#anti violent smut

[martyrlamb]

how it feels trying to find authors that aren’t writing some freak shit

[carolmunson]

always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time. 

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’  ‘And? It’s my meat.’ 

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste. 

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half.  "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides. 

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week. 

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.” 

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down.  “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.” 

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched  ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.” 

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy. 

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts  between statements. 

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?” 

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?” 

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.” 

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?” 

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn. 

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?” 

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled. 

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo.   “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.” 

thanks for reading. <3

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part twelve

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Twelve - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.7k

a/n: So sorry for the late update, but I’ve just returned to uni and got the flu almost immediately. I am watching the Greatest Showman to make me feel better.

A high-pitched ringing fills my ears, drowning out every other sound. My body feels like it’s being jolted by thousands of volts of electricity, every nerve burning, every muscle straining to hold on. I can barely see through the blinding light, the energy warping around me, threatening to tear me apart at the seams.

“Y/N!” A voice cuts through the chaos, desperate and loud. My head whips to the side, and I see Wade, his arm outstretched, hand reaching for me as he tries to squeeze through the violent storm of energy surrounding us.

“What are you doing?!” I scream, the words barely audible over the roar of matter and anti-matter colliding.

Wade grins, though it’s strained. “Saving your life, Bub!”

Before I can process what he’s doing, I feel another presence to my left. “Take my hand.” Logan’s voice is rough, commanding. His hand is outstretched, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that cuts through the blinding light.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes, blurring the chaos around me. Logan. Wade. Both of them reaching for me, trying to pull me out of this—whatever this is. I stretch my arms out, trembling from the force of the energy ripping through me. Wade’s hand clasps mine tightly, and Logan grips the other, their strength anchoring me as the meeting of matter and anti-matter surges in a deadly collision.

The energy pulses violently, the air crackling with power. I’m the anchor. The focal point holding it all together. And I can feel it building to a breaking point, the pressure unbearable, my whole body vibrating under the strain.

Then, everything erupts.

The world explodes around us. A deafening boom rattles my bones as the ground beneath our feet gives way. I see walls crumbling, debris flying in every direction, a swirling maelstrom of destruction. But somehow, through it all, I remain anchored—connected to Logan and Wade, their hands the only thing tethering me to this world.

As the building collapses, I feel Logan move. He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a protective embrace. His body, hard and unyielding, shields me from the falling rubble as the room disintegrates around us. Wade is somewhere nearby, swearing loudly between coughs, but I can’t focus on him. All I can feel is Logan’s warmth surrounding me, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers something I can’t make out over the chaos.

Eventually, the chaos begins to subside. The air clears, the dust settling around us. Logan’s grip on me loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go, keeping me pressed against his bare chest as he rises from the wreckage, surveying the damage.

My head swims as I open my eyes, coughing through the dust and smoke. Logan still has me held tightly, his shirt ripped away in the explosion, leaving his torso exposed. My eyes can’t help but wander over the way his muscles ripple as he moves. He glances down at me, his face streaked with dirt, but his expression softens as he meets my gaze.

“You alright?” he asks, his voice low and gruff, concern etched in his features.

I nod weakly, my heart still racing. “Yeah… I think so.”

Logan’s eyes linger on mine for a moment longer, then he releases me gently, stepping back as Wade stumbles over, covered in dust but grinning like a maniac. “Well, that was fun!” he quips, brushing off debris from his suit. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

I roll my eyes, still trying to catch my breath. “You’re insane,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Wade winks at me. “You love it.”

Logan lets out a low growl, giving Wade a hard shove on the shoulder. “Enough.”

We make our way through the debris, stepping over broken stone and shattered glass. Logan stays close, his arm brushing mine occasionally as we navigate the remnants of the room that was once whole but now reduced to ruins. The scent of dust and burnt metal fills the air, thick and cloying in my throat. My body still aches, my muscles protesting with every step, but it’s nothing compared to the adrenaline pumping through me.

We round a corner, sparks fly around us, the lingering energy from the explosion still crackling in the air. Wade walks out first, declaring; “He has risen, baby girl!” Standing there, looking anything but pleased to see us, is Paradox. “Fuck!” He’s flanked by a group of TVA agents, each of them looking ready to intervene at any moment.

Deadpool points to me, his expression mischievous. “Found your new Anchor Being.”

Paradox stares at me, disbelief clear on his face. “I don’t understand. How is she still alive?”

With a flourish, Deadpool shrugs. “Turns out she’s basically a little mutant cross between a human and a time ripper. Indestructible motherfucker.”

One of the TVA agents steps forward, her voice steady and commanding. “Let’s get this Deadpool variant back to The Void,” she orders, her eyes locking onto Wade with a no-nonsense expression.

Wade’s eyes widen in mock horror. “Wait, hold on, what?”

Before anything else can happen, a new figure enters the room—Peterpool. He rushes in, arms waving. “Nope, actually, this one’s homegrown,” he says, nodding toward Deadpool. “Like me, he belongs here.”

The TVA agent, her badge reading B-15, raises an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Peterpool grins. “Peterpool. But you can call me Peter. And I hope that you do.”

Paradox, still clearly frustrated, throws his hands up in exasperation. “What the fuck is happening here?”

B-15 crosses her arms, unimpressed. “You are under judgment for operating an unsanctioned Time-Ripper. Take him,” she orders, and in an instant, her agents move in on Paradox.

As they grab him, Paradox struggles, his voice rising in anger. “I was just doing what you don’t have the guts to do! Get off, get off! Your hands off me!” He continues to shout as the agents drag him through a shimmering TVA portal, his voice fading as he disappears.

B-15 turns her attention back to the rest of us, her gaze landing on me and Logan. “I’m grateful. Let’s hold the bows, though,” she says dryly. “You led an Omega-level mutant to this timeline.”

Deadpool’s grin widens. “You’re welcome.”

B-15 looks between me and Logan, her tone growing serious. “And you two shouldn’t even be near this timeline.”

Deadpool steps in, unfazed by her reprimand. “They’re welcome.”

She pauses, her eyes sliding over to Peterpool, her expression softening slightly. “And you look damn good in that suit,” she says, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Peter’s face flushes, his voice apologetic. “I’m so sorry.”

B-15 shakes her head, clearly amused now. “I wanna show you something. Something huge.”

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, quips, “That’s what Scoutmaster Kevin used to say.”

Ignoring him, B-15 gestures to her little TVA device. “Do you see that? Your universe is regenerating.” The lines that represent the timeline is slowly fixing itself. “Whatever you did here, you not only saved your world, but you also spared your timeline from extinction.”

B-15 steps back, preparing to leave. “Rest up. I have a feeling your work is only just getting started.”

She turns to go, but Deadpool isn’t done yet. “Wait! We couldn’t have made it out of The Void without some help from some people that the world kinda forgot. Is there any way you could maybe find a way to bring them home?”

B-15 hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And,” Deadpool continues, his voice taking on an uncharacteristically serious tone, “I promised my friends here that the TVA could undo some pretty awful shit in their timeline. What would you say to that?”

She looks at us, her gaze thoughtful. “Change the past?”

Deadpool nods. “They did help me save the world.”

B-15’s expression softens, but there’s an edge to her tone as she responds. “And their pasts brought them here today. There’s nothing to fix, Mr. Wilson.”

With that, she steps through her portal, disappearing into the stream of time. The reality of it all settles in—I'm forever chained to this world, this timeline. But somehow, it’s almost comforting to have a place to live again. A world that, despite all the chaos, I’m now part of.

Deadpool breaks the silence. “Shawarma?”

Logan, his voice as gruff as ever, grunts, “I could eat.”

As we step away from the destruction, the world feels both unfamiliar and strangely right. And for the first time in a long time, I feel... at peace.

Next Part

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007 @aheadfullofsteverogers @raptor192 @bontensbabygirl

[vanillawurld]

༊*·˚Not Too Late

✧.* Pair - Miguel O'hara x Fem! Reader

✧.* Tags & Warnings - Swearing, a tiny bit of violence, sexual and also little violent choking, implied smut at the end.

✧.* Summary - Miguel knew from the moment he laid eyes on her, she would cause a lot of trouble for him...

✧.* Extra - Reader is a variant of Black Cat. Also I was listening to Not Too Late by Kali Uchis while writing this so... do what you want with that.

✧.* Word Count - 1,012

Miguel has dealt with many creatures, bad guys, and anti-heroes in his life being in places where they shouldn't, but there was one specific situation that he couldn't get rid of. He was utterly confused as to why he couldn't simply send her home just like the others. According to him, she was annoying, arrogant, sneaky, infuriating, and downright a bitch. Lyla would always tell him to give her the benefit of the doubt, but he always just rolls his eyes whenever the hologram tells him that.

"If you hate Y/N so much, then why don't you send her back home?"

He always hears that question over and over again whenever he unknowingly goes on rants about her. Most of the time Miguel ignores the question or makes up a stupid excuse about her being useful in certain missions. He knew his excuses were bullshit. He would never send Y/N on any missions because he "doesn't trust her".

Yet, that little voice inside his head couldn't help but admire Y/N. She is an insanely strong human being. Good with sneaking around, had excellent vision and balance, had a unique ability to alter bad luck, attractive, plush thighs, plump lips, and soft skin. Miguel hated whenever he would think of something positive about Y/N, but he couldn't help it.

Some would think that Miguel's "hatred" for Y/N was love in disguise. Lyla would poke at him for "secretly being in love with Y/N". No matter how many times he would deny it, the little voice in the back of his head would only laugh at him denying it. There are moments Miguel would think about Y/N; how she would look outside of her tight latex suit, waiting for him in bed, ready for him to fuck her. But no matter how many times he would think of her that way, he would express his feelings of hatred towards her to the public.

She had sex appeal and he couldn't deny it. And if there was a chance, he would fuck her.

Y/N was a one-of-a-kind woman. The moment she laid her eyes on Miguel, she knew she had found the one... to pick at. She loved getting under his skin. Why? According to her, it was hot whenever he looked like he was on the verge of beating the shit out of her. She also loved arguing with him. It didn't matter the topic. She just loved the way he would raise his voice at her.

Y/N knew Miguel had sex appeal. She would do anything to get dicked down by him.

Well, luckily for Y/N, she was stuck in one of the situations where Miguel was mad at her. It all started when Miguel sensed her presence in his working headroom.

"Get out, L/N."

Y/N could only smirk, "Oh, but why would I do that, O'hara?" Y/n walked closer to him and stopped once she was about 2-3 feet away from him. He was looking at whatever boring multiverse task he needed to concentrate on with his back turned to her.

"Because I don't want you in here distracting me. Go bother someone else." He stated with annoyance in his voice.

"Why are you always so miserable, Miguel? The Spiderman on my earth is always open to listen to my jokes and have fun." Y/N said with a hint of teasing in her voice.

Miguel could only roll his eyes, "Then go to that Spiderman and leave me alone."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. She hated whenever he would say something like that because truth be told, she didn't really like hanging out with the other spider-people. Unless it was Jessica, Hobie, Peter B, or Gwen. She always wanted to be around Miguel because she loved messing with him.

Suddenly, she got an idea in her head. An idea that she knew would piss him off.

"I hope you know a lot of the spiders are running around, spreading that you have a little crush on me. And that's the reason why you won't kick me out because you secretly love being around me." Y/N imparted.

Miguel paused what he was doing, and his eyes became slightly wider. His entire world seems to have fallen apart, but why? He pretends to despise her, but does he also have romantic feelings for her that he is unaware of? Why was it so important to him that she told him that? Miguel turned around to look at Y/N.

"From the look on your face, I can see that-"

"Who is spreading this misinformation?" he asked in a demanding tone. Y/N could only smirk.

"Wipe that smug smile off your fucking face and-"

"That doesn't matter," she walked closer to him and started rubbing her fingers up and down his muscular arm, "It's okay to admit you love and need me. I know things could get a little lonely down here and-" but before Y/N could finish her sentence, Miguel grabbed her by the throat and slammed her on his table. (Lyla calls it his working table. ) Not too hard to hurt her, but to force her where she needed to be.

