storyswap-color-au

[stopthatfool]

If you made Ice listen to 100 gecs he would immediately blow up everywhere

[maiko-san]

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 4 )

<<< Part 3

Relationship : Fluff

Warning : None (?)

Plot : Every time you enter the Playcare you feel eyes watching you everywhere you go. You feel stressed and start to become sick.

Recently, you feel uneasy and something tells you that you were being watched. Every time you go to work, you feel eyes on you.

It scares you.

Nobody likes the feel of being watched.

It made you stressed out.

You tried to get rid of these feelings by distracting yourself with work. You tried to keep yourself busy to a point you overwork yourself with all those papers or taking care of the Smiling Critters.

To a point it made your body ache and have a migraine from overthinking.

Not only that, Catnap has been acting quite differently too and his visit has become less and less each day. Not only that—

The lovely and sweet cat is avoiding you!

You finally asked the feline, what's the matter but only received—

"It's nothing...."

Nothing....nothing? Obviously there's something wrong!

Multiple questions began to swarm into your brain like a raging tsunami, did you do something wrong? It must be you, right? Yes, no? Maybe?

You had a slight feeling it has something to do with the higher ups.....

Did they tell Catnap to...avoid you? It has to be it, right? Why they do such a thing?

The stress starts to eat you the more you think about it.

Dogday and the other smiling critters saw that you've been stressed lately to a point it started to affect your health. It made them worried, especially Dogday. As a leader, it was his responsibility to care for everyone's wellbeing, including you.

"Angel, You look nervous lately. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, hey. Dogday....."

Dogday knew something was wrong. He comes closer to you and touches your shoulder.

You slightly flinch under his touch which made the canine even more worried.

"Angel, please tell me. Is something bothering you?"

"......"

"As a leader, it's my duty to help everyone in need. I won't forgive myself if anything happens to you"

"....."

Dogday holds your hands gently and holds them in his large ones.

You take a deep breath before telling him what's been bothering you, you know it will be useless to ignore the canine. He is stubborn and won't stop until you tell him what's wrong.

"I feel like something bad is going to happen. I don't know when. It might happen now, Sooner? Tomorrow?"

"......"

"I really hate this feeling, Dogday.....I-I can't get rid of it and no matter how many times I tried to forget it by distracting myself with work, I just.....couldn't— Not only that, Catnap has been ignoring me and started to avoid me! I— ugh, m-my head"

You suddenly drop to your knees causing Dogday to panic and he begins to whine worriedly.

Dogday's heart clenched the way you spoke. You feel scared, anxious and nervous. The canine pulls you into an embrace, in hope that it will help you calm down.

"Let's get you to the infirmary..."

Dogday makes sure that the school doctor treats you and gives you medication.

"Mrs. (L/n), I think it would be better if you take a week off from work"

"A week?!"

"Angel, it's for your own good"

"But—"

"No buts, end of conversation!"

The doctor said sternly you were causing you to snap your mouth shut.

The doctor also recommended you to rest someplace quiet and away from the city and your workplace.

It seems you have to go to your foster parents house, they always welcome you with open arms if you need anything.

"Alright...I'll take the day off..."

But still....that gut wrenching feelings still resides in you....

For today, you need to rest in the infirmary room until you are discharged.

Dogday leaves you to rest before proceeding to make his way back to his stage but before that, he wants to find Catnap first.

Dogday knows that Catnap is great at hiding, but it won't stop him since he has his canine sense helping him.

He sniffs around to find the feline until he sees the cat, snoozing around his stage like he always does.

"Catnap. I need to speak to you..."

"...Speak"

"(Y/n) is sick, have you not noticed?"

"...I know..."

"Then why did you help her with your red smoke? To make her sleep and at ease?"

"....."

Catnap looks away from the dog, Catnap knew that you were sick. It hurts him to see you like that.

He wants to help and comfort you, he really does but...

He had received an order he has to obey. His had to choose between two individuals that he adores. One he worships and the other he loves. Yet, he chose the one he worships, the one that saves his life.

Catnap knew that Dogday will help you and he trusts the dog with you in his care.

Other than that, using the red smoke on you will make everything much worse and potentially kill you in your sleep.

He doesn't want that to happen to someone who cares for him and loves him.

"Why?"

"Red smoke use...on stress person...bad could hurt and... possibly.........kill..."

"O-oh..."

Dogday rubs his arm before turning away, but before he leaves.

"Please, pay her a visit, Catnap. If you do, it makes her less worried and she would be happy to see you again"

"Also, She won't come to work for a week...."

Dogday leaves Catnap's stage, leaving Catnap alone to think about his decision to see you.

A/N : Another chapter finished 😁 . Also, a fair warning for all of you. The future chapters will become darker as it progresses since I want to stick to the plot of the game.

Also, the mascots have their own stages to perform for the orphans!

[mercy-burning]

A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

*******

There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be... 

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): 

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

[littlelamy]

could you write more angst for rafe? I'm craving to be sad, maybe bc he promised he wouldn't do coke anymore and he was doing well but one day he lies to her and goes to a party to sniff some and then she finds out and maybe she's pregnant but he doesn't know yet 😁

a/n: thank you so much for sending a request!💗

you sit on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly tracing your stomach, the softest swell of new life beneath your skin. rafe’s words echo in your mind, the promises he made when you told him you couldn’t do this if he didn’t change. “i won’t touch it again,” he swore, those bright blue eyes locked on yours, so full of hope and fear and desperation.

and for a while, he’d stuck to it. he’d been good. you believed him.

but tonight, something felt off. the texts had come slower than usual, his answers short, distracted. he was out with topper and kelce, just for a drink, he said. you wanted to trust him—god, you wanted to believe that this time was different.

yet, the gnawing in your stomach hadn’t eased up since he left, a sense of dread you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself it was nothing. just anxiety. just your mind playing tricks.

until your phone buzzes, a single message lighting up the screen. it’s topper.

you might wanna come get your boy.

your heart sinks. you stare at the screen, dread pooling in your gut. you can feel the blood drain from your face, your fingers shaking as you type back a response.

where is he?

the seconds stretch into an eternity as you wait for the reply, the silence in your room deafening. when it finally pings, the answer is simple.

party at kelce’s.

you stare at the message, the words burning into your brain. you don’t even need to ask to know what rafe is doing there. kelce’s parties are notorious for one thing—coke. it’s everywhere, flowing as freely as the alcohol.

and rafe…he promised you. he promised he’d never touch that shit again.

you stand up, legs shaking as you grab your keys off the dresser, the weight of your growing secret pressing against your ribs. you haven’t told him yet. you hadn’t even planned to tell him tonight. but now, every instinct screams at you to get to him, to stop him before he ruins everything.

the drive to kelce’s house feels endless, the night blurring outside the window as your mind races with thoughts of what you’ll find when you get there. rafe had done so well these last few months. he had tried—really tried—and you were so proud of him for it. but addiction doesn’t just disappear, no matter how much you both wanted it to.

your hands tighten around the steering wheel as you pull up to the house. the bass of the music pulses through the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet as you step out of the car. the usual crowd is scattered around the yard, red solo cups in hand, laughter and shouting cutting through the night. but your eyes aren’t on them. you’re only focused on finding him.

as you push your way through the crowd, the smell of alcohol and smoke thick in the air, your heart pounds in your chest, a sickening rhythm that echoes the dread building inside you. you glance around, scanning the faces, searching for that familiar blond head.

and then, you see him.

he’s leaning against the bar, back turned to you, and your breath catches in your throat. even from a distance, you can see it—the slight twitch in his movements, the telltale signs that you know all too well. he’s on edge, more animated than usual, and you know. you don’t even need to get closer to know what he’s done.

he’s broken his promise.

you feel a wave of nausea crash over you as you step forward, heart hammering in your chest. every step feels heavy, like you’re walking through water, slow and inevitable. when you reach him, you grab his arm, pulling him around to face you.

“rafe,” you say, your voice trembling, and he looks at you, startled.

his pupils are blown wide, the usual spark in his blue eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker, something you’ve seen before but prayed you’d never have to see again.

he opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. instead, he stumbles over his thoughts, his hand going to his nose instinctively, wiping at it.

“what are you doing here?” he slurs, blinking at you in confusion. “i thought you were—”

“you promised me,” you cut him off, your voice sharp, louder than you intended. “you said you wouldn’t do this again, rafe.”

he flinches at the accusation, his face falling as he stares at you. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean to. it was just…just a little. i’m fine.”

you feel the tears burning at the corners of your eyes, anger and hurt bubbling up inside you. “you lied to me.”

he tries to reach for you, but you step back, your body trembling with rage. “don’t. don’t touch me.”

rafe’s face crumples, and for a second, you almost feel sorry for him. almost. but then you remember why you’re here. you remember the promise he made, the way he swore up and down that he would change, for you, for your future.

and now, that future feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

“i’m sorry,” he says, his voice cracking, but you don’t want to hear it. you don’t want to hear his apologies, not when he’s high, not when he’s like this.

“sorry’s not enough, rafe,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “it’s not enough this time.”

he looks at you, desperation in his eyes, and you can see the fear creeping in—the fear of losing you, of losing everything. but it’s too late for that now. the damage is done.

“i’m done,” you say, the words feeling foreign in your mouth, like they don’t belong there. “i can’t keep doing this.”

rafe’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head, panic flashing across his face. “no, no, please. don’t say that. you don’t mean that.”

“i do.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight of the words hangs in the air between you. “i can’t keep lying to myself, pretending this is okay.”

“please,” he begs, stepping closer, his hands shaking. “please, baby, don’t do this. i’ll stop. i’ll get better. i’ll be better. just don’t leave me.”

you swallow, tears blurring your vision as you look at him, this broken boy in front of you, so lost in his own demons that he can’t see how much he’s hurting you. “i don’t know if i can believe you anymore.”

rafe’s face crumples, and for the first time, you see the tears welling up in his eyes, the cracks in his armor finally breaking open. but it doesn’t change anything. it doesn’t fix what he’s done.

“please,” he whispers again, his voice trembling. “i love you.”

your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you almost believe him. but then you remember the ache in your chest, the fear that’s been gnawing at you since the moment you found out you were pregnant. you remember all the nights you spent worrying, wondering if this was the right decision, if you could trust him to be the father your child needed.

and now, standing here, looking at him, you have your answer.

you can’t.

the drive home is a blur, tears streaming down your face as you try to keep it together. you don’t even remember how you made it back, your mind consumed with the weight of what just happened. the house feels empty when you walk inside, the silence suffocating as you collapse onto the couch, sobs wracking your body.

you’re pregnant. you’re carrying his child, and he doesn’t even know.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

࣪ ˖✧ Sweet Coffee

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: The morning after Sean's return party, a sheepish Arthur faces the consequences of his drinking excess. ✦ Warnings: None, this is as fluffy as the first part. ✦ Words: 3,9k ✦ a/n: This is a sequel of this one shot! Please, read it before this one :) Also, I've taken the liberty to write this as if Arthur still had Boadicea, to me it was the best way to make him have a canon horse. Gonna think about a better solution in the future.

You opened your eyes, slowly. The ceiling of your tent was turning a bit, your heart feeling like it was on the verge of leaking out of your chest. It was as if your bed was a boat, pitching with the winds and the waves; you had to prevent yourself from throwing up, a spinning sensation making your guts feel rancid.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You thought to yourself while stretching in your cot, every fiber of muscles in your body feeling worn. Your brain was mushy, unable to form any complex reflection, your forehead hurting, your mouth dry. The consequence of every party; the goddamn hangover.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You slowly sat at the edge of your bed, taking the time to move your tired members, realizing your throat was extremely sore. You probably sang a little too much last night. You get up and walk to the little cleaning area of your tent which consisted of only a simple table topped with a little mirror, a bucket of water, and a solitary towel. Nothing fancy, but at least you had your own tent, which was already a grand luxury at camp.

