#i mean there was that one nightmare of his that seriously fucked with him

[transingthoseformers]

Hmm. Megatron keeps having dreams about well Optimus. Considering his reaction to them, and how Megatron/Optimus isn't exactly in the main tags, this means something and I doubt that he exactly wants them.

[moondirti]

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

[bunji-enthusiast]

Closer And Closer

Note || as requested by many, here is the sequel! This was a ton of fun to write 🤲

WC || 2,535

<(Previous Part)> <(You are here)>

Sypnosis || With your new friend in hand, you begin earning some unexpected honesty—and new understandings.

Once, there was a dream. Sometimes it would recur, coming back to you in the encroaching depths of your mind no matter how much you wanted to stop dreaming this very same dream. It was always on and off, how it can always come back–like a nightmare–just how can one describe it?

People can forget their own dreams long after they wake up, lest they be lucky to want to write down the dream. So you were one and the same, the trepidation always sneaking upon you, like an approaching danger that will never fail to make your nerves stand on end. 

“Mommy,” You tugged at the hem of the woman’s dress, a baby trapped within a limited consciousness; yearning for love, curiosity and just always wanting to be around your parents. It’s natural and in nature for a young child to always want their parents. “Why are you gonna be gone for so long?”

Oh, that sweet, sweet voice. How adorable could you be? The woman just looked down upon your small form with a smile, so very reminiscent of motherly love. Only a mother could bring a kind of peace like that to their child, the woman thought. She crouched down to your level, patting the crown of your head with a gentle hand, so very gentle as you remember her even gentler heartbeat. A voice came from her mouth, words carried with a saccharine tone. “My little sweet apple pie, it is only a work trip!” She giggled, then wrapped her arms around you and held you close. Causing you to giggle as well, laughter so joyous even the woman holding you now couldn’t help but feel such joy because of you alone. “I’ll be back before you can say Poppies!”

You look up at her, strangely the woman’s face was misty, enshrouded by black shadows. As if reality didn’t want you to see her, your own mother. Still, a smile remained upon your face as you nodded at the woman. “Hehe! Okay, mom.”

Slowly you blinked, the world suddenly began disappearing from sight, the environment twisting upon your peripherals. 

“What?”

You groan audibly, cursing to yourself under your breath. “Of-fucking-course.” 

Slowly, You remember where you are now. A hand comes into your view and holds you steady, a very familiar one. 

“Don’t get up too quickly, you will get weary Angel.” His voice warns, it still seemed so strained and worn worse for wear. Just what kind of things had Catnap done to DogDay? Perhaps you shouldn’t worry about it, something like that is a very personal thing to ask about, no doubt. 

You coughed, pounding on your chest as you slowly rose awake. Your companion had been waiting calmly for you to collect yourself, but that had made him a little worried as he winced when you coughed. Slowly enough, you ease yourself into standing with DogDay’s help, all that jumping and landing seriously hurt your body a great deal. No wonder you were exhausted as hell right now.

Right, no time to worry about that now. It was time to be more worried about what to do next, “DogDay, you think you can handle being carried around by me in that state?” You asked with an airy tone, you didn’t want to be too loud and accidentally attract any nearby toys who are under Catnap’s influence. DogDay slumped for a moment, most likely still very worn out from probably the way he had been hanged. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling everything coursing through him, he was very much here and alive.

He always had been continually reminded of this very thing.

Reminded of Catnap.

“No need to worry about me, Angel.” Your companion spoke, his fur ruffling about in his movements. You probably were gonna have to do something about that later, DogDay sorely needed some cleaning up. “I am tougher than you think.” 

It seemed his words carried a half-hearted weight, carrying no affirmed meaning to them. You looked at DogDay incredulously, clear as night and day that you knew this well; worn out, tired and cramping for a plan to end the Prototype. You’ve never gotten a good look at the Prototype, only a few times you have gotten a good look at the Prototype’s hand–there must be a whole body from beyond the shadow’s.

Awaiting, no doubt terrifying too. But, you dealt with adrenaline rushes and terrifying monsters from the moment you stepped foot into the abandoned Playtime Co. 

“Ah, well, just tell me if anything is bothering you.” You nodded at him, patting down your clothing, the dust falling in your wake. DogDay was quiet for a moment, taking a hand-step back as he looked around at the environment once more. He was considering something, considering how to go about the next phase of the way. 

“No safe places here, nothing good.” For a moment, you swore that you had seen his mouth contorting into a frown–though in every Smiling Critter, they always are smiling–So this was completely new, different somehow. “My apologies Angel, safe places are rare to find.” DogDay sighed, he in a sense was habitually instinctive to keep his loved ones safe; going so far as to make sure they have a good sleep. Even if it meant at the cost of his own health. 

He cared deeply for his friends, but they were gone now. Catnap was someone he could not recognize anymore, that wasn’t his friend.

DogDay’s only focus was making sure you are alive and safe.

Something of which is admittedly difficult to do, knowing all the horrors that had occurred in Playtime Co. but it wasn’t too troubling for someone like you. DogDay was glad for you about that, impressed even that you had managed to survive thus far before you had met him. 

You patted his head, causing him to look back at you. “Nothing to apologize for! Everyone’s just… a little too crazy nowadays.” You mutter, walking over to a dusty pile and finding a tape. There seemed to be thousands of these tapes all around the Factory, some of which you could’ve sworn recording yourself. 

Being a former employee for Playtime Co. is one thing to say, but being an engineer was a different process. You were only involved in the works of designing and constructing, not once had you ever really got hand in hand with actually building things. But you were highly proud of the work you had done and completed alongside your fellow co-workers, looking back on it now… all it had done simply saddened you.

How it seemed to be the way that the toys seemed to be so lifeless, once so full of joy, love and empathy for everyone in this place all together.

You wouldn’t mind turning back the clock and doing good for once more, the right way this time. When everything was said and done, the toys you came across were well justified in their anger for being abandoned–but you weren’t looking to be on the top list of being killed either. Considering how you had gotten lucky apparently by quitting the day before your co-workers had all disappeared.

Getting through this place was no trouble, you remember some good places of this Factory like the back of your hand. Huggy Wuggy, Kissy Missy of whom is his spouse, was rather different to the likes of the tall-blue furred beast. Rather inconceivable in behaviors, Kissy Missy was a perturbed ally, one you didn’t expect. All the toys you met so far, (save for Poppy, and Kissy Missy) had full intentions to kill you from going any further.

This Factory is a whole goddamn amalgamation of mysteries you weren’t sure you wanted to solve anymore. Let alone having any trust in every being you come across now too, how disturbing must this get? You sure as hell weren’t Elliot Ludwig. 

“I simply wish I could be of more help.” DogDay recounted with a mournful tune, breaking you out of your thoughts and consolation. You frown at him, wanting to offer comfort: the words could not come through. He shuffled around to begin looking for things too, but now something had crossed your mind. 

You still couldn’t piece together almost everything between DogDay and Catnap, some things he had said back at the heretic altar had stuck with you. Until now it was dismissable, out of sight and out of mind you supposed. Though you recounted some thoughts that had warmed you in ways you didn’t expect, at first meet he already was of great character–someone you truly wanted to be around.

The repugnant smell that had always seemed to be invading your senses was gone now, this particular area was an untouched one. “DogDay… do you mind if I ask you something?” You spoke, stepping over the rubbish and noting the sound footsteps that echo in your wake. Don’t walk too much, this area may be empty but it didn’t mean that Catnap wasn’t watching. That cat was terrifying to you. Permeating nightmares had run endlessly through your mind, and his gas before when calling back on previous close counters with the obsessed follower of the prototype were far too close. 

Continually he had gone about looking for anything that may be of assistance to you both, still he had spoken in reply, “Angel, I will answer anything. You deserve as such.” DogDay recounted, noting what he had said to you before you fell to the slumbers of sweet, sweet sleep. 

Cool, cool cool… that was dandy and nice of him. You just weren’t sure how to articulate the very question that lays burning in your mouth, for fear of the fact you might be gazed upon with ranicid and covert questioning, like an ornery old bitch. Pointedly you stepped around the rubble, in turn you came across an old set-up, as if there used to be children here. A blanket laying upon the ground and the ravaged pillows, still in condition that you could say that was okay to be recycled for use. Still quite in a-okay position to sit down on, waiting for DogDay to finish scrambling around.

“So,” You began, lacing your fingers together and intertwining them purely out of your nerves spiking in your body as of right now. “What’s… the deal between you and Catnap?” Abruptly, at those words, his very being felt as if he tensed up. You couldn’t read him right now, suddenly incomprehensible to understand. 

“I suppose you should know about it, in order to really understand Catnap.” He motioned, steadily crawling over to where you sat. “Catnap was someone you could get along great with, quiet and not much of a talker, but actions speak louder than words Angel.” 

Then, there was a lapse in his words; DogDay was doing his best to keep himself steady and calm. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to fall apart in front of you, that is not very leader-like of someone such as DogDay.

“Oh, his actions spoke so much more for him than one little word.” He nodded, laying his head upon his crossed arms. DogDay had made himself comfortable as he shifted to a proper position. “But, things happened. Very bad things.” You were albeit surprised he was willingly sharing such information with you, as personal as it would appear. 

Still, you had remained muted, this was something that could conceivably help you in dealing with the nightmare cat later on. “Something had happened to him, something I wasn’t aware of. Angel, he.. wasn’t the same Catnap. He wasn’t my friend anymore.” Now, you could understand this well.

You yourself never had a good trade off within all your relationships, no matter what kind of relationship it was… be it; platonic, romantic, friends even! Humans are odd and sometimes indescribable in nature, but it simply has always been this way. But friends change, sometimes partially and even supernaturally.

In DogDay’s case, it was gruesome and religious. Catnap by no means was someone to act fool with, something you could pick out with merely just from first impressions. In passing, this was no offense whatsoever–personally that cat looked scary as hell.

“All my friends just,” Then, DogDay allowed himself to breathe again once more. “I wouldn’t wish it even on my own worst enemy.”

“The Prototype?” You snorted, shifting your weight from one end to the other as you gave him a benign quizzical look. 

“Angel.”

“I'm messing with you!” 

You waved him off, then put your hands in your lap. It was oddly endearing in how you behaved, the normalcy around here is rare, DogDay would admit. “So it seems, Prototype is his god. I don’t understand every detail, but The Prototype saved him.” He beckoned, recounting the mention of the Prototype from not even two minutes ago. 

“So Catnap began viewing this, Prototype as such?” You finished for him, tilting your head. Your companion nodded, lifting his head to recover proper eye contact with you. 

“Poppy, the rest who are on your side want nothing more to end the terror of the Prototype’s reign. Come to save me Angel, I thank you so much for that.” Honesty was a fickle thing for DogDay since recalling recent events, but had it come to you? The fearless dog didn’t mind. 

“Oh it’s nothing to be thanked for,” You grin at him, ever so slightly. But he’ll take that, “You were in so much pain. That’s a position no innocent person, or toy deserves to be in.”

DogDay had to consider this for a moment, so much consideration had been done lately. Yet, it was all done to simply understand the chaos underlying this factory, no doubt it had caused a lot of trauma (to many in this place) alone. “You're right about that, Angel, I suppose I had gotten too comfortable in all my reckless decadence.” Willfully, he was well aware of his actions as a leader. Some of which he had questioned why he had made them.

Your hand on his ragged-torn furred head had snapped DogDay out of his conscious thoughts, “We all deserve peace, that means you too DogDay.” 

You were right.

It seems there are still many things to be learned.

“You are far too kind to me.” He sighed, leaning into your hand. You never moved your hand away from him. 

“Though we should probably get you cleaned up.” That sentence alone suddenly broke the comfortable atmosphere, still much rather comedic however. 

“Right,” DogDay barked, as if he really was laughing. His whole body shook, it was rather a wave of happiness. Something he had not often felt, it had almost shocked him a little. “I believe they would have some bandages and towels nearby, water too.” Your companion then noted it would most likely be at a medical station somewhere.

You raised a brow at this, causing DogDay to nod with an air of laughter about him as he spoke once more whilst you had hoisted him over your shoulders. “I worked with children quite more often than not, you would be surprised at the amount of things that happen during playtime Angel.”

[Taglist: @zacklover24 ]

[purple-babygirl]

don't call me daddy IV

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x little!f!reader

Word count: 5,540

Summary : In a world where littles are openly themselves, they volunteer to help and be helped by willing caregivers. In spite of himself, Bucky finds himself stuck with one and to keep the nagging away, he has to learn how to be around her with everything that that entails.

Warnings: crying, a flu, coughing, shots, age regression

A/N: forgive me for the lateness with this one. i was very sick, like bed-ridden sick, and when i got a little better i got to writing right away. please be kind to me with this one, i'm still high on meds:" please enjoy xx💜💜

~

“Call me daddy.”

“What?” She was suddenly pulling away as if Bucky was made up of scorching metal.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He asked with a small smile, wiping any residue tears on his face.

What she wanted… he was only suggesting that she called him daddy because he thought it was what she wanted? Was this his way of returning the favor because she hugged him after a nightmare?

Now she was really hurt.

Bucky was unknowingly emphasizing the fact that he didn’t want this type of relationship, didn’t want her. He was only doing it to show gratitude.

“No.” She shook her head, getting up from the floor.

“No?” Bucky was genuinely confused as he followed her with his eyes.

He thought he was finally making things right, giving her what she wanted.

“I wanna go back.”

“What?!”

“I wanna go back, please take me back.” Her voice wasn’t even sad or frantic, only small and disheartened.

“Back where?! The couch is right there if you wanna go!” Bucky became angry again.

He felt rejected and he felt small. Was it his touch that made her pull back? Was it the daddy thing? Was he so repulsive?

“No, back, out of here.”

“Back where?! It’s the middle of the night!” Bucky raised his voice in frustration, the nightmare nerves barely out of his body.

Has she lost her mind? Why was she acting like this now? What was he supposed to do to please her and her little mind?

“Take me back to Mrs. Morrison,” she insisted calmly as she collected her slippers and stashed them back in her bag.

He looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, not getting what happened or where he went wrong.

She wasn’t even tearing up, it was like a switch has flipped inside of her.

“Just— just talk to me, okay? What happened?” Bucky fervently needed her to stop, needed to understand.

“Bucky was right. This isn’t gonna work. Please just take me back.”

Her words reopened Bucky’s wounds that her sweet gestures had once closed. What did she mean “isn’t gonna work”? Was he just deemed irredeemable? Again?

“But why?!”

“I just wanna go back.” Was all she gave him; no explanation and no reasons.

Bucky wouldn’t understand.

“You know what? Fine! I’ll take you back first thing in the morning. Go back to the fucking couch, stay away from me!”

She silently got the wolf stuffie, leaving it on the kitchen counter, and went back, no crying and no trials to correct him on his choice of bad words.

Did she really want to leave? Was she really going to leave him come morning?

~

When it was lit up enough, Bucky went for a run, trying to blow off some steam because he felt like he was about to explode.

Why did he let her in? He shouldn’t have done that. She didn’t deserve to get this close, no one did.

Did he seriously think he was accepted and understood by this stranger after 7 days of time together?

No matter what the purpose she was serving was, she could never understand how hard Bucky had had it.

Still, something kept pulling him to her. Something inside of him didn’t want her to leave him. Not now that he was used to her; that he wanted to be used to her.

It's been only a week and Bucky was ready to give human relationships another chance. She made him feel like healing wasn’t a faraway dream.

He was going to try and talk to her one last time and if she still wanted to leave, he would gladly let her.

When he opened his door, she was dressed and waiting for Bucky on the couch, ready to go.

“So you were serious about leaving?” Bucky asks as he kicks his shoes off.

“Yes. Bucky is gonna take me back, right?”

“If that’s really what you want?”

She didn’t trust her voice so she just nodded.

“Why?”

“Just because.”

“Talk to me like I’m talking to you!” Bucky snapped.

She remained silent this time, not ready for a fight.

“Why do you wanna leave? What did I do?”

“Bucky didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?!”

“That is it.”

“What?!”

“Bucky didn’t do anything. Bucky didn’t even look at Doll’s file. Bucky never even called Doll Doll.” Only now did her tears come back, rolling down her cheeks with ease as she spilled out all that she’s been holding inside of her, “Bucky never wanted Doll.”

“I— I didn’t have time to look at the file. We were in a hurry so I picked the first one in the batch!” Bucky tried to explain, but quickly realized what he'd said.

A sob escaped her at the revelation that she was picked at random, that it could’ve been anyone else and that he really never wanted her.

“That’s not what I meant. I— listen, at first maybe I didn’t want you, but it’s different now!”

“Bucky never even picked me?” She cried, her broken voice crushing his heart.

“I—”

“Please take me back.” She wiped at her face, trying to steady her breathing.

“But—”

“Please, Bucky, please.”

The way she begged him with teary eyes and a shaky voice made Bucky stand up despite himself to put his shoes back on to take her back.

He might’ve not gotten a chance to explain himself, but he’s done her enough damage and he wasn’t going to continue being the reason she cried when she has been the reason he stopped.

“Let’s go.” Bucky pursed his lips and opened the door for her, her bag in hand, knowing it will never be the same when he came back.

~

“Doll, now that you’re big at least tell me anything, dear. Did he do anything—”

“He didn’t do anything, Mrs. Morrison. I promise you. Bucky was nothing but a gentleman with me.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I just think I wasn’t ready. I shouldn’t have listed my little self as ready.” She shook her head with a polite smile.

Mrs. Morrison wasn’t buying it, but she couldn’t push her anymore.

“Alright, dear. I’ll go finish the report so Bucky’s therapist can get her copy in the morning.”

“Mrs. Morrison, please,” she held the older woman’s hand imploringly, “Bucky didn’t do but good. Make sure you’re just to him in your report.”

“Okay, doll. Whatever you say, dear.” She woman shook her head, giving up the argument before standing up and leaving the room.

