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neocentral · 10 months

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i need more perv virgin jisung. maybe you invite him into your room to talk or chill, something innocent, but just the fact that your scent is strong makes him unbelievably needy. he tries to push through it, he really does. he wants you so bad that hes sitting there malfunctioning in front of you. he's turning bright red, and thats when you realise the kind of person he is; a perv who would probably do anything for you.

also my first time sending an ask. is this good ? and ive heard people can have emojis. i want to be 🐈 anon. im excited to see what youll come up with!

of course!

rating: 18+. mdni.

word count: 1.4k

content: perv!virgin!jisung x reader, masturbation (m), no plot jisung's just horny n kinda subby

masterlist

part one

Jisung stands stiffly, feeling guilty and overwhelmed to be in your bedroom again. Though this time he was invited in. He wasn’t some pathetic, horny pervert who invaded your privacy and stole your used underwear. He was a guest. You wanted him there. You had leaned on his doorframe dramatically, perfume wafting over to where he sat in his gaming chair. He cursed the wind blowing through his window as he immediately felt himself growing aroused by the light scent.

Jisung had rejected your offer, not wanting to test the restraint he knew he didn’t have, but he couldn’t put up much of a fight when you whined, irresistible pout playing on your lips. “Ji, please hang out with me.”

And now, Jisung can’t focus with you sitting so close to him, your scent stronger inside your small bedroom. He occupied his mind by looking around, taking in the decorated space. Framed pictures and one too many mirrors on the walls and shelves lined with your favorite things. His eyes meet your hamper, clothing hangs off the sides and he quickly adverts his eyes, trying to ignore the tingle in his stomach as he thinks back to the filthy panties he had stolen days before hidden in his bedside drawer.

The amount of times he had used the flimsy underwear was downright embarrassing. Even the simple sight of them shoved between various items in the small drawer made him so hard that he couldn’t resist another go like the insatiable, desperate virgin he is. Unfortunately for him, release after release had stiffened the fabric and tainted your intoxicating scent with his own natural musk, but he couldn’t stop. He had even considered making his way into your bedroom once more and stealing another pair. Would you notice? Surely you wouldn’t.

You're perched so prettily on the edge of your well-made bed, looking up at him with your hypnotizing eyes when he leaves his head. Jisung thinks that if he were to jerk his hips forward, your mouth would meet where he needed you most. His hands make their way to his crotch as he tries to hide his swelling bulge. He looks away, swallowing as you begin to push your hair away from your face, keeping your eyes on him.

“Jisung,” you laugh, “why do you look so scared? Sit.” You pat the space beside you.

Jisung doesn’t want to sit. He can’t bring himself to sit, fearing that you’ll see how hard he has gotten just from your presence if he makes any sort of movement.

Despite his efforts, the slow shifts of his hands only draw your attention towards the prominent bulge poking at his pants. “Oh,” you breathe as your gaze falls downward.

“S-sorry,” Jisung stutters, attempting to fully conceal his length. He feels himself twitch underneath his hand and he can only imagine how pathetic he actually looks, skin bright and burning, panicked and embarrassed and shamefully, pathetically hard.

You look him up and down. “It’s okay,” you say, eyes trained on the way his fingers stretch over his clothed cock. “I can see why you look so uncomfortable.”

He simply exhales, fearing what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. You watch him carefully, “take it out.”

Jisung freezes, eyes snapping upward, “w-what?”

“C’mon, Ji,” you smile and Jisung feels like he might melt, “let me see.”

It doesn’t take much convincing because as always, your wish is his command. Jisung obliges, removing his large hand from his erection. Your eyebrows move slightly, your interest seemingly piqued. His thumb pushes into the waistband of his pants and he slowly pushes it down. His sweats fall to his ankles easily and he would’ve cringed at the quick exposure if he wasn’t so aroused.

You stare intently, running your eyes up and down his length, along every prominent vein and soft, upward curve. Jisung’s humiliated, hating, but loving the way you stare at his cock. It stands proudly, jumping and twitching uncontrollably as it craves to be touched. A dribble of precum leaks from him, sliding down the cherry red head. It forms a sticky string as it begins to fall and he quickly grabs it before it breaks.

You nod at him, gaze expectant as your pupils move from side to side and observe his half naked body. Jisung gently swirls his finger over his head, taking a deep and uneven breath as he joins you in looking at his twitching cock. Your scent enters his nostrils causing his body to react. He pumps slowly, trying to restrain himself by biting the inside of his cheek. He wonders if you can tell how much of a horny virgin he is by the clear desperation written all over his face as his thighs tense and the veins in his arms and hands rise to the surface.

“Does it feel good?”

Jisung shudders, nodding. He can make out his reflection in one of the mirrors to his side. He can see his figure colored with a rosy hue and his oversized hoodie that had shifted, exposing his prominent collarbones and a portion of his broad shoulders. The hem of it hangs just above his prick and the hand that tugs needily on it. Apparently, he was pumping himself a lot harder and quicker than he thought.

Jisung releases a shaky breath letting himself look at you directly. Just a little, he naively tells himself. Of course, it isn’t just a little, he can’t look away from you and your alluring features. Your sweet, soft lips and focused eyes lined with curled lashes and excess eyeliner from your brief outing earlier that day. Even the smallest sliver of skin peaking through the top of your own hoodie has him even more needy.

“I always knew it, you know,” you glance up at him, meeting his eyes that have been glued to you as he pumps himself frantically, lewd, wet noises followed with every slide of his fist. “I knew you were a little pervert. You’re always running away from me,” you pause. Your head tilts to the side as you ask, “do you want to fuck me, Jisung?”

