#feels good and not destructive. like if i felt like this all the time that would b fantastic. its like oh so this is y ppl dont long to b | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fxtalitygod · 3 days

Text

X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya@pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx

161 notes · View notes

hazbinfallinginaspiral · 2 days

Note

I saw the Pole, I'm gonna ask this now .... more Retro handling people who trouble Vox. Maybe with a view on Vox's reactions to seeing Retro's murder on film at the end? He's always watching after all.

Rotting for Old Times Sake (gore warning)

“Depollute me, pretty baby,” I said softly, thinking of Vox. Usually I was so caught up in the act of slicing people open I could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of adrenaline in my veins. But now? Oh now… I was lovesick.

“Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream.”

The clouds of smoke surrounding me were a testament to such a fact. They poured out of me, each more colorful and vibrant than the last, each more destructive. Pinks and purples and reds. Pretty, really. There was nothing cuter than something that looked so wonderful and could kill you in an instant.

“Oh, dilute me, gentle angel…”

The people I’d gathered were rotting at a rapid pace. Some body’s were more damaged than others, some were fresh. I’d gathered them all, no matter how decayed and decrepit, here today for a cleansing. Time to watch them rot, for old times sake.

“Water down what I called being grateful.”

I smiled as I watched the skin peel and fall off the corpses, some of them boiling and blistering, others blue and cracked. I thought of Vox, how I’d seen him electrocute someone the other day. I was sitting in his office, watching through the camera, and I knew he didn’t know that I knew that he’d killed one of his assistants. I remembered the way he held the corpse in his hands, how he tossed it aside without a care. A warm fuzzy feeling spread in my chest and I couldn’t help but feel elated. God, how I wished he’d kill for me.

“Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me..”

And the taste of smoke on his lips, fuck that was beautiful. Not Val’s smoke, not toxic fumes, but his own. He rarely smoked, as far as I could tell, he only did it when he was in a good mood, feeling worked up. I could imagine him like that, now. How he may act.

“Not to take me home.”

I thought of him, that warm feeling in me only growing as I moved around. I had to spread the toxins in the air effectively, so I’d been doing a small sort of dance. I was absolutely entranced by the mere thought of Vox doing anything like this, for me or otherwise. I couldn’t wait to return home to him tonight.

“It was simple, it was sweetness…”

Being with him was always such pure bliss. The crunch of what used to be bones now reduced to nothing under my shoe was nothing in comparison to the soft hum of his TV head. The silence that filled the space I was in (save for my singing) was so boring in comparison to the wonderful static and white noise that accompanied Vox wherever he went.

“It was good to know.”

I left the alleyway, now full of nothing but lingering toxins in the air and an ashy sort of dust and dirt on the floor. I hummed and did a little twirl, happy as ever as I made my way to the grocery store. I still had to pick up the ingredients for dinner tonight. I was going to be making his favorite, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction. My heart beat faster in anticipation at the thought.

***

Vox sat in his office, his heart fluttering as he watched it all go down. He hummed and sung along softly to your little song, he knew it well. He admired the clouds and puffs of poison and toxins you emitted, how deadly it was. So unassuming and pretty at first glance, but it was that very same innocuous appearance that made it so dangerous. The smoke reminded him of you- just how similair you were to it was amazing. Beautiful and sweet but ruthless. He’d watched you hold a man’s heart in your hand as you tore it out of his ribcage, once, and the only thing he felt was pure unadulterated love and joy.

Now, he felt a certain familiar heat rise to his face and- god, he was overheating already! He loved your singing with all his heart, and he didn’t get to hear it often- you were far too shy about it and never really sung around the house. Hearing you sing at all was a blessing, but while you were killing? For him, no less!

It was everything he could ever hope for, everything he could ever dream of. How utterly devoted you were, it was enchanting. He adored these acts of service, he loved watching every moment. He couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his afterlife with you.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #writing #vox x reader #my writing #x reader #thanks anon!

22 notes · View notes

mama-qwerty · 15 hours

Text

The Knuckles Series - Review

Okay. So.

Finished the series.

I have thoughts.

First of all, it was fun. I view it as kinda filler episode material, that if someone watched just the movies they wouldn’t miss much. I watched it with my family and there were times we were all laughing and cheering and just enjoying the ride. It was silly and fun and Knuckles was adorable in every scene he was in.

That said, was it perfect?

No. No, it was not.

Here’s my take on some problems.

~ Setup felt rushed

We had the barest glimpse into Knux’s difficulty adjusting to a life on Earth, which, honestly, just made it look like he wasn’t being challenged enough. He can’t go from being on the run and fighting for his life at every turn to just sitting around playing VR and goofing off. That’s just not who he is.

Not to mention, his interpersonal skills are practically non-existent. He fought his whole childhood away. Presumably, anyone who came near him either wanted to exploit him, use him, or fight him. So he’s used to just doing things on his own, with no one to answer to, or take into consideration. That’s what I saw at the beginning—and honestly, it may have been easily handled had Maddie sat down with him and actually tried to get to know and understand him a little better.

~ Maddie

I felt for her, I really did. And I get that she was frustrated. Tom’s off who-knows-where, and she’s left at home trying to get the damage to the house fixed, while keeping tabs on three super powered alien kids, one of whom is actively attacking handymen, dragging a ton of dirt and sharpened sticks into the living room to make a warrior fighting pit, and dismantling the car to build himself an Iron Throne in the dining room.

She’s frustrated, and doing everything she can to keep herself from snapping. She didn’t sign up for this, but now has to learn on the fly how to deal with three very different, and very special needs kiddos.

But her referring to Knuckles as “our little red barbarian friend” kinda rubbed me the wrong way. He’s not a barbarian. He’s a warrior. He’s a traumatized kid who feels like the honor of his entire tribe rests on his shoulders. He’s struggling with this change and instead of trying to sit down and talk to the kid to explain how things are done on Earth, and see if there was some kind of agreement they could reach to keep them both happy, she just kinda gives up and walks away. Not very understanding, and doesn’t make her come off looking very good.

~ Pachacamac

Okay, this is just weird. Pachacamac, for those who don’t know, in the games is the warmongering echidna tribe chief who led the warriors in an assault to take the Master Emerald’s power for themselves. In the process, they enraged Chaos, the God of Destruction, who all but wiped out the Knuckles clan.

I know, I know, game and movie universes are different. The movie team has taken liberties before with certain aspects of Sonic lore, so this shouldn’t be any different.

Except it is. Canonically, Pachacamac is not a good guy. He’s not even a morally gray character. He is not an honored chief, who trained Knuckles and is now his wise spirit guide. He was the cause of the fall of Knuckles’ entire tribe, thanks to his greed and lust for power.

Making Pachacamac essentially Yoda is like changing Robotnik into a kindly grandfather figure. I mean, what??

The only thing I can think this harkens back to is Longclaw’s little hologram message from the second movie, in which she gives Sonic a quest to find the Master Emerald before Knuckles does. Which, okay, it’s a lost loved one giving a final message to help direct the character on a new path.

Except, Pachacamac isn’t a lost loved one for Knuckles. We did not see any interaction between Knux and Pach. We did see interaction between Knuckles and his father, who would have been a much better choice to send his son on a new path.

(I did, however, see this post that makes SOOOOO much sense in why Pachy appears to Knux, and instructs him to train Wade, specifically.)

~ The Master Emerald

Speaking of, WHERE IS IT? It was referenced numerous times, but never shown once. The absolute least the show could have done was show it well secured, with a Tails’ created security system in place. Show Knux meditating near it, or praying to his ancestors that they can rest easy knowing that the Emerald is safely back in the hands of the echidna once more.

The absolute lack of a presence of it is strange, considering the pursuit of it was what caused the near extinction of both the echidna and the owls. It was Knuckles’ focus for his entire life. Yet he simply leaves it behind without a second thought?

~ Wanda

OMG I hated Wade’s sister. Just, hated her. She was immature, abrasive, abusive, unnecessarily antagonistic with Wade (which seemed to be a life-long thing if the flashbacks are anything to go by) and just struck me as someone who was overcompensating for something. She’s a bully and it’s no wonder Wade is the way he is if he had to grow up with someone like her.

~ No Closure

We didn’t see them arrive back home, where Maddie would hand them their asses for just disappearing like that and not telling her. She was likely worried out of her mind the whole time. And I would have liked to have seen Sonic and Tails try to cover for Knux’s absence, in funny little brotherly shenanigans.

As I said above, I still found it fun. I loved Mother Whipple. I loved Knux’s interactions with her. I loved how Wade grew over their little trip. It was an enjoyable ride, and my whole family really had fun.

How would I have done it differently?

Well, that’s a different post.

#knuckles series review #knuckles series spoilers #knuckles the echidna #wade whipple

17 notes · View notes

opens-up-4-nobody · 6 months

Text

...

