#I said horrid things to people when I was hurting

[bogwitchlesbian]

I just realised that the reason I love billy Hargrove as a character so much is that we had almost the same childhood, but he externalised his anger and pain while I internalised mine. Yes I’ve been crying for an hour why do you ask

[flamejob]

genuinely so sad that everyone in msi is a massive pos who deserves the electric chair bc like i genuinely love that style of music and while there are plenty of other great bands in that genre none of them scratch the same itch soundwise. it would just be great if the bigotry wasn't present in the lyrics and streaming them didn't mean supporting a racist pedo

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is just a faggot.

It's very important to me that younger queers understand this: to the people who you're trying to be more respectable for when you say things like neopronouns set the trans movement back or you're why the cishets don't accept us or including [aces/bi people with the 'wrong kind' of partners/non-binary people/kinksters/non-passing trans ppl/furries/polyam people] just hurts us, can't you wait until we get all our rights before we talk about some of yours? -- to those people? Pete Buttigieg is just a fag.

On Sunday at Pride Northwest, some kids -- late teens, early 20s -- asked what our button I survived Reagan for this? meant. All of the queer adults at the tables making up our ad hoc counter looked at each other and sighed a little. Emet and another adult started to explain the way that the Reagan Administration handled -- or didn't handle -- the beginning of the AIDS crisis. How many people died. How much we were ignored. The Ashes Action. The Time Magazine article which explicitly blamed bisexual men for passing the pandemic to the cishet community, playing on all the worst stereotypical bullshit. The way that even when the CDC started paying attention, they were so focused on gay men that they ignored AIDS in the lesbian community, leading to the "women don't get AIDS, they just die from it" poster. And so on.

I finished counting out change and passed the last Bear Pride raised fist pin over to a bear a little older than me, then turned my head and interjected, "they didn't care until it started infecting more than just the fags." I turned my head back and handed him his change. He laughed bitterly and said, "remember when they called it 'gay cancer?'"

That what I need you to understand. The people for whom you are folding yourself into smaller and smaller boxes will never see you as anything but a freak. A queer. A dyke. A tranny. A fag.

Never.

These are people who will stand by and let you wither away and die alone, gasping for breath in a cinderblock room, and not even claim your ashes, and they will say you deserve it, because of your lifestyle. If they speak of you at all it will be by the wrong name, with the pictures you hate the most. They will curse at your lover, throw him out of the home you shared, and steal the gift you gave last Christmas to throw it in the trash just so he can't have it and they'll say Jesus loves you! while they do it. They'll feel good and righteous and blessed and holy and pure for doing it.

And for them, you spit in the eye of your sister. For them, you disavow your sibling. For their sake, you trim away bits of your heart and lace yourself up tight. Never too loud. Never too queer. Never inconvenient or embarrassing, never asking for too much.

Pete Buttigieg is what happens when your Boomer dad turns out gay. Middle America. Parents still married. Suburban-sprouted. Valedictorian. Harvard-educated. Rhodes Scholarship. Military service. More power to him: I hope he and Chasten are very happy together. Genuinely, I do.

You couldn't create a more respectable gay if you grew one in a lab run by concerned voter focus groups.

But Pete Buttigieg? Is just a fag.

That's the part you don't seem to get: when they abandoned us, they abandoned all of us. Rock Hudson was a beloved movie star and even personally friendly with that horrid pair of ambitious jackals. Nancy Reagan refused to help him get into the only place in the world that could treat him at the time, and he died.

It was 1985, 4 years after the CDC first released papers on what would eventually become known as HIV/AIDS and 7 years after the first known death from an infection from HIV-2. Reagan hadn't even said the word AIDS by the time Hudson died.

Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, and so am I. Unless I'm a dyke, which seems to depend on who's yelling what from which window and what day it is.

Yes, there will be people who genuinely love and accept you. Those people are worth all the frustration of the rest, thankfully, and they're the ones who love you in a pup mask or a leather harness and a neon jock like the ones sold by the men up the row from us last weekend. They're the ones who laugh out loud when you tell them you hid the word "dyke" in your company name, the ones who love you in all your messiness and uncertainty and the way you don't fit into neat boxes all scrubbed up and clean.

Most cishets, though... well, they don't actively mean you specifically any harm, at least not when they have to look at you. Not when you're right there in front of them. Maybe they'll be okay with you, personally, especially if you're the kind of gay who makes a good rhetorical device, and as long as you remain a good rhetorical device.

They need people to know that they don't have a problem with the gays, after all, and there you are, being all convenient. You make a nice token, and as long as you do, well. You're useful.

But they call you by your deadname when you're not around, and they put the wrong pronouns in your medical record even though they met you years after you came out, and they won't put themselves out to save you. Not one little bit.

I didn't want to be here again. The year I graduated from high school was the worst year of the AIDS crisis. The world into which I became an adult was a world in which an advisor and friend to Reagan, William F. Buckley, openly advocated for forcibly tattooing the HIV status of HIV+ gay men on their buttocks (and IV drug users on their forearms), and in which my father not only told me that when I was 14 or so, but when was told me that he'd advocated for that tattoo being "over their assholes."

(Buckley wrote that in '86, but he doubled down on it in 2005.

Fucker.)

But yeah. I didn't want to be here again. I wanted my daughter to inherit a better world. I wanted Obergefell and Lawrence v. Texas and Hope & Change to really mean something. I work for it, today and all days. I haven't given up.

I need you to know that, too. This isn't a white flag. I'm not surrendering. This isn't over. To misquote Henry Rollins, this is what Marsha and Sylvia and Stormé and Leslie and Brenda and Auntie Sugar trained us for. This is punk rock time.

But I need you to understand that if Pete Buttigieg is just a fag, if that human embodiment of a Wonder Bread, mayo and Oscar Meyer bologna sandwich is not respectable enough for them -- and he's not -- then the rest of us have absolutely no hope of measuring up. Not even if we trim away every colorful, beautiful piece of our community, not even if the Sisters Of Perpetual Indulgence vanish into the ether, not even if we sacrifice the five elements of vogue on the altar of white supremacist cishet middle-class conformity: we can't trim ourselves down to something they'll accept.

The only other option is radical acceptance of our queer selves. The only other option is solidarity. The only other option is for fats and femme queens and drags and kinksters and queers and zine writers and sex workers and furries and addicts and kids and the ones who can look us in the eye and see all of us to say we're here, we're queer, get used to it just the way we did 30 years ago. It's revolutionary, complete and total acceptance of our entire community, not just the ones the cishets can pretend to be comfortable with as long as we don't challenge them too much, or it's conceding the shoreline inch by inch to the rising waters of fascism until we've got nowhere left to stand and some of us start drowning.

That's it. Either it's all of us or it's none of us, because if we leave the answer up to the Reagans of the world and all the people who enabled him in the name of lower taxes and Democrats who wring their hands, weeping oh I don't agree with it but we'll lose the election if we fight it right now, the answer is none of us.

The brunch gays can come, too, I guess.

[ellecdc]

ELLE !! OMGGGG i read a fanfic based on the movie flipped and i immediately thought of you and how you would eat this trope up or more specifically a childhood best friends to lovers !!

like one day either one or all of the marauders are spending the day with reader then all of a sudden the boys’ hearts start beating a little faster at reader’s laughter or they’re mesmerized by their little subtle quirks and now they’re like “oh fuck… i think i LOVE them love them”

this is not necessarily a request but if you decide to write something like this then YIPPIEEE FLUFF but if not then its just a cute little scenario to think about !!

this was such a sweet idea 🥹 thank you so much for your request 🫶

Sirius Black x gn!reader who he's - oh shit - in love with

Life hadn’t been particularly easy for Sirius.

He was born into a family not out of love but out of obligation.

In fact, he hadn’t ever really known love outside of whatever affection he held for his baby brother until he met his friends. 

He’d been beaten, starved, ignored, and tortured into compliance all before the age of 11; and it only continued tenfold upon his return from school after having been sorted into the wrong house. 

In fact, a lot about Sirius was wrong.

He had the wrong opinions, the wrong hair, the wrong style, the wrong language, the wrong grades, the wrong loyalty.

Sirius was wrong.

At least that’s what his family would have said.

However, Sirius eventually learned that it wasn’t him who had been wrong all this time; it was them.

And whilst removing them from him was very difficult - seeing as they were the ones who bred and raised him - he felt he was doing a pretty decent job of it.

Unfortunately, that meant leaving his baby brother Regulus, and you, behind. 

From as far back as Sirius could remember, everything was always chosen for him; his friends, his interests, his hobbies, the volume of his voice, the clothes he wore, the way he presented himself etcetera, etcetera. 

And though that was technically still true of his dedication to his brother and his companionship with you; the two of you were the only good things to have ever come from his life as a Black. 

His friendship with you was a cherished one.

Perhaps one of the only people who truly got it; who knew what Sirius went through. 

You were the silver lining at every grey and dreary Pureblood Gala and Sacred 28 dinner party.

You were his biggest advocate and protector when it came to his older cousins and the other older Purebloods. 

And you were the only reason Sirius could bring himself to flee that horrid night in the summer before sixth year; he could only leave knowing that Regulus would at least still have you.

But it hurt. 

It hurt knowing he had left you and Regulus to fend for yourselves.

He felt like a coward; like he betrayed the two people who he cared for most.

And he was still so scared; even now, albeit for different reasons.

He was scared because he was certain that when he returned to Hogwarts that September, you and Regulus would hate him.

But apparently, his fears were wrong too.

Because two weeks before the end of summer; two weeks before you would all be piling onto the Hogwarts Express to return to Scotland, you and Regulus showed up to Potter Manor wearing matching timid grins, yet seemingly no worse for wear. 

Somehow, you had gotten yourself and Reggie out of the terror that was your familial homes, and were staying with friends up in Ottery St.Catchpole. 

Sirius never really imagined getting to have his cake at all, let alone getting to have his cake and eating it too. 

Yet, here he sat on a warm summer evening at Potter Manor with James, Remus, Peter, Reggie, and you around a crackling bonfire among the sounds of peeping frogs and chirping crickets as you told some grandiose story about you and Regulus trekking through a vast field where Regulus stumbled in a hidden hole in the ground and cursed for five minutes straight in both English and French before the two of you laughed so hard that you cried. 

Your face was flushed and you were slightly breathless as you narrated your tale; arms flying wildly as you drew a rather descriptive picture of both your surroundings and your actions. Every so often you would reach over to shake Regulus’ shoulder as he hid his face behind his hands, laughing along with you and daring to interrupt if he felt you were overexaggerating some details or not painting him in a flattering enough light. 

What was likely a rather stressful and arduous journey across the Southern half of the country seemed to be nothing but a grand adventure as you retold your experience.

Sirius liked that about you; everything was an adventure with you. You never let Regulus or Sirius feel too poorly for themselves for too long, telling them it was going to be great for their character development.

“I think I’m rather well developed already, sweetheart.” He’d grumbled at you once. You laughed like he had something truly funny. 

And this was no different. From looking at Regulus, Sirius would never guess he’d just absconded from his volatile, abusive, and downright scary family; Regulus rather looked like he was retelling the happenings of a juvenile prank-filled slumber party (which Sirius would know a thing or two about). 

And he looked good. Not like Sirius looked when he first arrived at the Manor; bloodied, bruised, starved, and soaked to the bone. Regulus was healthy, vibrant, and bright. Hopeful. 

That’s the effect you had on people; you filled them with hope. Hope that it would be okay, hope that it would be better, hope that one day you might actually deserve the things you so desperately craved.

You had certainly done that for Sirius.

And looking at how good Regulus appeared, he couldn’t deny the same of you.

You were bright, animated, overflowing with a crackling energy and excitement that might even rival James’.

Sirius realised then that you were everything Sirius ever hoped to be.

Bold, assured, daring, caring, vivacious, kind, and so full of love.

And it seemed to him that the way the firelight was currently reflecting off of your face, as if the fire was somehow brighter from just simply being within your proximity, that you were far more beautiful than Sirius remembered you.

He hadn’t realised he’d been remembering you.

He had missed you; quite terribly, at that.

He missed your reassuring words, he missed your soft gazes, he missed your gentle hugs, and he missed the way that just knowing you were within his vicinity eased a ball of tension he hadn’t even realised resided deep within him. 

And he missed getting to see you; like this most of all.

Lovely, happy, carefree, and beautiful.

He wondered how he’d gone so long without it.

Was a little over a month considered long? He supposed it didn’t much matter, seeing as it certainly felt that way.

Too long.

Sirius never wanted to go that long without you again. You were too important to him, too precious, too sacred, too-

Oh.

Oh. 

Oh.

Sirius Black was bloody in love. With you.

Sirius Black was in love with you.

What likely should have sent Sirius spiralling (and certainly would have a little over a month ago) did nothing but cause him to smile softly as you let out a rather boisterous laugh that sounded like a symphony to Sirius’ ears.

And so, it should be commemorated for future generations to come:

Here sat Sirius Black… having his cake and eating it too.

[undercoverpena]

keep you close.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it. an: angst with fluff, mentions of injury, war-stuff, cheeky stabbings, just cod things. no smut. just feelings. cause I wanted flangst. word count: 3.6k

masterlist for ghost.

Ghost doesn’t think when his eyes land on you. 

He should. 

He knows he should. 

But he fires his gun all the same, not content with the sound each body makes when they fall to the floor. He wants them to fall harder, almost land and shatter. 

He wants them to hurt.

It’s all he thinks as he slides the metal edge along the throat of the last one. The one who is hissing at him in a language he doesn’t even care to translate. 

Ghost cares about one thing, and one thing only: getting that radio message out of his head. 

It’s an ambush. Do not proceed. Get out—

It has been on a loop since he heard it.

Your radio message. 

The one which made Soap shout, calling for you as the static and crackle came back. The sound which made his blood run cold. The one which made him charge across the base grab the person who confirmed the intel by the shoulder, and made them piss themselves. Accidentally, of course.

It had been Soap who suggested sweeping the place, but it hadn’t been far from his mind.

They found your radio stood on, crushed—likely by your own boot. You’d always been thorough—you also usually wiggled your way out of these situations, 

It’s how you’d earned the moniker Mouse to begin with. 

His eyes caught the dried blood, hoping it didn’t belong to you as his flashlight followed its path until his jaw locked, his muscles tensing. 

Your scrunchie. 

That ridiculous one you bought months ago. The one which you’d found hilarious, and he had found anything but. Black, with tiny ghosts on it, for Halloween. No other reason, you’d said with a smirk. Unless you want to borrow it, sir? 

It’s in his pocket now. 

Has been since he found it. 

As he lets the last man fall, he brushes the pocket with his hand before wiping the blood on his thigh, sheathing his knife.

Turning, nodding in the direction of the other men as they checked them as he moved across the room to you, sliding his gun behind his back, and dropping to his knees. 

We bring Mouse back. By any means necessary. 

He’s thankful you’re alive and breathing. Watching as your head tilts —trying to work out who it is. Cautiously, both for the fact he’s considering it and for the knowledge he could hurt you, his gloved hand slides up your cheek, watching you tense before he pulls down the blindfold with his fingers. 

One eye is swollen, horrid, and puffy. Something which makes him want to put extra holes in each of the men for it. But, he can’t take his eyes from the one of yours, which blinks, and stares at him, taking him in. 

“I’m undoin’ this cuff.” 

You swallow, nodding, trying to keep the eye fixed on him. The handcuff releases from your wrists as your arms drop weakly. 

It’s then he can see the bruises. 

The ones which have formed and the ones about too. 

How the colours vary in spots along your exposed arms, neck and cheeks. Dreading to think of how deep they go, how far they spread under your clothes. 

“Sir…” you whisper, his head moving closer. “You’re a piss poor listener.”

“Almost as bad as you, soldier.”

Cautiously, he moves closer, his knees hitting against your legs as his hand slowly brushes over your arm. 

He’s aware the others have their eyes trained on him, Soap giving orders, busying them. It doesn’t stop him from moving his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close until his chest is close to your side.

“Do you want me to close my eye, make it easier for you?” you cough—sounding like a deflated lung. “You seem the type to hate touching people.”

“Enough.” 

It comes out gruff, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. The side of your busted lip twitching as he pulls you over his lap. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the gentlest he’s ever been, even more so with someone. He doesn’t mean to press his forehead against the side of yours. But, he thought he’d lost you. 

The annoying girl who talked too much, who smiled and had no issues with personal space. Unless you were on the battlefield. Then, you were different—quiet, tactile, mouselike. You scurry, you don’t miss, with a gun, a knife or a computer. 

Ghost knew he was fucked before today. 

But, this confirms it. 

The sharp pang in his chest is a horrid, bitter reminder of how fucked he is—especially with how his heart skips a beat when your hand shakes as it brushes against his mask.

He should look away as he lifts you, breaking the stare he has with you, but you move closer, whispering for him—and him alone. “I knew-w you’d find me.” 

He tightens his jaw, feeling a lump in his throat as he gives a curt nod. “Always.” 

“Always,” you repeat softly, eyelashes fluttering, desperate to close.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, and you do your best. You hope he knows that. “Good girl.” 

You hear someone shout for a medic, but it’s not him. 

He’s saying very little, just letting his breath dance across your neck and cheek as he holds you to him.

The next time he sees you, he's visiting you when you’re in recovery.

He’s heard from others you’re improving. Soap nudging him, ensuring he’s heard him—thinking he knows more than he does.

He does go, though. 

You’re smaller than him, but you look so much smaller in the bed. Your face finally regaining some colour, an expression not twisted up in pain. The bruises faded, eyes unswollen. 

It’s a welcomed sight after the last time he saw you.

He crosses the recovery room floor, the room slowly emptying around him. He was glad that the rest of the med bay was without patients. 

His chair squeaks with protest when he sits beside you, eyes glancing over your face, over your arms, checking and checking that everything is where it was supposed to be. 

You say nothing. 

He says nothing. 

He just sits, staring at you, letting his eyes roll over your face. You seem to let him, likely basking in the fact that you’re currently not being boiled alive by him. 

It’s nice. Quiet. 

It’s helping to drown out the whimpers and groans you’d been making all the way back here from your injury. 

Until the tension reaches such a height even if you can’t stomach it. 

“What you doing here, Lt?” 

“Ensuring you don’t act recklessly.” 

“I think I can behave for one night.”  

“Doubtful.” 

You play with the sheets on the bed, rolling them between your fingers as he watches you, knowing what’s coming before you’ve even opened your pretty little mouth. 

“I’d behave for you, if you asked.” 

Sometimes, your brashness even surprises him. 

“I have asked,” he says, stretching his leg out as he watches you smile. “You still disobey me.” 

You nuzzle down into your pillow, not taking your eyes off him. 

“Sleep, Mouse.” 

“With you watching me?” 

He clicks his tongue. “Sleep.” 

You smile softer, eyelashes looking heavy. “Okay.” 

Nodding, he interlocks his gloved fingers over his lap. 

You’d been silent. 

Too silent. 

He knew how you got your Codename. He’d read your file, after all. You sneaked through impossible holes figuratively and literally. Price had informed him how good you were with computers, he hadn’t known how good until he read it himself. 

You were good, capable, and able. 

He knew you could handle yourself, which is why it wasn’t that which concerned him. It’s the silence. 

You’ve been quieter overall since you came back—since he brought you back. Since he helped carry you back to the truck till he watched you get patched up. 

Something inside of you, that annoyingly cheerful part of you, had withered. He knew it, Soap knew it. 

“You following me?” 

“Could say the same to you.”

“Can someone even stalk a ghost?” 

You’d tried to hide it, more so from him than the others. Your body trying to twist from him, but his arm had stopped you.

“Something you need, Lt?” 

“No.”

You’d given him a curt smile. “Goodnight then, sir.” 

He didn’t miss the way you added the sir.

Not that he expects he’s supposed to. Shifting his jaw from side to side, having watched you walk down the corridor, not even bothering to turn to look back at him. 

That had been two days ago. 

Today, you had dark circles around your eyes. A tenseness in your shoulders as you were all briefed. 

He waited, seeing if you approached him, and asked him to stay behind—not entirely sure what his answer would be if you requested it. 

But you didn’t. 

It should have been a warning, your demeanour shifting, darkness descending down over you the closer they got to the location. 

“Mouse, you copy?” 

Silence. 

Even to Soap. 

Often, Ghost knew he warranted your anger. 

He was colder with you, more stern. Especially since he’d allowed himself a moment—when he’d been able to hold you, carry you. When he’d felt your heartbeat and watched your eyes fix on him—warming him. 

He had wanted distance and walls. Many of them, more so. 

Now, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Because with Soap, you were light, never ignorant. And maybe he’d have recognised how your anger and hurt had consumed you. That what happened between you being taken and being found had festered and eaten everything good inside of you.

He could relate. 

More than most. 

“Mouse,” Ghost radios, gruff voice and all. “Fuck.” 

He taps Soap, heading in your direction, almost charging. He knew it before he saw it before his foot kicked open the door and witnessed it with his own eyes. 

