#You wouldn’t believe the lore………

[lavampira]

this sure is a webbed site.

[chuchayucca]

Tbh I'm surprised nobody else has brought up the idea of Richard being abused too

It feels like a lot of potential for it and an explanation (aside from their status) as to why Roy never got help for it either -- Richard thought it was normal.

Now this is just making me imagine a scene where Carmen remarks that Roy will "grow out of it" (it being his behavior) like Richard did in front of the other Hatz and Ross and Robert just share a Look

Anddd now I'm wondering how much Carmen knows

TW for discussions of fictional CSA/SA and mentions of alcoholism

Me too, I thought it would be an obvious assumption but I guess not.

Exactly, I’ve seen the fandom explore Carmen and Roy’s relationship regarding his CSA but never with Richard. I think it’s ashamed because there’s a lot you can write for the relationship, even outside of their CSA.

Omg that’s a good scene idea. The Hatzgang are realized there is a deeper issue, and Roy has to unfortunately unpack that generational trauma. I can see how learning his dad is a possible CSA victim, like him, starts pushing Roy to tell his parents but also discourages him because basically Richard unknowingly knew Roy was SA but never recognized it because he doesn’t know he was SA too. I also believe Richard normalized his brother’s actions too. It’s truly devastating how Richard indirectly contributed to the normalization of Roy’s abuse but he doesn’t know it’s SA. He believes those fun “games” him and his brother played were normal family bonding activities and is happy to hear his son is getting along with his brother, a brother he admired when growing up.

These headcanons might change as the series continues and the deeper I get into research.

I headcanon Carmen doesn’t know anything but has suspected something was off a few times. She never thought anything of Richard’s behavior at first because he alway been this way. When they became adults, she started questioning as Richard still had issues with intimacy at that point in their relationship and his alcoholism was at its worst. (Short ver: Richard started drinking at a young age to cope with trauma of his SA and the Uncle encouraged this, buying him alcohol for various reasons. Modern day, Richard is a functional alcoholic but has gotten better with his drinking)

As of the moment, Roy’s parents are unaware of Roy’s CSA. The day the Uncle died, Roy did get in trouble but for separate reasons. Carmen and Richard were mad at Roy for hanging out with “plebeians” and sending them to one of his uncle’s private properties. Roy doesn’t feel comfortable telling them yet because they’re snobby, judgmental people, so he assumes they won’t react well.

[vrisik]

love the fnaf teaser and that it seems scary and not like the horror games for kids stuff. upset that michael isn’t a purple corpse, but other than that aaaaa!!!!!!!!

[foldingfittedsheets]

My paternal grandmother was a librarian. I only got to see that set of grandparents once a year as they lived out of state. I fondly remember summers spent at their house watching That Darn Cat and The King and I on loop, hunting for water skippers in the back creek, and reading the entirety of the Peanuts comics.

Because my grandma was a librarian she was delighted to foster my love of reading. We made trips to the library every week. One summer when I was seven or so I got really into this kids series about princesses all named after gemstones, each had a unique magic power.

At the end of each book was a puzzle or some extra bit of lore to decode. All of them were easily copied down in some way. Until I got to Sapphire’s book. At the end of the story Princess Sapphire was in peril! She needed a hero to come save her from a terrible fate. And there, on the last page, was a decoder device. It needed to be cut out and assembled.

I had to help save the Princess!!! In the iron grip of a fever of imagination I immediately found scissors and started carefully cutting the page. The page warned only to use scissors with an adult present and I scoffed to think I needed supervision just for scissors! I was a hero!Her plight called to me from the pages, imaginings of how I would daringly rescue the beautiful sweet Princess Sapphire ran through my little brain-

And about halfway up the page toward my goal I froze. This was a library book. I couldn’t cut a library book! What was I doing?! Even now in my memory it stands as a glaring example of the first time I mastered impulse control. Tragically, too late.

I was distraught. My grandma had a sacred duty to books and I, villain that I was, had defiled a precious tome! I wallowed for some time in abject misery, experiencing the greatest amount of guilt my tiny body had ever previously held. I’d probably go to jail. For a crime as monumental as wielding scissors against a book I wouldn’t even get dessert in jail.

Gradually, I processed my way through the grief of my vile deeds. I couldn’t have the decoder, I slowly accepted. That might be punishment enough. And I had only cut the page halfway. So it was only half a crime... It wasn’t illegal to lie when you’d aborted an evil act, right?

I didn’t know but I didn’t want to face my grandma’s potential wrath. I have no memory of my grandma ever yelling at me. I waited until the next day to approach her.

“Grandma? I finished my book and when I got to the end I saw someone had cut the page! They probably wanted the decoder because I also want that but it was very bad to cut a book, wasn’t it?”

My grandma regarded me benignly. She carefully took the book to observe it and nodded. “It’s good to see that they stopped before they cut it all the way out. Let’s go tape this together, and then I can photocopy the page and we can make you a decoder.”

I was ecstatic. Rewarded for my honesty! I created and cracked codes for the rest of summer with the flimsy paper creation we’d made. I genuinely doubt my grandma believed that I wasn’t the perpetrator, but I loved that she acknowledged that the person responsible stopped.

[fantasyyluvr]

Bat-Boys in Bed

I couldn’t find a good gif, sue me

Dick Grayson’s mouth is filthy. And he gets enough praise, so I think he’d be into praising you instead.” You’re so pretty, all fucked-out and dumb…just for me” as he pounds into you, panting in between words.

He’d also be into touchy sex positions, like missionary where he can hook his nose into your neck and wrap his arms around you. Dick would be into you giving him hickies.

I think Dick has an insane stamina—round after round. His hips would meet yours at a punishing pace as he muttered out praise,” this cunt is so warm and wet for me. My beautiful girl.” And he place wet kisses to your neck and cheeks.

Dick isn’t above moaning, but he’s not pornographic about it.i see him whimpering and begging if he’s getting a blow job or if you’re on top and teasing him, but I don’t see him moaning as much or more than you.

Jason Todd isn’t much of a talker during sex, but I do believe he moans. He’d be a lot more gentle with you than popular belief thinks. Especially if we’re talking older, mature Jason who’s passed his “fresh from the pit madness.”

I do believe Jason has a choking kink and I’ll die on this hill. And it doesn’t have to be his hand around your throat or vice versa. It can be him shoving his cock to the back of your throat and feeling you pulse and throb around him.

He enjoys, mature Jason too, seeing your eyes go wide and glassy. Jason loves to pull his cock from your mouth after you’ve had enough and seeing your lips plump and pink. He loves the slight flush of your tits.

Jason is a lot more eager to switch roles and be on the bottom than Dick. If you’re feeling top-ish and want to ride. Jason wouldn’t argue as you ground down on him, rolling your hips and leaving a trail of slick on his pelvis.

He’d beg through covered lips as you shushed him and picked up your pace, driving your hips forward and giving Jason the release he’d been craving.

I don’t know enough about Tim or Duke, sorry.

Bruce is harder to read because there’s decades of lore, canon, and stuff that’s not in the main continuity. Many writers have different versions of him that some favorite—however, here goes.

Bruce is a control freak. Whether you planned it or not, you’d end up in a dom/sub dynamic. He’d be choosing your clothes, picking which jewelry he buys, telling you when to cum before you even realize it.

I also think he has a power imbalance kink, just a little bit. Nothing extreme or megalomaniacal. So I truly believe you wouldn’t be rich (sorry lol); you’d maybe be a lesser known vigilante, and that’s if Bruce is healthily interested in you. I believe you’d be a civilian, but a smart and compassionate one. We know Bruce isn’t one to dumb himself down for company; we know Bruce is attracted to smart women, but none of his past relationships worked because they didn’t have a heart ( I love Talia, but he real; she wasn’t Mother Teresa).

This one may lose people, but I believe Bruce has a breeding kink. It would be a chance for him to restart. His only blood child is an arrogant, cold assassin and the rest of his children are masked vigilantes who dance with death nightly. But with you, his love, he could have a child not born in pain and anger. He’s older and wiser; he’s not as vengeful and mission oriented as he was when he adopted Dick and Jason; Tim sought him out, and Damian came with a chip on his shoulder.

Bruce is unyielding in his refusal to switch places. He’s too paranoid and enjoys control too much to bottom. The closest you’ll get to topping is bossing him around from the bottom.” faster, pretty boy.” You reached up and caressed his face as his pace stuttered and he spilled into you, gasping and groaning as he did.

You wouldn’t be fucked in the suit or the Batmobile. And he hates being called Batman in bed. The closest you’d get to mixing sex with his vigilante life is getting fucked in the Batcomputer seat.

Damian Wayne is the kinkiest Batfam member. I see Damian, who didn’t undergo such a beautiful arc, having a blood and bondage kink.

Damian preferred to tie you down rather than tie you up. He cares for you, and tying you up puts you in an uncomfortable position (he doesn’t want that) and it screws with your circulation. And if he ties you down, he can see your face as he places the vibrator right on your clit. He can see you try to knock your knees—to no avail.

Damian loved to take a small knife and inflict a wound, if you can even call it that. It was feather soft, and you loved when he would wrap his mouth around the wound and suck the blood. Then he’d kiss you, letting the saliva and metallic taste mingle.

I believe Damian would be into hickies and spanking too, but not the for the violence like I see from the kinkier side of the fandom. He would be into hickies, spanking, bandage, and blood play for the markings. It all boiled down to markings. And that’s not to claim that those activities didn’t get you both off, but Damian’s true enjoyment stemmed from the possessiveness of it all.

That’s why he likes to untie you and massage the rope imprints, then walk you to the mirror and spin you around, letting you see all the prints and marks. He could feel himself harden again, but he knew he’d break you if he ever tried to impose his libido and stamina on you.

Don’t kill me, but Damian isn’t into cunnilingus. He also wouldn’t bottom, not like you’d want him to. If, and that’s a huge “if” ( it’s months into the relationship too), he does bottom, it’s not traditional bottoming. Damian would top from the bottom,” go slower, grind harder, beloved.” And he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave prints, because marks, duh!

Damian likes sloppy blow jobs. I know he’s proper and clean, but trust me. Spit, moans, and whimpers; that’s what gets him off. And seeing your cheeks flush and your breathing quicken, but you keep going lower and taking more of him in. He appreciates the determination, and it makes him feel in control, huge, and dominant which strokes his ego.

[rofefetasprite]

fantroll art dump because i love her and i get to post about her a little

[dollfaceksj]

still don’t know my name | jjk (m) pt. 2

➥ banner by: @archivedkookie.

➥ PAIRING: jungkook x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In which your annoying neighbor—that you can’t stand—turns out to be the person behind the online account you’ve been sexting. You still don’t know his name.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ cybersex ⋆ enemies

➥ CATEGORY: mini three-shot

➥ WARNINGS: mentions of rough sex; slapping, spanking, hair pulling, gagging, name calling, humiliation, degradation, mean!jk, biker!jk😋, bratty!reader (like reallll bratty), nude exchanging, pornography, cybersex, reader is a bit dumb, actually very dumb, sexting, flirting, neighbor beef, tension, jk smokes, bit of angst (cus it wouldn’t be a fic of mine if it didn’t have angst ofc), mentions of raw sex (WRAP IT UP), minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

a/n: whew. HI. can’t believe pt1 went off like that😭 thank u sm for enjoying this fic !

thanks to tumblr’s new 1k max blocks limit, i had to add the rest in a reblog. you’ll find a link to it at the bottom!

i call this a mini three-shot cause i just left out all the unimportant stuff. it just constantly skips to scenes where yn & jk bump into each other i really dgaf if it’s coincidental the entire time. i had and still have no intention of adding more lore than necessary😭 its just a pwp so i rlly dc abt the lack of story telling and whatnot i just wanted to get this horny idea out 🙄

make sure to check out eli’s version too! <3

enjoy 😘😘 — the next part (pt. 3) will be the final part!

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⇠ PREV. ⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆ NEXT ⇢

#2 — “gameboy”

You still don’t know his name.

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And that is how you spend the rest of your weeks.

Flirting.

Sexting.

Sending pictures of your naked body to a random stranger on the internet.

A random stranger whose name you do not know.

A random stranger that doesn’t know your name, either.

A random stranger that you’re somehow slightly possessive over.

A random stranger that’s somehow slightly possessive over you.

Constantly posting subtweets about each other only further proves that. Indirectly wanting to tell other people to back off without actually doing so.

It’s crazy how you two clicked almost immediately. Maybe men aren’t a lost cause after all.

The subtweets consist of more pornographic content, provoking each other and wording your wishes of what you would like to do to one another on your timelines.

Like posting captions that say, ‘wish you were here’ alongside a video of a woman getting fucked into a worn-out mattress.

Or ‘this could be us’ and it’s a video of 2 people kissing like it’s their last day on earth.