#its crazy how much easier it is to do things when youre not completely miserable lol #this past week has been weird bc ive felt really really good and like normal in a way thats kinds unfathomable #im hoping its the medication but my mood was already on an upward tilt and i was told it would take like 6 weeks for the meds to work #property but like ive been sleeping way more than usual. and by that i literally just mean 8hrs a night lol which is weird for me #like that never ever ever happens multiple days in a row. so idk. when i feel better it makes the 0cd way easier to manage as well #and im just generally not as anxious. on the more worrisome side i kinda just give less of a fuck so like i have an exam im not ready for #Tuesday and im just kinda like hm fuck that lol. ill go thru lil fluctuations of having a lot of energy too #like: i could run around in circles rn. i dont have to but i could. like yesterday i was out with friends and i was like bouncing up and #down while standing and rocking from side to side while sitting. which i kinda do anyway while in crowds but it was more to expend energy #last night i also got like 5hrs of sleep. so like maaaaybe ive been on the bleeding edge of mood elevation but for the most part it just #feels good and not destructive. like if i felt like this all the time that would b fantastic. its like oh so this is y ppl dont long to b #put out of their misery lol. depression? who? i dont kno her. sounds fake. but as soon as i fucking say that ill b fucking slapped back #down to earth. ugh. annoying. no emotional object permanence. i hope its the meds. if this is the person i am under layers of misery then #that is fucking so insane. we shall see. im curious to hear what the psychiatrist thinks of my brain when i follow up with her #i gave her my full dys1exia assessment which gives a pretty good picture of how my head functions. oh fuck i bet i would do waaaayyy better #on thise test if i took it in this state of mind. but anyway she has that on top of like 3 assessment sheets i filled out #dispite everything i still want someone to categorize me into a discreet box. tell me doc. am i really bip0lar? really really?#ur sure??? like 1000% sure bc my brain wont let me accept that unless its beyond a reasonable doubt. i just doesn't seem that serious.#i mean. it is but like ya kno. its not that bad. ay. this glob of mush behind my eyes runs me in circles #but for now thats ok bc i feel like i could run up a mountain or punch someone in the face lol #unrelated

10 notes · View notes

impossible-rat-babies · 2 months

Text

I’m a bit obsessed with eyrie’s flaw and virtue of treating meteion not as a construct, but as a person

#it’s a virtue in how human it is to look at her and think of her as a another living being #but a flaw in not seeing her as a construct and their blindness to the pain she could inflict #they do realize in ktisis what she did #her being the catalyst to the destruction of her world and the death of her creator #not like they can change the past but it does change their outlook on her when they arrive in UT #and yet they cannot help but love her. they can’t help but see her as another being not unlike them #I think about Meteion and eyrie’s relationship being what could have been between Hermes and Meteion #Hermes no doubt felt great affection towards Meteion—he refers to the collective of them as sisters #it’s all very human in how he treats his creations #it’s just Hermes suffering under a society that places the good of the collective above the individual #and the lives of the individual are only there to improve the whole #without acknowledging that individuals create that whole #eyrie at times I feel like represents what Hermes could have been #how he could have flourished and loved #eyrie being distinct in being in a place where they are not confined but society and culture #endwalker spoilers #I’m goofy pool over eyrie and meteion what is new #oc: eyrie kisne

5 notes · View notes

yuyu-bubu · 1 year

Text

autism sad feed it void

#yuyu thoughts not clickbait #vent cw #ehe like among us #tfw i can't remember the last time i truly felt like a person #I feel like I'm half a person #im so close #but there's something that's missing #and i have no idea how to go about fixing this #everything is so daunting #nothing i do is good enough #I don't know what i am if im not suffering #because self destruction is the only thing I've ever known for years #man #fellas can i have an identity crisis even if i never had an identity at all #everyone just feels so much more than me #i wonder what it's like to be so full of life it bleeds out of you

4 notes · View notes

queers-gambit · 8 months

Text

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

browse the Clingy Baby collection masterlist here

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel au #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky x you #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes hurt/comfort

8K notes · View notes

zillychu · 4 months

Text

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him.

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts.

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors.

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them.

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is.

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook.

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population.

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress.

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost.

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated.

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong.

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks.

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them.

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost.

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal.

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them.

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

#danny phantom #au #zilly art #I just wanted to draw a boy with long hair and claws how did this happen #fire core au

4K notes · View notes

gutsby · 3 months

Text

Trigger Tease(r)

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Before his morning briefing, your mob boss husband decides to take a pit stop in the sauna with you.

Warnings: 18+. Oral (f!receiving). Gentle fingerfucking. Praise and degradation. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Bucky talking you through it. Bimbofication if you squint.

Notes: @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast - you inspired me 🪽 I just had to crank out a little teaser for the third installment of Wedded Bliss. I hope y’all like it 💓

Full version here

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing, you found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time these days: pinned up against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was better sustenance to him than the whole damn meal the two of you had eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt in quick succession. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over while Bucky drank in your every sound, and the few tears that sprung to your eyes as they always did, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouths and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you.”

Taglist (STILL HAVE TO UPDATE THIS I'M DUMB AS SHIT): @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut @dixsond

#THE TITLE WILL MAKE SENSE LATER I PROMISE #it’s ‘tease’ not ‘teaser’ in the full fic that was just my attempt at humor #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #mcu #mob bucky barnes #marvel smut #marvel x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #mob boss bucky #mob!bucky

2K notes · View notes

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 9 months

Text

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship.

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive.

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function.

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but.

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead.

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright.

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane.

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease.

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525.

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it.

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god.

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything.

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive.

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago.

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear.

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with.

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee.

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting.

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh.

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together.

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody.

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane.

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out?

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves.

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago.

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart?

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch.

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all.

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face.

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain.

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked.

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated.

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway.

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now.

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office.

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly.

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not.

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces.

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated.

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home.

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park.

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials.

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze.

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off.

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation.

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects.

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab.

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes.

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark.

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant.

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting.

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair.

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly.

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid.

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.”

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?”

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years.

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew.

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment.

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one.

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him.

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek.

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed?

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before.

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever.

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily.

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes.

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time.

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you.

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment.

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him.

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all.

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly.

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him.

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back.

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him.

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts.

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were.

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch.

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions.

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed.

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs.

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body.

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously.

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling.

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth.

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand.

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it.

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands.

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,”

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly.

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass.

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling.

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before.

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt.

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins.

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him.

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open.

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth.

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds.

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in.

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out.

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.”

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach.

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him.

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him.

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm.

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you.

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments.

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you.

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come.

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs.

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior.

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music.

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair.

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it.

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid.

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you.

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch.

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe.

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily.

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #batman #sub!jonathan crane #sub!jonathan crane x reader

5K notes · View notes

rockettothestars222 · 2 months

Text

Summary : After the battle with Adam, Alastor disappeared. Everyone was sure he was dead, but you knew better than that. You find him injured and vulnerable in his broken down radio tower, and decide to give him a hand with his wounds.

Tags : GenderNeutral!reader, reader is shorter than Al, soft!Alastor, sorta, fluff, lots of fluff, hurt/comfort, Alastor is losing it

Notes : My first Tumblr one shot! Hopefully this isn’t too OOC, but writing a character who hides any sign of real emotion being vulnerable is difficult. Enjoy!

Word Count : 2,418

——————

You breathed, Hell’s fiery air stinging your lungs as you looked around at the death and destruction that surrounded you. You look back over your shoulder, Charlie’s quiet sniffles taking your attention. Lucifer was knelt in front of her, his hand brushing her cheek, a weak attempt at comforting her after her life’s dream was just destroyed. You frowned, your brow creasing together as you felt a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, your gaze me with Angel Dust’s.

“You did good out there,” he smiles down at you, an excited squeal coming from the pig in his opposite arms. You muster a strained grin, but his fades. “Still sucks though, huh?”

You nod, dropping your grin, “Yeah, still sucks. I can’t believe it’s all gone,” you look away from the arachnid, your eyes casting over the destroyed hotel once again. Angel nods, his arm drifting around your shoulder and giving you a squeeze, the best, and really the only, form of comfort he knows how to provide.

“We’ll rebuild it,” he squeezes you again, before releasing you and approaching Charlie and the rest of the group. You follow behind, though your gaze remains astray, scanning the battleground. Looking for any sign of someone alive. You know deep down who you were looking for.

Alastor, the overlord you’d grown to call a friend.

