#I just realized I can write whatever I want here

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Hello long time fan of your MHA fics here. Can I request a platonic Saja boys babysitting Nezuko!reader together who is Rumi's little sister? I feel like they haven't encountered a cute but powerful child demon before <3

Aww, hi there, hello hello! I'm so happy to still have you around my corner of tumblr! 😊❤️ I love that, has my heart all happy right now haha. When I tell you, I had SOOO much fun writing this. I've been the cool, hip young auntie since I was 13, so I definitely incorporated some of my experiences here. Hope you enjoy! It's all so cute hehe, fluff to the max! 😉🙈💓

Platonic!Saja Boys babysitting Rumi's half-demon sister!reader

Warnings: flufffffff, child!reader, humor and antics, platonic, minor Jinu backstory angst, third pov instead of second this time 🤷‍♀️

Jinu:

When he first agreed to babysitting duty, he thought, ‘how hard could it be?’ He could handle all of Rumi’s moods just fine, so surely the bite-sized version of her would be just as easy to manage.

Except, when Rumi knocked on their door with a small, patterned girl clinging to her leg, he realized one fatal flaw—he hadn’t counted on her little sister also being half demon.

Despite this unexpected turn of events, Jinu is great with her. He’s easily able to get Rumi’s little sister out of her shell, transforming her from a quiet and shy girl, into a giggling, bright-eyed ball of energy.

He’s more than willing to play any games with her, and if they’re playing pretend, he’ll play his part well with a goofy voice that makes her laugh.

About halfway through, Jinu lets the other boys handle the babysitting so he can step outside and take a few minutes for himself.

Despite how good he is with kids…this whole evening has reminded him of his own little sister all those centuries ago, of her smile, her innocent laugh.

And with these memories, the familiar, damning guilt comes crawling back.

After a while, Abby steps out to check on him. “You okay, man?” he’ll ask, a mildly concerned expression on his face.

And Jinu will just flash a charming smile and nod as if nothing’s wrong…as if the presence of this bubbly little girl hasn’t totally broken his heart with the reminder of his loss…and of his mistakes.

“Yeah, just needed a breather. Let’s head back in, I promised her we’d all play Mariokart.”

Abby:

Abby hasn’t had many opportunities to interact with children before, so when Jinu told him they’d all be babysitting Rumi���s little sister or whatever, he was a little unsure about the whole thing.

What do kids even do? Just run around with unwashed hands, make messes, and make everyone uncomfortable with their lack of manners and spatial awareness…

Swear to god, he saw some young boy open-mouth cough on all the apples in the produce section when he was at the store the other day. He expects much of the same for tonight’s events.

Except, when the young girl arrives, he’s surprised to see the tell-tale patterns marring her skin. She was…far too young to have made a deal with Gwi Ma. So, she must be half human, like Rumi.

Still, the sight of a child demon is enough to stun him into good behavior… he interacts awkwardly and clumsy with her, not sure how to make conversation with such a young child.

But then, Jinu gets this board game set up for everyone to play, and the little thing points her grubby finger at him.

He fully panics. “What does she want?”

“To be on your team, dummy.”

And Abby is naturally competitive, so the game really helps him to loosen up and start enjoying himself. He starts to bond with her more, encouraging her as she rolls the dice, making her laugh when he trash-talks Baby and Romance’s team.

By the end of the night when she’s tuckered out and sleepy-eyed, he’ll carry her to one of the bedrooms so she can sleep until Rumi comes to pick her up. He won’t admit it, but he’s sad to see her go.

Baby:

He doesn’t have much of an initial reaction when Rumi brings out the small demon girl for them to watch for the night. He barely glances over with a bored expression before he turns his attention back to his phone.

He’ll let Jinu handle the young girl, since he was the one who agreed to Rumi’s request.

But then, a small voice next to him quietly asks to “go back up to the cat video” and he startles to see that the girl had somehow snuck onto the couch next to him, and was watching him scroll.

Geez, he hadn’t even noticed her sitting there! She was inhumanely quiet and stealthy, much to his surprise. He was impressed, honestly.

He’ll scroll back to the cat video as she requested, smirking when she coos and fawns over the “cute kitty.”

The boys are trying to get boxed macaroni and cheese cooked for her, and struggling by the sounds of it if the arguing in the kitchen was any indication.

It’s then he gets an idea…

Hey, he’s not the best influence, and he never claimed to be.

Baby convinces the girl to do little acts of mischief with him, much to her utter delight. Whether it be, “go up to Abby and tell him he looks like he doesn’t know how to swim” or “go ask Jinu to get you Yakult from the store, he won’t do it if I ask.”

Little demon partners in crime. The other boys would get tired of the antics if it wasn’t so cute seeing the typically-aloof rapper getting along so well with the giggling little girl. She thinks he’s a cool grown up!

Romance:

He’s probably the most enthusiastic about the baby-sitting gig out of the whole group. He’s always had a soft spot for kids, though he never had much experience with them.

When he first sees the patterns scarred across her arms and legs, he’s totally amazed. He didn’t even think a demon child was possible! Demons were always made by binding deals…and never did it involve children. She was something special.

Besides Jinu, he’s the best at striking up conversation with her. Asks her about her friends, about school, about her favorite things to play…he’s sooo tempted to ask her about her demon patterns because he’s curious, but he doesn’t think it’d be appropriate.

He’ll enjoy playing dress up and watching her play so imaginatively. He genuinely likes spending time with her, wants Rumi to bring her cute sister around more often!

When she draws a picture for him, he acts like it belongs in the Louvre. Over the top appreciation, it’s the best gift ever! And she’s got this cheesy lil smile at the praise.

By the end of the night, Rumi is taking her sister home, asking if she had fun with the boys… and the sweet girl definitely has one of those innocent little-kid school crushes that she’ll grow out of, but everyone will still tease her about when she’s older.

Mystery:

He’s intrigued by Rumi’s little sister, watching with thinly-veiled interest as Jinu greets the girl and helps her get settled in their luxury condo.

Will watch her from across the room until Romance elbows him for staring too long.

It’ll take some time before he gathers the confidence to approach, but he’ll walk over to where she’s drawing with crayons and crouch down next to her.

Just bluntly asks, “were you born a demon?” and a moment later something clatters in the kitchen when Jinu drops it. He’s about to go scold Mystery for the rudeness, but then the little girl pipes up.

“Yeah! You have markings too, that’s so cool! Were you born a demon too?” all smiles and energy, and like Mystery, she’s lacking the social awareness that most adults possess when navigating uncomfortable topics.

“No, I sold my soul,” Mystery will just shrug like this is the most normal thing to say.

“Did you get money for it?” she asks in all seriousness, eyes large with curiosity.

And boom, he’s an uncle now. Right then and there, because she’s adorable and he wants her to keep looking at him like she trusts him—like how all kids intrinsically tend to trust those guardians in charge of their care. Or, like…a pet.

Spoils her, sneaks her sweets even when it’s too late for them and it’s definitely keeping her up past her bed time with a raging sugar rush. Will fight one of the other boys if they tell her ‘no’ or win a game against her.

Cue pouting when it’s time for her to leave.

[viktateapot]

Can I plssssss make a request ok ok I just had this absolutely amazing idea and I just know that your writing will bring it to life 💙💙💙💙 ok so hear me out WHAT IF you did a scenario where the batboys witness there s/o have A CINDERELLA MOMENT IM TALKING THE MAGICAL DRESS TRANSFORMATION and they are just absolutely IN AWE of them just the transformation infront of them and they just fall EVEN more in love with them also I’ve imagined this to many times WITH TIM DRAKE TO MANY TIMES 💙💙💙💙💙💙

I honestly tried, I hope you like it.

LIKE IN A FAIRY TALE (Batboys)

Dick Grayson:

The gala was in full swing, the opulent ballroom buzzing with the energy of Blüdhaven's elite. You felt a pang of self-consciousness as you navigated the throng of designer gowns and perfectly coiffed hairstyles. Dick was running late, called away on a last-minute mission, leaving you to face the glittering crowd alone.

You stood near the refreshment table, nursing a glass of sparkling water and trying to blend into the background. The event was in support of a cause close to your heart - a local organization dedicated to providing resources and opportunities for underprivileged youth. You wanted to be here, to show your support, but you couldn't help feeling like an outsider in this world of wealth and privilege.

As you stood there lost in your thoughts, you felt a familiar warmth spread through your chest. It was a subtle sensation at first, like the gentle caress of a summer breeze, but it quickly intensified, radiating outwards from your heart, enveloping your entire being.

You glanced down at your dress, a simple, elegant gown you'd found at a vintage shop. It was nothing flashy, but it was comfortable and flattering, and you hoped it would suffice. But as the warmth grew stronger, you noticed a faint shimmer rippling across the fabric.

A gasp escaped your lips as you realized what was happening. The dress was changing, transforming right before your eyes. The simple fabric began to morph and shimmer, taking on a life of its own.

The sensation grew more intense, the world around you blurring into a kaleidoscope of color and light. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the magic, trusting that whatever was happening was meant to be.

When you opened your eyes again, the ballroom was bathed in an ethereal glow. All eyes were on you, their expressions a mixture of awe, wonder, and envy. The simple dress you had been wearing was gone, replaced by a breathtaking ballgown that seemed to have been woven from moonlight and dreams.

The skirt cascaded in layers of shimmering tulle, its color shifting with every movement. The bodice was adorned with delicate embroidery, intricate patterns that seemed to tell a story of their own. The gown shimmered with an ethereal light.

As you stood there, bathed in the magical glow, you felt a surge of confidence, a sense of power and grace that you had never experienced before. You were no longer an outsider, no longer a wallflower. You were a vision, a force to be reckoned with.

And then you saw him, standing at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes wide with disbelief and admiration. Dick had arrived, just in time to witness your Cinderella moment. He was finally here with you and as you laid eyes it all seemed to be perfect.

The music swelled as you saw him and as you walked toward the dance floor, you knew in your heart that this was what the two of you were meant to do with your lives.

He had a lot planned this night as well. You just knew it, by the look that you two exchanged.

His eyes conveyed a joy you'd never witnessed before. Your new attire had shifted his heart with love.

The gown glimmered as the lights hit it. The dress you were wearing has saved lives as well.

The dress itself saved more than Gotham, It was a beacon of hope in a hopeless town. He wanted you to be his wife.

As soon as you are ready to go back home you too are at peace and ready for what the night holds.

The night was long but you did it together.

You all are ready to go to the end together now.