That was the moment he realized he was done hating. He was done ignoring the fact he was attracted to her. He was done ignoring the fact that there was always sexual tension between them. He wanted to shut her up and destroy her. Make her a whimpering and moaning mess because of him. He was finally happy to release all of his sexual frustration and anger on her body.

He got on top of her and started zipping down the zipper to her suit, exposing her tits and the black panties she wore underneath. He started to lower himself to the same level as her pussy and looked up at her with those venomous eyes. He started to slowly remove her panties and smirked at her reaction.

"Maybe this will finally shut you up."

˖◛. *. ⋆ Vanilla Speaks

yo

[devilmademewriteit]

Joel Miller & Javier Peña Headcanons (Drabbles?) Part 3!

another smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [both receiving], fem penetration, masturbation) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of hair pulling; bratty!reader; violence (slapping, choking, threats); mentions of pornography; description of a panic attack; step-cest; pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, darlin, hermosa, cariño) dubcon/non-con (age gap, power dynamics, coercion, just a bunch o’ shady shit in general imsosorry)

No use of y/n.

Hello! In honour of 2K followers (woot woot!!!) here is yet another work of absolute FILTH. These just get more and more insane idk what to do w myself. Your requests r gonna send me straight to hell. Anyways, I love u all so much. Don’t forget to join the taglist, you can find the other drabbles on my masterlist, & part 3 of Salvatore coming soon!

-em<3

—

Javi loves when you take charge—God, it just makes him laugh. He watches you, faithful that you’re in control while you ride him, fingers coiling weakly around his neck. “Gonna come for me, Peña?” He lets your imagination run wild until he grows impatient, sitting up to crush you between his arms, fucking up into you at his signature brutal pace. “Where’s all that tough talk now, hermosa?” He sounds so soft, so gentle compared to the thrust of his hips—snapping to bruise against the supple skin of your thighs. You never know how he manages to last so long, only that by the time his hot seed is leaking down between your legs, you’re barely conscious, barely human, and squirming away from those fingers—that cock—stealing non-stop orgasms from your core. He’s only satisfied once you’re reduced to his personal little plaything.

“Where you goin’, baby? I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

Stepdad!Joel catching you and your boyfriend messing around in your bedroom; “Get out,” he growls, holding the door open as the young man scurries out, averting Miller’s violent gaze with his own downcast, darting eyes, hurriedly tucking himself back into his pants. Shame spreads like the wings of a Monarch across your heating cheeks. “Joel—I—” but he’s already too close, shaking his head in disappointment as he unhooks the buckle of his belt. “Didn’ think you were like that, baby…” and he’s pinning your shoulders down, covering your mouth with his calloused hand, muffling your protests to keep your little lesson private. “Pay attention, angel. F’you’re gonna act like a slut, you’re gonna get used like one, too.” Joel is huge, he stretches you far, far wider than your boyfriend ever could. When he bottoms out between your tight, silken walls, you can’t help your cry of surprise, of pain—of reluctant ecstasy. “Sshh, baby—don’t scream, don’t scream.”

“M’doin’ you a favour, see? Think you don’t fuckin’ deserve this?”

It had been ages since you’d last seen him. He’d gotten himself disciplinary leave—some shady business with an anti-Escobar group of vigilantes. But he’s back now (as your boss, no less) and so is that stupid-old-crush. And God, does he ever look good, sulking around in those navy fitted suits. Your heart had lurched when he’d recognized you—“Nice seeing a familiar face around here, ‘specially a pretty one like yours”—but working late tonight, finally on your way out the door, he commands it to a full stop when a worn-down, stressed-out Javier Peña calls you back into his office. “I-I don’t have a ride home, sir—I can’t miss the last bus,” as he dips down to brush kisses to the side of your throat, as his hands caress the valley of your waist, as he lifts you onto his desk, carelessly scattering confidential affidavits, narco-profiles, ball-point pens. “Oh, but you won’t last long, cariño—I promise,” and you believe him, because his thumb on that delicate, throbbing bud already beckons, pulls, drags you towards oblivion. Sooner or later, he would’ve had you like this—spread open on lacquered oak; thighs trembling in the cradle of his grip; fingers, helpless, tugging at his collar as his own curl inside you. You’re learning a new language: Javier’s native tongue.

“Not gonna say ‘no’ to your boss, now, are you, sweetheart?”

Slapping brat-tamer!Joel across the face after he spends hours teasing your dripping cunt; feeling him ripple with lust-soaked aggression when he finally pulls his damp cock from its drag-and-circle strokes against your clit. “Joel—fuck me, already,” and he claps the back of his hand across your cheekbone, yanks you down the mattress, settles himself to tower, cock in hand, right above your face. He wrenches your lips apart, slaps his length against your awaiting tongue—“Watch your mouth”—eyes alight with caution, irritation, warning. So, you respond, “Fuck you.” A big ol’ fist yanks you up by your hair—you know you’re being punished when he stuffs your filthy mouth oh-so-full with his length. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Every pained choke, the pressure of your hands pushing against the merciless, quick snaps of his thighs—it’s Joel Miller’s favourite kind of apology. He’s nonchalant, deceptively casual when he says it: “Nah, you don’t needa breathe—”

“—You’re gonna stop bein’ such a brat, or you’re gonna gag on an old man’s cock ‘til it fuckin’ kills y’a… whichever comes first, angel.”

On those rare nights he found himself alone, Javi liked to jack off, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Sometimes with porn, most often without. When he did use the tapes, however, his go-to featured a dark haired man brutally fucking a girl into the dented pillows of a worn-in couch—God, she looked just like you. The real ‘you’ that was tough, incorruptible, a bit high-strung, and completely self-denying becomes a needy, cock-drunk mess at 6:12. Split wide open, taking it so rough, she whines, “You’re g’na m-make me come all—all over your c-cock.” If Javi doesn’t finish right then, he always does around the eleven minute mark, when her cheeks puff up around his fat tip, glassy eyes coming alive with that familiar, feminine devotion to male pleasure. When a forceful hand drags her lips down a long length of cock, that’s when Javi doesn’t stand a chance; he hangs off her every muffled, desperate word (and Christ, does her voice ever sound like yours): “Use me—please—use me, use me, use me.” In his twisted, sex-addled mind, he’s answering you, warm spend dripping onto thick, coiled fingers:

“I want to—fuck, wanna use every square inch of you, baby.”

The Jackson commune required all adults to take shifts patrolling the community; you’d been paired up with a far older, far more experienced, and far more… volatile partner. He rarely made conversation, but he got on with your dad, so it seemed like a good pairing, one that might teach you a thing or two—a rational decision. It wasn’t. Very quickly, you’d noticed his near tangible stares of hunger, the way his fingers clenched into white-knuckle-fists every time the weather warmed and your clothing got shorter—tighter. Soon, you’d made up your mind: you needed Joel. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’” he’d growled under the blood-orange glow of the southern sunset, grasping your flattened palm and moving it from its suggestive position on his chest, “M’not givin’ it to you.” Creeping in close, running your thumb across the sparse, silver-flecked hairs peppering his rigid jaw: “But I’ll be so good, Miller—I’ll listen, I can beg for it, too—please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S’exactly the problem, darlin’. Jus’ one touch n’ I’d have you doin the dirtiest things for me… Fuck, wouldn’t be able to look your old man in the eye for months.”

Bonus Fluff:

Thank God they’d managed to stop the outbreak. It had felt like the end, at first, with the government-mandated lockdowns, people hoarding toilet paper and Lysol, going stir-crazy behind closed doors. And thank God for your neighbour, Joel Miller, who’d become something like your rock throughout those terrifying weeks. He’d never been close with your emotionally distant parents (really, who was?) but you were friends with his daughter, so he’d always treated you like one of his own. Until one Friday night, when you’d fallen asleep watching TV with Sarah and woken up to the thrum of your heart pounding against your ribs, beige walls closing in tight, the beginnings of a panic attack cresting throughout your shaking body. “S’okay, s’okay,” and he’d been there, cradling you in those blue-collar arms, cooing wispy, gentle comforts into the crook of your neck. The memory was mostly haze—but you kept the ghostly caresses of his finger tips smoothing the tense muscles beneath your skin, the near-kisses he’d brushed to your forehead, throat, and cheeks, and especially his look of restraint as he’d replaced your restrictive clothes with his own oversized tee. The next morning, you’d come to in his bed, nose nestled into the crumpled folds of his black t-shirt. Heat blossomed across your cheeks as the sunrise brought realization’s dawn upon you. “You jus’ wouldn’ calm down—” Joel’s concern had overwhelmed his tone as his thumb traced the apex of your cheekbone.

“Jus’ couldn’t stand to see you so… upset, sweetheart. Holdin’ you’s the only thing that seemed to do you any good.”

It took months of dating before Javi had been willing to surrender any personal information, any vulnerable thoughts to you. Christ, just learning his father’s name had felt like cracking the Da Vinci code. Instead of talking, whenever he got sad, angry, or upset, he soothed himself by stripping you down, shoving you onto all fours or holding your mouth open between his thumb and index—either one worked just as well. Somewhere down the line, you’d learnt that splitting you open left him more inclined to open up, himself. “Why is it always rough when you’re… unhappy?” It’s a timid question, posed with your cheek laid against his shoulder. First, he asks if you really want to hear the answer. Then, he responds with his eyes closed, shy strokes up and down the length of your spine. “Guess I like the control—feel so fuckin’ out of it when shit gets to me.” You go silent, startled by his honesty. “Does it bother you?” and he sounds nervous, concerned. “No,” you say passionately, ardently. “I like knowing I can help.” Smooth and quick, Javi cups your cheeks, pulling you up to straddle him and laying a fierce kiss at the altar of your swollen lips.

“You single-handedly brought me back to life, baby. Got no fuckin’ clue how much you do for me, every damn day.”

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo

(The rest of the tags will be in a reblog—I don’t want this post to crash b/c of the amount of tags lol).

[allloudontheeasternfront]

Everything at Once

Dieter Hellstrom × Original Fem Character

Heyyyy. So this is my first ever fanfic, I know it's not good. Please be nice!!! I hope y'all like it! There will be multiple parts to it, I didnt leave you on a cliffhanger for fun haha!

Warnings: cursing, N*zis, angst, discrimination, Dieter is kind of a dick, soon to be smut (still in the works you horndogs) violence maybe in the future. Still working out the kinks 😉😘 I do not support N*zis in any shape or form WWII should not be glamorized into thinking what N*zis did was okay. This is just for fun, for the Inglourious Basterds fandom, especially Hans Landa, Dieter Hellstrom and Landstrom ship.

Also, English is not my first language and writing in English is a little difficult so there will be some grammatical errors. I'm sorryyy Anything not in English will be translated! Please enjoy and let me know if you like it and if I should continue and if you wanna be tagged for the future.

(not my gif)

.

It was a cold, gloomy morning in Nazi occupied Paris. The idea of a Nazi occupied Parisian life, sounded ideal to the Germans who'd forcefully make themselves comfortable. Croissants, berets, beautiful women, free-spirited music and lifestyle but of course, obligatory anti-semitic men in uniform terrorizing anyone they wanted.

A man in uniform is a well sought after type for women, just not these men.

It was around 8 o'clock on a Monday, the start of the work day. Cafe doors were unlocked, pastries were set out, and fresh coffee was slowly brewing. Camille wiped her hands on her apron and sighed.

"Hopefully more customers today..." she thought aloud.

Her father owned the bakery and since he was taken away by those horrible foreigners for "questioning", Camille was the sole inhabitant of the cafe.

She wiped a bead of sweat off her brow and looked out the window. It was still cold and cloudy but there was something different...

She heard birds sing. The birds havent sung in years! Will the sun shine? Will the clouds roll away?

The cafe door chimes ring violently as two men walked in the cafe. A tall, lanky, pale man all in black besides a red cuff and a shorter older man with his jacket littered with medals and emblems, clearly SS.

Camille, startled awake from her daydream greeted them.

"Bonjour messieurs, qu'avez-vous envie de manger" (Hello sirs, what would you like to eat?)

