#but the god damn hypocrisy

[lumielwinchester]

I'm watching "My happy marriage" on Netflix and God damn is this girl annoying! People are throwing her less than breadcrumbs and she thanks them for it. Hell, those the "good-ish guys" are throwing her fucking rat poison and she still thanks them for it.

I was hoping there'd be some character growth, that she learns to recognise the abuse around her and learns to stand up for herself. And while there's been some of that as well as trusting her husband's family that is actually worth trusting. She still not even remotely recognises, how 95% of people don't give a shit about her personally and only want to use her for her power. Half her family literally abused her because they thought she had no power and the other half left her to that abuse before they found out she would be useful. And this girl still fucking thanks them for it!!!

She has been abused for such a long time and the fact that no one sits her down and explains to her that it wasn't her fault, that she didn't deserve to be treated like that and needs to ask for help, if ever anyone else locks her away or forces her to do things she doesn't want to do, is upsetting in its own right.

God damn it. I hate romantic anime.

[triglycercule]

normal murder time trio and then the idiocracy that is jk fashion au and the jk!mtt

[mrstsung]

Ok look so i caved in and said fuck it. If I'm gonna have mk12/mk1 shang tsung.

I'm gonna write him my way. Fuck canon at this point. So nrs can suck it. I'm taking him from NRS.

Anyways. Here's some edits of my husband.

One pink edit and one reg sparkle edit.

He still makes me go *agshfjjflhlhlkl* and *exasperated squees* 💖💖💖💖

*DO NOT USE WITHOUT PERMISSION!*

[toothblushes]

Love seeing people demonize personality disorders on my dash Love it to death. Definitely doesn't boil my blood at all lmao Apparently ableism is totally fine and cool if it's towards people with "unfavorable" symptoms!

[cerealmonster15]

jesus christ like i only finished the sumeru story like a few months ago but i already forgot your literal first intro to kaveh is a scene of several minutes of him and alhaitham fully bitching at each other

[lavaheadaddy]

I know I’m an adul lt now and I’m on the internet with young people and new adults but I just saw this new this is a social experiment prank and she was full lecturing us about parasocial experiments and then PROMOTES and ASK for money for her patron… girl do you even know what irony is (oh the social experiment was saying she was pregnant and then came back made the joke of I lost the baby and then was like you guys have a toxic para social relationship now like girl all they said was hope the baby come out healthy)

[meejijis]

I can’t do friendships if there’s no communication

[nouearth]

dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head.  “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay. 

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders. 

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely. 

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way. 

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat. 

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own. 

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that. 

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before. 

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place.  “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.” 

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be. 

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard’s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts. 

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s. 

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against. 

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand. 

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men. 

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence. 

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever. 

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile. 

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound. 

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows. 

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this. 

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy. 

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture. 

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent. 

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...” 

Glen was good at casting doubt on people. 

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning. 

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again. 

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior. 

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you. 

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him. 

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity. 

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?” 

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible. 

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“ 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…” 

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line. 

A year later, and he hasn’t. 

Love makes you do crazy things. 

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe. 

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you. 

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust. 

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst. 

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock. 

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him. 

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself. 

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

"This is Michael from Gainz Factory. How can we help you?"

"Can I get a refund for my latest purchase?You guys sent it to my old address so my twin brother downed the whole thing. We don't even look like twin any longer now because of your mistake!"

"Sorry for that to happen to you sir. Can you please give us the reference number of the order so we can check in which part of the process the error happened until it arrived at your previous address instead?"

"I actually forgot to change the address---"

"Well then, sorry sir, but as you mentioned, aside from the wrong address you placed, it was consumed anyway, so there's nothing we can do about it,"

Can you believe that? The audacity of these consumers sometimes really baffled me. I mean, talk about entitlement and hypocrisy. Let's be real, that d-bag would not have been bothered even if he no longer resembled his twin if he was the one getting the package. I traced on the log and found his name, so being the nosey person that I am, I decided to give his social media a visit.

Welp, I will call whatever authority that can reverse it if that's the difference. God damn I know that guy must be fucking jealous. But well.....I guess that's what he deserves. I bet he would be super smug to his twin if he was the one blowing up like that

*ring*

"This is Michael from Gainz Factory. How can we help you?"

[lysatoru]

heavenly - cigarettes after sex

gojo fluff! gojo x gn!reader

gojo’s favorite evenings are when he lays his head on your chest and hears you yapping <3

Even though Gojo was busy most of the time with his missions and his title of "strongest", there were still a few quiet evenings when Gojo came home. You heard the keys in the lock of your front door and realized that he was finally home. If he came home in the evening, that meant he was off, at least for tonight. So you smile stupidly as you wait for him to come through the door.

"Hi there," he says, kissing your forehead and tucking an arm behind your back. "How was your day?" you asked, already knowing the answer. "As usual," it was on.