Not everyone would consider him that, but you were an optimist. You hoped he’d consider you the same. No one in Hell would be as kind as he had been to you without considering you some sort of friend. Or, well, as kind as an overlord like him could be. And everyone was convinced he was gone, but you weren’t that naive. Alastor, if faced with death or fleeing, would flee. He was snarky and a bit egotistical, sure, but he wasn’t an idiot.

“Uhm, hey, I’m going to get see if I can find any of my stuff out here. Maybe some of it is salvageable,” you call to the rest of the group, stepping closer to the mess that used to be your home. The ground cracked beneath you as you stepped across the rubble. Charlie, who’d seemingly made her peace with the tragedy that had occurred, looked to you, rising to her feet.

“Do you want any help?”

“No, no, I got it,” you were lying to your teeth, but you had to see if he was out there. She looked at you with sympathetic eyes, walking closer and wrapping you in a tight hug. Your arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her close.

“Be careful out there, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt on anything. We’re going to go and get something to eat, try and relax a bit before we start rebuilding tomorrow. Text me when you’re done, you can meet us out there, okay?” She pulls away from you, her hands still resting on your shoulders as yours fell to your sides.

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” you assure, smiling as the taller girl pulls away from you fully, waving you goodbye as she approaches the rest of the group. You watch as they leave, before turning back to the rubble, that strained smile of yours dropping. You rubbed your cheeks. How did Alastor do that all the time?

And with that, you were off, wandering as your eyes scanned the area, reminiscing as you came across bits and pieces of the place you’d called home for the past 6 months. Broken pieces of Sir Pentious’ old machinery make your brows furrow together, a feeling that you could only describe as grief swallowing your thoughts for a brief moment, your chest tightening. You stared at that machine for a good few minutes before tearing your gaze away, trying to look at anything else.

And there it was.

A good 30 feet from you was Alastor’s radio tower. Some of the windows broken, dented, and on its side, but for the most part it was still in tact. You began to walk towards it, without much thought. He’d spent a lot of time there before you’d all started preparing for the extermination. He was insistent it was the best part of the hotel.

The closer you got, the more hesitant you became. If the trail of blood in the dirt wasn’t off putting enough, the green glow that was emitting from tower surely was. But these two things sealed one thing in your mind: Alastor was alive. Of course he was, you’d known that. But that small strand of doubt was planted in your head by the others.

You walk around the broken and dented structure, before finding that the hatch inside was already open. You drew a final breath before pulling yourself up and inside. As you heaved yourself into the tower, you were met with something hard to look at. Alastor had his back turned to you, one arm over his chest, one arm helping him hold himself upright against the control panel of the tower. His overcoat had been thrown to the floor, it was a rare sight to see him without it. You frowned, pushing off of the floor and standing. You wanted to move closer, but weren’t sure you could do so without startling the overlord. If you’d managed to get this close without him noticing, you knew he must be very deep in thought.

“Alastor?” You tried, your voice soft. Even so, Alastor’s whole body stilled, his head turning sharply to look at you, his horns and shoulders growing two times their normal size. He had a wild look in his eye, but seemed to calm as he realized it was you, his body relaxing, and returning to its original position. His expression had turned sour, despite the constant smile.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he replied, his voice hoarse as he looked away. You frowned, stepping closer, avoiding the pools of blood on the ground.

“Alastor, we thought you were dead,” your voice was back to its normal volume.

The static sound, that was nearly a constant whenever Alastor was near, seemed to grow louder as his entire body span to face you, almost as if he were going to get angry, but he stumbled, both of his hands going back and gripping the control panel behind him. Now, you could see the giant gash across his chest, blood seeped into his shirt. Your eyes trailed from the bottom of his wound, up to meet his eyes. There was something behind them that you couldn’t quite place.

There was a beat of silence before you piped up again.

“He really got you, huh?” You point out the obvious, walking closer. Alastor tried to straighten himself, only using one hand to keep himself upright as the other found its way back to covering the wound.

“It is nothing that I can’t handle,” he assured, pressing his arm closer to his body. You stopped in front of him, looking into his eyes as you placed your hand on his. He wretched away, his rear pressing fully against the control panel, his hand sliding back. “Don’t.”

“Alastor,” you began, but he cut you off.

“Perhaps you misunderstood, I am FINE,” he growls, pushing himself away and walking around you, you turn to follow him with your eyes. “He may have hit me but I’m alive. Of COURSE I am. I mean, if I weren’t what would people think?”

Your brows furrowed, “what are you talking about, Al?”

“I have been a wonder to everyone since I manifested here, if I died for the princess of Hell and her low life sinners, I would be regarded as some,” he paused, clutching his chest as he turned away from you. “Altruist.”

He spat the word like it was the worst thing to ever leave his lips.

“I would be regarded at the ‘Oh so powerful Radio Demon who DIED for a chance at a redemption that isn’t even POSSIBLE.”

You walked closer to him, placing a hesitant hand on the small of his back. He glanced over his shoulder, and your expression softened.

“Alastor, no one is expecting you to die for us. All I want from you right now is. For you to let me help you,” you searched his face for any sign of agreement, but he was nearly impossible to read. A sigh escaped him. “You’re really hurt, Al.”

“I know,” he murmured, his ears flicking back as he turned to face you. He walked back towards the control panel, you trailing behind. You assumed him accepting that he was hurt was the closest thing you’d get to him saying, ‘I need help.’

“You should sit. It’ll be easier that way,” you looked up at Alastor, who was avoiding your gaze like the plague. You assumed he was ashamed of the situation he was in. He sat on the edge of the counter, snapping his fingers. A roll of bandages and pads of gauze appearing in your hands. You sat them down on the control panel beside him.

“I could have done this on my own, my dear,” he looks down at your hands as they reach for the buttons on his shirt, gently unbuttoning the first few.

“I’m sure you could have,” you murmur, though not fully paying attention to his words. You reached the last few buttons, pulling his shirt open. You could feel your face flushing as the his undershirt slipped off of his shoulders. It was a little unbelievable that the big bad Radio Demon was allowing this, but you supposed coming face to face with a second death was enough to allow a miracle.

Bending down slightly at your waist to reach better, you take some of the gauze, pressing it firmly to his wound. Alastor took a sharp inhale, his ears shifting back further than they already had been. Your frown grew deeper as you looked up at him, your free hand taking his, gently stroking your thumb across his skin.

“Alastor? Is this okay?” Your eyes scan his face, that somehow managed to display pain all while wearing that signature smile.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to hear a word about this when you’re done,” he winced, squeezing your hand as you began to wrap the bandages around the bottom half of his wound. You rolled your eyes, nodding.

“Not like anyone would believe me. I mean, you? Hurt? Impossible, right?” You pressed another piece of gauze to him, causing his claws to dig into your skin. It didn’t break, but it stung a bit. You tried your best not to show it — however hard that was — you didn’t want him to think that this, whatever this is, wasn’t okay.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he looked down at you, his brow creasing. You both fell silent, the crackling of radio static tickling your ears. You wrapped the rest of his wound in silence, your free hand grazing down the bandages, just barely making contact.

“You know,” you start, rising to your normal posture, finally removing your hand from his. “Letting someone help you doesn’t make you any less powerful.”

Another beat of silence as you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it back up over his shoulders. His hands, in one swift motion, grabbed yours and pulled you between his legs, closer to his chest. You looked up at him, your eyes widening as they met his. Just inches away from your own was The Radio Demon’s face. His eyes were pitch black, red radio dials replacing his pupils. His neck was contorted, smile stretched further than you imagined could be comfortable.

“You. Don’t. Understand,” he growled, his breath hot against your face. You tried your best to remain composed, not looking away from him as his grip on you tightened. “You are not ME. You could not possibly imagine the position I am in because of that DAMNED hotel.”

“You’re right.”

Alastor’s grip loosened immensely, his neck snapping back to be in it’s anatomically correct shape. His eyes fluttered a few times before returning to normal, he looked almost confused by your agreement. He stayed silent, even his static flushing to barely a hum.

“Alastor, I don’t know what it’s like in your shoes right now. But if you ever wanted to TELL me what it’s like, I’d be here to listen,” you, gently, squeezed his hands in yours. Alastor’s eyes scanned every inch of your face, over and over and over. Looking for any sign that you were going to use this vulnerability against him. To hurt him. To knock him down from the tower he’d built for himself. But there was none. Your expression held nothing but genuineness.

He briefly considered telling you everything that was troubling him, briefly thought about scaring you away so he didn’t have to face you, and though still brief, his thoughts lingered on the consideration of pulling you closer and thanking you for treating him like he wasn’t the monster he knew he truly was. But he did none of those things. He didn’t have time to unbox what all of those thoughts said about him. He just smiled down at you, a real smile, his left hand caressing your face.