Water. Coffee. Breakfast.

You take long sips of water from the bucket before cleaning up your face, looking at it in the mirror. Of course, under your eyes, big shady circles, sickles of violet darkness under the sharp radiance of your pupils. It was part of the whole hangover package. You quickly fixed your hair and put on some fresh clothes, mindlessly.

Coffee, breakfast, Arthur.

Wait, what? You thought you were going on with your morning routine thoughtlessly, but here he was. Always following you, a shadow in the back of your mind; his stupid smile like imprinted on the obscure abyss of your psyche, shining, blazing, magnificent. Haunting.

You were thinking about him very often lately, maybe too often, you noted to yourself. John's word had sealed your opinion's fate on the matter: Arthur could have behaved that way with any other girl at camp.

And yet. Yet you longed for it, for last night to mean something, anything. For you to be more than just any girl to him. For the drunken honest words he had spoken before drifting away in the sweet caress of sleep to be true. You sighed. Too much false hope would lead your heart to be even more broken, you knew it.

And yet. The shadow of his smile. The sound of his deep, powerful laugh. Following you everywhere as you got out of your tent, eyes narrowing at the bright light of the day, almost as bright and vibrant as the subject of your thoughts; almost.

Your path led you more by habits than by an actual decision of yours to the campfire next to Pearson's wagon, and you were delighted to see one of your obsessive needs was already there: a hot coffee pot, releasing a small puff of smoke had been prepared. Blessed was the divine human being who made it. You took a cup and poured some of the holy providential liquid into it, the mere smell of it already waking you up a little bit. The taste was strong, bitter; rough like your life was as an outlaw in a gang, but at least it would help you clear your head and maybe get a certain someone out of it.

As you sipped on the warm beverage, you took a look around at your surroundings. The camp offered you a pitiful but quite amusing sight. It was a real mess, as if a tornado had passed by and turned everything upside down. The Ocean of empty bottles was still present, spilling everywhere between the different people's tents. People who were slowly emerging from them, with tired eyes and ruffled hair, some of them speaking more quietly than usual, rubbing their temples, navigating through shattered glass and chaos of debris, remnants of the agitation that had taken place the night before. You chuckled to yourself. One of the more feared gangs in the West? Certainly not after a party.

Abigail was already starting to clean the pieces of glass, getting angry about how this wasn't a proper place to raise her kid. Honestly, she was right, and you wanted to help her. Ms Grimshaw would probably force you to anyway, and this idea was reinforced when you noticed her from afar, already yelling at Karen to get up and start the cleaning.

Before getting attention from the strict woman, you took a step to go and do your part but stopped in your tracks. A familiar rugged face had appeared from his tent and was heading up in your direction.

Arthur was feeling too much. Too much sensations, too much feelings, just way too much of everything. His thoughts were trying to work as fast as he could considering his slowed brain, the aftermath of his excess from last night preventing him from being as efficient as normal.

The main focus of his reflection was you. He was obsessed to know what had happened, to understand why he had so many memories about you from last night, and quite intimate ones. He was praying he didn't do anything stupid with you; were you two even okay? Had he offended you? Had he been respectful? He needed to know, he needed to make sure he hadn't screwed everything up between you two. And at the same time, he was ashamed. So ashamed of having drunk so much he wasn't even able to remember what had happened. He was so anxious to confront you about it. To hear the truth, hear you say he had been a pig, and you'd never want to see him again, because that was probably what had happened. He was convinced of it.

As he saw you drinking your morning coffee by the fire from his cot, he quickly had changed, tried to clean up a bit, and made sure he had nothing stuck between his teeth or anything else of that type that could make him pass for an even bigger fool than he already was. He had chosen one of the less damaged shirts he had, a simple green but at least not holey flannel, all his clothes being more or less in a bad state anyway. Two leathered suspenders on, keeping black basic pants from falling. Damn, his reflection in the mirror looked even uglier than usual with his lack of sleep and post-party face. He sighed deeply, screw it. He needed to talk to you, at all costs, he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything else properly otherwise. He tried to actually brush his hair, a thing he never bothered to do normally; he even tried to use some hair pomade, combed them in all directions possible, anything to make them look less messy. Nothing was working. He sighed again, getting angry, and just decided to put his hat on to hide this disaster.

This was already too complicated and he hadn't spoken any words yet.

Now walking straight to you, every step he took was followed by a worried thought, his heart tightening more and more as he was getting closer to the campfire you were standing next to. What had he done? Were you mad at him? Would you even agree to speak to him? Did he look good enough? Shit, he probably still must reeks of whiskey, he should have gone to town and taken a bath, stupid moron! But it was too late. Your eyes had crossed his, you had seen him approaching. There was no going back.

Finally arriving at the campfire, the poor nervous man stood at a respectful distance from you and cleared his throat. He didn't even had taken the time to think about what to say. Moron.

"G'd mornin', Y/N." He greeted you, his tone almost a bit too formal, a trace of his troubled state. His voice sounded huskier and harsher than what he wanted to, you were the first person he actually talked to since waking up and you could hear it with how hoarse his vocal cords were.

Besides it, you couldn't have guessed how much was going on inside his head; his expression was as neutral as usual, his own way of defending himself against the flurry of feelings that was taking place inside of him. You smiled at him, a mischievous, playful smile. You had so much to tease him about. Before the party, you two would already messed with each other a lot, and now you had a whole night of details you could use for it.

"Good morning, Mister Morgan... Guess someone was a little thirsty last night, mmh?" You answered, looking at him. His eyes crossed yours, he cracked up a smile too. His shoulders seemed to go down a bit, less tensed. In reality, he was so relieved to hear you tease him and to see your smile. You weren't mad. He silently thanked the Lord for that.

"I, erm... Maybe I drank a little t'much..." He replied with an embarrassed grin, his eyes looking at his feet before planting them back right into yours. He decided to ask you right away. Arthur never beat around the bush, this time was no exception. "L'sten, I don't... I don't remember much 'bout last night and... I hope I didn't bother ya."

His bright blue pupils were looking intensely into yours as he waited for your answer. He always looked at people like this, always keeping eye contact, as if it was a quiet duel and he would lose it if he stopped; but God, it made your heart melt a little.

"Oh, Arthur." You started, smiling some more realizing he was actually worried about you. "Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong. To me at least. I remember you losing your nerves and punching Micah in the face." You answered his question, chuckling in the end.

"Why, this bastard had it comin'..." Arthur replied, scratching the side of his jaw, the slight grin still present on his lips, telling himself that it was definitely something he was capable of.

"You sing pretty good when you're drunk..." You added, tone playful.

Arthur sighed, he was enjoying more and more of this conversation he had feared in the beginning.

"Oh stop it, I don't." He retorted, his fingers scratching one last time before falling to his belt, both his hands gripping it, a standing position he often had when talking and didn't know what to do with his arms. Honestly, you were quite fond of it.

"You want some coffee, songbird ?" You questioned with a teasing tone, already grabbing a new cup and the pot. You knew he would say yes.

"Yeah, thank you." He replied at first, before frowning. "Don't ya start calling me that!" He added with a firmer tone, but his small smile was still stuck on his face while grabbing the hot cup you were handing to him.

"You're also quite a dancer..." You teased him once more with your mischievous voice, knowing you were pushing his limits with your remarks.

"Damn it, woman! Can't believe I was worried 'bout ya, while ya're teasin' me like this..."

"Yeah, I'm such a nasty woman..."

"Nah, you're the sweetest." He corrected you, a bit too quickly for it to be innocent. A quick, subtle flicker in his eyes showed you he was surprised with himself; the words had come out on their own.

You smiled widely, cheeks turning a bit red. You were praying it wasn't too obvious to him. Arthur was still looking at you, two indigo miniature seas fixated on you, even while drinking his beverage. The more he was, the more those vivid memories he had were making their way back to his mind. While looking at your waist, he remembered having held it at some point during the party, which explained how he learned how your clothes felt underneath his fingers. His breath quietly hitched when he realized how he knew about the softness of your leg: he recalled having an arm curled up around it at the end of the night. Shit... He really had been unruly. After a short silence, Arthur spoke again. He wanted to make sure, he needed to make sure.

"Erm... Can I ask ya if we... Did anythin' happen b'tween us while I was drunk ?"

"No, you've just been a bit... Tactile. But nothing happened." You answered his question honestly, wanting him to know the truth. After all, Arthur was your friend, and there was a whole step between gently teasing and actually tormenting him. "Oh and, you said you loved me."

Arthur almost choked on his coffee, a short strangled sound escaping from his throat, some drops of the hot liquid falling on his shirt. The only decent shirt he had was ruined. But it was the least of his problems. What the actual Hell had gotten into him? He was an even worse fool than he thought, and the bar was already low.

"I... What ?" Were the only words he was able to form, one of his hands wiping the coffee from his chin.

"Don't worry, John told me you've made it a habit to tell women that when you're drunk, apparently. We don't have to make a bit deal out of this." You reassured him. He really looked ashamed of his behavior, and you didn't wanted to make him feel even worse.

But Oh Lord, if only you knew. If only you could have understood how much he wanted to make a big deal out of it; how much he had wanted to properly say those three words to you. He was almost disappointed in a way, that you were so quick to forget about it, as if it had been a simple joke to you, something amusing a drunkard had said in a moment of alcoholic eccentricity.

"Ah, alright. Well, I'm happy ya not mad at me." He simply added, honestly not knowing what to say or how to act anymore.

Tell her. Tell her she means the World to you. Tell her you have spoken the truth. This was the best chance you would have.

But the words were stuck, and as fast as a breeze would have swept away petals of flowers, Ms. Grimshaw asked for you with her usual severe call, and off you were gone, wishing him a good day and telling him he didn't have to worry about last night, even adding your typical teasing comments, advising him to join a choir were he could flourish his singing talent.

Looking at you walking off, he sighed again, calling himself a moron for at least the twentieth time since he had gotten up. Looking down at his cup of coffee, almost empty, just like the hurtful sensation he was experiencing right now inside his heart, he got angry again. This was enough. He threw the rest of the coffee on the ground, put the cup in his satchel out of habit, and walked straight to his horse.

The afternoon passed slowly and quietly. You basically spent it tidying up the camp, the number of dishes almost twice as big as usual, and the endless amount of bottles and garbage looking like it was only getting larger the more you were cleaning them up. Thankfully, Ms Grimshaw had put every girl in camp to work too, and you weren't alone on your impossible task while the men were back on their usual activities, whether it was lazying around for Uncle and the Reverand, guarding camp for Bill and Charles, or going back on jobs for the others. You hadn't seen Arthur since your morning discussion with him, and you had concluded he probably had gone somewhere to do his own work. As the sun was getting down, the camp had ultimately taken back its usual appearance, and you were finally free from your chores.

You decided to go to the edge of the camp, behind the wagons, where the cliff was starting and was offering a breathtaking view of the mountains in front of you. At this time of day, in the dusky sun, the landscape was painted with beautiful golden and bronze colors, dazzling blend of warm tones, ephemeral treasure from the last sunrays of the day before the settlement of the night's darkness.

