#and rationally I'm just like no its just a noise

[houseofanticipation]

You've always been an outdoor person. You're a camper, a hiker, an explorer. You feel at home in this forest; miles upon miles of trees in every direction, the only hints of civilization a handful of campgrounds and the odd ranger station. Years of experience have made you comfortable here, in the cool, quiet air.

Maybe too comfortable.

It's late morning when you first notice someone behind you on the trail. You don't see them when you look back. You just their footsteps, the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves. You expect them to pass you, as you're taking a pretty leisurely pace, but the footsteps always seem to be about 20 feet behind you. You start to get annoyed. This person's thousand-pound feet are ruining your nice, quiet walk. You step to the side of the trail and wait the person to pass.

And so do they.

That makes you nervous. You start walking again, and they walk with you. You stop, they stop. You begin to think you might be in trouble. Careful to keep the noise at you front, you take the folded trail map out of your pocket and begin to scan it. There's a ranger station not far ahead; if you can just make it that far, you might be safe.

You break into a brisk walk, and your pursuer keeps pace. This trail was made intentionally with a lot bends in it, so each hiker or group of hikers could feel like the wilderness was their own, without running into many other people. It means your pursuer can stay relatively close to you without ever entering your line of sight. You're close now, you recognize the little footbridge over this creek, so you break into a run, skidding on mud and dried leaves as you make a mad dash for safety. The footsteps crash through the forest behind you, and you're too afraid to turn around but you're sure they're gaining on you. You see the ranger station up ahead, a little log cabin with a green door, and you practically fly up the front steps, through the unlocked door. You slam it shut behind you and throw the deadbolt, sliding down the door in a mess of exhaustion and nerves.

The ranger station consists of a single room, with a ladder up to a small loft space where the ranger sleeps. You were hoping to find help, but the ranger isn't here at the moment. That's okay. Just the locked door on its own makes you feel a lot better. You listen intently for any sound outside, but all you hear is birdsong, and wind through the trees.

Then someone is trying to turn the door handle. The sound makes you jump, but you try to stay brave. You're still safe. They can't get in.

You hear a man's voice on the other side of the door. "Hello?"

You summon your courage and call back. "Leave me alone! What do you want from me?"

The voice sounds surprised. "I...I don't want anything from you ma'am. It's just...well, you're kind of in my office." You get to your hands and knees and crawl to the front window, just peeking over the sill. Outside is a flustered looking man in a ranger uniform. Relief floods your body. You let him in.

"Thank god," he says. "I'm not supposed to leave the station unlocked, I thought at first some teenagers had gotten in here and...hey, what's wrong?" He's seen the look in your eyes, the way you're still panting, the state of your hair. You explain to him about the footsteps, the chase through the woods, how you hid here for safety. His eyes grow wider with your every word. "Shit, that's terrible. Drink some water, get yourself hydrated while I check around out there." He offers you his canteen. You begin to tell him you have your own water, but he waves you off. "No, no, I can't let you use your own rations. I've got extra water reserves here just for unprepared hikers, I won't run out. Please."

You take the canteen and drink, sitting on a hard folding chair while the ranger goes back outside. Now that you think about it, you're actually incredibly thirsty. You finish off the ranger's canteen, and feel a little bad about it, but he seemed insistent that you should have it.

You're exhausted. It had already been a long day of hiking, and then you went and spent the rest of your energy running through the forest. You were probably overreacting, you think as your eyelids begin to droop. Maybe it was just an illusion, your own footsteps somehow echoed back to you by the forest. In the warmth and safety of the ranger station, the fear you felt before seems almost silly.

Your limbs feel sluggish and disconnected. Your head seems to be full of rocks. Your eyelids fall closed, and you're out before you hit the floor.

You come to little by little, slowly becoming aware of several odd sensation at once. The first thing you notice is that you feel good. Incredible, actually. You're having trouble wrapping your head around why exactly—you're having trouble putting thoughts together, connecting raw sensation to ideas or meanings. But you like how you're feeling, you know that much.

There's more to it though, because you also hurt, which you don't like. There's something rough pressing up against your back, and your arms and legs are sore. You're cold, too, colder than you've been in a long time, and a cool wind stings your bare skin. Why is your skin bare?

You open your eyes. You're in a forest clearing, a place you recognize. It's a popular camping spot, secluded but not far from the trail. You're on a tree—tied to it, you realize, that's the rough thing on your back, and the reason you're so sore. Coils of rope around your wrists are pulling your arms up and behind you, like you're giving the tree a backwards hug. Something similar is happening with your legs, and a rope across your throat is keeping you from pointing your head down.

You are naked.

The ranger is there, leaning into you, and for a confused moment you think he's trying to untie you, but then the whole picture suddenly falls into place. He is raping you, slowly and indulgently, moaning openly as he slides cock up and down, in and out of your pussy. Fear jolts you awake, your fight-or-flight response taking control, but you you have no way to fight and now means of fleeing. You begin to scream, thrashing against your bonds, but they're solid and secure. You're not going anywhere.

"Oh good you're...oh!...awake," says the ranger, still inside you. "I have to tell you, I thought you looked cute when I decided to follow you, but I had no idea you'd be this...o...oh, fuck...this good. I think you've got the tightest little cunt I've ever fucked."

Just because that pleasurable feeling isn't wanted anymore doesn't mean it's going away. With every thrust of the ranger's cock, the feeling builds inside you, threatening to spill over. "Please," you whimper. You can't cum, not here, not to this. "Please stop, let me go."

The ranger grins and looks at you. He gives you an extra deep thrust and you moan in spite of yourself, your muscles contracting and your pussy tightening around him. "Why would I...oh, fuck that's good...why would I stop when you're clearly enjoying this just as much as I am?"

Tears stream down your face. You can't control it now. Waves of tension wash your body, each one making you seize tighter, arching your back, straining your bonds. As the final wave crashes over you the ranger gives one last moan and buries his face in your neck, his cum seeming to warm your shivering body from the inside. You go limp, wobbly, all the tension draining from your body with the cum that spills forth as he withdraws his cock.

The ranger buckles up his pants and leans over, hands on his knees, panting. "Fuck, girl. I can't just keep that cunt to myself. People need to know!" He goes behind you somewhere, and you can hear leaves rustle. When he comes back he holds a stake in his hand: a signpost, with a printed metal sign attached. He shows it to you:

Elk Trail Cum Dump

The park thanks you for your patronage. Feel free to use this receptacle as you see fit.

"I had this made up a few years back." Says the ranger as he hammers it into the ground in front of you. "We've had a handful of cum dumps, but I'll tell you what, you're definitely the best." He looks you up and down, then steps forward and sticks his middle and index fingers up inside you. You tighten reflexively, and he whistles. "Fuuuck me that's good! Alright, I'll probably be back tonight with some friends. New cum dump always attracts some attention. Stay tight, honey." He gives your cheek a little slap and walks away.

It hurts for a while. The bark against your skin. The ropes digging into you. Your shoulders, supporting your weight for so long. But after your sixth hour or so it all just fades into a general, dispassionate numbness.

People walk by sometimes. You hear them on the trail and call out for help. They come, usually but they don't help. A pair of young women laugh and take selfies with their fingers in your pussy. And old man rapes you breathlessly while is wife rolls her eyes and laughs good-naturedly. A middle aged woman with a big backpack says she's going to help you out, which turns out to mean producing a vibrator and giving you the most mind-melting, earth-shattering orgasm of your life, before saying a polite goodbye and leaving you tied up.

When your bladder gets full you just piss right there. It's not a bad way to do it, really; with your legs pulled back like this, you manage not to get much on you. You're a little more concerned about what happens when you need to shit, but you suppose there's a chance you can hold it until you die of hunger or thirst.

A man with a bushy beard gives you a long look before leaving and coming back with a long branch, one end whittled barkless and smooth. He inserts the smooth end into your pussy and sets the other end on the ground, held up only by your natural grip. He instructs you to bounce up and down on it while he masturbates. It's a little thick for you, but it actually feels pretty good, and you try to put on a good show for him as thanks. He lets you keep in there when he leaves, as a way to pass the hours.

You fall asleep just as the sun is setting. You find if you rest your head against the tree just so, you can relax without it falling forward and choking you on the rope across your neck. When you wake again it's full night, and someone has built a little fire in a circle of stones. A dozen or so men are lounging around, laughing, chatting, drinking beers out of a cooler. And raping you of course, but you barely even notice that now. All it really means to you is that someone took away your nice stick.

The ranger is among the men, though he's out of uniform. He raises a beer to you when he sees you're awake. "Welcome back to the land of the living! My buddies here are loving that little pussy of yours."

"You shouldn't have open flames out here," you croak, your throat dry. "You could start a...a...ah! Forest fire." Your sentence is interrupted when the man currently inside you does a strange sort of twisting thing you don't quite understand, and the jolt of pleasure takes you by surprise.

"Ah, fuck you," says the ranger. "Which of us here is the park ranger and which is the cum dump? I know my way around a fire."

"If you say so," you say as the man adds another load of cum to your collection.

He's drunk, you can tell. They're all a little drunk, their words a little slurred, their movements a little wobbly. As the next guy slides into you, you nod at the bottle in his hand. "Hey, let me get a little of that." He holds the bottle up to your lips obligingly, and while most of it splashes down your chin and across your breasts, you get a few good swigs in. It's a party, after all.

When everyone's had their turn on you the boys decide to play a game called "Hide the Herring," which turns out to consist of everyone scattering to find objects, and then taking turns trying to fit them inside you, the winner being the one with the largest object that manages to fit completely inside you. You get several different rocks, some sticks, big chunk of frozen together ice cubes, One guy tries to fit a full, unopened bottle of beer in you, fat end first. It stretches you almost to your limit but he manages, with a bit of clitoral stimulation, to get it all the way up to the neck. He says, "if you can hold on to it for ten seconds you can drink the whole thing," and you agree gamely to give it a try. He takes his hand away and the whole crowd counts down as you clench around this bottle, harder to do when you can't close your legs. You can feel it slipping, little by little, but when the count reaches zero it's still there, and you let it slip out into its owner's waiting hands. He cracks it open and holds it to your mouth, and you close your lips around it. You don't want to lost any like last time. The group is so impressed by the way you open your throat and let it drain into you that they give you another, and another after that. By the end of your fourth beer you're definitely feeling the alcohol, and the last of the fear and misery of the situation falls away like the last remnants of a lizard's skin. Being the Elk Trail Cum Dump, you guess, isn't so bad after all.

The winner of Hide the Herring ends up being a full ten pack of hot dogs. The entrant opens it up, uses two of the hot dogs to pack the wrapping into your pussy, and then spends about fifteen minutes cutting the other eight into pieces and popping them, one at a time, into your asshole. There's a lot of arguing about whether using your ass is allowed, or if it still counts as one object once the package is open, but it doesn't matter to you. Being filled this full feels amazing, and you manage to convince one of the guys to fuck you with your ass stuffed like this. Chunks of hot dog pop out of your ass, two and three at a time as you cum, and he leaves you dripping, feeling warm and gooey.

You get fucked a few more times as they set up camp for the night. Everyone's cum at least once by now, so the loads are getting a little thin, but that's okay. You feel as though you are melting into the tree, becoming a part of it. When you wake tomorrow, you imagine your arms and legs will have grown into its bark, your hair becoming leaves, your heart and lungs and mind becoming wood. Nothing more than a handful of tight wet holes for hikers and campers to enjoy. With this image glowing in your mind's eye, you drift off into a contented sleep.

#r@pe fantasy #r@petoy #r@pe kink #cnc free use #cvmdump #cvmslvt #rapekink #rapetoy

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM GHOSTBUSTERS (1984) *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary. who ya gonna call?

i want you to concentrate.

you can't see these, can you?

i'm getting a little tired of this!

what are you trying to prove here, anyway?

will you excuse me for a second?

we're close on this one. i can feel it.

you are a legitimate phenomenon.

this is big, [name], this is very big. there is definitely something here.

that would have worked if you hadn't stopped me.

i hope we can clear this up quickly and quietly.

back off, man. i'm a scientist.

listen! do you smell something?

this happened to you before?

could you come over here and talk to me for a second, please?

one of us should actually try to speak to it.

i'm gonna take back some of the things i've said about you.

the possibilities are limitless!

this is preposterous. i demand an explanation.

your methods are sloppy and your conclusions are highly questionable.

you don't know what it's like out there.

for whatever reasons... call it fate, call it luck, call it karma, i believe that everything happens for a reason.

where are we going to get the money?

i think this building should be condemned.

hey, does this pole still work?

wow, this place is great. when can we move in?

you gotta try this pole.

hey, we should stay here tonight! sleep here! you know, try it out!

you wanna come in for a mineral water or something?

are you troubled by strange noises in the night?

have you or any of your family ever seen a spook, specter, or ghost?

we're ready to believe you!

you can't park that here!

i bet you like to read a lot, too.

i collect spores, mold, and fungus.

i'd like to talk to someone, please.

what i'm about to say may sound a little unusual.

i'm sorry, i don't believe in any of those things.

if something's gonna happen here, i want it to happen to me first.

you don't act like a scientist.

i'm gonna go for broke. i am madly in love with you.

i bet you're going to be thinking about me after i'm gone.

hey, anybody seen a ghost?

did you ever report it to anyone?

i hope we can take care of this quietly.

well, no sense worrying about it now.

i think we'd better split up.

don't move. it won't hurt you.

i feel so funky.

there's something very important i forgot to tell you.

wait wait wait! i've always wanted to do this.

well, that wasn't such a chore now, was it?

we came! we saw! we kicked its ass!

you're a big celebrity now.

so who the hell was that?

i'm not at liberty to say.

i want to know more about what you do here.

that's a big twinkie.

do you have any excedrin or extra strength tylenol?

listen, maybe if we start dancing, other people will join in.

that's a different look for you, isn't it?

do you want this body?

i want you inside me.

you said before you were waiting for a sign. what sign are you waiting for?

i have a terrible feeling that something awful is going to happen to you.

i think that would be extraordinarily dangerous.

how about a little music?

you had your chance to cooperate, but you thought it'd be more fun to insult me. well, now it's my turn, wise ass.

i'm not interested in your opinion.

if he does that again, you can shoot him.

i am going to get you a nice fruit basket.

i was in no way prepared for that.

you wanna play rough?

are you a god?

let's show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown!

i couldn't help it. it just popped in there.

well, that's something you don't see every day.

sorry, [name]. i'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.

i feel like the floor of a taxi cab.

#mcflymemes #ghostbusters #rp prompt #rp meme #rp memes #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask memes #ask meme #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #movie prompts

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello! Small question, how would one go on to portray panicked rambles? I have a character who is afraid of the dark who has to escape with his friend through a dark cave, but as I was trying to write his panicked pleadings, they came across as flat and rational due to how the dialoge is written. I tried to make it feel rushed by conjoing some of the words together, but it looked a bit odd to me. Do you have any tips?

Writing a Panicked Ramble

Some things to keep in mind:

1 - Make sure there's context for the panic. Whether you lay the foundation for that panic ahead of time, or have to build to it in the moment, it's important that the reader has context for why this character is panicked. Otherwise, something like, "This is fine, I'm okay, there's nothing lurking in the shadows..." just falls flat. Why is this person panicking about being in the dark cave? Are they afraid of what may be in the cave? Are they afraid due to a past bad experience in a cave--or maybe just in darkness? Do they have some underlying fears that are being triggered? Again, you can lay these out ahead of time or use dialogue and thought to explore them in the moment.

2 - Use thought, emotion, and physical cues to add dimension. Dialogue on its own, even with context, doesn't go as far as dialogue that is bolstered by the character's thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations and body language. "This is fine, I'm okay, there's nothing lurking in the shadows..." he chanted to himself as images of hungry cave bears and rabid bats played through his mind. Every shifting shadow or far off noise sent cold fear slithering down his spine. His teeth chattered when he finally managed, "Are we almost out?" See how much more expressive that was?

3 - Make sure the environment/situation fits the reaction. Sometimes a character's reaction falls flat because we don't do a good enough job illustrating the things they're supposed to be reacting to. For example, if you haven't done a good job describing this dark cave and the things that are triggering the character's fears, their panic isn't going to feel warranted. You can do the work of describing the environment or situation as they get into it, or if necessary, as it's being experienced. And, if the character's reaction is supposed to feel unwarranted... for example, maybe they're panicking as though they're in a dark, scary cave, but they're not, then you can use other characters, dialogue, and description to offset what the character thinks they're experiencing versus what they're actually experiencing.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[abouttofillhisshoes]

You said some day we might - M.H x Reader // pt.3

A/N: This one's a bit NSFW (minors please don't interact), also angsty and sad at parts. TW for hard drugs, take care of yourselves! This is loosely based off of my own experience, and I am not trying to glamorize it. Ily my dearest @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for making sure it isnt shit xx

wc: 4k

part four

Picture a scene: flashing lights all around you, colors blinding as they move through the room, seemingly liquid. Music pounding in your head, almost as if it was trying to force its way into your body. People sweating, dancing up against strangers. You feel alive. 

Matty dances next to you, throwing his hands up into the air. You can hear screams as the music changes, now playing Britney Spears’ ‘Toxic’. He wouldn't admit it if you held a gun to his head, but he loves this song. Your hips sway to the beat, and you can feel arms on your waist. It's not Matty. The fuck? 

You didn't know this guy, but his hands were grabbing at you roughly like you were supposed to. His grin disgusted you. (Not so) politely shoving him off, you dance toward Matty, tapping his shoulder three separate times. That was code for ‘bathroom, now’. He nods, taking your hand and leading you towards the edge of the crowd. The sea of people thins out as you finally spot the glowing sign for the loo. 

“You alright?” He asks as you enter the bathroom. The walls were covered in graffiti, stickers, and the occasional phone number. There wasn't the classic smell of piss and sweat, which is why you liked Sound. It was fairly clean. The sinks were made of metal, and so was everything else. The lights were dim, and the mirrors dirty, lipstick stains adorning the edges. You can hear the faint noise of toilets flushing in the background. 

“I'm fine, I s’pose, just that guy was rubbing up against me all weird.” You fix your hair in the mirror, refreshing your eyeliner before passing it to Matty so he could do the same. You had taught him how to do it himself, saving you a load of time and effort whenever you were getting ready together. Tonight's color was red, both of you were wearing the same shade. 

The stall door flings open as a girl stumbles out, almost falling before she caught herself on the hand dryer. Fixing her bra strap, she wiped the edges of her mouth clean before reaching into her small blue handbag. Out comes a small baggie with white powder in it. You immediately recognise it. Blow. 

While you and Matty smoked copious amounts of weed, neither of you had ever tried anything harder. An exception was the occasional acid trip, and even that was a one off on Ross’ 18th birthday.  

Both you and Matty watch her intently as she starts cutting up lines on the edge of the sink, not caring that both your eyes were on her. She takes out a £5 note, rolling it before snorting the line. Her hair is wild as she lifts her head back up, turning to the mirror to fix it. 

“D’you fancy some, love? I have plenty for you,” she looks over to Matty, flashing him a smile  “and your friend, as well.” 