But then at times, you both just chat like best friends. Talk about the movies you like. Or the anime he recommends. Or the music he likes to listen to. He gets oddly defensive about Justin Bieber.

Even though you’re both aware that you’re two strangers, you can’t help but feel like you two have known each other for longer than just a few weeks.

Like the time you found out you live in the same timezone. Live in the same state. Grew up watching the same things on TV. Have heard of each other’s high schools.

But any details have been kept private so far—for safety reasons, of course.

It’s not like you don’t trust him. It’s not that. It’s just weird sharing personal info with someone you don’t know personally.

But there’s been some talks about potentially meeting each other.

You wonder what he’s like in real life.

You bet he’s as charming as he is through text. Probably average looking but you don’t mind in the slightest. Pretty men only break hearts.

You still don’t know what he looks like and vice versa.

You still don’t know his name and vice versa.

Somehow you both wordlessly agreed on revealing your faces when you meet for the first time. The only physical details you’ve noticed are some of his tattoos that you can barely make out thanks to the poor quality of his pictures. His toned body. Veins. Sweatpants.

Most of his pictures are taken in the dark. Seems like he’s always just holed up at home and you deduce he might be a homebody or a gamer—something like that.

You usually can’t stand gamers (cue your annoying fucking neighbor) however, you can’t help but fantasize about sucking this random online stranger off while he’s gaming or have him bend you over his gaming setup. Let him fuck you from behind over his keyboard. Hips pounding into your asscheeks as his gaming chair squeaks.

The buzzing of your phone next to your hip snaps you out of your sinful trance.

[Twitter]

@archurback4me sent you a message!

Your heart always jolts like it’s been resuscitated every single time he sends you a message and that hasn’t changed in the past few weeks. There are simply no words to describe how it feels when your phone buzzes and it’s the person you’re thinking about.

You sit straight up on your couch, crossing your legs criss-cross applesauce as you giddily unlock your phone.

@archurback4me | 11:12AM

Goodmorning brat

How’d you sleep

Sleep. How’d you sleep.

Right, that’s what you’d forgotten!

You | 11:13AM

wait omg

now i remember

i dreamed about you omggg

well you were kinda faceless but in my dream i knew it was you

@archurback4me | 11:13AM

Did you?

What kind of dream

You | 11:13AM

honestly it started out weird as fuck lol

i wish i could tell you something sexy but it really isn’t

you were in my old high school trying to buy something from the vending machine and it wouldn’t work

so you ended up punching it and then i stopped you

and told you to hit me instead like some kind of pick me girl lmaoooooo

@archurback4me | 11:14AM

LMAOOOO

Bruhhh

That is so random

Hitting you is crazy

You | 11:14AM

i know

i mean

watching you be so aggressive was pretty hot tho

woke up w drenched panties

@archurback4me | 11:15AM

That so?

You got proof or are you just talking out of your ass?

You | 11:15AM

ur trying to see my pussy at 11am? really? you’re horny at this hour?

@archurback4me | 11:16AM

11AM or 11PM

Idgaf

Let me see that pretty pussy

How are you supposed to decline when he says it like that?

You want to do everything he asks. Anything. Want him to want you. Need him to want you.

You drag your sweats down your legs, tossing them off your bed with a quick kick. The tip of your finger slips under the elastic of your panties, peeling it off your pussy and sliding it to the side.

Arm stretched out, you reach for a low angle of your glistening pussy. There’s a teeny tiny bit of stubble coming through, not that either of you really care.

You snap a quick photo. Check it. Aren’t satisfied. Snap a few more until you’re okay with the row of pictures you can choose from.

You | 11:19AM

(You sent a photo.)

@archurback4me | 11:21AM

For fucks sake

That wet from imagining me shaking up a vending machine, are you?

Shit

Can’t stop staring

You | 11:21AM

well yes.

i mean honestly

i don’t fantasize about you hitting me or anything like that

but being slapped across the face by you kind of sounds... hot

@archurback4me | 11:23AM

I’ve seen you tweet about it before

And you’ve rted several videos like that

So trust me

I know you’re into that

You | 11:23AM

hmm

yeah

i think it’s hot

but not like.. the way you’d slap someone for making fun of your mom

just... a quick slap to make me look at you when i’m disobeying

:)

@archurback4me | 11:23AM

Choking, spanking, slapping, hairpulling, spitting, gagging

You sure you can take all that?

You | 11:23AM

are you challenging me?

@archurback4me | 11:25AM

No

I know better than to challenge a brat over text

Just wanna make sure angel

You | 11:25AM

trust me i’ll be loud about it if i don’t like it

but only if you’re down with it

@archurback4me | 11:26AM

I am

Because your dirty mouth definitely deserves a few slaps whenever you start yapping like you do so well

You | 11:27AM

kiss my ass jay

you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid lmao

Oh, right. He’d told you to call him Jay about two weeks ago. You’ve been calling him that ever since.

@archurback4me | 11:30AM

Wish I could princess

Let me see that ass one more time

You | 11:30AM

🙄.

what do i get in return?

@archurback4me | 11:32AM

I’ll write your username on my pelvis and post a vid of me jacking off

Oh.

The thought of him, jacking off with your username written across his pelvis, free for everyone to see. The thought of claiming him. Having him all to yourself.

The tingle in your core is impossible to ignore. You want him.

You | 11:33AM

so all those ppl chatting you up in your dms know that you ultimately belong to me?

@archurback4me | 11:33AM

If that’d allow me to see your ass then 100%

You | 11:33AM

ur so thirsty

so many asses you can see online

why mine

@archurback4me | 11:34AM

Because yours is my favorite duh

You don’t have to of course

There’s a compromise, isn’t there?

His favorite?

Does he chat with other people as well? Do others send him pictures of their body too? Does he send them pictures too?

That alone brings a scowl to your face but you quickly realize that, yes, he can do what he wants.

You get up on your knees and stretch your arm out behind you. Phone upside down. Hit record. Spank your ass. Catch the watch it recoils on camera.

Repeat.

Make him never want anyone else again.

You | 11:35AM

🙄.

just shut up

(You sent a video.)

@archurback4me | 11:35AM

Holy shit I need you

I need you so bad

Ahhhh you’re driving me fucking crazy

You | 11:36AM

you could have me

@archurback4me | 11:36AM

I’m so serious I’ll come one of these weeks and I’m not even joking

You | 11:36AM

i wish you would

@archurback4me | 11:38AM

I will

Give me a date I’ll write it down

You | 11:38AM

you’re coming to stay for a few days, right?

i have plenty of room in my bed for you

@archurback4me | 11:39AM

Hmm

Was hoping you’d say that

One night with you would never be enough for me

You | 11:40AM

hehe

exactly 3 weeks from now

the entire week

what do you say?

@archurback4me | 11:42AM

Never noted something faster

I have a dog though

So I was thinking it’d be easier for you to come to me

You | 11:43AM

i don’t mind you bringing your dog

luv dogs

but don’t think i forgot about what i was gonna get in return for sending you my ass

@archurback4me | 11:44AM

Jeez

He doesn’t reply for quite some time. The typing bubble doesn’t pop up either.

But after several minutes a new tweet pops up on your feed.

He didn’t caption it. Just a video that starts with his abs. You watch as his fingers trail down his stomach and tug his underwear down, revealing his squiggly inked skin.

And there it is, ‘@bratgaIore’ written across his pelvis in black marker.

He spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around his shaft, stroking his rock hard dick at a perfect pace. The sound has been turned off and you really wish it wasn’t but then again, you don’t want anyone else hearing him.

Want him sounding pretty for you. Just for you.

You’ve clearly been staring at the video for too long because you get a new message.

@archurback4me | 11:54AM

Happy?

You | 11:56AM

holy shit

you actually did it

@archurback4me | 11:57AM

Of course I did

I don’t play when it comes to that ass of yours

You | 11:58AM

hm

now im rlly horny

@archurback4me | 11:58AM

Aren’t you always

You | 11:58AM

thanks to you

i hate you

@archurback4me | 11:59AM

That’s fine

The feeling’s mutual anyway

Gonna enjoy the way you fall apart under me when I fuck you

Fuck you until you’re stupid

You | 12:03PM

a dream come true

:p

guess what

@archurback4me | 12:04PM

Hm?

You | 12:06PM

(You sent a photo.)

The photo is a picture of your soaking wet pussy with his username written on your pelvis in black marker, too.

@archurback4me | 12:08PM

What the fuck

You’re trying to fucking kill me angel

I need to insert my tongue immediately

You | 12:09PM

here come the harvard graduates

insert is crazy

@archurback4me | 12:10PM

You drive me crazy

Pussy got me acting all formal and shit LMAOO

Got me wanting to wear a bib and say Itadakimasu😋 when I dive in

Fuck

Want you on my face so fucking bad

Spank you while you ride my face

Don’t think I’ve ever seen something so pretty

Think my mind will change when I see your face though

You | 12:11PM

LMAOOOO not itadakimasu😭😭😭

hmm

you like it?

@archurback4me | 12:12PM

Are you insane

I keep going back to it

You should write my username when we meet so I can see it when I take your clothes off

Know that your pussy belongs to me

You | 12:12PM

if you do it too

@archurback4me | 12:13PM

Deal

You | 12:13PM

hehe

😋.

btw

@archurback4me | 12:14PM

Hm?

You | 12:14PM

are you clean

@archurback4me | 12:15PM

What?

You | 12:16PM

like

are you clean

for raw sex

@archurback4me | 12:16PM

Oh

Yeah I am

I’ll send you my results when I’m home

You | 12:16PM

you don’t have to do that i believe you

i’m clean too

where are you rn?

@archurback4me | 12:16PM

Just left to meet a friend

You | 12:17PM

oh

you’re not texting and driving right

@archurback4me | 12:18PM

Of course not, babe.

How am I supposed to meet my dumb girl when I’m dead?

I’m going by foot

Babe.

My dumb girl.

This is dangerous territory.

You | 12:19PM

hm

just like how i want to be the death of you as i tease you while ur in public

@archurback4me | 12:19PM

Don’t

I’m warning you

I don’t wanna meet my friends with a raging boner

I just got rid of one

You | 12:20PM

ur so easy lol

@archurback4me | 12:22PM

Just you wait you little brat

Gonna leave you so fucking sore when I’m done with you

No breaks

Fuck you the whole week long

You | 12:23PM

hmm

gonna fuck me like you hate me?

@archurback4me | 12:24PM

I do hate you

A lot

Dumb girl

Don’t think that’s gonna change when I see you in real life

Might get even more pissed off when I see your bratty mug actually

I just know your face is so fucking bratty

You | 12:25PM

you’d be obsessed with me

i’m really pretty

@archurback4me | 12:26PM

Lmao yeah I probably will be

I’m sure you are

Gonna defile your pretty face when I cum all over it you stupid brat

But my friend’s here

I’ll ttyl princess

You | 12:27PM

can’t wait

bye daddy

@archurback4me | 12:27PM

Hell nahhhhh

Don’t call me that

You | 12:30PM

ok then bye mr. fuck-you-everyday-of-the-week

@archurback4me | 12:30PM

And will

Night after night

You | 12:30PM

go already

byeeeee

@archurback4me | 12:32PM

Bye princess

You go about your day like you usually would and later that night, he ends up sending you his results anyway. You were already asleep by then, though.

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Want to keep reading? The full chapter is out on my Wattpad.

Click here to keep reading.

a/n: thanks to tumblr’s new max 1k blocks limit, i’ll have to figure out how i’m gonna post the full thing on here. (probably tomorrow or friday) either by combining paragraphs or add the continuation in a reblog or something. but its out on wattpad so i hope you’ll forgive me !!

thanks for reading <33

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Here’s the link to continuation (in a reblog).

— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

@mygdday @coletaehyung @btspurplesky @kaitieskidmore97 @marvelbun @nini_07777 @8514238 @llallaaa @s3l3n0phil3 @agrika @ahgasegotarmy116 @canyon-lwt @boyfriendtaekook @s4yok0 @mochminnie @chimmisbae @muah-minhoe-8 @bloopkook @whoa-jo @dreami-yoonkookie @earth2fae @kissyfacekoo @keroppitae @junecat18 @hollowtree11 @jksusawife @synnfulqt @pamzn @jknoah @jjk-jeongirl @busanstarkoo @busanboykoo @codeinebelle @taegicity @bettybloop @kookssecret @MMFranklin @vickyyy97 @suciedad-divina @jkslipppiercing @heyyolly04 @partyparty-yah @kooact @osakis-gf @luna-astro-star @plushjeno @jjk1iscoming @Heyrobitches @sunnysorasworld @raineo @jjanjankook @etaerealboyv @somehowukook @larryrulesthisfuckingworld @rrrapmonste-rr @denisaandreea20 @httpjeonlicious @jjeonjennie @dellalyra @optimisticmoongalaxy @ishizhans

[meo-eiru]

https://www.tumblr.com/meo-eiru/757680642898182144/what-would-elias-be-like-with-a-darling-who-pushes?source=share

Omg im so sorry but isnt elias the given name for pretty boy jealous bf? This ask was abt him bc i thought that was his name but ty for the extra yummy silas lore 🥵

Oh my god lmao I’m sorry I’ve been answering Silas asks like a machine gun I thought you also said Silas😭

The reason Elias fell for you was never because of your appearance. He just loves and craves for your attention and validation. He is pretty but that’s pretty much the only quality he has. Surprisingly enough he was born into a pretty normal family with a pretty normal name which he changed to Elias later on because he thought his old name wouldn’t impress you.