It wasn’t the full truth, but she did believe she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t going to be ready for a long time, so it was better if she just went back home and let herself be grounded a little.

~

“Please, I need to see her.” Bucky begged in front of Mrs. Morrison’s desk.

“Not before you tell me what you did to her, Mr. Barnes!”

“I— I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what she said too, but I know it’s not the truth!”

“Wait, what? I— please let me see her.”

“She’s not here, Sergeant Barnes.”

“What? Where is she?”

“Home,” the woman replied shortly, still mad at Bucky.

“I thought that was where they lived?”

The woman shook her head in disappointment, “you never read your copy of the file, did you?”

Bucky remained silent, too embarrassed to speak. Why did everyone keep asking about the damn file!

“No, they don’t live here. She went back to her life at her house.”

“Well, can you give me the address?”

“Of course, not! That’s private information and you two don’t even seem to have ended on good terms!”

“Please? I need to fix this.”

“You already had time to do that, Mr. Barnes.”

“Well… At least give me a chance to apologize.”

“I don’t know.” The woman hesitated.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” Bucky begged sincerely.

“Anything?” Mrs. Morrison smiled suddenly, making Bucky worry a little, but he meant his words nonetheless.

“Anything.”

~

“Corgi, calm down!” Bucky heard her sweet laugh as she approached the dog’s barks.

“You call your corgi Corgi?” He asked her with a smile.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?” Her smile quickly disappeared and a surprised frown replaced it.

“I—”

“Okay, I finished moving the new planters to the right side like you wanted— hello?” The man who cut Bucky off was offering him a hand.

Bucky shook it coldly, his signature frown staring the man down, “hey.”

“I’m Adam,” the man said with a friendly smile.

“Sergeant James Barnes.”

“Bucky, this is Adam, my best friend and neighbor, Adam, this is Bucky… a friend.” She introduced them, not sure of what to say about Bucky.

Meanwhile, Bucky felt something weigh down on him. Was it the fact that he wished she said more than just “a friend”? Was it the presence of this Adam guy? Was that… jealousy?!

“Right, so I’m gonna go now, but call me if you need anything, okay?” Adam said, looking at them both suspiciously.

“I will. Thank you for today, Adam. You’re the best.” She gave the man a hug, smiling from ear to ear as she did it, too.

That was a smile Bucky has never seen.

“I know I know. Bye, Corgi! Bye, Sergeant, nice to meet you!” Adam shouted as he walked out of her porch.

Bucky only nodded even though he knew the man couldn’t see him. He didn’t care if he was rude. Who was that anyway?

She was expecting Bucky to talk when Adam was gone but he just stood there, fiddling with the bag in his hand as he stared at her, so she didn’t say anything either.

She was done initiating. If he came all the way here on his own, he could start a conversation on his own.

“Who was that?”

“Really? You came all the way here to ask me that?”

He stuttered and swallowed, knowing fully well that he had no right to such a question.

“You seem different.”

“You mean big?” She smiled sadly, noticing how much more comfortable Bucky was dealing with her like that.

Bucky nodded guiltily, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, I do have a life and responsibilities after all.” She shrugged, gesturing to her house and the puppy by her feet.

She was disappointed to say the least. First, he gave her a terrible week with him, then he returned her and never looked back and now he was on her porch for no clear reason or explanation, questioning her and her life?

Still, she felt a spark of hope in her chest at the fact that he was standing before her. There must’ve been a reason he came and it couldn’t be so he could fight more.

Bucky felt embarrassed, tongue-tied with guilt as he’s forgotten everything he has been wanting to say.

Then the sky started speaking for him, thundering loudly and making her jump with a hand on her heart.

“Oh, it’s gonna rain. Let’s go inside.”

For some reason, he assumed she was talking to the puppy but when she kept looking at him, Bucky gratefully moved his feet.

~

Her house was the epitome of coziness. It was a true home and it was nothing like Bucky’s.

It had actual furniture, colorful pieces he knew were carefully picked. It had wallpaper and picture frames and kitchenware and cute mugs and plates.

Only now did he know how much shit she could’ve given him for the place he made her stay in, but she didn’t.

“Bucky!”

“Yes?”

“I asked about your favorite tea.” She smiled, motioning to a number of varieties on her shelves.

“A coffee would be fine.”

“I’ll just make you earl grey with me.” She shrugged, ignoring his choice for a coffee at this relatively late hour of the evening.

“Hey!”

“It’s my house, my rules, old man!”

Wow! Big her was kind of feisty and it was making Bucky smile.

“What do you have there?” She asked, looking at the small plastic bag that Bucky’s been carrying in his hand.

“Oh, I— this is for you.” He handed her the bag, cheeks burning as he was still brand new when it came to such gestures.

“Oreos! And wolfie!” She called out happily when she looked inside the bag, “thank you so much!” She squeezed the tips of his fingers, smiling at him like he’d gotten her a rare diamond.

When she let go of his hand to open the package and taste the cookies, Bucky felt fear settle in his chest at the idea of having lost her forever.

He watched her try to hide the hug she was giving the white stuffed wolf before slipping it to her curious dog, “careful, Corgi.”

She didn’t lecture or blame him about his treatment of her, yes, nor did she even bring up the week she stayed at his house, but would she be willing to forgive him? Would she give him another chance?

Instead of screaming at him, she was sitting him down on a comfortable couch that had a soft blanket draped over it and serving him tea and cake. What kind of angel was she?

“If you don’t like it, I’ll make you coffee. But taste it first,” she set the tray with tea cups and a plate with a couple of cake slices on the little wooden coffee table and Bucky knew the smell of this tray was the only thing missing from her living room.

Now it was all perfect. It suited her so well.

“I made lime key cake this morning so you’re in luck. It goes really well with earl grey,” she told him, trying to get him to talk, to tell her why he was at her place a week later at 9 in the evening.

But he only nodded.

She didn’t push him. She has done enough coaxing and enough pushing. She didn’t have to do that anymore. If Bucky wanted to talk, he would have to talk on his own.

But he didn’t.

An hour later, she was getting sleepy and the rain was pouring even harder.

“I— I better go.” He stood up, patting his pockets nervously as if to make sure his belongings were in place.

So he came all the way here for nothing? He found her house and rode on his motorcycle all the way here for nothing?

“No way, you can’t drive your motor cycle in this rain!”

“I’m a super soldier, I don’t get sick,” Bucky argued with a smile, heart swelling at the idea that she still cared for him.

“I don’t care. The roads are slippery. It’s dangerous!”

“But—”

“No buts. You can have my bed, let me show you the room,” she said, never giving him space for a reply as she led the way to her bedroom.

“You really don’t have to. I can take the couch.” Or the floor

“The couch is mine. Corgi cries at night and doesn’t like to sleep alone. He’s still just a puppy.”

“Why don’t you just move his crate to your bedroom?”

“Because there’s a system in this house, Sergeant. We’re disciplined people.” She smiled playfully, “good night.”

And just like that, Bucky was alone in her bedroom, with her bed and sheets and blankets, where all the pillows smelled like her hair shampoo and the air was light and sweet. He was in heaven.

Bucky took his jacket off, draping it over the armchair by her vanity and her perfumes caught his eye.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but he couldn’t help himself as he picked up the first bottle and neared it to his nose.

Oh, lord, was this sexy. He imagined himself eating her up if he was to smell this perfume on her skin. It was captivating and it went well with her playful grown up personality.

He tried another bottle and it was a softer scent that he knew all too well. It was the one she wore when she was staying at his house. It smelt angelic, soft and welcoming.

Bucky had to stop himself from going down the line of perfumes because he didn’t think he could keep going.

He’d better go to bed and try to catch a few hours of sleep before the mind attacks started.

Grabbing a pillow that smelled like her, Bucky made himself as comfortable as could be on the wooden floor next to her bed, draping her overly soft blanket on his body.

~

“You call it a disciplined house but you don’t even have a dining table,” Bucky teased as he helped her bring the rest of the plates to the coffee table.

He was right actually. She lied last night. She could easily take Corgi to the bedroom with her, but what kind of hospitality would that be to give Bucky the couch when it was his first time visiting?

“At least my coffee table has space for more than 2 noodle cups,” she teased right back, hardly biting a smile.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her sassiness, smiling like an idiot at how easy she made everything.

Talking was easy around her. Existing was easy around her. Breathing was easy around her. And oh did he miss her.

“So…” she trailed, pouring orange juice in Bucky’s glass.

She couldn’t stay silent anymore. She had to understand why Bucky found her house and came to her after he’d clearly proven he didn’t want her. She wanted and tried to be the bigger person, but if he had something to say, she was ready to hear it now.

“I— I came here to say I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said the words that have been sitting on the back of his tongue for so long.

“Bucky…” she locked her eyes with his for a second, unable to read him, “you didn’t have to come all the way here. I didn’t tell Mrs. Morrison anything.”

The way she reassured him broke his heart. It was as if she wholeheartedly believed that all Bucky cared about was the final report.

But he cared about so much more. He cared about fixing this. He cared about her.

“I know. I did.”

“What?!”

“I told her everything.”

“Bucky— why?”

“I had to make it right.”

“Well, what did she say?” She chewed her lower lip nervously, worried everything has been ruined for Bucky.

“She made me serve a few hours at the institution and only when she got everyone’s approval did she agree to give me your address.”

“Everyone’s approval of what?” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“Of my storytelling skills,” Bucky replied proudly, putting some cheese on her plate for her when he noticed her freeze.

“Your storytelling— what?!” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, a huge smile breaking on her face.

“I spent a few nights reading bedtime stories to the residents there and I’ll have you know I did a pretty good job, though most of them wanted lullabies so I stole some of yours—”

“Hold on! You, Bucky Barnes, read bedtime stories and sang lullabies to littles at the institution?”

“Yes, I did.” Bucky nodded with a shrug.

“You did all of this so you could have my address?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I missed you, doll.”

“Doll?” Her eyes instantly teared up at the sole use of the name coming from him.

“And to tell you that I got to meet everyone that was available at the same time you were and none of them could ever compare. They’re all amazing people, but none of them made me feel like you’ve made me feel in that short week,” Bucky admitted softly, eyes hesitant to leave his fingers.

“I was terrible to you and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m sorry. I know now that I should’ve been better.”

“Bucky, it’s okay,” she said with a content smile, simply satisfied with his presence as she passed him the bread. That apology was genuinely enough for her.

“No, doll, it’s not. I— I did the opposite of everything a caregiver should’ve done. It's just… you made me nervous, scared.” Bucky admitted.

“I scared you?” She scoffed in surprise. She wasn’t expecting this one.

“Yes. The way you were fully yourself, the way you weren’t afraid to show it, the way you did the effort to relieve yourself of whatever you were suffering from, it all scared me. How you openly cried when you needed to. It scared me because I didn’t know how to be like you. I didn’t know how to choose trust and kindness again after everything that had happened to me. Your courage scared me.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Tears rolled down her face as she desperately felt the need to hold him and kiss every inch of him better, “why didn’t you talk to me? I would’ve understood.”

“I tried… that day… but talking about it made me wanna close up on myself even more. It made me more scared. It wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. And I can’t help it,” Bucky’s voice trembled as he fought his own tears.

He couldn’t believe he said those words out loud to someone else.

She left her seat and went to sit next to Bucky on the couch, her hands finding his and holding onto them for dear life.

“But when I came home to an empty living room after dropping you off at the institution, I knew what I'd lost. I realized what an asshole I’ve been to you. And I missed you. I missed you so much when I closed the door and you weren’t on the couch looking at me,” he poured his heart out to her with tears in his eyes.

She squeezed his hand more, trying to hug his fingers with hers but they were too short to fully cover his hands.

“You don’t have to give me another chance, but I felt like I could’ve died if I didn’t tell you how sorry I was and am. I’m sorry I didn’t give myself time to understand you and appreciate you for everything that you were, doll. I’m sorry I was so stupid and let you slip away from my hands. I’m sorry I was undeserving of your kindness and softness and love,” Bucky told her with tears pouring down his face, matching hers as she finally got to listen to all that he had to say.

“I really am sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to be a good daddy to you and I’m sorry I didn’t try to learn. It’s all my fault because you, doll, deserve someone who would bust their ass trying for you,” Bucky sighed, “but if you’d let me, I’ll spend as much time as you’ll allow me doing that.”

“Thank you for finding me.” She threw herself in his arms and Bucky felt his soul come back to him as he held her tight to his body.

“Thank you for welcoming me back in despite everything I’ve put you through. I know I don’t deserve it.” Bucky squeezed her closer, the smell of her hair calming his senses.

“You’re welcome.” She pulled back to wipe his tears away, giving him a smile prettier than anything he’s ever seen, “now let’s eat before the eggs go cold.” She wiped her eyes quickly before grabbing the spoon and putting some eggs on Bucky’s plate.

“Does that smile mean you forgive me, doll?” Bucky asked hopefully.

“I forgive you, Sarge.” She smiled at him, what was in her heart showing in her eyes.

“You won’t regret it,” he promised, putting some food in his mouth to stop any upcoming tears.

They ate silently in peace for a second before Bucky spoke out.

“Seriously though, who was that Adam guy?!”

“Way to ruin a moment, Bucky,” she teased.

But Bucky didn’t smile. He remained silent waiting for her answer with a tiny frown.

“I told you he’s my best friend and he lives next door.”

 Bucky’s frown deepened slightly. So that man got to see her every day huh?

“With his wife,” she added, biting back a smile as she watched his face relax.

“Don’t toy with me like that, doll.”

“I couldn’t help it. This is all new to me and I’m having fun!”

“Does he come here a lot?”

“Yes, Bucky. It’s what friends do, they visit,” she laughed.

“I don’t see Sam that often and we’re fine.” He shrugged unconvincingly, making her laugh more.

“He’s a good man, you’ll come to like him. Plus, he helped me a lot those past weeks and took care of my garden and Corgi while I was away so I owe him.”

“So I’m seeing a farmer now?” Bucky teased.

“Oh look who’s not so quiet anymore!” She teased back with a giggle, “at least my fridge never runs out of tomatoes.”

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky asked, his face serious again.

She nodded in reply, a smile gracing her patient features.

“Why did it bother you so much when I told you to call me daddy?”

She hummed, letting go of her fork.

“It’s okay if you don’t wanna answ—”

“It made me feel like you were returning a favor. Doing something because you felt like you had to do it, like it was the right thing to do, but not because you really wanted it. Yes, I wanted to call you daddy with my whole heart, but only if you wanted it too. It hurt because at the time I knew you still hadn’t accepted me for who I was and was just saying that so you could repay me for the hug I was giving you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky shock his head in remorse, “I will never understand how you managed to put up with me for a whole week.”

“It’s because I know what it’s like to feel unwanted, Bucky. I know what it feels like to be unloved and unaccepted, especially by those who should give you unconditional love.”

“Family?” Bucky asked with a sad smile.

She nodded with a similar smile, “I know what it’s like to be more than your pain and anger with others only seeing the snapping and frowning. Little me doesn’t want anyone else to feel unloved like that because she knows how bad it all is. So she gives. She’s patient and she’s kind and sometimes I don’t think I could’ve accessed that part of myself if it wasn’t for her.”

“How so?”

“Grown ups are more cautious because they always have the consequences to things like vulnerability right in front of their eyes. We’re more likely to be afraid to show our hearts because we know we could get hurt bad because of it. Little me isn’t scared of that. She wakes up brand new every day. She wears her heart on her sleeve and trusts her love to do the magic.”

“You’re an amazing person.” Bucky raised her hand to his lips to press a timid kiss without much thought, “I guess I have a lot to learn from you, doll.”

“Don’t say stuff like that!” She whined playfully, cheeks going hot as she turned away shyly, “plus, do you have a death wish?” She raised a playful eyebrow.

“It’s true though— what?”

“I didn’t give you permission to kiss me,” she teased, reminding him of the time she kissed his cheek on her first day at his house.

Bucky smiled sheepishly, whispering out an apology even though he knew she was joking.

Bucky stopped himself when she started coughing abruptly.

She’s been coughing a little here and there since morning, but he didn’t think anything of it.

She shook her head, still coughing as she ran to the bathroom, needing to find any sort of cold medicine. She knew what this was.

Bucky hurried behind her, “what’s wrong?”

In a second, she was bending forward, coughing her heart out.

“Are you okay?!”

She shook her head again, trying to calm down, “I thought it was just a sore throat but it’s getting worse.”

“Let’s get you to the doctor,” Bucky said, worry eating away inside his chest as he watched her cough more.

He quickly grabbed her jacket and keys, leading her out to her car.

~

“It’s because I let you sleep on the couch, isn’t it? You got cold,” Bucky said, running his fingers through his hair nervously as he paced around the room.

He hasn’t stopped blaming himself since they’d returned from the doctor’s. She caught a bad flu and Bucky quickly believed it was his fault.

“No, Bucky. It’s not that.”

“You don’t have to defend me, doll. It’s because of me. I’ve managed to hurt you again. And I don’t even use beds. I should’ve never let you sleep out here.”

“Hey! Calm down please! It’s not you... It was me.” She released a sigh, biting her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when the rain got even worse after you went to bed. I thought I’d come out and cover the motorcycle so that it wouldn’t get all muddy and you’d have a hard time cleaning it,” she explained, fiddling with her fingers.

“That’s still because of me,” Bucky sighed.

“Come on, it’s not like you made me!” Her hoarse voice tried to reassure.

Bucky only ran his fingers through his messy hair again, not knowing what to say or do to make this one right.

“Bucky, please, I’m sick. All I want is for you to stay beside me and not blame yourself.” Her frown was back to her beautiful face and Bucky didn’t like it, “can you do that for me?”

He didn’t like how sick and scratchy her voice sounded either so he wasn’t about to make talk more with a throat like that.

“I’ve already proven I suck at taking care of you, doll,” Bucky chuckled sadly.