It takes you a split second to realize her statement was directed at you. Matty turns to make eye contact, before doing something you didn't expect. 

He nods, taking a step towards the girl. You do the same. ‘If you're going to try it’, you thought, trying to rationalize, ‘who better than with Matty?’

She shakes more of the powder onto the sink, cutting two lines for the both of you, and one more for herself. You notice the card she uses is a school I.D. A high school I.D.

She hands you the rolled up note first, and for some reason, you feel calm. ‘This is fine’ you repeat in your head, before opening your mouth to speak. 

“This is blow, yeah?” you ask, looking up at her from your position, which was currently hunched over the sink. It's cold, colder than it was. 

“Yeah, clean shit too, don't worry,” she offers a genuine smile, stroking your hair with her long, black nails. You steal a glance at Matty, who was now sitting on the sink next to you, watching closely. You nod, turning back to the line of white powder in front of you

You take a deep breath before snorting the line. It burns as it travels through your nostrils, and you don't feel anything for a second.

And then, it hits you. 

It hits you fast. Everything feels amplified, and you barely register as Matty snorts his. You feel good, euphoric even. Matty feels the same way, letting out a shout when he does lift his head from the sink. 

The girl was long gone when you exited the bathroom and reentered the crowd. You danced with Matty, the music controlling your movements. Deciding to get a drink, you drag him to the bar. The bartender looks you up and down, before shaking his head. He knew you were on something, but that wasn't a rarity in clubs like Sound. Everyone was on something, so, fuck it! Why couldn't you do the same?

Matty orders for you. A french martini and a glass of Malbec for him. The bartender raised his eyebrows at his drink order. “Who orders wine at a club?” he shouts over the music. Matty rolls his eyes before responding “I do! Why, d’you fancy buying me a drink when you get off?” he winks at him provocatively before taking the drinks from the counter. 

He hands you your drink, bringing his hand up to your face, wiping off the smudged makeup underneath your eyes. That's when you realize how hot it was. ‘Fucking hell’ you thought. ‘When did it get so hot? Jesus Christ, it's like I'm in a sauna’.

Matty had downed his glass of wine in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his your wine red jumper. You rake your eyes over his body, a thin layer of sweat shone on his forehead. His eyeliner was somehow still perfect. 

He was perfect. 

March, 2008 // two months earlier

The mid afternoon sun was beating down onto your skin. The blanket beneath you molding to the ridges of the earth, digging into your back. You were lying in a field, surrounded by daisies and dandelions blowing softly in the breeze, a half-empty packet of crisps on your left. Your arms were sprawled out to the side, with Matty lying peacefully on top of you.

Adam had situated himself on a flimsy fold up chair. He hated sitting on the ground with a burning passion. You had promptly forgiven him for leaving you to fend for yourselves that past weekend, seeing as he promised to pay club covers for a month as an apology. Just you though, seeing as Matty would have abused the ever living hell out of Hann’s wallet if given the chance. 

George and Ross were in the lake located a few dozen meters from where you were sitting, having a swim. The weather was uncharacteristically nice given that you were in Great Britain, land of miserable weather, so the five of you had set out for a makeshift picnic at the last minute. 

It wasnt aesthetically pleasing by any means, with fag packets litering the dirty old blanket Ross had found in an old closet. Ross’ beer bottles were lined up at the edge of the blanket. You grab a pack, presumably Georges, and light up. Marlboro golds, not your favorite, but they’ll do. Breathing in the smoke, you turn your head to get a better look at Matty, who was draped over you, using your chest as a pillow.  

You wore Mattys sunflower shirt, unbuttoned, revealing a black sports bra underneath. He, in turn, wore one of your tops. Specifically, a lavender baby tee with the words ‘dump him’ scrawled across the chest in white glitter. Adam was dressed like a divorced dad, beige linen trousers paired with a Metallica band shirt. You laughed when you saw him, knowing he’d be sweating in under an hour wearing that.

Soft music played in the background, the speaker having been lost underneath the pile of Ross and George's clothes. The air smelled of summer, even if it was only March. You spot the wine bottle in Mattys hand as he tilted his head up, taking a drink. You tap him on the arm, and he hands you the bottle. 

White wine? Matty rarely drank white wine. You brushed it off, it was probably just the cheapest thing at the store. Matty loved expensive red wine, but did not have the money to pay for it, always settling for the bottle with the lowest price tag. Your attention is drawn to George screaming incoherent curses at Ross for throwing a rock at him. Absolute knobheads. 

“D’you reckon we need sunscreen? I don't wanna age my skin anymore than it already has.” he asked, his fingers lingering on his face. His skin was perfect, not a single blemish tarnishing it. “I dunno, I don't think we need to. It's not that hot.” you answer, looking around you. “It's not looking like we have any anyway” you add. 

You could feel Mattys' breath on you, ghosting over your chest. His legs moved, brushing against yours. You were suddenly very aware of the fact he was laying on top of you. It made you feel hot, and not because of the sun. 

He rolled on top of you, now straddling your legs. He was clearly drunk, slurring his words. His eyes stared into yours with such an intensity, you would've thought he was trying to read your mind. His face was bare, but the glitter from last night's adventures still stained his face, giving him a slight shine.

A smile crept onto his face as he brushed his hair out of his face. The blonde highlights had slightly grown out by now, and you made a mental note to ask him if he wanted you to do his roots. 

“Didnt you want to cut my hair?” He asked, and you recognised that look in his eye. Excitement. He jumps up, crawling to get his bag.

“I brought a pair of scissors, d’you wanna cut it now?” He held up pink kitchen scissors, handing them to you as you moved to a sitting position.  

“Are you sure? These are not meant for ha-” “I don't careee, just do it!” he slurred, cutting you off and settling between your crossed legs. He turns and looks at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat. 

You try your best, snipping away at his hair randomly. Cutting layers into his hair, you try to make the strands around his face shorter. He giggles as it tickles his face, brushing it off his skin. The sun made him appear as if he were glowing, painting him in an orange hue. Trying not to cut it too short, you tug at it to get a good idea of the length. 

A soft groan escapes Mattys mouth, and he tries to pass it off as a cough, avoiding your gaze. A few minutes later, you tug at it again. A little experiment , if you will. This time, the noise is slightly clearer, and his whole body twitches. He busies himself with the bottle of wine in his hands, inspecting the label.  

He admires your work in a little compact mirror you had found in your bag. “So.. do you like it? Or have I completely fucked your hair?” you ask, watching his reflection. Matty grins, slamming the mirror shut. 

“I love it! The layers make me look hot, so you did your job right!” He pulled you in for a hug, kissing all over your face: He was obviously drunker than you thought.

You lay back on your elbows, closing your eyes, letting the sun shine onto your skin. This was nice. You felt truly alive.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Skin against skin, soft moans filled the room. You didn't even know who they belonged to. Desire took over your bodies like a foreign force. The room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp just outside, illuminating the space. 

“Fuck- can I?” hands trailed down your chest, toying with the buttons of your shirt. You nod frantically, smashing his lips back against yours. You find his hair, pulling slightly as he lets out a pathetic whimper. You drink in the noise as if it was the very essence of life, tugging even harder at the curls. Curls. Matty.

“Mmh- ah, fuck-” You can feel him against your thigh. You can feel Matty grinding against you. The thought makes your head spin, and you throw your head back, your hair splayed over the baby blue pillows. Mattys pillows.   

“You're so- you’re so beautiful, just let me- i’ll-” he cuts himself off, trailing his lips down your jaw, leaving searing, hot kisses in his wake. His mouth makes contact with your collarbone, biting down. You hiss, your nails digging into his scalp. He groans. Matty

His rough hands rub the tattoo on your hip, you feel his rough calluses. You pull his hair, making him look at you. Your eyes rake over his face, the glitter around his eyes shimmering in the faint light. His hand comes up to push your shirt up, the material bunching up where his mouth had just been. You make eye contact again. 

He grins before licking one long stripe along the expanse of your ribcage, letting out an obscene moan as he did. He was putting on a show, for you. The noise goes straight to your core. 

His fingers snap the elastic of your black underwear, making you jump. A laugh. Teeth graze your hip bone, tracing the tattoo. You can feel him slipping the lace down your thighs, licking and sucking lower, lower, lower…

You jolt awake suddenly, hot sweat running down your back. You turn to look at the time. 2:53am. 

What the fuck was that?

You close your eyes, the dream replaying in your head. Lips, your lips and his. Teeth, kisses down your neck, Matty, Matty, Matty-

You stop yourself, shoving your face into a pillow. This can't be happening. This wasn't real. This was all hallucination and you didn't just have a wet dream involving your best mate. 

Letting out a groan, you lay back down facing the wall. You desperately, desperately needed a good lay. If it had come to you having fucking dreams about Matty of all people, you knew it was time to find a guy and just shag him. That would solve your little predicament, you were sure of it. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Admiring yourself in the mirror, you hike the ruched material of your dress up even further. Jewelry covered you from head to toe, complimenting the details of your bag perfectly. Hair done up in curls, you knew you were ready. 

You were going out. Alone.

The heel of your shoe clicked nervously against the pavement as you queued, giving the bouncer, James, a nod as he waved you through. “No Matty today?” he questioned, referring to the fact that you were alone.  

“Yeah, I'm out alone tonight. Matty is… sick. The flu.” you lie through your teeth, not wanting to disclose the real reason behind your solo-mission. The plan was to find a guy, any guy, and forget about that godforsaken dream.  

The music was loud, even louder than usual, and you were stone cold sober. Not good. 

Making your way to the bar, you order your usual, a french martini. Tobias, the bartender, handed your drink, and you close out. You didn't want to get hammered tonight. 

Your fingers drum along to the beat as you sip your drink, scanning the crowd. There weren't many people dancing, seeing as it was a Sunday night. Most had work in the morning, so going out wasn't an option. He had asked you if you really didn't want anything else, even offering you a drink in the house. You politely decline with a shake of your head, assuring him it was alright.

Suddenly, a tall man appeared in your peripheral vision. You had seen him a few times before, wandering about, flirting with the female waitresses. Blonde hair, blue eyes. The complete opposite of Matty. His arm rested against the bar, and you could see him flexing his muscles. On purpose. Jesus.  

He strolled up to you with an air of confidence. Turning to Tobias, he asked him what your drink was. “A french martini,” he answered, looking you up and down “and she's only had one the entire night.” The man laughs, “Well that wont do! Let me buy you a drink sweetheart, on me.” 

You nod, turning to face him. A smile makes its way onto your lips. Perfect . 

He introduces himself as David. He works an office job down the road, something something marketing. You didn't really listen to him, only laughing when he paused, expecting it

He seemed solid, and he was 19, so not too old. You really didn't want to deal with another Phillip situation. He had bought you three, quite pricey, drinks, and you knew he wanted more. 

He eventually asked if you wanted to come back to his place for some wine. You agreed, letting yourself be led out of the club by your wrist. James winked at you knowingly as you left.

He had a silver Toyota, the interior a cream leather. It was a big difference to Hann’s beaten up red Kia, but you weren't complaining. He was nice enough, opening the car door for you. 

The inside of his flat reeked of sickly sweet vanilla and cheap cologne. He opened a bottle of wine for the both of you, pouring two glasses. The conversion was mundane, but he was nice enough. You had switched your phone off, not wanting anything to distract you from your mission. He had made a move to sit next to you, his hand trailing up your thigh, inching higher with every word he uttered.

His mouth was against your ear, whispering sweet nothings into it, his other hand finding your chest, pushing you down onto the sofa. You let him move you, twist you as he pleased. It didn't mean anything to you, you just needed to get Matty out of your head. Matty.

His hands were soft, like he moisturized them regularly. You could feel his lips on your chest, leaving bite marks and kisses, but you didn't feel anything. Closing your eyes, you decide to let him do all of the work. You had even worn your only pair of lace underwear, a black number with a little bow on the front of the matching bra. The same pair you had worn in the dream. 

You mentally curse yourself, kissing David deeper, harder than you did before. Forget, forget, forget. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't the worst, but at least he tried. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Laying on his (quite expensive looking) leather couch, you watch him as he gets dressed. He asks you if you need anything, and you answer with a shake of your head. You just wanted to leave. 

A phone buzzes, and you quickly realize it's yours. You pick it up, the screen lighting up. 3 missed calls from Matty, and 4 texts from him as well. 

// Where r you? I’m at your window. 

// Are you well? 

// Answer me for fucks sake, dont do this.

// I hope you’ve died or smth, you’re well fucking me off. 

You sigh, clicking the call button. It rings for a split second before Matty picks up. 

“Now you decide to ring me back? I thought you’d been picked up by a sex trafficker or something. Fuck you, honest,” his voice sounded worried, even tired, if you ignored the nature of his words. 

“Sorry mate, I was out.” You answer curtly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your fingers tap against the glass of the coffee table, and you hear Matty inhale sharply. 

“Out where? And why did it take me three calls and four messages to get a ring back?” he sounded more aggressive this time, and you could tell he had gotten up from wherever he was sitting. This pissed you off. Why does he have the right to know where you are, it didn’t concern him in the slightest, and he wasn't your father. You told him as much. 

“I was out, alright? I'm at David's place right now, and I'll be at yours in an hour, cool?” A moment of silence passes between you two before Matty spits out. “Whos the fuck is David?” The way he said his name made it sound like you had shagged his worst enemy, not some random guy. 

“He's just a bloke I met at Sound, I went to his place. D’you want me over or should I fuck off home?” The second option was just a courtesy, you were sure he’d want you over. You hadn’t seen each other since Friday. 

“Nah, it's alright, go home.” His voice sounded cold, unfeeling. A shudder made its way up your spine. He didn't sound like himself at all. What the fuck? “I have erm.. work to catch up on. You understand.” No you didnt fucking understand. 

You open your mouth to protest, but are rudely interrupted by a faint noise. The dial tone. Matty had hung up on you. Your mouth let out a gasp in disbelief. Fuck him. Fuck him all the way. 

You gather your things. While trying to find your shoes, David comes back into the room. You tell him you need to leave, and he tries to kiss you goodbye. It feels wrong. 

Deciding to walk barefoot, you do the walk of shame at 1 in the morning. Heels in one hand, your purse in the other, you trudge down the pavement. You feel dirty, like you did something inherently wrong.

Cars whizz by you, and you hear sirens in the background. It's cold, and you can feel goosebumps forming on your skin in the soft breeze. Feeling around for your cigarettes, you come across something small towards the bottom of your purse. You pull it out, your eyes widening at the sight. The lighter. Mattys lighter. 

The white letters on the side point and laugh at you. You can hear it. It was even more chipped than it was that night, how did it still work? M.H. Matty. 

In a fit of rage you chucked the lighter onto the ground in front of you. It splinters off, the metal top flying off onto the road. A car drives over it. You were angry. Angry at yourself for even going out alone. For going home with fucking David. You were angry at Matty for being angry at you. You didn't even understand why, but the mere fact he had hung up on you made your blood boil.

The lighter was now in pieces beneath your feet. The white letters, illegible. Feeling powerful, you decide to kick the rest of the plastic off onto the road, hoping a giant truck would run it over. You wanted Matty at your feet like this, pathetic and powerless. You needed him like this, to show him he can't just hang up on you like you're nothing. 

The mental image of Matty at your feet made warmth spread throughout your body. On his knees, looking up at you with glassy, glitter framed eyes. You wanted to take his beautiful hair and weave it between your fingers, forcing him to look up at you. You wanted to hear the pathetic whimpers escape his mouth, just like they did in your dream. 

You feel breathless, staring at the wet pavement where the lighter once was. You keep walking.   

#i like this one alot #angst #smut?? #smut #the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel #matty the 1975 #drive like i do #matty healy x you #matty healy angst #matty healy smut #fluff? #sort of i guess

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

104/150 with lethal company?

104) I can hear it calling my name

.........

[Y/n], January 29th, [Log 001]

---I'm afraid this will be my last log. So I'm keeping this encrypted.

Everyone's gone, but I'm still here. And I'm terrified. We started on this job as strangers, and we became family. Now I'm all alone because of a stupid mask. A piece of scrap we should've just sold off.

But he thought it would be funny to wear. I don't blame him. He was always a jokester, willing to do anything to turn a frown upside down and make light of our dreary trips. I know he didn't mean to hurt us. He thought it was harmless. Honest to god we thought so too.

Until he started vomiting blood and tried grabbing me. He tore off my helmet, along with my tracker, but I managed to get away. I still don't know how. But I wish I was smarter about it, because I got lost.

Then I heard the ship's engines.

They must've thought I was dead. Or maybe they all died and the autopilot kicked in. I'm not sure. I don't even know the current time. But what I do know is that I'm stuck here now. Possibly forever. I could make an SOS but that monster is still outside. I had to barricade myself in this storage room and wait until it goes away.

It keeps knocking. I can hear it calling my name. But I know it's not him.

To anyone who reads this, don't pick up the porcelain masks. They aren't worth shit. It'll tempt you to put it on. Don't. You'll find better loot elsewhere. If you see anyone already wearing it, kill them. Stun them. Run. Whatever. Just don't let it take you.

And if you see me wearing it, put me out of my misery. I promise I'll understand---

Finishing what would likely be your final log, you sighed and slumped back against the wall, letting the tablet slip from your hands.

You don't know how long you've been stuck here--whether it's been hours or days.

But all you know is that the Masked on the other side of the door hasn't left. It was using your coworker's corpse, mimicking his voice as it pounded on the steel and tried convincing you to let it in, even shattering the window. For some reason it refused to leave you alone, and kept begging and begging until it began screaming unintelligently...

That would go on and on until eventually it would cease, weakly clawing at the door, only to rinse and repeat once it rested its voice.

You were starving, trying your best to ration the jar of pickles you were luckily able to find in this storage room.

Unfortunately, that's as far as your luck will go at this point. They were sour and made you want to vomit every time you ate one. But while you didn't want starvation to take your life, you weren't exactly sure how you really wanted to go out instead.

It sure as hell wasn't gonna be from that bastard who took away your friends.

"It's clear....all clear......come on out....the ship is leaving..leave....out.....COME OUT..!! COME OUT!! COMEOUTCOMEOUT-!!"

With your heart hammering in your chest, you curled up and covered your ears, squeezing both eyes shut. 'Fuck, it's losing its mind again...this is a nightmare..why did I ever take this job?' You tried not to focus on the screams so much, and instead prayed for some kind of miracle.

But in space, would anyone really hear your prayers?

Yet somebody must have, because the screaming abruptly stopped a minute later, being replaced by the sounds of heavy thumping and growling drawing near.

You only knew one other alien creature that made those.

And you knew it was pissed off.

Getting up and backing away from the door, you fearfully clutched a stop sign as you heard a series of terrified shrieks, roars, slamming and crashing sounds....before silence followed, save for the low growls you heard earlier and chewing noises.

Cautiously, you went back over and pushed aside one of the things covering up the window, and the sight on the other side was quite nauseating:

The Thumper was hovering over the Masked's body, teeth covered in blood and flesh as it tore into it, clearly wanting to savor this midnight snack.. But eventually it decided to drag the rest of the corpse away and to another part of the facility, only leaving behind a few shattered fragments of white dirty porcelain.