He doesn’t exactly have hobbies or special skills so he’s a little self conscious. If you insulted his appearance he’d quickly break because he believes that’s his only good quality. If that quality is also worthless then why does he exist?

That’s one of the reasons his jealousy temper tantrums are so bad, he’s convinced you could leave someone boring like him easily so his guard is up 24/7

Similarly to Silas he would try to change his appearance to fit to your liking but would be more extreme at it. If you don’t stop him he might even end up getting multiple plastic surgeries.

He lives to be validated by you, you’re the prettiest existence in his eyes and he wants to be like that for you too

[emchant3d]

siren steve and pirate eddie, part 2 pt 1

Steve heals slowly.

He’s irritable and restless, bedridden, and he doesn’t have the strength in his injured tail to support himself if he were to be tossed back into the ocean.

The crew helps him to the deck for a change of scenery and some sunshine - he seems more settled when he can hear the waves and feel the sun on his skin. He’s less snappish, at least, those sharp teeth tucked away behind his pink lips instead of bared in Eddie’s direction.

Eddie had panicked briefly about how much saltwater Steve needs, and he’d rolled his eyes at him. “Keep it near and I’ll be fine,” he tells him. “Half human remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “but the fish part is looking a little dry, sweetheart.” 

Steve slaps him with a tail fin.

He finds himself spending most days with the Mer. Part of it is pure fascination - it’s difficult to not want to spend time around a story come to life. And if he neglects his duties as Captain a little, well - that’s what his crew is for.

Slowly, he pulls more from Steve. He finds out what caused his injuries - “the deep holds a lot of creatures that like the taste of Mer,” he tells him. “I swam right into a nest. By the time I realized, they already had me by the throat and were dragging me to the seabed.”

“Gods,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve hums in agreement. “Evil little things. Razor sharp claws and teeth, and their tails are like whips. They move in schools, so if there’s one, there’s dozens others.”

He speaks of these kinds of creatures so casually, monsters that have worked their way into human lore and others that are unknown to them, but the idea of them still makes Eddie’s skin crawl.

It’s like Steve has a sixth sense for his discomfort. He’s lounging in a long basin Freak and Jeff put together, a shallow amount of salt water in it to keep him comfortable, and he rolls his head to the side, peering up at Eddie.

“They probably wouldn’t turn down a human, either,” he muses, dragging those unnervingly deep eyes up and down him, “but your little lungs wouldn’t survive that deep down, so you’re probably fine.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie snorts, and Steve breaks into a laugh.

As friendly as they’re becoming, Eddie knows Steve still doesn’t fully trust him. He’s excellent at reading people - he knows when someone is keeping secrets, and Steve is locked tight.

He doesn’t blame him. He knows it’s difficult to believe Eddie’s help doesn’t come with strings, and he catches Steve watching him and his crew sometimes, tense and on edge as if he’s waiting for someone to lash out at him.

Eddie hates it. But he doesn’t know how to settle him, not fully, and so maybe the solution is to craft those strings he’s looking so hard to find. Let him find what he’s looking for, but show him that they aren’t as bad as he’s built them up to be in that pretty head of his.

“So what other gifts are you blessed with, Highness?” he asks one cloudy day, the sky gloomy and overcast. A little rain won’t hurt them, but he’s hoping the darker clouds on the horizon will dissipate before they reach them and upend a true storm.

“Divination,” Steve says like he’s bored, and Eddie’s head whips around to stare at him. Steve holds his gaze, his own a little hooded, and he yawns softly.

“What,” Eddie asks flatly. Steve waves a hand dismissively. 

“Just about the ocean,” he says, like that isn’t still one of the most incredible things Eddie’s ever heard. “I can tell when danger’s near. When something isn’t quite right. Whole lot of good it did me,” he snorts, glancing down at his scarred torso.

The bandages have been removed, and pink skin is healing slowly where there used to be gaping wounds. His tail is faring much the same, scales missing from where he’d been bitten and ripped at, but the new flesh is beginning to blend in with the bright shades of his lower half.

“Everything was dangerous down there, I just tried to pick the safest option. I’m still pretty sure I chose right.” Eddie frowns. “You were almost eaten alive,” he says, can’t help it, and Steve cuts him a lazy smile.

“Almost,” he repeats, and Eddie supposes that’s an answer.

He takes a breath, calms his heart, and tries to act like the Captain he is. “So, if you stuck around, you’d be able to tell me what I’m heading towards.” Steve closes his eyes and lets his head hang back, arms resting on the sides of the basin. 

“Yes.” A cloud sweeps over them, blocking the sun from shining on Steve’s face, casting him in shadows. “I could tell you if you were sailing into an ambush, or if the waters were acting up, or any number of other useful little tips that could keep you and your crew alive.”

“You’ve thought about this,” he says, and Steve snorts.

“Of course I have. I have no home. No family. Going alone almost got me killed. I’m pretty but I’m not dumb, Eddie.” He opens his eyes, fixing his gaze onto Eddie’s. “So how about we make a deal?” he offers, and Eddie grins.

It’s an easy negotiation. Steve wants freedom. He wants to see the world. And he wants safety while he does it. Eddie wants an advantage, wants to keep his crew safe, wants them to thrive in this difficult life they’ve chosen.

They shake on it. Steve moves lightning fast as their hands meet, a sharp claw nicking his own palm and then Eddie’s, making him hiss.

“Fuck–” he grunts. A burning sensation shoots through him from hand to chest, fire hot and searing. He gasps, fingers locked around Steve’s, who stares at him impassively. “What…?”

“You’ve made an oath with a Mer,” Steve says simply. “You’ll be held to your word, Captain Munson.”

Eddie pulls his hand away and looks at his palm. 

A black mark surrounds the cut from Steve’s claw, a swirling spiral that snakes from the center of his palm in three little loops. Steve holds his hand out without being asked, showing the matching mark on his own skin.

Eddie’s no stranger to ink and tattoos, but this is decidedly different. It hums with an ancient kind of magic, a connection that he doesn’t - can’t - understand. Something unnameable settles into his bones.

This is a test, he realizes. Or maybe it’s insurance. Either way, it’s something Steve felt necessary to take Eddie at his word, and so he won’t ask questions - not yet, at least.

“Well, I’ve had worse deals, I guess,” he says, and when he meets Steve’s eyes again, some of the caution has seeped out of them. 

Eddie’s sure there’s more to be found out about this creature in front of him, but contrary to popular belief, he can be patient when it counts. 

For now he’ll take what he’s offered - a wary friendship. A slow-growing understanding. And a certain type of care, of gentleness, that curls warm within him and grows with every smile and soft look that Steve throws his way.

part 3 coming soon 💕 no tag lists, sorry!

[wearywinchester]

Wrong Turn

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight with Dean leads you to take a breather, what was supposed to be a quick walk turns into something more.

Requested by Anonymous: “Hi <3 Can you write a Dean x Reader, they are in a relationship but they have a nasty fight one night, reader goes outside for a walk to take a breath but there is a storm and it's raining bad and she just gets lost and Dean freaks out when she doesn't come back? Angst and fluff please.”

Warnings: angst, arguing, swearing, mentions of blood, injury, anxiety, fluff

Tempers were well beyond their limit, a seemingly ongoing theme of the entirety of that day, stretching all the way through to that evening. Dean’s anger was never a surprise, not when it came to those that he held closest to himself. He can’t help it, never could. He gets himself so tightly wound with the ever growing desire to keep everyone safe, to keep everyone no further than arms length. He gets himself so worked up that he bursts, let’s that anger gush out of him in bouts of swearing and strings of words he almost always regrets later.

Tonight was no exception, not even close. It just might’ve been the worst fight the two of you have had in quite some time.

“I can’t believe you,” Dean says behind you, the motel door slamming shut faster than you can turn around to see him shove it closed with his boot.

“Believe what, that I did my job?” You say.

He was fuming, you could hear it in his voice. It was gruff and his words were sharp, an edge to it that wasn’t present most of the time. There was no humor, voice of that sweeter side you’ve always loved. It was filled with anger and frustration, deepened with irritation.

He chuckled, empty and humorless at the words that fell from your mouth and into the tense space. Did your job. To him, that was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing you could’ve ever said in your life given the context. The stupidest even.

That chuckle was so beyond bitter as he looked at you with a narrowed stare, those beautiful green eyes the angriest you’d ever seen them. Not at all soft as they most often were, not at all gazing at you with an adoration you can never ever fathom comes from looking at you. That loving gaze is replaced with the utmost of frustration as he stares you down, brows knit together.

“Doing your job? That’s what you’re calling it?” He says, laughter in his words as he tosses his duffel bag on the bed harshly, some of its contents spilling out of the half zippered opening. “Since when is putting your ass on the line to lore a damn monster a ten times stronger than you doing your job?”

You roll your eyes at his words, at the way he raised his voice. You wanted to say you couldn’t believe what you were hearing but that’d be a lie. It was Dean Winchester after all, you expected it.

“We hunt monsters for a living, Dean. Did you think I was just going to sit back and watch it kill somebody else? You would’ve done the same thing if I didn’t beat you to it,” you argue.

His cheeks were tinged a soft shade of pink, only making the freckles spattered on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose all the more noticeable. Dean doesn’t flush, not unless he’s angry, not unless he’s pissed. And there he stands, pink and rosy with his jaw tensed as tight as ever as he looks at you, looks at you till he can’t anymore in an effort to calm himself down.

“I wouldn’t do something that damn stupid,” he says, his gaze returning to you.

“You would and you have, Dean, don’t give me that,” you say, watching his top lip quiver in anger. “Every hunt you do something reckless and stupid and everyone’s supposed to be okay with your self sacrificing way of handling things because you think you’re doing what’s best. You always put your ass on the line in a million and one different ways, but when I do it it’s stupid? That’s a load of crap and you know it, Dean.”

You’ve raised your own voice now, watching his chest rise and fall heavier and heavier as he wipes his hand over his mouth.

“Y/n—”

“No, tell me, Dean. How is that fair?”

“You don’t—”

“How is it fair, Dean?” You’re damn near yelling, body tense and the pit of your stomach filled with a heat that travels to your cheeks, burning hot as you swim in your anger.

“You can’t just go running around painting yourself as bait every chance you get. You don’t know what the hell you’re getting into, and you damn sure don’t know what you’re doing,” he counters, his gaze unwavering.

“Don’t know what I’m doing? I’ve been in this nightmare of a gig just as long as you have, and I’m still swingin’. Don’t you dare say that I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say.

You’re livid, cheeks on fire as you stare him down, finally thinking to release the handles of your duffel bag that’d been trapped within the tightness of your grasp long enough for your hand to be sweaty, long enough that your fingernails left crescent shaped indentations on your palm.

“God, do you even hear yourself when you talk, Y/n?” There’s that bitter laugh again, humorless as he rubs his hand down his face.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, an action that pulls his gaze back to you.

“Then maybe you should look in the mirror, Dean. Tempting your own fate and looking death right in the face seems to be your thing,” you retort, watching his brows scrunch even tighter together.

His lips part, finger raising to point at you with a slight tremble before it drops back to his side and he’s almost at a loss for words. Almost, as he shakes his head.

“You know what, Y/n? I’m not the one with a damn gash on my forehead. I’m not the one walking around with a torn off piece of my flannel tied around my hand to stop the bleeding. I’m not the one walking around, doing a piss poor job hiding a freaking limp because I’m too damn proud to admit I did something stupid. So tell me, Y/n, is it really just my thing?”

Your chest was heaving at this point, whole body trembling with adrenaline as you stare up at him with as much anger as you could muster. You could feel that strain in your throat, that horrid soreness that came with the ever difficult battle to keep that lump from rising and allowing your voice to break. That stupid lump that accompanied the tears that pressed so adamantly behind your eyes that it burned, that it stung.

He had you angry, blood boiling as you stood there in front of him. He was no different, standing there with a jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth would damn near crack. He had a certain anger in his eyes, anger mixed with something you couldn’t quite place as you stared him down for as long as you could muster.

