your hands and scanned the shelves for anything else that piqued your interest; they were all vegetable seeds, stuff like corn and green beans, tomatoes and onions, but the occasional herb showed itself as well.
To Miguel, raising vegetables seemed like a cute hobby. But to you, raising crops meant revisiting your childhood.
"You wanna get some?" Miguel asked. He looped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he read all the different seed names on display.
"Yeah. I mean…maybe. Dunno if a vegetable garden'll go with the house." You laughed softly, a little self-deprecatingly, before you reached to put the packets back. "I just–I don't know."
"I think it'll work." A smile warmed Miguel's face as pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. "We can make a greenhouse. A big one. In the backyard." He kissed your neck next. "You can show me the farmboy fantasy."
You laughed, turned in his arms, and kissed him. "Done."
Miguel crept up to the garden centre with Hobie and Gwen in tow. Travelling anywhere from the safe confines of Alchemax was something of a nightmare, but Miguel was used to it–despite being the man who knew how to run the building, he too often volunteered to head out on supply runs himself. He needed the space to think, to feel the darkness they’d found themselves in, and to feel the light of the sun on his skin to remind himself it wasn’t over. Because it was far from over.
The garden centre was surrounded by chain link fences encircling the entirety of the building, the very same ones Miguel had seen from the satellite’s view. Honestly, he found himself surprised to see just how good the place looked–the windows were mostly intact, the fences hadn’t been torn through, the doors were still sealed, and a row of crippled undead and frozen re-deads dotted the perimeter, but none were inside. It didn’t seem like any had ever been inside, actually.
“That’s…kinda weird, right?” Gwen murmured as she adjusted her toque. “This place feels like…like it never went under, or something.”
“Damn near stuck in the past, I’d say,” Hobie agreed. He looked to Miguel. “Fishy’s an understatement, yeah? Might be some not-so-dead-yets in there.”
Miguel took a deep breath as he thought. “It’s a plant store. Not the highest priority for scavengers like us.” He headed forward, grip tight on his hunting knife. “Try not to shoot. Not unless there’s a runner.”
“Better not be any runners,” Gwen grumbled. “It’s December. Hopefully they’re all freezing to double-death right now.”
Hobie scoffed a smile. “If not, we just give ‘em an early Christmas present, hey?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure they’d love their brains blown out.”
“Eh. I would.”
Miguel rolled his eyes as the youngins bickered softly behind him. There was no point stopping them–trying to dad them out in the wilds of New York just gave Miguel a bigger headache, and too often ended in a louder match of bickering and scolding, which then often resulted in the undead stumbling their way. It was always a mess. Maybe he should stop bringing the dynamic duo with him.
But you’d known them. You were fond of them, too, always letting them off the hook with a slap on the wrist when they were caught vandalizing buildings or stealing from stores when they were teenagers. You laughed when you told Miguel stories about them, about how Hobie’d call you “officer tall, sunny and handsome” to get on your good side (which worked), and how Gwen would try to bribe you with car-washings and babysitting to get you to not tell her dad what happened. You knew they were good kids, just bored and too smart for their own good. Miguel knew that, too; the two of you were thick as thieves back in the day, total petty-crime masterminds. Maybe Hobie and Gwen were your dark apprentices, in a way.
Miguel smiled faintly. He missed the days where you both broke into abandoned buildings, haunted houses and everything else inbetween to fool around and fuck. It’d always be filmed, much to Miguel’s embarrassment, but watching the videos back always made him feel…wanted. Appreciated. Like a rare piece of art.
You’d always cheese it up and make it sound like some sort of bad porno or found-footage film, like you didn't just break into Chuck E. Cheese to fuck in front of the creepy animatronics. Breaking the law got you excited, as ironic as that was for a future cop. Miguel thought you were a freak. Miguel was kind of a freak too, though.
“Fucking God,” Miguel moaned, somehow louder than the squeak of the table hosting your feverish coupling. His hips bucked and rolled against yours in a desperate attempt to keep up with your brutal, delicious pace, and his thighs dug into your sides with his hands clutching to your shoulders for dear life.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you mumbled into his ear. Miguel’s body gave a sharp, involuntary jolt, kickstarting the sudden crescendo of his well-earned euphoria. He let his voice be heard as he arched off that shitty table and up against your solid frame, his hips still rutting and moving in sync with your own. You groaned too, letting yourself be just as loud in the midst of him tightening around your heavy, thick cock pummeling into him.
“God, lookit that pretty face,” you growled when you pulled back to see how fucked out he was. “You feel good, huh? ‘M I makin’ you cum hard?” Your hand slapped the side of his ass, and Miguel whimpered sharply. “You’re so good, baby, so fucking good. I’ll make you cum again, yeah? Make you cum while you–while you take everything I got.”
You were terrible. Horrible. A monster in the sack, and apparently in front of powered-down robots. You did what you promised, and ripped another orgasm from his exhausted, over-stimulated body before reaching your own blissful undoing with a rude grin on your stupid, annoying face.
It made for good content, though.
They reached the front gate without problem, only to find it locked with hefty chains and thick padlocks. If there were people in there, then breaking through the first line of defence wasn’t their favoured option–they didn’t like other survivors, no, and they didn’t work with them without good reason, but they weren’t in the business of sabotaging them, either.
“Hobie,” Miguel beckoned, muffling the chains’ clanking while holding up one of the locks.
The young man smirked and flicked his old lock picking set from his pocket. “Don’t mind if I do, coz.”
He unlocked everything in record time. Miguel thought of you for a moment, and wondered if you’d taught the young man a few nefarious tricks since you, too, were an expert sneak. But Miguel pushed the thought aside as they all carefully, slowly, painstakingly unwrapped the linked metal from the fence, and pushed it open with just as much care to keep the noise to a minimum. It’d be a shame to ring the dinner bell in such an untouched place.
They relocked one of the padlocks for peace of mind before wandering towards the front entrance. The doors’ windows were boarded neatly and meticulously, Miguel noticed first. He crouched down and noted something blocking the small gap between the ground and the door, but the faintest reach of light still reached through the few cracks that remained.
“Lights’re on. Front’s boarded,” he sighed before backing up. “Might be a different way inside. Looks like there might be people in–”
“Miguel!” Gwen whispered. He looked her way, and saw her point to a decrepit shed nestled up against the side of the building, right underneath a large window. Shoved against it laid a single, heavy pot flipped on its end, serving as a sort of stool to get up on. But the lack of snow on the newfound path gave Miguel pause.
“I’ll check it out,” Gwen said before nimbly scampering up the side of the shed.
Miguel frowned. “Gwen–”
“Relax, I’m just gonna look.” But Miguel did not relax, especially not when she rose on her tiptoes on that shitty, rickety shed roof and peered through the window before her eyes grew wide with a soft woah.
“Whatcha got, Gwendy?” Hobie asked, approaching the shed himself.
“You two–” Miguel warned. He looked around cautiously, his body aching with primal instinct–they weren’t alone. There had to be someone else here. Gwen and Hobie had to realize that. They were smarter than this. They wouldn’t do anything stupid. They wouldn’t be hypnotized by whatever was in there and throw caution to the wind to get it. Right? Right.
…Right?
