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houserautha · 1 month

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These Destined Ends

Part 1

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none for this chapter. Masterlist of warnings overarching the series

A/N: Hello! If you’re here then there’s probably something wrong with you too, so let’s be friends. I haven’t been able to write anything lately until I saw the latest Dune movie and then all of my thoughts became dedicated to Feyd-Rautha. I must get these thoughts out. Help. Me.

“Chin up.”

Your mother brushes your hair back, bronze, like hers, and lifts your chin. Her gaze is critical. You stare back, thinking only of the things that she will find fault in you. An endless amount, you muse. The slightest flicker of expression on Lady Jessica’s face informs you that she suspects what you’re thinking. Your teeth grit.

“Must you do that?” You hiss through your painted lips. The servants have dressed you specially for the occasion. A floor-length black dress and, settled on your shoulders, a red cape clasped together with the House of Atreides insignia.

Jessica withdraws her hand. Your mother radiates femininity and power, a feat you’ve yet reached. Even the cool way in which she regards you drips with regality.

“Do what?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“Don’t make me say it.”

Jessica’s blue eyes harden. “You don’t have to, daughter. It’s plain enough.”

Mother and daughter stare at one another.

She tried to teach you the ways of the Bene Gesserits, but you failed to take to it. You were too expressive, too…volatile. You struggled to detect the slightest change in voice, you could never sit still long enough to study, and your facial features always betrayed you. The only aspect you succeeded in was combat — there was no need to mask your feelings, your thoughts, able to just completely lend yourself to the blade.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You’re fortunate the Reverend Mother has chosen to see through with this arrangement,” Jessica all but snarls. “There’s hope for you still, in form of an heir.”

The Kwisatz Haderach.

The only reason your mother still spoke to you, affords you any attention at all. The fact that you’ve been painstakingly bred to produce him: a Bene Gesserit of male origin, capable of accessing the memories of his ancestors and see through time and space itself.

A terrible mantle for an unborn child.

In the black of night, you sometimes lay your hand on your abdomen and utter apologies to the egg nestled in your ovary; burdened with horrible purpose. If only you could avoid its fate. But you were not even in control of your own.

“I want to stay here,” you plea finally, pitifully.

Jessica steps away from you, brushes off her skirt. “You know that you cannot.”

“I can help Father,” you insist. “You know that he worries about gaining the approval of the Fremen. I can —”

“Enough!” The Voice. It snaps your mouth shut and renders you mute. “This is bigger than both of us.” Jessica snatches your upper arm, pulls you close enough to feel the heat of her anger. “Your father wanted a son. A heir. But it was my duty to produce a daughter. I ignored the pleas of your father because I understand what it is to serve. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

You swallow your disgust, though it lingers like a foul taste on your tongue.

This isn’t the first time that your mother has told you this. Nor did you think it would be the last.

Perhaps making a home among your enemies would be better than staying here among family.

“Fine,” you say. You wrench your arm from her grasp then turn away. It’s futile, you know the heighliner will be here soon to whisk you away, but you can’t stand to be in the presence of your mother any longer. Fortunately she lets you go.

You’re not even aware of where your feet are taking you until the familiar sound of the baliset meets your ears. Gurney rests lazily on the ground in the massive corridor, back against the wall and string instrument in his scarred hands. He doesn’t look at you as you approach nor when you collapse down beside him.

Usually Gurney’s situationally appropriate songs bring you a modicum of comfort, but today it seems more ominous than insightful.

“I won’t miss your singing,” you say.

He stops playing. “You jest.”

Playfully, you crack open one eye and peer at his baffled expression. You try not to laugh. “I don’t.” A sigh escapes your mouth then, and you slump further down, uncaring if you rumple your gown. “I will, however, miss the singer.”

“Don’t bother appealing to an old man like me. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Hm,” is all you say, lost in thought.

Gurney sets the baliset to the side. His hand finds your knee and he squeezes. “You will be fine, Lady Y/N. I’ve taught you well.”

“Not even what you’ve taught me will suffice for what I’m up against.”

“Nonsense.”

Both eyes open now, you stare pleadingly at the swordsmaster. “Just come with me. Please.”

It’s Gurney’s turn to sigh. With a groan he heaves himself to his feet and offers you a hand. “You know that I can’t,” he murmurs.

His loyalty to your father doesn’t extend to you.

He is Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, after all. And you are just his daughter. A pawn. A womb and nothing more.

You reach out to ghost your fingers over the scar on Gurney’s cheek. “Tell me about them.”

The Harkonnens.

“There’s nothing you don’t already know or haven’t learned from the filmbooks,” Gurney says to you in a terribly soft voice. It’s unfitting of the great soldier. “They are a cruel people. Do not trust them.”

You nod, irrationally devastated that your final plea to Gurney did not work. But his words were not anything new.

Nothing you learned about the Harkonnens has been pleasant — from their oppressive rule and misogynistic society down to their industrialized homeworld. Your chest aches.

First you were forced to leave the lush beauty of Caladan for Arrakis. You had even grown admittedly fond of the desert planet, just to yet again be snatched from another home.

“Thank you, Gurney. For everything.”

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then holds out his arm for you to take.

Gurney has been like a second father to you over the years. While Leto was out securing political alliances and holding meetings, it was Gurney who kept you company. He aided in your combat training and believed in you when no one else did. To lose him would be to lose a great friend, indeed.

By the time you return to the antechamber where you’d been, Leto has arrived. He looks as cunning and handsome as ever, and the smile he flashes you is enough to cut you to the bone.

If what Jessica said was true about your father wanting a son and being sorrowful he did not get one, you would never know. He has only ever made you feel loved.

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you. He smells wonderful. The same way he did all of those years ago when he would tell you stories of your grandfather and tuck you into bed, his beard tickling your cheek.

You breathe him in for one of the last times. “Hello, father.”

“You look marvelous,” he says. His smile falters slightly. “Are you ready? I wanted to ensure that you’ve said your goodbyes before we leave.”

Bitterly, you think, Before I leave. Everyone else will return to Arrakis and you will be moored on Giedi Prime, married to a bloodthirsty monster and forced to grow round with his child.

The thought makes your knees tremble.

The Harkonnens controlled the fiefdom of Arrakis before your family and were unbelievably outraged that it, and the flow of spice, had been stolen from them. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your reception on their planet will be like. It’s any luck if you don’t get slaughtered upon arrival.

Especially since the Baron’s nephew, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha — your betrothed — was known for his brutal nature. You hoped stupidly that the arrangement of marriage and promise of an heir would be enough to keep you alive.

At least for awhile.

Feyd-Rautha killed his own mother. Who knew what the status of wife meant to him?

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer Leto. He squeezes your hand.

You hug Gurney goodbye then board onto the heighliner after your parents. It’s difficult to suppress the tears threatening to fall as the ship takes off in a flurry of sand and departs.

Normally you’d be completely enraptured with the endless golden dunes, but today you stay rooted to your seat and refrain from crying.

The flight to Giedi Prime happens much too quickly for your liking. Already your heart is in your throat, hammering out your nerves in a steady rhythm.

The view from your seat reveals the strange nature of your new home — a black sun. Never again will you see the stretch of blue sky from Caladan or feel the formidable heat of Arrakis. The entire world outside the ship stood in sharp black and white contrast, all color drained from the surroundings and its people.

You spy hoards of Harkonnens gathering beyond the ship, awaiting the arrival of the na-Baron’s wife and their future Baroness.

Your stomach churns. How could you ever lead such ugly, wicked people?

Jessica’s voice engulfs you. “Chin up,” she says again to your dismay. “You mustn’t show any weakness. Not here.”

You raise your chin the slightest amount. Jessica nods stiffly in approval, and it’s in that moment you understand that your mother’s harshness has been preparing you for this. While you hardly feel the urge to forgive her, an odd sense of calm washes over you.

You are an Atreides. And you always will be.

No one can take that from you.

The boarding ramp disengages and you’re the first one to step onto it. A hush of silence befalls the crowds.

You stride forward with as much confidence as you can muster, focusing not on the leering eyes of the Harkonnens but instead on the Baron’s fortress. A large pathway separates you from it, granting you plenty of time to get your fill. It’s as grand as it is excessively boastful; tall, pointed towers cleverly connected, all sharp lines and edges. It leaves the impression of a finely crafted dagger.

A display of power and wealth.

Behind you your parents emerge and the carefully observant crowd launches into disarray — shouts and yells of anger, of hatred, grate your ears. You know that they take it in stride, however, and their strength fortifies your own.

By the time you’ve crossed the distance from the heighliner to the inner walls of the fortress, your eyes are blurried by the strong contrast outside now given away to darkness. It takes a few moments for you to adjust. When you do, you quickly look over your surroundings.

There’s few decorations or art. It’s cold and impersonal and extremely clinical.

Your slippered feet reverberate off the high ceilings.

Bracing yourself, seemingly, has been for no reason. For it’s not the Baron and his nephew that meet you but rather a line of Harkonnen soldiers. Their faces are stoic.

You bristle. “Where is the Baron? And my betrothed? Do they not wish to receive us?”

The soldiers do not answer.

A man appears then from down the hall, a Mentat by the look of him. He’s pale and bald and clad in black like the other Harkonnens.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N,” the Mentat says. “My name is Piter de Vries. I am here to escort you. The Baron and na-Baron will receive you now in the throne room.”

Leto lays a hand on your arm as if to stifle your response. “Please, Piter, lead the way.”

You can’t help but glance curiously at your father. This entire situation was delicate, you knew, but you wonder at his subservience. It’s an insult not to be immediately greeted by their hosts, especially when your guests happen to be the Duke of Arrakis, his concubine, and their daughter. If Leto agrees with this affront, though, he doesn’t show it.

Leto simply strides after Piter with you and your mother in pursuit.

The fortress boasts sleek walls and floors, polished to perfection. Piter guides you to the throne room a short distance away, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s larger than any room you’ve seen before, outfitted on the far side with steps leading up to a grand dais.

And upon the dais, demanding your attention, is Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The man is as large as the throne room itself but not nearly as impressive, pale and beastly, his enormous weight supported by suspenders. He makes no movement as you enter.

Your gaze moves quickly, eagerly, away from him.

Standing on either side of the dais are his two nephews. Aware that you can’t stand to face your betrothed yet, you fix your attention on his brother. Rabban, you recall his name.

Rabban is bound with hard muscle and swathed in what you can only describe as thinly veiled anger. At his side, his fists clench and unclench restlessly.

Then, without permission, you look to your future husband.

Feyd-Rautha stands as tall as Rabban but roped instead with lean, attractive muscle. His brow sits above dark eyes and a generous mouth. There’s a frightening intensity to the way he stands, encapsulating both nonchalance and a dangerous arrogance. Clearly this man is used to getting his way and will stop at nothing to do so.

And it’s this man that makes no effort to disguise the way he studies you, starting at the top of your head and trickling languidly downward.

A chill dances down your spine.

When he catches this, catches you watching him — he must’ve known that you were — his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.

Part 2

#dune part two #dune #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd smut

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luvjunie · 11 months

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spoilers below ❗️

ugh miles was SO mistreated it actually makes me sad 😭 even though he really really loved art and it was something he shared and bonded with uncle Aaron over, he still changed his whole career path to physics, just to try and figure out how to go see his friends, only to find out that they could’ve visited him so easily this entire time, but chose not to.

just thinking about how alone he felt in the first movie, and the second one especially. how he literally has no one to hear him out, nobody he feels comfortable putting into his corner other than those who are in an entirely different dimension. then he finds out that there’s a whole spider-society of people who are JUST like him, hundreds who share his struggles and know his pain… a place where every spider person has access to but him.

imagine feeling so alone, not being able to confide in anyone about what’s going on, nobody to rant to about the weight of carrying an entire city on your shoulders. you can’t even text them either, and all you have are your memories to go by.

then boom, you get to the place where you should feel nothing BUT accepted, and still, you don’t belong there either. you’re told you’re not even supposed to be what’s become your entire life, that you ruined everything and you don’t really belong anywhere, that your leap of faith meant nothing because it wasn’t even yours to take. because you’re an anomaly, a “mistake”. and everyone just watches, because they knew this would happen.

IM GONNA SCREAM I HATE IT. HERE.

#across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #this shit actually broke my heart #our babyboy deserves better #miles morales

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neonovember · 11 months

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dating carmen

a carmen berzatto headcanon for all of us feening for season 2

i must admit I was bored at the start of bear and than the next few minutes I was immediately hooked! carmen is such a unique character with so many layers I’d love to uncover as the seasons progress, but for now these are all coming from the depths of my mind :)

I’ve consumed about all the bear content tumblr has to offer so it’s only right I add to the shallow pool, even though this was pure self indulgence

carmy x reader inserts below!

we all know that Carmen has little to no experience with relationship, so the beginning of yours does not come without challenges. It’s hard for him, he barely registers his own emotions much anyone else’s, but in a way he has this subconscious itch in his mind to constantly know if your okay, to ask about your day, it becomes second nature with you.

Carmen refuses to call you by your actual name, often replacing it with honey, baby girl, sweetheart and with the way that accent glides over those words like honey you can’t bring yourself to protest

Carmen has never really thought of having kids, building a family or being tied to someone forever but sometimes, when he sees you fluttering around the apartment you both share, or giggling with richie's daughter he can’t help but imagine building something like that with you, some time. he doesn't doubt that if he did every have children, you would be the mother of his kids. he has visions of it, dreams where you have a gorgeous girl he would hold close or a mini mickey running around, he has to forget it though, he’s just not ready.

Carmen barely ever eats, despite being a chef, most of the things he consumes is easily accessible and in turn flavourless and unsatisfying. but after you come into his life, you practically force him to eat every time you see him, until carmen begins to eat whenever you're near. You can’t lie, it heals something in you

let’s also talk about the totally canon time where you were up late writing one night and carmen had just come back from the beef, tiptoeing through the corridor to not wake you up until he sees you sprawled out on the couch. there’s this tension that leaves his soldiers and he wastes no time taking his shoes off and sliding under the blankets, burying his tired body into yours, grease stained shirt and all but you don’t mind. you’d scratch and brush back his hair and he’d groan in bliss, closing his eyes before you would ask him that fateful question. carmen feels guilty every time he replies with the same 2 letter word, but every time you tell him that it’s part of being his. he couldn’t lie when he felt his jeans tighten at that sentence.

continuing onto that vision, despite your amateur cooking skills, you whip up something quick for Carmen that is actual sustenance and Carmen has to force his eyes open to watch you as you cook, completely and forever enraptured by you. and this man is crazy with his eye contact so imagine it with someone he loves. it’s inSANE

feeding carmen when he’s back from the beef and is too tired to lift a hand. he’s just murmuring ‘I love yous’ repeatedly between bites and you can’t help but giggle. he’s so delirious from lack of sleep all he can form are words that have been written into his tongue like muscle memory

as we see carmen, dealing with his anxiety and unresolved trauma is often terrorised by night terror and ptsd, and that kind of causes him to have this fear of you finding out somehow, whether that be by staying over or him falling asleep next to you, it all comes to a head one night when exactly that happens, and when carmen realise you haven’t stared at him in judgement or left with the door wide open it’s like everything changes. he’s finally found someone that accepts him fully, with all his jagged ends and sharp corners and he is gone at that moment. he is totally and completely head over heels in love with you.

after that revelation you are spending most nights over at his apartment, and whilst the nightmares are still there, as they might always be, there is a relief when he wakes up and feels the beat of your body rubbing circles gently across his back

the progression of your relationship with carmen happens a bit like falling asleep, slow at first and then all at once. it doesn’t take long for Carmen to confess his love to you, in that awkward yet charming way of his, and it takes even shorter after that for you to move in with him

speaking of, carmen probably fell in love with you the second he saw you, that glow that shone in a place that wasn’t the beefs kitchen, he just couldn’t quite actualise or express his feelings

he’s probably hear Tina or Ebra teasing you about a guy they had seen you with, which was no one but your cousin, and carmen would feel this burn across his chest that sinks his stomach, and then we would just know. you would be noticing the change in his demeanour at the mention of a guy connected to you, he’ll the whole kitchen did, especially when Tina would give you a look when he chastised everyone to ‘get back to work because this place isn’t gonna run itself’

