#savage-scraps

[noesqape]

EXTREMELY obsessed with the idea of savage living his life post clone wars without his prosthetic. idc how advanced ur tech is, they must always hurt. it must feel so nice to take off ur giant heavy metal arm that's clinging to ur residual limb.

[env0writes]

Freshwater Fires; Stillwater Reflections 11.21.22 “Lovers all full hearty   Love is all fool hardy   Lovers all full hearted  Weave the world to not be parted“

A baker’s bread tastes more divine When made for their darling dear The tender rolls made serpentine Prepared as though for Guineveire Halls are filled with somber songs The choir led by bardic longing muse When parted to join the throngs The melodies heard amuse The farmer’s stead a drafty warm Passed by with idle thought Patched with thatch for winter’s storm For milkmaid’s wife by lovestruck sot Why now with pomp and praise Do deeds betray such magnificence What gifts to cause amaze Gone are thoughts that guide all sense A flower may bloom by any such name But a poet’s heart is carried by birds To whom they find love, have no shame No gift may satisfy like their lover’s words Honeysuckle darling dearest mine For a poet’s word is a delicate petal Strung from a pen silver-tongued to enshrine Enduring beyond conquerors war-wearied mettle Pluck a page like a turning autumn leaf Burnt from the days and in need of the sun Where all lover’s look when in need of relief To their craft made for you, whom without is undone The writer’s lines wind like root-rife forest paths With purple prose and bawdy eloquence Action seen in voice and ink on epigraphs and epitaphs Weary warm begrudgingly, but always bereft of common sense Blindly reaching for the stars above Who else but fools, could pursue this love

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artist!   Photo by @mynamemeanscloud

[fanaticsnail]

"I Can't Do This Without You"

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,939 (why am I like this)

Warnings: Pollen!Buggy x afab!reader, swearing, smut, mdni, p n v, chase, thrill, fluff, semi-public, mutual pining, has plot - I swear, whimpering, pleading, groaning, use of pet names: baby, sugar, sugarplum, hun, captain, Buggy is a switch.

I said I'd get it done in 48h, and I am a snail true to my word. Crispy leaf, dangle dangle.

Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings, @feral-artistry, @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity

Minors, this is not for you.

You groaned as the exhaustion overtook you, lulling your head backwards and releasing a deep sigh from the chasms of your throat. Feeling the fabric of the partially dampened tea-towel grind uncomfortably against your water-swollen fingertips had you release a hiss from your clenched teeth. 

It was your turn to remain awake, plagued by the domestic duties that came with serving alongside the Buggy pirates. Although your allocations were rotational, you loathed being the only pirate awake during the cryptid hours aboard the vessel. Everything was silenced, aside from the rambunctious snores produced in the crew-quarters: roars, snores and heavy-laden breathing calling you to both run to and away from them as your eyelids grew heavy. 

The echo of: “Nobody can do this like you can,” relayed on loop, the soft breath of your captain dancing atop your neck from behind. He knew exactly what his verbal praise did to you, the confident and arrogant asshole that he was. You adored your captain, loved serving him with your peers and sailing the East Blue with him guiding you through the currants and riding through the waves. 

The only issue that you had serving your captain was this one, small, unspoken thing that had him sweetly pouring your name from his painted lips in a sticky-sweet drawl. His molasses-tone purring for you, coaxing you into doing his bidding by just the utterance of your name. It had your knees aching, spine tingling and heartstrings caught in the firm vice of his gloved fist. Perhaps he truly had no idea what he was doing to you. The way the small rasp in his voice pulled against his tonsils, the sweetness in his cadence truly revealed who he was to you alone. 

You shook your head, plunging your hands back into the suds and muck of the dishwater. The texture of undiscarded food scraps brushing your fingertips caused your lips to pull back, revealing your pearled teeth in a disgusted snarl. Savages: the lot of them. A shudder crept up your back as you pulled the plug from the basin and ran the cool water from the tap. You anchored the nozzle of the tap over the basin, aiming for the bile-like gunk stuck to the steel container and coaxing them down the sink. 

Heavy footfalls of buckled boots broke you away from your disgust, alert and ready to meet with whomever tore you from your thoughts. You rinsed your rubber gloves before removing them, casting them aside to the corner of the sink beside the amassment of freshly cleansed dishes, and turned to greet your crewman. You were shocked to see it was not just a simple comrade sneaking in to collect a glass of water, but your captain clad in nothing but his tight leather pants and unbuckled boots. His long blue hair lay carelessly from his head, waterfalling from the crown of his head down his shoulders and tickling his chiseled abdomen. Whispers of the partially curled hair, untamed and unbridled without his striped red and white bandana, stuck to his forehead in stringy clusters. 

“H-Hey, Love,” his voice rasped. His eyes were panicked, wide behind the lengthy blue eyelashes. The small stuttered quiver in his ungloved hands had your brow furrowing into a dip in the middle of your face. Although not unaccustomed to pet-names from him; the tone in his voice held you captive and unwavering. 

“Captain?” you asked after him, watching as your voice caused his head to twitch to the side and eyes clamp tightly shut, “Captain? Are you okay? You look poorly.” You removed your apron and hastily cast it down to the side as you approached him. As quickly as you approached, he stuttered his feet backwards and fisted the doorframe within his firm grip. 

Immediately halting your steps, your heart beat harder within your chest. Panicked. Your Captain was panicked and frantic. He steadied himself, cowering away from your and physically holding himself to the frame as if it was the last thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Captain-?” you began, only for your words to be halted by your captain speaking through gritted teeth. His jaw was clenched so tightly closed, you were afraid he’d break his pearly teeth. 

“-J-Just-....hnngh-... I n-need you to do something-... f-for me,” his voice faltered as the last syllable left his painted lips. His brows furrowed, eyes clamped tightly shut; his blue triangular patterns adorning his cheeks bled into the creases he created with the tightness. Sweat was pooling from his brow, down his temple to his stubbled chin. 

“Captain!” you called after him, prompting him to shake his head from side to side violently to halt you from approaching him further. 

“This was a m-mistake. I c-can’t-... fuck-... I-,” He pulled himself closer to the doorframe; his hips falling flush against the wall from behind. Your eyes searched his closed lids, following the trail of sweat down his chin to the bob of his Adams apple and down the scruff of his tufts of blue chest-hair. 

“Captain,” you spoke in a warning tone. He shook his head from side to side once more, frantic and wild behind his clenched shut eyes. You took a tentative step towards him, his eyes snapping open at the small creak of your foot atop the floorboards. 

“Baby,” he whimpered through a pained groan. His pupils were blown wide and frantic. His saliva drew the red tint away from its designated position against his lips and down his chin. There was something rabid in the air. To what extent, you truly had no idea. 

“What do you need, sir?” Your professional response was to fall back into your ship-savvy training. You stood alert, your hands laced behind your back and awaiting orders from your pirate captain. He winced at your cadence, his voice unleashing a feral groan from his throat. It was deep, desperate and needy - heavy in the growl that laid against its raspy undertone. 

“Baby, I need you to take my head. Take my head, and run.” 

At that final command, he tossed his head at you and you began your sprint towards the upper deck of the Big-Top. You held your captain’s head within the hook of your elbow, cradling him into your chest as your feet picked up a sprint. 

“Where am I going, sir?” you asked him, looking down at the painted clown you had chosen as your captain.

“Away f-from my body,” he winced. You noticed the tone in his voice, picking up his immediate distress and almost halting your steps to go back to collect his torso-.

“-DON’T!” He barked at you. You stiffened, picking up the pace once again as you fled away from the kitchen’s scullery and to the woven ropes beside the top mast. 

Why did he have to collect that substance? Why did he have to find a way to siphon it into his latest ‘Buggy Ball’? Why did he have to spill it over his gloved wrist, immediately inhaling it and sneezing through the chalky pollen?

Because Captain Buggy D Clown was, among all other things, a fucking idiot. 

He cursed at himself, feeling the tightness in the crotch of his leather pants as he braced his body against the doorframe, hoping you had ran far enough away from him to not cage you against the wall and rut into you like an ill-tempered, ill-mannered staffordshire bull terrier. 

It was no secret that he gave you preferential treatment among the crew. He attempted to balance this out by giving you the poor jobs he wouldn’t dream of designating to the others because “nobody does it like you can.” He mentally slapped himself in the face at thinking of that, as he was cradled so protectively against the side of your chest. He wanted you, he wanted you. He wanted you.

But not like this. 

He continued to verbally berate himself as your feet carried you further atop the deck and up the ropes. Your feet looped effortlessly against the woven ladder, hoisting both yourself and him to the crows nest and cowering into the side: hidden and out of sight. The stars illuminated your skin, the rise and fall of your pants holding him in a hypnotic stance as he watched your breasts swell with oxygen. Desire fell from his lips in a feral growl, prompting you to look down and search his face with panic written all over it. 

Even in his afflicted state, he could truly see how desperately you cared for him. The way your hands reached to collect his chin and coax his pollen-blown pupils to meet with your own held him bewitched by your compassion. 

“Captain?” You asked after him, breaking him from his trance momentarily as he panted out incoherent curses and ramblings, “Buggy. You need to tell me what’s going on. How can I fix this? What can I do?”

“You gotta stay away from my body, Hun,” he winced, left eye closing as his right attempted to hold firm to your gaze, “h-he-...f-fuck-... He w-wants-.....hha-ah-... He wants you, Sugar.”

You stay stationary, holding firm and perplexed as your captain continues swearing, cursing and groaning into the wee hours of the morning. You had no idea what had come over him, his affliction pulling at your heart as you watched more sweat produce at his temple. 

“Why do I need to keep away from your body, Captain?” you asked him, placing his head down beside your own and lying down against the floorboards of the crows nest. He panted, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he winced through his next words.

“I fucking told you already, Baby. He wants you.” You cocked your head to the side as you watched your captain huff and suck his bottom lip in and out of his lips. His pants and groans caused caution to tug at your mind as you continued to study him. 

His pained face almost looked as a lover would writhe beneath their other half. Lustful and insatiable being the balance of his growling and pleading expression, his brows knitting together in concentration as he continued to pant like an animal. Surely your captain would not behave as irrationally as a teenager in search of their next crevice to gyrate against. 

Until it dawned on you.

That was exactly what you were dealing with. 

“Captain?” you cautiously asked down at him, “Did you-... D-Did you toy with that flower? The one you said you wouldn’t touch?” After several clenched inhales and exhales, Buggy managed to hiss out a simple word that would change your reaction from concerned to appalled. 

“Yes.”

You immediately began to grumble and chastise the captain, who whimpered away like a puppy caught behaving in a manner undesired by their owners. After a few minutes of berating and chastising, you halted your words as you witnessed the tremble in the bottom lip of your captain. You shook your head and huffed out a simple angry puff of breath. 

“You were warned that it was a powerful aphrodisiac, yes?” you snarled at him, top lip pulling upwards to reveal your canines. 

“Yes,” He managed to hiss out once again. 

“And you chose to fuck with it anyway? Knowing there is no known antidote, yes?” You reprimanded him again, prompting a small winced whimper from your captain as he cried another simple: “Yes.”

You groaned, feeling the frustration and pain of a thousand subordinates taking directions from an idiot captain, and turned on your side, collecting the clown’s whimpering head into your hands and hoisting him over to you. 

“Buggy,” your voice held the reprimanding tone of a superior as you cautioned a warning at your captain, “You are an idiot.”

“I know, Baby,” he managed to wince out through clenched teeth, “b-but I-...hnngh-... I c-couldn’t n-not. It was-... shit–t-... It was right there.”

You sucked in a long and exasperated breath through your nose, filling your chest with the rage of a begrudging superior and began to collect enough rage within you to bring down your frustration onto him-... Only to halt as your eyes met his. 

He was a wreck. His pupils blown, his lips quivering and his teeth chattering behind his whimpering mouth. He was awaiting your beration: dreading it, but prepared for it. He wanted you to be angry with him. He wanted you to be upset that he did something stupid. He wanted you to be-... you. He wanted you.

“Why did you seek me out, Captain?” you asked him while removing your overcoat and placing it to the side. 

“I-I-... I don’t kn-know,” he whimpered, his eyes wide and beginning to brim with desperate tears. 

“Oh? You don’t know?” you asked him, kicking off your boots beneath you and unbuckling your belt, “You didn’t think I’d desire to relieve you of this predicament?” You unbuttoned your blouse, springing forth your breasts into the air and shimmying the cotton material from your shoulders, “You are my Captain.”

“What-... W-What are you doing?” he panted at you. His jaw was slackened, unblinking eyes never once pulling away from you as you continued to undress yourself. You rolled your eyes at him as you continued shimmying yourself from your clothes; presenting your nudity beneath the dusted starlight. Your captain’s blush darkened beneath his painted face, eyes bulging as his jaw began involuntarily salivating. 

“Captain,” you huffed out, rolling back onto your side and meeting his gaze with your reprimanding gaze. Your eyes softened as they met with his, your eyebrows arching upwards at the center and a small smile drew itself to your lips. “You sought me out in the middle of the night,” you smirked, reaching for his cheek but halting before touching him. 

You witnessed his pained and conflicting expression, his grimace straining against his cheeks as his eyes continued to yearn for you. You apprehensively sighed, placing your palm down in front of the clown-captain and bore your eyes into his own. Always encouraging, supporting and cheering for him in your expression.

“I joined your crew to serve you, Buggy,” you confessed to him, “You. You, sir.” You scooted your body closer to him, opting to not make the initial contact with him and holding firm to your position perpendicular to him. He grimaced, wincing in pain but his eyes were full and blown with lust and yearning. 

“D-Don’t, Love,” his tone held the undertones of warning, his teeth pulling back and painfully gritting together in his jaw, “don’t say that. Y-You’re too g-good for the crew-... sssff-... too good f-for me-e.” 

You scoffed at him, inching ever closer to him and almost brushing your nose against his beautiful, rotund circle of a nose.

“I chose to serve you, Captain,” you bore down your intense gaze into his own, “In whatever capacity you deem me worthy.” He groaned, his face involuntarily seeking out your own as you continued your confession, “What is it you always say? Nobody can do this like I can?” 

His jaw fell slack, his eyes completely tint-less as they became eclipsed by desire. The cool teal of his irises were all but lost beneath his gaze. You smiled at him, turning over to lay on your back: eyes looking upwards at the stars as you unleashed a small sigh into the air. 

“What a-are you doing?” he stuttered, slowly inching his decapitated head towards your face. Your eyes held a softness, the smile on your face as hypnotic as the day he first laid eyes on you. 

“Oh, Captain,” you cooed at him, refusing to look at his face as you continued to stare upwards into the cloudless sky, “I’m just waiting for your body to catch up to where your head is.”

Buggy’s thoughts, swirling as the cesspool of a thousand bogs, was rattled by your words. Had he wanted you? Yes. He yearned for you, he pined for you. He had always imagined how beautiful you looked, split over his cock as he inched you downwards to take in his impressive length. He had always imagined you mewling and pleading for him to have you cum against his painted lips, coaxing the eruption of bliss from your core with his tongue as you rode his face. He had fisted his cock in solitude thinking of you, only you, as he spilt himself over his thumb and into a long forgotten sock while he whispered your name as gentle as a prayer between his lips. 

He wanted you. He wanted you so badly. But he wanted you to want him. He didn’t want you to just be his crewman in servitude to their captain. He wanted you to need him exactly as much as he needed you. Even while his senses became overpowered by the aphrodisiac, he wanted you to want him in return. 

“Captain?” your voice called to him, your apprehensive and almost shy tone breaking him from his thoughts. He nodded, knowing you could see him from the corner of your eyes. Even in his afflicted state, he attempted to keep his desperate eyes hyper focussed on your face as he noticed you gulp back a dry mouthful of saliva. “Do-... Do you think you could-... Talk to me a little?” 

“What d-you m-mean, Sugarplum?” he winced, feeling the proximity of his body rapidly approaching towards the two of you in the crows nest. You huffed out your embarrassment, already naked in body beside him but yet to bare your soul.

“Buggy,” you warned him, your eyes now becoming haunted with your own quiet longing and desperation, “You know what your voice does to me, sir. I-... If we’re going to do this, I need you to talk to me.”

He was long gone from the part of feigning innocence to the matter. He was fully aware you were interested in his flirtations: reciprocating them in turn, but always shying away first to his crude and unwithheld shamelessness. 

“You want me-... to get you in the mood? F-For me to… fuck you senseless?” He asked, his brow again releasing a new bead of frustrated and lustful sweat down his temple to his lip. He noticed the visible quiver in your body at the word ‘fuck’, prompting his body to quicken its haste at climbing the ropes from below. His pants were long discarded, his boots pooling at the floor beneath them as he continued to climb as a wild and ferocious beast up the ropes.

“O-Oh,” his whimpered question fled his lips more as a statement, a growl anchoring the end of his expression downwards as he watched your body continue to respond to him. Without warning, his head rocked into your shoulder, placing his lips on every inch of your skin he could find and wiggling his way upwards to trail long and desperate kisses to your jaw and neck. 

“Oh, baby,” he began, licking and kissing at the pulse of your neck, “I have thought of nothing but y-you… -hnghh, fuck-...” he confessed as his feet fell; his cock brushing slightly against the rope and providing the smallest amount of stimuli against the throbbing shaft, “I-I wanted you, hun. I wanted you s-so badly. I wanted t-to know what you looked like caged in my arms as I fucked you beneath me-,” his feet began to pick up the pace, sprinting up the ropes to draw his throbbing closer to you. 

“Hun, I don’t th-think you’re aware of how much I want you,” He licked a long stripe up your collar bone, his teeth grazing your skin as he whimpered against you, “baby, I-I-... I c-couldn’t-...” His words halted in his throat, truly not desiring to release his confession into the air for fear of never reclaiming the words back.

“What, Cap?” you gasped, finally turning to him with your eyes half-lidded and glazed with lust, “what couldn’t you do? Tell me. Tell me, please?” He growled, launching his decapitated head towards you and placing trails of creeping open-mouthed kisses against your cheek, nose and jaw - never claiming your lips beneath his for fear of breaking the spell and having you sprint from him. 

“I-I-...” he whined, feeling his feet beginning to tingle in his approach. He was so close to you, so close to your glistening opening: ready and waiting for him to dive into your supple flesh and chase his release, “-I only think of you. I-I-... I can’t-... I can’t cum without thinking of you. I need you. I only think of you, the way you’d fuck. Baby, the way you’d taste.” 

You gasped, finally claiming his cheek within your palm and watching the tearful expression of the clown within your hands and chasing his fleeting gaze with your eyes. 

“Captain?” you cooed down at him, desperately trying to conceal your enthusiasm and excitement with your tone, “Captain, do-... do you picture me? When you touch yourself? When you-... when you masterbate?” Before the clown could halt his pathetic words from falling from his lips, his mind began to spiral as he continued his unholy confession.

“Baby, I-I tried to cum s-so badly without you. I was right there. I even found your old wanted poster and thought of making you scream as I stretched you out. I-I tried to cum while thinking of you. I kept chasing it, hun. I-I-... I can’t do it without you. I was right there twelve times before I went to find you in the kitchens. I t-tried. It’s-... I can’t do this without you,” he desperately cried, his eyes open and honest as he spilt nothing but truths from his lips. Your heart broke for him, and the shame of his confession began to glisten your aching entrance and swollen clit with his pathetic whines and calls for you. 

At that, you felt the dangerous presence of his body begging to be reunified. The thrill held you quivering in anticipation, desperate to help your captain in whichever manner he deemed appropriate to chase his relief. You closed your eyes tightly shut, feeling his body fall downwards onto you and cage you beneath it. 

“Baby, s-say something,” Buggy’s voice whispered at your jaw, his lips collecting the skin beneath it, “I-I can’t control myself f-for much longer. Baby I n-need to know this is o-okay.” His plea had your eyes snap open, meeting his teal gaze as he desperately sought out your own. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered, feeling the inches of heat grazing against your thigh in his shaft’s approach towards your shamefully aroused entrance. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered into you. You felt the graze of his swollen tip prodding against your oozing entrance, flicking its shined tip against your clit as he rejoined his head firmly atop his shoulders, “I never wanted it to be like this.” He reached down, grasping his abused shaft and almost screaming as he did. His senses were overwhelmed, so desperate for stimuli but conflicted because he wanted so desperately to be good for you. 