Jason Todd:

The air in the abandoned warehouse hung thick with the smell of stale beer and desperation. You hated these underground fight clubs, these brutal displays of violence that seemed to thrive on the city's misery. But you also knew that Jason needed this, this outlet for the rage that simmered beneath his hardened exterior.

You stood near the edge of the makeshift ring, your arms crossed, your expression a mixture of concern and disapproval. Jason was a force of nature in the ring, a whirlwind of controlled aggression and deadly precision. You admired his strength, his resilience, but you also feared the darkness that consumed him, the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.

He caught your eye, a flicker of a smile gracing his lips before he turned his attention back to his opponent. You tried to return the smile, but your heart was heavy with worry. You wished you could pull him out of this world, away from the violence and the pain, but you knew that it wasn't that simple. This was part of who he was, a product of his past, a consequence of the choices he had made.

As the fight progressed, the energy in the warehouse escalated, the crowd roaring with bloodlust. You couldn't bear to watch anymore. You turned away, your eyes stinging with tears.

And then, it started. A wave of warmth washed over you, a tingling sensation that spread through your limbs, making your skin prickle with anticipation. You glanced down at your clothes, a simple, black slip dress paired with Jason's old, distressed leather jacket. It was an outfit that suited your personality, a combination of elegance and edge. As the warmth intensified, the fabric began to shimmer and shift, taking on a life of its own.

The leather jacket seemed to melt into your skin, reforming itself into a fitted corset that hugged your curves like a second skin. The slip dress morphed and twisted, transforming into a flowing skirt made of shredded silk and tarnished chainmail, its every movement a dance of defiance.

A gasp escaped your lips as you realized what was happening. This was like some sort of magic and you knew it. You couldn't explain it but it was there. As the transformation reached its peak, a single, black rose, crafted from leather and metal, bloomed on your shoulder, a symbol of your own resilience, your own strength.

The energy in the warehouse shifted, the crowd silencing as all eyes turned towards you. The fight had been forgotten, replaced by a sense of awe and wonder. The transformation had drawn everyone's attention.

Jason stopped mid-punch, his opponent forgotten, his gaze fixed on you. He had never seen anything like this before, this display of raw power and ethereal beauty. You looked lethal.

He just looked at the best person. His mind was racing trying to think of how he could handle this because he was at a loss for words.

He grabbed your hand. He said some words. "Let's get out of here".

He looked at you and was shocked. “Did that just happen” he thought.

As the days go on more and more people were talking about it. They were wondering what was gonna come out of it. It was a shock what would be next.

As the world was on its turn you and Jason did what you could to keep up with each other.

As the day is coming to an end he tells you " Thank you for showing me this I never would have felt okay".

Tim Drake:

The air in the high-tech conference center buzzed with the low hum of servers and the eager chatter of tech enthusiasts. You felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as you tried to navigate the crowded room, your simple, practical jumpsuit feeling decidedly out of place amidst the sea of sharp suits and designer dresses.

You were here to support Tim, to help him present his latest encryption software to a room full of skeptical CEOs and venture capitalists. You knew how much this meant to him, how hard he had worked to create this revolutionary technology. You only wanted to show that you were there to support him.

You scanned the room, searching for his familiar face. He was supposed to meet you near the main stage, but he was nowhere to be seen. A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. Tim was notoriously punctual. For him to be late, something must have been wrong.

As you weaved through the crowd, you heard snippets of conversations about firewalls, algorithms, and cyber security. It was all a bit overwhelming, a world you knew little about. You just wanted to show him that you were there with him.

And then, it started. The world around you began to blur. The glow seemed to change how you saw.

You glanced down at your outfit, the simple, utilitarian jumpsuit you had chosen for its practicality and comfort. But as the warmth intensified, you noticed a faint shimmer rippling across the fabric. Something is going to happen soon.

The shimmer grew more pronounced, the jumpsuit seemed to shift and change, its form subtly altering. Tiny threads of light began to weave themselves into the fabric, creating intricate patterns that pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow.

A gasp escaped your lips as you realized what was happening. This was like some futuristic fantasy, a scene straight out of a science fiction movie. But it was real, it was happening to you, right now.

As the transformation reached its peak, the jumpsuit seemed to dissolve, replaced by a sleek, form-fitting sheath dress that shimmered with an iridescent glow. The fabric adapted to your every movement, flowing and draping like liquid moonlight.

Tiny, integrated LED lights pulsed with a subtle, coded pattern, a complex algorithm that only you and Tim could decipher. It was a secret code, a symbol of your shared intellect and deep connection.

You felt a surge of confidence course through you, a sense of power and grace that you had never experienced before. You were no longer just Tim's friend, his support system. You were something more, something extraordinary.

Then, you saw the look on his face, and he said, " I saw what was happening all along."

You replied with you are awesome.

Damian Wayne:

The Wayne Manor ballroom shimmered with an air of forced elegance. He could feel the weight of expectations, the stifling constraints of high society suffocating the air. You had done your best to bring it all together

You knew that this was a great opportunity to show Damian what you had to say. His face began to show that he was happy.

Damian, of course, was a study in stoic composure, his movements precise, his expression carefully guarded. He stood beside you, a silent protector, his keen eyes scanning the room, assessing every guest, every potential threat.

The air was thick with a number of smells. Something that only Wayne Enterprises could pull off.

The night was for all the right reasons. What could possibly be at stake he thought.

You gave him a look that he has never seen. Then you just started to glow.

What would happen? What could happen? All the people in the world had stopped what they were doing to give you space.

The moonlight shimmered as the Emerald Dynasty began to rise. All eyes were on the floor.

You were in the middle of it all and his hands were trembling.

All the fear and the pain had been forgotten as he witnessed this life change.

It was hard. It was always hard for the Waynes but he never had to worry. You were here now.

He's been worried about the past for as long as he remembers. Today would be something different.

You were wearing a dress that he had never seen. It’s beauty shined. It was a green color.

You were ready for the night and to bring your love to the very ends of the Earth.

Today a legend was born and it was amazing.

Your hands were still trembling and you went and calmed you down. You knew it all would be okay.

He looked into your eyes and knew how amazing you really were.

[revelboo]

Would you be ok with helping distract me from thinking? My stepdad died some months ago and yesterday I was there when they turned the machine off for my mom. She stopped getting any better when my stepdad died and I know she didn’t want to be without him, so I signed off on the hospital stopping treatments. She was miserable. But now I’ve lost them both. IF it is ok, could you write something where maybe Blades or Groove ‘rescues’ the Reader from their little life and brings them back to the Protectobots because they love the reader, especially Hot Spot and Streetwise? It can be spicy, because I like your spicy stories a lot. If not the protectobots, then maybe mtmte scorponok or the one-shot barricade with the reader on cybertron? I can see both of them doing the same thing. I love your work anyway. Sorry for being a little weird. Thanks for listening.

I’m so sorry you’re having to go through all this all at once.

🔞 Mass displaced mechs 🌶️ I haven’t written some of these guys before, so they might be a bit off

Home

Protectobots x Reader

• Idling up to your house as his engine rumbles, Groove’s holomatter avatar leans to put a booted foot down as he stares at the dark building. How many times is he going to do this? Drive by and then just leave. After the spectacular fight you’d had with Hot Spot, you’d left them. Wanted to go home and he understands that, but Blades and Hot Spot have been at each other’s throats, Streetwise becoming withdrawn and distant, and First Aid hiding in the Medbay. Their team fracturing without you. Wants you back home where you belong.

• He’s back. Can hear the motorcycle rumbling just outside on the street and you want to go out there. Throw yourself into Groove’s arms and ask to go home. But your pride won’t allow it. Hot Spot had hurt your feelings and you keep waiting for him to come for you. To apologize and bring you home, but maybe they meant more to you than you did to them. Breath catching as you hear a knock, part of you wants to ignore it. To not be the one to give in. But you still walk to the door and open it, gripping the door frame to keep yourself from hugging Groove’s avatar and begging to go home with him.

• “Hey, sweetspark,” he murmurs, a hand lifting to cup your cheek and hesitating as you stare up at him with those lonely eyes. And you lean your cheek into the avatar’s palm before looping your arms around him, face against his chest. Feels your field crackle through him, upsetting him to feel your emotions all over the place. “We miss you. I miss you.” Arms curling around you as you make a soft noise, he rests his chin on top of your head. Hears your muffled whimper that you want to go home and the tension drains away. “Hot Spot misses you, too.”

• It’s not the same without you here. The shared habsuite empty and quiet. Blades and Streetwise both had found other places to recharge. First Aid hiding in Medbay and Hot Spot has no idea where Groove is. Suspects the other bot is watching over you and someone needs to, but he knows you wouldn’t appreciate if it was him. Had never seen you so angry before as that night. Had laughed it off not realizing how serious you were, hadn’t expected the argument to escalate like that. Stilling when his comm crackles, he hears Grooves across the private Protectobots channel say, ‘We’re coming home.’ Those words sinks into him, anchoring in his spark as relief spills through him. Even if you hate him, he wants you here. Needs you, because it’s all wrong without you.

• Swinging wide over the city, Blades zeros in on Groove’s familiar field. Relieved to see you sitting in front of Groove’s avatar, one of its arms around your waist as the wind tears at your hair. Knows he and you have butted heads occasionally, gotten into fights, but whatever you and Hot Spot had gotten into it over had been different. Their leader refusing to talk about it after you’d left, making Blades sure Hot Spot had driven you off for your own protection. Like there’s anywhere safer than with them. You’re theirs.

• Head lifting as the wind stings your eyes, you spot the chopper overhead as Groove’s avatar’s fingers flex against your belly. And he sways lazily in his lane as a police cruiser sidles up beside him, siren whooping once. Streetwise. You’re tempted to lean and stretch out a hand to see if you can reach him, but you know it’ll stress Groove out. That he’ll worry about you falling. But that tightness in your chest eases some that they’re coming to meet you. That they did miss you, too and want you to come home.

• Speeding to come to meet the others as soon as he’d gotten the call, First Aid’s sirens wail as he spots you with Groove. Bouncing across the grassy median to fall in with Streetwise shadowing Groove, he’s relieved. Because everything’s been wrong without you there. Everyone fighting and angry. Distant. Wants things to be normal again. Wants to joke with Groove. Hear Streetwise and Hot Spot talk strategy, even misses Blades’s attitude. Misses his home. Misses you.