“Do you want forgiveness or not?” She joked.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m right here.”

“Is it dangerous for you though? I don’t want you to get it too.”

“I can’t get sick, remember?” Bucky smiled, rubbing her back lightly, “I’m your nurse now.”

“Is that so?” She giggled.

“Yeah.” He nodded confidently.

“You’re definitely not dressed for it,” she teased, giving him her tongue.

“Oh, are you into that kinda thing, doll?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile she has never seen before on his pink lips.

“Bucky!” She squealed, hiding her face with the covers, making Bucky laugh.

The sound was heaven to her ears and despite being awfully sick, she couldn’t wish for a better outcome for Bucky’s visit.

“Shit, here it comes again,” she gulped before starting another fit of harsh coughing.

“Bad word,” he whispered to her, making her smile tiredly as she continued coughing.

~

“I don’t wanna go,” she whined as Bucky gently forced her arm inside her jacket.

“We have to. You need your shots to get better.” Bucky covered her head with the hood of her jacket to make sure she was warm before leading her outside.

“But shots hurt,” she whined more with teary eyes.

“I’ll be right there, remember?”

“That’s not gonna do anything!” She whined further.

“Hey!” Bucky pretended to be hurt as he helped her inside the car.

She sighed with a grateful smile, “fine, hugs or I don’t go.”

“Hugs it is.” Bucky smiled back, taking seat next to her before starting the car.

~

“No, no, no, please. I’m not ready, I don’t want it. Give me pills instead, give me pills,” she cried in Bucky’s chest as she saw the doctor get the shot ready.

“Doll, it’s okay, I promise. I got you,” Bucky said, feeling as helpless as ever.

He wished he could get the shots for her, but it wasn’t possible. He could feel something different about her. She looked like she was slipping into her little headspace and it made Bucky nervous, oh so nervous, that he might mess up and not be able to deal with her again.

She barely calmed down enough for Bucky to help her small hands lower her pants just enough for the doctor to have space to push the needle in.

She moaned in pain as she hid her face in Bucky’s chest, crying for real when she felt the strong medicine inside the needle spread inside her.

“It stings. It stings bad,” she sobbed, hands clutching Bucky’s shirt as he covered her behind again and made sure she was properly covered.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’re going home now, it’s over,” Bucky cooed, rubbing and patting her back with his big hand.

“It hurts, daddy,” she sniveled in his ear and Bucky froze.

Those innocent teary eyes looking up at him like that made him feel a lot of things. But most importantly, they made him feel like he could do this. He could take care of this sweet girl without messing up this time. Her love would show him how.

“I got you, doll. Daddy’s got you.”

~

part V

~

Tag List:

@harrysthiccthighss

@tinystudentfirepurse

@lavendercitizen

@tumblin-theworldaway

@pretty-pop-princess-hs

@lilymurphy03

@idontwannagomrstarkk

@glxwingrxse

@littlelioncub43

@mathletemadison

@canned-rootbear

@pandaxnienke

@loveisallyouneed1125

@floral-recs

@littlemoonkiller

@hallecarey1

@vespasianphantom

@vicmc624

@winters1917

@ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal

@blkmystery

@millercontracting

@trappedwriter

@am-3-thyst

@obsessedwithquinn

@sydnielauryn

@alittlerayof-pitchblack

@olipiaa

@peterparkersgirl-blog

@buckybarnessweetheart

@thealyrs

@colorfulbluebirdpainter

@stuckysgirl27

@ihavetwoholesforareason

@princess-bee0

@pastel-noah168

@steeph-aniie

@buckitostan

@onthr-dream

[mypoisonedvine]

now here’s a thought: jonathan crane being seduced by one of his patients

I WAS SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT THIS LIKE A JOKER/HARLEY QUINN MOMENT!! aaaand that's how it turned into basically a whole ass oneshot, oops

hook, line, and sinker - 1.6k words

warnings: manipulation, sexual themes/groping (18+ only please), fluff but with a dark-ish twist

"Sometimes I think you're the only one who understands me," you admitted shyly, biting your lip and looking down at the tile floor beneath you.

He leaned in a little closer, resting his arms on the table between you. "You know," he replied, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it though not quite a whisper yet, "sometimes I feel the same way."

You smiled as you looked up at him again, finding a new brightness in his eyes. "Really?" you beamed.

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing, "I really enjoy our little talks. I mean, sometimes I can't believe I'm getting paid to see you."

Giggling a little, you remembered the first time he let his guard down with you, just a bit; for weeks he'd easily dodged any personal questions, clearly knowing it was a slippery slope to countertransference and an inappropriate relationship. Unfortunately for him and everyone who had insisted that Arkham was the only facility you'd never be able to escape from, you knew from the beginning that you could use him.

You could smell it on him: that deep, overwhelming loneliness. You were far too familiar with it yourself to miss it in someone else. Sure, he kept it hidden under layer after layer of intelligence, professionalism, faked normalcy-- but it was there, and it was calling out for someone else to truly see him. You saw him from the second he walked in that armored door, back when they still kept you in the jacket; now, months later, you'd convinced him you weren't a threat and that he was the one in control of these sessions.

The other facilities, with their inspiration murals and their bean bag chairs, they were a breeze to break out of. You knew that Arkham Supermax was going to be an entirely new challenge, but you'd been preparing since the beginning. Each week with Dr. Crane, you got him to be a little naughtier for you-- first it was as simple as convincing him to let your sessions go long, leaving everyone else waiting as you poured your soul out for an extra half hour. Convincing him that you needed him, that only he could help you. Then it was the praise-- you're changing my life, I've had so many shrinks and you're the first that really listened, you're so incredible-- all that shit he'd probably been craving since his daddy didn't hug him enough or something.

Once you'd given him some compliments, he returned one to you: you made up some sob story about your low self-esteem just to get him to admit that you were attractive, and you took the compliment with a coy little thank you, Dr. Crane... that's high praise coming from you.

Then it was contraband, just little stuff. He snagged you an extra serving of dessert on your birthday; he brought you a copy of your favorite book, as a reward for increasingly good behavior. Sometimes you thought about just asking him straight-up for a metal file or few paperclips, but that would be risky-- you could throw away all your work if you jumped the gun too soon.

Then there was the journal... you knew, no matter how much he swore he wouldn't, that he was going to read that fucking journal. You couldn't be sure if that was always the plan, or if it was just a temptation he would eventually surrender to, but you wrote all these fucked up little fantasies in that journal and imagined how he'd have to loosen his tie when he read them.

Back in January: Dr. Crane keeps asking about my nightmares, I couldn't possibly admit that I've started having sexual dreams about him...

And then there was the entry from March: I didn't mean to upset him yesterday but he snapped at me when I was talking about my anger-- he said I wasn't taking accountability-- and when he got stern with me I felt myself getting wet, is that bad?

And the best one yet, just a few days ago: Dear diary, I swore I wouldn't tell anyone what he told me, so I won't even tell you-- but I'll just say that when Jonathan showed me his mask, I fell totally in love with him. People are always hiding who they really are, but he knows me, and now I know him, too. I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I know we're meant for each other.

Your heart was racing as you realized it might all pay off tonight. Listening to his rambling rants about fear and society and humanity, journaling about your 'crush' like a schoolgirl, making doe-eyes at him during sessions-- it was all about to happen, you had him in your pocket.

"Sometimes, I..." he began again, looking down at your hands shackled to the table, "I think about seeing you more. When I'm not even here, I mean..."

You pretended to be surprised by that. "Really? I mean... do you think about just talking to me, or...?"

He smiled a little, his face turning a bit pinker. "Do you think about us doing more than just talking?" he turned the question on you instead.

"Doctor, I--"

"Jonathan."

You had to fight off a smirk; you reached forward across the table, jingling the chains that held you down, but they were just long enough to reach to his hands. You gently brushed your fingers over his, hearing him sigh as he opened his hand for you to place your hand in. You ran your middle finger delicately in a line along his palm, and he shuddered a bit. Hook, line, and sinker. "Jonathan," you started again in a low purr, "I think about so much more than talking."

"Do you ever think about... about if we could be together...?" he pressed, closing his grip to hold your hand. After this long of a seduction, you couldn't deny that touching him in such an innocuous way was getting you a little hot. Just because you were manipulating him didn't mean you were completely faking an attraction, he was sexy-- and gullible. You liked that in a man.

Trying to look conflicted, you glanced away. "I try not to imagine that," you explained, "it's... it's not possible, with me in here. I'm fine with this, if this is all I can get-- seeing you three times a week for our sessions, telling you things I never thought I'd tell anyone. I can be okay with that. Just knowing you feel even a fraction of what I do is like-- it's like-- I don't even know how to describe it. It's amazing."

Leaning in even more, he reached up and held your face-- tenderly, reverently-- and you shut your eyes as you leaned into his touch. "I wish I was as unselfish as you," he replied, "but I need more-- I need to really be with you."

You brought your hand up to hold his, jerking the chain a bit. "I need-- I need you, too," you mumbled. "Please, Jonathan," you begged in a whisper as you opened your eyes to meet his wanting gaze, "I wanna be yours."

He sat up and leaned over the table in a split second, kissing you hard; you had to tilt your head back to accommodate the height difference as you were still sitting, and it made it even easier for him to hold your head like they used to in those old Hollywood movies-- the ones they showed here on Thursday nights, but you weren't allowed to go because you 'didn't integrate well with the general population' or whatever.

As he kissed you, hungry but relatively reserved, it was you that took it further: carefully running your tongue over his lips, opening your mouth for him to claim, having to hold back a grin when he moaned softly against you. "Touch me," you begged him in a rare moment of reprieve from the kiss, "please-- I've wanted you to for so long--"

He groaned a little as his hand slid down to your chest, opening one button of your uniform jumpsuit; he kissed your neck as he dipped his hand inside, groping your chest underneath the fabric. Your hips naturally rocked forward in the metal chair, your deprived body desperate to be filled after almost a year of forced celibacy in this prison. "Fuck," he mumbled against your skin, tweaking a nipple between his fingers, "you know we can't-- not here--"

"I know," you purred, only barely able to reach his shoulder with your hands chained-- otherwise you'd be running your fingers through his hair, holding on to his neck, pulling him closer. "But I need you-- I don't think I've ever needed anything this much..."

He shook his head; "Me either," he admitted.

"I need to feel you inside me."

He growled, grip tightening on your breast, and you smiled proudly. "I can't just leave you here," he realized, like it was his idea. "We need to be together-- outside of this place."

"I'll go anywhere with you," you promised him.

Pulling back and looking into your eyes, he brought both his hands to your face, brushing your hair aside quickly. "If I do this for you... you have to promise me. You have to be mine."

"Can you really do that?" you wondered. "Get me out?"

"I'll find a way," he assured, "I'll do anything."

You smiled up at his determined expression, flashing your best big-wet-needy eyes at him. "Jonathan," you cooed, "I'm already yours."

[gremlingottoosilly]

Please, Stand by [dark!Ghost x fem!Reader x dark!Soap]

You woke up in your captor's apartment. Turns out, getting out of the grasp of two trained special forces soldiers isn't exactly an easy task.

TW and tags: non-con to dub-con, size difference, power imbalance, fingering, hurt/comfort(but it comes from the ones who hurt you), yandere, dark!141, possessive 141, obsessive 141, kidnapping. AO3

Simon never slept this well on leave. 

Always something happening – Soap breathing too loudly in their fucking bed, nightmares getting too wild even with as many meds as he could possibly take, neighbors behaving as if he wouldn’t be able to bloody shoot ‘em all and get away with it – he never enjoyed sitting at this place without a purpose, as much as he enjoyed not having to buy the whole space for himself. Johnny was really making things stir up a little around here – but it wasn’t enough. Never. 

Ghost found himself dumbfounded this exact morning, though – he gave up the space in the bedroom for you and Soap, knowing that the Scotsman has a much smoother way with women, and they don’t want to scare you too much. Poor thing, you’re already terrified of them – this won’t do, they aren’t monsters. A bit forceful, yes, but men in this position don’t exactly have much time for courting – and it's not like you’d agree to relationships with four of them at the exact same time if you really had a choice. Just means they have to take the choice away from you. Hell, he even thought of preparing your breakfast in bed – something that he never thought of doing. You were so good for him, for Soap, so nice and obedient, he almost forgot it was all because of the alcohol – not because you really wanted them so badly. Ghost isn’t a stranger to hookups and dates at random pubs where he could afford to not take his mask off – but it’s the first time he liked a girl so much. The first time he really wanted to just take you and… *** You woke up somewhere around noon. The aftermath of your hangover still lingered in the fog in your head as you were desperately trying to cling to consciousness. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to curl down and cry. You wanted to…

Ah, you’re finally awake. Good for you. 

The first thing that you feel is nausea. You already threw up at night, it’s evident by the stale taste of bile in your mouth – but you still feel like turning your stomach upside down and shaking it a little. 

The second thing you feel is a heavy hand on your waist. It’s muscly, hairy, covered in scars and burn marks – you don’t think that a man with hands like this would be at your taste for one-night stands. You don’t think you ever had a hookup session with a random person you didn’t even know, but whoever is clinging to your body like you’re a teddy bear has another opinion about acting all lovey-dovey with their playthings for the night. You try to worm your way out of the grasp, but the guy only tightens it. 

— Don’t move, lassie. I knew how ye feel. 

You seriously doubt that. 

— Where am I? 

Your voice is raspy, in desperate need of water. You don’t want to beg them for this, so you just bite your lips, hoping your voice doesn’t sound too pathetic. You’d kill for a bottle of water right now. 

— In yer home. 

— This is not…

— It will be, hen. Dinnae havta worry ‘bout that okay?

Guy – Soap, you remember, heard when the other guy, the second guy, was talking to him. Like you weren’t even fucking there like you didn’t have a say in the situation. You feel a trail of sloppy kisses landing on your neck, and your shoulders – damp skin is sweaty under the touches. You feel sluggish like you usually do on a hungover – like you usually do after a really nice girl's night out. 

Soreness between your legs makes you choke on your tears. You don’t want to cry, not in the presence of your captors. Not when all the memories you have is how soft they tried to be. How much did your alcohol-dazed mind like it. The thrill of them knowing all of your special buttons without you ever having to ask – you hate them, you want to hate them, you need to hate them. But you’re thirsty, hungry, your head hurts, you feel like shit, and they still didn’t beat you yet. 

The survival instinct comes to life when you hear the door opening. 

You struggle out of his grasp – thankfully, the guy is sleepy, he didn’t put up much of a fight. You manage to get out and fall on the fluffy carpet, surprisingly nice for a place where two rough looking bachelors are living. You don’t have enough time to think about the texture of the carpet, as you scramble on your feet and run. 

Fuck this, fuck everything, fuck trying to be soft and obedient – they don’t care about showing their faces and names to you, that you can just run to the police. Probably means they are going to kill you right after the cuddling session – and you’d rather be traumatised than dead. You think. Probably. Maybe. 

In your struggle, you didn’t even think of thinking that if the door is opening, it means that someone will be standing on the other side – or the apartment is extremely haunted. 

It wasn’t extremely haunted. Your cheek is flattened against a broad chest. A pair of hands that smell of tobacco and leather are forcing you into this perverse version of a hug, leaving you without any chance of getting out. All of your attempts at screaming are left with nothing but weird bubbly sounds as you struggle to breathe. You don’t want to panic, but, hell, you feel like you’re going to fucking die. 

Price had just seen the most beautiful woman of his life. 

With tears running down her cheeks, messy makeup, and even messier hair. She is wearing Soap’s T-shirt, which isn’t ideal, but no one is perfect, and even the prettiest girl out there has her flaws. She is crying and panicking, and she looks so bloody fantastic with her arse showing every time she tries to wiggle her way out of his grasp, and he doesn’t want to behave too brutally, but he wants to see the marks from his fingers grasping her wrists. He knew he saw you yesterday, fucked you yesterday. Held your hair as you were throwing up and forcing yourself to stop fucking vomiting all over the place – but you’re even prettier now, in the dim morning sun. Crying and struggling in his grasp, he can’t wait to share you with others – he knows Kyle would love fucking that tight arse of yours. Price would get a kick out of making you his stupid girl. 

And they, well, they will always have a special treatment reserved just for you. Gosh, you’re beautiful. Ghost knows why they had to take you. 

— Quiet, luv. Quiet. Calm down. — Let me…fuck you, let me go! You push at his chest, and the only thing he feels is the way his dick starts throbbing in his pants again. Gods, you’re fucking beautiful – much, much prettier than any girl he fucked through his life. So feisty once you’re sober, he knows how much fun you’re having in store for them once you’ve regained at least part of your strengths. — I will fuck you. Later. 

— No! — Now, if you insist on yelling so much. He gently forces you closer, his hand slipping to cup your arse. You feel divine in his arms – he doesn’t know how Soap manages to steady himself and not fuck you right in the car. He did make you suck his dick, but it obviously wasn’t enough – and won’t be, with how much you struggle now when the alcohol finally wears off. Ghost gives your ass a little squeeze, then – a few slaps, just to make sure you’re nice and obedient for them. You obviously haven’t worn panties under Johnny’s shirt, easy access doing easy accessing, and so when he finally managed to slip his fingers in your cunt, he was pleased to find out it was soaked. — You’re wet, luv. Can’t get more ready than this. 

You whimper in his chest, still terrified. He supposed you should be – he is wearing the mask, not wanting to scare you with his scars and intense gaze. Skull balaclava isn’t doing a good job at making you calmer, but…well, he can try to think about something. Soap had already shown you his face, and it’s not like you’re going anywhere. They would catch you faster than you could run to the local authorities – as much as you would love to think otherwise. Prey aren’t known for their wits, after all. — Pl…please, just let me go. Please? I won’t…

— Won’t tell anyone? 

— Yes! Please, I…I need to work. I have a shift in the… — You went to a pub before your shift? 

