#i think i have said everything that needs to be known about him

[yeyinde]

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival. 

At first.  

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached. 

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter. 

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling. 

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising. 

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.  

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever. 

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have. 

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along. 

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars. 

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid? 

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella. 

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness. 

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest. 

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.  

Protection, he calls it. 

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.") 

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is. 

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him. 

Vile man. Awful. 

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore. 

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second. 

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed. 

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat. 

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl. 

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape. 

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums. 

“Need somethin', pet?” 

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up. 

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning. 

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste. 

It's gross. Disgusting. 

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony. 

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary. 

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems. 

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue. 

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains. 

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable. 

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it. 

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him. 

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins. 

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says. 

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems. 

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing. 

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.  

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee. 

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting. 

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him. 

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting. 

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand. 

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much. 

you don't want him to stop. 

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm. 

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand. 

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains. 

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.” 

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave. 

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.” 

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?” 

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves. 

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.” 

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes. 

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart. 

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—” 

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it. 

He hides his need under a layer of derision. 

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?” 

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand. 

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin. 

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self. 

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside. 

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin. 

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full. 

Mangled. 

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot. 

He's—

Pretty. 

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him. 

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally. 

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you? 

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine. 

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him. 

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive. 

It coils around you. Thick, smothering. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour. 

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric. 

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide. 

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort. 

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out. 

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast. 

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette. 

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore. 

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor. 

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.” 

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest. 

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china. 

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing. 

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad. 

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss. 

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his. 

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep. 

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in. 

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan. 

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

[ghosthunterbuck]

7x10 coda. beware the spoilers

Three months pass, and Eddie still isn’t used to it. It’s too quiet at home, and too awful at work, and he still grabs two bowls every morning even though he’s the only one eating.

He thinks about quitting, again. Leaving behind Captain Asshole and following Christopher to Texas. He knows he can’t. He’d promised. Eddie clenches his fists and forces himself to finish buttoning his uniform.

He sends Christopher a text, the same one he sends every morning, then shuts his phone in his locker.

“Line up in five,” Gerrard bellows from the loft. “If you’re late, you’ll be scrubbing the rig with a toothbrush, no exceptions.”

Eddie stands mechanically and walks over to the bay.

Another day, another goddamn reason to bury himself in blankets and hide until the world ends.

Buck invites him over for dinner most nights, or offers to go home with him. Eddie says no more than he says yes, but Buck… Buck’s always known Eddie better than he knows himself. He doesn’t stop asking.

“C’mon Eddie, it’ll be fun—you, me and Tommy, we can come up with ways to drive Gerrard insane.”

Buck looks at him, soft and imploring, an expression Eddie rarely knows how to refuse. But despite everything that’s happened, Buck’s managed to carve out a small sliver of happiness, and Eddie doesn’t want to drag him down.

“You go ahead,” he says. “I’m picking up half a shift at  the 136 tomorrow. Need to get some sleep.”

It’s true and it’s not. He is picking up the shift, but he doubts he’ll sleep.

He goes back to therapy, but he never knows what to say. It was all—everything was in his head, last time. It’s not, now. It’s all real, and it all hurts, and no amount of talking about it makes it hurt any less. He says as much to Frank.

“Then why are you here?” Frank asks.

Eddie looks away. “I don’t know,” he says.

That’s not quite true either.

Kim calls him, and Marisol doesn’t. She leaves voicemail after voicemail, apologizing for that night. Eddie can never bring himself to answer the phone. Eventually, he blocks her number.

He texts his own apology to Marisol, but it never goes through. It’s probably for the best—he doubts the message would’ve made either of them feel better.

Eddie needs—he doesn’t know. Before, he would’ve said time. Now though, he’s got all the time in the world, and he’s desperate to get rid of it.

Buck calls. Eddie can’t answer him, either. He lets it ring out, then listens to the voicemail.

“Hey Eds, it’s me. I uh—just wanted to check in. It’s been a couple days. Call me when you can.”

Eddie tells himself he will, but he has no idea when that’ll be.

Christopher doesn’t text him, but he does text Buck.

Eddie never asks what he says, and Buck usually doesn’t offer to tell him.

“Just—he’s okay, right?”

Buck smiles, a little bit sad, and leans into Eddie’s space. “He’s okay,” he says. “He misses you, even if he’s not ready to tell you that.”

Tears streak down Eddie’s face before he even realizes he’s crying. Buck wipes one away and pulls him against his chest.

“What if he never comes home,” Eddie whispers into the soft material of Buck’s sweater.

“He will,” Buck replies. “He will.”

Good morning, Eddie texts on the one hundred and second day since Christopher left. I love you, and I hope you have a good day.

He drops his phone on the table and tries not to hope for a response. A second later, though, it dings. Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat as he scrambles to open the message.

Morning, Dad.

[charlesslut16]

Can you write a fic (I was thinking about max but you can do any driver really) where the reader and the driver are best friends to lovers in the early days of the drivers career. The reader supported the driver through it all and wants nothing more but for them to succeed. As the drivers career really starts to kick off, the reader falls pregnant. When the driver finds out, (thinking of max here) he thinks he's going to be a terrible father and gets nervous thinking how he may ruin a whole life, he suggests getting rid of the baby and the reader thinks it's cause of his career, tells him she respects the fact that he doesn't want the baby, but she's going to keep it. ANGSTY please

-losing you to trauma-

summary : max is to unsure to have children, to stay with you and raise your daughter...

PAIRING: max verstappen x fem!reader

WARNINGS : max leaving reader, angst

note : as i'm a girl of a single mother, whose father did almost the exact same thing, it hurts. But i hope that you still like it!

masterlist

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Max Verstappen's Formula One career was just beginning to take off. He was young, talented, and driven, with an intensity that made his presence felt on the track and off it.

His best friend, you, since childhood, had always been there, cheering him on from the sidelines, through every victory and defeat, every celebration and heartbreak.

You both shared a bond that was unbreakable, an understanding that didn't need words. You had seen Max's potential long before the rest of the world, had believed in him when he was just a boy with a dream and a passion for racing.

And after time, you two had become a couple. A happy one, both driven by the drill of driving and passion. But as Max's career soared, so did the distance between you both. Not in your hearts, but in the time you could spend together.

You understood; you had always known that Max was destined for greatness, and you were content to support him from the background. You never complained, never asked for more than what he could give.

Your relationship had evolved quietly. What started as innocent hand-holding during tough times in your racing careers became something deeper, more profound.

It wasn't long before you crossed the threshold from best friends to lovers, a natural progression that felt right for both of you. You didn't need to label it; you simply knew you belonged together.

But then, life threw the both of you a curveball. You found yourself staring at a positive pregnancy test, the weight of the world suddenly resting on your shoulders. You knew this would change everything, for both.

When told Max, his reaction was far from what you hoped for. Instead of joy, there was fear in his eyes. He looked at you, his face pale and his hands shaking, and said, "I can't do this. I don't know how to be a father. I'll ruin everything. Maybe we should... maybe we should consider not having the baby."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You had expected hesitation, but not this. Not the suggestion to get rid of the life you had created together. Tears welled up in your eyes, but fought them back.

You needed to be strong, for yourself and for the baby.

"Is this about your career?" you asked, her voice trembling but steady. "Are you worried that having a baby will ruin everything for you?"

Max shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. "No, it's not that. I just... I don't want to mess up. I don't want to be a terrible father. I don't want to ruin a whole life because I don't know what I'm doing."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Max, I respect that you're scared. I am too. But this isn't just about you. This is about us, and about this baby. I can't make this decision for you, but I need you to know that I'm going to keep it. I understand if you don't want to be involved, but I have to do this."

His face crumpled, and he pulled you into his arms, holding tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

You clung to him for dear life, tears streaming down your face. "I love you, Max. And I believe in you, just like I've always believed in you. You can do this. We can do this."

But as much as you tried to reassure him, you could feel the chasm widening between. Max was consumed by his fear, by the thought of failing not just as a driver but as a father.

And though he loved you, his terror of the unknown, of the future, was driving a wedge between the both of you. He could never but your love above the insecurity and that broke you to pieces, that could not be set back together.

The months passed, and Max's career continued to flourish. He threw himself into his racing with a ferocity that left little room for anything else. You watched, heart breaking a little more each day, as the man you loved slipped further away from you.

When the baby was born, a beautiful, healthy girl, Max was there. He had not held her, at the side of you and the baby, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear. But he still couldn't shake his anxiety, couldn't let go of the belief that he would fail them both.

You knew you had to be strong, not just for yourself, but for your daughter. You had always believed in Max, and would continue to do so. But knew that he had to find his own way, had to come to terms with his fears on his own.

And so, with a heavy heart, you let him go, hoping that one day he would find his way back to them. That he would realize that he could be the father their daughter needed, and the partner she had always believed he could be.

Until then, you would keep supporting him from the sidelines, cheering him on just as you always had. Because that's what you do for the ones you love, even when it breaks your heart.

Deep in your heart, you wanted him to come to your house and say that he was sorry and wanted to be in your lives, but as time passed, you realized that he would never come to terms with it.

His trauma being too deep for him to start a family, you accepted the fact, but you never forgave him for it. You love him with your whole heart, and you always will.

Maybe your ways will meet again, who knew?

[daydreaming-nerd]

for the bat boys (or bat boys x feyre), I really wanna see rhys just tied down, desperate, and overwhelmed with pleasure. like everybody just decides to show their high lord some love!! I wanna see rhys in tears (in a good way), and they just praise him and love on him so good!! I can def see rhys having a major praise kink. feel free to ignore tho, thank you!!💖

Our Girl (Bat Boys! x Female! Reader) 

Based off this ask as well

AN: HAHAHA guys I’ve been reading The L.O.R.D.S series by Shantel Tessier and I’ve been fucking loving it. Also I wrote the second half of this in a fucking Barnes and Noble cafe, I was SWEATING, but I wanted to get it done for you because I have some cool Az stuff I’m working on for you!

Summary: When Rhysand becomes High Lord the boys find themselves too busy and too well known to visit their local pleasure house. So they hire the reader to to satisfy their needs.

Warnings: Smut (shocker),sub/dom dynamic, dirty talk, bondage, threesome, objectification, size difference??

Word count: 6,058

Things in Velaris were changing. The second the new High Lord rose to power it was like things were lighter. Shops stayed open later, the people laughed and drank at dinner more often, everything was just better. Yet in the Riverhouse at the edge of the city it seemed there were clouds stirring, in a metaphorical way of course. 

No one had seen Rhysand since the night his father died, which was months ago. 

The most powerful High Lord.

The most dangerous High Lord. 

The most handsome High Lord

And known by the girls at the pleasure house…the most well endowed High Lord.

At least what all my coworkers were whispering around me the day I was brought to the front by the mistress who ran the place. In all honesty I thought I was in trouble, not that I had done anything wrong in the past year I had been here. But no one ever got called to her office for nothing. 

I closed the door behind me to where my mistress was reading a letter, a violet wax seal stamped to the front. Her red hair and red gown complimented the scarlett of her office, of the whole pleasure house really. She claimed it was the color of passion, and demanded that we all practically bathe in it. 

“You asked to see me?” I say timidly. 

I couldn’t afford to lose this job, I had no family, no support system. Nothing to rely on or depend on. Sure it wasn’t the most prestigious career, but I did like it. I had always been interested in sex, fascinated with it really. The woman who lived next door to my family growing up was a sex worker. She always wore the most beautiful gowns and jewels, and lured the most handsome men to her home. My mother cursed me when I said I wanted to look like her one day but I didn’t care. 

“Yes I have a letter here, from the High Lord,” she says, showing me the letter she had been reading when I walked in. 

My eyes widen and the air is sucked from my lungs. What could the High Lord want with the house? Hell, what would the High Lord want with me? 