“Thank you for helping me, my dearest,” Alastor’s voice had returned to its normal chipper tone, but it didn’t seem as fake as usual. Not when it was directed at you. A grin of your own blossomed across your face as you placed your hand on his, leaning your cheek into his hand. You turned you face a bit, placing your lips against his palm for a short moment, all while never breaking eye contact. If you didn’t know better, you’d of sworn a light blush crossed Alastor’s cheeks.

“Anytime, Al.”

Alastor cleared his throat, his ears flicking back into an upright position as he pulled his hands away from you and pushed himself up and off of the control panel. He straightened his posture re-buttoning his bloody and tethered undershirt. You quickly grabbed his overcoat so he wouldn’t try to bend over and grab it himself, and ushered back over to him. He took it from your arms, putting it on and dusting it off as if that would mend its holes and cleanse it of the blood that stained it.

“Well, I should be going now,” Alastor approached you, taking your hand for a final time and placing a kiss to your knuckles. “You are truly a diamond in the rough, darling. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Wait, where are you—” but before you could complete that question, he disappeared in a flash of green light and dark smoke. You blinked, your face flushing as you recalled what had just happened. You were almost unsure it was real.

You’d have to tell Charlie the new hotel was going to need a radio tower.

#fanfic #alastor #writing #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin lucifer #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin vaggie #hazbin husk #hazbin fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor x you #comfort #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #rockettothestars222

2K notes · View notes

supercutszns · 3 months

Text

bitter to the taste; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc + pairing: 5.5k, luke castellan x f!reader

synopsis: a sharp blade, a black eye, and (more than) two kisses.

warnings: this is even sluttier than the last one, language, sword fighting, sharp objects, blood/injuries, reader is still a horrible person and so is luke but he's also a loooser, making out, allusions/mentions of sex but no super explicit descriptions, kind of fluffy at the end

notes: i’m starting to hate this bc i think i’ve been staring at it too long sorry if this is not as good as pt.1 but i have plans for this series ok. also READER AND LUKE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE!!! THEIR RELATIONSHIP WILL NOT ALWAYS BE GOOD!!! THEY SUCK!! they are also not real but keep that in mind :) synopsis inspired by crush by ethel cain; designated song for this fic is unpunishable by ethel cain (i’ve got a whole chronological playlist for these freaks like it’s serious)

You’ve always had a taste for violence. And an equally powerful penchant for sloth.

You prefer to watch the carnage, not participate. It satisfies something inside you that you know, if it wasn’t for your laziness, could cause something irrevocable. Who the hell has time for that?. You’d rather lie back and watch instead.

This flaw of yours is the only reason you haven’t stirred more trouble, you think. It’s the reason you never attend camp games or sparring lessons. Sometimes, when you do, a dark muscle flexes inside your heart to curl out of its slumber, forming a hunger you don’t have otherwise. The second it starts to pry you have to rear yourself back and tuck the monster in. Banish the need for something more.

You don’t want to feed it. You don’t know what happens if you do. So you let other people do the feeding for you.

Luke cuts through two dummy heads in one swoop. It’s fucking gorgeous. The moon reflects off his sword, a silver sheen casting his face when he’s in the right spot. His brows are set, eyes so dark they blend with the night. Every motion is ruthless. Satisfying.

You don’t know how many times you’ve watched him like this. He called you out for it last night, but you’re sure he doesn’t know the half of it. The shadows are a sacred cloak to you, and you wait inside them until you want your presence known.

Meet me tomorrow.

It runs through your head like a broken record. You can still feel his breath on your lips and your neck is still tender—had to wear a sweater in the blazing heat to hide the marks. Since you were created you’ve accepted a universal truth about yourself: you don’t harbour affection for anyone or anything. There’s not a single thing you’ve felt drawn to or protective over but yourself. It’s solitary, yes, and lonely, yes, but that’s the way you’re supposed to be.

But you think about last night. You think about the moments between the kisses and the rush. When he teased you against your ear. When his hand brushed a certain spot on your back and something much lighter fluttered inside of you. When you crawled into sleep and thought about him, those were the moments that struck you the strangest.

His gaze pans over the treeline every once in a while, the anger diluted. Then it comes back twice as hard as he shreds another dummy to pieces.

He’s waiting for you. Oh, this is rich! A better person would probably turn around and go spoon their offerings into the bonfire the second they understand what they’re doing is incredibly destructive. But who are we kidding? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.

So you take a step forward, slip out of the comfort of the dark, and the next time he looks to the treeline he knows you’re there. He can’t see you, but he knows.

You wait. His strikes are less tenuous, much smoother. It almost makes you laugh. Some fucking showman he is.

Eventually, he buries his blade in the dirt and wipes his brow. “Are you gonna come talk to me or are you gonna stare at me all night like an owl?”

You relish in the feeling of shedding the darkness, coming into the light of the moon. “Hi,” you say flatly, but there’s a tiny smile on his face when he sees you that almost puts you off.

“Hello, rotten.” He tries to lean on the hilt of his sword but it isn’t quite tall enough so he stumbles. It’s so pathetic it almost makes you laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you grimace.

“Okay, back to heathen?”

“Don’t call me that either.”

“Well, you don’t seem too happy when people call you by your name so pick your poison here.”

You don’t say anything, your mouth set in a scowl. “All right, both it is,” Luke shrugs.

He’s different from last night. Less impatient. You hope it’s not because he thinks he has you now—he’s got another thing coming. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna come,” he says with a crooked grin, neither bashful nor ashamed.

You’ve made your way closer to him, the soft grass turning to dusty earth. “Don’t know why I did,” you mutter crassly.

Having abandoned his sword, Luke chuckles wryly. “Yes, you do.”

That bitterness he hides from everyone else pierces through. He tilts your face up like he did yesterday, the press of his fingers beneath your chin almost burning you. You know he’s peering at the marks on your neck.

“If you made me come here just to hook up with me you’re delusional,” you glare.

“What, like that’s not why you’re here?” He pushes your face up a little higher, grinning a little when you add resistance. “I’m a gentleman, you know. I can be patient.”

This guy is full of fucking shit.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you snipe. The only point of contact you have is his hand on your chin, but you’re a hair’s breadth away from having everything else. The air drifting between you is almost palpable, shrinking smaller and smaller like it’s terrified of being trapped between you.

He keeps your face still. He’s studying you, and you’re suddenly curious about what he sees. You remember all those looks you’d share at the dinner tables that made this happen in the first place. What did he see then?

“You wanna fight?”

It takes you a second to react. “What?”

“You want to fight. Pick up a sword, let’s go.” He smiles as he finally lets you go, waltzing away from you to unbury his sword from the dirt. His touch permeates through your skin and you hate it.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I can’t fight.”

“Sure you can,” he replies, grabbing another sword from the training rack. “You need to burn off a little steam.”

You laugh sharply. “And you think me waving a sword around is gonna do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he grins. “It’s the method that lets us keep the most clothes on.”

You glare at him. His smirk is a mile wide. The way your stomach is simmering almost makes you sick; it’s like gorging yourself on candy except this time the candy has a sword and maybe wants to fuck you.

You just watch as he hands you his sword, and the moonlight glinting off the metal has you believing it’s not the kind used for training. “I’ll use the dull one,” he assures. “C’mon, heathen. I know you’ve used a sword before, they force us to.”

“I usually skip those classes.”

He laughs. You can’t tell if it’s at you or with you. “Of course you do.”

You don’t like following orders, but oh, what the hell. Luke knows something about you, just like you know something about him. You’re only a little curious about it.

“Straighten your back,” is the first thing he says once you’ve taken your stance across from him. The blunt of his sword reaches out to tap your hip.

You begrudgingly do as you’re told. He watches you mirthfully, and the press of his sword against you starts to feel like a substitute for his hand. All the closeness you’re hungry for, dampened by cold steel. It still makes you buzz.

He gives you the barebones—the right grip, how to maneuver, the proper balance. But long gone is his easy disposition. The motor inside him that powered all those dummy beheadings and disembowelments is running again, except this time it’s for you. He wants a fight. This is his battlefield. All right, you’ll bite.

You start to spar with the skill of an overgrown toddler. The sword feels like an unnatural ligament hanging off your body. Luke is precise, convicting, far more enthusiastic than you. “You can do better than that,” he prods after your swords clash lazily for the billionth time. “Stop going easy.”

“You’re going easy,” you shoot back.

“Yeah, but I’d really rather not. Come on.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. You think about that dark thing you keep harboured. A muscle aching to be used.

“Come on,” he says again, and he almost sounds pissed. “All of a sudden you’re playing nice? What are you afraid of?”

Something flares inside you. “Nothing!”

“Then pick up the sword and fight me.”

You huff and roll your eyes, but your next swing is far more inspired. Luke blocks it easily, but you don’t care. “There we go,” he nods. “Again.”