I heard someone post about washing carmen’s hair and just- yes. he’s too exhausted to even eat so washing carmen’s hair would be a frequent thing. you’d always have to do it at night though because carmen would sneak a hand around your waist and hoist you up and then proceed to fuck you against the tile walls. You couldn’t be late, he couldn’t be late. For the 100th time.

carmen is touch starved, and that makes him so incredibly needy, you don’t mind however, because you're as touch starved as him. there are times where he comes home and just reaches for you, mumbling incoherent words before just grabbing your hips and making you straddle him on the living room coach. he’s so sensitive and blissed out then, even the slightest thrust of your closed core against his tight jeans leaves him whimpering

oh yeah carmen whimpers, I mean are you kidding? Look at that man

carmen, despite not having many relationships under his belt, is ridiculously, I mean concerningly good at eating your pussy. this man will spend hours, edging you, nibbling on your inner thighs, licking and sucking before thirsting a finger and tongue into you with no warning. he knows every single inch of your body, he’s got it memorised, he dreams about it in the office, on his smoke breaks, in the kitchen, hell especially in the kitchen. getting hard all over again when he remembers the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and how you fell apart with his name on yours.

you think carmen is needy during sex? he’s a whole other thing after, this man will keep his cock buried in you long after your highs, until it gets soft and uncomfortable, and even then he needs you close to him, holding you tight against his chest or having you rest your cheek on his collarbone

bear hugs. lots and lots of bear guys. there's something about carmen’s arms that just make you feel so soft and warm wrapped up in them

carmen really likes how you smell, its almost primal (ehm anthtony bridgerton) he loves washing his body with you scented body wash, even if cousin would tease the fuck out of him for smelling like strawberries, carmen just shakes his head and smiles at the reminder that he is completely and utterly yours.

carmen isn't that rambunctious with his displays of affection, it's subtle, like making you coffee before he leaves or getting down to tie your shoes for you, but it's genuine. it's unique to him, it’s carmen. he'd probably design a dish based on you without realising how goddamn romantic that is. i imagine him calling you to the kitchen and getting you to try something, little scribbled notes written on paper and a little notebook with written and rewritten recipes and you'd ask what it is and he'd reply with "you" and then idk he’d maybe ask you to marry him

carmy would be an absolutely emotional mess on your wedding day, it's partly because he didn't think he'd have a life that included one, and partly because couldn't wrap his head around you actually saying yes. He’s crying when you both wake up on that morning, hes crying when you both sneak away to see each other before the altar, he's crying when he sees you walking down, you've got a box of tissues attached to your dress for him

carmen is a perfectionist, he has this insatiable need to make things beyond perfect, his work is his passion and that need seeps into most of life. however, a lot of the times things in your relationship don’t go right, and it’s mostly why he has never really given his all to one, he’s scared he’ll fuck it up and once that happens you cant start again, you can’t redo the recipe with a new batch. But carmen, slowly, very slowly, learns that things don't have to be perfect, they just have to be real.

You're carmen's unofficial official taste tester. One snowed in night, you and carm just stayed up all night, designing and tweaking recipes and new dishes for the bear, with carm mostly doing the designing and you being his very scrutinising critic

carmy loved whatever you called him, i think he kind of froze the first time you called his name, but he especially loves it when you call him by his full name. everyone else kinda has the same nickname for him but he loves that you call him by something only you do, because he will always call for you

And oh my god if you call him ‘husband’ after you get married? It does something unholy to him

carmen is constantly searching for you, he gets anxious when you aren't around or when your late, you are his best friend beyond his lover and the only person he can truly feel at ease with, the crew are his family as they are yours but there is so much that he bottles that he can only express to you during those nights under light of the moon and sweat covered sheets.

you take everything carmen gives, and there is so much that he does, but it was not always that easy, loving carmen was hard, it was frustrating and overwhelming and carmen is forever trying to give you the love he could not those first few months where he closed himself off to you

sometimes, your heart aches so much with the love you have for carmen, and carmen sometimes feels like he's wading through a current when he thinks of you, he just wants to give into the rush of love and adoration that overwhelms him. its personified in every vessel of his life, he's got polaroids of you stuck to his car mirror, in his wallet, he's got your necklace around his neck and drinks from your mug, you ruined him for anyone else, and he can't imagine his life without you, your scent, your hair products and bring pink toothbrush all over it.

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withlovemark · 1 year

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to be loved - steve harrington

warning: mentions of steve's wounds, little angst! but it's a happy ending i promise

pairing: steve x reader

words: 2.3k+

summary: steve finally allows himself to believe in love again

an: i posted this a couple of days ago? and just now realized it got deleted. not really sure what happened there. anyways, found this in my drafts a week ago? (i have no concept of time). i didn't want to leave it rotting there so i wrote a quick ending and here you go. hope its okay!

three light taps, a knock that echoed throughout the boy’s dimly lit room, a sound enough to startle him after the events that have taken place in the past few days. not a single other person was in this house, a normality that he has accepted. steve’s parents were never around and he had no other relatives that would even care if he was still alive. his friends were a bunch of high schoolers, except for robin and…you.

he knows he’s messed it up with you. he can see it with the way you avoid his glances, the way you would choose to sit in the furthest chair away from him, the way you would get quiet when he was around and the way you stopped yourself from reaching out for him. the familiarity of your touch is no longer accessible, becoming only a memory. he can’t blame you though, your last words to him still replaying in his mind, loud and clear.

“i don't think i can do this anymore steve, i can't keep coming to your house, sleeping in your clothes, doing things that friends aren’t supposed to be doing, just for you to still be thinking about her.”

he’s about to roll over onto his bed. to sleep the remnants of the past away. to keep ignoring everything like he always does and get ready for a new day, pretending he was healed. that he was okay. he was not.

nowadays, it’s easier to slap a smile on his face instead of talking about his feelings. the last time he let himself truly feel something, he got his heart ripped out of his chest and trampled upon like it meant nothing, like it was a rock you could use to skip stones, one that you could let go of and not care enough whether it comes back to shore or get lost in the deepest parts of the lake.

another knock makes its way to his ears. he thinks he’s imagining it until another one comes. grabbing the bat he hid between his nightstand, he slowly made his way to his bedroom door, feeling absolutely drained. the pain on his stomach, from the demobats that got a taste, still stinging, a pain that travels throughout his body with every miniscule movement. slowly, he carefully unlocks his door, ready to swing, until his brown eyes meet your wide, shocked ones. letting out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, he slowly lowers his bat.

“hi,” you whisper, “i uh, got in using the spare key,” a sheepish smile on your lips, holding up the silver key that was hidden in the dead plant placed on his front door. the key he told you about so you could sneak into his house at any given moment. the key that led to love marks all over his body, painting pink and purple constellations. the key you haven’t used since that night you decided to end whatever it was there to end.

“you agreed to no feelings, that we would just be friends with benefits and that's it, you know that's all it could be,” steve has his face resting on his palm, his once perfectly styled hair going in different directions. like this - bare chest, lips still red from yours, neck stained beautifully by the artwork you left behind, he looked like he belonged in an art gallery.

“i-i know, but i-i couldn’t help it…it’s just so easy to fall in love with you,” a confession that leaves the boy paralyzed, doe, teary eyes staring up at his brown ones — almost pleading.

“stop. you don’t know what you’re saying.” he’s angry. mad that those words could slip past your lips so easily. mad that even though you’re looking at him like he somehow brought the moon to you, he still can’t find it in himself to believe it.

“steve-,” you try to reach out for his hand but he pulls away before you could even feel him. all you want is to pull him into your arms, to remind him that he is worth loving but you see the battle in his eyes, the war that’s taking place in his mind and you know he has his kingdom closed, walls up, ready to strike and defend himself at any second. there is no room for you in his castle, you see that now.

“i-im sorry,” your voice was gentle, afraid he’ll completely lock the gate on you. the last thing you wanted was to fight, you’re defenseless when it comes to him.

“let’s just pretend that none of this happened and we can go back to being friends, nothing changes and for the sake of us and the others, no questions asked,” his words were met with silence that cuts through like a sword against your neck.

you felt detached from reality, feeling like you were watching this conversation happen instead of being a part of it. you had no control when you slowly got off his bed and quietly switched back into your clothes, his words transferring a sort of numbness to your whole being.

he watched as you removed his t-shirt from your body and tossed it into his laundry bag, slipping back into your own clothes, making him think that his old t-shirt looked way better on you. yet all he did was watch. watched as you gave him one last forced smile and walked out of his room. the sound of the front door opening and closing traveling throughout the house.

the days that followed after were stolen glances, opposite directions, uncomfortable silences, tiptoes, lingering feelings, longing stares, tension. neither one budged nor made the effort to even act like friends, going along with the others like they were fools when in reality, there can be no one more foolish than the pair.

“hi?” he greets you just as quietly, head tilted, confused, like a puppy who was hearing a new sound for the first time. he sees you glance at his bandaged stomach, eyes traveling up to his bruised neck and notices the way you want to reach out to him but just like all the other times before, you stop yourself.

“i-uh i brought you some food, and a first aid kit,” your voice still a mere whisper, he nods, guards down, stepping aside as you walk into the room you’ve been in countless times before.

you placed the bag on his vanity, taking out it’s contents one by one and like before, he sat upon his bed and watched — a bowl that seemed to contain his favorite chicken noodle soup coming into view, it’s aroma hitting his nostrils, a clear tupperware filled with your famous homemade chocolate cookies, one that smells like home, the ones the kids would fight over with, resulting to an extra batch made just for him since he never won.

he suddenly realizes how hungry he was, not really having the motivation nor the appetite to keep his stomach full. his body responds by lightly growling, a sound he hoped you didn’t hear.

“you should eat,” you break the silence, looking at him through his vanity mirror, “gonna need all your strength back to make sure you can always play hero,” you send him a small smile, he softly chuckles at your words, eyes falling to his sheets which suddenly became interesting, when was the last time he changed his sheets anyway.

“i also brought you new bandages so you can change that every couple of hours, make sure it doesn’t get infected, with all these monsters around, that’d be the lamest way to go, y’know?,” you joked, trying to lighten the air. he stares at your back, contemplating. regardless of the fact that you were always an arm length away, he missed you.

he wants to be selfish. he wants to be taken care of, to be loved.

and for the first time in a while, his mind is silent, focusing only on the fact that you are there.

making his way over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist, hands falling on top of each other, sitting tightly on your stomach, his head hiding on the crook of your neck, light puffs of air falling from his lips causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. he feels you stiffen, holding your breath, before relaxing back into his chest, hand gently hovering over his. you stay that way for a while, a minute or two, before you turn around, still in his embrace. slowly your hands make their way to his neck, fingers dancing lightly around his red, bright scar and ever so gently, landing around his cheek, eyes on yours, “are you okay?”

with those three words, the gates open and with it came a river of tears. he shakes his head no and this time, he lets you pull him into your arms as he found solace in your warmth, your perfume that smelled like the sweetest of flowers, making him feel like the sun was on his back as he laid his head on your chest. your fingers immediately run through his silky hair and he feels like a huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders.

“thank you for being here,” his voice hoarse from the quiet cries that slipped past his lips, he pulled away, admiring the way the moonlight from his window reflected itself into your eyes, brushing back the strand of hair that dangled in front of them.

“i-i thought i was gonna lose you,” words that broke the boy’s heart. he can’t even imagine what he would have done if the roles were reversed. “i-i was so scared,” you continue, trying to hold back the tears that were begging to fall.

“hey,” rough palms making it’s way to your cheeks, softly caressing you, golden eyes shining, “you will never lose me.”

“haven’t i already?,” you cry out. you hated the way you danced around him like he was a stranger. hated the fact that you couldn’t allow yourself to find comfort in him, afraid you would cross the line that the boy remarkably drew out and completely lose access to him.

“no,” he lightly shakes his head, “ no….hey, look at me,” his finger under your chin, gently pleading for your eyes to find his. “i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere, i’m sorry i’ve been running, i was just…scared,” he admits.

“scared of what?,” you urge him on, waiting for the answer to the problem you’ve been trying to solve. his hands find their way around yours as he looks down, composing his thoughts.

“i was scared you would finally realize there will always be someone better, that you’d leave and i’d be all alone again,” he spills his truths. and you can’t fathom how blind you’ve been to not see it. the reason behind nancy appearing in his thoughts.

“i’m not her, you know?” you say quietly. he nods, “i-i know,” he says guiltily.

“and i don’t want better, steve…i just want you,” you confess into the night, steve feels all the air rush into his lungs, almost like he was learning how to breathe for the first time. he searches your eyes for any signs of doubt but only saw his own reflection in them.

“do you want me?” you barely heard your own voice, afraid of the answer. he scoffs, “god, is that even a question?,” you look at him, confusion etched onto the creases of your eyebrows and steve almost wished the bats got him instead of realizing that he has left you doubting his feelings for you.

“of course i want you,” his brown eyes staring deeply into yours, “i can’t get you out of my head, all this time all i wanted was to be near you, to hold your hand, god, y/n i’m in love with you and i prayed, god i prayed to a guy i barely believed in that we would both make it out there alive because i-i can’t imagine my life without you and-,” he’s breathless, telling you everything he has wanted for weeks. word after word stumbling out of his lips as your smile grew with every syllable, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

you pulled the boy towards you and like magnets, you connected, quickly placing your lips against his before your eyes drowned in your favorite color, the smile forming on his lips evident “i said it before but i’m in love with you too.”

his eyes soften, finally allowing himself to believe those words, soft lips meets yours once again, battling, making up for all the lost time, hands automatically finding its way up his brown curls like they were meant to always be there, his, around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible, fearing that if he let you go, you’ll disappear as if it was a dream.

but as you make that little sound, the one that drives him crazy, butterflies erupting in his stomach, he knows that this is better than any dream he could ever imagine. you were here with him. you were in love with him.

your hands slowly starts making its way down to his body, but before the situation could escalate, he can’t help but break the kiss off, the pain from his wounds still evident, he lets out a sharp moan, “ow,” snapping you back to reality.

“oh my god, i'm so sorry,” you apologize, inspecting his bandages.

“don’t be,” he reassures you, a light kiss placed upon your lips, “you’re worth it,” he teased, causing your giggles to harmonize, his forehead leaning against yours, a content sigh slipping off his lips. two eyes crinkling, sharing light smiles.

“as much as i would love to stare into your eyes forever” you break the dream-like state, “i worked really hard on that chicken noodle soup and it would be a shame for it to go to waste,” you laugh and he holds on to the moment as long as possible.

“now, we wouldn’t want that, plus we have forever to lovingly gaze in each other’s eyes,” he winks, sending you into a fit of laughter. he kisses you one more time before grabbing your favorite t-shirt, his t-shirt, in his drawer and handing it to you.

an: i really don't post in this acc unless i have something to post lmao. also, currently in my bridgerton phase so don't mind the profile pic, or do mind it? feel free to let me know your favorite bridgerton :)

#steve harrington x you #stranger things x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #love.c.#steve harrington x reader angst

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

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Jealous Jake and the Biting Problem

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x fem!Reader

Summary: Jake Seresin is your friend with benefits, but he doesn’t appreciate finding the evidence of your other sleepover buddy on your body.

Warnings: talk of and almost oral (f receiving), cursing, um…that might be it. That said, it’s still 18+

Note: I wrote this in about a half hour so don’t judge. I’m sure there are mistakes.

Words: 989

Jealous Jake Masterlist

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You lay with your back flat against your mattress. He pushes your skirt up around your waist, kissing every bare piece of skin as he makes his way down between your legs. With a firm hand he spreads your thighs further and you shiver from his breath softly caressing your pussy.

But then he pauses.

“Wh–” he begins, and you hear the question in his tone before he asks it. “What is this?”

Supported by your elbows, you lean up and peer past your skirt to see his eyes glued to a specific spot on your inner thigh. He runs his finger over the sensitive skin.

“Oh,” you say, “A, uh…bite, I think.” You rub at your temple, trying to gather the foggy drunken memories from the night before. “Yea, definitely a bite.”

His eyes meet yours, anger swirling in mossy-green irises. “Some other guy bit you?”

“Once or twice.”

“Twice?” he snaps, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Some other guy bit you twice. Where’s the other one?”

You chuckle when he starts to scan over all visually accessible pieces of your body for similar bruises. “I don’t know, somewhere. I didn’t really keep track, Jake.”

