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hey-august · 11 days

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You're coming in… you're coming close

😌🍃 This is a continuation of Close your eyes, just settle, settle, just with a different title.

The first part was originally a one-shot (and could still be read as such), so this part ended up with more plot and less prose. Hopefully the overall tone carried through. (tbh, i struggled with that so much.)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Word count: ~3.5k ...more than double the first one 🙃 Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, partaking in the devil's lettuce 🍃, insertion sex, jacking off, facial, manual stimulation, a lil bit of an angsty fight A/N: Here's the opening line that I first wrote and discarded: "The slivered moon was high and so was Buggy."

Edit: Huuuuge amazing wonderful thanks to @be-not-afraid-gg for this suggestion!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Title from "Great Romances of the 20th Century" by Taking Back Sunday

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The night is dark and full of creaks and groans from the ship listing in the slow rolling waves. Footsteps shuffle across the wood floor, adding to the ambiance. Buggy walks slowly, with bare feet tucked into untied boots, and moving in time with the subtle swells.

His hazy mind drifts in circles around the one idea that set his body in motion. A thought that had seeped from his head, down into his mouth, and settled on his tongue. There’s an absence under the taste of smoke and fire. An emptiness that calls for something flavorful.

Lost in the cyclone of thoughts, the illuminated sign of life doesn’t register until Buggy steps into the brightly lit kitchen. What he assumed was a beacon luring him towards his destination, was actually the mark of a haven for late night cravings. A haven you had already founded.

You’re leaning on a counter, midway through a bite of toast, and eyes wide at the unexpected company. Red eyes that match his.

“Sorry, didn’t think anyone would be here,” Buggy stammers, spacing out and forgetting that he’s the captain of the ship.

Anxiety bubbles in his chest, turning over the hunger that brought him to the kitchen, and mixing it with a different desire. The warm scent of cinnamon joins the turmoil in his body. Buggy nervously rubs his jaw, the stubble scratchy against his bare hand.

“Smells good.”

You finish the interrupted bite and push a small plate towards the door. “Want some?”

Buggy walks over and studies at the slice of toast you offered. Scattered islands of cinnamon and sugar sink into pools of butter. The lush mixture spreads across the landscape, an impression of how it would feel in his mouth. Buggy swallows the excess moisture his mouth is creating in anticipation and nods. You nudge the plate closer, creating a soft rasp as the ceramic slides against wood.

It’s messy and flavorful. Soft and crunchy. Sweet and lingering. The flavored butter coats his tongue, the heaviness carrying away the taste of resin and ash. He glances at your glistening lips and wonders if they’re also coated in sugar and cinnamon. The thought is chased away with a dry bite of uncoated crust.

“I’m glad I washn’t the only one in the mood for a late night sch-nack.”

You stifle laughter as the remark is delivered through a mouthful of half-chewed food. Buggy cracks a grin as the restrained joy still finds a path to your eyes. Feeling a familiar twist in his stomach, he shoves the rest of the cinnamon toast in his mouth and hopes the food will tamp down the ache.

“D’you do this often?” Buggy asks.

It’s no secret that some of the crew has particular hobbies. While Buggy’s interests sometimes overlap with his crew’s, he prefers to indulge in a select few on his own. This feels different, though. He already partook in privacy, leaving behind the ash and resin before lumbering to the kitchen.

“Sometimes…you?”

“Sometimes.”

The silence following the confessions was infused by the cinnamon - warm and comforting. This wasn’t a joint activity, it was just two individuals in a concurrent moment. A shared experience that would be repeated the following week. And the week after. And the next, as well. It became a routine.

The evening sessions begin independently until the smoke carries you both to the kitchen. Together you fill the room with laughter borne from empty giddy thoughts, while filling your stomachs with whatever you could get your sticky fingers on.

Grilled cheese sandwiches, where more cheese is eaten in anticipation, than put between the bread slices. Instant noodles that Buggy prepares when he arrives first. Apple slices started a playful argument when you say they taste better with a bit of salt, while Buggy disagrees and slathers his portion in obscene amounts of peanut butter.