He even freezes for the briefest second. 

Half impressed with the number of bodies on the floor. 

But then he reacts, hooking an arm under your hips as he both lifts and moves you against the wall. The knife falling from your fingers, clattering against the stone, the only other sound is your panicked breaths and Soap exclaiming, “Steaming bloody Jesus…” as he enters the room. 

His forearm presses into the wall beside your head, caging you in as his other palm presses into the wall next to your hip. 

Because it was the mission to kill him—once they’d got the information. 

The information he couldn’t currently prove you had—but he’d hoped you did. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to contain his anger, his fury. Right now, it simmered, being kept back by that vacant look in your eyes he doesn’t recognise. Not in you, at least. 

You’re not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes. 

Too busy staring at the body on the floor, the one which has scarlet seeping from each hole you’d inflicted with a knife. His knife. 

“Mouse.” 

You don’t move, staring as if transfixed in the knowledge he’s dead. 

So he whispers your name. 

Your real name. 

Your eyelashes flutter into a blink, head-turning, finally pulling from the man who kidnapped you on the floor. 

“Got the drive,” you say in a tone void of emotion. 

Ghost didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream at you, but he did all the same. 

Both in anger that you disobeyed an order and in a panic because he couldn’t stop the way his mind unravelled when you didn’t respond. 

That it took him back to that moment all over again. Where you were taken from him. Where he lost you. Where he should have protected you. 

“You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there?” 

You don’t look at him, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Pressing the sole of your foot against the wall as you leant, seemingly unbothered.

“That’s an order, Soldier—“

“I collected the information, and I stabbed him. Mission complete. Sir.” 

Sir. 

Fucking sir. 

He hated how it made him hard. Little bitch. 

“You disobeyed a direct order—“

“—The mission—“

“—You were supposed to wait for backup.” 

“I couldn’t risk it.” 

He rounds on you, forehead pressing against yours. “You couldn’t risk it?” 

Your eyes don’t soften. They hold his gaze, full of fire, ash and destruction. “Well. We’ve both seen the evidence of bad intel, haven’t we?” 

He stills. 

Blinking, staring into your eyes, seeing the darkness still swirling. The anger has lessened but still remains. 

“You need to let it go.” 

“I need to… what?” You look hurt, more than he thought you could, and then it vanishes, swept away by anger. “…fuck you, Ghost.” 

Moving from him, turning your back on him 

“Fuck me? If you continue down this path—“

Then you turn, your eyes burying into him. “It’ll what? Keep me up at night? Consume me? Well, guess what, Simon, it already has.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a tremor to your outstretched arm before you snap it back to your side. “For days, they asked me who we were. They had ideas. They did… inklings. But, they… they knew my fucking name, Simon. They…told me what they’d do, and I had nothing, not a single thing to drown it out as they described all the ways they’d kill Johnny, how they’d break Gaz, how they’d hurt…” 

You. 

The unspoken word hanging in the room. 

“I got it before, I did,” you say, words shaky at your almost declaration, “but I understand why you wear that mask—why you keep people out…” 

Your eyes fill with tears, one’s he wishes he could wipe away before they even meet your cheeks. 

“People you know can hurt you the most… right? That's what you said.” 

His head reeling back an inch, but it feels like he’s been hit. And then you leave, storming out of the room, and he doesn’t stop you. 

Because he knows he shouldn’t. 

Because you’d called him Simon. 

Not Ghost. 

He hates that you’re not here. 

You’ve been avoiding him. Outside of briefings and necessity, you’re nowhere else to be found. 

The rest of them are around a table, beers in their hands. His mask lifted just enough to enjoy his—if it didn’t taste like nothingness. 

Because there were no kind eyes on him. No jesting coming from a soft, sweet voice. 

Especially right now, when it’s needed as they discuss who they’re currently fucking their fist over. He hears someone ask him, something he ignores. 

And then Soap speaks for him. “I think Ghost here has his eyes on—“

“That’ll do.”

The others snigger, mumbling about getting some air as he cracks his neck. Hoping if he ignores Soap enough, he’ll vanish too. 

“Talk to her.” 

Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, meeting his sergeant's expecting face.

Soap slaps his hand on his back. “Trust me, Lt, talk to her.” He tries to think of something, anything, to respond with. He hasn’t got anything until he continues, “Didn’t think you had a heart.” 

“A cold one. I have a cold one.” 

Soap smirks. “I doubt it’ll remain that way.” 

It doesn’t take him long to find you, seeing you huddled over papers and a computer. 

He considers watching you, but he steps in before he’s caught, offering you a mug, one you stare at suspiciously before taking it. 

You prefer a milky tea, one sugar. 

A person after his own heart. 

Right now, he imagines you need something different, so he chose coffee.

“What’s this?” 

“A boost. You need it.”

“Thanks?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

Letting himself see how dark the bags under your eyes have gotten. 

“You’re not sleepin’.” 

“Can’t.” 

He taps the desk with two fingers, your eyes lifting up to face him. Slowly, he retracts his hand, holding your stare as he takes his glove from his hand. He knows his sleeve has risen, the ends of his tattoo showing as he offers you his hand.

“You made me a drink, and now you want me to what, leave it?” 

Slowly, he nods. 

Your huff sounds before you stand, slapping your hand into his. It isn’t until your fingers are in his does he watch your eyes flicker, realising that you're touching him—really touching him. 

“Ghost…” 

“C’mon. Now.” 

He doesn’t let go or lessen his hold, not even when you slide your fingers between his. Not when everything inside of him tells him to run, to tell you to run. 

His mouth doesn’t open, it remains shut as he brings you to his room, opening the door, letting it swing open before he lets his eyes meet yours. 

Letting your eyes take it in before he nudged you forward. 

“Ghost…” 

“Simon,” he says gruffly. “My name is Simon.”

He shuts the door slowly behind the two of you, releasing your hand, moving it to his neck. 

Your eyes follow him, the air thickening—he can feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, the ones on his arms standing. He’s even sure time is ticking slowly. 

Especially when he begins to slide his mask up, slowly showing you his chin, his cheeks, and his nose. 

Your lips parting, mouth falling open as he pulls it off that last bit. Nothing hidden, not from you. 

Swallowing, you make a noise, a squeak as if you’re about to say something, before clamping your mouth shut. 

“Hi.” 

Your lips twitch. “Hi.” 

His fingers brush yours ever so slightly, forcing your eyes to dip before landing back on his with so much adoration—he’s not sure how he deserves it. Any of it.

“What does this mean?” 

“It means you go to sleep. Here.” 

You raise a brow, and he almost smirks. Almost.

“Not like that.” 

Shrugging, you smile. “Coulda fooled me.”

Sighing, he lets go of your fingers. “You can’t sleep because you’re alone. But, if I’m here—“

“You’ll keep the ghosts away?” 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. 

“Anything else this… declaration means? 

“Means you can trust me.”

He watches your head tilt, a scrunch to your brows and your forehead as you look at him. “I trusted you anyway.”

“Then get in bed.” 

He wonders if your cheeks are warm if they’re full or blush. More so when your eyes land on the floor, and he turns his back, moving to his things, finding you a t-shirt. 

On you, it’ll bury you. 

Which makes it perfect, just as perfect as the sound of you undoing your belt is to him and the faint sound of your trousers hitting the floor. 

“Here,” he says, holding the T-shirt behind his back, not wanting to look. 

Not even when he feels your fingers slide down his forearm, over his ink. When he feels your index and middle slide along his pulse, over his wrist and palm before taking it. 

It’s not until he feels your hands on his sides does he turn, your eyes looking up at him—somewhat close to the eyes he knew, the ones which first had his heart pulsing furiously as it is now. 

“Do you snore?” 

“Don’t think so.” 

“Sleep naked?” 

“Not all the time.” 

“Good,” you comment, loosening your grip as he turns to face you. “Hate for you to have gone to all this effort to not let me get a wink of sleep.” 

The double meaning of your words isn’t lost on him. 

Especially when he sees the twinkle in your eye, the grin desperate to blossom over your lips. 

“Unless…”

“Another time,” he says, even if he hates himself for it just a bit. “Now, get in bed.” 

You nod, smiling, “Yes, Sir.” 

Fucking hell. “Less of that.” 

“Any reason?” 

He snorts, turning to watch you climb into his bed, slowly pulling his T-shirt over his head, hearing you inhale as if your mouth was next to his ear. 

“I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.”

He flicks the light off, wondering if your heart is hammering as much as his. Each step towards you feels like a mile, but he’d do it again and again. Feeling for your hand and the sheets you’re offering him, sliding in beside you.

For a moment, he’s tense. 

Just as you are. 

Especially as his bare legs find yours, your back to his chest, hair tickling his nose. He waits, letting you make the first move for comfort, feeling you breathe heavily before shuffling against him. Fingers trying to keep your hair out of his way, pulling it, twisting it.

And he remembers sliding his hand under his pillow, pulling it out slowly, the fabric rolling between his thumb and finger before he finds your hand over the sheets. He feels you tense, likely recognising it instantly, slowly taking it from him as you move, turning to face him.

Even in the darkness, he makes out your features. 

His hand reaches up, touching his chin before fingers spread up your cheeks. His thumb rolls over your bottom lip, wanting to kiss you desperately. 

“You found it?” 

He says nothing.

“You kept it?” 

He breathes out. “I did.” 

You must feel his heart hammering. You have to. 

Your body slowly comes down, arms sliding around his chest before hands find themselves on the back of his neck. 

His head turns as you let hug him, as your body says everything without so much as speaking. And all he can think is he’s an inch away from your lips. 

He’s within reach. 

He could. He should. 

“Simon…” you whisper. 

His throat goes dry, and then you kiss him. 

Silencing his mind, silencing everything that doesn’t matter—doubt, worry and the sound of that radio message—as he runs his hands over his T-shirt that covers your body. 

Pulling you close. 

Keeping you close.

I’m with you : read part two

[edenfenixblogs]

Thank Your Jewish Friends Trying to Educate You Right Now

If you’re a leftist, and you have had a Jewish friend reach out to you to try and tell you that you’ve said something alarming or harmful or antisemitic: listen to them, learn, and say thank you.

I am VERY lucky in that all the friends I’ve personally reached out to have taken the opportunity to learn and grow and adjust their behavior. I have never told them that they should not advocate for Palestine. I have told them I want to advocate for Palestine WITH them, but I need to feel safe in order to do so. I need to feel like the people I’m advocating with don’t want me and my loved ones dead. Thank HaShem that they have listened to me. From the bottom of my heart, my friends are a blessing.

But I’ve seen an incredibly disheartening number of fellow Jews who have had the opposite experiences—being expelled from their queer communities and activist communities and book clubs and any space they once found community. This is horrid but it’s especially horrid for Jews. It’s a reminder that we are only accepted if we conform. We are only accepted if we accept abuse. Our presence is always tolerated, never wanted. Our views are not to be trusted. Our opinions are always suspect. Our motives are always sinister. Our acceptance is always conditional. And I think that hurts even more for us than you’d imagine, because our own spaces are no longer safe. We are already in diaspora. And now our synagogues and homes and other community buildings are being vandalized and attack. We are cut off from our own cultural community and now many of us are being cut off from our personal communities as well. It is a loneliness that most people outside of a diaspora will never know.

Im willing to bet that if you have/had a Jewish friend who you considered close but who seems to have disappeared from your life, it’s because you either didn’t reach out to them after 10/7 or you have failed to acknowledge the stochastic threat to Jews or the Jewish connection to Israel. Why is it important that you do this? Because we are your friends and loved ones. And when friends and loved ones tell you they are hurting, you should listen. When you say you care about someone, you should be willing to listen to them when they say you’re hurting them and then you should apologize. It is more hurtful than you can possibly imagine to watch people you thought cared about you decide to listen to people across the world who they have never met rather than simply have a conversation with a friend, because they assume that friend will dismiss the pain of Palestinians.

Many of you are assuming what your friends are feeling about Israel and Palestine, but you haven’t actually asked them. Many of you think that expressing sorrow for Israel or jews in the world, that means we cannot care about or want a better future for Palestine.

If you are lucky enough to have a friend who has tried to reach out to you, that means they are willing to forgive you for neglecting them in this time. They are willing to talk with you and try to explain their emotions in good faith. They want to find a way to advocate for progress with you. They want to keep you in their lives. They want you to understand our culture and history—not at the exclusion of anyone else’s culture and history—just at the inclusion of our own.

Because here’s the other thing: they won’t forget that you denied them understanding and respect and the benefit of the doubt. That’s not a threat. That’s a cultural feature of Judaism. We have famously long cultural memories. We remember the people and places we can trust and those who refused to give us peace and safety and basic kindness. We remember the people who targeted us, your friends and loved ones, simply because other Jews who we have never met behaved in ways you don’t understand and of which you don’t approve. You are blaming the sins of others on people you claim to love.

If someone is giving you the chance to undo the damage you have done on this, you should take it. And if you have expelled Jews from a space you once shared or failed to acknowledge their pain in this time—find them and apologize.

I am not Muslim, but I wouldn’t doubt that something similar is happening in Muslim spaces. Islamophobia and antisemitism are at terrifyingly high levels right now. And if you think you can’t support Jews without condemning Muslims or you can’t support Muslims without condemning Jews, you’re not only part of the problem—you’re the biggest part of the problem.

What we all need right now is unity, peace, solidarity, understanding, and education above all else.

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling Far From.

(Part 4)

Pairing: mob!bucky x tattoo artist!female!reader

Summary: Bucky comes face to face with the ones fucking his shit up, he’s all stressed and the reader just wants to make out.

Warnings: mentions of crime (guns,drugs,murder [he’s a monster babes]), swearing, guns, reader being threatened with a gun (oops), threat of violence, talking about feelings (ew), think that’s it-if I’m missing any let me know.

Word count: 3.9k ish

A/n: hey guys, hope you enjoy this shit lmao, I truly have absolutely no idea where I’m going with this.

(This is not beta’d we die like men.)

Part 3 : Icarus Falling Far

Masterlist

————

Bucky’s thoughts in italics

Readers thoughts in bold

————

Fuck.

Fuucckk.

“It’s you.” Bucky states, his voice steady, hiding the confusion running through his head.

“It’s us,” Frank responds, “gotta be honest, we’ve had a lot of fun fucking up your shit.”

Frank stood with a smug smirk on his face, while the man with the buzz cut, and with scars covering his face, the light outside casting a grim portrait, stands with a big grin - both completely unaffected by the gun being pointed at them.

“Does she know?” Bucky asks, years of being screwed by people he trusted rearing back and kicking his trust issues into his gear.

Please say no, please tell me she’s not a part of this.

No. Not her.

“Y/n? Bet it break your cold heart if we said yes, huh?” Billy quips, with that stupid grin now a permanent fixture on his face. “That sweet pretty girl you though actually liked you, was actually just getting us this in, see we have proposition for- ”

“DOES SHE KNOW?” Bucky lets his voice rise, tired of the games the other men were playing.

“No, and we are gonna keep it that way you hear me, don’t drag that kind girl into this cruel world.” Curtis states, stepping forward as if to cut Billy off from responding.

Shit, I can’t let you look down and see me waving a gun in your friends faces.

“She doesn’t need to know. She’s not made for this world, not like us. So how about you put the gun away before she starts looking out that window.” Frank says, eyes flicking to your window to make sure you’re not witnessing this tense conversation.

Bucky slowly lowers the gun into his pocket, but keeps his hand tight on the weapon, just as a precaution.

Please be true, to whatever bastard higher power up there, please be true.

“Not like us?” Bucky says, parroting the other man’s words, “in what world are we the same?”

“Well I mean you and Curtis probably share the most similar physicality,” Billy states, chuckling a little at his own joke.

Bucky’s eyes flit to the quiet man on the left, recalling his earlier thoughts.

“What Bill means to say is that I know what’s it’s like to loose a limb in combat-”

“I didn’t loose my arm in combat.” His voice was deep and unwavering, even while the horrid memories came to the front of his mind, “you have no idea what I went through.”

“We know some. Rumors fly in the military.” Franks states, “we were all Marines together, and after Curtis lost his leg, I became a Navy Seal and Bill here became a Scout Sniper for the Marine Corps Reconnaissance. We’ve had our fair share of being screwed over by those in authority.”

“Am I supposed to give a shit? All that crap is behind me, what I care about is my business now, the same business that you three have been fucking up for the past week. So what the fuck do you want and what the fuck does Y/n have to do with it?” Bucky growls out, his patience slipping.

“We mean no harm, not to you, and especially not to Y/n-”

“I’m supposed to believe that, you used her to get to me right? If you cared about her you wouldn’t have done that-” Bucky begins before he gets cut off.

“Don’t you dare say that we don’t care about her!” Billy almost shouts stepping forward before stopping when Bucky brings the gun out of his pocket and lets it rest by his side.

“Y/n is one of the few things in this world we care about, she’s family okay, and we would never hurt her-” Curtis says

“Really, then how would you say she’s gonna feel if I go back to her apartment and tell her all about this, huh?” Bucky calls back

“You’re not gonna do that though, are ya? Because you know if you did, it’d break her heart, and you don’t wanna do that do ya Buck? Not when ya like her so much?” The words come from Billy, the annoying grin back in his face.

“What make you think I care that much?” Bucky says, even though his thoughts state the opposite.

I do. I do care.

“If you didn’t you would have shot us already.” Frank responds with a very valid point.

That makes Bucky clench his jaw and tense his gun wielding hand.

“All we want is a business meeting okay, talk about a potential partnership.” Frank stars crossing his arms, staring unklinking at Bucky.

“A partnership? It’s gonna take more than you fucking up a few things for me to even think about considering that. And what the hell would I get out of a partnership with you three?” Brucky responds, seriously considering just shooting the three men dead on the street.

“Well that’s something we can talk about later, but just so you know we have our hands in some business ourselves and more than enough bodies to keep our shit going, but we’d all be a hell of a lot richer if we worked together” Curtis states, shifting his weight onto his good leg.

“Plus just think about how happy our girl will be if we all got on.” Billy chimes in with a quick wink.

Our girl. OUR girl? God I wanna shoot these assholes.

Bucky keeps his calm facade up, unwilling to show the man that his words affected him.

“Fine. Be at the Comandos bar at 8 pm tomorrow, just you three, no weapons.” Bucky responds, wanting this conversation to be over.

The three men share quick look’s between themselves, and then Frank steps forward with his hand out towards Bucky and says “We’ll be there.”

Bucky doesn’t even look at them before turning quickly and walking back into the building, pulling out his phone to call Steve.

Frank chuckles, puts his hand down and turns to get in the car.

“Think he’ll tell her?” Curtis asks.

“Nah. He likes her too much.” Billy replies, while opening the door and getting in.

—————

What the hell is taking him so long? God I hope the boys didn’t catch him and give the whole ‘if you hurt her we’ll kill you’ talk. The boys are scary but Bucky’s a damn mobster.

The heavy knock on the door stops your pacing, and cause you to run to the door and pull it open to see the aforementioned mobster.

He doesn’t even say anything before barging in, kicking the door closed behind him while his hands go straight to the sides of your face, pulling your lips to his. His grip is gentle, but his mouth is bruising, his teeth nipping your bottom lip.

You pull back to catch your breath, leaning your forehead on his and catching your breath.

“Not even a hello? You missed me that much?” You flirt quietly, whispering into his mouth, hand clutching his waist through his coat.

“More than you know darlin’ I needed to see you…and touch you,” Bucky responds, silently thinking I needed to make sure you were okay.

Oh please do.

“All I’m hearing is the big bad mobster saying he needs me” you tease, praying he didn’t take offence, yeah he’s sweet and lovely but I’ve only gotten a tiny glimpse at the other side of him.

“Is that how you see me?” He leans back to his full height, staring down into your eyes, dropping his hands to his sides.

Shit.

Bucky grips your wrists and takes your hands off his body, moving them into his metal hand, the surface cold on your skin. You scramble to respond, wanting to tell him you thought the opposite, but his flesh hand moves to his pocket before you can talk.

“Big bad mobster huh? Oh doll you have no idea,” he says with an indiscernible look on his face, pulling out his glock.

Oh fuck, I was only teasing.

“Wait Buck-“ you start before he cuts you off.

“Y/n…Are you scared of me?” He asks, his grip on your wrists loose enough that you could get out of his grip if you wanted to.

You didn’t move. Looking into his eyes, an overwhelming feeling of calm takes over, the blue of his eyes the same as the sky after a storm.

“…no. I’m not.” I probably should be but apparently I’m crazy.

“Do you think I’m bad?” He asks.

All the stories, all the rumours, the memory of your first meeting, and the call he took in the shop come flooding to the forefront of your mind. That he’s a man with no mercy, cares for nothing and no one - except money, sex, and violence.

“…not to me.” You answer.

He pulls his arm up, holding the glock in between your faces, showing it to you. The bottom of his tattoo- your tattoo- sticks out from under his sleeve.

A normal person without a broken brain would take this as a threat. Why am I attracted to this?