His stare clashes with yours. “So there could be more?”

“I–I guess,” you say, unable to process the rapidity of his questions with your brain still in its aroused haze. “Can we stop talking about this, please? Are you going to eat me out or what?”

Jake stands and you get the full view of his belt buckle hanging open, likely undone when he’d settled between your thighs so he could stroke himself as he licked you–before he got distracted, that is.

He runs long fingers through his hair and chuckles dryly, looking like he’s trying to tamp down a panic attack. “No, I can’t focus now.”

“What!”

His eyes are wild as his hand gestures up and down the length of your body. “You’ve got marks on you that I didn’t make! That’s all I'm going to be able to think about.”

“Jake, are you serious?”

Those hands land on his hips; chest rising and falling at an unusual pace, especially for Jake, who’s rarely anything other than calm, cool, and collected, occasionally even in the midst of absolutely wrecking one another.

“Yes!”

Shrugging as best you can in your position, you say, “Ok, I’ll tell him to back off with the biting. No big deal.”

“Yea, tell him to keep his biters to himself,” he grumbles, “and then he needs to move a hundred miles away.”

At this point, you’re well aware that your dripping pussy is unlikely to be satisfied, so you sit up and let your skirt fall to bunch at the tops of your thighs. “You sound like such a child.”

He releases a scoff and, arm fully extended, points a finger at the door of your bedroom as if the other man is just outside, hanging out in your living room and making himself at home in Jake’s territory. “He’s the one with the biting habit of an annoying toddler!”

“You’ve bitten me too.”

“That is completely different!”

“Because it was you?”

“Exactly!”

You nod and wait for him to take a few breaths to allow for his voice to drop to its usual octave. When he looks calm enough, with a snort you ask, “Should I just get a tattoo below my belly button that says ‘No biting unless you’re Jake Seresin?’.”

“More like ‘No fucking unless you’re Jake Seresin’,” he mumbles under his breath, but you hear it so clearly he might as well have whispered it in your ear.

“Excuse me?”

By the look on his face, he knows he’s been caught. His brow is knitted, lips folded in though it’s way too late to keep his mouth shut. He groans, spits out a curse, shifts his weight to his other foot. “I’m not seeing other women,�� he says, calmly for the first time in the night. “I don’t want to, because I only want you, and I want you to only want me.”

If not for the faint pink shade making its way over his cheeks, you’d have thought yourself crazy for hearing those words. Jake Seresin and relationships did not go hand-in-hand as far as you knew. But then again, the two of you started sleeping together about three hours after Phoenix introduced you at the Hard Deck, and relationships never came up. She had joked that he was trouble, but he never actually told you himself that he wasn’t willing to sign his name in the Big Book of Monogamous Men. And you’d be kidding yourself to say you haven’t thought of it. You have a chemistry with him you’ve never known with another man, and when you go out together you always have fun. And you do like him. Plain and simple.

You smirk, but he still looks nervous. “Well, you could’ve just said so.”

“What?”

Rising to your knees, you inch towards him until you’re at the edge of the mattress, your chest flush against his. He’s still frozen as a statue when you wrap your arms around his neck. “Jake, I don’t feel anything for him.” You press a kiss to the line of his jaw, and then another before you pull back. “It’s not like how it is with you. So if you want me, I’m yours.”

His eyes go wide and his lips part from his slackening jaw, then he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing harshly in his throat. “Really? Just like that?”

“I know. Crazy, huh?”

He finally loosens his stiff limbs. His hands fall to their natural place on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin and tugging you impossibly closer. “Fucking insane,” he whispers as he leans in, “But I’m not about to argue with my girl,” and his lips meet yours.

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tags (if you’re crossed out, it didn’t work for some reason. If I spelled it wrong, let me know) @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @wkndwlff @rileyloves5 @gigisimsonmars @hangmanbrainrot @withakindheartx @izzzzy-the-amazing @topguncultleader

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gojos-fr-bae · 4 months

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Gojo Christmas HCs

Pairing: Gojo x gn!reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 557

A/N: Heyy~~ I such a joke honestly, posting my Christmas fic on new years, but in my defence, I haven't had access to my laptop since I wrote Liar pt.4, anyways, Enjooooy

(Requests open)

You wake up to being snuggled tightly within his arms while it snows outside.

Refuses to get up anytime before 10am so u probably just end up falling back asleep.

Wakes you up to go downstairs and make breakfast “together” bc let’s be honest this man can’t even boil a rock.

Taking a bath/shower together is a MUST

Deeefinately forces you two to wear matching pjs or like those sets where the guy wears the pants and no shirt and the girl wears like, the huge shirt without pants or sum

You would walk into the living room and just find it like, STUFFED with presents and he’ll just sit there with the smuggest grin on his face while u just stand there looking stupid.

If it’s your first Christmas together I can imagine he would be scared out of his mind about whether you would like the presents, whether you are proud or happy with him, whether they were even good enough for you. E.t.c (he would never let it show though)

If it isn’t your first Christmas together though he would probably still be nervous but probably more confident in his gifts. (he just wants to make you happyy*sobs*)

I can see him getting you sentimental stuff like an instrument you had as a kid or your favourite book but also just random expensive shit like a diamond bracelet. Or something batshit crazy like a lambo or sum.

I feel like you would get him something extremely sentimental and something he really wants, and you give the sentimental one second to catch him off guard.

Like imagine giving him the most expensive box of mochi you spent an entire month's worth of your salary and he gets all excited then you shyly slide him a scrap book full of pictures with you two throughout the whole year or since you got together.

And you do that sappy thing where you leave half of it empty for memory’s you’ll make in the future. Ewwwwwwwwwwwww

I feel like he would just look down at it too stunned to speak with big bug eyes and when he looks back up at you he starts tearing up

He would hug you and like, genuinely just breakdown into sobs, and he won’t stop for like another good two minutes.

Like, that is genuinely the best, sweetest most heartfelt gift he has ever received.

From then on I can fully see him always carrying a polaroid with him everywhere he goes just take pictures of you two together, (but mostly just you really) And when he gets home he pulls out the scrapbook and gets to work.

I can just imagine like, walking into your room and seeing him in his pjs on the bed doing that thing where you lie on your stomach and kick your legs back and forth and he’s like, sticking a picture or drawing hearts around a picture of you with his tongue sticking out. Akduhcrtfrw38r7fyu efgujd (oops, I forgot this is a Christmas HC)

I can’t imagine him really wanting to go out so you would probably stay at home baking cookies, snuggling watching movies and doing all that lovey dovey shit couples do.

The best Christmas he has ever had in his entire life, and one he definitely won’t be forgetting…ever

Belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Honestly, Thank GOD 2023 is finally over, worst year of my entire life, can't wait for it to end.

Also, thank you for all the support throughout this year, means the most to me.

Pls lemme know if I forgot to tag u, i'm kinda rusty

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songofsoma · 7 months

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sleepless

kinktober day 1: face-sitting

pairing: karlach x f!tav words: 1,374 rating: explicit

read it on ao3

Sleep eluded her tonight, that was for sure.

Daefina had stared up at the stars for countless hours, hoping their peaceful glow would lull her to sleep. That plan had yet to be wholly successful. Instead, it had left her alone with her thoughts. In particular, thoughts about a certain woman lying next to her.

Rolling over, she snuggled into Karlach’s side. She was so warm against the chill of the night air filtering through their flimsy tent. Daefina craved her in every aspect. She craved her closeness, to breathe in the faint smell of sulfur and amber that clung to her skin and feel the roughness of her scars as fingertips danced over battered skin.

Even now, she found herself doing it. The arm draped over her chest trailing the gnarled lines of her shoulder, marking where she had been burnt. The ruggedness of her exterior was a dichotomy of her heart—so loving and tender—that watching Karlach finally live her life as herself only made Daefina fall harder for her every day.

Daefina turned her face to kiss the unmarred shoulder. She hadn’t planned for her actions to wake Karlach, but slowly she stirred.

First, she mumbled something entirely incoherent. And after a large yawn, Karlach groaned, “Is it morning already?”

She shook her head, then realized Karlach still hadn’t opened her eyes. “No. I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Hm,” she hummed, eyes fluttering open. “Why are you awake then?”

Daefina propped herself up on an elbow to look down at her. “Can’t sleep.”

“Do I need to tire you out?” It only sounded half like a joke. But the way Karlach’s eyes suddenly focused very seriously on her face made her realize the wheels in her brain were already spinning.

“Depends what you have in mind, Sparky,” she teased.

Karlach grinned, teeth glinting in the dark of their tent. “Come ‘ere then,” she prompted, beckoning her closer with a crooked finger.

Daefina bent down, though it was Karlach who eagerly surged to catch her lips. Large hands cupped her face to draw her in closer. Her tongue swiped against Daefina’s bottom lip, begging to be granted access. Who was she to deny her?

She was practically lying on top of Karlach in order to kiss her properly. Not that she seemed to mind. In fact, it was further encouraged when Daefina felt an arm slip beneath her and was guided to straddle her.

Her hair that had long since fallen out of her braids hung around them like a curtain. It was as if they existed in their own little world within the canvas of the tent. Nothing could touch them except each other.

Karlach’s hands slid up her thighs and beneath the loose tunic she wore to bed. Daefina shivered, even though her touch was like sitting in front of a roaring heart, both in temperature and pleasure. Fingertips played with the hem of her underwear at her hips.

“Take these off,” she murmured against Daefina’s lips, still refusing to fully break their kiss until the last second. Mournfully, she had to pull away to execute Karlach’s command.

With a bit of help from Karlach and awkward maneuvering, her panties were tossed to the side.

“Changed my mind. This off too.” She tugged on the nightshirt.

Swiftly, Daefina stripped it off. Much easier than her bottoms in this position.

As she perched on Karlach’s hips, straddling her, she couldn’t help but smile under the weight of Karlach’s gaze. Fiery eyes drank in every detail of her as if she were witnessing the sight of Daefina’s body for the first time all over again. It was like this most times. Karlach adored her too much to let any memory go to waste, those were her words.

Finally, hands squeezed her hips and tugged her forward, much to Daefina’s surprise.

“You want me to—?”

Her question was cut off by Karlach’s vigorous nodding. All prior evidence that she had been fast asleep moments ago seemed like hours in the past. “Sit on my face? Fuck yeah, I do.”

With a soft laugh, Daefina allowed herself to be guided until her hips hovered over Karlach’s face. She heard her breathe in deeply, unable to stop the blush that flooded her cheeks as Karlach moaned just at the scent of her arousal.

“No wonder you weren’t able to sleep. Way too worked up.” Thumbs spread open her cunt as she admired just how wet Daefina already was. “Fuck, baby.”

She had no time to form a response before Karlach lifted her head, tongue running up the length of her sex. It elicited a gasp from her. There was not a chance to ground herself on her own, either. Before she knew it, Karlach was pulling her down to fully be flush against her face as her tongue eagerly continued its path.

Daefina couldn’t staunch her cry when her attention focused on her clit. Karlach circled and flicked it with the tip of her tongue until she squirmed. But the iron grip Karlach’s arms had wrapped around her thighs allowed her to go nowhere. She couldn’t slink away from this pleasure, not even when Karlach sucked the swollen bud greedily.

As she teetered forward, she found herself grasping Karlach’s intact horn for support. It was rough against her palm and the engraved runes pressed into her skin, most likely forming indentations. She didn’t care and instead grasped it for dear life.

In turn, it made Karlach moan as Daefina inadvertently began to guide her movements. Daefina was lost in a blur of pleasure as hips ground against Karlach’s face.

She took it in stride and adjusted Daefina’s hips so she speared herself on Karlach’s awaiting tongue.

“Gods, Karlach,” she mewled, blissfully allowing herself to be led to fuck herself with Karlach’s tongue. It was nice having a big, strong girlfriend. It was easy for her to take control when Daefina turned mindless, too wrapped up in her ecstasy to think clearly. And Karlach loved it.

She loved fucking Daefina so well that she couldn’t think. She loved it when she had to take over, assisting in every move of her hips to allow that satisfaction to continue. But, she also loved what Daefina did when her body just took over. Like now as she ground herself against Karlach, tongue still buried deep inside her. Every roll made Karlach’s nose bump against her clit, intensifying the feeling.

Daefina used her grip on her horn to press herself harder into her, moaning and gasping into the silent night as she clawed her way to the peak. And when her rhythm stuttered, Karlach anchored her in place and lapped at her clit like it was her last meal.

It was more than enough to send her crashing into a climax.

She trembled and panted as the orgasm electrified every fiber of her being. And as she hunched forward, struggling to recover, Karlach continued to milk out every last bit of pleasure there could be had.

Daefina struggled to even out her breath, slowly coming to her senses again. She had enough to realize she was probably suffocating Karlach and scrambled backward to sit on her chest. Her lover seemed to be in a daze judging by the smile so big it threatened to crack her cheeks and a look of pure adoration in her eyes.

“That was fucking awesome,” she said dreamily. The bottom half of her face glistened and she seemed to be in no rush to clean herself up.

“I don’t know who enjoyed that more. Me or you,” Daefina mused, grabbing her discarded shirt to wipe Karlach’s face.

“Oh, definitely me. Successfully fulfilled a fantasy I had no idea I had until now.” Her hands fell back onto Daefina’s thighs, not protesting as she was cleaned up.

She snorted as she slid back down Karlach’s body to straddle her hips once more. “Glad I could help. Though, I’m not sure I can sleep after this.”

Karlach batted her hand away and caught the back of her head, pulling her down into a crushing kiss. “There’s no way I’m letting either of us get any sleep now. That’s a promise.”

#kinktober 2023 #bg3 #my writing #karlach #oc: daefina #bg3 karlach #karlach x tav #karlach x f!tav #bg3 tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #karlach demonsbane #karlach bg3 #karlach baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction

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good-beanswrites · 3 months

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My thoughts on how the Milgram mv machine works based on the evidence we have:

(I know there’s been discussion about where exactly the interrogations take place, but wherever they are,) the prisoners are made to sit in a specific chair near the wall that houses the machine.

It’s ordinarily hidden, but the wall panels shift aside to reveal it when the mechanical sounds play in the dramas. As well as the walls moving, the chair transforms to restrain the prisoner and attach whatever it takes to access their brain. The fact that none of the more frightened prisoners try to run or break it makes it seem like they physically cannot. This is why Fuuta sounds so panicked, and why Amane is suddenly helpless in front of Es in their T1 vds.

(My mind conjures very classic sci-fi mad scientist machines with wires, pipes, lights, nodes, needles, etc, but I’d love to hear how other people visualize it.)

In some vds (maybe all? I’d need to check,) you can hear Es take some steps right before their iconic line -- it would make sense that for safety reasons, the power mechanism is placed across the room. Once again it could be anything, but the sound effect makes me think of one of those giant wall-mounted levers you have to pull down.

The voice dramas don’t really provide the type of crime details that an actual interrogation would reveal, and it’s odd that they’re placed before the extraction rather than after Es gets to see the new details. This leads me to believe the machine functions with priming. All Es needs to do is get them talking about their murder, so it’s on their mind.

The video produced is much like a (non-lucid) dream. Even if the prisoners figure out that this is how it works, they can’t control it just by thinking really hard about something else. The murders produce the strongest emotional affect, and that’s what it picks up on. If someone else used the machine, it would default to whatever gave them the strongest emotional reaction in the ~15 minutes beforehand, hence why Es’ video focuses on their daunting task ahead. (The Undercover theory is still a bit loose, though, given the private shots that Es wouldn't have known about). It’s why the videos are usually closely linked to the vd topics/beats. I also like to think that the reason their prisoner colors appear so much is because they’re looking at those colors on their uniform 24/7.

The bell rings to inform Es that it’s the optimal time to use the machine -- the prisoner has been thinking about things for long enough that the video will be about their crime, and if the conversation lasts much longer they’ll start thinking of other things. It’s at a different time for each prisoner because it’s based on the specific conversation. I guess Jackalope is listening in to the interrogation, timing it perfectly. (The only one that kind of messes with this theory is Yonah, because they just keep talking afterwards lol, but it could just show that the interrogation is still in Es’ control.)

Their “Sing your sins” is the final priming nudge to get them to think of their actions as a sin, revealing their guilt.