You sob, your little excuses clearly aren’t working. Ghost brushes his rough fingers among your folds, the stimulation on your pussy making you shiver. He knows you’re sore, his dick isn’t exactly tiny – you need some more orgasms to calm down, maybe get you nice and relaxed for them. If he knows his sergeant, he already got a word out to the rest of the team – and although Ghost really, really wants to just take you with them and share you as their little duo, Gaz and Captain deserve to have something nice too. Deserve to have someone nice. 

Ghost pulls his fingers out as soon as your whimpers turn into moans. He wants you nice and wet, but he needs you to beg for it. To recognize that the only way you’ll get anything around here is through obedience and behaving like a cute kitten, they decided to scoop from the streets. Not exactly a subtle look, but he can spell it out for you later. Make their shared dumb girl just a bit less dim. Maybe teach you a few manners – you don’t start a conversation with your captors from curses, for example. 

— Please. I…I have a family. 

Uh-oh. 

Tough shit, Ghost thinks. 

It would have worked in Private Riley – before he got into captivity himself before he got almost killed. Before he has lost everything he ever loved – and before he found a family in people who have the wondrous ability to enable his worst and best traits at the same fucking time. If you were a bit less weak, a bit more resilient if you didn’t cry as much and reminded him of himself in the past – who knows, you could have pulled at his heartstrings. 

But Lieutenant Ryley wants a girl to warm up his bed, and the beds of his comrades – and he knows you would do just perfect. So, he scoops you in his arms, like a disobedient kitten, and puts you in a place where, as he knows, all misery dies and the place where he is crawling every time he falls a bit down. 

He pushes you back to Soap’s bed. 

You cry even more when two beefy hands force you into a tight hug – Johnny is still half-asleep, and his growly sleepy voice makes your hair stand at ends. You hate them, you despise them, you feel like you’re going to fucking die rather than fall asleep in their embrace again, but Soap kisses your neck and whispers something in your ear – something accented, deep, no doubt dirty. Something that makes you whimper again and again, something that…god, you feel like a slut.

You rub your thighs together, trying to chase the heat away, but you only feel warmer. It never gets easier, you suppose – never gets just palatable enough. 

— Simon scared ye, bonnie? 

Johnny smiles when you only whimper, your desire to feel the warmth of another person making you fall right into the guy. It’s not something you’re proud of – Jesus Fucking Christ, you just snuggle with your kidnapper – but you need something to just feel…normal. Like hugs after a really good hookup. Like you just found someone to date and to kiss and to be in a proper relationship with. 

You whimper instead of answering, and you hear the Scot chuckling again, his grip on you getting tighter. He is like a koala – and you feel pretty…fine in his grasp. You’re too scared to get feisty because you already tried, and it just returns you to point A. The starting dot. The first page of your miserable journey opens with a tight hug and the smell of breakfast cooking. Burning. Cursing through a thick English accent, you could hear something in the kitchen getting absolutely blasted – in a negative sense. 

— I’m not scared of you. 

He laughs again. You can smell something burning, and you hope that the second guy – the scary guy – will set the entire apartment on fire and kill everyone inside, including you. 

— Ye shouldn’t be. We will take care of ye. 

— I will run as soon as I can. 

— Lt could break your legs. I could break your legs. 

You sob again, but Soap doesn’t rush to comfort you. You need to get this through your skull – you’re not resisting them without consequences. You’re not running away without them catching and punishing you. You will not as much as step out of this bed without their permission – even if they’d have to haul you to the bathroom themselves while you’re kicking and screaming. You deserve to get knocked down a peg about the subject of you actually having rights – and you deserve to be calmed down later, once they think you have been punished enough. — I just want to go home. 

— Cannae do that, lassie. 

— Are you going to kill me? 

— Not if yer obedient. 

You hear the sound of something hitting a glass bowl. Then – gulps of liquid are poured into the same bowl. The burning have stopped, making you think that whatever the skull guy tried to cook, is getting thrown out of the balcony now – you almost smile trying to picture the burly man in a cute apron, desperately begging for the eggs to stop burning and turning into a crisp. You could cook for yourself, but…well, they probably won’t let you use the knife. 

— Are you going to rape me again? 

You are pulled into a much closer hug. Johnny’s dick poking at your ass, making you shiver in his hold – making you try to get out as fast as possible and failing miserably. You have suggested that the guy was a part of something illegal – maybe a mafia reinforcer, the dweller of those weird candy shops that were opened throughout the country, but you caught a glimpse of some camouflage in the dresser when Simon was taking off his clothes…they are in the military. Maybe, it’s even worse than you initially thought – no way anyone will believe you over them. No way you will win a fight against them. 

— We weren’t raping ye, bonnie, Just…taking what ye really needed. 

You came harder under them than you ever did under any of your boyfriends or from your fingers. You feel pathetic because his eyes are innocent and cute, and you don’t want to make them hurt you again. You don’t answer. 

— We’ll take care of ye. Just keep yer arse in place and don’t resist, aye? 

You can’t do anything but nod. Don’t want to do anything but nodding. 

He smiles at your neck again. Kisses you again. Ray of shivers run down your tummy. 

Ghost showed up in the bedroom again, holding a bowl of honey cereal. You are hungry – you need something to soak up the alcohol, and you’d want something greasy and terrible, or maybe a soup and tea later – but the cereals are better than whatever was slowly getting burned on the stove. 

They could drug you – then again, it feels like you’d prefer being unconscious anyway. 

— Price will be there in an hour. Got his call. 

The Scot being you, curses under his breath, his hands finally letting you go. You took the bowl and started to eat, as quickly as you could. 

A hand slips over your waist, steadying you. 

— We’ll make her presentable, aye? 

You don’t want to be presentable, but something in their voices are telling that you don’t have a choice. 

[cuubism]

thinking about that meta about the endless not really transforming into different forms but rather being all forms simultaneously and just being perceived differently from different points of view. and yeah

--

"So, Death was telling me something interesting about you yesterday," Hob says, sipping on his coffee.

Dream pouts, though he would probably deny that that's what it is. "You are gossiping with my sister behind my back?"

"You know we talk."

"Gossip," Dream mutters again, steps taking on a pace adjacent to an irritable trudge. "What unseemly things does she say about me?"

"Why do you think she says mean things about you?"

"Every time we speak, she calls me an idiot," Dream says, and Hob lets out a startled laugh.

"That's what siblings do," Hob reminds him. "You know she loves you."

"Hmm." Dream plucks Hob's coffee from his hand, taking a ponderous sip. "What praises does she heap upon me, then?"

Hob shakes his head in fond exasperation. "She says that you -- Endless, that is -- can like... change your appearance for different people? Or creatures? Like. If you met a cat you would appear as a cat to them?"

"You do not quite have the right of it," Dream says. He hasn't returned Hob's coffee, despite having insisted that he 'did not require mortal sustenance' when Hob had offered to get him his own.

"What's the right of it, then?"

"It is not for human minds to comprehend."

Hob groans. "At least humor me and try to explain? Do you turn into a cat or not?"

"I do not turn into anything," Dream says, offended. "How base and common."

"Shapeshifting is base and common, I'll make sure to tell all the shapeshifters I know," Hob tells him seriously.

Dream lets out a sigh that Hob recognizes as meaning fine, I will answer your inane questioning about the nature of my existence. The funny thing is, now that they've gotten over the six hundred year barrier of what's your name and what do you do for work, Dream delights in talking about his creations. He will speak at length about his work given half a chance.

It's the personal -- whether that's something as mundane as how he takes his tea or as fundamental as what an Endless even is, exactly -- that's been hard to get at.

"I am a cat," Dream explains.

Hob stares at him, looking up and down at the very man-shaped figure walking beside him as if he needs to double-check. "You're definitely not a cat."

"Yes, I am," Dream says. He does not appear to be joking.

And apparently Hob is still thirteen years old all these centuries later, because he says, "Prove it."

"You cannot see it because you are not a cat," Dream sighs, as if this is truly a tragic occurrence.

"Maybe I am a cat," Hob suggests, tucking his hands in his pockets, all casual. "How would you know?"

Dream gives him a sidelong look. "You are not a cat. Though perhaps you would be more peaceful as one."

"Doubt it. But wait, so, if I was a cat I would be able to see your cat form?"

"In essence, yes. But. You speak as if I would be donning a coat. These are not forms. Merely fragments. Simultaneous angles on a whole."

"Fragments," Hob repeats. He works it through like a particularly hard math problem. "Hang on. So. You're also a cat now. If we met a cat they would see a cat."

Fuck, this is getting weird.

Dream looks proud of Hob for getting it. "Yes."

"Could have attempted to explain that instead of just saying I am a cat," Hob tells him. "I also still maintain that you are not actually a cat."

"I am as much a cat as I am a human," Dream says.

"So, not," Hob says.

"No," Dream agrees. "Because I am Dream."

"You're a nightmare, is what you are," Hob mutters, and Dream smirks.

"That, too."

They've been walking in silence for another few minutes when Hob asks, "What's your real form?"

Dream frowns. "All of my forms are real, Hob."

"Sure, you look like this or that to different people. What do you look like to yourself?"

"All of my forms are real," Dream insists.

"So what I'm seeing now isn't some kind of default? Are you just always different? Is this like that we don't know how other people see colors 'cuz everyone's eyes could be different thing? Or is there any internal consistency to you?"

"I don't know what thing you're referring to."

"What I'm trying to find out is did I invent this version of you in my head?" Hob asks, getting stressed about it now. Did his subconscious somehow decide this was what Dream should look like? Presumably Dream knows what he looks like to Hob. What if he doesn't like it? "Did I just decide yep that's what dreams should look like in 1389 and you've been stuck wearing black ever since?"

Dream chuckles. Probably amused Hob would ever think he had that much power. "No. There is what you call internal consistency in my appearance. Different creatures, cultures, and so on will see different aspects of me, but there is not a different aspect for each person. It is not infinite."

Oh, thank god. "So, you want to look this way."

"I suppose."

Never a straight answer with him.

"Well, just for the record," Hob says, "I fell in love with the entity but I happen to quite like the shape as well."

"The shape," Dream repeats, with a smile.

"Here's where you're going to tell me you're also a triangle or something."

Dream is silent.

Fucking hell.

"I'm not even going to ask," Hob decides, forcibly moving on. "I have another question."

"You have many," Dream observes.

"That's what you love about me," Hob says, and Dream tilts his head as if conceding the point.

"If there was a human culture that thought of dreams as represented by cats," Hob starts, "they might see you as a cat?"

Dream sips at Hob's coffee, considering. "I suppose."

"And was there ever one?"

"No."

Hob lets out a long breath. Dream is frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes, but Hob can't say he doesn't enjoy it anyway, doesn't enjoy the puzzle. "Was there ever any culture like that, though? That saw their dream representation as something other than a person?"

"There was one that thought dreams lived in bubbles, therefore I was the reflection of light along a bubble's curve," Dream says, expressionlessly. As if that isn't wild and fascinating. "However, that civilization has since disbanded and morphed into different forms."

"Which civilization was that?"

"You would not know it," Dream says.

Hob tips his head back and groans. "God, you're like an edgy teenager who knew that indie band before they were cool. Oh, which band? No, you wouldn't know them, they're too niche, too underground."

"Underwater," says Dream. "It was a civilization of dolphins."

Hob trips over a crack in the road and just manages to catch himself. Dream stops by his side, watching him with some concern, like he worries Hob might break himself in his clumsiness.

"The way the world looks to you must be insane," Hob says, staring at Dream.

Dream's lips tip up in the faintest smile. "Human perspective is narrow."

"Clearly. I wish I could see all your other forms. Must be amazing."

"You wish to see them?" Dream sounds surprised.

Hob scoffs. "Of course. But it's not sounding very possible."

Dream inclines his head in agreement.

Then a thought occurs. "Wait." And god, Hob has said a lot of stupid-sounding things in his life but this is about to be one of the worst. "If I pretend to be a cat, can I see your cat form?"

Dream can never answer a simple question directly, but apparently this absurd query is fine. "I suppose it is possible in theory for you to see it. But pretending is not enough. You would have to wholly assume the perspective of a cat. I do not know if it would be possible in practice."

Hob's never needed much more encouragement than that to try something. "Alright. Hold my coffee."

"I am already holding it," Dream points out.

"Hush. I'm being a cat."

How he's supposed to do that, Hob doesn't know. He paces back and forth before Dream, squinting in the sunlight. He looks at him from every angle. He tries to imagine what cats might dream of. Mice? Freedom? Sleeping in warm places? Their dreams must be feeling and instinct-driven, not intellectual.

Hob crouches down, looking up at Dream from as close to a cat's height as he can manage. Dream merely raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to meow at me?" he asks mildly.

"Meow," Hob says, and Dream's mouth pops open in a round o of surprise that is one hundred percent worth the indignity of kneeling on a public street and meowing. "What do cats dream about, anyway?"

"World domination," Dream says solemnly.

"Haha," Hob says, but Dream doesn't take it back.

"Alright, I'm channeling megalomania," Hob tells him, shutting his eyes. "I'm channeling my inner despot."

"And an imposing one at that," Dream observes, looking down at him.

"Quiet, subject, can't you see I'm in the middle of ruling with an iron fist? Or paw?"

"I am quaking in my boots," Dream says. "Please, show mercy."

Hob squints back up at him. God, he's really trying, but it's hard. Cats live close to humans, but they are still so alien. Off in their own worlds, their own battles and hierarchies.

"Will it work if I lick you?" he asks. "Like how cats groom each other."

Dream blinks at him, once, twice, slowly, catlike, which he must be doing intentionally, because he's a bastard like that. "This is, as I believe you would say, getting odd."

Yeah, it is getting fucking odd.

"Perhaps you should try imagining my female form," Dream suggests, and if Hob weren't already on all fours on the sidewalk he'd have fallen over. "It is human, and may be easier."

"You have that?" Hob squeaks, scrambling back to his feet. "But I thought it was like, a species perspective thing? Do women just see you as a woman, then?" Then he shakes his head. "No, that's way too simplistic."

"Women can see me like this as well," Dream says. "Or however their culture dictates."

"So why would someone see you as one gender or another, then? Just a culture thing? Preference?"

"Why do some people see God as a woman?" Dream asks the air.

Hob groans. "You are impossible."

Dream smirks.

"Or maybe you just like being unknowable," Hob guesses.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps. Yeah, perhaps. I'm sure." Hob cracks his knuckles. "Alright, my unknowable cosmic entity of a significant other, let's see if I can turn you into a woman."

Dream stares at him flatly, but Hob can see the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.

Hob still doesn't know what exact perspective he needs to see Dream as a woman. Maybe if he just believes really really hard he can make it happen. Force of will. It's how he'd always planned to make himself immortal, anyway, absent a fortunate encounter with one prickly dream entity.

He stops looking at Dream, and tries to look through Dream. Tries to imagine how it feels to see the true depths of his eyes, how the cosmos in them go straight to infinity. He tries to see around the way the light reflects off of and shapes Dream's form to the shape within, like a sculptor seeing the body in the marble before it's carved. Hob is no artist, but he tries.

And he knows Dream. He may not know all these angles on his form, but he knows Dream, the entity, the person. They have had a long friendship, Hob and the concept of dreaming.

And just like that, the perspective shifts. For a split second, Hob sees an infinity before him, the eternity of all existence condensed in all its brilliant, glowing facets--then his brain skids around it to avoid going mad, latches onto an angle, and slams back to earth.

Hob sways, rubs at his eyes, and then laughs hysterically. "Fuck!"

"Hob?" Dream sounds uncertain now. "Are you well?"

"I think I just glimpsed cosmic knowledge never meant for my mortal eyes, or whatever," Hob tells him, somewhat maniacally. His ears are kind of ringing, eyes swimming in the afterimages of a very bright light. "You're incredible, do you know that?"

"As you judge," Dream says.

Hob finally drops his hands from his eyes.

And immediately slaps them over his mouth, letting out a sound so high-pitched and manic he hadn't thought his vocal cords could manage it. "Holy shit."

Dream frowns. "Are you well?" he asks again. "Perhaps I should not have allowed--"

"I fucking did it," Hob whispers, mostly to himself. "Oh my God. You're a woman. I think? You look like one. I guess?"

Dream looks down at himself. Hob wonders what he sees--does he see what Hob sees? Or does he see the incomprehensible mass of everything that he truly is under the human trappings?

"Ah," he says, and presses a single fingertip to one of the breasts that he now has, prodding it curiously. "It appears that I am."

Okay, so he can see what Hob sees. Good to know.

"Yup," Hob says. He can't seem to steady himself whatsoever. "Yup, yup. You are."

"Impressive, Hob," Dream remarks, looking up at him again with a smirk. His jaw is narrower now, his lips plusher, but God, it's that same fucking smirk that drives Hob insane.

Hob wonders if Dream's female form is also bound by some limitations on appearance the way his usual form is. He hopes so, because it if turns out he managed to manifest Dream's tits to fit his own subconscious desires, he might just have to choose Death at last.

Hob still has his hands over his mouth. He makes himself drop them.

Dream frowns at his silence. "Are you not pleased?"

"I'm very shellshocked and reorienting my view of the universe," Hob tells him. "Also, you're very beautiful and it's just a lot all around."

That smirk again. Whatever minor amount of immunity Hob has developed over the centuries is obliterated by the new shape of him. "Ah."

"Ah," Hob echoes. "Can I kiss you?"

"You may."

Hob does so with his usual enthusiasm, perhaps more, as he does so love novelty. Dream tastes much the same, feels much the same to his hands, and yet not, like Hob's different perspective on him has altered the angle of his touch. Hob runs his hands indulgently over the softer curves of him, settling them on Dream's waist.

"Dear heart," he murmurs into Dream's mouth. "Most beautiful thing."

Dream makes a soft sound and rests his face against Hob's.

They stay there for a long moment, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Then Dream asks, "Would you have still kissed me if I was a cat?"