Lost in your contemplation, you didn't hear footsteps approaching. The shrill and recognizable sound of spurs along with the heavy stomping of a horse's hooves made you turn your head from the literal work of art you had under your nose, and your gaze fell on another one from a different nature; Arthur was walking up to you, holding Boadicea's reins into his hands, his blue gaze already fixated on you, slight frown on his forehead, looking as determined as if he was going in for a fight.

He looked different from earlier, you swore he was wearing a brand new shirt you had never seen, a fresh white one, and a black jacket which must have gone with a fancy suit. As he was heading towards you, you noticed and could smell he had taken a bath, and trimmed his beard more than usual. He looked neat, refreshed, it was quite unusual for him. You could feel how your blood was rushing at the simple sight of all this: he was undoubtedly handsome, as breath-taking as the landscape around you.

"Y/N." He greeted you with a determined voice, once he had come close to you. He let go of the reigns, letting his mare free, but she stayed right where she was and started to graze happily. He took his hat off and held it in his hands, probably out of politeness. Such a gentleman, as always around women. You had always found it quite endearing how rough he was but at the same time how respectful towards girls, complying with conventions just like an honest man would. However you were a bit confused, he had never bothered to do that with you before, only with the women he didn't knew.

"Arthur, are you alright? Did Trelawny force you to get clean up ?" You joked a bit, genuinely surprised by his appearance and sudden polite behavior.

"What? N-no..." He stuttered. He never stuttered. You could feel it flowing into you like last night: this terrible, powerful feeling of hope. Your whole being was filled with it as your eyes were glued to him, like a moth to a flame, like a moon to its celestial body.

"I erm... I got somthin' for ya." He said almost shyly. Shyly. You couldn't believe what you were witnessing. It was nearly too good to be true.

Maybe... Maybe the words he had spoken to you... Maybe his tactile behavior... Your thoughts were going entirely crazy, spiraling around the deep feeling that something really important was on the verge of happening. You watched, in awe, as Arthur turned his back to you in order to pull off from Boadiccea's saddle a gorgeous flower bouquet.

"I know it ain't much but... I've picked 'em for you..." He said quietly, his voice slow and deep as usual, but also a bit more vulnerable. You could see just how flustered he was, how unusual it was for him to put himself in such a situation. And it made you more happy than anything for such a long time. Your eyes, traveling from his insanely cute bashful face to the flowers, were now stuck on it. The colors were vibrant and surprisingly well-matched, almost like a painting, the petals going from deep red to a warm golden yellow. You couldn't prevent a deep blush from flushing your cheeks; it really was warming your heart.

"They're beautiful! Thank you so much..." You marveled, vision attached to his gift, admiring every detail about it. After a short moment, as you realized he had felt silent, you spoke again, a wave of boldness crashing onto you. He had made a step towards you, now it was your turn.

"Arthur... The words you said to me last night..." You began, your eyes slowly ascending to look at his again. To your surprise, you found him looking away.

Another hint, another glimmer of the internal storm of emotions Arthur was feeling right now. Your own heart started to beat faster; the blood flooding so fast in your veins at this point you're wondering how the hell your body is keeping it all up together without collapsing under the pressure.

Arthur doesn't answer. Instead, he simply looks back at you, a flash of apprehension in his turquoise diamonds. He stays silent, unable to say anything more. His own heart must be on the verge of bursting cause you recognize the faintest of red on his own cheeks and a little vein on his temple. What a sight, to have this grown man, one of the stronger men in the gang, probably the fastest gunslinger of the State, blushing because of you.

"Those words were true, right?" You finish your sentence with an encouraging expression and the softest smile you had.

Arthur exhaled, closing his eyes for just a few seconds before planting them back into yours and nodding. Still silent, still stoic, still nervous. The slight blush was unhurriedly spreading on his face just like a flaming stain of watercolor on a canvas. Your very own art piece.

"I love you too, Arthur." You finally confided to him, voice soft and low, as if it was a confession you would have told him in the middle of the night, intimate as secrets you'd both tell each other in the ear while lying together in the same bed, arms interlaced, heart intertwined, as everything around you both would disappear. And in the moment, for Arthur, everything did.

He carefully brought a hand on the side of your face, never breaking his deep starring until the last second, and slowly bent over to put his lips on yours. Every move he was making was measured, contained; the exact opposite of his unleashed behavior at the party. You could feel just how cautious he was in that moment, as if he was scared to hurt you, or make you flee.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, never letting go of the bouquet that was now hanging behind his back in your thankful right hand. His own was still on your head, fingers gently caressing your skin as the kiss was dragging on. His lips, although chapped, felt good against yours, taking their rightful place there.

After what felt like an eternity of sweetness, he pulled back. If you thought he was blushing before, it was nothing compared to his cheeks right now, the deep crimson shade having completely recovered the canvas. Finally, his body's muscles relaxing, his features softening, a big, wide smile appeared on his face; the same that had been haunting you since the night before. The stupid smile. Just for you.

"I love you too, for real I mean." He let out in a soft drawling voice, once you had never heard coming from him. He brought his forehead to rest against yours, closing his eyes, not even processing this was really happening.

"I hope you'll sing again for me, Arthur." You couldn't help but add, a playful tone and a slight smirk on your lips.

"For ya, maybe, sweetheart. But don't ya come complainin' about the rainin' after."

[frownyalfred]

I came across a post where someone mentioned that Martha Wayne’s pearls were actually her teeth, but Bruce misremembered or blocked it out…

This has to be one of the most heartbreaking and gut-wrenching headcanons I’ve ever encountered about Martha and Bruce. Just imagine the scene—her teeth falling out instead of the pearls, either from the impact of the bullet or from the way she fell and hit her mouth.

The imagery is so disturbing and visceral. It adds a whole new layer of trauma to Bruce’s memory, making his recollection of that night even more tragic.

Also— I feel like we don’t talk enough about what the Waynes’ deaths must have really been like…

The thought that Bruce might have been splattered with his parents’ blood, or even brain matter, from the impact. .. I feel like the writers never really specified where exactly they were shot or what kind of gun was used, which could have made the injuries even more horrifying depending on the weapon. The unease in his father’s voice—something foreign that Bruce had probably never heard before—from a man who was usually so optimistic and confident, might have been the first time Bruce saw his father truly scared. And then there’s his mother’s screams. In Christopher Nolan’s movies, Martha’s screams still haunt me to this day. The actress did an incredible job capturing that raw terror.

But what really gets me is the time. How long did Bruce stand there, in the pool of his parents’ blood, waiting for someone to come and help him? Did he try to pick up his mother’s pearls, or maybe try to stop the blood from pouring out of their wounds? That time must have felt like an eternity for him—standing there, powerless, with his parents’ blood on his hands, the smell of rot from the nearby trash, the powder of the gunshot lingering in the air, the city’s humidity, and the iron tang of blood.

And another chilling thought: what if his parents died with their eyes open? The idea of Thomas Wayne’s lifeless eyes staring up at his now-traumatized, orphaned son is just devastating.

Anyways, sorry for the ramble… I would love to hear your thoughts !!!

oh my god. yeah…..I mean, yeah. I’m getting smacked speechless by some of these anons today.

I actually saw someone knock all their teeth out once like you’re describing and it is gruesome. seeing teeth where they aren’t supposed to be is horrifying.

I think comics and movie adaptations letting the Waynes get shot somewhere in center mass, away from their faces, by low caliber bullets so they bleed out with last words is a mercy, in some ways.

modern guns could make that scene could look very, very different. I won’t go into them here but…yeah. there’s a reason they die with their faces intact in the comics and most movies, in my opinion. and with a few words or screams, maybe, before they fully die.

but yeah. there’s a world where they both get hit point blank in the head, brain and blood go everywhere, and Bruce has to sit there caked in for a while. until the cops show up, and even then, he probably doesn’t get clean for a while, since he’s covered in the decade’s most haunting crime scene.

[heartlesscorpse]

Pyramid Head thoughts 🩸🔪 △

Catering this to myself and my hornee NEEDS and anybody else’s ig because I’m a dirty boy rn and I have too many thoughts in my head revolving around my man and I need to spill my guts before I lose this precious brain rot. Oh yeah this got some nsfw shit (it’s gonna be like further down) so be sure to read at your risk, and don’t mind the occasional out of context shit bc that’s just my comments and me giggling so hard abt this fine mfer— this was pretty fun to make too ngl, I might do more in the future if I ever get anymore ideas from things or from people, Idk we’ll see.

Pyramid Head’s possessive asf over his s/o, when you’re living inside a hellhole of a town full of monsters and a cult run by a bunch of lunatics, who else is gonna protect your ass none other than this 7’0” deity??? Man wouldn’t even hesitate to kill anybody or anything that came way too close to you.

Man’s not even gonna let you out of his sight for a second, wherever the hell you’re going he’s coming with you, you’re a fragile little thing after all. He doesn’t want anything bad happening to you, not on his watch.

The size diff between you and Pyramid Head is endearing as well as arousing just thinking about how he could manhandle you into any positions he wants and watch you struggle to take him in. You’re just so short compared to him, he finds it cute. <3

It’s fun to carry you around everywhere he goes because of how short you are compared to him. Doesn’t matter if you get a say in this or not, he’s gonna carry you whenever the hell he pleases and he’ll never let go.

Pyramid Head would’ve associated you with the colour white and some times gives you white clothing because you’re pure and the only non-sinner in this shit hole of a town.

Who the fuck needs a bed when you have Pyramid Head??? Hell, he’d probably prefer you to sleep on top of him so he could hold you in your sleep and protect you from all the dangers of Silent Hill. Not to mention he’d like the feeling of how squishy you are in his embrace, particularly your thighs, he likes wrapping his hands on them and squishing them gently in your sleep. Might be a form of comfort saying “I’m here, everything’s okay”, or he’s just admiring them. Who would’ve thought a large monster living on violence and inflicting pain on sinners would be so gentle with you? (Unless you wanted him to roughen you up a little of course then by all means, he’ll fuckin’ do it.) >:))

Because Pyramid Head only exists in Silent Hill and doesn’t know a lot about the outside world, it’s rather adorable watching him get all confused with that head tilt of his whenever you explain certain things to him couples do on a regular basis besides sex, but he does show some curiosity on said topic and possibly willing to do those things with you as well.

Pyramid Head enjoys receiving attention from you, be it either hugs from behind or give him kisses on his helmet or the tongue— anywhere else is prolly gonna give him some other ideas of sorts, rnskfbsjfbw.

OH BOY the fucking dirty brain rot persists. If this man ever happened to be feeling horny he honestly wouldn’t hesitate taking your clothes off in one tear the second he has your consent.

Did I mention abt the size diff last time? Making you take in his cock nice and slow isn’t gonna do much, he’d want you to get over with the pain fairly quick so he’ll just push it in without warning lmao, of course once he’s in, he’ll allow you a brief moment to adjust to his size and once you’re all good he’s going to pound the fucking daylights out of you.