You couldn't believe it.

You were actually happy that a Thumper, of all things, saved your skin.

But you sure as hell didn't want it coming back for a second lunch. Now was your window of opportunity to get out of here. The adrenaline pumping through your veins was the only reason you were able to grab your loot and book it out of that storage room, being careful not to run into that Thumper again.

At least now you could go outside and (hopefully) send an S.O.S.

#saw this an immediately thought of the masked/mimics #clanask #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #lethal company masked #lethal company thumper #angst/horror prompt

[wint3r-h3art]

Listen I don’t know how it gets to this point but the idea of Namor fucking you in his room in the cave with all his paintings, but it’s MESSY like y’all have paint smeared on your bodies, smudged a new painting on the wall that hadn’t dried yet, you’re body sweating and leaving marks all over eachothers bodies, the whole fucking place is just TRASHED

And how embarrassed you’d be after when you both thought you’ve cleaned up, but Namora comments on the paint on your neck (and how Namor would be smiling all smug lmao)

Our Secret

A/N: My hand slipped. No beta, so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry.

18+ ONLY | Minors DNI

warnings: mutual pinning, mentioned of male masturbation, vaginal sex, wall sex

Namor of Talokan Masterlist

It started off with stolen glances between the two of you.

His eyes followed the path of your brush stroke against the cool cavern wall, then slowly they traveled up your arm, then your shoulder. To the slenderness of your neck, his eyes linger, watching and wishing to taste your skin on his tongue.

Then up his eyes linger on your lips, watching almost tentatively and imagining the way those soft, pillowy flesh would feel against his.

It's almost foolish the way he felt himself getting hard at the sight. His grip on his own brush is almost too hard that the little thing is almost breaking in half.

Then your curious eyes shift to meet his hungry ones. It's borderline desperation the way his gaze would linger and how hard he's swallowing by just your presence there. It's a torturous affair for him, yet he craves and longs for it. He loves the way your scent would linger in the cavern and envelopes his hunger with the ghost of you whenever he's alone.

He must admit that he found himself giving in to his own needs once or twice already. His hand would be moved on its own and stroke the half-hardened shaft to the image of you. Of course, he felt like shit afterward, knowing full well that he shouldn't, yet every time you and he share a space, all of his rationality dissipated into thin air.

Just like now. The hunger and needs to have you are more than apparent. The wordless exchange between the two of you is simply too much to bare.

You swallow for a brief moment, only to find yourself being crushed against the cool cavern wall. His lips descend upon yours almost too quickly for you to realize what's happening.

His tongue and teeth are everywhere. His rough, calloused hands dig into your skin almost imprinting them right to your bones. His touches are as hot as the sun itself, and you wouldn't mind being burned by him.

Next thing you know, you find yourself being wrapped around his waist. Your clothes are lying on the cavern floor. Your arms wrap around his neck as his lips are still covering yours, swallowing whatever noise you emit.

And without any hesitation, he enters you with a swift motion, making both of you moan out in unison. There is no softness to this. It's a pure need from all the unsaid attraction you both have been feeling for these past months. A passion that is as hot as the sun itself, yet none of you seems to care of either of your burn from each other.

His hips move with desperation and eagerness that make your head spin. Sweats slick your bodies as the small room fills with nothing but the sound of your bodies. You can feel every fiber of his muscles move beneath your fingertips from the effort alone.

It's almost too much yet not enough. He would move to lie on the table, causing all the paint pots to fall and clatter all around you, but there is no sign of stopping. Your nails drag across his back in a desperate attempt to hold on to the last bit of your sanity.

K’uk’ulkan is determined more than ever to bring you to release. His movements become more and more erratic as he feels your body slowly closing in around him, and before he knows it, you came with a muffled scream as he continues to drive into you, using you until he reaches his own release.

Silence fills the small cavern, except for the sound of your heavy panting as both of you slowly come down from your high, and once more the shared silence between the two of you continues, yet there's a mutual understanding of this little secret you share.

Both of you part way, yet there's a lingering look you share when you leave the room, and for the first time, you notice the way the smile finally reaches his eyes, melting his deep brown eyes like the way the earth softens right after the rain just falls.

A couple of days later though Namora points something out as you and the king silently work on the mural once again.

"Is that gold paint stuck to your hair?"

You turn to her, but she has already looked straight at the king beside you with a knowing smile. Heat flares up on your face as you glance to your right, directly at K’uk’ulkan, and he too has the same smirk that makes you want to crawl under the table and hide.

#linda answered #namor imagine #namor x reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor smut #namor blurb #mcu namor #kukulkan x reader #kukulkan x you

[cafeinthemoon]

King - Chapter IX

Chapter 9/?

Wordcount 3,4k

Title Misguided Behavior

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 🖤

Warnings: Poseidon is his own warning; non explicit sex; mentions of deep waters and fear of drowning

Tagging @cloveradora @the-dumber-scaramouche @mikkies @sl33py-zer0 @nooneknows8976 (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A. Finally I'm getting the feeling that the story is moving forward! Yay! Here we have a small, yet important revelation about reader's past, and a peculiar confession from Poseidon, to say the least 😅 Then, a place I've waited so long to introduce to you: the Sea Library, which I'm sure would make the Beauty and the Beast's one seem modest in comparison haha And, finally, the appearance of a new, essential part of this drama as our reader tries to prepare herself for war...

Hope you enjoy this one, and sorry for making wait ^^

It was like laying on the beach, at the very point where the sand meets the sea, but having a block of marble to support your back instead.

That didn’t mean there was no comfort around you: the water was warm, and its warmth extended to the floor where you were; however, the heat that came from Poseidon’s body felt deeper. And this sensation only increased when you realized that this time things wouldn’t be like the wedding night: now, his mercy has reached its limit and no freedom to move or to breathe would be conceded to you so soon, for his arms squeezed you and his legs kept yours in place, his mouth over yours, making you unable to speak.

Knowing your own limitations, you didn’t even try.

This must be my punishment for the slap.

You closed your eyes, sensing your sight getting dark as a strange noise filled your ears. You never knew if your husband noticed this but, following what he said about keeping what belonged to him intact, he moved away from you, allowing you to fill your lungs with the hot air of the room right before you passed out.

But that was just the beginning.

Getting off you, he sent all the water back to the bathtub with a movement of his hand. You looked around and noticed that the spots touched by the water didn’t remain wet when the waves ceased and returned to the tank, which included your dress, tossed aside by him; you shouldn’t be surprised for witnessing the absolute control that the Lord of the Seas showed over such a small portion of water, but here you were, with your eyes wide open and a ridiculous gaping mouth.

And, of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by him, who chuckled as he took you in his arms and led you to the tub’s interior.

As he walked to the opposite side of the tub, you sensed his feet walking down the stairs on its bottom, and each stair that they touched, the water raised an inch and your heart skipped a beat. In an unconscious move, your body curled over itself on his lap.

Heavens, what he’s planning to do? Is he going to…

Your discomfort wasn’t enough for Poseidon to stop: when he reached the last stair and entered the deepest parts of the tub, he just kept walking inside the water with the same naturalness one would walk on the land, holding you bridal style.

At the point where the water covered his waist and your legs and back, he stopped and made a sudden move to release you into the water.

Something – perhaps the thing that some called the primitive, survival instinct – screamed inside you and forced a physical reaction: you wrapped your arms around Poseidon’s neck, looking away from the water, staring at the bathing area’s entry over his shoulder. Only when the rational side of your mind took over again you realized the shameful position you were put in: with your legs surrounding his waist, the soaked fabric of your underwear clinging to your skin – soaked with only water, you hoped – you were holding on to your husband so tight that you were sure you would’ve suffocated him if he was a human. In other occasions, you would’ve moved away from him immediately, but that time it would mean your death, so you ignored your hurt pride and stood there, trembling.

And the god’s mockery was the price you paid for your safeness.

– So... you cannot swim, dragonet? – he whispered in your ear, each word vibrating with the idea of the frail, rebel human finally bent down, depending on him; and, with all possible disdain, – Pathetic.

You were fighting to control your breath, your shivers and your voice all at once, trying not to reinforce the ridiculous depiction that was just imputed to you, but that was too much.

– Poseidon-sama… – you heard yourself whisper; however, you bit your tongue one second before it started begging him to not release you.

You felt his right arm tightening around your waist, as his left hand caressed the back of your head.

– Hm, what is it? Do you already regret challenging me in my own domain? Are you ready to retract yourself? – his lips left a brief kiss on your lobe – I am eager to find out how your voice sounds when you apologize...

In face of that provocation, what was left of your anger was shaken inside you, so you made no attempts to hold back your words.

– No… – your nails dug in the skin of his shoulders – You will drown me here before you hear me apologize, my Lord!

He laughed.

– Good to see you still have some fight in you, but are you sure about this? – his lips brushed your ear as he spoke – Even with the choppy, deep waters under you?

You sensed a strange movement in the water and gasped.

– You are a though one, more than I gave you credit for – Poseidon continued with his teasing, not hiding his diversion, until a slight change in his tone was sensed, for something awakened his curiosity – Still, it intrigues me: how can you not be able to swim? You were raised in a land where there is access to the sea. Have you never touched its waters?

Given that things have come to this point, it was useless to try and hide this from him now. You let out a sigh and confessed something that has been just a trivial fact about yourself until the moment you were taken to live in that underwater kingdom, when it became as embarrassing as a sin.

– I was raised away from the beach – you explained – My mother never loved the sea, so she would never allow me to come near it. Only after she passed away, I was able to go to the coast, but I always stood close to the sand. And, every time I’ve traveled with my father, we would always go through the land. Because he followed the instructions of my mother, my feet never touched the floor of a ship.

Somehow, speaking about this took off a weight from your shoulders and prepared you for whatever reaction your husband could have. When his verbal response came at last, it sounded more serious than you expected.

– This is the most personal thing you have ever told me about yourself, little dragonet. However, I cannot accept the idea that you never found your mother’s attitude strange, to say the least. How can it be that you have never questioned her? You, who did not think twice before defying me?

You swallowed. He was right, and you knew it – how could you never think of asking your mother about her reasons to stay away from the ocean? Was it a childhood trauma? A nightmare, a prophecy or something more mundane, like a distaste for the sea breeze? Or maybe you’ve tried to question her once or twice, but she simply avoided the theme and you forgot about it?

It is really strange now that I think about it. It’s like, before I was taken to his domains, the sea didn’t matter to me. There were days when I even forgot it exists.

Your silence before those questions was taken as a confirmation that none of this sat right to you, so he just continued to talk, more to himself than to you.

– Besides, I am not satisfied with the fact that you just told me these things in face of death – he held you tighter against himself – You are already mine, you understand? It is not fair that I must appeal to such ways every time I need an answer from you.

When your eyes started to burn, you shut them tight to avoid the tears... all in vain.

Then just don’t ask anything more from me.

– Fair? But how could there be any justice in this? – you started with a mumble, but your tone raised as your words came out – I was chosen to live here, but the choice was not mine! I never wanted to come to your domains! I never wanted to become yours! I never wanted to have this conversation! I never wanted any of this to happen...

A lump appeared in your throat, and you were unable to keep speaking. Suddenly, you felt tired, and your head just fell forward, leaning on your husband’s shoulder. His only response to that – not that you expected anything different – was silence.

It's like someone who watches a child throwing a tantrum. My anger and any of my other feelings mean nothing to him. Is this how a god should behave with us?

When you spoke again, your voice was an exhausted whisper.

– It is important for me to know… My entire reason to exist... it changed when you intervened in my fate, my Lord... I need to know why…

That time, you had a verbal answer from him. A clear, simple answer, but enough to make you gasp in incredulity.

– You still ask me why, my dragonet? The reason is obvious – Poseidon gave you a soft, long kiss on your hair – I love you.

Now, you couldn’t help but obey the impulse of moving away from him, frowning as you stared into his eyes, trying to find the slightest signs of mockery or insanity – and the scariest part of this is that you found none.

That’s not possible! He can’t be serious!

– I don’t believe you… – you mumbled, the sight of his traits blurry by your tears.

However, the god was impassible, as if convincing you of his honesty wasn’t a priority… and, indeed, it wasn’t.

– It does not matter if you believe it or not. It is true – he promptly replied – I love all the women I have taken as my wives, and you are not an exception. I do not touch people for whom I hold no love. But you… – you felt his hand caressing your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your face – Despite the instabilities of your human heart, which often led you to a misguided behavior, I can not help but feel love for you.

You remembered Suriah’s words about his love for the women he brought to his house, as well as his dislike for rebel ones, and the possibility of this being true got you scared: following her logic, Poseidon’s love for you must have grown deep in an impossibly short amount of time.

But, well, even though you asked him to kill you, asked not to be impregnated, suggested that he treated his women with injustice and, finally, physically attacked him, he kept assuring you about his feelings, stating that it didn’t matter if you thought he was lying; besides, he has treated with you mercy in some sense: he agreed with your request and didn’t make you carry a child right in your first time with him; he treated you with gentleness after that; heavens, he even killed a man to protect your integrity.

It just didn’t make sense.

And how arrogant of him to dismiss my feelings as “misguided behavior”. Is this how he expects to win my affection?

– Like I said, I don’t believe you, Poseidon-sama – you slowly turned your face away from him, trying to stay out of his hand’s reach – You only feel desire for me, if most. It is not the same thing as love.

Despite your attempt to avoid it, his hand reached your face again, this time holding your chin and making you look into his eyes.

– To me, one does not exist without the other – was his reply – You may understand this in any way you want, but it does not erase the truth of my words…

That moment, you sensed a slow, uneasiness in the water around you. At the same time, your husband approached his mouth from yours, drowning you in a kiss before you had a chance to react.

And then, he moved away just enough to finish his sentence:

– …Neither the truth of my actions.

The agitation you noticed on the water went from subtle to clear, and as it raised until it covered your legs, still wrapped on his waist, you sensed it becoming warmer, as to follow the stream of emotions of its master: in each movement, each wave that touched your skin were the confirmation of his words and the extension of his feelings and thoughts, reaching for you with the same persistence as his mouth on your lips, your neck and your collar, and as his hands going through your body, freeing you from your underwear, making you ready for him.

And you just let him.

I was so willing to drown myself here and escape from him… what happened, then? If I don’t believe in his love, what am I doing here?

As if guessing your thoughts, his voice was heard again, bringing out those very questions.

– Where has your determination gone, dragonet? – he held your jawline, his lips brushing over yours – Have you finally seen the truth, or are you just tired?

Your face burned with that, but you didn’t deny him an answer.

It’s simple.

– No, my Lord…

I don’t believe in your love, but I do believe in your desire. And, because of this...

– It’s too late for me.

***

You were waking in silence through parts of the castle that looked familiar, both in an architectural and energetic sense, having a servant to accompany you.

Though they only happened one or two hours ago, the events of that morning seemed as distant as if they belonged to a remote past now, as much as that empty, long corridor where everything started seemed to be in another building on the other side of the kingdom – and you only hoped that you’d never find yourself anywhere near it again.

Moments after touching you in the bathtub, Poseidon took you out of the water and carried you to bed, leaving you there to rest, all by yourself, as he went to a small office he maintained inside those chambers without giving any explanations about what he intended to do or when he would return, and you, who just wanted to reach the castle’s Library before that day ended, were forced to wait until your husband decided to come back to the bed area and finally give you permission to leave the room, which didn’t happen until a long time.

While you waited, hidden inside the sheets, in the middle of that enormous bed, you recalled the things that happened between you since your arrival.

How could he be so sure that his actions were guided by love when all of them showed no regard for your individuality, your nature and your choices, that is, the least expected from a respectful, reasonable love? Heavens, you were taken away from your home, your family and the life you knew to be confined in the depths of the sea, among dozens of other women who were there only to serve one individual, a man who you’ve never met before and who expected compliance and docility from you above all things! What kind of love was that? Were all the other gods just like this?

Maybe the selkie, Melian, was right. This isn’t an appropriate place for humans to live. We’ve been distant from the gods for so long that it’s impossible to live in peace with them now. We don’t even share similar views on love.

Still... you couldn’t continued to say no to him.

At some point, you just let him hold, touch, take you, reaffirming those twisted feelings towards you which he called love, and even started to enjoy it, lured by the fantasy that they were, in fact, the feelings of a loving husband, and now this attitude had your senses and your judgment contaminated, and you saw yourself unable to wash him away; you kept revisiting the events of earlier, the attentions he gave you, his teasing, his caresses, his seductive whispers, and understood that you might have started developing a sort of addiction, so much that, when the next encounter with him happened – because it would happen – you would no longer be able to put up a fight, not even as a formality.

And the scariest part of this is that I’m already missing him. At least my body is. If only he was normal man… I could even say I’m falling in love.

As you walked, you crossed your arms upon your chest, adjusting the shawl as if you were feeling cold.

The servant glanced at you with a worried expression.

– Is everything alright, y/n-san?

You forced a smile on your face.

– Yes. Thank you.

You weren’t sure you convinced the servant of your well being, but were grateful for her to not insist on that conversation: suddenly changing the subject, she indicated a new direction in your path, stating that the Library wasn’t too far now.

– We just have to go to the end of this corridor and walk down a few stairs – she was saying – The Library’s doors are just ahead.

That information revived your moods, and in a minute or two you were standing before the wide, golden doors of the Sea Library. The servant pushed them by the knobs, two spheres with delicate figures of fishes surrounding them that moved like they were swimming in water as a response to the push, and the doors were opened at last.

You were marveled.

On the large hall of white marble that extended before you, imposing shelves of noble wood, with books of all colors and sizes that filled them up to down, occupied the majority of the space, creating hundreds of corridors through which you knew you could get lost if you just walked into them without trying and memorizing the way. The place, you noticed, was formed by at least three floors, connected between themselves by stairs of the same marble of the hall, leading to shelves even larger than those ones near you.

I could spend my entire life here, and there would be still books to read.

The servant’s voice at your right brought you back to reality.

– Do you need me to wait for you here, y/n-san?

You blinked twice. When you turned to the girl, you saw a clever smile on her lips.

– It’s impressive, isn’t it? – she whispered; and, glancing at the shelves, – You don’t know how privileged you are for being allowed to stay here.

Your throat tightened at those words, but you didn’t want to discuss this with her. You had a work to do. Answering her question, you told her that she could go without you, because you intended to stay there for a long time, and she left you right after, wishing you luck in whatever research you were going to start.

Once the doors were closed again and you found yourself alone with the books, you took your first step toward them… and realized you had no idea where to begin.

Stopped before the first shelf and stared at it with something close to fear. You tried to read the titles that were at your eyes’ height, but they were all written in languages you’ve never seen before, some of them seeming impossible to be adopted by a human group; you raised your hand to touch their spines, but stopped before your fingers touched them.

It was when the weight of your mission finally reached you.

Look at the size of this place… Only one year to work on my task would never be enough...

You looked around and, despite sensing your hopes fading, you started to walk through the shelves – and, apparently, this had a soothing effect in your heart, for in a few minutes you found yourself more comfortable than intimidated by those structures.

It’s like traveling through a big city. Scary and fun at the same time.

