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zehiiro · 17 hours

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What Daryl and Carol mean to each other

And why France may have been the best thing for Caryl

This idea has been sitting in my drafts for about six months, but now that we're only 9 days away from the Tribeca premiere, I finally decided to flesh it out and post it.

This post can be taken as part two of my previous one on what Carol means to Daryl [here], but it can also be read independently. And just as a disclaimer, this is just my understanding and opinions on Caryl and all the scenes I mention below. So grab a nice cup of your choice beverage and get comfy 'cause I had a lot to say, and this turned out to be a long one.

I want to start by pointing out some moments where Daryl and Carol got to enjoy each other's company and talk in peace.

Yup, that's all of them... a long list of 4...

I didn't realise how rare these moments were until I started looking through season after season. Don't get me wrong; I know there are countless sweet and meaningful moments that they've shared both on screen and off screen (implied), but very few that we've seen without heartbreak, grief, or danger looming over them. And even the moments in the gifs above were still sandwiched between disasters.

I've read and received many questions, such as, "Why have we had to wait all these years and are having to continue to wait for Caryl to be canon?" and "If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now." and I feel like the above gifs answer all of that.

These two have endured unimaginable pain before and after the outbreak, and throughout it all, they have been each other's light, held each other together, helped each other heal from their past, and become the strongest versions of themselves.

However, they have never been allowed to be selfish, to take a moment to think about what they deserve, or to imagine the possibility of accepting the love they want and need; why? Because they have been so busy protecting and making sacrifices for everyone else.

For the past 13 years, they have been content as long as they have each other in their lives, accepting their current circumstances as long as the other seems happy. But during all that time, they also connected in more ways than they had realised.

The major connection I wanted to point out is that their lives depend on one another now (mutually inclusive). Whether knowingly or unknowingly, they are alive at this moment because of each other. I don't mean this just in a 'save their life when they're in danger' way but also as a 'I can't imagine my life existing beyond yours' and 'I can't distinguish between my life and yours' kind of way.

I briefly touched on this in one of my previous posts about Carol [here], and the show, in general, has been a lot more open with us regarding what Carol wants, but here are a couple of more nuanced instances from the later seasons where we see those feelings show from Daryl and Carol's perspectives:

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl)

The first scene I wanted to mentions is when Alpha confronts them about crossing her border. The moment she says, "You have to be punished," and the whisperers reach for their weapons, we see Daryl shifting on his feet as he prepares to move at a moment's notice.

And as soon as Carol talks back to Alpha, calling her words "Bullshit", Daryl is already moving.

He immediately places himself between them to shield Carol in case Alpha decides to attack her.

Then, when Carol snaps and tries to shoot Alpha, Daryl grabs and takes complete hold of her.

He's not just trying to stop her; he's using himself to shield every inch of her from any possible incoming assault from the whisperers.

Once Alpha allows them to leave, he grabs Carol and her bow and arrows without a second of hesitation (leaving behind his own crossbow) and immediately moves Carol away from the situation.

Once again, when everyone is in danger all Daryl can think about is Carol, making sure she's safe and unharmed, with no concern for himself.

I also think it's so beautiful and important to point out here that while all Daryl could think about was shielding Carol, Michonne was also there trying to protect both of them ♡

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP3 Ghosts (Daryl) - Part 2

The second one I want to mention is later in the same episode when Daryl and Michonne rush Carol back to Alexandria/Siddiq for help after she cuts her arm open badly.

We first find Daryl holding onto a column outside to steady himself while he waits to find out if she's okay.

When Siddiq comes out full of hesitation and can't find the words to answer Michone when she asks if Carol is okay, we see a look of pure fear on Daryl's face.

He freezes; he's holding his breath and won't dare move or say anything because he feels like his whole reality is hanging by a thread, and in the moment, the smallest thing or whatever Siddiq is about to say next might make it all fall apart.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP9 Squeeze (Daryl)

The third moment I wanted to mention is when Carol is hanging off the edge of a rock in the cave, risking her life just so she can try to destroy part of Alpha's horde, but Daryl finds her and is so confused and terrified by what she's doing.

He tries to tell her, to warn her that she's gonna get herself killed if she tries to go through with what she's planning.

Look at how he flinches and instantly loses his breath when her hand slips a little... breaks my heart every time.

When she responds to him by saying, "She killed my boy", Daryl's fear is now also combined with desperation because he realised that he didn't need to warn her about the possibility of getting herself killed; he realised she knew the risk all along and was in such a low place that she was almost welcoming the consequences.

What previously was a tone of alarm in Daryl's voice turns into a whisper, and he's now pleading with her. Without saying the actual words, he's begging her to choose to live again, even if it's just for him.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP14 Look at the Flowers (Carol)

What Caryl wants is also kind of answered in 10x14, where Carol is having an internal confrontation with herself. Subconsciously, she has chosen and manifested Alpha (who is now dead) as the face and voice of the one confronting her.

Timestamp 19:10 - 20:15

When "Alpha" says to her:

"Being out on your own... you've tried it before. They always pull you back. Always wanting more. Love. Motherhood. Death. But they don't know what you truly want. Admit it. What do you want? Say it..."

Carol responded by saying :

"I want to be alone."

To which "Alpha" says:

"Yeah. That's not it."

So the question here is, if it's not love in general, motherhood, death, or being left alone, then what does Carol actually want?

It's important here to note that Carol already knows the answer to that question. She's only asking herself this question because she hasn't accepted it; she isn't being honest with herself yet.

Timestamp 33:15 - 35:20

While Carol is stuck under the rubble and can't get out as the walker is getting closer to her, "Alpha" taunts her by saying:

"Stop fighting. No matter what you do, you lose people. Sophia, Lizzie, Mika, Henry, Ezekiel... And if you go back, Daryl could be next."

To which Carol responds:

"I could never let that happen."

This internal confrontation with herself and the realization that even when everything else in her world is dark, just having Daryl and making sure he's okay is worth living for and fighting for and that it's not too late for her to start over. The acceptance that that's who/what she truly wants gives her the strength at that moment to fight again, dislocating her shoulder to get free and killing the walker that was about to reach her.

~~~~~~~~

S10 EP16 A Certain Doom (Daryl)

Looking back at 10x01 for a second, Carol asks Daryl to run away with her, but he says no and explains that life in tiny boat cabins is not for him. Then Carol presents the idea of running away on his bike instead, and he's much more enticed by his idea; however, by the end of the episode, they both agree that they can't because they still feel responsible for the people around them and making sure that they're safe against the threat from Alpha.

Back to 10x16, after Carol went to lead the horde off the cliff, Daryl would have almost been expecting and terrified that she wouldn't come back, that she'd take this "out" and end her own pain in a permanent and self-sacrificial way like she's tried before, but this time, he wouldn't be there to beg her to come back to him and to save her.

Once again, we find him leaning and steadying himself against a tree, preparing for the worst possible news or, as the episode's title suggests, a certain doom.

And when he sees her again, he can't take his eyes off her.

He doesn't believe his eyes at first; he looks all over her to make sure she's not hurt, but when she speaks, asking him if he's good, he finally breathes again, letting out the breath he's been holding.

The community is safe (for now) since the horde has been dealt with, and his next immediate thought is, "You still got me" and "New Mexico is still out there." He immediately brings back the idea of running away together; why? Because he now knows that this time he got way too close to losing her forever and will not be risking that ever again. He's now ready to leave everything and everyone else he cares about behind, so he'll never risk losing her again.

He loves her so much that, once again, all else comes second.

When he hugs her, he pulls her in tighter than ever before, making sure he's holding onto as much of her as possible because he needs to know that this is real, that he's actually holding her, that she's right there, unharmed and breathing, and not just a part of a dream of what he wants to see.

I believe he forgives everything in that instant, including her actions that led to losing Connie, because his pain is not worth causing her any more of it. He will now carry that guilt for himself, taking as much of her burden as possible just to make living a little easier for her. Because he'd rather shoulder all the pain and guilt than lose her, and because he can live with the pain and guilt, but he can't live without her.

~~~~~~~~

S11 EP24 Rest in Peace (Daryl & Carol)

I believe the events of the season 11 finale forced them to come to a new level of internal acceptance. Seeing the people around them lose the ones they love the most started a spark, and it started to force them to have those internal conversations.

The reality began to sink in for both of them that there had been too many close calls to keep denying themselves what they truly wanted, and It's now more true to them than ever that their tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

We all expected this to be the moment they went for what they'd wanted for so long, but we were wrong; their wounds were just too deep, and their instinct to self-sacrifice was once again too strong.

A year later, we see them once again dedicating their lives to helping others, Carol taking over Hornsby's job and helping put the commonwealth back together, and Daryl setting out to see what's left out there, hoping to find Rick and Michonne and bring them back to their family.

~~~~~~~~

TOWL S01 EP04 What We (Daryl & Carol) - A Parallel

There's a pretty important parallel that I'd like to point out as well. In episode 4 of TOWL, when Micheonne asks Rick what the CRM took from him, Rick responds to her by saying:

"When I got taken, I fought, and I fought, and not just by trying to get away, but by how I would dream. I'd meet up with Carl in my dreams. And that's how I survived in here. Kept me alive... But then I started dreaming of you [Michonne]... and it kept me going... I can't live without you. Without you, I die."

It's important here to note that Rick is speaking to his wife. When he was taken away and at his lowest, he survived because when he went to sleep, he dreamed about Carl (his son) and Michonne (his soulmate) and his happy memories with them.

So what does Daryl dream about when he's taken away and at his lowest? (TWD:DD S01 EP01)

He dreams about Judith (his surrogate daughter) and Carol (his soulmate).

He dreams about Judith telling him that he deserves a happy ending too, and his very next thought is of Carol, seeing her again and being with her again because that's the happy ending he truly wants.

And what does Carol dream about when she's at her lowest in season 10?

She dreams about Henry (her adoptive son) and Daryl (her soulmate)

She dreams about the life she's always wanted, a home, a family and a life with Daryl because that's the happy ending she truly wants.

Also, just a quick mention that even Michonne refers to Rick (her husband) as her friend when speaking to Virgil in TWD 10x08 (TS: 40:00 - 41:20)

~~~~~~~~

So why is TBOC going to be any different? And why was Daryl ending up in France the best thing that could have happened for Caryl?

Because they have finally reached a point where they almost believe they've lost the other, they have been forced to feel the dependence of their existence on the others.

They have never been truly separated before, not to this extent. And what to them was previously only a fear has now become a reality.

When they're reunited, it's going to be with a completely new perspective and total understanding of the extent of their need for one another, and the idea of just having one another in each other's lives will no longer even remotely come close to being sufficient.

I'll elaborate a little...

After all these years, we've seen them constantly save one another and be terrified of losing each other. But no matter what, nothing got them to the point where they felt they needed (more than anything) to confess to the other. So far, everything they have faced during the main show has been different shades of the same thing, and the urgency was never high enough to outweigh their self-doubt and insecurities.

What France has given us is a whole new level of steaks. Where we'll find them in season 2 is on the verge of believing that they'll never be able to see each other again; this, coupled with the fact that they don't even know if the other is even alive, and the fact that the distance and time apart has given them a true taste of how much they need the other, we now have the perfect and unique recipe for something that outweighs their self-doubts and insecurities.

It's the age-old idea of you don't know what you have until it's gone. The difference between:

Watching everyone around them lose the people they love most: they empathise with them, their heart breaks for them, they may even be devastated by that loss, and ultimately, it probably makes them cherish the ones they still have even more.

They, themselves, losing the person they love most: this is something that needs to be experienced to be understood. It's reality shifting, and the pain/loss outweighs anything else.

And now, after experiencing that loss for themselves, by some miracle, they're given another chance with that person... what a way to completely shift someone's priorities and ability to act past insecurities.

~~~~~~~~

To wrap up I wanna go back to Norman's words from the NYCC TBOC press conference:

"[Carol] feels something's wrong. They have that kind of bond, where there's a lot of unspoken things that are said... the bonds that we made in the flagship show are still very strong... [Carol] can take care of herself, of course... but the bond just keeps getting stronger and stronger..."

And David Zabel's words from his interview with Entertainment Weekly (interview link):

"The main focus of season 2 for me was always Daryl and Carol coming back together and what does that mean? And it becomes ultimately a story about how we as people can save each other. She's trying to find him, but in the process of telling that story: How are they ultimately getting to a place where they're kind of saving each other?...showing what's happening inside these characters as people in the most intimate personal way"

Daryl and Carol have loved and cared for each other so profoundly, especially when they couldn't love themselves, even to the point of sacrificing their own happiness to prioritise the others. If that is not the true meaning of soulmates, then I don't know what is. And we all know that some of the greatest loves are routed in the truest friendships.

~~~~~~~~

Thank you to everyone who read through this! I know it was an extra long one, and it could have been even longer, but I've decided to post their moments from 10C separately, as there's a lot more to break down there. I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm so happy/grateful that I have this platform to share these thoughts with you all. I'd love to know your thoughts on the things I've mentioned or missed ♡♡♡

As some of you already know, I'll be attending the Tribeca Premiere for TBOC in 9 days. After that, I'd like to write and share a spoiler-free-ish afterthought for this post, including what I've taken away from episode 1, what was said during the cast panel afterwards, and my thoughts on what's to come for Caryl. If anyone would like to be tagged when that's posted, please let me know.

I'll be posting a more detailed and spoilery analysis of Episode 1 once it's actually released.

#daryl dixon #carol peletier #caryl #the book of carol #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #my gifs #caryl positivity #CarylArchives

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romaritimeharbor · 1 month

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BLEED. — in which the Knave attends to her wounded little sibling.

— trigger & content warnings. depictions of injuries & blood, descriptions of violence, implied murder. 1.4k words.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. arlecchino & younger sibling!reader. reader is a member of the fatui. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). arlecchino is referred to using her real name.

— author's notes. arle <3

"Oh, you— you came."

Their surprise was evident, written all over their features as they stared up at the Harbinger. The eerie, echoing click of her heels cut through the silence that, upon her entry, had befallen the Fatui's medics. The microexpressions on her face—brows furrowed inwards, gaze focused on nothing else but them, and lips pointed vaguely downwards—promised a fate far worse than death for anyone who dared to interrupt her.

Arlecchino was a calm, even-tempered woman...

...That is, she was a calm and even-tempered woman when her beloved little sibling was both safe and well. However, the blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around the lower half of their torso made it clear that they were not well. Safe, yes, but well? That, they most certainly were not.

