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dotster001 · 5 months

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When You Escape Him; Octavinelle

Summary: Yandere Octavinelle boys x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

CW: yandere, dark content, murder, threats against reader, drugging, injury to reader, mafia shit, this one feels darker, so read at your own risk, Azul's part is the tamest, so take that as you will

A/N: As promised, I'm going to be doing this one regularly. Hopefully gonna get these out on Sundays.

Heartslaybul Savannahclaw Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

You were lucky. In so many ways. Every single day you were grateful. Grateful that you been at your winter home, which was on land. Grateful that the child he'd found had been human. Grateful that the twins had had to go home early for “family business”.

You would never have had your window otherwise.

And seven years later, you were still grateful. Particularly to the Sunset Savannah, for quietly taking you and your son in as citizens, and legally changing your names, all under the table.

Your son was starting first grade tomorrow, so you'd spent the day shopping for supplies, eating treats that you'd splurged on to celebrate, chatting about dreams for the future.

The sun had gone down, and you'd shifted a bag to your hip to unlock the door, only for the door to slowly creak open. You pushed your son behind you, peeking into your darkened apartment. You quickly noticed the absolute wreckage inside, the windows broken, tables flipped, tv smashed, pillows torn; anything that could be broken, was broken.

You turned to your son, pressing a finger to your lips. He looked scared, but nodded. You grabbed his hand, and tip toed towards the stairwell. You made it down one flight of stairs before you saw twin shadows. You had the advantage of seeing them first, so you turned and tiptoed your way to the roof, hastily typing a message to Emergency L. You said a silent prayer as you pushed the door open, immediately hearing cackling as they bounded up the stairs behind you.

If you could just block the door until help arrived…

But the roof was swarmed with large men in black suits. You never stood a chance.

After an uncomfortable ride in a limo with the Leech twins, who were trying really hard to get your son to call them “Uncle”, followed by an underwater breathing potion shoved down your throat (your son's was mixed in a smoothie), and an even more uncomfortable escort back to Azul’s undersea branch of the Monstro Lounge, you found yourself in a very familiar situation. It'd been a while since you'd been in this chair in the VIP room. Last time, you'd traded your life away, believing Azul would find a way home for you. You really should have read the fine print…

“Mister?” Your son tugged on Floyd's sleeve.

Floyd grinned. “That's not my name.”

“U-uncle Floyd?” Floyd nodded happily. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“Daddy will be here in a sec. He'll get you some water.”

Floyd seemed happy to entertain your son, meanwhile Jade quietly snickered from the spot next to you where he was ensuring you stayed seated.

The door slammed open, and you didn't dare turn to look.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?” Azul boomed, and you heard your son release a squeak in fear.

“You were very busy with work. We didn't want to disturb you,” Jade said, the smile clear in his voice.

A tentacle wrapped around your stomach as Azul made his way to his desk.

“I should fire both of you for your impertinence.”

“Ah, but then we'd have to take Shrimpy and baby tako with us,” Floyd guffawed.

“Don't even joke about that,” Azul spat, finally in a place where you couldn't avoid looking at him. He looked exactly the same as you remembered, just with more bags under his eyes. The tentacle wrapped around your middle tightened as he stared at you, then he looked at your son, another tentacle moving to smooth the boy's hair. He flinched, but you'd long since learned that sometimes Azul's tentacles had a mind of their own; they continued petting his head.

“How would you like to stay with your Grandma for a while?” He finally asked.

“Grandma?”

“Yes. Your parents have to work some things out. So Uncle Floyd and Uncle Jade are going to take you to stay with Grandma.”

“My grandma is from a different world…”

“You have another Grandma,” Azul smiled wickedly. “You see,” the tentacle turned his head to face you, “someone has been lying to you. I'm your father. And they stole you from me, because they are a selfish, mean, person.”

You moved to stand, but the tentacle, and Jade's grip, both became crushing, and you froze in place. Your son's eyes flickered with doubt, but saying something now would give you a black eye and a traumatized son.

“I'm your father,” Azul smiled softly, moving closer and gently taking his hands. That's the smile that made you sign your contract.

“We'll see you soon. And then we'll be a proper family. Okay?”

The boy nodded and was quickly walked out by Jade and Floyd. Azul moved behind his desk, as though he had not a care in the world. He pulled out a familiar piece of glowing paper, and looked at it, before looking at you in mock disapproval.

“It seems you are in extreme violation of your contract, Y/N Ashengrotto.”

The only way you could have ever made it to the surface, was with help. Going to Jade was a long shot. But he'd grinned. It sounded entertaining to him, watching Floyd hunt you down. It would provide a couple hours of fun for him.

What Jade hadn't anticipated was how long you'd spent preparing for this opportunity.

And now it had been six years since you'd escaped the clutches of the ocean. Your son was coloring in the living space while you cooked.

The door splintered into a million pieces with a loud bang. And there he was. His eyes as cold as the day you'd first met him, when you'd watched him fight off a crowd of angry contracted students.

Your son looked up, instantly crying in total fear. You wrapped your arms around him, shielding him from your angry ex husband. Or at least you tried to. But, just like the man he resembled, he was a tall boy. It was hard to hide your gentle giant.

“Hey squirt,” Floyd said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He leaned in, his face inches from your son's face, scanning him, seeing the traces of himself in the boy. “How bout you come with me?”

“I-” he looked up at you, then back at Floyd. “I don't wanna.”

Floyd's eyes narrowed. He stood back up, grabbing you by the jaw, with a growl.

“Bet ya think you're real funny, doncha Shrimpy? Turning my family against me? Ya did it with Jade too. Thing is,” he scowled, biting his lip before continuing, “if I kill the kid, I know I'll never get you back again.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Jade,” you breathed, but Floyd threw you to the ground.

“Don't you dare say his name!” He screamed, moving to grab you again, but your son stood in his way.

“You don't get to talk about him! You killed my brother!” He screamed, trying to bob and weave around the boy. Finally he pulled out his pen, whispering a spell, and your son collapsed.

“No!” You screamed, crawling over to him, but Floyd blasted you back against the wall.

“He's fine. Just sleeping til we get home,” he said, irritation at having to even explain it clear in his voice.

He stalked over to you, and you tried to scoot back, but winced. You were pretty sure you had broken something.

He shoved you back, then hovered over your body, pinning your hands above your head. He nuzzled into your neck, his teeth grazing your jugular.

“If I ripped your throat out, you couldn't leave me again.”

“Please don't,” you breathed out, tears trickling from the corners of your eyes.

“No promises,” he said, the smile returning to his voice. “We'll see how well you behave.”

You'd found a spy among the ranks of Jade's men. As much as you believed that Jade probably already knew, you'd used the poor soul’s situation to your advantage. You wouldn't tell “Papa Leech” about him, if he got his boss to get you and your son an escape. You pointed out how if you escaped, and stayed hidden, Jade would essentially be out of the picture, forever weakening the Leech family.

It took lots of negotiation, and some 4d chess on your part to out maneuver the near genius that was Jade, but eventually, you were set up in a small home in the sea just off the coast of the kingdom of heroes.

They'd even started prepping for when your son was old enough to start safely taking human transformation potions. A moray eel mer stood out no matter where he lived, so the sooner they could set you up on land, the better.

That spy had left that job, and was now your regular contact when they were passing along information. You were scheduled to meet him today. He'd told you to bring your son. You hoped this meant you were finally going to discuss leaving the ocean. You'd dressed up your boy, putting a wig on him to hide the very Leech-ish hair he was unfortunate enough to be sporting. A pair of sunglasses on both of you, and you were ready.

You arrived at the fancy restaurant, giving the host the fake name that you used for your contact. He directed you to a room in the back, telling you to lock the door behind you.

You opened the door in the back, gently ushering your son in as you turned to lock the door. You turned back, and smiled at your contact, sitting down next to your son, in the seat across from him.

Then your contact fell out of his chair.

“Aw, too bad,” you heard an upsettingly familiar voice say from the dark corner of the room.

You grabbed your son's arm, preparing to swim away, but it took less than a beat for Jade to torpedo through the water, and grab you, throwing you over his shoulder.

“No!” Your son cried, banging his fists against Jade.

Jade snickered, before calling out, “Floyd. Enough hiding. Time to play with your beloved nephew.”

Floyd swam out from under the table, sighing heavily.

“If I have to. Just make sure you actually get Shrimpy on the right path this time, or Pops is gonna lose it.”

Your son was snatched around the middle, then dragged out of the room, your anguished cries doing nothing. Jade swam back to the seat your now dead contact was sitting in, slamming you down into it, binding you with a spell.

“Hello, my love. How was your vacation?” He asked with a close eyed smile.

You struggled against the binds, and he sighed in mock disappointment.

“Oh dear, I thought you'd be happy to see me.”

He wiped away an invisible tear. Then he reached over to the plate on the table.

“Jade, please. Where are you taking my son?” You pleaded.

He raised a brow, his face the very image of innocence, as he rolled his fork in the pasta on the plate.

“You mean, my son?” He asked. “He's going somewhere safe.”

“Jade, promise me you won't hurt him-”

“I would never! Do you think I'm a cruel beast?”

You didn't feel safe answering that question.

“While you were gone, I did some thinking. I was asking a lot of you. You're just a weak magicless human in a very scary environment. On top of that, I wanted you to be a parent, and a perfect spouse. You need some help.”

He grinned. “So I did some experimenting. Open wide!” He pressed the fork to your mouth, but you kept your lips sealed tight. “Don't worry, my pearl, you won't feel a thing.”

You had no doubt of that. Whatever was in that food wouldn't hurt you, not in a way you would feel. But whatever it did do would be far worse. You just knew it, especially after all this time he had to think about just how to make you behave.

“Do you ever wish to see your son again?”

You slowly nodded, your throat closing up.

“Do you want your son's grandfather to be put in charge of your discipline?”

You shook your head, and Jade's smile widened as he pressed the fork back to your lips. This time, you slowly opened your mouth and took a bite of the pasta. It tasted good, at least. That was your last thought as the world around you morphed and warped, the only thing you could truly focus on was a sharp toothed smile.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto #yandere azul ashengrotto x reader #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader

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bellewintersroe · 3 months

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Jenson Button Smut ~ mile-high club

jenson and unnamed fem character get it on thousands of miles in the air- except they’re not alone on their trip…

smut x reader 18+ - oral, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, established relationship.

Jenson’s jaw tightened as his eyes darted frantically around the cabin of the darkened private jet. At first it was just him and her, the two of them having the whole cabin to themselves. Then it was another one, two, three, four people that joined on their flight to Mexico where they’d celebrate some time off together. Jenson didn’t have it in him to deny them the transport- but he was wishing he had now.

Her mouth was wrapped around his hardened cock, stiff and rigid in between her glossy lips that drooled down his member. The only thing hiding this was the seats in front of them and the blanket covering Jenson’s lap and therefore her bobbing head. He felt the swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock before she pushed down, all the way down, reaching as far as the base of his cock.

Jenson squirmed, sweating hand gripping the armrest tighter as the other snagged at the blanket she hid under. It was erotic to say the least. He felt her gag and choke around his cock, he looked down, seeing the slight movement and only imagining how fucking sexy she looked spluttering around his dick. Jenson could’ve easily pulled back the covers, but he didn’t want to risk exposing her in case the others woke up. They strategically picked the seats at the back of the plane, with nobody sat beside them to ogle on them. But still, plenty of people still slept or at least rested, nose deep into their books, blissfully unaware of what was occurring only meters away.

With another gag came more movement and she began bobbing her head much faster, only imagining how good he was looking from above her. Jenson couldn’t control his jaw falling slack, he momentarily let his eyes fall shut and head fall back, a hand resting gently where her head was to guide the movements further. She was sucking the living shit out of him, and only when Jenson heard a noise up front did he snap out of his daze. “Fuck.” He swallowed under his breath, shifting subtly so he could grind himself deeper inside her. She felt his hand press on the back of her head, stuffing her down and holding her there against the base of his cock as he attempted to thrust quietly into her mouth. The sounds of her small mouth being fucked were slightly concealed by the high pressure of the plane and the blanket, but loud enough so Jenson could enjoy them.

Growing confident, her hand slipped down over the edge where his joggers were pulled down to, attempting to sneak a finger between his legs, down, down, down to a forbidden area he and her had only explored in the confinements of their home.

Jenson made a slight noise of discontent, pulling her off as she sat up besides him, hair dishevelled and mascara ever so slightly running. Jenson ran a thumb under her lips, catching the fallen spit before looking down to his cock with a pant. Her lipgloss left a glossy sheen over his cock and smudged on his shaven pubic bone. Jenson thought it was the hottest thing ever, his thumb continuing to smear her lip makeup further.

“Please fuck me.” She hushed into his ear, placing the blanket back over Jenson’s lap to protect his modesty. She was fully dressed, Jenson didn’t like that, her lips kissed at his jaw tenderly. He stuffed one hand under the blanket, fisting ever so gently at his cock as he almost became speechless at how dirty the moment was.

He let out a shaky breath, stuffing his hands down her shorts for a second time in the journey, pushing a finger in her with ease as she sat open legged on the seat. Fuck. She looked so hot, Jenson couldn’t contain it, he had to pull his hand away from himself or he’d bust too soon. She watched, head lolling back and lips parted as he looked over her, mesmerised by the beauty of his girlfriend. With his other hand free, he turned her cheek to face him, eloping in the deepest kiss he could muster, tongues swirling as they made out relentlessly in the chairs. “Can you be quiet?” Jenson asked, pushing his finger deeper inside her again. She gasped. “Yes.”

“C’mon then.” He nodded, indicating her to climb on top. He knew it was risky, but the smirk on her face indicated she didn’t care. Without even glancing around, she looked nowhere put him and pulled her shorts fully off, sliding down onto his large member. Jenson felt his mind go foggy as he felt the stretch of her wet cunt. No matter how many times he stretched her out she was still just as tight as the time before. Both their jaws fell slack, Jenson had to tense his jaw to avoid letting out a groan. When it was the two of them he wasn’t a man to stay quiet, but right now the thought of anybody finding her like this was worrying. Jenson wanted her all to himself, he wanted to preserve her modesty, protect her, she was his little dirty secret like this.

She bounced away, hair swinging in the loose ponytail she’d tied it back in, her hands gripping into his shoulders. Her eyes were focused on his, red in the face with brows furrowed. She knew he looked like he wouldn’t last long. Hendon’s eyes darted frantically behind her, slipping a hand over her smaller back as he lifted her up in the seat slightly. She didn’t stop moving, she was grinding against him, milking every inch of his cock as she felt the press of him deep inside her. Settled that nobody was paying attention, Jenson’s attention was back on her, pulling her in for a deep kiss to which he moaned against her lips, fucking his hips up inside her.