Jisung can stop the moan that finally forces its way out of him, deep and strained. His eyes shut tightly as he tries to keep himself from cumming. He nods once, the movement small and full of embarrassment. He feels your warm breath against his pelvis as a puff leaves your nose.

He manages to stop his restless pumps but his hips take over, rutting into his fist instinctively. He can feel your heavy stare on him and he dreads the look he’ll be met with once he opens his eyes. Though, he can still see you with his eyes closed, having practiced visualizing your face everytime his hand reached for his swollen length since he met you but knowing that you were actually there, that your scent, warm aura, and enchanting voice were not a figment of his imagination and that made his mind fuzzy.

“Look at me,” you murmur. His eyes open slightly, just enough to see your blurry figure. His eyelids feel heavy and he feels like they might close at any second. “Are you gonna cum for me, Jisung?”

He let out a strangled hum, blowing air into his cheeks as he tightened his hold on himself.

“Say it,” you commanded.

Your eyes were piercing, causing a flutter in his heart as he looked deeply into them. “Fuck,” he whispered as he released the hot air in his mouth, “m’gonna cum.”

The closer he came to his climax the more overwhelmed he became. He begins inhaling and savoring your scent in his system, feeling the way it travels through his body and into his brain, lighting up some part of his brain that only seems to present itself around you. A string of curses come out with every rapid breath he takes as his fist pumps his cock with embarrassing fervor. His eyelids feel even heavier but he fights to keep them open, staring at you through the small sliver his lids allowed.

Jisung uses the last of his mind to move his hand, positioning it before the head of his length. He cums with a whimper, the pearly substance pooling in his palm and staining the low hanging hem of his hoodie. Jisung tries to steady his breathing, feeling his sticky release hot in his hand.

You grin, “better?”

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nereidprinc3ss · 5 months

Text

behave

in which fem!reader REALLY wants spencer's attention while he's working

18+ (no smut but sex is talked about) warnings: mentions of sex, spencer grabs readers wrist to stop her from doing something but its not violent, reader is referred to as a girl, no use of y/n, um i think that's it WC: 870 a/n: i have damn near 40 pages of spencer WIP so im biting the bullet and posting some of it. also.. if you want a plot... babe this is not the place for you im sorry... ive never even heard of a plot actually. i dont know about rising and falling action... i dont believe in that. it sounds fake

It feels like Spencer has been at his desk for hours.

And for hours you've been lounging on the couch, reading your book in silence so as to let him work. But you're becoming... antsy. Impatient. Every time you drop your book and stare at him, willing your white-hot gaze to draw his attention; nothing. He just keeps shuffling papers, signing, writing, reading reading reading.

At ten, you give up.

You make a show of slamming your book shut, sighing, slowly sitting up, stretching, standing, stretching again--when you turn your head, expecting your little performance to have at least earned a look from him; still, nothing.

"Spence?" you ask, innocuously, as you round the couch and draw toward him carefully, slowly, on light feet. A display of faux innocence. It’s not that you intend to bother him, per se--you're just so bored.

He hums in response, eyes still glued to his work as he searches for something among the mess of paper.

You come to a stop in front of the mahogany desk, tracing the edge of it idly with wandering fingertips.

"What are you looking at?" you ask, in reference to a photo he seems to now be studying intently.

"Nothing you need to see," is his muttered response, quickly flipping the photo face down on the desk and picking up a form walled in migraine-inducing tiny black text. You watch the way he scans the paper, brow knitted, and eyes squinted, clearly not paying you very much attention.

You move languidly around the desk, letting the wood drag against your hip the whole way, before reaching for the overturned photo--just to see what he'll do.

Spencer catches your wrist, his grip gentle and warm but not without portent. "What did I just say, grabby?"

Sadly, they're the most words you've gotten out of him since this afternoon.

You sigh dramatically and drape yourself across his lap, looping your arms around his neck. To your initial satisfaction he shifts slightly to accommodate you--and then continues to look over your shoulder like he hardly notices the pretty girl on top of him.

"When will you be done?" you purr, tracing his jaw with a finger.

"I'll be done when I'm done."

God, he can be stubborn.

"Can you be done any sooner than that?"

"What do you think I'm going to say to that," comes his flat reply, still not sparing you a glance. You watch enviously as his eyes dart down the paper he's reading over your shoulder.

"Then I'm staying right here until you're finished."

"You can stay here if you can behave."

You scoff, bunching the fabric on the back of his shirt in your fists. "What do you mean, if I can behave?"

Finally, you hear Spencer set down his pen, and he leans back in his chair to regard you. His gaze finally on you is like an ice bath. You literally have to repress the urge to shiver under his evaluation; the slightly raised eyebrows, the line of his mouth a little harder than usual. His 'you know exactly what I'm talking about so don't play dumb' look.

For a few tense seconds, you let your eyes dart between his, not wanting to break first. Unfortunately, you think that look of his could freeze saltwater.

"Fine," you mutter, flushing when you look down at his shirt collar instead. If you're being reasonable, he probably is doing something important. You drag your gaze back up to his and see that his eyes have softened.

"Thank you," he says, gentler, squeezing your leg before running his hand over it back and forth a few times. "I know I'm not being very fun today. When I'm done we can do whatever you want to do."

The urge to say, 'whatever I want to do?' is strong, but you manage to bite your tongue as he reaches back over you to continue his work. Instead, you content yourself to lean against him, allowing his solidity and warmth to envelop you for some immeasurable stretch of time.

Rain starts up, battering the windowpane and accented by deep rolls of thunder. The scratch of Spencer's pen on paper, the rustle of files, and the scent of patchouli and amber begins to lull you into a doze--a comfortable place between awake and asleep. It's the kind of comatose unconsciousness that bends and liquifies time, and you don’t even realize you fell asleep until you’re waking up.