This is more than you bargained for when you decided to come see him. All you want is to make out with this hot, awful person and have him tell you hot, awful things about yourself you probably already know. Why do you have to fight to get it?

He keeps provoking you no matter how hard you try. Your temper picks up the more you swing, discordant clangs bruising the air, but it’s still not enough. Luke doesn’t let up. Of course the one time you try to be nice, you’re not allowed to. On second thought, why are you reigning yourself in for Luke? The only other person in camp with a real, consuming viciousness? If anything you should hit him twice as hard, since he’s so sure he can take it.

“No wonder you’re so angry all the time,” Luke heaves out, and it gives you a swell of satisfaction. “You don’t have a proper outlet. Maybe you’d be nicer if you didn’t sit around and complain all day.”

“Shut up,” you gnash your teeth.

“Just saying, maybe you should do something about it.”

You’re getting lost in the rhythm of the swords, the adrenaline, the sweat passing the scar on his cheek. Every swing you think less and less, and that dark muscle flexes more and more. It feels like home to you. Like a good meal. Your bones ache and the world has darkened, but that rotten pit inside you cracks open in full bloom.

Luke keeps egging you on but you can’t hear him. Not like he still needs to. You think you’re smiling, or huffing furiously, or both. The sharpness of the sword intrigues you. A million terrible things reflect off its blade and you imagine them, all at once, until you are out of your body and the black hole inside you has properly wedged itself open.

Luke jabs at you and you bring your sword down with a vengeance. But it’s a little too low. You only notice when he drops his weapon to the side and staggers back.

The fog of violence falters. It fades almost completely when he hisses long and hard, eyes screwed shut, and you see the tear in his shirt. In his skin.

“Shit,” you say. “Fuck.”

You don’t sound sorry, you don’t think you are sorry, especially when he laughs. It’s a wheezy one through his teeth as you come up to him, but a laugh nonetheless. “Knew you were going easy,” he remarks through a wince.

You ignore him, looking down at the injury. A gash across his abdomen. It’s bleeding a little, but not enough for it to drip. You did that. Just looking at the blood, you feel the bitter taste of it in your mouth, the reward a temporary hunger for carnage brought you. This is why you don’t play camp games.

“I’ve got thick skin. I’m fine,” Luke says casually. “I’ve got a medical kit under that tree over there in case I beat myself up too bad.” He’s no longer scrunched in pain, and you’ve got a feeling he’s telling the truth. So you go fetch the kit where he said it was. You need to wrap that slash. Not because you’re sorry for him, but because looking at it makes you angry.

You kneel and pop the lid of the small tin kit, covered in dirt. It’s mostly gauze and bandages. Rubbing alcohol too. “Just give me the gauze, that’s all I need,” Luke gestures.

“Shut the fuck up, I’m doing it myself.” You’ve already torn off some gauze, sitting all the way up on your knees.

“Most people just say sorry.”

“You pushed me,” you spit back, surprisingly forceful. Luke’s smile drops. You take a deep breath, adjusting yourself to get eye level with the injury. “I told you I don’t fight.”

You’re not sure what makes Luke give in, but he doesn’t say a word as you lift the hem of his torn shirt and he holds it up. There’s no proud remark about your eyes lingering on his stomach, or the hesitation in your hands. You stare at the wound. It really is shallow. Your thumb presses at the skin around it and he winces. “My bad,” you mutter.

As you sterilize the cut and wrap the gauze around his torso, you try not to let your fingertips cling to the warmth on his skin. You try not to notice the other scars littered there, most faded to the point they should be impossible to pick up even in the sun. It’s obvious he’s staring at you. Your neck is crawling with warmth. But you don’t engage, you just wrap the gauze a few times and do your best not to notice the rise and fall beneath his muscles as he breathes. Then you fasten things neatly and put everything away so you can get up. Any second. Come on.

“Good?” You ask instead, exhaling.

“Good,” he affirms. He slides a hand under your forearm and gets you up. It stays there once you’re standing. The night stills.

“I’m guessing you’re adding ‘attempted killer’ to your list of horrible qualities,” you go on to break the silence.

He holds your gaze unyieldingly. “I’d consider that a pro, actually.”

You are entirely fed up with this drawn out evening, but you can’t bring yourself to speed anything up any more than stepping closer so your chests brush. “I will give you one, though,” he continues, craning down to your ear. You smell his skin and it sends you back to the position you were in yesterday.

He finally kisses your jaw, just once, then your neck. You shiver. “You’re too tense.” Another kiss behind your ear. It’s not enough. “Do you even know how to have fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you reply bitterly. I just want to make out with you, asshat.

Luke’s breath frosts over your face when he chuckles, but before he can get any further away you catch his mouth with yours. Almost instinctively his arm winds around you to pull you in closer, your hand looping through his curls. It's a relief, knowing last night wasn't some freak accident. This does feel good, actually, and it can happen. Everything you felt yesterday is only more urgent now, hungrier, and you're pretty sure the way you kiss him gives that away.

He indulges you, squeezing the base of your hips as his other hand thumbs across the marks on your neck. This is so fucking embarassing—you think you whine when he bites down on your bottom lip. You’ve never needed something this bad, you’ve never needed anything. But you press yourself as close to him as you can manage and his hand runs lower, slips against your inner thighs, and it’s difficult to worry about anything else.

Until he pulls away. Like a dick.

He doesn’t go far, his forehead pressed to yours, but you feel like pulling out all his hair. It’s a muddling mix of frustration and longing you’re starting to associate with him. “Dude,” you groan, an inner coil only starting to unwind begrudgingly compressing.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he says. The enthusiasm is almost alarming. Almost makes him look younger.

You’re homicidal. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, heathen. Let’s go for a swim, come on.”

He’s rubbing circles on your thigh, which only makes you want to strangle him. “But I—I don’t have my bathing suit,” you string out.

The smile gets more boyish. “Wow, whatever shall we do?”

It’s another challenge. Another dare. And he knows what you want, fucking jerk. You’re going to kill him.

“Fine,” you grunt, and the second the words leave your lips you’re pulled to the lake.

It’s a warm, sticky evening, only made worse with the sweat and the half-assed kissing, so the water doesn’t seem all that bad. Unfortunately, you don’t like giving into demands. So you stare ghoulishly at your fingernails as Luke tosses off his ripped shirt and his shorts so he can plunge into the lake. “Aren’t you going to at least come in?” He asks, but you don’t look at him.

“I don’t like swimming,” you lie.

“At least your feet. It’s nice, I swear!”

A splash, like smoke moving through wind chimes. You look up and Luke has completely submerged, popping his head up closer to the mouth of the dock. “Please,” he says with such conviction your resolve turns to butter. Gods, what is happening to you? You still need that lobotomy!

You sigh, roll your eyes, turn your back to him. “Fuck this,” you mutter under your breath. You undress to your undergarments and you’re not sure if you want Luke to be watching or not. The moon touches your bare skin and a chill trickles through you.

You take a seat at the edge of the dock, knees tucked to your chest. Luke swims over for you right away. His hair is dripping against his skin, and you hate how beautiful it looks. The waterline is high tonight, almost ridiculously so, so he props his elbows up on the dock with no problem. “Come in,” he urges.

“No.”

“Just your legs?”

“No.”

“Gods, I’ll make it worth it, just throw your damn legs in!”

Your eyebrows shoot up. His face is stubbornly pink. Oh, so now he wants something. You take your time uncurling yourself and Luke wades away from the dock so you can put your feet in. The water goes up to your calves, and you shiver. “So fucking difficult,” he mutters, and your pulse flickers.

“Sorry, what was that?” You let yourself grin for the first time all night.

“Nothing,” he hums. This time when he comes to the dock, he wraps his hands around your calves. You’re pretty sure he can stand here because he stops treading. The warmth of the water seems to spread further, long past the threshold of your knees.

He rests his chin just above your knee, water pooling on your skin. “Stop dripping on me,” you complain.

“Sorry.” He fake pouts when he kisses the damp spot. You see, ever so faintly, a diabolic shift in his expression. He nudges your leg with the point of his nose, then kisses it, then starts to move it aside. “Feel bad about teasing you all night,” he murmurs, still with an edge. He presses more kisses on your legs. “I really did want to see you.”

The irony that he’s still teasing is not lost on you. You’re not loving how desperately warm you’re starting to feel. “Why’s that?” You lean back on your palms.

“You’re a very interesting person,” he quips innocently. His hands are cupping the backs of your calves. He’s pulled you a lot closer to the water, and somehow you’ve just noticed. Another blistering kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“You’re fucking evil,” you scathe.

He looks up at you from between your legs. “You have literally done nothing but berate and injure me this whole evening.”

“Yeah, and right after I patch you up you jump in the water for shits. You’re playing infection roulette, Castellan.”