He always knew how to poke and prod, get under your skin. He was stubborn more than anyone you’d ever known, probably more than anyone that could exist. He was Dean Winchester.

“You’re a dick, Dean,” you say, all the venom and hurt you can muster in those four words. As much as you could even though it felt like your throat was on fire. Felt as though barbed wire was woven around it from all the built up pressure of the tears you’re trying to hold back to keep him from seeing.

There’s that laugh again, that same bitter laugh as he hears your words.

“Yeah? You act like you’re so tough, Y/n, like you’re the best damn hotshot hunter there is. You act like you know everything and you sure as hell don’t so get off your damn high horse before you do something even more stupid and get yourself dead.”

He was shouting by this point, brows knit and eyes narrowed as he stared at you with twice the anger than a minute ago and he was only met with the same look. The very same apart from the welled up tears and the wobbly lip you sunk your teeth into to try and hide it the very best you could. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t keep your facade up, not in front of him. You never could. It was damn near impossible as you stood there until you couldn’t anymore, spinning on your heel. You brushed past him, shoulder bumping him and nearly throwing you off balance as you head for the motel door.

“Where are you going?” He asks, his tone incredulous.

“Away from you. What’s it look like?”

You grab the door handle and can hear him scoff as you swing it open and at first he doesn’t think you’re serious, not as he chuckles and shakes his head, maybe to egg you on even.

He doesn’t think you’re serious even as you slam the door shut behind you, and maybe not even for a few minutes after that. But after that few minutes it doesn’t seem so funny anymore, it never did, especially not when you didn’t walk right back in. He doesn’t think it’s funny when he swings that motel door right back open to find the parking lot empty, the Impala void of your presence—to find you nowhere to be seen.

He stands there for a moment with a clenched jaw, anger pulsing through him that’s rapidly redirecting towards himself. But he simply steps back into the room and slams the door shut behind him so hard it rattled. Ran his hands through his hair and drug them down his face.

But he doesn’t move, too steeped in his own anger to go on after you as you walked along by yourself in an effort to cool yourself down.

It was cold out, that steady drizzle still coming down but bearable enough to keep on walking away from that motel and away from the man that’s got you all fired up.

Your cheeks were heated and your heart was still pounding. That horrible pressure behind your eyes of unshed tears had finally broken loose, hot tears rolling and mixing with chilly raindrops on your skin. Your face was scrunched in a way you couldn’t help even if you tried as you let them out, frustratedly wiping them away as if there was still a chance of the older Winchester seeing them.

You loved him, but god, you hated him sometimes. He was too protective for his own good, too angry. He’s got you so wound up you don’t know whether to scream, cry, or never turn back to that motel room again. Or perhaps all three. But you know you’d never actually run off. That may be exactly what you’re doing right now but you’d always find your way back to him.

He’s got a heart of gold but you’re too damn pissed to want to think about that right now.

He’s in that room by himself, Sam in the room next door. He’s in that room stewing in anger and regret for the things he’d said out of that anger. He’s beating himself up for that unshakable habit of saying things he comes to regret. He wants to rip that motel room apart, wants to go looking for you. He wants to do it all but instead he sits on the edge of that squeaky motel bed for a matter of seconds before he gets right back up again, splashing his face off with cool water in the bathroom sink. But instead he stays in that motel room, his remaining anger leaving him spiteful before that guilt trickles in.

It’s cold, damn it’s cold as you walk along the tattered sidewalk. The pavement is cracked and crumbling away at the edges, gravel spilling over from old parking lots you pass by. You’ve got no idea where you’re going, and no idea where you are. Of course you don’t, you’ve never been to this town in your entire life and it’s near in the middle of nowhere.

You were wandering around this little town and it quickly began to feel not so little as you continued on in a direction that surely wasn’t towards that motel.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute and you were almost too angry to care about your surroundings. So worked up that you felt damn near invincible, didn’t really care about any threats because that anger was enough of a driving force to keep you safe.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth, not even a little. Because deep down, under all that anger, you realized maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

He’s an idiot. He’s such a damn idiot that you almost couldn’t bear it. He always did this. He always tried to bench you, to hold you back on hunts. He always tried to jump in and save the day, always stole your thunder. He treated you like some rookie hunter that constantly needs a watchful eye, that constantly needs to be supervised like you don’t know what your doing. He acts like you’re some rookie hunter that couldn’t go two seconds on their own without getting into some life threatening situation.

He acts like it’s the end of the world when you step in, when you do something risky for the sake of keeping people safe. He blows it so far out of proportion, makes it seem like you couldn’t possibly do anything more stupid when he does the same and more. He does the very same every single time without second thought, but when you do it, there’s no greater crime to commit than doing your job.

He was so hypocritical it drove you insane.

You were a mess of emotions, fury and upset knotted in the pit of your stomach. It burned and it sat heavy, made you want to scream till your throat was sore. But you decided against it, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself more than you already felt you were as you walked alone through the empty street.

Your chest felt tight, your frustration having you ready to burst and that even felt like it wouldn’t be relieving enough. It felt like your emotions were too big for you to handle.

You were angry, you were pissed. You felt everything all at once, all of it as the wind picked up. It was more than noticeable as the gusts took your breath away for a moment, distracting you for just a second.

You knew the weather was bound to worsen, you saw the flashes of lightning beyond the street lights. You heard the low rumble of the thunder that followed it. It wasn’t until the drizzle of rain picked up to a steady pour that the storm you knew was brewing was fully there. You were caught outside and damn near lost in the middle of a freaking storm.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean was worried, of course he was. He’d be worried even if there wasn’t a stupid storm letting loose.

God, you hated him sometimes, but you loved him too.

You were stubborn as hell, stubborn enough to let yourself walk along a bit further and doom yourself even more. To keep on going and getting yourself even more lost and upset as the tears on your cheeks mixed with the rain. You walked until you wore yourself down and it took some doing, your anger took some work to wear away as you stomped along.

You walked until you gave in, till you caved.

It’d been who knows how long as you ducked under the overhang of a small store, digging in your pocket for your phone.

12:47 am.

It’d been forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of stubborn spite and being far too angry for your own good. Of being so stuck in your own head you didn’t stop yourself from getting into danger, but maybe that’s just what you do.

You held your phone with a shaky, wet hand, scrolling through your contacts before highlighting Dean’s name. Just the sight of it had your stomach churning, that burst of emotions flooding through you but you hit call anyway, pressing the phone to your ear.

It rang once, twice…

“Hello?”

No matter how angry you were, you couldn’t deny the rush of relief that washed over you at the sound of his voice.

You didn’t answer right away, a few quiet moments passing.

“Dean—”

“Y/n, where the hell are you?”

“Hello to you too,” you say, and you didn’t even need to see him to know he wasn’t amused.

“Now’s not the time for games,” he says.

“Like you care,” you mutter, more to yourself than anything but he still heard it.

“I called you seven freaking times, Y/n. Don’t tell me that crap,” he says, and you can hear the sheer anger and frustration in his voice, a little impatience mixed in there too.

You pull the phone away for a second, catching that number seven right beside his name. Dammit.

You simply sigh, get all quiet for a moment or two as you stand there with your free arm wrapped around yourself, foot tapping against the wet ground.

“Y/n, where are you?” He reiterates.

You’re still quiet for a second, biting your cheek.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, swallowing.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He says incredulously.

“I mean I don’t know, Dean. We’re in a town we’ve never been before in the freaking boonies, what do you think?” You say louder, quieting back down and shrinking back against the wall at your outburst, trying to hide from any unwanted attention.

“Landmarks, Y/n, gimme landmarks,” he says, tone a little softer.

You hum softly as your eyes dart around, searching for the most helpful piece of information you could find.

“Dave’s. Dave’s Bar. Uh…a diner across from it too,” you say, wincing at the sudden crack of thunder.

“I’m on the way. And please, for the love of god, stay put. Don’t go wanderin’ around or I swear I’m gonna freakin’ lose my damn mind,” he says.

“Dean, I—”

There were those three beeps, those familiar three beeps followed by the stupid dead battery symbol. That fear in the pit of your stomach heightened, and you’re banking on Dean’s ability to find his way around because there’s no way in hell you’re stepping foot into that bar to use the phone. That just might be the stupidest thing you could do second to walking out here in anger by yourself in the first place.

That familiar sense of panic settles deep within you, heavy as you bite the inside of your cheek. In a matter of seconds you quickly find that you no longer wanted to storm off and go wherever your feet take you. You no longer wanted to walk farther away, not even a single step. You wanted to do none of that.

You wanted to be inside that Impala where you know it’s safe, hell, you wanted to be in his arms because that’s even safer. But instead you’re stuck outside in dodgy weather all by yourself, with no one to blame but yourself.

You had entirely no idea how far you were from that motel room, let alone where exactly you were. It could have been a much shorter drive for Dean than it was a walk for you, it had to be. But then again, you guys were in a town you’ve never been to, and he could only guess based off the information you gave him.

Worry ran circles in your mind, lap after lap that he wouldn’t find you, not for a while. Or even worse, that by the time he did, you’d have been snatched up by a crazy monster or an even crazier human being.

It made that dizzying feeling send waves through your chest, quickening your heart beat as you paced in the same spot. He told you not to move, so you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t, but you felt like a moving target the more you lingered in the same area. You felt like eyes were on you and you just couldn’t see them. It was unnerving.

He told you not to move, so you shouldn’t.

You sat on the nearby bench before realizing how soaked it was, not that it really mattered. But you stood back up in a huff, lifting your hands to your face and brushing away your wet hair.

You did something stupid, of course you did, but you’d never tell him that. Sure, getting some fresh air was always a good idea when arguing, gives a chance to cool off and clear your head. But not in the middle of the night when a damn thunderstorm is about to break loose.

You were being reckless, thinking in the heat of the moment and acting on it as people so often do. As Dean so often does. You dug your own grave and now you have to lay in it as you stand there with chattering teeth and your arms wrapped around yourself to maintain the non existent warmth you had in your body.

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like damn decades until you saw headlights. You didn’t dare draw attention to yourself in the event that it wasn’t Dean—he was incredibly observant, he’d see you without it.

But you heard a distinct three honks of a familiar horn, and that relief settles over you once more. He pulls a u-turn in the middle of the wide road, stopping along the curb right in front of you as he leans over the bench seat to look at you.

He sees that look on your face, he sees your stance, he knows you’re not going to make this easy for him, he knows. You’re stubborn as hell and he loved it and hated it all the same. Hated it in moments like this.

He knows, so he does himself a favor and gets out of the car and into the pouring rain.

“Well I’ll be damned, looks like you actually listened to me,” he says, looking at his surroundings, the very same ones you’d mentioned to him on that phone call.

You hadn’t strayed too far just like he’d asked you to, you stayed put.

You roll your eyes, exhaling a larger than life huff. “Don’t get used to it.”

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, and that expression he’s got is far less than humored as he narrows his eyes at you. He could tell you’d still be difficult, no matter how scared or upset or truly bothered you were, you’d always be difficult first because being stubborn is what you know best. Didn’t want to show how vulnerable you were, how vulnerable you are.

“You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna get in the car, sweetheart? It’s cold and this storm ain’t going anywhere,” he says, a hint of demanding in his voice.

“Then go back to the motel if you’re so uncomfortable. I’m sure can find my way back,” you counter, brows knit together.

“Like hell you can,” he nearly yells, his frustration evident. “Don’t be stupid, Y/n.”

“I’m not being stupid, Dean,” you say, equal anger in your tone.

“Yeah, you are, Y/n. You went wandering off in the dinky town we know nothing about in the middle of the night, and you got yourself lost in a storm. You’re damn lucky I found you before some monster, or even worse, some creep, got their hands on you. So yes, Y/n, you’re being stupid,” he shouts, that vein in his neck bulging and his chest heaving lightly.

“Go away, Dean.”

That’s all you could manage to say, all you could muster. You meant absolutely none of it, not at all, but that stubbornness in you was hard to resist.

“Y/n, just get in the damn car before I make you do it myself, and you know I will,” he says, a clear warning in his words.

You simply stare at him, you stand there and stare at him across the roof of the Impala as the rain continues to pour all around you, the wind making everything all the more intense.

You stood there and watched the crease between his brows, one created from your stubbornness and his frustration. You watched as the rain had his hair sticking to his forehead, no longer spiked up or disheveled from the sheer amount of times he’s run his fingers through it in the past two hours.

You stand there as the wind and the rain sends chills over you, cold and constant. He looks like his last fuse is about to blow, and he knows what you’re doing. He doesn’t give a damn about the weather, couldn’t care less now that he knows you’re in one piece, not lost in the middle of a storm. But he knows what you’re doing.

You’re so damn stubborn, so angry at him that you don’t want to listen, even if it’s inconveniencing you. You’re so frustrated, the last thing you want to do is sit a mere two feet away from him for who knows how long. It’s the last thing you want but yet it’s the only thing you want.