He makes eye contact with you over the barrel, turning his hand and resting the muzzle on your cheek, but there is no fear in you, you can see his trigger finger resting on the side of the barrel.

“Do you trust me Y/N?” Bucky asks, his eyes not moving from yours.

You take a second to think about it.

The man is a fucking mobster for Christs’ sake. He’s a criminal, a gun runner, a drug trafficker, and not to mention a killer. His kills have hit the news before, no evidence proving it was his organisation, but everyone knows. It doesn’t matter if it was Bucky that pulled the trigger, held the knife, planted the bomb, nothing happened that wasn’t on his order. Can I really trust a man like that?

Your hesitation to answer has an effect on Bucky. He moves the gun, dragging it down your neck and resting the muzzle in the dip of your collar bone. You look down at his hand, finger still nowhere near he trigger.

“Y/n.” He calls quietly. Your eyes jump back to his and he speaks again, “do you think I would ever hurt you?”

That question has an answer you don’t have to think about.

“Not unless I did something to deserve it.” Your attempt at humour was immediately seen to be the wrong answer.

He sticks the gun back in your face, muzzle pushing between you lips, scratching your teeth. The movement causes your eyes to go wide, fear slipping onto your face.

“Did you do something to deserve it? Have you fucked me over Y/n?” His voice is tense, deadly serious, an unstable look in his eyes, his metal hand tightening on your wrists.

You lean back a little to answer, “…no, no of course not Buck. What’s going on? You’re freaking me out.”

He stares at you for what feels like hours, his face perfectly still, not giving anything away.

She doesn’t know. She truly has no idea. Thank fuck.

He drops the gun and lets go of your wrists, taking a few steps back, giving you space.

“I’m sorry doll, I’ve just had very hard day, some new information was given to me and it’s fucked me up a bit. I’m sorry Y/n, truly I am, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” His hands run through his hair, pulling at it harshly. “Shit darlin’, what the hell was I doing?” He mumbles the last bit to himself.

“Buck..Bucky, hey calm down, it’s okay-” you start before he talks again.

“It’s not okay! I just put a fucking gun in your face.” He keeps rambling, seeming like a whole other person than he was a minute ago.

“Buck! Stop, stop jabbering,” you grab his wrists, taking his hands from his hair and pulling him towards you.

He stops talking, and stares at your hands in his, the metal of his prosthetic shining a stark contrast against your skin.

You take a second to look at him, eyes studying his face. He looks worried, and a little scared.

Huh, didn’t know a mobster could get scared. Is he’s scared of me and what I’m gonna say… or is he scared of himself?

“You don’t scare me Buck…you probably should, but you don’t. ‘Cos you’ve been nothing but good to me, even a minute ago when you were acting weird, I knew you weren’t gonna do anything-”

“How? How did you trust me to not hurt you, when I was waving my glock in your face?”

“You had your finger on the barrel”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking over what you said. He takes a deep breath, meeting your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Bucky responds.

“Then don’t say anything.” You say, the imagine of him with a gun in his hand fresh in your mind.

That whole episode should not have been as hot as it was. Shit I’m fucked up.

Bucky stares at you (he does that a-lot), unsure of his next move.

“Kiss me, dumbass.”

He moves before you can blink, his hands gently grabbing your face and pulling you to him. His kiss takes your breath away, gentle but firm. Your hands grip his elbows, encouraging him to keep going.

He takes the hint (thank fuck) and splits your lips with his tongue, his nose pressed hard against your cheek. He moves his hands down to your hips, gripping hard. Your hands grip the back of his head, fingers playing with his hair, tugging at it slightly when he completely deepens the kiss, your tongues tangling together. He lets out a quiet groan at the feeling, taking his left hand off your hip and tensing it by his side. You break the kiss when you feel the loss of his touch.

You take a second to catch your breath, Bucky leaning his head against yours.

“Why did you take your hand off me?” You ask.

“What?” He responds, the small dazed look on his face making you chuckle a little.

“Your hand, I liked it where it was.”

“Oh..that. It’s uh..it’s pretty strong, I can’t tell how hard I’m holding something, I can’t feel it so I tend to hold things a bit too hard… I broke like 5 cups in the past week-” he answers, stuttering his way through the sentence.

“Stop talking Buck, and you say I ramble,” You say, putting your finger to his lips. He stops talking, and you continue, “I trust you Buck, I’ll tell you if you’re holding me too hard. Plus I like it a little rough.” You finish with a wink at him, pulling his hand back to your waist.

He drops his head back, eyes closed and takes a deep breath in. He mumbles under his breath something that sounds like ‘god you’re perfect’, then he crashes his lips back into yours, both hands tightening on your hips.

He moves faster now, more intense with his kiss, his teeth scraping yours slightly and he presses you backwards, walking with you until you bump into the wall, his flesh hand stopping your head from hitting it.

Aww how sweet. The thought is thrown from your head when Bucky drops his head and presses kisses to your jaw, his hand curling in your hair to pull your head back, exposing your neck to him.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, as he licks a long stripe up your neck, nipping at the pulse points he finds. Your hands drop to his hips and pull him flush to you, groaning when you feel how much you’ve affected him. He kisses his way back to your lips, his metal hand moving to rest on the side of your neck, thumb resting in the front of your neck. Bucky gives you a long hard kiss then pulls back breathing hard.

“God girl, you are gonna be the death of me,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours as he talks.

“Fuck I hope not,” you respond, pulling his hips tighter against yours making him choke back a groan at the feeling.

His phone starts to ring.

Fuck off.

You pull him to you again, lips trailing across his jaw.

“Shit doll, wait a second baby-” he starts before you cut him off.

“Wait? Wait for what Buck, you don’t want me?” You tease, brushing your nose along his.

He crashes his lips against yours, his ringtone fading as his kiss overtakes your mind. Bucky pulls back after a few seconds, growling softly before stepping back to pull his phone out of his pocket.

“Are you seriously gonna answer that?” You ask, incredulous to his action.

“I have to darlin, could be an emergency,” he answers, taping the screen to answer. He puts the phone to his ear and says, “talk to me.”

You ignore his conversation, grabbing his metal hand to inspect it. The plates shift as you turn it over to look at the palm.

What an incredible feat of engineering, I wonder how it works. And how it feels-

Your dirty thoughts are cut short as he pulls his hand out of your grip, turning and taking a few steps away from you. His voice is quiet, probably to keep you from hearing whatever illegal shit they were discussing.

You jump when he shouts.

“THE FUCK? Rogers you get them to find more information on those shitheads, or I swear to fuck I will rip their fucking hearts out. I don’t care anymore, this shit needs to stop right the fuck now!” He stops his tirade and listens to ‘Rogers’ on the other side for a few second before he starts up again, “I know that asshole…one of the fuckers is married, find the wife… I have no idea if she’s involved man, I doubt it but she’d be good leverage… and get me some more information on their business so I’m not going into this shit show unprepared.”

That gets your full attention. Find the wife? Leverage? And do what? Threaten her? Hurt her? …kill her?

A shiver rips its way down your spine at that thought.

Would he do that? If she’s not a part of the issue, would he still hurt her? He already proved he’d hurt anyone that fucked him over, proved that when he stuck his gun in my mouth.

“Yeah…I know, get Stark on it, send Talia and Barton out too, see if they can get any news on the street… tell Barton to keep his cool, I don’t need anymore shit right now” Bucky says, switching the phone to his metal hand, using his flesh one to pull at his hair again.

His back is still turned to you, his coat stretches over his shoulder, the back rising with his hand in his hair.

He has a gun in his waistband.

Your eyes flit to the glock he drop on the floor earlier, and back to the one tucked in his waistband.

Is two guns really necessary?

Your answer comes with his next sentence.

“Fuck Steve I know that…you think I got this far without any personal protection? I’m good if anything happens man but I don’t think it will, they seemed pretty insistent on the fact they meant no harm..”

He continues to talk for a minute until he ends the call with a quick “get it done Steve, or we’re all fucked.” He places the phone back in his pocket, takes a few deep breaths and turns back to you with a tense look on his face. He takes another deep breath and steps towards you. Without meaning to you take a step back, hitting the wall behind you. Bucky stops as soon as he sees your movement.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, didn’t mean to upset ya.” He says, his voice quiet and calm, as if he was talking to a injured dog.

You let the silence linger for a second, deciding whether or not to ask the question that was begging to be said.

Fuck it.

“What are you going to do to her?”

He tilts his head at the question, unsure of what you’re talking about.

You take pity on his confusion.

“The wife? What are you going to do when you find her?”

Something settles in his eyes, his mouth twisting into a grim line.

“Nothing…unless I have to.” Bucky responds.

His answer does nothing to calm your pounding heart.

“You mean you won’t do anything unless you find out she’s involved?”

“Yes.”

“So you won’t do anything if she’s not a part of …whatever it is?” You ask.

“That’s right.” He nods with his answer.

“Except use her as leverage?”

He’s silent for a moment, and sighs as he rolls his left shoulder. He doesn’t break eye contact, and he’s completely resigned to whatever his answer is about to be.

“If I have to.” There is no lie in his voice, no guilt or remorse in his eyes.

Holy fuck. There’s the soldier again, the man with no mercy, does whatever he needs to come out on top.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

He wouldn’t hurt me. Would he?

He answers like he heard your thought.

“It’s business doll, we do what we have to do. Sometimes it’s rough and bad and awful and yes, people get hurt. Sometimes even innocent people get hurt. But I will never apologise for being the one that does the hurting, me and mine have had our fair share of getting hurt, and I’d rather hurt and use some people I don’t care about, than watch my people, my family, get hurt. I will not allow that to happen, not when I can to something about it.” He stands straight, like a soldier. The conviction in his voice actually makes you feel calmer.

Assuming I’m someone he cares about, I should be fine, right?

It slips off your tongue before you can catch it.

“Do you care about me?” You shift your weight as you talk, unsure if you actually want to hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He states, his tone steady.

“Say it properly,” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest, a subconscious way of protecting yourself, “I need you to say it properly Bucky.”

He shifts his weight now, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Yes… I do care about you,” he answers, clearing his throat in the middle of his statement, “do you care about me?”

You were unprepared for him to flip it back on you.

“I need you to answer truthfully Y/n. Do you care about me, as I am? The ‘big bad mobster’” he says, taking a step closer to you, and taking another when you don’t move away from him.

“The man who broke into your flat to threaten your roommate who owes me? The one who was going to shoot your friends dead on the street? The one who stuck a gun in your face? I’m a killer Y/n, a fucking mobster, and I’m not changing any time soon. Do you care about me as I am?” He asks, reminding you of the shit he’s done since you met him, not even counting the things you haven’t heard about.

You take a second to consider his questions.

I think I do, how fucked am I that I do?

You finally clock what he said.

“You were going to shoot who dead on the street?!”

————

hehehehe I feel like an evil mastermind.

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[asliceofzosan]

On Sanji's birthday, a smaller version of him shows up on the Sunny one day. Sanji reflects on who he once was and finally learns to forgive himself.

Happiest Birthday to Sanji <3

He was so small.

He wished it was like looking into a mirror — where he could clearly see everything about him that he considered weak in those glassy blue eyes that would never stop crying. But it didn't even feel like he was looking at who he once was, who he once remembered being, living, and breathing as.

He was so small.

Small enough that the birthday hat that Luffy made for him out of cardboard and rubber bands flopped over his forehead and covered his eyes. Those tiny, shaking hands gripped the tip of the hat and peeked from beneath the shade, confused but captivated by his captain's ever present grin. Small enough that when he was handed a riceball, he had to hold both hands out just so he wouldn't drop it.

He was so small.

And Sanji had forgotten how small he once was.

"You haven't moved for a solid ten minutes," Usopp said as he slid up next to him, leaning against the railing with a drink in his hand. "I'm sure baby Sanji won't get hurt if you look away, you know?"

"I'm not worried about him getting hurt." Sanji still kept his eyes on his younger self regardless. He was now playing a little card game with Chopper, who more or less didn't know the rules to the game either. So neither of them were winning.

"Okay," Usopp elongates the last syllable before sipping his drink. "Then go have fun, man! It's your birthday, after all."

Sanji hums and moves to light a cigarette. But one look at his baby self running around with Luffy and Chopper made him decide against it. Usopp pretends not to see the way Sanji brushes off the gesture like he always meant to do that.

Waking up with a crying child in his bunk bed this morning was not how he pictured his birthday to start out. Waking up and seeing the version of him with that wretched steel helmet on his head was something else entirely. His younger self looked terrified and almost tried to escape – run away from him.

"P-Please... Don't hurt me..." The little boy said, his trembling hands covering his head as if that would truly protect him. Sanji's heart broke. It's been years since he thought of this moment, years since Whole Cake Island, and years more since Germa ever occupied the forefront of his mind. So seeing his younger self, shaking and crying and begging for his life, stirred something protective within him. Protect the child inside of him that was screaming to be held for once, held tenderly, held like he was loved.

"I won't hurt you," Sanji said with his voice barely above a whisper. "No one will hurt you here."

"How do you know that?"

Sanji swallowed, ducking his head. Living on a pirate ship doesn't necessarily guarantee safety. But there's one thing he can always guarantee when he's with the Straw Hats...

"I know because you're loved," The little Sanji's eyes clouded with doubt. Sanji understood all too well why. So he slowly reached out, his hands stopping just shy of the lock on the helmet. Little Sanji moved back a fraction of an inch but Sanji just smiled at him. "Let's get this off of you and I'll show you just how loved you are."

Years ago, if he saw this version of him, he would have tried to avoid the kid like the plague. He didn't want to be reminded of such a horrid time. He didn't want to remember a point in his life where he was too weak, too fragile, too human.

But now it is different.

Now, he knows that being too human was not his greatest flaw but his greatest strength. And that being weak doesn't mean he can't be strong too. It may have taken him so many years to get to that point. But better late than never, right? He doesn't know what will happen if he lets his younger self know that he'll find these people one day. But he's lived through tough times with a dream and the smallest spark of hope that Luffy and his crew kept ignited.

And it wouldn't be such a bad thing to let his kid self... finally be a kid.

"Hey," Usopp nudged Sanji and pointed with his lips in one direction. "Check out who little you took a liking to."

Sanji looked back just in time to see a certain green-haired swordsman giving tiny Sanji a piggyback ride. Something mushy and sappy and gross stirred inside his heart. One that he hasn't been a stranger to for a couple of years now. His hand subconsciously gravitates to the long golden earring dangling from his left ear and finds himself smiling as his younger self laughs at something Zoro said.

"I wanna grow up to be as big and strong as you!" Little Sanji exclaims, his tiny arms wrapped securely around Zoro's neck and shoulders. Zoro laughs — a loud guffaw that shouldn't be as attractive to Sanji as it is this very moment. He reaches up to ruffle little Sanji's hair.

"You'll become even better, little buddy."

"Even stronger than you?!?"

"That's debatable," Zoro says with a little snort. Sanji rolls his eyes with more affection than he ever wants to admit. Within that time, Zoro has transferred little Sanji off of his back and into his arms, and the image of Zoro holding this version of Sanji – with a tenderness he only ever reserves for Chopper – has his mind racing with scenarios his heart can barely take.

"One of the strongest people I know is also the kindest," Zoro says, tucking a strand of blond hair behind little Sanji's ear. "No matter how many people put him down, he'll serve 'em if they're hungry. Doesn't mean jack shit to him if they've got the highest bounty in all the Blues."

"And I think..." Zoro looks up and locks gazes with present Sanji — his Sanji — and gives him a wink. "If you ain't got a big heart, there's no way you can't be strong."

"My father says I care too much..." Little Sanji says, his hands bunch up the fabric of Zoro's shirt. Zoro smooths the hair out of his forehead and does something that makes Sanji's stomach do backflips.

He kisses the little one on the forehead.

"We all need someone who cares a little too much." Zoro assures him and it feels like Zoro isn't speaking to baby Sanji anymore. His eyes are stuck on the man he married, his gaze unwavering and true, and Sanji can't help but blink back a few tears that were forming the whole time. "It's okay for you to care. It's okay for you to feel. Heck, it took me a hell of a long time to learn to love someone properly as much as I do now."

Little Sanji looks up at Zoro, stars in his all blue eyes. "Will I get to love someone too?"

"Of course you do, kid." Zoro ruffles his hair again and touches the tips of their noses together briefly. "You're so loved, Sanji."

Hearing that, Little Sanji's eyes flick over to older Sanji, who's been watching them the whole time. Remembering their previous conversation, Little Sanji smiles the biggest smile that could put every star in the sky to shame.

I'll show you just how loved you are.

When everyone is asleep and the only ones left on the deck are a tired little blond cook-to-be and his future self, something in the air tells them that it might almost be time to go. Little Sanji's arms were wrapped around older Sanji's neck, his head resting on the man's chest so he can hear his steady heartbeat.

"This was the best birthday ever," Little Sanji says as he fights back a yawn. Sanji chuckles, holding the boy a little tighter.

"You'll have so many more birthdays like this, kid."

"Will Zoro be in all of them?"

Sanji laughs. Leave it up to his tiny self to also fall hopelessly in love with his oaf of a husband. Time is a circle, perhaps. "Not all of them. But enough of them to matter."

"That's good," Little Sanji whispers, nuzzling even closer into Sanji's space. Silence befalls them and distant wind chimes greet them. Little Sanji stirs, unsure. "I don't wanna leave."

"I know."

"I'll be back, right?" Little Sanji looks up at him, that same fear burning in his gaze. But Sanji sees something brighter there – the persistent spark of hope that things will eventually get better. That he'll leave that cold lifeless cell and breathe in the salty sea air on a pirate ship that has never been more alive.

He wants this version of him to always have that spark. For that spark will eventually become a roaring fire – the one that tells everyone that Black Leg Sanji is here. And he's here to stay.

"You will," Sanji tells him, giving his younger self one last bright smile. "It's gonna take a while, buddy. But you'll be right here."

Little Sanji mirrors his smile, reaches out to hold his face between his tiny hands, and presses their foreheads together. In the blink of an eye, the child was gone, and Sanji lets out the shakiest sigh. He leans his head back to rest against the wall, feeling happier than he's ever been since the day he got married.

"You'll be right back here, kid." Sanji whispers into the air, reaching his hand out to the sky to trace his own constellations. His own path. His own vision of the future, fortified by the euphoria of living in his present.

Sanji's other hand goes back to his left ear. Back to that earring. And smiles.

"Because you are so loved."

Happy Birthday, Sanji 🥹 I know this is late but I really wanted to write something for my favorite babygirl. Something a little different to the Zoro birthday piece because I need my boy to admit how loved he is 💛💛

[itsbeeble]

Doll

Summary: You and Hyunjae had never really gotten along. But, since he was your brother’s best friend, you couldn’t exactly avoid him your whole life. Especially now that Sangyeon has enlisted Hyunjae to help you study for your classes.

Genre: Fluff, Smut, e2l (kinda)

Pairing: brother’s best friend!Lee Hyunjae x afab!reader

WC: ~6.5k

WARNINGS UNDER CUT

Warnings: Uhhh public sex (car sex), slight age gap (Hyunjae is two years older than reader), oral (m and fem receiving), pet names, switch!Hyunjae, switch!reader, Haknyeon might be scarred for life, swearing, mentions of chemistry, they make out in a library, face-fucking kinda, threats, reader almost kicks the bucket, Hyunjae jumps out a window, Sangyeon is NOT happy, idrk there’s a lot happening MDNI!!!

A/N: Yeah this is uh... yeah

~

“This is so easy, how are you not understanding?” Hyunjae is hunched over beside you, scowling at the seemingly infinite number of red marks he’d made on your worksheet. You scoff at him.

“Sorry to burst your little bubble, Lee Jaehyun, but maybe you should consider the fact that Chemistry doesn’t come easy for everyone.” Maybe take that stick out of your ass and you’d see that.

Lee Jaehyun, or as most people like to call him, Hyunjae was a straight A student. He was nearly perfect in everything. Perfect grades, perfect voice, perfect face, perfect body. He was perfect when it came to the sports he played, he had the perfect family and home. The only horrid thing about him was his attitude. 

He was cruel. To you, at least. Maybe just to you, his best friend’s little sister. Maybe he just didn’t like you because you always seemed to be around, always trying to one-up him in everything related to school. Trying to be better than him at math, at english, at extracurriculars. You joined the debate team in high school just to spite him. And he’d be damned if he ever said he felt threatened by you. 

If you were being honest, you really didn’t hate him. You liked him, even though he clearly didn’t care for you. You looked up to him, similar to how you looked up to your brother, but Hyunjae was different. He wasn’t just your brother’s best friend. At some point you started going out of your way to try to impress him, even if it never ended well for you. You wanted to spend more time with him, get to know him more. 

“I would think that you’d be decent at this,” he sneers at you, “given how you seem to be so good at everything else.” You bite down on your tongue and turn back to the worksheet. The mistakes you’d made were so silly, so you understand why he’d be confused that you’re getting them wrong. Simple miscalculations when balancing equations, simple miscalculations for enthalpy. All of them were simple, and yet somehow you consistently got them wrong. “Your brother wouldn’t be making these mistakes. I thought you idolized him.” 