"On your little furry head, yes," Hob says, and pecks his cheek. "I thought you were a cat."

"I am," Dream says.

Hob groans. "Enough, I'm getting confused again. Let's stop with the metaphysics and go home and do something less headache-inducing."

"Like playing with the new toy you've found yourself?" Dream asks, raising an eyebrow, but obligingly lets Hob wrap an arm around his waist and tug him along down the sidewalk.

"Pretty much!" Hob agrees. "If you're amenable."

"I suppose I can bear it," Dream says solemnly, as though being kissed and coddled and worshiped is the greatest hardship of his eons-long existence.

Then he says, quietly, "You are singular, to perceive me thus."

"As..." Hob looks at him as they walk, looks at the elegant cut of Dream's cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, the longer fall of his hair. "You mean, in more than one... facet?"

Dream nods. "You... see me. The truth of me. And still, you look upon me kindly."

"What other way is there to look at the one you've loved your whole life?" Hob asks, throat tight.

Dream leans into his side, and Hob presses a kiss to his temple, holding there for several steps. And he continues to hold him close as they go on, keeps his unfathomable boundless entity within the circle of his arms, where he can keep on fathoming him.

[littlemisssatanist]

my acotar unpopular opinions

taking this time to come out as an acotar reader. yes i've read all the books and i've spent way too much time thinking about it. i enjoy the books in the sense that i enjoy hating on many of the characters and loving a few of the others.

be forewarned inner circle fans. you will not like this.

rhysand is not a 'morally grey' character. he's a rapist and a groomer. he sexually assaulted feyre utm, he groomed her (reminder that she was 19 in acotar), and he withheld important medical information from her. 'you'll always have a choice' my ass.

nesta telling feyre about her pregnancy was not a bad thing. why do people act like it is? 'oh she did it to hurt feyre' hurt her by doing what? revealing the lies that her beloved husband had woven? revealing the fact that she'd die giving birth? the fact that rhysand told literally everybody but feyre?

mor is not the champion for women everyone thinks she is. this i will give to sjm it is truly impressive to make a character like women and still be a pick me. i'm not even going to go into her whole weird ass relationship with her dad (i still don't understand why she wouldn't just kill him. 'oh rhys needed the army' rhys is supposed to be the most powerful high lord ever. either admit he's a fucking loser or give me an actual good reason for this) or the fact she's seemingly incapable of doing anything to help the women in the court of nightmares, but everytime she was mentioned, i had to let out a heavy sigh and rub my temples.

on a similar topic. i liked eris. like a lot. out of all the acotar characters sjm has written, eris is by far my favorite.

the inner circle needs to sit the fuck down. they are the most hypocritical bitches i've ever met. they like to think themselves high and mighty. reading them make fun of lucien's band of exiles while their name is literally 'court of dreamers' was the most infuriating thing ever. and then they have the gall to be insulted when called out. don't dish what you can't take.

out of all the inner circle, the only one i don't hate is azriel. this is simply because he is the only one who hasn't opened his big fat mouth and done something bad (except if you maybe count his whole thing with elain). cassian is on my hit list. it's on sight with cassian.

nessian is sjm's worst ship and i will stand by that. lucien/nesta could have been so much. 'nesta would have ripped lucien apart' and cassian was your first choice? not even azriel was considered? like be so for real right now. sjm didn't see the potential of lucien/nesta and i will forever mourn that.

sjm is a terrible writer. i'm not saying this to be mean but she seriously just sucks at it. that being said i admire her ability to still make millions of dollars off her shitty writing. as a woman, i am rooting for her. as a reader, every day i wake up a shoot a prayer to the heavens begging the gods to not let sjm write any more books from the inner circle's pov.

lucien/elain is better than azriel/elain. argue with the wall.

eris/azriel is better than azriel/elain. you can kiss my ass.

NESTA/ERIS IS BETTER THAN RHYSAND/FEYRE. i know this because i have been enlightened.

feyre is a victim to rhysand. that being said, she is also a major bitch. both can be true because these things are not mutually exclusive. i wish she could make friends outside of the ic like nesta did, but i know that's unlikely.

feyre's pregnancy storyline was completely useless and went against her whole character.

acomaf retconned everything about tamlin and feyre's relationship in order to make more money. idc.

tamlin gets a ridiculous amount of hate. rhysand is hypocritical. so tamlin locking feyre in a house because she wants to ride out with him into potential danger is terrible and abusive, but rhysand locking nesta in the house of wind for... *checks notes*... having sex and spending money on alcohol is helping her? what?

[unfinishedslurs]

matchmaking gone wrong (steddie)

“So,” Murray says, smarmy little smirk in place. Steve kind of hates him. “How long have you two been dancing around each other?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on, now,” he says. “Everyone can see it. Or, well, maybe they can’t, but I can. Small town boys, both fighting against the odds. Alternate dimensions bring people together in the strangest ways, don’t they?”

“Hey, now,” Steve objects, shooting a panicked glance next to him. Eddie hasn’t moved a muscle since Murray opened his big mouth. His pose reminds Steve of a frightened rabbit, frozen in the eye of a snake. 

“Hey, now,” Murray mimics. “Real eloquent, Steve.” He says Steve like he’s saying something else. If he’s not careful, Steve is going to punch his fucking teeth in.“I gotta say, when I met you, you managed to take me by surprise. I really thought you were gonna be different. Small town rich boy, right? Big house, no parents, thought I knew the type. But you’ve managed to turn it on its head, haven’t you? Still, you’re lonely. Must be nice, having all those kids in your house. Less empty with them around. And Eddie here, too. I bet it’s real nice with him around.”

“Dude,” Steve says, prickling. He doesn’t know what eloquent means, or what that has to do with anything, but he really does not like what this guy is putting down. What business does this washed up mess of a conspiracy theorist have digging into Steve’s personal life? He chances another look at Eddie, who has unfrozen in favor of straightening up and glaring at Murray. 

“What the fuck do you know?” he spits, vicious in the way he only ever is when he’s defending someone. Steve is touched, really. 

“I know a lot,” Murray says, smile growing ever wider. “Like that you sleep in his bed, even though there’s…what, three perfectly good guest rooms here?”

“Two,” Steve corrects automatically. “The other one is Max’s.” Unofficially, of course, but she sleeps here enough that everyone else knows she’s claimed it. Technically it’s one and a half, given that Dustin is slowly taking over the one next to hers, but Ms. Henderson is actually responsible so he only stays the night occasionally. Robin just sleeps in Steve’s bed with them.

He realizes his mistake when Murray’s smile grows even wider. “Two!” He exclaims. “Two guest bedrooms, and yet you sleep in his bed, wake up next to him, end up with his pillow lines on your face. I bet it’s nice, huh? To have him soothe your nightmares, to fall asleep knowing he’s there. We like Steve, indeed. How could a man possibly resist? Tell me, Eddie, is that handkerchief in your pocket just for show? I’d have thought masochism was more your style.”

“Hey!” Steve barks. Eddie jumps next to him, and Steve puts his hand over his unthinkingly. Murray’s eyes track the movement, but Steve speaks before he can open his mouth. 

“Not cool, man,” he says firmly. Eddie’s hand is trembling under his, and Steve thinks that Murray is lucky that he cares more about comforting Eddie than he does about punching the smug look off his fucking face. 

“What’s not cool?” Murray asks. “Telling you two to get your shit together, for the betterment of us all?”

“You barely fucking know us,” Steve snaps. “There’s no ‘betterment of us all,’ Jesus. You can’t just…you can’t…” he lowers his voice, like he can protect Eddie from hearing it if he tries hard enough. “You can’t just out people, man. You should fucking know better.”

Eddie’s frozen again. Steve doesn’t look at him, instead staring Murray down like a challenge. The man does lose steam with that, wilting like a weed in the heat. “Ah,” he says. “I…ah, hell, I thought you knew.”

“What I know doesn’t mean shit if he’s not the one who told me,” Steve says. Eddie makes a sound, slowly sliding his hand out from under Steve’s. Steve lets him, resisting the urge to grab it back. He knows Eddie won’t run away from him, even if he wants to. “And what if you’d been wrong about me being cool, huh? Seriously man, aren’t you supposed to be smart or something? Act like it.”

Murray opens his mouth again, but Eddie interjects. “As fascinating and eye opening as this has been,” he says, clapping his shaking hands together, “I need to be gone, like, before this conversation ever happened. I appreciate your attempt to get me into golden boy’s pants over here, really, but, uh, yeah. I think the whole being straight thing kind of puts a damper on that, don’t you?”

“You’re straight?” Steve blurts out, hurt and embarrassed all at once. Well, shit, there goes whatever Steve thought they were hurtling towards. And after Steve just confessed he thought Eddie was gay. Is that discrimination? He’s going to kill Robin, dammit, she’s the one who pointed out Eddie’s hanky in the first place. 

“What?” Eddie asks. “No, you are.”

“I am?”

“Yes!”

“Uh,” Steve says, extremely confused. Is Eddie coming out as straight for him? He’s pretty sure this is supposed to go, like, the opposite way. “Since when?”

“Since—“ Eddie’s mouth drops open. “I thought since always, Harrington, what the fuck?” 

“Me what the fuck?” Steve sputters. “You what the fuck! You thought I was straight?”

“Of course I did!” Eddie throws his hands up. “You’re, like, the epitome of straight jock!”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says. “Because my painted nails and affinity for sucking cock scream heterosexual man.”

Affinity might be a stretch given that he’s only ever sucked one dick in his entire life, but hey, a little embellishment never hurts. He wasn’t awful at it. The painted nails weren’t actually his choice, either, thanks to El’s killer puppy eyes, but still. He’s been blatantly flirting with Eddie for months now. Would it kill him to notice?

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a response for this, mouth opening and closing without sound. 

“Well,” Murray says at last. Steve and Eddie both jump, having completely forgotten about him. “I guess you needed my help after all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says, rounding on him. “I don’t need your help for jack-fucking-shit, alright? I am a grown-ass man. I am not repressed, I am not in denial, and I am not thanking you for this. You messed up my plan!”

“Your plan?” Eddie asks. 

“Your plan,” Murray repeats, amused. 

“Yes, my plan,” he hisses. “You’re not smarter than everyone else just because you don’t like the government, asshole. None of us like the fucking government, we’re just not about to go off the rails and become total shut-ins about it. We fucking get it, you’re lonely and have no friends. We don’t need you to tell us our own business for us, okay? You want to talk about getting help? Go to a fucking AA meeting and leave us alone.”

The skin around Murray’s eyes tightens. Steve might feel bad, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d fucking outed Eddie. Mistake or not, it doesn’t matter that Steve already knew if Eddie wasn’t ready to fucking tell him. 

Eddie’s hand on his arm stops him from saying much worse. 

He doesn’t turn around, just stares Murray down like a warning. Murray looks back at him, seemingly unimpressed, but Steve can see shame in the line of his shoulders. There’s apology in his eyes when he breaks Steve’s gaze to glance at Eddie. 

He’s not a bad guy, Steve knows. Joyce tells them fondly about how he helped her and Hopper get their shit together. How they’d both be Russian chow ten times over if it wasn’t for him. Nancy, too, has some good things to say about the guy. He was the one who helped her get word out about Barb’s death. He helped her get with Jonathan too, even if that didn’t exactly work out. 

And it’s not like he blames Murray for Nancy cheating on him. She’s her own person, and makes her own decisions, even if they’re shitty, hurtful ones that he’s still not sure he’ll ever fully get over. 

Jonathan said it best, once. He’s weird, and nosy, and annoying, and I don’t really like him. But I think he really just wants to help, in any way he can. Plus he’s a really good cook. 

Steve breaks.

“Just get out of my house, man,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Joyce will be happy to host you for the night, they’ve got a spare room there. Tell her my house was too ‘rich kid’ for you, or something. But you’re not staying here anymore.”

Murray nods, accepting this at face value. He gets up from the table, pausing to snag the vodka. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” he offers, and disappears before either of them can reply. 

“So,” Eddie says, after a considerable length of silence. His voice shakes slightly. “That was, uh, enlightening.” 

He huffs a tired laugh. “That’s one word for it,” he says, finally turning to look Eddie in the eye. He’s shifty, eyes flitting around the room, hands playing out guitar chords against the counter. Steve takes one in hand. 

Eddie stills, finally looking at his face. Steve won’t force eye contact, but he needs to know Eddie’s focusing on him and not whatever shitty thoughts are flying across his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly. “I didn’t know he’d try that shit with us, when I told Hopper he could stay here.”

Eddie resumes his finger chords. “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“I know,” he says. “Still, that wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Go? ‘Go’ what? What’s going?”

Steve shuts his eyes. “Us. I wasn’t going to say anything yet. Not until after you told me you were…”

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly. “Right.”

“Yeah.”

“I can get out of your hair, man, if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“What?” Steve‘s eyes fly open. “No! I’m not kicking you out, what the fuck?”

“You’re not?”

“Literally what part of that conversation made you think that’s where this was headed?” He demands. 

“I dunno, man,” Eddie confesses. “Good things don’t really happen to people like me.”

“And I’m a good thing?” Steve tries to joke, raising an eyebrow. 

Eddie doesn’t take the bait, just briefly meets Steve’s eyes and lowers his voice. “Steve, you’re, uh. You’re kind of one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“Oh,” falls weakly from his lips. 

“Shit, was that too much? That was totally too much, sorry, I’m not good at this. You can totally kick me out now, fuck, that’s so embarrassing—“

Steve kisses him. 

“Honestly, I’m not that worried about it,” Eddie says, laying with his feet on Steve’s pillow and head hanging off the bed. 

“Really?”

“I mean, like, it was a dick thing to do, but what’s he gonna do? Tell the whole town? They all know about me anyway.”

Steve kind of shrugs at this, because as much as he wishes it weren’t true he’s right. He’s walked past fag sharpied on Eddie’s locker enough times to know that unlike Steve, he never really had the luxury of hiding it. 

“People always just knew,” he tells Steve. “Don’t know how, don't know why. I’m not sure I‘ve ever actually come out to anyone except Wayne, and that was more of a bitter, self-loathing explosion than anything. It backfired, obviously. Instead of kicking me out, he told me he loved me and I cried so hard I threw up. Totally embarrassing. But even with Wayne…I didn’t have to. It’s like it was tattooed on my forehead, or something. Too soft, too close with other boys, too obvious. So I leaned into it. Learned to fight, ‘cause getting beat up might end in something worse. Let my freak flag fly, let ‘em focus on the DND and the devil worshiping because somehow that was better than being queer.”

Steve, who’d also known about Eddie long before Eddie had told him, bites his tongue. 

“I think he’s safe,” Eddie finishes with a nod. “He really did seem like he wouldn’t have said anything, if he’d known I hadn’t told you. Which is hilarious to me, by the way, because I’d just kind of assumed I didn’t have to so you might have just waited forever. Plus I think he and Hopper have, like, a vibe.”

Steve chokes. “A vibe?”

“They’re not fucking,” he clarifies, “but they have fucked, yanno?”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

“Nah, man. I bet that’s why Hopper asked us to host him, instead of offering up his spare room immediately. Your ex and your new squeeze living together?” He whistles lowly. “Awkward.” “I don’t want to know this,” Steve declares, flipping face first into his pillow. He pushes Eddie’s stinky feet away from his face, ignoring his squawk. “Why would you give me information? Now I have to look Hopper in the eye knowing that his taste in men is Murray.”

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Fixing Bad Dreams

masterlist

summary: without even realizing, you’ve been using your powers to turn butcher’s bad dreams into good ones.

pairing: billy butcher x female supe!reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, talk of sex

timeline: set after season 3

gif source

When Butcher had realized you were a Supe, obviously his first thought was that he had to kill you. But he soon realized you weren’t like the others. Not in a “oh she’s still a good person” way, but in a “wow she’s fucking weak, she’s basically still human” way. It was true. Essentially all you could do was send telepathic messages to people. That was it. (You also had a slight healing factor, but even that wasn’t very strong.) You couldn’t read minds, you couldn’t move things with your mind, you were barely a Supe.

Or, maybe he was just trying to justify sleeping with you. Whether he’d admit it or not, he really liked sleeping with you. Not just the sex, he liked physically sleeping next to you. With you. He’d sleep best when it was next to you. He wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat, he wouldn’t have nightmares about watching his wife die bloody.

Most of the time, you woke up before him. You’d find his shirt from the night before and put it on, along with your panties if you could find them. Although, Butcher tended to rip your more delicate ones.

As you tiptoed around the room looking for where he had thrown your underwear you heard him mumble something in his sleep. You hurried next to him, his brows furrowed as he clenched the sheets in tight fists.

You held his cheek, bent down, and kissed his forehead. That always calmed him right down, you didn’t know why. And it did just that; he unclenched his fists, unfurrowed his brows, and let out a soft breath of air.

You smiled at the thought. The great William Butcher like forehead kisses in his sleep. That’s what calmed him down.

He stirred awake shortly after, seeing you looking around the room still.

“Mornin’ love,” He yawned. “What’re you lookin’ for?”

“Good morning,” You smiled and walked over to him, taking a seat on the bed. “You sleep okay?” You ran a hand through his hair then down his cheek, stopping to bend down and kiss him sweetly.

“Great, love,” He smiled. “Was havin’ a bit of a nightmare but it turned into us making out in the office the other day.”

“Really?” You furrowed your brows a little.

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh…no reason,” You shook your head a little.

“So, what were you looking for?” He asked, intentionally changing the subject.

“Where the hell did you throw my panties last night?” You asked, turning to glance around the room. He reached under his pillow and pulled out what you’d been looking for.

“I may have hid ‘em so you’d make me breakfast without wearin’ ‘em,” He smirked.

“All you had to do was ask,” You smiled. You leaned down and kissed him again before you stood up. “Bacon and eggs ‘ll be ready in a few minutes, come meet me in the kitchen?”

