#Im sorry but hurt and angst fuel me (no

[kairukitsuneo]

Fireworks PTSD (Part 1)

Sometimes fireworks trigger some flashback and it was never good.

[ppeasants]

After a quick(?) nap, Eda can finally begin the long, long process of brewing the new Teleportation Potion.

With the help of a few new faces, Eda is sure to rescue Luz and Hunter as soon as she possible could.

They've already been trapped in Emperor Belos' Mindscape for a few days. She really can't afford to make them wait any longer.

(If only they were so lucky to have been in there for a few days...)

Chapter 2 of my Post-Hollow Mind AU - where Hunter and Luz are trapped in the mind of Emperor Belos for nearly a full year, even though only three days pass in the demon realm - is out!

A few new faces make an appearance this chapter, some of which may or may not include our central characters! I can promise there's a lot more angst in this one too, so buckle up!

Lemme know what y'all think of this chapter! Hope y'all enjoy <3

[itmakesssenseincontext]

I feel bad when I see fluff prompts because my immediate reaction is 'how can I make this sad?'

Fluff? I think you mean PAIN

[spideyhexx]

babe i just thought of another idea abt corio and i need to spit it out !! like imagine corio comes home to reader and she’s hurt but trying to tell him she’s fine(she’s def not) like blood/cuts bad and he goes absolutely insane and kinda panics!! like yelling at their bodyguards “who the fuck did this to my wife!!” type of shit UGH the angst but also love and care i cannot🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️i would melt i love this psychotic man so much

STOP IT omg…

Maybe there’s some sort of break in and you’re attacked and he’s off at some capitol building doing work, but he’s notified about it and races home to find you on the couch, attending to your cut and you try your best to play it off.

But he can see the expression on your face and see the bloody rags at your side and you lock eyes with him as you see his nose flare and jaw tense up and then before you could say anything he’s up and grabbing the nearest guard by the collar.

“Who the fuck did this?” And the guard, maybe a little on the younger side tells him it was some capitol rebels.

“Where are they? Tell me where the fuck they went?” And the guard stumbles over his words but ends up saying they got away. Now Coriolanus’ anger is fueled even more. He shoves the guard away, looking to another to go start looking for whoever did this. He wants to go out on his own and track them down but he knows you’re hurting and he can’t leave his precious wife.

He’d kneel back down in front of you and grab the cleaning supplies and bandages from your hand, helping you himself. Coryo wouldn’t say a word and there’s some sort of mutual understanding that silence is best right now as he tries to calm his anger and tend to you.

After what feels like forever he cups your face gently in his hands. “Im so sorry I wasn’t here to protect you. I’ll find who did this and have them punished. No one fucking touches you and gets away with it.”

let’s chat about coryo, here :)

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right Pt 2 - A.H

a/n: im not quite sure how i feel about this i feel like im really bad with resolutions but practice makes perfect and you all really wanted a part two so here we are i hope you beautiful angels like it:)

also if you commented on the first part which can be found here, i put you on the taglist for this one!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotcher x fem!reader

summary: is it possible to forgive the man who broke your heart the most?

warnings: angst, creepy man in a parking lot, hurt lots of hurt, idk man i still wouldn't be able to forgive him for this, CURB STOMP

wc: 1.6k

The sound of your stupid heels against the pavement only served to fuel your irritation. A rough patch of asphalt snagged the stem of the shoe, jolting your ankle sharply. With a hiss and a muttered curse, you bent down, yanking off the insufferable things, all the while attempting to block out the thought of the grime that was now undoubtedly coating your skin.

Your stupid dress now dragged against the ground, collecting dirt, and your stupid makeup, once perfect, was now smeared by the tracks of your tears.

"Hey there, pretty lady, why the long face on such a beautiful night?"

The voice came from a man who materialized as if from thin air, towering over you. His clothes were worn, his tie hanging crookedly, and a predatory grin fixed on his face.

You tried to sidestep, your mood souring further, but he mirrored your movements, blocking your path, his eyes examining you with an unsettling sense of familiarity.

"Come on, don't be like that. A girl like you shouldn't be all alone. Let me keep you company."

His words were like oil, slick and unwelcome, making your skin crawl. You clutched your heels tighter, completely prepared to use them as a weapon if necessary. "I'm fine, thanks."

But he wasn't taking the hint, stepping closer, his breath reeking of booze. "No need to be shy. I'll treat you right--,"

This was it. Instead of being known for winning a Pulitzer, you'd be known as the girl who got kidnapped in the parking lot after the ceremony. The cherry on top of the evening.

"I think you're misunderstanding the situation. She's not interested."

The man of the hour. You knight in a suit and fucking tie. The stranger's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment you saw the hesitation, the calculation of a prey assessing whether he can take on his predator. The man finally scoffed--a sound meant to be dismissive, but even he couldn't mask the defeat. With a sneer, he walked away.

You released a pent-up breath, one you hadn't realized you'd been holding.  Aaron turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? You know what fuck off, Aaron." Your words came out laced with a venom that shocked even you, their acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The tears you'd been staving off now flowed freely. You jabbed the certificate into his chest, the paper wrinkling under your fingers. "I won, by the way."

Your turned on your heel, not waiting to see his face. The concrete was frigid under your bare feet, but your pride swallowed any reaction.

"This isn't the place to be alone and without shoes." Aaron's voice followed you.

You came to an abrupt stop, anger bubbling through every surface of your body as you spun around to face him. "Neither is the Pulitzer ceremony where I'm supposed to have a supportive husband."

"I'm so sorry, honey. I got caught up with that case and there was—,"

"Aaron, stop," you cut him off, tears burning the corners of your eyes. "I can't hear more excuses because you know what? I give you excuses all the time, and you take advantage of it. You take advantage of me and the chances I give you. And you just... you just keep letting me down. All I wanted was for you to be here for this one thing. That's it. And you couldn't even do that."

"I messed up, I know," Aaron said, his usual eloquence failing him. "There's no case, no job, no damn good reason for me not to be there. I failed you, and it's not something I can just fix with an I'm sorry, but I am I'm so sorry."

The floodgates open, and you're sobbing. "I hate this. I hate that I want to forgive you. But I can't... I can't because I know you'll do this again. And every time, it chips away at me, at us, until there's nothing left."

"Oh, honey," Aaron says, reaching out, but you shrink away, the space between you filled with more than just air.

"P-Please, don't," you gasp, the tears relentless. "I can't... I just need some space. I'll get my things and stay with my sister, okay?"

You walk away, the knot in your throat growing tighter, the distance between you stretched out and you can feel his eyes on you. You slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine, and glancing in the rearview mirror. Aaron's figure lingers there. A wave of nausea hits you. Isn't it wicked when the very thing you love inflicts the greatest hurt?