“I’m not Sangyeon,” you snap. “Plus, why would he be taking a chemistry class as an Econ major? He doesn’t need this shit.”

“Gen eds, doll.” Hyunjae smirks at you. “We all had to do them at some point.” 

Your tongue was starting to hurt from how hard you were biting on it to avoid yelling at him. You’d forgotten that Sangyeon and Hyunjae were already in their third year of college while you were barely starting your second. 

“Don’t call me doll,” you slide your chair forward and lower your head. “Give me another worksheet.” Hyunjae shakes his head. “Dude, give me a worksheet. Let me try again.”

“I’m not giving you another worksheet,” he says as he begins to pack up his things. “You clearly aren’t understanding anything I’m teaching you, so why should I keep helping?” You rise from your chair at the same time as he does, your eyes going wide. 

“There’s no way you’re giving up because I get mixed up sometimes.” He looks down at you, almost annoyed that you’re still talking to him. “Lee Jaehyun, you cannot be serious.”

“I’m dead serious, doll. I don’t know why your brother asked me to help you when it’s clear there’s nothing I can do for you.” He turns to walk away, and your hand latches onto his wrist, attempting (and failing) to pull him back. He’s taller than you and definitely a lot stronger. You barely even get him to wobble on his feet, and he hardly stops walking toward the exit of the library. Now, you’re just being dragged along with him. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” You jog to stand in front of him, walking backwards (in hindsight, you should’ve known that was a bad idea). “Like, I’ve never done anything wrong to you but you just fucking hate me for no reason. Why?” He’s looking down at you while he walks, jaw tense and eyes narrowed into a glare. 

“You’re stuck up and think you’re better than everyone.” 

“Yeah, but so do you!” You argue. 

“You’re more annoying about it though. Like everyone has to know that you think you’re better than them.” He spits out, and the two of you stop walking, standing outside of the library. The cold air of November bites into your skin, slipping through the gaps of your knit sweater. “You just have to brag about every achievement you get, about every goal you make in soccer, and every award you get from school. You think you’re just some fucking princess that everyone needs to bow down to.” 

“Again, you’re the same way!” You snap. You’re walking backwards again, hardly paying attention to where you’re going with how focused you are on Hyunjae. “You’re constantly shooting me down, when all I’ve ever done is look up to you! All I’ve ever done is try to impress you, but you just have to make me feel bad about myself huh?” 

Hyunjae’s eyes widen a fraction, his lips parting as he listens to you talk. He’s not walking any longer, but you are. You’re backing toward the stairs leading to the parking lot and he reaches forward to stop you.

“Doll,” he tries to get your attention but you’re on a tangent now.

“Maybe I went too far sometimes, but it’s only because you’re my brother’s best friend and I wanted you to notice me!” 

“Doll,” Hyunjae tries again and takes a step forward. You’re getting closer to the first step, just inches from backing off the edge. 

“But you’re right. Little old Lee Y/N can’t possibly be worth helping, she’s too dumb for you isn’t she? She isn’t enough for you to not—” 

“Y/N!” Hyunjae lurches forward when your foot slips from under you. For a moment you flail in the air, arms waving while you attempt to get your balance. Your brother’s best friend grabs one of your arms, yanking you toward him and pressing you tightly to his chest. Your body spun, and you found yourself pressed against the railing, your face squished against the tall man who had his arms wrapped fully around you.

You can feel your heart pounding, and you can feel his own, It’s rapid against your cheek, slamming against his ribs. He’s warm. His body is warm, and your hands tighten around his jacket. Call it desperation, but you know this is the only time Hyunjae would ever touch you and you wanted to make the most of it while it lasted.

“Are you dumb?” Hyunjae pulls you away from you, holding you an arms-length away while he scans you over. “Why the fuck would you walk backward near a staircase?” He looks angry, and you duck your head into your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, “I know it was stupid but I just—” 

“What if you had gotten hurt, doll?” He interrupts, his grip on your shoulders tightening. “What then, huh? I’d never be able to forgive myself.” 

“Didn’t realize you cared that much about me,” you try to joke. His frown only deepens, and you begin to shrink in on yourself. 

“Of course I care about you!” Your heart begins to pound again. “You’re my best friend’s little sister, why wouldn’t I care about you?” And then it sinks. You just got best-friend’s-little-sister-zoned. 

You wonder if he ignored everything you’d said before the fall. Maybe he did. Maybe it’s for the best that he did. Save yourself the rejection, move on with your life. Easy enough. 

“I dunno,” you shrug, “figured you hated me enough to let me fall.” Hyunjae scoffs and grabs you by the arm to start dragging you back to the car.

“Idiot.”

~

“So what you’re telling me,” Haknyeon sits across from you, his chemistry textbook open but going ignored as he listens to you talk about what happened with Hyunjae. Since the staircase…incident he hasn’t spoken to you, and you really needed to pass chemistry so you enlisted your friend to help. “He calls you doll, acts like he hates you, then you confess to him and fall down the stairs, he saves you in the most romantic way, then brother’s-best-friend-zones you?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” You dig your pencil into your lip, listening to it click while you read through one of the practice problems that Haknyeon gave you. “And since then he hasn’t spoken to me.” 

“What a dick. You’re doing that one wrong, by the way.” He slides his chair across the library’s old carpet to sit next to you. “Finding the delta-H of a reaction is products minus reactants, not the other way around.” His shoulder is brushing against yours while he explains and writes down how to do the problem correctly. 

One of the doors to the library opens and you glance up, almost immediately locking eyes with Hyunjae. Your stomach sinks when he narrows his eyes at Haknyeon.

“Oh shit,” you mutter, dropping your gaze again.

“Please don’t tell me that Lee Hyunjae just walked into the library and currently looks like he wants my head on a spike.” Your friend is now frozen, speaking quietly out of the corner of his mouth.

“I will not confirm nor deny any of what you just said.”

“If that man kills me, I will kill you.” Haknyeon hisses, and you just smile at him. Hyunjae is sitting at a table nearby, and you feel that familiar sinking feeling in your chest when he looks at you again.

“He’s not gonna kill you. Laugh as if I said something funny.” You jab him in the side and he starts cackling loudly, gathering the attention of several other students around you. “Not that loud, genius!” He quiets his laughter, and you can see the flush rising on his cheeks. “God you’re dumb.”

“What am I supposed to do? The hottest man I’ve ever seen looks like he’ll snap me in half if I touch you! I’m terrified!” He grabs you by the shoulder, and you hear his chair scrape against the ground. “Oh god he’s gonna kill me and it’s your fault, you bitch.” 

“Y/N,” Hyunjae’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder, and he bends down to the opposite ear so you can hear him better. Your body goes rigid, and you feel his breath brushing against the side of your neck. “A word, please?” You turn your head, leaning back so you aren’t so close to him. He’s staring at you, a mix of emotions swimming in his eyes. 

“Uh,” you glance at your friend, but he’s already shoving his face back into his textbook. “Yeah, sure. Hak, I’ll be—”

“Yup, go ahead, have fun.” Your friend spits out and then Hyunjae is pulling you up and walking you toward a dark corner of the library.

“Is this where you kill me?” You joke, but he doesn’t laugh. He’s facing away from you, hands shoved into the pockets of a loose jacket. “Damn, killjoy much?”

“You sure move on fast, huh?” You reel back and he turns to face you completely, a small smile practically stapled to his lips. “With tutoring, I mean. You were able to replace me just fine.”

“Oh, uh,” you blink, “yeah I guess. Hak is a great…teacher? Jaehyun are you okay?” His jaw tenses before he responds again, taking a few steps toward you until he’s just inches from you, and you’re pressed against a bookshelf. 

“You know you’re the only person who calls me Jaehyun? Not even my own parents call me that.” His head is tilted, his eyes half-lidded while he looks at you. “Why is that?”

“I, um,” your brain is faltering, overwhelmed by him. The way he looms over you, the way his fingers dance across your waist, the way he’s looking at you like you’re his last meal. “I don’t— spite, maybe? Jae, you’re getting really…really close.”

“Does that bother you, doll?” He asks, he’s only a few inches away, and you’re getting the urge to lean up and press your lips against his. 

“N-nope. Not at all. In fact,” Your hands are wrapped around his jacket, holding him so he can’t step away from you, “this is great.” He smiles, and you don’t see joy in it. You see mischief and lust. 

“Really?” 

“Mhm.” One of his hands slides up to grip your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“And what if,” his voice is just a whisper, his breath fanning your cheek when he tilts your head to the side. “I did this?”

His lips are warm against your skin. Warm, and soft, and your breath is hitching in your throat andd you know he can feel it. Hyunjae kisses your neck right below your ear, his teeth just scraping against the tender skin and his lips sucking gently. Your eyes are fluttering, your body leaning closer to his. His hand releases your jaw, finding its way back to your waist while your own hands slide up to tangle in his hair. 

He slides his lips down, trailing them across your neck and sucking little pink marks into the skin. 

“Should—” you stumble over your sentence when Hyunjae pulls your shirt to the side, placing kisses to your collarbone. “Should we b-be doing this?” He hums, and the vibrations against your skin have you gasping.

“What do you mean, doll?” He pulls away, leaning back up to look you in the eye. His eyes are halflidded and dark, filled with the lust you had seen in his smile. Your jaw drops open a bit, your hands sliding back down to his shoulders when he leans toward you again. 

“I just— I mean— what would Sangyeon think?” Hyunjae rolls his eyes. “I’m seri—” He’s kissing you before you can finish that sentence. It’s a rough, searing kiss and the suddenness has you gasping. With your mouth now open, Hyunjae is able to slip his tongue into your mouth. It dances along your own, tracing every inch of the wet cavern of your mouth. Your lips are slightly chapped against his, and you wonder if he notices. You wonder if he cares, but the way he groans against your mouth tells you he doesn’t. That he cares only about the way your lips mold against his, the way your tongue dances against his own, and the way your body seems to fit perfectly to his. 

“Who—” his lips press against yours as he speaks, “cares— what— he— thinks?”

Hyunjae presses further against you, pressing you into the bookshelf, and you can feel the kiss becoming sloppy. You can feel the spit beginning to slide down your chin, but when you try to wipe it away your brother’s best friend pins your arm above your head. You squeak into his mouth, feeling him smile against you. 

He pulls back just slightly, catching your lower lip between his teeth and watching your eyes flutter, listening to the whine that escapes you. 

Hyunjae says something to you, something you don’t catch, and then he squeezes your hip.

“Sorry. What did you say?” He smiles, and this time you know he’s amused. There’s a little twinkle in his eye, and you find yourself smiling along with him.

“I said,” he drawls, “that we should get out of here.” 

“Oh…” you hum. “Yeah, no, yeah we should.” He tilts your head up again, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you okay, doll?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You reassure him, “Just…a little shocked, I guess?” 

“Shocked,” he echoes, tilting his head to the side. “Shocked about what, doll?” You shrug, your cheeks starting to burn from the way he stares at you. 

“You’re just…you’re a really good kisser.” You’re mumbling, but you know by the way his smile grows that he heard you.

“What was that?” He coos, turning his head so he can “hear you better”. You scoff. “I didn’t quite catch what you said. I’m a really good what?”

“I said you’re a dick,” you snap and push him away from you, your cheeks now blazing. He trails after you, practically giggling at the reaction he pulled out of you. Haknyeon is still at the table when you come into view and you see his eyes go wide when he sees you.

“What…happened to you?” You grab your jacket and bag, shaking your head. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, Hak.” You feel Hyunjae’s hand on the small of your back, urging you along and you watch your best friend’s eyes bug out of his head. 

“He— you— are you two—”

“She said she’ll tell you tomorrow, Hak.” Hyunjae says sharply, now firmly pushing you along. “Let’s go, doll.” 

~

You’re in his car, straddling his waist in the backseat. Your lips are pressed against his in a rough kiss, much sloppier than in the library. It’s a mess of tongue and teeth and spit and his skin is so warm against yours. Your hands are underneath his shirt, but his are under your own shirt. You can feel goosebumps rising on your skin where his hands trace. Your waist, your stomach, your back, underneath your breasts. He’s so gentle with you. You, on the other hand, are rough. Your hands are digging into the skin of his abdomen, sliding across his abs and up to his chest. He hisses when your nails dig into him, undoubtedly leaving little crescents into his golden skin. 

You pull away only briefly, a string of spit connected between the two of you. He’s staring at you with awestruck eyes, staring at the marks he left on your skin, at the knots he made in your hair, at the stretched collar of your shirt from where he pulled on it. 

“What happened to what Sangyeon would think?” Hyunjae’s hand slip to cup your ass over your jeans. 

“I’m not the one that’s gonna have to tell him that his best friend fucked his little sister in the backseat of his car in the library parking lot.” You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to the front seat. To be fair, Hyunjae moved the car into the darkest corner of the lot, but his windows weren’t tinted and if security came around to check what was up, you’d both be fucked (in more ways than one). “Besides, should you really be worrying about that right now?”

Hyunjae lowers his mouth to your chest, placing wet, sloppy kisses to the soft skin while you unhook your bra and let it slide off your arms. 

“You’re really gonna make me do it? All on my own?” He gazes up at you and you can only smile at him.

“If you want me to suck your dick, yeah. You will.” His grip on your waist tightens and his eyes go wide. You lift his head, connecting your lips again as you begin to roll your hips against his. He hisses out, letting his head fall back at the sudden pressure against his growing erection. You let your eyes drift closed, enjoying the friction, enjoying the pleasure each roll of your hips sends up your spine until you decide it isn’t enough. Until the quiet, gasping breaths that escape the boy under you aren’t enough. Until you need more.

You force yourself off of him, pushing yourself as far back as you can in the cramped backseat of his car, the little waves of pleasure dissipating as you undo the button of your pants and begin to tug them down. Hyunjae watches you, eyes hazy and chest heaving under his shirt. You pause in your motions and stare at him with a cocked eyebrow. 

“What?” He exhales heavily and you scoff, kicking his leg. He hisses, lifting his head and glaring at you.

“You really think I’m gonna be the only one undressing? Take your shit off, Lee Jaehyun.” He sits up, leaning toward you. Challenging you.

“Why would I do that, doll?” He coos. “I quite enjoy the little show you’re putting on for me.” You can hear the little tremor in his voice, can see his cock straining against his jeans. You love the act he puts on, the way he wants you to think he’s in charge, so you play along.

You widen your eyes, playing the role of a desperate little girl. He may be older, but you’re smarter. You’ve known him long enough to get an idea of what he likes, just based on what you’ve accidentally overheard from his conversations with your older brother. 

“Jae,” you practically purr, leaning forward and letting him see the way you’re squeezing your breasts together with your arms. He watches you lace your hands together, tenses when you place them on his knees and bring yourself forward until your mouth is right next to his ear. His breathing hitches when your breasts brush against his chest. “Can you please take your clothes off, baby?” You press a gentle kiss to his jaw. “I promise I’ll be good.” 

He doesn’t respond, but you can hear him shuffling, hear the zipper of his pants and feel him shoving the garment down his legs as fast as he can. His shirt follows after, and you lean back with a pretty little smile on your lips as you slowly pull your jeans down. Hyunjae watches you carefully, practically drooling as more and more of your skin is exposed to him. More for him to touch, to feel, to play with. 

When the last bit of your legs is exposed and your jeans are thrown to the side, he tugs you onto his lap again. You both hiss when his fully erect cock presses against your core, when the slick fabric of your underwear brushes against him and leaves a small damp spot on his boxers. Your hand rises to the back of his neck, nails scratching gently as you begin to roll your hips again. 

You aren’t slow this time, you aren’t gentle with him. You grind against him as if you’re already riding his cock. You roll your hips in gentle circles, pressing down hard with each drag of your hips. This is the pleasure you were searching for. This is soothing the ache that had been building and building since the night at the staircase. 

You listen to the pitiful whines that leave Hyunjae’s mouth, listen to the gasps, and the pleas. You feel the way he lifts his hips to meet yours, thrusting harder and harder with each moan of his name that leaves your mouth. 

“D-doll,” Hyunjae whimpers, “Y/N, please. ‘M s-so close, doll, please.” 

“Please what, baby?” You lower your head to his neck, sucking harsh purple marks into his skin and running your tongue over each one to sooth the burn you know is there. “Hmm? What do you need from your doll?”

“You pro-promised,” he pleaded, squeezing at your hips and trying desperately to get you to stop. You can feel his dick twitching underneath you, and your hips only move faster and harder against him. You can see the tears welling up in his eyes. 

“What did I promise, Jae?” You ask. “Tell me.”

“You prom— promised you’d— that you’d suck me off.” You kiss your teeth, slowing your hips. Your own body is screaming at you, begging you for the release you’d just ripped away from both of you. You, unlike Hyunjae, are good at hiding how desperate you really are to have him inside of you. He’s still thrusting into you, whining at the loss of pleasure. 

“I did, didn’t I?” You run the back of your hand down his cheek and watch him lean into your touch. “I can’t let my baby suffer now, hmm? Not after he asked so nicely.” 

Hyunjae watches in awe as you slide to the ground in front of him, tugging his boxers down with you. He watches as you brush your hand over his leaking cock, running your thumb over the slit and digging in. He whines loudly, jerking his hips into your touch. 

You pull your hand away just briefly to spit into your palm, using that and the pearly liquid leaking from his tip to help run your hand up and down on his length, squeezing gently when you get closer to his tip. 

When your lips finally wrap around him, a shudder runs down Hyunjae’s body, his back arching and his head falling back. There’s a brief moment between when you first put your mouth on him to when you begin to suck, one where you just watch the older boy twitch and shudder under your touch. 

You don’t linger too long, shifting and rising a bit on your knees so you can take more of him down your throat. Your hands grip at his thighs, squeezing tightly when he hits the back of your throat and you have to hold yourself back from gagging. You pull yourself back up, suckling at his tip before bringing yourself back down onto him, taking a bit more of him into your mouth. You repeat these actions until you’re able to take all of him into your mouth. 

From there, when you take him down your throat you moan around him, letting the vibrations hit him until his hips jerk up and he’s sent impossibly farther down your throat before pulling yourself back up and digging your tongue into his slit and drinking in the precum that leaks from his cock. He’s a whining, blubbering mess, begging you to go faster. To make him cum. To do anything except tease him, but you don’t listen. You take your time, occasionally pulling off his dick entirely just to watch him suffer. 

“‘M close again,” he chokes out, barely heard above the sloppy noises of you choking on his cock time and time again. His eyes, up until this point, have been squeezed shut. He’s afraid that if he looks at you, he’ll bust right then and there. “Fuck, doll, please.” 

He makes the fatal mistake of opening his eyes, making direct eye contact with you. His breath hitches in his throat again, his chest tightening. You look so messy, drool running down your chin and onto his balls. Your make up is running down your cheeks, your hands squeezing so tightly at his thighs. 

It just takes you sending him into the back of your throat one more time for him to regain control of himself, gripping your hair and sitting up a bit. Your eyes go wide when he thrusts into your mouth the first time. He hears you gag, but he’s just so close. He’s so close, and he can’t help how his hips move faster and faster, each brush of his tip against the back of your throat sending him spiraling just a bit more out of control.

“You thought I’d just let you take control?” he hisses, tugging your face towards his hips when you try to pull away. He can hear your muffled sobs, hear you gagging on him. “Let you run this show? Pretty girl, you have no idea what you just got yourself in—to—” He stutters his last word, his eyes rolling into the back of his head while he empties his load into your throat. He hears you choke and pulls back, letting the last ropes of cum paint your cheeks and your chin while more spills out the side of your mouth. 

Hyunjae gasps for breath, watching you pull yourself back onto the seat with your back pressed against the door. He watches you run your fingers through the mess on the lower half of your face, bringing it to your lips. You whine at the taste of him, and he feels his cock twitching back to life already. 

Then he notices the lack of underwear on your body. Sometime between you taking control, and him forcing it back you stripped yourself of the last bit of clothing on your body. He turns toward you, wrapping a hand around each of your legs to spread you open. Your eyes are wide again, and you try to protest when he lowers himself to be face-to-face with your sopping wet cunt. 

“Such a pretty doll,” he murmurs, bringing a finger to your slit and collecting some of your juices. Your body twitches, trying to pull away from him but he just pulls you closer. “So cute, still trying to be in control of something.” 

He runs his tongue all the way up the length of your pussy, stopping to suck on your clit before bringing his tongue back down and repeating that again and again and again. You writhe underneath him, moaning loudly when he digs his tongue into you, practically fucking you with it before he’s slipping two fingers inside of you. You knew it would sting with just one of his fingers, but the burn of two fingers pushing inside of you and immediately beginning to pump in and out of you at a rapid pace has you crying out and curling away from him. He just holds you closer, his fingers scissoring in and out and his mouth sucking relentlessly and the knot inside of you is growing so tight, your body curling and your hands gripping his hair tightly. 