Spencer murmurs your name, brushing your hair carefully out of your face. "Did you fall asleep, angel?" His voice is soft, just above a whisper.

"Mhm," you groan, rubbing your eyes. "How long has it been?"

"A few hours," he sighs. "That file took a lot longer than it should have, I'm sorry."

You're still bleary as you speak next;

"The thing was sex."

"What?" he laughs, rubbing your leg as you adjust yourself in his lap.

"You said we could do whatever I wanted to do when you were done, and it was sex. But now I'm tired."

"Let's get you to bed," he begins, "and revisit the sex idea in the morning. Does that work for you?"

You smile against his shirt, eyes already fluttering closed again.

"Mhm..."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n

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florencemtrash · 7 months

Text

Hummingbird: Chapter Six

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of violence and injuries

“Why didn’t you call me? Esto nunca debería haber sucedido.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Keep your eyes open ok?”

“Mantén los ojos abiertos. Stay awake, Y/n. Mantente despierto por mí.”

“Is she going to be ok?”

“What’s going on? What happened?!”

You forced your eyes open, blinking the sleep and time from them as your mind slowly worked to clear out the fog. Voices had murmured to you throughout your sleep, whispering words that sounded kind and gentle, but you couldn’t hold onto the specifics of what they said.

Pain shot through uncooperative arms when you tried to sit up in bed, grimacing at the gross taste in your mouth. How long had you been asleep for? The soreness in your back told you it had been a long time.

“Hey, kiddo. Might not want to try that.” Peter said as you struggled. His hand was strong against your back as you shifted restlessly. The sheets smelled of laundry detergent and lemons. Overhead the lights of the Spidey med bay hummed softly.

“Peter?” You muttered groggily. Your vocal cords were tight and gruff like a car engine that had been left idle for too long.

“The one and only!”

You finished clearing out your eyes and your voice. It was good to see a familiar face.

“How long have I been out? I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit too.” He said with a forced grin like he hadn’t just lost one of his best friends, “Do you remember what happened?”

You accepted the water he handed you, downing it in five seconds with a groan. Your hands and arms were wrapped like a mummy’s and you could feel the soft gauze rub against the sensitive skin beneath whenever you moved.

“Yeah… Yeah I think I do.” The IV drip, drip, dripped saline steadily into your arm, “How long have I been out, Peter? You never answered.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still wearing his pink bathrobe and matching slippers when Mayday was nowhere to be found. At this point fatherhood had become a new superhero role for him, so it made sense he should dress accordingly at work.

“Ten days?”

“Ten days?!” You sat up with a grimace, “Joder.”

Did someone call me out of work? God, I’m hungry. Isn’t Miles’s reference letter due soon? I need a shower. Fuck.

Peter held you down gently when you tried to roll out of bed. If Miguel discovered you’d gotten up on his watch, he’d never hear the end-

“You’re awake.”

Miguel’s frame filled the doorway, a small tray of food held within white-knuckled hands.

You were here. You were safe. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Shit. Peter B. spun around on his heels, letting you go and spreading his arms open wide like he’d just unveiled a marble statue at a ceremony.

“Surprise!” He sang, your irritated face appearing in Miguel’s vision from around Peter’s back.

You may have been the one to nearly die, but Miguel looked like he’d been put through the ringer. His red eyes were bloodshot and bruised, curls tousled, and shoulders slumped over like a deflated balloon.

“She’s awake! A real fighter, this one.”

Miguel stalked forward, sinking into the seat next to your bed that Peter had abandoned and sliding the tray of food in front of you. Everything about him spoke of exhaustion, but he hid it well as he pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling for a fever. His palm was warm, chasing away some of the pulsing pain in your head.

“How are you feeling?”

Peter B. pouted from behind Miguel. Hey, I’m here too! His expression said, drawing a small smile from you.

“Pretty terrible, I won’t lie. But at least I’m not dead.”

Miguel winced and fell silent. You regretted saying anything.

Peter fluttered around the room like a honey bee, chatting your ear off and taking the edge off of the tension that radiated from Miguel as he dutifully checked over your wounds. He barely said anything, only asking you to open your mouth so he could take your temperature or lift your arm so he could wrap the blood pressure cuff around your bicep.

Everyone had been worried about you, taking turns to sit at your bedside and wait for you to awaken (although the rotation was also made so that Miguel would be forced to take time to rest… He didn’t).

Even some of the Spiders you weren’t familiar with left behind cards and small stuffed bears - a consistent get well gift across universes, although Spider Cat did bring you a packet of catnip. They formed a small mountain of trinkets on the coffee table.

“We’ll leave you alone to rest.” Miguel said bluntly, stopping Peter’s rant in his tracks after seeing your eyes begin to glaze over and flutter shut.

“Oooof, sorry. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off. Hey! If you need anything, just call. I’m sure Miles will stop by later, but I told him you’d be upset if he skipped school. Oh! And I’ll bring Mayday with me next time I visit. She always makes people feel better. Doesn’t she, Miguel?”

Miguel’s neutral expression didn’t budge when Peter nudged him with an elbow. He only continued to herd Peter closer and closer out the door.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later!” Peter said, finally disappearing around the corner. Miguel huffed. Took him long enough.

“Wait!” You called out before Miguel could escape back to his office to brood. “Could-could you stay?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them and you cringed. You didn’t like to ask him for things but… considering the circumstances…

He walked back to you, rigidly sinking back into his seat and pushing the tray closer to you.

“You should eat. Build up your strength.” He said, clasping his hands tightly against his stomach as you hesitated and then began to eat ravenously.