The tall, pale man stared at her. Little moles scattered his face like constellations, his undereyes dark and slightly pink. Looks like he hasn't slept in days. His black hair slicked back, he wore a neutral expression.

The older and superior man nudged his stonewall-faced friend out of his stupor and cleared his throat, "Ah, mademoiselle, deux cafés et deux strudels, s'il vous plaît." he replied, holding up his fingers when saying the number two. His little smug smile and Eagle-like eyes seemed like he was analyzing everything all at once.

(Ah, miss, two coffees and two strudels, please)

The taller man looked down at the other. Clearly more annoyed. "Hans...I dont want strudel. I don't eat that sweet shit." he said in German behind gritted teeth.

Hans, the other man hummed, amused in the annoyance. His smuggy smile grew.

"Oui, s'il vous plaît, asseyez-vous où vous voulez. Tout devrait bientôt sortir." Camille replied, blushing slightly as the tall man continued his gaze upon her. Why is he staring at me like that...?(Yes, please sit where you like. Everything will be out soon.)

The men sat near one of the window, close to the door. On the table was a white lace table cloth with small little pink flowers embroidered in and a vase full of different colored flowers. The pale man secretly watched Camille as she scurried around the kitchen, trying his absolute hardest not to look at her waist and not to be caught.

Hans took notice. "You're not much of a sly fox as you think you are, Dieter old boy." He whispered. The pale man scoffed and rolled his eyes. His fingers toying with the lace of the tablecloth.

As Camille grabbed the strudels off the warm rack and set them respectfully on the dishes, she caught a glimpse of the pale man. He got caught staring again. A slight rosey tint blushed on his cheeks, he found himself getting very annoyed.

Camille took short notice of the red cuff on his arm. Must be gestapo or some sort of high security. The Gestapo were never friendly. Clearly the Hans man was SS, high ranking. But, he seemed friendly? But, does it matter? Should she be afraid? They just want food. Right...?

Camille walked over to the men and set the strudels and coffee cups down for each of them. She poured the hot coffee into both cups from the kettle. The pale man visibly tensed as the women came closer to him.

Hans chuckled to himself quietly observing his nervous friend.

"Rien d'autre?" Camille asked, putting his hands behind her back. (Anything else?)

"Silence?" The pale man dismissed her with a wave and started to drink the coffee. Creme and sugar were already placed but he drank it black. Oof. Rough morning?

"Dieter! Must you!?" Hans scolded the man. 'Dieter' choked mid-sip of his coffee, nearly spraying the hot liquid everywhere as his superior chastised him in German, something about being rude or inconsiderate and also something about not keeping the coffee not in his trap or in the cup.

"D'accord. Je t'apporterai le chèque!" Camille said fast, trying to diffuse the situation. Her face beet red in embarrassment. (Its okay! I'll bring the check!) She quickly ran behind the counter to grab the check and few napkins and set them on their table and disappeared back behind the counter.

Great start. Two Nazis come in, one is a jerk with a staring problem and spilled coffee everywhere as his suspicious higher up is currently yelling at him about "arschloch" this and "dummkopf" that.

Camille busied herself in rearranging the pastries on the rack, trying not to over hear the little German she can understand.

To be continued 😘😘😘

@whore4waltz @rurivu @xoxocillian @fridaycanbesadsometimes @racheljo47 @whitechoc135 @officerh4t @blueberrypancakesworld @hanslandasstrudel

[olderthannetfic]

I'm in a fandom that both skews very young and very anti. I'm talking being offended over a three year age gap and doxxing and harassing people over it.

By chance, I happened to stumble across one of the limited places in the fandom that's chill with NSFW granted the characters are explicitly aged up and they claim to hate everything proship. And it just reinforced to me that everyone applies some proship tolerance to their favorite things but are otherwise antis.

First off, a lot of NSFW art gets shared where the characters are very clearly still teenagers. No one minds until it's art of a character or ship they don't like, then it's suddenly "hey that's a minor, tone it down". Luckily, mods don't really care, and I get the feeling they implemented the aged up rule just to appease the more annoying people and have something to point at if there's criticism to their server.

Then, there's a ship that's by all means a shota ship. The underage character is the violent one as they're some type of demon that tends to be in control of situations, but they're still very much prepubescent and the community is very NSFW. The server had a very strong stance on their biggest ship and even went to beef with the shippers. The result? "Wellll they're kinda freaks but strangely enough they're against pedos in their messages and they're just doing their own thing? Why are they chill? Where's the evil people?"

I must admit that seeing an anti admit that people are not inherently awful just for shipping what they like was something I thought I'd never see. They're still an anti spying on places they don't enjoy and threatening to report them to get censored, but progress is progress, right?

Then there are all the closet cases. I can pinpoint exactly who is a proshipper who keeps quiet about it, who has problematic ships they secretly enjoy, and who's being a hypocrite. Someone using a post that was half "ew they're proship" and half "they're a legit bully here's evidence" but who definitely has problematic ships they enjoy and have created content for, but because it served them at the time, they reblogged the callout post and took a stance. Most recently someone who wrote dead dove smut between two teenagers complained about other people writing smut between two teenagers just because they didn't like the ship. My brother in Christ, YOU are writing the awful underage smut that you claim to hate! It's clearly an effort to do away with the things they dislike.

I might just create my own proship space but I don't think I'll find members. I'll still try, even if it's just me and three other people who like the same stuff.

--

You'll get people if you have a hardline stance on being accepting of all ships and you publicly point and laugh at people who come after you.

Most people are scared wimps, and they'll gravitate to anyone who states their convictions with enough self confidence.

[dreamsandstars24]

credits for the pictures to the author of the post:

@the-darkestminds

okay, so I'm not someone who likes to go into conflict but as a survivor of SA, I can never hold back to people that say stupidities. Therefore, here is me standing up for SEXUAL ASSAULT VICTIMS

Back story to this because this is crazy:

I was going through the anti ewriel tag because I have a morbid obsession of seeing how my fellow gwynriels shut down the stupid elriel theories and to be honest I also learn a lot by going through them! I'm like "oh, I didn't connected those points! It makes sense" so today was a normal day for me and then suddenly, I see this post about how disrespectful it is for SA victims to see posts of how Gwyn isn't ready to have see and she shouldn't be shipped with Azriel and I agree. It is disrespectful because Gwyn is not her trauma and just minimizing her to it is disrespectful.

So I wanted to comment on the post to say "totally agree" bit instead I found an Elriel in the comment spitting stupidities about how Gwyn isn't ready and she didn't go to Nesta's mating ceremony (honestly, you would think they have the next book with all the things that say happen) and then she said the most stupid thing ever and I will put it on picture because wow

First of all, credits to defending Gwyn to all the people included in the pictures and then about the elriel comment

What

The

Heck

Rhys and Lucien weren't violently attacked? What the hell are you talking about?

Rhys had a nightmare of Amarantha pinning his wings to the bed and you're telling me that this nightmare came out of the blue? This had roots, this fear was there before, this fear had a reason and the fact that you are dismissing it is disgusting.

Feyre found Lucien bound to a freaking tree while Ianthe was assaulting him, and you mean to tell me this isn't violent?

You mean to tell me that just because they were forced to that situation it wasn't violent?

You are saying that being forced into giving your body isn't violent?

What does violent entail? Does there need to be blood? Do they have to have their skin peeled off? Their hair cut off? Their lips split open? Be bleeding from their genitals for it to be considered violent?

Sexual assault is sexual assault it doesn't matter in which form it comes, it doesn't matter if the person said yes and had to it IF THE PERSON WAS FORCED INTO ACCEPTING THEN IT IS SEXUAL ASSAULT

Dismissing their trauma by saying "it wasn't violent and they are men" is disgusting, it reduces you to saying "well, of she was raped then it's on her because she is a woman and she know she needs to take of herself but she didn't so it's on her"

Saying Gwyn is not ready is disgusting. Does she need to be like a dog with her tongue out and thirsting after males to be considered that she is ready? Does she need to be in a constant aroused state for you to say she is ready? What does being ready entail? She reads smut, she banners with Azriel, she jokes with Cassian, we know she is at least curious about sex after reading so much smut so stop coming up with stupid stuff just to make your ship fit

If you need to reduce somebody else, be it fake or real, in order to accommodate the perspective to your ship then maybe your ship wasn't supposed to happen

[lovearne]

treatment for a king

Konig x gn reader

Words: 4.4k

My page is 18+ only. I don't tolerate minors here. This is my safe place to express myself, and I don't consent to minors viewing my works or my blog.

Warnings: Konig is a brat, Dom! Reader, bandage, praise kink, oral m!reciveing, anal fingering, anal sex, vibrator, dildo, edging, Konig speaks German sometimes, fluff to smut to fluff, if I missed any please lemme know

Summary: Konig doesnt know how to ask to be your sub in bed, so he does what any other shy boyfriend would, try to annoy the fuck out of you until you snapped. In other words Konig trying to brat.

Happy anti valentines day

Support your fanfic writers by rebloging when you enjoy fic, a reblog and a comment always make my day

Konig loved to sit and watch you. He thought about you all the time, sometimes his thoughts were very impure, but most of the time, he was admiring you. Watching you was basically his favourite activity. It's actually how you two officially met. You noticed him staring, first you started to tease him, after a few weeks of non stop teasing, you went and talked to him.

Konig thought of those moments you'd tease him in public before the two of you even met. The vivid and short movements exaggerated to get a reaction from him. And the reaction was violent. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to be your boyfriend. 

Today, Konig had plans to annoy you into tying him up. Be didn't know how to ask, and he felt awkward when he did last time. So he decided to get on your nerves until you decided to take care of him. 

"Hey big guy." You greet, leaning down to kiss his cheek. He stays silent, moving his head away from your advances. You frown.

"Is there something wrong love?" You ask. Gently holding the arm that was infront of you. He stays silent again. You were getting really worried. You move to kneel in front of him. 

His composure shakes a bit from the peripheral view of you crouched infront of him, but he keeps his eyes off of you. You gently place your hands on his thighs, rubbing them soothingly. 

"Baby," His eyes finally look at you, instead of your eyes, he's looking at your hands. Imagining them bringing him to completion, his stomach tightens with desire. An idea comes to his mind. You don't know German. He could talk as dirty as he wanted to you.

"Ich möchte, dass du mir einen Kopf gibst." Your hands stopped, confused. Konig meets your eyes. "Ich will, dass du mich ruiniert." Your eyebrows drew together.

"Sweetheart," your hands start moving again. "I can't help you if I don't understand what you're saying." You remind him. "I want to help you." You watch as his scarred lip moves a little. His eyes were vibrant, they were intense, soul searching. They unnerved you a little, but you knew he'd never do anything to make you uncomfortable or to hurt you.

"Ich liebe dich." He mutters, his voice shaking a bit. You smile warmly.

"I love you too pretty boy." His face perks up. His mouth pulling at the scars, smiling genuinely at you. 

"Du-" 

"I learned it." His smile gets wide as he grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap. He can't contain the love he shows for you. His attitude doing a 180. His lips smash against yours, stealing the words from your mouth as you grab at his thick hair, one hand on his shoulder. When he pulled away, his voice was raw.

"Oh, I'm so in love with you." He claimed. "I couldn't have asked for a better partner!" He placed kisses all over your face. "Ich möchte dir einen blasen, bis du nur noch keuchen und stöhnen kannst." His voice was low against your ear. You furrow your brows again.

"I still don't know what that means." You say as you pull back fully to look at him. He just smirks and kisses the tip of your nose. 

"You don't need to speak my language." He whispers. "It's hot, but you don't need to bär." You smile, the nicknames he gave you held a space in your heart. 

"Ich libe dich könig." You said slowly trying to get the pronunciation right. His face went slack and his eyes focused on you. You've seen that face before, when you tied him up and edged him for hours. The look on his face after the session was over is very similar to the one he wears now. He was in awe of you. He loved you so much, and you speaking his native tounge made his heart beat fast. 