The drive home was silent, the stereo left untouched. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths that you couldn't seem to control. The reflection of your tear-streaked face was lost in the blur of streetlights streaking past. Your mind replayed every missed anniversary, every birthday, every empty seat beside you. You were tired of being alone.

Before you knew it, you were sitting in front of your garage. Each movement was a chore--unbuckling the seatbelt, opening the car door, the garage door, and finally the front door.

You stop dead in your tracks, eyes roaming over the living room. Balloons lie strewn about the floor, streamers dangling from the mantel. Almost every surface glimmers with the soft glow from the intermittent flickering of battery-operated candles. Aaron had an insistence on fire safety, which always negated the use of actual candles.

Tears threatened to spill again as you closed the door behind you, your steps leading you down the hallway to the kitchen. A congratulations banner hung over the island, done in Aaron's chicken scratch handwriting but it made your heart give out all the same.

The scent of chrysanthemums, your favorites, wafts through the air before they come into view--large, splendid blooms of pink and yellow cradled in your largest vase. Your hands, trembling, ran over the accompanying card, fingers fumbling to unfold it.

For My Pulitzer Prize Winner,

I realize I'm writing this before the ceremony, maybe I'm jinxing it, but in my heart, I know you will win. I know this not just because of the undeniable quality of your work, but because of the sheer force of will and passion that drives you. You are the greatest thing in my life, and every day, you inspire me to be the best version of myself.

When we first met, you told me your favorite flowers were Chrysanthemums. I remember asking if it was because it was your birth flower, but you shook your head and told me about your favorite story instead. You told me about a book that showed the beauty and strength in being unique, and that sometimes, it takes a bit of time for the world to recognize the splendor of what's different.

This has been your journey—filled with moments of doubt, but ultimately, a triumph of self-belief and talent. You've blossomed in the most extraordinary ways, and tonight, the world sees what I've always seen.

Love, Aaron

Tears speckled the paper as you dabbed at them with your sleeve, trying to clear the blots. Your focus moved to the present, wrapped neatly and sitting beside the flowers. You tugged at the ribbons, unraveling the wrapper paper with deliberate gentleness.

A shaky giggle slips out as you draw out the book. Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes. But what really starts the tears isn't the book itself, not, it's the familiar loops and lines of your nine-year-old self's handwriting.

This is my favorite book because it's about being special. I am special too.

This was the copy you had as a little girl, the on you lost. How did he find it? Turning the page, another stifled sob breaks free. The margins are crowded with affectionate notes penned by your family, friends, colleagues, the BAU team, and Aaron.

Fuck.

The door creaked open and clicked shut, and in no time at all, he was standing behind you. He stopped, a few steps away, as if too scared to close the distance and scare you off.

"Did you do this?" Your voice was soft, book clutched to your chest.

The pause stretches on, his breath the only sign of life. "Yes."

You turn to him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Why?" Aaron repeats, as if it were a stupid question. "Because I love you."

He takes a cautious step forward, like he's all too aware you're getting that shaky feeling in your stomach that's telling you to run.

"I am so sorry. You have every right to be mad, to be upset with me, and I get it. But I love you, and I want to work on this. It's tearing me apart to see you like this."

"I'm scared, Aaron." You voice breaks. "Scared you're going to do this to me again."

He steps closer, close enough to share the same breath. "I'm scared too," he admits. "But I'm more scared of losing you. I'll prove it. Today and every day after."

The room is still, the only sound the ticking of the clock. You're standing at a crossroads, the kind you read in books and see in moves, the power to forgive or walk away. You watch him, the man who is the love of your life and also the bane of existence, and you see it in his eyes. Something you haven't seen in a long time—fear. Not the fear of consequence, but the fear of loss.

It's a humanly glimpse into the man you fell in love with, the man who you know is still there beneath his layers of work.

"I'll be waiting."

Maybe you could be considered stupid, naive, with no self-respect. Maybe one day you'll curse yourself for not walking away. But maybe, just maybe the man you love will make his way back to you and prove the rest wrong.

regular taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253

comment taglist: @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @simpingformiddleagedmen @222hwilsss @michasia24 @vsplanet @himboelover @dangerousprincessharleyinhawaii @gibson-g1rl @gghostwriter @lilozg-123 @uranometrias @miley1442111 @welcometothemaraudersspam @ladycaramelswirl @callmekanytime @maxiismp @delusional-4-fake-people

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[dvrktvnnel]

I don't want your sorrys, I want you safe

Genre: Angst/Mafia AU

Pairing: Mafia! Wooyoung x reader

Word Count: 900

Warnings: I'm sorry in advance <3

Summary: Wooyoung acts careless about his life in the mafia, and the way it affects your lives finally breaks you. All you want is for him to be safe.

12am. He was late again. No text. No calls. No details where he was going. Just you sitting in the couch waiting for him to come home. It drove you crazy, it's been over a year now and you had hoped it would get better. Either he wouldn’t be gone for so long, or maybe you’d get used to him being away.

But it never got easier. And you knew deep down it never would. When you finally heard the doorknob click you grabbed the gun, just like he taught you. Checking the cameras he had hooked up to the monitor, you saw his silhouette, his eyes you loved so much looking right into the camera.

You knocked on the door back, in the same beat he taught you to make sure he wasn’t being held at gun point on the other side. His safe knock returned, and releasing the breath you held you dropped the gun and opened the door.

He smiled upon seeing you, but it was hard for you to smile back when you saw his busted lip. It wasn’t bad, but it was enough to remind you of how much blood he’s already lost in this lifestyle. How blood he’s taken from others too.

“You okay baby?” he asked.

You folded your arms over your chest and shrugged.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, avoiding his eyes and question . You didn’t want to cry, not again.

He nodded, tilting his head to meet your gaze.

“Baby whats wrong,” he asked gently, then his demeanor changed. “Did something happen? Did someone come here?” he asked quickly, looking around the apartment and pulling out his own gun.

“Nothing happened, nothing happened,” you assured him, putting your hands on his chest.

“Its just,” you started, before shaking your head. “I don’t want to get into right now. Im tired, you’re hurt. Let's just wash up and go to bed.”

Wooyoung grabbed your hand before you could walk away.

“Baby, please don’t do this,” he pleaded. “Tell me whats wrong.”

You turned around and sighed. You really didn’t want to do this right now.

“I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you said flatly.

“Y/N come on,” he started, but you put your hand up to stop him.

“I’m not doing this tonight I just want to go to bed.”

You started walking away again and he threw his bag off his shoulder.

“Y/N what the hell, I just got back, and you’re already pissed?”

You shook your head and put your hand up again. You really did not want to do this right now.

But he was insistent. He took his jacket off and made his way to you, following you to the room.

“Are you seriously not going to talk to me? You’re just going to stay mad at me for no apparent reason?”