He’d been in your position before - exhausted and confused and reeling from a near-death experience. A pit of shame formed in his stomach. He hadn’t been able to protect you from it. He’d been on edge ever since you’d joined Spider Society and he thought - he’d hoped - that by keeping you from the more dangerous corners of the multiverse, you’d never experience what you’d just gone through. First the incident with the Spot and now this...

“How bad was it?” You asked tentatively, poking at the leftover fries on your plate. You obeyed the comfortable stretch of your stomach, cautious of getting sick after not eating solid food for over a week. “How bad was I?”

“Pretty bad.” Miguel said gruffly and honestly, staring at a blank spot on the wall, “We didn’t think you’d make it for a while.”

You nodded. You remembered bits and pieces of the moment between sending the anomaly back to his dimension and passing out. The electricity flowing through your body had made your skin feel like it was being peeled off the bone, every nerve screaming out in pain until your brain had short circuited and shut itself off. You were lucky that the burns on your arms were all that remained.

“But I did.” You said, gently reminding him. He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t think… he couldn’t.

“Migs-”

The nickname threw him off guard. No one had called him that since his wife died.

He stood up so quickly the chair squeaked in protest.

“Get some rest, Y/n.” He said without looking at you, “Call if you need anything.” He tapped the touchscreen device he left on the table - his universe’s version of a cell phone - before striding out the door without another word.

You clenched your jaw and sank back into the pillows, part of you wishing you’d stayed asleep for a little while longer.

It took time for your body to feel like your own again. Most days you shouted at deaf limbs to move smoothly and carry things properly. Miguel had already written to Brooklyn Visions Academy about your medical leave of absence and had even gone so far as to visit your apartment to clean your kitchen and fridge while you remained bedridden at Spidey HQ. But for all the big and small ways he showed you that he cared, he neglected to do one thing - actually talk to you.

You shoved the sketchbook off the table, colored pens and pencils scattering on the floor as you dropped your head into your arms and silently screamed. Nearly a month after your injury and you still couldn’t quite hold things properly.

Your fine motor skills should return over time. Was what Dr. Parker had told you and the words should and time had been rattling around in your brain ever since.

Should or will? And how much time would it take?

“Fingers still not quite working right?” Hobie asked, leaning so far back in his seat with his legs propped up that he was nearly parallel with the floor. He held a tattered book in his hands, shifting colors with every page flip like the world’s worst chameleon.

“No.” You said, smoothing back your hair. You’d lost the bandages, but your skin was still tender to the touch in places and numb in others. Lichtenberg figure scars trailed up from your hands all the way to your collarbone, growing there like lichen on a tree. “It’s gotten better. A lot better. But it’s still not the same.”

“You’ll get there eventually.” Hobie said. He knelt on the floor and started to clean up the mess you had made, “Then you’ll be good as new.”

“How do you know?” You sighed, joining him.

He shrugged, “I don’t. But I was right before about you being able to send someone back to their own dimension without a watch. I’ve got a good feeling I’ll be right about this too.”

He offered you a small smile and a helping hand, both of which you accepted.

You spent the rest of the day together, joined by Peter, Gwen, and Miles who cheered you through your daily exercises. You were getting strong again, albeit slowly.

“I want to see you kiss the ground!”

“Show that stress ball who’s BOSS!”

“Yeah, THROW THAT DONGLE!”

“What did you just call-”

Miguel hovered by the door, never stepping foot into the training room with you in it. Never speaking to you, although he desperately wanted to. When you caught his eye, blinking in surprise as you kneeled in the training ring sweaty and tired, he bolted.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered to himself as he strode to the office you’d affectionately coined his “vampire lair.” Although he’d kept his distance, he’d never left you alone. When you asked Peter about getting things from your apartment, he was the one who visited your dimension. When you initially had trouble walking after your injury, he was the one who tracked down the best physicians and physical therapist variants he could find. He was breaking protocol left and right to make sure you were ok and he knew it. But...

“Lyla, could you pull up the video?” She didn’t need to ask for clarification on which video. It was always the same one. Always the same happy memory, followed by a terrible and harsh reality.

Gabriella’s smiling face flashed on the screen, her bubbly laughter rising high above Miguel’s own baritone chuckle as she threw her arms around his shoulders and slapped that silly blue bow on his head. He’d taken that video to send to you after she scored the winning goal. You never made it to the game.

It was a painful reminder of everything that was at stake. He’d taken too many liberties, allowed himself to get too close to you. If he lost you like he’d lost Gabriella. He-

“Is that her?”

Miguel’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Is that Gabriella?” You asked, swallowing thickly as Miguel turned around, leaving the video paused on two smiling faces. He wasn’t smiling now.

“Yes.” He answered softly, guilt heavy on his voice as you moved closer and inspected the girl on screen.

Your breath caught in your throat, coming out as a strangled gasp.

She looked like Miguel… She looked like you…

“She’s got your smile.” You said softly, brushing away the unexpected dampness that had collected in your eyes.

You’d been frustrated all day. Frustrated at yourself for your slow healing and your uncooperative body. When you had come to Miguel’s lair it was with the purpose of yelling at him for not visiting, and part of you still wanted to do that. But seeing him vulnerable and tired in front of his daughter your daughter Gabriella had taken some of the fight out of you.

“I always thought she had yours. Well, the other-”

“I understand, Miguel.”

Silence stretched between you, tense and thin and waiting to be sliced through. You made the move.

“Why haven’t you visited me?” The words came out sharper, more accusatory than you’d expected them to.

Although Miguel flinched on the inside, he forced himself to take that pain and longing and shove it back into the little box he’d crafted for those feelings in the corner of his heart. The little box that you’d been steadily hacking away at from the very moment he met you.