As well said by the servant, that was an impressive collection, and you wondered how long your husband has taken to gather all of them, if he remembered the first ones or if he has found some of them personally or delegated this task to his servants. You stopped in front of a shelf and sighed: you knew so little about him that all the inner debates you had while coming to the Library were nothing but pathetic.

I’ve been feeling so much for a stranger.

Your mind was making so much noise for nothing. You chuckled and turned away from those books, decided to explore the next shelf…

– A human being using the Tyrant’s Library to gather weapons? Finally, some diversion coming our way.

#snv poseidon #ror poseidon #snv x reader #ror x reader #poseidon x reader #ror poseidon x reader #snv poseidon x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #record of ragnarok x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #poseidon snv #poseidon ror

[rinbowaman]

heethans reaction to him and reader getting in a fightand dont fuck for a day and his number 1 rule is “dont touch yourself” and reader goes ahead to which leads to non-conn and lots of overstimulation

or

heethans reaction to giving reader silent treatment for some reason and they’re laying together in bed and she is tryna fuck and he is ignoring her so she starts touching herself and even rubs herself on his leg (she is sideways he is on his back) then he eventually snaps and punishes her

Teach Her a Lesson...

Warnings: Non con smut.....very non con...turns to dub con.....bondage, trapping a person......there is some visual imagery in here that does contain nudity, nothing crazy just some minor nude to show the visual of what i'm describing. Unprotected sex, dominant Heethan...dominant male leads, abuse of power, abuse of authority in a relationship, very yandered....punishing reader.....punishing female in a relationship........its a bit juicy...and rough.

Smirking at the last message, Heeseung places his phone down as he continues to focus on the laptop screen, occasionally eyeballing the door upstairs to his bedroom, glaring at it the moment he thinks of the attitude you were flaring. No matter. He had every intention to fix you later, once he cleared his schedule of all these tasks, plus, it would be good to blow off some steam by giving you some space, so long as you were remaining in the house with him.

An hour or two went by, finishing the last bit of his assignments, Heeseung closed his laptop and prepared himself to confront you, no doubt you were going to be in need of some harsh love. Noting the time, being that it was nearly 5pm, he figured you were taking a nap. The lack of movement and sound from the bedroom provided him enough common sense that you were quietly dozing off, which compelled him to check on you.

Walking up the stairs, he quietly opens the door and cracks it open. Initially, at first glance, it appeared you were peacefully asleep. Closing the door mid way, he heard a soft whimper emit from your pursed lips. Opening the door back up with a somewhat intrigued yet annoyed look on his face he knew what that soft moan meant.

Taking a closer look, it appeared you were somewhat half asleep, dazed, and very much in the mood. Your eyes remained softly closed as your hands roamed and squeezed your breasts together while you turned and shoved your face towards the pillow. It was hard for you, being that you were beginning your ovulating cycle and the argument provided enough sexual tension that you succumbed to the desires of the steamy dream you awoke from.

Biting down on the pillow case, your face remained turned off to the side as you clenched your teeth down on the soft material, while your hands aggressively pushed your breasts together. Your hips rolled and your derriere dips down as your body waves in wild motion, slightly bucking up into the air as you imagine him fucking into you like he always does. Why he had to be so stubborn and tormenting today was beyond you, all that you knew was you needed him...you wanted him, badly. The rush of the hot moisture that leaked from your cavity propelled a heightened sense of numbness to take over and rid you with all sense of rationality and other feeling.

Your teeth clench down harder on the material in between as you felt the gush of lubrication oozing out of you. Taking one of your hands, you release the fullness of your mound and slid it down to your panties as you delicately slipped a finger in....then another....and even a third. Keeping the pillow case in the grasp of your teeth helped with limiting the amount of noise you were making, not to mention you could only feel so much with your own extremities. The feeling was nothing like the intense sensation you felt with Heeseung and his fingers, his hands, his tongue, his lips, and his large member. Still....you were yearning for release and needed it bad, to the point where your desperation grew to a level of insanity as you figured he was still downstairs working, being resistant on purpose to make you suffer.

Little did you know, that the man stood there in the wide open. The door was nearly in full swung as he just stood with a look of harsh irritation, yet he enjoyed the view so much. It was astounding at how much in the mood you were, at that very moment, you didn't even notice him standing at the door way in full view. He wasn't even trying to hide, keeping the door agape, he stood for a few minutes until he realize just how hot you were, that you still didn't see him.

Rolling his tongue in his mouth, he shifts his glare down to the floor.

"Alright.....i'll be back....and i'll deal with you in just a bit...." he mentally voiced out as he quietly and gently backed away from the entry, and shut the door.

Heading down stairs, he grabs his keys as he walks past the counter space and gently shuts and locks the door. Setting the alarm through his phone, he ensures that you were left secured as he went to drive down the street for only a moment.....

Pulling up around the block, Heeseung parks his car and lets himself in the frat home of his best friend. Walking up the stairs, he quietly admits a gentle knock before entering, where the view of Jake, leaned back in his chair with a glass of a gentleman's liquor in hand, casually sipping as he admires the view before him.

"Hey." Jake smiles as he nods over to Heeseung.

"Huh...you weren't exaggerating." Heeseung scoffs out, noting H/N's state as she was rendered still, blindfolded, and.....

..........................

H/n really was indeed hanging out. Strapped in a leather bound cage, she remained standing in minimal undergarments to cover her lower regions as her breasts remained exposed through bits of her hair, while her arms were raised over her head as her wrists were tied and bound. Standing up before her, Jake feeds his hand through the straps and brushes his fingers over her bellybutton, dragging it down to her core.

"You gonna be a good girl now?" he asks.

Nodding her head, H/N responds gently as she admits direct obedience to him. "Yes....yes I promise....I promise to be good."

"No more temper tantrums?" He peaks a brow.

"No more...."

"Okay, lets get you down." Lowering the leathered cage, Jake detaches the straps as he unties her wrists, throwing a blanket over her shoulders as he kisses and rests his chin on the top of her head. "Go ahead and get dressed, I'll take you to your favorite restaurant, mmkay?" Kissing her once more, he unveils the blindfold and a flushed H/N glances over, before shunning her face away once she noticed Heeseung standing off to the side. Walking over towards the bathroom, H/N admits herself away as she prepares to clean up and get dressed.

"Where do you find this shit?" Heeseung perks a brow as he asks, smirking a casual smile as he crosses his arms.

"You know my deep appreciation for foreign toys." Jake laughs out. Both men deliver and exchange a series of deep chuckles.

"So what do you need man? Whatever it is, i'm pretty sure i got it." Jake inquires as he hands Heeseung a drink. Taking a seat, Heeseung elaborates on specifically what he needed......

...........

"Oh....sounds like you're about to have a good night."

"Yeah."

"I think i have all that you need, i'll help you load it inside your car." Turning back as he grabs a few items from his closet, Jake turns towards his taller friend before flashing a devious smile. "You know....I never would have thought that i would see the day where you'd partake in my toys." Jake chuckles out.

"Well if there is anyone I would know that has it, its you." Heeseung scoffs out.

"And If there's anyone I know that's willing to give it, its you." Jake returns as he hands Heeseung a small bag. "Here, take this, i think you'll enjoy it. I'll help you load the other stuff inside your car."

.....................

Waking up, you found the room to be dark and the entire house quiet....too quiet.

Falling asleep after you had played with yourself, you realized that you nearly slept the entire afternoon away, neither speaking or seeing Heeseung since the fight. Stretching your arms, you get out of bed and walked over to the door, to see if he was still downstairs.

"Where are you going?"

Shuttering with fear as you heard his deep voice coming from behind, you snapped around and quickly saw Heeseung standing across from his desk, hidden within the shadows.

"Oh my God you scared me!" you gasped out. "How long were you standing there?" you asked.

"Not long.....about fifteen minutes actually. Did you have a good nap?" He inquires, seemingly coming off as he normally did after a fight, where he was nonchalant and disregarding your complaints on the matter.

"Yeah.....I did......um...about earlier."

"Oooooh yes....lets do talk about.....earlier."

"I just.....maybe i came off too strong but...i do think that the girls did make some valid points about a woman's position in the relationship...and ...i just felt inspired to seek out a change in our dynamic."

"Uh huh......." He mocks out, his arms crossed and his back leaned against the wall as he tilts his head at you. "Tell me pretty baby....who takes care of you?"

"W....what?"

"Who takes care of you?"

"....You do...."

"and who keeps you safe and brings you home every single night?"

"....you do...."

"And you loves you unconditionally?"

".....You do....."

"Thats right.......that's right, I do....." stepping over towards your direction, he cups your face. "And i'm always going to......you know that right?"

"Yes....."

"Good......so drop this shit about a woman's place in the relationship. You have a place and know it, and you...." pulling you in by the waist, he leans in and softly whispers in your ear....

"Trust me.....you're a queen...and I'll always treat you like one.....those girls, as demanding they wanna be.....they're always gonna want what you have.....because no man will give them the world...like i'm willing to give you......that's because they're not you....only you.....can get everything." Kissing your ear, you felt yourself melting as he emits his soft and tender words, while nibbling onto your helix. Times like this....where he knew full well what he was doing, and the effect he had on you, you found yourself not caring about the bitterness or spite you felt earlier. Instead, you only yearned more of his touch and his dominance...his words that were so gentle and yet so domineering.....he was so forceful and so gentle.

"I'm sorry.......i wont bring it up and get an attitude like that again." you whispered out as you felt his tongue trace the lining of your ear.

"Good......now on to another matter."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb....did i not place you on time out earlier?"

Confused, you tilted your head back and looked at him through the minor glare of light peering in through the window. His eyes remained unseen as his hat was still on. Cupping your face once more, you saw the manner of how he bit his bottom lip as he stroked your skin, and then you realized.....

"......Why do you have your gloves on?" You asked as your breath hitched upon realizing that his fingerless, black gloves were adorning his hands.

"What did you do earlier?...hm?......tell me what you did wrong." he deeply taunts as he licks your cheek.

You were confused at first....then it had dawned on you......

"......Y...you......you saw?" you asked.

Nodding his head, he softly emits an "mmmhmmm....." while grabbing onto your neck.

"Didn't I specifically tell you that you weren't allowed to do that?" He grits his teeth, leaning his face closer to yours, where your eyelashes met and fluttered against each other's.

"......Hee-"

"Wrong name...."

...........

".....Ethan....I...I couldn't help it....."

Brushing his lips against yours, he released a moment of sympathy as he caressed your cherry stained lips. "Oh yeah?"

Gently hovering his lips against yours, he gasps out a breath as he caresses your own. "You want it?....." he asks.

Looking up at him, your eyes glazed with moisture as you felt fearful from his peak level of intimidation, yet also becoming hot and bothered by his authority that he was clearly abusing....and yet you loved it.....

"Y....yes...."

"you're going to have to work for it....."

"......o...okay...." you softly whispered back, willing and ready to take on whatever he had in mind, just so you could get a taste of him....something you've been yearning for all day.

"Good......" releasing your throat, he walks over and lights a candle to dim the room up, where you saw against the wall on the other side of the room, something that quickly started to change your mind.....but you knew that that wouldn't matter....because.....when has Ethan or Heeseung ever considered your objections?.......

"E....Ethan.....Ethan no..."

"Yes...." drifting his eyesight down on the ground as he removes one of his fingerless gloves with his own teeth, he deeply speaks out.

"Get inside....love."

......................................................

Walking back in the room after leaving your for quite some time, he walks inside and only his feet was left viewable to you.

"You ready to behave....pretty baby?" his deep voice echoes out, by the choice of his pet name, you knew he had went back to his Heeseung side.

"Yes!....yes i promise! I promise to behave....." you desperately gasp out as you laid nude in the cage, your skin smoothed over the leather padded cushion under you.

Unlocking and lifting the lid open, he extends a hand and helps you up and out of the cage.

"Come here...."

Taking his hand and grasping his forearm, he pulls you up and you relished at being free....you have no idea how long he kept you in there, but you figured it was well beyond an hour. Falling in and out of sleep, you lost track of the time as you were rendered with no choice but to lay still within the bars.

Practically throwing yourself against his chest, you buried your face into him as he covered you with his arms. "Shhh......come on....coooome here." coaxing you, he leads you to the bed and caresses your face. "Almost done.....you know what you did, right?"

Nodding, you felt yourself wanting to cry as you admitted defeat.

"And you know better....riiiiight?" he continues to coax as you nod each time.

"Y...yes.....yes.....I do......"

"good girl......" standing upright, he takes out a blind fold and covers your eyes. You heard his steps as he walked over to his closet, fishing out whatever item he was going to use to finalize your punishment.

Feeling the straps and bounds being applied to your body, you started to whimper out soft tears.

"I.....I dont know if i want to do this...."

"Dont think you have a choice baby....." he sighs out as he continues to focus on strapping you in. "Kinda pissed me off earlier....and I dont think i'm gonna let it go so easily."

You did piss him off......if there was something that Heeseung....or Ethan really hated....it was whenever you were being defiant...breaking their rules and and straying away from them.

"Please...please...I promise i wont do it again.....please....do...dont do this...Heeseung...."

Not even responding to your words, his mannerism was somewhat apathetic as he started to whistle out a tune, instead of answering your pleas.

"there.....looking good...."

the first set of straps he placed on you, was one that looped a choker around your neck, attached to a pair of chains and leather straps that bound your ankles high and rendered you still with the additional straps around your thighs.....

But that wasn't all, because the moment you found your legs immobile, he propped you up for a moment to bound your wrists and arms behind your back with an additional bondage restraint.....

You were unable to move....not even able to shift over to your side as he had you in a high vulnerable state.

"Heeseung...please.....please dont.....you're scaring me."

"good....maybe that will teach you to obey....." Leaning in as he gently laid you on your back, your spine resting on your wrists and forearms that were strapped to your back, causing you to arch your waist up while your hips were dipping low, you sniffled out a soft cry as you hiccuped a sob or two. Removing his clothing, he strips himself down in the nude and swipes his hair over to the side, like normal. Leaning back in, his bare body pressing and rubbing against yours, he closes the distance. Kissing you softly, he whispers against your lips....

"Ready?"

Shaking your head, you pleaded with your eyes as the tears began to stream out and once more, you begged for him to stop.

"I......I dont....I dont want this......"

"well my pretty girl....whether you want it or not.....you're going to love it......and you're going to love me." at that, he begins to breach your entry, and this time, he had forsaken all of the manner in warming you up and preparing you...which made it painful.

"Stop! Please!"

"Hold still."

Continuing to slide in, he rotates his hips as he digs in deeper.....and deeper.

Finally, he was all the way in, bottoming out into the deepest parts of you that anyone could ever imagine.

"P-please! Please....do-dont move.....dont move please....it hurts....t-too deep...you're too deep...." you pleaded, shuffling around as you measly fight against the restraints, pitifully losing as there was no escape.

"Dont worry...." slowing sliding his hand up in between your breasts, he gently takes hold of your throat, over the leather chokers that adorn your delicate neck, where he slowly grips a firm hold......it was tight, and nearly restricted your breathing entirely. "I'll make it all better.....just gonna have some fun with you first."

With his hand pinning your throat downward, he presses his hips in and begins to thrust.....fast....and hard.

The sound of the chains clashing against one another, the tightness of the leather straps expanding as you gasp for air; between your panting moans, your sobbing cries, and his hold on your neck, your body begins to hyperventilate as you felt the kick of his throbbing member punching your tight spot.

But he was right....he did make it better.....as much as you were wanting to escape, sooner than later, you found yourself moaning out of pleasure over pain as he kept hitting it over and over again, igniting the sharp tingle in your pelvic flooring as your body reacts by generating more soft moisture. After a few moments, you could hear the squelching of his shaft thrusting and shoving the liquids of his labor and your suffering back inside.

"You hear that? ....you fucking like the sound of me fucking you...dont you?" he taunts, his voice transitioning and becoming half Heeseung and half Ethan.

"S...ssstop.....stop.....dont...."

"No baby....dont think i will.....you feel too good and i think you're enjoying this as much as I am."

He wasn't lying, though you refused to admit it.....at least....you tried. After however many minutes went by, you lost control over your mind and body as you started to yell out the pleasurable moans and pleas for him to keep fucking you....to cum inside you....to make you his.

Thrusting repeatedly, he increases the pace and smirks down as he watches your face transition from one that reflected pain, to ultimate pleasure as you dip in and out of your Eden side.

"Yeah?.....My fucking girls like it?" He suddenly grabs a handful of your hair and forces you to face him straight on, while he grits out his words. "Tell me you fucking like it."

"I....I like it...."

"Now tell me you love it."

"I......i......i love it....."

"You gonna stop being a little bitch with an attitude?"

"...Y...y...yyyyyyes!!!" you scream out as he sharpens his momentum but jerking in his thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Yeah? You gonna be a good girl from now on? Hmm? And stay that way?"

"Yes!"

"You will never let anyone influence you again....understand?"

"Yes...yes.....yes!!!"

Harshly closing the distance, the man hovering above you, displaying his split personalities, kisses you roughly.

"You want some more?" he asks.

"yes...yes....yes...mmm...mmmore!" you beg out, becoming angry with yourself for caving in, yet....

.............

"You're getting so wet......fucking love it when I fuck you open...dont you?"

"You fucking like that? Come here."

"Aww....my pretty girl is cumming again? Cute.....lets do it some more."

"Fuck baby you're going to make me cum....you feel my dick throbbing inside? hmm?....."

"Come on baby, keep taking it. Make me cum again....gonna fill you up with all of it."

"Fuck it baby...come on...fuck it...fuck it really good."

"Shit....you look so damn good when you're taking it so well...."

"Keep bouncing."

"Wow...look at you.......getting fucked so hard and still wet for daddy..."

"Want me to go harder?"

"You wanna see something cool baby?....watch.....watch me turn you into a mommy."

...................

Through the combination of his use of force, his pelting thrusts, his demeaning words, his painful kisses and his slow licks, he had you sprawled for more of his cock than you ever wanted to admit. Screaming and panting, he had you surrender to multiple raging orgasms as your hips gyrate, your body loses control and jerks wildly as your chest heaves in deep motion. Yet it never failed, he would hold you steady and continue to fuck into you. So much, you're not sure when or how you passed out, all you knew was that by morning, your wrists and ankles were bruised, and the throbbing soreness in between your thighs rendered you to stay immobile as it hurt to walk or move. Hearing the shower being turned off in the bathroom, you hear Heeseung whistling and humming a tune as he pats himself dry and conducts his morning routine of brushing his teeth and putting on his aftershave.

A ding comes in on your phone. Whimpering in pain from the soreness, you reach over and read off the message, it was from h/n.

..........

Pausing in your response...you remained subtle and discreet with your answer.....concealing the true reason behind your pain.

Suddenly, you hear the bathroom door open. Snapping your head to the front, you watched as Heeseung walks out with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair neatly combed over to the side, still wet from his steamy shower.

"Good morning beautiful. Did you sleep well?" He places his hands on his hips, and tilts his head. Giving off a sadistic and demeaning flare to his gaze, you knew he was still a bit irritated with you, and you were going to have to be extra sweet and submissive to bring him back to his good side. Before you were going to sweetly respond, H/N answers back.....