Her tall stance cast a shadow over their body. Perhaps if they were anyone else, they would currently be fearing for their life... but as they gazed up at her with a meek smile, it occured to them that they were definitely concerned (though undoubtedly in a far more lighthearted way than any other person would be).

"You look so scary like this," they giggled timidly, snapping their gaze away and looking anywhere but at her. Subconsciously, their fingers fidgeted with the blanket draped over their legs. "Don't be mad... I messed up a bit. You know. Things— things happen..."

Arlecchino sighed, cutting them off: "Are you wounded anywhere else, [Name]?"

"No. Just there."

"I see," she muttered thoughtfully, rolling up her sleeves. The inky darkness of her curse pulsed and spread, crawling further up her arms than it usually did—they couldn't help but frown slightly. Nonetheless, they said nothing of it. She would surely brush them off and tell them to worry more about themselves if they did.

Arlecchino turned to the nervous agents in the room; the second they did, everyone immediately tried to appear busy, whipping their bodies away from the direction of the Knave and her baby sibling with such speed that it surely gave a few of them whiplash. "You all are dismissed."

'Get out. Now.'

With polite acknowledgments to her unspoken command, heads bowing to the Fourth, the Fatui's medics were quick to leave, urgency evident in their speedy steps. Anything they had been working on was long forgotten and left behind; certainly, the soldiers were unconcerned with their work. If anything, the only thing they were concerned with was getting away from Arlecchino. It wasn't very difficult to understand why.

No agent wanted to so much as imagine what might happen if they were to somehow invoke her fury, especially now of all times.

Once the final agent had left, and the heavy double doors shut—shockingly without any echo; perhaps the medics were afraid that even closing the door forcibly enough would agitate the Harbinger—their eyes shifted upwards.

"Peruere..." they murmured softly, straightening their spine somewhat and removing the blanket from their legs so that they could gingerly swing them over the side of the bed. They wished not to agitate their wound further—it still throbbed and ached, so they knew that one incorrect move would render them doubled over in pain. Their elder sister took notice of their enhanced caution.

"Did they give you any medication yet?" Arlecchino—Peruere, rather, inquired. She turned away from them briefly, speedily shuffling through the medical supplies on a nearby table. Scissors, gauze, antibacterial ointment...

"They tried, but nothing worked... well enough, that is. My fever has gone down since I arrived and it hurts slightly less, but it just hurts far too much for any of their weaker painkillers to be effective. This base isn't well-equipped to handle wounds like this."

Even breathing was a chore, really; each time their chest rose and fell, painful sparks clawed through their skin, originating at the gash in their side.

"Hm." Her face twisted and soured somewhat. "...I suppose I have no choice but to speak to the Doctor once we return to the Motherland, then."

Peruere then began thoroughly scrubbing her hands with special attention to the underside of her nails in one of the medical sinks, as to ensure that she did not cause any kind of infection to fester in their wound.

Their breath hitched, and they immediately went on to frantically ask, "Aren't you busy? You don't have to come with me. I can return by myself, it really isn't a big deal... even if that means talking to him—"

"No." Her eyes shifted to their direction (and for a moment, she couldn't help but think that they looked a little bit like a kicked puppy—dejected and pouty, as if they had somehow upset her). The Knave's tone softened slightly. "No. I do not trust the Doctor around you, nor do I trust these agents to ensure your safety. You are injured. I am the only one who can ensure no harm will befall you."

"I can defend myself," they asserted. "I'm your sibling, you know."

"I have no doubt that you can," she softly assured, drying her hands with a clean towel. "However, at the moment, you are in no condition to fight."

With that, she collected the necessary items and walked back towards their bed. Setting all but the scissors aside, she kneeled down, and began cutting away at the gauze.

"Did they clean your wound?"

"Yes."

She hummed in ackowledgement.

Peruere's gaze softened somewhat at the sight of their wound—still wet with blood, the perimeter of the wound lined in matte crimson. She observed the way their stomach heaved with each breath.

Scorching flames burned in her veins. Had she not known any better, she would resolve to deliver a fate far worse than death to whoever did this, to personally escort them straight to the lowest circle of hell and splatter their guts across the floor.

(She awaited and anticipated the day that the Doctor somehow, in some way, brought harm to her sibling. Should that day ever arrive, she would finally have a reason, an excuse, to reunite him and the previous Knave.

Peruere was patient. She could wait.)

...She did know better, however, and her sibling was just about as much of a force as she was.

Whoever did this was certainly already well-acquainted with the devil.

After squeezing some of the antibacterial ointment onto her fingertips, she gingerly spread it across the area of their wound.

They grimaced somewhat, body instinctively snapping away from her hands. Peruere's freehand shot out to grab their hip with enough pressure to keep them in place but not enough to hurt them any further.

"Shh. Be still."

"But it stings," they whined, shooting her an accusatory glance; there was a glimmer of mischief in their glazed eyes, however, and she immediately understood that whatever they were going to accuse her of was unserious in its nature. "You're making it hurt on purpose."

At that, the Harbinger rolled her eyes. It was clear that there was no true agitation behind the gesture.

"No, it doesn't, and no, I assure you that I am not," she replied calmly, continuing to spread the ointment to ensure that every part of the injury was adequately lathered. "I put nothing on it that would make it hurt. Don't be dramatic."

"Ahh... you're so mean, Per..." they sighed dramatically. "So terribly mean to your beloved, wounded baby sibling~"

She chose not to feed into their mischief. Instead, she began winding the gauze around their body. Once she felt that it was properly wrapped—covered with enough layers to keep dirt and debris out of their flesh and blood—she pulled. "Is this too tight?"

A soft hum rose from their throat as they inhaled as to ensure that it really wasn't too tight, even when they breathed deeply. "No. The pressure helps with the pain, actually."

The Harbinger nodded, securing the end of the gauze. She then rose—though not fully, and rather bent at the waist somewhat to meet them at eye-level. The hand that was void of any residue from the cream softly carressed their face.

Her pupils bore into theirs, thumb rubbing back and forth across their cheekbone. She was mindful as to avoid scratching them with her nail. Though she often told others not to gaze into her eyes for too long—'What you see may not be very pleasant,' she would say—they seemed to be an exception.

In her eyes, as most do, they saw destruction, death, and madness. In them, it did not induce fear. It made them feel safe.

And perhaps that made them no less mad then their elder sister was.

That fate, however, was one that they were content with.

The Knave withdrew, though not before placing a tender kiss on the crown of their head.

"Rest now. We will depart for Snezhnaya when you awaken again."

please consider supporting your creators by reblogging & leaving a kind tag or comment!

#✧— aphe's creations.#astronetwrk #divider by @/cafekitsune ♡#platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin #genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin impact #arlecchino x reader #platonic arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader

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emmcfrxst · 3 months

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for i am yours and you are mine; arthur morgan x reader

word count: 602

warnings: none. just some post-coital bliss with everyone’s favorite cowboy <3333 also i left it as gnc and non descriptive as possible, apart maybe from one (1) line where your hair is mentioned briefly, implying that it can be tucked behind your ear but you can ignore that part <333 feedback is appreciated <333

The ruckus of Rhodes’ nightlife seeps through the thin walls of the hotel room Arthur rented for the both of you, muffled voices of drunken strangers declaring wars between one another the soundtrack of your post-coital admiration of the rugged but handsome man underneath you. The moonlight bathes your lover in a silver glow, highlighting every scar, every freckle on his skin, your swollen lips tingling with the need to kiss, kiss, kiss. A calloused thumb brushes against your cheekbone as Arthur tucks a messy strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze soft. You lift your hand from its spot over his heart, wrapping your fingers against his wrist and bringing it to your lips, making his breath hitch. You smile tenderly at him, knowing that despite the fact that he knows your love for him is true, he still isn’t used to being shown such blatant affection— and still believes, although not as firmly as he once did, that he’s unworthy of it.

The thought still makes your heart ache anyhow; how could he ever believe he is anything but worthy of being loved?

A man who has spent his entire life caring for others —albeit in his own personal way; a rock for so many members of your private little community of gangsters and thieves. A man with a devotion that knows no bounds, who would sacrifice his own life for the sake of the ones he loves —and in a way, he already has many, many years ago. You do not even dare imagining what your life without Arthur Morgan would be like; the thought making you feel sick to your stomach. No, Arthur Morgan might not believe he is worthy of the unconditional love you give him, but hell if you aren’t going to keep on showering him in the deepest pits of your affections.

“What’chu thinkin’ bout in that big brain o’yours, darlin’?” The rumble of his voice sends pleasant shivers down your bare spine, your fingers retreating back to his chest, fiddling with the hairs there. An act that has, although possibly strange, brought you comfort so many times before. If only he knew just how free, how safe he truly made you feel. But oh, one day, one day you will make him believe it.

“Nothin’. Jus’ that I love you.” Your words have the same effect on him as the very first time you’ve uttered them: his eyes flash with a mix of awe, tenderness and vulnerability he lets you— and only you— see; a peek behind the facade of strength and nonchalance he seems to wear like a second skin. He shifts under you, hand coming to rest on your thigh, hitched up over his naked waist. The bedsheets feel cool against your heated skin, the sticky, humid air of Lemoyne still no match for your devotion to your lover, bodies tangled into one. You feel Arthur’s lips brush against the crown of your head, his thumb massaging the meat of your thigh lovingly.

“Still don’t know why ya do, but I sure as hell am glad for it.” He mumbles into the night, a confession you’ve heard so many times before, the meaning behind it still as deeply rooted into your heart as it was when Arthur first allowed himself to be loved by you. Wordlessly brushing your lips against his collarbone, you press your cheek to his chest and fall asleep to the thumping of his heart: listening to all of its little secrets, its deep desires and —maybe, hopefully —one day mending all of its broken pieces back together.

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 fic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 months

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Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (2 of 4)

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, briefly implied future physical injury, protective / possessive Soap, hand job, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

You and Soap might no longer be together, but he is your "safe space", and you need to vent. While raging over the phone about your boyfriend, Soap arrives at your door.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

The anger and hurt in your voice are the only fuel John needs.

You have no idea that he is already on his way to you, that he hooked your phone call up to his helmet. That, even now, John is on his sportbike zooming down roads and weaving around cars in an effort to get to you.

There is a fire under his skin. It burns away all other concerns. Every word you speak is a blown furnace, the destruction mounting until each utterance infuriates him further. This “boyfriend” of yours, the one you started seeing after the two of you broke up, deserves a fucking sharp punch to the jaw. He deserves missing teeth and broken bones.

Men like him aren’t men at all. They’re rubbish, only valuing women as objects, seeing them as their housekeeper and not their partner.

In his ear, you’re hardly taking a breath. Your words are a stream of consciousness, each word angrily pushing into the other until it’s a jumbled mess. John listens to it all, using that as motivation to get to you. It’s doesn’t fucking matter that you’re not his anymore.

John still cares. He still loves you. The need to protect and defend you is innate. One teary-laced word was enough for him to drop everything and head in your direction. Doesn’t matter that you and he ended things a bit messy. It was simply complicated. The two of you needed to work a few things out but broke it off because that was the easy thing to do.

He regrets that. He regrets not fighting. Not getting his shit together.

The engine revs, and John turns onto your street, almost throwing himself off his bike to get to your front door. In one hand he’s holding his helmet. In the other, he’s holding his phone, the device pressed to his ear as you keep talking. Reaching out, he pounds on the door.

You immediately pause on the other side of the phone. “There’s someone at my door,” you murmur, voice slightly distant.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s me.”

Silence on the other end. But then he hears it—the familiar click of a lock. Following that is your front door opening, revealing you.

The two of you stand there, staring at each other. Your momentary shock slips, dipping into confusion.

“What are you—” you begin but promptly stop as John pushes past you and into the flat.

“Is that fucker here?” John strides into the kitchen, placing his helmet down on the counter before ending the phone call and slipping the device into his back pocket.

“John.”

He glances down the hallway and then turns to you. “Is he here?”

You shake your head. “No. He’s not here.”

John’s chest heaves with relief, some of the tension receding.

“John,” you repeat, the concern in your voice enough to smother some of that fire burning beneath his ribcage.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks softly, approaching.

His gaze roams up and down your body, searching for signs of injury. There is none, at least not that he can see. That doesn’t mean there aren’t marks somewhere hiding beneath the clothes. The very thought fans the flames, charging John’s nerves until they crackle like lightening.

“No, Johnny. I’m fine.”

Johnny.

Only two people are allowed to call him that and one of them is standing right in front of him. The use of it, the way it falls from your lips, is enough to slightly quiet the anger. He sighs, expelling some of that smoky frustration. But then his gaze flicks to a spot just over your shoulder, and a new feeling emerges.

There are fist-sized holes in the wall. Four of them. Much too large to be your hands.

“What the fuck are those?” John’s voice drops as he nods toward them.

The sadness that forms on your features nearly rips his lungs from his body. John has never seen you like this. Never this defeated.

“They happened after,” you answer.

“After what?”

“The argument.”

You and John have had your fair share of arguments, but he’s never punched a wall. He’s never thrown anything or threatened you.

Never. Fucking never.

No. Fuck this guy.

“You’re breaking up with him.”

“What?” you ask, flustered by his sudden outburst.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmurs. “Doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. To kiss your lips. To be in your presence.”

You deserve so much more than whatever this fucker is providing. Which is apparently nothing served alongside fist-sized gapping wounds in the plaster.

Your mouth opens like you’re about to reject the idea, but it’s not a suggestion. You are breaking up with him. You will leave him even if that means John doesn’t get to have you. That’s fine. That’s okay. He can live with that. What he can’t live with is knowing you’re with someone who treats you like rubbish.

He needs to get this off his chest, to make you understand that you are entitled to more.

“I listened the whole way here and you know what I heard?” He pauses and notices the slight quiver in your bottom lip. “That you’re unhappy. Have been for some time.”

You blink and fresh tears form there. John has to bite back the instinct to kiss them away. It’s what he would do if you were still his.

He licks his lips, a large sigh leaving him as he points over your shoulder. “He treats you poorly.” John’s hand slices through the air. “Walks all over you. Doesn’t answer you for hours and then gets angry with you when he finally makes contact.”

As John talks, even he can hear his voice thickening. This always happens when he gets worked up, and you’ve always playfully teased him about it.

“He’s a fucking waste of space.”

“John—”

“Break it off. And—fuck. If you can’t face him, then let me do it.” He places his hand on his chest. “Allow me to defend you.”