Not just because you were cold and wet and miserable. Not just because you were tired and in the midst of a freaking storm. He made you so damn pissed but you could deny the comfort that settled over you. Hell, is washed through you, rushed.

You didn’t want to listen to him, purely out of spite, not as you stand there and look at that expression he’s got. But yet that’s all you want to do.

After another passing moment, you exhale a short huff and open the door, getting in the car without a word.

The leather seats squeaked as you did, as Dean did, your soaked clothing making it inevitably so. The heat you felt from the vents was immediate, comforting in contrast to the cold weather just outside. And it wasn’t long before he sped off.

You sat pressed up against the door and he very much noticed, was about ready to say something but he decided against it for this moment. Kept his tight, white knuckled grip on the wheel instead. But that didn’t keep him from glancing over at you more often than not.

He could feel you shivering, even if you insisted on sitting as far from him as you could. In reality, you wanted nothing more than to tuck yourself against him, but that spite you’ve got going on was still going.

You looked ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous sitting there like that acting as if he had the damn plague. Acting like you didn’t absolutely love the idiot sitting 3 feet away when it really could have been just one or two. You looked stupid and you knew it, you knew he knew it too.

“You gonna glue yourself to the door the whole way back to Bobby’s too?” He asks.

Exhibit A.

You exhale a huff, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Maybe,” you say, stubborn as ever.

You hear his quiet scoff, you know he’s shaking his head without even seeing him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/n,” he says, glancing over at you briefly to see just how tightly your brows were scrunched.

“Shut up, Dean,” you say, quiet but he very much heard it.

He only shook his head, chuckling to himself quietly but this time it wasn’t completely void of humor. You were ridiculous.

You noticed how he turned the vent towards you, then you noticed how all of them were. Never mind the fact that he may have been cold. He pointed all the damn things towards you and that alone had you wavering.

No, you couldn’t. Couldn’t just give in so easily to that green eyed fool because he’d get all smug, let it go to his head. No matter how your heart skipped a beat, no matter how sweet the gestures were, one’s he did without second thought because he would always put you first.

No matter the cause, no matter the situation, he put you first every single time without hesitation. Doesn’t matter if it’s walking closest to the street when walking, or giving you the last beer. No matter if it’s giving you his jacket in the cold or ripping a damn piece of his flannel off to bandage you, even if it was his favorite one. He always put you first.

But you couldn’t think about that right now, you’d give in too easily. Couldn’t let him have that satisfaction because you may be ridiculous, but you you stubborn too.

What you could do, however, was scoot a little closer. Just a little bit, then a little more, and maybe you’d be damn near pressed to his side until you finally are.

“Think better of it?” He asks, and you hear that amusement in his tone.

You simply huff, displeasure on your expression as you glare up at him.

“Just cold, don’t get too excited,” you grumble, resting your head back on his shoulder as you cross your arms around yourself.

Just cold.

You were quiet the rest of the drive back to the motel, the drive that wound up being twenty minutes. Seemed like nothing, like a quick trip in a vehicle. But to walk, it felt like it was infinitely longer.

That familiar motel came into view as Dean slowed down, swinging into the small lot and right back into the same parking spot as he’d been in just hours prior.

It was still raining, still heard rumbles of thunder after flashes of lightning. The wind still blew against the car and swayed it faintly, the culmination of all three proving to be less than inviting for you to want to get out of the warmth and safety of the car and into the elements, even if it was just for a few fleeting seconds.

You scooted away from Dean as he dug in his pocket, fishing around for the motel key. He pulled it out with a smal a-ha, something that had you rolling your eyes as you push open the door.

It was quite a cold shock, actually, the weather a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Impala. But luckily Dean was just as urgent with getting inside the room as you were, though you still released your exhale just as loudly.

You can tell he’s not a fan of that action, not one bit as his jaw tenses momentarily and maybe even an eye roll. But it’s a matter of seconds before he pushes open the door.

It looks just as you left it, duffel bag on the bed, a few clothing items strewn about it in an effort to find something to wear. Though you were mid argument at the time, the action proving to be pointless and it showed.

Dean’s bag was in the same spot, unzipped and rifled through as it sat on the floor next to the bed still.

It was much warmer and much more dry than the inclement weather just on the outside of that door. But it was still tense. It was still tense and moody and damn near suffocating just as it was in the car, just as it was out in the storm. That was something that motel room couldn’t take away.

You brush past him in a huff, feeling his eyes on you as you made your way to the bathroom. You don’t care—he can look at you all he wants. He can glare, can furrow his brows, he can look as moody as he’d like but you don’t care. You most certainly do, but you’re stubborn enough to not want that to show.

You switch on the light, it’s yellow glow illuminating the small room. This is the first time you’d really seen yourself since this morning. The gash on your face, how tired you looked. How swollen your eyes were from crying, how rain soaked you were.

You looked exactly how you felt, and your reflection only made you more upset.

You were so worked up, so out of sorts, you left the bathroom all together in the huff that you entered it in. Just as upset as a few minutes ago, passing by Dean in the very same way as the first time.

He didn’t say anything, not at first. He didn’t say anything as he stood there and watched you, hands paused from what they were doing digging around in his bag. It wasn’t until you began digging in yours that he spoke up.

“What are you doing?” He asks, something more than curiosity in his tone. Something that sparked your frustration.

“Getting ready for bed, what’s it look like, Dean?” You counter, discontent in your tone as you speak.

“So you’re just gonna neglect your wounds like it didn’t happen and go to bed?” He says.

“Yes, Dean, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You continue to rummage through your belongings, not fully knowing what you were looking for in your anger until you spotted a shirt to sleep in. Of course it was one of Deans—you haven’t worn your own clothes to bed for quite a long while. It wasn’t going to change just because you were fighting like cats and dogs.

You dug around some more in search of your toothbrush, snagging your hand on something sharp enough to make you recoil as it brushes over your wound. You knew he saw it, of course he did. He saw most everything.

“Y/n,” he says.

You don’t respond, instead shrugging off your coat, letting it fall to the floor in a rain soaked pile, you shirt soon to follow. You could tell he was growing impatient again.

You sat on the edge of the bed and began to untie your boots, careless and rough with your actions. So careless that you gripped them with your frustration to toss them inside rather than kick them off like you normally do, the action sending jolt through your palm once more. It was a crippling wave of pain, one that had you sucking a sharp gasp through your teeth as you jerked your hand back

“Y/n,” he said, louder this time.

“What?” You ask, your annoyance evident in your tone.

“Would you calm down for a second?” He says.

“I am calm, Dean.”

He laughs again, the humor far from it once again as he looks at you.

“No, you’re not. You’re too damn busy huffing and puffing that you’re bangin’ yourself up even more than you already are!” He all but shouts.

“I’m fine, okay? It’s just a freaking scratch, Dean,” you yell, holding up your hand. It wasn’t until you looked at it, saw the fresh staining of blood on the scrap piece of flannel that you knew you were in for it. “Son of a bitch.”

“Bathroom. Now,” he says.

You look back at him.

“I can handle it.”

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Bathroom,” he says.

You simply look at him for a moment or two, the very same way you did earlier when he asked you to get in the car. You look at him and see he’s not backing down, that he’s not kidding. So you roll your eyes and get up from the bed, brushing past him again and bumping him with your shoulder.

You can be pissed at him all you want, he didn’t care. He was patching you up no matter how much you fought him on it because he always did, and he always will.

You walk back in the bathroom with a short huff, the older Winchester right behind you.

“Have a seat.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t have to tell me what to do, Dean.”

“Apparently you do.”

You glare at him, hopping up onto the counter anyway. You could tell another comment was sitting on the tip of his tongue but he chose against saying anything further on the subject.

He set the first aid kit down, flipping open its lid. His hand hovered over it for a few passing moments, as he looked over everything, pulling out the roll of bandage and the antiseptic, grabbing a moderate stack of gauze from its compartment.

He set everything down and laid it out on the counter before returning his focus to you. He grabbed your hand gently, so very gentle in contrast to his temper. He held your hand in his and turned it so your palm faced upwards. He let go momentarily to untie the knot in the fabric around it, requiring a little extra work from how tight he’d fastened it earlier. But soon enough he got it, loosening it up.

When he pulled away the fabric to reveal a nasty scratch that’d been plenty smudged with crimson, you lifted your gaze to see his expression. You saw the tension in his jaw, saw the way his brows pulled together in displeasure. You saw it all while you felt the gentle caress of his thumb over the heel of your hand.

He got caught up in staring for a few more moments, noticeably so, and he cleared his throat. He snagged some gauze and the bottle of antiseptic, opening the plastic cap with a flick of his thumb. He tipped the bottle over and squirted the clear liquid on the gauze, grabbing your hand once more.

He looked at you briefly, long enough to make sure you met his gaze as if to offer a wordless warning. He drizzled some of it directly on your hand, the sensation cold and stinging almost immediately and you half make an attempt to pull from his grasp but he tightens around your wrist gently, just enough to let you know he wouldn’t let you recoil.

He waited a few moments before taking the dampening gauze and dabbing away the excess liquid, tossing the dirtied material aside in favor of grabbing fresh ones.

Your hand was tender as he wiped away the blood, making sense of what he was working with ones he got it more cleaned up. It was red and irritated, hand throbbing from all the fuss and handling of it that you so desperately wanted to be over. So much so you began to squirm and continue to try and recoil.

It was no use.

You were relieved to see he’d been done with the liquid torment, for now at least, grabbing the roll of bandage. He’d laid down fresh, dry gauze first, peeling back the edge of the roll before he began wrapping it around your hand. He was gentle throughout the process, gentle despite being so horribly the opposite just hours earlier. He’d always take care of you.

His thumb brushed over the fresh bandage for a few moments, his gaze shifting to your cheek. You knew what was coming next.

“Dean, I can take care of the rest,” you interject, watching him nearly roll his eyes.

“I’m sure you can, but I didn’t ask you to either.”

You huff once again and roll your eyes, looking the other way when he grabbed more dampened gauze from the counter.

You felt his finger under your chin, redirecting your gaze to him so he could see better. You struggled to keep from moving, the anticipated pain having you trying to get yourself situated, shying away from that damn antiseptic in hopes he’d just call it a day.

Of course he wouldn’t.

“Dammit, Y/n, would you hold still?” He says, patience thin as he rests his hand on your cheek and redirects your gaze once more.

You heave a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping a little bit as you allow him to, eyes narrowed as you look up at him with all the annoyance you could muster. You didn’t want to hold still, you wanted to dig your heels in and do the exact opposite of everything he said. You wanted to piss him off even more because you were still angry, still upset with him.

You gave it a valiant attempt, tried your hardest and it lasted you a little while as you sat there on that counter. But with the way he’d been cradling your face in his hand, the way his thumb brushed back and forth across your cheek almost absentmindedly. It was hard to keep your irritation in place.

“He really gotcha good, huh sweetheart?” He asks, tone much softer than moments ago but that anger was still very much there. Not at you, but at the damn thing that put its hands on his sweetheart.

It’s like a burning feeling in the pit of his stomach, sitting heavy as a damn boulder there, getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute the more he allows himself to think about what happened, what could have happened.

He always does that to himself. Always keeps himself up at night. Lays there and let’s one scenario after the next plague his mind on things that could happen to you, things that could happen to Sammy. Things that could happen on his watch, trying to figure out ways to prevent said imaginary things to happen so he’s prepared for anything and everything. Things that could happen when he’s not there, even just for a split second. Those were the things that bothered him the most. Drove him insane till he got this tightness in his chest that had him nearly bursting at the seams.

He gets himself so worked up on those nights, all while you’ve got your head on his chest and you’re sound a sleep, not a care in the world for a few hours time. He envied it, how at peace you were, but it’s all he wants for you, helps loosen that tightness in his chest knowing you’re at ease. At ease while he lays there and torments himself with what ifs and things that didn’t even happen, things that might never happen.

Dean Winchester might seem calm, cool, and collected under the pressure of this hunting life. He might seem like he’s got everything under control at all times, got a plan for everything, a solution. And most of the time, he does. But he’s also got himself so wound up on the future way far ahead of him that it renders him anxious and stressed more often than not.

You simply shrug at the question. “S’alright.”

There’s that infamous eye roll he gives, that anger building once more at your nonchalance of the situation. It’s part of what’s got him so angry that night to begin with. You act like you don’t care when you really do, act like everything’s fine and that it’s just part of the job. It is, but getting hurt like that, hell, even getting just a simple scratch. To him—that’s purely like a nightmare when it comes to you.

He couldn’t care less how banged up and bruised he got, but when it comes to Sammy, when it comes to you, he gets so damn pissed he can hardly see straight.

“No, it’s not,” he says, dabbing away the remnants of blood smudging around it on your forehead.