One unscheduled night you show up at the captain’s quarters, wearing a sheepish expression and carrying a plate of buttered toast coated liberally in cinnamon sugar. Under the chill of sobriety, Buggy’s chest rapidly fills with drumbeats. There’s no heady fog to dampen the sound, so it reverberates in his head until your voice cuts through.

“I wanted a snack and thought that maybe you’d want some too.”

His stomach turns, flipping so aggressively that he nearly feels nauseous. The soothing smell of spices drifts into the room, ready to confront the turmoil in Buggy. It talks to him with a soft murmur, saying this is no different than the nights in the kitchen. Fantasies are just fantasies.

Finally, Buggy opens the door wider as his answer, welcoming this reality. Your eyes are red, and so are your cheeks as you enter the room, bringing a new addition to your weekly routines.

These extra sessions happen without planning. Any night could be enhanced by a knock at the door from a giddy visitor bringing temptation.

The first time Buggy went to your room, he over prepared for the trip. His body arrived before his mind. His thoughts trailed slowly and lazily, not making any effort to catch up until the time was right. Until he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a carpet of smoke.

Leaning against your bed, Buggy watched the small flame illuminate your face and listened to your deep breathing. When you looked over and caught him staring, all he could do was offer you a dopey grin and a bag of chips.

The late night rendezvous continue to happen at least once a week. A reliable respite, no matter how long the ship is at sea. If one person burns through their stash too quickly, there’s always some to share. What started as individual moments that eventually collided, turned into shared joints, passed between fingers and lips.

One night finds Buggy sitting in his usual spot on the floor of your room. His back is pressed against the bedframe and his head rests on the edge of the mattress you’re laying on. The hair from his ponytail is close enough to tickle your hand.

“We should stop doing this.”

In the broken silence, the words sound wrong and don’t fit in Buggy’s head. Stop sitting quietly? Stop smoking so much? Stop clearing out the kitchen? With eyes still closed, he hums a questioning response.

The bed shifts as you sit up. “We should stop whatever this is.”

Craning his neck, Buggy looks to see exactly what you’re talking about. You’re already staring at him, eyes searching his face for understanding that won’t be found.

“This,” you repeat, gesturing between you two. “Whatever we’re doing…I think it should- I don’t think we should-”

“Okay.” The response explodes out of Buggy’s mouth in an attempt to stop the painful words coming from yours.

You want to stop all of this. Stop sitting in silence with him. Stop smoking with him. You don’t want him around anymore.

Even through the brain fog, your voice rings clear. His mind clings to your request, squeezing it and refusing to let go, no matter how much it stings. Buggy nods along to the replay in his head before pushing himself up.

With a hand on the doorknob, Buggy pauses. Questions tumble inside the pirate, fighting against each other in the haze and growing to take space from the weaker ones. He squeezes the brass orb. The metal is cool against his bare hand. One question takes advantage of the calm feeling and slips out.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Buggy stares at the door before him. He doesn’t turn around.

“Why,” he repeats mockingly slowly. “Why do you want to stop now? Why did you put up with this for so long? Were you just putting up with me?”

Buggy’s voice rises and cracks as the questions overflow. His hold on the doorknob tightens in an attempt to keep himself grounded.

In the following silence, Buggy sucks on the venom of his words. They were bitter. Not strong enough. But also too strong. They taste of regret and all he wants to do is burn them away. Douse them in alcohol and set them alight until he’s too numb to taste anything.

“Is that what you think?”

The bed creaks as you stand up and Buggy spins to face you.

“Obviously. I thought this was fun. I thought we were having a good time, but clearly I was wrong. You don’t like doing this,” he spits. “I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Of course you weren’t having fun with me.”

“I am- I was. I do like this.” Breaking through his monologue, you keep his attention and step closer. “That’s why we need to stop. I like y- I like this too much.”

You stiffen as the confession falls out. The words are out and can’t be retrieved. There’s no room in your mouth to take them back anyways, so you release the rest of what you want to say.

“It’s hard to keep having fun with you when I want more.”

Buggy’s silent. His mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t make a sound. He stares at you, waiting for a punchline he knows isn’t coming. Your eyes aren’t glistening with laughter, but with something else.