Your features soften and John wants to drink it in, to remember the way you’re currently looking at him. He remembers this side of you, the one that easily pierces him like a needle breaks skin. A look like this will put John on his knees if you ask him to.

“Johnny.”

He’s done. Gone. There is no coming back from this. Whenever you say his name like that, you’re either annoyed with him, wanting him to listen, or you’re just about ready to kiss him. It momentarily rips away all the thoughts in his head, leaving him temporarily mute before his brain can catch up again.

“Listen to me,” he says, gripping the sides of your face. “Get rid of him. I—I know you don’t want me but fucking hell. Don’t pick him. Don’t—”

John is silenced.

Not by your words leaving your mouth but from your lips pressing to his. It startles him—shocks him that you’re kissing him. Leaning into him. John responds, kisses you back, his tongue exploding with the remembrance of your taste.

But you’re still not his. You belong to someone else still and this isn’t right, no matter how much he fucking hates it.

“Stop, love,” he murmurs, pushing on your shoulders.

John loathes telling you to stop. To move away from him. Doing so is like fish hooks caught in the skin. He wants to reel you right back in, to taste your lips again, and fall into memory.

“I ended it,” you reply softly. “It’s over. That’s why there are holes in the wall.”

John pauses, his gaze growing serious. “What?”

You shake your head. “He didn’t like that I wanted him to leave. That I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

Your fingers dig into the back of John’s neck and that one touch is enough to dissolve his resolve about not kissing you into dust.

He closes the distance, and you welcome him in, opening beautifully.

“Am I your rebound?” he teasingly asks between kisses.

You laugh against his lips and kiss him again. “Why did I ever leave you?” Your question is a sad murmur tinged with a regret that leaches off your words and floods into his heart.

“Because I was an asshole.” He believes these words completely but you’re shaking your head.

“No,” you reply. “You weren’t. Never that.”

The kisses between you, which at first were soft, quickly develop into deeper passion, twining like a spool of thread around a bobbin. John drags you against him, tasting over and over until you are imprinted on his memory.

Your arms drape over the back of his neck to pull him even closer, and John snaps. That gentle resolve is gone. He needs you.

Reaching down to cup your ass, John lifts you off the ground until your legs naturally wrap around his waist. He knows where the bedroom is but that’s too fucking far. The desire writhing between and around his bones is a blood-beast. A feral thing that calls out for your skin against his.

Setting you down on the counter, John shoves his helmet out of the way. You’re already reaching for him, undoing the front of his pants, slipping in to palm him. The inhale you make when your fingers wrap around his cock is sweet and John breathes it in as if that one sound makes up his entire lifeblood.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s going to taste you everywhere. His lips and teeth will mark your skin. His tongue will find a home between your legs. You’ll forget this fuckers name. He just needs a few hours and it’ll be his name you’re screaming.

You stroke him again, and John drags you right to the edge of the counter, intending to sink to his knees to worship between your spread thighs.

Your knees lock at his hips and with another stroke of your hand, you tell him what you want. “I need you inside me. I want to feel you.”

You ask so sweetly. He can’t say no. He doesn’t want to.

John helps you ease his pants down to his thighs. When he goes to undress you, he only finds underwear under that large, oversized shirt.

“Fuck, love.” John’s finger drags that fabric aside and he groans at the sight.

You’re already wet. Aching. Ready for him. Begging him to bury himself inside.

This one will be quick. It’ll be rough and he’ll probably fucking spill within a minute, but he has the whole night to take you over every surface in this flat, to make you writhe and moan beneath him.

Placing one hand on the counter and one on your thigh, John starts to ease in. Inch by inch, slowly, he disappears until there is nothing left for him to give. He has a perfect view of how you stretch around him. How you slightly clench and unclench, the pleasure of it shooting to the base of his spine.

“Don’t leave me,” you murmur as Soap begins to thrust into you.

“Never,” he replies, nuzzling the side of your face as you pepper him with kisses.

John anchors himself, snapping his hips, chasing the end just so he can get you back into that bedroom to do so much more.

“You’re mine,” he groans as your fingers dig into his skin, pulling him closer. “Always have been.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @keiva1000 @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg

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trans-androgyne · 2 months

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TERFism & Transandrophobia

Hi folks, the radfems are on their shit again. They are trying to insert themselves into our conversations and spaces. They flatten transandrophobia to “just misogyny” and attribute it to transfems and other people they consider “male.” They are trying to use the backlash and transandrophobia we’ve received from some transfems as proof that “afab people” are specially oppressed by all “amab people.” They claim that trans women oppress cis women and promote “afab solidarity” against transfems. I’ve seen the radfem @/detransraichu (block them and @/vaelystrasia) talking about trying to get trans people—especially transmascs who acknowledge transandrophobia—to swallow their points better by using “afab” and “amab” instead of “female” and “male.”

If you have a moment to read below the cut, I wanted to briefly remind us all of some more crypto-TERF/radfem/gender critical rhetoric to look out for in these conversations.

1) Using amab/afab as nouns or adjectives instead of verbs — It isn’t always a radfem, but they basically find&replace “male/female” to amab/afab for the optics, so it’s something to look out for.

2) The idea of “male/amab supremacy” or “sex-based oppression” — belief everyone amab oppresses everyone afab. They use this to say trans women oppress cis women.

3) “Afab solidarity” — asking trans people afab to side with cis women over trans women. Erases the power cis women can have over transmascs. Think “trans men are my sisters.”

4) Male/female socialization — insists people are destined to become a specific way based on their agab. What they use to consider everyone amab dangerous and everyone afab safe. Always, always be extremely suspicious of anyone saying “women/afabs are safe, men/amabs are unsafe” for any reason. However, not everyone talking about their agab affecting how they were raised is a radfem. It’s acceptable to say that growing up when amab/afab affects how you were treated or how you act today. It is not okay to assume how others’ perceived socialization affects them, ever.

5) Bio women/bio vaginas/bio breasts — transphobic ways to exclude trans women or refer to their body parts in a way that implies they are cosmetic rather than biological.

6) “Afabmisogyny” — used to describe misogyny presumed to only affect people afab. Positions any misogyny experienced by transfems as less important.

7) “Kink critical” — radfem rhetoric is often very anti-kink, anti-porn, and anti-sex work(ers) as they believe all three are used to oppress females.

These are the points I thought were most relevant to transandrophobia conversations, but feel free to add on if you’re able!

#transandrophobia #transmisandry #anti transmasculinity #transphobia #transmasc #rad/feminism tag #TE/RFism #mine #long post #resources

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barleyo · 10 months

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Take Me to Church.

Priest! Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hello, my blessings! I hope you all can see what I was going for with this, I mean, Miguel is Catholic. I also hope this doesn't seem rushed! I'm not very well versed in religion, so I hope none of this comes off as blasphemous or disrespectful. Much love to all of you, and thank you for your continued support!

Wordcount: 3.3K

Tags: Dub-con, loss of virginity, manipulation, p in v, coercion, power dynamic, abuse of power, use of "Father" in a religious way, not an inc*stual way, HEAVY talk of religion (sin, penance, etc.), oral (f receiving), desk fucking, implied age gap

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a devout man, trusting God’s will above anything else, and leading the church to trust just the same. He led them onto a holy path, clear of temptation and sin.

He himself, however, was not free from these temptations. No matter how much he had prayed to clear himself of these thoughts, they still remained. He beseeched God to forgive him for what he had thought, what he had felt.

Nothing seemed to stop his mind from falling into the gutter, especially not her presence.

Lord, forgive him for his sins.

Forgive him for giving into her allurement.

(Y/N) had knocked on Miguel’s office door. Normally, she would refrain and not impose on his valuable time, but for some time, something had bothered her deeply. Having nobody else to turn to, she came to his door, tail figuratively between her legs.

“Father O’Hara? May I come in?”

“Yes, my child, do come in,” he said, his voice kind, yet firm.

She walked in, awkwardly closing the door behind her and standing by the door.

“Please, sit.” He pointed to a chair across from his desk, and removed his small reading glasses that sat on the tip of his nose. He removed the small stack of papers that he had been going through off of his desk, turning his full attention to the woman. “What seems to be the issue?”

“Apologies, I don’t mean to take up any of your time, I can see that you’re busy–”

“Nonsense, child. I am never too busy to give assistance to one in need. So?”

“Right, right.” She took a deep breath, clenching her fists in her lap. She quickly started muttering something under her breath before looking up to meet his eyes.

He looked at her with his deep, dark eyes, filled with curiosity. Part of her felt that he could see right to her soul, that he knew exactly why she was there. Perhaps he had known the second it started.

“Come now,” he said, arms crossed over the desk while he looked at her, head slightly tilted, “you are safe here with me. Unburden yourself and your soul, dear girl.”

“Father, I– I believe that I need to look for forgiveness from God.”

“And why would that be?”

“My mind, Father,” (Y/N) said, chewing on the inside of her cheek, pricking blood from the thin skin.

“Ah, a matter of the mind, is it?” His brows furrowed together, creating a small dimpling near his forehead. Shifting in his chair, Miguel straightened his posture, as if he were preparing himself for what she had to say after the fact. “Care to explain further?”

“They’re bad thoughts, sexual in nature. And, I just feel that,” she paused to swallow a lump in her throat, briefly covering her mouth while she did so, “that they plague me.”

He felt his chest tighten. She felt what he had felt, though, he doubted for the same reason.

Miguel hummed, clearing his throat quickly. “Is that so? So, you have been having unwanted sexual thoughts?”

(Y/N) clung onto his words, feeling her face flush when hearing him say it out loud. “Yes, but that isn’t all. I— well, goodness, I’m so embarrassed.” She held her face in one of her hands, looking down at Miguel’s own hands that laid flat on the desk, avoiding his deep gaze.

She felt one of them reach out to lay over one of her hands, even before she could see it happen. Her head tilted up to see his face morph into a look of reassurance.

“Do not let shame stop you from seeking full forgiveness.” Letting his hand linger for a second longer than he knew was acceptable, he slowly inched it away and continued with a sigh. “Speak only the truth, and allow me to guide you into the comfort of God’s shining light. Go on, now.”

“I have given into these desires.” She hung her head, face contorted into an ashamed look, eyebrows knitted together and mouth in a tight, thin line. She sat and waited for him to respond to her confession, but heard nothing. “Father O’Hara…?”

Miguel felt his face grow warm. Unsure if the tightness he felt in his chest was jealousy or judgment, he simply kept quiet, thinking over the woman’s words.

Finally, he spoke, with a slight cracking in his voice, straining out of his throat. “With a man?” he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“No–! No, Father, no, certainly not,” she rushed, trying to clear her name as quickly as possible. “Certainly not, no. It’s not that.”

“Then what have you done?” His heartbeat slowed once more, feeling a bit relieved.

“It was only once, maybe twice, that I’ve done it– touched myself with these thoughts in mind.” (Y/N) absentmindedly rubbed at her temples while she spoke.

He felt a pang of guilt strike his chest as his pants tightened slightly. He knew it was wrong, he shouldn’t have been excited over this, but how could he control himself?

“It’s perverse and explicit, I cannot go into detail, for my own sake, but just know that my actions have haunted me since, and I just don’t know what to do. Father, I need your help.”

She was weak in her flesh and desire, it would be easy to prey on her, to fulfill his own desires. She was malleable under his guidance, and he knew it. Miguel also knew that what he felt was wrong, but it did not stop him from hesitating to answer her plea, mulling over what to do with his influence. His heart and mind were fighting, passion and righteousness in an entanglement he wasn’t sure his body could host much longer.

“Your sins will be forgiven, as they always will be,” he said, “but you must reach out to God to fight against the base desires that you have given into. We all sin, do we not?”

“We do, yes,” (Y/N) answered, lips coated in shiny spit from her incessant chewing and biting as she tried to keep herself grounded.

Miguel felt his eyes dip to her lips, the clear sheen of saliva practically sparkling in the low light of his office.

“Right, well,” he shook himself out of it, “we all sin, and God makes no exceptions. As long as you seek out his light, his light will shine on you, and you will be forgiven, my dear. Believe in that, and believe in the love God has for you.”

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better.

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

The second she left his office that day, he could not stop himself. His mind raced while he imagined what she was doing on her evenings alone. It drove him crazy. Had she gone back on what she promised? Was she sinning again, hands between her legs, panties to her knees, wanton moans escaping her spit-soaked, puffy lips?

He thought he was stronger than this, and yet there he was, praying to God for the strength to fight against his urges, urges he had for that sinful, tempting woman. A woman who returned the next week with the same problem.

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear.

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“Quiet down.” He placed his finger over her lip, silencing her while he continued. “You have forgotten my words. You trail out of God’s light, do you refuse forgiveness? Do you enjoy this sin?”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off.

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing him to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

Miguel didn’t answer her, instead slotting himself between her legs, kneeling before her and looking up to her through hooded eyes. He pried her legs apart with his hands, pushed her skirt upwards, and leaned in, exhaling against her clothed cunt.

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but her hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

“There is nothing wrong with me absolving you of your sin, that’s all I am doing. I shall let your sin travel from inside of you to the outside. Do you not want to be free of your evil thoughts?”

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“God commands me to take no wife, we are both free from that. It is my duty to guide your soul onto a holy path, won’t you let me do that?” Miguel slipped her panties down to her ankles, waiting for her to answer him.

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body.

Miguel O’Hara was the leader of his local congregation. He was a man of God. He served God, and only God. He should not think these things, he knew better.

Why couldn’t he keep his mind off of her? Why couldn't he be the holy, resilient man he knew he needed to be?

“I must say, my dear, I am extremely disappointed in you,” he said, standing behind her chair, leaning down to her ear.

He was a hypocrite, and he knew it. He was a sinner, a filthy sinner, and he knew it.

“Father, I–”

“No, Father O’Hara. I’m sorry,” (Y/N) choked a sob back. She felt her tears stream down her face faster than she could wipe them off.

“Penance, I’m afraid, is not a fitting punishment, dear girl. God has not turned away from you, and he never will, but,” he whispered, placing his hand under her chin and forcing her to look at him from her chair, “you must pay for what you have done. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she sniffed deeply. “What must I do?”

“Do not worry about that, I shall show you. Here,” he stood up straight and tapped on his desk, “sit here.”

(Y/N) followed his directions and sat facing him. “I don’t understand, what will this do?”

“Look at that,” he nudged the wet patch on the front of her panties. “Is this what your thoughts are about?” he asked, eyes still focused on her heat. “Hm?”