“Im not mad at you, Im mad at the situation.”

“What situation?” he asked, his irritation only fueling the fire within you.

“Every fucking night you’re gone for hours, hell sometimes you don’t come back until the next day!”

Wooyoung froze, clearly not expecting an outburst. You felt bad, but he pushed you into it. He dragged you into this lifestyle.

“I sit here, and i wait for you, never able to tell if you’re coming home okay or even alive. Do you know how fucking terrifying it is when Jongho comes here while you’re gone? Every-time Im expecting him to tell me you died.”

“Y/N, I told you i had a dangerous life before we got together, you said you were fine with it!”

“No, I said I loved you! I said I wanted to be with you anyways, Ive never been “fine” without you here, worrying about you. Fuck even when you’re here I’m worried! At any second some piece of shit you’ve fucked with could show up and kill us both!”

Wooyoung took your hands in his.

“Listen to me, none of that is going to happen. Im careful, and Im really fucking good at what i do. Mingi’s been shot more times than anyone, and he’s fine!”

You push him away

“You don’t get it, it’s the fact i know one day one of those shots could he your last. You don’t have to do this; I work and if you got a normal job we’d be fine!”

“You know damn well i can't do that,” he said sternly. “I’ve busted my ass off to make you feel safe, what more do you want from me?”

“I want you safe! I want you to be safe with me and away from all of this!”

“You know I can't just stay with you all the time! I have shit I need to do!”

“No, what this all comes down to is that you have a big ego.”

His phone rang. You both paused and waited.

“Answer it.” you said harshly. “Answer and prove me right, that you only give a shit about your reputation with your gang.”

Wooyoung said nothing. He took his phone out and answered it, turning his back to you.

“What is it-“

Sans voice cut him off.

“Woo get the fuck out of there right now they tracked you and-“

Before either of you had a chance to react, an explosion erupted through the apartment. You were thrown away from Wooyoung, hitting the wall as debris fell on top of you.

You saw a group of men run through the door before you blacked out, calling Wooyoung’s name weakly.

@vampzity @h4untedgrl @scarfac3 @rvereri @losrpark @dollywoo

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His stubbornness and stoic grace.  His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together.  The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares.  At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too.  Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration.  His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you.  Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness.  The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean.  Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection.  You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”.  Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable.  Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other.  Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging.  “Cas made his choice.”  His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.”  You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.”  He states, matter of fact.  “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”  Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh.  “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.”  You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however.  Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala.  Shit!  Angels.  Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt.  How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them.  You, however, are stuck.  With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres.  At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland.  You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins.  Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car.  The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path.  You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood.  That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind.  You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!”  You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone.  “Sam is driving.  He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big.  That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do.  From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.”  Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!”  Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin.  You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain.  “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.”  Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.”  Sam offers.  “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!”  Dean snaps.  “You’re both safe.  I want you to stay that way.  Get someplace and lay low.  We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…”  Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No!  Okay?  For once, just do what I say.  We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response.  You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns.  It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals.  Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady.  Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle.  Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.”  Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax.  He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back.  The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode.  He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset.  You point to the sign and Deans nods.  He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you.  It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes.  You feel it too.  Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release.  You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better.  You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest.  Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever.  You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open.  Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear.  Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed.  You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you.  The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his.  He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him.  Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks.  His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?”  You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long.  Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance.  Your eyes meet as you begin to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it.  He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…”  he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now.  “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair.  He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.”  He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt.  Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby.  Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man.  Damn, he’s hot!  Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet.  Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure.  The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops.  There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you.  It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes.  You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him.  His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes.  With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged.  He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming.  He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell.  “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg.  “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you.  Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body.  Everything feels so right, he feels right.  The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel.  It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest.  There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him.  Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips.  “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?”  You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal.  “Hell yeah!  Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam.  You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away.  You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.”  You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.”  He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?”  You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need.  Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully.  Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

[moondirti]

DEE IK THIS IS SO OFF THE BAT BUT IMAGINE RIDING MIGUEL’S ABS??!;!;?:?:? WHATS UR CRUMB ON THAT BCS IM LITERALLY ASCENDING INTO HEAVEN JUST BY THE THOUGHT OF IT😩☝🏼

SUMMARY: after the events of DOUBLE RAPTURE, we follow Mig back home and explore his less than ideal relationship with his world's version of you.

explicit (18+) | 1.5k words

part one / can be read as a standalone! WARNINGS: smut, ab-riding, handjobs, codependant relationships, submissive (?) miguel, ANGST, fear of commitment (on the reader's part), implied parental issues, drinking, anxious/avoidant attachment styles NOTES: did this take me forever to respond to? yes. have i been thinking about it every day since i received it? also yes. please have a little drabble as a sweet treat for your genius mind, anon. sorry i took it too far

This is how it is with Miguel.

Buttressed on a leather couch that isn't so much leather anymore, but cotton dotted with the flakes of black suede that've managed to hold on through the years since you bought it. It's old, unstable – somewhat an apt metaphor for your relationship to the man – and stands situated across a television with no cable. He shows up at your door on any unannounced night, where for once you wish he'd catch you with plans pre-made, and intrudes on your vain attempt to connect the old screen to your neighbour's internet.

And it's ironic that you should end up watching dated cartoons anyway, stuck inside your apartment that is a fraction the size of his, because he always opens on some variation of the same line – the very thing that woo'd you all those years ago, when you were younger and prone to any man's charm:

What's a pretty thing like you do in a place like this?

It's dark outside – night-worn inhibition being one of the main constituents to poor decision making – and his skin gleams golden in the dim lamp light. You can't refuse him for all your rationale on why, so he comes in and you pour a strong drink whose hangover tomorrow will take precedence over your guilt. He drinks too, perhaps to make your eventual rejection easier, and the two of you make-out on that tumbledown couch until your lips turn blue.

Sometimes, he comes up for air – only when he gathers enough courage to break away from you – to whisper filthy nothings and little promises on the shell of your ear. Neither are empty, you know. Miguel’s good at making good of every word when it comes to you. The push and pull gets to him, fuels his gears until he’s pouring proper work into making you happy. From what you can physically face – gonna have you creaming on my cock, cariño – to prospects that remain ever-frightening – wanna stay like this forever, you on my lap, sharing our home. 

You’ve never had a reference to ‘our’. Commitment remains a fickle thing for you, instilled by parents who didn’t have the mind to give it. He knows as much, but you don’t think he understands just what keeps you around regardless. What keeps you at the door, waiting for an acknowledged three-knuckle knock. None of the in betweens, flowers, nor the heights you reach spread-eagled underneath him. It’s always just been exactly that – his return, done every time without fail. 

(And there’s the ever-negging fear that one day he’ll grow sick of the cycle. 