“You want…more. What-” he swallows thickly, “do you want?”

The air in the room is heavy. You look away, following trails of fading smoke, before returning to Buggy’s expectant face. And lower, to his lips. The face paint is long faded, leaving behind a subtle stain. Your eyes flick back up just as he licks his lips. Those lips.

“I want you.” Your gaze moves down again. “I want all of you.”

Buggy’s body moves before he realizes it, reaching for you as soon as you finish speaking. Your lips taste like cinnamon. There’s a hint of ash on your tongue. You’re delicious.

His hands cradle your face, holding you close so he can continue to relish a treat he’s thought about countless times before. You stumble back slightly, pushed by his greed. Hands clasp around his wrists, holding yourself steady and keeping his touch in place.

Neither of you are sure who pulled back first. It took a few tries before you successfully detangled from one another. A question hangs in the space between your bodies - do you still want more?

You sit on the bed and pat the spot next to you. The muffled sounds are attractive and inviting. Yes, you want more. You both do. Buggy sits next to you. Following the movement of the sinking mattress, he leans against you and lets his head fall onto your shoulder.

His mind lags behind his body, continuing past the arc of his body and bypassing the containment of his head. Buggy’s thoughts pour through his skull, rushing so quickly that he can hardly tease them apart. Mixed within the surge are visions seen only in the depths of privacy. The false memories of your choked moans and flushed face rise to the top and his dick follows suit.

Even with a hazy mind, he wants to pay attention. To give attention to you and to the swelling between his legs. Shifting against you, Buggy presses his face against your neck, pushing his nose into you. You’re warm and smell good. Your skin is damp. He parts his lips and tastes the salt coating your body. While he wasn’t one for salt on apples, he enjoys the taste here.

The extra moisture left by his sloppy kisses is cooled by his heavy breathing. The change in temperature pulls a hint of a moan. Buggy’s cock twitches in response, begging for relief. Instead of giving in, his hand moves to touch your thigh. Voices tell him to squeeze. To grab you. To delve deeper. He settles for running a shaky hand up and down your leg.

The touch does little to soothe his need, to satiate his desire. The strain in his pants pulses and aches. Buggy grunts against your neck as he palms his erection. It’s so hard, it’s nearly painful. He whines as he realizes there isn’t enough give in the fabric of his pants to properly wrap a hand around himself.

His mind is quickly brought back to you with a click and the scrape of flint. You inhale deeply. The moment lasts forever as he watches little bits of flame escape and float away. Once your lungs are full, you pull Buggy’s face to meet yours.

Lips grazing each other, you exhale slowly. The smoke seeps from your mouth into his. Tendrils escape and dance up before he inhales your kiss. It’s slow and delicate. Hot, but not fiery. Buggy takes all that you give until his head is spun into cotton. Until he’s full of you.

A hand pushes his away to feel his desire. A heavy twitch against your touch conveys how badly he wants you. How desperately he needs you. A whimper escapes from his empty mouth when you squeeze slightly. A sound he repeats when you pull away entirely.

“Take off your clothes,” you tell him as you start doing the same.

The sound of pants being undone and falling to the ground isn’t new, but he feels the soft thumb reverberate in his heart. A heaviness that pulls him into action. Leaning back, Buggy fumbles with his belts and pants before scooting out of them and kicking off his boots in one motion. As he’s working on his vest, you peer over your shoulder and say he could keep that on. The softness in his request makes him even harder.

A curl of smoke catches Buggy’s attention. The wrapped ember glimmers and winks as its essence dances overhead, joining the rest of the heady fog. You pick it up, creating a connection that allows Buggy’s eyes to drift over your naked body.

Sun-kissed shoulders give way to your bare chest and soft stomach. He looks lower and lower, his hand following the path on his own body until he’s fondling and caressing himself in admiration of you. You’re better than any treasure map he’s seen - worthy of intimate study until he knows every curve, every valley and peak, every nook, absolutely everything until he’s committed you to memory.

Time flows inconsistently and Buggy’s not sure how long you let him touch himself while simply looking at you.

“Sorry, you’re-you’re just…wow,” he stammers awkwardly.