“N-no, no that would be wrong!” She tried to close to her legs, but his hands held them forcefully apart.

“Do not lie in the house of God, my child,” he said flatly.

“This– this is wrong–!” She interrupted her own sentence with a small moan as she felt him lick a stripe of the fabric of her panties.

A look of confliction flashed on her face. “But we aren’t married, isn’t this sinful in itself?”

“Father… please, just please— help me,” (Y/N) said, eyes darting away from him, shame creeping all over her body.

A hot, wet feeling placed itself between her thighs. Miguel spread her legs as far as they would go while he delved into her, tongue working through her slick folds.

“You are already wet, you really were thinking of this, weren't you?”

He smirked and brought his head back down, placing wet, messy kisses from her inner thigh to her throbbing clit. He honed in on the nub, wrapping his chapped lips around it and swirling it around with his tongue.

(Y/N) looked down and watched as his brown hair moved back and forth as he lapped at her cunt. Hesitating, she reached her hand out and gripped his hair, holding him in place, and rolling her hips onto his face. Her hips stuttered as she moved, moans catching in her throat.

“F–Father, it feels– I feel—”

“I know, you are very close.”

She looked confused, not sure what he meant. “Huh–?”

Miguel pulled her hand out of his hair and pushed her down on the desk, flat with her legs in the air. He spat directly onto her cunt, spreading it with his tongue. He craned his head back and locked eyes with her, replacing his mouth with his fingers, circling her clit quickly with his thumb.

“Do you feel that tightness building up?”

“Yes, make it stop, it feels odd, please. Make it stop,” she said, grabbing onto his wrist while her rubbed her.

Miguel shushed her, placing his other hand on her thigh. “Just wait, (Y/N).”

Thumb still focused on her bud, he pushed his tongue into her entrance, feeling her tight walls fight and clench against his prodding. He slurped at her walls and dripping arousal.

“No, no– I–!”

Her hips involuntarily rolled against his face one final time before she felt the tight coil in her stomach burst. Her thighs squeezed over Miguel’s head and kept him in place as she came, legs shaking and mind blurring.

(Y/N) let go of his head quickly, sitting up on the desk and pulling away from him. He wiped her slick from his mouth and chin, cleaning his face from the sheen of her cum.

“Father O’Hara, are you okay? I didn’t mean to do that, I don’t know what came over me…”

“Hush, now. Save your words for what is to come,” he said, standing to his full height.

He pulled her body back to the edge, pushing her down, flat on her back. Pulling himself out of his pants, he adjusted right at her entrance. Before pushing in, he took hold of both of her hands, holding them above her head.

“This will hurt. You will bleed, but you must relax. Do you understand?” He saw her nod. “Good girl.”

He pushed into her, slowly inching his tip forward. (Y/N)’s hands clenched, fingers dug into her palms while he painstakingly forced his hips further.

“Relax,” Miguel whispered as he dipped his head down to be level with her ear, “don’t squeeze so tight, just let me work you open.”

He bottomed out, sliding all of his length into her.

“No, hurts s’bad, can’t take it ‘nymore!” She whined loudly, tears flowing out of her eyes due to the harsh stretch of his cock.

He was so big, and she was so small. He should have been careful with her, and he should have treated her like the fragile little thing she was.

It only made him fuck her rougher.

His muscled hips pull out of her, tip barely staying inside.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it, I–”

“Yes, you can.”

He snapped into her. His thrust knocked the wind out of her lungs, having her choke on her words. (Y/N)’s hands immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, gripping onto them. To steady herself, she dug further into them, practically ripping the fabric of his shirt.

The sound of her half-pained, half-pleasured noises send him back to his movements. He starts thrusting, quickly fucking into her heat.

“You are taking me so well, you sure it’s your first time?” he asks, smirking.

“Yes, Father. I-I’ve never done this before,” she said through gritted teeth, “Dunno if ‘m doin’ it right.”

Miguel grunted and deepened his strokes. “Just let me do it, just gotta– gotta sit there n’ take it.” He allowed himself to kiss the tip of her cervix with his cock’s head, shallowly impacting onto the sensitive spot.

His hands fall to her hips. He grips onto them and holds her in place, keeping his brutal pace. He eyed the thick, white ring of her arousal forming on the base of his thick length, watching it grow and shift as he pounded into her fluttery walls.

“S’happening again, fix it–! Please, Father,” she felt a strong pang of ecstacy crash over her.

“Mhm..”

A few scattered thrusts nudged her over the edge. (Y/N)’s walls clenched repeatedly over Miguel’s dick, squeezing him tightly with her velvety, slick cunt.

“Fuck, c’mon now, relax.” His eyebrows knitted together as he massaged her hips, trying to get her to relax. “So tight, damn.” He finally pulled himself out and took to pumping himself in his hand. (Y/N) watched him fist his cock between her legs.

“Ah–”

He came onto his palm. The sticky, thin seed covered his palm. Miguel licked his cum off of his hand, watching as (Y/N)’s face heated up as he did. He cleaned it off, letting his tongue dart between his fingers to tease the girl before stopping and wiping the rest onto the girl’s cheek.

“Come, down now,” he said, pulling her off of the desk. He chuckled as she stumbled over to the door, legs weak.

“Thank you, Father,” (Y/N) croaked out, holding onto the doorknob. “But, what– if I keep thinking those thoughts, what do I do? Will I be forgiven?”

Miguel took his spot at his desk, wiping away at the wet spots left on the wood.

“If you continue to be plagued by such thoughts,” he said, “do not be afraid to come back to my office. Remember, we all sin, but we can always fight for forgiveness.”

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keresnotceres · 11 months

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You, With the Watercolor Eyes

Ghost x Civilian!Reader (gn / undescribed)

[sfw] cw(s): heavy angst, mentions of ghost’s backstory, mentioned/implied self harm, disordered eating (aka ghost’s really bad habits).

1.3k words. not proofread. wrote this in, like, an hour.

While on deployment, Ghost has a recurring nightmare -- you’ve fallen out of love with him. The thought pervaded him for weeks, it wrecks him to a point his teammate notices a change in his demeanor, and he’s fallen into his old habits.

When he first woke up, he didn’t recognize the room he was in. Simon tensed under the thin sheet on top of him, hands twitching at his sides as if reaching for his pistol. Finally, he took into account the jacket hanging on the far end of his bedpost.

He remembered that he is Ghost. Simon does not exist here. And yet, Ghost felt his chest tighten as he recalled the dream that plagued him prior.

It was of you, his charming lover, untouched by the terrors of war and bloodshed. But not just your regular self, you were distant, callous. Something had caused you to change, something he didn’t know, something you wouldn’t tell him. He remembered trying to ask you what was wrong, and you only ignored him. It reminded him, briefly, of his father.

It wasn’t until a man with a blurry, unrecognizable face stepped into the room. If he squinted, Ghost could make out a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. When you made your way to the man, you fell into his arms, pressed up against him like he was a lifeboat and you were drowning.

“I don’t want you anymore.”

It was your voice, the voice that whispered “I love you“ in the night. The voice that muttered and screamed his name.

“I don’t love you.” Maybe it had been, “I never loved you;” Ghost couldn’t quite recall. Either way, they conveyed the same message: you weren’t in love with him anymore. You were leaving him for another man, one who could be with you, one who could say just how much he loved you all the time.

He couldn’t utter a word to you as you faded from his view, leaving him alone in an imitation of the living room in your home.

The next several days, Ghost felt more removed from himself than usual. The thought of you, the person he would rip the world apart for, the person who gave him something to live for, leaving him stayed with him. It haunted him.

Memories of his childhood surfaced, the thought of your relationship breaking down into what his parents had ripped into his head. When he was alone, Ghost would toss his gloves to the side just to feel his fingernails dig into his palms to try and feel a different pain. Soon enough, it evolved to drawing blood.

Ghost found himself skipping over meals to busy himself with other tasks, the hunger pains providing him with some sort of distraction from the gnawing hurt that the thought of not having you brought. Deep down, he knew that if you knew what he was doing to himself, you would plea him to stop. But the nightmare kept coming back, and so did the need to feel a different pain, and Ghost couldn’t stop.

Weeks later, the nightmares finally let him be. But the thought of you leaving clung to him like a wet shirt.

Ghost’s eyes glazed over the crowd of recruits in front of him, lingering on a few of the most competent-looking ones before he dismissed them. He watched inanimately as they dispersed, several clumping together to form a smaller, condensed group of friends. Others left on their own, likely to go find their own friends.

Ghost found that the others found him, more often then not it was Soap who came barging into his office to talk idly. It hadn’t happened in a few days, Ghost had taken advantage of not having a distraction to bury himself in paperwork, pushing away all the thoughts of you that clouded his mind.

He left the training area of the outside, making his way to his office. It had become some sort of hellish safe-haven. Ghost could slip away for a few minutes and Simon could claw his way forward.

There were very few times he thought of you normally, without the splotchy pain that came from his nightmares. Ghost found a difficult peace in the thoughts of you untainted by his unconscious, he’d caught himself reaching out to nothing as if you were there with him. It was then that the marred version of your relationship returned to him, you weren’t there because you left. You didn’t love him any more; how could you love a man like him?

While he thudded through the hallways, Ghost was unaware of an uncharacteristically silent Soap by his side. It wasn’t until he swung open his office door several minutes later and was stopped from slamming it shut by Soap grabbing it.

Soap frowned at him, stepping forward to push Ghost into his office without touching him at all. Ghost stepped back, disgust tearing at his throat at the thought of physical contact.

The two stood at a standstill, eyes locked, until Ghost was irked enough by the presence of something other than his own thoughts to turn on his heel and stalk over to his desk. He looked back at Soap, the action a silent question of ‘what the hell do you want.’

Soap frowned deeper and shut the door behind him. he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked forward a bit, stopping when he came to decision. “You’re actin’ wrong.”

Ghost’s eyes bored into Soap’s, unfeeling. “Pardon?”

Soap’s eyebrows set, his gaze hard. “Don’t act dumb. Actin’ more heartless than usual.”

Ghost set a hand on the desk, leaning his weight on it. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant.” His eyes strayed to the papers that littered the desk, organization thrown to the wind.

“Bullshit.” Ghost’s eyes flicked to Soap, a tide of irritation crashing in them. “Tell me.” Soap took a step closer, a look of determination clashing with Ghost’s displeasure.

“Got nothing to tell you.”

“You have quite a lot to tell me, Lt.” Soap stepped closer again, his hands thrown to his sides, one balling into a fist.

“Johnny,” Ghost started, an obvious anger in his voice. “Lay off it”“ Soap glared at Ghost, and with all the exasperation and concern he could mange through a fit of anger, he retaliated.

“Simon,” the same vigor Ghost has used present in his voice. “What the fuck happened to you?” The way Soap spat out the words make it seem more like a statement; Ghost almost saw his father in front of him.

Ghost looked at him, defeated, tired. “Nightmares.” Soap looked utterly unconvinced and Ghost could do nothing but cede to the look on Soap's face. Ghost choked back the urge to conceal his personal life, internally clawing at his chest to stop talking. “My partner.”

It took two words for Soap's demeanor to change entirely. In the next moment, he's suddenly John MacTavish, the military personality is thrown to the side. Ghost considers doing the same, if only for a few seconds of comfort.

“I'm sorry, Lt.” Ghost half expected Soap to say something else, to call him an idiot. “Was it bad? Did they...” Soap trailed off, not wanting to say what they both know he was thinking.

Ghost shook his head, “no. Left for someone else, left nothing behind.” Soap grimaced, his hand raised up slightly, but fell down.

“It wasn't real.” Soap offered his best solace, and it made Ghost scoff a laugh out.

“Sure felt like it.”

“They love you,” Soap's voice was oddly serious, “I know it.” Ghost peered up at Soap, searching his face for a hint of falsity. “You could call, check in. Sure they'd love to hear from you.”

Ghost's mouth twitched, not that Soap could see.

“I'll do it, even.” He offered, a twist of compassion seeped through his words. “But I'll talk about how you've been skipping meals. How you stay long past clock to do paperwork.”

“You will not,’ Ghost sounded almost like his normal self, and Soap smiled at him a bit wickedly.

“Then you better call before I do.”

#cod headcanons #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #mw2 x reader #simon riley fanfic

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satan-plundered-our-oceans · 1 month

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I saw your bakugou with sibling reader! I loved it and would like to ask for a continuation

Maybe when the reader gets their quirk? And how would the family and others react if it does turn out to be more powerful than his

★。／ plus ultra: echo burst! ＼。★

pairing: bakugo x gn!sibling!reader (part two!)

(here's a link to part one if you haven't read it yet!)

fandom: boku no hero academia

word count: 5.4k

tw: none! purely some platonic, wholesome fluff. of course, a bit of cussing from bakugo, and some canon typical violence, unedited because i’m too tired for that- (very little violence, only implied/mentioned, little baby y/n bakugo doesn’t need that–)

notes: this is my first fic sequel! on my old blog, i had a sequel planned out and requested of bakugo’s sibling ending up quirkless, so if anyone wants to see a secondary sequel about a quirkless!sibling as well, let me know! but of course, they/them pronouns for little sibling bakugo, and please enjoy! thank you again for requesting this fic anon!

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

‘don’t touch that y/n.’

katsuki bakugo reluctantly holds onto the tiny, chubby hand of his little sibling, dragging them haphazardly through a crowded market aisle. despite being late to your appointment at the doctor, you had begged him to take you to get ice cream afterwards. your appointment had gone well, and mitsuki had demanded he do anything you wanted today.

he decides to let you loose in a merchandise store just off the side of the street. it’s the same one where you had gotten your all might onesie, and your favourite lunch boxes. he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same place deku got all his merch too.

looking around at the merch, he can’t help but think of your appointment, though it hadn’t really bothered him at all before now.

things were great. your joints in your little toe showed you would get your quirk at some point, it would develop, which would no doubt relieve his mother - she had long ago begun doubting whether you would end up quirkless, and the idea had concerned her until she had almost driven herself mad. but, according to him, you were fine. a quirk would come to you eventually, it just had to develop, and he told bakugo that things would be fine with a hearty smile on his round face.

it had made him think - he would only admit that it was briefly - what it would be. your quirk. would it be explosive like his own or would it be defensive or weaker? despite thinking of this too, he didn’t really have the heart - and he had one, deep down, for you - to think of his sibling any differently.