Once activated, the prisoner enters a sort of trance/sleeping state. It’s very much like REM sleep, with the machine forcibly activating neurons and recording the output. The prisoners have asked Es what they saw, meaning they don’t remember the mvs. I like to think the prisoners do experience the mv in real time, acting as the major version of themself that appears, but can’t remember it afterwards. It’s when you experience a dream, but as soon as you wake up you’re just left with fleeting emotions and memories right on the tip of your tongue.

The video plays immediately upon extraction -- whether on a huge projection or little screen depends on which room it’s in. It simultaneously saves the memory so that Es can rewatch it later (on those old TVs in the jailbreak mix). The machine downloads the song and video together, but requires special parts to retrieve them. The technology is pretty new and fragile, so if one is broken, there might be a delay between when Es can hear the extracted song and see it with the video. (That’s my justification for Kotoko’s delays -- after 9 prisoners the parts wear out, or maybe Mikoto himself overheats it with his complex situation.)

Based on the lack of conversation we get afterwards, I picture Es leaving before the prisoner wakes from the trance. The machine adjusts their brain back to normal before they awaken, restraints freed and able to return to the rest of the prison.

It’s very much like a dream, so it’s not harmful despite the amnesia/head injuries the prisoners have. It does, however, exhaust them. Brain activity alone takes a lot of energy, so forced brain activity with added emotional strain would cause them to feel pretty drained the rest of the day.

#milgram #👍👍#if theres anything contradictory please lmk -- this is how ive been taking the evidence we have so i definitely want to rethink things if #theres a mistake #but also i just wanna hear what people have been picturing 🤔#i mentioned it before but the jailbreak tvs really did shift my brain from sleek tech to clunky old scifi vibes #im also still partial to an idea mentioned a long time ago about the prisoners waking up to catch the last few moments of their mv #and how heartbreaking that can be for some #but i feel like it would make more sense if there was no direct interaction after the extraction since es is overwhelmed with different #reactions (from us) and the prisoners themselves are raw with emotion and fatigue #i like the thought of interrogations occuring in that big courtroom (seen in undercover and now deep cover)#but that room seems way too echo-y for the vds to take place in #and it seems overkill to build every cell with moving panel walls and access to the machine #so the jurys still out on that one #(also hehe im still so excited that my oc fits very nicely into all of this but i kept this post 100% canon compliant)#analysis/thoughts

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bongo-clash · 1 year

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Peacock Au Part 4

DP/DC week prompt: Eldritch Entities

'Joker has broken out of Arkham for the thousandth time, and is roaming the streets unhindered. Unfortunately for him, something finds him before the Bat does.'

(body horror tw || fic under cut!!) (Part 1 Here)

See, the situation is as follows: the Joker is out on the streets post-Arkham breakout, and he knows there’ll be an announcement issuing everyone to stay inside before it’s even been made. He’d be a lot more pleased about all that if the getaway car he’d arranged to be outside had actually shown up, but unfortunately the goon he’d left it to had bailed- whether it counted as chickening out or growing a spine was yet to be determined, though regardless he was fairly sure their brains would be outside their skull by the end of the night. As it is, he’s sticking around the shadier streets to avoid attention before he has access to more of his stuff. Right now all he has is an officer’s gun and the willingness to use it. Not much, but it’ll do.

It’ll do for dealing with this kid in the middle of the road, at least. Just because he isn’t fully-loaded right now doesn’t mean he can’t have any fun, does it?

“Well, say,” Joker whistles, sauntering up into the dim-light of the open road for the first time that night. The boy before him is relatively plain looking; pallid, with big blue eyes and black hair half-blending into the shadows behind him, wearing clothes not quite suited to the sudden chill of the Gotham streets, just a t-shirt and jeans. Perhaps a little peculiar, especially alone, but nothing special. Just another face he’d probably wipe the life out of if it didn’t end up more interesting to keep him alive. “What’s a little boy doing here alone with all the big, bad wolves out tonight? Looking for some trouble?”

The boy’s gaze lifts from the ground he’d been staring at so intently and- wow, those blues are weird to look at! Although… are they blue? They look more green now that they’re catching the light, the way he’s heard the eyes of the little bird he did in do when he’s angry.

Doesn’t matter, either way. The resemblance’ll just make scaring him more fun, something of a trip down memory lane. Even if the kid doesn’t look quite so frightened yet (shock, he’s sure. That’s happens). “I was just checking on something from a little while ago. Keeping tabs, y’know?”

“Oh, I know all about that. Gotham’s my playground- I know it like the back of my hand.”

“That’s great!” The kid exclaims, suddenly perking up, as if he’s only really started paying attention to the conversation now that something relevant’s come up. “In that case: can you tell me if anything’s been up in the last few weeks? No more shadows than usual? Nothing overly strange happening?”

It’s not often the Joker finds himself confused, but the lack offright or any other kind of negative reaction to his presence is starting to get on his nerves. Either this kid is out of it, or on something- but Joker knows how to spot a user, and he isn’t on something.

He turns the gun over in his hand, pretending to admire it but really just trying to remind the boy of the current threat he’s being posed. “Well, I was a bit locked up the last few weeks, but I’ve got ears everywhere and I can’t say I heard a thing. Say, do you like clowns, boy?”

Something in that question changes the boy’s demeanour. His shoulders go back just a tad, like he’s leaning on a wall the Joker can’t see, and his stare shifts. It wasn’t on him before, he only realises it was focused just over his shoulder until they’re actually making eye-contact, and the Joker hasn’t been afraid for a long time and refuses to break that streak, but it is a lot colder than it was before.

The boy’s grin is sharp. Joker can’t remember how many teeth people are supposed to have. “No,” He muses, casual in a way that implies confidence that implies danger. “No, I can’t say I’ve ever met a clown I got along with. Why, is that what you’re supposed to be?”

Okay, enough’s enough’s enough. He’s the Joker. He will not be made the joke, least of all by some nothing-no-one brat with a little too much confidence for someone walking alone on a break-out night. Incensed, he twists his grip until his finger’s on the pistol trigger, aiming it right between the teenager’s eyes.

“Funny boy, aren’t you? Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before, so you must be new. You don’t know the rules around here. You don’t know who’s at the top of the food chain. Allow me to fill you in.” He seethes. “When faced by the Joker, there is one thing you need to be aware of: no matter the circumstance, you are the prey.”

A thing happens between the pause at the end of his own sentence and the beginning of the child’s. “Hm.” The boy says, but it’s not confusion, and nor is it dread. His grin is lean and far too casual for someone with the business end of a bullet aiming right at their brain, but as the sound drags on sing-song it stretches, stretches, stretches-

Like shedding skin, the monster unfolds from the boy. Cold in a firestorm, the transformation is the inverse of a supernova, everything tumbling out as if desperate to spit its soul before caving back in to something witnessable. Almost the figure of a person, the opposite of a shadow, and the horrible cousin of a world-eater. Something flares out at the back, flowing like waves or feathers or a thing with eyes in all its centres.

Eyes, then mouths. The aftertone sends shockwaves. Its voice is ice-needles and fingernails and pierce-static and laughing at him.

“You think you’re bigger than you are.” It says, looming over him like the end of days or whatever he used to think death was before he’d forgotten to keep believing in it. He certainly remembers it now. “You think you’re bigger than you are, and you don’t know when to cow, and you are very, very mortal, and that is a horrible combination of things to be.”

“I know who you are. I know what you’ve done, and I know why you did it, and I know what will happen to you in consequence- and I have made choices not to interfere with someone else’s course, but I will tell you this now and once and never again. You are someone else’s problem, but if you try to become mine, I will unmake you.”

For the first time in perhaps his whole existence as the Joker, there is not a word he can say in response. He doesn’t agree, doesn’t refute, he doesn’t do much of anything as the form before him unwinds into rivulets, curling in on itself to reveal, once again, the boy. Blue eyes, black hair, pallid just like before and just like nothing’s wrong. But beneath it, that pretence of flesh and bones, he cannot unsee what he’s seen. He cannot stop seeing what he knows is hiding in there.

The child gives him a very boyish grin that feels like it’s going to snap into a blackhole if he looks away. “You’re obsessed with Batman, right? That’s your whole thing, being his foil or something.” He crows. “You want to keep doing that ’til you kill each other? Leave me out of it, and he’ll still remember you existed.”

The sudden green of his eyes spreads out like a flashbang, and when the Joker squints, he is slumped over in his Arkham cell. When he comes to, the guards will gleefully recount how Batman got the drop on him before he could even get to one of his warehouses, knocking him out without a single other casualty- his shortest reign between imprisonment to date.

It’s an embarrassment.

He’s going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

#dp/dc week 2022 #body horror tw #I talked with stealingyourbones about this kind of scene a while ago and it was Too Good not to write something for #I actually wrote this in October but this seemed like a good time to post it so!!#I want to do a part with Danny interacting with the JL at some point too so hopefully that'll happen!!!#dpxdc #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp au #Bongo's Aus!!!#Bongo's Writing!!!#peacock au

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athenaistired · 4 months

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𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 ❞

— 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 //

very nervous to post this ngl my heart is racing for some reason lmao. still not sure on the title of this fic cuz im not 100% certain if i will be writing a part 2, but if you guys will like this random idea that my brain produced on a tuesday evening then be sure to let me know. i can’t promise the timing of the chapters though bcz i have a very busy life, but i will try my best x

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴜᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴄʜ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ɪɴ ꜰᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ — ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ. ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴛ, ᴇʏᴇ-ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ʏ/ɴ, ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴀʟ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱᴀɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴ ᴀᴡᴇ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴀ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴍᴜᴛᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡɪʟʟ? ᴀʜ, ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ — ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ʟᴀᴡʏᴇʀꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛʀʏ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ.

art credit & word count: 5365

warning: homelessness, discrimination, growing up poor, violence, knife crime, description of physical wounds, hospitals, ptsd, muteness, psychological trauma, depression

— 𝑨𝑳𝑴𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑰 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 !1!

One of the first memories that you can recall back when you were only 4 years old — is your father crouching down in the middle of the street whilst picking up the coins that a rich bastard threw your way to have a good laugh with his friends. Your father was calling out for your name, screaming at you to help him and count all the mora, but you couldn’t move yourself out of the stupor. Your gaze was glued onto the laughing sickos that shamelessly pointed their fingers at your old man like he was a circus animal preforming for their entertainment.

That memory taught you two things. One, money was the access for power to do anything you could ever want. And two, money made people evil.

“Y/N, SNAP OUT OF IT ALREADY AND HELP ME!” You flinched at him as he grabbed your shoulders and shook you like a ragdoll. You quickly nodded, and crouched down by his side to collect the coins with your shaky fingers.

You felt something wet hitting your cheek, and with dread, you realized that it was not a raindrop. One of those assholes had spit right at your head. Right then and there — you wanted to aim a punch at his jaw to wipe off that smug, malicious smirk, but you knew you couldn’t do that. After all, you lived in Fontaine. These rich bastards definitely had the money, fame, and connections to put you behind bars for assault if you were to even try anything.

In the end, you were powerless. Because you didn’t have the money that they did. And because you were afraid to hurt people like they did. You were the two things — that made people weak.

If only you could change that, you would grasp at any chance that’d you get.

You stared down at the plate in front of you. It was a sad pile of canned beans, the same meal that you and your father had been eating for 2 weeks now. At least, you weren’t living with 4 roommates anymore how you had done in the past. You had no appetite, but you knew that you had to eat. You couldn’t get sick, and tomorrow you needed to have the energy to study and work around the house. Somehow, your father had actually managed to get the job working as the cleaner at the opera house, but it didn’t pay well.

Affording rent, food, supplies, and hygiene products sometimes felt impossible. Thankfully, you two fell in the lower range of income, meaning that there was no need to pay any taxes. And yet, your situation was not bad enough for the government to supply you with any financial aid. You two couldn’t even apply for bankruptcy, because then your father could potentially either lose the studio or his guardianship over you.

“Y/N, is there something on your mind?” Your father had asked, noticing that you were playing with your food.

“Daddy.. How do people become rich?” Your question made him pause, but he wasn’t surprised by its nature. After all, the only thing the two of you were thinking was money, money, money..

Money.

“That’s.. A difficult question, bunny.” He sighed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin before taking a sip of his water, “Some people are born into wealthy families, some people start get expensive supplies and sell them for massive goods, and some.. Are very educated, and they acquire successful jobs that pay well.” The look in his gaze grew heavy. He was only in his late 30s, but his wrinkles and eye-bags made him look older by at least 10 more years, “I’m sorry, bunny..

..Daddy is so sorry for not giving you a good life.”

Your father didn’t speak much of his past, but somehow you knew anyway. Your mother died during birth. When you were born your father was only half-way through his education, but had to abandon it in order to take care of you. He took two years off work, and both of you lived through his extra savings, until they had eventually ran dry. Your grandparents wanted nothing to do with your father. He was the last son out of 5, and they saw him as a leech trying to suck out their expenses.

And here you were.

Nothing to your name. Absolutely nothing. You didn’t even have friends, because children would always make fun of your clothes, and would always rub it in your face that you couldn’t afford to have toys like they did (from the fancy stores). Your dad many times crafted toys for you himself, but after one bully had broken a skillfully sculptured wooden doll of a horse that your father had spent hours perfecting — your toys became more than just mere “toys” — they were your little treasures. You didn’t want anyone to hurt them, as they were pieces of your father’s heart and love.

“Don’t say such silly things, daddy.” You got up from your chair and wrapped your hands around his neck; hugging him close. His form was shaking — he was holding back from crying as much as he could, “I am the happiest child in the whole of Fontaine.”

“Are you really?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Of course I am.”

You both knew that you were lying.

The older you got — the more you grew hungrier for knowledge. Your father on your 16th birthday gifted you new clothes, so you finally had something normal-looking to wear into the city. Most of your time you’ve spent in the library, studying everything that your eyes would land on. It seemed that you were a natural — you were meant for great things.

Subjects didn’t come easy to you, but you had the greatest motivation of them all — to be powerful. To have money. To built the life for yourself that was an opposite of the one which you had right now. You didn’t care if you had to be a doctor, a professor, or a lawyer. Anything would do, as long as you could actually eat warm food. Have nice clothes. Afford jewelry.

“Latin?” The librarian with curiosity picked up one of the books that laid by your side, “History, Biology, Anatomy, Herbology, Law, Politics, Sociology.. What subject are you actually trying to study?”

“Everything.” You answered with confidence evident in your voice, “I want to get a scholarship to the University of Fontaine.. My father can’t afford to pay for my tuition, so I have to be the best of the best.”

“You’re a star, Y/N. I bet one day I will be telling people that I used to see you everyday at this old, dusty library.” The woman petted your head in encouragement, and you blushed at her compliments and shyly looked away, “I am sure that no matter what you’ll pursue — you’ll excel at it. You’re clearly a born genius.”

“Y-you flatter m-me..” You played with the lock of your hair. It wasn’t everyday that you were showered in praise and encouragement, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, child.” The old lady then went back to the front desk where a few people were already waiting for her to either borrow or return a book.

“Daddy, I’m home.” You walked into your’s and your father’s new apartment.

From a studio, the two of you were now managing to afford a one-bedroom flat. Many times you begged your father to sleep on the bed, and that you would take the couch, but the stubborn man never budged. He wanted for his child to have all the best in life that he could manage to give. You always had bigger meals than him, better clothes, freshly washed sheets every week, a clean room, and a lot of hand-built furniture and toys. Of course you didn’t play with the toys anymore, but you were proud to display them on the highest shelf of the armoire.

“Welcome back, bunny.” You heard his voice from the kitchen. He was doing the dishes which have been rotting around in the sink for the past 3 days now. However, he didn’t blame you — he knew that you were getting ready for the exams, “How are your studies going?”

“They’re going well, daddy.” You reassured him, and quickly left to another room to change into a homey t-shirt, “Let me help you with the dishes.” You insisted, to which the old man scoffed.

“Nonsense.”

“Your hands are all roughed up and tired from the day! Please, dad.” You begged him, and the two of you exchanged a long stare, until he gave in and left to plop down on the couch.

“Have you decided who you want to be yet?” He asked you, and you ignored his question. This line always made your stomach turn and twist in anxiety, “I am not trying to put any pressure on you, bunny. It’s just.. It’ll be easier to prepare for an exam if you knew which direction you’d like to take.”