• Striding through the Ark as his spark constricts, he’s not sure how to fix this. Hadn’t meant to drive you away, but he’d been afraid. Afraid for you, that if you got too involved with them, you’d end up getting hurt. Combiner teams tend to lead dangerous lives and he couldn’t risk you. You mean too much, but he’d just made everyone miserable instead. And hurt you. Standing just inside the doorway as you slide off of Groove’s altmode, Hot Spot tries to catch your eye, but Streetwise is transforming and mass shifting, dragging you back into his frame, his face against your neck.

• Can feel Streetwise’s servos fisting in your clothes, his arms around you as your feet leave the ground and they’re all mass shifting now. Blades reaching out to ruffle your hair, smiling crookedly. First Aid nervously asking if you’ve been okay, if you’ve been eating. But you can’t tear your eyes from Hot Spot staring at you. Afraid he’s going to start again, tell you all the reasons you don’t belong here, that it’s not safe even though this is where you want to be. And he’s striding your way as Streetwise rumbles a warning at your back. Hot Spot’s hands cup your face as his mask retracts and his mouth crashes against yours. Not a kiss so much as a claim. An apology.

• Mouth sliding against yours, he feels your hands grab at him, hanging on. One of Streetwise’s arms sliding against his chassis as the other bot pins you more firmly between the two of them. Only dimly aware of First Aid hovering nearby and probably wanting them to take this back to their habsuite. Which isn’t a bad idea. Done with ignoring what he wants as you hook a leg against his hip, your mouth opening under his. Hopes that’s forgiveness. Needs you.

• Relaxing as Blades shoves Streetwise and Hot Spot, trying to get them headed in the right direction because there’s a very real possibility the three of you are going to end up tangled together on the floor right inside the entrance of the Ark. And it’s a relief to have you home where you belong. Following when Hot Spot growls a warning, Groove smiles. Reaching out to smooth a palm against your arm and you fumble, hand grabbing his and squeezing. Like you think you need to hang onto them or they’ll abandon you.

• Back hitting the habsuite door as Hot Spot pins you against him, rumbling hungrily, Streetwise fumbles with the door and Blades and First Aid grab him to keep him from falling through when it opens. Your scent addictive as he vents deeply. Wants you on the berth, but doesn’t want to let go long enough to mass shift and lift you up there. Not while Hot Spot is moving against you, his servos on your hips trying to take you from him.

• Servos tug at your clothes, everything shifting and becoming a blur of heat and need. Wanting your mechs, wanting them all. To claim them, because this is home. They’re your home. Streetwise’s mouth is on your neck as he eases down on his knees with you arched back against him as you’re stripped. And Hot Spot follows you down, servos ghosting over bare skin. Up your throat as his mouth covers yours again and Streetwise’s hand cups you, a servo spearing inside you to make you gasp. “Didn’t mean to drive you off,” Hot Spot growls against your lips. “Worried.”

• Aware that the apology isn’t enough, he shifts down your body, gripping Streetwise’s wrist and the other bot glares at him, field crackling in a momentary battle of wills before Streetwise moves his hand. Lets Hot Spot cup your hips and lift them as he settles between your thighs and you moan when he puts his mouth on you. How many times has he dreamed of this? Of claiming what’s his? Your taste addictive as your breath hitches. Streetwise’s hands sliding over you, cupping and squeezing skin as Hot Spot’s mouth moves against you. The others waiting impatiently, wanting the same thing. To claim you so throughly you’ll never question that you’re wanted, that you belong here.

• Shuddering as Hot Spot mouths against you, the scent of your need thickens, until Blades’s spike is aching behind his modesty plating. Sees Groove releasing the panel hiding his valve as he leans back, thighs spread so he can spear two servos inside himself as he watches you. Hears First Aid’s fans kick on as you cry out, Hot Spot shifting over you, releasing his spike and burying himself inside you in a hard drive.

• Pinned between Streetwise and Hot Spot, you gasp as Hot Spot’s hips pump. Feeling the burn of his spike stretching you as Streetwise brushes his cheek against yours. And you should be embarrassed because the others are all watching. Groove pumping his servos inside himself, lips parting on a growling moan, but it’s feels right for them to be here. “You’re ours,” Streetwise murmurs against your skin as Hot Spot’s hips roll, his spike stroking inside you. “Our mate.”

• Optics hooded watching Hot Spot claim you, Streetwise interlaces his servos with your fingers. Knows they’ve never discussed sharing you, much less claiming you or bonding you, but they don’t need to. You’re theirs. Always have been since that day Groove brought you home to First Aid for help. And your head falls back against his shoulder as you gasp, your soft, needy sounds getting more urgent as Hot Spot snarls. Feels you tremble against him as you come apart, Hot Spot thrusting urgently before shuddering with his release, his big hand landing on Streetwise’s shoulder for balance.

[heldbybarnes]

okay but imagine bucky comes home from a mission soaked, bleeding, exhausted—and all he wants is to lay his head in reader’s lap while she washes the blood off his knuckles and hums something soft. just… comfort kink core.

This kind of soft post-mission care is exactly the kind of comfort kink core Bucky deserves. I melted writing this. Let the man have his lap pillow, his forehead kisses, his hums and warm washcloth rituals.

----------

It’s nearly midnight when the front door creaks open.

You’re already padding toward it before it’s even halfway shut again, the soft hum of your playlist still drifting from the kitchen, some old Sam Cooke tune you’d left looping just to fill the silence. It’s supposed to be a lazy Sunday night—meant to be filled with warm leftovers, quiet cuddles, maybe a movie if you could keep Bucky awake long enough. But the moment you see him, every thought drops from your mind like a stone.

He’s soaked through. Rain clings to every inch of him—his shirt is plastered to his chest, pants heavy with water, combat boots squelching against the floor. His hair is dripping into his eyes, half-tied but mostly loose, like he’d tried to pull it back and gave up halfway. He looks wrecked. Drenched, bloodied, exhausted.

And then those blue eyes find yours.

You don’t ask what happened. He doesn’t offer. You just open your arms and he walks straight into them.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against your shoulder, like the apology is old and broken and already failing. His voice is hoarse. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You guide him forward wordlessly, fingers curling into the back of his damp shirt, grounding him in the softness of your home. It smells like lavender oil and fabric softener. Like comfort and warmth and you—a sharp contrast to whatever he just crawled back from.

He doesn’t need words. Not tonight.

You nudge him gently toward the bathroom and begin peeling off layers one at a time. His metal arm is smeared with blood. His knuckles—his real ones—are split and raw, crusted with dried red. A bruise blooms purple under one cheekbone. But he lets you undress him like he’s too tired to resist, his body limp under your touch as you tug off his soaked shirt and work open the zipper of his tactical pants.

“I’m okay,” he says, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

“I know,” you whisper. “Come here.”

He follows like a ghost.

You pull him into the living room instead of the shower. The soft light from the table lamp spills gold across the couch, and your blanket is still bunched from earlier—where you’d waited for him, sipping tea, counting the hours. You sit down first and pat your lap, and he hesitates for just a second before sinking to his knees in front of you.

His eyes flutter closed as soon as his head touches your thighs.

“Yeah?” you murmur, brushing wet strands of hair from his face.

“Yeah.” It comes out like a sigh. “This is… fuck. This is all I needed.”

You grab the bowl you’d already set out—your little ritual by now—filled with warm water and a soft cloth. You knew he’d come home tonight, even if the mission ran late. You felt it in your chest, the same way you always do. So you’d gotten everything ready. Your boy, bruised and battle-worn, would need the softest parts of you.

So you press the cloth to his hands first. His knuckles. The blood comes off in slow streaks, and you hum something low as you go—some lullaby you don’t even realize you’re singing until his breathing shifts.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your lap, “every time I’m out there… all I can think about is this. You. This exact moment.”

Your fingers move gently across a new cut, and he flinches. You blow on it instinctively, soft and sweet, like the smallest act of love could undo the pain.

“This is real,” you whisper, half to him, half to yourself.

He nods.

You wipe the cloth over his palms next, where the skin is still pink and tender from gripping too tight. You kiss the side of his temple. The corners of his jaw. You hum and clean and soothe him like he’s made of glass.

Bucky Barnes, ex-assassin, metal-armed soldier, kneels quietly in front of you like the world has finally stopped spinning. Like he can finally rest.

“Did it go bad?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then: “Not for me.”

You don’t ask for more. His fingers curl into the blanket that pools beneath you, clenching like he’s trying to anchor himself. You set the cloth down and just start running your hands through his hair instead. He leans into it like he’s starved for touch.

Your thigh is damp beneath him, rain still dripping from his hair, but you don’t care. You’d let him stay like this forever if he needed. Hell, you hope he needs it. Because the intimacy of this moment—the quiet, the weight of his body against yours, the way he hums low in his chest when you scratch behind his ear—it’s the kind of closeness that tells you he trusts you more than anyone else alive.

And God, you don’t take that lightly.

“Can I stay here a while?” he mumbles.

“As long as you want.”

“‘Til morning?”

You smile. “Longer.”

His breath evens out slowly. You keep humming. Some old song from your childhood, or maybe something you just made up. You don’t even know anymore. All that matters is that it makes him soft. It makes the tight lines in his shoulders ease. It makes him reach for your hand and hold it like he’s afraid it’ll vanish.

“I love you,” he breathes.

You kiss the top of his head. “I love you more.”

He lets out a low, sleepy hum and finally—finally—lets himself rest.

[stellargh0ul]

currently feeling like Ass bc i’m sick post ritual. literally every part of my body hurts. can i perhaps get some sfw of the twins doting on reader? thank you for gifting us with your writing <3

I hope you're feeling better by now!

-

every part of your body hurts. that’s the first thing you register when you open your eyes, realizing with a groan that whatever flu had been going around the Ministry the past several weeks has finally caught up with you. you fumble with your phone on the bedside table, shooting off a quick text you your boss, Frater Imperator, that you won't be in today. then you message Perpetua, telling him that you won’t be able to make it to the rehearsal you’d been planning on watching today.

satisfied that your affairs are in order, you put your phone back down and quickly fall back asleep— the best thing you can do right now is try to give your body the rest it needs to fight against this sickness.

when you next open your eyes, you aren’t expecting to see two people standing in your bedroom, staring at each other like they’re about to go for the throat. Perpetua and Copia are having a whispered conversation that nonetheless reaches you: “what are you doing here?” “I can take care of this just fine!”

you give a low groan, alerting them to the fact that you’re awake. they both swarm your bedside, Copia’s hand reaching out to fall across your brow. it feels good against your fevered skin and you turn your head into his palm, huffing quietly.