“It’s okay, Captain,” you reassured him, turning away from his face to shy from his feral expression. You held your eyes closed in shame at how truly intoxicated this made you. You were both blessing the horrible pollen for having him finally make a move, while guilty at the fact that this was the only reason you were feeling his knob rake slowly between your silken abdominal lips. 

“L-Look at me,” he whispered down at you, “p-please, baby. Please look at me.” As you slowly turned to face him, he achingly withheld the urge to slam his cock fully within your entrance and pushing to the hilt of his shaft in one swift movement. He was physically shaking with the inability to control himself further than allowing this one moment to pass between you. 

As your eyes slowly and coyly met, he glanced deep and unblinkingly into your eyes as he slowly inched the tip of his cock into you. You watched that subtle quiver in his eyes; the way his lip trembled at the friction as his leaking tip arched its way beyond the first point of contact. He muffled a scream, finally feeling relief at the contact of your walls sucking his cock within them. He fought back another urge to break away his eye contact and have his eyes roll back into his skull in bliss of the feeling - opting to continue staring deeply into your eyes as he slicked another few inches within your walls. 

Your breath hitched, staring deeply into his eyes as your lips parted at how truly beautiful you found him. He clenched his teeth together, angling his hips forward and slowly pressing down into you while wincing back his pleasured cries of bliss. He wanted so desperately for this to feel as good for you as it did for him, but the way the pollen enhanced his every sense had his limbs on fire. As he inched his cock down to the base of his shaft, he sucked his cheeks into his teeth alongside his tongue and bit down exceptionally hard to keep his cum from spilling over immediately. 

As you became accustomed to his width, you couldn’t help but sigh out a small mewl of pleasure at being filled by your captain into his ear. At that small hitched pitch of your voice, he began to rock his entire length within you as he groaned out a desperate cry of satisfaction. 

Don’t you dare cum, you idiot. You’ve finally got what you wanted. You wanted this. Don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t you dare cum-.

“-You c-can cum, Captain,” you whispered into his ear, placing a small kiss on the corner of his jaw, “You’ve waited so long, Bugs. I’m so proud of you. You can cum, baby. Cum for me.”

His breath hitched in his throat, his cock immediately responding to your guidance by snapping the tension within his stomach. His balls were pressed so tightly within his abdomen, almost swallowed within his stomach by how tight and desperate everything became. At that small whisper of praise from you, his orgasm crashed over him like a bolt of calculated lightning seeking him out as a conductor to direct the currant. Ribbons and ropes of hot and desperate strings of sticky cum shot from his tip to coat your walls with their lustful lubrication. 

“O-Oh fuck. Fuck! F-FucK!-.. Nghh-... I’m cumming. I-I’m cumming! F-Fuck, baby. I-I’m-.. Hhah-...” He cried into your shoulder, his lips and teeth collecting your neck beneath his mouth and clenching down onto your flesh. You hissed at the contact, feeling the waves of pleasure he was experiencing coat your walls as you soothed over his shoulders with a gentle, but firm touch. 

His slow thrusts came to a halt, completely sheathed within you as he rode through his high. The collection of arousal pooling at your thighs and coated his groin was surprising to the both of you at the culmination of the fluids. As his eyes drew downwards to the contact between your bodies, he gasped at how beautifully your body had taken him in. He was in awe that you would allow him to join with your body in this way, but guilty in the fact that he was the only one to claim pleasure from this encounter.

He quirked his head to the side, remaining fully sheathed within you and began rocking his hips a little. You gasped, feeling his lingering firmness within your core and brush with the underlayer of your clit while the top brushed with his pubic hair. He laughed with an almost sickening amount of glee.

“Would you look at that?” He managed to stutter out between the snapping of hips. He leant down towards you, hovering his lips just above your own, “I’m still hard.” He hummed thoughtfully, looking first to where your bodies were connected before darting his eyes back up to yours. 

Looking up at him with partially shocked eyes, you felt the lubrication of his prior release grinding against his cock sheathed within your core. His soft and deep gyrations had an involuntary cry fall from your parted lips at the friction. Buggy’s eyes smiled as his lips broke into a crooked smile.

“Ohh,” he cooed down at you, “Ooh, you thought we were done, didn’t you?” He reached down to collect your thighs, hooking them over his hips and joining them at the ankles, “oh, sweetheart. You thought you could get away with ordering your captain to cum in you without consequence?” 

He shifted his cock deeper within you, raking his hands at your thighs upwards to collect your ass beneath his wide fingers. You bit your bottom lip to halt a sound from leaving your lips, prompting Buggy’s teal eyes to look down at you and frown. He snapped his hips harder against you, slow and deliberate thrusts dragging at your walls with his cock and prying another muffled moan of desire from you. 

He frowned further, drawing his face closer into you and almost brushing his lips with yours. 

“Don’t you dare stop those pretty sounds from comin’ out,” he commanded you, eyes half-lidded and glazed over with desire. His throbbing cock was twitching within your fluttering walls, his groans of pleasure serenading you with his raspy tone gracing your ears, “Oh, Baby. Let me hear you. C’mon, now.” 

You screamed at your eyes to remain fixed on the man above you; his own half-lidded expression being mirrored in your irises as your lips almost brushed. He continued slowly anchoring his hips in and out of your glistening entrance with your walls fluttering around him. You gasped as he wove his arms beneath you and hoisted you upwards. He rocked back to sit atop his calves, pulling you with him to sit atop his lap and braced himself fully flush with you. 

With his arms hooked beneath you, he found the backs of your shoulders and braced you against his torso, breaking away his eye contact as his lips sucked on your neck. He gyrated his hips up into you, keeping you completely still and caged atop his lap as he rocked you. The new angle had your jaw slack and gasping silent cries and mewls of pleasure down into his ear. 

“You were so chatty, baby,” he grunted against your neck, trailing his lips against your neck to your jaw, “Where did that go, huh?”

At that final taunt, you wove your hands into the back of his scalp and forced his neck back to look up at you. He gasped out a sighed groan, jaw clenching at your manhandling of his sensitive body. Grinning up at you with a grimaced lop-sided smile, he again taunted you: “Too embarrassed by me? Don’t want to have the infamous Clown-Captain make you cum?”

He picked up the pace, almost disregarding your hands within his hair as his thrusts became more desperate and unbridled. His playful eyes never broke away from your face, only leaving to glace at your breasts bouncing at eye level and shamelessly ogling them before finding your eyes once more. His hips began to stutter more, almost rhythmically in tune with your body as he felt your walls suck him in with their flutters. 

“Not embarrassed, Cap,” you managed to gasp out, grinding down onto his cock. He squirmed beneath you, matching your circling and gyrating rhythm as he bucked up into you. “I’m just enjoying your voice.” You tugged back his hair tighter, his lips releasing a hissed sigh as you brought  your lips down to suck on his neck. He continued rolling his hips upwards, allowing you to chase your release by circling and gyrating against him. 

“P-Please,” He called in a voice above a whisper, “Please cum on my cock. I need you to cum on my cock, baby. I want you to use me like a toy. Your toy.” You whimpered against his neck, feeling the tightness in your abdomen increase to the center of your stomach. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he continued rocking you atop his lap. 

“No,” He shook his head out of your grasp and bore his teal eyes into your own. He uncircled his arms from beneath your shoulders to his right wrapping around your stomach while the other cradled your jaw, “No I want to see it. I want to see you cum. I want to see the lights dance in your eyes as I rock you on my lap. I want to see your pleasure as you chase it, sliding your slick cunt over my cock. Please, please baby. Please cum for me.”

As his eyes locked on yours, you felt the twirl within the pit of your stomach finally release the band of pleasure within you. Every inch of your body burst with the tingles of your orgasm: the tips of your toes shivering within the vibrations of warmth and static up to your legs, thighs, abdomen, torso, neck and face. You were suffocated by the cry you released of his name pouring from your lips as you raked your hips over his lap, whimpering and moaning for him as you rode your high into blissful overstimulation. 

Buggy had no idea when he began cumming, but he could feel you sucking every inch of his second release deep within you by the sturdy thumps of your glistening walls squeezing each drop from his quivering shaft. He cried for you, the sting of overstimulation balanced with ensuring you had truly finished allowing the waves of bliss to wash over you. He felt tethered to you, the only thing anchoring him down to this world as he serenaded your praises with the angels. 

He released your jaw, circling his hand to the back of your head and pulling you down to touch your forehead with his. Your movements stilled, the only sounds resonating were the crashes of waves against the hull and the distant roars, snores and heavy-laden breathing of your crew sleeping and remaining blissfully unaware of what just occurred within the crows nest. Sighs and breaths between you passed as you greeted one another with warm, coy smiles. 

“Did you learn your lesson, Captain?” you asked him with a small, sleepy giggle. 

“I think so, Hun,” he replied with the same tone, the creases of his eyes holding both his charm and his playfulness within it, “‘You’ll always look after me when I do something stupid’ was the lesson, right?” You pursed your lips at him, no longer having the energy to fight with him and opting to place a small chaste kiss atop his round nose. He winced at the caress, but opted not to pull away once he saw your sleep-deprived expression. 

“I’m just playing, Love,” he sighed into your face, still ghosting his lips over your own without fully committing to the kiss. 

“I know, Cap,” you mumbled sleepily, pressing a soft and deep caress of your lips against his. He groaned against your lips as they finally met, holding firm against you as you angled your head to deepen the kiss. Breaking the dance of your lips intertwining, you leant back and smiled warmly at him, “But I will always look after you when you do something stupid.”

“Oh good,” he sighed in relief, a broad and brilliant smile drawing itself against his lips as he hardened his resolve, “Because all I've learnt is nobody can do this like you can.”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 18

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, brief mentions of the events of Part 13, some ADA Sam, Detective John, and a cliffhanger…

Part 18: “V for Vendetta”

After that first rocky month, Dean started to improve physically, and so did you emotionally, as he tried his best to let you help him when he needed it. 

In turn, you did your best to gauge his moods; when he truly did need help, and when it was best for you to just be his girlfriend, not his caretaker.

January rolled onwards, and the resulting winter cold snap brought a kind of calm before a storm. Nick Savage still hadn’t been found, but that didn’t mean your worries were over.

Dean knew that this would hang over all of your heads until both Nick and his father were caught and exposed.

Today Dean walked with Sam on his day off, doing a few laps around the neighborhood as part of Dean’s rehab. They knew a police car was stationed nearby, watching them for their safety. It was a bit unnerving, but necessary.

They were walking back into the building when Sam stopped to check the mail. The box for their unit was along the wall in the corridor with several other locked boxes. Sam unlocked theirs and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, some coupons, and a stray folded note addressed to Dean. Sam’s brows furrowed.

“What’s that, a love note?” Dean asked dryly. He took it from Sam and unfolded the scrap of paper.

20579. Your badge will join your dad’s on the wall.

Both the Fire Department headquarters and the 84th Precinct had a wall to commemorate firefighters and officers who had given their lives in the line of duty. Each of their badges had their own display plaque hung on the respective walls.

In short, the note was a threat.

Sam’s worried frown deepened as he watched Dean’s good mood evaporate. He crumpled up the note and pocket it, before he met his younger brother’s eyes.

“Keep this between us,” he warned. As in, don’t tell you.

Sam shook his head. “Dad needs to know, at least. And you two need to be careful.” 

“That goes for you and Eileen too,” Dean replied. He reached for Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t matter that you’re an ADA. Azazel goes after cops and their families. He’s gonna be gunning for an opportunity to get to one of us.”

Sam’s lips pressed together, but he acknowledged that with a nod.

They went back upstairs together, where you were dressed casually and gathering up your purse.

“Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a glance, which Dean silently answered with a short nod. He looked back at you when you offered him a smile.

“Yep, we need a few things. Milk, eggs, more Twizzlers, apparently,” you quipped, lightly smacking his stomach. Dean quirked a smile.

“Give me a sec. I’ll go with you,” he said.

You made an uncertain sound. “Didn’t you just get back from a walk? You sure you don’t just want to shower up and relax?”

“I’m good,” said Dean. He knew you didn’t like the idea of him overexerting himself, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting you go out alone. He could tell by the look Sam once again threw his way from the kitchen that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.

Dean slid a hand up your arm. “How about this. I’ll stay in the car. I just want some more fresh air.”

You tilted your head at him, but you conceded. He followed you to the door and held it open for you.

“Can I drive?” Dean hedged.

You chuckled. “Don’t push it, Lieutenant.”

On the way back from the grocery store, you discreetly eyed Dean’s profile. His knee was bouncing as he stared out the window.

Sometimes he checked the rearview mirror of your Camaro. Sometimes he fiddled with the radio or checked his phone.

It was all nervous behavior you took a catalogue of. By the time you pulled back into the parking lot of Dean’s apartment building, he finally seemed to relax a fraction. You parked the car and turned to him. 

“Okay, what’s the matter?” you asked.

Dean gave you a curious look, but there was an unmistakable tension in his demeanor.

“What do you mean?”

You tried your question a different way. “What’s got you all on edge?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Dean,” you prodded. “Does it have something to do with why you insisted on coming with me, even though I can see that you’re tired?”

His face tightened, but he reached over for your hand. Your fingers curled around his. Now you were getting worried.

“We’ve got the police watching us here, but anything could happen out there,” Dean said. “Until this blows over, I don’t think you should go out by yourself.”

Until this blows over. You wanted to ask when that would be, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

“Zachariah called me this morning,” you admitted. “He’s standing in for Nick as CEO. He said I have a job waiting for me when I get off medical leave next week. Everyone’s been working from home since the fire, but we’d be going to a new building the company owns downtown.”

Dean tightened up, just like you knew he would. His eyes closed as his head tilted back against the headrest. He let out a long breath through his nose. You stayed quiet, both waiting for what he might say and preparing for him to get upset.

He surprised you by calmly looking over at you again.

“It’s not a good idea. If Nick’s still alive, it means his dad probably knows you know who he is,” he said. “And not for nothin’. Even with Nick out of there, that place’s probably been built on blood money.”

Both were fair points.

“I know. I’m going to find something else, as soon as you’re better,” you said. Dean shook his head and held your hand tighter.

“Don’t let me be an excuse,” he said. His gaze was firm and direct meeting yours. “I need you to start taking care of yourself too, all right? Please.” 

Faced with his earnestness, you couldn’t help but soften. After everything he’d done to save you, to protect you, was it fair of you to keep making him worry?

In the past, you’d felt justified. You couldn’t quit. You needed the money. You could handle it, whatever came next. You would deal with it because you had to.

But maybe this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t worth all this.

With that resolve, you let out a breath.

“I’m going to call Zachariah,” you said, “and tell him that I’m working from home, or I quit.”

Dean stared back at you with a measure of surprise.

“I’m not going back,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If he has a problem with that, I’ll use whatever I have left in my savings. Hopefully that’ll be enough until I find a new job.”

After a moment, Dean expelled a breath of relief. He beckoned you over, and carefully as you could over the upholstery, you leaned over and caressed his cheek before you went in for a kiss. He welcomed you, with his hands slipping up your sides and around your back, pressing you into him with a heady warmth.

He paused against your lips after a while. His forehead rested against yours.

“You don’t need to drain your savings. I can help you,” Dean started to say, but you pulled back and held your fingers to his lips.

“You’ve helped me enough. You’re already letting me live with you rent free,” you pointed out. “Let me figure out the rest.”

After a moment, Dean wordlessly agreed. He wanted to argue that you wouldn’t have had to move in with him if not for Azazel putting you in his sights, but at the same time, Dean understood that you’d been providing for yourself for a long time. He respected you for it.

So he just guided you back to him for another slow kiss.

John Winchester owned a condo approximately 20 minutes from his sons’ apartment. It was the home they’d grown up in after the house fire, over thirty years ago.

John had learned a lot since then. In fact, some might say that he’d become a paranoid bastard.

Aside from a professional alarm system, he’d installed hidden cameras inside and out of his home, and at every window. It meant that even when he was asleep, his eyes were never truly closed.

When the intruder took his first steps into John’s bedroom, the man himself was waiting with a gun cocked and loaded. The safety clicking back made a small sound, but in the silence, it might as well have been a gunshot.

The masked man swiftly turned and ducked, throwing a punch. The scuffle that followed was quick and covered by darkness.

The cameras on “Night Mode” picked up every moment.

And that was how John later showed video evidence of Alastair Rolston breaking into his condo, and subsequently getting his ass handed to him.

Both men had their fair share of bruises, but at the end of the day, Alastair was the one cuffed to a chair in the bowels of the 84th Precinct. He sat beside his court-appointed lawyer.

Meanwhile, Cas watched the scene from behind the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Rufus Turner, their Lieutenant, was beside him, along with ADA Sam Winchester. He watched the man his father questioned very carefully. 

“Well, I think you know what this means, Mr. Rolston,” John drawled.

Alastair’s stance in the chair was relaxed, almost unfazed. He gave the detective a wry smile.

“What’s that, John?” he asked.

“I’ve got you dead to rights on attempted murder of a cop,” said John. “It ain’t a good look, my friend.”

“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer. Alastair glanced at the man, unimpressed, to say the least.

“No fucking shit,” he replied.

“I’d say you’ve got two options,” John pressed forward. He leaned on the table between him and Alastair.

“Did Azazel…excuse me, Daniel Savage, put you up to this? You can answer that question, or I could just skip to the part where you sit in a cell for 20 to life.”

Alastair’s face gave away nothing but calculation and amusement. John nodded, with a grim smile.

“I’ll bet you set the fire at Savage & Co. Trying to get Nick to look like a victim in all this—the consequence of doing business with the likes of Azazel,” he said. “Better yet, I think you’re his favorite hitman. Clean, precise, no tracks left behind, no traces of evidence. Perfect kills. I’ll bet you consider yourself a goddamn artist.”

Alastair lifted his gaze, and John saw the familiar depths of a killer.

“I don’t like setting fires,” said Alastair.

John was nonplussed. “I’m sure you don’t.”

The other man rolled his shoulders.

“It’s all very…messy, you see. Unpredictable.” A smile graced his lips. “But I know someone who does.”

“He’ll give you his employer,” the lawyer said. “The person who ordered the hit.”

“Which hit?” John arched a brow. “I can’t be the only special one. What about Paul Richardson, Jerry Stillwell, Amanda Waller?”

The lawyer shared a look with his client. Alastair rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a moment, the lawyer nodded and met John’s gaze.

“He’ll tell you what you want to know, but only for a blanket deal of immunity.”

John could’ve guessed. Alastair smiled once more and leaned back in his seat.

The detective held up a finger and exited the interrogation room. He met Sam’s gaze, and the latter already knew what his father was thinking.

"Give me a minute," Sam said. He went into the room and tried to negotiate with Alastair and his lawyer, but the man wouldn't accept a plea of 20 to 25 years, even to serve all the murders they could charge him with concurrently. Nor would he accept 15 to 20, or even Sam's best deal: 10 to 12.

Sam exited the room and hid his discouragement. He met his father's waiting gaze.

“We can’t give him immunity,” Sam said. “He’s likely the one who committed Azazel’s hits. Not just for the past six months, but for God knows how long, and how many bodies.”

“At this point, it’s the only way we’re getting a chance at Daniel Savage,” John said. “Not just finding him, but pinning him as the mastermind behind the whole operation. Drug trafficking, arson, murders…the whole thing, Sam.”

Sam didn’t like it. No one did, for that matter, but even Rufus heaved a sigh.

“You can’t move forward without a trigger finger willing to testify,” he said.

“Yeah, because hitmen make notoriously credible witnesses,” Sam retorted.

“Do think he set the fires as well?” Cas asked John. “He seemed to imply that he committed the murders, but not the arson.”

John hummed in contemplation.

“We’ll find out. But first, I want a confirmed name from the horse’s mouth,” he said, shifting his attention to Sam. “Can you get me that, son?” 

Sam’s lips pursed.

Within an hour, the paperwork was drawn and the plea deal was arranged. Father and son sat side by side on one side of the interrogation room, while Alastair and his lawyer sat on the other. Alastair finished signing the final document as the cuffs on his wrists jangled.