“I know, dad..” You answered back to him, finally turning off the tap and reaching for the tea towel, “I know.”

You were 19 now, growing older and wiser. You eventually learned to make clothes by yourself, so now you were able to not stand out from the crowd of aristocrats living in the heart of Fontaine, yet save money with the wardrobe treasures. Somehow, you managed to make friends. They were all home-schooled kids, and with a small twinkle about your background, you managed to find a way to fit in. Life was slowly building its stairs towards your ultimate success.

And then, the day of epiphany came.

“Dad! Dad! I got in, I got in!”

You jumped from happiest like an excited bunny — very fitting to the nickname that you’ve had your whole life. Your father proudly looked at the acceptance letter for the law course that you chose in the end. They accepted you on a scholarship, so you didn’t even have to pay for education.

“That’s my bunny! Look how smart you are!” He hugged you tight and you squeaked from happiness, “We must celebrate! I might even get us a bottle of wine! We’ll drink to thank the Archon for my smart Y/N!”

“Dad, stop! No way you’ll actually spend the savings on wine!” You laughed, still not believing your ears. Your father had never ever bought alcohol, and now he was willing to get a whole bottle for your sake? Felt like your birthday!

“Not all savings, but we have more than enough to enjoy a bottle of good wine!” You watched your dad walk up towards the bookshelf and move around a few of your books, to finally reach a small leather bag with some mora in it. Should be just enough for a nice dinner with a bottle of wine, “We are going to a restaurant — the best in town!”

“Really?!” You gasped in shock. You were both ecstatic, yet anxious. Wasn’t this all a bit too much? Shouldn’t this money be saved for something else?

“You’ve been working so hard — you deserve a day of celebration before you go off into the world to stand on your own feet. Let daddy treat you to a meal one last time, bunny.”

You felt touched to the bottom of your heart. It felt like you were about to burst into tears. All your life you’ve been waiting for this moment — to become someone. Someone whose name will be remembered and respected. You wanted to be someone who had money and power. You wanted to buy your father a house by the sea, so he could always enjoy the beautiful sights of Fontaine. You wanted freedom to do what’s desired — and you worked harder than anyone to reach such milestone in life.

“I will make you proud to be my father.. I promise.” You said through tears.

“Oh, bunny. I have always been so proud of you.” He breathed out a laugh, “Forever and always.”

Years passed by in a flash, and you just celebrated your 29th birthday in your office, with a box of cupcakes by your side made by your good friend Charlotte. You now had a bachelor’s degree, finished law school as one of the top students, and passed the bar exam with flying colors. On the side, you even managed to secure yourself a phD in Criminal Justice. You had a few years of practice at a pretty successful firm, and had connections all the way to the Chief of Justice. You never met him yourself, but you obviously had seen him before. He had your interest, that’s for sure, but you were far too busy with your own goals to pay attention to anything else. Your clients were loyal to you, and had blind trust in your capabilities. Your name was passed from one rich bastard to another, and soon you were amongst the top.

The little Y/N was probably looking up at you in complete awe and jealousy. You were exactly what they wanted to be back then. Professional, intelligent, and powerful. But as you stared at yourself in the mirror — your eyes were still empty, your heart was still unfulfilled, and your stomach was still rumbling from hunger.

You were just getting started.

Perhaps, one day you’ll be the right hand of the Chief of Justice. Or maybe you’ll take over his position as a whole. You were limitless. You were meant for greatness. You were meant for leadership.

“Y/N, a client is calling. He’s requesting a meeting today, and he is saying that it is urgent.” One of your assistants came up to you with a worried look on his face. You were already getting dressed to leave the office, but paused. You checked the watch, and shook your head.

“It is 7pm, and I finish working at 6pm. I already stayed overtime. Tell him to come back tomorrow, I think I have a free slot at 4pm if I am not mistaken.” You tried to pass by your assistant, but he followed after you like a clingy puppy.

“B-but.. Y/N!” He begged, because he hated when he had to deal with your stubborn clients. Especially, considering your reputation, majority of the people who contacted you were scary criminals, because they knew that you’d get their ass out of trouble no matter the crime.

“No buts, today I will be seeing my father. I haven’t seen him for 3 years, and my father will always take priority.” You decided to exit through the back door, so that you wouldn’t have to deal with the mess which was about to go down.

“B-but, Y/N, please!” You shut the door in his face and sighed. You really did feel bad for Achille from time to time, but he got very good overtime tips from you, so you knew that at the end of the day he will definitely have an extra bonus for a good bottle of whiskey.

“Now, where was I..”

Fontaine was a prestigious place, but that wasn’t an equivalence to safety. From time to time, you would hear pleasured gasps from the darkened alleys or pained moans of drug addicts shivering in the cold. But the sound which had especially caught your attention were footsteps that have been following you for some time now.

You took a turn.

The person took a turn with you.

You crossed the road.

They followed.

You could smell the malicious intent from the dark figure. You didn’t want to turn around, because then the person would know that you knew. You were panicking inside, but didn’t let it swallow you as you forced yourself to think. It was late, most places were closed by now. You couldn’t be alone right now. Some bars had to be open.

Right.

A bar.

You should go to the bar — now!

However, luck was not on your side, you couldn’t see a single bar in the area. You saw food shops, clothes shops, a local clinic, a library, a few cafés, however, not a single bar. The one that did catch your eye had been closed for 2 months now after someone got accidentally poisoned with the Primordial Seawater which accidentally made its way into their beer.

Strangely, this didn’t seem like a spontaneous ambush. The location had been carefully selected, and your escape options have been limited ahead. With a curse under your breath, you also remembered that today was one of the bank holidays. You were working today only because you never miss an extra pay day, but nobody else seemed to be as crazed for a paycheck as you.

Many people who got sent to jail by your work would always promise to hunt you down when they would be let out. However, you never thought about it happening because you haven’t been in the field for long enough for some of your foes to be freed. So, who was this? Who was stalking you?

You reached into your bag, and pulled out a small mirror in hopes of catching a glimpse in their reflection. Your palms were sweating, and you were shaking without realizing it. The next thing you knew — you cursed under your breath — as the thing fell out of your hands and shattered against the road.

The sudden noise, set everything into action. You sprinted off the spot into a run, and the stalker chased after you without hesitation. Now, your adrenaline was pumping your veins, and it felt like the intensity of it would make your heart stop from overdrive. You were never much of an athletic person, but you were running like never before. The sound of your shoes clacking against the embedded stones echoed across the ghostly streets. The stalker’s steps reminded you of the sound that the boots of a hunter made against the ground whilst chasing their prey. Silent, careful, and concenrated at their target.

You felt like a bunny being chased down by its predator — a wolf. You had all the power you wanted at your work, but when it came down to it — you were just as weak as you always have been.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, you had a stabbing pain in the side of your ribs, and you were now beginning to get an agonic heartburn — however — your legs didn’t stop moving. Your knees were starting to ache, your feet were getting sore at the back, your mouth and throat were turning dry as a desert with each passing second, but you knew that you had to keep running.

The moment you will stop — you will die.

You had no thoughts in the moment, just pure survival instincts have completely taken over control of your movements and body. You couldn’t focus on anything or come up with a clear plan — you were terrified for the first time in a while. Even when you and your father had lived on the streets, you were always allowed to wander off due to the safety. Where were the guards? Where were Fontainians? Why was it this empty around?

And then it felt like the time had paused.

The present had slowed down, and you could see everything happening in third perspective.

Your shoe platform broke against the slippery surface, and you lost your balance as you found yourself dropping down the stairs. You gasped; your ankle twisted in an unnatural way sending a jolting zap of pain throughout your whole body. But before you could even process what just happened — your body didn’t stop falling. You had nothing to grab onto, no one to help you, and so you kept falling.

You’re falling!

There was a dull thud at the back of your head as you had finally reached the bottom of the staors. You barely felt it, and you thought that you could get up just fine, but your body felt too heavy. It protested against any of your attempts, and betrayed you at the worst moment. Your vision was darkening against your will. Your mind was still sound and clear, but your body had began to shut down from the pain shock and potential concussion.

Now, the speed of your thoughts began to fade as well. There was a sharp sensation at the lower base of your spine, and your knee felt like it was locked in an unusual position.

You fought for your eyes to stay open, and felt everything come to a stop as Death itself stared back at your pathetic little form laying in the middle of the street. No, it wasn’t Death, it was the stalker leaning down and crouching next to your chest. The stranger rose his palm in front of your lips, and you held in your breath.

Something at the back of your mind told you to play dead, and so you did.

5 seconds..

10 seconds..

15 seconds..

20 seconds..

25 seconds..

You could barely hold your face muscles from twitching, and your lungs were beginning to ache. The bastard was playing with you. You could almost imagine his maniacal grin burning holes right through you, waiting for you to hiccup a breath.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

It was getting too much.

You had to take a breath.

You had to.

You were about to do it—

And so you did.

With a gasp, you instantly opened your eyes and rolled yourself to the side just on time as the stranger smashed his pocket knife to where a second ago was your head. Adrenaline was back all over again, as now you knew that this wasn’t just a desperate creep — this man was here for your life.

However, something seemed strange. You were certain that some of your limbs were twisted in a wrong direction and a few of your bones were broken. If he really wanted to kill you — he would have done it already. No, he wasn’t after your life. He wanted to see the terror, the agony, the horror, and consume it like a delicious meal. This was sick, and personal. Personal didn’t mean that he knew you, but it could indicate that he got off to this expression of violence for selfish and distorted reasons.

“You coward!” You gritted through your teeth; your eyes flaring with hatred. You didn’t want to die like this. You didn’t fight for your whole life just for this sicko to take it all away from you, “HOW. FUCKING. DARE YOUUUU!!!”

The freak laughed at your scream, and sat down on top of your broken and twisted body with a blade shining up in the air. His grip was tight — you were terrified. So, so afraid. You were shaking, it was cold, and you wanted to cry. You were a strong person, but such an unfair Death shook you to the core.

The knife plunged down fast and unexpectedly, but your instincts were faster — it never reached your chest. You managed to grab the blade with your bare palms, and held it on tight. The pain was agonizing, and you screamed like a howling animal. Your bright red blood was streaming down your wrist onto your shirt, your face, and neck. The freak couldn’t stop laughing, as he tried to put all force into lowering the weapon slower, and slower.

You were beginning to lose hope.

In that moment you remembered that your other knee was perfectly fine. As soon as you gathered enough strength, you sent a massive kick with your leg straight into his groin. Thankfully, he was caught by a surprise, and you managed to then send you final blow — with your forehead — you smashed straight into his nose, and finally he was the one screaming in pain. For some reason, you felt much more powerful than usual. It felt like you would move a mountain if that was needed, as long as you could stay alive tonight.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

You heard sounds, people’s voices and commotion. Your screams were not for nothing, someone finally managed to hear you. There was a group of Fontanians rushing towards your aid. At their sight, the freak grabbed his knife and quickly ran away. You reached your palm towards his disappearing silhouette, however, before anyone could catch at least one sight of him — he was already gone.

Without even realizing it, you let yourself fall into a deep sleep.

You woke up in the hospital all alone. There were no nurses around you, no doctors, no friends nor your father. The memories quickly came back to you, but you felt still. Your heart was racing all over again, but you had no energy to fight or run anymore. The logical part of your brain had already determined that you were saved, and hospital was probably the best place for you to be at the moment.

You thought about your father who never saw you in the end that evening, you thought about how long you were unconscious, and whether your clients have managed to find someone to replace their defense. You had a tendency to always think about others, but never about yourself.

“Y/N is awake!” You didn’t even notice Achille coming into the room. The poor boy had almost dropped the coffee which he was holding as he desperately called for the doctor.

“Ah, Y/N, finally awake!” Another male came in with a huge comforting smile on his face. He was an older and wiser doctor; you could tell by his composed walk and worn-off glasses. The grey hairs and wrinkles reminded you of your father, but you would think about that later, “How are you feeling?”

A simple question.

Why couldn’t you answer?

You opened your mouth just like always to speak with the voice which had never betrayed you before — but nothing came out. With confusion, you gently grabbed at your own throat as if hoping that the warmth of your palms would fix it. Achille stared at you in shock, and quickly reached for a glass of water to give to you, which you gobbled down in an instant, but your voice refused to come back. A dry, weak cough came out which burned and itched your vocal cords.

Completely stunned and puzzled, you stared at the doctor in desperation for answers. What was happening with you?

“That’s quite an unpleasant surprise..” The older male mumbled to himself, “Could you please excuse me?” And at that he left, leaving you in internal silence which felt like it could swallow you whole. Eventually, he came back 20 minutes later with another 2 doctors by his side. They looked younger, but all had a cloned serious look in their eyes, “Y/N, these are my colleagues. This is Dr. Laurent, he is our head psychiatrist, and this is Dr. Allard, who is our neurologist. We are not sure what is happening here, but before we continue further evaluations, I will give you a rundown of your physical injuries thus far.”

The man pulled a small chair to sit on and picked up a file with your name on it. This must have been the report from other doctors and nurses who have been taking care of you.

“You have a twisted ankle, a broken kneecap, a torn meniscus, you’ve suffered a blunt injury to the back of your head and a concussion, and to top it all you had very severe injuries inflicted onto your palms with a sharp object which we suspect to have been a pocket knife. You have been in the hospital for 2 days, however, we have already performed a few surgeries to lower the risk of infection or the worsening of your condition.” You nodded your head to urge him to continue, “We have stitched up your meniscus, and treated the wounds on your hands. We have also applied a cast on your kneecap to help it heal. You were actually lucky — the kneecap will heal quicker than expected with majority of patients, however, the rehabilitation for the torn meniscus should take up to 4 weeks.”

You could already feel a headache hovering over your thoughts. You didn’t have time for this bullshit. You had work, you had father to take care of, you had clients to help, and money to make. How could this have happened? Why did this happen to you? You were hoping for that attack to have been a cursed nightmare, but the reality was too depressing to accept.

“Now, since there was no damage to your throat or vocal cords upon initial examination, we would like for the neurologist to ensure that your muteness is not a physical symptom.” The first doctor welcomed Dr. Allard to begin his job.

In the end — they have concluded for your muteness to be a PTSD response to the event. They told you to stay in the hospital until full recovery. This wasn’t just for health reasons, but also a safety precaution. It was obvious that you were brutally attacked by a psycho, it would be beyond insane to just let you go back home completely broken down, vulnerable, and mute.

You fell at the rock bottom once again. It has been a while since depression had visited you like this. It felt like an old friend who would come and go, but only appear when life would throw its most tough battles at you. You’ve clenched your fists at the thought of how vulnerable you were right now.

“Y/N is not well! They can’t answer your questions right now — have some respect!” You heard the commotion right outside your door which peaked your interest. However, you quickly put the pieces together as to who were the uninvited guests trying to force their way through to you.

“It won’t even take a minute, we promise!” The doctors were pushed out their way, and the door into your private resting room was burst open. You winced at the loudness of their voices, “Sorry for the.. Unprofessional entrance.”

Before you stood Navia, Aether and Paimon. You have known those 3 for a while now — after Traveler had helped save Fontaine a few months ago from the punishment of Celestia, you made sure to show personal thanks and gratitude in the name of your Nation. However, you haven’t spoken to the blond boy and his fairy since. Navia on the other hand often exchanged her investigation reports and crime theories with you, but the dynamic was still too frail to be called friendship. Perhaps, you just didn’t let anyone get close enough to actually become your friend.

“Y/N.. I am so sorry for what had happened to you..” Navia started with his soap opera phrases. You didn’t want that right now. You hated being pitied, “We will do everything in our power to find the one who did this to you and to your father — it is my promise to you, Y/N.”

Your eyes widened and you stared at her in absolute horror. You felt your blood run ice-cold as sudden lightheadedness took over your consciousness. You thought that you would throw up right then and there.

Your father?

What happened to your father?

WHAT HAPPENED TO MY DAD?!

The doctors quickly rushed in as the machines hooked to your body suddenly went off with a loud alarm — which startled you further. Your body was shaking, your mouth was open in a scream with no sound coming out. You grabbed at your head feeling like chaos had completely taken over your life.

“LEAVE — NOW!”

The doctor screamed at Navia and Traveler who stood frozen in place from shock at how quickly they fucked up. Things seemed to have escalated out of nowhere.