“I’ll be right there.”

**

“You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” Butcher chuckled a few days later. You walked up to him cooking pancakes, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Smells amazing,” You hummed. You got on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

As you sat down at the table you let out a soft laugh.

“Okay, seriously, why’re you in such a good mood?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” You shrugged.

“Cause the A/C stopped working halfway through the night and we both lost a good two hours of sleep?” He raised a brow.

“Remember last summer? We went to that water park with Hughie and the others after the tests came back negative and you were cancer free?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He turned to look at you fully, suddenly very interested in each word you said.

“After the A/C went out I had the best, most intense dream about it! I mean, the smell of the chlorine in the wave pool, the sound of those birds that kept trying to take your fries, everything!”

“Huh…I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Butcher mumbled, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“What?”

“Nothin’ love, I remember that day too.”

**

Grass so green it looked fake, the sky so blue and clouds so perfect it all looked like a Bob Ross painting. Birds chirped in the trees as Butcher dipped down and kissed you again.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” He smiled. He rubbed his hand up and down your thigh, under your floral dress.

A picnic in the park with William Butcher. A fucking dream come true.

The cruel sound of the alarm jolted you awake. Butcher stretched his arm out and over you, hitting the snooze button.

“Perfect fucking timing,” He grumbled. “I think I was about to get lucky.”

“Me too, actually,” You laughed a little. “Guess we’ll have to make it up to each other.”

**

“Hey, let’s eat breakfast outside,” Butcher suggested.

“You hate eating outside?” You laughed a little. You took a sip of your coffee as you watched Butcher cook breakfast.

“Don’t be silly! On occasion, picnics can be fun!”

“P-Picnics?” You furrowed your brows. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just a dream I had.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Were you putting thoughts in his head? Messing with his dreams enough that it influenced his life when he was awake? How else were you messing with his head?

“Earth to Y/n!” Butcher pulled you out of your head.

“Huh?”

“I said food’s ready. Now, c’mon, get off your ass and eat outside with me.”

“Okay,” You smiled, hiding how worried you actually were.

You followed him out to the balcony overlooking the busy city.

“So what was your dream?” He asked when you both sat down at the outside table.

“Wh-What dream?” You asked.

“Remember? We both woke up to the alarm, both said we were about to get lucky in our dreams, and then we had earth-shattering morning sex. So, what was your dream?”

“I- I don’t really remember it…now all I’m thinking about is the earth-shattering morning sex,” You smirked a little.

“Ah ha!” He matched your expression, but added a sense of pride. “That’s my job, love.”

**

“Butcher, we need to talk,” You said later that night. He was ready for bed and already under the covers.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows knitted with concern.

“I- I don’t think I sh-should sleep with you anymore,” You replied, tears in your eyes.

“You’re breaking up with me? Why?”

“No! I- I fucking love you and that why I need to get as far away from you as fucking possible!”

“Y/n, you’re not makin’ any sense,” He got out of bed and walked up to you. You backed away from him, shaking your head.

“I- I’ve been- I think I’ve been messing with your h-head somehow,” You let the tears fall. “Not on purpose, I swear! But I- I’ve been controlling your dreams, so who knows how else I’ve been controlling you!”

“I know about the dreams.”

“What?”

“I figured it out a couple weeks ago. You were going into detail about a dream you had the night before, and it was the same dream I had.”

“Why didn’t you say something! Butcher I could be completely controlling you! You probably don’t even really want to fucking be here! Fuck!” You put your hands on your head.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to act how you’re acting right now. I knew you weren’t doing it on purpose, otherwise you wouldn’t have told me your dream.”

“B-But what if…”

“What if what, Y/n? You really think you could accidentally force me to love you?” He took a few steps closer to you, this time you didn’t back away. You nodded. “Alright, how ‘bout this. Right now, try your absolute hardest to make me do something.” He put his hands on your shoulders and touched his forehead to yours. “Go on, use your powers on me.”

“I’m trying!” You exclaimed. You really were, but he was right; you weren’t nearly strong enough to mind-control someone. You let out a breath of relief. “Fuck, that would’ve been a fucking nightmare!”

“Well, good thing that’s your specialty then, love. Turning nightmares into the best fuckin’ dreams I could ask for.”

“I love you, Butcher,” You smiled and he did the same.

“I love ya, too,” He mumbled as he kissed your lips.

[bucknastysbabe]

No, listen to me, giving bucky a head in the middle of the night after he woke up bcs of a nightmare. Thats the tweet.

Your brain is so huge for this queen I will do my best

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Oral (m!receiving), cuddle cuddle fluffy fluffy, a wee bit of angst bc nightmares, body worship, we sucking dic and coc SENSUALLY, c0ckwarming, pet names, I am a puddle of goo now!

A/N: Title taken from Be Mine - The Heavy

Taglist: @godrakin (I love you) @lovelykhaleesiii @borikenlove @ilikeitbetterangsty

Take what you need, to say you love me - B. Barnes

You were having a pleasant dream, swimming somewhere vague, distorted voices and friendly faces all around. One of the blurred forms came forward, jerking you by the arm. You yelped from the pressure, trying to pull away. They yanked even harder, whimpering your name.

The dream was gone, only the blue of Bucky’s agonized eyes close to you. His flesh hand shook your arm frantically, trembles wracking his frame. Blinking away the sleep and bolting upright you held his stubbled cheeks, trying to ground your supersoldier.

“This is real.”

He nodded, swallowing down another pitiful noise. You gently rubbed at his vice grip, Bucky gasping in mortification at the redness and probable bruising. The brunette moaned, curling in on himself, jerking that sad face away, “Oh god, I’m so sorry baby, fuck, I didn’t mean to hurt you, jeez I’m such a headcase.”

Being chained like a dog and expected to only produce fine results then told everything he did was wrong had done a number on your boyfriend. It would do a number on anyone’s psyche, especially his fragile one. Grabbing his face again you shushed him, thumbed at his pink lips to stop his hateful muttering.

His lashes were wet with tears, bottom lip raw and swollen from biting it. Inching closer to his shaking frame you whispered, “Shhh, baby, try to relax. I’m fine, you were scared s’all. Did you have another nightmare?” Bucky exhaled sharply, eyes downcast guiltily.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to discuss?”

He paused for a long moment, big hands now intertwined with your own. Bucky rasped, “It was something I thought I’d forgot about. The strike team made me- me,” he paused again, “Hurt this girl to get her to talk. Bad things.”

You sighed in remorse for your baby, squeezing his hands tight. All you could manage was, “I’m sorry. Is there a way to offer an amend like the others?” Bucky’s eyes grew hollow as he thought over it, finishing with a near-whimper, “No.”

“Oh baby,” you cooed, gently laying the trembling man down. Climbing on top of him and rubbing his tense shoulders made Bucky relax with a sigh. He pulled the covers over the pair of you, hands on your hips, gripping lightly. Nuzzling at his long hair you hummed, “Take as long as you need to process this, I wish I had a magic wand or something.”

Bucky drily remarked, “An icepick to the frontal lobe would be preferable.”

You frowned at him, Bucky dead serious until a smirk cracked at his lips. He pressed his forehead to yours and breathed, “I couldn’t tell what was what— you were her then she was back, and I got so, ugh, terrified that I was going to hurt you really bad. Sorry for yanking you like that.” His lips pouted out as he rubbed the darkening ring around your upper arm.

“I’d rather you yank me around than go through this alone, seriously Buck,” you said, pecking his lips. He sighed out, shivering a bit, tightening his arms around your waist. Your boyfriend remained quiet and you laid with him for comfort. Silence enveloped the room, just breathing and the usual din of the city outside the window.

It felt as if hours passed, not really, but Bucky was still awake. You could almost hear the cogs in his brain working overtime. “Baby, you still keyed up?,” you whispered into his pulsing neck. He replied with a raspy ‘mhmm’. Bucky rumbled, “My mind won’t shut up.” You smoothed a hand down his toned side, making him shiver again.

“Can I try something?,” you demurred.

Bucky’s blues searched your own eyes for elaboration. Shifting your core against his softened cock made the brunette ramble, “No, no, you don’t have to do that for me!” Pecking the corner of his pretty pink lips you rolled your hips again. “I want to though. Do you want it?” Bucky’s cock twitched in response, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“P-please.”

Starting with a series of sweet pecks you snaked your way down Buck’s gorgeous body, hands roaming and thumbing at sensitive spots you’d learned over time. Bucky inhaled sharply, legs instinctively spreading a bit. You pulled at a nipple when his body erupted in goosebumps, the softest little moan leaving his throat.

He frantically yanked back the covers when your mouth nipped at a strong hip, flesh hand combing through your hair. Bucky repeated breathlessly, “Sweetheart, oh, you don’t have to.”,

“But I want to baby.”

You could feel the fight leave his body, the last of the guilt seeping out through impossibly tightened muscles. His cock was flush and heated through those tiny briefs of his, thighs twitching minutely. Bucky raised his hips as you pulled them off, nipping and kitten licking at that pretty Adonis belt. He breathed, “Fuck doll, oh god, too good to me.”

His cock was fully hard now, laying against his hip, heavy and full. You grasped him and laved a hot stripe up the length, Bucky’s arm whirring and clenching on the headboard. Your other hand stroked his trembling inner thigh while you got him nice and wet, painfully slow. Bucky squirmed and strangled out, “C’mon baby.”

“Gotta relax, just feel it ‘kay?”

He nodded, biting that plump lower lip. You swirled your tongue around the engorged cockhead, flicking your tongue across in little teasing motions. Bucky was moaning softly, chanting your name, melting into the bed now. Your other hand moved to tug at his sac, rolling the tender flesh.

Hollowing your cheeks and tucking your lips you bobbed sensually up and and down his length, hand covering what you couldn’t swallow down. You went at a leisurely pace, humming gently. The former assassin’s hips stuttered, a whine deep in chest filing the quiet room besides your soft slick noises.

“Fuuuck, fuck, you’re so good babydoll,” he murmured, desperate edge to his tone as flesh fingers thumbed around your stretched lips. You maintained eye contact with him, Bucky panting and praising you haphazardly. Deeper you went, soft throat relaxing to take your baby fully.

Bucky’s moan pitched up, eyes hazy as you sucked his pretty cock. You didn’t know what time it was anymore, didn’t care, just focused on draining Buck’s energy out of his cock. Tugging on his balls again you hummed, leaky prick deep in your throat. Your pussy ached from all the stimulation to your sensitive throat and lips— but this was about him. Buck would probably plow you into the bed in the morning.

The brunette gasped and whimpered as you pulled up to drool on his cock and breathe, lips obscenely swollen. Bucky’s cool metal thumb swiped around the slick of cum and spit, praising, “Honey, baby, god you look so good like this.” You dove back down, flicking your tongue on his frenulum and slit, feeling his balls tighten up.

Bucky squirmed a bit, abs flexing and eyes rolling. He moaned softly over and and over, reaching that breaking point. Gently squeezing his swelling balls again he whined your name, gritting out, “Close- close- babydoll m’gonna bust!” You swallowed him down a final time, eyes flicking up to watery blues.

Bucky seized up, gasping sharply as the first spurt of cum went down your throat. The man was a mess as he was thrown head first into the orgasm, squirming and not-so-gently (but trying) shoving you onto his sensitive prick. He groaned your name, a desperate edge to it as he finished with a broken mewl. You swallowed the best you can and wiped your lips.

Bucky seemed drained but sated, smiling softly. He rasped, “C’mere you minx.” Making your way back up his body he pulled you into a kiss, hand covering your cheek. He made a throaty noise at the taste of spend on your tongue, metal palm groping your ass. Bucky nosed along to your ear and begged, “Can you just, ugh, slide it in? We can sleep like that?”

“You want me to cockwarm you honey?”

He nodded vigorously, mumbling, “You make everything so much better. Please?”

Sleeping never had came so easy for Buck that night, snuggled with his girl, cock warm and just the right side of sensitive. He’d repay his baby girl times one-hundred in the morning. Or afternoon— seemed like it would be a late one. He cooed into the crown of her head, lids falling closed, “Love you sweet girl.”

[rogueddie]

Issues T | 608 words Prompt for steddielovemonth: Love is being able to say you're sorry and mean it

"No, that's enough!" Eddie yells, slamming his hands onto the table with a deafening thud. "I'm fucking sick of this!"

"You're sick of this?" Steve echoes, upper lip curling with disgust. "How the hell do you think I feel?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know? It's not like you ever talk to me about anything!"

"Don't pretend you suddenly care now!"

"Jesus Christ, I've always cared! You're the one too fucking focused on your ego to notice what anyone else is going through!"

"That's a joke. You've never been there when Dustin needs you to sit with-"

"He doesn't need me! He's never asked for me! He needs you because you're the one that makes him feel safe!"

"He needs you too! We almost lost you and Dustin had to-"

"I know! We've already-"

"He still has nightmares about it!"

"Oh for- whatever. Dustin still needs support, got it. You do too!"

"This is stupid, you're stupid."

"That- what are you doing?"

"Leaving. I'm gonna stay with Robin for the night."

"Seriously?!"

Steve doesn't reply. He grabs the small bag that he's thrown a change of clothes into, grabbing his shoes and keys, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Eddie gawps at the empty doorway for a minute, only moving to follow when he hears the beemer roar to life.

"Steve!" He tries.

But Steve ignores him, barely sparing him a glance, pulling out and driving away.

"What the fuck," Eddie whispers to himself, reluctantly going back inside.

He knows too well how much worse an argument can get if he tries to follow Steve on the rare occasion that he needs to leave.

But he also expects Steve to be back in the morning, either with his tail between his legs or demanding an apology.

He does neither. He doesn't come back in the morning.

Or the afternoon.

Or the evening.

The sun has long since set by the time Eddie parks on the street outside the Buckley household.

"Eddie," Robins mom greets warmly.

"Hey, uh... is Steve here?"

"Yes, he stayed the night, they're just up in Robbie's room."

"Could, uh... could you tell them I'm here?"

"You can go up, dear, it's no worries."

"I know, it's... uh..."

"ah," she smiles knowingly, patting his shoulder. "Alright. I'll go let them know. He'll be down in a moment."

"Thank you."

Waiting in the cold, on the porch, is horrifying.

Thankfully, he doesn't have to wait long before the door opens again and Steve steps out, looking awkward and sheepish.

He shuts the door behind him, crossing his arms, looking anywhere except at him.

"I'm sorry," Eddie finally chokes out. "I didn't mean to push, I really am just... I'm worried about you. It scares me sometimes but I shouldn't have lashed out at you because of that."

Steve stares at him for a moment, face blank, before he frowns. Confused, he says, "what?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, I heard, it... you aren't the one who should be apologising."

"I pushed you when I should have-"

"No, Ed, you were trying to take care of me and I-"

"Steve, stop it. I wasn't listening to you. I'm sorry."

"It's ok, really. It's not like I was trying to have a conversation or something. I just got..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm sorry I made you feel like that. But, like... if you ever do need help with any of that, I'm right here. I want to help."

"When I'm ready."

"When you're ready."

"Ok. Thank you, Eds. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have started yelling at you like that."

"It's ok. We'll work through it."

[yuri-is-online]

The TWST cast from the original Fyuuture Kid timeline is so Cleopatra by Lumineers coded. They just get their (pregnant) joyfriend ripped away from them, cursed, and then sent back to earth, where they can't follow all in one day. That's gotta be a fucking nightmare. They just lose everything at the same time. Bro. Imagine Jamil or Azul, they had to fight for everything and just when they finally, FINALLY, think they have something that will never leave, it's taken away. Imagine malleus or cater or silver; they've already lost so much, silver just lost his dad and now, when he's going to make his own family, they're taken from him too.

TW FOR SUICIDE.

You wrote one time that of Yuu ever died, Floyd would be quick to follow, so. Did Jade and Azul have to put him on suicide watch? My mind is reeling there were NO WINNERS in this timeline Goddamn.

Sorry for the angst dude I just think about this AU a lot

i am so sorry for making you all live with this many thoughts and just waltzing on off to do fuck all

So there weren't any winners in the original timeline no, but the way things went down sort of prevented the type of outcome you are describing with Floyd due to the potential for hope, that most dangerous of falsehoods. In a way that sort of makes it worse though... so lets talk about what went down shall we?

(I'm going to keep this post to more general information, but I did write some specific ship thoughts I'll probably use for another post later on, I just need to think on some of them more...)

notes: they/them used for Yuu, this is part of my fyuuture kid au which can be found under the series section of my masterlist. This post will not contain discussions of suicidal ideation, but will contain major character death and descriptions of violence. If you are curious about what happened to Yuu and Fyuuture kid, look at this post here.

General Original Timeline Facts

To give a brief re-cap of what happens to Yuu, they were arrested by the Magical Marshall's office and sent back to their world, while pregnant, and cursed to forget everything that had happened to them in Twisted Wonderland. Something I didn't mention in that first post, mostly because I intended to imply it in the answer about Riddle's relationship with Yutu but ended up cutting, is that none of the characters actually know that this is what happened at first. They know that Yuu disappeared, but they don't know that the Marshalls were involved or that Yuu went back to their world, which causes a real sense of panic in all of them because holy shit their spouse and unborn child just went missing and they can't seem to get anyone to take this seriously. How the Marshalls went about hiding this information, and what the general public believed happened to Yuu depends on who their husband was, as did the fallout of their disappearance.

For anyone who might be a bit confused, the Magical Marshall's Office is an elite squad of police officers who investigate magical crime, and occasionally deal with overblots. They are the organization that Deuce wants to join one day, which does mean that the people who made the decision to see Yuu as a threat to public safety and send Yuu home were Deuce's own co-workers and friends.

Deuce is the first to suspect that the Marshall's might have had something to do with Yuu's disappearance, but he isn't able to really do much with that. He tries, but he is stonewalled and eventually fired- though by the time that happened monster attacks started getting really bad in the Queendom and Deuce had a whole other set of questions.