“The High Lord?” I gawk, taking a step forward attempting to catch a glance at the letter. 

She puts her glasses back down on her nose and reads the paper again, “yes, he asks that I send my very best girl to his townhouse at my earliest convenience.” 

“And you’re picking me?” I ask, my eyes wide. 

“You rake in more money than all the rest of the girls, you’re beautiful, elegant and well versed. I can think of no one better.” she explains setting the letter down on the desk.

My mind swirls, what does the High Lord want? Well sex of course, but I wasn’t one for house calls. Though I suppose he was the High Lord , he couldn’t very well walk in here with the anonymity that others could. 

“Well don’t just stand there!” my mistress shouts. “Go to the townhouse before he thinks me to be a simple fool.” 

I jilt from my thoughts and nod, walking briskly out the door. I bypass the other girls who are chatting about the High Lord and I wonder if any of them are aware of the letter that was sent, what his intentions might be. I guess there’s only one way to find out. 

I had watched the townhouse on the hill my entire life, knew that the High Lord lived there, and constantly wondered what it might be like inside. It was like the scary house at the end of the street that children stayed away from; it had been built up to that mythical status. Except it wasn’t scary—unless you counted scarily prestigious.

As I walked up the front steps and knocked on the door a woman with dark skin and   darker hair opened it and signaled for me to come in. The lush, thick, carpets gave reprieve to my aching feet. Stilettos on cobblestone was never a good idea, but what else did one wear to meet their High Lord? 

She gestured to a set of double doors at the end of the hall. I took in my surroundings, for what it was worth the place was beautiful. Ornate but tasteful. Expensive but lived in. I can see why the High Lord never left. I took a deep breath but before I could even knock on the doors a deep voice, one that could only be described as Night Triumphant, beckoned me to enter. 

I creaked open the door to find the High Lord busily doing paperwork at his desk. He was nothing and everything that I had expected. When the girls at the home whispered of his looks, his charm, I thought of something mythical. But the male before me? He transcended even that. 

His legendary violet eyes flitted up to mine and I swore my breath caught in my throat. He sat his papers down to the side as he stood, bracing his hands on his desk. If his height didn’t make me feel small the sheer power radiating off of him did. 

“My, my,” he croons, rounding the desk to lean against the front. “You are exquisite,” he says, crossing his strong arms in front of his chest. 

I suddenly remember the reason I was summoned here in the first place and I put on the mask, the role I was supposed to play. 

“Well my Lord, you asked for the very best.” I say smoothly taking two steps towards him. “So here I am.” 

“While I love the way ‘my Lord’ rolls off that pretty tongue, feel free to call me Rhysand, you’re going to be here for a while.” he smirked, and I swore there was a star that flashed in his eye. 

I nearly gulped at his words. 

You’re going to be here for a while…

I had been with needy men before, made a career out of it. But this was no man, and I wondered if I could keep up with him. 

“As you wish,” I say nodding my  head obediently. Males like him strived for dominance, it was my job to anticipate that. 

I feel a hand tilt my chin up and once again I’m met with his intense gaze. I was right about the stars, his eyes were littered with them. 

“The selfish part of me wants to play with you right now, but I have a feeling my brothers would be more than angry at me for having you first,” he smirked, his breath so hot on my face I almost jumped when I realized how close he was to me. 

Wait, the High Lord didn’t have brothers, he was an only child, an orphan really. “Brothers?” I ask, the question had slipped out before I could think of a better more professional way to ask. 

“Well not my biological brothers, but my brothers in arms I suppose,” he smirks, releasing my chin taking a step back towards his desk again. “Cassian, the general of my armies and Azriel my spymaster.” 

My breath gets caught in my throat. I had heard stories of the High Lord’s most trusted members of his court. They were large, Illyrian, and death on swift wings. My face must’ve given away my shock as Rhysand let out a low chuckle. 

“Don’t worry they won’t hurt you. They are to care for you as I do, it’s all written here in your contract,” he explained, sitting down and sliding a piece of paper over the desk. 

I made myself comfortable in the seat opposite of him, plucking the paper from the desk and skimming it over.

“You see,”  he begins. “Becoming High Lord has been rewarding but…well…tiring. Cassian and Azriel are just as tired. We aren’t given the same anonymity we had in our youth which has made finding sexual release difficult.” he said, his cheeks blushing slightly. 

“You’ll live here, I already have a room prepared for you. I’ll provide you with a salary  and provide for you in any way you need. In return you provide us with your…services?” he says the last word like he can’t think of a better way to say it. How is he sexy reading my contract to me?

I set the contract on the desk, “And what are the parameters of these services?” I ask leaning forward on the desk. 

Rhysand smiles leaning forward with me, “Mostly we will seek you out on our own but there will be certain times, like tonight, where we will want to share,” he grins like he can already see the scene. 

I nod slowly waiting for him to add anything else and he does. 

“Of course there will be safewords, though I doubt you will need them. Your mistress said you have a rather large palette,” he says and I get his meaning immediately. 

I can’t help but blush, the male already knows more about me than I do him. Something that rarely ever happens in my line of work.

“She didn’t mislead you,” I say, my lips tugging into a small smile. 

“Then you’ll take the job?” he asks plucking a fountain pen from its resting place. 

I look at the large number with lots of zeros written under ‘Salary’, it’s more than I make in three months. I could pay off all my debts with the first two paychecks, and after that? Well the shops of Velaris wouldn’t know what hit them. I could have the life I always dreamed of, expensive silks, fancy soaps, wine aged for thousands of years. And all I had to do was sleep with the three most powerful males in the Night Court. What female could possibly say no?

“I will,” I say, plucking the pen out of the High Lord’s hands singing the marked places next to his ornate signature. 

I look up to see Rhysand already staring at me, with a lust I hadn’t seen before, not in any male. How long had it been since he had sex?

He stands holding his hand out to me, “Allow me to show you to your room.”

“Are you ready to meet them?” Rhys asks with a glint in his violet eyes. 

I nod.

“Good I’ll go preface in, come in when I call you,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my brow. 

Gods this man was incredible. Paycheck aside, I think I would bend over backwards just to hear him call me a good girl again. Something told me I would be doing just that for the foreseeable future. 

Rhysand opened the double doors and slipped in, the moment he closed it I pressed my ear to the door so that I could hear him. 

“Rhys what’s this about? I have business to attend to,” I hear a deep voice rumble. 

Rhys’ signature chuckle echoes off the walls, “I assure you Cassian that this is well worth your time.” he says. “Az you look tense,” he jests. 

“That’s because I am.” groans another voice. “We’ve been running all around the court righting all wrongs while you sit holed up in here doing paperwork.” 

“As I am well aware,” Rhys starts again. “And I don’t want to be known as the High Lord that merely takes, especially from the two males  I consider to be my brothers. So, I got you a little gift.” 

A pause of anticipatory silence fills the room. 

“Darling won’t you come out now?” Rhys beckons me. 

I open the door to find Rhys standing before two Illyrians sitting on the couch, both of them relaxed like this was their own home, and perhaps it was. 

“Huh?” asked the slightly larger one, with longer black hair. 

“She’s your gift, well, our gift,” Rhys said, pulling a hand around my waist. “I just hired her from the pleasure house in town, she is the best of the best. I know we all haven’t been able to visit the establishment since I came into power and I’m sure you’re both just as…frustrated as I am.” 

“How long do we have her for?” the same Illyrian asked, the one beside him seemingly more quiet. 

“She will be living with us. Use her as you’d like. Dress her however you want, but keep it classy. She’s as much yours as she is mine” Rhys smiles tilting my chin to meet his gaze and I swore my knees trembled a bit. “Though I’m sure she’ll remember who pays her?” he teases. 

“Yes my Lord,” I say seductively, it used to be an act, but not anymore. 

“My Lord,” he repeats. “I quite like the sound of that,” he purrs, looking over to the males sitting on the couch. 

The one with the red siphons smirks, throwing his arms over the back of the couch and spreading his legs. His thighs alone were the size of my head and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to get myself off on them alone. 

“Come here princess, sit on my lap,” he purrs, patting his thigh. 

I slip out of Rhysand’s grasp and pad over to perch myself on the Illyrians leg. The rippling muscles under me tensing. His hand comes up to brush a stray hair from my face as he takes in every inch of me. 

“You are a pretty little thing aren’t you?” he smirks as his other hand comes to support my back. 

Oh I was in for it, I was so in for it. 

“She’s the best of the best, her name is y/n.” Rhysand drawls watching intently as his brother who I have deciphered is Cassian, inspects me. “We decided earlier that her safeword will be starlight,”

“Y/n, huh?” he smiles brushing a stray hair from my face as he drinks in my attire, something Rhysand had clearly purchased for me to wear tonight. A black sheer little nightgown. Revealing, yet classy like he has said. It was clear to me that the male had exquisite taste. 

I feel a warm leather bump into my back as a scarred hand runs over my shoulder. I crane my neck up to find Azriel standing above me, from where he stands he can no doubt get a great view of my tits. 

“How should we thank dear old Rhysand for this marvelous present?” Cassian asks Azriel and the shadow singers eyes gleam.

“Oh I can think of a few ways,” he smirks. 

As if they all had one mind we were winnowed to the bedroom upstairs, my bedroom I realized. The bed had been made big enough for all of us, and I wonder how empty it would feel when the boys weren’t around. 

I look around me, the positions of us all haven’t changed. I find myself gazing up at Azriel, the hungry look in his eye has me taking a step back only to bump right into Cassian earning a chuckle from the general.  A glace to my bed has me seeing Rhysand sitting on it’s edge. 

“Az,” Cassian mumbles, sharing a knowing look at the shadow singer.

Before I can put together the pieces of Cassian and Azriel’s interaction, bands of shadows shoot from all over the room wrapping themselves around the hands and wrists of the High Lord. Rhys struggles for a moment, like it's second nature before he gives in, his face stern. 

“Az that’s enough,” he scowls. 

Azriel brushes off the command and turns my chin to meet his gaze. His finger brushes over my  bottom lip and I close my top lip over his thumb, giving it a gentle experimental suck. His eyes darken and the next thing I know I’m sucking on his thumb and looking at him like a doe eyed fool. 

“What a good girl she is,” he croons before dragging my face to him, replacing his thumb with his lips. 

His kiss and deep and searing, like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. His hands come to cup my face, keeping me there as he kisses me like a starved male. Gods, how long had it been since any of them had sex?

My hair is pushed to the side as I feel the general begin to leave sloppy kisses on my neck. He pulls my hips toward him, and I’m met with his hard on pressed to my back and his bare chest warming my skin. Azriel steps back with love drunk eyes and Cassian takes his opportunity to turn my hips so I’m facing him. 

Somehow he’s even more hulking and intimidating when bare. My eyes glance over the expanse of well built muscles to where his cock is already hard and leaking, and by the size of it I could tell I would be sore tomorrow. 

From behind me I can hear the faint unclasping of buckles signaling that Azriel is mimicking Cassian’s movements. 

“Let’s see you now, little one,” the general smirks before sliding both straps of the see through the gown off my shoulders. The black mesh falls to a pool of fabric on the floor and I’m laid bare for him, for all of them. 

A snap reverberates through the room pulling my attention to Rhysand, his sophisticated garb now long gone. The plains of his toned muscles and swirling tattoos that resemble his brothers on full display along with his aching cock. He’s even more marvelous nude than he is clothed. His lips tug up at the corner as he sees me eye fucking him. 

Cassian’s hand goes under my bare breast bringing my attention back to him, it seems that while I was ogling Rhys, he was studying me. 

“Rhys you’ve outdone yourself,” Cassian smirks and I’ve never felt so exposed. “Her tits are perfect,” he smiles before bending down to suckle an aching nipple into his mouth. 

I moan and lean back ever so slightly into a muscled chest, when I open my eyes Azriel stares down at me. A scarred hand drifts over my shoulder, down my side, and across my bum until it cups my sex and I gasp. 