Then your body goes slack, your vision blurring and your ears ringing as you release all over the bottom half of his face. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t stop drinking up your release until you’re kicking your legs and shoving his body away from you. 

You both gasp for breath, trying to recover. Your body is tingling with your release and you can see Hyunjae leaning against the door opposite you, running his hand up and down his length while he watches you, waiting for his cock to become erect again so he can fuck you.

“So,” his voice is rough, “now that we’re somewhat even, I vote that we both tell Sangyeon that I fucked his little sister in the backseat of my car.” You roll your eyes.

“I just gave you the best suck of your life, and you think I’m gonna tell my big brother that his best friend fucked me? His best friend that’s two years older than me?”

“You’re 21,” Hyunjae frowns, “two years isn’t that bad. If you were 14 and I was 16, then it would be weird, but that’s not the case. We’re both legal adults in college.” His hand slows on his cock, but he keeps his fingers wrapped around the tip. You run your tongue over your lip.

“Jaehyun, I thought you hated me. What changed?” He shrugged.

“Simple. I never hated you. Sure for a while you were just my best friend’s annoying sister, but like…I dunno. I never really hated you, I just didn’t know how else to interact with you. What about you? I thought you hated being around me.”

“Yeah because I wanted to make out with you half the time you were around,” you roll your eyes and let your head rest against the steamed window. Hyunjae sputters out a laugh, throwing his head back and yelping when it slams against the glass. You gasp and jump forward, crawling over his lap to cradle his head.

“Shit, Jae, are you alright?” You run your fingers through his hair, feeling for where his hit his head. He lets his forehead rest against your collarbone, still laughing. “Why would you throw your head back like that?”

“You sure have a funny way of showing that you like me, you know that, doll?” His lips press gently into your skin and you flick the side of his head. He hisses under his breath and pinches your hip. 

“You worry me sometimes, Lee Jaehyun.” He hums and brings his hands to your hips. “You gonna fuck me now?” He kisses his teeth and pushes you off his lap until you’re on the leather seats again. 

“Hands and knees, doll,” he instructs and you grin.

“Ooh, doggy style. Didn’t think you liked that kind of thing.” You roll onto your hands and knees, lowering the front half of your torso until you’re able to lay your head on your hands and (sort of) gaze back at Hyunjae. You watch him pull a foil packet out of the center console and click your tongue. “Only use one if you want to. I’m clean and on birth control. As long as you’re clean and fine with it, you don’t have to.” You watch the man behind you shudder again.

“God, Sangyeon really is gonna fuckin’ kill me, doll.”

“Problem for tomorrow, really.” You suck in a sharp breath when you feel his tip pressing into your entrance. A quite whine escapes you at the stretch, and Hyunjae rubs your sides to sooth you while he continues to slowly press himself inside of you.

“Almost there, baby.” He assures you. “Just a bit over halfway.”

“Are you shitting me?” you whine. “Why the fuck are you so big?”

“Good genetics, doll.” You feel his hips against your ass and your body relaxes slightly. “Tell me when, okay?” 

“Just fucking go already,” you hiss, fighting through the stretch. “God, just fuck me Hyunjae, please.” Your hips roll back against his and he exhales shakily. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“It’s either me or my brother, pick one baby.” 

Your teeth dig into your lip when Hyunjae gives an experimental, shallow thrust into you. He pulls out a few more inches and thrusts into you again. When he pulls himself out all the way to the tip, he inhales sharply before plunging into you. Your body jerks forward at the force of it, a moan escaping you, and then he’s plowing into you at full force. 

Hyunjae drives his hips into you hard and fast, your body jerking forward so much that you have to grab onto the door to stop yourself from hitting it. The moans you let out become loud cries and screams of his name and you know that if there’s anyone left in the parking lot, they’ll know exactly what’s happening. You can only pray that they know better than to approach the window, pray that they can’t see the way you beg for Hyunjae to move faster, to go harder if that were possible. 

“Such a good, pretty girl for me,” Hyunjae tangles a hand in your hair, yanking you back into his chest. The new angle has his cock driving into that spongey spot inside of you time and time again. “So pretty like this, filled with me. But what would Sangyeon think, hm? What will he think of his pretty little sister getting fucked senseless by his best friend, someone he trusted to look after her while she studies?”

“F-fuck, Hyunjae, please!” You beg, clawing at his hands and his hips and the back of his neck. “Fuck, harder, baby, harder!’

“You want me to go harder baby?” Hyunjae coos, sliding one of his hands down to your clit. “Want your brother’s best friend to fuck you until you can’t breathe? Until you’re begging me to stop?”

“Yes,” you cry out, “please please please, Hyunjae!” He groans, loud and raspy in your ear and you can feel your abdomen starting to tighten okay. “Oh god, I’m so close baby please! So close, so close!” 

“I know baby,” he grunts, “fuck, you’re so fucking tight around me, doll.” 

His fingers are rubbing harsh circles around your sensitive clit, the callouses of his hands providing that delicious friction to drive you straight over the edge screaming his name and squeezing tightly around his cock like a vice until he can only grind his hips into you, and then he’s groaning and warm ropes of cum are filling you and spilling out around his cock. 

It takes the two of you a few minutes to recover before he’s pulling tissues and wipes out of his glove compartment and gently wiping away any traces of his release. When he gets to your face, he can only smile at the dazed look in your eyes.

“So, I take it I’m telling your brother?”

“You can bet your ass you are.” He hums and places a featherlight kiss to your lips. 

“You called me Hyunjae for the first time.” You hum.

“Don’t get used to it, Lee Jaehyun. It was heat of the moment.” He laughs, tugging his boxers and jeans back onto his body before helping you with your bra and underwear. 

“I meant it, you know.” He says when he’s got you situated in the front seat of the car. You look at him with tired eyes, enjoying the heat that comes with his car being on. Your seat is reclined so you can rest on your way home, and one of your hands is wrapped in Hyunjae’s. “When I told you that I never hated you. And if you’d let me, I want to take you out on a date after finals.” 

The thought brings a gentle smile onto your face.

“Only if Sangyeon doesn’t kill you first.”

~

It’s two days later when you force Hyunjae to tell him. The marks on your neck, and the scratches on Hyunjae’s haven’t faded in the slightest, and you know Sangyeon has been asking his best friend about them. 

You’d been sitting on your bed with your boyfriend when Sangyeon burst into the room, yelling at you about the dishes and stopping when he saw the two of you curled up on your comforter. You could see his mind trying to click everything into place, followed by your brother taking a few steps forward and Hyunjae sliding off your bed to get to your open window. 

“LEE JAEHYUN YOU’RE SO FUCKING DEAD!” Your brother screams out the open window while Hyunjae makes a run for his house, one hand thrown into the air. 

“WORTH IT!” You hear him yell, and you can’t muffle the laugh you let out before your brother turns on you with nothing but rage in those brown eyes of his. 

“Lee Y/N,” he hisses.

“In my defense, it was all him.” You back away from your brother, shuffling to the edge of your room.

“You’re dating my best friend?” 

“Maybe? Depends on how you react to either answer.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fucking kill you both.”

“Only if you can catch us!” You bolt out of your room, screaming when you hear him pounding after you. 

Maybe telling your brother wasn’t the best idea. But, then again, it was all worth it in the end. Dying young wouldn’t be so bad, at least in your eyes.

[midnightsapphire]

imagine a soulmate!au with aemond

color is nonexistent until you first meet eyes with your soulmate.

to aemond? the world has always been bleak, grey, cold.. alone. he envied the lords and ladies of the court that always spoke of the vibrant and beautiful colors of their houses, of the world around them

but he didn't envy the pain in knowing as lords and ladies of the court, they were destined to pine for their soulmate as they were dragged into loveless marriages

some were lucky- but it was a rare feat to the younger targaryen.

part of him wished he could see the world as it was. beautiful, vibrant.

but as he grew older, being introduced to several ladies of the court in hopes to find a beneficial match, he began to lose hope when he would continue to see the world in monotone as he did for a large portion of his life

even moreso when he loses his eye, only attracting fear and disgust at being crippled, maimed, undesirable (so the people have whispered when they believe he is not listening)

his 18th nameday was no different, having hid away behind a few tapestries to avoid his mother's doting and introducing him to different "important" people of the court

or his ever so lovely sister dragging him for a dance as he stood- stiff as a board- and followed her movements less than gracefully

"i would loathe to be the one that has to stare at that for the rest of my life"

"who would want to lay with the one eyed prince, i heard the skin under perished-"

"i heard it's as grotesque as the scar that peeks out, gods forbid anyone be tied down to that."

"it's no wonder the prince aegon had to pay a woman to lay with him. no silver in the world could be enough."

it was enough, he had hurt enough

"well i heard it was unfitting of a lady to speak such horrid things."

it was a voice that made him stop in his tracks, looking over his shoulder as he saw the back of a woman from an unknown house, her hand loosely dangling a goblet of wine inbetween her middle and ring fingers

"don't tell me you'd be the poor sap that would stomach looking at that maimed face all day and night." they said with shocked gasps as aemond tried to decipher the face of the woman who had shrugged her shoulders

"a face is a face, he is a prince. a loyal and dutiful one at that."

"but he-"

"studies philosophy? trains with the way of the blade and has been deemed one of the best- if not the best fighters in all seven realms? rides the largest beast in the world? i see nothing wrong with him."

"he lacks an eye, (Y/N)"

"and you lack brains, should you be lucky you don't also lack a tongue with the treasonous lies you spit about your prince." she scoffed, continuing her rant as the ladies gasp at the emerging prince, bowing their heads as they scurried off, much to (Y/N)'s chagrin.

"of course you all run away, you spineless flock of-"

"lady (Y/N), was it?"

and his voice was enough to make the woman stiffen, her hands falling at her sides as she slowly turns around, her eyes hesitating to meet his as they both freeze in place

it was as if time stopped the moment aemond met her eyes, his breath hitching and his palms growing sweaty as vibrant specks of blues, gold, various greens flooded his eyes, meeting (Y/N)'s glistening eyes as he could by the small glimmer that the same was happening to her

he released the breath he had been holding when a smile grew on her face, shaking them both out of their state as she laid a hand over her ever beating heart

"my prince.."

A/N - i hate the execution but i needed to get this out of my head before it killed me

[twisted-dreamscape]

Twisted Wonderland

Reader with Magic from Another World

One of my favourite concepts to play around with in Twisted Wonderland is the idea that by their world’s standards the prefect doesn’t have magic, but comes from a world with a different magic system—I can be a bit lenient with how some systems work more than others. For example:

Winx (Believix, ‘cause it’s a magic for fairies in places where people do not believe in magic-in this case it’s the specific brand of magic the prefect uses)

No one believed you. Your rounded ears and distinctly human eyes and teeth did nothing to help your case—forget your apparent lack of magical capabilities. It was no surprise that not a single person believed you when you claimed to be a fairy. You found that for some reason, you were unable to transform in this world, which made it impossible to prove you were a fairy if you were entirely unable to transform into one. But you remained determined, and what abilities you retained outside of your core transformation, namely visions of people’s past and visions of the great seven, helped you carve a different place in this world regardless. Through your efforts, insights and general willingness to help others, enough people started to believe there was at least something more to you.

It’s in a moment of crisis, when your selflessness sees you placing yourself in harm's way, taking a risk that was not asked of you and leaving the boy you protected racked with guilt.

While the others were fighting back the Titan Earth, another phantom charged at Epel from the shadows. There was no room for the others to act, but you could. You raised the weapon you swiped before descending into Tartarus and slashed and stabbed at the creature, but it held your weapon in its fading body while another went careening into you, knocking your little scuffle over the edge.

The seniors could only listen on as you fell, the phantom before them leaving no room for distraction. When the Titan was pushed back, it was already too late.

“You said you were a fairy, you said you could fly, you said you were a better flier than me. Then, fly!” Epel stood rooted to the spot where you stood, but despite what they saw, he, Rook and Vil wanted to believe you were something more, something that could survive that hit, survive that fall and the Titan that followed; it was then that you were able to unlock your Believix wings.

It was a whole new form you had never encountered in your dimension, but you once heard of fairies from Alfea that restored magic in a long separated planet. It felt good to access your magic again, even though you may never reach Enchantix as long as you were stuck here, you were still happy you could help out your friends—it also felt good to prove everyone else wrong.

With your newly gained powers you were able to participate in classes like your other classmates, but only when transformed, unlike at home, which was…an experience. Flight class was especially interesting since you didn’t particularly need a broom, even less so if you wanted to fly quickly. Application of lessons weren’t exactly a one-to-one application but they inspired you to try things you had yet to study in your home dimension. Maybe with practice you could one day be strong enough to open a way between your worlds.

Fairy Tail (It’s funnier if the prefect is some form of Dragon-slayer)

“HOW DARE YOU!” Sebek immediately placed himself between you and Malleus, although more troubling was the way Silver followed his lead; but even worse yet was the look of hurt that settled on your friend’s face. It was one thing to title yourself a dragon slayer, but to withhold this fact and sneak your way into his good graces…evil. You were ecstatic when you learned your friend was a dragon—‘a kindred spirit’ you thought—so you eagerly revealed what you are.

Malleus was silent and Sebek was anything but, chastising your horrid character, while Silver hoped you would change your ways. You hurriedly explain what a 1st generation dragon slayer is in your world—a human trained in the ways of a dragon—and that you were in fact raised by said dragon! And Malleus was now also ecstatic! Although Sebek was still wary, Malleus needed to know everything about you and your draconic parentage! He’s surprised by how limited your magic is compared to his, but just as surprised that you can eat the element you’re limited to! He consoles you over the disappearance of your parental figure and welcomes you as family.

The age old question of your guild has been answered, “Do fairies have tails?” Yes, some. You marvel at Malleus’ when he shows you his beautiful tail. He’s a fairy, but a Dragon-fairy, he’s everything you ever wanted to meet. Your friendship has further deepened now that you’ve learned this and now he wants to know more about your guild as well.

You are able to learn magic like your classmates, but you don’t have a need for a mage stone, in fact, you don’t really ‘get’ them. Some hold magic like lacrima, but the more common ones seem to be glorified filters.

*Crystal Dragon slayer

Ruggie also takes a particular interest in you, chiefly your ability to consume ANY crystal, including something as common as glass—however this interest quickly wanes when he realizes you can’t teach him to do the same; that doesn’t stop him from trading your lunch set for a washed soda bottle. While you are interested in the crystals that Grim has been eating, even you find that there’s something gross about the murky stones, despite his tantalizing descriptions. That’s all fine to him, he wasn’t gonna share anyway.

Ojamajo Doremi

The P.E uniform for Night Raven College was a practical jumpsuit. The students took pride in styling it in a way that best suited them, even you were fortunate enough to find an older iteration, in the attic of Ramshackle dorm, that you wore like your friend’s. It was comfortable enough, when you got to wear it—that is, outside of flight lessons.

You always made an effort to transform before class, in the empty locker room, behind some bushes, anywhere but the open field, but some days, you were late. Some days you were laughed at by every single classmate as you rushed to pull on your monochrome costume before the song ended. But they could eat your sparkly dust.

Some time had passed since you received your crystal ball and returned your witch to her true form. You were crossing over from the human world to visit her when you woke up…here.

You were a full fledged witch, and your magic proficiency was at least greater than that of the average third year, but there was SO MUCH you didn’t know about this world. Surprisingly, attending this school was exactly what you needed to gain that knowledge, so while you’re still not sorted into an official dorm, you remain as something of an interdimensional student.

In light of your advanced skill level, you and Grim are not a single student, but he is still accepted as your sole dorm mate—given that you keep watch over him.

With your fairy beside you, you wonder if he could possibly be the same if he’s not a cat—a fairy without a witch that transformed into this direbeast.

Mew Mew Power (Seismic Cymbals)

You entered their world with nothing but their ceremonial robes and your power pendant. It was your only treasure and only link to your world, but there was no need for it as a janitor, right?

You kept it close regardless, nearly activating it when a wild tanuki began rampaging and again when a certain red headed jerk instigated a chase that would have been much easier when transformed—but you resisted. In the end, it was only when the monster of the magic stone mine began swinging its pickaxe that you took your stand. You held off as long as possible, even uniting your ragtag group into a fairly solid plan, but when the monster finally shook off the cauldrons, you transformed and pulled Deuce out of the way, and with the monster far enough away from the cave, you summoned your seismic cymbals and collapsed it into a crevice you opened beneath it. For the most part, teamwork did win the day, and you are still dubbed a beast tamer, but your magicless status was mostly revoked.

As you are unable to actually cast spells you are still unable to participate in most magical lessons and require Grim to cover that aspect of your grade, however, in very specific instances you are able to transform and flaunt your stuff.

From then on, the nature of your species comes into question, as a person who occasionally exhibits beast man traits on occasion, even outside of your transformation.

Persona (a blend to incorporate more features)

*It’s kind of funny how neatly the concept of Overblots connect with Shadow Selves

You were raised in a facility that studied pscience and how shadows and personas manifested and affected the world around it. You have an encyclopedic knowledge on past events where students much like you, were faced with extremely traumatic experiences and forced to take on very adult responsibilities. Despite this, your concept of reality feels distorted when you first call upon your persona in this world. In one sense, it’s reassuring to have access to your persona in this foreign space, but concerning if it’s based on similar rules to that of Tartarus or the TV world—who knows how twisted this world REALLY is and how much time you have!

Under what conditions were you brought here, and why have none of the Overblot victims been able to call upon their Phantoms as Personas after they’ve reverted? They’re basically shadows, right? It seems there’s more to it than you first believed, maybe when the Styx facilities are operational again you can study this power of yours in relation to the victims they kidnapped—with their permission.

As a student, you’re able to display some ‘magic’ by switching between personas. You share many of the same elements and even display some ‘new’ ones that have an effect akin to that of a unique magic. Your healing capabilities are immaculate and you’re one of the greatest talents in the school, but when you overdo it, you are prone to passing out, so be wary.

*Conversely

Despite being able to call upon your persona in this plain, it seems none of your peers can perceive it. Malleus and Lilia seem to be able to sense a separate, but connected presence beside you and Leona claims to smell something that is not quite human, but that’s as far as it goes.

Many are shocked by the grand feats of ‘magic’ that you can utilise without a wand or accumulating blot! But you can’t help but recall the Dark mirrors claim, “Soundless. Colourless. Shapeless. Utterly vacant.” A Joker by any other name.

*Anti-Shadow Suppression Unit (Like Aigis)

“Woah! You’re ANCIENT!”

“Brother!”

“But her design is so MID!”

You’re a robot designed to look human, but in so many areas it's obvious you’re not human, unlike Ortho, whose more techy features are intentional, yours stemmed from an inability to properly hide all your ‘additional’ features. Maybe it’s because you’re not human, but Idia is quick to get up close to you, poking and prodding, practically ready to tear you apart, but unlike Ortho (at the time), you have free will and quickly shut down his behavior. You have such a strong personality because initial tests of models before you emphasized the necessity when designing a weapon like you to have a powerful persona.

At the beginning, you found yourself actively distancing yourself from Ortho, who you felt was imitating being human, unlike you, and you wanted to avoid being compared to him as much as possible. And yet, you find yourself drawn to the Shroud brothers; the elder one somehow being more comfortable around you than he would be with a human and the younger one being fascinated in meeting another ‘person’ like him—it is your interactions that spark his sense of self.

As you grow to trust them, you do allow Idia to run some updates on you, after you analyze the changes to be made. You find your processing power to be faster and more precise, he even improves on your orgia mode, allowing you more control—if only slightly. Besides your robotic existence, Idia finds himself bonding with you over your predetermined futures. As the heir of Styx his role in life has already been decided for the sake of others, while your entire existence was designed to fight these ‘shadows’ for the sake of others. Neither of you are particularly interested in changing this reality, but rather living as best you can within its confines. You tell him about the shows and video games in your world, especially the best series ‘Featherman’ a major loss for this world not having it—at least you guys can watch the episodes you ‘recorded’.

When Ortho finally gains his ‘heart’ you two become the best of friends! You want to know everything about him and are more eager to share how your own awakening came to be. It’s a strange experience for him, but a welcome one and you’re happy to help him in these times.

Skullgirls

They are extremely concerned! What do you mean you have a parasite? Are you okay? Do you need antibiotics or something? You quickly explain that’s not what you take for parasites and that it’s not that type of parasite. You introduce your friends to a creature that’s attached itself to you and further elaborate that it’s technically not harmful to you—right now. Those who do hear your little aside simply overlook that detail. You explain that it’s not an especially uncommon phenomenon.

With the aid of your parasite you mostly take on the role of support in battles, in order to avoid harming the sentient attackers. Your parasite is POWERFUL, a little too powerful to attack a person—save for restraining or tossing them—if you want to see them walking again, so you refrain. It’s an ancient figure that bonds well with Lilia for some reason and attracts the intrigue of the octotrio—especially Azul for…reasons.