“All right,” said John. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Alastair smiled and spread his hands as wide as he was able.

“I’m an open book, Johnny. Ask away.”

John leaned forward.

“Let’s start with this,” he said. “Who ordered you to kill me?”

Nick Savage was unearthed from a luxury apartment in the south of France. He was extradited back the United States and hauled into a courtroom in Lawrence, Kansas for arraignment.

Sam Winchester was the prosecutor on the case. As luck would have it, one of his favorite judges was also assigned for this docket.

“What do we have here?” asked Judge Devereaux. He was a portly man, short and graying, with square black glasses that framed his perpetually surly face. The man now adjusted his glasses so he could read the slip of paper the clerk had just handed to him after reading off the docket.

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charge is a murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied. “Mr. Savage hired a hitman to murder at least five people, and succeeded with four. He also masterminded several arsons. This includes a fire at his own company building, which claimed the lives of ten people and injured several others. This is all part of a larger connection to organized crime, which the People intend to prove in our case. Due to the nature of the charges, and the defendant clearly being a flight risk, we seek his remand to custody without bail.”

The judge raised his brows. He turned to the defendant’s lawyer.

“What about it, Miss Richardson?”

Amelia shot Sam a glance, but she replied to the judge.

“What we have here is a conflict of interest, your Honor,” she said. “Detective John Winchester has a vendetta against my client. Therefore, Mr. Winchester should recuse himself. It’s a family affair, Judge, and they have no evidence for any of these charges, except for the testimony of a confessed murderer.”

“It’s called prosecutorial discretion,” Sam cut in. “Our evidence goes beyond Mr. Rolston’s testimony and will more than support our case. I’ve also tried my father’s cases before, your Honor. This defendant is no different.”

The judge peered closer at the docket with incredulous eyes.

“Except for the fact that one of the attempted murders was on your father. John Winchester?” Judge Devereaux actually chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Savage. Many have tried and failed on that regard.”

“Judge,” Amelia tried, but Devereaux waved her off. Sam took in that small victory without giving anything away outwardly. The fact that John was on the docket as a “victim” was easily Sam’s biggest challenge in this arraignment, but he just couldn’t hand this off to another prosecutor.

“And what’re these last charges about?” the judge asked.

“Mr. Savage attempted to sexually assault one of his employees at a company Christmas party in the defendant’s home, your Honor,” Sam replied. His gaze once again cut over to Nick, who glared back at him with a sneer.

“That’s a goddamn lie!” Nick shouted.

Amelia grabbed his arm and tried to shut him up, but Nick jerked out of her grasp.

“Put a gag on your client or I will, Miss Richardson,” Devereaux warned with a deepening frown.

“Hey,” Amelia hissed a whisper, grabbing the sleeve of Nick’s suit jacket this time. “Get it together and shut your mouth. Remember where you are.”

He ignored her to try and speak to the judge himself. 

“That bitch tased me. Did she tell you that?” Nick levied Sam a look, before he turned back to Devereaux. “Yeah, she assaulted me, Judge. So that charge is fucking bogus.”

“I’ve heard quite enough!” Devereaux snapped. He raised his gavel and slammed it down loud enough for Nick to flinch. “The defendant is remanded to custody, without bail.”

It was more satisfying than John would admit.

While the development wasn’t exactly what he had expected, having Daniel Savage’s son dragged out of his new prison home to sit in another musty holding cell was the highlight of the new year.

This was the poor excuse for a man who’d given him such a headache these past few months. This was the little shit that nearly got his son killed, and who’d been terrorizing you for months, if not years.

But he would be a means to an end.

“I’ll tell ya what, Nick. You don’t look like a man that could organize a handful of murders and arsons, but here we are,” John said.

He scratched the back of his head and sat on the corner of the desk. Sam was seated across from Nick, and Cas was hanging back within the cell, watching the exchange (and watching Nick’s reactions for any tells).

On the other side sat Nick himself, dressed down in his gray prison garb. It was a far cry from the $5,000 suit he wore in the arraignment. Next to him was his lawyer, Amelia Richardson.

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” she asked. She shot Sam a glance.

They had dated in law school for a few months. It had ended abruptly when her husband returned from Afghanistan. It had been a shock to both of them, since the man had been presumed dead.

Clearly, Sam had moved on since then. He was happier with Eileen than he ever was, but he could tell that Amelia had never quite recovered from the “what could’ve been” of their relationship.

Still, Sam had set all that aside the moment he stepped into this room. He watched his father work.

“Why did you set fire to your own building?” John asked.

He’d expected Nick to be more explosive with his denials, but the man was quietly simmering, like he just wanted the questioning to be over. It reminded John of when his sons were teenagers. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect father, but intuition was telling him something…

“You didn’t do it, did you?” John mused. “At least, not that fire.”

It was interesting, however, that Alastair had pinned the Savage & Co. fire on the son—that Nick had started it himself, along with the other arsons. Alastair had just been the muscle, committing the murders and the brandings on the victims.

John wasn’t so sure he believed that. He leaned in a bit and gave Nick a wry smile.

“Did Daddy do that one for ya?” he asked.

At that, Nick held firm. “My father has nothing to do with this.”

Hmm, a bit of familial loyalty? Maybe trying to prove himself, John detected. How far is he willing to go to protect his dad?

“So you did do it, along with the other arsons,” John said.

“Are you trying to get him to confess without a plea deal?” Amelia snarked.

“I’m trying to figure out how badly this kid wants to stay out of jail for the rest of his life,” John said.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Nick grumbled.

“If you have something for us on Daniel Savage, then we’re willing to listen,” Sam added. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”

Nick crossed his arms, clearly uncooperative.

Sam narrowed his gaze. “This is your last chance, Nick.”

“You don’t have anything on me except for the word of a murdering felon,” Nick retorted. “I’ll beat this trial in a few months and I’ll be out free…but if you really want to know, I’ll let you in on a little something.”

He leaned in, meeting John’s eyes.

“Dad retaliates,” said Nick. “I think you know that best of all, Detective. This time, I think it’s one son for another. And you’ve got two to pick from.”

“Nick,” Amelia warned, but he ignored her.

He glanced at a carefully stoic Sam before he smirked in John’s face, which had become devoid of all humor and revealed the stoniness underneath.

“If I were a betting guy, I’d put my money on the one that had a fucking building fall on him.”

After leaving the county jail, John drove Sam and Cas back to his sons’ apartment. They couldn’t treat Nick’s warning as an idle threat.

Sam was the prosecutor on the case. He wasn’t willing to step down, so the best they could do for him was give him a police security detail that would have to be with him at all times. However, all three men agreed that you, Dean, and Eileen needed to be put in protective custody during the trial.

“Damn it, Dean,” Sam muttered. His brother wasn’t answering his cell.

“Try him again,” said John.

“Is Eileen still at work?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, but she’s talking to the principal now about a temporary replacement for her classes,” Sam replied. He was worried about her safety, but he was also worried about you and Dean. Neither of you were answering your cell phones.

He later let John and Cas into his apartment, where all looked normal and clean.

“Dean!” Sam called out. He was just about to search the apartment when the man came out of his room, looking freshly showered.

“Hey, what’s up?” said Dean. “The gang’s all here, huh?”

“I’ve been calling you for an hour. Where’ve you been?” Sam asked in annoyance, though it was edged with a hint of more that tipped off Dean.

He sensed the tension in the room between his brother, his father, and his friend. He frowned.

“I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”

John explained the latest round of questioning with Nick Savage, and his most recent threat. John asked where you were right now, if not in the apartment. Dean’s expression shifted to one of worry as he went to find his cell phone.

“She had a job interview,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone to find your name. “She couldn’t reschedule it, else she would’ve gone with me.”

He’d been uneasy about you going to the interview by yourself, but you hadn’t wanted him to change his appointment, and you had assured him it was only a few minutes away…

Dean held the phone to his ear and waited what felt like an eternity as it rang.

Pick up. Pick up, damn it.

Finally, the line connected.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

AN: 🫣 Sorry lol.

But the next chapter will bring the final showdown...

Next Time:

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Keep Reading: PART 19

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[morgana-ren]

On the subject of cheating…. How do you think Astarion would react to a dark urges Tav who doesn’t show any disapproval towards him for infidelity but does try to brutally murder all of his other flings

I can’t reconcile if he would be upset about them having too much agency in this situation and stop it or just into Tav being possessive of him in the way he’s possessive of them

He wakes to the pleasant and unmistakable tang of blood.

It's not uncommon for Astarion to greet the morning steeped in the sweet, saccharine scent of blood. Not at all. In fact, it's most welcome upon first waking, ranking among a deep, rich brandy and defiled silk sheets for his favorites. A metallic bouquet of a lovely, robust breakfast just begging to be supped on, just for him. If you were to ask him, there's truly nothing finer in the world.

An indulgent inhale has him sitting up, slipping a lazy hand through his hair and tongue running over his fangs as his mouth waters. The pit of hunger gnawing at his gut isn't quite so terrible as it used to be when he was but a filthy spawn, but he wouldn't ever deny himself the decadence of breakfast served up to him in bed.

The source of the delectable scent lies flopped over on the opposite side of the mattress, and he glances over with sleepy, hazy eyes to admire the sight. Her long, silky hair splays raggedly over her face, one of her arms limply hanging off the edge in what cannot be a comfortable position. The sheet haphazardly wrapped around her only scantly covers her rear, and by proxy, the sloppy mess he'd made between her thighs a few hours prior.

Clearly, he'd worn her clean out.

He chuckles; he can't help it. He's almost proud of himself-- if it wasn't so commonplace, that is. It's so terribly difficult for these weak and paltry little things to keep up with his kingly stamina, and he cannot begrudge the delicate humans that end up beneath him for losing consciousness.

Still! It's time to wake up, as he's remarkably hungry and he will not go another second without sinking his fangs into her swan-like neck.

"Darling, you sucked me dry and left me ravenous," He reaches for her, tracing a teasing claw up the dotted curve of her spine. "It would be positively unacceptable to leave me in such a state before you go."

She doesn't respond to his sentiment, and so after several seconds of testing his patience, he prods at her upper arm, eventually resorting to jostling her lightly with his hand, pinching her flesh between his clawed fingers--

--and it's only then that he realizes that her skin is ice to the touch, and he cannot feel her chest move with her breath in his palm. While that is entirely normal for him, it's not normal for small human women.

The sharp aroma of blood is far too palpable, even for his palace.

His red eyes truly focus on the girl contorted in his sheets for the first time: Her skin far too pallid, her stench far more enticing than it had been hours ago. His hand goes to brush the hair from her face, and there's a slick, wet feeling between his fingers as he does.

He is hit with the subtle yet bitter scent of freshly dying blood. Something that is usually sequestered only to beings beginning a state of decay. Something that should not be in his bed.

Unsettling, he thinks, but mostly irritating. Dead, hmm? He's almost certain he didn't kill this one on accident. Fairly certain. He callously rolls the woman's dead weight onto her back, frowning as he's met with a scene that he's quite certain he couldn't have done accidentally.

What was her throat is now a gaping maw of blood and bone-shine, scraps of gore clearly ripped out from inside. Her mouth-- or what is barely left of it-- is twisted in an eternal wordless scream, her face eternally contorted in some unseen horror. Her lovely eyes are wide and frozen in terror, unblinking and milky. Upon further inspection of her body, there is a hole where he assumes her still-beating heart had once been, clawed savagely free from her ribs by some brutal, unrelenting force.

He scowls, needling his lower lip with his teeth. It's a shame, he thinks with an exasperated sigh. He's sure was a beauty before all of this.

Another vicious, deadly beauty clearly demands his attention now, and he pushes the dead whore off the bed with an annoyed huff, snatching his long silk robe from the bedpost before affixing it around his body.

"Such a pity," He fastens the tie around his narrow waist, stepping carefully around the bedframe to stand in front of the newly made corpse with a grimace. "You were so vivacious last night, dear girl. But you're making the wrong kind of mess of my sheets, and I cannot abide that."

With a careless tug, he rips the remains of the young woman off his mattress, her mutilated body landing on the floor with an uncomfortable, wet thud. He steps over her, striding towards the door, feeling decidedly irritated. He was planning to spend a lazy afternoon in bed, but it appears something more urgent demands his immediate attention.

"Good morning, my lord--" A servant greets him just outside of his door with a sweeping bow and an expertly balanced tray. Astarion doesn't bother to look at him, instead grabbing a morning glass of wine, taking several deep swigs before finally sneering unpleasantly down at the man.

"Where is my wife?"

Another scraping bow, but Astarion doesn't stay to witness it. Rather, he takes off down the hall in search of someone more important. Someone that, he imagines, was rather busy last night after he fucked-- Hells, what was her name? He doesn't remember. Did he ever know?

"In her garden, sire."

"Right," Astarion carelessly tosses the glass back onto the floor, where it shatters to pieces. "There's a rather putrid corpse on the floor in there. Have it taken care of. I want it spotless before I return."

"Yes, my lord."

He tries to recall as he makes his way through his palace and towards the garden, and ultimately decides he doesn't care.

He finds his lovely wife right where he expects to, taking a leisurely stroll in her strangely fruitful garden. The scent of damp, rich soil permeates the air, mingling with odd, exotic flowers he has brought her and lush, fertile plants that she has coaxed into life with her hands. Blossoming organic life from nothing is not something that he imagined was in the wheelhouse of a favored child of Bhaal-- quite the opposite, really-- and yet, she seems to have nurtured a niche talent for it of late.

It irks him that she's grown somehow cold to his affections. She no longer stares at him with owlish eyes and flushing cheeks and a rapidly beating heart; rather she seems to shrug off even his most endeavored attempts at seduction with an ease that, if he didn't know for a fact that he was the most powerful and attractive man in a country mile, might hurt his pride.

She seems entirely at peace and unbothered, gently cradling a small rose between her fingertips, admiring it as it slowly blooms into a lovely, blood-red bud. The placid expression of someone either entirely unacquainted with the art of murder, or a masterful artist with it, and he knows all too well which one. As he approaches, she doesn't acknowledge him with anything other than a brief turn of her head and flick of her eyes.

"Your garden is looking lovely as always," He saddles up behind her despite her aloof silence, gingerly sliding his arms around her waist and leaning to scent along the side of her neck. "As are you, my sweet girl."

She only hums her acknowledgement, her ever-present sly semi-smile unfaltering as he speaks, still clearly far more taken with her flowers rather than his company and flatteries.

A deadly mistake for everyone other than her.

"Been busy this morning, little love?"

"Oh, only as much as usual," She gives him nothing--no guilt, no anxiety, just the hints of a mischievous, murderous smile-- as she releases the flower from between her fingers, turning instead to continue sauntering through the row. "I try to keep busy."

A quick sniff reveals all he needs to know. He doesn't need to get any closer to the freshly filled hole to smell the rancid stench rising from it. Underneath the sopping wet dirt, mingling with fertilizer and fallen leaves is the unmistakable stench of dead flesh; A muscle steeped in still blood, to be specific. Buried beneath soil alongside the foreign seeds lies what is left of the mangled heart of the woman he'd taken to bed last night, now planted in his wife's garden in some macabre ritual to sustain yet another carnivorous horror she's gotten her hands on and is now coddling into growth.

"I can see that," He croons, eying a fresh mound in the dirt, clearly freshly dug. "Is this one new?"

"Just this morning, dear," She lulls softly, a barely discernible playful edge to her voice. "Newly planted."

Dozens more peculiar vines twist up from the ground in various states of growth in nice, even spaces carefully organized into rows. Under the lively essence of plants and sticky-sweet flowers is the painfully apparent stench of decay and rot; Months and months of the still-lingering scent of blood of all the lovers he'd taken, turning spoiled and foul in putrefaction in her grisly little garden. All of their lives ended preemptively by his wife with the same feral glee that a rabid mongrel must feel upon sinking its fangs into a terrified, defenseless creature.

All for daring to indulge in him.

What a senseless thing. Died so futilely and no doubt miserably at the hands of his wife, alone and panicked only feet from their powerful king, and for what? Finding their way into his bed? How absurd. Who could resist him? Who would dare? He almost pities the funeral procession of poor creatures whose hearts have become fodder for the dirt, no honoring of their lives save his consort's nursery, fed and weaned on their innards. Their final moments belong to his insatiable wife's ruthless bloodlust through no fault of their own, and yet--

--Something about her vicious possessiveness over him smolders in his core, igniting a twisted arousal that coils the length of his spine and constricts like a serpent until he simply cannot stop himself. Deadly, precise, perfect little wife of his, so vicious and yet so precious to him. He swears her bloodlust only serves to stoke the flame, and how he longs to devour her.

(How long has she denied him? How long has she teased and tested him, tantalizing him with memories of burying himself inside of her sweet, tight heat with merciless drive, supping from the delectable blood of her soft body, her voice crying his name like a chant to some dark God until she rips what is left of his soul clean from him to take it into herself. She would yield for no one, a primal and ferocious creature beneath the veneer of illustrious, undead beauty, and yet she would heel to only him, letting him lose himself in her warmth, her fire until he burned--)

He reaches around and whirls her to face him so that she cannot feign indifference under his scrutinizing gaze. She knows better than to fight his manhandling and allows him to spin her towards him, though she refuses to wilt under his sultry glower. Her expression remains entirely passive as his hand reaches up to take her chin between two fingers, squeezing hard enough to have her wincing.

"Another one, darling?"

"You dislike the roses?" She blinks big eyes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. She hasn't been innocent a day in her life, and today certainly isn't a start.

A part of him wishes he could remain angry-- or at least a little indignant-- about the fact that she believes she has some overarching and indisputable claim on him, but deep down, he knows that she's right; she does have a staked claim in his heart in a way no one else ever possibly could. Even as his eyes and body might stray from her, he is forced to admit time and time again that nothing compares to his wrathful little lover. The strays he shepherds into his bed don't fill the gaping hole she leaves within him in her absence, her wretched denial of him. It is only silently that he acknowledges his wayward lust is just his spiteful response to her cruel neglect.

"Don't play the fool for me, my dearest girl, you're a terrible actress. Another concubine. Another corpse in your grim little graveyard. Is calling it a well-tended monument to your jealousy perhaps too romantic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my love," She smiles gently, lifting a hand between their chests and up to her face, slipping a finger between her plush lips. He smells the lingering blood on it and yet he cannot take his eyes off her tongue as it curls sensually around the length of her knuckles and how immaculate it might feel on him. He cannot help himself but think just how graciously daddy Bhaal has blessed him with his beautiful daughter; How fiercely alluring it is to watch his undomesticated little monster clean up her homicidal mess.

It started as all things do: With a seed. A bladed joke bloomed into irritation and resentment. His endless libido and her cresting bloodlust come to blows over priorities. The only woman who dared to gainsay him, her lovely little hands covered in blood and the power of Bhaal coursing through her veins keeping her too wild to be truly tamed by his vampiric blessing. His appetite for domination was insatiable, as was hers.

A child of Bhaal would not be tamed-- even by him.

He craved obedience and reticence-- he craved raw reverence and worship. To be viewed with wide eyes and admiration and blind devotion from some poor, pitiful creature too weak and foolish to resist him; To be seen as a God before a miserable little mortal; For his subject to offer willingly for a chance to taste of his splendor.

It is the only thing his beloved would never give him: acknowledgement of his superiority; submitting before him, allowing him to enforce his will upon her willingly. She is a fanged and clawed creature, wild by nature, and she would not purr her praises chained at his feet. She commands respect-- even from him.

She could never play the fool for him, encouraging him to believe that she was helpless against him, or weak, or pitiful, or foolish. It would insult her pride and her lineage. She is a force of nature in her own right, and he could never truly own her without her consent-- consent she has withheld.

And so, he would tell you that he simply retaliated.

She never spared him a sour word when he teased the waters about bringing other people into their marital bed. She only smiled that damn smile of hers and told him that he can do as he wishes as the king. Hells, she hardly seemed to notice when he first took some pathetic creature into their sheets for some harmless fun. The reaction he yearned for from her, some measly sign of her devotion to him, she wickedly denied him, seemingly knowing full well the impact it had upon him.