“Just wow,” you repeat with the smile that he’s only ever seen during the nightly sessions. “I didn’t see you as a man of few words.”

“Well, they say actions speak louder than words.” The teasing remarks ease any tension in the room.

With legs still hanging over the edge of the bed, Buggy leans back on his elbows. The movement allows his vest to fall open and expose his chest, while his thick erection rests against his lower stomach. You approach slowly and straddle his lap, finding a perfect seat on his thighs. Your ass is soft and warm against his skin.

You offer him the still burning ember, which he accepts. His body moves obediently, unable to do more than go with the flow of the evening. All of his senses are alight and high. It would be overwhelming if it wasn’t with you. Closing his eyes, Buggy takes another drag.

Meanwhile, he feels you drag yourself on his body. You position his sticky member against yourself, rubbing his leaky tip along the way. He cracks his eyes just as you slowly sink down. You gasp, just as he’s imagined, when his flared head stretches you open.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, releasing the smoke in his lungs.

A floating hand drops the burning herbs in the ashtray on the bedside table and then finds a spot on top of your thigh. His thumb rubs soft encouragement as your body adapts to his size.

“Y-you’re doing so good.”

Your body reacts to his praise, becoming intoxicatingly tight. The pressure from your legs outside of his increases. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, kneading out feelings of sensitivity as you sit flush on his cock.

Buggy is captivated by your expression - both focused and unfocused. Knitted brows caught between concentration and loss of control. Hazy eyes that flutter, unsure if they want to be open or closed. Your bottom lip stuck between your teeth.

“S’big. Feels…feel really full.” The breathlessness behind your comment sends Buggy to the clouds.

Do you feel so full that you can hardly breathe? Does his cock take up that much space in your body? He throbs in your heat, straining against the confinement.

“You said you wanted more. Is it too much? M-more than you expected?” Buggy teases.

You let out a weak chuckle and rest your head on his shoulder. “No, I can do this.”

Committed to taking all you want, you start rolling your hips. Slowly at first, with Buggy’s floating hands following your movement. You grind harder as his grip increases. His fingers alternate between digging into your flesh and massaging out the bruising touches. Focused on staying within the boundaries of his restraint, Buggy doesn’t catch the sound of your voice the first time.

“Help,” you mumble again against his neck, “please.” Pushing yourself back, you look Buggy in the eyes. “Fuck me.”

If he didn’t always stave off his orgasms multiple times when handling his own business, Buggy would have exploded inside of you just then. Still, he would not be able to hold out much longer.

Sitting up, his arms move to connect with his hands, wrapping you in his embrace. He spreads his legs further to brace himself. With one arm around your waist and the other crossing your back to your shoulder, he fucks you the way you asked for. The way your moans beg for.

Buggy uses his hold to push you against his thrusts, burying his cock as deep as your body allows. But he wants more. He clings to you, pulling you closer to his chest, wanting to feel you everywhere. To continue having your lovely sounds brush past his ear, to have your hands threading his hair, to feel your body stick against his.

Floating in those thoughts, Buggy didn’t know how tight the tether holding his anchor was until it threatened to snap.

“S-shit, m’close. I’m gonna- fuck. Wh-where-” His movements falter along with his stutters.

The tension loosens slightly as you pull yourself off, but returns when you kneel between his legs. You wrap your hands around his cock, using the wet sex from both of your bodies to jack him off. Buggy struggles to keep his eyes open, wanting to remember every moment of this, rather than falling back into the fantasies he’s used to finishing too.

“O-open your mouth,” he begs.

You give him the most wonderful open-mouthed smile as you push out your tongue, eager for what’s next. A hold on your wrist pulls one hand down to cradle his balls. Your touch is gentle, following as his balls tighten and he falls over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… Keep-keep going,” Buggy grunts as each stroke along his cock sends another jet of hot cum to cover your face and chest.

His orgasm directs your movements. As each pulse slows, so does the pumping, until the final one to ease the last few pearly drops onto your dripping fist.

Ignoring his body’s cry for rest, Buggy pushes himself forwards and lets his trembling legs drop him to the ground. You ease back to give him space.

“C’mere, I’m going to make you feel so good,” he says in a shaky voice.