"If you-" you cut him off with a sweet kiss. He melted into it right away, his tougne fervently trying to gain access to yours, yet your teeth never parted, your lips easily giving into his exploring tounge. He groans into the kiss, gripping the back of your neck, and pulling lightly, he detaches his lips from yours. "I'm so in love with you." He said honestly. You nod.

"I know Engel." You replied as you got up and walked to the kitchen. Konig threw his head back, groaning as the words went straight to his dick. He needed to up his game.

"Hey babe!" You cheer as Konig walks into the kitchen, he huffs. You frown. "Why are you mad baby?" You ask nicely. He huffs again. You sigh. "Baby," you grab his chest, trying to pull him to your level. "Tell me." Your voice left no room for argument. 

"Nothing." He stuttered. You nod.

"When you're ready to talk to me. I'll be reading in the living room." You let go of the tall man,  walking away. 

Konig watches your backside as you walk away. His cock aching in his sweatpants. He needs to wind you up. 

Konig turns the lamp off beside you. You scoff, mildly annoyed by this behaviour. He then takes the remote put of your hand when you try and turn on the TV. You raise an eyebrow at his quick movement. 

"Konig." You warn lowly. He looks into your eyes. "Don't play with me." He smiles. There it is, he's on the right path.

You settle back in to read your book, when a loud tapping starts up. You look over your book and see Konig playing with two books, drumming them on the coffee table. You look back to your book, knowing that he stimmed, like you did sometimes. 

Once he starts fidgeting in his seat, you put the book back down, laying so your legs had space for him. 

"Hey, boyfriend, wanna come cuddle me?" He ignores you, normally he answers you. You thought it weird that he just ignored you. You sigh again. Konig could sure be quite the beat sometimes. Your mind paused. Did he want you to Dom him? The behavior he's presenting is very brattish, this is how he gets after not being taken care of the way he desperately wants to be. You smirk behind your book. A plan forming in your head.

You place your book down. "I think I'm gonna go for a nap. You gonna be a good boy?" You slip one of his spicy nicknames in passing. You see the glaze in his eyes, he definitely heard it. You watch as he nods. You smile. "Good boy." You walk upstairs, surprised not to hear him running up after you. You were a El to close the door without him even moving a muscle. You didn't lay down, you gathered the items you'd be needing to take care of your boy. Within five minutes you were all set up, now it's up to your boyfriend seeking you out. 

He didn't come in until nearly an hour later, you heard his strides and steps, smiling at how purposeful they sound.

"Liebeling I-" His voice fell short. He stared at all the objects you set out. His face gaining a hefty amount of colour as he blushed. His eyes big and excited.

"We don't have to, I thought you may be acting off today because we haven't done this in a while. And I know you wouldn't ask." He's still standing there slack jawed. The amount of shock running through his system making him unable to move.

"How-" He cut himself off.

"You were being a brat, you don't brat very often." He nods. "Now, tell me. Do you want this? Yes or no? I'm not going to be upset either way." He nods, eagerly. "No baby, I need words." 

"Yes, yes, please!" He said, you smile.

"OK baby, I want you down to your boxers and on the bed, yeah?" He nods. You raise your eyebrow.

"Yes liebe." You smile.

"Good boy." He smiles back at you. You watch as he takes off his clothes, leaning against the wall of your room. He quickly shucks off hist shirt, throwing it to the other side of the room. His pants are next, they get tossed in the other direction, little pebbles falling out that he must've collected during a walk. You giggle at the face he makes. His back slouches.

"I'm sorry liebe, I forgot they were in there." You smile. 

"Baby," your hand reaches to his face. "You know I love you and your rocks." The two of you laugh together, faces just inches apart. Konigs eyes dart from yours to your lips. You smile even bigger. "You wanna kiss me baby?" His lips meet yours before he could hear anymore of your teasing. Whining into the kiss as you denied his tongue access, you smile even more into the kiss. Just as he was pulling away, you grab the nape of his neck and open your mouth to his. Your tongues met in a dance of passion, embracing each other as you both moaned at the contact. When it became too much for your lungs to handle, you pulled apart. Both of you panting, you nodded toward the bed. 

"Wanna take this to our office baby?" You joked. He laughed, picking you up and manhandled you to the bed. He laid you down, him getting on top of you. "You know, if you wanted to Dom, you just had to say 'so pretty boy." 

"No, I want you to." He says, words rushed, you giggle. "Just wanted to throw you around a little, it looks like you have fun when I do that." You lean up and kiss him. Sweetly caressing his lips with your own.

"I love it big guy." You hand was supporting his head as he leaned his full body weight on you. "Oh, looks like I got a weighted blanket, takin all my troubles away." He giggles. "I love you babe." You kiss his cheek. He hums.

"Love you too bär." You smile. "I wanna love you for the rest of my life." He whispered to you. 

"Then do it big guy, love me for the rest of our lives." He giggles again. 

You use the distraction to flip him on his back, you didn't know, but he helped you. He'd not ever tell you that.

"OK, baby. Are you ready?" He nods  cutley. "Imma need your words. You wanna be a good boy, yeah?" 

"Yes, please, wanted this all day." He answered. "I want you to take care of me." You smile.

"Oh, such a good boy. Using his words." You praise him, his body melting inti the bed. You take this oprtunity to attach the rope tied to bed frame to his wrist. Your hand softly wrapping the smooth rope around his wrist. His eyes were awestruck as he watched you. 

"Always so good to me." He whispers, you smile again.

"Can't be hurting my baby, now can I?" You lean down and place a kiss where you were going to tie the knot. "He's too precious to be hurt." Konigs hand twitched at the contact and the comment. You wrap the rope, double wide on his wrists to ensure it doesn't tug too much, tying the knots where he'd be able to get out of them in an emergency. Placing a kiss on the insides of his palms, you move to attach the thin material on his neck. A pretty little collar, just for him. He shivers when the material slides on the skin if his neck. 

"Doing so good for me baby, so patient. What a good boy." sensitive skin. Every touch of yours sending chills up his spine. Exciting him even more.

As you latched the collar in place, you left kisses on the base of his neck, moving up closer to his jaw, his neck is so damn long and soft. It bruises just perfectly when you leave love bites on it. You sucked softly on his sweet spot, his hips canting up, already done with your teasing. 

“Plea- please bär. Please.” Konig begs, his hips moving, trying to find friction as you tease him. “N- need you.” His voice was soft and whiney, small moans coming out of his mouth. You smirk against his skin, skimming your hand down from where it held the base of his neck. It grazes across his upper chest, catching on his sensitive, and pierced nipples. Tracing the beautiful scars under his pecks, knowing that he loved the feeling of your nails on his chest. Your hand stopped, cupping the underside of his peck, scar in grasp as you thumb at his nipple.

“Ahh, please!” Konig pulls at his restraints, body jolting at the sensations of your wet kisses making marks all over his neck, and your thumb playing with his nipple. Your other hand keeps running down his abdomen, dusting across his hairy stomach, following the thickest smattering down and into his boxers. 

His cock was hard agaisnt your palm, you smirk even more, feeling the wetness of his desperation, making it easier to stroke his cock. His natural lubrication was allowing you to pull your hand on his cock without chaffing it. 

“bär! Oh ahhh, bär bitte, bitte bär!” His voice gives way as his whines surface. Each one making your stomach twist and your mind soar. The confidence you gained from doming your boyfriend was making you power drunk. 

“Thats it, what a pretty boy you are. So pretty whining just from my hand.” You squeeze your hand to accentuate your point. “What a good boy.” Konig throws his head back, the moans dripping from his mouth like saliva. “Always such a good boy for me.” You were watching his face as you start to stroke his cock faster. Konigs pants getting harsher, his moans more breathy, you loved watching him come apart for you. 

After confirming Konig was enjoying himself, you start kissing down his chest. Stopping right above his nipple. “Is this ok baby?” you ask. Konig doesnt answer, his hips bucking into your hand even more. “Konig,” you try and grab his attention, stopping your hand on his cock. His eyes imediatly darting to yours, surprised to find you close to his nipple. “Baby, is this ok? I need a yes.” He nods, eagerly thrusting his hips into your hand. “Baby. a yes or a no?”

“Ja, bitte ja ja ja.” You smile, your hand allowing him some reprieve and mouth attaching to his nipple. His moan in response was felt through your whole body and his, if he were more aware and with someone he trusted less he’d be embarrassed by it.

Your tongue swirls around the pierced bud, gently flicking it with the tip of your tongue, you smile as his breath hitches within a whine. Your cheeks pull, he can feel your smile against his skin. You suck on his nipple lightly, loving the nosies coming out of his mouth. You switched to his other nipple, not wanting to leave it out, treating it the same as the first one. You feel konig shudder, knowing he was getting close, you speed your hand up on his cock. Squeazing it harder as you jerk him faster. His stomach flexing as he gets closer. You pull away from his nipple. 

“Gonna cum baby? Gonna cum for me?” He nods.

“Bar-” a broken moan falls from his mouth, cutting himself off. “Bitte, please, bitt-” He cuts himself off again, a low groan bubbling out of his chest. You nod.

“Cum for me baby,” You say. Konig moans your name, unbeiliving you werent going to draw his orgasm further from him. You stop your hand and take it out of his boxers. His responding whine music to your ears.

“No no, bär, no, bitte let me cum please.” He pleas, you shake your head. 

“Not yet baby, you know edging makes it feel better for you.” His face was sad, his arms tugging his restraints.  Konig loved when you would edge him, he loved you being in charge, in control of his release. It didnt happen often, only when Konig needed more attention, and when you wanted to be able to take his anxiousness away while making him feel good. “You’re being so good baby. Such a good boy for me, begging so sweet.” his face flushes more as you compliment him. He pushes his cheek against his bicep. You smile at his shyness.

“Sto- stop.” he mumbles. Konig, a monster on the field, a giant of a man whom everyone was afraid of was blushing under your compliments. Youd never tell him, but you loved that he was so deep. You loved the depth of your lover, he had so many layers, and you’d like to think you met all of them. 

“Ok baby,” you agree. “Lets get you out of these boxers, yeah?” He nods eagerly. Trying to sit up to watch your face as you pull his underwear down. You slowly dragged his boxers down his legs, exposing his aching cock to the cold air in your room. He moans as you brush your thumb over his swollen cock head. “Oh, good boy.” you moan as you start to pump his cock again. Your fingers felt like breath of fresh air when he was suffocating, bringing him to life as he sinks into the feeling. 

"Ahh, nhg bär ahh" He moans, his cock was throbbing, you could feel it in your hand. You grabbed the lube with your other hand, opening it and adding some onto his hole. You smile up at him as he winced. "Das ist kalt." 

"I know baby, I'm sorry. You're being such a good boy for me. Which toy do you want today?" You smiled softly as you asked. He didn't answer, the feeling of your fingers massaging his rim tipping his brain back to mush. "Baby?" 

"Ahh Bär, du bist so schön. So schöner Bär." He whimpered out, his eyes rolling back I'm his head as he appreciated your touch on him. "Bär, bitte bitte bumse mich." He whined. You furrowed your brows. Two fingers now in his hole, pumping deep and curling your fingers as you go. He cries out as your fingers touch his sweet spot. You smile.

"Baby, say that again in English?" You ask him, cooking your fingers in him as he whines.

"Please bär, please." He begs. His hips stuck between wanting to grind I to your hand or thrust back into the other. 

"Please what baby." 

"Your mouth," His whine was broken this time. You felt for the poor guy. You portioned to make yourself more comfortable, moving you head towards his cock. You decided to tease him, kitten licking the tip, and watching as it jumped. You giggle to yourself as he tries to wriggle out of his bonds. 

"Someone's eager." You say, he nods hi head up and down. "OK baby, I'm gonna suck you off, when you are ready, you can cum, ok?" He nods.  You smile.

You turned your head back to his cock, licking the length of it and taking him in your mouth. You met out a moan at the taste of him, sweaty and slick with his precum. He shutters at the vibrations rocking his cock, your fingers digging even deeper as he moves against your mouth. 