It drove him to madness, a spiraling misery fueled by his pride. He refused to beg for her, and she would refuse to kneel before him. He came to believe that truly she did not crave him with the same veracity that he longed for her. He no longer sought her out, and she did not come seeking. Surely, if she loved him, she would show some sign, some indication of caring that his fingers caressed a pale pastiche of her rather than where they desperately longed to be: Tracing her lovely mouth, coaxing her clever tongue, circled around her neck, between her warm thighs--

--And then corpses began popping up like flowers, and his beloved suddenly took up gardening.

She grinds his patience to a fine powder, and something about that gets his fires burning hotter than it ought to. Her insouciant dismissal of him, the absurdly casual slaughter of insignificant sex partners and then having the audacity to seem almost bored of his presence. She clearly cares enough to rip the bleeding hearts out of his inconsequential conquests, and yet, here she stands, utterly unfazed by him, having the audacity to feign indifference.

"If you're jealous, my love, you only need say so," He hushes to her, batting her cheek softly as he forces her to look up at him. "You needn't kill everyone who finds their way into my bed. I would cease if you simply said the words."

"Jealous?" Her brow furrows, head cocking, her lips jutting into a little pout. "I don't know what you mean."

What he asks is simple, so dreadfully simple. So easy, so, so easy--

Acquiesce to me.

And yet, she dares to deny him even as there is blood on her hands from strangling and wringing his full attention from his lover's corpses.

The wall of the greenhouse he built for her isn't particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less as he shoves her against it, bullying his body against hers with brutal force, slamming her head against the glass with a lightning-fast palm encircling her throat.

"Why do you insist on being such an obstinate little brat?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and he squeezes tighter in response, choking the air from her little neck and stoppering the words on her tongue. There is a flash of something in her eyes once they open again, but he isn't entirely certain which sin it's indicative of: wrath or lust, or some degenerate mix of both.

It had to be her.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord," She croaks as he allows it, her hand clasped on his wrist as he clenches the rounds of her neck. He swears he sees her lip twitch in the ghost of a smirk even as he suffocates her. He holds all the power over life and death over her, and yet she is insufferably calm.

"I warned you not to play stupid, darling. You know very well what I mean." He growls against her ear, frustration and arousal building to impossible levels. Of all the women in Toril, it had to be her-- it had to be--

"Admit it," He hisses, sharp fang nipping at her ear. "Just admit it, and ask-- beg me, and I'll stop."

He feels the chuckle bubble in her throat even as he cannot hear it through the pressure he applies to her windpipe. "Beg what, my lord?" Her eyes narrow, her amusement apparent even as she has a practiced expression of apathy, whispering back to him with a strained voice still somehow full of unmitigated audacity. "Do you think I suffer?"

His lip curls downwards, and he realizes that he has no leverage here other than her violent jealousy, which she will happily unleash upon his unfortunate bedfellows rather than swallow her pride and cling to him as she should. She has no qualms with murder, and he might as well hand-deliver her victims. It has become an inevitable truth that whoever finds themselves romping beneath the sheets with their king won't be leaving alive because the queen would rather die than admit she cares that he spends his affections elsewhere.

"You can't hold out forever," He knees her legs apart and wedges himself between them, grinding his lust into the clothed heat of her core. "You will beg for me. You will acquiesce. You know your place is at my side."

He pushes forward again, lips brushing against her cheek, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers spiraling down her spine. The way she rhythmically gyrates her hips deliberately against where he wants her most has his hands flexing, kneading deeper into her flesh. His nails dig into her deceptively soft skin, sliding one hand up her body to grope gratuitously at her curves before crawling up to thread his pale fingers through her hair. With the silky strands weaved between his knuckles, he yanks, exposing her throat to the mercy of his razor-sharp fangs like a wolf perched over carrion. He'd die before admitting the overwhelming, frantic need she inspires within him, but he swears if he doesn't have her now, he will perish.

She exhales ragged and husky, squirming against him in apparent need, but still manages to stand her ground. "I am at your side, my lord. Your front, to be more specific."

"On your knees, on your back, whatever I demand. Give in to me. Heed my command, my love," He releases his fingers from her neck, both his arms snaking behind her to scoop her ass in his palms and hike her up against his waist, bidding her wordlessly to lock her legs around him. She does it instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck, tugging playfully at his silver hair as she does. He keeps her up with easy purchase against the wall, keeping her prisoner between a wiry cage of eager limbs and foggy glass panes. "Submit to me of your own free will. Kneel to me, your husband and king, and submit to me fully."

His voice is low and husky as he exhales against the shell of her ear, doing his best to swallow down the desire to rip her pretty dress to shreds with his bare hands and ravage her on the filthy ground of her greenhouse.

"All you need do is say the words," He mutters, barely audible even to her, the scent of her driving him to the precipice of insanity. "Say you belong to me, body and soul. Submit to me, girl, and I'll never have need of another."

He feels the derisive chuckle in her throat reverberate against his own mouth and pulls away to observe. Her eyes are glassy and low as they meet his, moist lips parted in a little 'o', trying so hard not to do that hateful little smile of hers. His hand tightens in her hair, jerking his hips ruthlessly against her once again. So close now, he can feel it, he's going to destroy her, ruin her, tear her to pieces only to put her back together and do it again--

She dares to deny him, dares to have the raw audacity to mock him-- he's going to hurt her so badly, sink his fangs into her neck and drain her fucking dry, force himself inside of her until she has to beg him through hiccupping sobs to stop, unable to fend him off in his full power. He will show her who is the master--

"No."

She cranes her head forward just a little and gives him a mockingly gentle peck on the mouth. It's deceptively gentle and cruel in its intention, entirely meant to taunt him. In his shock at her gall, he is stalled, almost paralyzed and entirely unresponsive and numb to the tidal wave of rage and lust that collides in a nuclear cocktail deep in his gut. It's but a brief moment before he regains control over his senses, and when he does--

"Maybe," She flicks her tongue out, licking a small, red stripe up his cupid's bow. "But not yours-- and you can try, my love."

He releases his grip on her hair only to grab her cheeks, digging his fingers into her jaw so hard that he can feel her gums scrape against the ivory ridges of her fangs. Her wince of pain doesn't escape him, fueling the inferno inside of him as he snarls, baring teeth down on her as a predator might.

"You dare to play games with me? You are a miserable, stubborn little whore and I'd see you put back in your proper place!"

It's more animalistic growl than spoken sentence, and even as he squeezes her face, he can see the twitches of a smile on her crumpled mouth. He can smell the blood on her tongue, the utter defiance in her expression, and despite his frenzy of anger, he throbs between her thighs.

--and yet it's him on the cusp of inescapable frenzy, the taste of her now blasting away the dull, gray months and the now; this one fiery moment where she is wholly his, reminding him of the untamable bonfire of desire she stokes within. His beloved consort, his wife, until death take them both or not at all--

It should drive him into a blind, red rage, but it just makes him harder, pulsing against her insistently, his body demanding entrance to what is rightfully his--

"You will always belong to me."

He crushes his mouth to hers so hard it pains the both of them, more devouring gnashes and fierce, hungry greed for her than passionate kiss. His fangs break the skin of her lip, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, determined to taste every inch she offers up to him. She mewls weakly into his mouth, trying to break the kiss to breathe, but he won't allow it; she only breathes by his will and he'd see her reminded of that--

A battle he will win.

"Mine-- only mine--"

He pants it sloppily into her open mouth, still desperately trying to swallow her essence into himself. She manages to tug away from his unhinged fervor, though only briefly, just to heave and whoop air into her lungs, desperate to catch her breath before she speaks:

"Not if you're not only mine."

It's a fool's facade, this game they play. Around and around and around once more, each demanding prostration of the other only to burn themselves on their own encompassing greed for the other. A toxic whirlwind of emerald-green jealousy and blood-red rage, enveloped entirely by hazy, punch-drunk lust. Two titans locked in a battle for dominance, chasing the vulnerability of the other one.

He hard-swallows, using every ounce of strained willpower he has in his willowy body to retreat away from her, casting his savage need into an abyssal pit inside of him and sealing it before it swallows him. instead. Slowly, he manages to peel away, slowly setting her feet back on the ground, doing his best to compose himself despite the very blatantly obvious signs of arousal and his apparent state of both mental and physical dishevelment.

"I won't humor you forever, darling," He purrs, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back away from her, distancing himself from her control over his body that he loathes. "I always get what I want. You should know that."

She blinks up at him again, her lips puffy and skin smeared with swatches of blood that he has to bite his tongue to keep from tasting. "Not this time."

His lips quirk in a condescending grin at her adorable little show of defiance, resituating himself within his linen pants without shame. "We'll see, my dear."

With that, he abandons the 'conversation,' turning to walk out of the greenhouse, only sparing one last glance at her garden of flesh-- and then once back at her. It breaks his willpower in a way he is miserable to admit, but his need for her overwhelms his pride.

One last snarl in her direction, and he turns to stalk out, itching to backhand the smugness from her pretty face. If he does, he knows well enough that he will not be able to walk away from her. He will take her here and now in a maelstrom of blood, violence, and ruthless sex, and he will lose this little game of control, and he cannot have that.

Still, that doesn't mean she is allowed to believe she has any choice in the matter.

"It's been long enough. I am expecting you in my bed tonight. Do not make me come searching for you. You won't like what happens if I must seek you out."

She seems surprised and almost pleased with his minor acquiescence. It comes in the form of a demand, but she knows full well that it's the best she's going to get. She offers him a sweet smile, smoothing her skirts back down her legs from where he'd hiked them up around her still-quaking legs. He can still smell her, the wet between her thighs, the rich, royal blood flowing through her veins, her body that sings to him a siren song luring him to his fall. If he doesn't break something in soon, he is going to combust--

"We'll see."

He traipses back into the palace, body shuddering and shivering in its effort to control the raging hormones. He is ravenous, needing to drain someone dry and be drained dry-- and soon. Another well-trained servant greets in the halls, cautiously approaching upon seeing his dour expression, bowing from some distance away in case his master decides to lash out.

"My lord--"

"A concubine. Now. Sent directly to my chambers. We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Do not keep me waiting."

[kiame-sama]

Random short thing that popped up in my head; what if Miguel's darling accidentally or casually called Miguel 'Daddy'?

Warnings; use of the word Daddy, yandere, yandere behavior, implied adult themes, implied adult behavior, gender neutral reader,

"Miguel," the sweet voice of Miguel's heart spoke up from where they stood by his office door, "can we go soon?"

He had been spending long hours at work and it got to the point that LYLA called in the only person Miguel would listen to, his beloved.

Out of every ill-tempered behavior or aggressive action that Miguel showed, they all seemed to fade away so long as (Y/n) was by his side. Every spider knew that their boss had a weakness for his beloved and they also knew that he was fiercely protective of them even from those who don't pose a threat. However, even if having (Y/n) near Miguel made him protective, it is leaps and bounds better than dealing with an affection starving and prickly Miguel. The longer Miguel went without his lover nearby, the worse his temper became and the more volatile his rage was.

Miguel could work for days with little rest if he needed to, but he was powerless to the pull of his sweet darling calling him home. Still, he wanted to somewhat get his experimental design working before he went home.

"Sí, amor. Just give me a moment to figure this stupid thing out."

(Y/n) frowned as they saw how stubborn Miguel was being and understood why LYLA had called them to coax him out of the office. Whenever he set his mind to something, it was difficult for him to break away even if it made him neglect his own needs. Miguel adored his darling lover and wanted to go home with them, but he was so close to figuring out what was wrong with his newest experiment that he couldn't give up yet.

A sly grin overtook (Y/n)'s visage as they haughtily shrugged and turned, calling over their shoulder to Miguel.

"Okay. Thank you, Daddy."

The words had an immediate reaction from Miguel as an apparent crunching sound was heard, the small electronic crumbling to scrap in his grip. Though it took a moment for his mind to catch up with the statement and fully understand it, his body was quick to warm in response to the sentence. His eyes seemed to burn red as they flicked over to the doorway where his darling had been moments prior, statuesque body flexing.

Much like a cat stalking prey, or a spider judging the meal caught in a complex web, Miguel turned to the door with a clear rigidity. Where he was lithe and flexible, his body was stiff and not fully within his control anymore. A kind of hunger seemed to take over the typically critical and determined man, replacing the respected leader with a savage predator that had a clear target.

LYLA saved and shut everything in the office down as Miguel rushed out after his dearest with little regard to his now ruined piece of tech he destroyed. Perhaps he would blame himself for it tomorrow as he takes in the damage he did while briefly under control of his instincts. For now, Miguel had a single goal and he was going to reach that goal regardless of the effort it took to get there.

[peachdues]

I Want You, I Need You (NSFW)

Requested for Sanemi x Y/N • Rengoku x Y/N • Giyuu x Y/N by @stuckinthewrongworld

Come get your food, you skanks.

CW: explicit sexual content for all three. Sanemi is princess slut in this. Rengoku is an angy boy (some mild hate-fucking). Giyuu is emotional. Condoms are non-existent, cre @ mpies all around. Exhibitionism in Sanemi’s (more like public sex), and hurt/comfort in Giyuu’s. MDNI. Read below the cut.

Reblogs, tags, and comments always appreciated! Love you all 🍑🌸🤍

Sanemi

Sanemi Shinazugawa hated quickies with a passion. He much preferred to have his girlfriend spread out over his chosen piece of furniture, completely at his mercy, where he was free to take as much time with her as he wanted, thank you very much.

But then his girlfriend had strode into his apartment wearing that fucking dress for his office’s charity gala, the satin one that clung to every dip and curve of her just fucking right, and Sanemi’s mouth had gone dry.

Even an hour after arriving, Sanemi is still struggling to conceal the hardness in his tuxedo pants that grows ever more demanding with every passing second.

It doesn’t help that half the men and women in his office keep eyeing Y/N like she was a goddamn meal and they haven’t eaten in days.

Y/N certainly hadn’t fucking helped his predicament when she’d slid past him to grab a drink from the bar, only for her ass to brush against his stiffening length. She’d frozen for a moment, surprised at just how tightly wound her boyfriend had been, but then the little succubus had ground the supple curve of her ass back against him once, and Sanemi nearly came in his pants.

One look at her devilish smirk had him closing his hand around her wrist and practically tugging her through the throng of his subordinates and co-workers gathered at the museum, to find somewhere — anywhere — private where he could give it right back to her.

Sanemi had found such a secluded corner in the back of coatcheck, and had wasted no time in pushing Y/N up against the farthest wall from the entrance and shoving the long skirt of her dress aside. He’d been pleased that the one she’d selected to wear that evening had a daring little slit that went nearly to her thigh — it’d made pulling that scrap of lace she called a thong to the side all the easier.

“D’you want me, baby?” He’d snarled in her ear as he shoved his fingers between her thighs to run them over her damp slit, pleased that she was just as turned on as he.

Y/N’s eyes were wide with lust, and she let out the sexiest fucking high-pitched mewl ever to grace Sanemi’s ears, nodding enthusiastically.

“Good,” he’d growled, fumbling with the opening of his tuxedo pants as he shoved them down just far enough to release his fully erect length, red and leaking in demand as he brought it against her slick, euphoric heat. “‘Cuz I fuckin’ need you.”

And that was how the couple found themselves in the back of the museum’s coat room, tucked behind the last rack of fancy coats and scarves, Y/N pressed against the wall and her thong pulled to the side while Sanemi thrust savagely up into her.

It was true, he hated quickies — but something about the thought of taking Y/N to a secluded corner and fucking her senseless while the threat of being caught loomed, made Sanemi’s cock even harder than it already was, plunging in and out of her satiny heat.

And given the lewd squelching of Y/N’s cunt as his cock drives in and out of her at record pace, it seemed his girlfriend would be inclined to agree with him; this was fucking hot.

“Your pussy is so fuckin’ perfect,” Sanemi grunts in her ear as he pushes her thigh back firmly against the wall they’re braced against. “And all wet for me.”

Y/N’s hands greedily roam the planes of his torso, concealed beneath his tuxedo shirt. She opens her mouth to respond when the motion-sensor hall light outside of the coat room clicks on, voices of museum patrons not too far away.

The voices draw nearer as Sanemi’s thrusts grow sloppier and Y/N clenches tighter around him. Her pretty lips fall open in a perfect “o” and Sanemi knows she’s about to start making those high-pitched, breathy moans she always makes just before she cums.

As much as it pains him, he frees his hand from its grip under her thigh and closes it over her mouth, stifling the sounds as they begin to bubble up her throat.

But that hand had been keeping her leg pinned to the wall, and Y/N is too fucked out of her mind to keep it up herself. Her foot comes to rest back on the floor, leg wobbling precariously in her strappy heels as she tries to hold herself upright.

Unfortunately for Sanemi, their new position now causes Y/N’s succulent cunt to clench him even tighter, and Sanemi knows he’s only a few pumps away from unloading into her warmth, and those damnable voices are still getting closer.

Of fucking course they chose to duck behind the rack that housed the coat this particular guest needed right fucking then.

Sanemi brings his lips to the back of the hand he has covering Y/N’s mouth, his teeth breaking his skin as he bites down in an effort to keep his groans in check. The sight, is apparently too overwhelming for Y/N, because suddenly the walls of her velvety cunt are spasming around him, and the only part of her eyes Sanemi can see are the whites as they roll back into her head with the force of her orgasm.

Her legs quiver beneath him and the vibration sends Sanemi hurtling over the edge, his eyes squeezing tight as his cock spurts within Y/N’s honeyed core.

“Ah, here we are, ticket 1915! For Mr. Ubayashiki!” The coat check attendant chirps.

Sanemi’s eyes fly open at the name. The coat rack he’d taken Y/N behind was not just any coat rack.

No. It was the rack for his fucking boss. And now, his boss and the poor attendant, who most certainly is not being paid enough for his services, are about to be exposed to Sanemi Shinazugawa’s bare ass while he’s in the middle of unloading inside his girlfriend.

In a last-ditch, desperate attempt to preserve what remains of his tattered dignity, Sanemi blindly grabs a handful of coats and shoved them forward, praying to whatever gods there might be that Mr. Ubyashiki’s is near the front.

Whether by dumb luck or divine intervention, the coat check attendant does not need to dig too far in the rack to find Mr. Ubayashiki’s coat. The footsteps pad away and both Sanemi and Y/N look to one another and exhale against his hand, relaxing in relief.

Sanemi waits until the coat check attendant flips the light of the room off before he dares to pull out.

“Shit, sorry,” Sanemi tries to brush a bead of his cum that accidentally drops onto the side of Y/N’s dress as his seed begins to trickle down her thighs. His softened cock still hanging out of his pants, Sanemi grabs a small handkerchief from his pocket and reaches between his girlfriend’s quivering legs to wipe away the excess, before fixing her thong. “You okay?”

Y/N nods, a delicate blush on her cheeks as Sanemi tucks himself back into his pants. Her hands flutter up to her hair, smoothing it down before she gasps, fingers flying to her lips.

“How’s my lipstick?” Y/N worries, grabbing his hand and forcing Sanemi to look closely at that sinful mouth of hers.

The outline of her lips still has traces of red that is slightly smudged, but the pillowy softness of her lips are her natural color.

In other words, Y/N looks as though she’d just been thoroughly kissed.

“Oh no,” Y/N’s eyes widen as mortification begins to settle over her.

But Sanemi came prepared.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, reaching into the pocket of his pants to withdraw the small black tube containing his girlfriend’s chosen lip color for the evening. He feels a smug sense of pride at the way her shoulders visibly relax, a relieved smile spreading across her lips.

Y/N moves to take her lipstick from his hand, but Sanemi pulls it back, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as Y/N furrows her eyebrows at him in question.

“Part your lips for me, darlin’,” he murmurs, and his pride multiplies at the way Y/N’s cheeks turn pink, her eyes darting from the hand clutching the tube and back to him.

Slowly, Y/N’s sensual lips part, and Sanemi uses his free hand to grip her gently — but possessively — under her chin to hold her still. Still holding the lipstick in his hand, he leans in and slants his mouth over hers, his tongue darting quickly between her relaxed lips to stroke her own. He feels himself begin to harden once more at the soft, surprised gasp that he swallows as his tongue licks the roof of her mouth before he pulls away once more.