AGAIN WITH THE SIZE DIFF it’s just so satisfying and enjoyable to him watching you writhing and moaning underneath him like that, accounting to that just seeing you stuffed full of his come and utterly blissed out is adorable. (Like man I— let him rail me already PLEASEE)

And he’s for sure going to tease the fuck out of you to overstimulation until your mind is nothing but a puddle of mush and you’re begging for him. <33

Aftercare in the end is amazing, he’ll help clean you up by fucking eating you out with his tongue and then he’ll lay there with you in his arms, with a blanket big enough pulled over top to cover the both of you while you snuggle up in the mean time. A possible guarantee you’re gonna have a blast trying to walk in the morning./j

🥩⋆♱✮♱⋆🔪 🩸

[seasons-of-death]

bsf!rafe goes to reader's house

warnings: fluff, smut, mdni hi everyone!!! i took a few weeks off but i'm back and better (and hotter) than ever! anyway. kissesss!

rafe could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he pulled up in the driveway of your home, his jaw clenched as he half-heartedly parked it in front of your house; he hadn’t even thought of what he’d say to you, only thing he knew was that every part of him was screaming at him to go see you.

you could hear a car screech to a halt outside your home from the second floor, and even though you knew who it was, you made your way to the balcony of your room, seeing the blonde man making his way to your doorway in a determined stride.

the pounding of his fist against the wooden door could be heard all around the large home as you rushed down the stairs, your bare feet against the soft carpet, looking down to make sure you wouldn't trip, your mind too fuzzy to make sense of anything.

rafe stood outside your door, his clothes soaked by the rain, the blonde chewing on his lower lip as he looked at anywhere but the peephole, turning and walking away when it had been almost three minutes without anyone answering the door.

a part of you was confused why he didn't just open your door; both of you had the keys to the other's house, having secretly exchanged them when you were twelve and swore your friendship would last forever.

when he was almost at his car, you flung the door open, rushing to rafe, your bare feet prickled by the wet pavement, the boy turning to look down at you with wide eyes.

"why did you come here?" you ask, raindrops falling onto your face, making your vision blurred. rafe swallowed, looking at anywhere but you when he tried to find an answer to your question.

"you, uh, you hung up before i could say anything."

"yeah, but you could've pretended it never happened. why did you come here?"

he sighed, rubbing his jaw, his tongue poking out from in between his lips, "what do you want me to say? that i miss you?"

"well, do you?"

"jesus." he let out a noise that was between a scoff and a laugh, shaking his head. "of course."

"why? why do you miss me? after everything you put me through, what gives you the right to miss me?"

"i don't know!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up, "i don't know why i miss you, when i know that you deserve something better. but for some reason, i can't stop thinking about you. i'm miserable without you. it's like you've ruined me. you make me not want any other person, because no one can be you."

"oh yeah?" you said, cocking your head, "what about sofia?"

"i broke up with her! you wanna know why i was with her? because i was afraid. i was afraid that if i told you what i felt for you, i'd lose you. but now, it doesn't even matter because i already lost you. it's so fucking infuriating, because you know me, i'm not the type of guy to say sappy shit and make some kind of romantic love confession, but for fuck's sake, i don't even like most of the people around me, let alone love, but you? for some fucking reason you're an exception."

he placed his hands on your rain-soaked cheeks, your hair sticking to your skin as you looked up at him, small drops forming at the corners of his eyes.

"for some reason my brain, my body, my stupid ass heart are all so fucking drawn to you, and it drives me so insane that i pretend to want to be with someone else just so you'd end up pushing me away and hating my guts even though you're the only person i can put up with. every part of me has belonged to you for so fucking long, but for some reason i could never accept it. but, fuck, i have nothing to lose anymore."

and without a warning, his lips were on yours, and even though you knew you deserved better, no part of you wanted to pull away from him, allowing him to lead you inside, into your very own bedroom, the two of you peeling off your rain-soaked clothing.

his lips might've just made a trail down your stomach, but the heat it caused was everywhere; your head, your collarbones, your tits, your stomach, your pussy, your thighs, your calves, your entire body on fire in a way that you hadn't experienced before, not even with him.

rafe's focus was on your tits, his mouth on your right nipple, first pressing small kisses, then small licks, until your nipple was in his mouth, all the while his left hand was on your left nipple, rolling it around between his fingers, occasionally squeezing it in a way that made you curl your toes.

and when you felt his cock at your entrance, you were prepared for him to fuck you like he often did; roughly, fast, without much care in the world; but he didn't, and even when he had been thrusting into you for so long you couldn't even remember how long it had lasted, he kept at his pace, he kept rolling his hips at the same pace, his right thumb rubbing your clit while he pressed kisses on your neck, softly murmuring the words you'd been craving to hear for so long.

"i love you."

and no matter how many times you came, he kept at it, at that same slow, yet incredibly intense, pace, until you could no longer process what was going on.

[crystaleclipse10]

A look into the Ninja's powers

Welcome to my analysis of the powers of each of the 6 main Ninja. How each power feels and its source for each Elemental Master, and how it reflects in their personalities. This has headcanons and canon explanation. Hopefully it all makes sense

Cole: Cole’s power comes from deep within the ground. He can feel the power of the earth in his guts, strong and steady. It’s grounding. It’s constant. The earth is always somewhere below him. No matter where he is, somewhere there’s earth—whether it’s deep within a mountain, everywhere; or leagues under the sea; or so far beneath the sky it is practically invisible—it will never not be there. It’s reliable. Yet it takes different forms: dirt, rocks, magma, sand; it’s all part of the ground, versatile. It’s protective; it encases and preserves ancient ruins and fossils, it gives shelter to those seeking refuge. It connects all living things—it reaches every part of the world. It cannot be forced to move, but it can be guided. It is the foundation of everything.

“You've never been farther underground. Never been more surrounded by the very thing that powers you. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying you, but what if he was actually bringing you closer to the earth? To the source of your elemental power?” “So what do I do? Try to connect with the earth?” “Perhaps. Or perhaps you just have to stop worrying so much and let the earth connect with you.”

Zane: Zane can sense his ice powers in his mind. It can exist in the coldest of climates, and when it melts, turns into something just as powerful; it is not wasted. It carves its way through anything—glaciers. The rivers of ice creep forward slowly but surely, taking everything in its path. It’s steady and cold, but its bite can be unrelenting. Frostbite, hypothermia—just as cold as ice is. And icicles, especially when shot as a projectile, are like daggers; sharp and dangerous. But it can numb pain. It tames something burning hot into something pleasantly warm. It is hard and strong, but it can crack—and if that happens, it can be made whole again with a little time. It is reliable and quiet. It can create a protective barrier. It’s there when it needs to be.

“This isn’t about numbers…it’s about family.” “He’s protecting us.” “I am a Nindroid, and Ninja never quit. Go Ninja, go!”

Jay: Lightning. He can feel it buzzing on his skin and nerves, able to be condensed and controlled. Pure energy, electricity. It’s volatile and dangerous. But it can be essential to life. It’s everywhere—thunderstorms, static, neurons firing in the brain. If it wasn’t for electricity, the brain would cease to function and life couldn’t exist. It’s quick—blink and it’s gone, just a thread of light that comes and goes. But its impact is remembered. A thunderous boom, a scar of soot, sometimes even a blaze set in its wake. Its glow is practically too bright to look at; a source of light for even the darkest of caves. Just one spark can start a fire or illuminate a building. It’s a source of power—for vehicles, technology, buildings. Even though it is not always visible, lightning and electricity are all around, ready to be called upon.

“Control the power inside you. When you feel a surge welling up, harness it.”

Kai: Kai’s power over fire comes from the breath—air is fuel for fire, and controlled breathing can control the blaze. It is not a matter of force—though hot anger can stoke fire—but harnessing the buzzing potential in the air. Fire can be destructive; a wildfire is chaotic, unyielding, and intense, burning everything in its path. But it can be life-giving, too. It’s cozy. It provides warmth on the coldest of nights. It can cook food, boil water, ward off frost. It is the essence of the sun—the largest blaze that allows life to exist. It burns with passion and ferocity, but if it loses strength, there will always be an ember remaining. Almost nothing can beat back a big, hot fire. It can be a weapon or a defense; it hurts to touch, and no one without immunity would dare go near. Without fire, life could not be sustained.

“I just wish I still had my powers. I was Master of Fire. I could've made a new fire like—like...like this.” “Oh, do not worry, Kai. Elemental Power comes from within, like courage. Sometimes it wanes, sometimes it waxes, but it cannot be stolen.”

Nya: The power of water flows through her veins. Water is ever-changing and powerful. Even the strongest rocks erode under the power of water. It’s relentless. It can defeat ghosts because it is always changing and shifting, while ghosts are stuck trying to be one thing and refuse to change. It cleanses and heals. The first thing to do for something dirty is to wash it with water. And it’s part of blood, something vital for people to live. It’s restless. The ocean never stays still; it does not like to be contained. The tides are as constant as they are powerful. The entire ocean moves with the tides; the constant in and out of so much water shapes the coasts. Rivers bend and flow around obstacles; no matter what is in the way, it will eventually reach the ocean—the largest body of water filled with plants and animals. Water supports life and creates ecosystems. It’s the heart of the wild.

“Jay, the ocean's good for much more than food. As we go deeper, I can feel its elemental power growing. It's almost overwhelming.”

Lloyd: Perhaps the most vague but also the most powerful element is Lloyd’s. Is it Power? Creation? Energy? Life? Lloyd is connected to the Source Dragon of Life, not Energy. Whatever the case, it comes from his heart. If it is Life, that is where it is strongest—the beating of a heart shows life in a living being; it is impossible to live without a heart. It’s everywhere—inside Lloyd, in his comrades, his students, his masters, nature around him. His love for the world is his true self and makes his heart powerful. His goodness gives him strength. His drive to save the world fuels his passion. Life is inside of him, but it can also be taken away. It can heal, but also hurt. When it is taken away, overused, or corrupted, it leaves him weakened and sick. But it can save his life in a fight—and it has. It is a combination of the core elements of Creation: Lightning, Ice, Fire, and Earth—LIFE (thank you @secretlyharumi for helping me realize this!). They can be utilized individually, but also combined into something potent and beautiful. Without life, nothing would exist. It is the thread of the universe, stitching together things similar and different; big and small.

“I’m already the Golden Ninja. How much more power do I need?” “You’ve only scratched the surface! You have the potential to move mountains. Power of the First Spinjitzu Master!”

I like the idea the Ninja's personalities and powers are mixed

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[libertyybellls]

IF YOU BUILT YOURSELF A MYTH !

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; finnicks failure of being able to save you and bring you to district 13 will eat away at him until he is blessed to see your face again.

contains; tooth rotting FLUFF, comfort, reunions, lil kisses but who rlly gaf tbh, slight angst at the beginning bc i can’t help myself. torture mentions but not descriptive. finnick loves reader like a dog :( as always- not proofread.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

he’s picking at his fingers, practically pulling his hair out. in a state of such worry he wishes someone was here to keep him in line. he’s waiting for someone, anyone, to come through these doors and tell him you’re here, you’re okay.

he’s sure that everyone else is fed up with his antics, they can all recall his incessant and undying persistence to see you, so desperate, so distraught.

but instead he has not moved- still desperately trying to settle the ache in his guts and mind when he thinks of you. where are you? have you called out for him? in what world would he not answer back? why hasn’t he stormed the capitol and stolen you back himself?

it is only then when he sees you, does he comprehend your state. you’re in worse shape than johanna- but not quite as bad as what he’s heard of peeta. and for that small, small victory he selfishly finds himself thanking god.