“See? You’re so mean.” He sighs, and in a move that almost surprises you to death, he hoists both your legs over his shoulders and they dangle into the river behind him. “And here I am anyway, making it up to you.”

You are suddenly illuminated on the purpose of this situation. Why Luke is between your legs. Your heart jolts. “Luke, you can’t be serious.”

“Mmhm.” He leans forward to kiss right under your navel.

You hate how much you want him to do it again, how your body burns, but you avert your eyes. “Someone’s gonna—someone’s gonna hear us.”

He snorts, “No they won’t. Either this or you come in the water with me. Or both. We’ll see.”

A huge smile cracks across your face before you push it back down. You’re going to spend a lot of time coming back to this moment, this night, wondering why. “What is wrong with you.”

It comes out like a compliment when it leaves you. You want to vanish. Luke chuckles, and something foreign to the both of you buzzes through the air.

“Are you going to be nice?” He asks against your skin.

“Are you going to be quick?”

His mouth finds your hip bones and yeah, why the hell would you say no to this? He nods, “Swear.”

That’s all you need. You let your eyes slide shut and your head tilts towards the sky. Luke takes your permission and runs with it, pries you open with his mouth until the stars soak through the black of your eyelids.

You discover pretty quickly neither of you are good at keeping promises.

The next time you need Luke’s med kit, he’s already awake.

It’s been happening more and more often. You lurking around camp past moonrise and finding Luke outside his cabin, going for a walk or a stretch or a … something with you.

“Do you ever sleep?” You ask him sometimes between flurries of kisses with your back against a tree.

“Could ask you the same thing, heathen,” he squeezes your hips and nips at your neck, but never answers the question. And neither do you, so you’re both okay with it. You’d hate to give up this feeling, but he doesn’t need to know that.

This is the first time in your punitive life you have felt alive. Like a person, with bones and flesh and soul, a real presence. Not a ghost of smoke and shadow. You are real.

Fooling around makes you feel like an actual teenager. You’re young, you remember when Luke joins you in the dark. You’re having fun. His hands under your shirt and his mouth on your collarbone, the way he bites down and winces when you do something a little too well, when you string out his name and he rewards you for it. You’re both greedy, insatiable people, so there’s a push and pull only the two of you would ever be able to handle. And nobody has to know. Despite all the bruises, the sleepless nights, the swollen lips, all you and Luke share in the daylight are noxious looks, and that's only if he can find you. A perfect crime. Camp Half-Blood’s angel and the vice that lives in the shadows. But in the dark, it’s hard to tell which is which.

“Luke,” you whisper. “Luke.”

“I’m up,” he grumbles, peering up at you. “You shouldn’t sneak into my cabin.” He was already sitting up in his bed when you slipped in, and he didn’t notice you were there till you were right in front of him.

“Worried someone will catch me? You should know better.”

He follows you outside so you don’t wake the other campers. There’s a thrill knowing just one interaction between the two of you could ruin both your reputations forever.

“What is it, heathen?” He asks as the door closes behind him. It’s so dark and your back is turned to him, but his voice is drenched in smugness. “You don’t usually want to put up with me more than once a night.”

“Don’t have a choice,” you mutter, staring out at the camp. You go to chew on your bottom lip, but you wince immediately. “Where’s your kit thingy? The one we used after I impaled you.”

“You mean after you lightly grazed me?”

“Just tell me where it is, Luke.”

Your sharpness could cut through any sleepy daze he possibly has. He’s silent behind you for a second. “Why?” He asks.

“Because I need it.”

His hand curls around your shoulder and before you can think to submerge yourself in darkness, he turns you around. When he sees you, his face breaks from something proud to something … you’re not sure you like. “Oh, heathen,” he murmurs. “What happened to you?”

You guess it’s a semi-appropriate reaction, although you expected at least a grimace. To put it lightly, your face looks gnarly as fuck. There’s a bruise on your cheekbone and your lip is split. But what really draws attention is the half-formed, garish black eye swelling up your right side.

“Just the usual. Pissed someone off.” It hurts the skin on your lip that’s caked with blood.

He rests his thumb on your unbruised cheek, but somehow it still stings. You know he can’t see much of you in the dark but he tries. The prolonged eye contact without the imminent promise of a kiss feels foreign. “You need to go to the Apollo cabin,” he concludes, brows pushed together.

A laugh slips past your broken lips. “No fucking shot. They would not help me.”

“Why not?”

“Because one of their shit-eaters did this!”

The words take a moment to register. You see them filtering through Luke’s brain. He blinks absurdly. “An Apollo guy beat you up?”

“Not beat up. Just … tussled.”

“How much tussling earns you a black eye, exactly? From Apollo kids.”

“Gods, just tell me where your kit is so you can go back to fucking sleep.”

His fingertips inch around the back of your neck, thumb still against your face. “Already wasn’t sleeping. I might as well help you,” he shrugs. “I move the kit every once in a while so some other campers don’t ravage it.”

“I don’t need help.”

Luke opens his mouth, then sighs deeply. He takes a firm hold of your arm and starts to tug you along. “Hey, what—” you swat at his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs. “Come on.”

It’s strange. Luke’s never done you a favour before. At least not one like this. You’re disgruntled enough that you had to go ask him in the first place and now he’s dragging you around? “This isn’t such a big deal, Luke,” you badger. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, whatever. Wait right here.” He lets go of you and only then you realize you’re in front of the Apollo cabin. You grimace, and Luke must have noticed because he says, “Don’t worry, I’m just gonna go inside and grab some things. No one’s gonna jump you.”

You scowl at him, and he just laughs. A part of you hopes he hits his head on the way in. You hide anyway.

It’s a few minutes of waiting in the oppressive summer heat, until Luke emerges from the cabin with his hands full. He looks around, hesitantly calling, “Heathen?” Then again. You move out of your hiding spot and he jogs over to greet you.

“Nice haul,” you comment. There’s an ice pack, cotton pads, a few miscellaneous items. “How’d you get them?”

He smiles widely. “Everyone loves me, heathen. It’s not hard.”

“…So you stole them.”

“Yes, but only because I’m too tired to talk to people and I’m protesting for your sake,” he rattles off. “Now hold this ice pack before it gives me frostbite.”

The two of you make your way down to the docks again. It’s morphed into your usual meeting place, since the waves lapping at the shore mask when Luke gets a little too noisy just to piss you off. (At least that’s what he tells you.)

He’s stashed his little tin in a different tree this time. After he retrieves it he sets everything out like a chef preparing to make a meal out of gauze and rubbing alcohol.

Your head has been throbbing for the past few hours. You’re not proud that you antagonized the wrong Apollo kid and got a shiner for it. You’re less proud that you came to Luke for help. Just like everyone else does.

“Come,” he gestures, tugging at the waistband of your pants. You scoot closer to him and swallow the weight of your pulse when he touches you.

Luke slowly presses the ice pack to your black eye, letting you hold it. “What did you do to earn this, anyway?” He asks, head tilted to the side.

You’re hissing because of the ice, half-consciously shifting into him. “The usual. Spat at him. Made fun of his daddy a little too much. Tripped him so he landed face-first in his offerings.”

“You did not,” Luke laments as he dots alcohol onto a cotton pad.

“You’re allowed to say you’re proud of me, Saint Castellan. I won’t tell. You can be mean.” Your voice drips with irony, and you hope it bothers him. The flex in his jaw gives it away.

“You’re always gonna be meaner,” is all he says back. “This is gonna hurt.”

It’s all the warning he gives before he presses the pad against your lip. The sting envelops you immediately, and your good eye squeezes shut. “Shit, ow!”

“Stop moving your mouth.”

“Fuck,” you swear anyway. Your lip burns so hard you can feel it in your teeth.

Luke holds your jaw with his other hand so you can’t shy away. “I’ll kiss it better,” he teases. “Almost done.”

You roll your eyes, but Luke takes the pad off a few moments later. “Serious question. How are you so awful to people all the time?”

A groan tears through your throat with such force your head tilts back. “Not you too! I don’t need a fucking reason, there is no reason. Why doesn’t anyone get that?”

“I’m not asking why. I’m asking how.”

He’s oddly serious, the caress of his thumb on your cheek far slower. You hate it when people want a reason why you’re like this, just to help them sleep at night. But from the bags lining Luke’s eyes, sleep doesn’t seem to be on his radar.

“I just don’t care,” you admit, shrugging. “I don’t care about any of them. I don’t care about what they can do to me. I don’t care about anything.”

“…What about the Gods?”

It makes you cock your head. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t care about them, either?”

You think, but only about which words to use. “No,” you decide, “They don’t scare me. They’re nothing. What are they gonna do to me?”

Luke snorts, almost nervously. “Uh, punish you for saying that, for one.”