Seamlessly, Sanemi pops the lid of her lipstick off with the same hand he holds it with, and brings the rouge to her mouth, gently patting the pigment against her still-parted lips as he’d seen her do countless times before.

Y/N’s eyes never leave his face, and though Sanemi is fixated entirely on her mouth, he knows that were he to look, he would see the same renewed heat for him in her gaze as he feels stirring in his blood.

Fuck, he loves her. He thinks he should marry her.

Finally, Sanemi steps back, satisfied with his job, closes the tube, and slips it back into his pocket.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Sanemi shakes his head, hand reaching to take hers gently in his as he leads her back to the main floor of the museum. “Thank god you’re wearin’ white.”

Y/N squeezes the fingers interlaced with hers and Sanemi looks back to see that glint in her eye — the one that means trouble for him.

“When we get home — payback.” She promises, and Sanemi nearly hauls her ass out of the gala right then, knowing that “payback” meant Y/N would be tying his arms and legs to the posts of his bed and riding him ten ways to Sunday.

Just as the two cross the threshold back into the main gallery, Sanemi slips his hand against her ass and squeezes, roughly. “Bring it on, baby.” He taunts.

This time, it’s Y/N who turns on her heel, grabs his arm, and tugs him behind her, Sanemi smiling with abandon the whole way to the car.

Rengoku

“I don’t know what you want, Rengoku.” Y/N’s voice was hard, even as her eyes stung with the burn of unshed tears. “You’re a riddle I can’t figure out how to decipher, and I’m done trying.”

With that, Y/N turned away and made to leave his apartment for good. She was tired — so very tired of never being his priority; of him choosing anyone and anything but her. Whether it was his father, his brother, his job, his friends, or those boys he mentored, Y/N had grown tired of being relegated to the bottom of Rengoku’s list. He’d exhausted all of her resources, always stringing her along with lofty promises that he cared for her, that she was important to him, and yet she never found herself being used as anything but a last resort.

He wouldn’t even commit to dating her, for God’s sake. And so, she was done.

She’d just managed to wrench the front door open when a large hand shot past her head and slammed it shut once more. Y/N’s mouth opened in indignation, ready to curse the man at her back, but his other hand closed around her upper arm, whipping her back around before his mouth slams down over hers, angry and desperate.

She didn’t kiss him back at first, her thoughts too jumbled and her heart too angry, but Rengoku’s fire had always raged too hot, had always consumed everyone and everything that crossed his path. Y/N was no different; she’d burned for him from the start.

And so, Y/N finds herself giving in to his fervid lips and roaming hands, the anger they both felt charging the air around them, adding a further level of heat to their combustible romance.

“I want you,” Rengoku growls against her neck, as he makes quick work removing her sweater, and then her dress, the heat of his hands branding her bare skin, marking her as his. “I want you.”

Y/N only moans in response, any coherent thought left in her head dissolving as Rengoku’s teeth nip across her breasts, as he pushes her up against the door she’d tried to leave out of — tried to leave him.

Y/N’s hands are greedy as she unbuckles Rengoku’s belt and fumbles with the button of his trousers. She heaves a wanton sigh when her fingers slip past the fabric and connect with the thatch of coarse hair and heated steel within, his cock heavy and throbbing in her hand. Rengoku’s deep groan has her wetness dampening her underwear, and the two tear the last shreds of fabric from the other, frantic to feel.

“I want you.” He repeats, again and again.

Rengoku hauls her up against the door, and her legs wrap easily around his hips because this is a waltz they’ve danced so many times before. He does not bother to use his fingers to prepare her, far too enraptured in his own desire to wait to sheathe himself within her any longer.

“I want you,” his teeth nip at her bottom lip, demanding she open up to him, as his tip presses against her throbbing entrance. “And I fucking need you, Y/N.”

As his tongue slides into her waiting mouth, Rengoku buries his cock within her, and Y/N doesn’t care if she will always be his last resort, not if he’ll keep fucking her like this.

His hips ruthlessly snap in and out of her and fuck, she loves it, loves the way he knows how to fuck her just right so that she’s a whimpering, moaning mess. She loves him. He is pounding melody into her that only he knows, her spine digging into the hard surface of his front door which rattles in its setting. Vaguely, Y/N is aware that everyone on the street can probably hear the way she screams his name, can hear his animalistic snarls and grunts and moans as he whispers how fucking perfect she is and how good she feels clenching around him.

“Stay,” he beseeches her, in between the sharp, thrusts of his cock into her heat, so deep that she fears he will be able to imprint himself on her very soul. “Stay. With me.”

Y/N’s legs tighten around his hips as Rengoku’s hand shoves between their bodies to connect with her aching clit. It only takes him one, two circles and a gentle press of his thumb to have Y/N coming apart around him, giving herself fully into his relentless fire that she knows, deep in her heart, she will never escape.

“You’re mine,” Rengoku growls in her ear, her release coating his groin and making the sounds of his skin slapping against hers wetter, more obscene. “Say it.”

Y/N only cries out, her cunt a sloppy mess as the thrust of Rengoku’s hips into her grow more forceful as his release nears.

“Say it,” beneath his possessive snarl is the edge of desperation, as though he knows she already has one foot out the door that he now fucks her against.

“Y-yours,” she says feebly. “I’m yours, ah, Rengoku.”

Her oath is all Rengoku needs to unleash his seed within her, his hips giving one last mighty slam up before stilling, a loud, deep groan of her name reverberating in her ears as he presses his body flush against hers.

She wishes she could regret it, but she’s long-since resigned herself to the whim of her heart.

And so, Y/N stays.

Giyuu

Y/N finds that sleep evades her most nights.

At least, such is the case here, at the end of her life.

When she was eighteen, twenty-five had seemed so very far away; almost intangible. Not real, not attainable.

At the time, she’d not given it much thought. The Star Hashira had no ties, no bonds, that’d survived until the sun rose and they emerged victorious. So when that silvery, six-pointed star appeared right between her brow, she’d not mourned her fate. After all, it hadn’t even been certain they would win at all.

She’d lost consciousness before Tanjiro had temporarily become a Demon himself, and she woke up a month later with most of her friends dead. Of the Hashira who’s fought, only three survived — herself, and the Wind and Water Pillars.

She’d respected both of them, though she’d not been particularly close to either. But shared trauma can form bonds just as sure as any other experience, and so, she’d grown close with both men upon their respective reawakenings.

Sanemi’d grown to be a close older brother-figure, a steadfast and warm presence in her life, even if he still bore traces of that occasional hot-headedness. But his mark had claimed him three years prior, and with him, he’d taken half of her remaining heart.

The other half, however, belonged to the raven-haired man sleeping soundly beside her in their futon, beautiful and serene.

Though, it wouldn’t be fair to say that he’d come to possess the entire half of her heart — he now shared it with the sleeping toddler in the next room, the spitting image of her father, though she’d inherited Y/N’s eyes.

By some miracle, Giyuu’s mark hadn’t activated even during that final battle, meaning that he’d passed his 25th birthday with ease, welcoming their first — and now, only — child shortly after.

They hadn’t been close at the time Y/N’s mark appeared, nor had he’d noticed during that final battle, given how light and delicate that cursed star had been.

It was perhaps selfish of her to not tell him her fate, but then again, she hadn’t meant to fall in love with him.

Y/N rolled over in their blankets to face her sleeping husband. He lay on his back, head tilted towards her, with the most peaceful expression upon his lovey face. He was as bare as she, though she’d recently taken to wearing his haori after they’d finished their more physical activities, Y/N claiming that she’d desired nothing more than to be enveloped by his scent.

That’d been true — but moreso because she wanted to etch the smell of home into every cell within her. It was why she’d spent so many mornings with her nose buried in her daughter’s hair, as she held her close.

Perhaps the gods would be kind enough to allow her to take these treasured mementos with her to the afterlife, when death came to call in its debt.

How could they have imagined the price of their victory?

Y/N could feel the panic within her begin to bubble and churn, as the deadline on her life drew ever closer — now, a mere two months away. If she could not get the howl of her despair to quiet, she’d risk waking Giyuu and causing him to worry. He is already beginning to stir, his Hashira-trained instincts responding to her palpable restlessness.

But Y/N knows how to conceal her anguish. She lifts her hand to gently caress the side of her dearly beloved’s face, who grunted in response to her touch. Slowly, she let her hand trail downward, fingers tracing teasingly along elegant slope of his nose, to the sensual pout of his lips.

As she grazes his lower lips, Giyuu, barely conscious, presses gentle kisses against her fingertips, and Y/N nearly dissolves into tears.

Still, she lets her hand continue to trace along the well-traveled plains of his body. Her fingers brush against the edge of the blanket draped over his lower hips letting them linger teasingly.

“Y/N,” Giyuu’s voice is rough with sleep, but the corded muscles of his abdomen flex beneath her touch.

“I want you,” Y/N breathes as her hand slipped beneath the covers of their futon to grip his growing hardness. She leans over and brushes her lips against the hollow of his throat, and let her tongue trail teasingly down his sternum.

Giyuu’s response is a low growl, as he grabs her by the jaw, pulling her up to kiss her roughly, greedily, before flipping her onto her back and covering her with his body, alive and eager for her after a few gentle caresses.

Her legs part easily to accommodate Giyuu’s hips as they come to a rest against hers, his length brushing against her heated cunt so deliciously that neither can help moaning in unison.

As Giyuu aligns his tip with her entrance, Y/N brings her lips to his throat, teeth nipping at that sensitive spot just above his adam’s apple.

“I need you,” she whispers, and Giyuu slides home in a single, fluid motion, the tendons in his neck tightening in his restraint.

But Y/N does not want him to be restrained. She wants him to feel her love, so that maybe, just maybe, he won’t hate her when the time comes, in a matter of weeks, when she does not awaken beside him.

She hooks her leg around Giyuu’s backside and flips them, her hips dropping effortlessly down his length as she begins to ride him, her husband’s head falling back against his pillow in bliss. His hand comes to rest against her waist, steadying her, though he allows it to wander to her breasts or to squeeze at her ass every so often.

As she increases the pace of her hips, dropping and rolling and grinding against him, so too, does the frequency of the noises which fall from her beloved’s mouth. Y/N savors the breathy moans and whines and grunts that Giyuu makes as he begins to buck up into her, shamelessly chasing his own release.

She loves it when he’s as needy for her as she is for him.

Giyuu’s fingers find that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and they swirl and press against her in a way that has her head falling back, his name a prayer on her lips. She wants him to come with her, so she braces her feet flat against their futon, bouncing herself up and down the length of his cock, shiny with her slick, because she knows he likes to watch himself disappear in, and out of her.

The walls of her core tighten around him, and Giyuu finds nirvana first, his head thrown back and a loud moan for her tearing from his throat. The sight leads to her own undoing, with Y/N free-falling off the precipice of her pleasure after him, her cunt seizing around him as though he was her lifeline.

Giyuu has a sleepy smile on his face as his hips roll lazily up into her, his hand coming to stroke the soft part of her belly as he muses that perhaps this time his seed will take again, and they can give their daughter a new sibling.

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s been taking a tea that will prevent that from happening, ever since she’d passed her 24th birthday. It would seem too cruel to risk dying in childbirth, potentially taking their unborn child with her.

In truth, she was secretly glad to have had their precious daughter before Y/N was forced to leave him. Not only was the little girl the beautiful, physical manifestation of her parent’s love, but she would serve as her father’s anchor to life, here.

If that made Y/N selfish and wicked, then so be it. She’d never claimed to be good.

But damn, if she hadn’t hoped for more time.

As she collapses against her husband’s chest, spent and satisfied, as his hand comes up to delicately trace over her spine, she feels the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyelids. She buries her face deeper into her husband’s neck, hoping his scent will steady her as it so often does.

Giyuu murmurs against her forehead how much he loves her, how much he cherishes her and their family, and the tears begin to fall. She hopes she can pass off the droplets gathering on her cheeks as the product of pleasure or happiness, rather than that of the cold despair and bitter sorrow she feels as her end draws near.

But then again, they’d been running on borrowed time anyways.

I hope you enjoyed your weekly addition of slutty-angsty-pain with yours, truly.

[mauesartetc]

FREE PALESTINE MASTERPOST

Trying to keep this blog more art- and creativity-focused in general, so I'll be removing the Gaza-related reblogs that are about a month old. But I'll use this post as a permanent archive that will update periodically (some of this information will grow dated as the situation develops, but I think it's important to keep a record of just how fiercely opposed people were to Israel's actions from this moment forward). We should all continue to raise our voices about this, and refuse to support politicians who enable genocide. Remember, they work for us, not the other way around. Keep going.

October 2023

-Donation links

-Social media links

-US congress ceasefire script

-Decolonizepalestine.com (information, mythbusting)

-More donation links

-Ways to pressure politicians for a ceasefire

-HUGE resource list

-"Is there anything I can do to help Palestinians besides call my representatives and beg them to stop killing people?"

-"We are isolated now"

-Palestine and landback

-210 PAGES of dead people's names.

-Bail money for Palestine Action

-Article list

-US action items

-Boycott info

-Grand Central Station shut down by protestors

-Message to white American citizens

-UK ceasefire petition

-How YOU can help Palestine (regularly updated!)

-"Please try amidst all this fury and grief to still have faith in the common people." (+donation links)

-Reminder about protest etiquette and privacy

-Prints for Palestine

-"We have no communication with the outside world. They are using their military might to harm us. We have no power but the power of God, no one but God. Please, pray for us." (spoken over mosque speakers)

-DAILY donate button + more donation links

-"Doesn't Israel have a right to exist too?"

-Script for US Congress calls

-Queerness under apartheid

-Sudan is also at war

-Hundreds of thousands of protestors in London

-Half a million.

-Tips for folks with phone anxiety

-This comic got real

-European and Canadian ceasefire scripts

-"The people of Gaza see the protests. That is reason enough to come even if nothing else." WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN YOU. WE ARE HERE.

November 2023

-More genocides than just Palestine

-How to buy e-sims to circumvent Gaza's internet blackout

-"Occupying territories is illegal. Resistance to occupying forces is legal."

-MASSIVE resource list

-"For decades now the media has told us Muslim men are savages, terrorists, wife beaters and everything in between. I want you to challenge this trope the next time you see it in the media. Let these photos serve as a reminder."

-"Don't stop talking about the Palestinian genocide. IT'S WORKING."

-UN resignation letter

-Israel won't allow Irish or Brazilian citizens to leave Gaza

-"Palestine must never be forgotten. Promise me that." (from the documentary "Children of Shatila")

-Gifs of pro-Palestine rallies around the world

-Support Palestine's last kufiya factory

-Protestors flood the streets in Washington DC

-Explanation of why calling representatives is a numbers game

-FREE ebooks on the history of this conflict

-Petition to screen films by Palestinian directors

-Call to boycott Gal Godot's work

-Indigenous activists block weapons shipment to Israel

-If you're attending a protest, DON'T TELL YOUR GOVERNMENT SHIT. Y'know, friendly advice.

-Links to support Palestine Action and Palestine Legal. Get in the way.

-Parallels between Israel and the surveillance tactics used by NYC mayor Eric Adams

-Don't spiral into doomerism. Persevere.

-Want a different strategy to contact your representatives? Try faxing them!

-Florida rep Michelle Salzman calls for the death of all Palestinians

-"The phone doesn't stop" :)

-Indian trade unions call on the government to scrap deals with Israel

-An overview of Israel's human rights violations, and two major political groups that have exacerbated Zionism in the US

-Israeli man explains why he's protesting

-"Whoever stays until the end will tell the story. We did what we could. Remember us."

-US House of Representatives votes to send billions of dollars worth of weapons to Israel

-Canadian email campaign and petitions

-"Canada's First Nation standing with Palestine"

-"Freedom is infectious as it is just and no one is free until they ALL are."

-Israeli forces invade al-Shia hospital

-Leaked list of weapons the US has sent to Israel

-Only 32% of Americans believe the US should support Israel

-Cop City action demonstrates how to protest effectively

-Refugee grandmother "doesn't have to imagine a multicultural and integrated Palestine- she remembers it".

-Protestors block the Bay Bridge in San Francisco (plus bail fund)

-Israeli forces attack schools in northern Gaza. SCHOOLS.

-Journalist shares an update from an Indonesian hospital and pleads for others to spread it around as it "may be the last video we are able to send"

-Scottish Parliament votes overwhelmingly to demand a ceasefire

-Sobering texts from a friend providing humanitarian aid in Gaza. "They have been distributing guns to the civilian settlers and allowing them into the West Bank to terrorize people" "We have been given option to leave. None took it"

-"the absolute bare minimum in this situation is 1) a complete ceasefire and immediate humanitarian aid in Gaza, 2) complete halt of all military foreign aid to the Israeli government, 3) the Israeli government being prosecuted for its war crimes in the International Criminal Court, and 4) land back and reparations for the Palestinian people. free Palestine means free Palestine, not just temporarily stop carpet bombing Palestine."

-"It's important that you keep posting and speaking about the ongoing genocide. This 5 day agreement isn't the end of things."

-Boosting the incredible, FREE daily donate button again

-Protests at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

-"REMINDER THAT ANTISEMITES AREN'T WELCOME HERE AND WON'T BE TOLERATED"

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon behind the cut; the Gotham Kid. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Pete spends at least three more charges in both tasers, and Lou yanks Vito back to his feet while Mike reloads his gun with slightly shaky but very quick hands. Pete keeps grinning grim and vicious, and Kid keeps expecting something else from him. 

Definitely batshit, he thinks. Like Batman levels of batshit. 

Though the guns are definitely not Batman’s methods. 

Pete blows his hair out of his eyes, then laughs. It sounds flat. Fake. Something tweaks in Kid’s head, like he’s missed something he should notice, but then the lumps of Clayface’s body start trying to reform, and that’s kind of–distracting, yeah. 

Very distracting. 

“Should fucking learn when to give up and die already, Karlo,” Pete says, his grin savage, and snatches something off his belt. It’s a wrapped-up . . . block of . . . something? Kid didn’t really notice it before, next to all the weapons and scars and body armor and other immediate obvious threats Pete was already wearing. It was hidden in a cell phone holster, but from the shape of it he’d just thought it was a whetstone for the knives or something. Now that he’s paying attention, though, it feels like . . .

It feels like . . . clay. 

“Jesus,” Lou mutters from the far side of the street, and he and Vito both step back and drag Mike with them. “Hey, kid! Get the fuck back inside!” 

It’s plastic explosive, Kid realizes as Pete rips the wrapper off. And this is–Pete’s running the numbers, he thinks. Making a decision. An immediate decision, but an arguably informed one. A calculation. 

And he’s going to–if Clayface absorbs plastic explosive while he’s disoriented and trying to pull himself back together, and Pete tases him again after that . . . what would that do, exactly? Would it work like a blasting cap? Would it . . . 

It might kill him, Kid realizes. 

It also might kill everyone on the fucking block, depending on just what absorbing plastic explosive would do to Clayface’s actual body. Would that–convert, or spread, or . . . how do his powers work, exactly? Superman’s memories tell him that Clayface absorbed some of Wonder Woman’s clay once, and it gave him additional powers; made him stronger and borderline invulnerable. It wasn’t a perfect absorption, though–Troia got the clay back in the end. But until she got it back, he had the additional powers.

Wonder Woman’s powers are magical. Plastic explosive is chemical. But if Clayface absorbs fucking plastic explosive and it affects his clay anything like her clay did, and Pete detonates it . . . 

Fuck, Kid thinks, and throws himself back from the hydrant. He runs for the warehouse. 

He has to get behind the door, and he has to get it solid. There’s no way to explain about that fast enough right now, when he still doesn't know how much sign Pete even knows or if he could even get his attention in time. 

Kid’s already grabbing the doors and ripping the bolt back with his TTK before he realizes he could’ve just–said something. Could’ve shouted a warning, or–

Superman wouldn’t have run. Superman would’ve stopped Pete. Would've saved Clayface from whatever’s about to happen to him. 

But Kid isn’t Superman. 

He bolts through the doors and slams them shut behind him, and throws himself back against them. 

Throws his TTK back against them. 