Are they crazy? Genies? An entire festival dedicated to wish making? You are horrified by the prospect of so many being brought up on the idea of consequence free wishes. You give them a brief history of the skull heart (A heart…of bones? Shut up Ace), where you were raised, no one would even dream of using it, at least not out loud, on account of the generations of horrors suffered by the land and people. You have regular discussions with Professor Trein and Riddle on the Heart and the wars fought for it and because of it. Azul on the other hand is more interested in the details of the wishes and their fallouts, you can only hope he doesn’t use it as a guide—he reminds you of the Medici mafia. For the first time, you find yourself giving some attention to the wishes you silenced long ago.

Bayonetta

“So…you’re naked?”

You explain that your hair is your clothing. Ace claps back that could be said for most people, but they’re still naked—the school requires that you wear the uniforms provided to classes. In the end, you get a top hat and solidify that nudity and a statement piece is the dorm uniform of the Ramshackle dorm.

You have yet to perform a traditional Umbra Witch summons, apart from the fact it would be way too embarrassing, you understand that you’re still young and not ready to put your schoolmates or your eternal soul on the table because Leona doesn’t wanna play nice with the other kids. You are however quite adept at the summons written about in school texts, the cost is lower and open to a little personal flair.

Meanwhile, your weapon handling is undeniably masterful! Beanfest would have been in the bag if your blaster hadn’t stalled at the last second! Lilia is so amazed by your versatility that he gifts you one of his old weapons from his armory—just keep this a secret between you two.

You auditioned for the VDC, on your own, but your moves were a bit…mature for a school performance (Beauté 100 points!). But, as manager your insight has greater value, you help Deuce and Epel loosen up and introduce some…’flexibility’ to their movements.

Shugo Chara

‘All kids hold an egg in their souls, the egg of our hearts, our would-be selves, yet unseen.’

You were able to see them, but yours had never manifested one in your world—your heart’s egg. Because of your special vision you were an unofficial guardian, so you were privy to some information on them, but you had always craved the impact that having your own would have on your life.

It’s shortly after Riddle’s Overblot that you and Grim awake to an egg with the silhouette of a crow on it in your bed! Grim has NO idea what it is, and leaps from the bed! He is a dire beast and it’s your job to teach him about human things, so you kindly explain it, meanwhile in your mind, of course a house warden would understand it! After everything you had seen them do, this should not be new! You eagerly show it off to all your new friends…only for them to be just as bewildered as Grim! Ace even teases you about having painted an egg for such a lame prank, Deuce bombards you with questions and observes like one would a newborn child, while Riddle quickly searches for medical references—maybe you're actually fae! The fae scentiment is one that also intrigues your horned friend after you show him your egg, he even graciously offers to supply it with magic in your place!

Your chara doesn’t reveal itself until after you defeat Azul. It’s so cute in its little feather cape and hoodie—a mysterious look for such a sweet thing. Oddly enough, EVERYONE in the school can see your chara—you were kind of hoping to play some invisible tricks, but this is okay too—you wonder if it’s a magic thing.

Your chara is so observant, calm and collected. It likes to help people, so there are times when it strays leagues from you in an effort to do so! Azul initially liked it because many enjoyed seeing the adorable little creature—which was great for business, AND FREE! But, over a series of chats, he found that he maybe, sorta, kinda appreciated its understanding and kindness, and he would maybe, sorta, kinda punish anyone who would bring it harm—a sentiment shared by many others.

You can’t help but feel that your coming here was undoubtedly the impetus for this growth.

Your chara change is a broach with what appears to be a mage stone similar to the one Grim has, but decorated with raven feathers. You find that in those times when you ‘change’, you embody the essence of maturity, your insight increases too and you just…get it.

It’s during the Vil’s overblot that you awaken to your chara transformation. Your midnight wings are functional and your black and gold outfit is reminiscent of an opulence not unlike that of the ceremonial robes or even the fairest queen—this extravagant display only further angers Vil. You hold a key blade or key wand and mirror shield in your arms that are sufficient for your amateur level. You’re still new to it, but together you’re able to talk Vil down and support the rest of the NRC Tribe in knocking him back to his senses.

By the time Styx attacks, you have some control over your transformation and the powers that come with it, but you’re still not on the level of the housewardens or even the third years, and like the others, you fall.

When the gate to the underworld is under siege you discover that your key can be used to buff and debuff. For some of the weaker phantoms, you’re able to dissipate their lingering negative emotions, erasing them entirely, while for the stronger ones you boost the potency of your friends’ spells.

Splatoon (Octoling, because Azul)

The first thing they noticed was your eyes, and your pupils' infinity shape. It's not until you remove your hood that they REALLY realize you are NOT human—nice tentacles, I guess. At first, it’s kinda weird to the humans, fae and beastmen, but the merfolk, they are fascinated! Especially Azul.

You describe yourself as an octoling—a descendant of ancient octopuses. You are NOT a mermaid, you are entirely unable to participate in Book 3 as is, but he is interested in you all the same. Before the dorm, you have something else to offer Azul. You are insanely fashionable and your voice is immaculate—and he wants control over it all. You offer your performing services to him should you miss the deadline, but you have a much more valuable skill you ‘failed’ to mention.

After having successfully booted you and your crew, Azul notices paint (ink?) in his office! It’s made such a mess! It’s gotten everywhere! All the way up to the vault!

The moment he opens the vault…you leap from the ink, grab a stack of contracts and jump back in! He is stunned for a moment, and even after he comes to his senses he has no idea how to explain what he needs the staff to do. And then you’re gone.

Through certain occurrences, Azul still overblots. You’re able to relate to him after what the Octolings had been through, and what they had done. You reassure him that things were on a positive trajectory when you left and tell him his tentacles are pretty.

Hunter x Hunter (Nen, Specialist)

You have a distinct presence to you that just can’t really be defined. There are times when the simple act of you turning causes aggressors to flee and other times where you're almost imperceptible—even to Rook! You introduce yourself as a hunter, presenting your license with great enthusiasm and the man is smitten! In his eyes, you’re a beauty like no other! As a hunter himself, he wants to know everything about you and everything about the test you underwent to attain that license! He is one of the select students who seem to be unconsciously manipulating Nen.

Another person who has a significant interest in you is Lilia, when you first exited your coffin you made sure everyone in the vicinity knew to stay far from you; your Ren surged forth before you even stepped out, just enough to warn those in the room, unfortunately Lilia was in the room. You were VERY lucky that nothing came of it in that moment, or rather you both were. However, since that occurrence, he’s had his eye on you. From time to time you can feel him exerting a little Ren himself, but someone as cute and kindly as him wouldn’t bring his sweet underclass man and ward’s first friend harm right…RIGHT!?

Initially it came as a shock that magic wasn’t at all related to Nen, but a different practice altogether. So, there are still limits to what you can do in this school for aspiring mages, but not many. In fact, there are some feats that you perform that have people questioning your species!

You explain that your Nen ability could be likened to that of their unique magic. Yours is known as True Heart’s Reflection, it allows you to peer into impactful moments of your target’s past with the caveat that the detail of the visions are directly linked with how greatly they weigh on the target in the moment (every flashback and vignette/story moments that are referenced but the prefect technically wasn’t there for).

I feel like there’s still more that could be done with this, but that’s for another day or even another writer 🤗

[bandgie]

An Uncertified Doctor

Alucard!smut x fem!reader, my man doesn't get enough attention :(((

synopsis: After an argument with your father about the nightly attacks and his reckless behavior, you find yourself in face with a demon who wants nothing more than to cause you pain. The curse you're given is brutal, needy, and utterly horrid. It's not until a man by the name of Alucard saves you, but at the cost of what's left of your dignity.

content warnings: blood, demons, corpses, drugging, cursed reader, fingering, it get super sticky here, blood, medicine play????, restraints, PIV, some light body mutilation (reader gets slashed across the arm), pullout method (USE PROTECTION PLEASE), oneshot

word count: 7.2k (went a little crzy)

Prologue ~

The children held each other as your mother continued telling stories of monsters. You had heard these a million times, your tiny fingers finding the prickly grass beneath you much more interesting. It was scary the first time you were warned of the beast in the castle, it's thirst for blood. You had cried, much like how the other children cried right now. Begged your mom to not let this monster get you, kill you.

"No!" one of the children cried, making you stop pulling on the grass. "I don't want the monster to drink my blood!" More children started protesting against their invisible enemy, crying and screaming. You turned to your mother, seeing her hide back a smile.

"And it won't get you," she promised, her voice gentle. "You must stay within the village, never venturing too far. And you also must listen to your parents. This monster loves eating naughty children."

That's how you knew this story was meant to scare children into listen to their parents. It become obvious when you did something wrong or bad, they would threaten you with the same blood-sucking demon. Do you want to go to his castle?! Your dad had yelled. I'll drag you there and he'll keep you instead!

The other children began making promises of being good, submissive to their parents. You had a frown on your face, perhaps you were the odd one out. You had a bad habit of not listening to authority, taking things into your own hands. A small part of you thought these stories were made up for you, to make you listen.

It didn't take long for the children's parents to arrive, picking up their terrified children. You watched as your mom went to the parents, most likely to explain why they were so upset. You stood on your tiny legs, walking to eat the remaining snacks that were left over from the school session.

"Ah, sweetie you can't eat too much. Save some room for supper," your mom said behind you. You only laughed though, shoving the remaining goodies into your mouth as you ran. Your mom chased you, bursts of giggles escaping your lips as you let your stubby legs take you as far as they could go.

You squealed when she grabbed you, pulling you up in the air. "No fair!" you screamed. "You're bigger than me!" Your mom only laughed and held you in her arms. You secretly wiped your dirty hands on her shirt, but it was far too obvious to go unnoticed.

She let out an irritated groan and yelled your name, "You know better. Do you want to monster to come get you?" Your giggles quickly died down, your mood turning sour. You huffed and crossed your arms, looking away from your mother, "Monsters are not real! That doesn't scare me."

She tsked at you, setting you down on the grass gently. "Love," her voice was serious, in a way that made you stop your attitude and listen intently. "Monsters are more than demons from the underworld. There are monsters here, on the very dirt you and I walk on. They will hurt you and take you from your family if you wonder too far., if you keep disobeying your family. Do you understand?"

Your small body trembled at her seriousness. Despite being at a young age, you knew that not all people were nice. "Bad men," you whispered, eyes wide. Your mom nodded, seeming satisfied with your answer. "Yes," she said. "Bad men."

She picked you back up and took you inside your small house, your dad already setting up the table for dinner. It stuck with you though, her words, your genuine fear. Even after you had grown, after real, hell-born demons began walking the Earth after the wrongful death of Dracula's wife...

The real demons were human.

Present ~

Your village was in shambles, buildings were half torn down, the smell of death and rotting bodies was pungent, blood painted the ground and walls. Still, your dad tried to make a defense team. A group of men that would fight back against the demons, losing most of the time. You know this was in vain, no mere man could win against a devil's spawn. Your dad was determined however, especially after your mothers death.

You hated how injured he was when he came back home, blood dripping at an alarming rate as you tried to patch him up. Resources was another issue the village, it was depleting. You had to settle for using an old cloth to bandage his wounds, ignoring how your dad said to save any clothes for the upcoming winter.

You sat him on the chair, wrapping the cloth around his arm when tears started to prick your eyes. You sniffed, trying to ignoring the way you wanted to yell at him to stop, to stay safe. You and him had argued about this for months, both of you too stubborn to see the other side.

Still, you cried. Sobbed as you tightened the 'bandage.' Your dad frowned when he saw your tears, using his good hand to wipe them away. "Why are you crying?" You scoffed at his question, anger replacing your sadness.

"Why am I crying?" Your voice is clipped, almost aggressive. "Look at yourself! Your putting yourself in danger, your putting all those men with you in danger! You're going to get yourself killed out there! Do you not give a shit about if you die?"

"Do not speak to me with that tone. Do not curse at me," your father rose he spoke, an attempt to establish the power he has. Before you would have listened, apologize for stepping out of line. Now however, there's nothing to lose. There's not much joy in this house, your dad turned destructive after seeing your moms cold body. Her death changed both of you.

"I will do what I please!" You yelled, standing on your tippy toes to be the same height. "You do! Going out there in a suicide attempt. You don't give a fuck about anything anymore! Not yourself, not this house, not me! I'm your daughter! You're supposed to protect me. You're supposed to stay with me, not those damned beasts!"

You voice was strong, thick with emotion. Tears spilled down your face, hands trembling as you spoke. Your dad was growing angry, you could see how his face turned red and eyes grew dark. "I am protecting you," he argued. "After this village is rid of Dracula's demons, we will-"

You laughed bitterly, interrupting his sentence. "There is no end to this hell," your voice was calmer now, still laced with venom. "I'm not a stupid little girl anymore. It's clear to see that God has abandoned us, there is no way to rid of Dracula's beasts."

Your dad breathed deeply, stepping away from you in an attempt to clam down. You stayed silent as he collect his composure, his thoughts. "Do not speak about the Father is such a way," he warned. "This is a test, a way for the Messiah to see if we really are worthy of walking through heaven's gates."

The church? Your dad has the nerve to preach the church's message when they're the ones that put you in this mess? "You are a fool," you spit, ignoring how your dad balled his fists. "The priests are the ones that caused this havoc. They are the reason mother died."

"Do not!" Your dad yelled, screamed. No matter how upset he got, he never yelled. Sure he raised his voice, but shouted? Never. You jumped, taking a step back as he approached your form. You lowered your head down, shame fogging your thoughts. You went too far.

"Don't you dare speak her name on your mouth. You disgrace me by using her death as an excuse for your temper." Your weeps resumed, looking at the darkness in your dad's eyes. An excuse? You would never. If anything, he was the one using her death to act reckless. You can't keep being in this house, surrounded by the memories of your happy family, what your life was.

What it will never be again.

You pushed him hard, shoving him onto the ground as you ran out of house. He screamed your name, shouting at you to come back. You ignored him, you ignored the bodies you passed, the violent sobs that wrecked you. It's too much to stay here, to endure all the emotional turmoil you have to go though.

So you ran, barefoot. You feet grew wet with the mud and blood mixed. You ran through the gates that kept your village somewhat protecting, ignoring the men on guard that yelled at you. You ran until you couldn't hear them shouting, you ran until the village was nothing but a blurry image in the distance. The grass was soothing under your feet, wiping away some of the wet essence on there. You clutched at your chest, heaving.

Your chest burned, your feet ached, your mouth craved water. You kept pushing forward until you saw a stream. No longer able to keep yourself up, you collapsed, crawling to the water until you were submerged in it. You bathed, drank, and nearly drowned in the stream. Your clothes were drenched, but that didn't matter. They would dry, like your tears.

It had been so long when you had last bathed properly, when you drank clean water. Your dad was coming back home with filtered water, mud still seen in the cups. But this water was clear, it was so easy to see the fish that swam within it. You laid in the water, letting it engulf you with just your head peeking up.

You will have to make your way back home soon, you can't be exposed in the wilderness like that. Demons did not rest, they were active at all times. It's a wonder how you didn't notice any on your way here. The thought of going back home however, was dreadful. You couldn't face your dad, you can't keep pretending like everything is fine and he will be safe. Something needs to change, but what?

You sat up, head thinking of ideas. Prayers do not work like your village had thought. Holy water however, was the real savior. Smaller demons would bursts into flames, bigger ones would be severely wounded. If only the priests at your village weren't cowards, hiding in their sanctuary.

While you were deep in thought, you didn't notice a demon perched on a nearby tree. It watched as you as you stood, water dripping from your clothes. Demons were not dumb creatures, though same acted without thought. They had some intelligence, the ability to plan and strategize. This demon was quite intelligent unfortunately for you, salvia dripping down its lips. It craved to tear your flesh, to drink you screams and break your soft bones. It had a bad habit of playing with it's food.

You walked out of the water, squeezing the parts of your loose dress at the bottom. It wasn't until you heard the soft thud that you looked up, skin prickling in fear as your eyes scanned for an enemy. Then you saw it, a man. He had purplish hair, skin deathly pale, eyes red as blood. You knew his human stature was a way to lure you in, to trust him. This 'man' was a demon.

"Stay back!" you cried, arms out in front of you to keep a distance. "Go back to where your came from, demon!" Your voice shook, eyes watering in fear. It laughed at you, stalking closer.

"That's not very nice," it says, smiling. "I feel hurt by your words, come comfort me." It opens its arms as if it expects a hug, you make a disgusted face.

"Fuck off!" You shout before you run, not caring what direction you're going it. It laughs again, mouth puling back to reveal absurdly sharp teeth. It chased you, letting you tire out before you slowed. It would be easy to take you somewhat compliant.

It tackled you on the ground, rolling on the grass until you were dizzy. It laid on top of you, red eyes sparking in excitement.

"Vermin!" You screeched, arms and legs kicking. "You evil fuck! Get off me!" It caught your violent attempts, easily using one of its hands to hold both of your own above your head. It's weight heavily settled on your stomach, giving you legs no access to kick freely at him.

"I'll kill you!" You threat, knowing how impossible that is. This makes the demon laugh uncontrollably, just for a moment forgetting it's sinful desire to defile you. It used its free hand to wipe a joyous tear, shaking its head.

"Quite the jester are you!" it says excitedly. "You will be fun, but refrain from calling me such cruel names. I am Magnus." You spit in its face, not caring how some of the salvia drips down on you.

"I don't give a shit what you are called, demon," you speak maliciously. "I have to respect for monsters like yourself." It frowns then, wiping the slobber off its cheek and sighing.

"You know, I thought I would enjoy touching your body. Seeing you submit to me in the vilest way possible. However, I think I should just kill you. Painfully," Magnus almost looks sad as he speaks. He sounds as if he didn't really want to hurt you, but you can see the disgusting smile on his face.

Magnus uses his free hand to grab you face, making your lips pucker and shape and 'o' form. Before you have the chance to protest or scream, he spits. You think it's way to get revenge for spitting at him earlier, but he perfectly aimed for the inside of you mouth. On instinct, you swallow. You grimace at the thought, the way is slide down your throat, how sweet it tasted.

You've heard of this. Demons that take advantage of women in the night, ripping their bodies once they're done. Survivors had told stories of the drool. The way the demons saliva was able to make the women crazed with need, make the obedient. You shuddered, you knew his kind. An incubus.

You hated how hot your body got, the desire that pooled in your stomach. Your body was still soaked in water, but you can feel your folds begin dripping in arousal. You shook your head and cried, whimpering at how you body was betraying your throats. You were all to aware of his skin on yours, his body weight pressing down on you. You craved for something to be in the deepest parts you, places you had never bothered touching after the world went to shit.

Magnus smiled as he watched you pant, eyes going wild with hunger. He was not going to give you pleasure, instead he was shred the skin off your meat, make you watch he stuffed his face of your tender muscles. You would only moan he hurt you, your brain would be too far gone to know the difference between pain and pleasure.

Your cunt though, he would not touch that at all. You would soon beg, not caring if he actually devoured your pussy. You would be craving just for someone to touch you there, to penetrate deep inside you. Magnus's fingernails sharpened, dipping his hand to your arms as he sliced the skin. You cried out, blood welting at the wound. He leaned down and licked, moaning at your taste.

"Someone's not a virgin," he muttered. Magnus thought for a moment. He was planning on taking your innocence, but now he's thinking of just fucking you cruelly. That would go against his point of torturing you, he wanted to deny you pleasure in any way possible in the most horrible way.

He sighed, torn between the two options. It was tempting, so tempting to cup your mound, take what little dignity you have left of yourself. Magnus watched as your face contorted in discomfort, fighting the aphrodisiac saliva that traveled in your throat and gut. He wanted to see it twist is pleasure, then rip it from you. Have you crumbling and breaking under him, begging him to stop while secretly wishing he wouldn't.

Before Magnus could choose, you cried out, hot tears falling down your face as you couldn't stop yourself from moaning. "Kill me," you croaked. He was used to this, it wasn't often, but some maidens would beg to be killed before fucked. "Just kill me already," you continued to weep.

The demon smiled, happy with your reactions and sorrow. "No, I quite like it when you beg."

Just as Magnus was going to slice the skin of your stomach with his nails, a large dog appeared, quickly knocking him down to the ground. Your body was released from the demons body weight, you cried in relief and distraught. It took so much strength to sit up, to ignore the aching in your body from running and the demon's drug.

Your unfocused eyes caught a glimpse of a white wolf and Magnus fighting. You groaned as you tried to stand, willing you legs to bend so you could place your weight on them. You were on your hands on knees, feeling disgusted at the drool that seeped down your legs.

You could hear them yelling, Magnus was talking to the animal like it could understand him. You wobbly stood, stop slightly hunched over as you trudged away from the fight.

Left... right... left... right... You walked slowly, trying to build the strength to continue. You should not have yelled at your dad, cursed him and his beliefs. The last thing you will have ever done with him is fight. Tears pricked your eyes again, the burning passion in your body was no match for the pain in your heart. If it's not Magnus that will kill you, it will be the wolf.