On one hand, you hope he does. It hurts him more than it does you, and you hate to watch him leave. Yet on the other, more volatile hand – you pray he fucks you so well you forget your reserve, that he breeds and carries you away from this hole you’ve dug yourself in.) 

For now, though–

For now, you lift the shirt off his frame. He’s let his chest-hair grow since you met him last, and if you strain to remember, he’s gotten bulkier. Abs more pronounced, with pecs that bounce when you graze your nails down his side. It’s refined, a look that makes him appear older. You swoop down to lick his neck, moaning hotly once you reach his mouth. 

“You been working out, Mig?” 

“For you, hermosa. Figured you’d like me better like this.” He groans, kneading the flesh of your thighs. His fingers dip into the waistband of your underwear, snapping it on your skin in an explicit plea to take it off. 

“And who told you that?” You say, acquiescing, working the lacey strip off your hips. Your cunt sucks at it, belligerent in letting go now that it’s soaked the fabric through. 

“A couple I met. They remind me of us.” His head follows yours when you draw away from an attempted kiss. It’s unintentional, done to stand off and strip completely, yet his reaction to it sends little tremors of pleasure to your core. “Of what we could be.” 

“Shhhh.” Once you’re completely bare, tits freed from your tank top, you straddle him again, a little higher this time. His waist is cinched enough to allow you to do so with little fuss, tendons at the top of your thighs aching only slightly. “Make me feel good, please.” 

“Of course.” 

His thumb presses down on your swollen clit, holding it in place while you arch your back and trap it underneath you – sandwiching it between your mound and his midriff. The pressure is electric, charged to fervency, buzzing as it lights every nerve ending from your waist below. And three thrusts forth and back see to it that he’s slick, lubed with the juices that gradually seep from your needy slit. 

The sight, the sensations, the thought that he’s putting effort outside of this room for you – they all make you exceedingly weak. Your legs wobble, practically jello, spine made out of sand and unable to support you fully. Miguel stays firm, one large paw squeezing your breast and the other at your pelvis. You’d ask him to help, to move you against him until you see stars, but a stone lodges in your throat and prevents the words from finding clarity. 

It’s guilt, of that you’re familiar, but for a number of things; the fact that he would help you seek pleasure in spite of his own – his erection left abandoned under the confines of his pants. The idea of desecrating his hard work, those muscles made pronounced, with your filth without fully appreciating it first. For everything, everything, and it’s so crushing that you stop moving altogether. 

“No, no. C’mon, pretty. Keep going.” He begs, pelvis thrusting up with need. You shove your arm behind you, seeking out the zipper keeping him from you, palming his hard length with clumsy assurance “Don’t worry about me. Wanna feel you cum on my abs. Gonna lick you clean after. We have forever if you’d let me. There’s no rush.” 

No rush. It’s far from the typical Miguel sentiment, and you blink in perplexed contemplation. But he just grins, brows knitting up with reverence. 

“Did these people also teach you to take your time?” You struggle to say patience, because he’s always been patient with you. 

“Something along the lines.” He mutters, suddenly sheepish. His fangs always intrude when his tone is quiet, like they’re intentionally making him difficult to understand. He knows he’s special to you when you try to decipher it nonetheless. 

“Don’t be making me jealous, now.” You taunt, dipping to bite his lip. It’s fun to pull up, up, until he whines and shoves you harder onto him. Achingly empty and close to cumming on his abdomen alone. Slowly, you start to gyrate again, riding unrelenting sinew. And in the meanwhile, you manage to get his zipper undone, sneaking your hand beneath his briefs.

“I’ll explain lat… later, p-promise.” 

“I don’t doubt it. F-Fuck,” Somehow, the pleasure is simultaneously heavenly and not enough, this little game you decided to engage in tiptoeing the line. He’s good even when he isn’t trying, just laying there, pinching pebbled nipples with enough callousness that it aches in the best way. On your first date – which wasn’t really a date, but a happenstance meeting at your father’s shady bar – he’d been hesitant to hurt you like you wanted. The best he could do was pepper your neck with sore hickeys, pocketed in the back alley, touch kinder than any you’d experienced before. “Oh my god.”

“Y-You’re so soft. My gorgeous girl. So soft and… and pretty when you do that.”

“Mig.” You wail, useless in properly pumping his pulsing cock. It’s all you can do to palm the head, smearing prespend all over his velvet tip. And it’s hard, like smelted iron, throbbing hot and heavy. It’s been so long since you’ve had it in you that you’re sure it’ll take some effort to fit. The abstraction fills you with desperation so poignant that you start moving faster, rougher, seeking an end where you’re stuffed full yet doing nothing to actually achieve it. 

That is, until–

“What do you need?” He asks.

Your hole clenches. Your guts knot together. Your orgasm gathers, full and sloshing wet, trapped behind the wall he’s been breaking down since his arrival. 

“You!” You finally admit. “You.” Softer. 

And when you cum, soaking his middle with shameless indulgence, all he does is flip you over to settle beneath him. The couch rocks with the sudden upheaval, threatening collapse, so he keeps a firm hold of your shoulders, kneeling between your quivering thighs. His breadth bobs from over his pants – you don’t recall taking it out – purple with restrained pain and just waiting for your cue to allow him entry.

“I’ve got you, cariño.” Miguel hums, positioning himself onto the divet of your cunt when you give a frail nod. “I’ve got you.” 

And you know, of course you do. He’s never backed away from a promise before. Because that is how it is with Miguel.

[halucynator]

False Fronts IV

part 4 of 4

angst version.

i am absolutely owing my life to @berryzxx bc this bitch (/pos) has given me all my ideas like this wouldn't even exist if it weren't for her also sorry for how late this is?!? i had writers block and then i was packing up to leave uni and go back home woohoo sorry if i accidentally made it third person halfway through bc im stupid

sorry for the wait hope this makes up for it!! didn't wanna release angst and fluff at too different times bc i don't hate you people

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: angst angsty angst angst gut wrenching heart breaking angst, arguments (oohOOHOoH) swearing, not so fake dating (but are they?), the and y/n being idiots, not a happy ending, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

summary: being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. you, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to theodore nott.

im not that mean, the fluffy version can be found here.

once again these beautiful dividers have been created by @cafekitsune!! you can find these exact dividers in a wider range of colours here!

word count: 1.7k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: fluff

The tension between you and Theo had been brewing for days, each passing moment adding weight to the unspoken emotions that hung heavily in the air. Unable to bear the silence any longer, you initiated the conversation, the frustration and confusion evident in your voice.

"Theo, can we talk?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and determination.

He glanced up from his book, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. "Sure, what's up?"

"It's about us," you began cautiously, the words feeling heavier than you'd anticipated. "I feel like there's something here, between us. But I'm confused about where you stand."