He advances until you’re laying on the wood floor. He hovers over you, trailing a hand along your body until it’s between your legs. Your gasp is captured by his mouth and more sinful sounds are coaxed by his tongue.

You still taste like cinnamon. There’s a hint of salt, again. Not from your sweat, but from his cum. Fuck, it’s good. His tongue pokes out of your mouth to swipe long your lips, seeking more of that combined taste. Meanwhile, your grasp at his wrist and grind against his hand.

Buggy follows your cues - rubbing, teasing, increasing pressure, going faster, easing up - whatever you want. He’ll do this for as long as you’d let him and he wants you to know. But when he tells you to take your time, it has the opposite effect. You whimper and cry out as you come to his touch.

“That’s it, you’re doing such a good job,” Buggy croons, carrying you through the wave, until it crests and you float back down.

You keep your eyes shut as you settle back into your body. You look wonderful. Dazzling. Breathtaking. Your chest is heaving and you’re coated in a sheen of sweat and strands of cum. His cum. His mark. A possessive fire lights in his chest.

“Just tell me whenever you want more,” Buggy says against your skin, pressing kisses to your shoulder and chest. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll take good care of you, promise.”

You laugh, seeing through the disguise of his kind ‘offer,’ to his own insatiable desire. The cooling liquid on your skin jostles with the movement, sending a shiver through your body.

Buggy moves closer to you, wanting to share his warmth and feel more of yours. Always, to feel more of you.

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A/N: Also, I'd like to draw attention to the end of "Great Romances of the 20th Century," since it fits so well:

I'm in your room Is this turning you on Am I turning you on? I'm in your room Are you turned on? I'm on the corner of your bed I'm thinking maybe Are you turned on? Are you turned on?

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy the clown smut #one piece smut #buggy x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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muffinwoozi · 6 months

Note

hello welcome to our lil community! i’d like to request soonhoon with dom feedee jihoon and sub feeder soonyoung please 😌 i don’t really have much for plot i just love dom feedees 😭

hello!! tysm, i can't wait to start posting and i hope i can do your request justice! i love dom feedees too akshdjsjsjsh, thank you for requesting one of my fav dynamics ever 🙏

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Tease

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jihoon chides, swatting Soonyoung’s hands away. They hover above Jihoon’s exposed belly, palms outstretched. Soonyoung meets his eyes warily. “We had a deal, remember? You don’t get to touch me ‘til I’m totally stuffed.”

“You’re not stuffed yet?” Soonyoung asks in disbelief. In twenty minutes, Jihoon’s wolfed down three boxes of chicken, a large side of cajun fries, a stack of oreo and caramel churros and two supersized milkshakes, but evidently, none of it has even touched the sides. Jihoon is still as perky and positively un-stuffed as he was before he waddled into their bedroom with a growling stomach. Now, he sits on their bed surrounded by empty takeaway boxes, t-shirt rode up and belly flooding onto his lap, sauce and cinnamon smeared across his cheeks, remarkably showing no signs of discomfort or fullness. He cocks his head and shoots Soonyoung a cheeky, slanted smile. Soonyoung’s putty in his hands and he knows it.

Soonyoung just sighs, wiping Jihoon’s cheeks clean with the pad of his thumb. “Jihoon-ah, you’ve eaten enough to feed a family for a night. You seriously aren’t full yet?”

“Nope,” Jihoon says, popping the P. He smacks his belly, causing the soft flesh to ripple under the force. Soonyoung feels himself grow rock hard. “This is your fault, you know. You’ve trained me to eat so much that I just can’t stop eating, can’t stop growing. You’ve made me so fat.” He pinches his hips and jiggles the pliant rolls of fat and down. There’s orange sauce dripping down from his chin and onto his belly. “You should probably clean me up once I’m done with the next meal. I’m so messy.”

“Jihoon-ah,” Soonyoung repeats, almost painfully aroused. “Stop teasing me. Just tell me what you want from the pantry and I’ll get it for you.”

He smiles again, that satisfactory little grin he wears when he knows he’s won. “Fetch whatever you think will fill me up the quickest, my love. You’re the one who calls the shots around here.”