Excited, Gwen smiled and glanced at the two before looking back at whatever she saw. “There’re–there’s…trees? And bushes with veggies and–and wow, you were right, Miguel.”
“Well, I say we hop in there and snag a few to bring back, yeah?” Hobie suggested. “Reckon they grew on their own?”
“No,” Miguel scolded. “They didn’t. Come down, right now. We need more people for this.”
“I’m juuust gonna...” Gwen reached for the window, and Miguel’s anxiety peaked.
“Gwen.”
“Just a little–” The window groaned as it popped open.
They froze. They died as statues for a single, long moment, rejecting the need to breathe, letting their eyes freeze solid in winter’s mercy while their ears pricked, searching like the alert deer suspecting death stalking nearby after a misstep on a brittle branch.
One minute passed.
Then two minutes.
Three minutes.
But the birds kept chirping, the world kept spinning, and Ares didn’t come to collect their battle-worn souls.
Gwen looked at her group with a nervous smile, a guilty thing that said, “oops?”
Miguel was furious. But now was not the time to argue or yell. He could let her father handle that back at Alchemax.
But someone grabbed her, and yanked her inside.
Hobie didn’t hesitate. He jumped up to where Gwen once stood and took the plunge after her, scrambling up into the window, but that same someone shoved him, sending him plummeting down to the frigid concrete. Miguel rushed to his side when he hit the pavement with a choked-back groan.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Miguel rolled him on his back. “Hobie, you fucking idiot.” Miguel’s panic ebbed just the slightest bit when he saw the punk blinking away stars instead of losing consciousness.
Click.
Electricity burst through him. Miguel ripped his revolver free of its holster and returned aim up at the shadow in the window. The tired winter sun illuminated a barrel of black metal, and the small, tawny hand holding it steady. A child. A kid. He was pointing a gun at a kid.
“We don’t want any problems, kid,” Miguel called up. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t; children who grew up in this world were ruthless. They were cruel, unrelenting, and unapologetic towards their targets. He couldn’t blame them. It was all they’d known, all they’d been taught. But they were only as cruel as their teachers made them. Some of them still held on to shreds of humanity.
And judging by that unwavering hand, Miguel feared their adversary was at least a confident shot if not a full-blooded monster.
“Yeah, c’mon,” Hobie groaned. “We just–we just want some seeds ‘n shit, ‘at’s all.”
The small hand faltered a bit. Seems she still possessed sympathy. But a voice, deep and thread-bare, called to her. She looked over her shoulder for a second, before pulling the window closed and locking the latch behind her.
Panic lanced through Miguel as anger possessed Hobie. “I’m gonna snap that kid in half–” but the creaky hinges of the front door opening cut him off. Miguel aimed toward it, and Hobie did the same once he got himself together, but then–then Gwen peeked out.
“Guys!” Her hand fluttered and ushered them to come. “You’re not gonna believe this! It’s–”
“Daddy?” A young, gentle voice asked, and Miguel’s gaze snapped to her. To her. To the little girl peeking out from around Gwen. To his baby, to his tiny world, long lost but never forgotten. To–
“Gabriella,” Miguel breathed.
“Ho-ly shit,” Hobie commented.
Gabi’s eyes flooded with emotion. She sprinted to him, nearly slipping and tripping in the snow before jumping into his arms and holding on tight. She was so much older now, so much bigger; her tiny face used to bury into his stomach, but now she had her head tucked up against his chest, staining his jacket with heavy tears.
“It’s okay, mija, it’s okay. I’m here, Daddy’s got you.” Miguel kissed the top of her head. He fought back tears of his own, but did so so pitifully with broken, bewildered laughs and shaking breaths. He pulled back and looked down at her face, her beautiful, beautiful face, and carefully wiped away the wet trails freezing on her cheeks. “I–you–L-Look at you. How’d you get so big?”
Gabi smiled and sniffled as she wiped her eyes. “I-I, um, finally ate my veggies.” She took a breath to try and still the quiver in her lungs between thoughts. “Y-You have so much grey in your hair now!”
A few beats of warm laughter left Miguel. “Yeah, no thanks to you. Spent all this time worrying about you, kid.” His hand, so used to killing and defending, trembled as he brushed flyaways out of her face. "Listen, I–I'm gonna take you somewhere safe, okay? You won't be alone anymore."
Gabriella blinked. Her small hands clutched his jacket. "What? But–"
"She's not alone."
Miguel almost didn’t look. He didn’t really believe what he just heard. But when he risked it, when he managed to wrench his gaze away from his daughter and back to the heavenly light of the front entrance, he saw you. The man who'd been haunting him for years. The man who'd been keeping him warm at night. You, his lover. You, his husband.
(You, the man he betrayed.)
"She hasn't been alone," you said, the words punctuated by hazy clouds of warmth–proof you were alive, that you weren't an illusion, not this time. "I promise."
You looked so, so tired.
But Gwen was grinning, and even Hobie smiled with a lack of irony as he walked to you and gave you a hug.
"My man! Officer tall, sunny and handsome in the flesh!" He clapped his hand hard against your back but you hardly wavered. You offered a smile, and hugged him back, short and sweet.
"Hey, Hobie. Behaving?"
"Eh. Sometimes."
"Good enough for me." You let him go and scanned over all the survivors, your eyes not lingering on anyone for too long. "Head inside. It's warm, there's food. We'll talk. Gabs?"
"Okay!" She hurried to corral everyone inside. "In, in, in, we gotta lock up for the night." Her gaze turned to Miguel as he hesitated, still watching you with glazed eyes. "Daddy, are you–?"
"I'll be there in a second, mija." And, thankfully, his baby girl read the room better than he could have at that age, and let you two be.
You looked over your shoulder, so like a predator making sure his cubs were inside and safe before prowling through the night. A man enchanted, Miguel followed you, watching you re-lock the gates they'd slipped through, and lagging behind while you checked the perimeter with thorough hands. Miguel would give anything to have those hands on him right now.
He didn’t know where to start. "(Name), I–"
"You said you could take her somewhere safe, right?" You asked before you turned that timid, unsure gaze back to him. "You meant that?"
The words took too long to register. "I–yeah, I meant it. I mean it." Miguel forged courage out of trepidation and used it to fuel his journey to you. "We have a colony. The old Alchemax building, you remember?"
"The one that was supposed to get torn down?" You wondered.
Miguel nodded. "Yeah, that one."
You kept walking. "Didn't we fuck in your office there?"
A smile threatened Miguel as he followed like a lost puppy. "We did."
"Ah. Always liked that building. Liked that desk, too." You shrugged. "Comfy, all things considered."
Miguel hooked his finger into your belt loop and pulled you closer to him. "Then you'll be happy to hear it hasn't changed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You almost laughed, Miguel heard it. But you pulled away from him, and wordlessly finished up the perimeter sweep.
"You should stay the night," you mumbled on the way back. "Pretty sure it's gonna snow."
"Might make it harder to get back tomorrow," Miguel said, following you inside and watching you bar the door again. "We came here by foot."
"No truck?"
"None."
"I'll take you back, then. I got a truck."
"You make it sound like you're not coming." Anxiety gripped Miguel. "I'm not losing you again." He held onto your arm tightly.