"Ahhhh ah bär ahhh so good bär." He whines as you take him as deep as you could, your free hand putting a vibrator at the base of his cock, moving it around the circumference of it. He jerks, his moans louder than they had been before that night. "Ahh b- b- ahhhh." He groans, his high just a spitting distance away. "Bär, ich werde kommen." He panted. You smiled around his cock, working your tongue all around it, creating the perfect suction for his continued stimulation. Your hand holding the vibe to the sweet spot you found, the other 3 fingers deep in his ass, constantly hitting his sweet spot at a punishing pace. His stomach just started to jerk, letting you know he was about to cum, you pulled your mouth off of him, dropping the vibratory on the bed, and removing your fingers out of his hole. He cried in agony as you left him hanging yet again. There were tears of frustration running down his cheeks as his big blue eyes gazed at you in surprise. Your thoughts sobered.

"What's your colour baby?" The colour system, a classic for people into hard kinks, even soft ones really. The two of you used it when you felt you pushed the other too far.

"Gelb." His voice was weak and shakes, his tears subsiding as you caressed his face. Your thumbs rubbing right under his eyes. 

"Too far baby?" You ask, reaching for his restraints to pull them off. He shakes his head frantically. Letting you know he didn't want that. "OK big guy, what do you need to happen?" 

"Cum, please. I'm too sensitive." He replied. You nod, kissing the tip of his nose.

"OK baby, I'm gonna let you cum. Do you want a toy up your ass or my fingers?" You ask. He shakes as he thinks.

"Toy, I want to kiss you." You smile, looking at him with love in your eyes.

"OK baby, want me to play with your cock too?" He nods.

"Ues please Bär." You smile, sitting so your body fave his. Your face close to his as you slid the prelubed toy into his entrance. He gasps, and moans as you push it in all the way, feeling nice and full. You pause to kiss him heartily, pouring all the emotions you felt for him into this kiss. He grunts, letting you know he's not long until he'll be coming. You move the toy, fucking him with it, starting slowly at first, and then gaining speed. Your other hand holding a vibrator against his cock, both hands busy bringing the man you loved pleasure. He could hardly take it, his moans became whines and whimpers, his begs being jumbled into mumbled praises of your name, he kept moving his hips, trying to get every ounce of friction from you that he could. Your mouth mcmoved from his, toward his chin, biting softly. You trailed your teeth down his neck, leaving teeth indents every so often by biting down a little too hard. He felt like he was an ancient God, being pampered by his people, fed grapes and fanned, bathed and pampered. You made him feel like royalty, like everything bad in the world never existed. You made him whole. 

When you hit his sweet spot you bit down hard than you had before, not enough to break the skin, but enough that he was going to bruise. He started making high pitched noise and low whines, getting closer to his peak, then you started suck on his sweet spot. He came. He came so hard his cum shot out everywhere, you smiled at your boyfriend. Holding him to calm him down, waiting until he was less sensitive to pull the toy out. You cuddled his head against your chest, as you untied his wrists, knowing he'd want a nap more than anything. Before you moved him too much farther, you grabbed the water from beside you, you'd been giving him sips between edges. You held the half empty bottle in front of him. 

"C'mon pretty boy, will you please drink some for me?" You ask him nicely, trying to coax him into having some fluids after a scene that was particularly taxing on him. He shook his head, not wanting to do anything. "Come on baby, just open your mouth for me, there you go. Good boy Konig." You praise him. "Now swallow." Konjg does as you ask. You smile. "Now please drink the rest of this, I promise I'm going to bring you tea baby, just gonna have to drink your water first." Konig agreed, reluctantly.

You smiled at him. God he'd do anything to see that smile. He'd fight the biggest armies just to see one second worth of tha smile. He's so in love with you. You pat his chest, leaving a kiss on his sternum, his forehead, each of his cheeks, his palms and then finally his mouth. 

"I'm going to run a bath, ok? I'll come right back to get you baby." He nods again. Sitting back in bed watching as you scurry into the ensuit. He was beyond satisfied at your abilities to take care of him. Some care way to much, others too little. You loved bringing him pleasure, and only stayed within his boundaries and respected when he needed to stop of slow down. You loved him. He knew that. By the time you'd come back into the room, 5 minutes had passed. You had Konig step around you as much as possible. 

You helped him stand, helping him walk to the ensuit, and get in the ni e and warm bathtub, soothing his aching body. You sit beside the bathtub, watching him, holding his hand.

"Bär, you should come in." You shake your head.

"No baby, I gotta grab you something from the kitchen first, is that ok?" He nods his head quickly. You kiss his nose and then head down to the kitchen, opening the chest freezer and grabbing out Konigs favourite ice cream snack. You also grab a gartorade from the fridge, heading back up the stairs. 

Konig leaned against the cool tile of the bathtub, his body calm. When he heard you walk back into the room, he opened his eyes, watching you. 

Giving him the ice cream, his eyes widen. "Danke Bär, danke!" He bit into his ice cream, satisfied with the cold treat, his eyes watching you as you pulled your clothes off, he gestured for you to sit infront of him, shaking your head you tap his shoulder. He takes the hint. 

As you step in behind him, you slide on the cool tile and into the warm water, pulling Konig to lean against your form. He cuddles back into you, squeezing your body deliciously, the way you loved to be. You wash his body with the cloth, being careful around his genital area and where you marked him. You wash his hair, also being careful not to get it in his eyes. 

The two of you sat in the bath until it was good and cold, keeping each other warm. 

You loved him, and he loved you. That's all there was to it.

[martyrlamb]

Tbh some writers can write dark fics such as stepcest, plagas, etc. and it would be fine because they are the one writing it after all. Just because they wrote a specific thing you don’t like doesn’t mean the rest of their work is just... bad. Just informing, not trying to come off as rude.

never said their writing is bad. my point is that i don't want to be actively interacting with WEIRDOS—which is what they are for writing stepcest 😭 (plagas idrc about until we get to dub-con/non-con... that is also weird). i can handle dark fics with gore/horror/death, or simply ignore fics with kinks i find strange because if that's what gets their rocks off, so be it. but i'm talking about the morally wrong. people shouldn't be consuming or creating that type of content because of how it will start to bleed into every other aspect of their life.

but to avoid a dissertation on why 'the normalization of extreme smut=bad', i'll end my reasoning with: when they write something like that once, it taints the rest of their work for me. they could write the most toe curling, toothache inducing, well-written fluff and i'll still be thinking about that one time they wrote leon and reader fucking and sucking as step-siblings 🤷‍♀️. it's weird and wrong and i don't want to interact with them.

and you didn't come off as rude as all either, anon. so dw. i think i might've but this response isn't a slight to you personally at all

[fertilize-my-eggs]

Baby fever yandere shigaraki x chubby fem reader noncon smut 

A/n: this took me two days of writing this and it's based on my post and my baby fever, I couldn't help it🥴💦💦 p.s. I know it's bad, leave me alone. AO3

Warnings: scummy shigaraki + choking kink + creampies + body worship + violent + tomura kidnaps reader + breeding + dead dove DO NOT EAT. MINORS/ANTIS/AGELESS DNI !!

Shigaraki never once thought of having children in his life nor caring about relationships, his main goal was to destroy hero society and make it better. He was at the mall casually walking too deep in his thoughts.

Tomura never thought about it until he saw you, he was breathless to the least. Your curvy body, the way you bounce happily coming out of a hot topic with hello kitty merch, very girly items too. He couldn't help but want to kidnap and lock you in his room to fill you up for hours… Then his thoughts start to get more dirtier by the minute, he bites his scarred lips to stop the groans coming out.

He thought about knocking you up and filling his semen inside your womb to imagine if your belly would get bigger.

His body has a mind of its own instead of heading to the gamestop for games, his main goal was to get you alone.

He quietly follows behind you, he almost laughs at how you clearly weren't looking at your surroundings and happily humming heading home.

What? Just because there heros around doesn't mean you're safe.

Once you're heading to a dark alley it was His time to strike quick to his feet, he put his hand around your throat and almost choked you while you're struggling. It turns out you're putting up a fight, the items fell to the trash cover ground.

Tomura had to wrestle with you until he pinned you down on your back with his hand on your throat. Your frightened tearing eyes were turning him on more.

" Wow… you're a pain.. but fuck I love it when they fight back. " Your eyes were dilating fast, he felt your legs trying to kick or thrust your hips up to get him off of you but it was making him grunt out.

" Ooohh I see you're still fighting back. " He chuckled darkly. " Stop struggling more or you will accidentally disintegrate by my quirk. " His pinky wiggled close to your neck as your eyes were practically bulging out and went limp. Mhmm fuck, that hot he thought to himself.

" Heeh good now you're listening.. you gotta be good for me and your life wouldn't be wasted. " He leans in to lick the side of your face up to your ear as he begins nipping it.

He can hear your choked out cries and sob for help.

He can't wait to take you ' home ' and break you down until you're nothing but wanted him and his cock only.

He grabs both of your hands up and finally releases the hold of your neck, costing you to gasp for air and breathing heavily.

" You're coming wit-.. "

He felt a wetness on his cheeks as he realized you spit at him.

" Fuck you-.. " he begins to choked you more as he begin to tsk at you.

" Such a fucking brat… don't worry I'm planning on destroy that attitude of yours. " Your eyes went wide, he's waiting for you to lose consciousness, your eyes blinked fast and you're starting to feel lightheaded.

He chuckled again as your body isn't moving.. 

You slowly wake up, was it a dream.. you feel comfortable in the soft sheets only to realize this isn't your bed nor your room.

You begin to move only to hear rattle noises, your eyes see both your ankles and wrists in chains.

" Oh good you're awake so we can have some fun. " Chills running down your spine as you see him in the chair with the bright colorful light coming from his computer.

He slowly turns around as you start to cry out, he looks like a sleep paralysis demon that you get from nightmares and this is one of them that turns into reality.

" Please I don't wanna be here I-.. " he begins to get up and walk close to you so close that you see his red eyes stare into your soul.

"Shut up, you talk too much… oh I know." You started to gag out as he shoved three fingers in your throat, you mentally remember his quirk and his deadly hands touching your tongue.

"Aww where that back talk? Struggling to answer that baby." He purrs at you, your head is pulled away roughly as you look into his cold heartless stare.

"You're gonna take what I give you." You watch his smile turn more sinister by the second. " I'll impregnate you, giving you our greatest spawn of life. " Your lip starts to shake in fear. 

"You… you can't DO THAT-! I DON'T WANT THIS!!" You scream at him only to laugh at your face. 

He proceeds to decay his own clothes off as you keep screaming at him to stop.

Tomura has enough of your screams so he shoved his throbbing manhood into your mouth, you bit his dick only for you to get slapped in the face hard.

Your hiccups sobs were only the thing echoing in the room.

Tomura shoves his length back into your mouth as you begin to suck more and licking the underside of his cock.

"Aww the baby finally got their bottle, are you calm now brat?" Tomura coo at you as if you're an infant.

His narrow hips thrust into your mouth as he starts to get rough and fast, you couldn't fight back or push his hips away from these chains.

He groans loud as he grabs a handful of your hair making you focus down more of his cock.

He quickly pulls away and you pant like a dog in heat.

Shigaraki gets on the bed as you begin to shake uncontrollably so that you know what is coming.

He grabs his hot throbbing dick tap your clit then begins to hotdog your entrance, his cock between your lips as he groans out.

"Please… stop." He chose to ignore your pleas and went fast. You felt his tip almost hit your entrance and finally you gave in.

You look into his lustful eyes as he stares back at you unsettling.

"Please… fuck me." Tomura pauses as he tilts his head to the side.

"What?" You turned away embarrassed but he forcefully grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

"Say it again." Your eyes twitch with anxiety.

"Please fuck me-.." no waring shigaraki slammed his cock inside of you costing you to scream out.

Your cries didn't last long as Tomura began to aggressively make out with you, he slid his slimy tongue inside as your tongues fight for dominance but clearly tomura was stronger than you.

The pain in your lower abdomen gets stronger each time shigaraki slammed his hips to yours.

The squenching rings in your ears and the sound he makes, deep growls and scratchy whines.