‘katsuki!’ you come running up to him, a round bandaid on your bare arm from the blood test you undertook. you cried a little, but toughed it up, your eyes still slightly red. in your arms is a soft midnight plush, and you hold it out to him with the biggest grin he’s probably ever seen. ‘can i get a midnight?’

he looks at it for a moment. he doesn’t even bother asking how much it might be before he deflates at the doe-eyed look you give your big brother. you walk him to the counter and hold his hand while he pays for your new plushee. one you definitely didn’t need.

with midnight plush in hand, you let him lead you out of the store.

bakugo isn’t stupid, he knows the city isn’t safe when it gets darker. he knows that villains lie on almost every corner, and that he can’t always predict when or where they might strike. he had let you drag him anywhere, and stupidly he followed. because what kind of brother would he be if he denied you? that’s how he ends up halfway across the city and carrying you home while you doze off on his shoulder. your midnight plush pressed tightly between your backs. but something passes overhead, a dark shape in the sky. a shop alarm rings out through the blackness of the street. the night lights flicker on.

it’ll only take him about fifteen minutes to get you home. but even he can feel the slightest thrill of fear that sets in. a prickling on his skin.

then a bin in the alley rattles and knocks over. from the quick flash he can see, it’s not one of the villains he’s seen before, or at least no one important enough to remember. his grip tightens around your legs, hoisting you higher on his back before he continues his walk home, his steps quickening despite himself.

your head lolls on his shoulder, your face pressed into his shirt.

‘kat? what’s wrong?’ he doesn’t answer you, only slides you onto the concrete quickly and hides you behind an alcove in the storefront. he makes sure you’re hidden by the foliage hanging overhead. ‘katsuki?’

‘stay here, ok?’ he tells you quietly, ruffling your hair a little bit to calm the panicked glaze in your eyes. it doesn’t work. his parents were always better at this stuff. ‘don’t make a sound.’

you’ve watched katsuki fight before. you’ve seen villain attacks that he got caught up with on the news, as a u.a student it’s almost expected. but this is different. you had never seen it in person. never felt the heat radiating off his explosions, seen the buildings behind this villain crumble on impact, never felt the ringing of your ears when it finally bursts. no, this is different. katsuki has only been hit once or twice, dodging the villains knives that seem to almost miraculously float around him, flying in any direction he pleases. it scares you, just how close it feels now. you don’t think you like it very much at all.

but then katsuki dodges one of those flying knives, and on his cheek a shallow wound oozes a trickle of blood. he wipes it away nonchalantly, like this happens all the time. you had never seen something like this, he was always patched up by the time he came home to see you. but this is terrifying.

without a thought, you leap forward from the alcove, little legs pounding the pavement as you plant yourself in the space between katsuki and the villain. your little arms outstretched to protect your brother, your midnight plush clutched in your fists. fat tears roll down your round cheeks and your lip trembles. the villain laughs at you, you think. and katsuki yells at you to reach cover again. maybe he barks out some threat, hoping it would scare you enough to run away. but it doesn’t. instead, you let yourself be curled into his arms and you hold midnight like a beacon. your crying erupts into earth-shattering screams.

a shockwave bursts from your fingers, the force pulsating in your skin and travelling up your arms. it hurts a little bit, makes your arms shake. your knees feel weak as you hold it, the bubble growing until it pins the villain against the alley wall. it crumbles under his weight, pushing his form against the brick. even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to let it go.

‘y/n, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ katsuki soothes with a hand on your head, shielding your gaze from the villain as he finally falls limp to the floor. not quite dead, not yet at least. ‘let’s go home, yeah?’

you nod up at him, and the shockwave droops, it fades, becoming a small bubble around you and your brother, encasing you in safety as you play with the tips of midnight’s hair.

katsuki doesn’t quite understand it immediately, but it clicks for him as he reaches the front step of your home, looking down at your sleeping form cradled in his arms, he realises just how powerful your quirk could be. your cheeks are red and splotchy from your crying before, and yet you look almost peaceful.

he moves aside your hair, and looks down at your face.

despite knowing you would always be an amazing hero, now he knew for sure. now he could probably brag that his little sibling was going to surpass even all might.

maybe, he wouldn’t mind you surpassing him either, if you kept smiling like you had.

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kissesforsatoru · 1 year

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Can I ask for some headcanons for Yan!Bonten!Mikey with a former childhood sweetheart darling? Maybe they used to be inseparable/in love with each other as kids before the darling had to move away to the US when they were 8 and now so many years later they arrive back in Japan on a bussiness trip.

pairing : bonten!mikey x reader

summary : yan!bonten!mikey meeting his childhood sweetheart again

⤷ warnings : general yandere themes, implied kidnapping, briefly mentioned murder

– mikey takes his friends and family very seriously—their safety and happiness were the only reason he disbanded toman and moved on without them. he knew that if he kept them around then they would get hurt one way or another, which was the last thing he wanted.

– with every loss that he had he's learned to move on in his own way. some losses took him longer than others to get over, but still he moved on, nonetheless. but with you, he couldn't quite get you out of his head no matter how much time had passed, and quite frankly, it was annoying.

– he didn't like seeing your innocent smiling face flash through his mind whenever he would be shooting a traitor—vermin that needed to be disposed of. he didn't like spacing out during meetings to reminisce the time he spent with you when he was young, where he would blindly follow you around like a lost puppy. he was quite smitten back then, he will admit, but things are different now. he should let you go like he did everyone else.

– the only thing that mikey had going for him was the fact that you left on your own, long before he even formed toman, let alone kanto manji or bonten. he couldn't interfere with your life if you weren't even around. he doesn't have to worry about running into you either since he doesn't even know what you look like now, and it was safe to assume you didn't know what he looks like either. mikey would even go so far as to say that you probably don't remember him. the two of you were only friends for a small fraction of your lives when you were really young, and lots of people forget their childhoods so it's not farfetched. you don't know him; he doesn't know you.

– mikey ignores the fact that he could easily change that with just a simple order—he can get your pictures, your occupation, your friends, family, past lovers, whatever he wanted, really. every single record of yours could be in his possession within a matter of hours if he so wished, but he doesn't. you're just some person from his childhood, a random civilian to him now, at best; he has no reason to be digging around in your life.

– then everything got fucked up on one random tuesday afternoon. almost like fate, you ran into him—literally. you, absentminded as ever, weren't looking where you were going, and you ran into him. from the corner of his eye, he could see sanzu pull out his gun and point it towards the person sprawled out over himself, waiting for the order to shoot, but that order never came. whatever nonsense he told himself about not being able to recognize you had been a boldfaced lie, since he recognized you immediately. there was no questioning it, or second guessing himself, he knew that you were you.

– your sweet, sweet voice that used to lull him into a state of absolute serenity was now much more mature, but still it quelled his inner darkness just the same. his body relaxed against you, and against his better judgment, he wrapped an arm around your struggling body, pulling you closer to him.

– before he was okay with not knowing you. he didn't feel the need to pry or keep tabs on you but having the smallest taste of you again left him addicted. he needs you. he needs to know you, to have you, to own you. you make him feel sane, which is a feeling he can't just let slip through his fingers with the kind of life he lives. without you he might just go on a rampage—kill everyone and everything in sight cause he's just so peeved to not have you around. for the sake of not just himself but his organization and all of tokyo he cannot let you go; he won't let you go.

– now that you've unfortunately stumbled into his world of darkness, you can’t escape. he'll have you no matter what.

#𓏲 msg answered 𓂃 📬#yandere #yandere thoughts #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokrev #yandere tokrev x reader #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo rev x reader #yandere tokyo rev #yandere mikey x reader #yandere mikey #yandere manjiro sano x reader #yandere manjiro sano #yandere bonten #yandere bonten mikey #yandere mafia

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joshusten · 10 months

Text

got my head in a daze (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Guy takes care of a drunk and obliviously sentimental Honey.

(fluff, humor, taking care of drunk character)

2.5k+ words [ao3 link here!] [masterlist]

[CW and notes: implied alcohol consumption, honey kinda gets a lil vulnerable, drunken shenanigans, swearing, geordi and cutie briefly appear at the beginning bc i miss them lol, whipped and flustered Honey, whipped and flustered Guy, they love each other so much i’m shaking, possibly OOC**, GRAMMATICAL ERRORS not rlly proofread]

—

"Thank you for calling Max's Rustic Pizza, my name is Guy, how can I– OH! Fuck! Hi! Sorry, forgot to turn off my 'work' brain–"

"Wait, what? Are they okay? Oh, okay, okay. How long will you be here?"

"Oh, cool, cool, okay. I'll meet you outside. Thanks a lot, Geordi. Stay safe."

The call ends and Guy scrambles around the apartment for a change of clothes. He's still wearing his work uniform. The stench (he doesn't really smell that bad, does he?) of sweat, basil, and, well, pizza feels embedded into them.

Unfortunately, no matter how dashing he looks in the black polo shirt (according to what the very lovely old lady that lives across them said), Guy remembers Honey always complaining about the smell. This probably means they won’t appreciate being greeted by it once they arrive with their friend.

He opts for a simple shirt that’s fresh from the laundry and grabs a soft blanket for Honey. The nights have been chilly lately and with his burning hatred for being sick, he definitely doesn’t want his partner to experience that either, especially in their state.

The sound of tires on asphalt snaps Guy out of his fussing and he realizes he’s near the entrance of their building. He opens the door to greet the Corolla pulling up near the sidewalk. Its side windows rolled down to reveal Geordi at the wheel looking back at Cutie, who was comforting Honey in the passenger seat.

A very drunk Honey, that is.

“Psst. We’re here.” Cutie whispered gently as not to startle the very much intoxicated person currently resting on their lap. Honey opens their eyes and squints at their surroundings, letting out what Guy would probably describe as the cutest sound in existence (it really was just a whine but sue him for gushing on his partner over the simplest of things.)

“Really…?”

“Yes, really. C'mon, your escort's there," The telepath says, nudging them to look at the man currently standing outside the car wearing an oversized Star Trek shirt with a blanket slung over his shoulder.

"Es…what?"

It was evident that the trio were trying, and failing, to suppress their amusement at how… out of it their usually uptight friend is. It's adorable, even.

Guy lowers himself to get Honey to sit up and Cutie immediately helps him. Then, slowly but surely, the pair gently shifts them out of the car to stand up on the sidewalk.

"Okay, there you go, hon," Guy finally balances his swaying partner (or at least, how balanced one can be while inebriated). "Thanks a lot. Can you guys go home safely?"

"Yeah, no need to worry about us! Cutie's just a lil tipsy but Honey's the only one actually affected by how much of a lightweight they are," Geordi answers, wiping some fog that formed on his glasses. Guy glosses over the very endearing fact that their ever-so-grumpy partner is a lightweight to realize how cold it is outside. The blanket!

He wastes no time wrapping the soft fabric around Honey and they instantly snuggled up to it. “Woah…thanks…S’cold a while ago…” They happily said, their words slowly coming out like molasses.

Guy chuckles, averting his gaze from the peaceful smiling face of their partner to Cutie’s shit-eating grin. “Thanks again. I’m glad they didn’t get themself into trouble.”

"No prob, Guy, really. Though I am not gonna miss how much they were raving about their wonderful boyfriend throughout the car ride. No matter how cute it was, that was still 30 minutes I can’t take back. I don't need to be a mind reader to know they can’t wait to see you.”

Geordi lets out a few snickers that make Guy wonder if there was an inside joke he wasn’t getting. He dismisses the thought, Never mind that! His Honey was being all mushy! About him! That leaves him blushing, cheeks hot with a small smile growing and Honey quietly observes the man beside them. They amusingly think their strange escort looks enchanting when flustered.

“O-okay, then! Welp, get back home safe!” Guy waves a hand, the other around Honey’s waist tightened to keep them on their very unstable feet. “I’ve got my very drunk paramour that’s in dire need of some tender loving care to attend to."

The couple waves them goodbye as the side windows close (with a scandalized “Geordi!” accompanied by a playful slap coming from Cutie despite the aforementioned man keeping his mouth shut though, shortly right after, he bursts into a fit of giggles.) Guy really doesn’t get how they both seem to communicate without sharing any words between them but he shrugs it off for now. He has more pressing matters to deal with.

“C’mon, Honey! Time to get you in our humble abode!" Guy begins to guide their partner to the entrance and opts for the nearby elevator instead of the stairs. He definitely doesn't want to risk any possible accidents from that.

They were both quiet for the whole three stories up. Guy worries about how exhausted Honey must've felt with how they were leaning on his shoulder, eyes closed as they breathed softly, almost snoring. Cute.

The journey to their unit was surprisingly quick. Guy takes out his keys after gently shaking the bundled-up figure beside him. "Hey,” he whispered, “We're here, sleepyhead."

The door opens and so do Honey’s eyes, blinking out any weariness that weighed on them. They stride over to the couch with the short-lived confidence of a drunkard, leaving the man holding them surprised. They don't remember walking being so difficult. Why was the ground so…move-y all of a sudden?

Guy's eyes widen as he realizes Honey is out of his grasp. They managed to take a few steps before he could see their movements getting sluggish again. "Woah, hey, hey! Slow down, let me help." He takes hold of their arms to balance them as he gently set their partner on the couch.

“There ya go,” Guy smiles, kneeling down on his knees to help them out of their footwear that has probably grown uncomfortable. However, the moment he starts to take off their shoe, Honey's foot jerks back. They have their usual annoyed expression but something seems off about how they look at him.

“Hey, back off! I have a… boyfriend, y’know?”

. . .

What.

"What?"

"Look, dude, thanks for… bringing me up here but I'm gonna…wait for my boyfriend, okay?"

Holy shit, they're fucking wasted.

"Honey, it's me," Guy insists. No doubt the real, very much existing live audience he always monologues for would find this situation hilarious if he wasn't desperately trying to take care of his partner without them freaking out.

"Ha-ha, okay, man, you’re really cute and shit but I want my boyfriend here, not some random fucking guy!”

Despite literally rejecting him in their drunken stupor, his grumpy darling of a partner still makes way for his heart to flutter. How the hell is he going to handle this when some simple flattery from them leaves his mind reeling? “But I’m not some guy! I am Guy!” He sees that the statement confuses Honey’s already muddled mind some more. At moments like these, Guy wonders what in the ever-loving fuck his parents were on when they decided to name their child like that.

The man backtracks, "Look, your…boyfriend is a lil busy right now. He’ll be back soon but he told me to take care of you while he’s gone, would that be okay?”