You looked troubled, glancing between the hand on your arm and Miguel's eyes. "Did Dana die?" You asked.
Sickness coiled in Miguel's stomach. "What?" But his tone was too deep, too dark.
You shook your head. "No, I–I'm sorry I don't know why I said that, I'm just–"
"We both know why you said that," Miguel said through clenched teeth.
The way you looked at him, eyes full of bristling hatred for the woman who'd stolen away everything from you, set alight an ancient sort of fear in Miguel’s core. It was so like that night, the one where you'd found out.
Gabi was still at daycare. You were at work. Miguel was supposed to be at work, too. It could have been the perfect crime, one full of sinful lust and infinite rapture.
But you came home early.
You didn't even say a word when you walked into the bedroom and found him tangled in the sheets with Dana, with the woman he'd convinced you to think was a surrogate, not someone he was fooling around with and just so happened to knock up. You had that same stare, rotting with hatred, infested with betrayal, all for the woman underneath your husband. Miguel loathed that look, but he found some sick joy in hurting you, too. Because he hated you, for some reason.
Dana laughed when you walked out, some smart comment about how pathetic you were dancing off her plush, scarlet-stained lips. Miguel scoffed a laugh, too. You really were a coward, weren't you?
(But you weren't.)
Miguel finished with Dana, and she left. He heard her say something to you, something light and playful and damn hurtful, but Miguel didn't say anything. Nor did you.
He found you in the living room after he'd pulled some clothes on like it mattered. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, staring hard at your profile while you graced the ground with an empty gaze. Your hands clasped and unclasped slowly. Your head nodded shallowly.
"You're really not gonna say anything?" Miguel goaded.
"What am I supposed to say?" You offered.
Something. Anything.
Miguel laughed, mocking, and sat down across from you, on a mirrored couch, across the glass coffee table you'd picked out together.
"How long?" You managed.
Miguel hummed in thought. "How old's Gabi?"
That got a reaction out of you, something Miguel craved so deeply; your eyelids fluttered in disbelief, and your lips parted to suck in a sharp breath. You looked hurt. You looked like you were feeling something.
"The prenup says you keep what's yours, I keep what's mine, yeah?"
Miguel's smile faded. "What?"
"Gifts fall into that category. I’m keeping the Jeep."
"Wait–"
"I'll find a lawyer in the morning." You got up, and Miguel snapped.
"You're not even going to fucking ask why?" He yelled, pursuing you into the bedroom. "You don't wanna know why I'm fucking someone else? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
You ignored him. Miguel's temper flared.
"Fine! Fine, fuck it, I'll tell you. You don't excite me anymore. You don't try, you don't wanna fuck me, you don't wanna do anything anymore–"
"Miguel–"
"You're not the same man I married. What happened to you? When'd you get so–so pathetic and weak?" He took a pause to breathe. Or maybe gasp, more like, as the stabs of panic started to overtake him. "I hate you. You can't leave me."
He braced on the door, trying to get his bearings on his own, but you were quick to his side. With a strength Miguel loved and adored, you eased him down and fell in slow-motion with his shaky frame secured in your arms.
“It’s okay, Miggs. You’re okay.” Your fingers combed through his hair slowly. You held him tight, and convinced him to breathe with you. In and out. In and out. In and out. He breathed to the rhythm of your heart, as it turned out. Slow and steady. Hurt and bleeding.
“We’ll figure this out, I promise.”
And he believed you.
That’s why he took off the ring, and left first thing in the morning.
Hobie and Gwen passed out after eating their fill of stew. Miguel was beyond annoyed, but couldn't find it in himself to wake them up and leave, not when you were undecided about going with them, but very much wanting him to take Gabi.
Honestly, he didn't think you'd still be hurting after all this time. Dana was something of the past, a succubus that followed the steps of opportunity and wealth wherever it may go. That's why she wasn't with the group anymore. That's why she left him when he needed her most, and jumped in a truck with strangers while he bled out, alone, in the solitude of an abandoned pet store.
Chills raked his spine, breaking off chunks of bone when he thought about it. He'd never been so fucking scared in his life. He wished he could have called you to come save him. He wanted you to be the one to walk in there and find him, crying and dying, because you would have stuck by his side through all of those moments; if he hadn't let his emotions get the best of him, if he hadn't made so many stupid decisions, he would've been with you. If he died that day, it would have been in your arms.
"Hey," you murmured with a gentle touch to his shoulder. Miguel jumped, and your eyes softened. "You okay?"
Miguel swallowed thickly as he nodded. He looked around, grounding his mind through the touch of your hand, the duo snoring and slumped against bags of soil, and the gentle flickering of the propane campfire keeping the space warm. You taking a seat beside him helped, too.
Copper eyes took a moment to pace around the old garden centre; true to the outside, it was more or less untouched on the inside, just more cluttered with haphazard barricades and half-done projects. Miguel watched his ghost walk through the isles, once filled with tropical plants, but now replaced with beautiful, healthy trees raised by your hand. It was no wonder Gabi grew up so strong.
Speaking of--"Where's Gabi?"
"She's in the next room. Watering some seedlings." You smiled for a fraction of a second. "Putting her green thumb to the test. Tryna show her old man up, I guess."
Miguel smiled though his eyes stung. "Sounds like an O'hara."
"Yeah, I thought so, too."
You shared a few broken beats of laughter before silence fell, just like the snow beyond the door. Then, shyly, like you'd never done it before, your arm reached around his waist. Miguel didn't hesitate to lean his weight into you, though, and that arm didn't wait to pull him in closer right after.
"So. You still hate me?" Miguel dared to ask before the dancing cinders.
Your hand smoothed up and down his side thoughtfully, soothingly. Miguel melted against you more with a sweet, content sigh.
"I never hated you," you whispered in return. "Never."
Miguel made a little sound, something caught between surprise and relief, while your words sunk deep into his thoughts. You didn’t hate him. You didn’t hate him.
“Then come back with us.”
“Miguel–”
“There’s no reason to stay here,” Miguel bit out, frustration egging him on. “We have shelter, we have water, showers, rooms, beds–we have everything.”
“What about food?” You asked quietly.
But Miguel didn’t have an answer; food was the reason they were coming out here, to find more ways to create sustainable living, to try and make life work again. He couldn’t help but look at the trees and bushes bursting with colourful fruits and vegetables, showing off years of dedication and hard work through the literal fruits of your labour. Miguel didn’t know how hard it was to get there. He didn’t think he wanted to know.
“...It’s a work in progress,” he grumbled instead of admitting the truth. “But we could use your help.”
Your warm fingers dipped under layers of clothes to find the searing skin of your past lover. To Miguel, it almost ached. He hadn't been touched in so long. He hadn't felt your hands on his bare skin for even longer. It intoxicated him, filled his mind and blood with wants and needs–things only you could fulfil for him.
"I won't leave you hangin', promise that. I just–I need to figure out how this is all gonna work." You looked around the room, taking stock. "Lots of gear we'll need, lots of shit to move. I'll send you back with whatever's already picked. Not worried about the cold with those. The trees are another story, don't want 'em to go dormant while–"
Miguel kissed you. Sloppily, and wantonly, but with genuinity. Your hands scrambled to hold onto his massive frame when he leaned into you and almost knocked you off the discounted garden bench. This time, you were the one who made a cute, surprised noise.