Theo's expression flickered, a fleeting mixture of uncertainty and conflict clouding his features. "I don't know if diving into a relationship right now is the best idea."

"But this isn't just about a relationship," you insisted, your voice rising in exasperation. "It's about acknowledging what's been brewing between us, Theo."

He sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "I'm not sure what I want, Y/N. It's complicated."

"Complicated?" You scoffed, the frustration simmering within you. "What's so complicated about being honest?"

"Why can't you understand?" Theo's voice rose, mirroring your frustration. "I don't want to mess things up and end up causing you pain."

"You're not getting it!" Your voice echoed in the charged atmosphere. "I need to know where we stand, and your indecision isn't helping."

Theo's reluctance grated on your nerves, fueling the intensity of the argument. "I need you to be honest with me, Theo. I can't keep waiting for something that might never happen!"

"I know, but I'm conflicted," he admitted, his tone wavering.

Frustration boiled within you. "Conflicted about what? Us?"

His gaze shifted away, a mix of guilt and concern clouding his features. "I... I don't want Jess to hurt you."

"I can handle Jess, she isn't your responsibility," you asserted firmly, the frustration simmering beneath your words.

"You don't get it, do you?" Theo's voice cut through the tension, edged with frustration. "She's MY ex."

His words stung, and the heat of the argument intensified. "And that gives you the right to dictate what's good for me?" you shot back, your voice rising in indignation.

"Look, I'm just trying to protect you," Theo retorted, his tone laced with urgency.

"Protect me? From what?" Your voice rose, the frustration boiling over. "I can handle my own affairs, Theo. I don't need you deciding what's best for me!"

The tension crackled between you, each word spoken a testament to the underlying emotions that had escalated into a heated argument. The clash of opinions and conflicting desires hung heavily in the charged atmosphere, leaving the potential relationship teetering on the edge of uncertainty. The anticipation in the room was suffocating.

Days stretched into weeks, and the awkward distance between you and Theo became the new norm. Despite the avoidance, every accidental encounter sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. Butterflies danced in your stomach, a bittersweet reminder of the connection you once shared, now lost in a fog of misunderstanding.

Each time your paths crossed, the unresolved tension simmered beneath the surface. The silent longing for resolution battled with the ache of hurt and confusion, leaving you caught in a turmoil of emotions whenever Theo came into view.

The avoidance hadn't dulled the effect he had on you. His presence was still magnetic, drawing your attention despite the unspoken rift that divided you both. The simple sight of him evoked a rush of emotions, a testament to the bond you once shared and the rift that now tore you apart.

With every passing moment, the yearning for clarity clashed with the fear of confronting the situation, leaving you entangled in a web of unresolved emotions and unspoken apologies, the butterflies a painful yet undeniable reminder of the connection you couldn't seem to sever.

Summoning your courage, you approached Theo's dorm, determined to offer an overdue apology. A hesitant knock resulted in eerie silence. Unsure of Theo's whereabouts, you glanced around the deserted hallway, your resolve mingling with uncertainty.

Taking a tentative step forward, you reached for the doorknob, finding it unlocked. The decision to enter felt both intrusive and necessary. The room was devoid of life, the emptiness echoing the void that had developed between you and Theo.

Your gaze drifted to Theo's desk, where a single piece of paper lay. The handwriting was unmistakable, sending a jolt of emotions through you as you read the words:

Last night was so fun, so glad you dropped Y/N.

- Jess

Disbelief and a pang of deception ricocheted through you. The words were like a gut punch, shattering the fragile hope you had held for reconciliation and understanding. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you grappled with the apparent evidence before you.

Your mind raced, attempting to process the meaning behind Jess's note. It seemed to confirm your worst fears, undermining the fragile trust you had in the situation and leaving your heart aching with the weight of assumed betrayal.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, you turned away, the intention of offering an apology now replaced by a swirl of hurt. The unaddressed misunderstanding had taken root, poisoning the hope for amends and leaving you in a cloud of uncertainty and hurt.

Approaching Theo with a determined stride, you took a deep breath before speaking. "Can we talk?" you requested, your tone indicating the urgency of the matter.

Theo nodded, a mix of apprehension and curiosity in his eyes. "Sure, what's up?"

Without further ado, you gently pulled Theo out into the corridor, seeking a bit of privacy before diving into the conversation. "What's going on?" you asked, urgency evident in your voice.

Theo's brow furrowed in response, confusion evident in his expression. "What do you mean?"

In response, you reached into your pocket, retrieving the note. Holding it up for Theo to see, you arched an eyebrow, your gaze fixed on his face.

"What's this?" Theo questioned, puzzled.

"You tell me," you replied, your tone laced with a hint of accusation and urgency.

Theo's eyes widened as he caught sight of the note, a mix of shock and confusion crossing his features. "I… I don't know," he stammered, genuine bewilderment resonating in his voice.

The weight of the moment hung heavily between you, the note acting as a stark reminder of the rift that had developed. A tense silence pervaded the corridor, each passing moment thick with unspoken tension, the truth seemingly just out of reach.

Amidst Theo's genuine confusion and your distress, the mystery behind the note remained unsolved, leaving both of you ensnared in a cloud of uncertainty and doubt, the truth obscured by a veil of suspicion.

Holding out the note for Theo to see, you watched his expression closely as he read it. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion etched across his features. "She sent you that?" he asked, incredulous.

"What? No!" you responded quickly, a mix of frustration and confusion in your voice. "She sent it to you. It was in your room."

The implication that Jess had sent the note only added to the confusion between you and Theo.

heo's eyes flickered from the note to your face, disbelief written across his features. "I've never seen this before," he stated firmly, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Well, yeah, I took it," you admitted, the tension in the air palpable.

His brows furrowed in surprise. "Wait, you were snooping around in my dorm?" Theo's voice betrayed a mix of shock and frustration, his focus narrowing on your admission.

"What? That's what you're focused on?" you retorted, a touch of exasperation coloring your tone. The accusatory tone caught you off guard, adding to the already tumultuous conversation.

"Jess is obviously trying to screw up our relationship," Theo retorted, a trace of agitation and concern lacing his words.

"Or maybe you're just making up excuses. How about that, huh?" The words escaped your lips, edged with annoyance and simmering anger, as you grappled with the ease of his denial.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Theo's voice held a note of incredulity, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Right now, I am accusing you of sleeping with her and cheating on me," you declared, the accusation spilling out in frustration and hurt.

"Wow, you really don't trust me, huh?" Theo's voice held a note of hurt, his expression a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"Currently, I don't," you admitted, your voice tinged with a hint of regret and exasperation.

"Well, If you can't trust me, I can't be with you," Theo replied, his tone laced with a touch of resignation and hurt.

The weight of the situation settled heavily between you, the conversation having taken an unexpected turn. Hurt and distrust hung like a veil, casting a shadow on the once-promising connection between you and Theo.