You turn back to him, ice pack leaving your eye as you gesture. “How? By killing me? Pecking out my eyeballs? Burning me alive? I’m telling you, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. It’s all just nothing to me. I’m fucking unpunishable, I’d like to see them try.”

Huffing, you look back up at the firmament of stars. Luke says nothing.

The grass rustles as he shifts, and his mouth ghosts over the bruise on your eye. “Unpunishable,” he murmurs, like he’s testing it out. Then he places an uncharacteristically gentle kiss just beneath your eye. And another just above. “We’ll see about that.”

You get that feeling again, the unbearable lightness in a place it shouldn’t be. Mixed with the poison lodged in your heart.

Luke kisses you, still so delicate that you wonder if he’s been body-snatched. If anything, your bleeding lip feels soothed against his. His hands cradle your face with no ferocity at all. It seems wrong.

“How do you feel?” He asks after pulling away, dark eyes nebulous and wide. The night usually sharpens his features. Now, they’ve been hushed.

“Um, better,” you reply.

He hums, laying a slow trail of kisses on your jaw. “Did you at least get the other guy?” He asks between kisses. “Like, did you hurt him?”

“Not really,” you divulge, wondering if you should feel shame.

“Why?” He’s made his way to your neck now, nudging your jaw up so he can kiss behind your ear.

“I’m not a fighter.” And, without warning, for a reason you will never, ever be able to explain, your tongue adds, “I’m a killer.”

Your own brows furrow. Luke pauses for a moment, but knocks his nose against your neck. “Guess one of us has to be.”

There’s no more fooling around. No snappy insults, no feverish kisses, no hunger to be satiated. Luke just checks you over a few more times, hides his med kit, and you both get up to sleep. But his hand wraps around your wrist, far less firm than when he dragged you here. “Stay in my bunk, heathen,” he offers. “Leave in the morning.”

You think you’re making a mistake when you agree, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The next day, after you’ve left Luke’s bunk, rumours float around camp that Luke Castellan accidentally butted some Apollo kid in the face with his sword during training. Caused a bloody, broken nose. Luke was very sorry, apologized profusely.

But you know, by the way he takes you behind the stables that night, that he didn’t mean a single damn word.

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz

rotten taglist: @thaliagracesgf

leave a pm/comment/ask if you'd like to be added to a taglist :)

#perrie’s fics #rotten to the touch #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan smut #luke castellan pjo #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell #pjo x reader #luke castellan fic

2K notes · View notes

marvelandponder · 1 year

Text

one amazing thing about the Owl House finale is that it finally contextualized for me one of the central metaphors of the show. Spoilers for the series finale Watching and Dreaming ahead.

we good? no one spoiling themselves? beauty

for a long time now, I thought we had a pretty standard coming-of-age metaphor dichotomized by the show's central antagonists. you've got your protestant witch hunter Belos who introduces a maturity and ugliness to Luz's narrative; he clearly represents a particular, restricting form of adulthood, and just when Belos becomes his most threatening, boom, enter the Collector, Luz's dangerously naïve inner child to ruin all her development on the Boiling Isles. Seems simple enough

what I didn't anticipate was just how specific and personal their roles in the story actually are to Luz once you have the full context from the series finale

look again

this story - this whole series - is about the grief that a neurodivergent kid experienced at a young age, introducing the cruelty of loss and adulthood before she was ready to handle it. and, how to reclaim a more whole understanding of herself as she rebuilds her life with people who get her

Belos is designed to infect the titan carcass like a disease. a cancer. it's super goddamn significant that the titan is King's dad (King, who became Luz's younger brother). they set up Belos not just to be another fascist kids' cartoon villain (although yeah, he do be doing some of that), but to specifically become a force that oppressed the weirdness from the one place that understood Luz. the Iles. the dad. And by the end of the story, Belos's goopy body-horror isn't just for show, he's just like the cancer or other terminal disease that took Luz's dad from her

he's the thing Luz hasn't processed in season 1 that comes in at the end like a warning. he's the threat that forces Luz to grapple with her own humanity, feeling somehow (often completely unjustifiably) harmful to those around her, through the grief she doesn't want to be a burden or the weirdness (neurodivergence) others don't understand. he's the force that says there is something wrong with you, Luz, give in to your grief, this is what you can't face. this is the lie you've been telling to those closest to you: that you're okay

then you have the Collector. (notable that he's a collector, and we see Luz's mom and dad had quite the collection of nerdy memorabilia)

the Collector is the child too young to understand death. Too young to understand consequences, or why their playmates don't feel like playing anymore with someone so weird and maybe a bit too involved in their own world. The Collector is Luz's inner child, that kid we see right before the "worst week ever" — the one who didn't and couldn't understand what was about to happen even as it was going down. unapologetically weird, a bit destructive and short-sighted, but wholly colourful, wholly themselves. that's why the Collector wants to live out Luz's adventures, but without all the depth. just the fun escapist fantasy

but don't think I forgot the internal conflict! :D

because Camila's role also gets an added depth too: Camila was framed at the outset of the series as someone who loved Luz, but wanted her to fit inside a box that she just didn't. later, Luz completely misconstrued her mom's breakdown when she learned that Luz chose to run away. as many people have pointed out by now, Luz misremembers the actual dialogue that Camila says: Camila only wanted her daughter safe, not to lose her. Luz meanwhile felt like she had to choose to destroy this part of herself, or give up her connection with her mom altogether

but we know now Camila actually deeply relates to Luz. she may not understand Luz's fascination with horrific things like on the boiling isles (very akin to a kid getting more grim hobbies in the wake of a death, like Luz's taxidermy), but she loves Luz for who she is. all of her. she never wanted Luz to change

Luz was the one framing the central conflict of the show as go back to her mom or stay in the boiling isles. Luz was the one who felt like she had to punish herself by rejecting the one place where she felt like herself. once Camila realizes what's been going on, and how deeply connected it is to the loss of Luz's dad, she knows Luz is trying to make a "very bad choice for herself." And she won't let that happen (what a great mom!!)

But Luz does have one real choice ahead of her

because of the inner child who once again has to confront death (this time, Luz's own), Luz is able to connect with a father figure, the titan, the one place she feels understood. in the form of a power-up that makes her into a fantasy witch straight out of the Good Witch Azura, the one place she got joy after that huge loss, the titan gives her the strength to face the cancer—a force draining everything good in her life from her and making her question she deserves it in the first place—but only if she can choose herself

and that means choosing happiness, choosing found family, choosing love and friendship and self-discovery in the place she feels most at home! every bond she's forged, everything she's worked for, it all comes down to choosing to face grief and move on in life with weirdos who stick together.

hoot hoot, that's some good metaphor

#the owl house #toh spoilers #luz noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #the collector #emperor belos #camila noceda #i may update the post with images at some point but I figured that's more likely to unintentionally spoil others #watching and dreaming

5K notes · View notes

hedgehog-moss · 10 days

Text

In my neverending quest to keep Pampérigouste from achieving her dreams, I have launched a formal investigation into her last escape, which I had no explanations for at the time.

I figured it out! At the far far end of her pasture, near the road, a few fence posts have become more or less horizontal (the ground is quite wet / muddy there so they've never been very stable, especially with Pirlouit using them to scratch his forehead)—so instead of a high jump + long jump combo to get to the road, Pampe just had to clear the long jump over the ditch. Which is still impressive.

I also suspect that she chose to escape from this place near the road on a snowy morning as a deliberate strategy, knowing the snow plough would erase any traces of her jump, thus preventing me from discovering where the weak spot in the fence was. Well done.

You need 2 people to fix these fence posts so in the meantime I decided to kill two birds with one stone: cut all the broom and thorny bushes in this corner of the pasture and use them to form a discouraging barrier. I set to work earlier this week, and here's the same place as above, mid-process:

When I texted my mum to tell her about my new thorn-based anti-Pampe plan of action, she said "Like the Maasai who make fences with thorny acacia branches to keep out lions!" and it made me feel even more confident. I mean, I have neither acacia nor Maasai fencing techniques but my thorny shrubs are pretty aggressive, they pricked my fingers even through my thick work gloves—which felt satisfying in an anticipatory way. Excellent! prick Pampe's nose exactly like this. How could a llama not be deterred by a fence material that deters apex predators?

Vexingly enough, she seemed quite supportive of my efforts. At one point she breathed some warm air against my shoulder in a gentle, patronising way.

We were engaged in psychological warfare all afternoon—every time I stepped away from my vegetal fence, feeling like it was now good enough, Pampe would immediately come to inspect it, cheerful and impatient, which sapped my confidence so I would go and add a few more shrubs. (Note that I sort of plaited the first / biggest shrubs with the pre-existing fence so they don't go flying on the road, and so Pampe can't just push them aside.)