“sweetheart?” he’s scared, nervous to touch you, frightened to disturb you.

you look at him now- studying his face, his eyes. oh, his eyes. you couldn’t find a better color- and you’re sure you’ve looked everywhere to no avail.

you don’t know where you are, how you got here, when finnick had shown up, how long he’d been there, but you knew that by his shoulders not being squared off- his brows being unfurrowed, his jaw unclenched, it was by his body language that you knew you were safe.

to finnick, you looked as if you’d built a book all in your head and had been reading it upside down- like you were back in that arena, and it hurt him inside.

you’d been there twice before- and survived both times, but now you looked like you’d left something in the quarter quell. something that would make it all make sense. you don’t remember what you were doing before the 75th annual games had been announced, and you don’t know what your plans were for after. were they with finnick? did you plan to have a family?

now you weren’t so sure you wanted a family in a world where the capitol had control over each and every decision you’d make, who would do that to a child?

you remember your hands being of no use to you, you couldn’t take your shock collar off, couldn’t cover your ears from the jabberjays, couldn’t pull yourself out of the water, couldn’t fight off the peacekeepers that tormented you- but it didn’t matter now.

with your faint memory you could see finnick- you could see him and his curious eyes wanting to drink in your every thought.your hand reaches for his, and when his fingertips meet your skin you refrain from flinching- you want this, you want him back. you want to soak up his presence as if it were slipping away. you grab for more of him, more and more and more until he wearily hoists himself next to you on the hospital bed.

you breathe him in, your head pressed into his chest. You want to study the lines of his face, the way his hair has somehow grown- making it seem like you’d been apart forever, the bags under his eyes- all thanks to you.

“finnick.” you breathe out, and he knows it’s not a question, more of a statement.

you don’t want him to remind you of everything just yet- for now, you’re just making sure he’s real, that you know it’s really him here and not one of the illusions that had been forced into your mind. he kisses the top of your head, he worries. he worries for your brain, for your body, your soul, your dignity. he worries what they’ve done to you- what he should’ve been sure to prevent. he worries himself sick, but his body does not shake and hurl as it wishes to- he holds himself up on one arm to admire you. he keeps composure for you, because in this moment you are whole, heart beating, brain functioning, and hands reaching out for him- and he will not take that for granted.

he kisses the back of each of your hands, your eyes are fluttering shut. he intoxicates you- inebriated on his love and warmth you pull yourself closer into his chest- only in your silence do you heal.

he hums with your bodies melted into one another- an almost ticklish vibration from his being to yours. “i love you.” a few of the many words he had to get out. i’m sorry i couldn’t save you sooner. the fact that i wasn’t there to save you in the first place eats away at me. i am lost without you. i need you. but nevertheless he sums it up with three words.

-

pls use my inbox i need reccs my brain is empty

[backofhismomsmercury]

spencer reid nsfw alphabet

( @backofhismomsmercury edition :3 )

18+ mdni. or don’t, what u view online is up 2 u.

this is like mostly softdom!spencer (what else is new)

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

tooth achingly sweet. like just so so so soo loving, he’d just lay with you and hold you and tell you how good you did/how proud he is, and how much he loves and appreciates you (im gnawing at the bars of my enclosure)

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

literally his brain lol, but also he likes his hair a lot, (even if he looks like he doesn’t brush it half the time lol) i think he likes having it played with/brushed/pulled (braided even..? he likes the feeling, finds it relaxing.)

he also likes his hands (he thinks they’re pretty?) i don’t think he knows why, but other people like them. which he doesn’t really understand because they’re always cold and not really soft because of how much he washes them. but he knows people like them, so he likes them. 

his fav on you is probs your legs/thighs. he likes having them wrapped around him, and he likes laying on them, he just thinks they’re pretty.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

his own? he thinks it’s messy, gross, doesn’t like when it gets everywhere and probably hates even touching it. doesn’t like feeling sticky or sitting with it, he cleans it up right away. definitely doesn’t like the idea of you swallowing it. (he’d probs still let you if you REALLY wanted to.)

but yours..? ohhh he loves it. (still thinks its kindaaa gross, just cuz it is what it is.) but he’d like having it on him, he’d like watching you cum too, esp. on his hands or thigh.

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

LOVEEESSSS HAVING HIS HAIR PULLEDDDD. idk why i just feel this in my gut. not too rough though.. he’s sensitive :( but just a little bit. like while he’s going down on you or even just making out. doesn’t matter, just pull it. (now if we’re talking about sub!spencer OHHHH he loves it even more, he’ll deadass start crying, lol fucking loser.)

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s not reeaallllyyy experienced, but he fucks from time to time, he knows what he’s doing. he’s smart, he’s read up on this shit. 

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

the basics, and anything where he can see your face. i think he likes being underneath you. even if he’s acting more dominant, i think he still likes being in a more submissive position.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

he’s somewhere in between, but probs more serious. i think he gets in his own head and wants to make sure he’s doing everything right

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

verrrryyyyy well trimmed, he hates germs and feeling gross. i think he’d actually take a lot of time trimming it and making it feel and look clean, mostly for his own peace of mind.

also, i’d love to be like “he’s grown!!! he doesn’t care if his partner has hair!!!” but ngl that's just not possible because he actually thinks it's gross. just shave and he’ll be fine.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

ohh this mf is sappy as FUCK. he’s such a romantic at heart, he’d take his time & go slow and it’d just be constant ‘i love you’s and praise.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

i think in the early seasons, he doesn’t do it a lot. when he does he just feels kinda bad about it. he knows it's not wrong, it just makes him feel weird. maybe as time goes on he does it more, i don’t really know tbh.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

honestly i don’t think he’s really kinky. i think a lot of stuff would be hard for him to get into because he sees so much insane shit at work all the time (again, he’s sensitive) but like i said i think he lovvveeeess when you pull his stupid perfect hair. 

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

at home. his or yours, doesn’t matter. he wouldn’t do anything in public, i think he’s waaayyy too anxious for that. he’d be CONVINCED that someone would see you, and he’d be too nervous to even do a good job lol. i don't think he’d really care where at home, but he’d mostly like the bed or the couch, just somewhere where he can take his sweet time. i think he’d appreciate the shower from time to time though.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

literally anything you do. you. you. you!!! he just loves you!!!! he lovesss hearing your voice, especially when you’re talking about something you learned. i think spencer finds your intelligence so attractive because he was embarrassed about his own for a long time. (idk if that makes sense ??? but whatever)

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i think the list of shit he’s not into is a lottttttt longer than the list of shit he likes lol. idk he’s just not really kinky, but he definitely wouldn’t be into feet, piss/scat, anal, anything age related, the list goes on.. i think he’s just very normal and he’s okay with that. 

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

not to be too controversial.. cause i do think he loves giving, but i think he LOVVVEEESS receiving. he’s a man after all, he would love some good head. he’ll always return the favor though.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

he’s too not rough and he never would be, he wouldn’t want to hurt you. i think his general pace is somewhere in between, not too slow, not too fast, but he’ll go faster if you ask him to.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he doesn’t like them. again, he likes to take his sweet time!!!

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

like i said, i don’t think he’s really kinky but i do think he’d be down to try some stuff. he just wouldn’t bring anything up, he’d wait for you to suggest whatever.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i deadass think he passes out after once round. i mean come on, he doesn’t work out, he’s a fucking pipe cleaner (with eyes.) he’s just not going for more than maybe 2 rounds max. i think he can maybe last a while during one round, but he gets sleepy fast. (aww :3)

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i don’t think he cares for them. would probably be open though?

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

spencer doesn’t ever like to see you in and kind of discomfort, but he does like to tease quite a bit, and he knows you like it too. it never lasts too long though. (mostly because you beg and ask him so nicely, but also because it makes him feel kinda mean.)

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

oh he’s LOUDDD. especially sub!spencer. that mf whimpers and whines like there's no tomorrow. i think softdom!spencer is loud too, but he tries to be quieter cause he wants to hear you.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

would let you peg him. wouldn’t ask though. (i will not be writing this, don’t ask lol)

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

LONG AND SKINNY!!!! just like the rest of his body. 

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

it’s not too high, but it’s definitely not low. just thinking about you makes him dizzy, but he has pretty good self control.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

INSTANTLY. he’s a sleepy guy!!!!! spencer obviously doesn’t have a lot of physical energy to begin with so i think it’s quite exhausting for him. (but he loves it)

<3

thank you so much for reading!!! i had so much fun writing this!!!! :)

sorry i haven't been super active, i've been quite busy these last few weeks, but i'll be back with some new stuff soon i promise!! hope this can feed you guys until then.. lol :)))

[whatever-imagines]

Sweetheart

Rated: M, for violence, detailed-ish description of an injury, mentions of vomitting, unconsensual licking, and the allegory.

—-

The woman before was wild-looking. Her hair was long and tawny blonde, sticking up everywhere before coming down her back. Her eyes were such a dark brown, they were almost black, and you could hardly see the slit pupil. You didn’t like how familiar the brown in those eyes were. Her clothes were also strange, considering she was with a villain mutant group; black tank top and a full fur coat? What was she, a pimp?

The woman breaths in deeply, almost euphorically she smiles before her gaze settles on you again. You see her top row of fangs in her mouth.

“She smells like she’s been aaaaaalllllllllll over you…” she husky voice growls out.

“Who’s she?” You ask, voice quivering. You were not meant to be fighting, you were meant to stay on the ship but the comms went dead and you couldn’t feel Jean in your head so you left the safety of the jet in pursuit of your comrades.

In the snowy woods, you found this woman.

She laughs. Low and gruff, rumbling and gravelly. You could hear the danger in her laugh. “The pup; you’d be calling her Logan now.”

You still at the mention of your friend’s name. Logan and you had become close recently; with her constantly watching you and helping you around the mansion as you teach the various students. You do like Logan quite a bit, but that was a secret only for you to know (and possibly Jean with how snoopy she is).

“Oh?” The woman chuckles. “Struck a cord, huh? Don’t worry little thing…” the woman drawls, smiling widely, hauntingly. “She’s on her way now!”

You hear someone, impossibly distant from you, scream your name in a desperate fashion. Logan, somewhere in the woods.

“She’ll know this reminder is from me.”

“SABERTOOTH!”

And then your side erupts with pain. You didn’t even see the woman move.

Sabertooth smiles viciously down to you, eyes almost gone with how wide the slit had became. In your side, her three nails penetrate you in a white hot agony. You can’t even scream, it hurts so bad.

“Betcha she don’t finger you like this, huh?” She quips, inside your ribs she wiggles her fingers and you nearly vomit.

Logan, much closer now, roars your name.

You black out before she could reach you-

—-

“No serious damage done.” Jean had said.

You begged to fucking differ.

Sure, the razor sharp nails of Victoria Creed, aka Sabertooth, has left no infection and slipped between your muscles and tendons like a hot knife through butter; but damage was dealt.

You felt her inside you. You hear her vice, feel the heat of her breath when you least expect it. The wound heals and scars over and everyone you see the four bumpy lines on your side you grow nauseous.

Logan’s in the same train of thought as you.

Even after you had been officially discharged from the medical bay, Logan follows you like a dog. She checks up on you frequently, makes sure you eat, sleep, shower, not let yourself fall into a gut wrenching depression no matter how desperately you want to just to feel the relief of your sadness.

Sabertooth had fucked you up viscerally; she wasn’t just in your side, she was in your head.

It’s driving you crazy.

Without Logan around some nights, you just can’t sleep (you try to not think about how badly you miss the safety of Logan’s arms; how warm and heavy and comforting her scent is; how she doesn’t smell like Sabertooth, how most nights when she watches you sleep you feel her hot, heavy hand rub at your scars, how one night you feel the wet broad of her tongue lick your healed wound while she thought you slept-).

One night you managed to sleep; only to see phantom visions of Creed behind your eyelids, your brain fabricating awful memories of her finger-fucking your rib cage and you woke up screaming. Logan barrelled through your door, the sound of splintering wood and a full body impaction waking you from your fretful slumber. Logan stood at the foot of your bed, eyes wide and full of wrath, claws at the ready.

You hardly see her claws outside of battle, you thought idly as your throat was too sore to calm her down.

Again, that night, you fell asleep with Logan carefully holding you, her thumb brushing up against the raised skin on your side.