Cassian’s lips smile against my breast before he moves on to the next one, my breath catching in my throat once again. 

“So small,” Azriel teases, referring to my cunt. “I’m not sure she can take us.” The glint in his eye tells me that this is a challenge, a test. 

“I can,” I say confidently and the shadowsinger laughs. 

“I think I’ll test that out,” Cassian grumbles, taking me in his arms. 

I’m pulled from Azriel’s fiery touch as the warmth of Cassian seeps into me. For the first time in a while my eyes snap to Rhysand. His brow was laced with sweat, as well as the skin on his chest. 

“Oh poor Rhys, did you want to touch her?” Azriel taunted, I was honestly surprised that they would dare to put their High Lord in this position. 

“Please,” Rhysand whimpered, making my heart lurch. 

Did  the most powerful High Lord, the most dangerous High Lord. the most handsome High Lord, the most well endowed High Lord… just beg? 

A sudden boost of confidence fills my chest. 

“Az pull him back on the bed, I’m going to be needing some room,” Cassian boasts massaging circles on my hips. 

Rhysand is pulled to the headboard, the shadows on his wrists pulling his arms out to either side as well as the ones on his ankles, preventing him from getting any sort of friction. The High Lord cursed, as if the brief fiction on his balls from being dragged across the sheets might’ve been enough to get him off.  The logical part of me knew that he could break free of these restraints at any given moment, hells the power practically radiated off of him. But he was here to play the game and I was too. 

“Why don’t you go play with your High Lord a little bit sweetheart,” Cassian croons, clearly loving the power trip he’s on. I take two steps forward before the general grabs me by the throat hauling me to his chest again. I look up at him like a love sick fool. “But stay clear of his cock. He’ll be the last to cum tonight. Doesn’t that seem fair Az?” 

“Seems more than fair to me, seeing as we’ve been doing all the flying around these past few weeks,” Azriel chuckles. 

Cassian releases my throat and I make my way over to the breathless High Lord. It takes everything in me not to straddle him and take him right there. His cock was red, angry, practically begging for it.

I sit on the edge of the bed to his right giving him my best bedroom eyes. Gone was the cocky male from earlier who made all sorts of promises of bedding me the best. Instead a male stripped to his most vulnerable sat before me, chest heaving, eyes wild. The muscles of his arms and legs flexing and bulging from trying to break free of the shadows that bound him, the bindings that made him this way. 

“They aren’t being very fair to you are they?” I say seductively trailing a hand down his shoulders, over the plains of his chest and to his abs. 

He shudders under my touch, “no they aren’t,” he breathes. 

“Mmm,” I hum, placing a kiss on his neck, even the thin sheen of sweat on him tasted divine. “And you were so nice, sharing your little fuck toy with them and now they won’t let me play with you,” I say donning a fake sadness. 

My hand brushes over his hip bone and down his thigh, carefully avoiding the hard erection begging to be brushed. 

“Please,” he whimpers his lips hot on my cheek, and I swear I hear Cassian and Azriel chuckle behind me. 

My hand swoops to his inner thigh, teasing the muscles there. His whimper has me caving, and I feel as though I’m suddenly not acting of my own accord as my hand wanders towards his cock. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” I hear Cassian tut before scooping  me into his arms and pulling me away from Rhys. Causing the latter to groan in frustration. 

“Using daemati to get a female to jerk you off? That’s a new low for you, Rhys.” Azriel chuckles 

Daemati. That would explain why I didn’t feel like I was in control for that one moment. I had heard that the High Lord possessed such powers, but I thought they were simply myths. 

I feel myself being bent over the storage bench at the end of the bed, the cloth covered fluff cushioning my knees and hands as I feel a harsh slap to my bum. 

“Fuck this is going to be so good,” Cassian murmurs from behind me. 

Azriel stands at the other end of the bench fisting his cock but before he can speak Cassian enters me. 

“Oh Gods!” I scream as I feel myself being pushed forward on my hands. 

The stretch of the general filling me so completely had me wondering if Azriel was right about my ability to take them all earlier. Cassian’s hands come to pull me down onto him, as if he needed the help to fully sheathe himself. One hand on my lower back, one on my hip.

“Shit she’s so fuckin’ tight,” Cassian groans as he begins to rock into me.

“Please, please,” Rhysand begs from his spot on the bed. 

I don’t even bother to see the new beads of sweat dripping from his brow, the drops of precum leaking out of his painfully hard cock. Hell, I can’t even think about anything other than the feeling of Cassian picking up the pace behind me. 

“Shh Rhys, I’m enjoying this tight little pus,” Cassian groans, tightening his hold on my hips. 

My arms are starting to go limp when Azriel’s hand tilts my chin up so he can see my fucked out face. 

“Open your mouth little one,” he says, fisting his cock and I obey like a puppet on a string. “What a good girl,” he smirks before tapping his cock on my outstretched tongue. 

“Fuck her mouth Az,” Cassian groans doubling down on his thrusts behind me. 

“You’re such an obedient little thing, I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.” he croons before thrusting his cock inside my mouth. 

The general’s relentless hammering shoves Azriel’s cock down my throat in perfect tandem and I start to wonder if there are other females who have found themselves in my position. With the way they fuck both ends of me so efficiently I wouldn’t doubt it.

It isn’t until my drool is falling down my face mixing with my tears that Azriel grips my hair forcing me down on his cock more. The male became more needy than he had been all night as his soft grunts filled the room. My eyes flitted to his hazel ones and a self satisfied smirk crossed his face. 

“You like this don’t you? You like being fucked in both your little holes?” He teases me, pulling my hair harder. 

His words have me whimpering around him and curling my toes. The spymaster was right, I loved this. That I could make these males, the most powerful in the Night Court, so feral, so unhinged. 

Cassain chuckles behind me slapping my ass again, “Too bad we don’t have someone to fuck this third hole back here,” he says taunting Rhys as I feel him trace a finger over that said third hole. 

“Fuck,” Rhys hisses from where Azriel has him restrained, watching the show they’re giving him. 

I feel my legs starting to tremble beneath me and as they start to give out Cassian swipes both hands under my hips to keep me upright. So upright my knees don't even touch the bench anymore allowing him to fuck me harder, deeper, and faster.

“You going to cum little one?” Cassian taunts me, picking up the pace a bit. 

My whine is enough to have Azriel slamming his hips into my face, spilling himself down my throat as my nose brushes the hair at the base of his cock. For a moment I can’t breathe at all, as I feel his seed spill over my tongue. When he pulls out I finally take in a deep breath, which is short lived as he grabs my chin forcing me to meet his gaze again. 

“Swallow,” he orders. 

I do as I’m told, feeling the thick white ropes slide down my throat, warming my stomach. 

His thumb tugs my jaw down forcing my mouth open as he makes sure every last drop is gone. When he’s satisfied he closes my mouth and gives my cheek a light slap, “good girl.” he mutters. 

“Finally,” Cassian breathes and I feel my front being shoved into the cushions on the bench before me, allowing Cassian to drive deeper. It seems his brother's use of my mouth was quite the inconvenience for him.

I make eye contact with Rhys who's painting and sweating. Moans and curses fall from his lips as he watches Cassian take me hard. It’s not long until I’m cumming around his cock.

“Oh gods!” I scream feeling my legs shake and the knot in my stomach unwind as I cum all over the general’s cock. 

Cassian growls, deep and primal, before delivering one last thrust, spilling himself into me, “That’s a good girl. Take it, take all of it.” he groans, forcing my body down. 

As the Illyrian pulls out of me I can feel my heart beating in my throat and in my head. My chest rises and falls in time with my shaking legs. But I know I’m not done, not while Rhysand looks at me like I’m water and he’s been wandering the deserts of summer for too long.

“You were so good, Rhys,” Cassian taunts, running his hand down the High Lord’s leg making his chest rise faster. “We just wanted to thank you for your wonderful gift, didn’t we Az?” 

Azriel nodded next to me, his scarred hands pulling me up  by my shoulders and then  hoisting me up by my thighs so my back was to his front. The position was more than awkward, but as he placed me on his High Lord’s shaking lap I understood why. 

“Make him feel real good princess, we love our Rhysie,” Azriel laughs upon seeing Rhys breath picking up. Despite his words he kept his restraints on the Lord, one last test. 

I place my hands on his chest, the skin there cold and clammy, and I can’t help but want to feel more. His eyes are blown out, and I feel as though he’s looking right through me. He’s a vision like this, maybe even more so than when he was sitting behind his desk looking like sheer power. He was vulnerable here. 

I run a hand down his face like I’m unable to help it and his eyes widen, “So handsome my Lord,” I breathe. “What do you want from me?” I ask as I press my lips to his.

He can hardly kiss back, can hardly even think besides anything but the need. Beside him his brothers run a hand through his hair and whisper praises to him, trying to bring him back. 

“Anything p-please, t-touch me,” he whimpers and I swear I see a tear roll down his face.  From not being touched at all, to being touched everywhere but where he needs most, the High Lord was being pushed to his limits. 

“Yes my Lord,” I whisper before sinking myself on his cock. 

Where Cassian was thicker, Rhysand was long, digging so deep into me that I felt a pinch as he brushed my cervix. The pain bringing me back from the fuck out haze the spymaster and the general left me in. 

Rhysand hissed low, “Oh fuck yes,” he groans pushing his head back on the headboard. 

Cassian’s hand comes up to brush the fallen hair and sweat from his High Lord’s head, “She’s a tight little thing isn’t she?” he asks, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

I splay my hands across Rhys’ chest, trying to give myself the leverage needed to bounce myself up and down on his cock. The slow drag of him inside of me has me scrunching my eyes shut trying to savor every sensation. My shaking legs make it hard to move myself up and down. 

“More, p-please,” Rhysand groans, his voice dropping deeper and starting to resemble the tone I heard this afternoon. 

“Az give her a hand,” Cassian instructs from where he sits by Rhys. 

I feel Azriel settle in behind me, his warm chest bumping against the clammy skin of my back. His hands lift my hips helping me to bounce up and down like I’m nothing but a cocksleeve. The motion makes me gasp and writhe as I’m able to settle to a faster and more stable pace. 

“Oh fuck Az,” Rhysand bites out. “I can’t,” he groans and I watch the muscles of his chest and arms go taut as he pulls on the shadowy bindings that keep him from touching me. 

The strain in his arms and chest is so great that I can see each individual muscle the Lord had built through the years. I couldn’t help but run my hands over him feeling each one. 

“Let him go Az,” Cassian instructs the shadowsinger and within seconds the bindings are gone, like even Az wanted to see what his High Lord would do next. 

Rhysand’s hands fall from the headboard and find their way to my hips. Turns out him not being able to touch me was a punishment for both of us. He shifts his hips so I fall forward, and he connects his lips to mine as he thrusts up into me, putting me at his mercy.

He consumes my mouth fully, running his hands up and down my sides greedily before squeezing my breast making me moan into his mouth. The way he kisses me tells me that I’m no longer in charge and neither is anyone else in this room for that matter. 

His lips detach from mine and fall to my neck leaving opened mouthed kisses there. His hands leave bruises in the skin of my hips as he slams up into me, his cock hitting my cervix with each stroke, those initial stings of pain becoming pleasure. 

“Oh fuck Rhys,” I moan completely forgetting his title. 

“Say it again,” he growls, his voice dangerously low. “Let them know who owns you!” 

I had completely forgotten about the other Illyrians in the room with us. I glance to the side to find Azriel fisting his cock beside me. When I don’t moan the Lord name again a swift slap comes across my ass. 

“Rhysand!” I cry out, feeling the euphoria of him. 

“Fuck it,” he seethes and before I register what he means by it, my back hits the mattress. 

The new position gives him a new range of motion to piston into me. Somehow he’s able to hit me even deeper this way.  Causing me to let out wanton cries and moans as he fucks me, my polished nails scraping down his back trying to find purchase. 