And you were the one who kissed him the second time, but it was smaller and shier coming from you, not so eager to consume like Miguel. Your calloused hand held the side of his neck, and your thumb ran along his jawline thoughtfully when you parted, noses bumping and nudging together in a weak nuzzle.
"I guess you don't hate me anymore?" Your whisper ached Miguel's heart.
"I never did," he confessed.
"Then why did you say it?"
"I don't know." He traced the curve of your lips with tired, weighted eyes. Your cupid's bow had a nice shape to it, so soft and pillowy, meant just for him. "But I didn't mean it."
"I need a better answer than that." You swallowed down what Miguel could only guess to be a tincture of fear and sorrow, or maybe rage and betrayal. "I've lived with–with that for a long, long time." Your eyes glistened with unspent grief, suddenly. "I need more than 'I don't know.'"
Miguel's heart lurched. He hadn't bore witness to the consequences of his selfishness before, not with you, not during his affair with Dana. He'd only seen you grow distant across that coffee table far before that god-awful night. And back then, he wanted a reaction. He wanted something like this out of you, but now, he couldn't fathom why.
"Mi amor, I–it's hard to put into words, and I was a stupid kid, and–hey, hey, don't--don't cry." He wiped away the bravest tear to fall first before you turned away, back to the flickering blaze, and rubbed your face roughly.
"Here's my guess," you muttered. "You wanted to fuck, and I couldn’t–I just–it was hard for me. Or maybe it wasn’t hard, maybe that’s a better way to put it.” You rubbed your face, and held your head in your hands. "The, ah, the medication, the anti-depressants or whatever, they were fucking me up. I didn’t wanna fuck you. I didn’t wanna do anything. Then I was in training to join the force. Wasn't home, and when I was, I was too tired to take care of you and Gabi, so I focused on her. And that made you go back to Dana. Again."
Bile scorched the back of Miguel’s throat. "You knew." A realisation, not a question. "You knew we–that she and I–"
"Yeah, that she wasn't a surrogate.” You picked your head up from your hands and stared at the fire, unseeing. “Because she was dating Gabe at the time, and you were with me." You sighed and let a deep, venomous grief finally escape from the space between your lungs, from the spot where that thing had festered like a disease for too many years.
"I could let it go the first time, turn a blind eye because she gave me–gave us–our daughter, but–the second time? With all the shit you two said?" You shook your head. "I just--I couldn't–I wish you'd just told me what was wrong. I wish I'd told you what was going on with me, too, 'cause I know all the shit that happened is my fault, too.”
"Dad?” Gabi's small, hollow voice rang. The both of you turned to her, but you were the one who got up.
“Baby,” You said with a hushed tone, somehow so comforting but so afraid. “Hey, you done with the watering?”
“Uh, yeah, but…um, is everything okay?” Her gaze flicked between you and Miguel. He could almost hear her little mind firing on all cylinders as she tried to parse what they were talking about. “You look sad.”
You crouched before her and took her hands in yours. “We’re talking through some things, honey, it’s alright. We’re figuring things out.”
A light of worried realization illuminated Gabriella’s gaze. Miguel fidgeted and futzed with his clothes as he looked away, unsure of how to deal with her accusatory revelation. How much did she know? Did you tell her anything? No, no, you wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t dirty her memory of her father like that. You were a good man. You were a better man than Miguel.
“Oh,” she whispered.
You nodded and brushed some hair free from her freckled face. "We’ll be alright, baby. You just get some sleep, alright? Tomorrow's gonna be a busy day. Lots of loading up to do."
Gabi whispered the softest okay before giving you a hug. She paused for a moment, before running to Miguel and throwing her arms around him for a few precious seconds before running off to the loft to sleep.
You sighed, then, and Miguel did too.
You turned to him. “Look, you–I don’t know why I’m starting shit right after you…you wander back into my life,” you murmured, going back to Miguel and straddling the bench before taking his hand and squeezing. “I’m sorry. And I love you. You know that, right?”
That pang came back in Miguel’s chest, but this time, it was warmer.
December 2nd 3:05am i love you 3:06am i'm sorry
Miguel squeezed your hand back and this time, he was the one tearing up. “Mi amor, you don’t need to–you’ve done enough apologizing already.”
"Miggs, don't say that. I–"
"Stop. Stop it." Your husband straddled the bench, too, and scooted closer to you until he was more or less in your lap, his heavy thighs draped over your own.
"But–" you started, and stopped as Miguel cupped your face with both hands and squished your cheeks. You sighed and leaned into his touch when it eased up. "Baby–"
"Me arrepiento de lo que hice," he whispered to you, "espero algún día puedas perdonarme." He let go of your face, and found your hand to kiss its back. "Te amo."
You smiled. Something real, something happy. Something that stayed around for more than a few seconds, and made the corners of your eyes crinkle with the beautiful way you'd aged. Then, you kissed him.
"Te amo," you murmured back, your lips still touching his. "We'll figure this out. Work it out. We have the time." Your lips pressed against his again. "I'm not giving up on us."
This time, Miguel cried.
It took some time to transport everything to Alchemax. It took a little bit longer to get you there, too.
But you got there eventually, ready to stay for good, and ready to put Miguel's mind at ease.
Your old friends and coworkers greeted you, clasping their hands on your back and hugging you tight until you couldn't breathe anymore. You smiled, too, and asked them how they were holding up, if your husband was keeping things in line. You couldn't help but remind them that you in fact hand the handsomest and smartest partner in the world, too.
They let you get acquainted with the building pretty quickly, probably seeing the haggard, exhausted state you'd lived in for five years and wanting to let you unwind for the first time in a long time. And that called for a hot shower, food, and some sleep.
"I'll take you to your room," Miguel told you as you both left the common area.
"My room?" You retorted, sounding mighty confused and damn near insulted.
Miguel blinked and looked at you. "Yeah. There's enough for–" Oh.
"What's yours is mine, yeah?" You said, stern and a little bit spicy. "Then your room is mine. And your ass is–"
"Câllate," Miguel cut you off with a smile. "I'll take you to our room."
He led you there with a bit of a spring to his step, and you kept up with as much enthusiasm. The room was nothing special, featuring nothing more beyond a mediocre bed, uninspired furnishings, and random knick knacks Miguel had left here over the years. But it was home. Your shared home.
"Huh." You looked around the room. "I think that coffee table woulda looked nice here."
Miguel scoffed a laugh and rested his hand on the small of your back. "You think so? I think it'd clash."
"Yeah, well, you have bad taste, hun."
"Oh, wow, you're really gonna say that when I'm married to you?"
"I'm the one who confessed first. I'm the one who proposed. Pretty sure it's safe to say I picked you." You leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “And I have good taste.”
Miguel felt his face get hot. "Shut up and take a shower."
"Your wish is my command." You set your pack down by the bed before sliding open the door to the ensuite. Miguel watched you like a hawk, his prey drive skyrocketing when he caught swaths of your bare skin peeking out from the washroom. He wanted to watch more, but you deserved a little privacy.