“People are gonna hear…” she giggled into his ear, leaving a nibble on his lobe as he couldn’t stop the thrusts he pushed inside of her. Jenson didn’t reply, he couldn’t, he panted into the front of her neck, hand finding her mouth as he attempted to move faster. The chair squeaked with each movement and they had to give that up quicker than it started. Jenson was never a man for sloppy quickies, he preferred taking his time, but fuck- with her he was at it like a rabbit. His head turned to the bathroom and he tapped at her thigh. “In the bathroom. C’mon.” The minute the door closed Jenson had her bent over the toilet, fighting against the gasps and moans that she desperatly wanted to release. His hips were pushing into her ass, squeezing and grabbing with each time the flesh would bounce.

“Fuck me, Jenson.” She whined, a borderline cry from below him. “Oh god.” He groaned, head falling back as he felt a familiar warmth fill his stomach. No. No. Too soon, he’d barely been inside her, he couldn’t cum yet. Instead, he fell to his knees, panting heavily and manhandling her into the position he wanted before pushing his face up to her core. His cock was throbbing, on the verge of release, if he touched himself he’d explode, and just the thought of tasting her like this drove him crazy. His mouth shoved deeper into her, tongue licking her clean, her clit, her hole, he ate her like he’d been starved. Fuck she tastes so good, the small sounds she was eliciting indicated he was doing a good job, and just with a little more she’d be- “right there! Fuck, right there!” Her volume increased, chest heaving as he desperatly pushed a finger inside of her. He didn’t care about them being loud, he seemed to forget that the bathroom on this thing wasn't sound proof real quick.

“Jenson! Jenson!” She gasped at his name, he wanted to smirk, proud he’d pushed her to this as he flicked at her clit, finger causing the sound of her wetness to echo in the small room they were in. “Yeah? Who’s making you feel this good, baby?” His confidence grew as she choked out, legs quivering. “You are!” The girl cried out with a prolonged moan, the sound of Jenson’s fingers squelching becoming louder and louder, his pace quickening as her whimpers turned into outright moans, somewhat concealed with the bite of her thumb in her mouth.

“Please! Please!” She borderline screeched, feeling the core tighten so hard she was shaking all over, crying out each time she’d exhale. “C’mon then. Cum for me baby, fuck, fuck. That’s it.” Jenson praised, the vibrations of his voice against her clit sending her over the edge as her juicer began squirting out of her, her orgasm taking over so much she couldn’t even push him out of the way in time.

Watching her orgasm was quite literally the hottest thing Jenson had ever seen, he wiped the back of his mouth clean, licking his lips and gaining once last taste of her before his fingers were replaced with the push of his cock once again. Through her orgasm, Jenson fucked her, she was feeling so much pleasure her eyes rolled back from overstimulation. His pants became heavy and louder, frantic as he fucked into her, repeating how “so fucking good” she was with each slap of his hips against her legs. Her legs grew weak, Jenson was the only thing supporting her now and as he reached his orgasm, he came crashing down on top of her with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum deep inside her.

“You’re so fucking good.” She cooed with a sigh, eyes closing as her forehead was pressed to the wall, chest rising and falling heavily. Jenson cursed behind her, coming around from his hot pleasure, letting out another manly moan with a trail of kisses left along her spine. Their bodies were flushed and hot to the touch, Jenson could’ve stayed there all day. “Babe.” She laughed, feeling him hugging her closer to him as he rolled his hips gently, milking the last of their pleasure. “Mmmh?” Jenson could barely respond, feeling lightheaded.

“You think anybody heard us?” She whispered. “No.” Jenson dumbly spoke. Little did they know on the outside of the door mouths were hung open, mortified from the sounds coming within the aeroplane bathroom…

#jenson button x reader #jenson button imagine #jenson button fanfic #Jenson Button smut #Jenson Button x reader smut #F1 x reader #f1 x reader smut

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abruisedmuse · 3 months

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Yall are delusional if you think Nesta is going to leave Cassian or the night court. First, they are mated. Not just mates. Mated. They accepted the bond, and SJM loves her Heas. It's a done deal. So either keep reading and deal with it or drop the series and find something you enjoy. Not to mention if they even could break the bond, how empty and broken Nesta would be for eternity. You really want that for her?

HOFAS happened three months after acosf. There's still alot of healing on Nesta’s part. Just because she saved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx doesn't mean things are swept under the rug with them. Her and Cassian are both fiery and stubborn. They are going to have arguments. Honestly, it's perfectly normal for them to argue on occasion.

This. What Nesta did in HOFAS. Went beyond her and Cassian, beyond Rhys. This was a decision that Nesta should not have made herself. Yes I understand that she saw Bryce's desperation and understood her. She probably put herself in Bryces shoes for a moment. She took a chance. But it's a huge fucken chance because they don't know nor trust Bryce fully. And if she failed the whole of Prythian/Midgard is fucked. They have nothing to defend themselves against the weaponry Rigelus has. They will all die. Including Nesta Archeron.

Rhys had every right to scold her. And Her saying he's not her High Lord isn't accurate. She lives in his lands. Whether she wants to admit it or not. If any of the courts got wind of what was happening with Bryce or that Nesta gave this mask up to a stranger from another world do you know who would be faulted? Not Nesta. Rhys and Feyre would. They would suffer the consequences because Nesta falls under their lands. Their rule.

And now Cassian, who apparently had never defended Nesta once. Again. Nesta was In. The. Wrong. Her actions were beneficial and understandable but wrong. Cassian being upset and disappointed in her would absolutely make sense. Think of times in TOG, when Rowan wasn't happy with Aelin. He stood there silent until they were alone. That's more than likely what happened. Cassian didn't say his piece until everyone left. It's an argument between Nesta and Cassian and no one else.

That argument. The one that happened off page yet everyone wants to fucking crucify Cassian over cause you think you know what he said. When in reality you don't. Is wild. Three months ago, when she was with Emerie and Gwyn, they were taken and placed in the Blood Rite where he was helpless in going to her. He lost her briefly in the bog, watched her put her life at risk. How many times in acosf? He went a year or so watching Nesta absolutely ruin herself, had her lay over his body in front of Hybern, almost losing her, them, then too. Now, someone, a stranger and someone potentially dangerous, opened a portal in his living room where his mate was. And he wasn't there. All that trauma and ptsd he keeps on lock was blown wide open.

So now Cassian is a storm of emotions when he arrives home. Probably arrived mid argument between Nesta and Rhys, and the entire flight was given brief details of what's happening fueling his emotions. His fear, trauma, concern, disappointment, and anger. When Rhys leaves, Cassian and Nesta got into it. Sure he was pissed about the mask anyone would be. I would be. I personally think it goes on beyond that. Far beyond it. Nesta’s life, once again, was put a risk and no one knew what Bryce wanted. Cassian’s worst fear when the portal was open, was Bryce taking Nesta and never seeing her again. All that came out in their fight.

As readers, we know Bryce's intentions are good. They as characters who haven't been given the best view of Bryce dont believe it. Yes, I do think there needs to be more trust in Nesta. Especially where Rhys is considered. Cassian, as her mate, blowing things out of proportion is logical cause all mates have done it at some point. But yeah he needs to trust her a bit more too. He trusts her more than Rhys does that's for sure.

To play devil's advocate, I could be wrong on Cassian and Nesta and their fight. Absolutely. Im not Sarah. But neither are you who are wishing he dies, and Nesta leaves him over a risk that was never hers to make alone when it involves the whole world of Midgard.

If you read this entire thing and disagree. That's cool. The unfollow and block buttons are right there.

#im so fucking tired of seeing this #leave Cassian alone jfc #until we have confirmation of exactly what went down its all speculation #hofas spoilers #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #rhysand #feyre archeron #feysand #bryce quinlan #pro cassian #pro nessian #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #crescent city #house of flame and shadow

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reasonsforhope · 7 months

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Seven thousand more UAW members just walked off the job, expanding the strike to two more plants. Twenty-five thousand autoworkers are now on strike, and the walkout could continue to escalate if the Big Three don’t budge in negotiations.

[UAW president Shawn] Fain announced that Stellantis would be spared this time. The union had been expected to strike all three companies, but, said Region 1 director LaShawn English, three minutes before Fain was scheduled to go on Facebook Live, the UAW received frantic emails from company representatives.

[Note: Love that for the UAW. Also laughing so hard. Three minutes before the next round of strikes were annouced!!]

According to Fain, Stellantis made “significant progress” on cost-of-living allowances, the right not to cross a picket line, and the right to strike over product commitments and plant closures. “We are excited about this momentum at Stellantis and hope it continues,” Fain said...

“See You Next Week — Maybe?”

“These guys wanted to go out a long time ago,” said Cody Zaremba, a Local 602 member at the Lansing GM plant after the news broke that his plant would be joining the strike. “We’re ready. Everybody, truly, I believe, in the entire membership. They’re one with what’s going on.”

Five thousand workers at thirty-eight parts distribution centers across twenty-one states have been on strike since last Friday [September 22, 2023], along with thirteen thousand at three assembly plants in Michigan, Ohio, and Missouri who walked out on September 15. (See a map of all struck facilities here.) ...

The UAW is now calling on community supporters to organize small teams to canvass dealerships that sell and repair Big Three cars and trucks. On Tuesday, the union issued a canvassing tool kit with instructions, flyers, press releases, and talking points.

In negotiations with Ford and GM, autoworkers have clinched some important gains. Among them is an agreement by both companies to end at least one of the many tiers in current contracts, putting workers at certain parts plants back on the same wage scale as assembly workers. The top rate for Big Three assembly workers is currently around $32...

Ford was spared in last week’s escalation, because bargainers there had made further progress on gains for workers.

But today, the UAW once again called out workers at Ford and GM, putting some muscle behind its bold demands — a big wage boost, a shorter workweek, elimination of tiers, cost-of-living adjustments tied to inflation, protection from plant closures, conversion of temps to permanent employees, and the restoration of retiree health care and benefit-defined pensions to all workers.

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023. Article continues below.

Keep Them Guessing

This year, for the first time in recent history, the union has played the three auto companies against each other with its strike strategy, departing from the union’s tradition of choosing one target company and patterning an agreement at the other two.

The stand-up strike strategy draws inspiration from an approach known as CHAOS (Create Havoc Around Our System), first deployed in 1993 by Alaska Airlines flight attendants, who announced they would be striking random flights. Although they struck only seven flights in a two-month period, Alaska had to send scabs on every plane, just in case. The unpredictability drew enormous media attention and drove management up the wall. Meanwhile the union was able to conserve its strength and minimize risk.

The companies miscalculated where the UAW was going to strike first, stockpiling engines and shipping them cross-country to the wrong facilities. Autoworkers relished the self-inflicted supply chain chaos on UAW Facebook groups and other social media platforms.

Nonstrikers’ morale on the factory floor has gotten a boost from rank and filers organizing to refuse voluntary overtime. With support both from Fain and the reform caucus Unite All Workers for Democracy (UAWD), workers have been encouraging each other to “Eight and Skate,” meaning to turn down extra work and decline to do management any favors.

Majority Public Support

A majority of Americans support the UAW strikers, and the Big Three have taken a PR hit since the strike began, according to a new survey conducted by the business intelligence firm Caliber.

“Eighty-seven percent of respondents told us they were aware of the strike,” Caliber CEO Shahar Silbershatz told the Intercept. “It’s clear the strike is not just causing commercial repercussions, but reputational repercussions as well.”

These reputational repercussions will only worsen...

"We Can Unmake It"

Fain didn't pull any punches in his speech... “That’s what’s different about working-class people. Whether we’re building cars or trucks or running parts distribution centers; whether we’re writing movies or performing TV shows... we do the heavy lifting. We do the real work. Not the CEOs, not the executives.

"And though we don’t know it, that’s what power is. We have the power. The world is of our making. The economy is of our making. This industry is of our making.

“And as we’ve shown, when we withhold our labor, we can unmake it.”

-via Jacobin, September 29, 2023

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siriusleee · 7 months

Text

shot through with gold

“I smashed the whole house to bits,” Johnny keeps going, turning to put the milk in the refrigerator. “Had to get Simon over here to help me put it back together. It was his idea by the way. To get the mug fixed. He said you’d be mad if it was gone when you came home.”

tags: coming back home, implied torture, capture, smut, riding, reader is afab, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of blood word count: 7.7k author's note: This was a commission by the best and brightest @gazs-blue-hat. If you'd like to commission a fic, visit my ko-fi for more information. Also, I refuse to disgrace the good country of Scotland by attempting to do the full Scottish accent. Readers call sign is Sparrow, but it's only used once.

The room is heavy with dust; small puffs cloud around Johnny’s boots as he pads across the plush carpet. The summer’s oppressive heat makes the walls sweat - you’d be worrying about the mold forming in the drywall if you could see it. But Johnny doesn’t think of the way his handprints smudge on the paint you spent weeks agonizing over or the way your perfume lingers in the still air even after all this time.

His singular mission - to grab a few shirts he needs and leave - is the only thought he allows himself to think about, hands combing through the dressers and eyes trained downward, away from all the pictures hanging on the wall. He avoids your side of the dresser, avoids the lace that still peaks out from your top drawer.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, Johnny ignores it as he pulls the shirts he came to look for out of the dresser drawer, tucking them beneath his arm. He follows his tracks in the dust back out, eyes cast down at the carpet. The whole trip takes less than 10 minutes; he doesn’t let himself look up until he’s slamming the passenger door of Simon’s truck shut behind him.

“Got everything?” Simon asks, shifting the truck into drive.

Johnny sits ramrod straight in the seat, eyes avoiding Simon’s as he buckles in.

“Yeah, got everything.”

Your fingers trace over the marks you’d carved into the soft stone wall. You’d tried to keep a tally mark of days, but time slipped by in odd increments within your cell. Some days you’d watch the sunrise from the cracks in the ceiling and after just a blink, the inky blackness of night would be seeping in. Sometimes the sun hung in the sky for months before finally falling to the full moon. No matter how hard you tried to decode the pattern, the moment you had it everything would reset.

The guards were in on it; they had to be. They’d bring your meals at odd times - sometimes you’d still be full from the moldy slop they shoved in between the cell bars, spilling it out onto the floor like you’re an animal in a cage, and sometimes you’d be so hungry that you could barely crawl to eat.

It was supposed to be someone else - you were pulled for guard duty after another soldier slogged off and broke his foot doing something stupid while training. You’d finally been pulled to work with Johnny, three days away from being a full transfer to the 141 when your C.O. had appeared at the door of your bunk, new orders in hand.

A simple guard duty: get the guy to where he was supposed to be going, hand him off, and fly home. Your transfer could wait an extra forty-eight hours. But your plane was shot down somewhere over the middle of nowhere - you had told your C.O. that flying that low was a risk, but the desert was empty and the plane was old. They’d been making the flight for weeks, ferrying men back and forth with no hiccups. Your flight should have been no different.

It should have been someone else.

You couldn’t remember what had hit your small passenger plane: but the ground was David, and you were Goliath. You’d hit the ground beside the pilot’s head, his mouth formed in a soundless scream, and after a quick flash of black, had woken up to a bucket of water being poured across your face.

Whatever language your captives screamed at you, you didn’t know it. And if they knew any of the ones you screamed back at them: Spanish, Arabic, German, they didn’t let you in on it. You couldn’t figure out what they wanted until they’d ripped the Union Flag from the breast of your vest, a quick picture on a Polaroid camera snapped above you before you realized what they wanted.