“Yeah Rhys get it!” Cassian cheers from the edge of the bed. 

The taunt makes the High Lord feral, slamming his hips into me. He’s more animal than man at this point having been teased all night. The near primal growl he lets out has me cumming on his cock, my back arching off the back, my moan guttural. 

My cunt squeezes his cock as pleasure lights up my body like lightning, and it isn’t long until  I feel his hips stutter as he cums inside of me with a groan. 

“Oh fuck yes,” his voice is like gravel as I feel him spilling inside of me endlessly, his seed joining Cassian’s. 

Faintly, through the roaring in my ears I can hear Cassian and Azriel’s grunts as well as they finish. The idea of them getting off to their High Lord cumming inside of me is almost enough to make me beg him to do it again. But as he collapses beside me I feel how spent I truly am. 

Rhys hand comes to brush back my hair from my face as he places a kiss to my temple, “Such a good girl for us,” he says to me before turning to Cassian again, “Go get her a towel and a glass of water.” he orders, clearly re-assuming his role as the High Lord. 

He spends the next minute or so running a hand over my hair as he cradles me to his chest soothing me. My breath starts to slow and I feel a warm towel beneath my legs as Cassian wipes away the mess they both made. Glass touches my lips as Rhys helps me to drink the water brought to me. Whatever I don’t finish he downs in one go. 

“Leave us,” he orders pulling the covers over our cold and clammy bodies. 

“What no post sex cuddles for me?” Cassian laughs, throwing up his hands. I laugh before placing a kiss on Rhys chest, as much as I wouldn’t mind all three of them holding me right now I know who pays my bills now. 

“Fine,” Rhys huffs, throwing back the covers behind me so Cass can slip in. 

I wonder where Azriel will lie, but when my eyes search for him he’s already out the door walking to his own room undoubtedly. Something tells me he’s different from his two brothers, he’s quiet, but the words he told me earlier have me wondering what’s up his sleeve.

Cassian’s arms curl around me, and eventually the three of us fall asleep. But the voice that swims through my head as sleep takes me is Azriel’s.

I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you…

(This is going to be a series! I think I'll do one for each bat boy! If you want to be tagged let me know and if there's any kinky shit you wanna see let me know in the comments or drop it in my inbox!)

Taglist: @yearninglustfully, @moviesismylife,  @readingislife2006, @bookishbroadwaybish, @danikamariemain,  @winchesterbbygrl

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always @crystalferret202, @batboyrhyrhy , @kennedy-brooke , @sunshineangel-reads , @lilah-asteria , @evergreenlark

[cbrownjc]

Theory: Why this second 'Interview' is happening

So a few weeks ago, Rolin Jones said that there was a reason the second interview had to happen, which will be revealed this season. And we would learn the reason why one character needed it to happen in ep 2x05; then we would learn why another character needed it to happen in 2x08 (the season finale).

Now the person we will learn needs the second interview to happen in episode 2x05 will, IMO, be Louis. For now, he seems the most clear as being one of the two people IMO. For, as we saw in ep 2x01 Louis knows he hasn't been remembering everything correctly, but that he really wants to. At the moment, Louis has been (deliberately) sidetracked from thinking/wondering if anything else he remembers might not be fully correct but, by ep 2x05, he'll start questioning that again IMO.

Plus, for some reason, Louis is very insistent on this interview taking place and happening no matter what. Because just thinking over everything that has happened storywise up to this point? I actually don't think Louis is in any way fully aware of just how off his memories are. I think he knows something feels off or wrong but he can't quite fully place what that is.

So yes, IMO, Louis is the first character who needed the second interview to happen.

But who is the second character who needed the second interview to happen? Well, this theory very much includes book spoilers (that IMO the show is very much hinting at) to talk about, so I'm giving fair warning right now: this theory very deeply goes into something from the books, as well as tying into another theory I have for what might happen at the end of the season. So, just to be safe, I'm going to place this next part under a spoiler cut:

The character who, IMO, will be revealed as needing this second interview to happen, which we will learn in ep 2x08, will be Claudia.

Yep. IMO Claudia is the one who needed the second interview to happen. Or, more importantly, her spirit/ghost does.

And what clicked this for me is remembering something Delainey herself noted in an interview before the season started which was -- yes, Claudia's journals are there but even they can't give you a full and accurate picture of Claudia and her story. So how can Claudia speak and tell her story?

And that is where this second interview comes in. Because, if you know the book, Merrick, then you know that book contained what was thought to be an appearance of Claudia's ghost/spirit. But that wasn't the only book where we see Claudia's ghost/spirit. We also see her in Tale of the Body Theif . . . or, at least Lestat sees her.

And who was the main antagonist of TotBT? Raglan James. Who, hell, even if Justin Kirk really isn't Raglan James (and is actually Marius or someone else) still works IMO -- in the context of hinting toward that storyline that had Lestat haunted by memories of Claudia and dealing with seeing her "spirit" talking to him.

Because yes, I do think very much that Louis is seeing Claudia's spirit right now, in some way. Just like he did in the book Merrick.

And it's from seeing her spirit and just feeling that something is wrong wrt all of what's going on about it, that has Louis so insistent that this second interview has to happen.

And it's why four other people have come to do this same thing Daniel is doing and either ended up dead . . . or undead.

Hell because again, if you know the story in Merrick then you know Merrick Mayfair herself is the one Louis enlisted to help him summon and speak to Claudia's spirit in the first place; and she ended up putting Louis under a spell to make him turn her into a vampire.

Maybe that comment from Raglan James was a hint about that having already happened to the show's version of Merrick Mayfair. Who's maybe already been there to help summon Claudia's spirit in the first place?

Anyway . . .

IMO, Claudia's ghost/spirit is not only around, but IMO she wants what really happened to her to be known; the truth of not only why Louis and Lestat created her, but how she was failed by them and, most of all, the full truth of not only how she felt about both of them about it all, but also the truth surrounding her death (The Frankenstein Experiment) to not just be revealed but understood . . . mainly understood by Louis and Lestat.

And no, the reason Claudia's spirit wants this isn't benevolent. Just as the spirit of Claudia in the books wasn't benevolent when Lestat and Louis encountered her in them. What she wants, I think most of all, is for them both to face the truth of their actions and what that makes them (in her eyes).

I don't think Louis knows all this of course. I think he just knows Claudia's spirit is still around for some reason and that he thinks going over everything that happened wrt his life will help him figure that reason out.

And after four previously failed attempts Daniel was brought in for the simple reason that, unlike maybe three of the first four, Armand won't kill Daniel to stop this whole thing. (And, you know, if Merrick Mayfair was the first of those four, Daniel can't steal either of their blood to try and make himself a vampire.)

And can I just say, if this theory is correct, then I don't think Claudia's spirit is going to rest after she convinces Louis to do in the show what her spirit in the book convinced him to do. Because again, Lestat also got haunted by the spirit of Claudia in TotBT. And while I'm not sure he'd see her spirit in Season 3 when he begins to tell his story and POV of things (and so when we see Claudia it will be when she's alive during flashback sequences) I do think the show would be setting up for her spirit to do so going forward after that.

Because spirit entities do play a major role in what is to come in the overall story I think the show is heading to (which I and others think will be a combination of the Akasha and Amel threats in Queen of the Damned and Prince Lestat). Starting off by showing Claudia as a spirit entity can be used to begin to ease non-book readers into this concept IMO.

And all of this fits very much with why Armand not only doesn't want this interview to happen but still reluctantly let it happen. Because, if you know his backstory, Armand very much can see spirits and ghosts unaided. That is how strong his Mind Gift abilities are. So if Claudia's spirit/ghost is around in the Dubai penthouse, Armand would very well know that. And so would very much not want her spirit hanging around anymore if at all possible. Because of what Claudia's spirit could, at some point, communicate about him. ("My name is in some of those pages.")

Because I do think that while Louis does know about the role Armand played in Claudia's death, IMO Louis doesn't know about The Frankenstein Experiment. Because, in the books, nobody knew about that -- least of all Louis and Lestat -- until Armand himself revealed it over a century later in The Vampire Armand.

And the show is very much not cutting that moment out but, instead, has been hinting and foreshadowing about it.

I said in another post that I think Armand is, for lack of a better metaphor, like a little kid who wet the bed and now is trying to hide the sheets when it specifically comes to this. This is why he's against the interview happening because it being revealed will crumble the contented life he feels he's built with Louis in Dubai. Because Armand just craves love and being loved so much and not being alone . . . and is fearful he very much will be if this all goes in the direction it could.

One of Armand's major faults is that, when he loves someone, he tends to go way, way, WAY overboard in trying to either secure that person's love . . . or to keep it. If you know the book TVL, Armand did that with Lestat, (forcing himself into Lestat's mind and drinking Lestat's blood without permission), and that is the reason Lestat, in the end, could never trust Armand enough to be companions with him.

And Armand repeated that same pattern with Louis in Paris in allowing Claudia to be killed when, as coven master, he very well could have prevented it.

And now Armand is doing something way overboard, once again, in Dubai, in trying to hide the one thing regarding Claudia in Paris that Louis doesn't know about -- as well as keep Louis safe from doing something extreme if Louis remembers everything the real way it happened . . . as well as hiding the one thing about it all -- regarding Armand's own role in Claudia's fate that Louis still doesn't know about (and in the book Armand says he kept closely hidden until this moment).

Many book readers have always wondered about that Frankenstein reveal because, once Armand reveals it, it's never brought up again. We never hear how Louis and Lestat felt about learning about it. However, I think the show is very much going to give Louis and Lestat both a reaction to and about it when they learn of it. (And no, they are not going to kill Armand for it. But Armand might just be right to worry that Louis learning about it very well might cause his life with Louis in Dubai to be destroyed.)

So yeah, IMO, the second character that Rolin said would be revealed to be wanting this second interview in ep 2x08 is Claudia. And, IMO, this theory also fits with what Jacob said about this being Claudia's season more than anyone else's.

[penelopepine]

Don't be a stranger! Pt. 9 (Final)

Part 8 Part 9

Simon "Ghost" Riley x FemReader

Content: Neighbors AU, fluff, developing relationship, establishing relationship

Immediately Simon turns to look at you. Almost wondering to himself if what you said was all in his head, but it wasn't. You were awake, and you had heard him say that he loves you.

He doesn't say anything as you seem to gain back your consciousness. Slowly blinking away the drowsiness in your mind. 

"…Simon?" 

"I'm here," He grabs your hand; squeezing it tight in his, "I'm here, love."

You smile shyly, and squeeze his hand as well, "Did I hear you right?" 

Simon doesn't know how to answer that, and before he can truly think about what to say Price makes his presence known to the room with a small cough. "I'll give you two a bit of privacy," He gives Simon a pat on the shoulder before whispering in his ear, "Simon, don't let yourself stand in the way of something good." 

With a nod and whispered words to you as well, Price steps out of the room. Leaving the two of you alone to talk about the elephant in the room. 

It feels like an eternity passes in the quiet seconds.  Simon takes Price's words to heart, and decides to finally take the leap. "You did. I said it." 

"Can…can you say it again?" 

Simon feels terrified right now; it feels different saying it directly to you, but he’s not going to let you go now that he’s so close to what he wants. “I love you. I feel as if I was made to love you.” Looking into your eyes he sees tears starting to well up, and panic hits him at full force once again. He immediately stands and pulls his hand away from yours. “I’m sorry I’ll go-” 

“Simon!” Your hand quickly wraps around his; stopping him from running out of the room, “Please look at me.” He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to see the tears in your eyes, but softly your voice calls out to him again. “Simon.” 

You asked him and so he does. He looks back towards you, the tears still present, but a big dopey grin has replaced your once hesitant smile. “I love you too.” 

In the blink of an eye he is on you. His hands are softly holding your face so that your faces are only inches apart. “Say it again.” His voice almost desperately asks. 

“I love you, Simon-.” 