After a good shower, Satoru joins you on the sofa, you're reading a book "The Metamorphosis" by Kafka. He turns on the TV, but doesn't look at it, he looks at you. "The Metamorphosis, eh? Sounds too heady for me," he says with a sneer — "It's a man turning into a cockroach, it's not that complicated" you reply. "Eww! It's disgusting, poor thing" he says, mimicking disgust.

You laugh and he continues to stroke your legs, his elbow resting on the edge of the sofa, holding his head.

"You're really beautiful, you know that?"

You close your book and look at him, "What's the matter with you tonight?" you say, smiling. "I'm not allowed to compliment the love of my life?" he says, taking your book and resting his head on your chest. "You could have said earlier that you wanted to cuddle!" you then start stroking his hair, with your long nails. "No, you're sexy when you read" — he replies, closing his eyes — "Mmh.. Your petting will get me killed."

You stay like that for half an hour, in silence, just the two of you.

If Satoru had a reason for coming home every night, it was because after your work, he knew you'd be waiting for him and welcoming him with open arms, damn it, how he loved your cuddles, the warmth of your body, the softness of your skin and the smell that emanated from it.

You break the silence for a brief moment, "Remember my friend with the black hair and the glasses?" — "Oh yes, the one who left her boyfriend because he cheated on her?" — you laugh, tugging at his hair, how tactless he could be sometimes - "Yeah, well, she had a date last week and it went really well". Satoru immediately rises from your chest, leaning on his arm. "You've got to be kidding! With who? What they look like?" — Satoru looks more excited than you do at the idea that your friend had met someone, Satoru loves gossip. "they’re slightly smaller than her, tattooed, black hair, brown eyes and they seem very nice!" You reply, happy to know that finally, your friend might be getting some respite with this new person. "They'd better not cheat on her" replies Satoru, before lying back down on your chest. You laugh.

These were Satoru's favorite evenings, no fancy parties, no appearances, no hypocrisy. Just him and you against the rest of the world. That's why he loved coming home at night, because he knew he'd get his fill of gossip, and he loved it. Your life was so much simpler than his and yet all the relationships between your friends seemed so complicated, but he loved hearing you talk. He loved, above all, to rest his head on your chest and hear your vocal chords resonate and your heart beat. You were there, you'd always be there, waiting for him. What had he done to deserve someone who could put up with his lifestyle and his much busier-than-average schedule, with the added risk of never coming back once he left the house? But fate had put you in his path, and he thanked the gods every day for that.

The gossip session must have lasted a good two hours, you coming back again and again to the same stories from the past, he knew them by heart but he could listen to them every day without flinching.

"Don't you think it smells a bit burnt?" asks Satoru. "She found him cheating on her- wait, what? no, my lasagna!" You get up just as early to go and look in the oven, the lasagna couldn't wait for the gossip session to end. Gojo stands up, laughs and walks over to you. He takes you by the waist, "You're so good in the kitchen, that's what I like most about you" he says ironically, kissing your neck. "I wanted to please you" — "Oh no, baby… We’ll order, it's no big deal mmh?". He embraces you tightly, "Yes, we should order." He chuckles one last time, you laugh too,

what he'd give to hear you laugh every day.

a little fluff! i think there are grammar mistakes and im sorry for that, english isn’t my first language😿

requests are open! jjk and also haikyu!

[merwgue]

Rhysand is often portrayed as this perfect, morally grey ruler, but when you take a closer look at his actions, it's obvious how messed up he really is. Let’s break down the so-called “benevolent” High Lord of the Night Court.

1. The Hewn City – The King of Torture? Rhysand's treatment of the people in Hewn City is straight-up barbaric. The way he holds power over them isn’t out of necessity or to “protect” them from worse rulers—it’s control through fear and violence. He tortures them, plays with their lives, and enjoys maintaining his iron grip on them. It's almost like he uses them as his personal stress toys. Is that really the hallmark of a just ruler? Sure, Hewn City isn’t full of saints, but for Rhys to stand on his high horse and act like he's saving everyone while still torturing his subjects? Hypocrisy at its finest.

2. Rhysand and Feyre – Let’s Talk About Consent Let’s not forget that he literally assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain. I don’t care how anyone tries to frame it as him “saving her” from Amarantha—there’s no excuse for the way he took away her agency. Rhys manipulated her, forced her into wearing those skimpy outfits, and paraded her around for his entertainment. All while pretending it was for the greater good. It's pretty damn disgusting how that gets brushed under the rug like it was some noble sacrifice when in reality, he robbed Feyre of her choices.

3. Planning to Execute Nesta – The Line Between Justice and Control Rhysand and his inner circle legit planned to execute Nesta, all because she didn’t fall in line. Nesta had her faults—hell, a lot of them—but threatening her life because she didn't act the way Rhys wanted? That's not justice; that's manipulation and control at its core. He wasn't trying to protect anyone. He was pissed that he couldn't control her, that she wasn't another cog in his perfect little machine of Night Court harmony.