Speaking of those monster attacks, the instant Yuu is removed from Twisted Wonderland Grim overblots I have an idea as to why, but it isn't super set in stone. This "Chimera" begins hunting and stirring up monsters, inciting them to attack civilization while it focuses on trying to "wake up" the Phantoms of the Great 7. These phantoms want to re-join with their respective overblot boy, which is an easier task for some of them than others.

The first phantom to re-appear was the Thorn Fairy's. Malleus chose to seal himself and his phantom in an eternal sleep inside the Briar Valley capital after ordering Sebek and Silver to evacuate everyone who lived there, leaving his people truly leaderless and in shambles. He technically also ordered Lilia to go with them, but he refused. He wasn't able to abandon another Draconia to die alone. A lot of nocturnal fae died to the Phantom before Malleus's sacrifice, but because the problem was more or less contained to Briar Valley not all of the other nations saw the monster problem as a threat. They should have.

The second phantom to re-appear was The Queen of Hearts'. Riddle, having been approached by Deuce with his suspicions regarding Yuu's disappearance and outraged by what he saw as a clear violation of the law (if nothing else) was easy prey and re-assimilated into the monster. The phantom then began hunting down each of Riddle's previous dorm mates to corrupt them into card soldiers for its army, eventually fashioning four lieutenants that were a touch more sentient that the others out of Trey, Cater, Deuce, and Ace.

Certain members of the Al-Asim family saw that happen and quietly, without Kalim's knowledge, arrange to have Jamil killed. This doesn't prevent the Sorcerer of the Sands' phantom from reuniting with him, it just means the monster is puppeteering a corpse. And dragging around a second once it gets its hands on Kalim...

Obviously at this point something of a pattern has been established, meaning S.T.Y.X. is expected to do something. Idia does not actually overblot for a second time thank you very much, Phantom Ortho has a mind of his own and he promised to stay in the Underworld until it was Idy's time. His first order of business is to check in on Vil, Azul, and Leona to make sure they're ok. He manages to make contact with Vil, but the Coral Sea proves impossible to get a message through to and Leona is M.I.A. Literally, he and Ruggie have both disappeared while investigating monster attacks around the slums. Idia has a decision to make, and it's not one he really likes, but S.T.Y.X. has a better relationship with the Sunset Savannah than it does the Coral Sea, so it's off to the Elephant Graveyard while Vil agrees to stay behind on the Isle of Woe under observation for his own safety.

It's a decision Idia regrets later. He gets to Leona in time to help him fight and kill the King of Beasts's phantom, but it costs Leona and Ruggie their lives, and while he's there, the Sea Witch's phantom finds Azul and begins using his magic to drain the merfolk dry. Floyd manages to use his unique magic to distract Azul long enough to allow Jade to escape, who only flees because he thought his brother was behind him the whole time. The oceans become polluted with blot, forcing the surviving merfolk to the surface. Many go to NRC and take refuge in the Octavinelle dorm pocket dimension, resulting in the Mostro Lounge being closed to make more room. Somehow that feels more like a killing blow to Azul for Jade than what the phantom did.

Schools like NRC, RSA, and Nobel Bell become sort of centers for survivors due to the large amounts of mages, magical wards, and artifacts that such schools typically have made them safer than most towns. NRC specifically has seen a large influx of magicless people who run a lot of the things the ghosts used to and runs a lot of normal school classes in additional to the magic program, which shifts over time to be more focused on fighting due to the increased monster attacks.

Also Crewel is now Headmage. It would have been Trein but I don't think he needs the stress. I haven't decided if he is still alive or not, but Vargas and Sam are still kicking.

So to give a run down of where everyone stands in the original timeline in order: Malleus and his phantom are trapped in an eternal sleep, Lilia is dead, Silver and Sebek are alive (at least at first) and trying to help the fae refuges displaced by the Thorn Fairy's Phantom. All of Heartslabyul are overblot phantoms, and actively making the Queendom of Roses unlivable. Jamil was assassinated and the Sorcerer of the Sands's phantom went on to kill Kalim and most of his family. To be clear that wasn't because of Jamil's lingering emotions, but good luck explaining that to most people. Vil and Idia are overblot free, Vil because he is being detained on the Isle of Woe and Idia because of his promise with Phantom Ortho. Leona and Ruggie died fighting the King of Beast's phantom. Azul and Floyd are blot phantoms, while Jade is alive and tending bar at what remains of the lounge at NRC.

Now Epel, Rook, and Jack aren't named in that list. No one really knows what happened to them, but they are assumed dead (or at least Jack and Epel are.) Since this is my AU and I get to give out the information, I'll let you know that Rook is a phantom under control of the Fairest Queen's phantom, Jack is dead, and Epel is alive, but cut off from the rest of Twisted Wonderland by the monsters under the Fairest Queen's control. He's right teed off about that, hey Yutu go get him that ladder he's gonna give Rook a piece of his mind-

I do have some ship specific thoughts but I want to cook with them a bit more... but to maaaybe tease some of them?

Yutu and his friends had to fight the Heartslabyul boys multiple times. Yes this hurt their Yutus a lot, and is one of the main reasons Riddle! Yutu hates his dad so much.

Vil can hear the Fairest Queen talking to him and it's not great for his mental stability. Neither is being cooped up in the Isle of Woe, his Yutu did meet him and remembers it being a terrifying experience.

Jade has a good relationship with Floyd! Yutu, Jade and Floyd are their own people but losing Floyd killed a part of him that was slightly healed by getting his nephew back. He likes to tease Azul! Yutu and told him a great deal about his dad. As for his own Yutu... their relationship is a tad strained by how protective Jade is over his son. He is terrified of losing him and what is left of his pearl...

Not all Yutus are in the same dorm as their father. I haven't decided on where all of them are yet, but I did mention once in my replies that Azul! Yutu is in Savanaclaw. I did not mention that he did intend to transfer but couldn't when he accidentally became the Dorm Leader because he got tired of being mouthed off to and knocked someone out. I have an ask about Cater! Yutu I'm working on but I'll add him here as having been put into Octavinelle, and I think I want to put Kalim! Yutu into Pomefiore but I need to cook more...

[dejabooooo]

The Anti-Pines family is utterly fascinating. We have the blueprint for an entire pseudo canon AU, and remarkably I have seen little input from the fandom in regards to it. I can’t imagine why because there is SO MUCH TO WORK WITH HERE.

Anti-Waddles being as nefarious as Anti-Mabel. “The first pig to ever go to jail for armed robbery.” Like 😭😭 imagine waddles standing upright and holding a tommy gun. Imagine no one in the bank their holding up taking them seriously because they’re an adorable little girl and a chubby pig, and mabel threatening to put a bullet between someone’s eyes like “u better cough up the bacon before this bacon smokes u.” I wanna see what other heinous atrocities the cutest crime duo in the multiverse get up to.

ANTI-SOOS BEING A FORBES BILLIONAIRE HOW AND WHY DID THIS HAPPEN

You’d think if Anti-Ford represents the opposite of Ford that you’d wind up with someone who is exceptionally normal and uninteresting but NOPE. Anti-Ford is easily the weirdest here. FUCKING??? YOUTUBER??? DJ?? A sixty-something year old man with 200 subscribers who posts about his dubstep set lists daily. Utterly baffling.

Anti-Stan and Anti-Dipper are the most understandable in terms of being complete opposites of their counterparts, but all of this makes me wonder how differently their stories would play out because of this. Anti-Mabel was “chased out of her dimension” for being so evil. How does her family feel about this? Are they trying to get her back? Does this bizarre cast embark on a comical and heartfelt journey to try and bring her home? A journey that ends in an emotional reunion? Perhaps one that Mabel fights as she clings to her indifferent, cold ideology while her family begs her to come home. All of them recollecting her horrible crimes with proportionately little exasperation and an abundance of fondness. Stan recounting when she stole all the money from a fundraiser he’d held so she could instead invest the funds into remodeling their entire house to have a monochrome minimalist decor. Ford reminiscing about the time she tried to use his channel to funnel money into a crypto/nft scheme. Dipper having countless stories. like how happy she’d make him when he’d get to skip school thanks to her (because she burned down the school, multiple times). About how she’d sabotaged pretty much all of his relationships, but it was a good thing in the end because it allowed him to realize that who he always really loved was that dorky socially awkward corduroy girl he hadn’t noticed at first. All of this retrospection from her family chipping away at her hardened heart and- phew, I'm getting carried away, but the possibilities, man! These characters could be so much more than a one time joke.

There is also the matter of Anti-Bill. “He is very boring.” Shut up??? Speak for urself, schmebulock, he sounds delightful. This is another character I believe you could expand in many interesting ways. I mean think about it, a being possessing the same caliber of bill’s omniscience and using it for good sounds amazing. Knowing all the beauty in all the universes and going out of his way to share it with weary minds through their dreams. Nullifying nightmares. What if he were a healing antidote to the mind, a medicine to bill’s mind unraveling madness? What if they knew each other?

Do you see my (delusional) vision here guys?

[lottie150209]

TASK FORCE 141 x afab femreader, MDNI!!!

Tags: simon riley x reader, ghost x reader, call of duty, cod mw2, simon ghost riley, cod x reader, cod smut, kyle gaz garrick mw2, kyle gaz garrick x reader, gaz mw2, gaz cod, call of duty smut, john price, price cod, john price smut, soap mactavish, john soap mactavish, soap cod, soap smut

cw: topics of you cheating on Simon, slight non consent from Price, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), four men on one woman, slight degradation, humiliation topics, choking kink, underwear sniffing/ licking kink, orgasm denial, aggressive attitude, breast play, teasing.

A/N: Sorry i’ve been gone so long I’ve kind of found it hard to find the effort to write!! I have some more ideas coming though and slowly but surely i’m pushing through this. Apologies if this short story may seem a little rushed in places or confusing, I just felt I had to get it done and dusted so I probably isn’t the greatest thing ever!! I hope you enjoy though !! 🎀

You woke up on a dark wooden floor, skin burning from the cold and in nothing but your frilly pink knickers. Your back, brushed against the rough material of an old sofa and the smell of an unfamiliar place filled your nostrils.

Your head is pounding to the same hungover beat of the clubs music last night and finally, you open your eyes. Vision clearing up at the sight of a used condom sprawled out under a clear topped, oak-wooden coffee table.

Where the hell am I? Who’s apartment am I in?

Last night you and your boyfriend Simon had gotten into a heated argument over something minor. As minutes turned into hours of you two going forwards and backwards insulting each other you decided to leave. Slamming your apartment door and heading towards a club your friends were at. Which was now obviously a horrible decision.

A few drinks down and you were completely blacked out, needing something to release your anger, and from the sight of the shrivel up, cum covered latex, it was clear to anyone you found just that. You blinked blindly at the floor, trying to piece together everything and the reality of the situation hit you harshly.

Did I seriously fucking cheat on Simon?

Bile formed in your throat and a dark unsettling channeled through your stomach: watering your eyes and filling disgust and discomfort within yourself. Your nose stung with tears that threatened to spill but before you could even act, a dark figure hovered from above you. It’s shadow grabbing your phone from the table in-front of you.

Reflexively you shot up, taking your weak arms and covering your bare chest as you turn to face the figure, your mouth falling dry as a familiar set of dark eyes scanned your face.

Simon stood there dressed in his military uniform, mask on with his phone in one hand and yours in the other. His expression was unreadable but from what you can figure he must be immensely pissed. The door behind him had clearly been broken into and as you open your mouth to speak his phone beeps, signifying his and your phones are in the same location.

“Simon, Look! I’m so sorry! I don’t even know what happened!” You spat out, standing up to reach your inside out t-shirt and pulling it over your head. Everything felt faded and distorted like you were stuck in a nightmare. The silence between you two was a murderous storm of emotion and raindrops of tears began to fall onto your cheeks. Simon however didn’t utter a word, his face unreadable behind his mask. It was like he didn’t care about anything and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a horrible one.

It was like looking through a dead man’s eyes and for once you truly understood the meaning of “Ghost”.

“Please Simon Please! Let’s just go home and talk about it? I’m so sorry! I was drunk and out of my mind! I’m so fucking sorry Simon!” But nothing made him budge. He just kept staring at you, dark brown eyes that would visually kiss down the soft skin of your body, now showing no emotion, no affection and no care. Your words changed nothing about this situation but you knew that even before opening your mouth. No matter how much you plead and cry, nothing could be done. You seriously fucked up.

“Get your shit together. We’re fucking leavin’. ” He growled out, crimson coating every word as he turned his head to look at my scattered clothes. You didn’t question him and you instantly did as he said-fumbling for the rest of your things, slipping on shoes and wasting no time to grabbing your bag. He watched you as you did this, like he was silently judging every move you made.

As if you were a new person to him, a stranger he’d only just met.

After you dressed yourself, the two of you left the stranger’s apartment instantly. No goodbyes or apologies, leaving the poor unknown man alone in his shower. Footsteps followed you out onto the sidewalk and you slipped into Simons car. His aroma filled the air and eloped with the guilt and pain in your stomach.

Why was I so stupid? How could I have done that to him?

“Simon..” You started but you couldn’t finish. His eyes that were once watching the road now settled on your face. You shook your head almost confirming to yourself you couldn’t say anything else; his blank expression rose to the road again. The ride was silent and hurtful, the pain in your gut a knife stabbing you over and over with every slight bump in the road.

The car came to a holt as he parked outside. Without a word you leaped out and stomped up the moss covered stairs before slamming your front door open and barging inside.

It didn’t make any sense why he brought you home, surely he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me. He realised what I did right? Why didn’t he just leave me?

Simons hesitant footsteps followed behind you as he shut the door gently and walked over to you. Something else was off with him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mad at you but this time was fucking terrifying. His patiently calm body language and slow speed contradicted his furious demeanour and it goosebumps coated your arms.

Trying to keep it in but obviously failing you broke down in-front of him. Confused cries and helpless sobs cascades through your body and you felt the pain in almost every organ: your lungs, your stomach and heart. This is ridiculous, i’m not the one that should be hurting here.

Your hands started to shake, your vision blurring as tears uncontrollably fell. ‘Stop crying.’ you shouted at yourself it was no use. Your emotions spiralled out of control.

Simons hand cupped one of your cheeks, the rough and scarred skin on his fingers wiping tears away. You were reluctant to keep him so close to you after how badly you hurt him, but you didn’t want to risk making the situation any worse. It made no sense but you couldn’t help but sink into his warm palm. A kiss was planted against the same cheek he rubbed and Simons still dead eyes glared daggers into your sorrowful ones.

“Have a sleep on the couch. I’ll be back later.” He said in an almost whisper before walking out of the house, shutting the door and leaving you alone. For a moment your mind fell blank and weakly fell down on the couch.

A sharp pain in your neck that you didn’t feel before now ached and you realised how uncomfortably you slept before on that wooden floor. Your legs also ached but you decided not to focus on that since that could’ve been from last night and you wanted to forget it all. Even if it was absolutely impossible to you could at least try.

What should I do? What the fuck is even happening?

Still your hands trembled as more and more tears fell from your face, you took a deep breath. You’re crying because of something you’ve done- it was pathetic.

You had absolutely no right to cry, you hurt Simon and now there’s nothing you could do. His words hung around your head and suddenly your eyes felt heavy. He did want you to sleep so it was for the best you did that right? Even if it’s just for ten minutes. Plus it would probably help my head clear and we could tackle this issue later. Together.

Shutting your damp eyes, your head hit the fluffy cushion on the sofa and you felt yourself drift off to sleep, thinking of Simon and regretting everything you’ve done. Hopefully when you wake up, he had cleared his mind a little, Hopefully when you wake up, he’ll take you back into his loving arms and hug you and tell you ‘It’s okay, we all make mistakes, doll.’ But you could only hope.

When your eyes opened, it didn’t take long for you to register it had been a bit more than just ten minutes. The apartment lights were still off from earlier and the sun from outside had set already, casting an orange hue through the windows. Your head ached from all the crying earlier and you suddenly remembered the situation you are in.

Holy fuck, I need to talk to Simon.

But before you could begin to get up off of the sofa your eyes flicked to your right. Catching a glance at the three random men staring at you.

Your throat ran dry and a shriek like gasp fell from your partially dry lips. One of them was sat on the other sofa, horizontal from you. His hair dark and in a sort of mohawk style, his face had a little bit of stubble on his chin and his eyes flashed away from yours back to the others.

Another guys sat sprawled out on the armchair. His gaze was much harsher and more intense than the others. It was like he was trying to see through you, like he was some king looking down on his dainty little servant. His breathing was visible and you took in how his chest rose and fell shakily.

And for the final guy, he stood between the couch and chair in-front of you. His arms folded across his broad chest and the faint remains of a smirk glued to his handsome face. He looked younger than the other too and you swallowed the saliva that was stuck in your throat. Pondering on what to say to them but a voice cut you off.

“So the cheat has finally chosen to wake up?” The man in the chair said, a deep chuckle slipping out matching the smugness in his eyes. You scanned their bodies again going by each and every one of them and finally it clicked who they were. They were Simons teammates. Simon had been begging for you to meet them, to introduce his only love to the people he trusted with his life. And now they are here, calling you a cheater. What a great first impression. Fighting the yawn that was yearning to leave your lips, you locked eyes with the man who was sat on your sofa.

“Simon isn’t here.. So you may as well come back tomorrow and check.” You muttered. Simon had told you earlier he’d be back and since they had clearly sat down to wait for him you figured he wasn’t home yet. You’d be lucky if he returned home at all actually. The overwhelming guilt from earlier flooded back through you, overpowering your thoughts yet again. You knew the sleep would make you forget temporarily but it was almost harder to swallow down your emotions for a second time. The guy that was sat on the chair stood up, clenching his knees with a deep sigh. He began to walk over to you, hunching over and his size intimidated you slightly; he was taller than you thought. Oceanic eyes pierced through yours, awakening some sort of emotion that made your stomach rattle uneasily.