“what are you two doing here?” you ask, and then devolve into a coughing fit as your lungs protest the sound. Perpetua messes with something at your bedside table for a long moment before he holds out a capful of liquid medication to you. you recognize it as the cold medicine you keep in the bathroom.

carefully, mindful of the way every movement makes your body ache, you sit up in bed and take the cap from him. downing the medicine, you look over the two men.

“no, seriously, what are you guys doing here?”

“I was worried,” Copia says as he sits on the edge of your bed. it’s a little disconcerting to be stared at like this and you shift uncomfortably under their gazes.

“so was I,” Perpetua interjects, not to be outdone. you roll your eyes— you don’t have the energy to deal with their rivalry right now, not when it feels like you’re about to cough up a lung again.

“whatever this is has been going around the Ministry. i’ll be fine with a little bit of rest and some meds, you both didn’t have to come down to check on me.”

“no trouble—“

“I wanted to—“

they pause as they talk over each other, Perpetua giving Copia a pointed glare that is returned in equal measure. Satan help you, they’re going to be the death of you.

“okay, party in my room is over,” you say, making a shooing motion with your hand. “I need to rest. everybody out.”

reluctantly, they both stand and make for the door, casting worried looks in your direction. you give them a thumbs up— but once the door’s closed, you drop your head into your pillows and give a hoarse scream.

[stevenose]

warm ways (18+)

day 2 of the august writing challenge [link]

today’s word: sandcastle

contents: a very found family vacation 🤍; steve x reader; gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; sweet and whiny and needy steve who fucks you very nicely <3; shower sex!!

“come on,” steve whines, sitting behind you.

his body’s hot, chest pressed against your back. you’re sitting under an umbrella, but the sun is still scorching.

“no,” you repeat, filling your tiny bucket with sand. you know you look pathetic, but you don’t quite care. “i told dustin i would make a better sandcastle than him. this is serious shit, steve.”

he scoffs behind you and throws himself backwards dramatically, landing on the beach towel with a little oof!.

“we aren’t going to have sex here, anyway,” you continue absentmindedly, busy with ensuring that the sand you’ve just placed doesn’t crack. “gotta take me all the way back to the hotel for that.”

he groans and props himself up on his elbows.

“they have showers here! private showers. showers for you and me.”

you hum. “help me build this and i might consider maybe going with you.”

an hour later, your sandcastle looks like shit. you would go so far as to say that steve was sabotaging you. touching you where he shouldn’t have, whispering in your ear what to do. like he knew. which he definitely didn’t. but his tone worked on you enough to make you hurry and ruin your progress.

now, you’re caught between steve and the wall of the shower stall, cool water dripping over you while steve ruts into your warm cunt.

it’s incredible. you can’t get away from him and it feels so good. you have to take whatever he wants to give you, which happens to be sweet, but very needy, sex.

“no marks,” you rasp, breaking through your haze when you realize his lips have been on your neck way too long.

steve mouths at your collarbone, rutting in and out of you. deep. hard. “like they don’t know what we’re doing in here.”

his fingers swipe over your clit and you moan, louder than you should.

steve chuckles. “you’re worried about hickeys while moaning like that.”

“can’t help it,” you pant, “feels so good.”

water drips down his face and plasters his hair to his forehead. one strong arm cages you in. you want to sink your teeth into his biceps.

“you feel so good. jesus, i love you.”

you clench down on him, a string tightening in your lower stomach. “love you, i love you, please —!”

and steve’s such a giver. pounds into you a little harder, makes you scared that you’ll slip from his thrusts. he keeps his lips on yours to seal any moans you try to whimper out.

you cum first. always. then steve pulls out, jerks his slick cock off with his hand, and groans deep while spilling over your stomach.

you take a moment to catch your breath. steve kindly helps clean you up, hands gently caressing you before pulling your swim bottoms back up. he tucks himself into his trunks, and you both step out into the hot air again.

“christ, can we go back in?” you murmur. “too goddamn hot out here.”

“you want a round two?”

you roll your eyes, though your pussy is totally convinced. “that’s not what i’m sayi—“

you almost collide with robin as she rounds the corner, hidden by tall grass and the side of the building. she scoffs immediately.

“you two are sick,” she groans, stomping past you. then she turns back around swiftly. “can you at least tell me which stall it was so that i don’t go in the same one?!”

[gatorsvault]

sub-ish Simon Riley x drunk!reader

gonna go ahead and say this is fem!reader because i base my writing off me, afab.. but i don’t directly mention anything gender specific.

Simon Riley who’s always so intimidating. i mean christ, the fucker literally wears a human skull on his missions. puts the fear of every god imaginable into his enemies. one of the quotes soap heard was ‘you’re telling me, you see that big boy with the skull face and you’re not gonna start sweating?’ (he decided to not tell his lieutenant about that—figured it’d boost his ego too much.)

and honestly? yeah. he was a massive fucking tank—a bit cold, ruthless. he’s done a lot he’s not proud of.

but gods help him.

you came back to the base drunk. a lot of rounds of too many drinks with friends. you’ve never actually confirmed that simon likes you, but he’s pretty obvious about it. stares that linger, always finding a way to spend time with you. he even puts you two on missions together. and let’s be real—you know you’re stunning, who wouldn’t like you?

so when you come back to base, instead of heading straight for your bed to sleep, you look for simon ghost riley. Never in his room at reasonable times of the night, you head to the lounge on the way to his office. not there either, but he was. drops of milk on the counter and sugar packets not properly thrown away. someone would clean it up later; you couldn’t care. you were shitfaced.

knocking on his door, he opens it, not expecting to see you in such a.. promiscuous outfit. fuck did you look good. and your behavior didn’t make the tightening in his pants fade any faster, leaning into him, hooded eyes that didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything he said.

“whatcha doin tonight, simon?”

he almost came in his pants just from his name on your tongue.

“uhm. just. finishing up intel reports from last week. few status changes here and there..”

he rambled on, but you weren’t really listening. you just wanted to see his lips move. he was flustered, a very observant man. noticed the way your hips swayed as you walked towards him, your lips coated in whatever gloss you’d been using. you weren’t here to talk. you were here for more.

unfortunately he wasn’t a monster, and knowing you were drunk really discouraged him. every advance you made was shut down, which you heavily disliked.

“where’s your room, simon?” you weren’t annoyed… just… frustrated.

“it’s uhm. i can show you.. just.. why?”

you simply gave him a look. one that he knew means he was more dense than brick wall for asking. eventually he led the way, very obviously nervous. you followed behind, almost skipping with how happy you were.

and once you got there? you didn’t give him any time to think. as soon as the door closed your lips were on his, one hand on his chest as the other rested on the back of his head. you kicked off your shoes, dragging him to his couch. you shoved him back and he was blushing. genuinely red. you straddled him, realizing he was more than just shy..

“oh? ‘ve hardly even touched you..”

he was embarrassed, but not ashamed enough to not want to your lips back on his—so his hands pulled you into him by the hips, practically begging for more..

who are you to refuse?

a/n: hi this one has been in my drafts and i finished it so here you go thanks okay bye

a/n pt 2: i finished this last night and i thought i hit post and i did not in fact hit post.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I just want to say that your brain is huge and I enjoy everything you post. Your sense of humour is top tier. Especially your thoughts on BNHA, omg. If I was a rich bastard, I’d patronage the shit out of you.

Anyways, I’ve been reading through your first possession posts and Izuku’s silly little boot camp specifically made to kill that old man, intermixed with First literally stuck in the suffering matrix is fantastic. That line about how the past users have been stuck in the Disney channel since they got to Ninth had me cackling.

I am curious though, how exactly does Izuku swimming through the past user’s memories affect him in the long term? How does Izuku’s new found maternal feelings towards All Might pan out (does he make sure All Might’s eating 3 balanced meals a day and is getting a full eight hours of sleep?)? How many gray hairs does Aizawa have by the end of this?

Thanks for sharing your ideas and your stellar writing. Hope you’re having a good one! :)

Honestly Izuku’s mostly okay he just needs therapy but he already probably should have been in therapy so it’s not exactly a big change

Izuku’s just got a bunch of the past users mixed in with him now that he can separate out but hasn’t really had a chance to. He remembers doing things he objectively never did. He remembers being people he wasn’t. He remembers having a desire to ruffle all mights hair with a motherly affection and has to go lie down for a bit before the humiliation kills him stone dead.

The effects from First’s memories are the worst because he lived through a lot more of First’s memories than the others’, and also First’s memories are a fucking horror movie. And like. Everyone else has plenty of horror movie shit too, frankly, but Izuku didn’t get lost in their memories nearly as much as he did First’s. He didn’t experience their worst bits and doesn’t remember them.

Izuku has a bit more of a separation from First’s memories than First himself does. He knows it never happened to him. It’s not as visceral as it is to First. He definitely needs therapy because holy fuck but not nearly as bad as First does.

Honestly the most lasting effect is that Izuku is going around having been personally groomed by the past users as their truest successor, which is unfortunate, because the past users are fucking insane. Living with them is like a mix between a frat house and a full immersion survival workshop for the CIA. Izuku has never felt a more profound sense of belonging in his life. Everyone is so locked in here. He is home.

I just really like the idea that all the past users went through life like: *horrified realization* “I am gods strongest soldier.” They were all so uniquely fucked compared to the rest of society. They all had to deal with the shittiest freak that ever was and usually they did it alone. And then they find themselves inside one for all and they’re finally amongst people who understand just how much that guy sucks. They just all ended up feeling very protective of each other. Love is stored in the ghosts in the bones. That also happens to be where they store the violence.

It’s a very collegiate environment and Izuku is In The Group. Whenever he’s out of his own bones he acts like the past user’s bullshit is both common knowledge and the expectation and legitimately Aizawa has no idea what was wrong with those people but whatever it was was significant. He tries to broach with Izuku what they found out about first and Izuku 1) already knew and 2) shares that he, along with the other past users, think it’s fucked up that they looked at that stuff. The past user hive mind seems to have collectively decided it’s the equivalent of purposefully going through someone else’s memories without permission, which, as everyone knows, is a serious breach of personal boundaries. They’re existing under social norms designed for a ghost roommate situation within a child’s bones and Aizawa is so so tired.