"Oh," you said, peeking out from the doorway. "I, uh, kept my phone through everything. There're some photos of Gabi, if you wanna check it out." You vanished back into the bathroom and Miguel heard the water turn on. "It's in my pack! In the shitty little phone pocket thing."
"Yeah, I–okay, I'll take a look, thanks." Miguel smiled, and rummaged through what you'd brought with you before pulling out that beat up phone with the charger still plugged into it and kept together with bandages of tape. Colour him impressed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and went straight for the camera roll. There were loads of new pictures ranging from Gabriella when she was littler, to pictures of animals that Miguel guessed Gabi had a hand in.
There were old pictures, too. Mostly of Miguel, as embarrassing as that was, but the baby photos took over his reign once that perfect little girl entered your life. It made Miguel wish he’d taken more photos, that he hadn’t thought it was too cliche and embarrassing to capture every moment. He used to say shit like, “Do you have to take a photo? Can’t you just live in the moment?” but you’d stick your tongue out, give him a pinch or a bite on his cheek or something else in retribution. Because you didn’t care, you wanted to look back on little memories.
He scanned through photos until he caught one that sent a rush of red to his features; it was of him, on his back, eyes teary and face alight with a fierce blush as you, well, obviously fucked him stupid. It was the only one of its kind. Maybe you forgot to delete it? Maybe–
The videos. Oooh, now that had Miguel excited. Miguel scanned through the other folders, but found nothing, much to his dismay and relief, seeing as Gabi probably had free access to your phone.
But then, he spied a locked folder.
The first password he tried worked (your anniversary because duh. You were such a sap), and a whole catalogue of videos and pictures were unleashed.
Miguel glanced up at the washroom door before he skimmed through. He remembered all of these places (but the geo tags helped, too. Christ, you were so organised with your exhibitionist porn), ranging from IKEA after closing, to an abandoned amusement park. He still didn’t know how you picked out these places, or how you knew how to get into them without getting in heaps of trouble with the authorities.
He tapped on a video and bumped the volume up a couple notches, just so he could barely hear; it was him on his knees, on a rusty old ferris wheel, staring up at you like you were God himself as he gripped your thighs and did his damndest to give you the blowie of a lifetime. Your sighs and soft moans rippled through the speakers like waves lapping at the shoreline. Present Miguel rubbed his mouth, worrying at his bottom lip before licking the dryness away.
“Good boy,” You whispered on the other side of the camera. Your hand came into view and carded through dark locks before cupping his cheek. Miguel of the past turned into your touch and took your thumb into his mouth while his hand took over stroking your length from base to tip over, and over again.
Miguel swiped to the next video. He was on his back this time, in your shared bedroom, if that duvet cover was to be trusted, while your fingers plunged deep inside of his heat and tore loud moans and gasps from him. He remembered this; you called it an experiment before you bullied his prostate with three, thick digits.
"How's that feel, gorgeous?" You purred. Miguel swallowed thickly, both in the video and in the now. His hesitant hand crept down his thigh slowly, like he was trying to hide it from himself and call it an accident as he reached to palm himself through his jeans while he watched. He almost felt guilty. But that's what made it better.
"Good. Really fucking good." His past self rocked down against your fingers, choking on a needy whine as his eyes slid open, and found you. "I need you, mi amor. Please–"
"I know, babe, I know. I'm almost done here," you promised. You tilted the camera down to his stretched hole to catch what you did next. "Then you can have whatever you want from me."
You pressed your pinky in, then, and Miguel of the present bit his lip as his shocked gasp and shaky cry pierced through the speakers. Miguel still couldn't describe the deranged pleasure he got from having half your hand in his ass, nearly to the point of fisting him.
Miguel switched to a different video quickly. The next one was in the Jeep you loved so much. You were both out camping for the weekend, something you loved and Miguel had learned to love; that stupid red truck became home for so many long weekends, it became host to long hours of napping and intimacy, it turned into one of Miguel's favourite places.
The video started with you adjusting the camera and squinting at it while Miguel’s younger self bitched and moaned in the background.
"I'm just making sure the tripod's working 'n shit, babe, just gimme a sec!" You whined back.
"My dick's getting soft," Miguel threatened, so blasé but annoyed at the same time. "Come on, viejo."
You pulled away from the camera, grinning smug as a fox, and scooted back to your lover. His past self was lounging, hair and clothes already a mess from the prologue to this movie, as he watched you.
"I'm here, I'm here." You kissed him, and Miguel could almost taste the s’mores on your tongue, the coffee on your lips. "Sorry, just wanna make sure it's perfect."
"Oh, yeah, 'course. Gotta make sure your indie porno looks good."
"Hey, one day we're gonna look back on this! It's worth it, baby, trust me."
"Whatever. Just kiss me," Miguel demanded with a laugh. And you did as you were told, kissing his lips, then down his chest, then–
"Knew you'd like watching 'em back."
Miguel jumped, nearly dropping the phone as he jerked his hand away from his clothed bulge. "I, uh–what?" he asked dumbly as he stared at your built frame leaning against the doorframe. God, you were still an impressive specimen. He wished that loose towel would just drop from your hips already.
"Our, ah, home videos." You grinned, so much like that fox from the past, and paced to Miguel. "Nice looking back, ain't it?" You cupped the underside of his jaw and tilted his face up. "Got you a lil' excited, yeah?"
You weren't wrong. With a hammering heart, burning skin, and tingling nerves, he couldn't deny he was stuck deep in a pool of desire and need. And now with you handling him like this–fuck. He was in trouble.
Miguel nodded weakly. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Just a little."
“I’ll help.” You eased onto the bed and took great care in settling behind him. "Let the video play," you whispered against his neck before leaving a possessive kiss.
Miguel leaned back into you. He watched you pop open his jeans and slip a hand down, down, down, until your warm palm met his aching length. A shuddered breath escaped him when you felt him up, pulled him free, squeezing and stroking in all the right spots; it'd been so long since anyone touched him. It'd been so long since he touched himself.
"I, ah, don’t think we–did we lock the door?" Miguel heard himself moan in the video, and he dared another look; your head bobbed between his thighs while fingers pistoned into him. He wondered if you would do that to him again. Maybe tonight.
"Nope.”
“Shit.”
"Mmmh. You want me to stop jerking you off so you can lock it?"
"No."
You chuckled. "Okay."
Your hand still worked him slowly and thoughtfully while lovers of the past filled in the rest of the silence. Miguel's hips bucked, and you hummed, so pleased with yourself. Pleased with yourself for pleasing him. Something Miguel found self-value in.
"I think I, uh, I think you mighta been right," he murmured to the air, trying to control his voice. Your gentle hum of intrigue spurred him on. "I think I need you to fuck me more than I realized. Need you to want me, ‘n…take me."
“Yeah?” You asked before sinking a bite into his neck. “Figured you had somethin’ of a praise kink. Makes sense, in hindsight.”
Miguel gasped when you picked up the pace. “Fuck–I’d call it…mmmmn, I’d call it a-a love language–”
“Huh, didn’t know there were six love languages–”
“Sh-shut up, shut up, you know what I–what I mean–!” Miguel bit down hard on the inside of his mouth as his hips rocked up into your cruel, talented hand. He was close. How embarrassing. “I, uh…physical touch. Words of affirmation.”