Honey squints their eyes, and their foot slowly sets itself back on the floor. “Hm. fine…but don’t pull any moves on me, got it?” They pointed a threatening finger at him. “I like my boyfriend a whole lot and I don’t want him coming home to some bullshit, you hear me?”

Their strange escort smiles wide and Honey is suddenly overtaken by the instinct to cup his round cheeks, as if it was second nature. Honey shakes their head. There’s something about this man, they just don’t know what, but he makes them feel…weird.

“You got it, boss!” Guy beams with a mock salute before untying the laces of their shoe. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he decided to speak up. “Y’know, that must be one lucky boyfriend. You seem to be fond of him.” He means it. He really is lucky to have them in his life.

Honey looks away with furrowed brows, mumbling softly, “I’m the lucky one…”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Guy tilts his head to the side. Well, that got him curious.

“He’s… he’s really nice to me, even when I’m not.” The urge for Guy to rebut was strong but he decided to shut the fuck up for once to let them continue. “He acts goofy as hell most of the time, too. Like some fucking gremlin or something…”

Their eyes meet and his breath hitches. They’re beautiful.

“And he makes me feel really, really good. He asks for kisses all the time and he cooks me breakfast and his voice sounds so nice in my ear even when he talks a lot a-and he makes my stupid heart feel stupid warm when he looks at me with those pretty eyes like–” They pause to take a breath.

“Like I’m actually enjoyable to be around.” Honey’s flustered. The heat practically radiates off of them as they lock their gaze on the floor. “He's stupid handsome too, it’s not fair! S’like he got it all!”

They pushed a finger up to the man’s lips in an attempt to shush him (They also ignore how pleasantly soft it feels against their skin), "But don't tell him I said that!"

Guy merely chuckles to mask the reality of how fast his heart is beating right now. Fuck, if he keeps getting these sweet compliments from a blushing Honey in such generous amounts, he might actually pass out. Definitely not a bad way to go. He awkwardly cleared his throat, noticing that they were expecting a reply from him, “I-I won’t. I promise.” They seem satisfied by that, crossing their arms as they avoid his eye contact again. Guy racks up his mind on what to do next, his thoughts currently in disarray no thanks to the overwhelming affection he’s receiving. “How ‘bout you go wash up and change your clothes so we can get you to bed, hm?”

Honey nods, and allows the man to guide them to the bedroom (not without a sharp “No funny ideas!” from them and a giggly but reassuring “Of course, of course!” from the man). Guy makes sure to leave the bathroom door open just in case something happens as Honey sloppily brushes their teeth while he prepares some sleepwear for them.

Once they were done, Guy stepped out of the room to give his partner some privacy and brings back a glass of water with some painkillers to leave by their bedside table for tomorrow. He waits outside the bedroom door, knocking one, two, three times, “Can I come in?”

After hearing the soft “Sure” from inside, the door creaks open to reveal their Honey, clad in pajamas, lying in bed. He sets the pills down and inches the glass toward their lips.

“Hey, don’t sleep yet. You gotta get hydrated first.”

Guy notices they were a bit more compliant, probably too tired to try intimidating him with…their boyfriend. After a few sips, Honey yawns, their head gently landing on the fluffy pillows surrounding their drowsy state. The fatigue was really catching up on them, allowing slumber to take over easily.

In their dreams, they swear they feel a warmth caress their skin and a soft, fleeting pressure on their forehead.

“I love you.”

–

The first thing Honey hears through the headache is the sizzle of the omelet that Guy is currently giving out a performance to in his rendition of a song he’s playing on his phone.

The man turns off the stove, expertly sliding the dish on a plate placed nearby while still shaking his hips to the music. He continues his singing, oblivious to the fact that their partner is currently observing them with a grin despite the pounding in their head.

“He’s a semi-aquatic egg-layin’ mammal of– AH!” Guy almost drops the plate the moment he notices someone by the hallway. “Honey!”

They wince at the sudden greeting and Guy sheepishly smiles at them as an apology. “You wanna eat? I cooked some eggs.”

“That would be nice, thanks. Sorry for interrupting your…Disney Channel concert.”

Guy dramatically gasps, setting down another plate in front of where Honey sat at the table. “That was not just some Disney Channel concert! It’s my Phineas and Ferb playlist! That was a serenade to Aphrodite, an angel’s choir! That show’s soundtrack contained the very secret chord that David played! Receiving the highest praise from the greatest minds of our time, including, but not limited to, yours truly! I can’t believe you would slander the artistry of–mmph!”

He smiles in the kiss and he tastes the fresh mint in their mouth. They brushed their teeth again before coming here. Had they planned to kiss him all along? They pull away, dragging a needy whine from his lips. Fuck, the day hasn’t started yet and they’ve already got his heart pumping. A good morning indeed.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you menace!” Honey lets out a giggle that has Guy taking back everything he said. His taste in music is definitely their laugh. “It’s too fucking early for you to be monologuing like this.”

They smile again and he knows it’s a joke, especially after everything that they’ve confessed to under the influence a few hours ago. He smirks mischievously, “Oh? That’s not what you said last night~”

Honey raises a brow, their fork with a piece of the beaten egg stopping midway towards their mouth. “What, did I do something stupid?”

The man excitedly scoots his chair near them, “Hm, what was that about my voice sounding so nice in your ear?” Honey squints their eyes in confusion before they widen, the foggy memories from last night coming back to them. Heat rapidly rises to their horrified face, much to their smug boyfriend’s delight.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Or–how did you put it–me being stupid handsome?”

“Guy, please–”

“Oh! Or what about making your heart feel stupid warm?”

At this point, Honey hid their face in Guy’s neck, playfully slapping the arms wrapped around their waist.

“You’re an asshole.” Their words held no heat and were less mean considering they came out muffled from their significant other’s shoulder. The latter simply laughed.

“To be fair,” Guy whispered in their ear, “You make my stupid heart feel stupid warm too.”

Honey sits back up, more flustered than ever and Guy relishes the view. His lover muttered a quick “Fucking dumbass.” before kissing him again, considerably more tender than the last.

- “Gitchee, gitchee goo means that I love y– OW! Ow, ow, ow! Okay, pausing the playlist, going back to the romantic mood!”

---

i rlly like this fic!! idk the idea of a flustered tsundere honey was just so delicious AND GUY GETTING EQUALLY FLUSTERED BC EUEUEUFHSDKFHJ HIS BABYHONEYDARLING IS BEING SO MUSHYYY LMAO again tho, feel free to leave me feedback!! whether it's a grammatical error or how true/consistent i am to the characters, it will always be appreciated!! have a nice day/noon/night!! >:))

#redacted audio #redacted guy #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redacted honey #redacted audio fanfic #ITS FINALLY DONE OH GOD #IM FREE IM GONNA CRY #sten writes!

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mono-dot-jpeg · 7 months

Text

tank moment - mauga

summary; title slightly irrelevant, i wanted to be funny. iykyk

genre/extra tags; headcanons/bullet fic, i talk about mauga hcs i thought of on the fly, reader is implied to be a support character, reader is also part of talon group, fluff, i only know the bare minimum about him and that's all i need baby, is this platonic or romantic idk

[gender neutral reader] [canon typical violence mentioned]

a/n; im back on my overwatch era. it never really ended but, i want to write about him, mauga, the beloved. typing this on my phone and finishing on my computer if anything seems wonky shhh dont tell me i'll relive that mistake for days

also this is a somewhat lightly reseached- aka not fully accurate/detailed work. i briefly mention samoan culture and if it offends or if it's a mistake, please tell me and i will erase those parts asap.

[support me and buy a kofi]

🗣 ALRIGHT SO ‼️

i've been watching and playing with/against mauga since the trial to play him came out and god i love him

but he's kind of easy to counter (im an ana main, nade is fucking broken but that's just anti heal things) and his ult is annoying

anyways

every tank needs their heal bot to keep em up

you just happen to be mauga's heal bot KDJSJSJ

(baptiste is too probably but not really)

he's a really smug guy

no one really knows that bc he sounds so upbeat and nice

but he loves to tease you, poke at you bc he knows that you will answer to him most of the time and entertain him in conversation

you and him are probably in your world even when you're both in talon tbh

he does his own thing and you just happen to join in

(he totally baits you to join his plans and you both know it)

he's a chaotic and cunning man and you're his enabler

(sounds like me and my bestie tbh)

"a hero would sacrifice you to save the world but a villain would sacrifice the world to save you" type beat

he's lowkey possessive but we dont talk about that

jk we do talk abt it

he's your scary guard dog privileges

like that man is tall tall ‼️‼️

idk why but i dont really imagine him being like an openly sweet person

he keeps it private even with how loud he is

anyways

you know how he's on a yacht for his origin story and there's like a bunch of people who got destroyed by him?

yeah he would totally do that shit for u if you asked.

he would give you the best home but

"thanks for the new place and all but did you have to kill someone for it?"

"i mean come on! this place is nice! let's enjoy it!"

he's very "i'll do the dirty work, just sit back and look pretty." and then you're like, "yeah i could. but i won't."

dps support vibes for you ✨️

but also he's charging in most of the time so, there's not much time to dps support KDHDJDJJD

he's like the kool aid man bursting in through the walls /j

cough

back to the hcs here...

he's so tall and big, he would totally let you hang off his back like nunu and wilump (from league, yeah i play league dont remind me totally gonna write for heartsteel soon tm)

also he's literally the greatest heated blanket (ahead of roadhog)

he's so stronk and wowowowow im so gay i love him

when you're surrounded by some enemies, he's charging in, slamming the ground and carrying you with ease as he keeps you safe while destroying any enemies who even tried to touch you

ugh

despite his lack of pda, he's a very actions over words.

he's so silly

chivalry isn't dead when he breaks into a jewelry store for u 😍😍

if you ever have those crazy thoughts about crime, he's totally gonna enable you and let you reign havoc on god knows what.

love language is actions and gift giving. enough said.

when he gives you a hug, he's so fucking warm omg

i said it before and i'll say it again, he's the best heated blanket, literal furnace

bad for the people who sweat easily though (ahem me lowkey)

one the off-days where it's just a day off and relaxing, he's taking care of you well !!

when you're on talon missions, since he can't run around as easily unless he gets the okay but you do keep him company until then

he likes to protect but he loves destroying people

he knows you're able to care for yourself, so he can go crazy whenever, and he loves that.

he also loves watching you get mad or angrily passionate

"yes go, la'u ma’asoama!" (my rock/stone, get it? bc his name means mountain)

he is a really good hype man. even if you're the one in the wrong.

god I WISH I LOOKED UP MORE ABOUT HIM ARGBHYKFJ

soon (tm)

someday i'll write more.

#overwatch x reader #overwatch 2 x reader #overwatch mauga #mauga x reader #overwatch mauga x reader #overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch fluff #overwatch headcanons

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synthetickitsune · 1 year

Text

Warmth ✧ c.sc

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x reader Genre: fluff, comfort Summary: It's dark, inside and out. Some things are impossible to navigate alone, which fortunately is exactly what you're not. Word count: 2k Warnings: depression, implied suicidal thoughts

The pain comes in waves. It pulses like your heart - but not in sync with its beating. It fuels the disharmony, turns it into panic and disarray that rages inside of you. Why would your own head want to hurt you this much you can’t quite understand. You feel betrayed by your own body and mind. They’re supposed to protect you. Why is this pain necessary? It’s dull and numbing. It makes your heart and head ache, and yet you can live. Nobody has to know a thing. It’s the kind of pain you eventually learned to accept and move about your day with it, carrying it around.

Only everything becomes a blur. Just a pale imitation of the real thing.

Nothing feels real. Not the walls and almost complete darkness around you, dispelled by a single candle, not the mattress under you, not the bed, not your breathing. The steady and slow inhale and exhale of your lungs, most surreal of it all. Your very existence feels unfitting into this world that never ceases its moving. Yet you aren’t moving, for now, stagnating in your bed as chaos breaks havoc in your mind. You shouldn’t be here, you feel. Somehow it feels that even should the world end, you’d still remain frozen in time; an error for the cold cosmos to observe.

A failure, you tell yourself, a fucking failure.

Idea briefly flashes through your mind not to take another breath. Just a passing thought. You spend more effort on it than you’ve done on anything else in days though. It’s tempting and somehow comforting. There’d be no more pain. And so you will your body not to breathe.

With bated breath you watch the candle flame flicker. Very much like your will to live. Still, your eyes stay fixated on the little point of light as if afraid it’d go out if nobody watched it. Overwhelming responsibility. Unbearable. Somehow that little fire becomes your own life. Bright and dim, brighter yet and almost invisible. Unnerving.

“Love?” Comes a voice. Your watch over the flame over.

Warmth. Warmth all over your body. You bask in it, the comfort it provides as it engulfs you completely. You let in a shaky breath. No voice leaves your mouth, only a ragged flow of air. Seungcheol stays silent as well, his messy hair tickling your skin as he lies down behind you. His hands wrap tightly around your waist and he kisses the top of your head.

The air stills. Atmosphere falls back into its place. The Earth, the whole world, is moving still despite your stillness. At least now he anchors you to the globe, so you’re dragged with it whether you want it or not. He holds you against his chest without actually existing. Just a heartbeat and warmth, so much warmth it seeps through your flesh to the core of your bones, scaring off the cruel cold and its grip over your messy mind. Safety. Both of you are just abstract beings combining and separating again. Like two nebulas blending together. His hands keep you from falling apart while allowing you to break down safely. You know he’ll catch all of your pieces and hold them together.

Snuggling closer, the dams in your eyes overflow. He stays still, knowing that his presence is enough. You’re grateful for his silent companionship. Disarray reigns in your mind and as much as you’d love to pinpoint what exactly is hurting you, you can’t. And so the obvious question is not asked. You’re not alright. Seungcheol knows you’re in pain that you can’t suppress with pills. It’s killing him inside but he doesn’t let guilt take over. It’s not his fault that you feel like this. It’s not your fault either – and he tells you so, kissing the back of your neck while he does as you shake with quiet sobs. It’s just a chemical imbalance in your brain. He can’t make it go away but he can help you through the storm it causes. He’d do anything to take the edge off.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles to your neck. He doesn’t let go of you to dry your tears, letting them freely flow down your cheeks. You need to be held now more than anything. Then again, his hands itch to wipe the droplets away, even if it won’t help you get better.