Enjoyed this piece? Show love and treat your girl to a cup of coffee. ♥️  ☕ Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/reinbow

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung #heeseung yandere #heeseung x you #enhypen heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung imagines #heeseung au #enhypen heeseung smut #jake smut #jake imagines #yandere jake #heeseung smau #jake smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen angst #enhypen fic

[starks-hero]

Noceur (n.) - to find comfort in the dark

Pairing: Izzy Hands x Reader

Summary: You'd reached the genius conclusion that you couldn't have nightmares if you simply didn't sleep. Izzy isn't a fan of your logic.

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: Stede may be Edward's lighthouse but Izzy is Reader's anchor. Because I'm a sucker for symbolism.

You stood on the quarterdeck, arms crossed carefully over the rail. It wasn't often you experienced nights like this, quiet and peaceful; nights where you could look out over the water and feel certain that nothing was hiding under the waves or lurking in the fog.

The clouds that had rolled in from the east had swallowed up the moon and sent Buttons away in turn. Once he'd disappeared below deck it was just you and the sea. You could hear the waves kissing the hull beneath you, the wind occasionally rippling the sails. Each subtle creek and groan of the ship steadied your mind.

You matched your breathing with the coming and going of the waves, the salt of the sea air filling your lungs. You'd almost mastered it, using the sounds of the ocean and the way of water to ground yourself.

You were so focused, in fact, that you failed to hear the splintering of the deck beneath heavy footsteps until a hand had already reached out and brushed your shoulder.

The stranger may have found your yelp of fear somewhat amusing if it weren't immediately followed by the cocking of a loaded pistol.

You turned and were met by the bemused first mate.

“Fuck, Izzy–” You lowered your weapon. “I told you I'd take the watch tonight.”

"Since when did I take orders from you?" the slight intimidation in his tone was discredited by the fond nudge of his shoulder against your own. He settled beside you, glancing out over the waves. He stood so close that your knees brushed and the floorboards groaned beneath your shared weight. You smiled despite yourself.

Only in the dark would Israel Hands allow himself be so soft. It was an odd sort of honor, you thought, to see him like this. You had shared enough night watches with the first mate to have been offered a glance beneath the sullen stares and stern hand. Spent enough hours in the dark together sitting in the crow's nest to have caught sight of his smile and see how it made him look ten years younger. On nights like those you could only be glad that the waters around Tortuga were generally quiet as you would have failed to see the entire Spanish armada if it were lined up in front of you. Izzy kept you steady, an anchor preventing you from cracking up on rocks of your own making.

You wished the crew knew him as you did but you were not one to tempt faith, especially not when it had already been so generous.

“What's going on with you?” Izzy asked eventually. The breathy tone of his voice seemed at one with the wind.

You shifted your weight. Behind you, the foresail beat faintly against the mast.

None of the crew had noticed yet. And if they had, they'd decided against saying anything. They stayed quiet as you agreed to the night watch night after night. And you were happy with that system, it was the easiest way to keep the nightmares at bay.

“I'm tired,” you said. It wasn't a lie.

Izzy hummed, an unconvincing sound that hung in the air between you. He glanced your way and when you still said nothing he reached for his pocket. The orange he produced was small, jagged scars running along its skin and already adopting a green hue.

You made a small noise of amusement.

Wordlessly, Izzy began to peel the fruit. He dug his thumb into its center and tore it in two clean halves before offering one to you.

It was somewhat of a tradition, Roach had prepared you rations for your night shifts but upon realizing that you were asking for larger portions solely to share with the first mate he'd stopped the service altogether. The chef's pettiness truly knew no bounds.

Izzy decided the next course of action was to just steal food from the kitchen instead. It was something he got oddly excited about; a feared pirate that pillaged dozens of merchant ships in his lifetime smiling like a young lad as he showed you the stale biscuits and ailing fruits he'd stolen from under the nose of your chef.

You accepted the orange with a small smile.

Izzy cleaned the citrus juice from his fingers with his tongue before tearing the fruit into segments, examining each before pushing one past his lips. Just like when running the ship, Izzy had a particular way of doing things. Vaguely or half-arsed wasn't his style.

As he ate, you traced the groves of the wood in front of you. The orange sat untouched in your palm.

“Nightmares,” you said eventually. “They keep me up most nights. Sometimes they're so bad I don't want to close my eyes so I figured if I just didn't sleep then...”

It was quiet for a moment, your confession growing stale the longer it hung in the air. You already wished you'd said nothing.

Izzy tossed the last of his fruit overboard.

“For someone so clever, you can be a right fucking twat.”

You couldn't help but laugh. “And you're a pioneer in self-care all of a sudden? Being Blackbeard's lapdog–”

“Watch it.” Izzy's tone readopted a sharp edge. You stood with a resigned sigh, an undeserving crate earning a sharp clip of your boot as you turned.

“Just leave it, Iz. Forget I mentioned it,” you said. “I don't need you of all people lecturing me on how to look after myself.”

You made your way down the steps that led onto the main deck, ignoring how Izzy called after you. In your haste and frustration, and certainly no thanks to your lack of sleep, your boot missed the next step and you began a sudden descent toward the ground.

A hand grasped your shoulder and a harsh yank backward recentered your point of gravity.

“You're a fucking wreck,” Izzy said, moving his hold to your forearm.

“I'm fine.”

“Bullshit.”

You didn't look at him as you steadied yourself. Instead you aimed your focus on the splintered wood beneath your boots.

You missed Izzy's expression soften, as if he were finally seeing the true extent of your exhaustion. The dimness in your eyes, the poorly hidden fatigue, and the way you swayed on your feet when you didn't have a wooden rail to support you. You were coming apart at the seams.

“Fuck,” Izzy cursed. “How long has it been since you've slept?”

“Three days.”

“Fuck,” Izzy cursed, again. This time with slightly more anger.

You waited for his ranting to begin, to be scorned like the rest of the crew and sent away like a misbehaved child. You wouldn't be surprised if he went to the captains first thing tomorrow and had your duties changed.

“Come on,” he said instead. His words were surprisingly faint. You let him lead you below deck, the dim glow of the ship's oil lamps doing little to light the way. The hand still hesitantly pressed to the small of your back was very possibly the only thing stopping you from keeling over.

Silently you walked through the gallery, past the sleeping crew and the hammock you left empty every night. When you didn't stop you offered the first mate a confused glance.

“Izzy, what-”

“Just-” he sighed. “Keep going.”

You eventually stopped in front of his own cabin and said nothing as he steered you inside and shut the door behind him.

“What are we doing?” The irritation was clear in your tone. The seventy odd hours without rest making your voice heavy.

Izzy loosened the handkerchief around his neck and kicked off his boots. “You are going to lie down,” he said plainly. He grasped the small stool that sat idle in the corner and pulled it towards the bedside. “And I'm going to make sure you get some fucking rest.”

He sat down and crossed his arms. When you didn't move, he sighed again. “You're not the only one. You don't live this life for so long and then get to sleep easy at night. It... it's just not how it works.”

At Izzy's words and what they implied, you caved. Wordlessly, you kicked off your boots, undid your belt, and removed your coat. It was as comfortable as you could get without undressing further. When you lay down on the mattress, you couldn't help the noise of contentment that escaped you. It was by no means the laps of luxury but having a somewhat soft base pillowed against your aching muscles was much nicer than what you were used to.

The fatigue washed over you in heavy waves and you were reminded of just how tired you were.

“If I think it's a nightmare I'll wake you,” Izzy promised, his words were genuine.

“Why are you doing all this, Izzy?” you asked. “I'm fairly certain if Lucius or Roach was having bad dreams you wouldn't invite them into your cabin and offer to play night guard.”

He shrugged. “You're neither of those twats.”

Izzy's words were transparent. 'You're not them. You're you, and you're different.' You laid back in the bed.

The quaint silence that filled Izzy's cabin was similar to the deck during watch, the same safety net there, the same guarantee that nothing said or done would go any further than you, him, and the waves.

You parted your lips to speak. Izzy reached over and dimmed the oil lamp and the dark swallowed your words before they came.

“Thank you, Iz.” You settled for instead. “I mean it.”

Izzy nodded. A quiet 'of course' accompanied the hesitant brush of his fingers against the back of your hand. In the dim light, Izzy was grateful you couldn't see how he looked at you as though you were the reason the sun rose every day.

Thank you for reading <3

#I love this angry little man #izzy hands apologist #✌🏻 #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands #izzy hands fanfic #izzy hands ofmd #our flag means death #our flag means death x Reader

[autoandro-meda]

strawberries and rum

(contains tf)

You sit down at your date's coffee table after a long and fun evening while he makes you a drink. He talks you into a fruity and bubbly strawberry daiquiri, something cool to end the night before shuffling off to the bedroom. He escorts over two fancy glasses full of the shimmering goodness, and before he gives you your drink, he asks if you like strong alcohol, saying the base of this is a real throat scorcher.

Not a problem; you can take a shot if needed, and you're already drop-dead exhausted anyway. He leans over while sliding the glass, scratching the prickles on the underside of your neck as you talk. Your hand finds your drink, and you take a deep sip of it to get through the worst of it. The sugary sweetness is quickly cut off by the strong and overpowering taste of rum all throughout your mouth. It's bitter enough that you think you might turn inside out, but you stomach it, chased with a high-pitched hiccup.

Your date laughs at your reaction. Embarrassed by the squeaking noise you just made, you bury your face in your hands and mutter, "Oh my god, that was horrible." As soon as you finish speaking, you feel a warm swell of pressure, seemingly centered in the middle of your throat. It builds and fills your neck in a way where every muscle suddenly tenses up; you feel like you could suffocate for a moment before a wave of relief suddenly flows right back up.

Scared that you might puke, you take one hand from your face and grip your mouth. "Oh god," you mutter again, but something is not right. You sound like you have a mouth full of gravel, or at least that's what you rationalize at first. For some reason, your voice sounds awkwardly lower now, like you inhaled some sort of inversed helium. You go to say sorry to your date, but the same warm convulsion makes its way through your throat and stops you from speaking.

He notices you struggling and takes a deep sip of his daiquiri. "Everything okay, love?" he asks you in an innocent manner.

"Something's wrong with my throat!" you stammer out, your voice cracking briefly back to a high pitch as you stutter out 'something.' Your spine shakes as you sit up a bit; the warmth has meandered lower into your windpipe now. Repeatedly it feels like bursting, a slight contraction into a sudden bustle of sensual pleasure deep in your chest. Each time it happens, your cries suddenly sound deeper and deeper, your original voice peeking through less and less. It's overwhelming, not painful in any way, but as much as you fight, you cannot make it stop.

In your struggle, you didn't notice your date make his way over to your chair. He looks down at you, now red-faced and flustered as a bit of drool seeps down the corner of your mouth. He pets the side of your head, "You are a very lovely young man," he admits to you. He holds your head in your hands; you wheeze a bit as he does, each exhale sounding a bit raspier. "But, god," he grinds his teeth a bit, "I can't stand a squeally high-pitched voice like yours; you sound like a child."

He rubs his fingers against the side of your head; you remember that you were, in fact, still drinking alcohol as the buzz numbs you out a bit more. Everything feels awkward; you open your mouth and hear the deep rumble of yourself groaning, down low, your growing dick stiffens harder. Instinctively, you go, "I'm sorry," apologizing for your own voice. His hands stop, and he takes them away before ruffling your hair one last time.

"It's okay, baby, nothing a little remedy doesn't fix," you hear him laugh over your shoulders. Now that you think about it, he hasn't mentioned anything about this stuff 'wearing off.' Timidly you go to ask, but he cuts you off, "Now, wouldn't you like to hear the nice new way you moan, you big strong man you?"

Suddenly, you feel as though you might even want another drink.

#autoandrophilia #force masc #forcemasc #ftm hypno #forcemasc writing

[aceofsages]

Prompt: Jealous Wednesday

written for @hotmesslovesickcrackhead : I'm sure this wasn't what you had in mind when you gave me this prompt, lol, but this is where my mind went

find on ao3

cw: angst, ambiguous ending, fantasizing of torture, references to cannibalism

____

Something festers inside Wednesday—a gaping chasm of roiling emotions that Wednesday, for all means and purposes, should like, but doesn’t. Something green that makes her breath fast, her hands twitch, and it seems to happen every time she sees Enid with Ajax. A rage overcomes her, a boiling wrath, and Wednesday often fears that if she had less control than she does, she would behead all of Ajax’s snakes and feed them to him.

But doing so would mean losing Enid worse than she ever had her.

“Someone’s jealous,” says Barclay as she takes her seat next to Wednesday on the quad fountain.

Wednesday takes her eyes off of where Enid sits on that insipid boy’s lap, giggling with Yoko and Divina, to glare at her. The siren just smirks infuriatingly, lazily weaving water between her fingers.

“Just saying, I know that look. Hell, I used to wear it when you spent time with Xavier.”

Wednesday doesn’t do something as mundane as roll her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “That was your own insecurity, Barclay. There was nothing going on between Xavier and I.”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging. “But there is something going on between Ajax and Enid.”

Wednesday’s hands clench without her consent and Barclay raises a brow. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up Barclay.”

The thing is, Barclay still had a right to be jealous, however irrational. But Wednesday doesn’t, because there was never anything between her and Enid, there will never be anything, because Enid deserves everything Wednesday can’t give her. She deserves colorful dates and soft kisses, hand holding and public displays of affection. She deserves to be cherished, but with Wednesday she will only have cuts disguised as caresses.

None of this reasoning soothes what she now knows is jealousy.

It gets worse. It gets to a point where Wednesday can’t be trusted to stay in the same room as Enid when she’s with Ajax, can’t be trusted not to gaze at her and wish to break Ajax’s arms and put hers around her instead, can’t be trusted to even open her mouth without spewing something that would undoubtedly be vicious and cutting and absolutely nothing that Enid deserves. The feeling makes Wednesday breathless, makes her worse than she thought she could be and the worse part is she knows she needs to mitigate it before it gets out of her control.

(Addamses love only once, and they love fierce, unyielding. A person can break themselves against its tide, and drown the object of their affections too, and Wednesday will kill herself before she lets that happen to Enid.)

“What is this? I knew you and Bianca were getting close, but not changing your room close!”

“We’re not.”

“Then why?!” Enid steps towards her, crossing the line that Wednesday’s viscerally aware remains no more.

There is no rational why, Wednesday thinks, only you who I can’t have. Only you who I can’t hurt just because I’m jealous.

She’s aware of how much her recent behavior has been hurting Enid—thinks that a clean break is what they need from each other before Wednesday snaps and strips the hide from Ajax’s snakes and proceeds to skin him while electrocuting him. She’d leave Nevermore altogether, but that would mean admitting to her parents, to her Mother, that she has fallen for the same foley every Addams before her has.

“It’s temporary,” she says instead, steadfastly not looking at the only color in her life. “Only until my manuscript is done.”

“What? Is the noise still bothering you? I’ve been putting on my headphones and trying not to giggle when I text!”

That’s the problem.

Look what I’m doing to you, my love, in my green-eyed rage, she doesn’t say. I'm smothering you.

“It’s only temporary, Enid,” she says again, as if doing that would make it reality. She hopes it will, but she knows this curse—has seen mightier Addamses than her fall prey to it. Richie Addams had been the worst of them all. A depraved Addams that fell prey to the curse in the 1800s, he had brutalized his love’s husband with his own bare hands in front of her; done the same to his love, twisted her into something beyond recognition and then eaten her—rumor has it while she was still alive and coherent, that he’d kept her alive to watch him eat her. He had killed himself shortly after.

(It features all too often in her dreams.)

She will not unleash her brutality upon Enid, would turn the knife against herself before she would.

“Oh come on! Just tell me what’s wrong, Wednesday. I thought we were past this!”

Wednesday doesn’t reply; folds the last of her clothes into her trunk and snaps it shut. She goes to move it from her bed but Enid snags her wrist and makes her face her. Wednesday can’t help it—it’s instinct to flick the knife out and press it to her assailant’s wrist. Blood wells up and Enid winces.

(isn’t this a metaphor—isn’t this a forewarning?

enid touches wednesday and gets hurt, seconds after wednesday vows to turn her knife against her own self before it touches enid’s skin.

there’s a lesson here, a horror story in the making.

there’s a lesson here, a love story in the making.)

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have touched you.”

The warmth of Enid’s palm still lingers on Wednesday’s wrist even after she removes it, a handprint printed on Wednesday’s bones. Wednesday stares at Enid’s wrist, at the blood that stains it, at the cut she put there and wonders what it would be like to put her lips to it, to taste her beloved’s essence on her tongue, to deepen the cut till she reaches bone and can leave her own mark on her.

(she has to leave, she has to leave, she has to leave—

it’s getting worse, it’s already gotten worse and it hurts.)

“I have to go,” she says and leaves without a backward glance. If Enid calls after her, Wednesday pretends not to hear.

(Wednesday’s name goes down in history.

Enid’s is written next to her.)

(was it a horror story, they ask.

perhaps, others say. perhaps it was a love story gone wrong; a twisted romeo and juliet, an orpheus and eurydice.

idiots, it was always supposed to be both.)

#wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #wednesday x enid #wenclair fic #prompt me to write #angst #wenclair prompt #wednesday #my writing #wednesday's really going through it lol

[middleearthsdreams]

New World

Chapter 1

Author's notes: Hii, this is my first time posting something of mine here, I hope you'll enjoy. I usually write these for myself so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes or grammatical errors - english isn't my first language. I didn't proof read, I thought of just posting it and see how it goes.

(The reader has a little of self-insert, so she's going to be italian, nothing too evident)

Warnings: so far none.

Enjoy xoxo

chapter 2 / chapter 3

The last thing you remember, was the feeling of sinking. Like when you’re falling in a dream. Then nothing at all.

You gasp for air, hoisting yourself up with your arms. Your vision is blurred, the shapes around you look nothing like your room. The only think you can hear is the hard and fast beating of your heart. Your hands feel wet and cold, like you’ve been laying in the morning grass for a while. Now that you place your thoughts together, it’s not just your hands that feel cold, but your whole body is shivering from the cold. You start to panic. You can barely feel the sheer fabric of your shirt and sweats, as you move around looking for your glasses. You take a hold on them and wear them.

Yes, something is definitely wrong. You have just the feeling that you’re still dreaming. You focus on the tall trees surrounding you, and the dirt you’re touching with your hands. Your eyes can’t lie to you, you’re surely dreaming. Your comfy bed is gone, as is your warm room. You stand up with bare feet. Wiggling your toes to warm them up and to feel the damp forest floor, you look around. The lucid dream you’re in is set in a cold forest, apparently. The reason? Whatever it is your consciousness wants to tell you is very subtle, maybe it is to take a walk? Breathe clear air? You clean your hands form the dirt on your sides. Your grey shorts taking a brownish shade.

You start to wander the path, there’s marks on the ground, like a carriage has just passed by. You feel your mind on a cloud, still not knowing what is happening around you. But yet, you’re dreaming. It must be a pretty normal feeling. You’re surprised by your rational thoughts. You wonder why this forest feels familiar. But again, you dream familiar things all the time.