The ground rumbled, shaking so violently you feel to your knees. You yelled in frustration, it took so much just to stand. You can't possibly do it again, not when the loud sounds of punches and the pounding of your head rings. Not when your body violently shakes with need, with desire. You hate it, how you go limp on the ground. How your shaky hands find their way between your legs.

You needed something to soothe the ache. It was unbearable, it was inhumane. You placed your hand over your clothes cunt, moaning touch. You're disgusting, you're vile. You're succumbing to the demons liquid, his drug. It's not enough though, not with how tired your entire body is. You wanted more, no, you need more. Your eyes start to close, body shutting down from the deathly arousal your experiencing.

You miss how the white wolf managed to rid Magnus, having him flee from both of you. It moved to you, shape-shifting as it did. There stood a tall man, long limbs with blonde hair that reached his torso. He carefully picked you up, ignoring the lewd sounds you made when he touched you. You were unconscious, but your body was acting as if it was awake. Your sleepy hands gripped, grabbed, and clutched his body, trying to get closer to him.

The man let out an irritated sigh, eyes closing before he walked with you in his arms. He was dreading the thought of dealing with you and the aphrodisiac, but he took you nonetheless.

"This will be such a hassle," he mutters.

~

Three days. You have been in excruciating pain for three days and who knows how more to go. You were informed by the blonde man who saved you, Alucard, that you were cursed. It was a common one succumbi and incubi used for their victims. It was supposed to drive the person insane with need for an undetermined amount of time. It was painful not being touched, and painful being touched. Essentially, you had to choice to die in heat or be fucked to death.

Alucard was working on a potion, a reversal one that would undo what had been done to you by Magnus. He left you alone most of the time, bringing you food and water that you would nearly vomit. Both of you were beginning a routine; him bringing you food, you telling him that only food you need is dick, him forcing the food down you mouth, and you cumming whenever he grabbed your face to force your lips open.

You were beyond mortified when you had creamed your pants from a mere touch of his hand, but he didn't even mention it. By now, he was used to your howls of need, of pain. The way you voice echoed throughout his castle was a constant reminder of the pain you were in. Alucard treated you more like a cat in heat than a cursed human.

Even if it weren't for the curse, you would still want Alucard to stay besides you. It was so lonely to be in a room, chained to the bed (something he had to do for his and your protection). There was no one to talk to, no one to keep you company during this time, nothing to look at.

Alone.

You tiredly fight against your chained hands, your chained legs. Sweat and tears drip down your face, and you could feel the nonstop wetness dripping onto the bed from between your thighs. You haven't touched yourself once since being here. Though you've came, without meaning to, it's still not enough. There's nothing for your pussy to clamp down on, nothing that you could rub between your thighs.

Instead you just lie there, sobbing and cursing at yourself, and Magnus, at leaving your village. None of this would have happened had you stay there. You would have been with company, with human contact, with the only family you have left. More tears slip down your face, and you know it's not just from painful arousal.

Your thoughts are stopped by the door opening, revealing Alucard who has a tray in his hand. You lift your head up to peer at him, taking in his slender frame, long fingers, gentle eyes, and unblemished skin. Just like that, your saddened thoughts are replaced by the familiar need for sex.

You force your head back down onto the bed, biting your lower lip. You're on the verge of begging him to fuck you, though you know he won't. It's futile to even consider, but the skin on your lip still breaks from staying silent. You close your eyes when you hear his footsteps getting closer, you won't be able to stand it if you see him.

"The potion in done," his voice is gentle besides you. This time you snap you eyes open, head turning to his direction. Your eyes land on the tray that has not only food, but a clear glass. It's swirling with green and blue, some gold flecks fluttering around. You left out a sigh of relief, but it comes out like a moan.

Without thinking, you reach for the bottle. You're quickly restricted by the chains, and you yell from frustration. "Fuck Alucard! Just give it to me." You know you're being rude, and it's the last thing you should be to the man helping you. Still, you're not sure if you're asking for the potion or something else.

He set the tray down on a nearby nightstand, grabbing the glass and looking at you wearily. "It's been days since you've been cursed. You could drink it now, but it would take a few more days for the symptoms to clear," Alucard trails off like there's something else, and truthfully you don't have the patience to keep waiting.

"It's possible to also make the symptoms clear up quickly, just within a few hours. However-"

You trash around the bed impatiently. "I don't care! Heal me quickly. I'm not sure I can take much longer." The smell of him has you keening, drooling at the scent. It's the most he's talked to you, and you're clenching around nothing just at his voice. You fear of what you'll do if you have to withstand this feeling any further, death is seeming like a much better alternative.

Alucard's fingers grip the glass a little more harder, and without a word, he sits at the edge of the bed. The dip of his weight makes you anxious, horny, needy. You pray that he quickly gets on with whatever he has to do, but you also wish he can take you. Your body starts shaking in anticipation. This man hasn't even touched you, yet his mere presence makes you vibrate with arousal.

You watch as his hands ghost over your thighs where your dress ends. Your breath hitches, and you nearly cry when he lifts up the dress. He bunches it at your waist, and when his knuckles graze your flesh, you cum. A sob wrecks your body, and your hips left off the bed. You feel so embarrassed, so disgusted with yourself, yet you can't stop the hot pleasure that raked through your body.

Alucard waits until you flop back down into the bed, heavy breathing. Though he's killed demons and his own father, he's never experienced someone with such a curse. You're tempting to him, your soft skin and pleading eyes. The noises you make are so pretty to him, but he knows better than to think anything else.

He's reserved, tucked away in a castle that teleports at will. He doesn't bother with much companionship, let alone a night with a woman. After what happened last time, he swore to stay away from helping people unless necessary. Humans are deceiving, selfish, and everything his father feared. Still, he has a heart, he had a human mother. There is evil in humans yes, but there is also good.

You don't notice how Alucard's eyes travel your body, how his pants start getting a little tighter around the crotch area. You're so out of it, so desperate, it's nearly impossible to ignore you. It takes unbelievable strength to pull your underwear to the side, more to ignore the way the cloth stick to your pussy. Alucard unconsciously licks his lips.

You moan at the feeling of being exposed, of being looked at. You dare to life your head up, peeking at Alucard who dips his middle finger in the cup to coax it in the liquid. He notices your staring, and looks up. "I promise to do nothing indecent. I just have to insert this inside," he explains.

You only moan in response, opening your legs wider for his access. With gentle movements, Alucard smears his finger all over you clit. You squeal, body quivering from the stimulation. He's applying it like ointment, but what he's doing is anything but doctor-like. Alucard is avoiding your bud, the place where you ache for him to touch the most. You try to maneuver your hips so he could graze it, but he keeps one hand at your hips to keep you still.

Though he's touching you, something you've been praying for since you got to his castle, now it's not enough. You begin begging, pleading with him to touch you. You've lost what decency you had left, opting to succumb to the effects of the curse.

"But I am touching you," Alucard protests. You watch as his lips fight from turning into a smirk. Oh he's into this. Now you finally take in how his tongue keeps licking his lip, how dilated his pupils are, the way his fangs poke out from his -

Wait, fangs?

Surely, you must be hallucinating. Delirious from pleasure that you've began seeing things. You blink a few times, trying to get your eyes right. When you open them, however, they're still there. Your eyes widen in disbelief, in shock. You open your mouth to ask about it, but he slips his finger inside.

You whimper instead, fingers clutching the sheets under you. Your eyes roll back to your head, letting your walls squeeze his finger. You're panting, thoughts of his inhuman teeth forgotten as you finally have something inside you.

"Forgive me if you're a maiden," his voice breaks through your moans. "This is the fastest way to the the results you want. Tell me to stop, I will."

You shake your head so harshly, Alucard worry it might fall off. "No! No," you cry out. "I'm not-fuck! I've had- shiiiiiit," Your mouth fails you. It's impossible to speak now that he's started pumping his finger inside you. It's nothing compared to cock, but it's still long enough to have make you squirm.

"Ahh," Alucard's voice is understanding, "I see." Truthfully, he's glad you're not a virgin. It would have been awkward when you've healed, he can't handle confrontation like that. He gives a few more pumps before he pulls out, a string of your essence still clinging to his finger as if begging to not leave.

"Put it back in!" You sob, fighting against the chains. You're left empty, pussy throbbing like it's also crying. Your teary eyes watch as he dips two fingers into the potion. You almost forgot he was giving you medicine, too distracted with how much your desire pooled for him.

"Please." There's no point in pleading, you know he will give you what you need. Still, the thought of being left here again to endure this pain has you worried. Alucard pulls his fingers out of the glass and rubs the liquid on your clit. This time, he does touch the bundle of nerves. You whimper, head thrown back as you relish in his touch.

Alucard releases his hand from your waist to dip his middle and ring finger into the potion. Now his two fingers on each hand soaked, he moves it to enter your cunt. He watched as you mouth falls open in a loud moan as he pumps and rubs you. You're tightening so much around him, convulsing like he's exorcising a demon.

A quiet groan escaped his mouth when you start fucking yourself on his fingers. With the little free movements you have, you shift your hips upwards and downwards. You don't have much energy, but doing this makes it so that his fingers are able to hit your sweet spots.

Alucard speeds up his movements on rubbing you, feeling your insides spasm around his fingers. You're close again, and your lower half is so sticky from all the combined wetness. You don't bother counting on how many times you've finished from his hands, but in how skilled he is. Alucard's movements are calculated, soft, and gentle. Despite making your pussy squelch and squirt, he does it as elegant as ever.

With another loud moan, you cum on his hand, letting your hips still as you savor your orgasm. Eyes closed, legs stiff, and mouth hanging open, Alucard pulls his finger completely away from your body. You gasp, looking up to see him eyeing your spasming walls. Sure, you might need this 'healing' more than him, but he looks as desperate.

It's not until you see Alucard move to the bottle that you notice it's almost empty. Truthfully, you've began to feel the beginning parts of the working medicine. You can think a little clearer, your head isn't pounding as hard, and your body doesn't ache as painfully with desire. Still, your body craves more. From the curse or from your own yearning, only God knows.

"Wait," you speak up. Alucard halts his movements, fingers just above the cup. "What is it?" He asks, "Are you in pain?" Some of the lust in his eyes was replaced with worry, and you would've melted on the spot had you not had your exposed pussy bared to him.

"No, I'm fine," your voice is reassuring. "Actually, I think it's working." Alucard nods, "It seems so, you can speak in full sentences now." You laugh at his words, a little embarrassed at your previous behavior. You chew on your lower lip, now able to feel some shame from what you want to ask.

"Is it possible to..." you trail off. Your eyes scan your nude legs, his wet fingers, then your eyes land on the tent in his pants. Alucard notices this, blushing at your bold vision. "To what?" He pushes. Even if you're being very direct with your eyes, he still needs that verbal confirmation.

You think on how to word it properly so that you don't further humiliate yourself. Then you think, fuck it. "You have already seen my womanhood and felt it yourself. What's the harm in using your cock to apply the serum?" There, you asked him. You let out an exhale, surprised at yourself with your own bluntness.

His eyes widen, then he scans your body. You're tied, chained to the bed. You can't do him any harm even if you wished to, plus you did not seem skilled in hunting demons or anything of the sort. Alucard weighs the pros and cons in his head before coming to a conclusion. "I suppose you're right, there is no difference at this point."

Alcuard stands off the bed, and you watch in anticipation as he rids himself of his pants. Wet hands untie the knot, gently dragging the material down his thighs, calfs, until he hits his ankles. Even in undressing, he is as poise as ever. With nothing underneath, you watch how his dick touches his lower abdomen, the head screaming to the played with.

A hum leaves your lips, legs opening a little wider upon seeing him. Alucard is far too embarrassed to look at you, but you can tell he appreciates your reaction from the red in his face. You yank of the chains enough to have them rattle, forcing him to look up at you. "Rid of these quickly. I think my arms are about to fall off."

You watch as his expression falls a little, a small look of pain crosses his eyes. "I cannot."

You raise an eyebrow, "You cannot?" He nods, confirming your question. "I find it more...comfortable to keep you bind." His tone is set, but the way his eyes meet yours shows his nervousness. You sigh, a little irritated at his request. You click your tongue a few times, thinking. "What about my legs then? Could you unchain them at least?"

He taps his chin thoughtfully, almost forgetting the fact that his dick is still out and proud. "Yes," Alucard comes to a resolution. "Tell me if you feel discomfort." You thank him and watch as he bends over to the bed, easily opening the clamps on your ankles to set you free.

Once your legs are released, you stretch. You feel a few bones pop and groan in satisfaction. Alucard chuckles at you, now finding himself on the bed as he crawls to your hips. Without missing a beat, you reopen your legs. You push your knees up to your chest, letting him adjust in front of you.

Anticipation relights in your chest as you observe him between your legs. Alucard soothingly rubs his hands up and down the back of your thighs, planting kisses on your somewhat sore ankles.

Gentle, you think. You haven't been with a lover in a while, and to be treated so tenderly after so long does something to you. Alucard's sweet, golden eyes meet you. Though you can see the passion and lust in them, you can't help but see fear. It's strange. Why is he one scared when you're the one who's tied? At his will and power literally beneath him, yet it's him who trembles in anxiousness.

"I'm not going to hurt you," you don't know why you say it. Perhaps it's because you want to make him feel better. A part of you regrets even speaking up, but that feeling goes away quickly when he smiles almost shyly at you. "I know," he says. "It's just been a while."

You were going to say that you have also been abstinent, but you moan instead when you feel the head of his cock sliding against your clit. From the previous cum and orgasms, Alucard finds himself humping against you eagerly. He uses his hands to reach down and press his cock harder against you, making sure to apply pressure.

You quiver, eyes locked on his as you hear the slickness of your connecting bodies. Alucard keeps his other hand at the back of you thigh to keep your leg open. His hips move with determination, captivated by your soft flesh.

The curse has not yet fully gone away, so it's not long before you feel the impending build up of yet another orgasm. You're moaning at every thrust Alcuard provides you to let him know that you're close. He watches how his dick glistens from your wetness despite not even being inside you once. Alucard knows it's just the curse effects, but a small part of his hopes it's from his actions.

Just to experiment, Allured dips the head of his cock into your entrance before sliding back out. You clench around emptiness, suddenly eager to cream his cock. "Alucard," his name is magic on your tongue. He doesn't even need to ask what you need nor do you need to say more. You both want it inside.

Alucard groans as he gentle slides his cock in you. There's little to no resistance, and even if there was, you would take only pleasure in the stretch. It's already hard not to when he fills you up so nicely, his girth spreading your lower lips perfectly. You didn't intend to come with his first breach, but you did anyway.

Your body tightens, your warm walls clamping on his dick like you did to his fingers not too long ago. An actual whimper leaves his lips, and you only squeeze him tighter. You can feel yourself pulsing around him, the leaking of your cum down your ass. Surely, you must look exhausted. With a heaving chest, sweaty body, and knotted hair, there must be nothing appealing to your appearance.

Still, Alucard finds beauty in your afterglow. The wet and dry cum spread between your thighs, the way your eyes seem to gloss over every time you finish, truly a sight to behold. It's been so long since he has experienced pleasure to this extent. Alcuard will cherish this moment for as long as he can.

It's why he thrusts into you again, relishing in your overstimulated noises. All you can do, and want to do, is take it. Let Alucard take you as he pleases, as he deserves. He's been so patient, so kind. This is the last he deserves.

Now that both of his hands are on your thighs, you start honing in on his touches. His long hair tickles your legs, even a part of your stomach when he leans down to get a better angle. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, almost possessively. His mouth is open, panting as he fucks into you.

Even in his most primal state, Alucard is still graceful in his movements. You don't think it's possible for any man to look as beautiful as he does in the moment, yet here he is. You unconsciously tug at the restraints at your wrists, desperate to touch him, to kiss him.

His pink, soft lips are all you can look at while Alucard is too distracted with looked at how your cunt eats him up. Now with more confidence, he lifts your legs higher. He pins your thighs to your chest so tightly that it constricts some of your air flow. The current mating press has him close to your face, dick adjusting to the new position.

There's no way you can't not pay attention to his mouth now, his breath on your skin. Alucard is on his feet now, crouched so he could slam into your overstimulated pussy perfectly. He's so deep, so thick that you feel his tip go almost in to your cervix. You cry out, eyes teary as he finally looks up at you.

Alucard looks at you as if he's hurt you, but now he can see the pure lust gaze you have. It's almost as if Alucard had heard your wish to kiss him because the next thing you know, those same lips are pressing down on yours. You moan into his mouth, a sudden burst of pleasure explodes in your stomach.

"Holy shit," you manage to speak. Your legs are spasming insanely, his grip had turned a little harsh just to keep you still. You don't pulling away from his sloppy kiss, you know his thighs must be soaked in your cum.

He is first to break the kiss, letting out a choked laugh before driving into you harder. You didn't even get the chance to come down from your high. Instead, your body moves like a rag doll underneath him from the intense overstimulation. Now you're somewhat thankful for the chains, you have something to grab onto without worry of hurting anyone (besides yourself).

Alucard knows he won't last much longer. Not only is his dick going to explode, but his legs will give out from staying at a squatting position. With loud groans and unfocused eyes, you know he's close. After days of watching your struggle, the desperation for Alucard's touch, he finally gets to soak in all your being.

A part of you wishes that you could do more for him, but the way his face begins to twist in pleasure tells you that he's perfectly happy with how things are now. His hips stutter, your name leaves his lips in aroused chants, and he pulls out.

You gasp at the sudden lost of contact, immediately begging for him to put it back in. Though you have cum an already unknown amount of times on his cock and fingers, you think it's only fair for him to get the same treatment in finishing in your soft pussy no matter how fuck out you are.

He ignores your wails though, he continues stroking himself the completion on your stomach. Wet cum sprouts on your tummy, legs still stuck in the previous position. Though you know you should be grateful for him not cumming inside, you're still thoroughly disappointed. Alucard has the same feeling as you, but he's still gentleman.

You slowly let your legs down, wincing at the soreness and stiffness you're met with. Alucard is quick to help you, gently placing your legs on the bed. You're still breathing heavily, on the brink of passing out when he awkwardly lays besides you. From the way he's panting, he's also just as tired as you.

It takes a while before he's able to speak, turning his head to you. "Are you okay?"

You laugh, also turning to meet his eyes, "Yes, Alucard. I feel great." He hums thoughtfully at your answer, a soft smile on his lips. You want to talk to him more. You want to ask about his castle, how he seems like to be the only one here, where he came from, where he learned to fuck like that.

Despite your curiosity, sleep gets the best of you. And you think this will be the first time you get a good nights rest in years.

a/n: this is my man frfr

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby, @nekohollowsychogoth

[mishi-with-jazz]

i saw you are accepting requests for moonwater x reader! id prefer female!reader but obviously if you dont do that gender neutral!reader is just as perfect.

i was thinking like a hurt/comfort thing where the three are just lounging in remus’s dorm and reader starts getting anxious and they like calm her down/talk her through it?

obviously, if you dont like it or just dont want to write it you dont have to!

thank you for the request!! I hope you like it, its short but I tried my best<33

Anxiety winds/ Under the weather

poly moonwater x reader!

Summary: The readers being traumatised by some conditions that killed her loved ones.

Warnings: none really, js a whole lotta fluff.

NOT PROOF READ.

y/c/f :you comfort food.

note its a one-shot but with a Prolouge.

PROLOUGE

After finally graduating from hogwarts, you moved into your boyfriend's apartment. The three of you really needed to get put pf your houses. Regulus's being walburga-affected, Remus's horrid-memories affected and yours- well, you didn't really have a house, you lived in an orphanage, your parents had kicked the bucket in a car crash,while you were at your aunts house, your parents were coming from their respective jobs, It was a stromy, windy day and so the car had lost control. Your aunt really disliked you since you were magical (she was a muggle), so she threw you in an orphanage.

So now you were here. With your boyfriends in a cosy little apartment. They were both on job. You hadn't gone to yours since you were a little under the weather. But the thing was today was your parents' death day. The day when your parents died. But what was even worse was that it was extremely windy today. And you were home alone.

The windows snapped yet again. Your heart beating ever so quickly. You had tried everything, yet you still couldn't feel comfort, wrapped up in the regulus's blanket and with y/c/f. It had been 4 hrs already, and you were scared out of your skin. You looked at the clock. They should have been home by now. You tried not to think about the worst, but you just could not stop. Finally, you brought yourself to call them, but just as you feared, they didn't pick. Neither of them. You wanted scream, shout, cry, but your throat had become too dry. You just froze on the spot, not moving, tears fleeting out of your eyes. A few minutes later, you felt the need to get up, but as soon as you got out of bed, you fell down. You felt useless. You lost your parents. You lost them. And it was best to just leave it. Forget it. You sat on the floor crying.

You woke up with your head in regulus's lap. While remus cold compressed you forehead.

They didn't realise you were awake as they talked to each other in low tones until you jerked up.

YOUR OKAY. OH THANK GOD. I WAS SO WOR- You continued but no ine could really understand as most of it was muffled by your sobbing.