"Wait, are you breaking up with me?" The words stumbled out, your voice heavy with dejection, a lump forming in your throat.

"Well, you know what? Maybe Jess was right. We weren't really dating," Theo's voice held a trace of sorrow, the admission heavy with a crushing finality.

The realization sank in, the weight of his words like a sharp dagger through your heart. A shroud of sadness enveloped you, the abrupt end of something you thought was real leaving you feeling hollow and shattered.

In the deafening silence that followed, a heavy sadness settled upon you, your heart aching with the bitter sting of a relationship unraveled by doubt and mistrust.

"I'm sorry y/n. I really did try." Theo replies.

"Oh. So this is it then."

"Bye y/n."

"Goodbye," escaped through clenched teeth, a silent echo reverberating through every fiber of your being, each syllable a struggle against the strain of every muscle in your body.

And there you stood, the sudden and sharp cessation of what might have been, seeping into your core. It left you standing in the haunting echoes of a love's demise, surrounded by the desolate remnants of something once cherished.

hi hello! this is the end of the series. check out the fluffy ver here if you'd like!! here are a few fics to read while i work on my next one:

masterlist

reader's choice (mattheo x reader)

reader's choice (theodore x reader)

i honestly had so much fun writing this thank you for sticking along with this <33 sorry for how late this is i was like so busy and im also lazy so yea

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy @jetblackpayne @delulu4marauders @ahead-fullofdreams

if you want to be added to my theodore/any other character's taglist just send me an ask/dm!

[sweetpinkchampagne]

tolerate it

pronouns: female pronouns are used

relationship: fem reader x stephen strange (marrieddd)

warnings: angst to the max, mention of the feeling to need to throw up or want to throw up

note: i titled this reluctantly because "wait by the door like im just a kid, use my best colours for your portait, lay the table with the fancy shit, and watch you tolerate it" reminded me of this, not in the respect that stephen is ignorant, but hes just absent.. (in this) ok i love you, i hope you enjoy. (major swiftie if u cant tell)

“are you kidding me?” your words echoed through the halls of the sanctum, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting back to where you were both standing. you weren’t angry, far from angry - you were downright livid. your cheeks were flushed and your ears were burning, there he stood with his stupid god forsaken ‘i'm sorry’ look plastered on his face. he let you speak, knowing that talking back would just add fuel to the fire. 

“one day stephen. one goddamn day, that’s ALL i asked you for.” your voice broke during the last part of your sentence, tears welling up in your eyes. it sounded selfish to somebody who wasn’t in your position. you knew he needed to protect the world, you knew that when you married him - but things weren’t working well lately. he was home late and gone before you woke up. it was as if you weren’t even in a married. you tried your best to be understanding, he had more important things to attend to - but jesus christ it hurt. it hurt waking up to a cold bed, preparing dinner for yourself, by yourself..

you bit the side of your cheek, furious with yourself that you had hot tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed looking at him from across the entrance of the sanctum. your throat burned, bile creeping up, you felt sick, nauseous constantly, and your doctor was never around to help fix it. he had to fix the world instead.

he had promised today was your day, one day away from the chaos of being an avenger and a sorcerer. he was called into work, something ‘non-negotiable’ came up. you had made a reservation at a restaurant you were both going to eat at tonight. deep down, you knew you had to cancel it, honestly there was no saying when he would be home. but you couldn't bring yourself to call the restaurant. again.

“baby…i’m so sorry. i know i haven’t been around lately”. he said softly, he hated seeing you cry. you stood there staring at him. fiddling with your shirt like a kid who just got in trouble.

“please understand my sweet girl..i have to go, it’s not going to be like this for the rest of my career, i promise.” 

he walked over to you, his arms wrapping around you. you wanted to scream, kick and fight. beat your hands against his chest in rejection and walk off. the last thing you wanted right now was an apologetic hug - but you gave in. sobbing in his arms, your head tucked into his chest as he cooed gently and rubbed your back soothingly. 

“i know honey.. i know. god i’m so sorry.” he kissed the top of your forehead, gently breaking away from the embrace. 

the sound of his boots padded outside as he left the sanctum sanctorum. and then he was gone.

[twiistcd]

ADAM STANHEIGHT X READER IDC WHAT HAPPENS PLLEASSSSEEEEE I need him fr

thank you for the request!! had to stop myself from writing hard-core angst plus I wrote this while listening to mitski

(I tried my best to do like a flashback type fic?? dunno if that makes sense but like yeah.)

JOBLESS MONDAY

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

⋆ ★ ADAM STANHEIGHT X READER

SUMMARY: adams dead (sorry), mostly angst but I'm trying my best, like a flashback type fic.

slightly proofread.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

I woke up, I finally managed to sleep for more then 2 hours at one time in the past week. I wiped my eyes, immediate dread fueling me as I grabbed a cigarette from the nightstand lighting it as I stood up slowly taking a long drag.

It's almost been a week and there's still no sign of Adam, I've got another police interview today.

I woke up, slept over at my boyfriends for the night. we both lived separately, but I usually end up staying over at his. I felt him press a kiss into my neck as he got up, grabbing a cigarette from the nightstand. He lit it, taking a hit before passing it to me.

I was worried, it wasn't like him to dissappear for this long maybe for an evening but longer then that he'd tell me.

It hurts me to think that he's in danger or something serious happened to him.

I've been asked the basic questions, did he any intentions of running away, did he display any signs, was there anything usual with his behaviour, etc. I assume they think im a suspect since I was apparently the person documented with him.

It was a few hours after we argued, I laid in bed alone since it had been a while after he stormed out of the apartment after we argued. I loved him but he could be so stubborn, I wasn't sure how long I've been laying in bed since I've been lost in my thoughts for a while. I suddenly heard the bedroom door open, it was Adam. I felt as he crawled into bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me as he pressed into me.

Every night I try keep hope he'll return but I can't shake the unsettling feeling that something seriously bad happened.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[halfmoth-halfman]

IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN, EXCEPT THE BUILDING IS 141!!!!! LET'S GOOOOOOOOO BABY!!!

At first when I saw Canary had no gun wound, I was like - Did she not get shot??? Did someone else take the bullet for her??? (my memory do be bad, my bad - but the angst potential of someone else getting hurt in Canary's place...yummy) And then I was like, is she dead?? How's she gonna get her revenge on Graves and Makarov and Makarov's bratty daughter???😧

I'm glad you kept me on my toes with that lol.