You wish it was Logan that defiled you. Logan you could forgive. Logan could gut you in a blind rage and you’d absolve her of her guilt readily. Instead you got her rival, a vindictive and frightening woman. You wish Logan could carve out whatever Victoria had left behind.

—-

And why not? You think, as you stare Logan down.

You’ve laid your case out, voice strained and heart heavy, about your idea.

And Logan had never looked more soft or vulnerable than the moment she rejected your proposal.

“I can’t.” She states softly, eyes almost wet. “I can’t hurt you, let alone on purpose, sweetheart, please-“

“She-“ you interrupt, angry at Creed for doing this to you and at Logan for denying you peace, “she, is in me, Logan. Floating around in my head, in my organs, and I can feel her.” You stress.

You see Logan flinch slightly and a sickening thought crosses your mind.

“Can you smell her on me?” You ask, voice raw, “Still? Even now?”

“You’re still you.” Logan hastily relays. “You still smell mostly like you, it’s fades every day-“

And once again, you’re violated by the villain. No wonder Logan’s been forcing her clothes on you, having you shower daily; she’s been trying to get the scent of her enemy off of you for weeks-

You gasp a sob. “Logan, please!”you beg. “I can’t keep doing this! I need her out of me, I need someone I trust inside me, I can’t keep letting invade my every waking thought! All I hear is her laughing!”

Logan looks at you, desperate, a rebuttal in her mouth.

“I am this close to carving her out myself-!”

“Okay! Fine! Jesus do not do it yourself!” She pleads, throwing her hands up. She huffs a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We’re doing it my way, okay, safely-“

“Oh god thank you!” And you rush her into a hug, crying and clutching the taller woman for support.

Logan sighs and hugs you back, a touch tighter than her careful squeezing.

—-

There’s antiseptic and cotton balls lining your side table, along with rolls of white bandages. Logan has her claws out, letting the rubbing alcohol on them dry to disinfect them. She wasn’t kidding, despite how gruesome the request you made, she was doing it safely. Logan was prepping this like a surgery.

Eventually, she sits on the edge of your bed, and eagerly you scramble into her lap.

She looks grim, determined. “Ready? This hurt.” She warns.

You scowl. “At least you warn me.” You hiss, wiggling your hips against the woman to get closer.

Just barely, a blush flushes over Logan’s cheekbones and her eyes flash with rage before cooling back down.

Her eyes were the same color as Victoria’s, but a shade lighter in tone. It was similar, almost uncomfortably so.

Claws still out, Logan assists you in shimmying your shirt off. Once bare to her, the flat underside of her claws slide against your ribs.

Your stomach turns and your force yourself not to gasp at the intimate situation you were in.

“If you wanna squirm and scream, that’s fine.” She assures. Most of the team was gone to find Creed, you’ve been actively avoiding the task. So right now there’s hardly anyone in the teachers’ quarters beside you and your companion.

You nod in understanding, mouth dry.

Logan nods as well, face set into a neutral expression. You don’t know what would be worse for you, her enjoying this or hating it.

The tips of the claws pride you gently, before slowly pushing into you.

‘Betcha she don’t finger you like this, huh?’

Fucker, you think, your fingers digging into the shoulders of the woman doing this tremendous favour for you.

Logan stops, claws shallowly resting in you. You realize with a shaken heart she’s trying to stop.

“Deeper.” You demand.

“Sweetheart-“

You wiggle uncomfortably, the claws entering you a quarter-inch more, and Logan scowls.

“Please, she’s in deep.” You beg, almost sobbing from your high emotions.

Logan’s bottom lip trembles an iota and she moves her fist closer to you, her claws going in further.

You gasp when they reach where Victoria reached. “Stop.”

Immediately, the claws are out of your side, Logan is pressing a towel to your ribs and she places you on the bed.

“You’re okay.” She assures, voice and body tense. “You’re fine, you’ll be fine-“

You smile loonily.

You can’t hear Sabertooth anymore.

Logan frets over you, bandaging your side, mumbling encouragements and words of clumsy comfort. She pets your hair and gently slaps at your face when your eye lids slip close.

“Wake up, sweetheart, look at me.” She demands. “How do you feel?”

Feel? You feel relieved, you feel free. You feel adrenaline and exhaustion and arousal, your thighs rubbing together.

Logan twitches slightly and continues to dress your wound.

“Do I smell like you now?” You ponder aloud.

Logan stills slightly to look at you, face unreadable.

She responds, monosyllabic and husky.

“Yes.”

[wintaerbaer]

things we don't say: part 6 (TEASER) (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 1.2k

teaser warnings: a very sad boy, references to sexual situations, brief mentions of child abuse, vomiting, someone has a wet dream, guilt, shame, a haircut

a/n: sincerest apologies that this series has gone so long without an update. i was struggling with some aggressive writer's block these past few months, but i think we're back in business! <3

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST

To say he falls into a state of depression may be an understatement.

He barely eats, barely sleeps, and while Taehyung has always considered you to be the center of his universe—his entire being oriented to you like a star—you’ve begun to haunt him in ways that you never have before. Reminders of you creeping into every minute of his days.

It’s passing your favorite ramen place on his way home from a photoshoot. Or finding a can of your favorite sparkling water buried in the back of his fridge. Or flipping past the cooking show you used to watch together or stumbling upon one of your sweatshirts in his closet or the fact that he still has that damn photo of you hanging up behind his desk.

You’re everywhere—your being so deeply ingrained into his life that he couldn’t erase you even if he wanted to.

And he certainly doesn’t want to erase you; he’s too selfish for that. Even now, even after he’s fucked up to catastrophic degrees by forcing his feelings on you, he still can’t bear to face you directly. Because he knows it would be the end of him for you to reject and abandon him too, even if he can’t blame you for it.

It keeps him up at night, thinking about what he could’ve done differently. How he somehow lost his handle on the control which he has always internally prided himself on (sans a drunken conversation with Namjoon last year where he spilled his guts as was met with a lack of surprise on his friend’s part). He’s always promised himself that he would never burden you, that his love for you was not your responsibility but something for him to manage on his own.

And yet, with you sitting so close on the hotel bed—looking absolutely beautiful in your simple PJs even after he spent the day with you all dressed up—his defenses had crumbled the second you pressed into his side and asked him the final question of your fateful game.

How could he not kiss you then? How could he not give you what you asked of him when he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his very life if you required it?

But still, he spends hours each night staring at the white expanse of his ceiling wishing he had held back like he always did. Years spent training himself to resist the way his blood calls out for you reduced to naught the second he got his first taste of your lips. And now you likely hate him.

And as if it’s not enough for his brain to put him through this nightly torture, the guilt eating him alive, when he finally does manage to scrounge up a few hours of sleep, there’s the matter of the dreams.

He revisits the hotel room every night. Can taste you again, hear your moans, feel your mouth on him and your warm skin underneath his hands as his mind drags him back through every minute detail on a loop. It’s agony, having to both wrangle with the knowledge of how it felt to be with you as well as face his sins every time he closes his eyes. Realize just how badly he fucked up when he wakes to once again find the other half of his bed empty.

Because in spite of him spending years convincing himself that you were never meant to be, there’s still a small part of Taehyung’s subconscious that’s always carved out space for you in his life. It’s the part that stocks your favorite drinks in his fridge, keeps that photo of you pinned behind his computer, leaves a side of the bed open for you because he became so damn accustomed to sleeping next to you in high school.

He’d found that the bruises from his father didn’t hurt as much when you were sitting next to him making him laugh in your bedroom. That his brain would quiet enough from the terrors to allow him to sleep if you were there lying next to him. That he didn’t feel the dull pain, only the gentle touches of your fingers, as you carefully applied makeup onto the dark patches of skin before school.

It had been easy, then, to dedicate himself to providing you with the same support and care you had shown him in any way he could. To wish for your happiness above all else—his guardian angel through and through.

At least, that is, until he lost control in that hotel room.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream involving your body under his, he awakes to sheets that are soaked around his middle. He blanches at the evidence of his body’s desire for you even now, the horror at the audacity of his unconscious mind causing bile to churn and rise in his throat.

He bolts for the bathroom, barely making it there before he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet. His body shakes as he retches above the porcelain, guilt rattling his bones until he can hardly keep himself upright.

When the waves of nausea stop, when he can finally pull himself up to lean his elbows against the sink, he stares hard at the mirror and man he sees there.

He looks haggard, dark splotches sitting under his eyes and hair hanging limp around his face and over his forehead. The pale skin of his cheeks and lips is surely due, in part, to the vomiting, but there’s no denying that he’s a shell of his former self. A ghost just going through the motions of a past life.

And it’s there, peering through the darkness at his own reflection, that Taehyung decides he hates himself.

He’s not sure if it’s the raw disgust or the unrelenting shame that has him reaching for the hair clippers, but as his sable tresses begin to fall in chunks over the bathroom counter and floor, Taehyung thinks he deserves this.

He deserves the torment of his dreams. That disturbing combination of his wildest fantasies and nightmares rolled into one.

He deserves to wake up alone. To be reminded of his transgressions at the break of each day.

And he deserves to lose you.

Hell, he never deserved to have you.

The silence that follows the buzz of the trimmer seems at odds with the roaring in his head. Still, he manages to scoop the mess of hair into the trash before dragging himself back to the tangle of his sheets.

He finds himself right back in that cursed hotel room.

When he shuffles into the living room the next morning, still fighting the lingering tastes of bile and your lips, Jungkook and Jimin are already awake at the kitchen bar drinking coffee. They freeze at the sight of him; the pastry that Jimin was halfway to putting in his mouth hits the ground with a thud as Jungkook lets out a low whistle and simply shakes his head.

“That bad, huh?”

a/n: may or may not go back and revise this again for the final draft. in the meantime, a reminder that my ask box is always open! <3

[gods-perfect-idiots]

Y'all have been so kind and welcoming of my half-baked concepts and unpolished doodles - it has been an uphill battle to fight my own self-judgment and just post my stuff! Anyway, here's another one - this time with more ~spicy memories~ (aka trauma).

The premise for this one: I was thinking about how Logan/Worst Wolverine probably hasn't slept next to someone in years, and how that is partially because he is likely prone to nightmares/sleep terrors and probably gets suddenly violent while still half or fully unconscious - maybe reliving past conflicts, maybe lashing out against his demons, maybe just unprocessed grief and rage coursing through his system when he's sober and has his guard down in sleep.

Here, I imagined him not only getting violent, but also screaming and crying while in this somnabulant state, half-waking in a sudden frenzy of fear and anger, and in the process flipping over on top of Wade and rapidly stabbing him multiple times, through the head and the gut.

Regenerative healing and quick reflexes notwithstanding, I think Wade would be taken aback to be awoken to that kind of sudden attack (not least because I think he sleeps better next to Logan - less jumpy and more restful with his big boy next to him y'know?). But his first thought, even with all six of Logan's claws embedded in his flesh, and horny hallucinations galloping through his skewered brain, would be to comfort Logan and try to bring him back to himself, even while his body and mind struggle to catch up to what's happening.

Continued ramblings and details under the cut lol.

I imagine Logan snapping fully awake and being utterly inconsolable, just collapsing and sobbing uncontrollably onto Wade's chest, blubbering nearly incomprehensibly (a lot of hoarse "I'm sorry"s and "Oh God oh fuck"s) while Wade heals and tries to soothe him with one hand combing through his hair and the other gently stroking up and down his back, trying to make jokes that simply don't reach Logan's grief-stricken psyche.