You whistle a melody while walking, looking around in search of odd things to encounter. Something must happen, for crying out loud. You’re constantly waiting for something to barge or stumble on your presence, but it doesn’t happen. As the minutes pass by you’re overcome by boredom, and immediately after that by fear. It’s irrational, pure and primal fear of the unknown. The trees look all the same and the Sun begins to shine brightly, letting you know that hours have passed by, and not just minutes. You run, pinch your arm, count your fingers. Nothing. You can feel the ache of your lungs from running, the pain in your arm as you pinch it, and again you counted 10 fingers. You huff and puff, leaning on your knees to steady your irregular breathing. Your back stiffens, a loud ‘crack’ coming from somewhere around you. You freeze and quit your loud noises, counting to ten before sprinting in a frantic run. You leap on logs and wet leaves, never stopping. You jump, looking behind for just a second. You heard something very close. You have just the time to look back ahead and discover where the noise actually came from. You bump, very harshly, on a strong person. Not just strong but also firm and hard, since it doesn’t even bulge. You fall – again. This time you know why, at least. And you know now more that before you’re not dreaming. Your head feels heavy, your limbs ache incredibly bad. A loud bark comes from the person you just run over.

“Seven Hells, watch out!”

It screams at you, adjusting its armoured shoulders. Your ears perk up, he sounds familiar. You can tell it’s a he, and he is also very tall. That half-burnt face, you could recognize it everywhere. You squint your eyes, hoping you are wrong. Despite your glasses, and your eyes being the useless muscles they were, you focus enough to trace the coarse face of the man standing in front of you. He looks you down, an angry expression buried in a frown. He’s like this all the time. But you discovered the true and most emotional parts of this giant man. During the show. Because that’s what it was, a show. The Game of Thrones was just a show, and the Hound isn’t standing in front of you. You feel yourself floating, out of this world. Your soul – figuratively – leaving your body. But what was this world if not dreams? It couldn’t be real.

You gasp for air, trying to feel the touch of your numb hands on the ground, but you couldn’t. Your breathing becomes frantic, you’re sure to be having a panic attack. You don’t look up anymore, trying not to focus on the man’s face. It couldn’t be more real. A real panic attack. You feel every little detail and at the same time you don’t. You can’t feel your body from the outside but only form the inside.

The tall man – the Hound – keeps looking at you from above, not really caring what is going on. “Yea, feel bad about it, I ain’t gonna apologize” he says, taking his gloves out. His voice is what makes you feel everything suddenly, all at once. He grounds you back to the moment. Your feet on the ground, hands gripping the dirt: you breathe again.

His eyes wander to your sitting form, wondering if you’re a threat or just some lost girl. While you start to wonder if you’re just batshit crazy. Holding your thoughts back, you stumble up on your feet. You eye the Hound carefully, making sure he’s really there. And if he’s there, you make sure he doesn’t make anything dangerous towards you. Now that you find yourself in front of him, you can see why people were so scared of him. It’s just his whole presence, that makes you shiver – and not in a good way. You carry yourself near him, not too close as not to worry him of harm. Not that you could harm him, in any way. Stranger is right beside him, loaded with weapons and some of his own stuff.

“I apologize Ser” You speak for the first time, not really sure if to bow or how to bow. You decide not to. Now that he’s assured you’re not mute, he looks away from you and grunts. He really just grunts. His horse could have given you a much better answer, you think. “Not a Ser” He just shrugs. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you decide to stay silent. You look around again, since you don’t really know what to do. The forest is quiet except for the birds and unknown sounds. You wonder if you find yourself in the north, but quickly discharge the idea. It would have been way colder if it was. You can stand on your bare feet and not freeze your toes off, so it’s definitely not it. You kick the ground lightly, wondering if you’re gonna be walking into the woods for much longer. You don’t have much knowledge about scouting and hunting, maybe finding a tavern would be the best choice. Of course, it would be, if you knew where to go.

“What were ye doing out in the forest?” His sudden question clears your thoughts, having grown accustomed of the quiet chatting inside your head. You turn your head to him, a question mark written across your face. You have no fucking clue, but here you are. Chatting with the Hound. From the Game Of Thrones. He steadies a bag on the horse, maybe done camping for a night. You wonder what season you found yourself into.

You answer, lying: “I was being chased by a boar”. That would explain your helpless running, obviously. However, since you couldn’t tell him the truth, you start to ponder which lies would have sounded more reasonable. Trying to test the waters, a joke escapes you: “didn’t want to end like King Robert, you know”. You giggle lightly, trying to break the ice. He just huffs but answers your silent question: “aye”. So, it’s past first season, good to know.

“Can I ask you a question?” You try but he stops you “You just did”. You roll your eyes at him, glad he doesn’t notice. “I heard about Stannis Baratheon marching upon Kingslanding, is it true?” You know you’re burning your cards but you don’t know how better to put it. His movements stop for a second, he looks ahead, but he wakes and close up the straps holding the bag quickly. He grunts again, so it’s a yes. ‘Oh’, you smile. He’s on the run, then.

You try to make it sound casual “I just heard about it, it’s crazy what the Imp has done with the wildfire”. He replies with a growl then walks with his steed alongside him, away from you. The ground opens up beneath your feet: what would you do if you were alone? You couldn’t be left alone: you would not survive one day. As you glare at his broad shoulders walking away, the lamp inside your head turns on.

You struggle to walk to him, what long strides he takes. “Wait!” You exclaim, almost running. He doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking. “Don’t leave me alone” You tell him, trying to make him feel something. You know how cautious he is, he is a loner and he has just escaped a city that wants his head on a pike. Despite all of this, he is one of the strongest men in all Westeros, he could keep you safe like no one else could. Whatever that escaping bullshit was, it had to wait. “I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to live in a forest, I would die by tomorrow or worse” You complain. He just shrugs his shoulders and says “None of my business”. You should have figured he would be like this. But one tiny, little part of you wants to make him feel sorry for you. You’re the damsel in distress.

“At least can you give me a ride? You see, I ran so fast I lost my shoes” you say looking at your feet on the verge of bleeding. He stops himself – and the horse – to turn around and look you down. He bends, looking at your feet with disgust. His hard shell cracks the tiniest bit, because he sighs. “Whatever, where are ye off to?” He offers a hand to make you sit on the horse, but changes his mind: you are far too short. He opens his arms, holding your hips to help you up. His two hands almost engulf your whole waist, his touch making you blush. Here come the nice shivers. “For now, the next tavern, then I’m heading North”. You don’t know why, but you want to separate yourself from Kingslanding as quickly as possible. That damn city. You love the sea and all, but you would prefer to visit the western zones. The North would seem like a good option for now. You lighten up, your eyes glistening. You could try to save Robb, Cathleen and then try to meet all of your favourites. Maybe you could travel north and save Ed and Pip and – your heart races – Ingrid. You could still have time to help Tyrion with the whole trial, and meet Prince Oberyn, save him from the Mountain. There’s still time. You know all of it, the timing is perfect.

Your racing thoughts are pulled away by Sandor’s hand coming close to your leg, to take the reins. Eyes scan your body, you feel embarrassed by your sleeping attire, not very fit for the season. You try to cover your exposed thighs and belly. You went to sleep with some shorts and a small top, since it was summer. Now, you surely hadn’t planned to travel in a fantasy series, otherwise you would have worn much different clothing. Maybe a cute little outfit, you had just the perfect dress for the occasion which you bought for LARP. Sandor – what a sweet name to pronounce – clears his throat and points out “You’re going to freeze your ass off if you’re going North”. You shrug “I’m just going to buy new clothes along the way-” you slap yourself and think ‘yeah, with what money?’. You decide it’s a problem for future you, now you just want to enjoy your first horse ride and to chat a little bit more. Well, not that Sandor’s a chatty man, but you can talk and he can just listen. “Whatever” He just shrugs. You focus on him now, his unbruised half face directed towards you. Then it hits you. You feel like crying, chin trembling. You always forget he dies too, in the end. And you think it’s just unfair: for all the character development he will be going through, it’s just cruel how his story ends. He knows you’re looking at him, but he’s used to be stared at. He thinks it’s his scar that scares people away, that makes him ugly. But he doesn’t know that, in reality, you have a determined face right now. You’re not looking at him because he’s weird – he’s way too handsome in real life. You will save him, no matter the cost. You make it your mission; you will save Sandor Clegane.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself, I’m y/n” You offer him your hand, not receiving any response from him. He just keeps looking ahead, unbothered. You don’t give yourself up: “And you are…?”. You try to not show your real emotions, you’re not the best liar. He scoffs, glancing your way briefly “You know damn well who I am”. You insist “I may know your name, but not the man behind it”. He barks a real and sarcastic laugh – making you jump a little – eyes thin and wrinkled by the grimace “Good luck with that”. Being optimistic, you just nod and say “Challenge accepted”. The shadow of a smile still lingers on his lips, humoured by your attitude. You point your nose up, the rocking of the horse and the thumps of his feet the only sounds remaining.

“Yer not from around here” After some minutes he interrupts the silence, surprising you. You look at him questioning and he clears himself “Ye said your name but didn’t tell me where you come from, lassie”. You open your mouth promptly, but close it again. You surely can’t tell him where you come from, but can’t force yourself to lie enormously. You come up with the most accepting half truth you can muster: “You wouldn’t know, it’s an unknown land from the West”. He doesn’t seem too convinced by your lie, but says nothing. You let out a sigh of relief, then of pensiveness. You don’t mean to brag but you really miss your world: the comforts, the food, your family. You have no clue what is going on the other side. Maybe you’ll wake up in your bed once you’ll fall asleep tonight, maybe not. Does your family know you’re missing?

“But you know, sometimes I miss it, my small town. My mother makes the best pizza of all town, and I’m not saying this because she’s my mom; she taught me how to make it, maybe I can cook it for you one day. I’m gonna need…” You talk and talk, about anything that comes to your mind. You haven’t spoken to someone the whole day: he has the burden to bear with you for quite a while. He sighs, letting you talk.

Your continuous bragging about nothing and everything surely makes Sandor regret his decision. But he’s grown accustomed to boring conversations, so he dissociates from your nonsense. The only thing that intrigued him were the sudden unknown words you spoke – maybe another language. But after some time, he grew tired and began thinking to his own stuff. You know he’s not listening, so you pretend to talk to Stranger. He’s character too, you know. You caress the horse, receiving small sounds of appreciation form him. You tell Stranger all your favourite dishes and hobbies, letting the hours go by.

When the sky starts to turn pink and purple you have shut up for good, hours before. You find the quiet company of the Hound amusing, it’s kind of relaxing. Surely, you want to know many more things than you already know from the tv series. But you tell yourself ‘one thing at a time’.

You rub your cold thighs, shivering from the cold evening air. You haven’t encountered a tavern so far, nor a person passing by. It surely isn’t the King’s Road, otherwise it would be more ‘crowded’. You glance tiredly at the man at your right, his astonishing strength still making him walk. You look at him incredulous: “How are you not tired of walking?” you question him. He just shrugs “I’m used to it”. Your expression drops. You feel terrible for stealing his seat on Stranger, but you don’t know how long you would have gone without shoes. You miss the sensation of warmth that clothes provide, your limbs numb from the riding and cold.

“Can I walk again? I’m hurting my bum up here” You try, his head turning your way, glancing ever so slightly down where said butt sat. He shakes his head “We’re almost arrived”. You sigh, rocking your hips up, trying to relieve the ache between your legs. You’re not used to sit for so many hours. Least to ride a horse. But you’re glad, you thank him silently. You’re overcome by excitement once you hear the indistinct sounds of people talking and drinking, from afar. Finally, people!

Once you – three – arrive at the tavern, you realize you can’t just walk in, this bare you are. Sandor offers to walk inside first, trying to retrieve a dress or something. You thank him, he glances down at you and grunts “Stay hidden, these are not place for ladies to wonder alone naked” and with that he’s jogging inside. You shiver, unmounting Stranger to hide behind his giant form. Your legs wobble and tingle, you let out a moan of relief. You shake and jump on them, warming them up. Your feet are hopelessly cold, you can do nothing about them. You bend to massage your legs, leaning on Stranger to crack your back. The horse looks you weird, like you’ve grown two heads. As you are cracking on the left of your back you feel a presence behind you, its big shadow enveloping you. You’re scared for the first two seconds but take a relieving breath when you hear Sandor’s voice: “What are ye doing?”

“Why are you always bewildered when I do or say something?” You answer, turning back to face him. He’s so tall, you have to tilt your head back to look at him. You take a quick look at his black eyes, unreadable as a stone. He smirks and hands you some pieces of clothing “Cause you’re a funny woman”. His answer leaves you shocked – and amused. Then he turns around and commands: “Put them on”. It takes you some time to distinguish what clothes they are, but manage to put them on. It turns out it’s a long skirt and a bodice, of poor material. You accept kindly, finally covering your legs and arms. Lovely warmth! As you struggle to tie the top piece, you ask “Where did you find these?” referring to the clothes. You hear his shrug thanks to the armour he’s wearing. You decide not to inquire. You sigh loudly, hands behind your back trying to tie the laces but failing miserably. You cross your arms on your breasts and ask quietly “Can you help me?”. You blush, feeling like a child who cannot tie its shoelaces. You still have your back to him. You don’t see him but you can hear him turning towards you, the clanking of metal indicating he’s getting close. Gentle fingers caress your back to find the laces, then a firm pull brings you back. You yelp a little and plant your feet to the ground. He tightens the bodice and knots it. Your blush grows; you’re glad it’s dark so he can’t see it. As suddenly as his hands were on you, they left. He grunts and starts walking back to the tavern. You’re left to yourself for a short second, but you quickly quip behind him. The lingering of his touch burning your back with shivers. The only thing you can see are his broad shoulders, then he moves out of the way and you can finally see the inside of the tavern. It’s so warm and cheerful, you feel overcome by a sudden feeling of happiness. People laughing and drinking, women cheerfully dance to a bad melody. The smell of chicken pie and smoke soaking the environment. Fuck yeah.

You catch up with Sandor to a far table, isolated from the rest. You take a seat across him, excited as a baby to a birthday party. You almost jump from the happiness. Sandor watches you, scrutinizing your every move. He still hasn’t figured you out yet, and that makes him nervous. You’re a small woman, you should be scared of him. Instead, you follow him around and look into him so deeply; you watch him as if you trust him. He knows that, whatever you try to do to him, he’s one of the strongest men in Westeros and could snap you like a twig. So, what is it that makes him nervous? Your gaze rests on his eyes, two seconds too much maybe, and you blush bashfully. He raises a brow ‘what is wrong with this woman?’. Your eyes grow big and wet, your mind racing with thoughts and questions. He looks away, unable to maintain the eye contact. You lower your own gaze.

You get served pie and two pitchers of red wine. It’s not so good – the pie – but since you were starving, you devour it in less than two minutes. Then you gulp down a full goblet of the shitty wine, to ease the passing. All the while Sandor looks at you shocked – as far as his facial expression can go. He’s never seen a lady behave like that, but – after all – you didn’t eat a thing the whole day.

A sigh escapes your lips, two more pitchers have gone, equally divided between you and the giant in front of you. The meal went silently, making you grow bored. The alcohol in your stomach – gone to your head – makes you act frantically: you get up and walk towards the dancing women. The Hound doesn’t stop you, just glances towards you with half lidded eyes. You have always been the drunk dancer, so it’s natural for you to go up there and take some woman’s waist and twist her in your arms. The black-haired woman laughs and holds her hand up facing you. You meet her hand with hers and dance in a circle, leaving her to circle with another woman. You quickly catch up the lyrics of the song and sing along with the ones participating. You laugh and dance for a while, head turning and vision going blurry. Your dress moves swiftly, calluses forming under your bare feet. You can feel two holes burning on your back, so you turn around. You make eye contact with the Hound and wink his way, rosy cheeks and hips swaying. He sips from his goblet, eyes lingering down your body. You feel more naked now than when you were wearing your grey shorts. Stomach aching and legs feeling like jelly, you walk back to the table. You don’t know if your stomach stirs  from his stare or from the good laugh you’re having. And your legs are trembling from all the dancing, right? No other reason.

“You’re so dark and broody, I wonder what goes into that pretty head of yours” You exclaim, sitting poorly on your chair. Your hands go to your stomach, as your feet cross over the table. You huff from the exhaustion, taking deep breaths with your eyes closed.

“Ye don’t want ta know” he slurs, gulping his last drink. Your eyes open, legs go back on the chair and hands under your chin, with your elbows on the table. You stare into the balls of his eyes, trying to read him. His whole demeanour changes, he grows stiff and cold. Alright, he doesn’t want to be read.

“And what if I do?” you play, testing the waters. He snaps, eyes go from warm and sultry to dark and frozen. “I don’t!” he half yells. You’re surprised but unfazed by his reaction, you know he’s cutting the edges of his walls to make them sharper. You don’t care, but don’t insist, holding your hands up in defeat.

“I get it, sorry” You apologize, the energy drained from your body. Your many drinks starting to show their effects, you lay your head on the table. You gaze up at him from down there and ask “Can we go to sleep?”. He’s still stoic and cold, but places two coins on the table, making it jump. You jump too, standing with him. His strides are longer but he’s going slow on purpose, to keep an eye on you. He nods towards a narrow hallway upstairs, leading you to a room.

As soon as you see a bed, you launch yourself on it. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s soft. And big. It’s a king-sized bed, but you don’t put much thought onto it. Sandor still stands at the feet of the bed; you look at him from behind your shoulder. “Come” You pat the other side of the bed, distancing yourself from the other end. “I won’t be too close, I swear” You plead him to stay. First of all, because you didn’t want to steal another comfort from him, today. Second, you are still a bit cold and the warmth of another body could help with that.

You can see the thoughts behind his eyes, wheels stirring and twisting. You thought he wouldn’t agree, but he sits on the edge of the bed. He starts taking his armour off, struggling to unclasp the straps in his drunken state. You crawl to his left, eyes asking silently ‘can I?’. You don’t touch him unless he asks you to, so when he growls, frustrated by his inability to do basic things, he nods. You help him get out of his heavy armour, eyes never meeting. You’re too embarrassed to look him in the face since he’s too close. His face inches from yours, you can smell the alcohol coming from his mouth. His eyes though, they don't leave you for one moment. Travelling down your face, then your exposed shoulders, the curve of your breasts, then to your hands. He burns with restraint: you surely wouldn't want to do anything with him. Yes, you're just using him for protection, he knows that. When you’re done, he hastily gets up and goes to lay on his side. How could someone ever want him. With these thoughts he closes his eyes. You blow out a candle, ‘patience’ you repeat to yourself. You fall asleep very quickly, your backs brushing lightly. Head empty.

#sandor x reader #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #reader insert #sandor / reader #fluff #eventual smut #strangers to lovers #game of thrones

[neonscandal]

The "Honored One"

Genre: Angst, Reflection

Tags: Satoru Gojo-centric, Angst, Canon-Compliant, Character Study, Student Gojo & Geto

Chapter Word Count: 5.4K

Status: Completed

Summary: Gojo spent his life alone until he didn't. The time burns bright in his memory despite how short lived it was because the bookends of his youth were marked with burdens known only to the Honored One.