You feel hot liquid in your womb to realize he is reaching his orgasm.

His cock twitching as his semen fills you up.

You watch tomura's hand move to your ankles and proceed to decaying the metal chain, your legs now free.

Shigaraki pushing your thick thighs over your chest, making you into a mating press and pounding into your tight hole.

The sweat coming down from his face as your cry echo out more and your fingers dig on your palms, this fucking hurts.

Tomura sighs heavily as you feel more of his cum hitting your walls.

You start to notice your belly getting bigger… holy shit.. how much cum does he have ??

"Fuck… look at you." Tomura grabs your chin as he makes you stare into his lustful crimson eyes.

"Carrying all my babies inside of you.. aughh fuck." His hand goes to your belly areas and proceeds to rub it with care and gentleness.

It catches you off guard, his thrusts heavy and rough but his hand movement seems more careful and sincere.

Your eyes roll back and scream out, you don't know how many orgasms you've gotten up to but you start to feel lightheaded and overstimulated.

Tomura twisted your body around so you were on your knees, it was an uncomfortable position.

Shigaraki begins to aggressively bite your shoulder area, your neck covered up with bruises and bite marks.

Your tear sliding down your face as you felt his hands caressing your swollen belly then grabs your hips to get more rough, you felt his tip hitting your cervix, your cries louder each time he hit it.

" Shit I'm coming again aughh fuck-! " Tomura wraps his arms around your neck putting you in choke hold.

The ringing echo in your ears and you start to reach your high, you never had this intense orgasm in your life. The skin slapping skin, heavy cries and choked out moans were music to his ear.

Your wall contracting around his cock making him reach his end, more cum filled you up, you can feel his sticky heavy liquid sliding down your thick thighs.

It all went quiet, only the sound of his breathing and the smell of sex and sweat in the air.

Tomura removes his arm from your neck, you can feel it hot and hurting.

Shigaraki leans in to give soft kisses to your face, you feel numb, your body limp, unable to move.

"Don't worry baby, I'm letting you rest so we can go for more rounds." He removed himself as he put new boxers on as he moved to the computer.

"I'll clean you up after I finish, don't make a peep." You were too tired to make a sound or more.

Heavy sleep slowly consumes you.

[tsbs-ship-hate-confessions]

Honest to God there is nothing more hypocritical of a bunch of whiny proshippers complaining about hate

yet preach free speech as long as they get to jerk off to kids getting fucked by their parents.

The hypocrisy is appalling.

'oh oh proshipping doesn't mean that stuff anymore, we're Clearly anti censorship oh oh the horrors of being called a creep for making celestialcest smut and giggling about siblings diddling each other. but we totally don't glorify dark topics why would you say such a thing'

like pick a fucking struggle. deal with the consequences of your actions. None of this is okay.

And mind you, this is coming from someone who is a major proponent of dark fiction. people should get to write whatever fucked up shit they want to. coping, venting, idc the reason

but you cannot honest to God be stupid enough to assume you're not a walking red flag. No one owes you trust that you're 'doing it for the right reasons' or 'don't support the morally stripped content' just like how you don't have to owe anyone an explanation. That street goes both ways

It's even stupider, when these fucks are all like 'u should clearly know I don't condone this'. I'm sorry, are we all a hivemind now? Are we above communication? It literally cost nothing to add a note of 'hey btw I think this shit isn't okay in case you can't read the room'. if ppl decide to assume bad faith after that then that's on them. but being a fucking mule about it? really? thought we were supposed to be adults here

speaking of which

"Children shouldn't be reading this anyway, My audience is smarter than that" ok thanks for infatizing and being ablest. nothing says fun like attempting to grow and try new things regardless of learning disabilities. or do you think we all roll over and die before highschool?

Also are we gonna brush past the part where the sun and moon show is literally made with kids in mind? Why again are we so desperate for smut over a show literally built around found family? 'everyone here is so immature' yeah bud, it takes one to know one. we were all kids. all of us were the newbies of the internet at one point. I ain't saying ya gotta hold anyone's hand or babysit but is throwing a hissy fit over finding spiders in a jar labeled spider the hill you really wanna die on? if you don't like it, leave

you literally preach that same shit yet seldomly follow your own advice.

Actually, let's go a step further: you're not welcomed here anymore than the gore anons are

P.S.

The reason why murder and gore is more acceptable than pedophilia smut is because one of these attracts actual predators. Porn is still porn at the end of the day, whether it's video or a picture, or words. and if it's on a screen it will fuck your head up the same way you can't have just one cigaret. it's always 'one more can't hurt' until it's an addiction you cannot escape from. And once someone is in that cycle, it gets worse. because soon the same thing that got rocks off doesn't work anymore. so then you find something stronger to get that high. then you have to find another stronger way to get that same effect

And that is exactly how convicted pedophiles go from using fictional kiddy porn to actual csem. There is actual fucking evidence for this shit with neurobiology and psychology to back it up

TL;DR violent video games don't create serial killers because people can only have a dopamine addiction. video game addiction is like sugar addiction Porn however can most definitely create pedophiles and rapist because of the involvement of dopamine, oxytocin, norepinephrine, vasopressin. porn addiction is like meth or heroin

These 2 are Not remotely comparable to the other 2

ALL, actions have consequences. It does not matter if you are a celebrity, or a fic author with 3 views. You are not an exception, and you feed the machine that gets kids groomed, trafficked, and even killed when you choose to sexualize and normalize pedophilia and incest.

So if you're getting shamed for getting giddy over shipping shit like Killcode and Bloodmoon or Sun and Dazzle. maybe you should think long and hard about why that is.

This is so much bigger than fighting over 'making dolls kiss'.

Get the fuck out of a fandom filled with kids before you get someone hurt

-

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Daniel Villarreal at LGBTQ Nation:

Jason Rapert, the Christian Nationalist that Arkansas Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders (R) appointed to her state’s library board late last year, is now complaining that his fellow board members should be “tarred and feathered” because they won’t support his crusade to remove LGBTQ+ books—or “pornographic” “smut,” as he calls it—from local schools and libraries. In fact, he said the state library board should be eliminated altogether. “I serve on the Arkansas Library Board,” Rapert said in a recent episode of his Save The Nation broadcast. “I cannot get those other board members to take a stand to stop some of the smut that is in those libraries. It’s ridiculous. I’ve made motions trying to do it.”

“The Bible says, ‘Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord,’” he said. “Well, when you have leaders that are not allowing the nation to be blessed of God, they’re not doing godly things, you need to replace them, get rid of them, get them out of office, put people back in there that will. You’ve got schools where they’re fighting over allowing homosexual, LGBTQ material to be utilized to groom children. … There needs to be people that will take up and sue anybody that is allowing that sort of thing to go on in our school districts and in our libraries.”

Rapert’s use of the word “groom” refers to a calculated and gradual process by which someone gains the trust of a child and their family in order to sexually abuse the child. Anti-LGBTQ+ people commonly accuse queers and their allies of “grooming kids,” but the accusers neither ally with organizations that actually fight child sex abuse nor publicly comment on the thousands of cases of actual child sex abuse that continue to occur in Christian churches.

[...] Even if Rapert was using the violent language figuratively, his rhetoric echoes those of other Republicans and Christian Nationalists who have used dehumanizing language while calling for their political opponents to be figuratively attacked and murdered. “I am at a point now where it’s going to take so long to get new board members on [the Arkansas State Library Board],” Rapert continued, “[that]if I were the legislature, I would run a bill just to abolishing the Arkansas State Library Board and let it be reconstituted. Put new people in there, or maybe they just need to call on people to resign if you’re not going to do your job.” In a late 2023 interview, Rapert pledged to enforce a law known as Act 372, which would criminally prosecute librarians and bookstore owners who refuse to remove any books that are deemed as “harmful to minors,” a vague phrase that anti-LGBTQ+ activists often use to ban books with any mention of sexual orientation or gender identity. The law also makes it easier for any single person to challenge a book, effectively removing it from shelves while it undergoes review by library, county, or city officials.

Christian nationalist Jason Rapert, who serves on the Arkansas Library Board, is mad that his colleagues aren’t joining in with him in his extremist quest to remove LGBTQ+ books in libraries and schools.

[opencommunion]

"The racist dimensions of international politics were manifest and explicitly challenged during the many months of intensive meetings at the Versailles Peace Conference of 1919 – at which was established the scaffolding of postwar colonial and imperial arrangements, including the British Mandate over Palestine.

White powers often described the struggle for 'world domination' as a 'race war' in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. British imperialists distinguished between white and nonwhite (or 'coloured') peoples and assumed the former should rule and the latter should be ruled, defining 'Syrians' and Afghans, for example, as 'nonwhites.' ... Irrespective of anti-Semitism and the historically situated and to some degree malleable nature of whiteness as a social construct, Zionist settler-colonialism was understood by its advocates and their British and US allies to be a white socioeconomic project. Racism in Mandate Palestine expressed itself through civilizational discourse, extraction from the native population, the biopolitics of colonial categorizations and counting, and the systematic maldistribution of life, death, and wellbeing by investment priorities. Such maldistribution by priority is underplayed as a systemically racist dimension of settler-colonialism and colonialism in Palestine. ... The 'blueprint' for the Allied postwar geopolitical order, the League of Nations and its Mandate system, was authored by racist war hero Jan Smuts, an Afrikaner from South Africa, at the behest of the British government. Published in December 1918 as The League of Nations: A Practical Suggestion, the document became a worldwide bestseller. Its stated purpose was to establish 'a means to prevent future wars.' Smuts’s use of the terms 'self-determination' and 'no annexation,' drawing on Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points released in January 1918, offered thin ideological cover for European and US imperialist aims to control postwar geopolitics and resources. The 'peoples left behind' by the dissolution of the Russian, Austrian, Ottoman, and German empires, Smuts rationalized, were 'largely incapable or deficient in the power of self-government.' ... Smuts argued ... that the peoples of Palestine and Armenia were too 'heterogeneous' to be consulted regarding any future arrangement. ... By the 1919 Versailles Peace Conference certainly, British colonial politicians recognized, to borrow Helen Tilley's words, that egregiously racist policies threatened the stability of the colonial order by making 'governing far more difficult.' At the same time, policies of social equality or parity threatened to 'undermine' the (extractive and violent) logic of colonial relationships – the colonizer must be above the colonized. When such hierarchy was shaken, the 'prospects of [the colonized person’s] future usefulness [to the colonial state] is destroyed.' This helps explain why criticism of racial prejudice by some colonial elites 'was insufficient to undermine the social hierarchies of colonial states.'"

Frances S. Hasso, Buried in the Red Dirt: Race, Reproduction, and Death in Modern Palestine (2021)

[yuzuocha]

𝚢𝚞·𝚣𝚞·𝚘·𝚌𝚑𝚊 | ユズオチャ

noun

1. a type of citrus tea that originated from China and is now also widely produced and consumed in Japan and Korea.

2. the owner of this ridiculous blog.

‣ about me

hi there and welcome to my primarily sfw blog! i am yuzuocha but call me yuzu :D

they/them

日本語/한국어/ENG

i write mainly for love and deepspace, but there might be some other fandom content here and there (i.e. project sekai)

this is a fic, art and incorrect quotes blog that is 16+! while i know i can't prevent under 16 folks from reading, content here can get freaky.

INBOX IS OPEN. PLEASE SEND A MESSAGE IM LONELY HERE

‣ please click below for more info and a masterlist!