[achelouise]

how they would main you —alhaitham

fandom: genshin impact

pairing: gamer!alhaitham x character!reader

a/n: initially i wanted to do a whole complication, but im stuck on how to write other characters.... ahahH so i figured i might as well just post this one first and see if i can get any new ideas for the others (the answer is no - but i am open to suggestions!! my brain is empty)

— he’s a casual mobile gamer despite his position as ceo (though honestly, he’s just filling in someone else’s shoes until a suitable candidate arrives). he used to log in every other day to complete commissions. some may call it draining, but he found comfort in the routine; mindless, yet exploring new places every time. he was just extremely careful to not slip and cave into his exploring urges- up until they added a feature that didn’t require him to do them anymore. so he times himself; grab a few chests here and there, talk to some npcs, do bounties, and call it a day before heading straight back to work.

— he doesn’t consume any sort of content related to genshin other than the game itself. no trailers, no drip marketing, no nothing. he believes the promotion ruins the experience for him, and he prefers to keep his entertainment within the scope of his little app. that was, until he ran into you in-game.

— he had expected you to appear in the game at some point. you were initially teased in a small world quest, and alhaitham had taken note of that. that is why he was able to realize that the description the npc gave during the quest matched yours completely, and brought him the tiniest dose of joy to know that he was right. there was something about you that intrigued him, that made his lips tilt ever-so-slightly in amusement.

— he wanted to know more about you. the night he played your story quest, he typed in your trailer- and needless to say, he was impressed. your character was born from brilliant writing, your design (after a brief, two-hour research) seemed to be a perfect blend of historical accuracy and fanciful ideas. the way your voice actor conveyed your emotions seemed to breathe life into your model; you looked real, frighteningly so.

— he was in luck; since your story quest was being promoted this patch, this meant he could pull for you. what was funny was that he didn’t pull, at all, so he had enough to get ten copies of you and still have left for the next character. he screenshotted the piles of primogems before jabbing his finger on the “pull 10” button.

— he had to run into soft pity to get you, but he was on a guarantee, so it only brought him a small sigh of relief when he saw the falling wish turn bright gold. your intro was long, over a minute long of just straight-up yapping, but he sat there to listen to every single word anyway. the next thing he does is click on every single voiceline of yours. you know the expression where someone looks emotionless but has a gigantic blush on their face? yeah, that’s his face.

— he realized some of them were locked, and that’s when found out that he had to increase your ‘friendship level'- or whatever- to unlock them all. plus, it also gave your namecard, which looked quite aesthetically pleasing, even from an objective point-of-view. so began his journey to ‘farm’ materials for you.

— his work makes him run a tight schedule, and at the end of the day, he is a disciplined man. he sets his playtime to an hour, now- most of it looking up guides- nahh, of course not.

— alhaitham actually does pay attention to what does what- that’s how he was able to get through spiral abyss with aloy. in the end, it’s just numbers, and he was good with those. he actually uses his eyes to see which set would be best for you, and what free-to-play weapon would suit you most. the only, only reason why he outranks those with your constellations or signature is purely because his artifact luck is absolutely cracked.

“i do need crit rate. oh, look at that. it got added as the new substat. perhaps some crit damage…? hmm. not bad.”

— his luck is genuinely insane. he didn’t even think that getting anything other than the desired substats was possible until he got a single def roll, and had a small breakdown as to why the system was ‘broken’. alhaitham, you lucky, lucky man. he probably broke the record for the highest crit value without even knowing it.

— he wasn’t too keen on your gameplay. it was a tad inconvenient, and it required several readings of your kit to fully reach your potential. but if he brought goddamn aloy to 36 stars, he can sure as hell make you hit one bajillion damage (he does), even if he only has one copy of you. he gets used to the clunky mechanics when he reaches friendship level 3, and (unknowingly) becomes your defender.

— he knows, of course, that purposefully typing a response on a forum when others are dragging your name is the behavior he expects from cyno- and besides, he has better things to do with his life. the only times where his defense for you comes into play is when he’s arguing with kaveh about it.

“you just don’t understand! [name] was written that way to portray the conflicts between the two parties, and to dig up this- this lore just proves how baseless your theories are!”

“then why not simply use an npc? face it, you’re just mad because i cracked this theory faster than you ‘lore-lovers’ did.”

— he can’t say anything when it comes to your gameplay, though. to kaveh’s credit, he doesn’t focus on the meta.

— he eventually mains you (as if it wasn’t obvious already), taking you to the far corners of teyvat and making sure to always teleport back to your region before logging out the game. he eagerly- i mean, patiently waits for each new voiceline, whether it comes from the friendship xp or from new events. in any case, you bring him a little bit of life every time he opens the game- perhaps he should get your signature when you get a rerun.

[infiniteeight8]

Steter prompt :post wild hunt idea : Stiles questions why everyone else felt something missing when he was taken but Noah just happily went along with Claudia as a substitution, ends up discovering that Ghost Riders tapped into the deeply hidden resentment Noah had for Claudia dying over him and that small part that blames Stiles for her dying (you cannot tell me that S2 hallucinations fear didn't come from something), and Peter is the one to pick up the pieces when Stiles falls apart over it

This prompt is long enough that I’d normally turn it down, but I haven’t received many Steter prompts lately, and I did feel that I could do a piece of it, so here we go!

This is just Peter being there as Stiles falls apart. If anyone wants to write a full length fic of this, I would read the hell out of it. 😀

-

By the time Peter reaches his apartment door, he already knows that Stiles is on the other side of it, and that he’s upset, which is something of a mystery. Peter likes Stiles, he always has, but he can’t say the feeling is mutual. Stiles respects him, maybe even understands him, but he was hardly Stiles’ first choice when it came to socializing. Or comfort. At least, so he thought.

Peter opens his door and stands back. Stiles stalks inside, but it’s not anger; he’s tense because he’s barely holding himself together.

“What can I do for you, Stiles?” Peter asks casually, as if he can’t smell the distress.

“You said once that your family didn’t love you,” Stiles says bluntly. “At least, not the way they loved each other.”

Peter doesn’t flinch; it’s a truth he’s had a long time to get used to. “That’s right.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. “How did you make peace with that? Or get over it, or whatever.”

“Stiles,” Peter says quietly. “What happened?”

Stiles looks away. “My dad—” He swallows hard. “We were talking about the Wild Hunt. When I was taken. Scott, Lydia, they said they knew something was wrong even though they didn’t know what. But my dad…” Tears finally spill over. Stiles dashes them away impatiently. “He couldn’t tell. He didn’t realize anything was missing, not as long as he had my mom. He—” Stiles’ voice goes thick and choked, the tears coming faster now. “He was happier.”

Peter reaches out and pulls Stiles into his arms, half expecting him to pull away even now. But he doesn’t, instead burying his face in the curve of Peter’s throat and fisting his shirt in his hands. “He’s always— He thinks it’s my fault,” Stiles sobs. “He doesn’t want me.”

More accurate to say that he wants Claudia more, but Peter keeps that to himself. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” Peter says, rubbing Stiles’ back as he cries. “I never wanted this for you.”

A couple of minutes pass. Stiles’ shudders calm faster than Peter expects. Eventually, he pulls back—but not away—and meets Peter’s gaze again. “So how? How did you deal?”

“I went looking for someone who did,” Peter says. He snorts softly. “Can’t say I recommend that tactic. I got into a lot of trouble and never did find them.”

“You didn’t worry that there was something wrong with you?” Stiles asks. “Something that made you fundamentally unlovable.”

“I did,” Peter admits. “But you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh?” Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“The whole pack loves you,” Peter says airily, instead of what he’s thinking.

The calculation on Stiles’ face says maybe he heard it anyway.

Peter can’t bring himself to regret it.

[oddballwriter]

Old Times, New Experience

Hector x reader

Summary: It's a nice summer sunset, you and Hector are vacationing at your parents' place which is also your childhood home, cuddling on the back porch while your mom and dad are off in the house doing something. The moment is nice and wholesome. Until you reveal that you're feeling nostalgic and have an idea~

Warnings: Semi-public sex, penetration (reader receiving), gender neutral reader (the word "entrance" is used in place of any mention if where the reader is getting penetrated, so you can view it as either vaginal or anal), sex on a pool lounge chair, mentions of losing your virginity, mention that reader lost their virginity with a guy (again, take as you will and want to), oral (reader receiving), making out sloppy style. No minors better interact with this because I will find you and hit you with the block hammer.

Also, not really a warning but Hector is referred to as your husband and has met and know your parents in this but there's no actual reference to the game itself so you can imagine a regular human!au Hector or a realized!Hector. Your choice, bestie.

Author’s Snip: So funny story. I got this idea while listening to my love song playlist and Everybody Talks by Neon Trees started playing. I always heard the song say “Take me to your love shack. Mama’s always got a back chair.”, which I always assumed meant that the singer was suggesting to the girl that they’re singing about that they should go fool around on a lawn chair (+ a reference to B52’s Love Shack). And I actually thought that the idea of a reader and character doing that was a cool idea, so I just landed on Hector because of a song that played before then reminded me of him. But it wasn’t until right now, as I’m writing this part of the post before it goes out, that I thought to myself “Do they actually say back chair?” because I always thought they said it funny. So I looked up the lyrics AND THEY DON’T. The words are actually “Take me to your love shack. Mama’s always gotta backtrack.”?! I’ve been hearing this song my whole life and always thought it was “back chair”! So now this smut fic is actually based on misheard lyrics rather than the actual song! I was genuinely going to have the title be Mama’s Always got a Back Chair as a reference to the song!

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request. Requests are closed at the moment though, so sit tight!

Word Count: 3.6k

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my virginity?”

Your question catches Hector violently off guard and makes him whip his head towards you, whose cuddled up next to him on the couch under the cover of your parents' back porch.

It was such a simple moment. It was a nice July night. The day had been moderately hot, but not enough to warrant anything like making use of the pool just yet, but you could still feel it's remaining warmth even now, but the cool of the night was starting to just make it's rounds. You and Hector had been visiting for the week. And in this moment Hector was watching the sky change with the sunset and assumed that you were doing the same. Until right now.

When Hector looked at you, he found you staring off at something else but soon turned to look back at him as you waiting for him to answer.

“I… don’t think you have.” Hector stumbles out.

“It was just like this.” you say simply.

“It was with a boy. He was the friend of one of my cousins who was vacationing here with us. For whatever reason they let his friend come along. They stayed for the whole month of July in freshman year of high school. I remember we kept giving each other the eye for weeks and talked when we had a moment alone. But we were never alone for long enough till the second to last day before they left. Everyone else was inside the living room but we snuck out the side window in the spare room, and sat just like this. But it was just the plastic chairs back then. My dad hadn’t renovated the porch yet to have the gazebo. We were just talking but, you know, two teenagers who were giving each other goo-goo eyes alone together unsupervised…” you laugh at the later half of your last sentence.