“‘Needing my husband to fuck me and tell me I’m sexy.’” Miguel moaned and dug his head back into your shoulder as you chuckled. “That sound about right?”
“Viejo,” he whined, setting the phone aside to be forgotten. “I–”
“I know, baby; show me how hard this love language makes you cum.”
It only took a few more strokes for Miguel to come undone. His teeth clattered together as he strained to keep his voice on lock as a forgotten rapture ripped the air from his lungs and electrocuted every vessel in his body. He clung to the other arm that’d come to wrap around his chest and hold him against you while you worked him through the motions, slowing down, accommodating the way his body reacted to the blinding pleasure. There were words said, probably encouraging ones muttered into his shoulder, but Miguel didn’t have the mind to parse the meaning of what you’d said.
“Y’know,” you tried again when Miguel’s mind levelled out, “I think I have a praise kink, too. But a complimentary one. One where I like praising you.” You rested your chin on his shoulder and hummed. “Hm. Who woulda thought.”
“Hah. Good to know you’re still annoying,” Miguel said with a chuckle. He scrunched his nose up when you licked the side of his face. “(Name)--”
“No.” You bit his cheek this time, and he sighed. You did, however, feel his softening cock start to come back to life again. “Want me to lock the door now, old man?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. You got off the bed, letting the towel fall where it may, and Miguel finally gazed upon his lost treasure. “And set up your phone. We need to update the archives.”
You grinned when you turned back to him, and Miguel felt so at ease.
There were still things to work out: the mental illness you hid from him, the cheating Miguel tried to hide from you, the little secrets you both kept wedged in the darkest cracks of your minds. But with you with him, the man who refused to give up on their bond and their love, Miguel felt safe indulging in mindless pleasure you so generously gave to him. Neither of you were about to seal away the past again, but if you could share in the good of your relationship while acknowledging the bad, then hope wasn’t lost; it was found in the moment you’d pulled his old wedding band from your pack, and slipped it back on Miguel’s finger that night, murmuring the words you said in a church so long ago:
“Till death do us part.”
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel x reader#atsv imagine#atsv reader insert#male reader insert#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x male reader#miguel x male reader#male!reader#atsv male!reader insert#atsv x reader#atsv x you#miguel x you#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#phyrestartr#smut
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Kevin Day's #1 Defender
Okay I've seen a lot of "is Kevin a coward?" "Kevin shouldn't have left Jean in the Nest" "Neil would have stayed" discourse going on lately and I just wanted to add my quick 2 cents. Why are we blaming characters for taking themselves out of abusive environment? That creates such a toxic and unhealthy mindset, people should not stay where they are unsafe for others, you should not have to sacrifice your own well-being, give up everything, act like a selfless martyr, in order to be considered a good or brave person.
We could play the same game with another character and I'm sure people wouldn't appreciate it quite as much. Andrew left Cass's home, he told Nicky's father but no one else when he didn't believe him, more kids went to that home and more were likely hurt by Drake Spear. Andrew gets a call from Officer Higgins asking him for a testimony against Richard Spear. He refuses to give one because it isn't Richard, but he doesn't give up Drake's name, doesn't assist in an investigation that will keep other young children safe, that will bring a monster to justice. Perhaps we could say Andrew shouldn't have left because in doing so he allowed those other children to get hurt? Perhaps we could say Andrew should have tried harder to tell someone what had happened to protect future kids? Perhaps we could say Andrew should have been more willing to help Higgins lock up Drake because he was a monster and was continuing to harm others? Perhaps we could, but that would be disgusting. Because Andrew was a child, because he was taken advantage of, because he was scared and vulnerable and traumatized, because it is not a victim's responsibility to save anyone but themself, especially when the person or institution who abused them is still powerful and more believable than they are.
What happened to Jean was terrible. Jean did not deserve any of what happened to him. He deserved to be saved, to be safe. But it was NOT Kevin's job to save him. It wasn't Kevin's job to stay for him. Just like it wasn't Andrew's job to put his own safety on hold, to ignore his own needs and boundaries, to take on his abuser when he was in a much more vulnerable, much weaker position. We do not get to call people (real or fake), cowards, because they chose to make the very BRAVE and SCARY choice to flee an abusive environment when they had the chance.
#aftg#aftg fandom#aftg series#all for the game#andrew minyard#kevin day#kevin day needs a hug#psu foxes#palmetto state foxes#jean moreau#kevin and jean#the nest#the ravens#edgar allen ravens#riko moriyama#tetsuji moriyama#drake spear#tw drake spear#queen of exy
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"Building Just A Place Where Suns Deserve A Home."
This oneshot is based off THIS episode, "Moon FINDS DARK SUN", and about this sentence referenced in the title that Dark Sun said!
ENJOY MY FELLOW TSAMS FANS! :D [And I'm sorry it's poorly written kinda IT'S ALMOST 4 AM FOR ME OKAY 😭🙏]
And this is btw the Sun from the other dimension who beat HIS Moon to death so don't get confused ^^'
-------------------------
TRIGGER WARNINGS - ROBOT GORE (?), DEATH
„Die, Die, DIE!“
This was the only thing Sundrop had been hearing from his mouth for a long time that felt like skipping a minute backwards whenever his aching fist would ram against the metal. First, it was a shout driven by the history of violence and abuse that had pushed him towards his breaking point, had carved their markings onto his mind and body that now began to gush out with blood, but now, it turned almost into a begging of closure. A closure that wouldn’t arrive, no matter how many times he would hit, scream, kick, slam. Each time he felt how his wound, ripped-open knuckles met the harsh surface of metal whose icy cold shot throughout his body, it only fed into this insatiable desire for revenge, to see him beaten down and rotting forever as this corpse that would never be a part of his life anymore. He wanted him erased, not just his body – But the memories that were attached to his voice, appearance, gestures, even mere name. Just flickering his gaze towards his soulless, black sockets and oil-caked face made him shake in both anger and fear. It felt like he relived each moment where he was screamed at, scolded, name-called, beaten, reduced to nothing more than a sobbing individual who would do anything to please to avoid any potential anger.
His knuckles ached. His chest felt like being constricted as strained, shaky breaths escaped his clattering mouth. He could feel how the oil between his joints dripped through and spilled upon his fingertips, staining his face whenever he would take momentum and shoot his fist towards the thing he attacked. But now, it took more effort to even bring his fist to move, and the thuds caused by the impact weren’t as strong as before.
He grew tired.
Exhaustion swept over him and weighed him down.
Just like the slowly creeping feeling that he might do something so terribly wrong that he could never take back no matter how much he tried.
And now, he doesn’t know anymore.
He braced his hands against the ground as he straightened his back. He took a closer look.
His blurry vision only revealed a shadowy frame that laid underneath him. Lifelessly. Like a corpse whose chest cage was ripped open, turned into a mere pile of wires and an empty metal shell.
It was his brother.
His brother Moondrop.
And now, his brother doesn’t even live anymore.
He is dead.
He is fully gone.
But why does he still haunt him, why is he still stuck in his mind?
His fingers curled inward his palm. They pressed against the ground.
DOES NOTHING WORK?
IS EVERYTHING HE DOES USELESS?