‣ requests

i only accept up to three characters per headcanon/drabble request. you're free to request the same headcanon/drabble for different characters, though; this is to make requests into bite-sized pieces for me! you are welcome to also request one-shots or even multi-chapter fics >:D do your worst!

however do know that i only accept these requests as suggestions, not explicitly favors i have to do. if it interests me, you're in luck. if it doesn't interest me, you ain't in luck. only times i'd take it as a request is if it's for a friend i personally know or whatnot.

this blog will be NON-EXPLICIT for the most part, anyway. obviously there's going to be suggestive themes, plenty of implications and a whole lot of softcore (like c'mon look at my first post kek), however i absolutely refuse to write or draw outright smut. we got enough smut artists and writers in the lds fandom and i think we don't got enough fluff-angst writers HAHA

‣ things to know

this blog is 16+ — while I don't explicitly discourage readers under the aforementioned age from consuming my content, most, if not all of my content contains somewhat suggestive themes and contain suggestive, violent and/or triggering themes. additionally, the game itself holds aforementioned themes, so i thought i might as well put a soft-minimum just to give myself some peace and mind lol. please use your personal discretion before you consume my work!

i have a taglist! please let me know if you'd like to be a part of it through commenting here or through my inbox! i'll give you lots of smooches as a ty <3

finally — i have commissions available for both art and writing! please contact me through my discord yuzuocha for details :D

‣ masterlist

headcanon

‣ the horrors of gacha. — Xavier & Zayne & Rafayel

‣ kith? kith. [pt. i] — Xavier & Zayne

‣ moments of panic. — All

‣ back in the days. — All

‣ domestic times. — All

‣ a living proof of your love. — All

one-shot + drabble

‣ heartstring fortissimo. — Xavier

‣ eclipse. — Xavier

‣ drunk mind, sober feelings. — Xavier

‣ a second love at second sight. — Rafayel

‣ post-care. — Zayne

multi-fic

‣ player one, player two. — Xavier

‣ illuminate. — Xavier

but really really fast

main story ‣ prologue

main story ‣ chapter ɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪᴠ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪɪ

incorrect quotes

ɪ ‣ truth conundrum

ɪɪ ‣ caleb v. ladder

ɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's mc sensor

ɪᴠ ‣ rafayel's morals

ᴠ ‣ anti-consolation

ᴠɪ ‣ following directions with faith

ᴠɪɪ ‣ rafayel's rancid rizzing

ᴠɪɪɪ ‣ who let xavier cook

ɪx ‣ "helping out"

x ‣ false alarm

xɪ ‣ fiery motivation

xɪɪ ‣ self love

xɪɪɪ ‣ vroom vroom

xɪᴠ ‣ how to treat a short person

xᴠ ‣ is rafayel into choking?

xᴠɪ ‣ sanity loss documentary

xᴠɪɪ ‣ spooky broccoli

xᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's tendencies

xɪx ‣ "what keeps you up at night"

xx ‣ speling is hahrd

xxɪ ‣ subway surfers was fire ngl

xxɪɪ ‣ whoever threw that shell, fuck you

xxɪɪɪ ‣ innocent until proven guilty

xxɪᴠ ‣ happy middle fingers

xxᴠ ‣ single when drunk?

xxᴠɪ ‣ a cursed bless

xxᴠɪɪ ‣ serotonin, too!

xxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ he isn't wrong, per se

xxɪx ‣ lie detector

xxx ‣ an artist's perspective, apparently

xxxɪ ‣ yeah no he bucked up

xxxɪɪ ‣ a cursed bless 2.0

xxxɪɪɪ ‣ caleb's sick of it lol

xxxɪᴠ ‣ propriety over honesty

xxxᴠ ‣ words of (questionable) truth

xxxᴠɪ ‣ caleb technically didn't lie

xxxᴠɪɪ ‣ she thought she was playing chess, he was playing 4d chess

xxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ as long as rafayel's happy, i guess

xxxɪx ‣ who let xavier cook 2.0

xʟ ‣ nice card, shitty purpose

xʟɪ ‣ put a price tag in bed

xʟɪɪ ‣ mission accomplished (?)

xʟɪɪɪ ‣ asshole of the year

xʟɪᴠ ‣ "KILL IT KILL IT KILL ITTTTTT"

xʟᴠ ‣ local fish intentionally stranded on walmart parking lot

xʟᴠɪ ‣ cereal hits when drunk

xʟᴠɪɪ ‣ zayne can't be left alone, poor him

xʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ a chair that can kick you

xʟɪx ‣ needs and wants

ʟ ‣ honesty so brutal it hurts

ʟɪ ‣ yea just buy whipped cream instead

ʟɪɪ ‣ words v. stones

ʟɪɪɪ ‣ living in the present

ʟɪᴠ ‣ popcorn doesn't last

ʟᴠ ‣ war of words

ʟᴠɪ ‣ it is trash can, not trash cannot

ʟᴠɪɪ ‣ newton's rolling in his grave

ʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ carnival avocado

ʟɪx ‣ how much white stuff can fit in a mouth?

ʟx ‣ 6 cm per second, which is frankly impressive

ʟxɪ ‣ xavier v. jeremiah getting punched

ʟxɪɪ ‣ hunter's "reflexes"

ʟxɪɪɪ ‣ declaration (?) of love

ʟxɪᴠ ‣ double friendzone'd

ʟxᴠ ‣ rafayel's garden

ʟxᴠɪ ‣ reminiscence (?)

ʟxᴠɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty sun

ʟxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty mosquito

ʟxɪx ‣ the duality of fish

ʟxx ‣ didn't happen if there ain't no evidence

ʟxxɪ ‣ life is just one big capitalist experience fr

ʟxxɪɪ ‣ oof lmfao

ʟxxɪɪɪ ‣ you something get eat might

ʟxxɪᴠ ‣ father v. further v. farther

ʟxxᴠ ‣ hobbies

ʟxxᴠɪ ‣ the ends justify the means, right?

ʟxxᴠɪɪ ‣ so short they can duck liability

ʟxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ cashed in the wrong way

ʟxxɪx ‣ love is an open door

ʟxxɪx ‣ efficiency > flirting

ʟxxx ‣ viral for all the wrong reasons

ʟxxxɪ ‣ killer fashion

ʟxxxɪɪ ‣ package

ʟxxxɪɪɪ ‣ cancelling out

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Gavin wondered if maybe he was seeing things. That the haunting familiarity of the face, along with the dark hair and powerful physique, was simply coincidental. The shared manifestation of his weary mind and blighted focus. 

A bloodied pipe was clutched in the hand of the man above him as the other continued to grip his jaw. The object drew closer, and he flinched back instinctively, only to feel its blunt edge run across his cheek. Trailed with deliberate slowness. He strained to pull away, but a firm hold anchored him in place.

Then he met the eyes of his assailant, alight with cruel intent.

"Alex."

A smirk played on the man's lips as his eyes rolled disdainfully. “Don’t look so surprised. Did you honestly think someone like me would be interested in someone like you?”

In retrospect, he should have known the moment he had heard the Reaper’s voice. It had all the same distinct inflexions, with little effort made to disguise them. An accent he had never been able to shift—

His mind was charged with more questions than he could process, exacerbating the raw ache in the back of his head. Through hesitant lips, a prevailing thought managed to escape. 

"What the fuck." 

Alex paused, his brow arching at the expletive. With a sigh, he abandoned the pipe, the hollow metal clanking against the concrete. 

"I don't know why I expected anything more articulate from you." He looked down his nose with palpable disgust. "Charging headfirst into an unfamiliar setting, seeking out a known threat. You've made this too easy."

Gavin's eyes swept the floor, noting the fine streak of blood that had been left from his initial violent impact. He could feel the liquid beneath his head beginning to spread, fanning towards it. "What happened to your M.O. of just hurting androids? Did blue get old, you sick bastard?"

Alex brought down his knee in a sharp, jerking movement. It was propelled into the other man's body, lodging uncomfortably into his gut. "I have never hurt a human who didn't deserve it. You only have yourself to blame for this."

Wheezing as the air was knocked from his lungs, Gavin grappled with a sudden wave of nausea. Reaching out to hold his stomach, the movement was promptly halted. Alex grabbed his wrist, wrenching it to the side at an unnatural angle.

"After you told that idiot Scott your name, he wouldn't shut up about you. Brought it up at meetings for weeks. You and your little plastic pet."

"So you fuckers really do meet up for coffee", Gavin teased, echoing the theory Fowler had presented several weeks prior. "Guess even parasites need something to keep ‘em going." 

"Don't act so high and mighty. From what I'd understood, I was hoping we might see eye to eye."

"Why the fuck would you think that?"

"‘It gets a little zesty when it needs an oil change.’" A sadistic grin spread across the killer's face, stretching ear to ear. He grasped Gavin's second wrist and pinned them both above his head. "Does that sound familiar, Detective? It should. Or do you express such sentiments with enough frequency that you'd simply forgotten?"

Gavin could feel his bravado beginning to dissipate. “...Things change”, he seethed, withering at the unpleasant memory as nausea continued to churn his stomach.

"I highly doubt that," Alex dismissed, his mocking smile curling down into a disapproving grimace. "You fell into the same trap as so many other degenerates in this godless city. Why invest the time and effort into winning the affections of a human when you can simply bed a machine?" 

"Nines said Scott and Finch didn't know who you were. That none of them knew who you were. How did they trick him?"

"They didn't." The disgust on the other man's face only grew more pronounced. "They weren't the only mentally challenged members of their organisation. I wasn't about to reveal myself with such transparency, and no one ever asked questions. If there is one thing the group values, it is anonymity."

"Well, isn't that lovely?" Gavin replied dryly. "Got to look out for your own, right?" 

"They served their purposes." His knee, which was still positioned against the detective’s stomach, pushed itself in a second time with targeted strength. "It really is horrifying just how much you can find out about a person with a little digging. Joined the force at 23, and a Detective by 26. Very impressive, I'm sure your father must be proud."

The words hurt more than any of the physical anguish that Alex was subjecting him to—and the knowing twinkle in the other man's eyes told Gavin he was aware of this. Unable to contain his fury, he lunged towards him, snarling like an untamed animal. 

"You piece of shit, I'll fucking kill you."

His defiance was rewarded with a harsh strike across the face. Alex seemed to revel in how he reeled from the impact, his head lulling back before flopping to its original position. 

"I am speaking. Be quiet and listen". The words carried with them a disquieting nonchalance. "Of course, you hardly have a squeaky clean reputation. Quite a contentious figure, even within your local community—and that was before I bypassed the laughable encryption on your DPD database."

"Oh wow, so clever." Gavin’s voice dripped with sarcasm, intermingling with the blood that poured from his lips. "I'm really impressed."

"Lengthy disciplinary record, including repeated ‘property damage’," Alex continued, the twisted smile returning. "Very much opposed to the ‘robot helpers' your department employed when doing the job yourselves proved too tasking."

"I'm sure this all gets you super rock hard, but what does it have to do with anything?"

"I don't like having to repeat myself. Be quiet, you won't get another warning."

Gavin’s jaw hardened defiantly as he levelled his attacker with a narrowed glare. He was growing tired of just how much the killer seemed to be enjoying himself, dragging out every twisted revelation.

"I was unable to access the files on my own work, which was frustrating—but I had learnt enough about you to know that I could secure them through other means." 

The grip on his wrists seemed to tighten, the flesh being squeezed with bruising ferocity.  

"Interesting result on the most recent police census, wasn't it? Turns out that your love for machines isn't the only deviancy you're partial to." 

Through a wince, the detective laughed before rolling his eyes in flagrant dismissal. "It's 2039, and we're still hating on the gays? Go fuck yourself." 

Alex let go of his wrists, seeming to take some time to deliberate on his next move. His fingers curled into tightened fists, and before Gavin could react, one of them descended—striking his nose with a sickening crunch.

"It was no surprise to see you were single. I assumed you'd be the sort of person who would use something like USwipe. From there, it was just a matter of finding and seducing you."

"Didn't work though, did it?" Gavin hissed back, wheezing through the pain as flecks of red propelled from his lips. "I threw your ass out."

"Forgive me if I don't think much of your taste." He gripped the other man's jaw, his eyes narrowing with predatory focus. "It's a pity. You could've been useful… in exchange for your compliance, I could've given you what you wanted."

A thumb trailed languidly across his lips, and Gavin felt his stomach twist. It made him sick, just how willing Alex was to abandon his own demented convictions for the sake of furthering his goals.

"Pleasure, fulfilment—"

His snarling mouth lunged for the thumb, threatening to capture it between his teeth. "Don't touch me."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands." 