4. Tamlin – Kicking a Man While He’s Down Say what you will about Tamlin, but there’s no denying that Rhysand completely overstepped every boundary when it came to him. The Night Court loves to preach about freedom, but Rhys had no problem strutting into Tamlin’s land, throwing it in his face, and making an already broken man feel like utter shit. There’s a difference between defending your own and downright antagonizing someone who’s in the depths of depression. At one point, he basically told Tamlin to end his own life. What kind of "savior" talks like that to someone who's clearly struggling? It's downright cruel.

5. The Night Court – A Dictatorship Wrapped in Pretty Words Rhysand's Night Court is sold to everyone as this place of freedom, where people can be who they truly are—but at what cost? If you cross Rhys or don’t fall in line with his vision, you either face his wrath, his torture, or his manipulation. He's not running a court; he's running a dictatorship where everything is fine as long as it aligns with his master plan. The fact that he keeps calling himself the “most powerful High Lord in history” just feeds into that massive god complex he has. The ego on this guy is unbelievable.

6. Double Standards – The Morality of Convenience Rhys preaches about freedom and respect, but he only seems to extend that to people he deems worthy. If you’re in his circle or someone he cares about, great—you get all the privileges. If not? Well, tough luck. He’ll trample over your land, threaten your life, or torture you into submission. The cherry on top? Everyone around him acts like he’s the greatest thing to happen to Prythian, and the fandom just eats it up.

So, yeah. Rhysand is fucked up. He’s not just morally grey—he’s power-hungry, manipulative, and borderline sadistic. His version of “ruling” the Night Court is as hypocritical as it gets. Benevolent High Lord? More like the king of self-righteous cruelty.

7. Locking Up Nesta – Rhysand’s Tamlin Moment Remember how everyone vilified Tamlin for locking Feyre up “for her own safety”? Sure, it was messed up, but the narrative painted him as this controlling, possessive villain because of it. Now, fast forward to Rhysand, who literally does the same thing to Nesta. She’s spiraling, yes, but instead of finding her real help or giving her space to heal, he decides to trap her in the House of Wind like a damn prisoner. He takes away her freedom, isolates her from the outside world, and forces her into a situation she clearly doesn’t want. How is that any different from what Tamlin did?

But here’s the kicker: Rhysand gets praised for it. Why? Because he’s Rhysand, the supposed hero, and everything he does is always “for the greater good,” right? It’s utter bullshit. He used the same controlling tactics on Nesta that Tamlin used on Feyre, but the fandom acts like he was being this saintly, tough-love older brother. What he did was textbook manipulation, stripping away Nesta’s autonomy because she didn’t fit into his perfect vision of what recovery should look like.

8. Forcing Recovery on Nesta – Ignoring Trauma Let’s not sugarcoat this: Rhysand locked up a woman who was using drinking as a coping mechanism and basically said, “Tough luck, you’re staying here until you fix yourself.” That's not helping; that’s punishing someone for their trauma. Nesta was in pain, lashing out and struggling to deal with what happened to her. Did she need help? Absolutely. But instead of offering her real emotional support, Rhys just forced her into a recovery program that suited his standards and timeline, not hers.

What makes this even worse is that Nesta was self-harming through drinking, and instead of addressing the root cause of her pain, Rhysand and his inner circle chose to control her like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, not a person who needed to be understood. There’s nothing noble about that.

9. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – Tamlin vs. Himself This is where Rhysand’s hypocrisy really shines. He condemned Tamlin for being controlling, and Feyre (rightfully) left that toxic environment. But Rhys turns around and does the same thing to Nesta, and instead of being held accountable for it, he gets celebrated for “taking action.” How does that even make sense? It's such a double standard that it's almost laughable. Tamlin’s actions were wrong, but Rhysand’s were just as bad, if not worse, because he knew better. He knew what it felt like to be controlled, yet he did it anyway.

10. Stop Giving Rhys a Pass People need to stop giving Rhysand a pass for his behavior. He gets away with literal torture, manipulation, locking people up, and trampling over others' boundaries because he’s good at hiding it behind the facade of “protecting his court.” He’s not the hero people make him out to be. He’s just as flawed and fucked up as the people he claims to be better than.

At the end of the day, locking someone up—whether it’s Feyre in the Spring Court or Nesta in the House of Wind—is a violation of their autonomy. Rhysand isn't some hero swooping in to save the day. He's a controlling ruler who just happens to be good at spinning the narrative in his favor.

[mariaxxxxx]

Blackberry (Steve Rogersx fem!reader)

Summary: You shouldn't have had too much to drink at that party, honey. (+18)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, menstrual sex, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.

series masterlist

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

A/N: The following chapter has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex. I ask that you carefully observe the warnings to avoid triggers.