“They are going into a shock — quickly — or they might suffer another seizure!” Doctors were talking to one another as they took care of you to bring you back to them.

You couldn’t cope with this terrible reality.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin #writing #genshin scenarios #genshin angst #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #genshin impact neuvilette #neuvilette x you #neuvilette x y/n #neuvilette angst #neuvilette imagine #heavy angst #hurt no comfort

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borderlinereminders · 1 month

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Something I’ve talked about is how I have a server on Discord that is just for me. A server where I can check things if I’m having anxiety or irrational thoughts. I think I’d like to share more about it because it doesn’t just need to be Discord. It could be an album in your phone or whatever else, but I find this really helpful. Everything is organized and easily accessible for when I need it.

My main advice is always to prepare for crisis, or even not crisis but being upset. Plan out what can help you instead of trying to figure it out when emotions are high.

I also have a self-care box but that’s a whole other long post. Here’s a blog post on how to make one though!

You can read below the read more for what the sections are about if you want!

The “Self Care (Loved Ones)” section shows channels like “best friend” “partner” and “other loved ones”. These channels contain screenshots those people have said to me that have made me feel loved. Not always things about them loving me directly but things like, in my best friend’s, reminding me to pack my good pillow so I don’t get neck pain.

There are also my two Tumblr channels. One for Tumblr Asks (yes, I save all your nice asks in my self-care channel, even if I don’t respond to them.). The other for “other tumblr” which usually shows stuff like tags people have left on my post that made me feel good, or I’ve even seen people have made nice posts about me.

There is also a memories channel where I write out my favourite memories after they happen so I can read back on them and remember when my lack of emotional permanence is making me think there’s no good in my life.

The next section is my “Other” self-care.

I have a channel for grounding. This is because when I’m really stressed, I forget how to ground. And having a channel that details it step by step for me, written by me and to me when I was calm, helps make it easier.

I also have a channel where I list my accomplishments. Things like blog follow milestones, numbers of orders for my business, getting my BA, etc. This helps for my lack of emotional permanence when I feel like I can’t do “anything” right.

And then my “read if panicking” is basically crisis instructions for me. It carries a quick grounding exercise and instructions that can help me if I need. (Things like grabbing a certain comfort item, a person to call if it’s needed, etc).

I also have other channels in my above categories you can’t see. Things like pictures of my dog and stuff like that. (Also other practical and helpful stuff that isn’t relevant for this post.)

This is what my self-care server looks like. What yours would look like is individual and up to you! But if you feel inspired to make one, I hope my explaining mine can help you start!

#undescribed #I’ll go and describe it later when I’m not half asleep #long post #advice #self care server

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aspiring-artist-em · 10 months

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Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?

So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again.

___

So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it's a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can't also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn't write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and

oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don't have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.

___

Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.

Now, I know what you're going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.”

But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn't start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don't, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough.

Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don't deadname him maybe? Don't like, idolize him? Don't get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don't like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it's a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.

SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.

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sgt-seabass · 1 year

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How would Nick react in clockwork au if puppy was blearily saying James’ name in her sleep?

𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

✧˚ · . Nick wants all of you. And he will do whatever it takes to claim your soul.

pairing — mob boss!prime alpha!nick fowler x omega!reader w/c — 1.9k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. AU masterlist. listening to — ♫sleepless warnings —general dark elements (dark AU), a/b/o dynamics, manipulation. a/n — thank you for the ask and interest in the AU! i hope you enjoy. jessica chastain is not a representative of the readers looks i just wanted a gif of nick kissing a forehead lol. not beta read, we die like men.

The first time Nick heard it, he thought it was ghosts whispering that damned name in his ear.

The second time Nick heard it, he realised it was a scarier reality than phantoms.

You were calling for James in your sleep again, an occurrence that happened regularly.

Even after all the work Nick had put into making you his, there was still that subconscious part of you that held onto the past. Even though you smiled at him in your waking hours, someone else had a space in your heart.

It wasn’t like it was unexpected. Nick knew he would be crazy to assume you would have no residual feelings for your lost life. But it still hurt. His omega, calling for someone else.

He wondered what you dreamt. Did you dream of James in a world where he survived? Or were they memories of the past? Did he treat you well? Were you happy?

There was a quirk in your lips, a slight sway of your hips. Were you dancing with him?

Nick considered calling Steve. Doctor Kemp always seemed to have a way of making omegas comply, plus he was one of his greatest allies. But Nick knew that the heavy-handed approach wouldn’t be appropriate here. While Steve’s suggestion of having other alphas use you worked to break you down beautifully, accessing a soul was a task that required a delicate touch.

Slipping from the bed, Nick left you in your peaceful slumber, dreaming of the man you would never have. In nothing more than black sweatpants and a navy sweater, he sat in his chilly office.

For a while, he just kept the lights off and pondered.

If his younger self could see him now, he wondered what he’d think. This was certainly not the life Nick had intended to lead.

But the world was cruel, and so he became crueller. To escape hardship, he became the creator of it. A devil walking the earth.

Around you, though, he wanted to be good to you. He would never forget when he heard you laugh for the first time. Nick had accidentally tickled your sides while brushing past you, and the sound that came from you was glorious.

Nick sighed, pouring himself a scotch from the decanter. He’d burn the world, but keep you safe always.

After he’d finished his glass, the familiar burn of liquor pooling in his belly, Nick turned to the only other person he trusted the opinion of.

Hal Carter. The alpha worked on Ari’s ranch. While Ari bred omegas using alpha studs, Hal trained them and kept them calm. He was gentle. Those girls were taken well cared of, which was to be expected when they needed to produce pups.

It was an art how Hal could smile and exude calming energy to those around him. His words were always smooth like silk, rolling off his tongue so naturally you can’t help but listen. It helped the omegas stay calm, and they all trusted him. He was still one of the bad guys; all the alphas in his circle were. But he was the best of the bad. Scott Huffman, the one who would take Ari’s bred pups in and raise them on his ranch, he was a close second.

Within thirty minutes of texting him, Hal turned up on the mansion’s doorstep. The sun was barely rising, only subtle hues of gold beginning to grow.

“Thanks for coming so early,” Nick ushered Hal inside, bringing him to the office while the rest of the home remained in a dream state.

“I normally get up by dawn to go hunting anyway, s’no trouble.” Nonchalant as ever, Hal sat himself down in one of the office armchairs in his green plaid shirt and blue jeans.

Nick poured himself another scotch, plopping two ice cubes into the crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

Hal raised a brow, scoffing. “Unless it’s orange juice, no. I ‘ain’t drinking.”

“I can do that,” Nick said, disappearing from the room and returning with a tall glass of juice, a slight shudder of nervousness in his hand when he gave it to Hal.

There was a rawness in the air, as if Nick wasn’t playing a game. He was putting his whole deck of cards on the table for Hal to see. It was hard to trust, but Nick didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

Nick sat in the armchair opposite Hal, swirling the liquid in his glass, and Hal quirked his head. “Look, as much as I love catching up with you, why did you ask me here so urgently? Is something wrong?”

Nick went through the long explanation of your past, how you came into his care, and how you were acting now. Hal listened attentively, face staying blank as the horrors were laid bare. After explaining, Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I want her to dream of me. Dream of her alpha.”

“So, what you’re telling me is you’ve killed her alpha, kidnapped her, had her gang fucked, chased her, and choked her until she passed out, yet you expect her to dream of you?”

There was a beat of silence before Hal spoke again. “Do you really act like her alpha? She’s not a toy, Nick. And she’s not just a pet. You have to be gentle.”

“I don’t know how to be gentle,” Nick sneered, crossing his arms defensively.

“Bullshit. Every alpha has a gentle instinct deep down. Be the alpha your sister and mother would have wanted you to become.”

Nick growled and stood, throwing the glass at the wall behind Hal’s head, the crystal shattering into a million shards across the dark hardwoods. It was ballsy bringing up his family. The other alpha flinched slightly, but he wasn’t afraid.

Nick puffed his chest, gritting his teeth so hard they were ready to shatter. “That’s a cruel thing to say. You’re pushing it, Hal.”

“It is cruel. But it’s what ‘ya needed to hear. The world is fucked, but her world doesn’t have to be. You’re the one bringing that upon her. You want her to dream of you? Give her memories good enough to dream about. You’ve broken her down, and done the harsh things you needed to. Now you need to build her back up. Without that affection, she will just continue to crumble time and time again. Don't you want to see her smile?”

“More than anything,” Nick grumbled, sitting back in his chair with a hardened expression. He wanted to feel your happiness through the bond. It was like a drug.

Hal drank the last of his juice, setting the glass down gently on the side table. “Then, there you go. Just work to make her smile for you more. Life is good with a happy omega, Nick.”

“She hates what I do, though. And I can’t - and won’t - change that.”

“Then make her existence with you good enough to outweigh that.” Hal proposed the idea like it was easy. Just treat you right, and it would all fall into place.

But was it really that easy?

The chase had changed you. You were more receptive to Nick and seemed more content overall. But he could still see the flickers of fear that lay dormant, ready to wake at any time. And James— Well. Your subconscious hadn’t let him go yet.

Perhaps Hal was right. Maybe you were broken enough that you’d adapt to this life with some positive reinforcement.

After Hal had left, Nick ordered the staff to make you breakfast before he wandered back up to the bedroom, the morning sun beginning to peek past the blinds. Nick took his jumper off, wanting to feel your skin on his.

You shifted a little in your sleep when the bed dipped from Nick’s weight, his arms looping around you and pulling your naked form close. “...Alpha…?” You asked blearily. It wasn’t often you got morning cuddles like this. Normally, Nick was already working by the time you rose.

“Morning, omega,” Nick kissed your forehead, spooning you so his warm, firm chest was flush with your back. “Nice dreams?”

You stiffened for a moment before nodding, curling into his hold comfortably. “Yeah.”

“Good. I need you full of energy today,” Nick said as he kissed your neck gingerly, a soft contrast to his tight hold on you.

Nick ran his hand up and down your side, fingers running over the bruises he’d left on your skin the day prior when he fucked you rough over his desk.

“Are we playing hunt the whelp?” Your voice wavered nervously. So meek, so small. Nick nearly growled at the thought of hunting you, but he held it back.

Nick cleared his throat, shifting a little, so his hard-on wasn’t too obvious against your ass. He was trying to focus, all his energy going into being nice. But Nick could tell you knew he was turned on, your own arousal signalling through the bond. “No, no. We’re going shopping.”

You perked up at that, turning to look at Nick. Your curious shining eyes had his heart skipping a beat. “Shopping? Like, going outside?”

“Yes. We’re going into town. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

The excitement that flooded the bond was overwhelming. Nick had never felt anything like it. You were happy. But there was some anxiety there too. “Won’t people recognise you? What if something goes wrong?” You asked with a growing frown.

Nick shhed you, gently running his finger over your frown and pushing your lips up at the edge so you were smiling. “You’re the safest omega in the world. Plus, Beck and Mace will be there too.”

Your expression turned into a genuine smile. And Nick smiled back.

“Sit up. I need to check your head.” Nick turned to the bedside, getting together his dabbing alcohol and bandages. You always seemed to end up with some injury after Nick had a bad day. It wasn’t overly intentional, but his anger often turned into dark arousal that left you sore and battered but pleasured too.

You’d banged your head on the desk yesterday when Nick shoved you down and caught your forehead on one of his fountain pens. It left a cut, but Beck dismissed it as minor, needing to be covered with a plaster.

Nick pulled away the bandage with you sitting cross-legged in front of him. He hummed, content at the sight of the healing cut. “Looks good, pup. My good girl, healing so well.”

Nick could feel the heat radiating from your skin as he gently cleaned the cut before placing a fresh bandage on the wound.

“Ah, just in time.” Nick put his things away as your breakfast was brought in. Pancakes with maple syrup and strawberries.

You seemed like a fish out of water, and Nick understood that. He was flipping his demeanour for you. This was new for him, but not entirely unwelcome, especially when he felt your ease through the bond.

Nick sat with you, cutting up the pancakes and feeding you small bites. Every so often, you would meet his gaze, a little twinkle in your eye that wasn’t there before.

It wouldn’t always be like this, and Nick knew he had a long way to go in putting your pieces back together.

But it was a task he knew he would never fail.

He would have all of you.

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

#ambswrites #ambs answers #cherished anons #clockwork au #nick fowler x you #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler #sebastian stan #sebastian stan character #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #Hal Carter #dark fic #nick fowler fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction

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suzukiblu · 2 months

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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @autumnal-dcthings; JayKon soulmates, TimKon datemates, and the wrong Superboy. TW for some very vague nsfw themes/thoughts and a touch of dubcon; cut for length.

“Who says you’re the one who deserves entertained here?” Jason snorts, baring his teeth. Fake Superboy’s smirk turns decidedly dirty, and he rolls his hips up against Jason’s jock. His dick feels at least as hard as the armor.

Like, not in the sense that the guy actually has a hard-on right now. Just in the “his dick is definitely indestructible” sense. Jason’s fucking stupid brain is having a little bit of trouble parsing the difference right now, though.

Also part of him’s kind of wondering how that works in the–for fuck’s sake, he’s going to book two extra therapy sessions this week. Maybe more! Who the fuck knows, at this point!

This whole thing is just such fucking bullshit.

“TTK is like, a passive perception thing, you know,” fake Superboy mentions casually, which seems like an interesting piece of information for a body-hijacker to have, Jason notes to himself, barely resisting the urge to narrow his eyes assessingly. “I can feel everything you’ve got whenever I want.”

“That doesn’t sound very ‘passive’,” Jason observes dubiously. Pretty much the opposite of it, in fact.

“I can feel it when you look at me, too,” fake Superboy hums, tilting his head, then grins wickedly. “Even through the mask.”

Jason, immediately, regrets every time he ever checked out Superboy when he had a mask or helmet on and the opportunity, including the pre-soulmate-realization times. And also, it’s seeming increasingly likely that this asshole might have access to Superboy’s memories, assuming that wasn’t just a lucky guess or a cold read. Definitely not reading his mind, though, or they’d know the jig was already up here.

But if the actual Superboy is actually aware of just how many times Jason’s checked him out, he should maybe just go face-first into another crowbar.

He should definitely do that, actually.

“High opinion of yourself there,” he says, and fake Superboy preens.

“Yeah, you’ve been giving me one,” he says with a sharp grin. Jason longs for those theoretical kryptonite brass knuckles. “Makes a boy feel downright pretty.”

Prick.

“Shut up,” Jason says, and picks the least annoying option of several very annoying options and kisses him again. Fake Superboy makes a surprised little sound, barely discernible, and then a performatively smug one, and kisses him back.

This sucks. And not because fake Superboy is such a lousy kisser.

. . . mostly not, anyway.

Sue him, Jason would rather the stupid presumably-evil doppelganger he's making out with right now knew how to kiss no matter who they looked like.

God, his life is fucking pathetic and weird and his priorities are absolutely fucked. He seriously needs to get a fuckbuddy with complementary psychological issues to his own. Meet a nice vengeful bastard and work out some stress or whatever.

His therapist would not agree, but his therapist isn’t getting hit on by a fake version of the soulmate who’s dating her brother, is she, Denise.

This whole situation is actually even more stupid than telling a woman named “Denise” all his issues translated for civilian ears, but such is his fucking life.

Why didn’t he just stay dead again? Because he definitely could’ve just stayed dead. Like, there were multiple opportunities for that. He was in fact spoiled for opportunities for that.

“I like it when you look at me, Hood,” fake Superboy murmurs between their mouths, his voice low and throaty and sounding just like all of Jason’s dirtiest daydreams. Jason, again, thinks longingly of kryptonite. This asshole can’t kiss, no, but he sure as shit can talk. “Gets me kinda . . . excited, you know?”

Jason wants to blow up this entire fucking building. Or block.

Or city, maybe.

Where the fuck is his backup? Is there an all-hands going that nobody thought to mention to him? An apocalypse he somehow didn’t notice? For fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be a goddamn panic button, not a “hey, if you’ve got a sec” kind of thing!

Not that he has any personal trauma about anybody showing up too late to do him any good or anything like that, of course. Definitely not.

Maybe it’s gonna have to just be daily sessions this week.