The hold on his jaw trailed up, capturing his face in a stifling vice. Excruciating pressure was applied to either side of his nose. Gavin attempted to pull the hand away, but his limbs felt heavy and weak.

"Tell me where the machine is, or better yet, lead it to me, and I might be willing to give you another chance."

"I'd rather die."

The pressure increased, and the detective howled, writhing in agony. Warm trails of blood poured from his nose, passing through gaping lips. 

"I tried to warn you, Gavin, that nothing good would come from your sordid affair. You didn't listen, and now it's too late."

"You—don't scare—me." The words were spat in bitter fragments, mingling with the warm swell of copper filling the back of his throat.

"I should." Alex shifted his weight to intensify the pressure on his already aching ribs. Their bodies were close—too close—as powerful hands found his neck and began to squeeze. "I gave you a choice. Perhaps I wouldn't have had to kill that RK900 and his blood traitor whore if you'd simply made the right one." 

"There was—never any—choice", Gavin challenged, wheezing as the pressure increased. You would have carried on killing—regardless of what I did—Miles and the rest."

"Oh no, Detective, that was personal." Alex shot back, chuckling darkly. "I needed to send you and your partner a message so you'd understand the fates that awaited you. Their blood is on your hands."

"Don't try to—guilt me—” The wheezing escalated to chokes as his throat began to close. "This was all part of your game—they were just toys. Ones you decided to—tease us with—after you'd broken them."

Then Alex slackened his grip just enough to allow Gavin to breathe. Cracks were beginning to form in his unnervingly calm demeanour, betraying hints of frustration.

"So narrow-minded. To equate my puzzle to a child playing with toys”. He spat the words as though they lingered with an unpleasant taste on his tongue. "Don't try to convince me that you would have been able to solve it alone. Some vulgar, braindead alcoholic, all washed up before the age of 40."

"There was never any grand puzzle; you just wanted to pretend like there was. Scattered jumbles and fucking brainteasers sprinkled around to make you feel clever."

Gavin’s head was pulled forward, wrenched up by his throat before being harshly thrust back, slamming against the concrete.

"Perhaps you're right. There was never a test for you because there was never any hope that you could understand my message."

His vision filled with stars as he reeled from the impact. Despite this, he stayed resolute, chin jutted in defiance. He refused to lie back, quietly allowing the Reaper his moment of triumph. 

Scoffing through his split lips, he flashed a mocking sneer. "You can't accept that your big fucking 'message' has all the depth of a kid playing make-believe. You have no morals, no grand code of ethics. You're just a fucking lunatic."

It was evident that Alex was tired of playing games. His hand dove into his pocket, and a glint of light caught against something metal. The barrel of a gun emerged before being pressed to Gavin's temple. 

"You may not have been my intended prize, but your android-loving blood will make a fine anointment." 

As the cold steel brushed his skin, he shuddered in morbid anticipation. His tortured subconscious appeared to seek comfort as his mind became awash with memories. The sound of laughter, the smell of popcorn, and the shared warmth found underneath a throw blanket. As he cowered away from a flickering television, his father laughed, holding him close and shielding his eyes. 

At least I get to see him again.  

A finger traced along the trigger of the gun, ready to pull, as Gavin glared back at him. Unyielding and unafraid. He could only hope that Hank and Connor would find them soon—to complete his objective where he had failed. 

Give this fucker hell, guys. 

Then, there was a rogue shuffle coming from the other end of the warehouse—followed by a voice. While muffled by the thick walls and reinforced steel of the door, it was still audible. Calling out to him—low and growled with frustration: 

 

"Reed…? Oh fucking Christ, where has he gone?"

"He must be close. I am beginning to pick up on some vital signs."

 

Alex’s finger, which had been poised in place, promptly stalled. A flicker of confusion passed his face before it gave way to stony realisation. "So you didn't come alone."

A weighty pause hung in the air as the figures beyond the door fell silent. Then, one of them spoke again, with audible trepidation:

 

"...Hank, there's two sets of vitals. He isn't alone."

"Ho’ shit, that ain't good."

 

The killer appeared to have lost interest in his awaiting prey as Gavin felt the pressure on his forehead begin to slacken. A malicious glint shone in his eyes as he looked across the room, suggesting that his target had shifted. "I know that voice...an RK800. Not the one I wanted, but a prize I will happily claim."

A spark of hope rekindled as Gavin, seeing his opportunity, was quick to grasp it. With shaky hands, he reached up and pressed a palm to the side of the barrel, angling it away from his head. In the same movement, he enclosed himself around Alex, yanking harshly to one side. The unexpected force caught the other man off balance, and he was sent hurtling onto the concrete with a harsh thud. 

The momentum left the detective reeling as his fraught mind sought to catch up—but he pressed forward, knowing he needed to act fast. Spotting his weapon by a nearby shelving unit, he struggled to his feet, legs quivering. He hobbled towards the gun and, with a triumphant hiss, reached down to claim it.

Having recovered from the shock of the strike, Alex had composed himself and was raising his weapon once again. Gavin was able to act first—and with a desperate, thunderous cry, he fired off a shot. It was done so blindly, eyes unfocused, as his weakened body reeled from the force—but it still succeeded in hitting its mark. 

The bullet lodged into the other man's leg, and he hissed in agony, doubling over as he used his free hand to cup the wound. "You bastard." His darkened gaze stared at him, brimming with hatred. With focused intent, he pulled the trigger. 

There was pain. Like white hot shrapnel, piercing the numbing rush of adrenaline. Gavin’s trembling hand reached over and lightly touched the front of his chest. Pulling away, he was greeted by a thick sheen of red that had coated his palm and fingers. 

Oh, shit.

Despite his best efforts, buckling knees began to give way, and he collapsed to the ground in a slumped heap.

A loud crash emanated from the other end of the room as the steely door of the warehouse was promptly slammed open. Hurried footsteps came charging through, and Gavin saw Connor appear from around the corner—gun in hand, raised offensively. "Detroit Police, stand down!" 

Alex made a strange huffing noise—caught somewhere between frustration and satisfaction. Despite his injury, he was quick, lunging towards the android—his own weapon primed, aimed at the crucial components in his chest. The attempt was quickly evaded as Connor darted to one side, and the bullet fired through a box on one of the shelves. 

Gavin watched on from his curled position on the floor, at a loss to do anything but grapple for oxygen through increasingly laboured breaths. Connor, catching sight of him, stilled temporarily, his brown eyes blown in horror. Quivering lips opened to speak, but the detective stopped him, reaching out to point in a weakened gesture. "Behind you."

The man sprang forward, closing the distance between them, and shoved the barrel of the weapon firmly into Connor’s back. The android anticipated this, reaching back and grabbing his wrist—angling the shot towards the ceiling and causing it to fire harmlessly into the air. 

As the officer tightened his grip, Alex cried out. He grappled to maintain his hold through increasingly crushing pressure until another hand reached around and yanked the gun from his grasp—tossing it to one side.

In an attempt to knock Connor off balance, the killer threw himself back, pulling the android with him. Once both figures had fallen to the floor, he sought to establish a distance between them. Frenzied eyes canvassed the room in search of a weapon before settling on the weighty pipe that he had previously discarded. 

Having armed himself once again, he reached up, aiming to strike through his target's head. Then Hank, who had been standing in wait, emerged from behind one of the shelving units and pointed his weapon towards his hand. "I don't think so, scumbag."

With another shot, the flesh of his wrist was pierced, and the pipe slipped from his weakened grasp. In a final act of desperation—and seemingly spurred by nothing but hatred—Alex promptly abandoned strategy. He charged at Connor full force as grappling hands sought out the junction between his head and throat. 

Synthetic skin peeled back to a wave of exposed white before the android moved again. He switched their positions in a deft twist of bodies, settling behind Alex—arm enclosed around his neck. 

As the human struggled, he held him tight before aiming a sharp chop at the point between his shoulder and neck. His writhing body stilled before slumping down weakly. 

The android let go and allowed the unconscious man to slip silently onto the floor. Hank reached down to restrain him, retrieving a set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket. 

"Guess the machines win this time, eh, buddy?" 

Connor seemed to take a moment to revel in their victory, smiling pridefully. However, the triumphant expression quickly dropped upon hearing a strained gurgle that leaked from Gavin's lips.

The room around him started to spin, exacerbated by a sudden blur of movement, as the android rushed for him. Delicate pressure was applied to his head before it was gently hoisted up. 

"Detective Reed…?" When the response was not immediate, Connor spoke louder, shaking his body. "Gavin, can you hear me?"

"You’re two inches from my ear, dipshit. So yeah, I can hear you." 

The strain of the words spurred on a wave of violent, rattling coughs as Gavin struggled to breathe. With the exertion came several speckles of red, which dotted the front of Connor's suit. 

"I'm going to scan you to assess your injuries; try not to move." Upon completion, the android's lips pulled inwards in a disconcerting look of unease before he turned to his partner. "We need to get him to a hospital immediately."

The older man cursed under his breath, clearly put out by the urgency with which the android said this. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, before frantically swiping across the screen. "Okay, okay, I got it."

"Immediately, huh? That’s not soundin’ like a great prognosis…" Gavin laughed weakly, punctuated by laboured gasps. His vision was growing increasingly blurred as he bared his teeth in a bloodied smile. "Hey, Connor. Can you do something for me?"

Through the haze, he saw the android lean in closer, brow furrowed in concentration. "What?" 

"Look after Nines”, he rasped as a powerful surge of pain shot its way through his ribs. "I know you will just…make sure he’s safe."

His head flopped against Connor’s grasp. He felt tired, desperate to sleep, as his eyelids started to droop. 

"...Gavin?" He felt someone tapping against his cheek. Lightly at first before building in intensity. "We're going to get you help, but you need to hang on."

As he faded further into his subconscious, the sounds around him grew muffled and distant, mingling into waves of static. Through the buzz, one noise broke through—a loud thump which resonated throughout the room. 

When a distant chatter of voices broke out, he wondered if he might be hallucinating. His head was slowly dropped and pressed against the concrete. It felt cold and bracing against his skin, but this no longer bothered him.  

"Sooner—I tried to get—" 

Shit. Hank only just made the call, right? That’s got to be the quickest dispatch in history. 

But something didn’t seem right. There was not enough movement, no rush of people spurred to action. Instead, he was being lifted again, cradled in somebody's arms.  

Through cracked eyes, everything appeared pale and distant—but he made out flashes of red as the figure held him close. The intimacy of the exchange had been unexpected. Of all the people to embrace him as he began to fade, Connor seemed unlikely. 

Then he saw another figure walk into sight. Through an indistinct blur of features, he made out a prominent stroke of grey—distinctive of the clothes that Connor had been wearing.

Well fuck, guess I’m seeing double. 

"I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here." The tones were rich and smooth. Whispered softly into his ear, seeking to comfort him. Despite this, there was palpable rawness. A despaired vulnerability that could not be disguised.

Wait. 

He focused on the figure's eyes and noted that the rich brown was absent, replaced instead by steely grey. "Nines?" 

The android spoke again, and it took a moment for Gavin to realise he was addressing him. With what remained of his dwindling strength, he focused solely on Nines. Drowning out everything else. He could feel a hand run down his cheek, nursing it with featherlight strokes. 

"Don't try to speak. Save your strength."

His fingers twitched as he attempted to lift his arm, to clasp their hands together, but the limb lay still and unresponsive—despite how fervently he compelled it. Heavy lids stooped further, shadowing what remained of the dimming light around him. 

Nines' typically level tones trembled with desperation. His instructions came with greater urgency until they had escalated to anguished pleas. "Keep looking at me. Don't close your eyes. Please, you have to stay awake."

Gavin struggled to maintain focus—to keep his eyes open—but his lingering tethers to the world around him were beginning to slip. His breathing grew increasingly shallow, the exertion becoming too much for his beaten body to handle. 

Nines lost what remained of his composure as his voice broke away to a harsh, choked sob. "I'm sorry, Gavin. I'm so sorry." He held him close, pressing their foreheads together, as tears began to run down his face. "I love you. Please don't go."

Then everything went black.