Before you’ve even finished saying it, he's kissing you. Simon has wanted this for so long, and to hear you say it is like a dream come true. This moment is all he had wanted for the past few months. 

The kiss lasts for many moments before the two of you pull away from each other as a loud knock on the door rings out. Quickly Simon moves to sit back down on the chair just as the door is swung open revealing Johnny. Who comes practically sprinting in once he sees that you're awake. 

"Beads!" Johnny yells out, and brings you into a hug, "I'm so glad to see that you're ok lass." 

You wrap your arms around him as well laughing as you say, "I could say the same to you. My first outing off base, and we got jumped!" 

Johnny looks at you with sadness in his eyes, "I should have been paying better attention. There’s a reason you are  still living on base after all." 

"Johnny-" You try to say but are interrupted before more can be said. 

"No lass, I made a mistake leaving your side. We're lucky nothing too serious happened." 

You don't say anything else, and just bring him back in for a hug. Simon knows that Johnny is probably feeling guilty right now, and he's sure Johnny will try and make up for what happened once you're out of here. Regardless of whether you think he needs to or not. "I'm just glad everything is over honestly." You say with a big yawn. 

Simon looks your way as you two break away from each other, "That reminds me love, you should focus on resting right now." He makes sure to send Johnny a look as well; silently telling him that it's time for him to go now. 

Johnny has always been able to read his silent demands, and happily makes his way out of the room after saying goodbye to you. Once it’s just the two of you again Simon grasps your hand in his. “I meant what I said about you getting rest. You’re clearly starting to fall asleep again.” You had been actively yawning with drooping eyes for the last few minutes now. 

“Will you be here when I wake up again?” 

“I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.��� Simon could think of a close second though, and that would be in the interrogation room with Laswell. That is something that can be handled later though; staying here with you is more important. 

"Can I-," You start, but your own yawn cuts you off. You're leaning against the pillow with closed eyes, and Simon isn't even sure if you're aware of what you're saying right now, "-ask you one more question?"

"Go ahead, love." 

You barely open your eyes, and give him the biggest grin, "Do you wanna be my boyfriend?" 

"I want to be your everything," He whispered, watching your eyes fall shut. Simon loved you so much right now looking at your sleeping face. He's not sure if you'll remember asking that, but he'll be the one to ask you if so. He's not going to let you go now; not after everything. 

With that Simon goes and turns the light down for you, and settles down by your side once again. He's not planning on going anywhere any time soon. Everything else can just fade away into the background now that he has you. 

Simon's ready for what the future holds as long as he gets to be by your side. 

Note: That it! This story is officially done! I had such a great time writing this story, and I started talking to some amazing people because of it. I hope everyone has enjoyed it as much as I have.

If anyone is wondering the total word count for is just over 13k!

My next big story is going to be expanding on this blurb here that I wrote a bit ago. You can also check out my masterlist for other things that I have written.

Taglist: @nexthyperfix @yourdaydreamerfan @tf141gloryhole @just-pure-trash @definitelynotaclown

@141tfsan @arminarlertssword @openup-yourmind @evie-119 @v1x3n

@whos-fran @trcyyyyy @azkza @kaoyamamegami @yyiikes

@leryg0 @pansexualhailstorm @trulovekay @kdidgg @ane-sthesie

@zhongtar @shinebright2000 @blackhawkfanatic @cmbghost @prozacprinc3ss

@shizukunora @chocolate-noodles @fakeguysarehot @identity2212 @zarsghost

@mroman0111

[mechaknight-98]

Kan’t relax (NSFW) FT Sakura Miyawaki

Author's note: I forgot how close I was to done with this fic…so here it is. Milf Mommy Sakura inbound You have been warned.

Heroes are captivating in fiction because they always arrive just in time and defeat the villain with unmatched skill and power. In reality, however, heroes are often ordinary people who rise to the occasion.

While out getting breakfast for Saki, Daigo was confronted by an old acquaintance named Reborn.

“I am so sorry, Daigo, but I need your help,” Reborn said. Before Daigo could respond, Reborn shot him in the face.

Ten years later, Daigo's eyes snapped open as the smoke dissipated around him. Reborn stood over him and reached out a hand to help him up.

“Where am I?” Daigo asked.

“The same cafe, just 10 years later.” Daigo’s heart sank.

“Where's Sakura?” he asked.

Reborn sighed. “She's leading the Miyawaki clan, but I don't think you're ready to see her.”

Daigo's reply was both defiant and despondent. “I don't care. That's my girl. Take me to her.”

Reborn sighed, knowing Daigo wouldn't relent. So they embarked on a journey to Japan, where Sakura was. They arrived at her "day job" as the head of an idol agency, where she and the girls were still making music and moving forward. As they entered the building, Sakura was headed out. She looked as radiant as ever, but a deep sadness and a dour expression were etched on her face.

“Kura, is that you?” Daigo said weakly. Sakura, having long abandoned that name, turned to Daigo, and their eyes met. A wordless exchange happened between them as they ran to each other. Daigo held her tight, and Sakura readily accepted his embrace.

“Please tell me this isn't a dream,” Sakura asked. Daigo shook his head. “No dream. I'm here for you,” he said. Sakura smiled, and the mask of Saki fell away.

“Why do you look so young though? You look like you're 26,” she asked, confused.

“Can we explain over tea?” Daigo asked. Sakura's eyes narrowed as she looked past Daigo and saw Reborn standing behind him. She flew into a rage.

“You!” Sakura growled at the hitman. “I should have known you had something to do with Daigo’s disappearance.” Her anger flared like a blaze, but Daigo, being the more level-headed, intervened.

“Wait, Kura. He brought me here,” he said. Despite the time and distance from Daigo, she still always deferred to him. She got serious.

“Okay, but when you're done with whatever you have to do today, come find me. I need my stud.”

“How would I find you? Everything is different now.”

“Daigo, you are the most resourceful person I know. You can do it. Otherwise, I'll find you and be forced to punish you,” Sakura said. Daigo wanted to submit to her then and there and let her run wild, but he had responsibilities.

“God, I love it when you punish me,” he said.

Sakura smiled. “I always knew you had a bit of a submissive streak. Don't worry, Mommy will take good care of you. All those competing thoughts, Mommy is going to erase them, so all you can think about is Mommy,” Sakura said. Daigo smiled at her before nodding and going to train with Reborn.

While training Daigo asks, “So who killed me in this timeline originally?”

“It was Tobirama Ozunu,” reborn says as he shows Daigo a picture he recognized as Tobi

“Of course,” Daigo replied to his trainer annoyed as he got back to work. The combat training continued til right before sunset. Daigo said goodbye to Reborn before setting out to find Kura. It took an hour but he made it to her penthouse right after sunset.

When he reached her door his cock was already unbearably hard, and several different emotions flowed through him. The weirdest one is this intense longing despite literally having just been in bed with her this morning. He opens the door to see Sakura very nude on her couch. She grins wolfishly at him and without command he strips for her. Her grin widens. Kura marvels at how hard his cock is for her despite her not touching it. She approaches Daigo and caresses his face. She smiles before saying,

“Do you want mommy to ruin you?” Daigo nods. Kura smiles. She starts by guiding him to the bedroom. Her arousal scent is already melting Daigo’s brain. Having aged like a fine wine in all facets Kura’s control over all facets of her body has been refined and nurtured. Her breasts are bigger her body is more plump, and her scent is now deadly.

Sakura pushes Daigo to the bed and she slowly approaches watching him wordlessly writhe and squirm for her. Sakura loved how needy Daigo was for her, but she needed him feral she needed him rough and raw. She inched to his face and kissed him instead of being fast and aggressive like how she would be when they were younger. Kira’s tongue was slow and deliberate. She knew her Stud’s body instinctively and knew how to send him over the edge. Her first trick was forcing him to swallow her saliva to the point he almost drowned in her kiss. When he came up for air she began to kiss around his body. Paying special attention to his ears, especially one of his known weaknesses. After she’s finished she notices a change in Daigo. His eyes have narrowed and her scent has done its job. Daigo gets up and grabs Kura who moans as he roughly throws her on the bed and without warning Daigo plugs her with his cock. Kura moans as she hasn’t been fucked in ten years.

“Ugh, I’ve needed this cock for ten years,” Sakura whined as a wave of familiar feelings overwhelmed her. Mainly her submission to her stud. It caused her to release more of her arousal and her pussy became a sodden mess as Daigo thrust in and out of her. Now no longer bound by her contracts or obligations since she owned all of Le Sserafim she could fully indulge in her needs.

“Fucking breed that milf pussy. I’ve waited so long,” Sakura said with an almost frightening level of conviction that sent Daigo over the edge and he bred her pussy. Sakura moaned as she reached her peak as well, but her mind broke and her body took control. Her instincts forced her to start fucking herself into Daigo’s cock so it couldn’t soften. Daigo’s mind was also broken as Kura’s fertile pussy invited him to fuck her again. He was overwhelmed by her scent and swept away by the need to breed his bitch. He grabbed Kura’s waist and slammed into her. Kura moaned loudly as Daigo began to thrust again. Animalistic groans came from them as their instincts overwhelmed their brains. Daigo never felt this way before but he needed Kura. He needed to have her more than he needed to breathe, and Sakura needed to be Daigo’s. So they gave in. Sakura’s pussy became little more than a sopping fleshlight for Daigo as his cock slipped into and out of her insatiable fuck hole. Sakura moaned like the bitch in heat she was. Their minds became fogged over by their thoughts that they couldn’t feel their orgasms coming and it hit them both like runaway trains. As Daigo filled Kura up again she leaned back into his body inviting her stud to claim her her again. Daigo grabbed her left tit and cupped her ass as he continued thrusting into her churning his cum inside her before biting her collarbone. Kura’s pussy clenched Daigo. Wordless encouragement to continue on.

“Fuck Mommy your pussy is so tight,” Daigo groaned as he continued thrusting into her Sakura moaned, and said

“Oh, I’m mommy? well then breed me and make me one.”

“Huh that breeding kink never went away did it?” Daigo inquired

“No, it didn’t now slap my ass say how good mommy’s pussy is, and creampie me.” She shot back. Daigo smiled at how much he loved this woman no matter what form she took or how old she was. He slapped her ass and marveled at how it rippled for him then grabbed both of her tits.

“Mommy’s pussy is so filthy. All mommy wants to do is be my breeding bitch doesn’t she. This is all mommy is good for huh? Dumping my children into her womb. Is that what mommy wants?” Daigo says and Sakura is overwhelmed by her lust cums again squirting all over Daigo’s cock, and trying to milk it. She succeeded and Daigo fills her again with cum, but their still horny for each other so they keep fucking until Sakura’s stomach growls.

Daigo laughs and looks at the clock. “Fuck it’s midnight already?” He says dazed by the fact they have been going at it for four hours.

Sakura smiles and says give me a minute let me order some food for us. While she’s on the call Daigo keeps fucking her. When she’s finished she glares at Daigo as he still thrust into her and then cums inside her. This causes the inner breeding cum slut that Sakura has been keeping at bay to fully cum out.

“Oh god yes. Fill me up again. I need your cum. Fuck keep me full.” Sakura said. Her words make Daigo even harder, 25 minutes later Sakura cums again, but before Daigo can reach his peak Sakura’s door rings and he has to pull out.

“I didn’t know you were holding out on me stud she said opening the door naked much to the surprise of the delivery woman who she winked at before going back to Daigo and starting their late-night meal. Daigo smiled and said

“Well it seems like you needed it, and I’d do anything for my breeding bitch.”

[small-z24]

One-Shot: The Breaking Point

Summary: A heated exchange between Y/N and Azriel leaves them both broken hearted.

Word Count: 958

Warnings: None but so much angst

The House of Wind stood silent and imposing under the pale light of the moon. Inside, the tension was palpable. The Night Court's inner circle had gathered in the main hall for a meeting that had quickly turned heated.