Shhh...its okay baby, we are here now. Remus said as he placed you on your lap. A scarred hand running comfortable rounds on your back.

Why d-did you gu-uyzs n-not pick my phone?? You wanted to sound angry but you were crying a little too much for that.

I told you my magical box thingy is not working, princess. Regulus explained

And apparently mine had died. Remus added.

Sorry we couldn't contact you. We know it was a hard day for you. Regulus said who was on his own verge of tears.

Its okay. You sobbed. Can w-we just sleep?

Of course, baby. Remus placed you on the bed and laid next to you. And so did regulus.

Tho the window was still snapping, but you still fell asleep, not because you felt safe but because you knew the people you loved were safe.

A/n: I hope yall like it. It's def not the best since I'm writing on my phone, and I really just wanted to get done. Also, send in any requests I will 'get em' done, i write for almost all Harry Potter!

Also tell me if yall wanna be tagged in vibrations or chaos, they will be coming out soon

[fleur-bbyy]

stupid girl /// katsuki bakugo

warnings: bakugo is a lil meanie, he gets softer. lots of f bombs, fem! reader, characters are 18+.

wc: 2.2k

listened to this on youtube while writing, kind of goes with the story i think???

don’t bite your lip or grit your teeth, just count to ten and try to breathe, you stupid bitch can’t you see, the perfect one for you is me?

bakugo couldn’t stand you.

that was an understatement, he fucking hated you. steam practically shooting from his ears like a cartoon character every time you were around. yet, he couldn’t get your stupid face out of his head.

he hated how much you were willing to give up for your friend’s happiness. hated the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. hated that stupid fucking twinkle in your eye that even stayed sparkling when you guys argued. hated how driven you were during training, even when you knew you’d lose to him.

most of all, he hated your stupid perfect face. your stupid hair. your stupid lips. your stupid stupid stupid body.

yeah. he fucking hated you.

that’s why he was marching up the stairs to his dorm, making sure he was heard loud and clear. especially making sure you heard.

“you totally like her, dude.” kiri said, slapping the back of bakugo’s shoulder. he could of killed his friend red-headed friend. especially for saying something so ridiculous as that in the common area where other people could hear.

“fuck you just say?” bakugo turned to look at kirishima, looking like he was ready to commit murder. his brows that seemingly were always perpetually furrowed somehow pulled deeper into his face. his eyes so sharp he could probably barely see through the squint.

“woah no need to get hostile, man. i’m just saying. you never quit yappin’ about her, even if it is about how much you hate her. plus, you’ve been in a mood ever since she beat you during training today.” kiri slowly removed his rough hand from his best friend’s shoulder, scared it was finally his time to face the fury that is bakugo’s wrath.

“of course i’m fuckin’ pissed. she’s no better than deku and she beat me!” he was seething. how dare the guy that’s supposed to be his best friend suggest such a foul, horrid thing. you? of all people? that stupid girl? that stupid, beautiful girl? “you don’t know shit about fuck. say something like that again and i’ll snap your neck.” and with that, bakugo stood up from the common area couch and began to stomp to his room. not before kiri could get one last sentence in,

“yeah, okay man. come talk when you’re ready to show some manliness and actually talk about your feelings.” katsuki didn’t acknowledge him, only stomping away harder. making sure to slam the doors he came in contact with during the short trip to his room. kirishima’s words felt like a hard punch to the gut. maybe it was because he hated you. hated the idea that people think he likes you.

maybe it was because he knew kiri was true. maybe it was that he knew he wasn’t hiding it well, either.

that’s how he ended up in his dorm room doing practically anything to calm his racing, lovesick mind. blasting music, occasionally playing his drum set along with the song, but most of the time he boxed the punching bag in his room. trying to kill the energy his anger built up in him. stupid incessant anger and stupid fucking girl.

he screamed at the punching bag like it was a living, breathing person. like he could hurt it’s feelings. he didn’t know exactly who he was imagining it as, just as someone to scream at. he wanted it to be you, but he couldn’t stand the thought of making you cry, even in his imagination. he already felt guilt for the amount of times you’ve cried over him in the real world, though he’d never admit it out loud. how could he did that to you in the dream world too?

and that’s how you ended up practically in tears in your neighboring dorm. you just wanted to finish this dumb math assignment from class. “why do we even need this? we’re becoming pro-heroes for gods sake, not damn mathematicians?” you thought. you grabbed your pencil and tried to solve another problem, but the muffled voice of eyedress singing jealous and your neighbor’s unrelenting yelling making your brain short-circuit faster than denki using his lightening.

sighing, you threw your pencil somewhere into the abyss that is your desk and picked up your phone, putting your headphones on to try and drown out some noise and texted your pink-haired friend.

is bakugo always this loud?

girly if you’re just now figuring this out, i’m worried for you

i’m serious mina. i cant even hear myself think and if i don’t finish this math, aizawa will have my ass.

calm down, you’ll finish it. try going over there and knocking. maybe he’ll tone it down?

mina be so astronomically fr right now

me?

go to the guy that makes it very known that he can’t stand me’s room?

bffr

yea yea he acts like he hates you, promise he doesn’t. just go over there and if something pops off, call me and your personal chihuahua will come over and get him. he’s probably just mad you beat him today

okay i’ll trust you this time but if i die you’re not getting anything from my will

then don’t die! :)

you left her on read, slipped your house shoes on your feet, and removed your headphones. carefully placing them onto your desk. you were trying your best to mentally prepare yourself the go over to the blonde’s room. in your three years at ua, you’d never been so scared of your neighbor. the last two years in was always kiri and shoji that neighbored you. something happened with the lists this year that had you and kirishima switching dorm rooms, placing you next to thee katsuki bakugo.

“god, please please please don’t let him explode me to hell and back.” you whispered as you stood at your door. taking a deep breath, you left your room and walked the few feet over to his and knocked on the door. thinking about how fast you could bail and make a break for it back to your room, just in case, of course.

it only took a few seconds for him to come and open the door. the once muffled music now flooding into the halls and into your eardrums. his tanned skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat that started to soak into his black tank top and sweats. his right hand rested on the doorknob and his left held a pair of drumsticks. he scowled down at you as if you were scum to the earth.

“you just gonna stand there and stare all day? whad’dya want?” you felt your body tense at his sharp words. you tried your best to relax your muscles so he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing you were uncomfortable.

“um yeah, by any chance could you tune it down a bit please? im having a really hard time working.” you twiddled with your thumbs behind your back like a child would if they were caught in lie. his face unfazed and unchanged.

“did you forgot that I can’t fucking stand you? why would I do that shit for you? why would i do anything for you?” you weren’t gonna lie to yourself, his words hurt. everytime he hurled insults at you, a small piece of your heart broke. you were a sensitive girl, you always have been. anytime he did it in front of your class, you pretended to take them in stride. once you were alone, you let the tears spill.

“look bakugo. i know you hate me. i know you can’t stand me. i know you’re mad you lost to me today. all i’m asking you to do is be a decent fucking human and turn your shit down. i never play my music this fucking loud so have some consideration.” you really didn’t mean for the words to come out. a mix of your frustration and sleepiness with an added splash of the intimidation you felt standing in front of the blonde. you had to admit, he was attractive. you would go as far to call him beautiful.

but none of that mattered now that you knew you were going to die by the hands of king explosion murder dynamight at the ripe age of 18. your eyes widened his shock like it wasn’t you that said the words but some other person. his eyes mirrored yours with his own surprised face. but his shocked expression quickly returned to a seething anger only violence could solve.

but a few looks at your pretty face and he couldn’t bring himself to pummel you into oblivion. his clenched fists relaxed.

he didn’t hate you. he hated the thought of not hating you.

“yeah I can’t fucking stand you,” he began to move closer to you, “I can’t stand the drive you just have to succeed.” you wanted to back away, but your feet wouldn’t move.

“can’t stand how supportive you are of others, even if it means they get ahead.” he dropped his drumsticks. he cares about those things like hatsume cares for her inventions. and he dropped them like they were nothing.

“grind my fuckin’ gears when you try to shake my hand and smile after we spar, even if you just got your ass handed to you. breaks my fuckin’ heart.” he was inches away from you. you still couldn’t find yourself able to move away.

“and it really gets me when you act all tough in public. dishing my insults back at me, but crying your perfect damn eyes out right next to me in your dorm. y’know how paper thin these walls are? i bet you didn’t even notice that most nights i was tearing up with you.” he was right, you never did. either he was an extremely quiet cryer or you genuinely were that loud when you sobbed. you had no idea bakugo had the capacity in his brain the feel guilt. you also never noticed how tall he really was compared to you. it’s too hard to miss now that you’re eye level with his huge, built pecs.

“why didn’t you ever say anything, bakugo?” your voice sounded more meek and mousy than you intended it too. when you traversed to his room, you were expecting at the least a door slammed in your face and to maybe return to your room with a few less teeth than you had when you left. not a goddamn love confession.

it’s not like you didn’t enjoy it, though.

because somewhere in the back of your own scattered mind, you felt the same about him.

“because you’re a stupid, stupid girl that couldn’t figure it out yourself. and yeah i guess i’m a stupid guy f-“ you cut him off before he could finish. grabbing the blonde by his sharp jaw and slim cheek to bring his lips to yours. they were soft, felt as if he applied chapstick before your came over. his breath smelled like the fresh mint sprigs he added to his water bottle.

he surprised himself and you by actually locking lips back. the way your mouth fit his felt all too natural for him, as if he was really supposed to be meant for you and vice versa. he grabbed you by your waist to pull you closer to him. he never wanted to let go, never wanted this moment to end. he wasn’t entirely sure it was real until you pulled away. a small string of saliva still connecting the two of you that verified to him that this actually happened.

the two of you stood in a fat silence. taking in the others features. neither of you wanting to speak up and ruin what already felt perfect and serene. curious hands wandered the other’s bodies. curious eyes darting back and forth to soak up every detail of the moment. after a few more moments of silence, you decided to speak up again.

“what do we do now?” you asked. not too sure if you were asking him or just asking yourself out loud. he looked at you in a puppy-dog kind of quizzical way.

“we wait for when we’re not exhausted to talk about it.” you had always admired how level-headed his decisions were, no matter the situations. from plotting murder to simple group projects to saving a city, he could always make a good, quick decision.

“tomorrow?” you replied. beginning to pull away from katsuki’s embrace. you hated the cold that began to spread across your skin where his arms were just warming you.

“it’s a date.” he gave you a smile. not the half-assed katsuki bakugo smile. a real, genuine one where you could see his singular dimple that adorned his left cheek. you returned the gesture and turned to walk the few feet over to your door. he never left his until he knew you were back in yours, safe.

now sufficiently calm, he turned his music down and replaced the loud love songs to more calming, sleepier ones. he decided in the hallway he’s gonna allow himself to go to sleep with the music still on. so the calming music could waft into your room and either help you concentrate or fill your pretty head with thoughts of sleepiness, too.

he still couldn’t stand you. but now not in a hateful way.

he couldn’t stand how perfect you are.

and he couldn’t stand how you made him fall for you so hard.

he couldn’t stand the fact that he fell for such a perfect, stupid girl.

[captain-mj]

This has been on my mind a lot since I read your monster AUs and I love your writing ❤️

König being surprised that one of the team members is immediately comfortable around him. Usually people react to him with fear or at least caution. He doesn’t suspect that it is because Horangi is something much darker than he could have ever imagined.

(Maybe he’s a Gumiho? Where better to get a supply of fresh hearts than in the special forces. Also plz to as sfw or nsfw as you like 🙈)

Never heard of this creature before so thank you so much!! It’s so fucking cool

~~~~

König followed behind Horangi, watching for any enemies. They were alone on this mission but so far there hadn’t been much action. 

It gave him time to think about Horangi. Most people were put off by König. His size, the hood or even just his general disposition. Horangi never did though. He always looked at him with the same cool calmness he gave everyone. It was so nice, being treated as everyone else from the beginning. 

König should’ve known there would be something wrong. This mission had been just a little too easy. The IED went off when Horangi tripped a wire and then it all went to hell. 

König flew through the air, almost weightless for a moment. He slammed onto his back and all the air left him. His body wouldn’t move and for a moment, he worried he may be paralyzed if it wasn’t for the pain that followed. Everything in him ached down to his toes. 

Men came from nowhere and König realized this would be the end. He looked around for Horangi, trying to see where he was. Or how many pieces he was. The explosion had been focused on him and König decided he didn’t want to know. 

König tried to move his limbs. Tried to twitch them. 

The men came closer, one of the guns moving to his head. 

“You here alone?”

König frowned. Wha- 

Something slammed into the men and then there was an intense sound. A bleeding, horrid screeching that broke the air. Gunshots from multiple guns blared but they were silenced one by one. 

König tried to move, but his body just wouldn’t listen. He started to struggle and panic flooded through him. 

“König.” Horangi spoke softly. His footsteps grew closer.

“Horangi! You are okay! We need.. need.” He trailed off, seeing how bloody Horangi was when he came into view.

Horangi didn’t have his mask on. Or his helmet.  König could see the scars on his face and the... fox ears. They trailed off into his dark hair and behind him,  König could faintly comprehend... something. It looked a bit like tails. Several of them, also thrashing in tandem. 

His mouth. There was so much blood. His teeth, sharp vicious things, all stained with it.

“Can you move?”

König stared, very afraid. He managed to shake his head, body freezing as adrenaline filled his veins. Normally, it helped. He wanted to fight. But his body decided now was the best time to change his fight or flight response to fucking freeze.

“Shame.” Horangi moved and... straddled him. 

“Did you eat those men?” König couldn’t breath, the weight on Horangi meshing with the pain to crush his lungs. 

“Just their hearts. Only part worth eating.”

“Are you going....”  König started to gasp and Horangi looked down at him, a smile playing at his lips. 

Those teeth. Needle sharp. Clearly made to tear through flesh. He opened it slowly, baring them, before leaning down, hovering right over where König’s heart would be buried under the skin.

“You’d taste amazing. I just know it. Might have some other organs worth eating.” He reached down and removed his sniper hood. “Don’t worry. No one else here.” 

König froze, not wanting Horangi to view his face. His hands ended in dark claws and they were trailing over his face, tracing the freckles. 

“Bitte...” 

“I wouldn’t hurt you, König.” Horangi said quietly. “Wouldn’t want to lose my friend.” He leaned down. “Do you trust me?”

König nodded slowly, staring into his eyes. They were so dark, pools of the night sky. 

Horangi kissed him softly, pushing what felt like a hard candy into his mouth.  König’s eyes widened and he froze, feeling hands on his face. Horangi’s tongue invaded his mouth, mapping it out. He swallowed on instinct and the candy slid down his throat.

Horangi grabbed his face hard and forced him to look at the sky. It felt like everything came crashing down. Things he shouldn’t know invading his brain in a way that bordered on painful. 

The pain in his body disappeared. He felt fine. 

Horangi had gotten off of him during his... whatever that was. 

“You won’t speak of this. I’ve had to clear an entire base because they found out before. I’m not afraid to do it again. Everyone you know, everyone you work with, dead and gone. Understood?”

“Yes.” König got up, flexing his fingers and his toes. Everything worked fine. “Thank you.” 

Horangi fixed himself, putting his mask back on. He didn’t speak again. 

König looked at the bodies with their cracked open ribcages. Part of him knew he should be disgusted or frightened. But Horangi said he wouldn’t hurt him and he trusted him. He padded after him. 

It was a while before it came up again. They ended up on another mission, just the two of them. König and Horangi had been attacked by a few men, but it wasn’t much of a problem. 

König had one of the two last men, Horangi locked in a knife fight with the other one, and it hit him that Horangi probably hadn’t eaten since that day. He hadn’t went on any solo missions and he doubted he could get away from the others. 

König didn’t slit the guys throat like he had been planning. Instead, he dove his knife down on his sternum and cut down the place where his ribs would end in the center of his chest. The knife wasn’t really meant to cut through bone, but it worked well enough. He shoved his hand into the place he cut, feeling the man struggle weakly, blood gushing. 

Once he wrapped his hand around his heart, he pulled it out, mind on auto pilot. 

Horangi walked over. König could hear his footsteps. “What are you doing?”

König held the prize out to him, the heart still twitching as if beating.

“Hungry?”

[m4rs-ex3]

people always make silly little lists of characters' crimes which i love but i'm gonna do smth a lillllll different

tdp character trauma log 🫶✨

callum

lost his father at a Baby age (the perfect age actually; young enough to be very emotional and impressionable but old enough to have to process it)

was thrown into a drastically different + high-key terrifying environment at Baby Age

lost his mother--his comfort person, his only connection to his og life (besides amaya), and also just an amazing individual--leaving him alone in said environment

was constantly belittled for being bad at the thing he never asked to be

lost his stepfather aka his only parent left and experienced an array of regret over what he didn't do while harrow was alive

almost watched his little brother down/freeze to death

was betrayed by his childhood friend

endured a severe dark magic sickness + traumatizing fever dream

almost choked to death

watched his whole world jump off of the highest point in the world

almost died plummeting off of the highest point in the world

was abandoned by Love of His Life for several depressed years

was literally fucking possessed

was taxed with the decision between becoming a vessel for the most dangerous individual in the world to destroy everything and hurt everyone he loves OR essentially ending his life (a conclusion he himself had to come to)

was under the impression that Love of His Life was dead (and he never got to tell her what he wanted to)

almost died pt 3

almost died pt 4-5

bound and brutally beaten + electrocuted (?)

watched the most important person in the world to him mercilessly tortured within an inch of her life

almost lost her AGAIN and had to destroy his entire moral compass in order to save her

tortured

almost died 6: choked pt 2

rayla

where do i begin

well first off grew up in the silvergrove and hey moonshadow elves i love ya but oh dear god -promotes "strength" and stoicism over discussing your feelings and admitting to your weaknesses -so bound (literally) by duty and oaths that faltering results in either being good as dead or dead as dead -ETC

equipped with a debilitating phobia of water--a fear most would see as bizarre and silly and exceptionally irrational--in a culture that as previously mentioned shuns fear to all hell

was left by her parents and (despite them having a perfectly good reason) never really healed

almost drowned which was not helped by the phobia

almost ravaged by an ancient vampire

an ASSASSIN who has to KILL PEOPLE but is a WHOLESOME SWEETHEART

haunted by her "constant" mistakes; her strengths get wholly overshadowed by her weaknesses

told by the father figure she revered that she is a stupid baby useless idiot (roughly)

was flatly told by Father Figure he expected to kill her (to which she's just like "fr prolly" good god girl you are fucked)

had to not only sit and listen to, but conform to horrid stereotypes she's been haunted by since she was a kid

nearly slowly lost a hand (and just straight up accepted like ik this isn't the point but i feel the need to address when she does some insanely broken shit)

saw a person wither to dust before her eyes i feel like we forget about this

almost died like pt 4 ish i literally cannot keep track what counts and whats too minor a near death experience and why do i have to ask these questions

watched the love of her life (shut up harry styles) suffocate in his sleep in her arms

almost died pt 5-8 ?

i once again don't even know where to begin this time with her ghosting. linking this post again but tldr she didn't do anything wrong, she believed she did, her society not only confirmed these suspicions but god they pinned her with so much more, and she was told that actually no and what the fuck is she supposed to do with that u just told her everything she knows is wrong and that she actually has worth and she is not keen on that mindset

almost died 9? i include this one bc soulfangs are terrifying

cooly came to the conclusion that she deserved to die for her parents mistakes (and fully intended on doing so)

almost died jumping off the highest point in the world

suffered from persistent nightmares

almost drowned (the phobia once again did not help)

was nearly killed by the dead former co-workers she feels responsible for killing

forced herself to leave behind Love of Her Life and if you don't think that was the hardest fucking thing in the world for her

spent two, miserable years alone, getting beaten down again and again (mentally and physically,) plagued by her vendetta, haunted by all she lost, never knowing comfort, never knowing love, and probably so much worse that we don't even know woohoo!

thought that, after years of painful wondering, the parents she desperately wanted back were killed right in front of her

almost died pt who even fucking knows

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

almost died

was absolutely fucking brutally tortured (within an inch of her life) 😚✌🌸✨✨

almost died horrendously (she rlly couldnt catch a break that day)

had to choose between pushing her trauma to the absolute limit or hating herself for not protecting her friends

almost died

ez

motherless

couldn't make friends (for a reason no one would believe)

that's why yo [daddy] dead. dead as hell. what shoes [he] got on what shoes [he] got on in [his] casket

almost drowned/froze

had the pressure of surviving as an orphan ANDD being a fucking king forced upon him at the same time

felt responsible for thousands of lives

was imprisoned

was almost motherfucking impaled by scary adult

all that? yea he was like 10

therefore

grew up weird like his brother and rayla

probably almost died a lot of times

imprisoned again & was threatened and bared witness to his brother + his closest friend tortured (+ almost murdered)

almost murdered by someone he once trusted

prolly a lot more idk i was gonna include soren n claudia but i am so fucking exhausted THESE KIDS ARE SO FUCKED OML 😭😭