All of his TTK, and all of the doors. The wall. The windows. The fucking building. He puts everything he’s got into all of it; every scrap of fake invulnerability and strength and every single stupid thought and bit of focus in his useless head. 

He even throws the stupid fucking bolt again. 

“Kid–!” he hears Candi shout in alarm, and he feels her start to run towards him and feels Trish yank her back, thank fuck, and outside the whole street explodes. 

It hurts. 

Things don’t usually hurt Kid, except for the obvious exceptions of when he lets things hurt him. Like, so people will think he’s just a baseline human or won’t realize he’s doing something or whatever. When he pulls his TTK back deliberately and lets someone land a punch or a kick or something, or just whatever it takes to look human enough to pass for one. 

He’s only half of one, but that’s not . . . 

This, though. This fucking hurts. 

The explosion scorches the bricks and blackens the windows and super-heats the door and the metal burns against Kid’s palms, and he can’t feel temperature through his TTK but he can feel the force. Feel the shockwave of it. 

And his TTK isn’t half as good against concussive force and temperature as it is just physical impact. 

But the doors hold. 

The explosion would’ve blown them in, he notes distantly. Definitely would’ve blown in the windows. Maybe even some parts of the wall. And all of it would’ve gone right into the crowd of people hiding in here. It would’ve . . . it . . . 

Kid’s head swims, and his knees give out, and he collapses against the door. 

He really isn’t half as good against concussive force and temperature. 

He can feel the scattered parked cars that the explosion tossed across the sidewalk and the decimated fire hydrant shooting water straight up into the air now and the crushed phone booth and mailbox on the corner and cracked street and every single brick in the building and seam and hinge in the door and everything’s so much and his ears are fucking ringing and it's too much and the nearest bodies are–

Someone grabs his arm. 

“Kid,” a voice says, short and shaky. It’s Trish. 

He thinks his nose is bleeding, maybe. And maybe his ear, and . . . 

“Fuck. Fuck. Can y’hear me, Kid?” Trish says, shaking his arm, and Candi drops to her knees in front of him and starts patting him down, and he feels–weird, kind of. They don’t usually, like–he knows they worry a little, sometimes, but they don’t usually do it like this. Where it’s obvious, and somebody could see. He’s just useful, and they want to keep him around to be useful, and . . . and just . . . “Y’hurt? Y’get hit?” 

“Shut up, Trish,” Candi hisses at her under her breath. She grabs Kid’s face in her hands; pulls it up to make him look at her. She looks . . . weird. Stressed. Worried. 

He’s not used to . . . 

“Kid,” she says, sharp and short. “Blink twice.” 

He can . . . he can do that, he thinks. And then he does it. 

It hurts, kind of, but he does it. 

Candi’s shoulders slump in relief and she drops her hands to his shoulders instead, squeezing them tight. It feels different than usual, without his TTK between them. It hurts a little too. 

Actually, just about everything hurts right now. 

But Candi’s hands feel warmer than usual, too. 

Usually Kid’s TTK is wrapped around his body, is the thing, skin-tight and atom-thin. So he’s used to feeling things through it being associated with feeling things in his body. So wrapping it around the building instead right before a Clayface's worth of plastic explosive detonated right outside . . . well, it sure as shit didn’t feel good. Stressed him out. Overtaxed and overclocked and overwhelmed him, and he’s pretty sure his nose and ear actually are bleeding, yeah. 

And definitely he feels like he just took a Clayface’s worth of plastic explosive straight to the face. Which is a lot of plastic explosive even for somebody who isn’t just human to take. 

. . . human. 

Human. Outside, the–Pete and his guys couldn’t have expected the explosion to be that bad, Kid thinks. They couldn’t have . . . 

Would they have been far enough back, if . . . ? Would they have taken cover behind something actually strong enough, or . . . ? 

Fuck. 

Kid tries to reach out with his TTK, feel what’s going on outside, but it won’t reach out again. It’s fried. He over-extended it, and it’s a miracle he didn’t pass the fuck out from doing it. 

Maybe he did for a bit, he realizes vaguely, wondering how long it actually took Trish and Candi to get to him. It felt like they were there right away after he fell, but before the street blew they were . . . how far away were they before the street blew? They were . . . 

Where’s Pete? And Lou and Vito and Mike? And–Clayface, too. Where are . . . 

Superman wouldn’t have let this shit happen, Kid thinks bitterly, and tries to push himself up against the door. His head swims, and his knees give out again. Candi and Trish catch him against it and slide him back down to the floor. He feels . . . 

It was a lot. 

Jesus, like he’s never been blown up before or something. 

. . . well. Like Superman’s never been blown up before. But . . . but it’s still not . . . 

He needs to get back on his feet. He needs to get back out there. Someone might be hurt. Might need the ER, or at least somebody’s back-alley doctor, and . . . and . . . 

And what if they’re all dead? What if they’re all . . . ? 

Superman never would’ve let this happen. 

Superman would've done it right.

But Kid doesn't even know what the right thing to do would've been, except for just making sure nobody got hurt. 

And he definitely didn't do that. 

He tries to make his legs work again, but he feels . . . just feels fried, still. Overwhelmed. Overclocked. 

Not good enough. 

He's never been good enough, though, so it's not like that's news or whatever. He came out half-baked and too early and he didn't understand what being “Superman” really meant, and . . . and he . . . 

He didn't even know what was in his own head. Didn't even know how dangerous what was in his own head was. Is. Could be. 

He's so stupid, all the time. So . . . 

“S’okay, Kid,” Trish mutters, her voice low and clipped as she squeezes his arm. “Y'did good, ‘kay?” 

“Shut up, Trish!” Candi hisses at her again. “Just–don't move, Kid. Just–wait a sec.” 

Superman wouldn't wait, Kid thinks. Superman would do something. 

And he's still not Superman, but . . . but Ma and Pa wouldn't–Martha and Jonathan Kent wouldn't wait either. Wouldn't expect any kid of theirs to wait. Wouldn't–

He's not their kid. They don't even know him. They probably don't even know he exists, except in like a vague by-osmosis way. They definitely don't care he exists, either way. 

(they might, maybe. they're the kind of people to keep a baby they found in a spaceship and never even worry about it, never have a second thought or a moment’s doubt about it, never–)

They don't care he exists, he reminds himself sharply. And even if they did, that wouldn't make him anything to them. Wouldn't make him– 

It just wouldn't. 

No matter what he “remembers”. No matter what he actually . . . 

Kid really, really wishes he had . . . wishes he weren't . . . 

He needs to get up. Superman would get up. The Kents would too. Any–any real Kent would. 

He's not even a real person, though. He's not even . . . 

But he needs to get up. 

Kid tries to reach out with his TTK again, and it . . . flickers, sort of, but it reaches. He feels Trish and Candi and the door and the floor, and his own clothes and the dirt and gravel, and the contents of their pockets and the lock mechanisms in the doors, and– 

And nothing moving in the street. 

Fuck, he thinks, and pulls himself upright more with his TTK than any muscle strength. Absolutely literally no muscle strength is involved, in fact, except in the sense of reflexively trying to put up the illusion of actually using them. 

He’s definitely not, but yeah. Not the point here. 

“Kid,” Trish hisses, gripping his arm. They’re both gripping his arms, actually. 

Superman wouldn’t need that. 

O-U-T, Kid signs stiltedly, just to make sure they’ll both understand, and Candi’s mouth tightens. 

“Yer so stupid,” Trish seethes, and shoves him. His TTK’s barely functioning, so she pushes him into the door in a way she normally couldn’t. It’s not hot anymore, but he feels like maybe it still is. Feels like . . . 

He just has to go. He doesn’t expect them to understand, because it’s stupid and he should know better–does know better–but . . . 

He just has to. 

(a real Kent would.)

Kid swallows roughly. Straightens himself up a little more. Trish glares at him. Candi’s mouth is still tight. 

Sorry, he signs, and then he fumbles for the bolt. Candi tries to grab his arm again. He’s not expecting it, but he manages to dodge her grab anyway and slips back out, and shuts the door hard behind him. 

He doesn’t know what’s out here, but if anybody’s dead, nobody else needs to see that. 

Kid looks at the street, his TTK flickering in and out. There’s toppled cars and burnt and broken street and no sign of Clayface or Pete or anyone else at all. Just–nothing. No one. 

Kid immediately feels like that’s his fault. 

It is his fault, he’s pretty sure. Just–somehow, it’s his fault. 

It’s definitely his fault.

[missterious-figure]

Eclipse concept art!

So... I'm planning on adding Eclipse to the swamp things au. It might take a bit to finish his design. He was originally going to be a "werewolf" wolf spider. Like, he would be a normal spider, except on full moons or eclipses. He would turn savage and go on a killing spree.

But, I scrapped that idea. I think I'm gonna make him a cold-blooded killer instead. He roamed as top predator of the Undergrowth (the area under the Village Tree that ground bugs live in) He was feared by many. So ruthless. The villagers of the Undergrowth were to scared to even try to have him banished. Any "hero" that tried to defeat him never came back. He remained the solitude beast of the night, striking fear with nothing other then his deep chuckles.

Until he was trapped in the tunnels under the Undergrowth. Where he was forgotten and remembered only as folklore. But he was festering his anger and hunger the whole time. Waiting for the day he could dye his hands in a glorious crimson.

If anybody has questions for him, I can probably arrange that. Note, ask at your own risk.

[childotkw]

Okay I'll raise it. Hermione/Tom? I really find this couple cringe-worthy.

Prefacing this with saying if you do ship Hermione/Tom, absolutely no shade to you, my darlings. Ship to your hearts content! Don’t let some loser on the internet (aka me) impact your enjoyment 😊

Now, onto my personal thoughts on the ship - it’s really the same as my feelings on Draco/Tom. They’re too incompatible in my eyes - emotionally, morally and mentally.

While there’s a lot of surface similarities, once you scrap off that thin layer, they’re far too different to mesh well.

Hermione is too inflexible, and holds to her morals too hard to ever condone or even attempt to understand Tom’s actions or motivations. And Tom is too disgusted by the idea of a lot of things Hermione values to ever think her opinion holds weight.

That’s why I ship tomarry over any other ship for either character.

Because at their core, and more than any other ship I can think of, there is a painful level of understanding and empathy between them. It allows them - even if they don’t agree - to see the world through the other’s eyes. They know each other. They understand the darkness in each other and don’t flinch away from it.

They are the only two who could possibly sway or influence the other in any meaningful way. Harry could make Tom better. Tom could make Harry worse. And that understanding of each other’s past (unloved orphans), emotions (that sense of being unwanted, freakish, other, more than those around them), and deepest desires (to be untouchable, to be safe for one fucking day in their lives) allows them to connect in a way that no one else can manage or come close to.

Hermione and Tom would implode as a couple spectacularly. They’d fail to find any sense of balance or respect. Again, like with what I said about Draco/Tom, unless Tom was manipulating or looking to hurt Hermione by leading her around (and thus getting some savage kind of amusement out of the whole thing), then I don’t think they’d ever go for each other.

[bad-tf-fic-ideas]

(283) Predacons/Starscream.

Starscream is not killed by Predaking at the end of Predacons Rising — instead, he talks very, very fast and worms his snakey way out of an execution. Talking frantically in circles is a skill he's honed for millions of years, so despite their, ah, rocky history, Starscream manages to convince Skylynx, Darksteel and Predaking that he's of more use alive than dead.

Starscream's contribution to this group is not flight manoeuvres, firepower, tactical brilliance or sheer backstabbing nastiness, but rather the simple fact that he is an energon seeker. And now that their planet is alive again — thanks to Optimus Prime's martyrdom — there are tiny scraps of energon crystal that are now just beginning to make their way to the surface of Cybertron. He can sense even these small deposits, with a sensitivity that no manufactured alternative can yet match.

But, you know, it takes a lot of effort to keep three massive prehistoric dragons full of fresh energon without resorting to intensive seeding and mining operations. And it turns out that you can't put in that much effort to take care of someone every day without growing a little bit attached to them, eventually. Cybertronians will bond with anything — obviously, they are capable of bonding with even organic aliens if given half a chance. Starscream is not immune, and finds himself becoming closer and closer to this savage little pack. (He is designed for transformation. His changing habits don't trouble him... much.)

And then an Autobot envoy arrives, wondering how three massive dragons— spotted flying over Darkmount — are keeping themselves in energon so easily, when the tiny scraps and seeds are so hard to detect with even the most sensitive modern machinery. Haven't they allied with the Autobots before, fending off Unicron? Aren't they all, more or less, sort of, friends? It doesn't seem entirely fair that they should keep whatever sensory systems they've dug up to themselves, does it?

And that's when Starscream starts to get... unhappy. Insecure. Fretful. Paranoid. Jealous. Predictably, vicious.

[smolwritingchick]

The Bangtan Gal Chapter 94- MAMA Awards 2016 Part 2

Chapter Summary: BTS win their first Daesang! Tensions run high when Jen's friendship with Hyuna ends abruptly due to sneak dissing and a scrapped performance. BTS attends the Mama Awards making iconic moments that leave the world shooked.

Words: 6,000+

Genre: Big Jungkook Fluff. A little chaos never hurt anybody :)

Author's Note: This is the last bit of the chapter that couldn't fit in Part 1 on Tumblr.

Click here for PART 1 of this chapter

--------

On stage, as it was darkened, it lightened up with red lights in the background, showing off her powerful silhouette. Once the audience saw it was her, they cheered loudly. She then began a dance break with the back up dancers, dancing fiercely.

"Hong Kong! If you don't know my name, you gon' know, tonight!" she shouted and began to sing, bouncing to the beat.

wave ya hands side to side

wave ya hands side to side

wave ya hands from side to side

wave ya hands side to side

Backstage, Bangtan was dancing along while they were being filmed by a Bangtan bomb. They bounced and jumped to her singing. Yoongi had been the one to post the fan chant lyrics on Twitter to prepare fans. His efforts were rewarded as he heard the loud fan chants. ARMY truly never lets Bangtan down.

"Wave your hands side to side," she continued to sing but then stopped as the audience, especially Armies, began to take over to repeat the lyrics.

Pleasantly surprised though pleased, she smiled and even saw the light sticks waving around on beat. As she walked, she placed the mic to her mouth and then the words began to flow while she looked at the camera.

Aye yo, Cube & MAMA, why you lying saying I ain't ready?

Miss Bangtan standin' on business, you know she keep it steady

I'm a savage and tonight Jennie gon' wreak havoc

The way she delivered the last line as she leaned in close to the camera with a wicked grin and head tilt caused anticipation around the venue as they cheered.

Her sudden rapping caused idols to look stunned, especially with the passion in her tone. They expected her to sing but rap? It was about to go down as they glanced at Hyuna.

"Oh shit, it's happening!" Bam Bam started freaking out with Jackson.

"Here she goes," Namjoon smiled, noticing her whole demeanor change.

"Make us proud, smartie..." Yoongi watched on with a smile.

Looking this fine I make em turn quick

I stay bulletproof, I ain't no sidekick

Main character energy, what you mad for?

Haters obsessed with what I got next in store

She turned around with the backup dancers, giving a full view of her backside while rocking to the beat which got reactions from idols who 'whooed' and admired her stage presence. She turned back around to continue to dance as her hair bounced beautifully with the camera following her.

Natural Body looks so good they try to replicate 

No matter what y'all do you can't duplicate 

She was then left alone on stage.

It sucks I gotta work twice as hard to get that recognition

I'm just as good, a bulletproof girl on a mission

Bangtan applying that pressure and we 'bout to do damage

We stay looking fresher while haters be at a disadvantage

Taking a glimpse of Hyuna made Jennie begin to walk right in the direction of where the idols were sitting as the camera followed her. As she walked, people began to realize that she was walking towards her.

"Is she heading in her direction?" Hobi grinned.

"Yes, she is!" Taehyung cheered.

The members watched proudly, anticipating what was going to happen next.

Fans tweet:

'Is she walking over to her!?'

'Wait a damn minute is she about to do what I think she's about to do!?'

'Oh my God I think Jennie is walking right towards Hyuna!'

'Is this the moment where she finally responds!?!'

With the way Jennie's expression changed, Bangtan watched as she legitimately started to get angry.

"Control your emotions..." Yoongi murmured as he watched her.

The idols geared up for what was about to happen, glancing back and forth from Hyuna to Jennie.

'Remember Yoongi's words...stay calm or you're gonna lose focus,' Jennie thought to herself as she kept her composure.

She took a deep breath to relax and continued on the mic.

How's this? How's this? You better reap what you sow

All this buffoonery better stop now cause I'm about to blow

Gave you one too many warnings, let me get this off my chest

What I got to say can't even save you with a bulletproof vest

Tryna tarnish my image you better watch ya mouth

Claim you're a girl's girl yet like to bad mouth

Grabbing a chair, Jennie pulled it right to Hyuna and sat right in front of her as ARMY cheered loudly. She began to look at her dead in the eyes while idols looked around in shock. Some of the IOI members gasped, questioning if this was really happening. Hayoon smiled proudly while the rest of GFriend continued to watch on the edge of their seats.

"Damn," Jooheon grinned. "Right in front of her, eh?"

Bam Bam's eyes looked like they were about to pop out while Zico glanced at Crush and Dean, nodding, looking impressed.

"Oh shit!" Taehyung shouted.

"Did you know she was planning to do that?" Jimin looked bewildered.

"Nah, she didn't say a thing," Jin looked on.

"She said expect the unexpected. She's doing a damn good job with the unexpected," Jimin watched in awe.

Hyuna looked upset as a frown came across her face while staring at Jennie who continued to rap.

First things first, I am not the one, two or three

You still running your mouth yet you run from me

Bubble bubble pop bitch who likes to burn bridges, 

A storm is coming and you about to get stitches

Jungkook grinned to himself. "That's my girl," he proudly said while Yoongi laughed out loud with the rapline on her bubble pop insult.

She then leaned forward, keeping her eyes on her.

Fake female monsta, you talk when I'm not around but I like to be direct

So I'ma address you on this stage so you can get checked.

Yea I'm the best from head to toe

Still bulletproof, it's ridiculous that you don't know

Miss Hyuna, you stay sneak dissin' but go mute when I'm in your face

Bitches like you make me wanna catch a case

Jennie was surprised the show didn't cut off her mic and kept going, relishing the moment. She flipped her hair to the side and stared at Hyuna, unimpressed.

Face twisted up in anger cause I hit a nerve

I'll be the first to say that it's what she deserves

If you respond, I already know everything you'll say

She's disrespectful, huh?

Doesn't respect her seniors, huh?

She's ghetto, huh?

She's just a little rookie, huh?

I've been booed and hated, I've handled it all

Tonight is just another part of my K-Pop experience

Getting out of the seat, she kicked it to the side and stood in front of her to continue while moving to the beat. She prepared to use every flaw and insult she assumed Hyuna might use against her and twisted it for her advantage.

I got issues with being too friendly, what could I have done differently?

My friendliness can be a disadvantage, you clearly took advantage

Played me for a fool, I am foolish for trusting you

You look nervous, did you realize you bit off more than you can chew?

My voice cracked during my verse tonight but I still kept going

I messed up during the dance too but I'm still glowing

I get overexcited, too passionate, damn, I'm extra, I say it proudly

Sometimes I worry about the growing fame

Sometimes I overthink and wonder if I will end up in shame

Sometimes I think negatively about the what ifs

A habit I need to work on, you know this

4Minute members aren't too fond of you, I know the tea

And it's a good thing now that they are free

So what if I took years to dye my hair?

I trended for weeks while everyone stopped and stared

I don't care if I sound annoying when talking about Nike

Cause guess who got the endorsement, me, all high and mighty

She took a dramatic curtesy with a proud smile as the crowd cheered.

Give me a break, let me breathe

Give me a chance, let me achieve

You don't wanna work with me no more, OK

You mad our music video got more views than yours, OK

You underestimated my confidence and skills, OK

Can't swallow the fact I ate you up in your own music video, OK

Spreading this narrative that I'm a jealous hater

How many more lies does the media need to paint me as the bad guy?

You're not as innocent and unproblematic as you portray to be.