Y/N stood with her arms crossed, her eyes blazing with defiance as she faced off against Azriel. The usually composed Shadowsinger was visibly agitated, his shadows writhing around him like a storm ready to break.

"You had no right to interfere, Y/N," Azriel snapped, his voice low but filled with anger. "This mission was dangerous, and you put yourself at risk without consulting anyone."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her own anger flaring. "I did what needed to be done, Azriel. You were taking too long to make a decision, and I couldn’t just sit by and watch people suffer."

Azriel took a step closer, his shadows swirling around him menacingly. "You’re reckless and impulsive. Do you have any idea what could have happened? You could have been killed."

"Reckless?" Y/N scoffed, refusing to back down. "I saved lives, Azriel. While you were hesitating, I took action. Maybe you should thank me instead of berating me."

Azriel's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "This isn't a game, Y/N. Every decision has consequences, and you need to learn to think before you act."

"Don't patronize me," Y/N shot back, her voice rising. "I'm not a child, and I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what I can and cannot do."

The other members of the Night Court watched the exchange with varying degrees of concern and discomfort. Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a worried glance, while Cassian and Mor looked ready to intervene if necessary.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with a mix of frustration and something deeper—something that Y/N couldn't quite place. "You think you know everything, don’t you? You think you're invincible."

Y/N stepped closer, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And you think you can control everything and everyone. Maybe if you trusted people more, you wouldn't feel the need to."

Azriel’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "This isn’t about control. This is about keeping you safe. Why can’t you see that?"

Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. "Because you don't trust me, Azriel. You never have."

Silence fell over the room, the weight of her words hanging between them. Azriel's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features.

"I do trust you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't lose you. Not like this."

Y/N's anger ebbed slightly, replaced by a mix of confusion and sorrow. "Why, Azriel? Why does it matter so much to you?"

As she stared into his eyes, she felt a strange pull, a connection that she had never noticed before. It was as if her very soul was reaching out to his, recognizing something profound and unbreakable. The realization hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It couldn’t be. We can’t be... mates."

Azriel's eyes widened slightly, and Y/N could see the truth in them. He had known. He had known all along.

"You knew," she said, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and betrayal. "You knew and you didn't tell me."

Azriel stepped closer, his expression pained. "Y/N, I—"

"How could you?" she interrupted, tears welling in her eyes. "How could you keep something like this from me?"

Azriel reached out, but she took a step back, shaking her head. "I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, our partnership."

Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of his words. "But you did risk it, Azriel. By not telling me, you made the decision for both of us. You didn’t trust me enough to handle the truth."

Azriel’s shoulders sagged, his shadows wrapping around him protectively. "I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" Y/N laughed bitterly. "You were protecting yourself. You were afraid of what it would mean for us."

Azriel’s eyes pleaded with her, his voice breaking. "I was afraid of losing you."

Y/N took a deep breath, her anger mingling with the hurt. "Well, you might have just done that."

The room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. The other members of the Night Court watched, their expressions a mix of sympathy and concern.

"Y/N," Azriel began, his voice desperate. "Please, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you. I was wrong. But I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, and I didn’t want to ruin everything."

Y/N’s heart twisted at his confession. "Love isn’t about keeping secrets, Azriel. It’s about trust, and you broke that trust."

Azriel’s face crumpled with regret. "I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it back. Just... don’t walk away."

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart. "I need time, Azriel. Time to process this, to figure out what it means for us."

Azriel nodded, his expression filled with sorrow. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting for you."

With that, Y/N turned and left the room, her emotions in turmoil. The bond had snapped into place, but the road ahead was uncertain and filled with pain. As she walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever truly find their way back to each other.

And Azriel, standing in the silent hall, felt the weight of his choices and the fragile hope that one day, they might heal the rift that had formed between them.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Silliest and gayest Napoleon fun fact?

oh man... hard to pick

I feel like it's the one everyone knows which is that, according to Meneval, Napoleon had a penchant for taking running leaps into the laps of friends/secretaries/people he liked**.

Also, this bit from Meneval**: “[Napoleon] would come and sit on the corner of my desk, or on the arm of my armchair, sometimes on my knees. He would put his arm around my neck and amuse himself by gently pulling my ear.”

There's also the one, that I feel is also pretty well known, which is in Cronin's biography**:

Napoleon found that his friendships with men often began with physical attraction, and this took a curious form. 'He told me,' says Coulaincourt, '...that for him the heart was not the organ of sentiment; that he felt emotions only where most men experience feelings of a different kind: nothing in the heart, everything in the loins and in another place, which I lean nameless.' The feeling Napoleon described as 'a sort of painful tingling, a nervous irritability...the squeaking of a saw sometimes gives me the same sensation.'

**insert obligatory disclaimer about early modern/into early 19th century male friendships and homo-social relations being far more intimate and physical in their expression than they are in modern north american and/or #Western Society etc. etc.

--

Not quite on topic, but I am often amused whenever I think about Napoleon ribbing Cambaceres about his love-life and that one story where Napoleon hauled everyone out of bed at ass-o'clock in the morning for Empire Reasons. Cambaceres was late to this impromptu meeting and when he arrived Napoleon apparently said something like, “When your emperor calls for you, Cambacérès, you must tell your pretty ladies to put their trousers back on, take up their canes and be off”. 

Relatedly, that letter from Napoleon to Josephine where Napoleon writes: “is it true the First Chancellor is in love? you might have given me a hint”.

Napoleon being like: babe. babe. you need to tell me the Deetz. i ne eed..,, them. for Reasons. babe. babe. you can't leave hanging. babe.

----

thank you for the ask!! :D :D

[nunalastor]

Sleeping Beauty AU

The dragon waiting for Lucifer was Razzle, corrupted by Lilith's song as she was present when Lucifer made him. Lucifer's goal was not to hurt Razzle, instead fly around the area and use Razzle's fire while chasing him to burn the impenetrable thorns, while he figured out how to undo what Lilith did. He didn't want to think about what he may have to do to his ex-wife to stop this, so he focused on his true love waiting asleep in the tower. He made sure the last of the thorns actively in his way were dealt with before throwing a barrier over the hotel and running inside. Razzle was under orders to stop him, so he wouldn't cause damage anywhere else.

The hotel left completely empty was eerie, but Lucifer didn't mind as he ran to the top of the tower where Alastor was sleeping, and despite the dragon banging against the barrier to get in, Lucifer couldn't take his eyes off him. He was attracted to Alastor since the beginning despite his better judgement, but he packed it down until this exact moment. Knowing that after thousands of years in existence, his true love lay in front of him, waiting to be woken up.

He wanted to kiss Alastor then and there, but first he made sure he memorized the passage of the book that mentioned the cure so he could quote it verbatim if Alastor got the wrong idea. Only then, once he was sure, did he sit down beside Alastor, hopeful he would finally see his smile that had fallen since the curse took effect, and leaned down to kiss him.

The moment their lips brushed against one another, Alastor woke up with a start, taking a moment to remember where he was and how he got there, and he looked up at Lucifer. Lucifer was about to start quoting the book, when Alastor smiled, and in the most unromantic tone possible, said: "I should have known it was you."

Lucifer had to do everything in his power not to pull Alastor into a tight hug and not let go, the kiss for curse-breaking purposes was already a big step and he didn't want to push it, but Charlie threw open the door and did the tight hug for him, crying and apologizing for not having saved him, and Alastor assures her it's quite alright. It wasn't her fault. But Lucifer has to wonder, how did Charlie get in? Charlie tells them the kiss must have done something, because the thorns disappeared and Razzle was back to normal. Something happened with Lilith.

Alastor and Lucifer looked at one another. They needed to talk about the revelation of being each other's true love, but for the moment they had something bigger to worry about, and they would face it together.

👀

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Sixty Eight

Masterlist

Teshteal: *hides behind Gardio suddenly, sniffing the air to see if this person's friend or foe*

Gardio: *not sure why he's hiding suddenly since he knows the smaller man can easily kill a horde of super mutants*

Joyce: (Immediately notices and turns to face Teshteal, worry on her face) “Teshteal….?”

Donovan: (To the crew member) “Safe trip?” (Extends his hand for a handshake)

Crew Member: (Grips Donny’s arm with hers, flashing a friendly smile) “The waters got a little rough, but it wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.” (Gestures behind her at the rest of the crew members who are starting to unload) “We’ve got everything on the list- along with some gifts from friends.”

Donovan: (Begins walking closer to the boat) “Is that so?”

Teshteal: *eyeing up and down the crew member. So far he smells the sea and the typical smell of gun powder that many a caravan person has. Hisses* Gifts? *listening and sniffing for anything that could be a bomb or a trojan crate*

Gardio: *notices Joyce's concerned look and extends a reassuring hand* He's likely on guard because it's a new person... *To crew member after adjusting his hat* Mind if I and my associate inspect the crates?

Lucille: *quietly blinks into the water as the lullaby ends, not sure how to handle her now relaxed and still state*

Ma: (Softly, like a mother speaking to her downhearted child) “Something on your mind, love?”

Lucille: Just not used to being this relaxed. *shrugs*

Ma: (Grabs some conditioner and a comb) “Is that so? You’re on the road a lot I take it?”

Joyce: (Inches closer to Teshteal, holding out her hand to him) “It’s okay- they are good friends of ours….” (Glances back at the boat) “Really good friends….”

Crew Member: (So confused about the glowing ghoul and the strange hissy gremlin behind him) “Uh…..” (Turns to Donny with wide eyes)

Donovan: (Shrugs his shoulders) “I mean…. It ain’t like they're hiding anything.” (Gestures at the crew members who are beginning to unload the boat onto the dock) “We’ve known these guys all their lives- their parents and even grandparents too.”

Boat Captain: (Waves to Donny from the top of the deck)

Donovan: (Smiles and waves back) “Yo Trenton! Ya didn’t happen to pack a bomb on the boat, hm?”

Trenton: (Shakes his head) “And hurt dear old Mama Evie? You think I’m trying to get my head to be served on a platter?”

Goats: (Bleat from inside the boat as if confirming the captains words)

Lucille: *nods* Very. I have settlements to maintain- *tenses up, remembering all the work she has to do on quite a few settlements* I need to get back to work soon-

Ma: (Frowns slightly hearing that) “Honey, remember what I said about slowing down to give yourself time?”

Teshteal: *slowly eases out from behind the large glowing one detective with extreme caution*

Gardio: *to the crew* If you say so. *still watching warily like the gargoyle he is*

Joyce: (Reaches to take her boyfriends hand, looking between both him and Gardio) “….Is something wrong?”

Crew Member: (Still looking at Donny nervously as she rushes to follow him) “Protective much?” (Gestures at the two newcomers who seems extra wary and cautious) “Are they…..?”

Donovan: (Shakes his head as he takes a crate from a crew member that hands it to him) “Nah, but you guys didn’t hire anyone new- right?”

Crew Member: (Also shakes her head) “Nope. Some old sea dogs as it’s always been.”

Donovan: “Good.” (Motions with his chin to a spot on the ground) “Just leave the crates and boxes there- and I’ll bring ‘em inside. You know how Ma likes everything organized.”

Crew Member: “You’re sure Donny…? We can help with the sorting?”

Donovan: (Remembering Jasmine and how jumpy she is) “Nawh- I’ve got it. Besides, don’t you guys have other places to be?”

Teshteal: New people. I need to be careful that they aren't vault operatives or that I don't hurt innocent people.

Gardio: *to Teshteal* They seem like decent people-

Teshteal: *shakes his head* Not just that, I sense... something off out here. Hard to place right now. *tail twitches anxiously*

Lucille: *quietly* This isn't enough time...?

Ma: (Smiles sadly down at her, gently squeezing her hand that she never let go of) “No my dear- three days is not enough for what you went through and neither is one soothing bath.”

Lucille: That's what worked in the past. I don't see why it doesn't work now. *shrugs*

Joyce: (Looks around at the people helping with unloading the cargo) “But what’s wrong about this?”