His head sagged down. Those thoughts tormented him. It felt like someone screamed directly into his ear, the voices just there to make his life a LIVING hell growing so loud that they broke through the bounds of his internal world and entered the outside one.
WHY DIDN'T THEY TURN QUIETER ALTHOUGH HIS BROTHER WAS DEAD?
Maybe he needs to do more? Maybe more efforts?
Maybe beat him even more until his face is unrecognizable?
Sundrop choked on his sobs. His fingertips roamed the floor until they stumbled upon a barrel.
He snatched it as if his life depended on it.
Just do it.
Hit him.
Hit him until he is only a bloody pulp.
DO IT, COWARD.
And Sundrop tried. He lifted his arm, the barrel tightly held in his hand, just wanting to go through the motion to finally escape, to finally have this relief and peace he has been looking for his entire life.
But he stopped.
Because something so... warm suddenly entered the room. As if the sun's warm rays poured over him and engulfed him.
Sundrop dragged his gaze up.
He was blinded by a light from which a person split apart. A hand was stretched out in front of him. Hesitantly, he looked from the person to the hand - The oily tears glimmering in his eyes telling the tale of suffering and hopelessness that defined his whole existence.
But maybe, this... person can rescue him. Save him.
Maybe, he is his savior.
Sundrop laid his hand in his. He looked up again.
The outlines of the person got clearer.
"You've suffered enough, Sun. It's time to go to your new home."
They had... rays.
#sun and moon show#tsams#the sun and moon show#sams#tsams sun#tsams helios#writing#oneshot#creative writing#tsams writing#tsams oneshot#tsams dark sun#sams dark sun#sams sun#tsams sundrop#sams sundrop
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COBYB shit list (Rage post).
This isn't really an actual analysis or anything like that. Just a vent post to get out the frustrations of how willfully ignorant COBYB stans are.
It's all being a "girls girl" until it's this shit
When a woman wants to act obsessive and the man doesn't reciprocate, the woman is a creepy bitch who needs to go while the man is comforted by the audience and celebrated for rejecting the stalker (as it should be)
When a sexy man wants to be obsessive and abuse a girl to get out his frustrations of being in lust with someone who can't say no to him, she's just "rejecting her true feelings" and the man just doesn't know how to show his love in a normal way.

knowing damn well that this story would be treated as the psychological horror it truly is if Matthias looked like Marquess Sergev from I thought my time was up. Pretty privilege is so real right now.
"Oh he chose to do nothing against his bitchy mom! Kyle isn't deserving of Layla for being such a coward!"

"Matthias on the other hand buys Layla gifts even when he hurts her because he really does love her! It's the nobilities fault he's like this! He apologized in the end didnt he? 😢 he just doesn't know how to properly show his love!"

Be real: Everyone would adore her for "protecting her fiancé" and would sympathize with her if she was the lead of a basic isekai or regression.

Bro will meet this girl when she's 12 and get bliss out of torturing birds knowing it makes her cry and you still have people diagnosing Layla with BPD and absolving Matthias of all blame.

Hey guys, is this the look of a pleasured young woman after a so-called "fun night" in the woods?

You tell me?
Matthias can do whatever the hell he wants and it's just "He's a red flag but I'm color blind 😏" but GOD FORBID I defend Ari.
What? I thought you people LOVED toxic relationships as long as the guy is conventionally hot?


Layla gets coerced into being a mistress against her will so her uncle Bill will be safe and people STILL claim that it was not SA because she "consented" after her only remaining family members future was held as leverage.
"Who does she think she is? Kissing Matthias right in front of Layla 🙄"
His fiancé? And don't give me that "it was an arranged marriage" crap because we all know the manhwa community doesnt give a damn as evident by OTHER manhwas.

Plot twist: The ending wasn't actually Layla getting lobotomized by the plot to love Matthias. She just knew that man was never going to quit until she either accepted or he takes a page out of the song Sarah from Tyler the creator.
Yall know that "Grandma, you little victim." Meme that originated in tiktok? That's basically the best way to describe Laylas future when she grows old.
"If you don't like it, don't read, you're just justice farming for views 😒"
First of all, would you believe me if I said I got a basic summary of what happened thanks to getting a ton of COBYB related posts on tiktok and Instagram videos that were being extremely vague and gaslit you into thinking it was romance? (Yes, I did find the rest of the chapters to read so I could actually make a verified post but to begin with, I already knew a basic idea of what was happening.)
Second of all: if this were just some random 🍇 and degrading fetish comic on a porn site with little people defending it, I wouldn't feel the need to care. (EX: I don't make any abandoned empress posts because everyone already hates it so there's no need to say what has been said a million times already) this is a gross porn novel that was put on a site mostly inhabited by 10-16 year old girls that makes stalking and 🍇 look sexy thanks to the artstyle and the ML being a buff BTS blow up doll and instead of it being called out, you got THOUSANDS of people tarnishing the name of dark romance so they can justify a grapist while pretending to be girl's-girl's instead of coming to terms with the fact that the comic with a beautiful artstyle is grade A garbge.
#manhwa#webtoon#cry or better yet beg#anti matthias#claudine von brandt#layla llewellyn#rage posting#tapas#kyle etman
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At Waiting's End - 7 Consequences
Camshaft was uneasy. Though Optimus Prime had been an ally in the evacuation, he was still a Prime and Camshaft had seen the degradation Cybertron had suffered under Zeta and Sentinel and he did not trust the Matrix of Leadership’s decision making at all. The mech would need to prove himself because carrying the Matrix was a mark against him and not a boon. It had been a long time since Camshaft had been in Iacon. He had never gained access to the Primal Palace from which the Autobot base had emerged. His handlers had been more concerned with technologies and trade secrets and not the cult of the Prime. One of ten thousand refugees, Camshaft did not go unnoticed, Autobots cast him a long look here and there as he explored the grounds. They left him be, which was exactly what he wanted.
“They’re treating that slut like a hero,” a voice sneered. Cocking his helm to the side, Camshaft approached. Fury quickly built in his spark. Was this the mech Prowl had mentioned? The mnemosurgeon.
“Didn’t he shoot down that trine?” Someone else asked.
“That’s his story,” the Tagonian sneered. “I can’t believe Jazz is buying that that’s his bitty. You’d think he’d be smarter than to get conned into raising someone Con’s bastard.”
“You think he was clanging with a Con?” The Seeker asked.
“How do you think the Cons got through Praxus’ legendary defences?” The mech asked. “Obviously that traitor was...”
Crack!
The smartmouth’s friends jumped back as Camshaft hit him with a vicious right hook. He fell to the ground, visor shattered. Angry flashed from yellow optics and he tried to lunge at Camshaft but the spy spun and kicked him in the chassis, sending him flying. Camshaft pinned him down with one ped. Revealing himself to be exactly who Camshaft had thought him to be, the mnemosurgeons needles slowly extended from his servo, meant to be used as a weapon of course. Glaring into his optics, Camshaft smashed his ped down on that servo, spearing his palm with the blade hidden in his heal. The mech screamed. As one of the mech’s friends approached, Camshaft cocked his helm.
“I have no quarrel with you,” he said. “On the surface. You do keep this cretin’s company and that is a point against you.”