The party at the Stark mansion was a success as always. The cream of society was made up of businesspeople and new candidates for a seat in the American Congress. Dresses and hats fluttered in the cool spring breeze. You devoured a bowl of sugared blackberries, leaning against the bar counter, while watching your parents talk with friends animatedly about some topic involving economics and money. For God! You were so bored not even one of your friends decided to join you in this den of ostentation and hypocrisy.

And nothing, no matter how exciting it was to be in a superhero's house, could appease the enormous boredom that consumed his insides. Not even alcohol could keep you company at this point, your father would die before allowing a drop of alcohol to wet his tongue, so you were left with sugary blackberries that proved to be a good aphrodisiac on a hot afternoon.

You swallowed the last blackberry and left the empty bowl on the counter. He walked to his mother and whispered ‘’I’m going for a walk’’ in her ear and left the room before his mother could retort. You easily dodged the hundreds of guests and headed to the farthest drinks tent where an efficient bartender was juggling. The tent was outside, near a clump of trees, away from the watchful eyes of his parents.

“A blackberry margarita, please.” You asked, leaning slightly over the ivory surface.

"Identity." He asked.

“I didn’t bring it, but I guarantee that I’m of legal age.” You smiled as convincingly as you could, but he didn't seem inclined to help you. You rolled your eyes. “I’ll give you 100 bucks for the drinks.”

The bartender looked at You in disbelief. You felt internally angry; The childish features still hadn't left his face like the cute cheeks and plump lips, and that always got him into trouble.

“Not happening, girl.”

"Please! This party is a big mess, if you know what I mean. I need to stuff my face or I’m going to go crazy.”

Again he looked at her in disbelief. He was probably one of those people who only saw parts published in gossip magazines about young heirs who got into trouble.

"It went badly."

You sighed. Your father didn't even let you bring your cell phone. It was not polite, in his opinion, for a rich girl to interrupt an important conversation because of a message.

“A straight whiskey, please.” The deep voice next to him. “And a blackberry margarita.”

Without having to present ID or leave a tip to guarantee efficient service, the man, the damn Captain America, got both orders at incredible speed. The only thing You could think about was how tall and handsome he was.

"Here." He handed her the drink. “I got the impression that you forgot your identity and are being massacred by the damn bureaucracy.”

You smiled; by the drink and the wording so changing coming from a man considered by many to be an American God.

“Thank you, Captain.” You said as you took a sip of your drink.

“Steve. Just Steve.” He said taking a generous sip of his own drink. “I hope he really is of age. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

"Right. Steve. Just Steve.” You repeated with a mischievous smile. “I promise I will show you my ID as soon as possible.”

“What’s your name, pretty girl?”

You found yourself smiling and blushing at such a flippant compliment coming from such a divine man. You told him your name.

“A beautiful and delicate name. It suits you." He took another generous sip of his Whiskey and you took advantage and drank some more of your drink. It was sweet and went down as light as water.

“How can I thank you for the drink?” You asked.

"Talk to me."

You drank more of your blackberry margarita.

"About what?"

"Anything. Just… entertain me at this boring party.”

“Anything…” You took another sip. “As long as we can help ourselves to one more of these.” You got ready for your now empty glass.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Steve said, finishing the whiskey with a hint of a smile on his lips.

At some point, between conversations and glasses of margarita, Steve convinced you to show him every corner of the mansion. You accepted, looking excited about taking a tour with such a handsome man by your side. You and Steve left the tent, avoiding curious glances and boring conversations. He showed you the room where the Avengers met, the works of art that Tony insisted on buying, the training room and finally a long corridor with similar doors. He opened one of them and you entered a large room without windows, with a large sofa in the center, a minibar, a large TV that took up the entire wall and a strange device that you thought was a stereo.

It was large, clean and richly decorated. It felt like a sanctuary for leisure time. Steve pointed to the sofa and you sat down, he went to the minibar and returned with a bottle of reddish liquid. He sat down next to her.

  “Do you want to drink more”? He reached out his hand, wrapping his long fingers around the bottleneck. He extended this to You as if it were not a trap that You were about to willingly fall into. “It’s a liqueur made with blackberries. I got it from a senator at a party at the White House. I noticed how much You like the fruit and I would like You to try it.”

You had already had too much to drink. There were glasses and more glasses of margaritas, and you already felt your body a little soft, but you couldn't refuse the proposal of a man as beautiful as that. The man who sacrificed a lot for this nation. It's just a drink, You thought. Getting drunk next to Captain America, who is a hero, is a much better idea than getting drunk alone in a mansion. And you loved blackberries.

"Yes please." You mumbled, and Steve looked so proud of your response. He poured you a generous dose of drink. You drank. It was strong and very concentrated, very different from your sweet and light margherita. You didn't care you just drank more while Steve looked at You with a big smile. Beautiful. It was a beautiful smile.