Trenton: (Comes out with a small bundle- too small to be a baby but it’s some sort of little creature) “Joyce? Sweetheart- look who’s here.”

Joyce: (Eyes widen as she begins to approach the boat captain instead, carefully taking the bundle from him)

Donovan: (Stopped helping with unloading the crates just to watch, smiling at his little sister)

Joyce: (Squeals with excitement as she beams down at the little bundle) “Ohhhhhhh!!!! She’s adorable!!!”

Teshteal: *ears perk up and and curiosity gets the best of him so he carefully approaches Joyce to see what... or rather who she's holding. He completely forgot her question already*

Joyce: (Beams up at her boyfriend, leaning towards him to show her little bundle of joy)

The Bundle: (Contains the tiny wiggly form of a baby panda ferret who’s no older than eight weeks old)

Joyce: (Squeals as she coos down at the little noodle, scratching under its chin) “Isn’t she just the cutest!?!?”

Trenton: (Smiles at Joyce and backs off to talk with Donovan, his face getting slightly more serious)

Ma: (Tenderly as she pets Lucille’s hair) “Oh honey- that ain’t a good way to function. It is like I said before- you’re human and it’s not fair to treat yourself as less. You need rest, for both your mental and physical health.”

Lucille: That's lovely and all but I have people who depend on me. They need supplies- Defenses! I can't just lay around for a week when they're waiting on materials that could very well save their lives!

Ma: (Raises a brow at this) “Huh, If I didn’t know any better I would say you sound like you’re raising a bunch of orphaned children. Are that weak and helpless? Isn’t there someone else who can give them a hand? You’re just one person, sweetheart. You can’t do it all.” (Fearful that Lucille will crumble again under more pressure)

Teshteal: *eyes go big- as large as saucers- at the teeny little panda noodle. He resists the urge to pick her up and lifts her up above his head in awe* A little baby panoodle...! *cupping both sides of his face, trying to contain his joy. He forgets about his apprehension completely thanks to the precious little ferret*

Joyce: “Panoodle!!!!!” (Looks like she’s attempting to contain her joy just as much as Teshteal, giving a bunch of little kisses down to her new baby)

Pirate: (Running and jumping around to greet everyone as if they were old friends, tail wagging like crazy)

Trenton: (Beckons Donovan to follow him while Joyce is distracted, picking up a crate of food that is meant to go inside)

Donovan: (Gives one quick look to his little sister as he also picks up a crate to carry inside, following the captain) “What’s up?”

Trenton: “I’ve got something for ya….”

Lucille: *purses her lips in thought and goes silent in thought for a moment. Quietly* Who's going to build the defenses...? The walls...? No one else does it but me... *head spins as she begins to spiral from how much the Commonwealth depends on solely her*

Ma: (Squeezes Lucille’s hand again as even more worry floods her face) “My sweet…..” (Gently cups Lucille’s cheek with her other hand to try and get her attention before she loses the young woman) “Lucille, look at me please.”

Lucille: ... *looks up ever so slightly, her mismatched eyes trying to focus on Ma despite her spiraling thoughts on all the responsibility thrown on her*

Ma: (Gently strokes Lucille’s cheek with her thumb, her face soft and comforting) “Are you with me, sweetie?”

Teshteal: *cooing at the tiny panda noodle. Doesn't believe he's seen anything so cute in his life*

Joyce: (Moves to huddle in closer to her boyfriend again so he can get a better look at the little wiggly gal) “She’s so little!!!” (Slightly holds the bundle out so Teshteal can hold the baby if he wants)

Donovan: “Good or bad?”

Trenton: “Wish I could say good news- but sadly it ain’t…..”

Donovan: (Feels a weight of dread and exhaustion build up in his chest at that) “Oh…..”

Teshteal: *takes the baby panoodle into his arms and gently nuzzles her soft fur with his nose* So soft and sweet! *stops for a moment, admiring the adorable ball of fluff* What are you going to name her?

Joyce: (Proudly) “Gertie!!! She’s from the same mother as Gilbert!!!”

Gertie: (Gives a very tiny lick on the gremlins nose, her little paws poking out of the swaddle she’s in)

Donovan: (Sets the crate down on the kitchen counter, walking over to check on the slowly simmering pot of broth)

Trenton: (Looks like he’s dreading to bare whatever news he has to the ghoul)

Jasmine: (Whimpers ever so slightly in her sleep, also feeling a heavy load start to weigh down on her shoulders and ropes snag at her ankles- trying to pull her down in her dreams once more….. But she can also feel something else…. Something she can’t quit put her finger on…. But it’s present)

Teshteal: *giggles at the tiny ferret kiss* Awe! He's got a little sister now! *gently holds one of her tiny paws in his fingers* Wook at her wittle hands!

Joyce: (Practically shining brighter than the sun itself) “She’s so stinking cute that imma die!!!”

Gertie: (Looking between the two squealers curiously, so confused on what’s going on)

Crew Members: (Keep unloading all the goods and eventually they stroll on out with a half dozen or so sheep and goats with their young, the creatures bleating as the clamor along)

Jasmine: (Attempts to free herself from the chains that are tying and pulling her down as she feels the crushing weight of the world on bare down on her shoulders- partly recognizing that she’s dreaming and her troubles are manifesting themselves into it. She struggles for a bit, tears forming on her waterline and she’s about to scream with frustration but then she feels like what seems to be a gentle kiss on her head from behind and she freezes- hearing a low hum in the distance of her dreamworld)

Teshteal: *blinks for a moment, tail twitching upward when he realizes something. Whispers* I think we might be scaring her with all our cooing. *to the baby ferret as quietly as he possibly can* Sorry.

Joyce: (Hums lowly as her emerald eyes widen) “Ooops…..” (Reaches out to gently stroke her new baby’s face again) “Sorry Gertie….”

Gertie: (Also licks Joyce’s fingers with her tiny tongue when she can)

Lucille: Trying to be... *thoughts race on what settlement still needs what resource and how many turrets she needs to assign to another and so on...* Hard to stop when it's all you've been able to think about for the last year and a half....

Ma: (Softly) “And you do it all completely on your own? For over a year and a half now?”

Lucille: *nods grimly* No one helps...

Ma: (Heart just about snaps all over again and she has half a mind to go down to these settlements and give them an earful because poor Lucille seems to have enough trouble as it is) “It really is no wonder that you’re so overworked. But I’m sure we can work something out that doesn’t involve you trudging all around to try and fix everyone’s problems.”

Jasmine: (Her hands that were once firmly clasping Nicks shirt start to move a bit to grope behind him despise nothing being there) “Mhmmm……”

Dogmeat: (Sniffs the girl when she does this, whining softly)

Jasmine: (Eyes sparkle in her dream world as the humming gets closer and it’s unmistakeable of what it is to her) “Mamá…..” (And just like that- the weight starts to get lifted off her shoulders and her ties start to become undone)

Nick: *to dogmeat calmly* I see it, boy. Problem is- I don't want to wake her. *senses the presence himself, though for him it's more like an unknown source of heat or warmth other than the sun*

Gardio: *observing from the distance. From the sound of things, the goods involve livestock and he doesn't want to risk contaminating them with his radiation*

Teshteal: *gentle smile, or as gentle as it can be with his sharp teeth at Gertie*

Lucille: Good luck getting people to listen... If it's not farming or guard duty or some other slightly menial task, then it's all on me to keep up these places.

Ma: (Huffs slightly when she hears that) “Well that sounds to me plain unfair on your side. They cannot really expect one woman to help now can they?”

Gertie: (Licks her nose as she gazes up between Joyce and Teshteal, seemingly unbothered by Teshteal appearance since he’s friendly)

Joyce: (Nose scrunches slightly) “I think Gilbert isn’t going to be too happy- he’s spoiled that way.”

Jasmine: (Shakes off her remaining shackles in her dream and looks around with wide kitten eyes) “Mamá!!!!” (She listens for the humming, but it sounds like it’s coming from all directions so she picks one and starts running) “Mami!!!!!” (She feels another soft breath and kiss on the back of her neck this time as she runs- fueling her determination. She misses her mother so damn much….)

Dogmeat: (Noses his way on in closer to the teen as she continues to try and grab something behind Nick while kicking her feet)

Nick: Oh- Hold on, doll... *wraps his arms around her to keep her from knocking the both of them off of the lounge chair and starts rubbing her back to soothe her excitement*

Teshteal: *quiet huff* What is Gilbert to do? She'll have to live in the same house. *emphatically raises his hands, as if performing a fool in a play shrugging off a joke or a jab*

Joyce: (Giggles at Teshteal, squeezing Gertie’s bundle slightly) “You’re right. He’ll have to grow to love his little sister. Besides- I’m sure she smells like their mother.” (Sniffs the little noodle to confirm her thoughts- Gertie smelling exactly like baby Gilbert when she first got him)

Lucille: *shrugs in defeat* Apparently, they can... Doesn't matter. I like building-

Ma: (Shakes her head in disapproval at these people as she mutters something under her breath, tapping the bottom of Lucille’s chin) “I’m sure you do honey- but too much strain on one person will cause them to crumble. So no- they can’t be asking you to do everything for them. You have your own life to manage too.”

Jasmine: (Somewhat feels Nicks gentle rubs in her sleep, but she cannot really contain herself as she feels the softest of touches caress the side of her face and she runs even faster towards a bright beacon of light in the distance. Behind her she can almost hear and feels her troubles calling out to her, but the light is driving it all away for her) “Mamá!!!”

Nick: *confused- she's usually only this active in her sleep when she's having a nightmare and yet, she doesn't seem distressed*

Teshteal: *sniffs* She does smell kind of similar to the little guy...

Gardio: *still still as a statue. One would assume he is one*

Joyce: (Takes in a deep inhale of Gertie, rocking back and forth happily) “Baby ferret smell!!!”

Lucille: *mutters quietly* What life... I had a life before the war and now what? I blew up the institute- but that's all I'll ever be known for.... *splashes the water in a fit of frustration* The one who obliterated the boogeyman of the commonwealth while graciously giving homes to those who need them.

Ma: “Correct me if I am wrong- but I believe that ‘your life’ consists of the same people who helped talk you out of ending it so soon and have taken care of you.” (Tenderly rakes her fingers through Lucille’s purple hair) “They make up your life and you make up theirs in turn. That is what family is. You take care of one another and watch each others hearts and wellbeing.”

Lucille: *eyes sting with tears. She tries to hide it by averting her gaze. She doesn't know if she has the strength to return the favor to the people who do care... And now she wonders if she's failed each and every one of them, now*

Jasmine: (Hums along with the song the voice of her mother is singing- recognizing it immediately as one of the many lullabies she’d sing. It twists her heartstrings a bit, but she cannot help the smile on her face) “Mami….” (She stops running but doesn’t stop squirming to escape in real life, closing her eyes to bask in the warmth she’s feeling throughout her body)

Nick: *still holding his squirming daughter as still as he can. He keeps petting her back to comfort her*

Ma: (Smiles kindly down at the young woman) “You know- people often ask me why I do what I do. Why I devote everything I am to being a caretaker and mother when I seemingly get little in return for walking sometime walking into a blaze that could leave me with less than what I had before. What they don’t understand is that I do get something in return each and every time. I get the irreplaceable joy of seeing my babies and loved ones flourish and glow over time even in the tiniest ways. That will fill me up more than gold and glory ever wil even if it’s in the tiniest of ways like a simple glitter in their eyes in the morning at breakfast or the peaceful look on their face as they sleep in comfort.” (Gently taps the bottom of Lucille’s chin once more before she moves her hand up to tuck her short hair behind her ears even if there isn’t much to do so) “That’s what any good parent wants from their kid. I can say that your father is no different. And if I end up with taking a hard loss or a couple of hits, well then so be it. Love is the sacrifices we make for each other anyways. And if you’re wondering what you’re sacrificing here for this love- it’s that little piece of you that you keep trying to hide away from everyone. That little piece of you that’s human, tired and just wants peace and rest. Yes, that piece of you that you think is unwanted and not worth it is still precious because it’s a part of you, my love.”