“Uh... we aren’t actually friends or anything,” the Seeker said, raising his servos.
“Coward,” the mnemosurgeon growled.
“You would do well not to speak,” Camshaft warned him. “If I hear you have spoken my creation’s designation or eluded to him in slanderous conversation again I will rip out your glossa and then drive those needles you violated him with through your optics.”
“You are Prowl’s originator?” A mech with a scope on his shoulder asked. He had a refined accent that suggested he had been educated in the Towers.
“Yes,” Camshaft replied. He gave the mech a look of challenge. Camshaft knew his creation had not felt welcome among the Autobots.
“Well,” the Seeker said. “You’re terrifying.”
“That is a sensible reaction,” Camshaft replied. “Should your security forces wish to speak with me, I am staying with Jazz.”
They did not try to detain him, no doubt because they were terrified. If that cretin wanted to file a complaint against him, Camshaft would welcome it. Was it Chromedome that he called himself now? Prowl had told Camshaft two designations for the same mech and he could not remember which was current. It did not matter. He was the sludge beneath Camshaft’s peds. He had never suffered a consequence for his abuse of his needles and now he had. Camshaft did not mind facing the consequences of this small act of vengeance, if it suited the Prime to dispense them. It would have suited Camshaft well enough to kill the afthole but he was too well-practised to kill openly. Should Chromedome not abide his order, Camshaft would consider escalating his vengeance but it would not be public and it would not be traceable to him. He was far too professional to be caught out so easily.
“Cam?” Camshaft froze. His processor pinched not unlike Prowl’s did when he had a crash brewing but Camshaft’s never went so far. Slowly he turned. How could it be? “Holy Pit, it really is you.”
“Downshift,” Camshaft whispered the designation. How could it be? He had met this mech in Polyhex, spying on Straxus’ operations. How could he be here in front of him after so long?”
“It’s been a long time,” Downshift said, smiling. “I’ve been thinkin’ o’ ya since Megs hit Praxus, wonderin’ if ya was there.”
“I was in the catacombs,” Camshaft explained.
“I’m headin’ to a security call, can I buy ya a drink, this dark-cycle?” Downshift asked.
“I... sure... yes,” Camshaft replied.
“Great!” Downshift exclaimed. “Maccadam’s, 8 o’clock?”
“I will see you there,” Camshaft promised.
Downshift smiled again and disappeared around the corner, going to the security call Camshaft assumed actually involved him. It seemed like a good time to go home. What was he thinking? Maybe he would just... no, Camshaft could not lie to himself so easily, he knew damn well he would be going to that bar. What was he thinking? He had told Downshift had been called home on urgent business. That business had been the carrying Camshaft had uncovered. After Sideways had stolen Barricade from him, Camshaft had been unwilling to risk losing another bitlet and he had followed Praxian tradition and had gone home to emerge his creation. From then on, Camshaft had remained in Praxus, raising his creation, guarding him from those that considered his glitch a fatal flaw. He had never considered tracking Downshift down. That was not what Praxians did. Yet, Downshift was half Praxian. Smokescreen looked entirely Praxian but in reality, his code was made up of more Polyhexian code than it did Praxian. Prowl had no idea.
“Originator, are you alright?” Prowl asked when he returned home.
“The Autobot Security Forces may be calling,” Camshaft explained, though that was not the reason he no doubt looked ashen.
“Why?” Prowl asked. He held Smokescreen tightly. Oblivious, the little bitlet continued to nurse. Bluestreak, sitting on a pillow at Prowl’s peds, looked up from his book.
“I came across a loathsome mech speaking ill of you and my grandcreation,” Camshaft explained.
“Who?” Jazz asked, stepping from the kitchen. His originator, Punch, was with him.
“Chromedome was the glyph Prowl used once,” Camshaft replied.
“What was he sayin’?” Jazz asked.
“It is of no matter,” Prowl spoke up. Jazz canted his helm to Camshaft. He wanted his answer.
“He called him a slut and suggested Smokescreen had been sired by a Decepticon,” Camshaft explained. “That he aided the Decepticons in annihilating Praxus.”
“That piece of scrap,” Jazz growled. “I knew ya had issues but I ne’er knew it was that bad.”
“Prowl... you never told him?” Camshaft asked. “Now would be the time since I may have mentioned it when I was kicking his aft.”
“Jazz, Chromedome used his needles on me,” Prowl explained, as sparkling safely as he could. “It was not invited. It happened more than once.”
“‘M gonna kill ‘m,” Jazz growled.
“Do not,” Prowl ordered.
“If yer worried ‘bout Jazz gettin’ into trouble, what wit the bitty, I can take care o’ it,” Punch offered.
“No one is killing Chromedome,” Prowl said.
“Bitlet,” Camshaft said. “He is worth the paperwork.”
Prowl disagreed. It was not in his nature to fight bullies. He had learned to ignore them, they had just been too numerous in Praxus. But Chromedome had effected Prowl’s inclusion in the Autobots, having enlisted after him and he had effected Prowl’s sense of self and security and that was unforgivable. Feeling like an outsider, Prowl had fled the moment he had learned he was gravid, afraid somehow he would lose the bitlet, despite the fact that he had loved Jazz dearly. Vorns of bullying and harassment had made Prowl feel too vulnerable, especially with the onslaught of maternal code. Camshaft did not believe one beating was adequate punishment, only utter ruination or death would sate the originator’s wrath. He was, however a patient mech and he was willing to wait to sate his energon lust.
Jazz resolved the matter with the Autobot Security Forces. His glyphs, being the third in command, carried a great deal of wait and Chromedome was now finding himself the target of an investigation, instead of the victim of a crime. Camshaft showered but he did not polish. This was not a date and he did not wish to give Downshift the wrong impression. Prowl seemed worried as he readied himself to go but Camshaft reaffirmed his promise that he was not going to trouble Chromedome. His creation knew something was off and Camshaft did not believe he was terribly reassured. Camshaft brushed his crest against his creations as he snuggled with his bitlet and his mechling. Bluestreak was theirs, if not legally, in spark and that was what counted. He did not have the glyphs to tell Prowl that he the acquaintance he was meeting was his progenitor, so he did not. For the moment, Camshaft did not know if he would even tell Downshift. So much time had passed, what would even be the point?
“Oh frag,” Camshaft moaned loudly.
Downshift mouth was on his neck, his servos on his aft and his spike, buried deep in his core. His legs and arms were wrapped around the other mech as they moved together. Arching his back, Camshaft hooked his leg over Downshift’s hip and urged him deeper. Bowed over him, Downshift held Camshaft’s servos above his helm as he kissed his face, his neck, his wells. They were not even intoxicated. Downshift had bought a round of drinks and then invited Camshaft back to his habsuite to talk more, though they had not managed much talking. It was just like the first dark-cycle they had met. The attraction, physical and sexual, had been instantaneous and all encompassing.
“I never stopped thinkin’ bout ya,” Downshift told him when they rested later, intertwined.
“I as well,” Camshaft replied. He dimmed his optics. How was he going to dig himself out of this mess.
#anon-e-miss writes#valveplug#maccadams#mechpreg#tf prowl#tf jazz#tf punch#tf camshaft#tf downshift#at waiting's end
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