Blood dribbled down your chin when you laughed at them: the government didn’t even pay for soldiers who got captured at war. What would they pay for your half-broken body to get shipped back in a wooden box? A simple mistake that could be written off as a plane malfunction.

The anger had come first, feet and fists slamming into the men when they appeared at the cell doors. Nails ripped from their beds when you tried to claw at the seams in the walls. It had cost you a few teeth and a pound of flesh. And then, when you were tired of the endless beatings and anger that went nowhere, you begged them to kill you, to do something to end the torment. By the marks on the wall, it took months before you first asked to be killed, and only weeks later for that to end, each request met with silence and a sneer. Now you lay in the corner, waiting for the few moments when they’d let you out to see the sun glinting off of the mountain ranges, the clouds threatening to storm in the distance.

Those quick trips seemed to come with less frequency as time slipped by.

You trace the tattoo on your thigh; they’d cut through it once after you kicked one of them in the chest, his ribs caving beneath your feet, but even beneath the dried viscera and matted dirt that covered your skin, you could still see Johnny’s name there.

You wonder if he’s picked a gravestone for you yet.

The two of you had talked about it, once. It was the nature of your jobs - to be prepared for everything that could come your way. Your wills were done: 75% to Johnny, 15% to your sister’s kids, and the rest to a local charity. Johnny wrote in that you were to get 100% of everything he owned, and you had chided him about it.

“What about your mom? Your sisters?” You had asked across the steam from your cup of coffee. Johnny had shrugged, dropping the black pen onto the table with finality.

“Already taken care of, birdie.”

After that had come the talk of headstones and burial plots. Of missing bodies and cremation. You had told Johnny that whatever he thought you’d like, to pick out. You weren’t picky about it.

You wonder if the military let him put his last name on the stone.

A decidedly male voice shouts from around the corner, and you pull back into the stone wall. Seconds later, fetid food falls through the bars. The man shouts at you, pointing at the food on the ground. Lazily, you turn your head towards him, watching the way he sneers at you through the bars.

They must be getting angry then. No ransom came through after all these months.

You bare your teeth at him.

You’d rip his throat out if you had the strength to do so anymore.

Johnny’s fingers don’t shake like they used to when he buckles the strap of his helmet, the night vision goggles weighing him down. He’s tired - exhausted. The entire convey smells of cigarettes and sweat. Heavy men in heavy gear press around him; across from him Gaz’s eyes shine terribly bright in the darkness. They press in on Johnny, forcing him back into his seat heavily.

Price’s voice is loud in his comms, intermingling with the sounds of the Marines and the whir of the mechanics beneath his feet. Johnny can’t make out the details over the sound of the truck rumbling beneath him.

“Steady Soap?”

Gaz knows - Johnny doesn’t know how Gaz can do this kind of job with the way he fucking oozes empathy. Or sympathy. Johnny could never remember which one was which, he always had to ask you which one to use. Gaz had been the only one who’d asked him if he was alright; Simon had lingered at the edges of rooms Johnny was in to keep an eye on him, and Price tried to give him an extended leave. Johnny had refused.

But Gaz had been waiting until Johnny was sitting outside of some bar a group of Seals had taken them to - a celebration for a job well done months after you were gone, after Johnny's failed attempt to find you.

“You good?” Gaz had asked, fingers twirling a cigarette he would never light.

“O’course.”

It had made Johnny feel like shit to lie to Gaz, and the same feeling washes over him as Gaz’s eyes linger on Johnny.

The warm summer air washes over them; sweat is starting to coat his lower back, his fatigues keeping him too warm. The smell of the desert, of warmed sand keeps him grounded, reminds him of where he is - what he’s doing here.

In the glint of the moonlight, the mountaintops shine at him.

The first few missions had been difficult: he’d fought like hell to try to search for you, fuck the regulations. He’d resign if it meant finding you. The rest of the fucking government didn’t care: no one on the plane was as important as anyone else, not to the officials anyway. Johnny had done just that, his resignation had landed heavily on Price’s desk, only to land in the trashcan a moment later.

Gaz volunteered to follow Johnny, but Price had cut that off quickly. It was to be Johnny and Simon only. They had five days, a week at most before they had to be back home.

The farthest they got was the plane wreckage, a little burnt-out village miles away, and sheep that stared at them from the sides of the mountains. But he couldn’t find a trace of you or a singular person who even recognized the photo of you he kept tucked inside his gear. Even after Simon had disobeyed Price’s orders to return home now after weeks had passed. They didn’t find anything.

Johnny knew that’s why Price had volunteered the 141 for this mission - a small-time terrorist cell hiding out in a country they didn’t belong to, a small promise of the bodies of missing soldiers hidden somewhere.

It was something.

The guards are panicking; the dirt walls shake around you. You can’t guess what it could be: American pilots doing a blind bombing, Russians pretending to send help only to rain down hell on the perceived innocent. Maybe God’s here to level the land and flood it. Try again. Do something different this time.

He could start with your cell, you think, scraping at the dirt on your leg. Underneath the sun-starved skin is paler than it should be. If you ever leave, you think, the first thing you’re going to do is eat a fucking steak in the sunshine. The bones that refused to set correctly ache beneath your bruised flesh.

The sound of gunfire pierces the inescapable silence. Your captors yell, screams punctuating between the bursts of firepower. Good, maybe they’ll tear each other apart and leave you here to die in peace.

Maybe it was a poker game gone extremely wrong. Someone asked to strip when they should have been ponying up the cash.

Smoke pops in the hallway outside, you don’t run from the white creeping in on you, just pull the rags that were your shirt over your mouth to try and keep breathing. It overtakes your cell; you watch as the smoke creeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

The sounds of war flood the small cell - the taste of blood and gunpowder in the air around you. You can taste the iron when you breathe in. It coats your tongue. You run your teeth across the chipped and broken enamel, mixing the taste of other’s blood with your own.

Someone shouts so close this time you can almost make out the words - American accent thick and heavy in your ears - and it stirs something inside of you. You try to navigate the cell through the smoke, rolling painfully off of the pallets your captors had so kindly turned into a bed for you. Crawling across the excreta and mud you try to make a sound, but you haven’t spoken in months.

Your throat is raw, and the sounds that come from you are barely human. You’ll be surprised the men even hear you, let alone notice you there on the ground. You try to pull yourself up at the bars, but the fracture in your ankle that healed up wrong weeks ago keeps you on your knees.

“Hey-” you finally croak out loud enough for one of the men to cast his eyes down at you. “Please.”

He’s so familiar, the softness in his eyes tugging at something familiar inside of you, the sharpness of his shoulders calling to you. You pull yourself up, leaning heavily on the bars and the one ankle that doesn’t scream at you, hands slipping through the bars to try to reach towards him.

His gun drops, swinging loosely on its strap as he steps towards you. His fatigues are filthy, and his nose wrinkles beneath the cloth mask covering his face. You know you smell terrible, and you want to apologize for it, but you can’t make the words come. He looks so tired as he steps towards you, hands reaching out to grip the bars between the two of you.

“Sparrow?”

“Johnny?”

It takes days for you to make it home: IVs from field medics who barely know what they’re doing, anti-viral meds, shots, stitches. They don’t even let you take a real shower until you’ve landed at a base you barely recognize. It’s a painful process, a female nurse wiping at you gently, but still peeling away layers of skin with each pass of the washcloth, your sobs muffled by the shower.

Johnny waits for you on the fringes of all the people that press around you, poking you, prodding you painfully until finally, you find yourself slammed into a British hospital bed.

Johnny comes in the moment they let him, hands held behind his back in a mock parade rest. You barely recognize him, his mohawk almost completely grown out and bags under his eyes. You know you don’t look much better; you’d caught sight of yourself in a mirror before they’d forced you into bed. Ruined was the only word to describe what you saw. Too thin, too broken. Too torn apart to be stitched back together. At least not without all the types of therapy a military doctor listed out to you: hydro, occupational, physical, mental.

Neither of you know what to say, so you start with the last thing the doctor told you.

“They’re going to rebreak my ankle tomorrow,” your voice is still thin, full of isolation. You’d tested it out on everyone who’d been in to work on you, but it didn’t sound right at all. Johnny shuffles nervously where he stands, and then rushes forward to sit in the chair beside your bed. He’s moving wrong, you think, like a wind-up doll. Too slow and then all at once, too fast.

“Why?”

“I healed up wrong.”

Johnny’s hands play with the edge of the blanket that dangles off of the bed, eyes trained on the fabric. He’s not going to look at you. At the ruin you’ve become. You press yourself down harder into the thin mattress, hands tucked beneath your thighs to keep them still.

“Is it going to hurt?”

You can’t help but smile at his question, your toes twitching beneath the blanket that feels so out of place across you. How many months had they had you? A year? No one had told you yet.

“They said I’d be fucked up on medicine. But probably, yeah."

Johnny’s hands aren’t still against the blanket, instead reaching out towards you. The movement startles you, and you jerk to the opposite side, nearly pulling your IVs out. Johnny pulls his hands back, crossing them across his chest.

“When you -” his voice breaks, just a moment before he put it back together, eyes finally meeting yours, “when you come home I’ll bring the bedroom downstairs so that you don’t have to walk far.”

You have the nagging suspicion that he changed what he was going to say at the last moment.

"Are you going to sleep on the couch with me?" You try to tease, but your voice falls flat, unpracticed. But it still makes Johnny smile, sharp incisors digging into his chapped lips.

"I'll sleep wherever you tell me."

The two of you are surrounded by the sounds of the hospital: the beeps of the heart rate monitors, the sounds of the nurses' quiet conversation outside of your room. You trace your hands across the blanket, grasping Johnny’s whenever your fingers collide with each other.

For a moment, neither of you move, just languish in the feeling of each other’s skin; you’re too busy tracing Johnny’s palm to notice him pushing himself closer to you until he kisses you, softly but with a tight undercurrent of desperation, his hand tightening almost painfully on yours.

The feeling of someone touching you so gently after weeks of rage and anger nearly stops your heart. The monitor goes crazy; Johnny pulls back, just the hint of a smile on his lips.

It takes four weeks for Johnny to get the go ahead to bring you home. Each day you were in the hospital he would come for a quick chat before work, bringing you breakfast he picked up. Every day after, he would collapse in the chair beside your bed, smelling of sweat and gunpowder.

The smell made you recoil when he tried to kiss you, and he didn't try again after that, even after you tried to stutter out a why. But the day the doctor tells Johnny that you can go home, you awaken to Johnny outside of the hospital room, arms crossed as he speaks to the head doctor - Johnny looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him off the battlefield.

Everyone rotates around you as if you’re not there, packing the room up, pulling your IVs out, fingers prodding and poking you until a nurse aide wheels a wheelchair into the room for you.

”Ready?” She asks, locking the brakes. She looks at you from across the room, and you know what she wants. Starting the day after they rebroke your bones, they made you get up and start walking, and you push yourself off of the bed, walkable cast heavy against the tile floor.

Johnny’s in the room in a second, catching sight of you whenever he sees you stumbling over your cast across the room. The aide lets him push her out of the way, his hands gripping the wheelchair as you lower yourself down.

“I can walk out, you know.” You grumble at Johnny as he tosses a heavy folder into your lap.

“Hospital procedure, birdie.”

Simon’s truck is waiting for the two of you in the parking lot, Simon in the driver's seat. He throws a glance at you as Johnny helps you clamber into the backseat, crowded around by grocery bags.

“Hello, Luv.”

“Hello, Simon. Thank you for the ride.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, black hospital mask sliding up, but he’s cut off by Johnny clambering into the passenger seat.

You watch Johnny from the backseat, foot propped up beside you. His hair has grown out too long, the Mohawk nearly disappeared and his beard has started to grow in. In all the years you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him anything other than clean-shaven; even in the field, he'll butcher himself with a knife before he lets it grow in.

He’s thinner than he should be, too. You wonder if he’d been eating like he was supposed to.

The drive home is disorientating, Simon taking turns too sharply, too quick for your still queasy stomach. By the time Johnny helps you climb down from the truck, dropping your hands quickly when both of your feet are on the ground.

The house is clean, too clean for Johnny to have been here alone. Like he can sense you'd skepticism, Johnny speaks from ahead of you.

“I’ve hired a cleaner,” Johnny says, holding the door open for you. “So don’t worry about anything.”

It’s odd to be back home; you trace your fingers across the knick-knacks you’d collected throughout the years, the furniture you’ve spent years picking out. You have memories of sitting here with Johnny, memories of Simon and Gaz laughing from the kitchen. But now all you feel is lost, a bottle floating in a foreign ocean.

You wander into the kitchen, fingers trailing against the wall - there are no dirty dishes in the sink, no food in the cabinets; Johnny wasn’t living here.

The only dish you recognize is sitting on the counter, you pick it up, feeling the unfamiliar weight in your hand.

“It’s called Kintsugi.”

The Japanese word rolls heavily off of Johnny’s tongue, your fingers pause tracing the golden lines that cut through the mug. It was your favorite, a gift from when you and Johnny had first met. The two of you met at a diner, out with mutual friends. You’d thought it was cute, the name of the diner printed across the front in vintage lettering. Johnny had swiped it for you, hiding it beneath his jacket until the two of you parted ways at your doorstep.

“What happened to it?”

“I broke it,” he admits, dropping the grocery bags onto the counter. Your fingernail can’t find any snag in the glaze, any sign that the mug has never had the golden lines cutting through it.

Johnny busies himself with unloading the bag, speaking without looking at you as he confesses.

“After you were taken, I spent weeks searching for you until Price forced me to come home. I was angry, and I smashed it.”

You can feel the frown sketched onto your face; you don’t look at Johnny as you set the mug down on the counter.

You lean against the counter and watch Johnny busy himself with the groceries.

“He was right,” you admit, feeling silly over the sadness that fills you over the broken cup, “but maybe that’s something Simon has a lot of experience with broken things ya’know.”

You and Johnny orbit each other for weeks: he’s there every day until you begin to question if he’s gotten himself fired to stay home with you. He drives you everywhere, and if he can’t, Simon waits for you just out past the front gate, no doubt on Johnny’s orders.

“I had a lot of time off,” he says one day, elbow-deep in the laundry that he dumped between the two of you, eyes cast on the television. “Never had a reason to take it before.”

Your hands smooth the wrinkles out of one of Johnny’s shirts, fingers picking at the loose string. Today had been talk therapy, recommended by the SAS doctors. They were strict about all the requirements you had to meet if you ever wanted to go back, and laying on a shrink’s couch for two hours a week was one of them.

The graying doctor had asked you if you had spoken to Johnny about the anger that still wells up in you, the dreams you have of tearing your captives to pieces with your hands, the internal self-flagellation you went through every night when you thought about the career you’d worked so hard for, and have now lost.

You had spent the rest of the day thinking about what he said, even when it meant not paying attention to the medical doctor’s order when they were cutting your cast off, but Johnny took in every word.

You almost say something then, tossing Johnny’s shirt onto his pile, but the wrong words come out.