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

“Appropriate? What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s not appropriate for you to visit a friend?”

His jaw clenched at the word friend. It was a flimsy word, too weak to hold up all the feelings you held for each other. He ignored your question and barrelled through his next words, words that he’d been contemplating over the last month you’d been stuck in the med bay.

“Peter J. says you’re well enough to go back home and back to work if you feel ready. He wants you here every Wednesday at 7pm for the next six weeks-”

“You’re not answering my question-”

“I’ve got a write up for you to bring to any physician in your dimension-”

“Miguel, stop ignoring-”

“If you need documentation. In the meantime-”

“Y ni siquiera me estás escuchando-”

“I’m taking you off the team.”

You took a step back, the realization of what he’d just said hitting you like a slap. “What did you say?”

Miguel gritted his teeth, eyes sliding down to the floor so he wouldn’t have to see that quiet look of devastation on your face. You were having none of it, immediately getting close to him and pressing your hands against his chest. The pads of your fingers were delicate but forceful as they tilted his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“Miguel, look at me.” Quiet. Desperate.

“I’m taking you off the team.” He repeated, clenching his jaw so tightly he could feel the grinding of his teeth.

“What-why would-why?”

“You almost died, Y/n. That stunt of yours could’ve gotten you killed.”

“Stunt? Is that really what you’re calling it?”

“You’re not cut out for this.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

It was bullshit and he did know it.

“We couldn’t call you.” You prodded him with a finger, “We couldn’t trap him using the usual methods. We could barely hold him off long enough for anyone to come help. If I hadn’t done what I did, who the hell knows what would have happened? To Miles. To Gwen. To the millions of people living in New York. You need me Miguel, and not just for the superhero crap.”

What hadn’t occurred to you was that he knew exactly how much he needed you… and that was what terrified him so much.

“The decision’s been made, Y/n.”

“By you. So change it.”

“I’m not changing my decision.” Miguel growled, grabbing the hand that you’d been jabbing him with.

So this was the Miguel that everyone had told you about. Not the soft, brooding, sarcastic man you’d come to know. Not the Spider-Man whose humor revolved around making quippy comments. Not the Spider-Man who claimed to be the roughest and straight-laced of them all while still letting the cooks put his face on their signature burger. Not the smiling, laughing Miguel from the video with a blue bow in his hair.

No. This Miguel was short-tempered and hammered from steel.

So why did he still hold your hand so gently, clutching it to his chest like he wanted to keep you there?

He shrugged you off, finally closing the screen on the video of him and Gabriella. Something about that made your blood boil.

“So what now?” You seethed, refusing to let this go. Not even as his fingers started to fly over the keyboard and his mind struggled to go elsewhere.

“You can go home. You can go back to the med bay.”

You can stay here with me. You can help me get through all of this.

Miguel’s heart screamed at him. His brain screamed back so loudly he felt his hold on his emotions stretch to its breaking point.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Your voices had been steadily rising throughout the argument. So when his broad shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh, one hand coming up to rub at his temples, you thought you’d finally gotten to him.

“¡Dime la verdad, Miguel! Why are you taking me off the team?”

“I told you the truth earlier. You’re not cut out for this.”

“BULLSHIT!”

He slammed his hand down on the keyboard, cracking it in two and sending keys clattering to the floor.

“I’M NOT LOSING YOU!” He roared, eyes alight and burning like the sun itself. “Not again!” His eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t stand the sight of you, chest rising and falling with desperate gulps of air.

You stood there, lightly swaying on your feet like a boat caught in an unexpected storm.

“I am not your fucking wife.” Your voice cracked, “You didn’t lose me before and unless you tell me to walk out that door right now, you will never lose me. Ok? I will stay here - with you - if you just fucking ask me to.”

You expected something, anything, from Miguel. But after a minute of silence passed with him standing like a statue in front of you, you swallowed your tears before they could fall and blinked away.

It wasn’t your intention to go home. You’d planned to go back to the med bay, curl up, and sleep away your troubles before stealing a watch in the morning. But like a broken dam can’t hold back water, your emotions and powers couldn’t be contained.

When you looked around at your cleaned apartment, the faintest smell of Miguel’s cologne still stuck to the couch pillows, you sank to your knees and started to cry.

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_________

Author's note:

Autumn is here! And the colder, somber atmosphere in the coffee shop today helped inspire this chapter. I had a plan for this fic... I abandoned it long ago. But, that being said, I hope to have things wrapped up in the next 2-3 chapters and to bring some closure to the first multi-chapter fic I will have ever truly completed.

As always, I hope you're all taking care of yourselves and that your Autumn drinks are tasting ✨delicious✨

Love,

Florence B.

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vulpisnocturna · 5 months

Text

Bloodstained Rubies - Chapter IV - Repercussions

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Chapters: I; II; III

Warnings: captivity, murder, violence (not towards reader), Chrollo being a menace, obsession, controlling behaviour, Yandere Chrollo, manipulation, emotional manipulation, psychological manipulation, gaslighting, suicide threats/attempt

Word count: 6k

Your preparations were complete. This was the day. The day where you would finally escape. Just before getting on the blimp, you would enter the airport, and at the gate, you would find a way to approach security and let them know you were in danger. Chrollo had already told you that you would travel alone, just the two of you, therefore, you didn’t have to worry about any of his horrid friends giving him a hand. And yes, he was a thief, and he had superpowers, but a bullet to the head always did the job, no?