Hector was very confused as you continued your story, your eyes wandering around the backyard.

“We started kissing and got a bit too excited, and couldn’t hold it back anymore. That’s when I got the bright idea and remembered that my mom would store her old outdoor lounge chair in the pool shed so that the sun wouldn’t bleach the fabric. The lock on the door was old and gives if you twist it at the right angle hard enough. So we snuck in there and let out a summer’s worth of tension out on it and then back into the house afterwards like nothing happened.” you said.

“We never spoke of it afterwards and my cousin and him grew apart that school year. Now that I think about it he was kind of a jerk but he had that teenage punk thing going on that made him hot to me, I guess.” you mention.

Hector was a bit flustered and even a bit bothered by the jealousy he felt towards this random stranger that was lucky enough to get the opportunity to be the first to have you. By the end of your tale, you were looking at said pool shed, but looked back towards Hector.

“My mom still has that lounge chair. And the lock is the same and still gives if you twist it just right.” you tell him as you sit up and wriggle yourself out of his arms. Your eyes are still trained on him with this look that let him know what you were thinking, but he didn’t want to believe it himself.

Hector clears a lump in his throat that he hadn’t noticed had formed until he instinctively tried to clear it out. “And you want to…” he stammers out.

“Do it on the lounge chair again because I kind of wasted the hottest way to have sex on some guy I never talked to again? Yes. Yes, I do.” you answer while leaning in close to Hector’s face. “Is there a problem with that?” you ask teasingly.

“No…” Hector responds, but he looks to the side awkwardly, “But… um… wouldn’t your family notice that we’re gone since we didn’t sneak out through some window?” he asks.

As if on cue you hear the sound of your parents yelling at the TV in the living room, both knowing that they’re perfectly distracted by whatever is on the television to think of checking up on you two out here. You look back at Hector with a smirk on your face. “They didn’t when me and him were quiet enough.” you reply.

And with that, you and Hector carefully get up from the couch and sneak your way down the porch steps and towards the shed. You grab a hold of the lock that kept the chains wrapped around the handles of the shed doors, grabbing it and holding it for a bit, waiting for the sound of your mom or dad shouting out again to mask the noise of the chains rattling when you successfully twisted the lock and move them off the door. Thankfully it didn’t take long for the sound to come and the luck that your dad would rant about whatever it was they were watching so you could do it all and just barely get in, dragging Hector in with you, and closing the door.

You and Hector look at each other for a beat or two, just able to see each other in the light that bleeds in from the windows along the very top of the walls of the shed, letting in enough natural light in to see around but high enough that no one outside could see inside. Hector looks a bit nervous still but there’s a smile on his face that grows as you stare at each other. You start to snicker and giggle a little. This was insane, for the both of you.

For you, it was insane because you were pulling off the same exact feat as you did all those years ago with what's-his-name in practically the same exact way, except now it was with your husband. But you felt like you were a horny teenager all over again trying not to get caught.

For Hector, it was because this was, almost, completely out of his range of things that he would do. Normally, he liked doing this in the comfort of your home or at the very least a private place that you could do this without bothering anyone or running the risk of actually getting caught. Not to mention that this was your second day of your stay at your childhood home and parents' home. Granted this wasn't the first time you had visited either. But just yesterday your mom was running around making sure the house was perfect so that you two could be comfortable during your stay, telling him that she's so happy to see her favorite son-in-law, asking how things have been, and making sure she was a good hostess. I mean, you were all sat at the table for breakfast this morning talking about possible plans for all of you. And now your both in the pool shed about to have sex on a lounge chair with them none the wiser when you were humbly cuddling on the couch five minutes ago. Something that you've done before, by the way. This isn't even the first time you've done this, you just wanted to do it with him.

He's almost ashamed of how turned on he is right now, but he's more excited and honored that you want to do this with him.

Hector is broken from his thoughts when you lean in and begin to kiss him. He's caught off guard for only a moment before he joins in on the frenzy of your lips. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers intertwining with the soft curls, as his arms wrap around your waist and pull you even closer to him. It's all soft clashing of lips and a little bit of tongues shyly poking into the fray every now and again. Its slightly suffocating in the best way possible, making Hector a little dizzy till he finds his lips are now kissing and sucking gently on the skin of your neck. You're both still locked in an embrace, except now you're somehow even closer together and rocking in a sway that is just a sneeze away from dry humping, if we want to deny it is at this point. You still have one hand in his hair, occasionally tugging, but the other is gripping his shoulder while you let out a few heavy breathes.

At a certain point, your hands move from their places to push Hector away. He sighs sadly from being pulled away from his spot in the crook of your neck and away from the dance that you two were locked in. But you take a hold of his forearm with a smile and say "Come on, it's over here." as you pull him deeper into the shed towards the titular lounge chair.

It's a bit of a tight squeeze trying to get to it without knocking over anything that's also stored in the shed like the pool net, floats, and your dad's grill, but its all nothing now when you sit yourself down on the chair and scoot back towards the head of it to lay down on it, making Hector also have to set himself on it as you drag him down with you. The lounge chair has cushioning attached to it like mentioned before. The fabric is a bit worn and there's an indent from where someone would have laid on it over the years, but its still in mint condition for being aged and could work just fine for what you're about to do.

"How did he do it?" Hector questions. "Just like this." you answer, referring the missionary position that you two were just shy of being in.

With that Hector moves himself to be in between you and leans down to where you are to continue kissing again. It's more sloppy this time. Your lips and tongues seem to be in more of a roughhousing mood than before and there's the added component of two starting to undress enough to set yourselves free.

You lose your shirt and pants, all without either of you noticing. You're both aching to take off the final pieces of clothing that are getting in the way of what you want.

You break the kiss and look up at Hector. "You want to do the honors?" you ask him, your eyes briefly flicking down to your underwear so that he knows what you're referring to. "Did he?" he asks. You scoff in amusement towards his clear desire to make this feel just like how your first time worked. "No," you answer, "You’d have a foot over him on that one.” you entice him as you prop yourself up to steal an extra kiss, one that he of course met back.

When you broke again, Hector’s fingers were already hooking around the top hem of your underwear and slid them down like he’s done a million times before. You help him out a bit by moving your leg so that at least one could be free and let you fully open yourself up for him. The newly settling cool of the summer night that was collecting in the shed hit your now fully exposed lower half, giving you a playful little chill down your spine that made you twitch.

It’s clear at this point that Hector no longer concerns himself with trying his best to mimic that night for you perfectly with the way that he looks down at the sight before him. The breath is stolen from his lungs and that carnal desire for you that’s been violently crashing around in his body like an unruly bird in a cage finally breaks free.

Hector takes a brief moment as he tries to recollect his mind and think of what to do next, settling on preparing you for him. He moves off the chair and down the side of it onto his knees since it clear that he wouldn't be able to do it while still on the lounge due to all the stuff around it. So he gently takes a grab of your shoulder to provoke you to sit up and follow him to the edge. He takes the back of your legs and places them on his shoulders so that you and your entrance can enjoy his mouth at an angle.

He teases it a bit by placing gentle kisses on your inner thigh and around where you’re anticipating him. You let him have his fun for a bit before you snake your hand into his hair again and guide him to where you want him.

He wastes no time in getting to business. He lets his tongue start to poke, prod, and lick at all the spots he knows drive you wild. You lean your head back, letting out breathy moans and starting to move with his tongue so that he goes a little deeper and more thorough. Hector knows what he’s doing. He always does when he’s eating you out and you know it too. He likes it when you put it in his face more and make him have to bury it deeper either through you moving your hips or by pushing his head in more, which you do also.

You can sense him moving his hips too even though he has nothing to grind against in the spot he’s in. It’s a habit of his. He’s revving himself up but he always refuses to touch himself lest it makes him finish the main part too quickly. He quietly whines and moans in between breaths for air and continuing on, occasionally muttering to himself about your taste or body.

He’s down there for a while, still mouthing at your entrance and using his tongue to keep prepping you. You’re getting awfully close though and you want to save your release for when you two are actually intertwined, so you push his head away. He lets out another of his little whines, sounding upset that his meal was being interrupted, but he lets you take him away from it. You drag you hand down from the crown of his head to hold his face, but he turns his head towards your hand as it moves and he catches you thumb on his lips and kisses it till it slides into his mouth and he gently nips at it.

Oh, he wants it bad.

You laugh and tell him “Get up here.” as you take your hand back and use it to pull him up by the collar of his shirt and lay back down. He stumbles his way up and gets back into the position that you were in before.

His hands are almost clumsy as they unbutton his own pants and free himself from his briefs. He moves in closer towards you so that you can finally meet. He aligns himself to your entrance, drawing in a sharp breath as the feeling jolts all the way up his nerves and spine, before he pushes himself in.

You also inhale as you let yourself stretch out and get used to the intrusion till Hector reaches as far as he can go inside of you. You lay there for a bit, letting yourself relax and settle down before you give him the go ahead to start moving.

He’s slow and shallow in his movement at first, as he only slightly rocking his hips back and forth, letting himself savor the feeling of your inner walls and warmth. It’s a nice start. You can’t really complain.

But you start to feel him move a little bit more after a bit, going a bit faster in and out of you, deeper till Hector is at a proper pace that gets you going again. Your occasional deep exhales start to become more defined moans and Hector starts to whine and moan softly again, getting slightly louder, letting you know he’s enjoying himself too.

You start moving in rhythm with him so that he goes even further inside of you. He lets out a stuttered moan and he moves one hand to your hip, helping you move more in tune as the other hand holds him up. You place your hands towards his back, catching the fabric of his shirt with them unintentionally, which causes your hands to meet the skin of his back, and your curled fingers to make your nails dig slightly.

That’s when Hector’s hips stutter a little in movement as the feeling catches him off guard. He tries to get back into the rhythm but ends up going a little harder than before, making you cry out. It startles him into stopping and tries to ask if you’re okay. But you stop him mid sentence and tell him go keep going. He makes the connection and does as he’s told.

He tries to find that exact rhythm again, only being just shy of it for a moment before he finds it again and you start up again. It’s not rough. It’s just the right amount of in and out and enough force for you to really start unraveling.

You dig your nails into Hector’s back some more in pleasure. You can hear him have a reaction that sounds positive too, plus the sound of him also enjoying his pace too. Now you know that you’re both head heading in the same direction together.