“You need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” Johnny’s hands still around a pair of your shorts, you feel him watching you in his peripheral vision. “You want to cut it?”

Of course, you did; you spend more moments than not thinking about how his hair must feel like long if it’s still soft. But every time the two of you tried to touch each other, the other pulled away.

So when Johnny takes your hand, and pulls you up the stairs, you let him - hand heavy and warm in your own.

Johnny lowers himself onto the closed toilet seat; you feel unsteady as you approach him, clippers in hand, and you’re not sure if it’s from the closeness or the weight of your cast being removed.

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?” You ask again; since you’d come home your fingers had been a kind of clumsy they’d never been before.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Johnny keeps his eyes trained on you, fingers tapping against the tight denim stretched across his jeans.

“I can scalp you bald,” you admit, switching the clippers on, “and then you’d look like a Q-Ball for eight weeks.”

“I’ll be the best damn Q-Ball anyone’s ever seen,” Johnny says, beard twitching as he smirks at you. If he notices the way your fingers tremble when you take his jaw in your hand, he doesn’t say anything.

His eyes close at the feeling of the clippers cutting through his hair, no doubt the feeling of the weight being removed was comfortable for him.

“You didn’t do this while I was - while I was gone?”

Your therapist says you shouldn’t shy away from calling your kidnapping what it was, but you still can’t form the words in front of Johnny.

He hums at your words, never opening his eyes as he speaks.

“I don’t let anyone else touch my hair, birdie.”

“What about your beard?”

Johnny snorts, eyes meeting yours as you maneuver his head to the side.

“You don’t like it?”

You like the way he feels against your skin, you want to tell him. But you can’t make the words form, can’t spit them out. Johnny watches you chew on them for a moment before he lets out a sigh. His hair is scattered on the floor around the two of you, more than you’d thought he’d had.

You swap the guards to shorten his mohawk, pressing yourself in between Johnny’s knees so that you can reach the nape of his neck.

His hands wrap around your thighs, light and warm against the skin that peeks out beneath the shorts you hadn’t taken off since you’d left your cast removal this morning.

Your skin is on fire at his touch, you try to ignore it as you clean up his neck; Johnny buries his face in your shirt, breath warm against your stomach. His fingers trace light patterns on your thigh and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep the clippers from straying.

His fingers trace the scar that covers his name, and you jump back like you’ve been shocked. Your back hits the wall, knocking the decorative towels you’d spent days choosing to the floor. Johnny’s hands linger in the air between the two of you as you try to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you pant out with a heavy swallow.

Johnny pushes himself up, eyes watching you like you’re a wild animal ready to run.

He reaches out and brushes some of his fallen hair from your shoulders, electrifying your skin again. His touch is hesitant as he traces up your shoulder, fingers cupping the back of your neck.

He’s fire as he presses himself against you, lips brushing over yours just quick enough to light something up inside of you before pulling away with an apology. He loosens the clippers from your hands and shoos you out with a promise he’ll clean the hair up himself.

A storm rages outside, threatening to cut the power at any moment. You watch it throw around tree limbs and leaves through the front window. Behind you, the television casts soft shadows on the walls.

“Still pouring out there?” Johnny asks from his spot on the couch. Your answer is the curtain falling back into place. You pad back to your spot beside Johnny; he holds the blanket up for you to slip underneath.

His bare leg rubs against yours, but his hands stay firmly in his lap. He hadn’t tried to touch you since that day in the bathroom - even when he dropped you off at therapy, you’d wait for him to stretch across and kiss you, but he’d just send you off with a wave.

You knew it was partially your fault: you couldn’t get the words out to explain how much you wanted him to touch you, how sorry you were for every jerk away. Every time you tried to tell him how much you wanted him, the words curled into your throat and refused to budge. You had even asked earlier for him to take a shower with you, to no avail.

The movie - some family flick Johnny picked because it didn’t have any violence, you know - cast shadows across Johnny’s face. His stubble is starting to come in again; you reach out and trace your finger across the five o’clock shadow creeping onto his jawline.

Johnny doesn’t take his eyes away from the television screen, but he leans his face into your touch. Your fingers trace upwards, lacing through the Mohawk you’d trimmed just two weeks ago. Johnny nearly purrs when you tug on his hair, pulling him down so that he’s lying across your lap.

You have to take it slow, you know or you and Johnny both might break apart. So you just settle beneath him, fingers tracing patterns onto his scalp, eyes trained on the television, but not really watching.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back,” you whisper, voice nearly drowned out by the storm outside. Johnny rolls, doing his best not to dig painfully into your thigh to look up at you.

“To work?”

You nod, still refusing to look at him.

“I talked about it with the therapist today; I just - I think it would be best if I just cashed in my retirement. I’ve got a lot saved up: hazard pay and all that. The corporal offered me a job as a trainer. So I could still be around."

Johnny’s hand reaches up to grab your wrist, forcing you to look at him. You can’t read the expression on his face, and you don’t like that. He’s always your open book. You try to keep your heart rate steady at the feeling of him tracing patterns on your wrist.

“I’m sorry, birdie.”

And you know he’s not just apologizing for your ruined career, for the nearly year you’d spent locked away in some disgusting cell, for the still broken teeth in your mouth, or the screws that hold most of you together now. He’s still apologizing for not being able to find you earlier, to be there months earlier.

“It’s not your fault Johnny - I should have told them no. I should have been smart enough to just tell my commanding that I couldn’t do it. I should have-“

Hot tears start to fall; Johnny pushes himself up, fingers brushing them away gently. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you into his lap, tucking your head beneath his chin, and pulling you so tight you think you might break beneath his touch. And you would let yourself shatter beneath him, if it meant he could put you back together, shot through with gold.

Johnny lets you cry on his shoulder until the fabric of his shirt is soaking wet; after a while, the smell of him, the softness of the way he caresses your back,and the feeling of his jean-clad thigh between your own stirs something else inside of you. You need something else, something more desperate, something to push away the feelings of failure. Of the fear that still lingers in you of heights, and darkness, and men who smell of sweat and gunpowder.

So when you kiss him, softly, Johnny doesn’t push you away like he can feel how much you need him to touch you. Even as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, you don’t break the kiss. It stays superficial, and soft, neither of you breaking apart or deepening it. You expect him to carry you to the spare bed he brought downstairs for you, but instead, he cradles you up the stairs, hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there will be a thumb-shaped bruise there tomorrow.

Johnny doesn’t stumble as he carries you.

In the bedroom the two of you shared before you were lost, Johnny collapses on the bed, his smell enveloping you, hands never leaving you. He buries his nose in the soft skin of your neck, breathing in the smell of you.

“Are you here with me birdie?”

Johnny’s voice is muffled on your skin, his hands pausing at the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here Johnny.”

You rest your hands on his biceps and feel the way his heart is in your own chest. His weight presses down around you, the mattress sinking down beneath the two of you. The wind rolls in through the window, gooseflesh erupting on your skin where Johnny isn’t touching.

Johnny’s hands don’t move from the hem of your shirt until you slide your own down to his wrists, a bravery you hadn’t felt in weeks taking over you.

“Please, Johnny.”

Johnny shifts, knees spreading your own apart, but he still doesn’t touch your bare skin until you tug on his wrists, trying to slide them underneath your shirt, instead, he traces your arms - the area you know he thinks is safe.

The feeling of his calloused hands on your soft skin makes you shiver; Johnny presses a kiss to your pulse point. You know he can feel the way your heartbeat picks up quickly, and he bites down on the sensitive skin lightly. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, the way you buck your hips upward into his.

“Birdie.” It’s a warning and a promise rolled into one, and it makes you press your knees together, trying to slow yourself down.

You let your own hands start exploring Johnny. Once, you’d had his skin memorized - every scar and freckle committed to your own memory. But there are new scars there you’ve never seen before, new wrinkles at the corner of his eyes he didn’t have before.

It’s like the first time again, both of you exploring each other slowly. Johnny pauses every time you make a noise, eyes searching your face to make sure you’re alright. You push him away just long enough to pull his shirt off of him, hands instantly reaching out to pull him back down. His own hands slide your shorts down until you can kick them across the room.

Johnny kisses you, full of the same desperation he’d had that day at the hospital. Your teeth click together as the two of you suddenly move frantically, hands grasping at each other. Johnny shakes as you run your nails down his back, pushing until he realizes what you want.

Johnny rolls, hands still wrapped around your waist until you’re on top of him. The thin material of your panties is already wet; you can feel it when you grind down on him. The rough material of his blue jeans has enough friction to send lighting bolts through you.

“Is that what you want birdie?” Johnny’s voice is low and rough in his throat; his hands rest lightly on your hips as you grind down. Your hands reach back to rest on his thighs, more leverage for you to move.

You can’t answer him, already biting down on the moans that start to build in the back of your throat. Johnny’s grip tights as you speed up; you can feel his erection pressing tightly against his zipper as you grind faster.

You feel yourself start to tremble, hands moving to brace yourself against Johnny’s chest. He wraps one hand around your wrist, the other still at your waist; you can’t look away from the hungry glint in his eye.

Outside the storm lashes, the cool air rolling in across you and Johnny.

“Let it out,” he whispers, voice ragged and panting. He’s bucking his own hips in time with your grinding; he’s holding back - you know he doesn’t want to scare you, so you loosen the knot inside of you, moaning loud enough that a blush starts to creep up your chest. At the sound, Johnny bucks up harder.

You can’t help the way you come undone, nails digging into Johnny’s chest, leaving half moons on the sensitive skin. Johnny lets you ride him until the waves of your orgasm finish rolling over you, his hands not leaving you until you finally still, thighs shaking on each side of him. You can feel your drenched underwear, feel yourself soaking into his blue jeans.

Johnny is so hard beneath you, a red flush across his chest. Outside the storm rages harder, and the lights flicker momentarily. Johnny pushes himself up onto one elbow, the hand that has refused to move up your shirt sliding up just an inch. His fingers play with the edge of your underwear, the lace snagging on his callouses.

“Why don’t you want to touch me?” You can barely hear yourself over the rain lashing against the window; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, and he pushes himself up until he’s sitting up, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep from falling backward.

“I want to touch you,” he tries to reassure you, hands tracing patterns across the back of your shirt. But you shrug his hands off, catching his wrists in your hands before he can fully withdraw away.

“You won’t touch me beneath my shirt,” you slide his hands down to the bare skin of your thighs, moving them until the hem of your shirt falls over his fingertips. “You wouldn’t take a shower with me.”

Johnny chews on his lips, they’re too chapped, you think. The silence stretches in the sound of the storm, and the flickering lights. Before Johnny can speak lightning and thunder crash outside, and the house goes dark - the sound of the electricity powering down cutting him off. Neither of you moves in the sudden blackness.

“I’m not broken, Johnny.” You don’t want to sound so pathetic, but you do.

“I know you’re not, hen.”

“Then why am I having to beg, Johnny?”

Johnny’s hand slips up so that he’s holding your hips beneath your shirt.

“I’m not going to hurt you too.”

It’s a tough confession for him to make, you know. He’d done his best not to talk about the whole ordeal, he never asked what you went through. This was his way of keeping you away from it.

You roll your hips across his again, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Please Johnny; you’re not going to hurt me.”

You don’t know if it’s the whine in your voice or the way you trace your fingers across the hard plane of his chest, or if Johnny is just as tired of holding back as you - but he rolls you over, gentle and quick until his chest his pressed against yours, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

You’re horribly out of practice, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, getting stuck when Johnny pulls your shirt over your head, but he doesn’t let his lips leave you; your teeth clip together as Johnny deepens the kiss he refuses to let end until your gasping for breath beneath him.

It’s electric in the best and worst ways - Johnny’s calloused fingers tracing patterns on your stomach, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, pushing them further down each time.

The current running through you makes it difficult to breathe; you can’t even warn Johnny, can’t beg him to slow down what you were just begging him to speed up. But there has never been anyone who’s known you the same way Johnny has, and when his hands slow you know he can feel that it’s too much. Just for a moment.

“Still with me?”

“Still here.”

Johnny’s hands don’t speed up, but he doesn’t slow either - pressing open-mouth kisses down your neck, between your breasts, across the planes of your stomach until he finally stops at the edge of your underwear. He darts his tongue out to lick the sensitive skin peeking out above the hem, and the feeling makes you gasp out, hips pressing harder into the mattress. His fingertips brush just over the wetness you’ve soaked through and you grind your teeth together, painfully.

“Too much?”

Yes.

Too much for you at this moment; you’re not sure if your body will hold together if Johnny even tries to eat you out, tries to stretch you with his fingers, you can hardly keep together at the feeling of him touching you anywhere after so many months of nothing but dirt, and maggots, and feverish longing for-

You didn’t notice Johnny crawling back up your body until he presses a soft kiss on your temple, fingers wiping away your hair that’s plastered with sweat there.

Johnny’s whispering in your ear: how much he missed you, how he had thought about you every day, how he’d tried to scorch the earth to look for you; he pulls you until you’re back on top of him. You can feel how hard he is, how wet you are as you grind down against the hard planes of his lower stomach, searching for him.

Johnny’s hands squeeze at your hips, shifting the both of you until you feel the tip of him catch against you; a shudder rolls through you both, but Johnny doesn’t move. Every muscle in his body is pulled taunt, pulled against fucking into you at a frenetic pace. You recognize the set of his jaw, the way his hands wrap around your forearms. He’s letting you set the pace, letting you control him.

You wait for just a heartbeat before pressing down onto him; your vision whites out from the almost uncomfortable stretch of him as you sink down slowly. You can’t remember the last time the two of you were here, the last time the two of you fucked. Johnny’s nails dig into the underside of your forearm, yours into his chest until you finally reach the hilt.

You hold there for a moment, feeling the way he fills you up - so much so that you don’t think there’s room for anything else besides Johnny - there never has been. You can’t even think between the feeling of Johnny filling you up and the feeling of not trying to cum so fast. Finally, when your heartbeat slows incrementally, you rock yourself against him, slowly, using his chest as leverage.

Beneath you Johnny is coming undone; he’s biting his lip so hard you think he might draw blood, so you trace your fingertips across his bottom lip. His lips part beneath your touch, and he takes your pointer finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.

The feeling makes your hips move faster, stuttering against him. Johnny moans, muffled around your finger. The sound is horribly erotic in the darkness, and it spurs something inside of you to move your hips faster, rougher against Johnny. But he doesn’t move beneath you, still holding himself back. The sound of skin on skin, of how wet you are for him drown out the storm.

Johnny’s hands are everywhere: in your hair, cupping the supple flesh of your ass, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thick fingers; one hand sneaks across the flesh of your hip, dipping between the two of you to circle your clit. The feeling makes you crumple against him; Johnny takes the opportunity to roll you over, pressing you into the mattress.

Johnny presses one of your knees up, hooking it over his elbow so that he can fuck into you, still gentle even when he’s deeper than you think he’s ever been before, his other hand still circling your clit, slowly enough to keep you from falling apart, but fast enough to bring you to the edge.

His pace grows rougher; you claw at him, drawing red welts across his skin, but Johnny doesn’t slow down. You keep your eyes closed tightly, back arched to try and get him in deeper, to get more.