You hated him more than ever. After that night you had gotten drunk two weeks before, you had woken up to find he had left a love bite on your throat. You had been seething, and had actually tried throwing things at him, which had resulted in you being tied to the bed for a full three hours, forced to listen to him monologue about everything and anything just to get a kick out of you. He asked you questions, of course. What your favourite films were, what your favourite flowers and books and artists were, and even if you did not answer, he answered for you, because he was a disgusting stalker who knew the answers already. Then, he gave his review on each of the answers, psychoanalysing you based on the things you liked.

And of course, he had not stopped kissing you. It had been wishful thinking, truly, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t press you. But no, he was even more hands-on. Like an octopus, he seemed to attach himself wherever you went. His hands may not have been sticky, but they sure felt like it. He would wrap them around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck and keeping you still as he had his fix of kissing your neck and sucking disgusting hickies on it like he was a fifteen-year-old who had just discovered snogging.

And it should have been gross, and distasteful, and it should have made you feel dirty. And it did, but not in the right way. No, it made you feel dirty because every time he kissed your neck and told you all the things he just couldn’t wait to do to you and how good you would feel if you just let him have you, your lower stomach would feel tight and hot, and you’d find yourself aroused. And it felt so revolting to be betrayed so severely by your body.

There were few times where you had the presence of mind to thrash around and flail your limbs to hit him or get him to let you go, but by the point you put a tight leash around your mind, he had already gotten what he wanted. By the time he had kissed you and pulled you on his lap, you had already shown it took you several seconds before you bit down on his tongue or his lips. And if you did draw blood, he would smile at you, his eyes growing darker and full of lust, revealing a sadistic part of him that made you feel like it actually turned him on, and that he could barely restrain himself from retaliating in kind. His fingers would curl around your hips like a vice, and he would let out a soft groan, looking at you like you were prey.

So you had stopped biting, because you were terrified of what would happen if Chrollo Lucilfer lost control.

You hated how he played house with you. How he liked to cook for you, telling you about all the things he liked about you, forcing you to cuddle with him and acting like this was all normal. Your anger, your venomous words, your violence, none of it affected him at all. You were at least glad he never hurt you physically, but no, Chrollo was much more subtle and devious than that. No, Chrollo liked mind games. He liked bringing up the fact that he was so so saddened by the fact that your behaviour prevented him from taking you outside, from letting you see and experience the outside world. He was not expecting you to escape at all. But you would. Oh, you would that very day.

As you stood next to him in front of the door that had been the lock of your gilded cage, you felt... excited. Fearful, ridden with nerve-wracking anxiety, dreading what could go wrong, but also excited. Because you would do it. You had to believe that.

‘Now, you know the rules, darling’ he said softly, and you saw his red book appear in his hand. The lock clicked, and he picked up the suitcase, placing his hand on the small of your back and leading you outside. You walked with him to the lift, pretending to be a well-behaved dog that would follow him everywhere and never stray far away from him. You obediently got in the passenger seat, and Chrollo put on some music, seemingly in a good mood. You lowered the window to get several mouthfuls of clean air after a month of strict captivity in the house and did your best to ignore him. You didn’t even try to ask him where he was planning to take you next, and you did not want to know what job he would be involved in next.

Chrollo, on his part, did not seem particularly bothered by the fact that you were not talking, and the drive was fairly quiet. Your stomach was churning, a lump of anxiety burrowing itself in your throat, almost suffocating you. Your heart hammered like a Metallica concert in your ribcage, and you were worried he might actually hear it, because to you, it was as loud as the crack of thunder. Nevertheless, you tried to act natural and composed, fearing he would see your nervousness and be on his guard. He would notice if you were suddenly nicer to him in the hopes of relaxing him, so instead, you tried to act as dismissive and bitter as you always did.

He parked the car in the parking space of the airport, and like the pretend gentleman he liked to masquerade as, he opened the door for you and offered you his hand, which you promptly ignored. Not deterred in the slightest, he got your suitcase and walked with you towards the entrance. You swallowed, your legs weak as you glanced at him and then at the people walking around the main room. You quickly pinpointed three guards in one corner by the ticket stall and another two near the exit that led to the docking area. He grabbed two tickets from his pocket and gave you a slight smile. You shifted on your feet.

‘I need to go to the bathroom before we leave’ you said, pointing at the toilets on the other side of the room. He lifted an eyebrow.

‘You can wait until we get on the blimp’ he said. You shook your head.

‘I have to go now’ you retorted, staring him down. His dove grey eyes bored into you for a few seconds, and then he nodded. You gulped, cold sweat running down your spine as you rigidly made your way to the toilets. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head. You locked eyes with one of the guards, and brought one hand in front of your stomach, so he wouldn’t see it, quickly but deliberately showing the guard your thumb bending towards the palm of your hand and the other fingers closing over it, in a signal for help. The guard’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and after a second, she nodded. You ran towards her and her two colleagues all of a sudden, standing behind them.

‘Shoot him! Now! He’s really dangerous’ you said, your voice cracking as Chrollo turned to look at you, his hand sliding from the handle of the suitcase, his expression growing cold.

‘Ma’am, what is the situati-‘ the female guard started to say, but before she could finish the sentence, she stopped talking with a weird grunting sound. You slowly looked over to her, confused, and your horrified eyes set on a pen sticking out of her forehead, and a trickle of blood pouring on her brow. Your voice caught in your throat, and you watched, paralysed, as the guard slumped on the ground and hit the tiles with a thud. The other guards drew their guns, and the ones behind Chrollo also came rushing over, but before you could even plead with him, they were all dead.

You shivered wildly as you saw him walk towards you with graceful, unhurried steps, though his expression was stony.