Hector starts muttering to himself about how good you feel. How you feel so good and that you look like heaven in the lighting provided by the windows and golden sun light that’s still clinging to the sky just like you. You don’t think he ever hears himself when he’s like this and that it’s all just second nature to him to sweet talk you while you have sex. It’s hot and helps you come to your release even faster.

You start saying his name which drives him even more wild. You also start egging him on to keep going and how you’re almost there.

“Come for me,” he pants out as he bends down more and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Please come for me and let me know you’re enjoying me as much as I’m enjoying you.” he pleads.

You’re on the cusp of it now. It’s honestly so close that you can taste it in all its sweetness. You’re core only tightening more and more, making you question just how much longer you have to go till the metaphorical band snap. But you don’t have to wait too long as you feel Hector starting to get sloppy with his thrusts. He’s getting deeper and more frantic, hitting more spots along your walls that push you farther, more than he already was.

It’s building up now. You can feel it. Just a bit longer, a little more, and you’re there.

You feel the band snap and send shock waves all through your body, making all the muscles tense up. This includes the muscles that hide just behind your walls, which grip around Hector tightly and spasms. He pauses for a moment but tries to keep going for both himself and to let you ride out the rest of you high.

Your body does its best to calm down and find a relaxed state to sit at while Hector continues on to get his own release, which isn’t too far behind. He gives a few more thrusts till he finally gets there himself and pulls out. He comes just outside of you, letting it spill out on you. He catches his breath before he looks at you lying under him.

“That was,” he speaks before the words catch in his mouth as he tries to describe what he just experienced with you. He laughs a bit and nods to himself, “I see why you wanted to do this again.” he says. You reciprocate with a chuckle of your own. “It was even better with you.” you tell him.

Hector blushes at the comment and looks away out of embarrassment. He clears his throat before he speaks again.

“Should we… maybe, head back before someone comes looking for us?” he asks.

“We should.” you nod. “Shouldn’t push it too much. I don’t want to get grounded.” you joke.

Hector laughs back as he shuffles back and dresses himself again and hands you your loose clothes. But you start quietly laughing to yourself too, which makes Hector continue laughing as you two reset everything back in order and try to hide any marks you left on each other. You continue the giggling and shy glances at each other as you sneak back out of the pool shed and set the lock back.

Just as you two start walking away back towards the porch, the back door opens, which makes you and Hector drop the laughing and straighten up. The door reveals your dad, who smiles back at you two, none the wiser.

“There you two are! I knew you two were still out here.” he says. He beckons you two inside with a wave.

“Come on in. It gets cold out there and your mom’s getting started on dinner. You two can canoodle in here in the living room.” he tells you. “No funny business though. I don’t want cooties on my couch.” he says, waggling his finger as a warning.

You know he’s joking. You know it. But the fact that you just got done getting up to said “funny business” and getting “cooties” on your mother’s lounge chair made the both of you tense up just a little.

Your dad heads back inside where you and Hector follow. You give each other a look as you step into the house with a smile creeping up both your faces and holding back more laughter.

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Mongrel Hearts | Chapter 24

Pairing: Heinrix x Rogue Trader (Visenya von Valancius)

Read on Ao3

Summary: As they push further into the Janus forests, night descends upon the Lord Captain and her retinue while something stalks them from the shadows. Working to keep his grip on the here and now, Heinrix struggles against the planet's warp corruption as well as the phantoms that hound his mind. Author's Note: Decided to call an audible on this chapter after getting horribly sick upon returning from my work trip and just wanting to write these two being cute dorks. So, instead of dealing with Vyatt, I said screw the plan, this is my silly story and we’re going on an adventure! Let’s get to it! Listening To: My Heart's a Crowded Room - The Fray

Excerpt From Chapter 24: My Heart's a Crowded Room

“Rogue Trader.” Heinrix greeted her with a stiff nod, the influence of whatever warp phenomena permeated this world still grating on his senses as it tried to flood his mind with delusion. “I did not expect you to be up at this hour.”

She glanced up, the weak moonlight able to seep through the forest canopy flashing in her eyes as they took in the night all around.

“I had this book when I was a kid,” Visenya started, still looking through the gloom as if searching for something lost in the dark. “One of the ones Hugo taught me to read with. It was about this Guard regiment. Imperial propaganda shit. The whole series must have been a real loyalist wank fest, though we only ever found the one book.”

She said the last bit with a smirk, eyes flicking to him with that wily look she got when her freebooter sympathies bled through to the surface. He returned the glance with a frown, though remained silent – intrigued by the sudden candor while coming to expect the side of sarcasm.

“So, in this book our holy and righteous heroes,” she put pious emphasis on the phrase, and he found himself wanting to return her smirk, despite himself.

He bit at his tongue.

“They’re tracking some heretic cult – which, by the way, didn’t realize there was this abundance of heretic cults in the galaxy.” She paused. “Maybe it wasn’t just pure Imperial propaganda shit…”

Heinrix nodded, now actively hiding a smile as he kept his jaw clenched and face set.

“Anyway, they’re tracking this cult on some forest world, and I remember being completely unable to imagine what it looked like.”

Her voice took a somewhat solemn shift in tone, and he found himself listening intently – drawn in by the unexpected glance into her life.

“The only shades of green I’d seen until then were either ‘stomach bile’ or ‘poison gas cloud,’ and I couldn’t understand why the sky was described as blue when the void is black,” Visenya said with a small laugh as she considered the dark woodland and ancient ruins. “What that book failed to mention, however, is how bizarrely quiet it is at night. I don’t think I can sleep anymore without the hum of a ship or the drone of a generator in my head.”

A phrase stuck in his mind, then – a memory shaken loose from some dusty corner.

“Your own thoughts are too loud,” Heinrix said, repeating what Emelina would say to him when he’d show up at her door – requesting a game of regicide as a distraction from whatever haunted him.

It had not been a common occurrence. Heinrix prided himself on his control and his ability to maintain focus under duress. Distractions were just that, petty things that diverted attention from real and true priorities. But, every so often – when his heart was pounding in his head and he needed a reprieve from his dogged and weak mind – he would knock on the Sage’s door and she would welcome him in for a game until those thoughts were mere whispers once more.

[clooverr]

Fancy Seing You Here

WillNE x Fem Reader

Overview: Y/n goes to visit her friend in Brighton and meets a gorgeous stranger on the train. Their meeting was breif and kind and she forgets about it, until she bumps into a certain someone at a bar.

Warnings: Eventual Smut, MDNI !!!!

Notes: Hey!! Im new to writing and im hoping to succesfully write a mini series (God knows how long thats going to take me) This first part is really short but its just an introduction, i have so much planned for this, i hope you enjoy!!!

Y/N POV

Fuck. Rush hour.

I didn’t mean to leave work this late. I actually told my boss that I needed to leave early, but as per usual, I’m needed for something that my thick co-workers can’t figure out. Simple tasks that they should know by now. So, I'm rushing. Trying to make my way to the train station in the middle of London at 5pm.

I'm going to Brighton for the weekend to see my best mate, Matt. He just recently moved there with his boyfriend and it's been so hard to see him because of work but he invited me down. At first I dismissed it. 

"Ive got work"

"I need the money to pay my rent"

But Matt convinced me to have the weekend off to relax. Everytime we catch up he tells me that I should leave my job, that I'm destined for more than a bar job that pays horribly and I tell him every time that it's just a place holder but I'm starting to doubt that myself. I have a degree in stage management for fuck sake, i should be using that to make some good money and ive spoken to so many people who say they can get me a job but so far its just been empty promises. There's no time to worry about that, right now I'm trying to navigate my way through Farringdon station to get on the right train. Which is seeming to be harder than I thought (why is it literally a maze?).

After a mini heart attack from realizing I was on the northbound platform and not the southbound platform, I found peace in the sign hanging from the ceiling that read ‘Brighton’ in big letters. I had to squeeze myself past suitcases and obnoxious people who didn't understand the words “excuse me” to get to the edge of the platform, waiting for the train to pull up. I didn't know if I was going to get a seat. I quietly hoped that I would, I couldn't imagine the 2 hour train journey standing with a massive backpack. The anxiety fizzled out with the thought of my headphones, my saving grace!

I was right about the seat thing. Not a single spare seat in the whole carriage. It was awkward enough trying not to hit anyone with my bag, let alone wander aimlessly up and down the carriage looking for a seat. I settled next to the door, leaning against the pole and zoning out to my music.

We got to London Bridge station and an influx of people got off the train, I snapped back into reality and felt like I was in the hunger games. Tactless humans, all eyes darting to find a chair without a bum in it. I see a head, just one, next to the window of a two seater. I make my way over and quietly praise whatever higher power. They sat me next to a gorgeous man. I wasn't going to say anything to him, I was just grateful for the eye candy. So I lift my backpack onto the shelf above the aisle and sink into my seat, getting comfy for the long journey ahead. 

About 20 minutes go by, I'm listening to my music, enjoying the countryside we are driving through. Such a change from the busy bustle of London. I like it. A song comes on that im not a fan of and skip it, another one im not feeling, oh and another one. I give up and open my phone to find a song that I fancy. Finally settling on some Fleetwood Mac, perfect for the scenic journey. I close my eyes and drift off to the music until im awoken by a soft tap on my shoulder.

Its the gorgeous man. 

I quickly realise that my headphones are no longer connected and the music is playing really loudly out of my phone.

“I thought you’d want to know” I quickly pause the music, feeling embarassed but the Geordie accent he speaks in instantly makes me forget about any prior embaraasment, is there anything else that coud make this man more attractive.

“Not that im complaining, i love a bit of Fleetwood Mac” 

There it is.

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Thursday Bangers

Thanks to @gutz-ingellvar for the tag and this week’s lyrics, and to @woundedsoul12 for the tag and the game itself!

Rules for your Copy and Paste:

Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

Lyric:

Have you ever had a dream? // Would you fight for it? // Would you go to war? // Would you die for it? // So now I'll take my stand // Now I'll make you see // That if you seek forgiveness // You'll get nothing from me

Bow Down - I Prevail

I’ll send out some low-pressure tags to: @mageofquandrix, @bygonesigh, @basedonconjecture, @dymme, @hyperions-light, @thedissonantverses, @mythals-whore, @theunsinkablesappho, @jouskaroo, @davrinsleftpectoral, @bronzieinthedas, @andthekitchensinkao3, @operative-arrow, and if you’re reading this YOU! Yes, you! If you want to play, please consider yourself tagged and tag me in your post so I can come read!

And if you want to be on my list of potential victims tag-recipients for games like these, let me know HERE.