Soonyoung scoffs. As if.

It’s strange what love (or lust) can make you do, Soonyoung thinks as he heads down to the pantry in search of something that’ll get the job done the fastest so he can fulfil his end of the deal and earn his prize. When their relationship had been in its earliest stages, there were no games, no prizes to be won, no push-and-pull. Granted, Jihoon had been at least a hundred pounds lighter at the time, but he also hadn’t been such a brat. He knows how to get what he wants, and he knows all the buttons to press to make Soonyoung melt. Truthfully, he loves it. He loves letting Jihoon boss him around. He loves being teased in the form of watching Jihoon play with his belly, suck his fingers clean and whine about how hungry he still is after devouring a small feast in record time. He loves getting to be the only person who can touch him, who can feed him, who can stroke his hair and stuff his face every night. He loves being the only person who can unlock this side of Jihoon.

When he retreats back into the bedroom with what feels like half their pantry stock in his arms, Jihoon is rubbing a hand all over the crest of his belly, the skin sinking under his touch like freshly baked dough. Soonyoung’s grip on the food almost loosens.

“Took you long enough,” Jihoon snorts, sitting up and spreading his legs wider so that his belly has a bigger spot to rest. His entire face lights up when his eyes land on the amount of food Soonyoung’s brought back - there’s a big tub of cookie dough ice cream, bags of Doritos and mini pretzels, muffins, sleeves of cookies, boxes of Pocky, the last slice of that chocolate cake they’d been keeping in the fridge and a 2-litre bottle of soda. “Mmm, can’t wait for you to make me pop,” Jihoon says enticingly as Soonyoung lays everything down and snuggles up next to him. Soonyoung can’t help but smile as he tosses the lid of the ice cream tub aside and brings the first spoonful up to his boyfriend’s lips.

Jihoon inhales his food like he’s Kirby. What should be enough snacks to carry a frat party is polished off in a little less than forty minutes; Soonyoung insists on hand-feeding him everything, a tactic that comes in handy when they’re down to the last few items and Jihoon barely has the strength to shovel the food into his own mouth. By the time he’s finished everything, Jihoon is laying on his back, belly sticking out like a huge dome that sits on top of him, panting and sweating. Any attempt to soothe it proves to be futile as he can barely lift his hands to touch himself. Soonyoung sits back and admires his work like it’s the Eighth Wonder.

“Wow, baby,” he coos, straddling Jihoon and massaging his swollen belly like he’s been waiting all evening to do. “You were right. I’ve made you so fat.”

#muffinwoozi writes #svt feederism #svt weight gain #chubby woozi #feeder hoshi #kpop feederism

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theflyingfeeling · 2 years

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How about a Joel in Wonderland AU? Or any of the boys if they fit better?

No, I think Joel fits perfectly!

Can you guess who the other guys are? 😌

Joel hasn't been having the best time recently, and he certainly doesn't have the most healthy coping mechanisms to deal with it either. Often he gets drunk and ends up in the gutter, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally.

One morning, he wakes up in a place he does not recognize as a friend's livingroom or the police station's drunk tank.

Instead, he seems to be in a forest, and there seems to be a cat sitting on the nearest tree, eyeing him suspiciously.

"The fuck are you looking at?" the cat says. Joel is convinced he's having the worst hangover of the century, because it seems like the cat is talking to him. But, like..cats don't talk.

"Where's, umm.." Joel looks around himself, trying to decide where he wants to go, "..the station?"

"I'd rather you leave-son."

"Pardon?"

Joel doesn't get an answer, only a flash of white teeth in a perfect row.

He's about to rephrase his inquiries about his current whereabouts, but a puff of smoke from somewhere next to his face has him choking on air.

"Dude," a voice says.

And, well, if a cat can talk, then why wouldn't a caterpillar be smoking a joint? Seems perfectly logical.

"Dontcha mind our little Chessie here," the pot-smoking worm says. "He may think he's purrfect, but really he's clawless."

"Least I'm not clueless, like lil' princess here."

"Look, I just want to get back--"

Well, Joel may not be sure where exactly he wants to return to, because his home is not a home anymore and bridges have been burned, but things are getting a little too intense for his still slightly drunk brain.