Sensing his hesitation you finally move. Your hands move to hold onto his forearms, then they travel to his hands, intertwining your fingers. He smiles into your skin, murmuring a soft ‘Thank you’ and ‘You’re doing great’. Suddenly you have enough energy to shake your head. You squeeze his hands more. Why would he thank you? He was the one going out of his way to help you, to lie down next to you and care for you even after a long day of interviews, practicing and recording.

He settles for you even though he can have anyone he’d desire. He is with you – you. You with all your imperfections, scars and birthmarks and everything you hate about yourself. Your body that is far from desirable as you go through the list of everything you wish to change about yourself. There should be less of this and more of that. Your skin should be cleaner, smoother in that spot… And then there’s you. The actual essence of you that is perhaps all the more hideous.

As if reading your mind, Seungcheol pulls you back, gentle and ever so careful. Like one would rock a cradle with a baby. Only then do you notice the contrast of the death grip of your hands on his.

“Stop. Never think that.” His voice isn’t angry or frustrated. It sounds strained, like he’s in pain too. You turn your head to look at him. His dark eyes glow with something you can’t quite place. He leans his forehead against yours. Closing your eyes, you savor his proximity. Your breathing matches his, fanning over his cheeks as his does over yours. You let the falling and rising of his chest guide your inhales and exhales, relying on him to safely guide you back from the dark places of your mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume,” he assures you, voice filled with honesty, “But it really felt like I could hear your thoughts aloud. And I can’t stand anyone saying those horrible things to my love, not even if it’s you yourself.”

He admits, voice lowering into a gentle and loving tone. His hand uncurls itself from around you to roam your body. Caressing like a summer breeze, it skims over your skin, snaking its way under your oversized shirt. It’s his actually, but as long as it helps you, he doesn’t mind you stealing his things. It comes to rest on your chest, right in the middle where he feels your heartbeat.

“This,” he presses on the spot just a bit stronger, “this is what’s important.” He breathes into your ear. “You’re perfect. No buts. Nothing I’d change.”

His words come out slowly, so quietly he only shares them with you. The bare truth no one else deserves to hear but everyone knows by the way he treats you. You know it too, yet still your brain doesn’t accept it. Not now, so he coaxes your stubborn mind back to its senses with gentle words.

“I love you, all of you. Your body and mind, always, even when you hate them. I can show you later. I promise I’ll prove to you how serious I am, but only if you promise first to keep this,” another gentle press above your heart, “beating – I know it’s hard but will you try?”

You choke back a loud sob, biting on your lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, too exhausted to spend so much energy on that. You’re too drained to do more than nod, but it’s enough for Seungcheol and soon another praise is whispered into your ear. He pulls blankets over your bodies, you can’t tell how many of them but it feels like you’ll start boiling any second. He pulls you closer yet, adding to the scorching heat. You close your eyes and finally you can say you enjoy something.

Because this does feel nice.

However uncomfortable it will become soon, right now it’s what makes you melt into something else than a puddle of apathy. You stay quiet and so does he. The heat speaks enough. You’re not alone. You’re safe. He loves you. You love him. If the demons in your mind want to raise hell there, they need to get past Seungcheol first. He always protects his loved ones, and you’re the one he loves the most.

Your grip on his hands gets stronger, nails digging into his flesh. He lets you, doesn’t wince or complain. Just shifts closer, legs tangling more with yours in clear message: He’s right here and he’s not letting go. He holds you tight enough to make your breathing harder but at this very moment, you need to feel it. To feel almost caged – not to be trapped, but to be protected from the world.

You stay like that for never ending minutes until sweat coats both your bodies and it gets bothersome. You move and he takes the blankets off. You gasp at the cold air hitting your skin but soon you’re pressed closer than before, right to the source of the warmth. And then you’re floating.

You rest your head on his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. The sound of the bathtub being filled can be heard and you think about scolding him for carrying you here when you can walk just fine. Just a fleeting distant thought but it means a world to you nonetheless. It’s a sign. A sign you’re slowly getting hold of your brain again.

Seungcheol sits you down on the edge of the tub and undresses you, fingers trailing over your skin as he does. He kisses your forehead, then nose and cheeks and finally lips. It’s soft, caring and your lips twitch in a hint of a smile. How is he so patient with you, you have no idea. He makes a move to step back and you catch his hand before he can, looking at him with wide pleading eyes. He kisses you again, this time as an act of reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just admiring the view.”

Your first impulse is to cover yourself but you decide to trust him. His eyes lazily glide over your naked form. They’re so full of love and adoration it makes you cry in this fragile state. He chuckles warmly and wipes your tears away, murmuring a soft ‘I love you’.

You croak it back and watch him take out your favorite bath salt, letting a generous amount of the colorful crystals fall into the water. You close your eyes and sigh softly as the rich scent fills the room and helps you relax. He gets into the tub filled with hot water first and kisses your shoulder, carefully pulling you inside as well. He sits you between his legs but allows you to decide if you’ll lie down or not. You do, turning your body to lie chest to chest with him.

He wraps you in a hug again, holding you close and your eyes fall shut. It’s so peaceful again, his heart under your fingers lulls you into comfort. But the slow threading of his fingers through your hair certainly helps too. And his gentle voice reciting parts of your favorite books he’s memorized after hearing them over and over again while you read to him, alternating them with what he knows are your favorite lyrics. Because he’s selfish and proud like that. But he’s right - you love them. It makes your mind stop racing, focusing solely on him and his scent mixed with that of the salt.

And still the warmth seeps through your skin from the water and his body under yours. The darkness is pushed back for the time being, demons chased back into their little hidden corner before they’re burned alive. It’s so calm in your head suddenly and your consciousness starts slipping from you.

But you’re not afraid of sliding down and drowning. He’d save you again, just like he did now.

#seventeen #s.coups #seungcheol #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #s.coups x reader #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #svt fluff #fanfic

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shepherds-of-haven · 2 months

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Hi Lena! I remember Chase referring to MC as their 'guaranteed ace in the hole' or something along those lines before they headed out on the bog adventure (sorry, I've forgotten the exact name of the town they get to) - how would the RO's react to a MC who gets uncomfortable when referred to as a fail-safe / guaranteed win / trump card kind of thing, or if MC pulled them to one side and asked them not to say things like that because they weren't comfortable with it / feel they might jinx it? Thanks for all your hard work, the game is amazing!

Hi there, thanks for your question, it's an interesting one!

Blade: I think he would be disconcerted to hear this from MC, and while outwardly agreeing not to say anything like that in the future, he'd feel guilty and conscious of having made them feel the burden of responsibility and over-relying on them too much, so he's probably be a bit distant towards them afterwards (trying to be considerate by not relying too heavily on them/putting pressure on them, which could come off as coldness)

Trouble: "oh shit, sorry, I didn't think about that. But I don't think it'd jinx it, you're MC after all! But I get it, I'll try not to say anything like that again." I think if it were about MC's discomfort, he'd feel a bit guilty, but also like he wished they saw what he saw in them, this total confidence and faith, but he'd ultimately respect their wishes and try not to do anything like it again. If it was more of a superstitious thing, I think he'd challenge them a little bit on it, like "Nah, have more faith in yourself, look at what you did in ____ and _____, after all!" Like trying to hype them up a bit and give them more confidence in a good-intentioned way, which might result in a back-and-forth where he came off as a bit stubbornly asserting his faith in them and wanting them to feel the confidence he feels in them, which could also make MC feel frustrated, like he's not getting it. Ultimately he'd concede and drop the subject, but feel a bit troubled about it after, but not in a way that he'd really articulate unless MC brought it up again!

Tallys: I really don't think Tallys would say anything like this to begin with, because she's already conscious of how it might make MC feel and how she would feel if she were in their shoes, so she tends to avoid making statements like this right out of the gate!

Shery: she'd feel horrifically guilty, lol, and she'd apologize to MC profusely over and over and sort of torment herself about it afterwards, like, I'm just another of the people who depend too much on MC, I never even considered their feelings, I'm a selfish person... So she'd definitely feel a bit subdued by this!

Riel: he rarely makes statements like this unless it's a joke/sincere compliment, so he'd be a bit surprised to hear that MC felt that way. But ultimately he'd just accept it, briefly apologize, and then move on, as with any well-intentioned social gaffe. It makes sense to him why MC would feel that way; it would make sense to him why he would have said otherwise. Very straightforward! It would be pretty much business as usual after that--he's glad that they communicated it to him and then doesn't think too much about it afterward unless they seemed really upset!

Chase: I like to think that he's emotionally perceptive enough to avoid making comments like this to an MC who was obviously uncomfortable with it, but YMMV, obviously, since he says it in the game! If they asked him not to, he'd sort of say something like, "Aw, sunshine, I didn't mean anything like that, you know we all think you're the cat's pajamas, that's all, it's not like we expect you to do anything or be perfect" and would try to explore their feelings about it and why they felt that way. Basically he would just try to clear the air or walk things back to make sure they didn't feel that kind of pressure moving forward or understood that he wasn't implying anything by the statement, then encourage them to just live their life without feeling the burden of these expectations. Then he'd move on and try to be more delicate in the future! Ultimately, he'd get it, he can see how being "the Hero of Haven" would be a lot of pressure!

Red: I think he'd quickly apologize, but would want to know more about why MC was feeling that way, what caused that reaction, etc. So he'd be interested in talking about it with them in more depth. He'd feel bad, of course, that he said something that bothered them, but I think his priorities would be more about understanding their perspective and maybe helping them with their discomfort/complex feelings about the whole thing than dwelling on the specific interaction that kicked it all off, if that makes any sense!

Ayla: I think her initial reaction to this would be defensiveness: she'd be a bit annoyed, because praise and compliments already come so rarely from her, especially being vocalized in front of the subject/other people, so to be "corrected" on something that's already difficult for her would be like, "wtf, I was just trying to be nice, I have confidence in you/I'm telling the truth, it's a proven fact that you're remarkable, what's so bad about that?" Kind of like a, Seriously? I'd kill for people to admire me and have faith in me and actually say so, what kind of person is like, 'Hey, I don't like it when you do that.'? And also hurt because she's trying and doing things that are pretty foreign/unusual for her (being vulnerable and sincere, giving praise), so to be 'punished' for that would make her feel like withdrawing. So outwardly she'd be a bit put-off and shirty about it, like "Okay, sorry, I won't say it anymore." *obviously disgruntled, not gracious and understanding* But I think after calming down or hearing someone else advocate for MC (like Briony going, "Well, I get it... can you imagine if you felt this pressure to save the day every time? MC's just a person, after all..."), it would click for her, she'd feel a bit bad about it, but she wouldn't feel the need to pursue it or apologize further and would just comply with MC's wishes moving forward!

Briony: she'd pretty much be the same as Shery, writhing in guilt and feeling horrible that she didn't consider MC's feelings more, but after they talked about it and she profusely apologized the first time, she'd be able to move on so long as it didn't seem like MC held any hard feelings or awkwardness about it! Ultimately she'd be glad they said something and would be extra vigilant both about herself and about correcting others if they happen to say things like that around MC! Like she'd start feeling protective and maybe over-conscious of MC's feelings!

Lavinet: she would be similar to Riel: because she meant it as praise, she would be surprised to hear that they found it off-putting or intimidating, but she would simply apologize and then move on without doing it again; it wouldn't be something she really dwelled on unless it seemed like it was a really big deal to MC, in which case she might discuss it with them intermittently moving forward, wanting to understand the exact feelings and reasons behind their feelings and wanting to encourage them in resolving them!

Halek: he's pretty much in Tallys's camp: because of his position in life, he'd be more conscious of not saying stuff like this in the first place, because he understands the pressure those kinds of expectations come with, even if they're reverent and well-intentioned! If he slipped and said stuff like that as a joke, then was asked by MC not to say it, he'd apologize and commiserate with them, then keep it in mind moving forward, being careful not to do it again!

#Shepherds of Haven #hypothetical scenario #all characters #MC

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my-status-single · 21 days

Text

The One Where Peter Parker Has a Baby: Chapter 1

He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. They won’t let him run to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s with Happy. He can’t go to him. He’s four. His name is Ben. He’s safe with Happy. He’s safe. His name is Ben. He’s four. He’s Peter’s.

She had been pregnant.

It had been early.

So early that it had been months before she even realised. Half of the universe disappeared, Peter included.

And months later she had given birth to their son.

Their son.

Ben.

Fic Summary: Mostly canon compliant fic that centres around the relationship of Tony Stark's daughter and Peter Parker.

From the Author: This is a Peter Parker/Reader fic. It jumps back and forth between the "present" (after the blip is reversed) and the past (pre blip reversal). The main focus is Peter and our girl Y/N, but there will be exploration into other relationships as well. These include but are not limited to Tony/Steve Peter/Harley Harley/Harry Peter/Harley/Harry Steve/Bucky Tony/Stephen. Each chapter will have content warnings listed that are specific to the chapter just for added security, there will also be a summary of the chapter if the content is something you don't want to engage with but would like to continue to the next chapter. There will also be a comprehensive list of warnings. The severity of these topics varies from very intense to simply implied. Be sure to check the individual chapters for more detailed descriptions of how these themes are used.

Fic Content Warning: Underage sex, unplanned pregnancy, teen pregnancy, polyamoury, child abuse/neglect, parental death, suicide, self harm, Tony Stark in Endgame Chapter Word Count: 1743 Chapter Summary: This chapter sets up the premise of the story. Touches briefly on Peter and Y/N's relationship, as well as introduces us to Y/N's powers. Chapter Content Warning: Teen regnancy/unplanned pregnancy-We discover that Y/N was pregnant during the blip. Peter and Y/N are in high school at this point. Blip-The Blip is a part of this series, the way Peter was blipped is mentioned Mentions of anxiety/depression-It is implied that Y/N struggled/struggles with mental health Parental death (not Tony)-Peter has dead parents Descriptions of injuries-After the battle with Thanos many characters are injured, Tony and Y/N's are discussed Medical themes-Tony and Y/N are in a medical centre, Y/N is in a coma

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Please, if there is ever something in this or any of my fics that you feel needs a content warning, feel free to message me and I will make sure to add it. I want this to be a safe place for everyone.

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Ao3 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

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May 2023

Peter has known her for as long as he’s known anything.

Back before his parents died, they had been prominent members of the Oscorp Foundation. They worked directly with Norman, and so Peter grew up spending a lot of his time with Harry Osborn. Occasionally, though, there would be a collaboration between Oscorp and their largest competitor, Stark Industries. With S.I. came Tony Stark, and with Tony came his daughter.

She was about a year younger than him and Harry but she held her own just fine. She was smart as a whip and full of fire.