And nothing you say will break me

I love myself. I love my skin, I love who I am becoming

It looks like our little friendship was just a shortcoming

OK I broke a nose but I'm not violent until you put your hands on me first

Veteran or not, don't disrespect me. You ain't gonna coerce

If you dare make a diss track about me make sure it's somethin' they don't know about me

It's crazy how people switch up due to envy and greed

Witnessing it now, what a shame indeed

Never meet your heroes they say and you're the prime example

And I promise you this will age like fine wine in a future scandal

She ended her rap, predicting the future. She spoke over the instrumental while looking up and down at Hyuna in disgust. "This is the first and last time I'm addressing this. Don't you ever in your life play with me,"

Monsta X were grinning to themselves while the audience caught a lot of the idols' reactions and were quite pleased to see the drama. Jooheon thought about Show Me The Money and his fair share of rap battles.

The way Hyuna looked angry and upset, caused Jennie to smirk in satisfaction with the music changing slightly as she started nodding to the beat.

"Yeah. Wave ya hands side to side. Wave ya hands side to side," Jennie sang.

Some idols were waving their hands along with her and the audience with their lightsticks.

"Sing!" Jennie instructed, raising her mic up, as ARMY took over the lyrics.

wave ya hands from side to side

wave ya hands side to side

Bangtan started dancing and jumping around and began singing the lyrics too while getting filmed for a Bangtan Bomb. ARMY never lets BTS down. They were a huge part of this becoming successful as they continued to chant.

Wave ya hands side to side

Wave ya hands side to side

Wave ya hands from side to side

Wave ya hands side to side

Then she proceeded to speak on beat one last time in front of Hyuna. "Yea this trick about to go off, mad 'cause I'm so fresh. Fresher than you. I'm fresher than you. Fresher than you, oh,"

"Ah-Ha-HA~!" Miss Bangtan laughed loudly in a high voice and began to walk back.

Zico laughed at how dramatic her laugh was and applauded with Crush who was amused. Yoongi was proud and loved how she defended herself confidently and aggressively, applauding with the rest of the members.

"That's my fuckin' Smartie!" he shouted proudly.

Jungkook stared at the screen with admiration. This was her moment and she did it justice. She truly soared tonight and deserved this.

"Her rapline initiation is complete," Hobi said proudly as the rapline grinned at each other.

"Yeah. She handled herself well, out there. Cypher Part 4," Yoongi confirmed with a nod.

"The remix," Namjoon added as they agreed.

"Don't let Taehyung hear you say that," Jin laughed lightly.

"I heard everything! I demand a spot, too!" Taehyung whined.

"NO," the rapline shut it down, causing Jin, Jungkook, and Jimin to laugh.

Social media went crazy over Jennie and tweeted:

'The girls are FIGHTING!'

'Jaw is on the floor omfg'

'The presentation! Big Hit let her shine the RIGHT way! Thank you for allowing her to have that much time on stage! She deserved this!'

'Sometimes you gotta go that route and speak directly to the person. Hyuna was playing games,'

'Jennie is ANGRY. Do you see her fierce eyes?'

'The way she criticized herself for her flaws but flipped it,'

'Once she tweeted BET, that was a warning that a disaster was coming. SHE COOKED!'

'Y'all peep the idols eating this up but trying not to make obvious reactions? Jooheon was grinning ear to ear and it had me dying,'

'SHE SAT IN FRONT OF HER! THE WAY I SCREAMED!'

'I owe Jennie an apology. We shouldn't have clowned her for not responding right away,'

'The duality!! Add Jennie to the list of responding to disses on the MAMA Awards!'

'The way she used some of Hyuna's lyrics against her was crazy!'

'That was brutal!'

'Mnet you can thank BTS for the boost in views because this whole stage is about to go viral!'

'If Jennie says "BET." then understand she's out for blood!'

'Mnet can thank BTS for the views because their whole stage is about to be the highest viewed video of all MAMAs and on YouTube!'

'This is going in the top 10 lists of MAMA Moments. Jennie became a history maker tonight! She sat in front of her and addressed her!'

'Oh...my God...'

'We will be posting this diss during black history month!'

'BLACK WOMEN! That's the tweet.'

'This is what happens when you provoke people.'

'BIG YIKES!'

'Y'all clowned Jennie to respond and she finally did and now haters mad!'

'Hyuna deserved that.'

'This is why you leave the friendly people alone!'

'I AM INVESTED!'

'Her response did not disappoint my gawd...I...I'm not even Hyuna but I feel embarrassed for her. In front of the industry like this? Fucked around and found out,'

'Not y'all switching sides and cheering for Jennie after clowning her for taking a while to respond,'

'Why do y'all keep fucking around and finding out when it comes to black women? Leave us tf alone.'

'Jennie is not in the wrong. Hyuna started it. Jennie finished it. End of story.'

'HER LAUGH!!! NEW MEME ALERT!'

'Who said she needed Bangtan to respond? She handled it well!'

'Someone edit Jennie's MAMA performance with Brooke Valentine's Girl Fight in the background!'

'No for real! We need edits of Jennie and Girl Fight in the background! We bout to throw dem bows! We bout to swang dem thangs!'

'Jen's a boss ass bitch-bitch-bitch-bitch-bitch-bitch-bitch!'

'Stop! Stop! She's already dead!'

'Hyuna just apologize omfg.'

'Time to throw the damn towel Hyuna!'

'4Minute members must be happy af she got called out lol!'

'She gave her many warnings to back off and didn't take them. Now she sitting there looking stupid as fuck,'

'Bubble bubble pop bitch...I...'

'G-Dragon chose to right idol to mentor. I saw G-Dragon in her for a moment,'

'And that is ALL she wrote!'

'Miss Jennifer Walker respectfully...when she turned around and gave us a full view of her ass...God is the greatest,'

'She's not wrong about people trying to replicate her body. That thang was MOVING!'

'And there goes the ratings skyrocketing! It's about to be a girl fight!'

'I'm just happy Mnet didn't cut off her mic. Because this whole moment is going viral and it's good to see people backing Jennie after learning the context. She is not the bad guy here,'

'Jennie said: FINISH HER!'

'Jennie PLEASE! I cannot keep up with all this! First you kiss Jungkook now you going crazy on Hyuna my GOD!'

'This is the exact reason why people anticipate Jennie at the MAMA Awards. It's always a surprise! For a black woman to get this much attention at this show is amazing,'

'Dispatch is shaking trying to keep up with what's happening with Jennie lmfaooo'

'I need reaction videos to Jennie at MAMA 2016 NOW! Tag all the big K-Pop YouTubers!'

'I want them to fight so bad. Catch that case, Jennie, we'll bail you out!'

'Gotta love those Scorpios,'

'I do not want to hear about respecting your senior when she has said some horrible things about her unprovoked. She's a horrible person. Jennie is not in the wrong'

'Stop messing with the most friendly idols in the industry. When they fed up, they are FED UP! How are you going to come after Jennie?'

'One thing about Jennie is sis will make sure to keep herself talked about. And in positive ways. I'm happy she responded. I know the rap line is proud!'

'Y'all insulting her is proving her point lmfao. Hyuna is NOT classy. We don't know these idols or what happens behind closed doors. A lot of these idols might not be who they claim to be!'

-----------

Turning around, Jennie kept her head up high and strutted back to the stage. She proceeded to walk down the ramp as the background turned red to show her silhouette once more and the LED screen and background turned into fire. The music slowly transitioned to the opening beats of fire with the drums.

She broke out into a smile, observing all the light sticks and especially the army bombs still high up and lit for her.

"Hong Kong!" she announced in a shout, earning loud cheers. "I am Jennie of BTS and Bangtan is about to set the roof on fire, baby! Hong Kong are you ready!?"

She received louder cheers and screams as her strong, confident aura radiated off of her.

Fire....fire....

While she stood on the main stage, the rap line popped up to join her and the audience got even more excited.

"It's BTS! And you're now watchin' this one!" Namjoon announced.

"Hong Kong!" Yoongi shouted.

"Blow up!"

"Let's go!" Jennie shouted.

The music intensified as the rest of the group joined and started getting hyped up with the music.

"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" Yoongi shouted.

As they performed fire, Jennie kept a big smile on her face, feeling elated about everything happening at the show, popping the moves out powerfully.

Standing near Jungkook, she leaned to the side and locked eyes with him while smiling at each other.

ni meotdaero sareo eochapi ni kkeoya

aesseuji jom mareo jyeodo gwaenchanha

Errbody say La la la la la

"Say what!?" Yoongi called out.

Say La la la la la

"Say what!?"

soneul deureo sorijilleo Burn it up

"Hong Kong!"

Strutting up to the front, Jennie flicked her nose with her thumb, changing her face into a serious expression.

bultaoreune

Going hard in the dance break as her hair flowed, she sang with her mic in her hand. “Eh! Eh oh eh oh!”

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

“Eh! Eh oh eh oh!”

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

Standing with Namjoon she dapped him up as their hands collided perfectly.

“Aye, live it up. Bangtan just exploded on the scene~!”

Hey, burn it up jeonbu da taeul geot gachi

“Aye, shout it out! I’m turnt up, it’s okay, I’m keen~”

Hey, turn it up saebyeogi da gal ttaekkaji

geunyang sarado dwae urin jeomgie

geu malhaneun neon mwon sujeogillae

sujeosujeo georyeo nan saraminde

“So, what~!” she shouted with them, raising a hand up.

"Go, Jennie!" The rapline shouted.

The boys rocked to the beat around her and people noticed the way the rap line smiled proudly at her as she performed her verse.

“Calling us extra yet you still want to hang. Bang to the tan, you wanna join this gang. Keep your eyes on me, I am still that chick! Don’t you stand too close, what, you think you slick? Admit we the shhh as we tear it down!”

The boys dramatically turned to her while she placed a finger to her lips before they followed her around as she continued.

“BTS is the flame they wanna water down! Bangtan is still here and we killin’ it still. We always start the fire, you just a fire drill! AH-HA~!"

(Fire)

geop manheun jayeo yeogiro

(Fire)

goeroun jayeo yeogiro

(Fire)

maenjumeogeul deulgo All night long

(Fire)

jingunhaneun balgeoreumeuro

As the backup dancers danced with them, Jen got hyped, shouting, 

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-“

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!” the rest of the members joined in.

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

(Fire)

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

(Fire)

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

(Fire)

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

(Fire)

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

(Fire)

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

(Fire)

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

"One more time! One more time! One more time!" Jimin announced as everyone went around the main stage, hyping up the crowd along with the back up dancers.

(Fire)

Jennie jumped up and down, repeating her lyrics. “Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

(Fire)

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow

(Fire)

“Errbody throw yo’ hands in the air, we gettin’-”

“Hot! Hot! Hot! Hotter!”

(Fire)

ssak da bultaewora bow wow wow 

yongseohaejulge

---------

After performing, Bangtan went backstage and they went in for a group hug, pleased with how their stage turned out. They were all tired and sweaty but still feeling the adrenaline of being on stage and happy for Jen's solo stage.

"Jennifer, that was fucking amazing!" Yoongi grinned and lifted her up, spinning her around as she laughed. "I am so fucking proud of you! You did it!"

He set her down as she felt overwhelmed with joy, thanking him and the rest of the boys for their support as they praised her.

"Undeniable. I told you," Namjoon confirmed with a grin.

"You had us laughing. You really went in. I was a little scared," Jin laughed. "But you looked powerful and beautiful on that stage. My heart leaped with joy watching you,"

"I have the coolest girlfriend ever. She sings. She dances. She acts. And now she raps. I'm a lucky man," Jungkook grinned and pulled her in closer for a side hug as he kissed her cheek. "You never cease to amaze me, you know that? Every day with you is a new adventure and today has been full of fun memories and surprises. I can't wait to see what else you do,"

"All those lessons have been paying off. I'm impressed, Munchkin," Hobi beamed. "You proved exactly who Miss Bangtan is. Your stage presence has improved a lot since last year,"

"That's our Ennie!" Jimin gave her an eye smile. "My favorite part was when you sat in front of her. That caught us all by surprise. You were fantastic out there,"

"I told you she was amazing when I saw her in the practice room! I was the one who believed in her first! Now look at you soar. Soaring like the beautiful butterfly that you are, flying to your full potential..." Taehyung pulled her in for a big kiss on the temple and a hug.

The rest of the members joined back in for another group hug.

"Thank you for always being my strength. All of you are the best. We did that shit, huh!?" She asked as she pulled away and high fived them when they all agreed. "We all did so well. The dancing, the singing, the rapping...we made a huge name for ourselves tonight. I'm proud of us. I'm proud of what we accomplished so far. Thank you for always creating such beautiful memories here. I can't wait to make more with you guys,"

As the members walked backstage, they continued to be filmed with the Bangtan Bomb.

"I am hot. I am sweaty. I am exhausted. I think I overdid it a bit but I'm standing strong," Jennie put up the peace sign as she walked.

"Ah, I'm disappointed. I could've done better," Yoongi brought up as he thought about his performance.

"What?! You did great! Don't down yourself like that. You had me hyped on that stage with you!"

"Really? Thanks, Smartie,"

"Of course," she smiled and placed a hand on his back, patting it.

As the show went on, Wiz Khalifa finally got on stage. He performed Young, Wild, and Free as BTS were on their feet, dancing to the song as it brought back memories. As the boys watched Jennie be in her own world, dancing happily, they gathered around in a semi-circle to hype her up as she kept moving.

A camera began to film them while she started to rap Wiz's part, not caring who watched as fancams caught idols watching Bangtan.

"It look clean, don't it? Washed it the other day, whatch how you lean on it. Give me some 501 jeans on it. Roll joints bigger than King Kong's fingers. And smoke them hoes down 'til they stingers. You a class clown and if I skip for the day. I'm with your bitch smokin' grade A!"

"You can't take me nowhere!" Jennie laughed as the boys sang the chorus.

"Hands up! Hey! Hey! I see you, BTS!" The DJ pointed out, causing the audience to cheer loudly when the camera showed them.

"I see you, Jennie!" Wiz pointed, shouting her out when she caught his attention as she rapped and danced.

She turned to Wiz and pointed back with a big grin on her face. Yet another fun highlight for the show.

As he performed See You Again, Jennie sang with the boys and laughed when the screen showed Bam Bam messing up the lyrics.

When GFriend won best dance performance for a female group, Jennie cheered loudly and immediately went to hug Hayoon.

Fans tweeted how they loved that it was becoming a tradition for those two to find each other whenever they win an award and that some still shipped them together.

Watching their acceptance speech made her tear up, especially when Eunha began speaking. When GFriend returned to their seats, she went to hug them all and congratulated them again.

-------------

When EXO performed, Jennie acted like the ultimate fangirl, making sure to sing along and cheer. She had plans to collaborate with EXO for the end of the year shows and she couldn't wait to dance with them. She and Sehun had something special planned as well and she was already practicing with him for it.

"I came prepared this time!" Jennie cheered and took out her personal EXO Lightstick, using it while they performed.

"Seriously?" Yoongi laughed with the boys as they shook their heads.

"What?" she asked with a laugh. "It's frickin' EXO!"

As she waved her lightstick and did some of the fan chants, fans tweeted how she'd be one of the reasons to end the EXO/BTS fanwar and that what she was doing was one of the reasons why Exols liked Jennie the most out of Bangtan. Others thought she was hilarious acting this way and loved how she supported the groups that performed, vibing to their music.

Baekhyun's solo dance at the end had her losing her mind as the members laughed at her enthusiasm.

"Kings! Literally kings! They nail it every time!" she applauded.

After Twice won Song of The Year, it was time for Artist of The Year to be announced. Jennie sat in between Namjoon and Jin as they awaited the results. She sensed her leader's nervousness and the way he was anxiously biting his fingers made her start to rub his back. She then grabbed one of his hands, giving it a big squeeze as they awaited the results.

Will it be EXO again?

Ha Ji Won was the presenter as she opened the envelope.

"The award goes to...BTS!"

It took a few moments for Jennie to register as she sat there dumbfounded. All of Bangtan were shocked while Namjoon looked so relieved and happy as tears developed in his eyes. With them all standing up, they gathered in a group hug as the crowd cheered. The walk up to the stage was a heartfelt one as Jennie felt her emotions get to her.

Artist of the Year. They won artist of the freakin' year!

She stood in between Yoongi and J-Hope while Namjoon began his speech.

"ARMY!" he paused, feeling his emotions get to him. "Really, thank you so much. We went through a lot since we debuted and there were people who said we wouldn't make it. Thank you so much for believing in us till the very end. This was something we could only dream of having, thank you for making that dream into a reality. Those who have been leading us, Bang Sihyuk PD-Nim and Big Hit's staff, Pdogg, Slow Rabbit, Supreme Boi who have been making really good music for us. Also Coach Sungdeuk, Sangeun-hyung, and all our staff. We are really thankful to all the staff who have been with us. Thank you so much for making our dream into a reality,"

He switched to English to continue, "And ARMYs all over the world, let's fly with our beautiful wings in 2017 as well. BTS loves ARMYs as always! Thank you very much, thank you!"

Jennie hugged Yoongi who started breaking down into tears while Hobi also consoled him. Seeing Yoongi cry started to make her cry as she tried not to mess up her makeup. But the tears began to flow down her cheeks.

They all gathered into another group hug.

"Thank you very much. We love you all!"

"Thank you very much!" Jimin added.

"Thank you!" Jennie cheered.

"We hope that our music and stages will become that of many people's dreams and hopes," Namjoon added and went back to English. "I hope that our stage, our performance, and our music can be the hopes and dreams of many people around the world. Thank you very much. We will work really hard, thank you very much,"

They all bowed and clapped. When they were back in their seats, Jennie sat in between Jimin and Taehyung while EXO won album of the year. Bangtan was still overwhelmed with emotions that they won Artist of the Year as they tried to listen to their speech. However, Jennie and Jungkook couldn't stop their tears from flowing as they both began crying.

"Damn...we're artist of the year..." she broke down into a sob.

Jimin and Taehyung wrapped an arm around her to console her and the older members began to notice their youngest members crying.

"Both of them are crying. Ah, it's all right," Namjoon said as he comforted them.

Yoongi gave tissues to them as they wiped their tears. Jen could already feel a slight headache coming from the crying. Before she knew it, the show ended as confetti dropped from the stage. After pulling herself together, she stood up and proceeded to walk with the rest of the group, bowing at other idols and waving at fans, sniffling.

Feeling arms around her, she noticed that Hayoon had approached her to back hug her.

"Jennie~! Aw, you were crying?" she giggled while she turned around in her arms. She wiped Jen's tears. "It's okay! I'm so proud of you and the boys! Bangtan deserved the award!"

"Thank you, I'm proud of you! We're soaring high, huh?"

"Just like we said we would!"

Jennie met up with the rest of the members as they group hugged once more.

"I'm so damn proud of us! We did it!" she jumped up and down with them in celebration.

Still wandering around the stage to bow and say hi to familiar faces, Exols and Armies cheered loudly when Baekhyun and Jennie met up

"Jennie," he smiled warmly and embraced her.

She raved over his performance while he praised her work tonight.

"Congrats on your win tonight! I'm so happy for EXO!"

"Thank you! Congratulations on Artist of the Year! Bangtan is more than deserving. How do you feel?"

"A whole Daesang at MAMA? I cannot believe this is real,"

"Get used to it. This is only the beginning for Bangtan. Enjoy every moment. It's going to be a fun journey,"

She smiled and nodded, feeling the waterworks coming again. To see idols come up and be so genuinely happy for Bangtan was sweet. She thanked him and they embraced again.

"Remind us not to make you angry," Chanyeol said as he walked past, making both her and Baekhyun laugh.

"I would never do that to you, Chanyeol! I love you!"

"I like to be loved. I'm happy we're on the same page. I love you, too," he laughed.

------

As Bangtan walked backstage with cameras still filming them, Sehun called out Jennie's name, causing her to turn and grin. She broke away from the group to chat with him as they were filmed.

"Yo~!" her eyes lit up as she hugged him. "Congratulations! Okay, album of the year! Showing out, huh?"

He chuckled. "Thank you. Congratulations on Artist of the Year. It feels great, doesn't it? Hard work paying off,"

"Yeah! It really does! I'm still shaking. You see my adrenaline pumping?" she revealed her shaky hands as he nodded.