"Ah, they all do," the caterpillar says. "You see those shrooms over there?"

Joel looks to his right and sees a cluster of mushroooms on the ground.

"The ones on the left will take you back, and the ones on the right will take you forth."

"Thank, you that is extremely helpful," Joel grumbles.

"And if you take both..."

The cat on the tree sighs. "You don't wanna do that, princess."

Joel is not going to believe a thing these strange creatures are telling him. "Why? What will happen then?"

The cat shows him an ominous gesture: it reveals one of its claws and drags it horizontally over its own throat.

Joel shrugs. "Sounds fun," he says and grabs a handful of the mushrooms.

"See you around, princess!" the cat grins, and then all Joel sees is black.

When he wakes up, he's lying on the floor of a small hut and there are two strange faces staring at him closely from above. Joel groans when he realises his awful hangover dream continues: one of the faces is that of a hare's.

"TEA TIME!" the other face screams at him and pours something out of a teacup on Joel's face. He's thankful the water falling on him is ice cold instead of boiling, although at this point it made little difference.

"You don't happen to have coffee?" Joel mumbles, deciding to just go with whatever was happening. He glances at the man with the tea-cup and a tall hat that was sitting a little askew on top of his blond, messy hair.

"Of course we do!" the man exclaims, a little too loud for Joel's poor ears. The hare only cackles next to the madman.

When Joel receives his cup, he blinks. "...This is tea."

"Yeah, we don't have coffee," the hat guy nods and bursts to laughter, the hare joining him. "He thinks we have coffee?" The loud noise of their laughter hurts Joel's ears.

"But you said-- nevermind."

"Do you like riddles?" the hat guy asks.

"No."

"Why did the duck bark?"

"The fuck should I know."

"Oh," the hat guy says, raising his eyebrows. The hat guy and the hare glance at each other and shrug.

"A cake?" the hat guy offers.

"What does it do?" Joel squints his eyes.

"It gives you a strong neck," the hare winks. "You're gonna need one soon."

Then the two maniacs proceed to bang the table with their open palms, chanting "HU! HU! HU!" as if daring Joel to eat the cake. His stomach groals.

Fuck it, he thinks to himself. It can't possibly get any worse than this.

Joel bites into the pastry, only to find out it consists of mostly salt and spices. The other two burst to another fit of obnoxiously loud laughter as Joel storms out of the hut to spit out the remaining crumbles.

His whole mouth feels like sandpaper, so he's relieved to notice a bottle full of liquid lying on the ground.

Drink me, he reads from the etiquette. He knows he probably shouldn't, but he's going to suffocate if he can't flush down the stinging in his mouth soon.

"Having a rough day, princess?" the cat has appeared out of nowhere again. "Or just a rough life?"

With an experienced flick of his wrist, Joel opens the bottle while holding the cat's gaze.

"If you want to keep you head, princess, that's not gonna help."

"Watch me," Joel says and gulps the drink down his throat.

The strong flavour knocks him out almost instantly, and he barely hears the cat's meowy voice before everything darkens again.

"Guess you're as mad as the rest of us, after all..."

Sharp pain awakens Joel, and he sees his pale skin is full of small cuts. Opening his eyes, he sits up and finds himself in the middle of a shrub. The thorns scratch his skin open when he tries to move, droplets of red falling on the white flowers blooming from the bush.

Joel looks up. A black-haired figure is staring him down.

"Oh, how did you know I hate white roses?" The person picks one of the red-stained flowers, bringing it to his red lips. He plants a kiss on it before offering it to Joel, who takes it, not really wanting to know what would happen if he doesn't.

Then the person leans down so that his head is on Joel's level. He brings his face close to Joel's, so close their noses are almost touching.

He parts his lips and whispers with a smile:

"Off with his head."

#blind channel #blind channel rpf #i've never read the book and i've seen the disney film a long time ago #thus i went for my own adaption again 😅#so..enjoy this nonsense story in bullet point form? i guess the weird format is fitting 🤪#someone with more imagination in the fantasy spectre: feel free to elaborate on this #honestly what was carroll smoking when he wrote the book

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