“Did I tell you to shut up or not?” Jason says, baring his teeth again and internally promising himself he’s going to read Bruce for filth after the bastard’s fucked up the response time here so phenomenally, whenever said bastard can actually be bothered to show up. He doesn’t care if his fucking spine’s broken again, at this point.

Fake Superboy laughs, and kisses him again.

#dc-autumnalthings #wip: jaykon soulmates and timkon datemates #dubcon

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msbigredmachine · 11 months

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On Sight - Part 3 (Jey Uso/OC)

The fact that we hate each other don’t mean we can’t fuck. Just don’t fall in love with me. Part 3 of my 4-part Jey Uso/OC series.

Warnings: The usual smut, toxic behavior, angst

Word count: 6.5k

A/N: I had to split it, so now it’s four parts. I wasn’t comfortable that it was so damn long lol.

ON SIGHT MASTERLIST

------------------------

PART 3 - BOTH?

A tired sigh left your lips as you disabled the comments on your Instagram page. Another day, another disrespectful internet troll trying to fuck up your mood.

The past couple of weeks were some of the worst you’d encountered in recent memory. Barely eighteen months since you joined WWE and you had already fallen prey to the vulturous dirt sheets and backstage drama. Your co-workers were now under the false assumption that you were in a love triangle with Jey Uso and Cody Rhodes. After the airport pictures were leaked, you and Jey trended on Twitter for twenty-four hours, as fans had a lot to say about what they believed was a new wrestling romance. You refused interviews, shut off your comments and mentions on all your platforms, and under ‘advisement’ from Hunter and management, you stayed off TV for a couple of weeks until the whole thing blew over. But now that you were home alone and not traveling, your mind was forced to return to what happened that day.

Return to the one person you had no business thinking about.

You did not miss Jey Uso. He did not deserve a second of your attention. Which is why you ignored all his phone calls and text messages, only stopping short of blocking his number. He did not deserve an ounce of your emotions. Even though you cried over him more times than you cared to admit. Even though you couldn’t get all those nights…and mornings…and afternoons…of passion, out of your head. He did not deserve any of your headspace. And yet, all you could think about was those chocolate brown eyes of his that pierced your soul…Eyes that now haunted your dreams…Eyes that were filled with rage just weeks ago. In all the times you got on each other's nerves, you had never seen him like that, and you weren’t sure you wanted any part of it.

The irony was, you had no intention of fraternizing with the talent when you joined the WWE. Workplace dalliances often went up in smoke. But there was something about Jey fucking Uso that you just could not seem to resist. Your mind kept saying no, even resorted to name-calling and bickering to repel him. But once your body gave in, there was no going back. Then, your heart followed. Thinking all would be well, you carried on like a naïve little girl, only to end up getting embarrassed. And it hurt like hell.

Your phone vibrated, and your partner in crime, Kayla Braxton’s happy face flashed at you, reminding you about attending Beyoncé’s show later tonight. How could you forget about the hottest tour in town? You all bought VIP access tickets months ago and there was no way you were going to miss it. Your hair appointment was in an hour and a custom-made outfit would soon be at your doorstep. You planned on looking your very best tonight; after all, you never know who would meet at a place like that…

Long story short, you were moving on. You were becoming the main character again, living your best life and damning all negativity to hell. Because you were that bitch. Simple as.

Fuck Jey Uso.

-----------------

If Jey thought you didn’t have that many fans before, he found out the hard way that it was the exact opposite.

Your fanboys were coming for his head. The nicer comments were “It should’ve been me!” and the more caustic ones were not very PG. Only God knows how they would have reacted if they found out how the breakup went down; he’d be fucked six ways to Sunday.

The Tag team champion groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and regretting it instantly - because every time he did, your face was all he saw anymore. His brain seemed to enjoy tormenting him with memories of the mess he made that day. He could still smell the roses he’d bought for you. He could see you in that room, Cody’s lips pressed against yours...

...The tears in your eyes as he screamed at you…the pain in your voice as you screamed back…

He knew he fucked up. He said some terrible things he wished he could take back. But now he couldn’t go through a day without being asked about you and when he started dating you. Hilarious, as you weren’t even speaking to him. He glanced at his phone again to see if you’d finally replied to at least one of his numerous calls and texts. Of course not. You ignored every single one of them. You avoided him and refused to be anywhere near him. As much as he deserved your wrath, it was starting to get to him.

Scrolling through his Instagram, he noticed Liv Morgan’s recent IG story placed her at Beyoncé’s concert. Most of the Smackdown female roster were with her, yourself included. He knew you loved Beyoncé, so undoubtedly you were having a great time. Your hair was beautiful, and you looked hot as hell in that jumpsuit…

Fuck.

He thought this shit only happened in movies; the whole enemies-to-lovers schtick, catching feelings only for something stupid to happen and ruin the connection you were building. Well, it was happening in real life and happening to him, and honestly? It sucked.

His matches also suffered a drop in quality. By all standards they were still okay; he was still executing all his moves right and his mannerisms were adequate. But it wasn’t the same. Because he was missing you. Without you around anymore, he was useless. He'd become so used to being with you that your absence opened up a void that he felt could not be filled.

His boys were starting to notice and were losing patience with him.

“Dude, get your shit together,” Roman admonished him one evening in their locker room as they prepared for their tag match for the Smackdown main event.

“Chill. I’m just in a funk, that’s all,” he explained lamely, acutely aware that his older cousin would see right through his excuse.

“Not our fault that you fumbled Y/N. Don’t mean you should take it out on your performances and make the rest of us look bad.”

“Stop being an asshole, Roman,” Jimmy said as he taped his fingers, then turned his attention to Jey. “I’m still shook over the fact that you were sleeping with her all this time and I had no idea,” he said to Jey. “And why you tell Big Uce before me? Huh bro?”

“He never told me. I found ‘em fucking in our locker room,” Roman clarified.

Jimmy gaped at his brother with wide eyes. “Yooooo, what?! When was this? Damn, you nasty as hell, twin!”

“Fuck off, you and Trin done fucked in worse places,” Jey countered. “It was a long time ago, bruh. Now she won’t even look at me.”

“What d’you expect?” Roman continued. “What did you think would happen after what you did? And on top of those photos getting out? Yeah, you didn’t stand a chance. Own that shit, dude. You fucked up.”

Jey exhaled heavily. “Thanks man, way to make me feel like shit.”

“He is right, uce. That’s a bad bitch you let slip away,” said Jimmy.

Jey gaped at his brother and cousin, lifting his arms in exasperation. “Yo, ain’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“Yeah, but I like her a lot.” Jimmy elaborated. “She’s cool and sassy as hell. Now that I think about it, she was good for you. She kept you on your toes, and you were much happier, Uce. I saw it, and now that I know she was the reason, you need to figure out how to get her back, asap.”

Right. That was not happening anytime soon, not if you had anything to say about it.

The Bloodline’s match was against the team of Cody Rhodes and the Street Profits. Jey did his best to remain professional, but one look at the American Nightmare had his blood boiling. Once they locked up in the ring, his punches got stiffer, his move set became more aggressive. At one point, Jey wrapped his forearm around Cody’s windpipe a little too tightly in an illegal rear naked choke. In retaliation, Cody elbowed him square in the face, causing blood to spurt from his nose. It was all downhill from there, and they barely made it to the end of the match in one piece.

Backstage, a big melee erupted as Jimmy and Solo had to forcibly restrain their brother from attacking the American Nightmare. “You motherfucker! You broke my fuckin’ nose!” he yelled.

“And you beat the shit outta me and almost choked me out, so we’re even, motherfucker!” Cody shot back over Roman’s shoulder. “You got your receipt now. Are you happy? Huh? Are you satisfied?”

“No. Next time keep your hands off my girl!” Jey snarled.

Cody snorted. “Your girl, huh? You say she’s your girl, yet you had no problem disrespecting her and embarrassing her in public.”

“Aye, shut your fucking mouth!” Jey barked, incensed. In his peripheral vision, he could see you standing among the gathering crowd a few feet away, flanked by Kayla and Samantha. The other two women were looking at him like they wanted to beat his ass. In contrast, your expression was blank. Unreadable. He wished he knew what you were thinking.

“Did I lie? We all saw you, insulting her, calling her names over something that wasn’t even her fault!” Cody went on, “So since you wanna air this shit out again, fine. It was me. I put her in a position she didn’t wanna be in, and I regret it and I’ve apologized. But you’re a dumbass for treating her like that.”

The Tag team champ visibly bristled. It was one thing to hear from his family that he fucked up. It was a whole ‘nother thing to hear it from his opp. Both were rather humbling experiences, not that he would admit that shit to anyone.

Cody picked up his ring jacket and threw it over his shoulder, his ire still trained on Jey. “Now that we got all the aggression out of the way, I strongly suggest that you get on your hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness. That’s a beautiful, smart, gem of a woman you’re taking for granted, and she obviously cares about you, which is a whole lot less than your bitch ass deserves.” With that, he walked away, having made his point loud and clear.

Jey twisted out of his brothers’ grasp, his teeth bared in an agitated sneer. When he glanced in your direction again, you were gone.

----------------------

You fixed what you hoped was an attentive look on your face while pretending to listen to Bobby Lashley talk. He was a nice guy, but he just wasn't…interesting. You’d been talking to him for most of the night and you were bored, despite the fun, albeit pounding, music booming through the club. The sooner you got out of here, the better, because the mannerisms and suggestive twinkle in his eyes told you he was expecting sex later tonight. Such a pity…he looked like he was good in bed, but it was painfully obvious that you didn't have much in common. Maybe you should start dating non-wrestlers again.

A chill swept through your spine out of nowhere. The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you sensed a new presence among the cluster of people already in the VIP section. Something pushed you to direct your gaze towards the entrance, and you did.

Jey.

Despite yourself, desire flushed through you as you watched him make his way into the room. As though feeling the heat of your stare, he looked in your direction and your eyes locked. Even from a distance, the sparks flew between you, sharp and explosive over the dimmed lights of the large room. You saw his gaze flicker between you and Bobby, a maelstrom of emotions swimming in his narrowed eyes.

Diamond came up behind him, looping her arm around his.

You felt your heart drop, and the pang of jealousy grew inside you like a weed. Of course. Why were you not surprised?

Bobby calling your name finally broke the hypnosis. Tearing your gaze away, you cleared your throat and reached for your drink.

"We can leave if that’ll make you more comfortable,” Bobby offered, his tone sympathetic.

Adamantly, you shook your head. “Why? We’re staying right here.”

“So, he your ex now or somethin’?” Bobby inquired, his eyes on you as he sipped his cocktail.

“He’s nothing to me,” you answered, a bit too harshly. “Let’s talk about something else, please.” You plastered a smile on your face, exponentially more interested in Bobby Lashley than you’d ever been.

The drinks kept flowing, to your delight. When a waiter placed four tequila shots on your table, you snatched one up and knocked it back with ease, followed by a second. Looking over to where Jey was seated, you saw him take a swig of Hennessy straight from the bottle. Diamond was on his lap, grinding all up on him. Releasing a deep breath, you cleared your throat, annoyed. The longer you sat there, the angrier you felt, and the more alcohol you consumed. Glancing back at him one more time, you gulped down the rest of your drink and turned to Bobby.

"Dance with me." You stood up without waiting for his answer. He followed though, and soon you were encased in a moving sea of bodies. Your arms slid around his neck, feeling his hands grab your hips, holding you against him as you moved together with the music. He then turned you around so your back was against his chest, keeping you tight to him. You tilted your head as he nuzzled your exposed neck, his breath hot on your skin.

“You’re lookin’ real sexy tonight, Y/N,” he whispered in your ear, his big hand draped dangerously over the top of your thigh.

You weren’t listening. You had caught Jey’s eyes again, and he looked like he wanted to murder somebody. Good. Fueled by alcohol and revenge, you ground your ass against Bobby’s groin, feeling his arousal, imagining it belonged to someone else. Your gaze remained on your ex, and your nipples tightened from the way he stared at you, knowing he was fully aware of his effect on you.

Done with the games, you stepped away abruptly from Bobby, swaying slightly on your heeled feet. "I don’t feel so good. I think I’m gonna head home," you informed him.

“You’ve had a lot to drink. Let me take you home,” Bobby said. His voice remained calm, but his teeth gritted with obvious sexual frustration. You saw right through it and hastened your exit.

“No need, I’ll just call an Uber. Don’t let me ruin your evening.” You turned and left without letting him answer. You felt bad that you did him like that, but you just had to get the fuck out of there.

The fresh air afforded you some relief as you waited for your Uber. It cleared your head a little bit, but then all the thoughts rushing in were on him. You hated that he still felt like home to you. It still felt like he was yours. Those feelings angered you because it was not true, and you knew you were being stupid, pathetic and weak. You knew if he’d fucked you over once, he’d do it again. You weren’t a child. You knew the games of the assholes of the world, and you couldn’t believe you’d given in to one, that all you had to show for it were the shattered pieces of your heart.

You really wished you could forget about Jey. You did. All you wanted was for the pain in your heart to subside, but he’d made such an imprint on you. It didn’t help that you were in l-

As soon as the thought emerged, you jammed your hands over your ears, as though this could somehow block out the mental reverberations of your emotions. No! Stop it! You’re not! Not with that prick-

“There she is. The queen ho herself.”

You heard her before you saw her. Diamond. With her hands on her hips, in a dress one size too small for her, adopting a smug, triumphant air as though she had finally won the prize she’d been chasing for a long time. “Nice to see you, girl,” she said, a fake ass smile stretching her face. “I see you been real busy sleeping your way to the top. So, not only did you fuck Jey and Cody Rhodes at the same time, you’re fucking Bobby Lashley now.” She scoffed. “Who’s the slut now, huh?"

The last thing you wanted was to entertain this bitch. But the drinks in your system made your mouth faster than your brain. “Run along, little girl. Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.” You made a shooing motion with your hand.

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re the talk of the town, sweetheart. Jey caught you having sex with Cody. You got tired of them two and now you’re with Lashley. Tell me. What’s it like getting passed around like a lit blunt?”

The fucking lies. That was what you could not stand. The dirt sheets, your nosy ass colleagues. And now this bitch. “Is that what Jey told you, or did you read that somewhere and your dumb, gullible little self swallowed it up like a sheep,” you sneered, eyeing her up and down. “Oh, I forgot…swallowing is what you do best.”

A snide laugh left Diamond’s lips. “Jey was right when he said you’re jealous. You're pressed because I got your man now. Stay mad, ho.”

You giggled at the desperation oozing from her. She really tried it. “You ain’t got shit, bitch. You’re not half the woman I am. Every time you’re fucking him, you know damn well that he’s thinking of me. Are you enjoying the taste of my pussy, sweetie? Cuz that’s all you’ll ever taste when you’re kissing him or sucking his dick.”

The self-important demeanor slipped from Diamond’s features. “Bitch, I’ma beat your drunk ass right now. You’re begging for an ass whooping, and I’ll be happy to give it to you!”

“Bring it, bitch. Drunk or not, I’ll still wipe the floor with your dusty ass wig. But my nails cost a hundred dollars and they cute as fuck. Your bitch ass is definitely not worth it. Keep enjoying my sloppy seconds though." With that, you walked away, wondering where the fuck that Uber was.

When Diamond shoved you in the back, making you almost fall over from the impact, it felt like a fever dream. By the time you turned to face her, your vision had reduced to a sea of blinding red. The backhand you hit her with was so hard your entire arm stung. She’d barely hit the ground before you lunged again, clawing at her hair, but a pair of strong hands yanked you backwards before you could inflict another blow, pulling a few tracks out of her head in the process.

“Get off me!" you shouted, flailing wildly and swinging your fists. "Get the fuck off me!"

Jey’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his warm breath grazed your cheek. "Hey, hey, chill," he whispered firmly into your ear, "Let it go," he added as he glanced over at Diamond being helped to her feet by some of her NXT peers. A small crowd was starting to gather outside, and Jey knew you had to leave, now. “Come on, let’s get outta here.”

“Fuck off me! Let me go, that bitch need to die!” Enraged and out for blood, you continued to struggle against him as he led you away.

“Are you gonna leave me here?!” Diamond shrieked, watching Jey depart with you in disbelief.

Ignoring her, he took you to his truck which thankfully, was nearby. He literally dragged you, kicking and screaming, into the truck, shoving you into the passenger’s side, and drove off as discreetly as possible.