You’re half tempted to argue in response, tell him he’s being dramatic. But you’d only be poking the bear, something you’d done the entirety of that night. But that look on his face, painted with worry and fear, you saw it and didn’t have the heart to poke and prod at him, at least not in this moment.

So you settle for a deep sigh, looking up at him while his other hand still rests on your cheek. You know part of him is being a little dramatic, you know he doesn’t need to get so tightly wound on scenarios that didn’t even happen, but pointing it out would do no good.

He drops his hand in favor of digging through his first aid kit. It’s always fully stocked, nearly jam packed to the gills with just about anything you could imagine. At every hunt he’ll stop at a gas station in whatever town you’re in, buy a box of bandages, supplies, anything he thinks he may need. He’s got this paranoia of running out, this worry he doesn’t have enough in the event of an emergency. But that worry is something he keeps to himself.

He pulls out three closure strips, tearing open their packaging. He’s careful in the way we places them, wants them to be damn near perfect, wants to add as little pain as possible to the pain he’s sure you’re feeling. Just the idea makes him riled up and angry at the thought of you hurting.

He dabs away any additional blood that formed, that cut looking a little better now that it’d been properly taken care of, leaving it to look a little red and angry after having been touched.

You continue to sit there on that counter as he cleans up, tossing the trash in the small bin on the floor right next to it. He can feel you staring, of course he can. He can feel it and confirms it when he turns back to you.

He averts his gaze for a moment as he grabs ahold of your hand, gently as his eyes glance over the fresh bandage. That very hand his shaky as it rests in his palm, his thumb brushing over the heel of it as a wordless for me of comfort.

You can see the way his jaw tenses as he looks at it, at the way his brows crease and knit together. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, working on overdrive and you know he’s thinking about what happened that day. And it’s almost as if he can read your thoughts, tearing his gaze away as if to clear his mind, shake away his own thoughts before he looks at you.

His gaze is still narrowed with that anger, but it’s quick to soften just a little when he meets your eyes.

You bite the inside of your cheek for a moment, swinging your dangling feet once or twice when you bump his leg with your foot.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, not so much in a stubborn, dismissive way this time.

His brows pull closer together again at the words, words he doesn’t agree with, but there’s that damn smile of yours. Soft and sweet, a little humor behind it because you’re trying to lighten the mood. All he can do is look at you, look at that small grin and wonder how he got so lucky to have you looking at him like that.

You reach up and swipe your thumb along his chin, wiping away the smudge of dirt that was smeared there. But you didn’t drop your hand, pressing your thumb in the soft dimple in his chin before you caress his cheek softly, letting your hand settle there.

You can feel his stubble scratch under your palm, can feel the tension in his jaw. But you can also feel it subside as the tips of your fingers brush over his hair as they rest at the nape of his neck. He may have been your tough guy, may have been rough around the edges, but nothing could compare to the way his gaze softened as he looked at you. As he responded to your touch in the gentlest way possible.

It worked wonders to sooth his anger, anger that still lingered and threatened to build up and tighten in his chest if he thought about that day one more damn time.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, hands resting on the tops of your thighs. He heaved a heavy sigh, breath smelling like the burger he’d had for dinner, and the beer he’d drank to wash it down.

His nose bumped against yours, and you can feel his unease without even looking at him, you know there’s words on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, quiet as his breath puffs against your lips with each word.

You’re silent for a moment or two, something that maintains that unease he feels. Because he knows he gets angry, so damn angry that he acts like a jerk. Says things to piss you off in the heat of an argument. He knows it.

But it’s quick to ease when he feels your lips on his, soft and gentle, something he wastes no time in leaning into as he kisses you a little harder. He basks in every last bit that that kiss lingers, parting momentarily as his breath brushes against your lips warmly before kissing you again once, twice, three more times.

He can’t help but steal another as he pulls you closer to the edge of the counter with a grip on your hips, pulling back just enough to see your face.

You see every freckle, every single one, speckled across the bridge of his nose and splayed over his cheeks. Dotting along his eyelids and disappearing up into his eyebrows. You see the one that sits in his top lip, one that you never fail to press a kiss to, this time being no different.

You see the soft creases by his eyes, the near permanent lines of worry between his brows. You see every single detail up close and personal as you sit there and stare at him. And the way he runs his hand along your rain dampened hair, brushing it out of your face, it’s the only thing that distracts you and pulls your attention.

“Guess I’m sorry too,” you say, that humor in your tone making him roll his eyes. But the meaning, the sincerity is very much there and he knows it.

“You’re a pain in the ass, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before spinning on his heel and stepping out of the bathroom.

“Hey!” You protest, hopping down from the counter with a fake frown that threatens to turn to a smile, even more so when he turns to look at you with raised brows. “Am I at least your pain in the ass?”

He pretends to ponder the question long and hard, lips puckered in thought as he stands there and watches you grow impatient and lightheartedly offended.

You’re about ready to scoff when he steps closer, hand reaching up to settle at the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair softly.

“Always have been, sweetheart,” he says, pressing his lips against yours.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana

[vigilskeep]

hello! you know a lot of dragon age lore so i thought id ask you— i saw a post earlier that was discouraging to me aa trans person where the op said that veilguard having top surgery scars in the cc goes against established worldbuilding. does it make sense for top surgery to be possible in thedas? thanks

my rule of thumb is that in a world where healing spells exist, there’s absolutely no logical, believable reason for it not to be possible. you don’t have to go back and provide sources about historical surgeries—which is something i personally know nothing about—for this to be true

like, i just can’t take this line of thought seriously. ohhh we can have floating cities and magical neon lights and spirit healers who can mend injuries just by passively standing next to you, but we draw the line as soon as it’s something that would make our trans players happy! it’s so transparent. do not listen to these people or let them discourage you

if you want to get into the worldbuilding potential of it—which is just fun to do—we can probably guess that for the top surgery scars to be as neat as they seem to look in the veilguard character creator, similar to modern ones, magical healing was involved. now i do believe that the chantry might get suspicious of body-altering magic, that magical power is hoarded by the circles in the south and the wealthy in the north, and also that “out” trans people are a minority in thedas. so i’m not saying that this is something easy for your average guy to get hold of. that’s where you can feed it into backstory. are they powerful and connected enough that they could find specialists willing to go beyond the ordinary? or do they have underground connections to hidden apostate healers, whose only priority is what helps (or perhaps just how much you’re willing to pay)? do they belong to a culture that might not be restricted by the chantry’s norms about gender or magic, like the dalish or the rivaini? or do they belong to a mage-focused community or order, who among themselves do whatever they like? endless options

some might be referring to a line in dai from krem, a trans man, where you can ask him about potentially changing his body with magic and he essentially says he wouldn’t let magic that could do that anywhere near his body, though when he was younger he might have dreamed about the possibilities. firstly, krem is absolutely not the gold standard for trans representation and nobody should care about being flexible from what bioware put out a decade ago. secondly, krem is a random mercenary who knows one (1) mage, who spends the entire time insisting she’s not a mage. i very much doubt he’s the no. 1 source for what might be magically possible in this or any regard

also ultimately, and i cannot express this enough, you can do whatever you want forever. it could be absolutely fundamentally impossible in-world somehow and it would still not be that serious to be “unrealistic” in the dragon video games. don’t let anyone discourage you from making the character you want to make. it being an option makes it canonically part of thedas, end of. they put it in the game and nobody bitching about it can take it out

[flipppyflopp]

“To you, by my side now…and forevermore.” ⚡️

First of all, happy birthday to Malleus! Second of all, sorry that your birthday post is sad, Malleus! I’ve just had this idea in my head waiting to be drawn ever since this part of Book 7 dropped for the Japan server. I thought long and hard about how Sebcroc would react to Malleus overblotting, and this is how I believe it would play out. Sebcroc wouldn’t just sit on the sidelines, he would try to bring his companion back to his sense…sadly it ends with Malleus harming one who has been by his side for a long time.

I really enjoyed coming up with the expressions for this comic as well as some of the backgrounds. I also took some liberties with the dialogue from the game to fit the narrative of Sebcroc, making this moment full of betrayal and pain. I hope to follow this comic up with some more moments from Book 7, but I think we need a light hearted Sebcroc comic next so I think we shall see how baby Silver met Sebcroc, which will have a nice lore drop! Hope you all enjoy and look forward to whatever is next! ✨

[lqfiles]

SCORE THAT GOAL! — 51. be your boyfriend?

previous — master list —next

notes ; a short chapter but one more official chapter after this !!!

BONUS — wc: 494

“okay, so next time i’m not letting you choose what we’re watching.” jisung placed the laptop aside before stretching his limbs on his bed. from beside him, you let out a laugh as you stretched your arms as well, leaning towards jisung by the end of it. “i’m sorry, but i love the winx club, i’m just trying to familiarise you with the lore.” jisung turned his head to look at you, stoic expression changing to a soft smile.

“right, because watching a movie made halfway through the series definitely helps me get familiar.” jisung chuckled before sitting up with his hands stretched behind him. “well, i thought of binge watching the first season but i didn’t wanna overwhelm you with all of that.” you continued to lay on jisung’s bed, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“by the way, i told jeno to not tell anyone about what happened friday.” jisung revealed, looking back your way to watch your reactions. you shrugged. “that’s okay, mark wouldn’t go around tattling so i don’t mind keeping it a secret. but i don’t know how long i’ll be able to keep it a secret from ningning, im sure she’ll find out.” you continued to play with the edge of your clothing and jisung hummed.

“let’s just not say anything at all? let them find out themselves.” jisung decided to lay back down next to you, gazing up at his ceiling. “so what now?” he questioned. “this is the part where you ask to be my boyfriend.” you grinned, turning sideways to look at jisung’s side profile. caught of guard, a slight blush crept up his neck before he moved up a bit, turning his body sideways after.

“alright, i don’t even know how to do this.” jisung awkwardly laughed but the look of endearment on your face made him feel much more comfortable. “it’s okay, i can do the honours.”

“no need, just give me a second.” jisung breathed in and out before taking ahold of your hand. the small gesture made you want to hide your face and you couldn’t look up at him anymore. “look at me?” jisung requested in a whisper.

you looked up to see jisung stare right at you. whether it was the lighting or his eyes itself, the way they glimmered as they looked into yours made you feel almost under a trance. jisung squeezed your hand to bring your attention back to him.

“(—), this will sound cliché but i truly do believe that i’ve never liked someone this much before. the thought of you being with anyone that isn’t me sounds wrong and i’d rather that possibility not come true, so.. will you let me be your boyfriend?”

jisung’s proposal put your mind into a frenzy and your heart did a thousand flips. nodding your head profusely, you wrapped your arms around jisung’s neck before pulling yourself closer to him.

“i’d love to more than anything else.”

TAGLIST ; @rksbae @222brainrot @severefireangelprune @violetvoo @prdshobi @kikookii @haechansbbg @en-dream @bbxnny-bbxtch @cvpidxo @jaeminslattes @90s-belladonna @softieluvsyou @wenjunblossoms @be0mluver @jeongintwt @myhaechan @love1again @ckline35 @cassie6392 @hibernatinghamster @starboys-gf @rllymark @mfaal @snflwrhaerecs4u @sunflowerbebe07 @ahnneyong @enhalovie @galacticpurpl3 @manooffline @luv4jeno @mikadorbs @1moo7 @ksywoo @ohdudehesflirting @savluvsmingi @finnydraws @invumi @crvzy-fujoshi @peterparkerluvvbot @hrjunluvs @i2kittenz @jisungji @http-peachie @jisyng @sweetcandycum @giaccolo @shotaroswifeyily @sinsgaybutthatsokay @be-my-sunrise @syzavxy @kyusqult @mxlly143 @o-schist @bigjishirt @snuglyjwi @hyunniesvlog @shuaadmirer

[hanafubukki]

Psst... Y'know what's better than Lilia with a baby?... Lilia with TWO babies. Lilia having twins would be so cute but chaotic. Especially if they're identical girls and they have way too much fun with it (Lilia too). Like, MC and Lilia are the only ones who can always tell who is who. I can just imagine them having those little bangs and hair horns like their papa and they'd be so cute ashgfgeh. Also, I headcanon twins being rare in the fae world so these two definitely taking of advantage by scaring people. They basically climb Malleus like he's a tree and man is too happy to indulge. They take naps and cuddle with big brother Silver and scare Seven (they make up for it with wittle kisses). Lilia would be so shocked but happy with having TWO babies to take care of. Like, if you have a pregnancy glow, this man has a glow while taking care of babies. Ok, thank you byeee.

[kind of related to this ask]

Hello Anonie 💚🌺🌷

Reading this had me laughing, I haven’t dealt with twins much but I can imagine they are double the chaos from what little experience I’ve had.

I was also reminded of Playful Land Event where Lilia couldn’t handle Grim and, yeah, he going to be one tired papa.