One drink turned into two, then three and four.

“You’re blushing.” He smiled, he said drinking some of the liquor. “Your first kiss wasn’t that bad.”

You didn't notice. But You started sharing very personal things with Steve; You told him how your first kiss, as a child, was a disaster with a classmate you liked. You said how it was drooling and clumsy.

"It was horrible". You made a cart.” I did it because my friends wanted it. I should have waited longer.”

You don't feel it, but your knees spread of their own accord as a warm hand, not yours, lifts your dress a little and exposes the inside of your thigh and begins to massage in gentle circles as you finish another glass, laughing hard. , the heat growing whenever he got closer.

“A girl as beautiful as you should have someone.” He says in a reprimanding tone. He was close, very close. You drank more.

“No” You laugh, louder than usual, You feel so good, so light. But you feel a wave of disappointment wash over your body when you remember that you had no one. She couldn't even remember the last time she was touched or praised by the opposite sex.

“With such a beautiful face like that, it’s hard to believe.” He smiled. “Such a beautiful body and...”

He pauses.

“And…” You encourage him to continue.

“With breasts as beautiful as yours, I’m sure everyone…” He stops, looking embarrassed, his hand on your thigh about a little more. "Forgive me. This is inappropriate.

"No." You say quickly, urgently, although more slurred than usual.” I don't mind. You can praise them.”

"No?" He asks, his voice perfectly steady, with fake surprise behind it. Had you and he already had so much to drink because he didn't seem any different? “Would you mind showing them? I would love to see."

You shake your head and mumble no. With one hand, the other held the glass of drink, You released the bows on your dress that held your breasts, You didn't wear a bra, you didn't need them to make your breasts look beautiful, something you were secretly proud of. Her breasts bounce out towards him.

Steve reaches out his hand and gives it a nice squeeze. You let out a small moan at the intimate touch.

“I want to suck your six.” He blurts out.

His smile disappears, mostly in shock at such a bold revelation. But a part, a big part, of you feels flattered that Captain America wants to play with your breasts and all you wanted at that moment was for him to touch you.

"All good." You mumble in a slurred, broken voice.

Steve pushes your body until his head is between your breasts. You feel him take a deep breath, smelling you, his right hand grabs one of your breasts. He tilts his head and wraps his lips around your closest nipple.

The sensation is strange, it tickles, cold, but it warms up quickly. You had never felt someone do it like this before, it was much more like a brief lick or a clumsy and seductive suck like many boys did. But with Steve it was different. He was grasping as if trying to extract fluid that will never come out. He moans lewdly. You drop the glass and place your hand under his blonde locks, pressing his head against your breasts.

“Steve.” You let out a moan as he takes a long nip before releasing your breasts in a wet pop.

  “Where is your glass?” He asks.

You don't respond, because you're too oblivious to pay attention to his words. His body was hot, his vision blurred and his nipples hard and sensitive. You were oblivious when you felt Steve put a full glass in your hands, he mumbled a drink and you obeyed, wanting to leave him satisfied.

You drank more. Maybe four or five or six more glasses. You do not remember. The last one ended up kind of spilled because you couldn't hold it while Steve helped you take off his dress. You feel his head being placed on a soft pillow or perhaps a cushion, You couldn't tell; his vision was blurred and his senses were weak. Warm hands slide down your legs to your panties and gently remove them. Your blurred vision is bathed in the sight of Steve shirtless on top of you. Beautiful. He was so beautiful.

You're moaning and shaking with nervousness, or at least you would be if his grip wasn't holding you in place. Her pussy burned with heat and desire, it was like rough sandpaper that moved in and out, swinging a seesaw from hell.

“It hurts.” You mutter. You were a mess and you know it, the words come out slow and slurred. Humiliation rises deeper than pleasure can reach, and disgust crawls over your skin with a sheen of sweat. He had touched her before. Stimulating your clit until you came on his long fingers, but it wasn't enough, it never would be. He was big and thick, with powerful hips that caused her great pain with each thrust.

You weren’t expecting it when he tilted his hips just to rub the fat head of his cock against your aching pussy. You moan at the small shock waves caused by the brief contact with your clit, but he smothers your moans with a wet, hot kiss, taking away your oxygen. He shoved his cock back inside her ripped hole.

He moaned against You, his mouth open panting, as if he was feeling something that You didn't. The intrusion not only stretches, but burns and hurts. Dry fiction mixes with rough movement. The tears flow, You feel the wet trail they leave on your cheeks. The disorientation left You dizzy and contained, a prisoner of your own body, but that didn't stop Him from exerting his strength against You. He was heavy. Upon noticing your whimpering, the hand that was on your hips goes up to cover your mouth, spreading tears and saliva everywhere.

“It’s okay, my love.” He said between moans. “You are so beautiful and as sweet as berries.”