"It's okay, Peanut, no need to apologize, I'm good already see? That healing factor coming in clutch yet again haha. You do owe me a new mattress though, Mr. Scissorhands - you know how head wounds bleed like a fire hydrant, those pesky blood vessels amiright? Though fully half of all of my blood is a bit further south currently ifyouknowwhatimean... did I ever tell you about the weird response when I get Le Brain Stabbed? I didn't mention it in the Odyssey because, well, heat of the moment and all that, didn't want to stop for an expositional lore drop y'know? Anyway, point is, I get like, *diabolically* horny and hallucinate little cartoon characters to boot, it's pretty wacky tee bee aitch but does take the sting out of a surprise lobotomy so that's something... hey, you still with me, beautiful? Shhh sweetheart, it's okay, you're okay, just let it out, everything's hunky dory peachy keen cupcake unicorn rainbow blowjobs as far as the eye can see, darling honey kitty babycakes..."

But no matter what he says, jokes or not, Logan is just completely unreachable for a while; he just keeps crying and crying into his chest, like he's letting out 200 years of grief and confusion and loneliness and fear all in one fell swoop, his tears mixing with Wade's blood until Wade starts to worry he's getting dehydrated (ever since the time ripper Wade has made it his personal mission to Rehydrate That Old Man - the abs were undoubtedly impressive to behold but also a mark of a deeply desaturated body, and Wade keeps energy drinks and water bottles everywhere now, forcing Logan to drink every chance he gets. Sure, Logan's abs are less defined now, but Wade thinks he's practically started glowing - probably from all the nutrients and hydration, and the constant physical affirmations and calm daily routine probably helps too).

The crying isn't even really about Wade - Logan knows Wade is alive and well, but years of being petrified of hurting anyone he loves, and despite that crippling fear haunting him all his life he still failed to save anyone in his universe, and in fact, not only failed to save them but destroyed their memory by turning around and letting his feelings take over and turn him into (to him) an irredeemable monster, slaughtering anyone who crossed his path until he collapsed from exhaustion. And that haunts him even more, the innocent people he massacred in his supposedly righteous fury... he can't think straight amid the turmoil and all he can do is cling to Wade and cry and cry and cry until eventually he passes out again into a deep dreamless sleep.

It's not the last nightmare he has by any means, or the last time he wakes Wade up with his claws in a frenzied state, but Wade makes a mental note to be prepared so he can wake Logan up from his next half-awake nightmare with something pleasurable instead of painful. (Wade - in a rare moment of self-restraint - doesn't dwell on the whole "brain skewering = horny hallucinations" but he is absolutely BRICKED UP about it and the next couple of times he jerks it, all he can think about is fucking that old man silly until he can't even remember his own name much less the centuries of trauma).

(Spoiler: it works, and over time Logan's nightmares become gradually less debilitating and violent as he starts to associate them with - ahem - more positive feelings and maybe - *maybe* - forgive himself and start to imagine a life where he can be redeemed, can be treated like a good person, can be beloved and cherished and maybe even for a moment feel like he deserves it).

.... sorry this turned into a whole thing but here ya go!

[leclercsredhelmet]

Everything Has Changed ♡ Oscar Piastri

A/N: Hi I'm back (again) with a new blurb. This is an Oscar x Sargeant reader blurb with a childhood friends-to-lovers vibe! I hope you all enjoy it

“Cause all I know is we said “Hello” and your eyes look like coming home” 

Excitement can be felt all around, everywhere you go you hear chatters of excitement and the advertisements are everywhere. There are still a few days for the main event to start, but everyone is thrilled that Formula One is back in The Magic City. Oscar had decided to fly down to Miami earlier and enjoy some downtime, his decision might’ve been partially influenced by the Sargeant siblings. The twins have persuaded the young driver to fly with them earlier and stay at their place. 

Turning down an offer made by the twins always proved to be an impossible feat throughout the years, so Oscar has no choice but to accept it gladly. Being childhood friends with Logan also means having a friendship with his sister. Sometimes the “what if” floats around Oscar’s brain and he wonders about the different nature his relationship with Y/N could take. Sure the young driver is best friends with the girl and over time he has been developing feelings for the girl but never acted on them for two specific reasons. The first one is that she’s his best friend’s sister and the second is his fear of ruining a great and meaningful friendship. 

Over time his feelings for the American girl have developed into more and he simply chalks it to being a fleeting childhood crush but as they grow Oscar begins to realize his assessment is entirely wrong. He still likes her and lately the “what if” keeps turning into a more permanent thought. Her voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “Earth to Osc,” she says a little loudly and he looks at her.  “What is it Mione?” he asks, using the nickname only reserved for her. She smiles at the use of the nickname, he still refers to her as Hermoine Granger and she can’t deny that she loves it. “Where did your brain run off to, you were zoned out,” she says looking at him. “Just thinking,” he replies but she arches her brow and he knows she doesn’t buy that answer. 

“About what exactly?” she counters, poking his side and he chuckles. “Nothing important,” he lies, “What do you need?” he asks her. “Do you want to get burgers?” she asks. There’s a familiar glint of happiness in her eyes and Oscar smiles. “Great, let me get Logan,” she says and Oscar laughs. “I didn’t say yes, Mione,” at this the girl laughs, “I don’t need you to say yes, I know you Osc, and that smile says it all,” she says. “Logan hurry up or we’re leaving you here!” she shouts. Oscar laughs and Logan’s reply comes through. “Don’t you dare leave me here!” he yells back and she quietly laughs. “Then hurry up, we don’t have all day Sarge!” she shouts, and Logan rushes into the room. 

The girl beats her brother to the driver’s seat and he groans in frustration, Oscar laughs and climbs in the car. Most of the car ride is spent with the twins bickering over little things and putting Oscar in the position of picking sides in every argument. 

“Now that she’s not here, what’s up with you?” Logan asks him. Oscar sighs, “Nothing,” he answers. “C’mon man, something’s bothering you and I think I know,” Logan says. “It’s Y/N,” he says and Logan looks at him intently before grinning. “You like her,” he says. “N-no I don’t she’s your sister and my best friend,” Oscar answers. “So, you like her,” Logan says matter-of-factly. 

“Hold on, you’re not mad?” Oscar asks. “Man, why would I be mad? It’s you we’re talking about,” Logan answers. Oscar lets out a relieved breath, “How long have you known?” Oscar asks him. “Always, none of you have had the guts to admit it to each other but I’ve always known, and you gotta change that Osc,” Logan says. He looks up and quickly changes the topic. The smell of your perfume indicates your presence and Oscar looks over at you as you talk. 

He has no idea what you’re saying because all he can focus on is the way some strands of hair have fallen out of your low bun. Everything about you is an indicator that you’re home, it’s as if your  Europe persona has retreated to make space for the home persona. Your skin is tanned and the floral dress fits you perfectly and makes perfect contrast with your tan. 

Logan catches him looking at you and nudges him under the table. He laughs at the joke and tries his best to focus on the conversation. 

Reader’s Point of View

“All I know is a simple name and everything has changed” 

Oscar has been a little out of it today and I can’t help but wonder why. Part of me hopes that the possibility of him thinking and feeling the same as me is there. Now that I’ve been to more races with Logan thanks to my last semester of uni ending I get to be around more and can spend more time with him and Oscar whenever the three of us are free. 

We convinced Oscar to join us in flying down earlier to Miami to enjoy some downtime before the race week starts and the “what if” has been a more constant thought. I haven’t told Logan but I know he knows, maybe it’s the twin thing but I’m certain that Logan is aware of my feelings towards our best friend. 

I bump into Logan on my way out of my room, “Lo I need to tell you something,” I say. Logan flashes a knowing smile, “It’s about Oscar,” he says. I nod, “Is it okay?” I ask and Logan hugs me. “Of course, you’ve always liked him, go and tell him because I’m sure he might have something to say,” he says. Smiling I hug my brother and he kisses my cheek, “Go on and say what you’ve been feeling for years,” he says and I laugh. 

Oscar is in the backyard playing with Coco and I smile, “Hey Osc, I’m gonna take a walk around with Coco do you want to join us?” I ask him. Oscar scoops her up and walks over to me, “Yeah let’s do it,” he says. “Great,” I say smiling while clipping the leash on her collar. 

Closing the front door I walk down the steps and he sets Coco down. “It’s been really lovely out today,” he says. “Yeah, it’s so sunny. I missed this,” I say. “Of course you did,” he says with a laugh.”What’s that supposed to mean Osc?” I ask teasing him. Oscar shoves me lightly and laughs, “We’ve spent almost every waking hour in the water thanks to you, you’ve put on a tan already and there’s a happiness around you that wasn’t here before,” he says. “The home kind,” he adds and I smile. “Never stop nailing things so perfectly,” I say and he laughs. 

“Let me get my metaphorical hammer then,” he says and I let out a giggle. “Are you excited?” I ask him. “Yeah, the atmosphere for this race week is different than others and there’s a lot of fans here,” he says. “Would be better if you were added to the list of fans,” he says. I gasp, “You make it sound like I’m not,” I say and he flushes. “Well, we both know your loyalties are elsewhere,” he says and I laugh. “Finish that sentence because you’re purposely leaving things out, you jerk,” I say bumping his hip with mine. 

Oscar laughs, “It’s so amusing to tease you about this,” he says. “Just because I don’t like the team you drive for it doesn’t mean I’m not rooting for you,” I say.

“I know that Mione, your team loyalties might be with Ferrari and Williams but I’m well aware you root for me always,” he says and I press a kiss to his cheek. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and I pretend to not notice it. 

The breeze makes the leaves of the palm trees sway and other people walk their dogs around the neighborhood. “I have to tell you something,” we both say at the same time. “You should go first,” Oscar says. “No, no it’s fine you can go,” I say. “Okay well uhm,” Oscar starts. 

“What I’m about to say might change things for the best or the worst… but I have to say it so hear me out please,” Oscar says.  Nerves fill the pit of my stomach and I nod. “Ever since I met you it’s been nothing but great and chaotic at times,” he says with a small laugh and I smile. “You’ve been here through the highs and lows. Sunlight just follows wherever you go and having you as a friend has been like having the sun,” he says and I’m fighting the urge to burst out crying. 

“Mione, you know me like the palm of your hand, and ever since you walked into my life I’ve wanted to share everything with you; and we have.” “A thought always lingered and I never acted on it because I was afraid it would change things between us and maybe I was also scared of Logan’s reaction,” he says with a small smile and I chuckle. 

This is finally it, this finally the day in which the Australian boy I fell for says the words I have been wanting to hear. “Y/N I have loved you ever since I knew what the concept of love was, I have loved you since the first time we fought and you gave me the silent treatment for two days,” he says and I laugh. “I have loved you since the first summer you and Logan spent with us when we were fifteen and I still do. You don’t have to say anything and if what you have to say is different from my expectation then-” Oscar is speaking but I cut him off. 

“Osc, hear me out,” I say. His face drops, “Oh, it’s okay if you don’t-” he starts to say. “For heaven's sake Piastri, let me finish!” I say and he laughs. “I feel the same way, I’ve loved you from the moment you brought me and Logan the fairy bread on our first birthday spent in the UK,” I say and he smiles. “You do?” he asks me, “How could I not love you, Oscar?” I reply. 

Laughing he grabs my waist and pulls me in for a sweet kiss, Coco’s leash is securely around my wrist, and one of my hand's thread through his hair. His lips are soft and inviting, kissing him feels like a million fireworks have erupted and sparks fly around us. Pulling apart I hug him, “This went way better than what I expected,” he says and I laugh. 