People started screaming and running, but Chrollo took out his magic book, and in a few seconds, all of them were on the floor, unmoving. Your eyes widened in horror and despair, and you quickly crouched and grabbed one of the guns on the floor, pointing it at him. He stopped walking and tilted his head.

‘I would not have had a reason to do this if you hadn’t tried to leave me, sweetheart. What’s with that look? I told you your actions have consequences. Put the gun down’ he said, his voice unwavering, calm, authoritative. You didn’t.

‘You’re a sick fuck- a sick fuck’ you said in a croaky voice, your teeth gnashing and grinding against each other to the point your jaw ached. He did not stop approaching, and did not seem particularly bothered that you were pointing a gun at his face.

With your heart and your brain filled with naive, delusional hope, you pulled the trigger.

You did not see him dodge, but the next moment, there wasn’t a hole in his face, and his head was tilted slightly, which meant that monster was fast enough to dodge bullets. You let out a choked sound of despair, your grip unsteady, your eyes brimming with tears, your breath shallow and uneven, your heart thundering in your throat. Your heart and the blood in your veins turned to ice as you realised what the only way out of this was. It was all your fault. Those people he had killed... it was all because of you. You slowly placed the gun against your temple, the cold metal of the barrel burning your skin as you stared at Chrollo. As you placed the gun to your temple, Chrollo's expression turned from calm and confident to concerned and deranged very quickly. His aura exploded around him like a cataclysm that paralysed you.

'No! No, you don’t!' he growled, his voice low but desperate.

In a single movement, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled the gun out of your hand and away from your head. In his eyes, you saw his fear of losing you, his worry about your safety, and his reluctance to hurt you. All your hope of freedom disappeared as Chrollo threw the gun far, far away from you. Your fingers shook as your arms fell limply at your side. Primal fear of death took hold of you, and coldness seeped in the marrow of your bones.

‘Shh, shh, shh’ he murmured, dipping his head and placing a finger on your lips, instantly collected and composed again.

‘You are a very troublesome girl. My heart aches, darling. Have I not been kind towards you? I have given you everything. I give you love, affection, gifts, a nice house, nice food, expensive wine, flowers, books, films. I would take you outside, if you knew how to behave yourself. But you are one greedy girl, no? All you want is to be by yourself, all alone. Isn’t that sad? I’m not very happy now, and neither are you. See? This is a distressing situation for the both of us. Did you not think this through? Did you forget the rules I told you? That I would be forced to utilise violent methods to deal with those who would seek to take you from me? You are mine, darling. Remember that for me, yes? You do not leave me’ he said, staring at you, his face inches away from you. He wiped the tears from your cheeks, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You trembled, frozen, rooted to the spot.

‘You can either come with me now, or I can knock you out and carry you on the blimp. Either way, you are going to be on that airship in five minutes’ he said, his voice calm and mellow. Your chest heaved, and your eyes trailed to all the corpses around you. There must have been at least fifteen. You felt the sudden urge to throw up. Your fault. It was all your fault. All these people, they were dead because of you. Why were you worth more than any of them? Why weren’t you the only corpse strewn on the white tiles? If only you’d been smarter, if only you had devised a better plan... but no, you realised all was useless in front of a monster such as he was. A monster that could kill with a pen. A monster that could dodge bullets. A monster that stood unflinching in the face of mass murder. What were you hoping would happen? You were only a normal girl. He was the stuff of nightmares.

You let him drag you towards the docking area. He took out his phone and started calling someone.

‘Shal, I need you to hack into the security cameras of Starling’s airport. Then, tell Shizuku to drive here to clean up. I ran into a little mishap’ he said, and then nodded and ended the call, grabbing the suitcase and dragging you along onto the blimp. Apparently, he had reserved all of it, so the pilot was none the wiser about the bloodbath that had ensued in the airport. He sat you down in one of the luxurious rooms, on a sofa, and poured you a glass of wine, and then one for himself.

‘Would you like to say something?’ he asked, twirling his chalice in his hand. You jerked your head “no”, your eyes fixed on the glass of the coffee table, your mind replaying the images of the corpses in the airport as the blimp took flight.

‘I hope this won’t be repeated. Otherwise, you understand I will be unable to trust you outside’ he said calmly. You gritted your teeth, your trembling hands balled up into fists as your shoulders hunched.

‘Curious how your face was not on the missing people board at the airport, don’t you think? None of the guards even stopped you. How curious. I wonder if your family submitted a missing person file to the authorities’ he mused after a few minutes, opening his bag and getting a copy of “Crime and Punishment” out, taking out a bookmark and starting to read, lounging in an armchair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You did not fall for the obvious bait, but you could not stop the horrible thoughts that clouded your mind. Had your family filed a report? Had Chrollo killed them? Threatened them?

You got up from the sofa, walking numbly towards the cabin and closing the door behind you, lying down on the bed and staring at the patterns in the wall paint.

Chrollo sighed, bitterly taking a swig of red wine, his grey eyes trailing to the closed door of the cabin where you had gone to half an hour earlier. He turned a page, feeling distracted and slightly hurt.

It was illogical, obviously, considering he had always expected you would try at least once to leave him. It was just human nature to seek freedom. But was freedom not overrated in your case after all? He had lifted you up from a life of boring routines, awful working conditions, inane friends and a family that did not care for you as well as he could. He was giving you the chance to travel, the chance for adventure; he was giving you affection, protection, respect, sharing all his possessions with you, treating you to the finest food, the best clothes and jewellery, he stole ancient tomes, invaluable artefacts, pretty necklaces and earrings, even paintings for you. He knew you at least found him physically attractive. He knew he was good-looking, and whenever he kissed you, you always struggled to be stubborn and reject him, because your body and your mind were not in agreement. He knew he was not a good person, but did you truly see him as such an abhorrent, unlovable monster? Was he such a disgusting individual in your eyes?