On the right: Poldine, looking for little fresh leaves to eat amidst the chaos. On the left: Pampérigouste, thinking.

(At this point the barrier was only 20% thorns, and 80% broom—the fact that she waded through it without a care and didn't prick her belly made me go and add more thorny shrubs, and pack them more densely)

It's kind of fun watching Pampe think, honestly. Can I jump over this? Do I have enough visibility? Can I eat my way to freedom (again)? But these shrubs are disgusting. Am I above exploiting my daughter's lack of culinary discernment to achieve my goals? Maybe I should go back to my calculations re: probability of wild boar destruction. I may have pincushions for hands after handling prickly bushes for two hours but I'm helping stimulate my llama's intellect and creativity and that's so important.

I tried to alternate broom and thorny branches so that the non-thorny broom became tangled up with thorns and brambles to form an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall. I will call it this method the salmagundi-fence.

Poldine is in awe of my vegetal installation.

Can I just say, compared to Pampérigouste who constantly has a devilish glint in her eye, Pampelune's face exudes wholesome politeness and moral goodness. It's still hard to believe they're mother and daughter.

I went home once my fence started looking like Maleficent's forest of thorns and Pampe had long stopped trying to wade through it, but I still felt antsy and ended up coming back one hour later to have my apéritif with the llamas so I could keep an eye on Pampe until nightfall.

... where is Pampe?

Oh. Here. No worries!

Still staring at the road. Still thinking.

...

With all that said, please admire my beautifully delirious Forest of Thorns-fence and let me know what you think.

#crawling along #llama drama #(i am not sponsored by kindle i just had it balanced on my knee)#in the photo where pampe is patronisingly praising my efforts you can see a remnant of the police tape from the jungle fence saga!#i should remove it. She was not intimidated by police tape for very long #if ever at all #anyway i've started planting a few interesting shrubs along the road to form a living fence but it's a very slow process #i'm ages away from reaching this part of the pasture

736 notes · View notes

aft3rhrs · 6 months

Text

— heaven ღ

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: yandere, allusions to kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, mentions of reader getting locked up, a tiny (👌) bit of angst, possessiveness, corruption kink, rough sex, choking, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, implied big!dick jk 💁‍♀️, he's a simp, creampie, some aftercare & lots of kisses, still messed up tho lmao I'm sorry <3

It never seemed heaven would be so dark. A room draped in shadows, the door carefully locked. Not even a glint of moonlight broke through the drawn curtains; complete isolation from the world down below.

Even if Jungkook turned on the lights, you wouldn't have been able to see much; not with your face pressed into the mattress rocking beneath your knees. The headboard banged against the wall rhythmically, the sound mingling with each slap of his balls against you, thrusts deep and hard, stretching you out to your limits.

You could feel his chest pressing down onto your back, skin warm and sweaty. His hand remained on your head, lips glued to your ear. The sounds spilling out of them made your head spin, drool seeping into the sheets by your open mouth.

"Always such a good girl for me," he whispered, hot and low. His fingers tangled in your hair, giving it a tender pull. "Fuck me back." His free hand squeezed your hip, encouraging you to move. "Come on, baby. Fuck me back."

Your pussy clenched, muffled whines growing louder. Mindlessly, your hips moved with Jungkook's guidance, numb to anything but the searing pleasure of his cock spearing through you.

"Yeah— fuuck—" the soft groans turned deeper, your little hole soaked and so fucking desperate; just the way he liked it. Just as desperate for him as he was for you.

He grit his teeth, trying to hold a little longer, abdomen tensing against you.

"I love you," he gasped, "tell me what you want, baby. I'll give you anything you want."

A hiss escaped him when he felt you tighten again, signaling that you knew exactly what he meant, and your pretty, little head was no less depraved than his own. That only spurred him on, made his hips snap against your ass faster, sloppier, sweat shining on his temple.

He wasn't expecting you to be coherent and provide an answer to his question; it was like he just wanted to establish dominance, mark his claim, driven by the sadistic instincts that flickered to life in him in the raw dark, like stars. Equally charming and destructive.

"Gonna," he breathed, the slaps of skin against skin harsh and relentless, "gonna come on my cock, you pathetic whore? You're so good for me. You know you're mine, only mine, and this little pussy knows it too. Always so fucking wet for me."

It seemed more like taunting than a simple reminder; he was trying to get under your skin. As if he didn't already make a home within your ribcage. As if he hasn't infested your bloodstream the first time he had kissed you. The filthy words messed with your mind, made your hole pulse around him harder with each thrust.

"Mm, fuck, fuck, ah, why so quiet tonight?" He moaned into your ear, gently slipping his hand around your neck. He gave it a firm squeeze, immediately getting one back on his cock, throbbing and slippery as it pounded into you. "Come all over me, kitten, don't hold back."

You whimpered, your thighs shaking under his, teeth biting into your lower lip, hard. Didn't he fuck your brains out in the last three months? There should have been no thoughts left there at all, and yet something seemed to be wrong, like some semblance of doubt was keeping you hostage tonight. Didn't he do a good job getting rid of that? Jaw tensing, he choked you harder, snapping his hips forward faster.

"I said be a good girl and come for me," he gritted.

He was desperately close himself, his cock hot and swollen, spurting precum as it rubbed against your walls.

"Fucking come for me," Jungkook groaned. "This was supposed to be a celebration. Stop holding back. Do you want me to bring you back down to the fucking basement?"

You gasped, but he could barely hear it over his ragged breathing; how tightly his veiny hand enveloped your frail neck didn't help. However, he could still feel you, especially on his sensitive cock.

"Oh... oh, fuck, are you—"

You quivered around it, so tight his movements stuttered, white spots dancing around his vision at the sensation.

"Did you just come? You want me to keep you like a fucking pet, baby? Oh god, yeah—"

A burst of warmth spilled inside you, your skin tingling and head fuzzy with the limited oxygen his grip on you provided. You shuddered under him, moaning as he fucked his cum deep into your abused cunt. You could feel him all the way in your stomach, his groans loud as kept twitching inside you. Oh, he liked this; how much he corrupted you, how hard you came at the thought of him owning you. He liked it, because he came hard as well, hand loosening around your throat as his hips stilled, last, few spurts of hot seed shooting into you.

You tried to catch your breath, soft kisses trailed along your shoulder slowly bringing you back down from your high. You felt warm, satiated, full; you felt Jungkook's lips quirking in a satisfied smile against your skin, too, his cheek resting on your neck.

"Good girl," he whispered. "So good. I love you."

"I love you," you sighed, eyes slipping shut.

Jungkook hummed.

"Finally got your voice back?" He brushed your hair to the side, exposing more of your skin, his lips pressing into your cheek. "Should I be concerned, baby? Do you want me to stay a little longer?"

You shook your head. Any other time, Jungkook would have cleaned you up, especially before going anywhere. Tonight, though, he wanted you just like this. Naked, in his bed, with his cum dripping out of you while you drifted off. You didn't seem to mind either, heartbeat and breathing steadying as he started getting dressed.

You were almost asleep by the time he crouched down by the bed, the touch of his lips on yours making you stir.

"You know this is just for show, right?"

His question was soft, eyebrows furrowed. No matter how strong, it looked like not even Jungkook could escape some monsters — something like doubt, something like fear. Everything only felt amplified when it came to you.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Promise."

Perhaps three months ago his words would have hurt; but there was no wound anymore, only scars, and his gentle fingers ghosting over them.

Your soft reply smoothed out the frantic, worried fabrics of his soul, the image of you lying there, in his room, glowing; surrounded by his scent and his sheets, so domestic. It was everything he ever needed. His sacred place.

He sighed, contented, pressing the next kiss onto your forehead.

"Good. Mm, then rest. Just stay here and look pretty, my love. I'll collect your ransom and be right back."

He brushed his knuckles along your flushed cheek, dark, hooded eyes boring into yours.

"Can I have another kiss for good luck?"

A pleased hum left him when you leaned in, lips pouty and swollen, ready to be kissed more and more, and how could he ever not want to do just that?

He held your face with an inked hand, and a black mask in the other.

Heaven was a pricey thing to uphold; the church would know. And not that Jungkook didn't already have enough to spoil you, but all angels were painted in gold, weren't they?

"Night, baby," he murmured lovingly.

His voice never led you astray, lulling you to sleep, helping you land safely in the arms of the mellow abyss behind your eyelids. He kissed both.

"Gonna be back real soon."

You didn't get to hear that promise, but he didn't mind. In a few hours, he'll be holding you in his arms. All angels were shimmering gold, to match the golden gates; his angel deserved the same.

In the end, there was nothing wrong with a man of faith collecting donations for the purposes of worship. Right?

#yandere bts #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts smut #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts yandere #jungkook smut

2K notes · View notes