The blackberries. The damn blackberries were the ones who brought her here. Steve gives another powerful thrust, preventing any further thought. You scream into his hand. He begins to fuck with desire, with strong thrusts, riding his own release. You moan, writhe, scream when a sensation begins to blossom at the tip of your toes that rises to your abdomen causing your muscles to contract slightly and then relax. Steve doesn't stay far behind, he pulls out of your pussy and with one last thrust spills all of his semen inside of you.

You are sleeping too deeply to understand, but not too deeply not to hear. You hear some loud footsteps, a door closes, before you feel someone approaching.

"Mommy." You speak as you sit up, try to open your eyes, your mind is still spinning. A great light hits your eyes and you close them quickly. Little by little you open your eyes slowly until you get used to it.

You wish your mother had killed the man who enchanted you with smiles and drinks so that you would give yourself to him, you may fear that strange conversation and the lectures, but you longed for your mother's safety and her lap. But it wasn't his mother who was sitting next to him. It was him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He says as he brushes the strands of hair out of your face. “Your parents are a little upset now, but they will get over it little by little, you'll see. They will be happy for their little daughter who has won over the national hero and is about to walk down the aisle.”

"What are you talking about?" You say roughly, trying to get up, but the quick action made your body weaken. Steve picks you up and sits back down on the couch.

“I will take care and spoil you a lot, my love. You will see. I will fill you with gifts and love. We're gonna have a lot of fun." Steve says with a scary look on his face.

"You are crazy." You say in tears. “My parents will...”

"Do not worry about a thing." He pulls away and stands up, walking over to the minibar counter where a red bowl awaits him. He pities her and returns to You. “I'm already taking care of everything. All You need to do now is eat.”

Fear flooded your body You had already trusted that man and look what happened, but You had already seen too many documentaries and police series to know how much this type of person hated being contradicted. Maybe being his sweet, obedient girl would provide you with some benefit. With your body shaking, you stretched to see the contents of that bowl. A sound of disgust escaped his mouth when he realized they were blackberries.

[we-stan-cale]

I meant to post something about when Cale received the letter from the God of Death, but that whole bit is just too damn good. I basically focused on reading it and didn't really think of writing about it.

This is where we truly start to learn about Kim Rok Soo's past. There were a lot of teasers before - learning that his Korea has monsters, that he was a Team Leader, that his company dealt with monsters and corrupt guilds. That he had an ability like Record.

There were some flashbacks, especially to some of his interactions with Choi Jung Soo (who we learned died before him back when Cale had that memory after fighting the golems) and Lee Soo Hyuk...

And then we got the letter from the God of Death, and Kim Rok Soo had a truly traumatic flashback to when they all died.

I think this is the first time we truly saw him shaken? The guy with the perfect memory, the guy who could record and playback everything, experienced something so traumatic that his records were broken.

We see that Kim Rok Soo was an analyst. A very good one. One able to predict a terrible monster (and thus felt guilty that his entire team died fighting said monster -though he seems to have worked through that. Some. Mostly.

We see how he interacted with his friends, really his family. And in a subordinate role, unlike most of what we've seen.

There's this bit where he'd overused his ability and had a bloody nose, and Lee Soo Hyuk tells him

‘Kim Rok Soo, wipe your nosebleed. You should get some rest if you have overloaded.’

Which contrasts with after their deaths, when he's briefing the reinforcements and notes

The reinforcements all focused on his explanation, but nobody said anything about wiping his bloody nose.

So much desolation from such a small thing.

And the request to retrieve their bodies! Over and over again, we've seen how much Cale cares about retrieving bodies and showing respect for the dead. Insisting on improving the graves at Harris Village, recovering all the remains from the Path of No Return, protecting the dead in the fight against Adin...

While that didn't solely come from this incident (the losses in his monster torn Korea played a role, this is why he truly understands how important that is for the ones left behind.

And we also see how he didn't want his team to fight that monster. He knew, with all his analytical skills, that it was too powerful. That it was likely that they'd all die. Even though even more people would die if they didn't (since the guild in that area had run away).

He straight up says how it made him feel.

The reinforcements had been too late. Boom. Boom. Cale’s heart suddenly ran wild. The sense of responsibility, anger, and sorrow that had made Kim Rok Soo’s heart boil had risen. 

A responsibility to stay alive (even if he doesn't really want to), to carry on in Lee Soo Hyuk's place ('I leave it to you').

We learn why he despises the concept of heroic sacrifice so much, why he works so hard to come up with plans that ensure nobody has to. That nobody is ever in the position where they feel compelled to do so (though if it does come to that, he'd rather be the one to do so... Than be the one left behind. Again.)

And there's this, that he thinks after Raon and Alberu break his flashback (such good friends and family) and he finishes the letter.

Cale knew that he was selfish and bad and that he cherished people who were important to him the most.