Finally had an interaction with Adler.....in heaven. That talk was necessary for Canary, I think. I think nothing can motivate a jilted kid as much as their desire to enrage and spite their estranged parents. (Too relatable for me, cuz I'd have done the same lol) Even tho a lot of shit Adler said was unfounded, it did fuel the fire Canary needs to keep going, especially if she wishes to enact revenge on those who wronged her. And you wrote this scene beautifully! (but I also wonder if this talk, esp with Adler being all "Trust no one" would make Canary paranoid af and refuse any help from 141. Or maybe she'd accept their help in taking down Price/Makarov, but would be hella distant and try to remove herself from the entire '141 is family' thing they've got going on?)

And Price is now in jail cuz Graves framed him for attempted murder????? Oh hell to the nah!

Like idek what Price and Canary are now, after everything that has happened. But if Graves goes around framing my Price for something he did, they'd be hell to pay. I'd raise a fucking riot, bitch!

As always, amazing chapter. And I can only wait for what would happen next. Does Canary recover? Does she get Price out of jail? Does she have a run in with Makarov, or Graves? What would Shephard say to her if she just barged into the police station and demand him to release Price as he did not murder her, since she's standing in front of him....alive? So many questions and theories to ponder over, hm....Can hardly wait for where the story goes! Have a great weekend, Moth. You deserve it after serving us with such delicious fic updates <3333

- 🍄 anon

alskdjasdlas i'm sorry all i could think about from that first sentence is canary coming back from the dead and just being like:

eggman voice: "i've come to make an announcement. phillip graves is a bitch ass motherfucker!"

ok so before i decided canary was going to get shot, i toyed with the idea of someone take a bullet for her instead. there was a very brief moment, where this chapter was going to end in either price or ghost's death, but i love them both too much and they need to have their redemption so i couldn't do that to them LOL

i agree, i think it was necessary for canary. she needed that push from adler, someone to light that fire in her in a way that only he really knew how to do. he knows how to push her buttons, how to get under her skin in just the right way to get her to act, but this time she's taking things into her own hands. and like, of course, she wants to get revenge of graves for her own reasons but choosing to go back and break down her father's golden child just to spite him? if there's one thing the adler family is good at, it's being petty.

adler definitely left a lasting mark of paranoia on her, and i think she'd be hesitant to trust the 141 even if he didn't just because of the events of the past five months. however, she does know she's going to need their help at least while she recovers, so i don't think she'd immediately burn that bridge. though who's to say what she might do once she's back on her feet. i guess it would depend on if the 141 tries to make it up to her, and if she wants to be in a more forgiving mood 👀

price sure is in jail, i wonder what's going to happen there. the rest of the 141 seemed stressed and surprised to see canary awake, imagine price sitting in a cell for however many weeks thinking she's dead and it's all his fault. :)

i don't think even price and canary know what they are. they certainly know they aren't together, but i imagine price still has major feelings for her (now paired with a lovely glass of guilt) so it would probably be up to canary whether to try and rebuild that relationship or not.

it'll be interesting to see what graves tries to do, esp now that canary is def not dead and actively trying to take him down. even more, it'll be interesting to see what shepherd does in light of this new information.

so many questions and theories!!! i'm so excited to see what everyone comes up with in the time between chapters omg

thank you so much, and i hope you have an amazing day and week!! 💜

[blurglesmurfklaine]

I was going to send this earlier, but from that prompt list you reblogged earlier: pressing foreheads together

*cracks knuckles* they say practice your weaknesses until they're your strengths so LETS FUCKING GO get ready for some tooth rotting fluff

EDIT: I lied. It came out so angsty im sorry im a one trick pony

***

It's the kind of stupid fucking argument that spirals into neither of them even remembering what the hell they were fighting about in the first place. And Davey--

Well, Davey has a way with words. Jack reminds him often enough. Not only is Davey a craftsman with the English language, he's a fighter, and wields words as weapons that shoot to kill when they're fueled by his anger.

"If you're so fucking unhappy here, then why don't you just leave," Davey spits venomously.

He regrets the words the instant they leave his tongue. It's torture, actually, to watch them reach Jack's ears and see his face fall not into the anger that Davey expected, but hurt. Which is so, so much worse.

Jack's jaw and shoulders go slack, like a piece of him has just died a little, and now Davey has to live with being the one who killed it. If that wasn't enough, his eyes go big and sad and doe-eyed and god dammit, why did Davey have to go and aim right for the jugular?

In an instant, he's closed the space between them and cupped a hand behind Jack's neck. "Jack, I--"

Jack dips his head, eyes fluttering shut at the skin to skin contact. "I know," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," Davey croaks. And he is. Because nothing--not whatever the fuck they were fighting about, not winning an argument--not a single thong in this world, means more to Davey than what he has with Jack.

"Me, too," Jack says. "You ain't getting rid of me that easily."

***

DOUBLE EDIT: Added a fluffy one down here because I felt bad about the angst I really DO need to practice fluff so here ya go two for the price of one

***

"Been quite a year, eh?"

Davey turns from where he's stationed at the lodge window, flashing Jack that gorgeous smile of his and all of a sudden Jack's forgotten how to breathe. "I'd say so. Starting a union. Winning a strike. Don't know how we're going to top this one next year."

"Bigger and better and bolder, that's all."

"Ah, such is the Jack Kelly way."

"Whaddya mean by that?" Jack asks, although a laugh creeps into his voice.

"I just mean that's the way you do things. Big and bold or not at all."

"Oh." He's not wrong.

A gust of winter wind brings silence between them, and Jack never quite knows what to do with silence except break it.

"You know, you're supposed to kiss someone on New Year's Eve," Jack announces, hoping he's not being too obvious. He is. He knows it. Subtlety was never his forte. Davey's eyebrows raise, but he stays staring out into Manhattan, the chaos of the lodging house continuing behind them. "When the countdown gets to zero," Jack elaborates. " 'S'posed to be good luck or somethin'."

Finally Davey rewards Jack with his full gaze, something playful poorly hidden in his crooked smile. "And are you in need of some good luck?"

The voices of thirty or so newsboys enthusiastically counting along to the raidio cuts through the crisp air.

"Ten, nine, eight!"

"Actually, no. I'm on top of the world, in case you ain't noticed."

"You work for The World."

"Yeah, well, so do you."

"Jack."

"Davey."

"Seven, six, five."

"Well. Even if you were in need of any luck, I presume you'd save the kissing for someone you actually like."

"Davey."

"Jack."

"Half this conversation's just us sayin' each other's names like a pair of idiots."

"Four."

"You're telling me we're not a pair of idiots."

"Three."

"You're really gonna make me spell it out for you, aren't ya?"

"Two."

"Like a vocabulary test."

"One."

Jack cups a hand to the back of Davey's head, pulling him close until they're foreheads gently press against one another. "I've liked ya since before I even realized I did. Does that make any sense?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Zero! Happy New Year!"

Screw it.

Jack closes the distance between them, burst of lights from the fireworks creating a kaleidascope of colors behind his eyelids.