'Heartwarming meeting between two grand prize recipients. Maknaes of their respective groups,'

After chatting, the two embraced and the camera captured the sweet moment between friends. Once she made it to where Angelina was with Bangtan who had been sitting front row in the audience, Jennie happily embraced her. Angelina was thrilled about Bangtan's win and performance, losing her mind about everything.  

"GIRL! GIRL!" Angelina kept shaking Jennie, congratulating her on her successful evening at MAMA. "I am so damn proud of you! The rapping!? Who is this girl!? Suga, you turned her into a monster! That was lethal! Hyuna was so quiet, it cracked me up! She was mad as hell~! Suga, thank you for igniting this fire in my best friend! You should have seen me, I was filming and screaming for you. I am so posting videos and photos when we make it back to Seoul!"

After getting situated, Bangtan and Angelina were at the airport seated on their designated plane, waiting for it to take off so they could head back to Seoul. Jennie sat at a window seat next to Jungkook while the end seat was empty. The rest of the members and Angelina sat near them and all of them were on their phones. It was at this moment that Jennie and Jungkook were going to post everything they prepared for their relationship reveal.

"We doing this?" Namjoon asked with a smile, phone ready on Twitter.

"Just say the cue," Jimin happily grinned.

"Whenever you both are ready," Taehyung added.

"I got a lot to say so just tell me when you post," Angelina brought up.

All of them had their posts ready along with videos, photos, and large messages of support for them. This was a huge deal. This moment. Revealing that they were dating to the world. As if the kiss wasn't a bombshell, this reveal was about to be. A decision they thought over for a long time.

Jungkook blew out some air as he reread the post he planned to publish on Twitter along with the photos. Rereading everything, a smile came across his face.

"Our world is going to change once we hit post," he said as he turned his head to look at Jennie.

She nodded and met his gaze. "I know. And I'm not going to apologize for being in love with someone who has made me the happiest I've ever been,"

"I won't either,"

"You'll stand next to me through this like you said,"

"That I will," he ensured and pressed his lips against her sweetly. "I love you,"

"I love you, too. Okay. I'm ready. Let's do this," she smiled and clicked the post button for her tweet.

Jungkook immediately posted right after and so did the rest while Big Hit posted the scheduled YouTube videos and official statement tweet from Big Hit's Twitter for their relationship. Quickly going on Instagram, Jennie posted her truth there and once confirming everything had been sent, she deleted Twitter and Instagram. 

As she laid her head on Jungkook's shoulder, he laid his head on her head and they both closed their eyes. Might as well enjoy these final peaceful hours on this flight. Because once they stepped foot in Seoul...all that was going to end.

Hello, this is Big Hit Entertainment...

[arliedraws]

Go on about Sirius and Benjy I am listening

Well, I went down a Benjy Fenwick hc rabbithole and created a backstory, so thank you for that

Benjy Fenwick comes from a working class seaside town in North Yorkshire. His father is a mechanic and his mother works part time as a cashier. Benjy’s the oldest of five children—he and his youngest brother (born when Benjy is about twelve) are the only siblings with magic. But he almost didn’t go to Hogwarts because he could hardly afford any of his books or materials, but he worked his little eleven-year-old butt off to make extra money. A natural salesman, he finds scraps to sell to kids he knows, gambles, scams adults until he gets the money he needs.

He loves his parents, particularly his mum. He feels incredibly guilty to be leaving his family behind, convinced that he needs to take care of them, but his parents insist that he goes. When Benjy gets to school, however, it’s clear that he is Poor. The first person to point this out is Bellatrix Black, a particularly nasty Slytherin girl in his year who comes from a very old pureblood family.

But Benjy is the most shameless, charming, devil-may-care sort of boy. He’s decent at school, but doesn’t care about doing well—he just cares about doing what’s right. He’s a jock type without possessing a shred of interest in the jock activities—he doesn’t give a damn about Quidditch but gets bored sitting still, but he’ll fly a broom to see how fast it goes. Too clever for his own good—could talk his way out of anything. He doesn’t need to lie—he just tells the truth so plainly that you can’t help appreciating his candor.

All of this infuriates Bellatrix Black, and she’s determined to make this little Ravenclaw as miserable as possible by trying to turn people against him. But Benjy is a really difficult person to hate. He’s the sort of kid who, if he doesn’t get a spell correct, is the first to laugh at his mistake. He asks the “dumb” questions in class—the ones that people are too embarrassed to admit they don’t know the answer to—with a shit-eating grin. He’s the first to protest if a professor gives them an extra long essay or a pop quiz and give the most convincing argument why the teacher should spare them—and sometimes, he’s even successful.

He gets a few O.W.L.s and a couple of N.E.W.T.s but not enough for a job in the Ministry. He never really wanted to do bureaucratic shit anyway. When he finishes school, he goes back home to work with his father as a mechanic. His family has always been his first priority, after all. And he’s pretty happy! He’s probably gay and he has younger siblings who are happily married and having kids, so he feels no pressure to “settle down” and marry some girl.

Anyway, Bellatrix Black’s old rivalry with Benjy never faded, and his family is savagely murdered in one of the earliest massacres of the war. He was supposed to be killed too, but he happened to be elsewhere that night. Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick are murdered, as well as two of his siblings, their spouses, and their children. Benjy goes feral when the Ministry do very little to investigate. He decides to hunt down the perpetrators himself but accidentally ends up sabotaging an Order of the Phoenix mission led by Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore asks Benjy to join the Order, and soon, Benjy becomes a key player in the war. He’s an excellent duelist, he can make muggle explosives that evade magical detection, he hasn’t got a lot left to lose, and most importantly, he has to make the world a better place for his little brother who’s still at school.

Benjy has been with the Order for five years by 1978. He’s still cheeky but a little jaded, battle-hardened, and a bit wary of the newest recruits who are too fresh out of Hogwarts. What is Dumbledore thinking bringing on these kids? And one of them is Bellatrix Black’s cousin.

This Sirius kid is charming and reminds Benjy a bit of himself when he was that age, but Benjy is also a bit suspicious of the pureblood heir. He hides his distrust, though Sirius can sense it. When a mission goes wrong, Sirius risks his own life to save his friends and finally earns Benjy’s respect. Others in the Order still don’t entirely trust Sirius because of his family, but Benjy sees something in him and takes Sirius under his wing as Sirius’s friends become more and more distant while the war pulls them apart.

Benjy spends more time with Sirius who constantly drops in unexpectedly at his house in Yorkshire. He’s worried about Sirius who begins behaving recklessly as James becomes more entangled with Lily. Benjy has to pull him back, insisting that he’s needlessly putting himself in danger.

When Sirius is furious that James and Lily are planning to wed, Benjy initially doesn’t see the problem—then he realizes that Sirius is in love with James. Benjy attempts to comfort him, but he discovers, to his surprise, that perhaps he’s always wanted to comfort Sirius. But Sirius is too young for him and in love with someone else…though he can’t deny he wants this kid very, very badly.

Meanwhile, Sirius desires approval from someone he respects, and Benjy has always praised Sirius in exactly the way Sirius likes—sarcastic remarks and a pinch of his cheek, winks, exasperated smiles. He likes how Benjy throws his arm around his shoulders like they’re mates; he likes that Benjy treats him like an adult when they’re on missions. They drink together, share the same kind of humor, etc. Benjy even brings Sirius to work in the auto body repair shop, etc. It’s hard to resist the older wizard—and it doesn’t help that Benjy is a fit, working class hunk.

Neither is sure who made the first move, only that Sirius came directly to Benjy’s house after James proposed to Lily. Benjy lets Sirius rage about it until Sirius, exhausted, settles down next to Benjy on the sofa, and Benjy just sort of…strokes his hair. And a lightbulb turns on for both of them.

From then on, when Sirius isn’t with his friends, he’s with Benjy. He doesn’t tell anyone about his relationship with Benjy (who warns that if Moody finds out, they won’t be able to partner up anymore). As they become more involved, Sirius can’t always explain where he’s been which looks…suspicious to people.

Anyway, if this were a fic, I’d probably add the plot of Bellatrix finding out about Benjy fucking her most eligible bachelor cousin, reigniting her old hatred of him.

Yada yada, Benjy dies to save Sirius—and no one alive knows they were ever together.

[morverenmaybewrites]

Hi babes, long time no see....? (Not realy, not truly. But i'm bored and in need of the weight your words press evenly onto my lungs. And i also want to poke you, maybe)

What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with? To you, with our delivery girl. Because anything phisical feels dependent on the day, how Aware and squeezy it'll make him. (Like how you suddenly remember that there's clothes on your skin and that your organs move inside of you. That you're Breathing and that it pulls at your muscles, the tissue that's marbled in tapestried along his ribs.)

What would Not do that? (Less so atleast. See: Like skin growing over a splinter istead of rejecting it.)

Also!

This. Made me feel the sudden ache of my heart durring that time in my life. 'S cool. Thanks. 👍

Always so good to hear from you, @thebluespacecow. First off, The Shape of Water is one of my comfort watches/reads. The book, in particular, encapsulates the feeling of isolation from society and the suffocating loneliness that comes from it so well. The quote (said to the Asset by the scientist studying him) so perfectly portrays their relationship and the tragedy of what could have been. The text often refers to (and eventually confirms) that the Asset is a god. It often calls him beautiful and magical and wondrous. Can you imagine finding god, in all his grace and savage beauty, and being told that you must study him like an insect pinned to a corkboard? Can you imagine finding proof of the divine, only to be told to burn it down so that the charcoal of its bones can help fuel a war? It's so tragic. One day that Bucky Barnes Shape of Water!AU WILL come into existence. ONE DAY. Anyway. Your question. What would be the prise and/or compliments Jason could be fine with?

I actually think that Jason would be fairly receptive to praise, actually! It doesn't immediately put him on the defensive the way physical forms of affection would. And for most of his life, Jason didn't get much of either. He craves it, however unknowingly, like a man dying of thirst would crave rainwater.

I think the first time you praise him, however small, however innocuous, would always come as a surprise. He's just not that used to it. Maybe he opens a jar for you or point out, where, exactly you had put the spices. (He is, at least, somewhat aware of how much he pays attention to you.). "Thanks, Jason, you're always so helpful." The words scatter from you like birdseed, there and gone again. It barely disturbs the still air of the kitchen. But Jason freezes, and slowly turns to look at you. You're not even looking at him anymore. Instead, you are focused on the recipe you're reading, mumbling to yourself. (In his experience, praise does not come so easily. It comes from long hours of training to perfect his aim, from endless nights of study, it comes from a grueling patrol, done perfectly, to Batman's exacting standards.) (In his experience, he barely does anything praise-worthy at all. He is, after all, the Robin who failed.) The moment passes, and he is able to brush it off. But your words linger in his mind like a thorn, only the sensation is not so unpleasant. The next time you do it, Jason is a little more prepared. Maybe he comes up with a clever solution to a problem, taken down a villain in an unconventional way. And you say it in between fits of laughter (and even the sound of that warms him like a fire in winter). "That was smart. I never would have thought of that." Jason pauses, has to catch his breath. And he mumbles out an answer so low that it's unlikely that you heard it. "Thanks." After that, it gets easier. After that, he seeks it out like a cat seeking out a beam of sunlight (or perhaps, more accurately: like a starved dog seeks out scraps). "You never told me you were such a good cook." "It's nice having you around. You make me feel safe." "You look good today." The last one though, hits like a punch to the gut. It knocks the wind out of Jason, and he has to take several seconds before he can answer.

"What?" You look up from the book you are reading. (It is raining the way it always is in Gotham, and you had chosen to spend the afternoon inside. Curled up with a thick blanket on your lap, in a sweater that is big enough for you to drown in—he would not question it if the compliment had been directed at you. He would have taken it as your due.) "Hm? I said you look good today." Again, he does not answer. Instead, he looks down, as if expecting to find himself wearing someone else's skin. But he is wearing his outfit, it is the Red Hood's helmet in his hands. For the first time, you seem to have realized the effect your words have on him. "Well, don't get a stroke," you say with a grin. "I don't want you coming back here and saying you're leaving me for a supermodel or something." He lets out a strangled laugh, and tries to brush it off the way he did in the kitchen, all those months ago. He turns away and tries to pretend like your words don't haunt him like a ghost. You said he looked good. You said he looked good. (And after all, what reason would he have to doubt you? He trusts you more than he trusts himself.) He finds that he has to put on his helmet to hide his grin.

[elliemarchetti]

Eris Week Day 6: AU/Retellings

Inspired by one of @foxcort’s unhinged prompts because I couldn’t resist although I’m not totally out of my writing/Tumblr hiatus yet. Hope my contribution to @erisweekofficial will still be appreciated even if it’s in Cassian’s POV.

Disclaimer: I know some of you will see this more as Cassian's self-pitying account of an event that highlights his inadequacy as a mate, but in my eyes it's an excerpt of the happy life that awaits Eris and Nesta once her contacts with the Night Court will be reduced to a minimum, only from the point of view of someone who will remain in the past. Still, and for this I turn to the admins of Eris Week, if you find it inadequate for any reason you have every right not to reblog it and I won't bear you any grudge. You guys are amazing, and when my life will be a little more normal I can't wait to read everything that's been written and show some love to all the wonderful fanarts I'm sure the artists have made.

Plot: The Lord of Bloodshed is having the worst time of his life. The heir of Autumn can’t really say the same. This is the famous scene at the Court of Nightmares reimagined with a totally different plot for the whole last book so if it doesn’t really make sense, I’m sorry.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1529

When the next song began, its notes lighter, the steps easier than the ones they had just engaged in, Nesta didn’t hesitate to take Eris’s hand. She seemed eager, like her partner wasn’t the monster they all told her about but just a good dancer who instinctively knew her body screamed to do those extra, solo turns that had catalysed the attention of the whole room. Cassian realized he wouldn’t have let her go, too worried about the impractical design of her dress, too apprehensive she was drunk on the music and not paying enough attention to her surroundings to succeed.  If he had been in Eris’s place, he would’ve scolded her by the end of the music, dragging her off the dancefloor, while the heir of Autumn studied her with his amber eyes as they chatted amiably, chuckles audible here and there. The General couldn’t hear everything they said, but as they got closer he caught a few scraps, words that made the blood in his veins boil.

“… I didn’t see this side of you…”

He wasn’t smiling, but she met his stare anyway as she responded, suave and flirty. She never spoke to Cassian in that tone, always composed, almost defensive, in the rare occasions their topic hadn’t revolved around training or the thousand obligations they were subjected to due to their roles. Maybe it was because he had never spun her, never murmured sweet nothings in her ear, sentences so refined her mouth twitched to one side. Unable to witness more, he turned to Mor, who watched from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling, knowing she was the one who taught Nesta those steps.

“Are you inquiring after my eligibility?” Cassian heard Eris joke, his sharp smile turning into a full-on silky laugh at her reply. As it often happened, he felt inadequate in his vulgarity, in his lack of grace. A brute, as the eldest of the Vanserras liked to define him. There was no room for someone like him by the side of a female capable of carrying a political meeting on her inexperienced shoulders and tear someone’s head from their neck in the same week. That duality, the savage rage and silver fire mixed with a beauty able to bring kings to their knees was too much for him, no matter how many times he had claimed her as his, yet his feet moved instinctively, and he reached the pair at the very end of the waltz, trying to ignore how his tapered fingers had descended into the hollow of her bare back or how her cheeks were flushed.

“Move,” Cassian said coldly, halting their private moment. He stood before them amid the sea of people cradled in black, just another piece of Night, until Eris stared at him down his straight nose, ignoring the burning violence oozing from the warrior’s hazel eyes.

“Go sit at your master’s feet, dog,” he hissed, teeth bared, but Nesta was quick to interject, accepting her mates unspoken offer.

“We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron,” the fireling retorted, putting too much emphasis on her last name for Cassian’s liking, before aiming for the dais. For an instant, really just the time of the song, the General deluded himself that he had won, that he could somehow be the knight in shining armour of the story, the hero who saves the princess from the villain and thus obtains her hand and eternal, unconditional love. Those empty illusions were shattered when he followed her into the dark and suffocating corridors of the Court of Nightmares, when he watched her slender figure enter the chamber assigned to Eris for the duration of his visit, her steps cautious and silent as a cat’s. She barely glanced at the slightly ajar door, too focused on her lover’s eager embrace, and Cassian clenched his jaw at the portrait of carefree happiness.

“You’re tickling me!” she giggled as the snake peppered her neck with light kisses, the sound like a harp strumming high and sweet. From his hiding spot, Cassian saw his nemesis’ half-smile widen as he hooked a finger under one of her dress’ straps and pulled, flooding him with pounding, vibrating jealousy. He had to remind himself to breathe when the silk slid down her chest, briefly exposing one of her breasts before Eris could sweep her to the bed, the impalpable skirt mostly gathered between her parted legs, firmly clutched around his waist. As he feasted on her exposed skin, her body went loose and taunt in so many different places Cassian didn’t know where to focus: she was bent and shaped and directed by her lover, her widened pupils hiding under long lashes thanks to the skill of the fingertips massaging her core. The ghosts of nearly faded love bites revealed themselves on the lower part of her ass as she arched her back in ecstasy and Cassian’s face went slack. It wasn’t him who left those marks on her, the memory of the sleepless night spent together forever imprinted in his memory, so she could only have had other partners, or maybe she had previously entertained herself between Eris’ sheets, protocol be damned. The matter quickly slipped out of his mind when the smell of her arousal flowed and swam around him, clouding his senses as she melted under someone else’s touch. There wasn’t enough space inside him, not in his mind or his heart, for what the situation made him feel, he just knew he was hard under his trousers, his body ready to honour and worship someone he had been unable to keep up with when he had the chance.

He was about to leave to deal with his shame when their gazes met. He would have expected those merciless and cold eyes to pin him to the spot, he supposed she would scream in anger, or perhaps warn Eris with quiet disdain that some beast beneath them was spying on their tryst, but instead her irises glimmered and she let out a moan, her flawless red lips, sin personified, parted to draw a likewise perfect O. As if awakened by that sound, her lover crawled back to her mouth, his hands busy undoing his pompous clothing. Cassian knew what was about to happen, he had watched and performed this dance for centuries, in the frenzy of inexperienced youth and in the blind search for solace when the need was too much. He had fucked females on all fours like some kind of wild animal, knees hurting on marble floors and feet losing their grips in the mud, in a foolish attempt to fill the void left by Nesta, but no one showed on their features the pure, feral delight that crashed on his mate’s face when Eris entered her all at once, like a conqueror of death, glowing as he devoured moonlit skin and shared heartbeats. Between one fast thrust and the next, he lifted Nesta’s arms above her head, their matching rings glinting as if lit by an inner fire. He guided her through the orgasm with ease and they came together, a rising cacophony of panting and groaning.

“I hope you’re with child,” he whispered, his words so shocking they made Cassian audibly gasp. There was no way he hadn’t heard the sound, even lost in his unchecked, dark joy, yet he decided to ignore it.

"Why so?" she murmured seductively, gleaming with wanton desire as she drank in his expression, whatever it was. She didn’t seem to object the idea, nor she sounded eager to postpone it as long as she could.

“It would give us an excuse to speed up the organization of this wedding. I know my father wants it to exude power, to convey all the strength of our family, and my mother wishes for every detail to be perfect, but I’m growing tired of this façade,” he replied honestly, then lovingly erased a smudge of kohl from the corner of her left eye, a remark of the familiarity they shouldn’t have had yet.

“She has no daughters and I have no mother,” she pointed out, amazing Cassian with the nonchalance she used to address her traumatic past. “Let her have fun.”

“I know, and I will never show even a hint of displeasure when she will inevitably take you away for the whole day to pick the best party favours and select the optimal spot to best showcase the sheer magnitude of the orchestra you so wisely selected, but the only thing I aspire to is to finally be able to get away from the intrigues and the backstabbing for a while, to travel wherever we want and show you all the wonders Prythian and the Continent has to offer,” he confessed, and Nesta kissed him again, dangling her love and triumph in Cassian’s face, a silent dismissal to whatever his role had been in her night.

Slowly, the fearsome Lord of Bloodshed retreated in the shadow, engulfed in a cocoon of grief and rage at the Mother’s mistake, the sound of his shattering heart deafening in his eardrums.