Wrote some of a scene I’d been planning out for The Ventus Job in response to this prompt below the cut.

A thick coat of ash and grime clung to Mercar, and he knew he smelled like smoke. Not the smoke of chimneys, of kitchens, of hearth though. No. This was the smell of destruction. It clogged his nose and irritated his throat, forcing him to clear it and taste the ash of burning buildings more often than he’d like.

“Here, and here,” his Pilus instructed, gesturing to two areas on his map. “Claudius, you’ll attack the garrison here. And Mercar, this settlement.”

Mercar raised an eyebrow in question, even as his stomach began to sink at what he suspected the answer would be. “They don’t quarter the Antaam there. That’s an outskirt village.”

The Pilus’ eyes narrowed on him, irritation etched into the dirty lines of the officer’s face at any response to his orders that wasn’t simply acknowledgment and execution.

“And the Merchant District of Ventus didn’t house our Legions, and too was destroyed. Remember what they did to us.”

Mercar remembered. The smoke, the gas, explosions, the clang of weapons as the Antaam had rampaged through Ventus.

He remembered the screams as civilian homes went up in flame, as soldiers were slaughtered like animals, as mages were…changed…in the streets. Men. Women. Children.

He remembered the wailing, the sobs, and grief and fear torn from the throats of innocents.

Mercar didn’t feel a hurry to hear those screams again. Even if they were Qunari this time.

“But Pilus—”

“You have your orders. Go relay them.” His superior went back to giving instructions to the others, clearly having decided this conversation was over.

Mercar’s legs felt leaden as he made his way back to where his men stood, wiping their faces ineffectually to remove the dirt, ash, and blood they were caked in.

“Orders?” Gaius asked as he approached.

‘Go slaughter the baker and his staff, burn the Tamassaran house and its children, become the evil we saw in Ventus.’ He couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t.

Mercar could hear his pulse, blood thudding in his ears, as his heart pounded at the realization of what he was about to do.

He’d never defied an order, not like this at least, not so openly. And never had he brought his men into it.

He wouldn’t ask them to defy the orders themselves — couldn’t ask that of them — they would need to make their own choices. It wasn’t truly mutiny.

Mercar knew it wouldn’t matter.

Well, everyone died some day, right?

Rook woke with a start, the sheet sticking to his sweaty body as he sat up, heart beating fast and chest heaving. Again. It was happening again; being in Ventus was making it worse. He didn’t think about before often. And would even less if he’d been able to help it. But the Fade apparently never forgot, and before still existed in dreams.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hiiiii! Your writing is like a five course meal, I love it!!!

This is an odd request, but could you write a Clone x reader inspired by Beauty and the Beast? You can use whichever clone you think fits best! The more angst the better! Thank you! ♥️

Hi! I’m so sorry for the delay on this one—trying to figure out the right tone and approach for a Beauty and the Beast-inspired clone story was more of a challenge than I expected, but I really wanted to do it justice. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope the final result is what you were looking for! 💛

“The Beast in the Citadel”

Commander Wolffe x Reader

The blizzards of Khorm never stopped.

The planet, long contested by both the Republic and the Separatists for its cortosis mines, had become a forgotten battlefield—a place where Commander Wolffe and the remnants of Wolfpack were assigned after too many losses, too much damage.

You didn’t know that when your father’s freighter crashed in the wrong coordinates, half-frozen and desperate for supplies. You only knew that clone troopers in faded white-and-grey armor dragged him from the wreckage, and that a cybernetic-eyed commander sentenced him without a trial.

“He trespassed into a restricted combat zone. Could’ve been Separatist surveillance. He’ll be held until further notice.”

You barged into the comm station during his briefing with the Jedi liaison and volunteered yourself in his place.

“He’s old, he can’t survive your cells,” you said. “I’ll take whatever punishment you planned for him. I’ll stay until the blockade lifts.”

Wolffe stared at you for a long, unreadable moment. His jaw clenched. You thought you saw a flicker of something in his eye—surprise? guilt?

“Fine,” he said. “But this wasn’t mercy.”

You didn’t realize until much later that he wasn’t talking about your father.

⸻

Khorm Base A-77 was no longer a fully operational outpost. It had once housed a full battalion. Now, barely a squad remained.

Most of the Wolfpack had been lost at the Battle of Abregado, and the reinforcements never came.

You saw no Jedi. Only clones. Scarred. Silent. Going through the motions. Wolffe was the worst of them—barely speaking, always disappearing into the white storm or the command bunker. His remaining men followed him without question, but even they spoke of him in hushed tones.

“He’s not been the same since the Citadel,” you overheard one trooper mutter. “Ever since he lost—”

“Shut it,” another snapped. “It’s not your karkin’ business.”

You were given a cot in an unused barracks room. A rotation of clones brought you food but refused conversation. You learned not to ask questions.

One night, alone in the mess hall, you hummed to yourself out of habit—a lullaby your mother used to sing. You didn’t know anyone was listening until you turned and saw Wolffe standing in the doorway.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked away.

⸻

You woke one night to red lights flashing across the ceiling and a base-wide power failure. Without warning, the heat shut off. Khorm’s night temperatures plunged well below freezing.

You staggered into the hallway, trembling, and nearly collided with Commander Wolffe, armor half-stripped, eyes blazing.

“You’ll freeze in here,” he snapped.

“I noticed,” you said bitterly.

Without another word, he grabbed your wrist—not gently—and led you down into the fortified command center beneath the base, where backup generators powered only the essential systems.

It was warmer there. Not comfortable, but livable.

“Stay here until we repair the coils,” he muttered. “You’re not a soldier. I’m not explaining a civilian death.”

“Is that the only reason?” you asked softly.

He turned slowly, his cybernetic eye glowing faintly red in the dark.

“You don’t want to know the reasons that keep me up at night.”

He left you in silence again. But he didn’t lock the door.

⸻

You started seeing him more often.

Sometimes he let you walk beside him on inspection routes. Other times, he left ration packs on your console in the command center—never with a word.

One evening, he caught you reading from a datapad of old Republic history texts.

“You know it’s all propaganda,” he said flatly.

You looked up. “Maybe. But I like to imagine things were better once.”

He sat down across from you—for the first time. Without his gloves, you saw the calluses and scars on his hands. A man built for war who had outlived every victory.

“You ever think about what happens to us when the war ends?” he asked suddenly.

You hesitated. “I think that’s why they don’t let you retire. You’d start asking the wrong questions.”

He chuckled—a real, broken sound. The first you’d heard.

“Too late for that.”

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Not because of the cold.

Because of the man behind the armor.

⸻

The attack came without warning.

Droid commandos, likely left behind during the last wave, had waited for the right moment. The shield generator blew first. Then the hangar. Then the west wing.

The base went into full lockdown.

You tried to get to the bunker, but you were thrown back by a secondary explosion. When you came to, the lights were flickering and the smoke was thick.

You didn’t see Wolffe until later.

He was dragging a fallen trooper out of the fire, armor scorched, one eye sealed shut from blood. He saw you limping, ran straight through the crossfire, and caught you before you collapsed.

“I told you to stay in the bunker,” he rasped.

“And let you die alone?” you shouted back.

“I’ve always been alone!”

Not this time.

You kissed him through the smoke and blood and screams.

He froze. Then, slowly, like a soldier surrendering…

He kissed you back.

⸻

Three days later, GAR recovery teams arrived.

Your father had survived the winter, unaware that you’d been gone for weeks. He cried when he saw you, tried to pull you into a transport.

You turned to Wolffe.

He was standing by the blast doors, arms crossed, back straight. A soldier again.

“You’re free to go,” he said.

Your heart twisted.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t want you to waste your life in this place.”

“I think I found it here.”

He didn’t move.

“You think this war is going to end with a celebration?” he whispered. “We’re not meant to survive it. We’re bred for war. Nothing else.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you behind.”

He looked at you like you were the first light he’d seen in years.

You walked toward him. Took his hand.

And for the first time since the galaxy had cast him aside…

He didn’t pull away.

⸻

[cleanermoment]

“I’ll post my headcanons tomorrow”

Said the liar wickedly typing upon his evil keyboard.

Hello Look Outsiders!

.. actually that’s an odd way to say that.

Do we have like a general fandom reference point? Look Outsiders?

.. Seeing as it takes place in an apartment, I’ll call you all neighbors. Capiche?

Hello there neighbors! It’s me, Cleaner again, I do hope my total of two posts haven’t caused anyone to gain a vendetta against me that can only be solved via violent and sudden combat.

I might lied about these so called.. Hellen and Leigh headcanons of mine. Well I mean they’re THERE (their) but I’ve decided that I should adhere to some rudimentary order! And that order well..

Starts with Sam.

Yes it’s true, I simply must begin with our lovable main character. Behold my headcanons!

- Sam has OCD or some other anxiety disorder. I will forever love anyone else who decides this the moment they lock eyes with that poor, sopping wet pathetic man. There are plenty of times in the game where he is the overthinker! His thoughts tend to wander.. to thoughts of doom and such! Or worrying about murdering a poor tooth family.

- Sam has very very present intrusive thoughts, as part of the whole OCD package. You know those dialogue options where he’s kind of evil? Like telling Sophie that playing outside during the world ending apocalypse, in the game don’t look OUTSIDE is sort of damning. I believe that Sam would never really do this, it’s just one of many actively terrible intrusive thoughts. And I don’t mean like random thoughts I mean like him sitting on his couch randomly thinking ‘I could strangle everyone in here’. Before freaking himself out enough to go hide in the bathroom for like seven hours.

- Less serious headcanon but he has so much unspoken rizz. The ugliest unemployed man you know has like seventeen stalkers, they all want that fat man.

- Sam is actually very good with kids although he doubts himself. Maybe he’s considered adopting before when he actually was able to bring himself to work, but he’s too worried about being the cause for some poor child’s misery. Though when it comes to the apocalypse he’s able to push past these doubts because he genuinely wants to keep them safe, no matter how much that Rat Baby may disgust him at first..

- He is surprisingly nimble, and pretty efficient in combat. Like when you look at someone like Hellen it doesn’t surprise you that she can kick ass, but.. Sam? I’ve always thought some people in the apartment would ask about this, probably Dan, and Sam would wave it off with a ‘I had a free certificate for a month of karate’ or something like that.

Ahh.. just glanced up at the clock that’s not on my wall at all! Seems im out of time!

Thank you all for giving me this time. Hit that like button and subscribe! Something something with a bell.. comment below who you want to see headcanons for next.

Cleaner out! Remember, don’t look outside neighbors.