“Look at me.”

Johnny’s voice is rough, a gentle command you have to follow. His eyes never leave yours, even when his pace increases, the finger on your clit still rubbing tight circles until-

Until you’re breaking apart, shattering beneath him. Your orgasm makes you arch, back nearly leaving the mattress. Johnny’s hands move to cup your face, pulling himself down until he can kiss you as you ride through your orgasm, gasping in his own mouth. Your nails draw thick red welts across his back, but Johnny doesn’t stop pounding into you, your moans drowned out by the way he kisses you.

Not long after, Johnny’s pace starts to stutter, his lips never leaving yours until he plunges in deeper than he had before, and you can feel his warm release spill out inside of you.

Even when he’s completely spent, Johnny doesn’t pull out of you, instead fucking into you once, twice, three more times until you know you can’t take anymore, hands pressing on his chest to push him away.

Johnny’s fingers smooth your twitching thighs as he pulls away. In the darkness, you can just see his outline as he shifts between your legs, but he doesn’t move from there.

He caresses you until you are finally still and your panting finally slows. His fingers trace across the cracks you can still feel, stitching you back together, shot through with gold.

“Still here?”

“Still here.”

#my fics #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod imagines #cod smut #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #cod x reader #johnny mactavish

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elliesbelle · 10 months

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 9

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of and allusions to physical altercations and violence, descriptions of alcohol, dealer!ellie, more loser!ellie, mentions of smoking and marijuana, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.7k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the song “it might be you” by stephen bishop:

Four Days Ago

“Ellie, what the fuck! Oh, shit!”

“The fuck! Th-the fuck…is your problem!”

“Shit! Ellie!”

“Chang, get…this–fuck!–cunt…off of me!”

“El–ow! Ellie!”

“I heard what you fucking said to my girl!”

“What are–shit…motherfucker!”

“Ellie, stop!”

“You..fucking…cunt!”

“Yo, bro, get the fuck off of her!”

“Is that…all…you…can do?!”

“Alright, fuck! Enough! Stop!”

Two Days Ago

Ellie had been walking around campus with her hood over her head and eyes to the ground all day. She’d been ignoring calls & texts from her friends and clients and, to her growing annoyance, Daniela. She’d attended all her classes, but she’d sit as far back as possible and avoid any interactions or eye contact. During her breaks, she’d find some remote spot behind a building or in a secluded stairwell to smoke in private.

It was late afternoon now and Ellie’d just dashed out of her last class of the day. She didn’t want to go home to her apartment where she’d get ambushed by Jesse and, most likely as well, Dina. But she had nowhere else to loiter where she’d be able to sulk and smoke in peace, and her phone was also dying.

The walk to her and Jesse’s apartment was barely ten minutes from campus, but Ellie made sure to stretch it out to almost twenty. She walked four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator like she usually would. She couldn’t even hear the jingling of her keys over the deafening sounds of Kendrick Lamar blasting in her earphones as she unlocked the front door.

The previous evening felt completely surreal. Ellie would have assumed it was just some rage-induced nightmare if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in her black eye and bruised right hand. After Jesse was able to pry Frat Guy Adam off of her before he could do any real damage and hastily convince him that she was probably tripping off of this strong new strain she got, Ellie immediately shut herself in her bedroom for the rest of the night. The only thing Jesse could get out of her before she disappeared behind her door was, “I seriously can’t fucking believe she’s letting her fuck her again.”

As Ellie crossed the doorway of the apartment, the second verse of “HUMBLE.” was abruptly yanked out of her ears by Dina’s quick fingers.

“Jesus fuck—Dina!” Ellie fussed, irritated as she attempted to grab her earphones back.

Dina said nothing as she balled them up and shoved them into her back pocket.

“How the fuck did you even know I was coming?” Ellie grumbled, knowing full well that she, Dina, and Jesse all indefinitely shared their respective locations with each other on their phones.

“Let’s talk, El.” Dina merely sighed.

Ellie scoffed in response and held out her hand.

“Can I have my earphones back?” She asked.

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Ellie, we need to talk!”

Ellie didn’t reply as she stomped off towards her bedroom. She was about to slam the door in Dina’s face when she was met with Jesse’s back turned to her with sandpaper in one hand and a paint scraper in the other.

“Uhh, what the fuck, dude?” Ellie asked, dropping her backpack on top of her desk.

“I knew you’d leave your knife in here for the next two months or so if I didn’t do anything about it.” Jesse replied, sanding down the area where the knife once was lodged into the wall.

Dina leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Told him that you were too attached to that thing to not yank it out yourself, but he insisted on doing it and cleaning up your mess. As per usual.” Dina said, motioning to the small bucket of white plaster by Jesse’s feet.

“Yeah, I’m not cleaning all that up, though.” Jesse said, gesturing to all the dust now covering a portion of the bedroom floor.

Ellie shrugged off her hoodie and hung it on the back of a chair. She spotted her now-unstuck switchblade on top of some books on her desk and quickly pocketed it.

“Okay, well, can you guys maybe get out of my room now?” Ellie huffed, collapsing lazily onto her bed before grabbing a comic book on her bedside table that she had previously been reading the night before.

“We can,” Dina replied. “But we’re not going to.”

Ellie rolled her eyes and flipped a page.

Jesse and Dina shared a collective look and a heavy sigh.

“Dude, we gotta talk about yesterday.” Jesse insisted. “You seriously can’t keep ignoring this.”

“What the fuck even happened, really?” Dina asked.

“What, this one didn’t tell you?” Ellie replied, nodding towards Jesse’s direction without looking up from her comic book.

“All he told me is that you got your shit rocked by some frat guy trying to buy from you.”

“Hey!” Ellie said, sitting up and throwing her hands up in the air in indignation. “I fucked him up!”

“Then why do you have a black eye?” Dina questioned.

Ellie grumbled something unintelligible and sat back down to return to reading. Dina rolled her eyes.

“All I did was introduce him to her and she just suddenly wailed on him.” Jesse explained to Dina.

“I already knew who the fuck he was.” Ellie said behind her comic book.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Jesse recalled. “She did say she remembered him, and then she went nuts.”

“Who was this again?” Dina asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Adam Patterson from Sigma Eta.” Jesse replied.

“Yeah, I have no idea who that is.” Dina admitted.

“He came with our group to the diner the other night after the party,” Jesse said at the same time that Ellie said, “He was at Sterling’s with us.”

Dina’s knitted eyebrows straightened out in recognition.

“Oh, wait, was he that douchebag that sat next to—”

“Yes.” Ellie interrupted angrily.

Jesse and Dina immediately shared a look.

“Does this have anything to do with Abby Anderson?” Dina asked Ellie.

“Wait, what about Anderson?” Jesse questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me wh—“ Jesse started but was cut off when his phone started buzzing furiously.

He took out his phone from his back pocket and frowned.

“Ah shit,” He muttered. “I gotta help Sidney set up with the open mic.”

“Now?” Dina asked.

“It’s every other Tuesday and I promised her.” Jesse shrugged.

He walked over to Dina to give her a quick peck on the lips before turning towards Ellie, pointing at her sharply.

“When I get back, I want to hear why the hell you’ve lost your goddamn mind.” He demanded of her before leaving the room. A few seconds passed before they heard the front door close behind him.

Dina sighed, uncrossed her arms, and strolled over to sit at the foot of Ellie’s bed. She unconcernedly shoved Ellie’s dirty Converse to the side, earning her a kick from Ellie which she easily dodged.

“Can you stop assaulting every single person you come across, Williams?” Dina said after slapping the foot that tried to punt her.

“Can you get out of my room?” Ellie asked, ignoring her question.

“Did you really try to beat the shit out of that Adam guy ‘cause of—“

“Why are we still talking about this?” Ellie immediately interjected.

“Because you’re out here attacking innocent people because of her!”

Ellie remained quiet as she sat up straight and placed her comic book back on her nightstand before replying.

“He called her a fucking queer, D.”

Dina blinked and stared at her.

“He did what?”

“When we were at Sterling’s the other night.”

“Oh, shit.” Dina whispered. “Okay, well, maybe not so innocent then.”

“No, he’s fucking not.” Ellie seethed, fists clenching.

“Okay, but it’s not really helping anyone if you get kicked out of school ‘cause you’re out here beating the shit out of some grade-A douchebag who most definitely deserved it,” Dina added, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt. “Are you really that pissed off that she’s seeing Abby Anderson?”

“She can see whoever the fuck she wants. It’s really none of my business.” Ellie replied stubbornly.

“Ellie, c’mon, when are you going to face your fucking feelings for her for once?” Dina said. “You couldn’t man the fuck up when you were together, and now you don’t even speak to each other and you still won’t admit it.”

“Sorry that I’m too emotionally constipated for you.”

Dina rolled her eyes but then suddenly giggled.

“What?” Ellie asked.

“That’s probably the first time that you haven’t corrected me on the fact that you were together.”

Ellie kicked her softly.

“Oh, shut up.” Ellie retorted.

Yesterday

“You need to wrap that shit up better, El.” Dina said, gesturing to Ellie’s poorly bandaged right hand.

The sun was beginning to set, and Dina and Ellie’s shadows glided alongside each other on the brick pathway. Pink rays of light peeking from the sky hit Ellie’s freckles so beautifully that it almost distracted from her bruised eye.

“What? It’s fine.” Ellie shrugged.

“The wraps are already coming off, dumbass.” Dina noted.

“My bad, I’m not studying to be a doctor, unlike some people.” Ellie said, quickly murmuring the last part.

Dina merely rolled her eyes at this, refusing to engage further in Ellie’s growing vendetta against Abby Anderson.

They walked for about another ten minutes to reach the diner, chatting nonsensically about their classes and friends and some new asshole clients that Ellie had recently acquired.

Ellie had Dina laughing about her secretly charging some senior jock douchebags twice as much as usual for shamelessly hitting on her when they walked through the doors of Sterling’s. Ellie suddenly felt a strange ache in her stomach as they entered the restaurant. When she felt wary eyes on her, her discomfort was immediately explained.

Her gaze unintentionally met yours, her ocean green eyes widening in shock. The expression on your face mirrored her thoughts as her freckles turned bright pink. You both turned to your friends simultaneously in panic.

“Dina, what the fuck!” Ellie hissed.

“What?” Dina said, not realizing the situation they’d walked into.

“Did you do this shit on purpose?” Ellie demanded of her.

“What the hell are you going on about?” Dina asked, still clueless as she was busy looking around for the diner’s hostess.

“Can you please use your eyes for one second?”

“Wh—” Dina began but stopped suddenly when she saw what had caught Ellie’s rapt attention.

“Goddamn it,” Dina muttered. “Alright, hang on.”

Ellie watched as Dina marched over to the small table where you and Jesse were having dinner. Her eyes fell on you once more, remembering the last time she saw you with Abby Anderson. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt wash over her when she thought about the last conversation you’d had in the bathroom of this same diner, her eyes tearing away from your figure to stare at her old Converse.

God, I’m such a fucking dickhead.

She teetered back and forth on her feet as she felt shame seeping through her bones. She didn’t look back up until the diner’s hostess approached her.

“Hi, how many in your party?” She asked.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m here for pick-up?” Ellie replied.

“Oh gotcha, what’s the name?”

“It should be under Dina Woodward.”

“Okay! One second, ma’am.”

Ellie watched as the hostess headed to the back as Dina made her way back towards her.

“What the hell, D?” Ellie hissed.

“Seriously, I didn’t know!” Dina replied, throwing her hands up defensively.

“This isn’t funny!”

“El, I swear to god, I really had no idea they were gonna be meeting here.”

“You didn’t tell me that Jesse was hanging out with her tonight!”

“That didn’t seem like information relevant to you.” Dina said, crossing her arms.

“How is it not—”

“She’s not your fucking girlfriend, Ellie.” Dina pointed out.

Ellie looked taken aback as the hostess reappeared before them.

“Order for Dina Woodward?” She said, holding out a plastic bag.

“Yes?” Dina replied, but before she could reach for the food, Ellie had already grabbed it with her left hand and angrily shoved the entrance door open with her right.

She stomped away from the diner several feet away before Dina could catch up to her, far away enough for Dina not to catch the tears that she struggled to keep from falling.

Present Day

Ellie lays on her sheets, head at the foot of her bed and dinosaur sock-covered feet propped up on one of her pillows. She was senselessly and poorly strumming on her guitar. It was Friday evening and she was bored and all alone in the apartment, Jesse and Dina having gone out together on a movie date. She had contemplated going to the gym as she usually did whenever she was in a mood, but Dina had reprimanded her about her injured state enough that Ellie relented on spending a lonely night in. She strums lousily on the guitar with her injured hand, ignoring the throbbing of her wounded knuckles.

She’d finally texted Daniela back earlier that day, apologizing spiritlessly for not replying back sooner. She humoured Daniela’s flirty texts for a while until Ellie asked for Joel’s old jacket back, to which Daniela offered to come over to her apartment tonight to return. Feeling her intent, Ellie put her off by saying she had plans to meet up with several new clients all night and offered to meet up with her the next day instead. Ellie’d groaned when Daniela quickly responded with a text saying “it’s a date ;)” and immediately regretted the situation she’d pulled herself into.

Her fingers begin mindlessly plucking a succession of concordant chords, and it isn’t until a few moments later that she realizes she’d started to play an old love song that she remembers you’d liked so much.

It was an old 80s song called “It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop. She’d often hear you thoughtlessly humming it to yourself or singing along to it when you’d put on your nearly ten-hour 80s playlist. She’d subsequently learned how to play it on the guitar to possibly serenade you with it eventually, only to never have the courage to do so when you were together.

Ellie exhales woefully, setting her guitar down next to her.

Why is she still everywhere?

She sits up to properly lay herself on her bed, flopping her head down onto her pillow before reaching for her phone that was charging on her nightstand.

Time to be a loser as usual again, Williams.

She sighs pathetically as she opens up Instagram once more, switching from her main account back over to br!ck_master2013. Even though Instagram already showed her recent searches (consisting only of you), she feels a pathetic sense of fulfillment typing out your entire username herself. Ellie taps on that same mirror selfie of yours which leads her to your profile.

You still have no new posts from the last time she checked, but she sees that you’d added something to your story sometime within the past day. She ignores the uneasiness in her stomach as she taps on the orange and purple circle to view what you’d posted.

You’d shared a few mutual aid posts earlier this morning (to which Ellie promptly saves to later donate to after her slight stalking), a picture that some of your old high school friends had posted of an up-and-coming band they were currently in, and a couple of new stories that causes Ellie to abruptly shoot up from her bed and promptly unplugging her phone from the wall.

“What the fuck?” She mutters out loud to herself, not in reference to the unceremonious way she stopped charging her phone, but to the Instagram stories that you were posting in real time.

Ellie taps furiously as she realizes that you were out tonight at the lesbian bar by campus, the Bow and Arrow. With Abby Anderson.