A/N: I'm squeezing your cheeks and demanding that you humanize Gojo more.

EXCERPT

Gojo was ill-equipped to deal with such friction, especially in a social environment. It scratched at his pride and riled something with him. He'd always been prepared to fight for his stake in life but he'd never really been challenged to do so. Every conversation with Geto, however, felt like a fight that he was soundly losing. Desperate, he yelled after Geto's retreating back. "Maybe we should settle this all in a fight!" Geto threw a smug look over his shoulder. "Are you sure about that? I'm a special grade, after all," he purred knowingly.

Silence was a common bedfellow for Satoru Gojo. It wasn't so much a matter of preference as it was a simply a reasonable occurrence. That's not to say his life was without chaos or complication. Bounties, curses, threats on his life; all cause for irritation but seldom got close enough to disturb his peace.

Not a lot of people joked around Gojo. Rumors that he could see through any lie and pierce through facts at lightning speed took the fun out of any hyperbole or turn of phrase. Still, whispers followed everywhere he went. Talk of being spared from the judgement of the "infamous Six Eyes". Even those unfamiliar with the technique knew it wasn't one to trifle with as who could hold a candle to the sorcerer who tipped the scales?

The Gojo clan was small but its influence was mighty with the birth of the Limitless and Six Eyes user. One would think that'd create a lot of noise and hub-bub but, in truth, that seemed to only be in the wake of the clan heir. Heavy was the head that wore the crown and that often meant navigating and inhabiting narrow political spaces. For a long time that meant that anywhere Gojo went, he went alone. Even in the company of others, he found that he always had to lead the charge, be the first to speak decisively. The guiding voices ahead of such meetings tended to blend with the pleading voices within them, so Gojo tuned them all out in equal measure. They were merely muffled white noise so his flippancy therein caused quite the stir. Never before him, fearing what such an unruly child might do.

He couldn't quite understand such cowardice. He'd always just said and done as he felt, braced to take the consequences head on. Finding there seldom were any, he got more brazen, bolder. In a head that's constantly going a mile a minute, he churned out the rationalization that those who are strong could always say and do as they pleased. It was sound logic with evidence from every interaction he'd had. So the boundless wall between him and the people in those private rooms seemed to grow exponentially. He tolerated the stuffiness of them less and less and found himself inadvertently creating space between him and anyone else for that matter.

Gojo spent time chasing his sweet tooth, or rather, one of his very few delights. For some time, there was lore about how the sugar kept him in peak condition to bear the weight of his curse techniques. But that was more an observation in jest that simply found traction among the small population who still held curiosity for the loose cannon. By now he was a teenager, his perspective of the world cemented around where he fit into it as "The Strongest".

He spent more days in his head than trying to fit in with those who failed to keep up with his long strides forward. The crowds of people seemed to part any time he left the clan estate which reinforced the idea that he had a greater stake in the world than they did. After all, he was prepared to defend his rightful place where they seemed to lack resolve to even defend theirs. Subsequently, their faces bled together in a haze. There was never anyone who captured his interest until-

Jujutsu High promised more people his age and an education that wasn't provided by private tutors. He wasn't a stranger to the institution but was finally old enough to attend. He didn't bother setting any hope that there'd be anyone even remotely like him. Afterall, if there were, wouldn't he already know them? Wouldn't people who changed the natural order of things tend to run in the same social circles? He prepared for indistinct voices and blurry faces but hoped the environment would be less stifling than the manor were everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around him.

His first introduction was to a sorcerer who could manipulate Reverse Cursed Energy. Gojo's eyes widened at the prospect. He'd heard of it but could never manage to execute it and here he was faced with someone who mastered it. Puckishly, his interest was piqued.

"Now we're talking! Tell me something I don't know. What's it like? How do you do it?" he rubbed his hands together in speculation.

"You just kind of... 'fwoo, hyoi,'" she drawled while moving a lollipop from one side of her mouth to another to speak clearly and waving a pointed finger aimlessly in the air.

Gojo tilted his head unimpressed and pouted, dramatically. "Clearly, I'm not gonna be able to use that nonsense any time soon..." he thought dryly as he cut his eyes at her. "Are you messin' with me or somethin'?" he asked, one eye focused on the young girl. He'd heard of hazing when he prepared for leaving his life of homeschooling but hardly believed it would happen so soon and, least of all, to him.

"As if she'd have a reason," another student laughed cooly.

Gojo turned to get eyes on the offending party and was struck immediately by their tonsorial choices. "Bangs."

"Bangs." In a rare occurrence, his thoughts seemed to spill out of his mouth simultaneously.

The student snorted, mildly annoyed at the jab. "I prefer 'Suguru', actually," he sneered. "... but you? Can call me 'Geto'."

The attitude, the audacity. Gojo locked in, mercilessly. This was a new kind of excitement, a new kind of curiosity. "Heh, I didn't mean anything by it! Just couldn't help but notice!" his eyes narrowed as his lips curled upward.

"Typically, one would extend their own introduction but I suppose that's aiming a bit too high for someone so crass," Geto quipped, unamused.

Gojo's eye seemed to twitch in disbelief. He tried to recall whether there had ever been a time that his name or reputation hadn't preceded him. Maybe not the girl before but surely this guy was messing with him, he was certain. "Am I being Punk'd?"

Barely allowing time to process, Geto took an ushering step toward the girl with a confident, "I think we're meant to gather in the classroom for the opening ceremony." while casually dismissing Gojo.

It was enough to make Gojo's jaw drop. He sputtered in this newfound dynamic but not for long. "Just who are you, anyway?" he called after, confoundedly.

Geto's stride was unbroken and he didn't even make an attempt to respond to Gojo as he continued his path forward, interested to meet his new teacher.

--

Whatever misconceptions Gojo may have had about high school life were dashed by the fact that his class consisted only of the girl who never once offered him one of her many lollipops and the boy who, while interesting, seemed to only speak derisively toward him after their initial conversation. Even with low expectations, he still hoped that he'd find... something more than what he'd found. The first few days dragged on without incident or interest and Gojo was largely of the mind to begin tuning everything out again. The missions, the routine, everything felt negligible. Except he seemed to be grated by every negative interaction he had with Bangs. He seemed hell bent on disliking him on principle which was incredibly uncommon and not at all the experience he'd had growing up. He was well liked, beloved even. Right?

Geto was as quick-witted as Gojo and openly opinionated, even announcing his thoughts on Gojo's lack of respect or just general disposition. The observations were as unsolicited as they were bold and no one seemed to have half a mind to correct him. Gojo himself didn't fear the idea of doing so, moreso the occasions when it would happen would leave him faltering in shock. Until one day, leaving the classroom with the promise of a joint mission with both of his classmates, Geto seemed to blow a raspberry at the idea of partnering up.

"Hey, you gotta problem with me?" Gojo scrunched his face up in accusation as he pulled Geto's shoulder to look at him.

Geto dusted his grip off forcefully while rolling his eyes as if the question was a bother. "A problem? Several, in fact. From your seeming inability to consider collaborating cohesively with others on missions to the way you speak to Yaga-sensei, Ieri-san and myse-"

"Ieri-san?? Who's that?" Gojo interrupted, incredulously.

Geto sighed, belabored, "Exactly."

Gojo was ill-equipped to deal with such friction, especially in a social environment. It scratched at his pride and riled something with him. He'd always been prepared to fight for his stake in life but he'd never really been challenged to do so. Every conversation with Geto, however, felt like a fight that he was soundly losing. Desperate, he yelled after Geto's retreating back. "Maybe we should settle this all in a fight!"

Geto threw a smug look over his shoulder. "Are you sure about that? I'm a special grade, after all," he purred knowingly.

"I-I'm a special grade!" Gojo countered defiantly. He did not fear Geto's assertion, he simply hadn't fathomed it. To his knowledge, he was one of only three special-grade sorcerers. What were the odds that one of the others was the one giving him so much grief? Moreover, how dare he act as though he didn't already know that Gojo was a special grade in the first place. Did he really not know!?

"Hm, might be an even fight then. Meet you outside by the track," Geto shrugged, pleased with Gojo's stammering reaction. Geto's pace seemed to pick up toward the exit before Gojo could even realize it was a race.

"Oh, hell no," he gritted as an unexpected mischievous smile spread across his face. "You're not gonna know what hit you," he threatened as he caught up to Geto with a jog.

"No running in the halls," Geto chided, dismayed that he had to explain the unspoken rules of the competition. He threw a long arm ahead of Gojo to slow him down as they both fought to remain in the lead. They were a mess of limbs and suppressed laughter, speed shuffling down the long, empty hall. "You're supposed to say 'going to', by the way. Would it kill you to not speak so casually?"

Gojo scoffed as they each threw open one of the double doors leading to the track and field. Both shot daggers at one another having not had a clear winner in the race outside. "Who's gonna-" Gojo felt the weight of a judgmental eye cast upon him. He tensed his shoulders and corrected his speech, mockingly. "Who's going to be the judge of the fight?" he stuck his tongue out for good measure, his eyes dangerously close to bringing his brain into focus with how far back they rolled.

"Ieri-san," Geto answered matter-of-factly as he pointed across the field to where their other classmate rest against a tree reading a book, a cigarette tucked behind her ear.

"Ohhhhhh, that's Ieri."

Geto pushed out a deliberate breath of annoyance before walking over to the young woman sitting by herself.

Gojo, uncertain what to do with himself while he waited primed for a fight, watched as Geto nimbly dropped into a squat and began explaining the situation. He appeared to tilt his head to rest on his shoulder as he listened intently to her, a soft laugh and smile breaking across his face which Gojo noticed for its sincerity. He certainly hadn't seen this side of his rival. The girl seemed to huff while Geto continued to bargain. Just when it looked like negotiations were breaking down, Geto stretched his hand out and plucked the cigarette from behind her ear with his index finger and thumb while using his pinky, ring and middle finger to tuck the hair that had been tousled back into place. "They seem... close." Gojo surmised, watching curiously.

Geto's smile broke even wider at Ieri's indignation, teeth gleaming in what was left of the afternoon light. His laughter carried over to where Gojo stood which prompted him to walk over and figure out what could inspire such a laugh from such a serious stick in the mud.

Geto lightly pressed the cigarette between Ieri's pouting lips before reaching into his pocket for a lighter. From Gojo's vantage point, her eyes still looked unimpressed but, as he got closer, he could hear her half-hearted groan as Geto begged for her objective opinion. Even his pleas seemed to be too dramatic to be authentic which made Gojo chuckle... a little.

Realizing they were no longer alone, Geto glanced up at Gojo, the look in his eyes burning confidently. "Thank you for joining us. It seems, Ieri-san has agreed to be an unbiased judge."

"Are you polite when you're talking shit, too?" Gojo inquired, offering a hand to help his opponent to his feet.

"Mmm, maybe in front of Ieri-san." Geto hummed, popping up unassisted. He lowered both hands to Ieri who took them daintily as she rose.

"Tch." It felt like Gojo had closed some ground between them only to be rudely dismissed again.

Ieri looked from one classmate to the other as she took her cigarette between two fingers. She pointed at each of them, mildly threatening, as she acted out the caricature of a boxing ref. "I want a good, clean fight."

--

At first, Gojo was curious why most of Geto's attacks were short range and hand-to-hand in nature. Nothing his Limitless couldn't stop but only as he timed it correctly and, as the fight pressed on, he didn't want to remain on the defensive against his onslaught. Even so, why wasn't Geto using his curse technique and what was it, anyway?

There weren't many people Gojo had had a reason to use the Six Eyes on. He'd take the extrasensory capability any day but, in a dangerous fight or one for his pride, as it were, there were some risks to activating them. He was still working on developing his stamina for long term use as they actively burned out his cursed energy reserves. Limitless was already a draw on resources so it seemed like quite the gamble to whip out the big guns before he truly knew what he was fighting. Plus, he hadn't quite worked out how to control how much information he'd let in when activated. What people never seemed to understand about Six Eyes was the fact that, in use, they were much like opening the aperture in a camera.

To let in too little "light" or information was a waste of the film, too much "light" and the entire shot is ruined plus he's left standing there like an idiot processing everything in a limbo state. Gojo hadn't quite honed in on controlling the aperture speed just yet, though he'd been actively working on it, but who could he really train against? Inversely, to contradict all that logic, to not use them would prevent him from seeing Geto's cursed energy or, ultimately, to read and understand his cursed technique.

If Geto wasn't going to show his technique, this fight could drag on and a war of attrition against his physical attacks would wear Gojo down eventually. He cursed the fact that he'd never bothered a cursory glance at his classmate, even once, with the Six Eyes.

"Are you going to take the offensive or am I just meant to keep swinging at you, Gojo-san?" Geto smirked, rebounding after another blocked punch. "You're surprisingly quiet during this exchange. I could have sworn we'd hear a lot more talk out of you."

Gojo, realizing he'd been burrowed in his thoughts since the fight began, felt something unfamiliar bubble up in his stomach. He decided, finally, to take the initiative for a decisive win. "Yea, yea, try and hide from these." Gojo's eyes gleamed menacingly as his Six Eyes activated.

Raw, unfiltered information presented itself as he began plotting the flow of Geto's cursed energy. Originating in his stomach, as all cursed energy did, it seemed to be densely concentrated in a way that he hadn't seen before. Was this because he was a special grade or was this specific to his technique? Time passed slowly as he parsed through all the reasonable applications of such cursed energy. He considered countless permutations, dispelling them one by one as he, outwardly, stood cockily before his opponent.

Geto, not realizing what was happening, witnessed this brazen opening which didn't seem off brand with Gojo's ego and took it. He closed the distance between them drawing his arm back for a punch just as some recognizance came back to Gojo's eyes.

"Cursed Manipulation!?" Gojo yelled just as the punch connected with his chin. He activated Limitless a sliver too late which sent him stumbling off balance from the surprise hit. His eyes were wild as he caught himself from falling.

"You got it! Wow, that's really something. Sounds like you're ready to go toe to toe now," Geto grinned, briefly relishing in the minute break he'd caused in Gojo's impenetrable defenses. Wordlessly, he summoned a second grade curse from his arsenal, it's dark cursed energy rolling across the space that separated them.

Gojo was awed by the technique he'd only heard about sprinkled throughout history. Even in the Big Three families, no one had the ability to subjugate curses, at least not like this. Further, he was still shocked by the smarting pain on his chin from his assailant's well placed punch, grateful Six Eyes had made relatively quick work of the situation. Not before getting him hit but at least he was still standing. The appearance of a curse excited him as he could freely attack without worry of killing his adversary and he hadn't been able to use his Reversed Limitless Technique... at least not successfully.

Just as a puckish grin broke across his face, he could hear the bounding of several teachers closing in all around them as if an alarm had been sounded. Only one seemed to ease up as soon as they saw who was at the center of the fray.

As the teachers gathered warily around the fight, Yaga parted through them with his apologies. "False alarm. It was my student, my apologies, our apologies." Yaga grabbed both students by the scruff of their collars and forced their heads in a bow to those assembled having been put on high alert unnecessarily. As his colleagues slowly departed, he eyed his careless students sharply. "What on earth were you think-"

Gojo crossed his arms, bored and impudent, still hanging by his collar, "I'm sorry."

"-ing, Geto!?" Yaga finished, shaking Geto's collar sternly.

"That was careless, sensei. I apologize, it won't happen again without your knowledge. Gojo-san and I just thought it valuable to train," Geto explained calmly.

"I expected better from you! And you!" Yaga, short for words for the embarrassment his two students had brought upon him, settled with dropping them and clobbering both over the head. "I don't get paid enough for this..." he muttered as he retreated back to the school. "Ieri, put that cigarette out!" he hissed over his shoulder as an afterthought.

Ieri, who tried to make herself scarce once she saw teachers coming out of the woodwork, begrudgingly removed her cigarette and ashed it directly on the tree she'd hidden behind while her classmates laid with large knots forming on their heads. "Congratulations, I declare you both... idiots," she sighed as she triumphantly gestured with her hands. She walked back to her dorm room leaving Gojo and Geto in her wake, neither of whom could stifle their laughter at the situation.

"Why'd he blame you!? Like I wasn't even there!" Gojo questioned, arms sprawling on the plush green lawn of the school grounds. So used to being the center of attention and ire, he was delighted and bemused.

"... I was told before coming here that I have to clear my training with the faculty as unknown cursed energy raises some sort of signal to all personnel that there's a threat. Since I subjugate curses, I don't have a specific cursed energy signature. But I went and pulled one out with you anyway."

"HUH!? You were going to try to fight me without using your cursed technique?" Gojo shot upright to round on his classmate.

"Almost worked, too. Kinda got a hit in!" Geto grinned, his eyes forming crescents as he folded his hands behind his head.

For a moment, Gojo considered whether anyone had ever landed a hit on him while tempering an inexplicable rage having been somewhat bested. His eyebrows furrowed as he forcefully blew air from his nose. "'Kinda', huh? What happened to that 'polite speech' speech, huh? Hmph! As a matter of fact, why do you have a lighter? You don't follow rules at all!"

Geto paused to consider the question before breaking out into a full on guffaw while clutching at his stomach. "You look stupid when you're upset," he huffed between giggles.

So thoroughly caught off guard by the whole situation, Gojo couldn't help when his souring mood melted into laughter. He fell backward, sprawling his arms back out. Almost close enough to touch Geto with his finger tips. "Yea, well you look stupid all the time, Bangs."

"You're still on that? By the way, Shoko wasn't messing with you before, either... that's exactly how she explained it to me when I asked her, too. 'Fwoo, hyoi'... I still don't get it either." A large tanned hand blotted tears from his fit of laughter as Geto relaxed into the conversation. "Surprised your old Six Eyes didn't pick up on that," he teased.

"Wait, so you did know who I was!"

"Hardly. Since coming here, a little. I mean, after all, we're the strongest. Yaga-sensei had to explain everything when I was recruited."

"The strongest, huh? I like the sound of that..." For the first time in a while, Gojo's smile was sincere having been properly spun up by this new classmate of his. Hearing someone else echo a title he'd carried unilaterally for so long created a unique sense of understanding between them. Moreover, it felt like there was someone else who had a place in the world not unlike his own and he'd seen the brazen way he'd defend that place, too. While not a full on fight, he wondered, had they had enough time and Geto were to unabashedly apply his technique, who would have actually won. A small voice deep, deep down knew it'd be him but he'd rather stoke the excitement of not knowing.

"Are you ready to play nice on missions, now? Shoko wasn't particularly impressed by your performance during your last one. Now that this will be the three of us, perhaps you'll consider working together this time," Geto lightheartedly chastised, offering Gojo a red lollipop from his pocket.

Gojo practically squealed as he stretched to receive it. "You're where the lollipops come from? No wonder she never had any left to give. She could have just said that."

"She probably did but you're always talking over people and going a mile a minute, at that. I wouldn't be surprised if you missed it."

"'Fwoo, hyoi', huh?" Gojo waved the candy in the air like a conductor, thoughtlessly, before greedily opening it. "I look forward to working with you, I'll be in your care from now on."

A light blush warmed Geto's cheeks at the out of context concession but he supposed this was better than the negative silence between them.