As the world turns into a new century, Jack and Davey stare out into the city with their shoulders pressed together, silently letting the ambient light and noises wash over them.

Ten seconds into the new year and it's already better than the last.

[mama-we-all-go-to-huesos]

OH IM SO INVESTED IN THIS

Is this the true Leo? Is he just mind controlled?

What's Prime!Leo willing to go to to make sure Mikey doesn't tell the others? That he doesn't put him back?

WAAAGH my first ask!! Showering you with so many kisses mUAH mUAH!! Thank you for your interest in my silly lil brainrot but onto your question!

Yes! This is our favorite boy 100%! Mind controlled though hmm i want to say mostly no!

This AU is kinda an exploration on how much of ‘you’ (your personality, goals, wants and needs) are tied into your experiences and memories- and how having a lot of, if not all, of someone else’s memories might affect that.

Essentially, this is our Leo, 100%, but it’s also a Leo who has seen through the eyes of a conqueror, a tyrant, and having his perspective in every kill and war waged! He felt Karaang Prime’s lust for blood, his satisfaction with victory, the sweet rush of adrenaline fueled malice- and while someone like Raph or Mikey might shove those feelings down and away, for Leo, who’s a bit insecure, protective, prone to a flighty nature AND who’s just returned from a traumatic experience showing him just how utterly weak he truly is…maybe he might lean into those memories of victory just a weeeee bit too much…not realizing that trying to forget that ‘weak’ part of himself leaves more and more room for someone else to fill in the cracks…not until it’s too late, anyway.

So yeah! This is most certainly Og Leo making really bad decisions and telling no one about them until the last precarious minute hehehe!

To the second question! I am but a simple woman with a simple love for happy endings so most likely no, Leo would never touch his fav younger brother…but he might try!

Prime!Leo has two sets of fears when it comes to the Prison Dimension- not only does he have centuries of boredom and frustration to NOT look forward to, but now he has a clawing terror of what WONT be boring but most certainly won’t be fun- Karaang is there. He’s waiting. And knowing “Leo’s” memories Kraang is probably bored out of his mind so the second he gets his gross warty tentacles around Leo it’ll be lights out forever. Hohoho and in my head Leo reacts to fear by disassociating and denying it while someone as prideful and narcissistic as Karaang would respond with a “If I’m going down you’re coming with me!” Violence so you can just imagine the absolute WAR this boy will rage to not be sent back! Are you imagining it? Cus I am! And there is a lot of kicking, screaming, biting and VERY hurtful words Bahaha!

That being said, Leo attempting to kill or maim Mickey for however he insinuated or hints at this outcome will probably be what cracks Leo into realizing he’s in way over his head and finally asking for help. Maybe fear-disassociating Leo is my own HC but if he ever actually hurt one of his brothers that memory would be too much to bear and he’d completely carpenmentalize himself and lean wholly into Kraang’s apathy and remorselessness.

So tl;dr sorry for babbling but

Yes! This is our Leo! And no, he’s not being mind controlled,,not exactly. “Influenced” is a more accurate word

Prime would do absolutely anything! But Leo would and could never.

Now, am I already thinking of some compromises between Prime and Leo? Oh yeah, comics are comin your way dog and thank you again for inspiring me with your question <3

Have a wonderful day fellow angst loving maniac <3

[exx-ceptional]

heya mick!! i hope ur doing alright! i know you recently got a dahlia from skullgirls request and i hope you don't mind if i request one too D:

could i request a black dahlia (skullgirls) with a female significant other? like some angst? like dahlia cheats on the reader with someone else?

im sorry tho, you don't gotta do this if you don't want to, im just a sucker for angst😭😭

But, you'd always leave me behind.

More requests, ILY :3 had to do this during exam night but don't care cause ANGGSSTTTT Black Dahlia X fem reader _______________________________________________

"It's not cheating, love. I'm only there for their body- I love you wholeheartedly, swear my beautiful girl." Those words, shitty lies of an experienced phony. Yet, her voice felt so comforting and warm behind that mask you're already used to. If just for one more second, she could return to hugging you, protecting you from everything. The many times, just so hard to count and let it slip by just for the sake of some type of love. Truthfully, your heart screamed in betrayal, hurt, and sorrow. Never anger, never rage. Just stuck in the dilemma of ignoring a false-looking truth. No, this can't go on at this point... something's got to give. You loved saying the words 'I love you' so honestly to her, no matter if you were just dismissed with a wave of her hand in return. It felt special, really happy. Fuck, why can't we just do it right, Dahlia? ____________________________________________________ Another night, Dahlia is back with lovebites and her usual poker face ridden with lipstick stains on her mask. "Y/N, you're sulking up again- what's the matter, love?" Her ignorance is bliss, but it's so heart-wrenching to you. How many times has she returned like this? Where even you couldn't complain, you can't really... If you could burst, if your emotions could just get out of control- that's inconvenient? As if you'd care. "It's about the gals, isn't it? Told you to never care about it. You know I love you, hm? You'll love me as well either way, mhm?" She hummed with a smug smirk behind her mask keeping her hands to herself, she didn't even have the heart to at least comfort or touch you whole-heartedly. Fucking liar, fucking.... Her harsh actions fulfilled the dreams of everyone but you, of everyone deserving. Does loyalty not play a part in respect anymore? What, why would she just say that, those thoughts are mind-consuming. But, it's the truth. For her, you did so many of the cruelest acts just for the kindest of reasons. And that is, love itself. But, it's not different to anyone- this sacrifice is not as abnormal as you would've hoped it to be. If like, you could be different and have the good enough hurt in your life to be noticed- maybe. You were just an ignorant innocence slowly being twisted by the truth you wished you just... never saw, maybe. She stood so far away from you, cleaning herself up with no reaction- not even minding to hide a thing from you, and it was just so annoying... no, it's a stronger hate containing only powerless malice. You sat silently, torn with sadness as you cooked a hot meal with a solemn heart. No, this isn't even any special... just food, just some stuff to eat. If really, you could make this with the love you really had for Dahlia- if like, some things could change then maybe... All the ideas and all the thoughts of what characteristic you probably lacked is the only thing that fueled you awake, how better are those women? Better than you, to be sure. The food is set for two, and you sit down- the table lacks its duo, its partner. Seemingly, Dahlia slips away with just some cold snack for tonight- planning to spend a long time with someone else, the minutes and hours you also crave yourself. Looking down, spoon motionless in your hand as you can't cry anymore, you can't expect new hope anymore at this point. How much change, how many things do you need to do to get those cold arms to embrace you again... Everything's cold again, this house is just a building as you tremble with tearless sobs. Wow, you really do love me, Dahlia. ____________________________________________

FIN

A/N: I didn't review by the way made at 11 25 pm with love and pickle water so probably kinda messy