She makes a wild guess that you were likely drunk at the moment, judging by the silliness of your story captions. Your first bar-related story is a selfie you’d taken of yourself with the caption, “me going out to a bar to get smacked instead of being an old lady at home? quick, someone call the pope.” Despite the low lights of your environment, Ellie recognizes the shade of dark red lipstick you’re wearing.

That’s the lipstick she was wearing when—

Her thoughts are interrupted by her app automatically jumping to the next story, which was of you toasting your half-empty plastic cup with others that were being held up by faceless hands with the caption, “liquor, i hardly know her.” Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle out loud at your stupid joke. She would have bet her Jeep, her whole stash of weed, her beloved switchblade, and her entire precious comic book collection that the drink you had in your hand was a vodka cranberry.

Your next Instagram story drops a cast steel anvil down Ellie’s stomach.

It was a shaky picture of Abby Anderson making a mockingly pouty face towards the camera, holding out a credit card in one of her hands. It looked as if she and you were sitting at the bar, waiting to be served by a bartender. Your caption read, “hey siri, how do you beat up a buff, jacked lesbian who lives at the gym and won’t stop paying for your drinks all night.”

Ellie notices that you’d tagged Abby’s Instagram handle on the side and she promptly taps on it with trembling fingers. She huffs at her phone when she’s brought to Abby’s profile and sees that it’s set to private. She falls back onto her pillow and sighs.

“Ellie!!” You yelled after her as she stomped out of the Bow and Arrow.

She said nothing as she exited the bar and veered left into an empty backstreet lit only by the moonlight and a dim streetlamp.

Ellie walked further into the alleyway until she was a safe distance from any passersby. She took out a metal tin from one of her jacket’s front pockets and pulled out a tightly-wrapped joint. She tucked it between her teeth as she reached into a front pocket in her jeans for a lighter, promptly lighting the tip of the joint. She inhaled for a few seconds, letting the drug seep throughout her enraged body, then released an exhale towards the starry night sky.

She heard the agitated clicking of high heels and glanced down towards the main street to inspect whoever was approaching her. You were rubbing your hands up and down your arms, your favourite black boots nearly skipping down the alleyway to desperately generate heat in the frigid, unforgiving December air. You followed the familiar scent of lavender-laced marijuana into the dark street, spotting Ellie smoking alone.

Ellie watched as your shivering figure walked towards her, your despondent eyes eventually reaching her furious green ones.

“Smoking one of my js without me?” You teased.

“Your js?” Ellie asked, chuckling despite herself.

“Well, it’s my recipe.” You said, yanking the joint from her fingertips to place it between your lips which were painted with a dark shade of red.

“Oh, please, all you do is add buds of crushed lavender into them.” Ellie scoffed as the tip of the joint lit up once more from you taking a hit of it.

“Lavender buds are a key ingredient to creating these primo joints. It’s an intricate part of the process; ergo it is a recipe.” You insisted after blowing the residual smoke to the side.

“Besides,” You added. “You talk a whole lot of smack for someone who seems to copy my recipe all the time now, both for her clients and for herself.”

Ellie would have usually bantered with a witty retort, but she instead settled for an indignant huff.

After a few more hits, you handed the joint back to her.

“You done?” She asked you.

“Mhmm.”

She nodded, putting out the joint on the wall she was leaning against and placing what was left of it back in her metal tin. You stared at her as she did this, noticing that she was purposely refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Els.” You said.

“Mm?”

“Show me your hand.” You sigh.

“No.”

“El, babe, come on.” You insisted.

She exhaled and relented when her cheeks blushed at the term of endearment, holding out her right hand to you.

You took it in between both of yours, attempting to examine it under the dull yellowish light of the streetlamp. Your fingertips softly brush against her knuckles.

“Okay, not so bruised thankfully.” You murmured. “Does it hurt?”

Ellie merely shrugged in response.

“Els…” You whined at her stubbornness.

“I’m fine.”

You stared at her serious expression, still unable to get her to look at you.

“You dummy.” You chuckled lightly.

Ellie huffed.

You stroked her hand a couple more times before lightly placing a kiss on her slightly injured knuckles.

Despite the frigid winter air, Ellie immediately felt every part of her go up in flames. The only chilly part of her body was her hand which you’d brushed your cold lips against just moments before.

“Here,” She said, pulling her hand away from you so she could shrug off Joel’s old motorcycle jacket from her shoulders and place it on yours. “Baby, you’re fucking freezing.”

“El—”

“You’re freezing.” She repeated.

You smiled slightly before caving in to say, “Maybe a little bit.” Ellie chuckled.

“Elliie…” You began. “You didn’t have to do all that—”

“I know.”

“But—”

“I know.”

You tried to decipher her unreadable expression, your heart ready to burst as it beat rapidly in your chest.

“Why, Ellie? Why’d you have to take it to that extreme?”

Ellie’s ocean-green eyes were fierce and resolved. She brings her mildly bruised hand up to your face to intimately caress your cheek.

“You know why.” She whispers, finally meeting your gaze.

“I—”

The memory of staring into your eyes causes Ellie’s own to shoot open.

She’s still in her room, laying on her bed all alone with her phone on her chest and guitar on her side. The images of you in the alleyway of the Bow and Arrow replay alongside those of you and Abby so boldly displayed on your Instagram story tonight.

Ellie remains so engrossed in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice all the hot tears rapidly streaming down her face. She grips her sheets and sighs.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” She whispers to no one.

Maybe she’ll forgive me one day.

author’s notes:

so sorry for taking so long to write this! life has been hectic and messy lately, plus y’all know i’m a bit insecure about writing ellie.

thank me by liking and reblogging this because tumblr is acting tf up on my laptop and i had to do the majority of this on my phone

adam's name originally was a reference to a background character in tlou2, but his last name is loosely inspired by some asshole dude i dated once back in college named adam (who i kind of also home-wrecked but i really don't regret doing so lol)

anyway, while you’re here, go check out the new smau series i’m working on called “almost like we knew” ♡︎

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn

@uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam

@elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez

@libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk

@awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y

@elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @liabadoobee, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka

@elliewilliamsmissingfingerss, @sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella, @igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @saturnvalentine, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy

@joliettes, @p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #belle writes

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hwangyu · 9 months

Text

airplane fun time!

you're feeling needy on the airplane

pairing; dom!beomgyu x afab reader

warnings; dom beom, kind of mean? sub reader, afab but no female pronouns (please lmk if i accidentally wrote any</3) reader likes the thought of others watching her and beom teases them about it, degradation, beom calls reader whore x2, semi public sex, the other boys are mentioned to be in the same space multiple times, …poorly written smut, perhaps a little bland? lmk if i forgot anything :( not proofread. 18+, minors and ageless/blank blogs, dni

wc; 1.3k

You figured the first class flight you were lucky enough to take with your boyfriend was going to be nice and relaxing. Which it was…sort of, you didn't entirely foresee being horny for the entire thing.

Okay, maybe not the entire thing, if that were the case, you may actually die. But it's only been three hours in a thirteen hour flight and all you've done is hide the way you're rubbing your knees together with a white, fluffy blanket whilst staring ahead of you and daydreaming about how you wish your boyfriend, who was sat right next to you, would touch you.

It wouldn't be so bad. If you were alone. You can't exactly start begging your boyfriend to fuck you while his friends are all in the same room, however. Regardless of if they're distracted by a movie or sleeping.

God, why did Beomgyu have to be a good, considerate boyfriend at this exact moment in time, is what you thought when you felt his hand on your blanket covered knee—snapping you out of your wet daydream to look at the man who was looking at you with slight worry in his precious eyes.

"Are you okay, baby?" Beomgyu asked you softly, "You can rest if you're tired." he added and the way he was looking at you almost had you feeling guilty about all of the things you were just thinking about him.

You swallowed, offering a small smile and placing your hand on top of his, running your thumb over his knuckles to reassure him because you were about to lie straight through your teeth. "N-No, I'm okay. Thank you, sweetheart."

Despite your 'almost guilty' feelings, your thoughts about Beomgyu pulling you into his lap and fucking you right there in the airplane seat snuck their way back to the front of your mind and looking at him seemed to be making it worse. Obviously.

He smiled back at you but he clearly wasn't convinced. You were stupid to think that of all people, your boyfriend wouldn't notice that you weren't entirely paying attention. It's embarrassing but Beomgyu always seems to have a hunch about how you're feeling from your body language or facial expressions. You were kind of giving him the win on this one, though, considering your half-lidded eyes.

His smile turned into a smirk and his grip on your knee tightened. "It's not nice to lie to your boyfriend."

Your mouth fell ajar and you blinked—for a second, you thought about insisting that you weren't, that you really were fine, but with a second of extra thought…you decided not to. You chose to be honest.

"It's— it's just…embarrassing."

"No need to be embarrassed, pretty." Beomgyu grinned. "You know I always love making you feel good." He tilted his head and whispered, "Tell me, baby, you want me to touch you?"

Your grip on his hand tightened before it loosened and you relaxed in the seat. "Y-Yes, but— what about, you know," You frowned, "The boys?"

He blinked, like he had forgotten himself that you two weren't alone. Either that or he didn't care and you were suspecting it was the later as he tore his eyes from you to check what the others were doing, and seeing they were still all distracted, he looked back to you.

"Guess you'll just have to be quiet then, huh?"

It wasn't a question, that much you knew. You licked your lips and nodded slowly, unsure how quiet you'll really be able to stay but you're far too worked up not to risk it right now. You squirm in your seat as Beomgyu shoves his hand underneath the white blanket that was covering your legs and into your pants.

Pressing his fingers against your panties, he chuckled feeling how wet you were. You huffed, embarrassed, and Beomgyu couldn't help but tease you further, you were just too cute.

"All this just from thinking about me, huh?" He kept his voice low. "I wonder what you were thinkin' about that got you like this…bet it was a lot of things, was it?"

His questions were rhetorically, thankfully, you knew because he didn't push you for an answer and he slid your panties to the side—running his middle finger up your slit, coating it in your juices before he pushed into your hole and watched you sigh in relief.

"That's right, baby, just relax." He whispered, pumping his finger in and out of your cunt slowly and seeing the way you were already trying to keep quiet had his ego soaring. "M-More, Gyu, please." You begged, voice shaky.

Beomgyu hummed, turning his head away from you and for a moment, you panicked, thinking that he wasn't going to give you what you want or worse, just stop touching you entirely.

Thankfully, this was proven wrong as you felt him push another finger inside of you. You bit hard at your lip to stifle the moan that had desperately wanted to escape from your throat, you grabbed the armrest of your seat to dig your nails into in hopes that it'd help you hold back your sounds.

But that soon proved itself to be hard as Beomgyu curled his fingers inside of you. Fuck, did you love his hands—they felt perfect. They always did and it was starting to make you forget that you two weren't entirely alone.

He continued to fuck his fingers into you and you prayed that no one could hear the quiet squelching sound that was coming from underneath your blanket or maybe you didn't really care anymore, you weren't sure as a small moan made it past your lips which had Beomgyu looking back at you again.

"I told you to stay quiet, baby. Unless you want all of the boys thinking that you're slut? I have no problem fucking you out here, right in front of them." He teased and your cheeks burned red while you shook your head. "No, no! Please, s-sorry, 'm sorry." You quietly apologized but the way you began to clench around his fingers was giving away the fact that you weren't as against that idea as you were trying to make it seem.

"Are you sure you don't?" Beomgyu smirked, "I told you it's not nice to lie to your boyfriend. You really want me to bend you over, let all of them how much of a whore you are for me? Let them see how well I fuck your pretty cunt?"

You let out a small whine, sliding your hand underneath the white blanket to start circles around your clit. It was embarrassing that his words were pushing you over the edge, but you didn't have the time to let yourself think about it, too focused on the feeling of your high being so close.

"Gyu," You breathed out. "Please, please, fuck. 'M gonna cum." You squeaked, and he chuckled. "How cute, gonna cum at the thought of the others knowing how much of a whore you are. Just proves my point, don't you think?"

Squeezing your eyes shut, you brought your hand up to your mouth to bite at your thumb in an attempt to quiet yourself as you arched your back off the seat and came all over his fingers. "That's it, let it out." Beomgyu cooed, the pace of his fingers slowing down.

You took a deep breath and you opened your eyes again to look at him, feeling a little tired from your orgasm—letting your hand fall back down onto the armrest, Beomgyu smiled softly at you as he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking his fingers clean.

The sight made you gulp and suddenly, you weren't tired anymore. You opened your mouth to speak, but Beomgyu had beat you to it, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

"Bathroom. Now."

a/n; ive never been on a plane before let alone mfkn first class so im sorry ...i started writing this like a week ago but didnt finish it until now so im also sorry if its super stinky 😭😭 those airport pics got me fucked up tho ... also if the formatting gets fucked up i will cry real tears. PART 2 IF IM FEELING SNAZZYY

#choi beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu scenario #beomgyu x reader #txt smut

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lovelytsunoda · 2 months

Text

I have so so so much to say about this picture oh my goddddd it’s sinful. smutty thoughts under the cut, read at own risk.

this is what it looks like when they’re back home from a race weekend, suitcases barely unpacked and clothes strewn around the living room. their flight got in early, and they didn’t even make it to the bedroom before collapsing against the couch.

they wanted a quick, sweet cuddly nap, but that didn’t last long. as small as the two of them may be, the couch can’t fit them both comfortably. she’s shifting too much, accidentally rubbing against his crotch. he’s groaning lowly in her ear, heat growing between her thighs as a tent grows in his cargo pants. sweet kisses that slowly turn more desperate as she throws her leg over his, grinding against him when he sneakily slips his tongue into her mouth.

they aren’t in a rush, taking time to truly savour each other, moving from the couch to the floor in front of the electric fireplace, heat warming their bodies as clothes are discarded.

deep, slow thrusts of his rock-hard cock inside her, desperate breathy whines echoing around the room.

“that’s my sweet girl. my best girl, loving me so well.”

they are still jet lagged, and as much as the two of them would love to spend more time enjoying each other, they’ve got other priorities.

he gets to his feet, and she shamelessly watches from the carpet, wrapped in layers of blankets as he pulls his cargo pants back on.

“babe, don’t go.” she whined

“someone has to go pick up the takeout. the fridge is barren, and we have no food.”

this is what it looks like after a night out, a night spent working each other up until one of them snaps. rushing home so yuki can spread his pretty girl out on the bed, making her fall apart three times on his tongue before he even thinks about getting his dick wet.

she’s watching from the bed, clenching her thighs together as she watches him undo his belt (a small adventurous part of her wondering how it would feel to have the leather belt wrapped around her wrists while his tongue brought her to the edge), taking his sweet time to give her what she wants, untucking his dress shirt over his slacks.

he’s enjoying this. the give and take, the teasing.

he’s ready to burst, not even taking his dress shirt off all the way, leaving it open as he starts to fuck her, slowly at first, and then harder and harder, her legs wrapped tightly around him as he comes inside her.

watching him the morning after a particularly passionate night, naked under the bedsheets as she watched in the half lights, back muscles rippling as he gets dressed, dark pink marks running over his upper back and shoulder blades.

she sighs dreamily, heat warming her cheeks when yuki turns around, threading his belt through the loops on his jeans.