--

Noise seemed a common byproduct of being surrounded by people who understood Satoru Gojo. Mostly, noise from him as he was much more apt to laugh and tease, needy for the attention of those he spent the most time with. Eyes always fell heavy on him growing up but now he found that it didn't quite feel the same as the comfort of whatever he, Suguru and Shoko had created.

Suguru wasn't quite as mercurial as Gojo had once thought. He could still be stern when it came to issues he felt were important and required Gojo's observance but would occasionally, and quite puckishly, wind him up for the fun of it. Just as he had when they first met. Gojo was still a bit awkward and unable to tell the difference but Suguru couldn't help but break character in the face of Gojo's earnestness to which Gojo would pout and glower, also in jest.

Still, there were times where they didn't quite see eye to eye. Both too headstrong, both too set in their ways. But if it meant enough that they would have it out, it was enough for both of them to consider the other's opinion. Even though much of Gojo's experience with others was a bit on the muffled and blurry side, Suguru starkly changed his outlook on glossing over others. In a world of monotony, he'd found someone so vibrant and textured, he could not possibly be ignored.

They trained relentlessly, Gojo getting the hang of his inherited techniques and assisting Suguru in amassing his arsenal of curses while out on missions. Perfecting Gojo's training at school and Suguru's training in the field. They'd come back to the dorms to rinse and repeat. They worked symbiotically to refine one another and they fervently backed one another up. When facing threats of varying degrees, they were all they had with Shoko in reserves to patch them up if the occasion called for it. They developed a confidence as The Strongest that went unchecked as the only special grade sorcerers as far as they were concerned.

Outside of training, they traded their most intimate secrets: the drawbacks of Gojo's techniques, Suguru's strained homelife that he hoped to one day remediate by being someone his parents could be proud of. Their insecurities were no longer their burden alone when shared and no longer felt like a weakness with the reassurance the other could offer.

Gojo still spent a lot of time in his head but it was to tinker. To solution how to optimize his own technique, how to better help Shoko cheat her way through a medical degree eventually (while hopefully also picking her brain for RCT mastery), what nicknames suited Suguru's latest curse acquisition and their subsequent battle application, what prank to pull on Yaga-sensei, the only reasonable end for Digimon, etc. He'd spend a prolonged period of time quiet and pensive, turning problems over in his head like a Rubik's cube, until he would suddenly come back to himself with some off the wall output of his deliberations. More often than not, he'd be strewn about Suguru's room locked in contemplation and, with a decisive break in the silence, Suguru would beam and welcome him back warmly, "I see you've found your way back to us." Moreover, he'd try to pick up wherever Gojo's thoughts left off even if the subject matter was completely out of his wheelhouse. The simple attempt of understanding and having a place that felt so safe to simply... drift warmed something within him that didn't have a name yet, until -

There would come a time where even The Strongest could fly too close to the sun. Perhaps there would always be a reckoning for the scales to one day tip out of Gojo's favor. Never one to stay down, Gojo's temporary failure saw a massive power up, finally getting the hang of the "fyoo, hwoi" that had stymied him for so long. Such was the fate of The Strongest, to shatter the ceiling of his limits but only after a devastating loss.

He picked up the pieces of their failed mission, avenging his initial loss, reclaiming the body of their slain charge and came face to face with Suguru. He'd never seen Suguru so downtrodden and, for whatever reason, when asked if Shoko had patched him up, he felt to answer honestly would break his confidence irreparably.

He'd experienced his own foundational upset with his inability to defeat Toji in the first place. It was the first time his Six Eyes had failed him. This failure, which he continually tried to diminish in his mind, shattered the assumption that he was the strongest, that he was infallible. Years would pass where he'd avoid ruminating too long on his own passing which, only by miraculous happenstance, he was able to revive himself from. But in that moment, locked eye to eye with his best friend, he tried to lessen the burden as he always had. As a kindness, he lied, not knowing that one didn't need Six Eyes to spot a lie or that even white lies can cause more harm than good when you intrinsically trust someone.

It wasn't necessarily resilience that inspired Gojo's determination to circumvent the vulnerability Toji was able to exploit. The Invisible Man managed to instill a fear previously unrealized into Gojo's spirit. Stubbornly, he refused to concede to such language but that's what would explain his night terrors following the events of that fight. How, on the few nights he was able to sleep, his rest would be punctuated by cold sweats and waking up to the sound of his own screams or cries. This was not the behavior of The Strongest, it couldn't be. Every breakdown felt like a betrayal to everything he and Suguru had built their identities upon. So, like a coward, he hid what he could and worked relentlessly to never be caught unawares again as, he feared, the next time it would cost him or Suguru their lives and not just their confidence.

It didn't matter, the means nor the motivation, sometimes a small voice would still tell him he was losing something in the process though he could never comprehend what until the day came that everything finally shifted into focus. As curses spawning became relentless, he and Suguru could no longer afford to be a two man team. There were just too many curses to exorcise though the separation felt more and more like a punishment for their failure. Gojo came back from his mission to find that Suguru hadn't returned from his. Fearing the worst when Yaga approached him, he was relieved then horrified to learn of what transpired.

Suguru, Fearless in the Face of the Strong. Suguru, Defender of the Weak. Suguru, Moral Voice of Reason. Suguru, His One and Only Best Friend.

Suguru had committed too great a transgression to be an accident. Soundly broken laws too sacred to be ignored and disappeared into the night leaving Gojo without so much as a word. How long had he been struggling before the dam within him finally broke? Why hadn't he said anything? How did Gojo miss this? To add insult to injury, as the only other special grade sorcerer, Gojo bore the burden of carrying out his execution.

His life had been defined by the burdens he'd had to carry because of his strength and the blessing of his birth. Never before had they all felt so heavy, though. Suguru's departure created a vacuum within him that never quite found peace.

Years would pass and Gojo would still wordlessly carry the bitter turmoil of his childhood, how unfair it all was. To have felt the warmth of companionship after so long alone only to feel a greater frigidity in its absence. He now found the silence unbearably loud compared to the self imposed quiet before knowing Suguru.

On yet another day marked by nondescript loneliness, he found his thoughts drifting once again to the better days of his youth. Classes long since dismissed, he sat in the desk he'd once occupied as a student.

“You still haunt the dark corners of this high school, Suguru. Not your body but your soul. How your laugh would bounce off of every wall before reverberating through us. Maybe it's because I can't leave the place where I continue to mourn you. But what can I do, you left me alone first,” he murmurs to no one. For a moment he holds onto the quiet. As if protecting it would allow Suguru himself to respond, regardless of the dirty work that had, without a doubt, seen to his end. "But... that's ridiculous, isn't it?" he added. He stood up abruptly, the scratch of his chair inflicting violence on the peace before he strode out of the classroom, determined to fill his time with chaos to avoid his lingering thoughts.

"Yes, but that doesn't make it feel any less true," Shoko mused aloud, leaning against the external wall of the classroom, bypassed by Gojo's departure. "But you were never alone... were you?" she pondered reaching for the cigarette behind her ear as Gojo disappeared from sight.

--

A/N: They were a trio but Geto was the glue. I also didn't say Gojo wasn't still an oblivious idiot. This story was just as much about Shoko regardless of her seeming absence in it and that breaks my heart too? So I hope that was adequately conveyed. But really this was just in defense of my silly, goofy lil guy who was just as ill-equipped to deal with everything that happened. Excuse the self indulgence.

#neonfiction #sad anime girl hour #jjk #they were a trio #jujutsu kaisen #anime #ao3 #manga #jjk fanfic #jjk fanfiction #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #geto suguru #suguru geto #stsg #sashisu #shoko ieri #ao3 author #ieri shoko #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sss trio #satosugu #satosugu angst #satosugu fanfic #gojo centric #anime fanfic #satosugu brainrot #satosugu fanfiction #satoru gojo centric #character study

[viciouslyyearning]

Back on my sea witch Akos bullshit, big boy Cecaelia and his tiny lil mate I'm just thinking here, Akos is a big boy who is magically imbued which can lead to some horrific scenarios for you, his poor little merfolk mate. (I'm caught between making a strict male reader or keeping gn masculine leaning but oh well, imagine as you will) so for a more poking-at-horror prompt, what happens if his study of a new curse backfires while you're away? (still soft cause these two are so so cute but I need clear communication and a sea witches mate dealing with magic shenanigans)

So imagine with me, if you will, that one day when you left to visit the reef you came from, you left Akos alone for the day as he wished to be alone to study his newest read 'Curse'.

And in returning home, as soon as you enter the mouth of the cave your very vision began to shift and warp and change for the horrific. Jagged rocks looking more akin to teeth in a massive maw, dark shadows looming and stretching out to you in an almost sentient appearance. As your heart began to race, you tried to calm yourself. "Akos? What have you done this time?" your sounded far stronger than you had planned.  As your vision tunneled and darkened, your eyes were drawn to the massive, hulking, disformed figure that you could only make out the eyes of.

What was a Cecelia once was now disfigured, strong limbs elongated and twisted at odd angles, wide eyes far too big and dark zoned in strictly on you, a maw wrapping around what must have once been his face smiled in twisted glee. Akos loomed, motionless despite floating in one spot. stagnating in an unnatural way, watching you as though the first move you made would lead to you being very well devoured at that moment.

You bit back every emotion that crawled its way up your throat and began to rationalize, despite the tension growing. Akos had mentioned studying a curse, one that could force the bearer into desolation by forcing any who encounter them to witness something horrific with no specification. Akos, your sweet Akos who would sooner destroy himself than so much as shout at you. Surley the curse backfired in his studies and you were safe, just a few minutes from cardiac arrest.

Then the noises began.

Clicking, muffled by the deep sea's water, clicking like some creatures would use to map out what was around them. Then Akos began to twitch, minuscule at first and growing as his figure twisted and convulsed in on himself. In a moment he must have moved because he was only two tails from you. You jolted back with a startled shout, making the figure of your mate freeze. ... A good sign, non-aggressive so he must be aware if nothing else. "Akos?" you prompted quietly. The muted clicking returned before silencing again, ah, he was trying to talk.

You took a breath and forced your eyes from the figure that was going to leave you with nightmares and the feeling of danger. "I... don't know if you see what I see but dear, I know that you're you. I know you'd never hurt me." You breathed slowly, trying to calm your heart and choosing your words carefully. "But right now, you look like something from a horror story and I just need the reassurance that you won't do anything."

The coagulated mess of tentacles and flesh twitched. A low rumbling noise that left your skin and scales vibrating in terror. Casting a glance towards him you saw what might have been his large arms and hands reaching out slowly, waiting for you.

You glanced at the face that you felt might try to take a bite out of you, knowing that if you didn't find some semblance of comfort then this figure would absolutely drive you away for some time, you just needed to remember how safe you must have been. Your tail moved slowly as you closed the distance between you and your mates... cursed figure. As soon as you settled in Akos' space, you cautiously pressed a webbed hand to his chest, the texture, the softness was the same feeling, if you could ignore the visual of your hand sinking into malleable viscera. Swallowing your fears, you closed your eyes and leaned against his chest, feeling the familiar arms and tentacles wrap around you lovingly. Akos must have been trying to speak once again as a new horrific noise sounded from his throat.

You kept your eyes closed, focusing on feeling him, a kiss pressed to your head, a hand holding one of your own. It must have only been a visual and auditory-based curse, as you could feel none of what you were seeing.

"Dear, I don't know if you see yourself right now, but I need you to just figure out how this is supposed to be reversed and soon." Feeling his grip tighten, you believed was the closest you'd get to an agreement in this moment.

The fear was still there, but seeing a living nightmare cuddle with you made it a lot less scary, surprisingly.

Thankfully.

#monster x reader #cecaelia x reader #mermay #x reader #mermaid x reader #akos my beloved

[izzyspussy]

all the fics where they make Roy stop yelling really bother me tbh. I think it's patronizing to Jamie (and the people his character represents) and insulting to Roy (and the people his character represents).

obviously it's necessarily more complicated in real life but... not all abuse victims have the same triggers, or are affected by their triggers the same way, or have any desire to wholly avoid their triggers forever, or can't recover from being triggered quickly and/or combat the effects of being triggered rationally, or are always triggered by the same thing in all circumstances, etc etc.

saying this from experience, and also I think it's clear in the show that Jamie a) doesn't tend to react to being triggered with traditionally recognized outward fear and b) has a remarkably good handle on them regardless.

he jumps significantly worse than others at loud noises, but his actual disposition during that doesn't change. he stays fully aware of the reality of the situation, despite being irrationally startled. he reacts to being yelled at not with cowering or apologizing or other "fawn" fear responses, but by being dismissive and belligerent. which is not to say he necessarily isn't triggered when he's acting like that, I'm just pointing out no one writes him that way and always needs him to be a bunny rabbit about it.

he has never been shown to be triggered, except to flinch and easily recover, from being yelled at even when its by people who are pissed off at him (other than of course his actual abuser). he's never shown to be afraid of Roy yelling, swearing, or slamming doors, and frequently thinks it's funny - even though he does flinch. and he's shown to not be afraid when his teammates are yelling, swearing, making sudden movements toward him, and ganging up on him.

he's literally okay. he's fine with it.

on the other hand, Roy doesn't have to change who he is to be a good uncle, friend, or coach, so why is it assumed that he must change to be a good romantic partner? that's the main thing there. he doesn't have to be quiet and sweet and gentle and polite all the time to be good enough for someone else.

keeley, jamie, phoebe, the rest of the team, they're all shown to like him as he is and to be comfortable with the way he behaves. they all recognize that he yells and swears because that's just the way he speaks a lot of the time (and he doesn't do it when it's really inappropriate; he speaks calmly to Phoebe when she's actually in trouble, he has never once yelled at nate, etc).

when he yells or swears at keeley or jamie in a fight, they both yell back without fear, and almost always he de-escalates and either immediately has a rational discussion or leaves until he can calm down, and after jamie isn't actually going out of his way trying to start fistfights with him that de- escalation only takes a mediator once.

he's loud, yeah. he speaks aggressively. but there's nothing inherently bad about that if it's not bothering anyone. a romantic relationship instead of a friendship doesn't automatically change that.

he doesn't need to be fixed.

#jack facts #ted lasso #hc #abuse

[brumeraven]

🪫: The Chains That Bind || angels, burnout, commoditization, dehumanization, exhaustion, I know that SCRAM is probably a backronym but it's so stupid I love it

"So, uhh..."

Shit, only three days. Knew I shouldn't have picked four in the pool... At least I didn't go with "Never," like Gloria from HR. Bitch should know better; they always, always ask. Might be a day, might be a week, but they always bring it up.

"You ever, uh, think about what exactly we're doing here?"

There it was. The million dollar question. Suppose that number should be revised well-upwards, honestly, power prices being what they were these days, but I couldn't be arsed to keep up with the current budget...

"Like, with that thing in there, ya know?" He gestured vaguely past the consoles before us towards the observation slit, as if there could be any doubt what he meant. Wasn't anything else to talk about around here, least of all the drab beige plastic that comprised every surface.

"Notice you haven't taken a peek yet, rookie. Superstitious much?" I kept my voice light, despite the lance of hot rage that pierced my breast. Close to a decade of experience meant I'd had practice enough at controlling Extrinsics.

"No! Just, I mean..." With a sigh, he stood and leaned forward to look, pressing forward with a near-reverent hesitance. I'd have to keep an eye on that. That spoke of assumptions, and assumptions lead to sloppy work.

I didn't need to look. Already knew what he was staring at.

And if I hadn't, well, it was painted on his face, plain as daylight. 4 solid inches of recycled cathedral glass lessened the intensity to something just-shy of blinding, but compared to the anemic fluorescence of the control room, he might as well have been staring at the sun.

"....hm." It was a disappointed sort of non-committal noise.

"Not what you expected?" Of course it wasn't, not on this side of the shielding. Anyone too sensitive would never have been allowed this close.

"It's...bright?" Disappointment, and the desire for confirmation.

"It's a toroidal cloud of plasma. What the hell did you expect?" Part of the ritual, this was. Debase, demean, lessen. Pinion its wings with the materialistic, the rational, the objective, the familiar.

I knew what he meant, but that part...that part was buried just out sight.

If a few hundred tons of concrete, ten of graphite, and a cell of industrial diamond could be called "just out of sight." Only been down there once; creeped me out when my clothes changed color. Tiny changes, but you never knew what tiny change in your genes would become cancer.

"Yeah, I, uh, can see. I guess I expected-"

"Arms, legs, wings? Some white robes? Maybe a harp or trumpet?" The first bit was true, at least sometimes. Music was a bad idea though. "It's not a person. It's a machine. A thing that was made to do a job. A car, not a yoked horse."

"Aren't you ...afraid though?"

"Afraid? Hell yes I am." That much was no lie. "I'm afraid my coffee is gonna become decaf in between sips, or my bra won't match my shirt, or some other Slip is gonna fuck up my perfectly good day answering your stupid questions." Easy, steady...

Woof. That was a pained look if I'd ever seen one. Fine, he needed more reassurance than that... "Look, of course I worry. Even without hypocertainty effects, there are ten thousand things that could go wrong here. And our job is to make sure they don't, okay?"

"Okay...but-"

"Look, keep your eyes on the gauges and the protocols in mind. Long as shit's all green, s'all good, yeah? Been here 11 years; most of the time when the alarms go off, it's just brumeraven buildup. We wet vent it out through the filters and someone gets a flat tire or something."

He nodded, if not with much conviction. "What's, uh, what's the worst that could happen?"

Fuck, where in the hell did they even find this guy?

Fine, if he wanted it... "Worst case, the Void coefficient inverts and goes positive. We end up with a criticality incursion, have to cut the outflows and you..." I leaned over to prod his arm for emphasis. "...you get to take ice cream and stuffed animals downstairs for it."

Well, that got a nervous giggle and a minute of silence. Probably for the best he thought it a joke for the moment. I waited, then, waited for the question he still hadn't asked, the one I knew was coming.

"But what...what if it breaks loose? What if it gets out?"

Bingo. It wouldn't. It couldn't. "It won't. It can't. Besides, that's my job." I tapped the badge clipped to my shirt, right on the crisp, serifed capital letters: SCRMNT. Safety Containment Responsibility Manager/Neutralization Technician. Corporate did love their acronyms...

"I mean, sure, no offense, but what exactly are you gonna do against that thing in there, if it breaks the control bonds?"

Ahhh, and there it was, the root of the misunderstanding. He still thought this was a prison of concrete and rebar, copper and steel.

"You don't understand. All this concrete and shit? That's all just shielding for our benefit. And for the power converters and all that. It's free to leave; not like we could stop it. But if she goes, whole power grid goes down."

It. Fuck.

"I don't understand. Why...?"

"Please, with all the hospitals and homes and hotels that depend on us?"

"..."

"You want to know how you keep an angel bound?"

The question hung in the air as I felt the hairs on my arm prick, and a fleeting sense of sorrow not my own slunk into my heart.

He nodded, waiting.

I smiled slowly.

"Responsibilities."

~🪫

#empty spaces #microfiction #fiction #angelposting #angels #burnout #commoditization #dehumanization #exhaustion #I know that SCRAM is probably a backronym but it's so stupid I love it