“I would have never turned you down, Oscar you know that,” I say. “Are you my girlfriend and papaya fan now?” he asks with a grin. Playfully I roll my eyes, “If you want me to be the first thing, that’s a yes. As for the second, I’m your fan and not the team’s that won’t change I’m sorry,” I say with a laugh. “I could never have it any other way,” he says. 

“I’m a firm believer of doing this properly which is why I have a question,” he says. “Y/N Y/MN Sargeant, will you be my girlfriend?” he asks smiling widely. Throwing my head back I laugh at his smile, “I’d love to be your girlfriend Oscar Jack Piastri,” I say. Oscar pulls me in for a sweet kiss and laces his hands with mine as we walk back home. 

(all photo credits go to the respective owners)

[mugentakeda]

scoring a job at the tea shop was too easy. but now that he’s staring at bowl of jasmine flowers next to the black blend, it might have been a dumb idea. it’s not busy enough to numb his stupid brain.

the owner, mr. dugu, a short middle aged man with greasy long hair, was all too happy to hire him. we could use a looker like you, it’ll bring all the women in!

lu ten thinks back to zhao and jiro in dismay. he highly doubts his love life will ever heal itself back to normalcy. azula would agree with that.

it’s probably for the best that zhao doesn’t know where i am, he muses, but jiro would probably try and send me money.

now that he thinks about it, mr. dugu kind of reminds him of jiro. just a few decades older, and in green. a slick and stout guy that thinks he’s all that and a bag of fireflakes. so slick, you wouldn’t see the earnest, hard working gentleman hidden beneath at first.

but his dad is in there too. with the crows feet, receding hairline, deep tea scent, big hands. laughter in his eyes, at just about anything.

in the tea shop, however, his dad is everywhere he looks. his dad is the smells, the old tea cup rings stained in the tables, every sun ray shining through the windows, the cheap peeling wallpaper with painted leaves floating in the wind.

is it betrayal, what he’s done? or is he just dying on the hill of what his gut tells him is right?

he’s forcing his heart and his gut to become one, so he can physically stand loving his father, but not liking his father, simultaneously. letting them both exist together, at the same time. it’s not life ruining or earth shattering. it just… is.

lu ten misses the parts of his dad that he enjoyed, with great guilt. the roughhousing, the morning meditation, a warm hand brushing through his feathery hair, carrying him to bed after a long day at the beach, dropping his bags and letting lu ten barrel into his arms at full force after weeks being gone, bickering over the do’s and don’ts of tea. things got spotty and more spaced out once he turned double digits, because at that point lu ten was old enough to go longer without seeing his father. he was a busy guy and lu ten had been okay with that. he’s never been someone that needed constant attention, anyway.

but those parts were only enough to satisfy the young lu ten who didn’t care what his dad was outside of being his dad. then his aunt was married into the family, and lu ten started caring about a whole lot of things.

his aunt and his cousins give him purpose. what would he be, without them? they shape his interests, his entire worldview, his habits, his sense of self. the areas of politics and legislation that he dipped his toes in as a prince were even influenced by them. he tells right from wrong by wondering, if it was your aunt and your cousins, would you be okay with it?

what ursa went through after having azula haunted his dreams. the afterbirth stench, her hyperventilating, hoarse wails. the fire sages and azulon and ozai all muttering to each other, just to add to the chaos. he’d gripped little zuko to his chest in the dark corridor across from her chambers like a vice, biting his lip in terror and cheeks flushing as hot tears rolled down his face. it was the worst thing he’d ever heard in his life, and nobody seemed to care.

then he finds out that his mother went through the same thing with him over morning tea with his grandfather. casually, like he was being informed of the weather.

she believed she had the right to name you toshiro, despite not showing any enthusiasm over you at any other time of day, azulon had grunted. i don’t know why he ever bothered with that commoner wretch. you’d still have a mother today if he hadn’t picked some halfwit dancer with a smart mouth, you know. i even went through the trouble of setting up a whole line of good, wellborn women right before him, and he didn’t entertain a single one! but i suppose it doesn’t matter now, seeing the fine young man you’ve become regardless. i was afraid you’d inherit her crassness, if you’ll forgive me.

so she got sick of the shit and disappeared. to this day, he barely knows what to do with that information.

he hates ozai for doing the same shit to his aunt that his own father did to his mom. forced, unwanted marriage. the pain and misery of childbirth. postpartum. making heirs. he fucking hates that word. heirs.

toshiro. it’s a good name.

he’d leave his dad if he were his mother, too. he did leave his dad.

mr. dugu asked after hiring him if he was a soldier, going by his posture. he’s no earthbender, and the scars are from trial and error lightning bolts. but there are nonbenders in the earth army, and lu ten can put his mouth where the money is when given a staff. so he says yes.

that must be why i like you so much, mr. dugu had sighed. my own boy is a little older than you and lives in ba sing se with his old lady, as a teacher in a little kid’s school. he’s a bender, so he enlisted to help fight- but that stubborn old prince bastard is persistent. you know the ash and blood is filthying their water? his old lady is pregnant, and she has no clean water to drink. it’s unbelievable! but that ashmaker doesn’t realize how steadfast the good people of the earth kingdom are. the spirits will deliver them, and he’ll tuck his tail between his legs and run for the hills.

filthy water also means sick livestock. and sick livestock means sick people when the livestock is eaten. sick people means sick mothers and children, and sick doctors that can’t help sick pregnant mothers give birth. and then ba sing se is cut off from incoming supplies due to his father’s army, so they’re probably rationing the medicine. so sick pregnant mothers giving birth without proper medicine, without proper doctors because they’re also all sick. that leads to dying mothers, dying newborns, or mothers and newborns dying together.

lu ten just isn’t sure his father realizes little stuff like that. or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care. and that thought makes him so angry, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

his father had acted like all that was happening in the impenetrable city was something funny in his letters. along with a couple of thinly veiled pleads for lu ten to quit being stubborn and join him already.

narrow, ignorant self-interest does not impress him. its ugly coming from his own father. its even uglier on a man that’s supposed to lead their fucking country one day. lu ten will not be the same. the people he loves most in this world cannot afford for him to be the same.

you have a savvy for diplomacy, zhao had snapped at him. your father could use something like that. what’s keeping you here? don’t you see benefits waiting to be reaped from this? your cousins will still be here when your father succeeds! get over yourself!

“diplomacy,” lu ten sneers out loud. then sighs loudly in frustration when he knocks the cup over with a jerky hand.

one minute ba sing se is being taken by his dad so it can become one with the fire nation. the next minute he’s burning it to the ground. if it’s the fire nation, why in the all fuck is he ruining it? is that not counter-productive? is that not hypocrisy? what diplomacy is there to be had when there’s nothing left of the city?

but then, people on the homeland get arrested for some real petty shit. the colonial towns get paid dust. his dad killed the last dragon, despite a good portion of lu tens childhood folktales composing of dragons. despite agni herself being depicted as a dragon. a million things that he never questioned before that make no sense to him now that he has the freedom and time to truly ponder.

the spirits are not to be trifled with or questioned, my son. the spirits can even judge the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

lu ten isn’t a man who claims to know the spirits ways, nor does he question them. he wasn’t there when they laid foundation to the earth. he doesn’t know who determined its measurements. but he does know that agni wouldn’t deliver a message so stupid and pointless.

he just questions his father, and the authenticity of his pointless quest to flatten a city being spirit-sent.

what do you wanna bet he used the wrong kind of flower for his tea and was just tripping balls?

the more he thinks about it the less grace his train of thought is willing to spare.

he’s so mad that he can’t like his dad. he’s so mad that he exists at the cost of his mother’s everything. he’s so mad that everything his proud, beautiful country stands on and believes in has the strength of a single grain of rice. he can’t bare the thought of just continuing to ignore it to maintain his sanity- he’s never been so glad to be an adult with a brain and not a kid in his own little world- but realizing things is so painful. its only ever painful. he wants to curl up in a ball and rot away. the guilt and anger is mind numbing.

do you think of me with as much frustration as i think of you, dad? do you sit and ruin your own day trying to understand what goes on in my head, or is it just me?

the fumes from the boiling teapot steam his face as he bends over it slowly, trying to curb the acid crawling up his throat like a demon emerging from hell. static curls up and down his arms and brings his hair straight up, the heat bleeding from the tips of his fingers and his palms into the counter is teetering on the edge of unbearable-

“cousin?” a little voice startles him out of his thoughts.

he pauses, and turns his head.

zuko’s standing there in front of mr. dugu, who’s grinning at him cheekily.

zuko is wearing a green apron that drags on the floor. the anger building in his chest melts like chocolate over a fire. the counter is already cooling beneath his steel grip.

“…li,” he greets, weak humor in his voice. “what’s shaking?”

the kid flushes. “i got bored and walked here from mom’s work. and mr. dugu said no loitering in his store. so i’m….. hired.”

“are you a seasonal employee?” lu ten snorts.

“i don’t even know what that means,” zuko replies curtly. he doesn’t realize his sass definitely matches azula’s. “i can bring the tea to the customers.”

“well,” lu ten sighs, “i believe i’ve scalded the hell out of this jasmine by accident. give me a few minutes and i’ll happily provide you with something drinkable.”

“…do better!” his baby cousin orders awkwardly. and so he does, because lu ten is only ever the loyal servant to his baby cousins.

zuko brings the tea to the customers. every time lu ten hears his lispy little voice thank them for their patronage in monotone, he can’t help the way his lips quirk in amusement.

“the girls in the front kept baby-talking me,” his little cousin grumps later that day. “i had to run away before they got the chance to pinch my face.”

mr. dugu laughs, and pats zuko’s little shoulder heartily. lu ten’s heart aches. he can think he hates ignorance until the sheep-cows come home, but there’s nothing crueler than seeing his father in this man’s mannerisms, who’s son could be dead or alive at this very moment, due to his father in question.

“just be glad your sister wasn’t here to see it,” he replies, lest he choke himself up with his own angsting.

zuko huffs and slides off the chair he’d been sitting crosslegged on. “mr. dugu, could i take some cakes from the back to my sister? she’s a sweet tooth.”

“it’ll be coming out of your paycheck,” the man replies teasingly.

zuko frowns like a cranky owlcat. “i don’t know what that word means either.” and with that, he stomps to the back.

“that one’s a trip alright,” mr. dugu laughs. “and you say the younger one is even worse?”

“sure is,” lu ten sighs happily. “they both are the worst. i’m wrapped around their greedy little fingers. they don’t let me hold the house keys, but they’ll let me buy them candy.”

“it’ll be like that forever,” mr. dugu says sagely. “my only son is now a grown man with a wife of his own, and soon, he’ll make me a grandfather. but at the end of the day, he’s always gonna be my precious boy. my baby. and no matter what, i want him to always know he can come back home to me. despite everything. no matter what.”

the man deflates suddenly. “if anything, i might just beg him to come back home to me, once ba sing se chases that scumbag away. i have enough room to house the three of them. my boy lives and breathes to be a teacher in the city, but this old heart can’t take not knowing….”

he trails off, and pushes over a rock with his foot glumly. “they say he has children, too. the fire nation prince attacking the city, i mean.”

lu ten’s blood turns to ice in an instant.

“i doubt one such as he would feel anything if he lost them. if a man can kill another man’s child, i believe he’d might as well kill his very own. and this father would protect every child in this village as his own. you, and your little monster cousins. you know?”

agni is a big blurry dot in his vision, and he swallows hard. “yeah. yeah, i do. this one thanks you for it.”

he holds zuko’s little hand tighter than usual as they go to pick ursa and azula up from the florist.