Teshteal: *eyes sparkle at how loving his girlfriend is over this small creature*

Joyce: (Bounces and pats her little bundle of joy- then glances back at the house) “I wonder how we should play this out with Gilbert….”

Jasmine: (Mumbling hoarsely as she paws midair) “Mamá…. Come back…. Please….” (Kicks her feet a bit harder) “Lo siento Mami, lo mucho siento. Por favor….. Don’t leave me alone- you know I hate it….”

Translation: “I’m sorry Mommy, I’m very sorry. Please.”

Dogmeat: (Sniffles the squirming girl some more with big puppy eyes of confusion and concern because she’s making strange sounds)

The Voice: (Whispers ever so softly and comfortingly into the broken teens ear, wrapping her up in a hug of warmth and security) “Chiquilla bonita. Llegaste del cielo en un tren del amor. Tu alegre sonrisa. Me enseña en la vida, el camino mejor….”

Translation: “Pretty girly. You arrived from heaven on a train of love. You’re happy smile. It teaches me the better things in life.”

Jasmine: (Feels her heart both flood with overwhelming joy and crack into a million little pieces when she registers that- having not understood why her mother had been so adamant on singing that song to her during her prewar days…. But now it’s just becoming clear. She has to find her mother- she has to say sorry) “I’m sorry Mamá…..” (She hugs her dream self tightly and rocks back and forth on her feet, taking a couple of slow steps to follow the voice but once again it’s coming from all directions)

Nick: *whispers* What's going on in that pretty little head of yours...?

Teshteal: Hrm... Slowly? Like a cat?

Gardio: *nods*

Lucille: *lips tremble before burying her face in her hands. She wishes she COULD rest but the consequences of that feel too great*

Ma: (Softly) “Whatcha thinking about, my sweet?” (Gently allows her hand to rest on Lucille’s shoulder, looking on at the young woman with concern and understanding)

Lucille: *voice cracks as she cries into her hands* I... I can't just drop everything to rest-! I can't- There's so much I need to do- people could die without me- *sobs, deep down wanting to rest but it seems like an impossible task*

Joyce: (Glances between Gardio and Teshteal) “I suppose so- but knowing my little stinker he’ll come running the moment he senses someone else taking up my attention then throw a tantrum.”

Teshteal: So then we show him immediately-!

Gardio: Carefully-

Teshteal: We carefully show him immediately! *Beaming from ear to ear*

Jasmine: (Mewls like a lost kitten looking for their mother because she essentially is, her dream self wandering aimlessly through an empty field to find a dead woman whom she swears she can feel in her heart and hear in the distance. She smiles despite being lost- because she knows that her mother is close by and wouldn’t allow anyone to lay a finger on her child) “Where are you?”

Lucille: *voice cracks as she cries into her hands* I... I can't just drop everything to rest-! I can't- There's so much I need to do- people could die without me- *sobs, deep down wanting to rest but it seems like an impossible task*

Ma: “Oh cariño…” (Her mother instincts take ahold and she immediately drops to her knees besides the poor young woman, gently draping her arm around Lucille’s shoulder to pull her into a hug that she can easily pull out of if she desires) “Sssssh, it’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure things out all together. You can only shoulder so much on your own until you crack and crumble- but that’s what your family is here for.”

Teshteal: So then we show him immediately-!

Gardio: Carefully-

Teshteal: We carefully show him immediately! *Beaming from ear to ear*

Joyce: (Turns back to the lighthouse in thought, then back down at the tiny kit once more) “Well- he’s gonna have to at least tolerate her. Hopefully he quickly learns that there’s plenty of love to go around. Plus it’s not good for ferrets to be alone.”

Teshteal: *making kissy faces and baby noises at the baby ferret... his ears pick up a rustling noise in the distance of the woods but the size tells him it might be a wild animal of some kind*

Jasmine: (Suddenly perks upright from Nicks chest as if she was summoned, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders so she can steady herself as her big magical doe eyes scan the area expectingly. They gloss over both Nick and Dogmeat as if they weren’t there- obviously she’s looking for something else) “Mamá…..” (She can still feel the warmth in her heart and the prickle of a ghostly kiss on the back of her head….. But where is her mother?)

Nick: *looks where she is. His sensors pick up a faint impression of... something but it's hard to get a reading. He briefly considers heading to Acadia for calibration if not for Jasmine's behavior. Kindly, out of confusion* What about her, doll?

Lucille: *sobs into the older woman's arms*

Ma: (Locks Lucille into her strong and comforting embrace that many people had sought solace in before) “Sssshh, it’s okay. Just let it all out.”

Jasmine: (Pouts a bit when she can’t find her mother, then she tilts her head at another prickle on her cheek. She then makes grabby hands up in the air while leaning over the side of the chair, almost like she’s trying to leap out of her fathers arms)

Nick: Woah, hold on there... *pulls her back a little, unsure exactly why she's trying to leap out of the seat at nothing. Granted, it seems better than the wild thrashing from before, but it doesn't make him any less concerned about her current behavior*

Gardio: *decides that the two lovebirds should be fine so he walks back to the lighthouse to try and be of some help. He approaches the two men* If there's any cargo that isn't food or livestock to haul in or set up, I'd be willing to help.

Donovan: (Looks frazzled about something but slowly nods his head, a bottle of broth in hand) “Yeah…. Yeah, that would be nice thank you….” (He walks over to the other ghoul, holding out the bottle to him) “Give this to Detective Valentine before you go, please.”

Trenton: (Leaning against the wall, looking down in deep thought, staring Donny’s expression of worry)

Gardio: Will do. *gives an affirming nod then gives Donny a reassuring but heavy pat on the shoulder, giving him just a little radiation as a boost to help ease his frazzled nerves before he heads on up to the roof*

Donovan: (Gives a weak smile at Gardio as he leaves, then sighs heavily)

Joyce: (Goes back to squealing happily over the little one) “Oooooh, she’s too perfect!!! I can’t get enough of her sweet little face!!!”

Gertie: (Gazes up at Teshteal and Joyce, licking her nose some more)

Teshteal: *licks his own nose with his long tongue to mimic Gertie*

Gertie: (Seems fascinated by the two people in front of her, especially by the strange gremlin man mimicking her by licking his own nose)

Joyce: (Giggles some more, this time at her boyfriend) “Ack, you’re cute as well!!!”

Jasmine: (Whines when she’s kept from leaping into the air but she doesn’t seem too upset, just tries to do it again while still making grabby hands at nothing)

Nick: *sighs, knowing if he tries to snap her out of it, she'll just grow more distressed* I can't just let you go- you might hurt yourself... Maybe your mama will come closer to hold you.

Gardio: *walks up the stairs to the roof and raises an eyebrow in confusion at the girl making grabby hands in the air. It's a stark contrast to the screaming and thrashing from before. He very carefully approaches and speaks calmly so he doesn't spook her* I have broth for her.

Teshteal: *turns to her and licks his nose like he's some sort of big cat then makes a tiny chirping noise with his mouth- being the silliest of sillies to make his angel laugh*

Joyce: (Shrieks with laughter at her goofball of a boyfriend, putting a hand over her mouth to try and muffle her laughter that can be heard across the ocean)

Teshteal: *grins at how much that simple noise made her happy* I could gobble her and Gilbert up like a couple of extra big noodles! *Playfully licks his lips*

Jasmine: (Looks over at Gardio when she hears his voice and blinks slowly, then turns to her father, then back to the space up in the area she was looking at) “Mamá….” (She wiggles in her dads arms, patting on his shoulder to try and make her let go, then makes her grabby hands to be picked up by whatever she’s looking at)

Dogmeat: (Whines with confusion, trying to lick the girl)

Gardio: *finally next to the chair. He sets the bottle down next to Nick* Here... Do you think she'll drink it in this state?

Nick: I haven't a clue... *to Jasmine* Hey, kitten. Do you think your Mama would be happy if you drank this broth? *picks up the bottle and holds it up* I think she would. *gently smiling at her*

Jasmine: “Mamá….” (Takes her eyes off the air with a wistful and somber, deep longing look in her eyes, letting her hands rest back on her Dads shoulders as she turns to look at him. She tilts her head to one side, then seems to register that it’s him and she breaks out into a warm smile)

Nick: *smiles just as warmly back, relieved to se that she's isn't suffering for once* It's good to see that smile. Would you like some broth? *Offers it to her once more to see if she'll take it or not*

Gardio: *amazed that the girl looks so at peace. He glances over at the spector she was making grabby hands at a second ago*

Nick: *thinks to himself* So he can see it, too? Well that means it's not a simple calibration issue...

Jasmine: (Softly) “Daddy….” (Gently presses her forehead to his while putting a hand on his cheek, sighing softly, not acknowledging what he’s offering her)

The Object: (Appears to be a misty ball of white light up in the sky, now fading out so it’s almost completely transparent)

Nick: *sighs and sets the bottle down* I suppose not... *Reaches up with his bad hand and strokes her cheek, then attempts to brush a stray hair from her face* Hey, kiddo.

Gardio: *watching as it disappears, wondering what or who that could have been... Whatever it was seemed to have a calming effect on the girl. Quietly he turns to and starts for the stairs* I'm going to help Donny. I promised him that I'd help.

Jasmine: (Hums happily in greeting, sighing as she slinks down to rest her head against Nicks chest, listening to the soothing sounds of his inner workings while the sun shines over them. She’s still tired, like her body is light years away from being fully recharged)

Joyce: “Oooohhh- I so hope they get along well!!! I would love to have a ferret snuggle session!!!”

Teshteal: *looks up and notices Gardio's left* We should... Probably go back. Dio left- *slight panic enters his voice* Why did he leave-?

Joyce: (Looks around) “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe he went to help Donny with the stuff.”

Teshteal: Yeah... *Shaking a little. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end again* I don't feel safe out here, though... Let's head back. *Turns to the lighthouse*

Joyce: (Seems concerned but she follows along) “Errrrrm…. Okay then. But can I ask, why don’t you feel safe?”

Teshteal: *glances at the ship* I don't know those people. I don't know if they're from that hellish place. *Already walking along*

Joyce: (Walks alongside him, confused) “What place? These our Ma and Donny’s friends, they’ve known them for a long time.”

Donovan: (Already putting away some of the stuff he brought in, raising his head when Gardio pokes his head in) “Handed it off?”

Gardio: As good as done. She still seemed sleepy though... *Fully steps into the kitchen* What do you need help with bringing in?

Donovan: (Rubs his forehead for a moment, then starts walking to the door past Gardio) “The stuff with the storage labels go into the basement, the kitchen labels go the kitchen, and the rest into the living room. Mama will sort them out later.”

Jasmine: (Her eyes click up to her father as she rests, lifting a hand to gently touch the side of his neck where there’s a large gash, humming a bit sadly and with concern)

@lucilleandherrobots

[planet-poptropica]

⋆ The Many Faces and Informational Guide of A.I. Merlin! ⋆

⋆ Here’s the doodle I did of his first concept back in 2020! I also thought the glass didn’t make any sense because it would already be built into his eye. ⋆

[icebluecyanide]

I saw people talking about that scene where Yassen shot Max as a huge betrayal of Alex and it's kinda funny to me like yeah he involved Alex in a murder but also I cannot emphasise enough that Alex decided to join a criminal organisation. People have been telling him he'll need to kill for days now, Alex has watched them kill multiple people already, I get that it sucks for him but you cannot team up with a known killer and be that shocked when actually his secret extra mission was to kill

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[calamitydaze]

long tag ramble below u have been warned

[fragmentedblade]

Also, Ruan Mei was the one who lent the Phase Flame to Ratio, wasn't she?