Well, I guess you can say it’s the world returning to him what he’s owed right? All that pranking and scaring others?? 😆 and of course, all the extra love and joy he deserves. 💚

He’s lucky he has two sons who can help him and YN out 💞 who has bountiful of energy…for now.

Despite the twins trying so hard to trick their parents and brothers, they never can. Parents know them too well and their differences. Malleus can tell, he helped raise them and even then their magic aura gives them away. Silver is observant, he’s picking up which twin is who right away no matter what. He’s a knight what did you expect? 🤣

I think the only one who might have some trouble is Sebek, not because he doesn’t know them. But sometimes he second guessed himself.

Not only do they have the hair bangs and little horns but I imagine they also have different colors that fits their moods. 💞💞

I fully believe twins are rare, especially if we follow low birth rates among the fae lore. So many don’t initially know that ex-General Vanrouge had twins.

But that changes real quick, they are just like their papa, as silent as a shadow. Ready to strike their next victim.

It’s not uncommon for one of the twins to be sleeping on Malleus. Head tucked between his horns with one hand holding his horn. While the other twin is sleeping on Silver who’s standing guard right next to Mal.

Walking into that office must be a sight 😂💞

Poor Sebek is going to get early gray hairs because of these two, but at least they keep him on his toes. I can see him catch them and carry them like sacks of flour. While the two struggle, hah! He’s a knight. Good luck getting out of his arms. He can do this all day. He lets them go eventually but the twins makes sure he gives them kisses before they get their next victim. Sebek is lucky Ace isn’t there to laugh at his flustered face.

Lilia is happy. He now has two babies! Well, four. Of course, Malleus and Silver will always be babies in his eyes.

Sometimes, you catch him awake in the middle of the night, watching his babies and holding them. It wasn’t easy coming to this point in life. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

His family. His loves. 🥹💞

This was cute ahhh 💞💞💚💚

[turtletaubwrites]

Misty Eyes ~ Part 5

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past & Flashbacks)

Word Count: 3975

Misty Eyes Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: Feeling good seemed out of reach, but you'd never felt safer than you do with Law. Safe enough to ask for what you want.

Author's Note: Alright friends, patience is required, but rewarded 🥰

Thank you so much @pinejayy for this delicious request!!

Rating/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Kissing, Shame, Blood and Violence, Vomiting, Minor Character Death, Sparring, Childhood Memories, Chaste Childhood Kiss, Teasing, Tickling, Yandere Doflamingo, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Hair-Pulling, Birth Control, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there!), Forced Pregnancy (Implied/Intended), Sterilization (Implied/Intended), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Soft Trafalgar D. Water Law, Other Additional Tags To Be Added, Fluff, Sexual Dysfunction, Safe words, Choking, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare

!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

“What do you mea–”

“Nuh uh,” Law scolded, sticking his thumb in your mouth like a hook to pull you closer by your bottom teeth. “You know I could always tell when you were lying. I know you faked it.”

You pulled his hand away from your face, frowning at his shit-eating grin. 

“I don’t know wha–”

“You little liar,” he accused, sitting up. His movement forced you to slide from straddling his waist to sitting in his lap, the feel of his still firm cock beneath you making you gasp. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, even as you scowled at him. His satisfied chuckle made you scrunch your nose, heat burning your face. 

“How could you tell,” you gave in, earning a quick kiss before he flipped you, laughing at you while he laid you on your back beneath him. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Your mouth fell open in outrage, but you couldn’t attack him while he held your fists, kissing your knuckles. 

“I’m an incredible liar,” you squirmed, his weight pinning you down. 

“See what I mean,” he taunted, your futile thrashing making you breathless. “That wasn’t believable at all.”

A frustrated huff left your lips as you struggled to punch that smirk off of his face, but he stopped talking while he kissed his way along your neck and collarbones, so you let it slide. He finally slowed, releasing your hands as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Why didn’t you just mist away,” he seemed to tease, but his voice was too soft. 

“I…” you paused, about to argue until you realized that you didn’t want to answer. You clamped your eyes shut against that feeling, then opened them again to glare at him. “Don’t change the subject. How could you tell I was lying?”

Law took a moment, seeming to search for his answer, which did not appease you.

“I’m not sure,” he smirked at your disgruntled hum. “You always seemed so… cute when you lied.”

He blinked, looking down as if he hadn’t meant to say that, but you wouldn’t give him a pass just for looking adorable. 

So you bit him.

“Gah, what,” he sat up, pulling back in surprise until your teeth left his arm.

“Two things,” you snarked, propping up onto your elbows, “I want to know exactly what my tell is so I can get rid of it, then I want to hear all about how you thought I was cute back then.”

“So your tells are,” he grunted, catching your fist at the plural word, “sometimes the corner of your lip goes up just a bit–”

“It does not! That’s the first thing I trained out,” you argued, sitting up on your knees to face him. You narrowed your eyes at him while he ran his thumb over the edge of your mouth, until you sighed at his touch. 

“Maybe I just pay more attention,” he mused, voice husky as he kissed your temple. His breath moved to your neck, your need for answers melting away. Until your body reminded you of the moment.

“Uh, Law,” you coughed, pushing him away gently, “do you have a towel?”

He returned from his adjacent bathroom with a warm, damp towel, helping you clean up the mess he’d made before kissing up your stomach and chest again.

“What’s my other tell,” you interrupted, his soft touches ending as he rolled his eyes. He grabbed your hand, kissing your fingers before moving your own thumb across them. 

“You rub your thumb over your fingernails,” he reported, brow raised as if judging your performance. 

“I do that all the time,” you yanked your hand back, embarrassed that he’d read you so well. Lying was something you prided yourself on. It’s what kept you safe. 

“It’s a self-soothing behavior,” he softened, pushing the hair back from your face. “And you’re right, you’re probably a great liar. I just spent too much time watching you.”

Releasing a frustrated breath, you looked at his stupid face, and couldn’t help but smile. 

“Is this when you tell me how cute you thought I was?”

Law sucked his teeth, his bright eyes ready for a challenge, but instead, he kissed you. Unhurried lips and tongues, treasuring the taste of each other. 

“I thought you were gross,” he whispered against you, earning a hard punch to the arm. He laughed before he continued, holding your wrists again. “But then I thought you were cute, and I thought that was gross too.”

You grinned at the memory of what a grouchy kid he was. For over two years, you’d spent everyday together, bickering, sparring, and causing chaos. 

“At first, I studied you to gain an advantage during training,” he confessed with a sigh, looking away while his fingers tugged at the sheet. “I don’t know when it changed, but eventually I was watching you because I wanted to. Because you were cute.”

He teased the last word, caving in to your demands, and you rewarded him with another kiss, wrapping your arms around him. Soon hands and lips were traveling, until he laid you back against the pillows. 

“Can I make you come now, or do you have other demands?”

You rolled to the side to hide your face while your skin burned, and his pleased hum and teasing kisses along your side didn’t help. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he soothed, your breath going too slow, and too shallow. “But I would love to make you feel good.”

His voice, his words, his gentle fingers that had pulled away to give you space, all of it made you freeze. 

“What can I do to help you feel good, Y/N?”

There were so many strange thoughts in your head, most moving too fast for you to follow.

Except for one thought that felt more like an emotion, a need. You were barely conscious of it, yet it drove you forward, pulling him onto you.

Make him feel good. 

Lost again in the way he touched you. Lost in the way he breathed your name while his marked fingers smoothed along your skin. Lost in the need to please him. 

“Fu-huck,” he gasped out, moaning as your fingers wrapped around his shaft, already hard again. 

Stroking him with purpose, you lined yourself up as you rubbed his tip through the new wetness his touch had drawn. His eyes rolled back before he buried his face in your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss against your skin.

A long whine left your lips, frustration making you writhe when he pulled away. He laid on his side at the edge of the bed, panting while his eyes tried to focus on your face. 

You rolled, crawling toward him with your lip caught between your teeth, more needy sounds leaving your throat. 

“Gods, you’re too fucking good,” he rasped, catching your hands before they could reach his cock again, “but, you didn’t answer my question, Y/N. How can I make you feel good?”

Your body slumped, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before his fingers brushed across them. 

“Let me take care of you,” he pleaded, the words hot against your ear. 

All you could do was nod, body limp as he lifted you back to the pillows, propping you up as if you were one of the precious comics on his shelves. That thought made you laugh, making him narrow his eyes at you until you giggled even more. 

“Something funny,” he teased with that lovely smirk. 

Words weren’t leaving your lips, so he sucked his teeth while he watched you squirm. Your breath stilled at the touch of his fingers along your inner thighs. 

“It seemed like you enjoyed me eating you out earlier, until I started fingering you. Did I read that right?”

Your eyes went wide, pausing for a moment before your words spilled out.

“N-no, it all felt amazing! I just got overwhelmed, but you felt so good…”

He watched you closely then, and you wondered if you’d shown a tell. 

But I didn't lie… 

“Okay… Please tell me if you’re feeling overwhelmed, or if you don’t like something.”

“I will,” you promised, your voice a bit high while you tilted your head down to the side, looking up at him with a teasing smile playing on your lips. 

“How about we use a safe word,” he suggested, smoothing a hand along your arm while he ignored your attempt to distract from the topic. “Do you already have one you’d like to use?”

Your eyes were a little wide as you shook your head, but a gentle kiss on your temple slowed your breathing. 

“It should be a word that doesn’t mean much, and that we wouldn’t normally say. Anytime you’re feeling overwhelmed or want to stop, you can say it, okay,” he paused, waiting for you to nod before continuing. “How about… radish?”

“Why radish,” you snorted, your body loosening up.

“Why not,” he grinned at you. His smile was a sight you’d never get enough of. “Do you have any other ideas?”

Your lips quirked, but you agreed to the word.

“Perfect. Now, will you please tell me how to make you feel good?”

He stared at your parted lips while you froze. No words came to mind. Just tension, and a mild sense of danger. 

“It’s alright if you don’t know,” he reassured, his eyes going soft as they raked over you. “Just talk to me. Is it alright if I touch you?”

You caught yourself rubbing your thumb over your fingernails when you agreed, stopping the movement before he noticed.

What’s wrong with me?

Law’s hands and lips traveled the length of your body, pulling soft gasps and sighs from your throat. You moved into his touch, reacting, showing him how good it felt. 

“I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he whispered, looking down at your face while he traced his fingers along your leg. Your cheeks were already burning before a breathy moan surprised you both. 

He cocked his head at you, repeating the movement. For some reason, the barest touch of his fingertips to the middle of your shin made you moan again, the ticklish sensation feeling better than you thought it should. 

“Mm, found something,” he teased, leaning closer to kiss your embarrassed face. “Do you know any other places I can touch to make you moan like that?”

“Law,” you writhed, voice breathy as his fingers danced up your body. 

“Come on, pretty. Tell me one thing that feels good. I know you can think of something.”

There was no pressure in his words, but there was heat, and the hint of a challenge. You still couldn’t think of any words, but you managed to move your head to the side, trailing your fingers along the crook of your neck. 

He hummed as his fingers replaced yours, as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Your skin’s so soft,” he purred, the hunger in his words making your toes curl. “Does it feel good when I kiss here too?”

Whining, your body went loose when he laid beside you, one of his legs resting between yours before he kissed your neck again. 

It felt so good, you could have stayed in this moment forever. The feel of his lips, tongue, facial hair, even his breath overwhelmed you. That sensitive skin sent electric shocks down to your lower back until you shook for him, his warm laughter only adding to it. 

“Thank you for showing me what you like,” he breathed against your ear. “You’re being such a good girl for me.”

Law’s praise took every thought away, everything was gone while your body reacted. Your hands fisted the sheets, your thighs tried to rub together, seeking friction, but his leg was in the way. 

“Mm, Y/N, is it alright if I finger you? You can say the word if you want me to stop, okay?”

Hesitation came back, along with anger. Anger at yourself for whatever was stopping you. For whatever was keeping you from enjoying this time with him. 

Anger at yourself for not pleasing him by giving him what he wanted.

“It’s okay, hey,” Law soothed, his thumb stroking your cheek, “we can stop here, or we can do something else. Whatever you–”

“I want to,” you choked out. Clearing your throat wasn’t enough fix the broken sound in your voice. “I don’t know why, but… me feeling good seems…”

His soft eyes warmed your skin, even though you couldn’t meet them. He waited for you.

“I keep getting nervous when it’s just me,” you murmured, keeping your eyes wide to fight the heat there. 

“Just you feeling pleasure,” he prompted, studying your face while you gulped, nodding to confirm. “You said you want to. Do you wanna try, and we can stop if you need to?”

“Mhm,” you agreed, looking up as you brushed away an unwelcome tear with the back of your hand. 

Law pressed gentle kisses across your face, wiping away another wayward tear. 