Where is Simon? I hope he comes home soon.

“Let us introduce ourselves..” His dark gravelly voice spoke and his lip lifted up in a smirk as he itches closer to my face. “I’m Price, that’s Soap over there on that settee and that’s Gaz..” His head nodded in the various directions as he mentioned each name. You felt as your eyes indecisively flicked between each of them before focusing on the white ceiling like some nervous child. Price exhaled in amusement before turning to glance at the others and giving a short nod.

“You see my lovey, our boy Simon means an awful lot to us..” He began. His voice smooth however the huskiness added texture, like a mix of sandpaper and silk. Burning eyes left yours for a second and his blue pupils latched onto your lips. “And when he gets agitated with a girl,” Soap and Gaz walked towards us swiftly. Gaz positioned himself on Prices left while Soap took the right, finishing his friends sentence with a thick Scottish accent. “So do we.”

Slowly, you let your eyes shut for a minute, gut summersaulting and face a burning mess. Not only had you utterly ruined the relationship between you and Simon, you had now upset his friends. Although you knew it was horrible to think like that, but a part of you felt more intimidated by the fact his friends were angry with you. Simon had limits, he had boundaries that you was aware of. But this was the first time you’d met them. You had no idea what they could do to you and how far they’d take things. You sat there as the three men towered above you, with three pairs of eyes staring back at you. They wouldn’t do anything too bad, right?

“And when we get agitated, we don’t play nice. Do we?” His face turned to his sides directing the questions at the two by his sides. My heart throbbed all around my body in right places and wrong ones and a sense of dread fell down into my stomach. Simon was bound to pissed with you- absolutely furious even and here his friends are. Talking like this with you, in that tone. It could just be an innocent little encounter of them threatening me to not hurt Simon again.

But the way his voice teased out every word made it hard to believe that. You gulped thickly at what they could be insinuating, your head racing wildly with thoughts that you shouldn’t be having.

Your mouth widened to protest but Price cut me off, turning to the guy on his left, giving him a look as the other smirked. His legs danced on the spot to the left and right before he was facing me again, his hand rubbing his chin, fingers massaging his jaw. Your eyes furrowed and locked onto him. He was thinking about something, but what? And just like the universe was listening to your queries, he dove for my chin. Holding it up hard with his index finger and stroking your lips with his thumb. You could smell the tobacco on his breath as his eyes were locked onto your lips, staring deeply.

He scanned each and every little crack and he rubbed the flesh smiling to himself. His sight drifted back to you.

“You’re lips are stunning girl,” Almost on que, Soap came from behind him and hovered over you, threading his fingers through the waistband of your bottoms and dragging them down. What the hell? Your lips parted and Prices thumb fell slightly however before you could shrug him off his whole other hand covered your mouth, innocent blue eyes darkened and began to look more grey as a sinister half-smirk half-snarl forced upon his lips.

“I wanna see the other lips too.” Your breathing hitched and the fear on your face must have been visible as Gaz let out a laugh and Soap began threading your feet out of your bottoms. The heat on your cheeks had travelled down into your stomach and you just knew your eyes faltered for a moment. All thoughts dissipated when reality slipped back for a second. Simon, you had already hurt him. Imagine if he finds out about this, about his close friends stripping you down and teasing you. About his cheating lying slut of a woman had snuck behind his back and taken on not one but three of them. You couldn’t let his happen, You had to stop this.

Prices hand grabbed hold of your clothed sex, smirking in delight as the slick stuck to your panties, warmed his fingers. A hum left his lips while a gasped moan left yours. The same thumb from before circled your clothed clit, the one place that made you vulnerable. Soap and Gaz had both inched back forward, closing you in like a little box. Your focus glued on Prices actions. He was so clearly experienced, finding the clit so fast and circling it at the right speed. Not too slow but not fast. Your eyes fell shut again as it began to feel good, the sound of his voice opening them a little while later.

“Simon told me all about this little thing,” He pressed his finger into your clit almost like a button, the pressure was hard and for such a sensitive part of your body you whined.

“He told us all about how you like it. The way you don’t like going to fast and how slow is good but you don’t want it too take too long and spoil the moment. He spoke to us about how wet this little girl gets when being tended too. We all thought he was joking but fuck.” His apples adam bobbed in his throat as he swallowed the saliva stored up in his throat. The hunger in his eyes enough to make a man’s stomach growl. He was starving.

“Gaz, get her knickers off. I need to have a taste.” You twitched down there and your eyeballs nearly jumped out of their sockets. The thin fabric of your underwear slipping down your thighs before you could even process what he said. Prices breathing hitched as he locked eyes with your pussy. Unable to look at him out of embarrassment you lifted your eyes back to Gaz to catch what him and Soap were doing.

Soaps hands crashed together as my now screwed up underwear few from Gaz to Soap like it was some basketball. ‘How lovely’ you thought. Shockingly though, Soap caught it with no ease, shaking it out and holding it from the top to get a better look. Prices finger touched against your bare pussy and he held it there for a few seconds, his eyes watching as you looked at Soap no doubt.

Soft blue eyes, unlike Prices store into yours as he brought your panties to his face and placed the damped crotch to his nose. Taking a slow and long sniff and savouring your erotic scent. For a moment you swore you watched his eyes roll back and a twitch come from the bulge in his military uniform. His tongue quickly gushed out his mouth, licking a line from where you’d worn them, tasting my flavourful nectar and grunting. You looked away too embarrassed at this point and a groan fell from his mouth.

“Little beamer tastes great Cap, go on ‘ave a taste.” Your cheeks flared hotter and you tried to squeeze your thighs together preventing him but he caught you before. Spreading you wide open and putting you on display. All of their eyes were locked onto your aching slit and you felt the heat burn down your neck. Beard hairs tickled your inner thighs and a warm tongue swiped down you. Shivering you felt how wet and smooth his tongue was on your clit and he began to worship you, taking the focus away from your embarrassment to your pleasure. His lips slapped against your flaps and you cursed yourself mentally, knowing you was probably soaking his beard. You squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself relax as you soaked in deeper and deeper. He ate you like a mad man and you were lost in lust.

It felt like hours before you began to get close and the thought of what the other two were doing crossed your mind. You looked up to find both Soap and Gaz shirtless, their scars and scratches visible and showing off, making there already sexy body even hotter. Price began to growl into you and you let out a cry feeling close. Your pussy throbbed harder and harder and you felt it in your throat. You couldn’t stop your legs as they began to shake. You were going to cum, you were about to fucking cum. But then it all faded.

Price drug his tongue away, a clear string of spit, cum or whatever joint his beard to you. His breath was heavy and his delicate and gentle fingers from before fell down giving you a gentle slap on the clit. What, why? All he did was look down on you and he ripped off his military gauntlets and vest taking off the top below. Three half naked muscular men staring from infront of you while you sat there panting, pussy on show and drunk on the pleasure they were giving you. For a punishment, this wasn’t a hell of a lot bad. Your eyebrows furrowed as you locked your eyes back on Price.

“Why? Why did you do that? I was close.” Your tone spat out like a spoiled brat but he just smirked gesturing his arms to the two other gentlemen stood there. You had to hold yourself back from moaning as you realised what he was signifying.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking all the fun now, would I?” Soap and Gaz stepped forward, the same starving expression plastered on their face as Prices. The couch bobbed down as Soaps weight fell next to you and he leant over, tearing off your T-shirt, revealing your bare breasts. He must’ve been surprised you weren’t wearing a bra but he clearly wasn’t complaining. Snatching your left nipple in between his teeth and squeezing the other one harshly. Gaz on the other hand, knelt down between your legs but instead of tasting you, he slowly dragged his finger up and down between your folds.

“Has she been good enough Sir? Does she deserve my fingers?” He asked Price or so you assumed, Price just let out a laugh and Gaz licked his lips slowly eyeing up how we you were. Admiring as your clear juices lubricated his fingers.

“You’re absolutely soaking, my love. My finger would slip in like butter.” You whimpered as them dirty words left his lips. You needed either his mouth on you or his fingers deep inside, the pleasure was getting too much for you. You were too far gone now to back out.

You squeezed your mouth shut, lips quivering as you felt his finger prod your tight entrance. You cried out a loud moan as his finger rammed into you hard and started fucking you slowly.

Tears welled up in your drunken eyes as he abused your g spot over and over again and although it felt good, you didn’t feel your stomach knot or feel yourself get close again; It wouldn’t give you the orgasmic feeling you were chasing after. You were being used and after some time it began to burn a little. Through your shakes and sobs, Soaps teeth sunk into your breasts again, leaving hickeys on your soft skin. The roughness from the two men leaving you flustered. They were completely different from Price, they were savage. You winced and closed your eyes, the pain more prominent than the pleasure. Footsteps walked over to Gaz who was still between your thighs and Price placed his two hands on his shoulders.

“Slower Gaz, take your time and work her.” Gaz looked up at Price nodding and then he worked his fingers into you slowly, taking note at how your back arched and trembled at the feeling.

Fuck this was good. You found myself muttering words, a few pleases there and many yeses, it was embarrassing but you couldn’t even think. His hands continued to penetrate you slowly and softly, not harsh and not fast and it felt heavenly. His other hand slid onto your bladder and he weighted a bit of pressure onto it, making his fingers feel deeper and deeper inside. Your stomach twisted and you needed more. You wanted one of their cocks deep inside you but you were Simon’s.

You couldn’t be wanting that, You shouldn’t even be doing this. You’ve cheated on him once before and now, with his friends? You thought about stopping it but there was something about the way they tended to you that refrained me from that. The way they moved and caressed your body; you couldn’t pull away just yet. You needed to cum and you would wait here until they let you.

Fingers pumped into you faster as Gaz sped up matching your shaking breaths and moans. Every now and then he’d curl his fingers into you and cackle at how your legs shook before he ripped them out teasing you. Every muscle in your body felt tense and he worked you until the familiar feeing swarmed deep in your stomach. You found yourself slowly grinding against his fingers, desperate for that sensation to explode inside you and all three of them exchanged looks. Of course you were embarrassed but fuck it, in that moment you couldn’t help but be taken away by your wishes. The feeling inside you started to amplify and your whole body ran hot and suddenly you were coming to the edge. Your breathing stoped as you held your breath unconsciously but instead of exhaling as you came, you found yourself being chocked.

Thick, familiar fingers tightened the grip on your throat as you felt your orgasm travel through you. You couldn’t breathe, what the hell was he doing? And then you froze. The three men were still in front of you. Gaz had his fingers inside you and on your bladder, Soap was busy playing with your tits and Price was admiring your pretty, lewd face as his hands clenched around Gaz.

“Pull your fingers out Gaz.” Simon demanded, hands still squeezing your throat from behind the sofa. His voice melted into your ears like hot honey and your cum gushed out of your hole and coated the fingers inside. With a smirk, Gaz yanked them out and licked them clean, standing up and walking over to Price as they reached for their shirts. What?

Your head felt dizzy and just like earlier things went back to making no sense. Did Simon just walk in? You scanned the men’s faces again but they weren’t alarmed or worried, they were fine. Simon let go of you partially, his hands rubbing soothing circles down your back. The sweat on your forehead shone in the sunset and you turned around to face Simon in attempt explain but he cut you off, passionately kissing you. His tongue tickled against your lips and he pulled away with a demeaning smirk on his face, chocolate eyes drowning deeply in yours.

“If you wanted another man to toy with, jus’ let me know, yeah? I don’t mind if you want to switch things up for a bit. Just make sure it’s one of these fine gents.” You blinked and scanned his face to see if he was being sarcastic or trying to see if you’d take the bate but there was nothing but honesty. He planted another solemn kiss on your cheek and let out a chuckle, rubbing your turning to his teammates who were now fully dressed.

“I’ve got to say Simon, you’ve caught yourself a good lass.” Soap said with a chuckle, looking down at me with some remaining hunger. Prices turned to face us too, his nonchalant expression turned into another seductive grin. Simon just smiled to himself and looked back down at you. Your confused but relieved expression warming his heart and hardening his cock and he couldn’t look away.

“I know, she’s fuckin’ fun to please, ain’t ya?”

[mentality-project]

Carry Me Home - Part 2

Morpheus x fem!reader

While being tucked into bed by the King of the Nightmare Realm was lovely, waking up with a hangover from Hell was not.

A pitiful groan works its way up your throat as you roll over to the cool side of your bed, trying to find relief for your overheated skin. You kick off the blanket as you snuggle into the cold, trying to will your body back to sleep as you chase after the last scene of your dream.

After a few more moments of tossing and turning, you admit defeat and blink open weary eyes. Once the waking world comes into focus, the sight of painkillers and a tall glass of water on your beside table greet you.

It could only be Morpheus’ doing. You weren’t capable of such forethought last night. With a grimace on your face, you drag yourself upright enough to pop the pills in your mouth and chase them down with a gulp of water. Its at the temperature of ice water despite the lack of condensation and you could cry from the relief it brings your parched throat.

“Fuckkk…I love you, Morph.” you mumble against the rim of your glass as you lean back against the headboard.

“He loves it when you say that.”

The speed at which you turn your head towards the raven perched at the end of your bed nearly gives you whiplash.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

“The bathroom window was open.”

“Oh.”

You and Matthew sit in comfortable silence as you continue to sip your glass of heavenly water.

“What did you mean by that?”

“What?”

You shoot Matthew a death stare over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, the boss loves it every time you say you love him. Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

You nearly snort water out of your nose. “Dream? Warm and fuzzy? Seriously?”

“I am being serious!” Matthew’s feathers puff up with indignation, "Every time you say those words, Dream becomes a much more lenient boss. He takes whatever opportunity he can get to be close to you." "That's..." you clear you throat, wishing there was some water left in your glass, "That's a lot of information before breakfast."

"Sorry, kid. Rough night?"

"Fun night, rough hangover." you manage a grin as you set the empty glass back down, "Wanna stick around for a cuppa tea, Matthew?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool. Be a dear and boil the kettle for me, would you? There should be enough water in it. I'm gonna have a quick shower first, feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Matthew swoops out the door as you drag yourself off to the bathroom.

--- You hear the sound of the kettle switch flicking off and the rumble of boiling water as you round the corner, drying your hair off with the towel draped around your shoulders.

"Feeling better?" Matthew asks from his spot on the kitchen counter.

"Definitely," you sigh as you hang the damp towel over the back of one of the chairs, "What kind of tea do you fancy today, Matthew?"

"Earl Grey, please." "Milk, sugar?"

"Yes to both." You take two mugs out of the cupboard, pausing as you notice the small parcel by the kettle. It has your name on it.

"What's this?" you ask as you tug at the string to unwrap it.

"Hangover cure from the Boss."

"Dream was here?" you blink over your shoulder at Matthew.

"Nah, he had me send it over. Under strict instructions to make sure that you drink it. Not allowed to come back until you do."

No wonder Matthew agreed to stick around for breakfast. You almost snort with laughter as you unfold the wrapping, which turns out to also be a handwritten note from Dream. Upon seeing the size of the cloth teabag, you swap your mug for a tea bowl and begin to read as you pour the hot water into it.

Your Grace,

The corners of your mouth creep up into a smile. Could it be? Do you share an inside joke with the Dream Lord now?

According to the dreams of the best apothecaries in the Waking World over the last millennia, this tea contains the best herbs to help alleviate the aftermath of overindulging in alcohol. I hope it is of use to you. - Morpheus

You are practically glowing as you lift the note to your lips and press a kiss to the parchment.

"I love you." your whisper, watching in amazement as the note dissipates into sand and stardust.

You lift the bowl to your lips, taking care to blow a couple of times before taking a careful sip, eyes widening in surprise.

"Huh...not bad."

"Where's mine?" Matthew squawks in an accusatory tone.

"Sorry, sorry."

You get to work brewing Matthew his cuppa, changing your mind about the kind of mug you originally picked and deciding on a wide teacup to make drinking more convenient for him. You ratio the water and milk out so the tea is at the perfect drinking temperature before placing the drink in front of him and heading over to the toaster.

"Would you like some toast, Matthew?"

"Sure, I'll have a slice."

"What do you want on it?"

"Got any butter?"

You retrieve the tub of butter from the fridge, along with some avocado and smoked salmon for yourself - that combo with a sprinkle of black pepper has you in a chokehold lately. After you butter Matthew's toast accordingly, you rip it up into bite-sized pieces before sliding the plate towards him. Matthew murmurs his thanks before digging in with gusto. You lean your head against your palm as your elbow presses into the countertop, watching Matthew as you chew your own mouthful of toast, contemplating. Eventually, you're brave enough to break the silence.

"Why'd you tell me all that stuff?"

"Hmm?" Matthew buries his beak in his tea, the hum being the only indication that he heard you.

"About Morph, and how...how he feels about me...?" "Honestly?" Matthew stares you down and you stare back at him, "there's only so much one can take of watching the slowest slow-burn ever." You gulp down on your tea so fast you start to choke on it.

"C'mon kid, between you and me, you know you've gotta be the one to say something. The Boss has all the time in the world. He's Endless. By the time he works up the courage to make first move, you'll be dead and buried. No offence."

"None taken." you mumble around a mouthful of toast. There's not much conversation after that and you're quite content to eat the rest of your breakfast in silence. Matthew's given you a lot to think about. -- "Hey Boss, how's it going? (Y/N) drank that tea you sent her, all of it. And...Boss? Hey, you okay? Boss?"

Matthew tilts his head at the sight of Morpheus on his throne, but for all his trying, Morpheus doesn't appear to hear the loyal raven.

No, he's far too occupied with the lingering feeling of your kiss pressed into his cheek from his stardust, fingertips still on his cheekbone as if he's trying to keep the feeling there. In his other hand, the parchment materialises, your words scrawled in the smallest print as if it is a secret:

'I love you.'