“hey, sweet girl.” he hums, leaning over to kiss her, one hand reaching for the tshirt lying on the floor. “sleep well?”

“very.” she giggles, reaching for his belt. “come back to bed?”

“I have to go to work, love.”

so what is there to do but get out of bed, still naked as she entices him towards her, sitting on the bed with her legs slightly spread as she begins to undo his belt.

yeah, he can be a little late for work today.

right it’s time to go touch grass

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @thatsdemko @cartierre @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @thatsdemko @userlando @twinkodium @love4lando @httpiastri @deviltsunoda

#yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda smut #formula one x reader #formula 1 smut #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #drabbles #sighs dreamily

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halfagone · 3 months

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Danny, You Need To Calm Down

Me: "I need to nerf Danny a bit for this fic. I should have him only reveal and use his intangibility."

Danny: *is still BAMF and kicks ass*

Me: "Hmm... I did not think this through."

---

I am serious, though. If you're creative enough and have watched enough superhero media then you'll be able to find all sorts of unusual applications to some of Danny's powers.

With intangibility alone, all Danny needs to do is stand there and let his opponent tire themselves out trying to just land a blow and then fight back. If he has some more melee or martial arts training, he could use a nerve strike and bam, one-shot knock-out. And that's not even counting super strength or flight or telekinesis or why is this boy so overpowered?! /rhetorical

And if you know me, you know how much I love writing a good OP BAMF Danny. But it can be pretty restricting too. With an abundance of powers and a proven track record to gain more powers when necessary, it's not exactly easy to keep Danny down. There are a few known weaknesses we can use to our advantage here, but they come with their own issues:

Major Weaknesses

Blood Blossoms

We've seen blood blossoms are pretty effective on ghosts from the "Infinite Realms" episode in Season 3, but only on Danny's ghost half. I always thought it was a bit strange, since Danny has used ghost powers in his human form so technically it should still affect him? But that's just a personal headcanon so feel free to ignore that.

But! Since Danny could just transform (if he can get past the total agony it causes him) then he'll be fine again. Blood blossoms are also edible, as proven by Tucker, which makes me wonder if Danny could eat them in his human form and make it out unscathed? Since it's only his ghost half that's susceptible to them.

However, it's commonly headcanon'd that blood blossoms are extinct as we only see them in this episode back in the 1600s from the Salem Witch Trials. But canon also tends to bring up some really interesting concepts and then just... never mention them again, so it's possible they're still out there and the Fentons just never learned of them.

Ecto-ranium

We don't see this one come up too many times in fanfiction, if only because many of us have totally blocked out the episode it aired in, "Phantom Planet", from our minds entirely. Ecto-ranium is essentially the equivalent of kryptonite, but for ghosts. (Unsurprising, seeing as Phantom Planet likely took inspiration from Christopher Reeve's Superman II.)

This does come with some plotholes of its own, seeing as intangibility had allowed the ecto-ranium to pass through the Earth despite ecto-ranium supposedly making it impossible for ghosts to use their powers? I'm still trying to wrap my head around that one, I won't lie...

So obviously this weakness also has some shaky ground to stand on.

Mind Control

We see in "Control Freaks" that Danny is pretty susceptible to mind control as well, so long as it comes from the right source. We learn that Vlad continues to collect ghostly artifacts, so it's entirely possible he could find another magical device of equal power and use. Freakshow himself comes from a family with a wide range and collection of ghostly artifacts.

It's also possible that ghosts like Undergrowth could be able to control Danny as well, as he was able to puppet Sam through his vines and plants.

Danny is still capable of breaking through the mind control, if given enough reason to. There is also proof, though, that he can do a lot of damage to himself and others before that time comes. Just food for mischievous author thought.

Plasmius Maximus

This device only appears in the episode "Maternal Instincts" but Vlad had created it to shorten out Danny's powers for three hours. This is another instance of an interesting concept that disappeared after one episode, but considering how Danny used it against Vlad, maybe the man just didn't want to risk it a second time.

Nonetheless, this does prove Danny's powers can be temporarily locked away. How this is possible isn't exactly clear, but I've taken to using a yarn knot analogy to explain it. I won't bore you with that explanation (unless you're actually interested) since it leans more into fanon and headcanons than canon.

Lesser Weaknesses

Blackmail

Now this isn't really a surprise to anyone since Danny is a good kid and most superheroes have this weakness, but Danny is very much susceptible to threats made against his family and loved ones. We see that Freakshow uses this against Danny in "Reality Trip" to make him do his dirty work, as in: collect all the pieces for the Reality Gauntlet.

We might make jokes that Danny could easily defeat anyone he comes across, but the truth of the matter is that he takes these threats seriously and he's lucky more people haven't used it against him.

Inexperience

This one is more understandable and maybe not even technically a weakness but this boy is so silly stupid sometimes it's honestly really endearing. He doesn't have the best grasp of his powers so he can make all sorts of unfortunate mistakes. Danny is the type of person who learns as he goes, and thanks to the fact his one eligible teacher also so happens to be the same guy trying to murder his father... his options are a little limited.

However, this can be easily fixed given enough time and practice. Danny might not have any formal training but he's also proven to be a very fast learner which could very well make up for whatever else he lacks. Due to the unique nature of himself and his powers, there's also a chance that even with a mentor he would still largely be self-taught.

---

It can still be pretty hard to write though. When you want to have high stakes, then you need to have a credible threat. And for a kid that has a gazillion powers, all with countless applications, it gets a lot more complicated. Honestly sometimes Danny might not have even needed the new power if he just applied one he already had in a different way? But so is the life of a teenage, overpowered superhero.

#danny phantom #character analysis #with yours truly :D #danny fenton #overpowered danny fenton #OP danny fenton #tagging for posterity #i need to find it again somehow #long post

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loupy-mongoose · 5 months

Text

Warning: Contains potentially heavy and uncomfortable subject matter.

PREVIOUS NEXT (DEATH WARNING)

ARC START | CHRONO

~~~~~~

Lavender crashed out through the floorboards and outermost wall of the mansion, following after the larger Mewtwo. Blinking against the sudden brightness of the full sunlight, she spotted him lying stunned in the mansion's overgrown backyard. He hastily shuffled onto his hands and knees.

Suddenly, Lavender's ears rotated back, catching creaks and crashing. Her eyes widened, and she spun around in horror; the mansion was collapsing.

MOM, DAD!

Before she could rush in, however, the two Mews appeared in a zap of light.

Seeing with a sigh of relief that they had escaped the mansion's collapse, she turned back to her target.

Nico was hovering now, giving a sad look to the three Lindens. He met Lavender's furious eyes, and returned with a look of sorrow and regret--a look that caused a sudden twinge in Lav's mind.

Then, he turned and dashed off.

Lavender's blood boiled

You're gonna hurt my dad and run??

She sped after him.

All the while, she ignored a tiny nagging feeling in the back of her mind as hot tears streamed from eyes...

~~~~~

Without warning, Randy transformed into his human form.

He laid in the yard, trembling, wide-eyed and gasping. Akoya nuzzled up into his neck, speaking gently to him and purring.

At first he didn't seem to notice her. But gradually, his breathing steadied, and he lifted a shuddering hand to seek out Akoya's warm pelt.

For a bit, they laid together as Randy slowly managed to calm down.

I don't want him to come back, Akoya...

She looked at him, her purr faltering.

Is that selfish of me?

Akoya laid her cheek on his.

...If it's selfish of you, it's selfish of me...

Randy went on as if he didn't hear her.

C-can he even come back?

...Was he ever gone...?

The blue Mew flicked her tail, uncertain what to think or do. M...Maybe we should try to get back to Fuji...

Randy placed his hands on his head and shook his head desperately. I can't transform... I can't risk losing Randy...

Akoya licked his cheek in understanding. Her ears went back as an unpleasant idea struck. I can try to teleport us there myself... O-Or to a closer Pokemon Center... It would be hard, but... I think I could do it...

Randy didn't respond immediately.

...

Where's Lav?

~~~~~~

Nicodemus flew over the ocean north of Cinnabar, keeping close to the island. His cloak flapped behind him.

As she rushed to catch up to Nico, Lavender readied another swirling sphere of energy. The gap between them closed, and he glanced back at her just as she launched the spere.

He braced for the impact, wobbling slightly in his flight with a grunt before steadying.

Gritting her teeth, she psychically "grabbed" a portion of the ocean in front of the fleeing 'two and launched it upward. Nico swerved just in time to avoid it, careening toward Cinnabar's shoreline.

Lav roared and launched another sphere at him, this one smaller and slightly looser as her anger grew, hijacking her control.

This time the force caught him off guard, sending him rolling and finally sprawling onto the island's shore. Groaning and gasping, he propped himself up on his arms.

Lavender halted and held her position over the ocean water, her teeth bared and face streaked with tears. Her breath was sharp and ragged, and her eyes wild.

Why aren't you fighting back?!

Nico looked up at her, meeting her eyes. His own still showed no signs of anger, but a deep despair.

You want me to?

Lav glared down at him. Her gaze turned downward as she prepped a Shadow Ball.

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!

She launched it down into her own reflection.

Then, she hovered there, motionless. She was wracked with gasping sobs. Her attack bubbled back, splashing her with ocean water, but she didn't notice.

Suddenly, a voice spoke in her mind.

Lavender

She snapped to attention.

A hasty explanation was mentally run by her as she attempted to control her breathing and emotions.

She met Nico's eyes, now realizing what the nagging feeling had been...

Guilt and shame flooded through her. Fresh tears stung her eyes, and she sobbed again.

...I'm sorry, Nico... It wasn't your fault...

Then, she flew off.

It was mine...

~~~~~~

Lavender arrived to find her dad lying in the grass in human form. She felt her blood freeze, but had to remind herself that she could still feel him, and he was breathing. He was still with them.

At least...

She hoped it was him...

Dad...?

He looked up at her as she came into his field of view. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed by the feelings he silently grappled with. She was happy to see relief in them, but her heart broke all over again at the agony he seemed desperate to conceal.

His voice was hoarse and shaky. Lav, a-are you okay?

Lav struggled to control her own voice. I-I'm fine, Dad... H-he didn't... a-attack me at all...

She kept part of her thought to herself.

I wish he would have...

She took a sudden sharp breath, trying to distract herself. There were higher priorities now. S-so what are we doing? Dad can't transform, so how do we get back? It's half the region away, or more!

Akoya had a serious look on her face. I'll get us there. I have to. Whatever it takes.

She closed her eyes and sighed. It was clear she wasn't certain about her ability to get them from here all the way to Lavender Town...

She began focusing. Alright, brace yourselves... Unlike the instantaneous teleportations they'd done in the past, Lav could feel her mother attempting to build up the power to accomplish this mission.

Maybe I can somehow share my power...

Feeling desperate to help, she began to focus her own energy toward the blue Mew. Akoya jolted very slightly, the only hint that she felt any change.

Then, after a moment...

They were gone...

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT (DEATH WARNING)

ARC START | CHRONO

I'm sorry.

This should've been a comic. This part deserves to be to be a comic, and someday I would like to come back and draw it. But right now, I just can't bring myself to, and I didn't want to let that stop progress.

I don't want to disappoint people, but... I dunno. I still have a slim hope of hitting my goal, and I don't want to get hung up and ruin that chance. I want to move on...

Anyway, I hope the read was enjoyable enough. And on the bright side, I've started work on the next part, so there's that at least! :)

#Linden Roots #writing #BLH #By Lavender's Hand #The following tags will only make sense if you read my blurb at the end lol #I know I shouldn't apologize.#But I feel particularly bad about it this time.#full

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 5 months

Text

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 46

Part 1 Part 45

Hopper’s idling by the trailer when Steve and Eddie exit on the way to school the next morning. Eddie’s forehead immediately breaks out in anxiety-sweats. He stumbles back a step on instinct, arm up to waylay Steve. Nothing good ever came from the Chief of Police loitering in front of a drug dealer’s trailer.

Hopper cranks his window down, leaning out enough to stick his head partially out, and shouts over at them, “you cleared to go to school already, Harrington?”

Eddie drops his arm – threat categorized, acknowledged, and discarded. Steve steps over the threshold and down the front steps, each foot placed carefully, lest he stumble in front of Hopper.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, like he always does.

“Your doctor say that?”

Steve shifts his eyes toward Eddie, like he’s begging for help. Eddie clears his throat, pointedly not curling his shoulders in when Hopper shifts his glare over to him. “He went yesterday,” he calls over, like a chump. Because what his majesty wants, Eddie will provide.

Hopper raises his eyebrows, letting them stew in the silence as he keeps his eyes trained on Eddie. Weakest link sighted. And just like every time he finds himself in this standoff with the bane of his existence, he folds. “He’s not supposed to go back until Monday!”

“Munson!” Steve grouses. Eddie’s guts churn at being last-named again.

“But” Eddie starts, waving his hand in Steve’s face like that’ll buy him a few more seconds of grace. “You gotta let him go, Hopper.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he grouses, still glaring into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie fidgets, hoping Steve won’t be too pissed off. “Harrington here’s a flight risk,” he says, patting his head lightly, like a dog who’s just performed a marvelous trick. “You don’t give him something to do? We might never see him again.”

Steve scoffs, but notably doesn’t pull away from Eddie’s hand or refute his point.

Hopper continues glaring at both of them before sighing out like a beleaguered dog and rolls up his window. He doesn’t drive away. “Is that–” Steve starts, squinting at Hopper through his now-closed window. “Is that permission?”

“We don’t beg for permission, Stevie.” Eddie trails his hand through Steve’s peach-fuzz hair before skipping over to where his van’s parked, knowing without looking that Steve’s following him. He slides into the driver’s seat, waits for Steve to slide in as well before turning the key in the ignition. “We don’t even ask for forgiveness.”

He smiles over at Steve, cheeks hurting from the force of it. He feels like he’s just taken three shots of espresso, back to back to back. Steve smiles over at him, small but real, eyes shining in the morning sun. His hair glows golden in the sunlight, and his skin, still slightly sallow, is flushed pink in the cheeks.

“We don’t?” Steve asks quietly. He sounds excited. Like a kid told he’d get to open his birthday presents early.

Eddie’s endeared, any reluctance drained out of him around the second time Steve Harrington had saved his life. “Naw.” He reaches over, patting Steve’s knee, not letting his fingers linger like they want to. He cranks the engine, Black Sabbath booming from the speakers until Steve turns it down a few notches. “That’s for squares. And you, Steve Harrington, are a certified badass.”

Steve’s smiling out the window when Eddie glances over, watching trailers pass by. Electric Funeral turns over to War Pigs. Eddie sings along quietly as Steve bops his head along to a beat he doesn’t even know.

Hopper follows them all the way to school, his truck idling at the curb until Eddie pulls into a spot and takes out the key. Neither of them mention anything.

School passes in a mindless haze. Eddie listens to lectures on calculus and geography and the themes in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, lets it all fly over his head. Not even in one ear and out the other – that implies it went into his brain at all.