He’d been in love with her for longer than he knew what love was.

They had taken such a liking to each other that Tony made the effort to get them together as often as possible. Eventually, moving them to New York full-time after Peter’s parents died. Tony made an effort to keep up the relationship even then. He did it for his daughter; she’d become so attached to Peter. And he had done the same.

The sun rose and set with Y/N Stark as far as he was concerned.

The bond between them grew as they did. They became halves of the same whole. One rarely without the other. He held her when she sobbed, broken and exhausted, after spending the court-ordered time with her mother. She calmed his overloads after he was bit. They knew each other instinctually. Better than they knew themselves in some ways.

And yet, there was never anything romantic.

Until there was.

They both knew. When they’d grown old enough to understand what love, marriage, and dating were, they knew it was inevitable. That there was no Peter without y/n.

And that is a very daunting thing to face at such a young age.

And they understood that there would be no going back once they crossed that line.

They knew they would cross it eventually.

But they had all the time in the world to cross it. And now, when they were so perfect as friends, neither wanted to risk what they had.

And so they didn’t.

There was flirtation that couldn’t be helped. There were touches that toed the line between platonic and romantic, touches that lingered. Nights where they would fall asleep next to each other and wake up in a state where you couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended.

But it never went further.

Until it did

They were good kids, really. Good students, excelling in their studies, involving themselves in extracurriculars, making a difference in their community. They were good avengers as well. They weren’t officially on the team, certainly were never put in harms way. But Tony allowed them to patrol the city in the evenings, and to train with the team at the compound on the weekends. They excelled there too.

But everyone has times when they just need a break.

It happened the first time during one of those breaks

They had finished midterms, Natasha had been kicking their asses in training for the last month, they were tired.

And so they snuck into the hangar and hacked one of the jets. Because she could override her father’s protocols without even blinking. Spain. She had wanted to go to Spain. He’d remembered her talking about it, so he puts in the coordinates and settles in for the ride.

They’ve shared a room, a bed, countless times at this point and yet somehow this is different. Somehow this leads to their mouths on each other and their virginities lost to each other.

Things change after that.

It takes a while for them to get over it. To admit “I want you” and “I always have” and “I don’t want to wait anymore”. But once they do, once they allow those walls to be broken down they are inseparable.

The funniest thing about the whole ridiculous situation is their behaviour barely changes.

They simply kiss now. Because they already spent nights in the others bed, they already were always touching the other somehow, they already could read the others mind and anticipate their needs. So at school, no one noticed they were dating until Peter gave her a quick kiss before running off to some sort of internship activity.

Its been years now. They are perfect. Ideal. He loves her with everything in him.

And that’s why, when the invasion starts, he webs her to the bed so she can’t follow after him as he goes toward the battle.

Why he goes to the battle despite her screams, her begging, her pleading. Why his last words as he disintegrates in Tony’s arms, after pleading whispers of “I don’t want to go” are “I don’t want to leave her.”

He spends five years living a life with no memory of his previous one. No memory of her, of Tony, of Spiderman.

When the dust finally settles after that final battle, he’s the one screaming, begging pleading. Because his girl, his brilliant, beautiful, reckless girl, simply refused to let her father die.

She’s always had them. The powers, the enhancements, that were so graciously forced upon her by her mother.

She hated them, hated why she ended up with them. But they gave her the ability to save Tony’s life, despite it being at nearly at the cost of her own.

He’s held back, not sure by whom. He hears Steve yell for assistance to get them both off the battle field and to get them immediate medical assistance.

Her powers are…complicated.

Her ability to heal is incredible. Whether it be herself or others. But it comes at a cost.

Healing takes energy. She’s able to choose, when healing injuries, whether to use the injured person’s energy or her own. The severity of the wound would usually influence her decision.

She was comfortable using someone else’s energy for smaller things, scrapes, bruises, most of Peter’s injuries because of his own accelerated healing. But bigger things…she would use her own “Because I heal better” she would say.

Like after he’d taken the weight of a building their sophomore year, she’d used her own energy to heal that. He watched the colour drain from her face, watched slashes and bruises come and go across her skin, watched her exhaust herself right in front of him as the pain eased from his body.

After a fight like this neither had the energy to heal something as severe as this. But she did it anyway.

She does heal better. Quicker, more efficiently. It’s hard to leave any kind of mark on her because her body just rids itself of it.

So she lay in a hospital bed, half dead, as her body begins to repair what should be fatal.

Tony was exhausted, on the brink of death, he’d had nothing left to use up. She herself had been spent. So she took, and she gave. She gave what little energy she had left to Tony and took as much pain and damage from him as she could. Took as much as she could until her body gave out.

Tony woke later that night. Exhausted. Badly scarred. Weaker than Peter had ever seen him.

But alive.

Peter is sitting at her bedside now, holding her hand in his. Needing to feel that it’s warm, needing physical proof that she’s alive. He’s fading in and out of consciousness. Fighting sleep because he can’t risk something happening while he’s asleep. It would be a restless, nightmare filled sleep anyway.

“Tony, we shouldn’t be arguing about this; you’re exhausted; you need to rest. We can talk about this la-“ He can hear Steve’s voice in the next room.

“We’re talking about this now.” Tony responds.

Peter, even with his heightened senses, can barely hear him. He tries to tune them out, focusing instead on her heartbeat. A comforting, familiar sound that lulls him into a sense of security.

But the next words he hears make his blood run cold, and his head snap up.

“He’s my grandson. He’s likely scared. He can’t have his mother, so let me see him.” Tony sounds angry despite his severely weakened state.

“Tony…” Steve says gently. “Look at yourself. You’ll only scare him more. He’s my grandson too. Let me look after him.”

Peter takes a moment.

Grandson.

Tony has no biological children other than y/n. There is Harley…a boy Peter’s age that Tony had taken in when they were thirteen. They’d been fast friends. And…maybe Harley could have had a child in the five years Peter had been gone…except he’d been in the same place as Harley for the last five years, and there was no child.

So…so that must mean that y/n had…that she’d had a child.

Sometime in the last five years she’d moved on…gotten pregnant…had a baby? He shakes his head, his chest aches. His feet move before he’s fully aware of it. He walks into Tony’s room. He stands there silently, until Steve notices him.

“Peter.” He whispers, a sigh in his voice.

Peter laughs weakly, tears on his cheeks that have no right to be there. It had been five years, he had no right to have expected her to wait five years. “I um…” He clears his throat, sniffing. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…it’s just so quiet here.” He says quietly.

“Kid ther-“ Tony starts but Peter holds up a hand.

“Don’t…don’t. It’s okay. You don’t need to defend…just…if there’s a way I can help? I could call his father, if someone hasn’t already or…or go pick up anything that he might need…or…or I can fuck off if you think that would be bett-“

“Peter.” Tony says as firmly as he’s capable of. Peter looks up. “Come sit. We need to talk.” He says, gentler now.

She had been pregnant.

It had been early.

So early that it had been months before she even realised. Half of the universe disappeared, Peter included.

And months later she had given birth to their son.

Their son.

Ben.

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itsclydebitches · 1 year

Text

I really want to take a moment to appreciate the conversation between Roy and Trent in 3x02, as a part of Ted Lasso's larger commentary on toxic masculinity.

Because these two are classic nerd/jock archetypes, yeah? (At least on the surface. The fact that they're far more complex than that is kinda the whole point.) Roy Kent is the handsome, talented, scariest motherfucker around, able to treat people like shit and still earn the devotion of the fans because he possesses the coveted Sports Skills. Trent, in contrast, is the queer kid who was never able to participate in sports himself, instead needing to turn to writing about them to find that in. As he tells Ted, for him sport is the metaphor and his words, delivered with an "edgy" style that pulls no punches, defend Trent in a way he's never been able to defend himself physically; they gain respect in a field where he'd otherwise be considered a joke. ("Is this a fucking joke?") Plus, given the implied backgrounds and present day characterization, I don't think it's much of a reach to believe that scathing articles like the one Trent wrote contain a certain amount of bitter satisfaction: Roy is "over-hyped," "mediocre," "disappointing," and driven by "rage." If that doesn't sound like a bullied kid finally getting back at all the jocks Roy represents, I don't know what does.

Notably, they repeat a version of this history during Trent's first week at Richmond. He's easily the most anxious we've ever seen him, jumping at loud noises, hands twitching in his pockets, very self-consciously trying to form a connection with the players and failing miserably. Trent is without his armor now - that of a high-profile journalist, safe behind his cutting words - and he's unable to rebuild any given that he's being denied the chance to write his stories. Why is that the case? Because top dog Roy Kent has decreed that no one talk to him. Now, we know based on Roy's characterization and what's revealed later in the episode that this is done out of a desire to protect his players from the abusive press, but outside of that context this looks a lot like the popular kid playing the part of a bully. Trent is the new kid entering class, being clocked as the outsider, briefly welcomed by someone with no prior bias (Dani)... and then that's shut down real fast from Roy. Funny as Ted Lasso is (and I was legitimately cracking up throughout the episode) there's also something extremely disquieting - in a very familiar way - at watching someone go from, "Hi! :D" to "FUCK YOU!" all on the say-so of someone with a lot of authority and social power. This dynamic continues throughout the whole week, with Trent growing more and more on edge until, finally, he just gives in. When Roy starts popping balloons he doesn't stand up for himself and demand that he share their office respectfully, Trent just tries desperately to ignore the bullying - and it is bullying, given that Roy stops popping the moment Trent leaves - and then quietly runs away, acting apologetic as he goes. When the players refuse to discuss strategy with Trent he tries to leave again, defeated, which is a far cry from the doggedly confident reporter who would wait for Jamie after practice. Woven among the humor, Trent is at his most vulnerable here, looking more and more like the victim in a hostile, traditionally masculine space.

Of course, given that this is Ted Lasso, the situation is far more complex than just, "Bullies exist and that's #bad." The locker room scene is initially set up to look that way, in large part because it takes place in a locker room/bathroom. AKA, two spaces where bullying tends to occur unimpeded - and we've already seen that in Ted Lasso back when Nate was the underdog, cowering before the rest of the Richmond team. Roy's control over the group is so complete that no one dares challenge his order to ignore Trent (except, of course, Ted himself. The guy who sparked Roy's growth from the get-go) even though the group is clearly very relieved when the ban is lifted. Roy screams at Trent, making him jump, and orders him into the semi-privacy of the showers. It speaks volumes to me that Ted feels the need to give a reassuring nod and that Trent clearly needed it because, again, outside of the fact that they're both obviously adults now and that on a surface level this moment is meant to make us laugh, this is all very reminiscent of the bully pulling the nerdy kid somewhere where he can hurt him without consequence, all while everyone sits there and watches, not really wanting it to happen, but not willing to stop it either. Everything from the setting, to Trent's defensive body language, to Roy pushing the wallet against his chest in a move reminiscent of the classic shove to start off a beating, all of it heavily implies that kind of bully/victim dynamic.

But, as said, it's not that simple. Because Roy isn't the bully here and Trent, crucially, isn't just the victim. The scene goes on to reveal that Trent is the one who has caused Roy harm, by printing a unnecessarily cruel article when he was just seventeen years old. (A revelation that pairs very nicely with his introduction this season - "Love that" - reminding us that just because Trent approves of others standing up to bullies doesn't mean he's never been one.) That was a decision that "wrecked" a young Roy, to the extent that he kept that quote in his wallet for years, only now reaching a point where he can admit how much that hurt him. Trent's explanation is understandable given his heavily implied backstory. Not that he was trying to build his career, but that he would do so by "seeing the worst in people" and hurting them first before they could hurt him. Roy was right all the way back in Season One, Trent is a colossal prick... but that's likely because others were colossal pricks to him first. Here then, we see that cycle of abuse once more, the same one Nate is currently trapped in. The difference, however, is that when Ted says, 'Your ego is hurting us, Roy' Roy listens and when Roy says, 'You really hurt me, Trent' Trent listens, and the three of them together put a stop to the cycle then and there. Trent apologizes. Roy forgives him. Roy lifts the ban and by the end of the episode they've reached a place where they can speak honestly with one another. Not just about Roy's feelings - which is a HUGE thing for him to make Trent privy to - but about the complexities of Trent's career too. We've already seen that balancing the truth with compassion is fine line for him to walk - as evidenced by him texting Ted, but still publishing his article about the panic attacks; leaving his job, but still sniffing out the Richmond story - but here we get the reversal of that. Trent has already said, 'I'm working on emphasizing the ethics of my profession' and now Roy comes in with 'I'm working to admit that a cruel article isn't necessarily an inaccurate one.' He did play like shit at Chelsea and though Trent didn't need to break the spirit of a seventeen year old, the players do need to come to terms with the fact that they're in a high profile career where everyone is judging their performance (something Ted himself is all too aware of). This is the kind of nuanced understanding that's only possible post-apology/forgiveness, wherein the story has reminded us, 'Victims are capable of becoming bullies themselves and they need to own up to their actions just as much as they deserve an apology themselves.'

All of which is REALLY important for the framing of Nate's arc because he is in Trent's position, poised somewhere between victim and bully. It's obvious the ways in which Nate was a victim of the Richmond team, of his father, and even of the public, but it's significant that he's still a victim even as he now consciously hurts others too. Rebecca had a long speech this episode about how charming Rupert is, how he'll pursue you and in the process make you feel like you're the most important person in the world, someone chosen... and though she was talking about Zava, all I could think about was Nate. He's still being charmed and wooed by Rupert, what with the compliments and the new car, but all of it comes with reminders that he's worthless without that approval (surely a cleaning lady must have parked there...). Rupert is the top dog at the moment, his oh so benevolent popularity extending to Nate, encouraging him to model that behavior in order to keep his interest... but inevitably Rupert will toss him aside, just like he did with Rebecca. He'll become bored and Nate will have to grapple with the fact that, in his effort to avoid being a victim, he became the bully instead, just like Trent had. Rebecca is waiting to help Nate understand the ways in which Rupert can demolish your sense of self-worth. Trent is waiting to help Nate understand how to own up to your mistakes. And of course, there's Ted Lasso in the wings, the American outsider who can offer a much needed, compassionate perspective on the whole of it - as well as some personal insight into panic attacks during interviews. The entirety of the Richmond community, thematically, is being built into a reflection of Nate's struggle; a collection of experiences and wisdom and kind-hearted insight that can help him if (when!) he chooses to accept it.

#Ted Lasso #Ted Lasso spoilers #Trent Crimm #Nate Shelley #mymetas

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