Selfish - because he wishes his team had run away and survived? Bad - because he knows that if they had, many more would have suffered instead?

He cares, he cares so damn much. And he also seems to hate himself quite a bit, though I say that not just because of this. Also his hypocrisy towards scars, where it's fine in Mary and Hannah and a sign of survival, but disgusting and something to hide in himself. That, and numerous other things that don't seem obvious at first because damn is he good at masking it and seeming normal, but yeah...

This whole scene is just so well done, means so much, answers so many of our questions, and once you know about it you can see how it affected everything.

Addendum: we also see a contrast between what Cale recalls here, and what Choi Han experiences with Choi Jung Soo's memories. Especially how he saw Kim Rok Soo use a metal board as a shield to defend him, and shortly after broke an arm.

Cale didn't mention that at all, didn't explain why he couldn't move when you he reinforcements came.

[emmyrosee]

[23:39 pm]

Rolling up into the driveway of your home, Kita smiles, sleepily, as he sees the tv flickering in the window leading into the living room.

He’s told you time and time again that the blinds should be drawn closed for worry of people watching through the windows- you said you’ll be damned before you become ‘that house.’

Call him paranoid, but he’s seen those horror movies with Osamu; it’s been a blessing and a curse.

With a small grunt from his sore back, Shinsuke slowly slips out of his truck and grabs his filled lunch bag in the passenger seat. He doesn’t want to eat after he’s been baking in the sun, but a hearty breakfast and a few protein shakes have been fine with keeping him around.

Although, up until this point, he hasn’t had you to corner him and scold him about it.

Maybe that’s why you’re still awake. Crap.

He fiddles with his engagement ring before he unlocks the door to your home- thank god you at least remembered to lock that- before entering in as quiet as possible in an attempt to not wake you if you were asleep.

To his not-so surprise, you are not asleep, and instead wide awake watching someone on YouTube while scrolling through your phone on tiktok. He tells you all the time that’s bad for your eyes. You do not care.

There’s a face mask smeared on your face and you just look so cozy that he wishes he could’ve been home sooner to curl up with you.

“I’m home,” he says, setting his bag on the hook before coming into the living room to see you. You look up at him from over the couch, chewing the last bit of whatever you were eating before grinning up at him. “What’re you still doing up?”

You offer him a shrug, “wanted to make sure you didn’t eat alone.” You nudge your head to the fridge, “and I know you haven’t been eating when you’ve been coming home, so I really wanted to make sure you had something.”

“I eat plenty when I get home,” he says, chuckling.

“And I think you’re full of it- go shower and I’ll finish off my snack and make you some food.”

“Mm?” He hums, leaning his weight on the armrest to kiss your head. “And what are you eating now?”

“Chips dipped in ice cream,” you mumble around a bite.

“…chips dipped in ice cream?”

“Yeah,” you hum, looking up at him. “I wanted something a little salty, but I knew it would make me want something sweet afterwards, so I figured I’d mix the two.”

“God, I adore you, but that’s feral.”

“And you are scared of innovation.” Despite your tease, you load up a ruffled chip with chocolate ice cream, passing it to him with a sweet smile. “Try it.” He eyes it suspiciously, and you scoff. “You don’t get to judge me on something you’ve never tried, Shinsuke.”

“Have you yet to read Hamlet?”

“Don’t you get me on my own hypocrisy,” you scoff. “Do you want the chip or not?”

He stands up and makes a sour face, but despite this, he extends his hand to take the chip from your fingers. He grimaced before hesitantly plopping the snack on his tongue when you bat your eyelashes at him.

One chew.

So far, so decent.

Two chew.

Okay. Now it’s funky.

Third chew has his jaw slacking in horror while from the couch, you start cackling.

“It tastes like bile,” he grimaces, his face scrunching up while you snort.

“That might be the sour cream part of the sour cream and onion.”

“This is foul,” he gags, quickly making his way to the sink to, quite literally, wash his mouth out. He hears you snickering off into the distance, and even if you have the taste of a sociopath, there’s not another thing he’d change about you.

Everything from your strange little cravings, to the way you stay up for him to reheat some dinner with him,

“What’s that thing called, when you like watching someone in pain and distress?” You ask over the running faucet, and he can practically hear the smirk of sadistic pleasure in your face.

He spits out some of the water pooled in his mouth with a retch, “oh, psychopath.”

You snort and he wipes his mouth on a paper towel, shaking his head before approaching you and capturing you in a kiss.

You pull away with a giggle before pecking him again, “you taste like chocolate ice cream.”

“And you taste like a questionable choice I made when I proposed.”

“And clay?”

He inspects your halfway dried face mask and licks his lips, “yeah. And clay.”

[trappolia]

KURAS ── and if heaven were to touch me, it would not be enough.