He knew where you lived. He’d been to your place many times, just like you’d been to his. Though it was only a fifteen minute drive from the club, it seemed like hours as the deafening silence amplified the already suffocating tension between you.

“Why you out here fighting, huh? Whatchu doin’?” he asked, not backing down from the murderous look you shot him at his question.

“Fuck off, you ain’t my daddy!” you fired back. “You shoulda let me wash that bitch, I don’t care if she’s your girl.”

Jey sighed. “She’s not my girl.”

“Oh, really? Woulda never guessed from the way she was practically fucking you in the club.”

“I could say the same thing ‘bout you and Lashley. You were all up on him too,” he challenged.

Feeling your temper rise, you started to respond, but stopped short and shook your head instead. “Ya know what? Stop the car. Now. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

"You ain't goin' nowhere in them high ass heels," he pointed out. "Besides, you in no shape to be alone right now. And we almost at your place anyway."

“Well hurry up cuz I’m feeling nauseous. Unless you want me to vomit right here. I’ll be more than happy to.”

The thinly-veiled threat motivated him to increase his speed limit.

When he pulled up at your house, you refused his assistance and tried to get out of the car by yourself. You barely made it a few steps out, teetering on your heels, when you stumbled on the way to your door.

"Need me to carry you?" Jey asked, knowing the answer already.

You looked at him miserably, "My head hurts."

“Where your keys at?” he asked, opening your purse to fish out your key. Unlocking the door, he picked you up bridal style and stepped through, as you wrapped your arms around him.

"You're really strong, babe. I like my men strong,” you slurred and broke into a fit of hysterical giggles.

It was going to be a long night.

In your living room, he laid you on the love seat, took off your shoes and quickly put a trash can next to you, just in case. Sitting in the arm chair across from you, he noticed you staring intently at him. "You okay? Ya need somethin’?"

"You’re sexy as fuck. Have I ever told you that?” you drawled, your smile wider than necessary as you slowly stood up.

Jey couldn’t help but blush at your compliment. "Ain’t nobody as sexy as you, princess," he replied, biting his lip as his eyes scanned your curvy frame appreciatively. Hands down the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He ached for you, but he just couldn’t have you.

Your stance was shaky as you crossed over to him, swinging your leg over his lap to straddle him, and wound your arms around his neck. "Jey...I think I like you."

He blushed again, a little flustered by the complete 180 your behavior had taken between the car ride and now. Yes, he knew you were drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober himself. This was suddenly a precarious situation. "I thought you hate me," he murmured against your shoulder, his hands finding your hips despite himself.

You pulled back and thought about it for a second, "Yeah, I still do. But I like you too. A lot. Maybe." Framing his bearded face in your small hands, your lips brushed softly over his nose, his cheek, his chin. “Can I kiss you? I really wanna kiss you.”

Tilting your head, you nipped his bottom lip, teasing the plump flesh with your tongue. With each press of your mouth, you added more pressure, and like butter next to heat, he melted, capturing your mouth with his, tasting the alcohol on your tongue. God, he missed kissing you. Missed your touch, missed you pressed up against him like this. But this was wrong. You were both clearly out of it, and he didn’t want you to feel like he was taking advantage of you.

Groaning pitifully, he broke the kiss and tried to push you away, acutely cognizant of your big, dilated pupils. "Princess, we shouldn't do this…Not when we both wasted."

You frowned and pouted, "We’re fiiiine. Come on, Daddy, I need you." Your lips latched onto his neck, knowing full well it was his sweet spot, rolling your ass against his crotch and feeling him harden underneath you. Your moans became throatier and sultrier, gradually stripping away the little self-control he had left. His lips crashed back over yours, his tongue moving roughly in your mouth, a fistful of your hair in his hand and your ass in the other, molding and kneading possessively. This was such a stupid idea on both your parts. But right now it was all you both wanted and consequences be damned.

You helped him peel off your short dress, tugging it over your head. His palms quickly roamed your smooth skin, stopping at your ass to squeeze the soft flesh. Then, shoving his hand inside your underwear, he flattened his palm right over the slick juncture between your legs and rubbed the wetness there, and he smiled as you moaned softly, as your skin quivered around his hand. But two could play that game. Your hand slithered down his pants, finding him rock-hard. You massaged his length with your fist, and just like that, you both found yourselves in a standoff; heated stare on heated stare, jerking each other off like it was a competition.

Leaning in to nibble his earlobe, you whispered in his ear, "Fuck me right now, Uso. And make it count."

He didn’t need to be told twice. He shot to his feet, lifting you into his arms with your ass in his clutches. Your body was alluringly warm and soft and he almost wept from how good you felt against him. Cradling you to him, his long legs quickly ate up the distance between the living room and your bedroom. He laid you on the edge of the bed and took off his shirt. His mind and body were highly strung, desperate to find some relief and release all of the pent up tension from tonight.

Although you tried to pretend that this was nothing more than a quick fuck, you couldn't resist sitting up and slowly kissing his lips. He tasted so good, and his naked body felt even better. You let your hands wander over his chest, dragging your nails across his pec tattoos in as you kissed him, before you pulled away abruptly and shoved him onto his back with his legs still set on the floor. Seeing him stretched out over your sheets brought back memories which you quickly tried to dispel. You yanked his pants down to his ankles with force, frowning when a condom fell out of the back pocket. Picking it up, you tossed it onto his chest.

“Put it on,” you told him, denying yourself the enticing visage of him rolling the rubber down his shaft. For all you cared, it was meant for Diamond, but you decided to ignore that and focus on the hard dick that was waiting and ready for your use.

Jey’s eyebrows creased in confusion as he watched you take off your panties, only to turn your back on him. "Whatchu doin’?"

"What’s it look like I’m doin’," you shrugged, nudging his legs wide apart and adjusting yourself in the reverse cowgirl position. You took hold of him and eased yourself down his length, an agonizingly slow slide until your ass pressed down on his pelvis. You both groaned at the feeling, your head hanging down while you reacquainted yourself with his fullness. This was for the best; you wouldn’t have to look at his face or get caught up in his gorgeous eyes.

Placing your hands on his knees, you began riding him, hard, quick, focusing solely on your pleasure. Circling your hips, you moaned out as your pussy immediately clamped around every inch of his cock. He was panting already, his hands on your waist helping you to bounce on him. Jey looked on, completely hypnotized by the sight of your ass slapping against his pelvis, your pussy leaking all over the condom covering his cock. He gripped your ass cheeks before spreading them open so you could take him deeper. As he began to jut his hips upwards into you, you threw your head back with a whimper, losing yourself to the sweet sensation of him filling you, wet smacking sounds echoing around the bedroom as you met him thrust for thrust.

“You feel so good, princess," Jey breathed, caressing wherever he could reach, eventually finding your breasts and tugging your puckered nipples between his thick fingers.

"Mmmm," you purred, trying to ignore his sexy voice. It was impossible to deny how good he felt, stretching you, testing the limits to the depth and tightness of your pussy. Still, you took back control by switching to hard, grinding motions, concentrating on getting off. Luckily you were almost there; he was nestled right against your g-spot as you gyrated your ass on him, edging closer to your orgasm.

Jey knew what you were trying to do, and the Alpha Male in him was not having it. Surging to his feet with you in his arms, he climbed into the bed and dumped you amongst the pillows back-first. Sitting back on his heels, he pried your legs wide apart and tapped his dick against your clit, then shoved it back inside you. The sharp, sudden invasion only fueled your pleasure, and you squealed, your moans coming in short, raspy pants as he pummeled your pussy hard and fast. Clamping a hand around your throat, he slammed his dick into your sweet spot over and over, making your eyes flutter shut in utter pleasure as you came all over him. This was just like old times...straight-up vulgar fucking that laid waste to your g-spot. Jey kept fucking you through your orgasm, looking down at the place where your bodies merged, and smiling arrogantly at what he saw.

"Look at that pussy, nutting all over my cock. So fuckin' good. You missed Daddy's dick, amirite?"

"Yes, Daddy," you moaned, turning your head to the side as he started rotating his hips, slow-grinding inside your pussy, "Aww, shit..."

“Look at me,” he growled, frowning when you ignored him. Again. Grabbing your cheeks between his fingers, he steered your face back to meet his heated gaze. “I said look at me,” he ordered, his voice gruff and menacing.

Moth. Flame. Just as you predicted, the feelings and emotions came flooding back. Just like you feared, you got lost in his eyes; the passion, the desire, the affection you felt for him, reflecting back at you. You groaned softly with him, and he leaned down and nuzzled your throat, his nostrils breathing in your scent, your skin, absorbing you. Your legs hitched higher around his waist, allowing him to hook them over his elbows and deepen his strokes, giving you that Henny dick, and your pussy reacted accordingly.

“Yeah, baby, grip that dick, squeeze me hard. You’re turned on, ain’t cha,” Jey grunted, licking the seam of your lips and doing the same to both your nipples, “I told you, this pussy belongs to me. You’re mine, princess. Don’t ever forget that shit.”

“Mmm, unnnhhh, mmmph…” You whined so sexily beneath him. All soft and delicate like a little kitten. You were looking up at him with your pretty eyes, dilated with a mix of pleasure and liquor as you took his big cock like a good girl. He was caught up in your eyes and the feel of your fingers clutching the back of his head, enticing him to kiss you again, adding extra tongue, his head seemingly about to combust from how good he was feeling. Sober or intoxicated, your sex was always incredible; he couldn’t get enough of you if he tried.

He swung your legs up onto his shoulders, your heavy pants dissolving into outright cries when he started jackhammering into you. His hips collided into yours with brute force, smothering you into the bed with his bigger body. It was mind-blowing, his dick at the bottom of your pussy, your toes touching the headboard, the heat between you spreading, scorching, hurtling towards an extinction-level explosion. And when it hit you, tears sprung to your eyes and you were robbed of all speech. Your muscles tensed and your legs shook from its intensity.

Jey’s tortured groan warmed the crook of your neck as he detonated with you, his body shivering from indescribable pleasure. The harsh movement of his hips softened into gentle rolls in his attempt to pour every drop of himself in the condom buried inside you. Afterwards, he hovered weakly over your prone frame, drained and out of breath, before finding enough strength to pull out and crumple down next to you. Your last thought as you curled up against his warm body was how much you missed this. Missed him.

------------------

The horrendous sensation of your stomach climbing up your throat woke you up. Almost falling out of the bed, you half-ran, half-stumbled into the bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet bowl in time, falling on your knees to empty the contents of your stomach. Tears pricked your eyes as you struggled to breathe. You hated throwing up. It hurt like hell and you always felt like you were puking up all your insides.

Just as you thought it was over, another wave of nausea came along, wrenching through your entire body. You suddenly felt a hand on your back, another pulling your hair away from your face. Jey. You tried to ward him off, but he didn’t budge, holding your hair until you were done puking your guts out. He then helped you up, took your robe and put it on you, and it was then you noticed he was in his briefs and nothing else. He waited for you to wash your mouth and brush your teeth, then carried you back to the bed, picking up the bottle of water and aspirin he’d set by the nightstand.

“Here, this will help. Took some earlier this morning before you woke up.” He handed them to you and watched you closely like a dutiful spouse. The taste of water right after brushing your teeth was revolting, but you forced the medicine down. Once you were finished, you put the water away and pointed at the door.

“You can get out now. Let yourself out when you’re done getting dressed."

There was a heavy silence as he digested your flippant dismissal. “You bein' for real right now?” he said through gritted teeth.

“What? We fucked and we got off. Why you still here?”

"Because I care about you," he responded. His voice was tight, strained, struggling to keep his emotions at bay. "Okay? I’m here because I didn’t want you to be alone. I stayed cuz I wanted to see you…Baby, we need to talk."

“I ain’t your baby. And I don’t wanna talk to you.” Getting back out of the bed, you left him alone in the room. You were still tired and the morning light felt as blinding as headlights, but you trudged on, eager to put distance between you and him.

Hurrying into his clothes and shoes, Jey fought off his own hangover symptoms as he followed you into the living room. “You ignored every single one of my calls and my texts. I been tryna talk to you for weeks. Just hear me out, please, babe.”

With every syllable he uttered, a tsunami was gathering strength inside you, threatening to break and flood the wall you had tried so hard to put back up. Then, that wall gave way, and your lips moved, the raging tsunami powering through the throbbing sensation in your head.

"Fuck you."

Jey flinched, chastened by your vicious rebuff. "Princess," he began, but you kept talking, your emotions spilling like a malfunctioning fountain.

"No, don’t fucking cut me off! Why would I ever want to speak to you again after what you did? You never gave me a chance to explain so why do you deserve to be heard? Huh?” You shoved your hair angrily out of your face. “After Cody kissed me, I came straight to you because I wanted to be honest with you and start off our relationship the right way. And instead you exposed us. I begged you, begged you to hear me out…but you didn't. You called me every name in the book over a misunderstanding! You humiliated me in front of our co-workers! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?"

He did. That was why he was here. To take responsibility for his actions. To start over, if you wanted to. He wanted you to understand that what he did hurt him as much as it hurt you.

But you had no interest in any of it. “That's not all you did, either and this is the one that really pisses me off. You used me. You used Key West to break down my walls and get close to me. You stole my heart, you made me fall for you and then tossed me aside like trash. You treated me like I was nothing, in fact, less than nothing. I always knew you hated me, but I never realized you hated me that much!”

He felt his stomach plummet somewhere in the abyss. “Baby, I don’t hate you-”

The laugh you let out at his response sent a chill through him. It was sarcastic, humorless, borderline manic, and it burned his soul, the fire almost as scalding as the one that blazed in your eyes.

“You don’t just hate me, Jey. You despise me,” you corrected, your tone clipped and ice-cold. “You detest me. You would never have done what you did if you don’t. You hurt me on purpose, and I blame myself because I was stupid to think you actually cared about me. I let my guard down and that’s on me. But mark my words when I say it will never, ever, ever, happen again. I swear on all four of my grandparents’ graves. You fucked with me for the last time.”

Jey forced down the lump that had formed in his throat. The regret in his eyes was palpable, looking like a lost puppy as he tried to plead his case. “Y/N, please-”

"Don’t touch me!" You jerked away when he tried to reach for you, your heart lurching at the hurt in his eyes. “Just fucking leave, alright? Leave me alone! Go back to Diamond. You can fuck her all you want now, cuz as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing between us."

Jey came closer to you, his eyes narrowed and unwavering. "After last night, we both know that’s bullshit,” he stated confidently.

For one agonizing second, you wanted to choke him out. You wanted to rip your heart out of your chest, hold the battered organ up in front of his face, and scream: "See this? This is what you did to me!" You were so upset; your legs were about to buckle and you just wanted him gone. You couldn’t bear to be near him anymore. "Last night was a drunken mistake. Period. We’re done, Jey. I don’t ever want to see you again. Get out!" Walking over to the door, you flung it wide open and glared pointedly at him.

A distraught Jey struggled to process this turn of events. He didn’t want to leave you. Not like this. But the tears in your eyes and the quivering of your lip told him everything he needed to know. He had done an unforgivable thing by breaking your heart. Breathing out a dejected sigh, he slipped past you without another word and walked out through the door, out of your life, just like you asked him to, his chest tightening with every step he took.

Slamming the door shut on the man you loved, your legs gave out at last, and you slid down to the ground in a flood of tears. This agony, this ache inside your chest, was tearing you apart. The betrayal and deep regret and utter worthlessness overwhelmed you. You couldn't breathe, your chest heaved, and you struggled not to cry out from the pain that gripped your broken heart like a vice.

On the other side of the door, Jey’s features crumpled in pain as he listened to the anguish of the woman he loved; your sniffles, your sobs, each one ripping out a different piece of his heart. Pressing his forehead against the door, his fingers splayed out against the wooden surface, as though trying to reach out to you, trying to take away your pain. The pain he caused.

"I'm sorry, Y/N…I'm so sorry…"

END OF PART 3

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More drama!😖😭

Thoughts? Is it finally over for our lovebirds? What’s going to happen in the season finale?

Please leave comments. I love comments!

Banner made by me. Jey gifs by @jeysuso. Credit to owners of the other pics and gifs.

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagines #jey uso x you #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x black oc #jey uso smut #the bloodline #roman reigns #jimmy uso #the usos fanfic #wwe #the usos #on sight by msbigredmachine

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