Jeff gives him dirty looks throughout calc, like he can tell Eddie’s checked out past the point of return and is feeling a sense of paternal disappointment over his lack of work ethic.

Eddie’d checked out long before Demogorgon’s and Demon Worlds made an appearance in his life. Now, class feels like biding time until he can get Steve back in his sights. Graduating feels like another step away from Harrington that he doesn’t want to take.

So he sits and stews and ignores Jeff’s disappointed eyes, and regrets that Steve’s a year below him and not smart enough to pass calc either.

Seeing him walk into lunch is a religious experience. Eddie sighs into his suspicious casserole, staring at Steve with reverence. He’s talking to Barb quietly, standing beside her in the lunch line.

Steve laughs at something she says, and Eddie swears he can almost hear it across the cacophony of the lunchroom rush.

“Dude,” Gareth says from beside him.

Eddie jumps, whipping his head over to where Gareth had snuck up on him. “When did you get here?” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

Gareth stares back, deadpan. Eddie misses when his little sheep were at least a little bit afraid of him. Honestly, the gall. “I was here before you sat down.”

Ah, well. Eddie hunches, looking around the table that’s seemingly filled in around him. “So?”

Gareth leans closer, keeping his voice lowered. “Are you, like in love with Harrington?” Gareth asks, voice quiet enough for discretion even as it lentils up harshly at the end.

“No, shut up!” Eddie hisses back, but something restless and wanting unfurls as the fishhook in his ribs slackens with Steve’s approach. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

“—could help you,” Barb is saying, inexplicably sitting at the wrong freaks and geeks table again. Clearly, there’s still trouble in paradise. “I’m free Thursday’s after school.”

Steve slides in next to Eddie, matching suspect casserole to Eddie’s own. He doesn’t look away from his conversation from Barb, but he slides his knee into Eddie’s, easy like breathing. Even easier, with Steve’s track record of not doing that.

“Really?” Steve asks, leaning toward her over the table.

Barb shrugs, nonchalantly, pulling that same bagged sandwich from her bag to munch on. “Sure, why not?”

She says it like it’s nothing, but Steve exhales like the world just stopped ending. “Thanks,” he sighs. “I’m just so behind, and my Dad–” he cuts off, shoves a forkful of slop in his mouth like that’s the reason for the pause. “I just don’t want to be held back.”

Jeff, the traitor, looks over to Barbara and unhelpfully contributes, “are you guys planning a study group?” he asks, continuing before she has a chance, “because this one could use a little of that.”

Eddie doesn’t let anyone else get in a word. “I can’t Jeffery,” Eddie sneers. “Thursday is Hellfire.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows like he’s thinking deeply, starts, “we could maybe do it on Wed—”

“That’s fine!” Eddie says. “I’m doing fine!”

He glares around at the table, daring anyone to say anything. Jeff scoffs, and Steve still looks worried, but no one says anything. Study group is born, and Eddie’s plans are finalized: his graduating class will be moving on without him.

He only hopes Wayne understands.

Part 47

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #my fic

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haute-pockette · 5 months

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The Doctor's incarnations have fears associated to what caused their regenerations Two acting childlike and whimsical because he's afraid of growing old again. He's scared of becoming a crotchety old man that will die alone. He surrounds himself with friends just as he much with surrogates, to help him feel like he isn't too old to be running about having adventures. Three having a lot of complex and mixed feelings about the Time Lords. He resents them for what they did to him and his companions, but also very scared of facing that fate again should cross their path once more. Four can't stand spiders. They didn't directly kill him, but damn did they play a big part leading up to his regeneration. They give him the willies and Sarah Jane and Romana always have to take care of invading arachnids while he is perched safely on the center console. Five hating heights might actually be canon, he's shown freaking out on a cliff in Castrovalva and hating every minute of a plane ride in Time Flight. Boy likes to keep his feet firmly where he doesn't risk falling. He'll get vertigo if too close to a ledge. Six being scared of getting sick. While this one is more vague, it was the fever of Spectrox Toxemia that kills, so I could see him being panicky and over compensating when it comes to illnesses. Pulls manflu pity every time: bed rest, tea, soup, hot waterbottle on the forehead, reciting rhetoric about his woes. Poor Peri and Mel has to tend to his drama. I can also see him hating bats but in a "why can't you fuckers make more than a tiny vial of milk, asshole???" kind of way. I think Seven's might also be canon (in the books at least) with the way he mentally locked away his Sixth self in fear of the Valeyard. Though he wasn't really a cause for regeneration, he certainly set the Doctor on the path to it. Eight terrified of medicine and hospitals. Aspirin is already deadly to Time Lords, anesthesia fucked up his regeneration. This boy won't go to a medical professional unless he's dragged in unconscious. He will look at broken leg twisted out of shape and claim he can walk it off. The Warrior/War Doctor scared of failing people the way he did Cass. His spirit for hope and brighter ending to the war broken when he regenerated. He became the one that got his hands dirty because he was too scared to let anyone else die under his care.

Nine scared of war. War Doctor held off his regeneration for years to keep fighting, and Nine clearly does his best to step away from the incarnation he hated being more than anything. Like he said, "Coward, any day." Ten is a bit tricky. He's scared of Daleks, losing companions. He's scared that people around him will be willing to sacrifice themselves for him. Scared of the heart of the Tardis, the very soul of time itself ripping away what/who he loves. After Rose is safe from it he was very careful to never let anyone open it again. Eleven scared to see another Time Lord again. He's heartbroken about being the last of his kind. Romana, Brax, Damon all gone. The Master's plans had gotten so much more violent and destructive and insane than they used to be. The other Time Lords so desperate to escape the Time Locked war that they'd destroy time to do it. He's scared of everything ending if the Time Lords return. I haven't really seen enough of Twelve or past that to give proper interpretations on them, but I'm pretty sure Twelve is determined not to be seen as an old man. It's like he sees this new cycle as starting over so he's trying to act like he's the young, rebellious first incarnation? idk

#Doctor Who #Headcanons #Classic Who #new who #Second Doctor #Third Doctor #Fourth Doctor #Fifth Doctor #Sixth Doctor #Seventh Doctor #Eighth Doctor #War Doctor #Ninth Doctor #Tenth Doctor #Eleventh Doctor #Twelfth Doctor

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justpoliteconversations · 3 months

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Running Circles [Reader + ???!Link]

The Chain faces an abnormality, and the tired soul it was dumped on. Chaos ensues.

Just another self-serving throwaway for the pile. Can you guess which Link this is for?

Masterlist

TW: I'm not responsible for anything the tiny bastard does. Read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

He was loose. Again.

In a moment of weakness you'd shut your eyes to rest and the little gremlin had slipped his harness and rolled his way out the room. A closed room, with one door, no windows and the key secured to your palm with leather straps.

With a tired groan you pushed yourself out of your bedroll, gathered the empty leash and harness around your wrist, took the key from its bounds and opened the door to...

A portal. Because of fucking course there'd be a portal out here in the middle of nowhere. Of course. That was just the story of your life these days.

You sighed, rubbed your sleep encrusted eyes with both palms and straightened your shoulders. You stood there for a few moments longer, stealing yourself for the chaos you'd surely find on the other side.

You just wanted five hours. That's all you ask. Five hours of uninterrupted rest. Hell, you'd be thankful for three.

No helping it though. The longer you waited the worse the situation would get. The man-boy-gremlin-(divine entity?) worked fast after all, and it'd be amidst for you to dally.

So begins another day. You entered the portal.

---

You were right. This was fucking insanity. There were lines of fire criss-crossing the battle-scarred land, ice pillars as far as the eye could see shining in the moonlight, broken weapons littering the ruined battlefield and whipping through the air on strong gales of wind. An honest to Goddess dire wolf was dashing though the chaos, fading in and out of the shadows with a sword in its maul.

Ah. But let's not forget the six(?), seven(?), no, 11 uncomfortably familiar looking men being rattled around like leaves in their plainclothes. Occasionally, they'd strike at the blur of unprecedented destruction running amok in their campsite when the opportunity presented itself.

And that familiar little blur had some sort of wand in his hand (you certainly hadn't given the little demon that), and was waving it around like a goddessdamned lunatic. In his wake, dust and embers and the glint of weaponry took flight in great glittering swarms, adding to the general mayhem of the situation.

Someone was screaming over the howling of the wind, but their voice was lost to the hurricane. A man fighting through the whirlwind of disheveled blue scarf face-planted into the ground with a startled cry, a small humanoid shape on his back before it was gone again in a swirl of movement.

A tall man with bright facial tattoos had jumped to the scarfed man's aid through the torrent of buffering wind, but not before the little agent of chaos had managed to snatch the scarfed one's sword off his back. Behind them, a man with heavy scarring was panting laboriously, drenched head to toe in stamina potion(?) and long hair coated in seed-like grains. One eye was sealed shut by some sort of glutenous substance, running down in great, blue blobs from his bangs.

The familiar cry of triumph drew your attention away from the trio, only to land on the spectacle that was four identical men being blasted across the clearing with a flick of the (magical?) stick. The sight of thier brightly colored tunics flashing over the (somehow still intact) fire pit drew a sigh from your lips.

Behind you, a boy in a lobster shirt whipped by with a half terrified half enthusiastic squeal, arms bound at his sides with his own belt and a deku leaf attached backwards at the buckle. A man in a white cape chased after, sweat pouring down his face and plastering twig laden hair to his forehead. His mouth was open in hard, labored pants, face flushed with the effort as he swat away any debris heading for the trapped boy swaying viciously in the gales before him.

At least the little bastard remembered your 'no-killing unless necessary' agreement. There was that, if nothing else.

The dire wolf was back (still carrying the damned sword), a shirtless, darker haired man mounted upon it with a red glowing sword strapped to his back in a leather harness. They were charging at the small figure latched on the tattooed man's back plates, while said man was struggling like a bucking stallion. The scarred one was trying to pluck the unruly little shit from his perch against the taller man's armor, aborting several strikes to avoid hitting the taller man by mistake.

The shirtless man astride the wolf bellowed in rage(?), confusion(?), delight(?) and dive tackled the unrepentant little leech, drawing his sword midair with a determined glint in his eyes. The wolf leaping right after, like a shadow at his heels.

The shithead dodged, of course. He always dodges. Though using the tall man he'd been harassing as a living meat shield was a rather ungentlemanly thing to do.

Wrong-footed, the shirtless man barreled into the scarred one with a painful thwack, sending them skitting across the field and unintentionally tripping up the caped man. The wolf followed shortly after, unable to stop, its bulk catching the tattooed one in the crossfire and slamming them both into the pile with wince-inducing force. The young, airborne one yelled down at them, but his voice was carried away with the wind that yanked him into the air with sudden vigor.

Ah. The little hell spawn was latched onto lobster boy's belt, the scarfed one's sword in hand, the wind stick between his teeth and a truly massive sword strapped to his back (where the hell had he got that from?) as they ascended up, up, up into the growing storm.

You finally noticed a pantless, screaming man clinging desperately to an off white glider far above the campsite, kept from simply blowing away by a long, dark rope made near invisible against the night sky. It was attached to a decent sized log, occasionally rolling when struck by oncoming debris and causing the man far above to curl ever tighter around the glider bar. The flash of his pale legs were the only indication of his movements so far into the darkness above.

The scarfed one had finally managed to right himself, and with a glance you could see the reason for his disorientation. The scarf wasn't just tangled around him, it had been half-hazardly tied around his face, neck and one unfortunate arm in several tight knots. He was further hindered by some form of red whip wrapped around his thigh, across his waist and into the loops of the scarf.

Okay. This had gone on long enough. With a great, near painful breath, you cupped you hands around your mouth and called. "LINK!"

High above the chaotic swirl of magic induced winds stopped and the familiar swoosh of misplaced air rang out in the sudden calm. Something falling (many, many things falling) caught your ear, and in the span of one breath to the next, he was before you. Him in all his beady eyed glory.

"HAA!" The irritating creature voiced at you, listlessly flat stare fixated on your tired eyes. You blinked, unimpressed. "HAAAA." He said louder, waiting expectantly for you to answer.

You sighed, tiredly, pulling your hand down your face once before taking another fortifying breath. You felt a tiny hand tug at your shirt, and when you looked back down he had tilted his head in question. He looked almost innocent, little ears perked up and curiously blank face almost cute in its simplicity.

The slow descent of once air bound hyrulians coming down to ground spoke otherwise, but it was whatever. He hadn't seriously maimed anyone, and that was an improvement. it was progress.

"Yeah. No one died, just like we agreed." You conceded, reaching out and ruffling his shaggy hair with a small, tired smile. A blush rose to his cheeks, a near smile of delight on his lips as he held your shirt with both hands. "You did a good job, buddy."

"Haaa!" He voiced with pride, pleased to have done a good job this time.

He turned, about to head off again, but you managed to grab him by the arm before he could escape. His previously happy smile dropped dramatically when he realized he'd been caught.

"Nope. I said you did a good job, but that doesn't mean you get to be off the leash." You said in reprimand, turning him this way and that to properly put his harness on as he half-heartedly struggled in your hold. He fought a little harder when you took the weapons from him, but he eventually relented when he saw your unhappy face.

Though that didn't stop him from frowning and stomping his foot in tantrum when you took the great sword from his back. That was it though, so you'd count that as a win in your books. He hadn't even threatened to bite you this time.

In the distance the dirtied, ruffled and clearly traumatized men were finally starting to pull themselves together. You paid them little mind though, instead plucking the pouting little hero from the ground and tucking him into your arms. He immediately hid his face in your shoulder, but didn't stop pouting. His little ears were pinned back angrily, arms crossed at the chest as he 'haaaa'd loudly in complaint.

You patted his back in comfort and he melted into it trustingly, burrowing himself into your hold with little huffs of equal parts annoyance and contentment. There was a commotion in the distance that finally drew your attention, ignoring the small man-boy-creature (divine agent of chaos and destruction?) as he began to fidget in your arms.

The tallest once looked panicked, the scarfed one (newly liberated from his bonds) just as much so. The pantless one was suddenly pointing at you, eyes wide and thin brows hiked high in shock as he begun to yell.

"That little demon's got it!"

Confusion settled over you, and then sudden, heart stalling understanding. You whipped your head down in panic, angry at yourself for not having checked his goddess-damned pockets.

You were met with the sight of a brightly lined, white-haired mask slipping onto the little hell spawn's smugly grinning face. His victorious little 'Haaa' lost to the sudden explosion of light and power flooding your senses.

Tense silence. When you regained your bearings, it was to the feeling of large, unyielding arms around your waist and braced under your thighs. Holding you securely to a broad chest and even broader shoulders.

A glowing white stare met your confused gaze when you finally opened your hazy eyes. Those unblinking, otherworldly eyes were set into a handsomely stoic face, complete with thin, down-turned lips and a straight nose. Ominously similar tattoos lined either side of the unknown man's face and crest down his forehead.

Someone was yelling in the background. Several someones.

"Hn." The unknown man hummed monotonously, still staring at you with those seemingly listless, blank eyes. So very familiar.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. Deeply.

'Fuck me. Not another one.'

---

Back to the shadows.

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #not so mystery link

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