“You deserve to feel good, Y/N.” His fingers followed his pretty words, and you fought to just be here with him. So slow, so light, that tattooed hand trailed lower, until he traced around your entrance, leaning close to your ear again. “I wanna make you come so bad. Please, can I feel you come on my fingers?”

Your “yes,” came out in a whine, and you both moaned at the slide of his fingers, your drenched pussy aching for his touch. 

“Gods, you're so wet,” he panted, playing with your clit while he watched your face. “Can I–”

You interrupted his request, nodding permission before he pushed one finger, then two inside of you. His eyes never stopped scanning, and he sat up to free his other hand, caressing down your body. 

It felt so good, but there was something. You’d been able to keep memories out, but you couldn’t relax. 

“What do you need,” he checked in, his skilled fingers bringing you close, but not close enough. 

“I feel like I–” you moaned, his thumb moving over your clit while his fingers curled up to that spongy spot inside you. “I feel like I need to make you feel good.”

“Mm, you are making me feel good,” he rasped, his body seeming to relax at your confession. “I love the way you’re gripping my fingers like this. I love the little sounds you make. Watching you come would make my fucking year, Y/N.”

A laugh fell from your lips, then a moan as he pressed a little deeper.

“You don’t need it, but you have my permission to come,” he teased, his voice just a bit too real, and somehow those words released something. A tiny smirk graced his lips as you started to fall apart. 

“Gonna be a good girl, and come for me?”

“Fuck,” you breathed, the steady rhythm he’d found was building so much pressure in your core it almost hurt. 

“That’s it, you’re doing so well,” he praised, his free hand grabbing your chin to force your heavy lidded eyes to his. “You’re close, yeah? I want you to tell me exactly what you need so you can come on my fingers like a good girl. I know you can.”

“Law…”

“Can you do that for me?”

So close. So fucking close. But here was a new plateau, and all of his wonderful work was about to go to waste. Until you thought of something. 

Something that came with a pile of confusing memories and shame. Something you would have ignored, and stuffed away if you hadn’t felt so safe. 

If Law hadn’t made you feel so safe.

“Choke me, please.”

The request was almost silent, but you saw his lips part slightly. A hesitation. A mountain of self loathing threatened to roll over you.

Long, tattooed fingers encircled your throat, a necklace marked with “DEATH.” 

“Such a good girl, telling me what you want. Let me feel you– Mm, there’s my girl.”

He wrapped the perfect amount of pressure around your neck, keeping the pace with his other hand until your body started bucking, your eyes rolling white. 

It was everything you fucking needed. 

And it kept going. 

Law never stopped giving and giving, praising you while you shattered. You almost went to mist from the overwhelm, only managing to stay solid because you needed to keep coming for him. For you.

You mourned the loss of those wicked fingers choking and fucking you, but he worshipped your body again while aftershocks tore through you. 

“You’re fucking amazing,” he chuckled, laughing harder at the gibberish you replied with. He kissed and caressed you while your body came back to the room. “Can I get you anything? Water, or are you hung–”

He’d moved away slightly, but you reached out with your wobbly arms, pulling him close. He hummed at your touch, then gasped again when your hands found his cock, the heat of him making you writhe.

“Y/N, we don’t have to–”

“Please, fuck me,” you begged, sluggishly rolling onto your stomach. Looking over your shoulder at him, you got to witness the loveliest, most desperate look you’d ever seen on his face when you lifted your ass toward him. “I need your cock.”

There was no hesitation now. 

Just the whispered, “say the word if you need to,” before he was behind you, thrusting into your twitching cunt while you screamed for him. 

Tattooed hands on your hips helped him slam into you, hitting that perfect spot so fast, so hard, that you came in what felt like seconds.

“Oh fuck. Pussy feels so good, baby,” he moaned, slurring a bit before pressing your upper body into the bed. The new angle made you scream louder, clawing at the sheets. 

“You like that, Y/N,” he checked in, voice strained as he fought his need. 

“Pull my hair,” you demanded softly.

One of those hands pushed you down, his weight between your shoulder blades while he pounded into you. Frenzied thrusts rocked your body while his free hand fisted into the hair at the back of your head, finally giving you that sting you needed. 

“Do it again,” he forced through his teeth, his bruising grip making you drool onto the sheets. “Come for me, pretty. Come on my cock right fucking now.”

“Law, fuck, I’m…”

Words were gone, his quarters ringing with your breathy screams, and his heavy grunts. The slapping of wet, needy flesh nearly drowned you both out until he buried himself as deep as he could go, your toes curling while he filled you with heat. Your body milked the come out of him until you both collapsed, sweaty limbs still reaching for each other. 

“Are you okay,” he coaxed, brushing another hot tear away from your cheek. 

“I’m happy.”

Those words had left your lips many times over the past few years, but this time you didn’t have to lie. This time you let tears fall without shame, laughing as he left tickling kisses anywhere he could reach, holding you close. More laughter floated through the air while he carried you to the bathroom. You trailed your fingertips along his lines of ink, as though you were walking the paths around your new home, memorizing each lovely view. 

“You know this doesn't mean I’m gonna go easy on you, right,” Law threatened as he threw a blanket over your bare skin, wrapping himself around you. 

“You’re such an ass,” you hummed, nuzzling into his warmth. 

“You could be nicer to your captain, you know,” he quipped, his deep voice making you shiver. 

“If you’re my captain, does that make me a Heart Pirate?”

His arm tensed around you, and your mind cringed against your presumption.

Nothing’s changed. I’m still a tool, a threat, even if I am something more. Don’t fucking push–

“Only if you want to be.”

Law’s hushed offer stilled your thoughts. You couldn’t answer without seeing his face, so you twisted in his arms until you could cup his cheek, knowing that the shy smile on his face reflected your own. His eyes poured over you, until his brows creased slightly as he waited for your response. Waited to hear if you wanted to spend your life as a pirate, living on this submarine, putting yourself in danger. Waited to hear if you wanted to stay with him. 

It wasn’t a question.

“I do,” you promised with a kiss, pulling back to smirk at him, “but I’m still gonna call you an ass.”

Soon you were begging, breathless as you lost the fight, your cheeks hurting from laughing after his long fingers had stopped tickling you. Being wrapped up in each other still felt unreal. He fell asleep so fast, his light snores a comforting sound, even when you couldn’t stop the tears from staining your skin. 

You’d never felt safer. 

But memories were still there.

Doffy. 

He’ll find me. He’ll take me back. After he makes me watch him kill Law. 

He’ll probably use my hands. Just like…

You went completely limp, head lolling as your body fought the sticky memory of blood on your hands.

Part of your brain still had memories. Part of your brain berated you for not enjoying this perfect moment with Law. But most of your brain went to a strange buzzing place, unfocused eyes seeing nothing but a blur. 

When this empty space wasn’t frightening, it was relaxing, in a sick way. 

Leaving. 

Being nothing. 

Safe.

“Y/N? You okay,” he checked in, groggy voice filled with concern. 

Your limp body rolled as he shifted. A tiny part of you floated above the bed, watching, yelling at yourself to move, hating that he had to deal with this.

The rest of you was trapped in a fish tank, sinking to the bottom.

Law stayed with you. Even though you couldn’t feel, even though you couldn’t hear, you knew he was there. He was there when you returned, soothing your “sorry’s” away. Asking what you needed, bringing you water, then starting all over again as if it hadn’t happened.

Holding you close as he drifted off to sleep, and this time, you followed him. 

This time, Law pulled you from the nightmares. He reminded you where you were while he kept you from clawing at your chest. He waited until he saw your eyes stay present, then he teased you until you were his again. 

“Hurry up, or I’ll make you use the barracks bathroom,” he warned, pushing you through the door with a towel and a change of clothes. He beamed at your middle finger, and you could hear him counting down random numbers while you got ready. 

“Why don’t you just join me,” you challenged, about to turn on the water.

“You know why.”

You showered fast, even though your body twisted with need at the thought of him shoving you against the tile wall, but your mood soured when you looked in the mirror. It was disorienting to see that face on this submarine. To see that face anywhere but at Doffy’s side.

You managed to pull yourself out before you fell too deep, but this time you didn’t push it away. No hiding, no running in fear. 

Doffy lived there, behind your misty eyes. The weight of his presence hung around your shoulders like that heavy, pink coat. Your body screamed with the need to be safe, the need to be whatever he wanted you to be. His laugh echoed in your skull as he called for his “pretty doll.”

But you weren’t a doll anymore. 

I’m a Heart Pirate now, Doffy. And I’m gonna help Law kill you.

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me all the ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Heeeyyyy we made it. We completed the fic request. It's over... Lol, not! I have so much more planned for this story, but there will be a pause here while I circle back to another fic. But fret not, I'm obsessed with this story, and have already outlined some upcoming chapters!

Thank you so much for joining me! Again, I hope none of you relate to the reader's trauma, and her struggle to enjoy her own pleasure, but if you do, you're not alone 🖤 I hope you are given all the patience and love you need so that you can enjoy all the pleasure you desire.

You deserve to feel good!!

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @nothing-but-brass | @lovemesomefanfic846

Part 6

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[lookforsomeoneelse]

New Simulated Universe Update (SAHSRAU btw)

Can you tell i made a d in english? because I didn’t. Sorry about that. Anyway, I had some brainrot about how busted our blessings would be in sahsrau SU, because, like, everybody and their mother in that au would basically throw everything they love out of the window for us to throw a single glance at them. Also, this takes inspo from other works. Yeah, yeah, I’m a plagiarist, I know.

Let’s say you play Honkai: Star Rail. You’re a big fan- you’ve been playing since launch, have an excellent team comp, and have cleared all of the story and side content.

However, the game’s been… in a content drought for a while, roughly about 3 months without a single update- not even a patch or bug fix! That’s odd. Hoyo would have normally announced at least a single character by now, wouldn’t they?

And, getting extremely bored, and with nothing else to do, you seriously consider taking a break from the game. After all, there’s nothing to do.

Except farm. And you’re getting tired of even that.

But just then, a miracle happens- or at least it’s a miracle to you. The game finally gets an update. You’re confused- they should have announced that in some shape or form, but you also get excited. What have they added this time?

And then you find out, much to your dissatisfaction and/or disappointment, that they just doubled down and just added in a new version of the Simulated Universe, called “Simulated Universe: New Game +” to “fix” the lack of content- they’re just making you do SU again- but hey, they also added another Aeon along with it, so that should count for lore!

So you go and wait for it to download and open it up.

When you do, you’re notified in game of a text message from Herta. Uncharacteristically, its tone is noticeably off from how she normally acts- practically begging you to please please please come to her office- because apparently, she’s dug up some info on this new Aeon that’s apparently been around for the longest time, and she’s finally managed to obtain enough data to create a simulated version of THEM- thirsty for something to do, you oblige, using a space anchor to reach her. Surprisingly, there’s only one available for your use.

Once you actually arrive, a cutscene plays, depicting Herta, once again very much out of character, grabbing on to the trailblazer’s arm and practically dragging them across the space station to her office, the widest grin on the puppet’s face. “Huh,” you think to yourself, “She must have struck gold if she’s acting all crazy like this.”

Once you actually make it inside- Herta finally gives you a complete explanation of what’s happening- she’s “finally” dug up enough information about this Aeon that you “should already know” and that you should also “start immediately.”

You do, and you’re met with a new path for blessings- Guidance, and holy cow, is-is that 300% break effect and 180% damage and 50% crit rate boost? What? That’s insane- what is the dev team doing with their game???

Obviously, you pick it- it’s the only option available, and even if there were other options, this one would likely be the best.

As you and your party traverse through the station, and obtain absolutely absurd blessings- all damage dealt will have the character gain a shield equal to half of that permanently, follow up attacks trigger twice, all characters gain a self-revive- it’s really bad balancing on Hoyoverse’s part, and it’s the greatest power trip you’ve had while playing this game so far. But it’s also getting boring. One shotting everything isn’t exactly the best thing to do on loop, and the game throws you a bone in the form of finally meeting the Aeon that Herta was talking about.

However, before that happens, Herta pulls you aside- and you can’t believe it, but she’s even more out of character now- hell, she’s fangirling, saying stuff like “I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since I was a baby” and urging you to give the Aeon the absolute utmost respect- and to never forget to do it.

As it turns out, the so-called “interaction” between you and THEM is just dialogue describing how you will always serve and praise them for all eternity- and you seriously take into consideration getting whatever the hell the writers have been smoking over the past couple months to put this down on paper and call it a good idea.

Weirded out by very strange design choices, you decide that it’s time for a break after all is said and done, and close the app.

If this is the legitimate road that Hoyoverse is going down, you’re worried about the future of the game.

You should really be more worried about your future, sweetie. After all, they’re all working so hard to bring you to them through that screen.

They love you. So so much.