Your knees ached, pressed taut and numb against the cold steps of which you’d been genuflecting upon for the past hour. Or had it been more than that? To be aware of the passage of time was to not fully immerse yourself in prayer with the gods, but the hymns did not come to you so easily anymore. Perhaps they never did. Grief weighed your lungs down like smoke, even in this holy house.

He stirred beside you. Kuras. Golden-eyed and beautiful in the way that made you want to kneel and repent for the sole action of loving him.

“I must confess,” you said, voice hoarse.

“Tell me,” he spoke, softly, the most divine thing you’d ever known. To speak to him felt strangely akin to repentance, but something horrid churned in your gut, and you shook your head.

“What of my anonymity?” you asked, half-joking. It sounded bitter upon your tongue.

Kuras’ eyes lowered briefly, hiding behind the shield of slender black lashes. The silence wrapped around your silhouettes like an invisible fog, thick and smothering, broken only by the distant chime of a distant bell. Then, Kuras’ voice emerged, gentle against the dark shroud of melancholy settled all around the room, illuminated only by the hazy glow of the candlelight.

"You know that what is said in this chamber will never pass my lips," he told you, words like a whisper that floated in the holy space between your vessels as a promise, a covenant. “The gods do not see us here.”

The words that come out of your lips were hoarse, caught in your devotion and hypocrisy. “Does it matter?”

To that, Kuras said nothing. His golden eyes flit to the candles, thousands lit over what could very well be a millennia and moulded into a single wax entity sprawled over the stone altar. Perhaps he thought of you two of you, melded and fused together to be one body, one soul. The very thought was blasphemous. It should not have made your heart sing.

He had fallen for you, you knew this very well. There was little you did know of his time in that kingdom that so many of your priests and priestesses have only dreamed of, but you were sure of this: you were the very reason he had decided to fly too close to the sun, why he bled molten gold and why he was doomed.

You were too, no matter how much you may have tried to deny it. It was only a matter of time before your own fall was recognised, and then comes your fall from grace.

The gods did not see you here, but what was once devout and holy in you and Kuras were aware of what you had done.

That is damning enough.

© trappolia 2024

[biohazard-4ever]

Question: what would each of the main cast reaction be when they found out that Leon is ONLY a weapon to the government? And let’s say they found out that they want to dispose him. Including Hunnigan’s reaction please.

Leon knows his role. He always knew. His utility was the only reason that allowed him to be kept alive even when he knew all about Umbrella and the Government.

Claire would be taking it the hardest and not on a personal level. But for Leon. He is her friend! Leon and Claire are partners in this fight! He is the man who risked it all to keep Sherry safe, like how Claire did through Raccoon City. He is not a WEAPON, DAMN IT! He is a HUMAN BEING! 

Claire would be sad, mad... But also disappointed. Because deep down, she knows Leon always knew. He always knew his role in this.

"And you'll just accept this as your life until, what? I receive a call saying you "mysteriously" die and I'm left here to mourn your assassination?!"

Claire feels guilt. She should have never left that man and child behind. If she knew... If she could have known, by the GODS, she would have kept Leon close to her. Never out of her sight. Maybe... Maybe they could have been on the same side today. In Terra Save. Working as partners in and out of their work.

Who knows... What they could have been...?

Jill knows what it means to become a weapon. Even your free will is destroyed. She feels it the deepest on a personal level. Not different from what happened to her when Wesker took control over her; but Loen is not being controlled on a physical level to do it -, he is being emotionally controlled to act and do works he normally wouldn't agree with. 

A sad destiny... Leon will either die on the battlefield or die as a "casualty" when the Government thinks he is of no use anymore.

"I know you. I know what you do does not equal to what you believe. You're a puppet, Leon. But that does not define who you are! If you need help to cut those ties, a place to be safe... Believe in us. Rely on us."

For Chris, it all made sense now... Leon's defeatist mentality. How he felt like he would never escape from this endless circle. Because Leon is not fighting to end the Bioterrorism, he is fighting so the real masterminds behind it all won't get caught. It is like a Lawyer wanting to end crimes. It does not work.

He works and makes a living out of those disgraces happening. Leon lives in a walking hypocrisy. An ocean of guilt and shame. He can't even be proud of his job like how his friends are. 

Chris can't even imagine how would that feel. He is a proud B.S.A.A man. He wears the symbol for everyone to see. Leon keeps his hidden under his jacket.

"This is why you never make plans that far ahead? Because every day you're alive is just another miracle isn't it? Maybe ending yourself is the one comfort you have -, believing you're capable of at least choosing how you're going to die. But guess what, Leon? You're not alone in this fight... You're a friend. You're family."

Hunnigan... Hunnigan is really found of Leon. They are working together since, what? 2005?! Leon is... He is special to her. And knowing what the government has in store for him feels unfair. It IS unfair. Shouldn't her job be all about keeping him safe?! Ingrid would suggest him to just... Fake his death and she would want to give him all his freedom. Even if... A fake one...