Chrollo traced the rim of his wine glass, his eyes clouded with disappointment and a slight twinge of sorrow. The truth was that he was lonely. His heart had been empty for so very long, and the moment he had met you, the world had burst into vivid colours. Emotions had sprang in his chest, joy and contentment warmed him whenever he held you. He felt alive for the first time in more than a decade and a half. Was it so wrong for someone like him to seek companionship and acceptance? Was his darkness truly so overwhelming that you would never see all of him and find him anything but repulsive?

Chrollo was not one to deny his own nature. He was prideful, arrogant, egotistical, manipulative and possessive. But with you, he also felt a twinge of kindness, respect, admiration, something he had never had with any of the many women he had spent time with in his life. He was filled with personality traits you might find unsavoury in a person, but he was also intelligent, loyal, protective, dependable, open-minded, and frankly, he thought himself to be a very interesting person. Surely, there were positive things about him you might like, if you actually considered giving him a chance. Contrary to popular beliefs, he was not devoid of human emotions. He felt just like everyone else, though his feelings were kept on a tight leash out of the belief that they could be used against him. “There is no greater curse than loneliness”, he thought to himself, taking another swig of wine and turning a page. His life had been anything but easy, but there had been times, especially when everything seemed at the point of collapse, when he had wished he had someone by his side, someone he could share his inner demons, someone who would not judge and condemn. Someone who understood him, both the darkness and the light. But those people did not exist, and Chrollo did not want to share his pain with anyone. He did not want to see the pity in anyone's eyes.

One way or another, you would stay with him for life. But Chrollo didn’t want you to be unhappy either. At some point, he thought, you had to give in. At some point, you would be too tired and lonely to keep rejecting him. But it had been a month, and you were still as proud, headstrong and stubborn as you had been on the first day. Even if he hadn’t abducted you, upon finding out what his job was, you would have been repulsed, because you seemed to have the morals of a saint. He simply did not understand, though he had to admit he found himself charmed by your naiveté and innocence at times. You were like a flower blooming in the harsh snow, or through the cracks of cement, untainted by the cruel world.

He was a villain, but he was no monster or savage. He had only killed those people because he couldn’t afford to leave witnesses to your stunt at the airport. He was no rapist, he had never forced himself on you, even when his desires had boiled and set his body aflame with lust at the sight and feel of you. He had never hit you, not once. You were too precious for him to hurt. And yet, all he got from you was bitterness, fear and coldness. He believed you would come to love him someday, but he was lonely and filled with yearning. Your presence, your body, the taste of your lips, it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted your heart, your mind and your soul too. He wanted to be the only one you held dear in the world. He wanted you to feel safe with him, to love him, to understand him, accept him and foster a meaningful connection with him. Was he destined to spend the rest of his life without those things, with the meaningless farce of a relationship?

The harsh truth was that he had felt a pang of hurt and panic when he had witnessed your attempt at leaving him, your attempt at killing yourself, naive as it had been. He had been scared of losing you.

'A human heart is a fragile thing,' he mused. He put the book down and took another sip of wine, leaning back in his armchair, a sad, almost tired look on his face. You were like a puzzle, the piece that he wanted so badly to connect with the others, to finally form an image that made sense. He wanted you to be happy, to be satisfied, but he also wanted you to be his and only his, for him to own your mind and your heart. It was a difficult conundrum; but Chrollo was determined to make you fall.

He sighed, and his gaze hardened at his own wavering thoughts. If his beliefs vacillated, he would never succeed. You would come to accept him and cherish him, one day. And most importantly, the lesson he had imparted that day would make you think twice about trying to leave him again.

He closed his eyes, his mind drifting to a dream of a hopeful future. A cold night of Autumn, in a home warmed by the blazing, crackling flames in the fireplace, your body underneath him on a comfortable sofa, your skin glowing, the light dancing on your curves as he grazed his fingers over your body, tracing, gripping, kneading, caressing, your laboured breaths mingling, your lips swollen with his kisses, your eyebrows furrowed in bliss, your hair strewn around your face, your legs around his hips, his mouth against your throat, your soft sighs and moans filling the room. He imagined your arms around his torso, fingers curling on the skin of his shoulder blades, your back arching into him, your nails digging in his back as he gave you pleasure. He imagined lying down with you, spent and satisfied, stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, whispering words of devotion to you as you caught your breath and smiled at him. He imagined running you a bath, wrapping you in a blanket, making you a warm drink and sitting with you outside to watch the stars in the peaceful forest he would have bought a home in. What a perfect life, he thought longingly. A small sliver of peace in a world that had robbed him of every piece of happiness and serenity. He liked the life of freedom, adventure and danger he had with the Troupe, but in his heart, there was something Chrollo had never been able to steal: peace. What he wanted with you, what he truly wanted, was someone to come back to, someone to feel alive with, someone to protect, cherish and trust, someone who loved him, a home.

He downed his glass of wine.

His phone buzzed, and he picked it up, reading the text from Shalnark. “Cameras erased. Shizuku cleaned everything up”, it read. He wrote a quick reply and picked up his laptop, connecting it to the wi-fi and absentmindedly googling a website listing houses for sale. Perhaps, you would feel safer in one place. Perhaps, he could give you a place to call home, and a place for him to call home too. Of course, asking for your input would be like poking a rattlesnake at the moment, when you were so upset over what had happened at the airport, but he could still save some possible options. Perhaps it was a good move. Besides, he remembered your routine before you started living with him consisted of long walks in the park every weekend, so he knew for a fact you enjoyed nature. Some would think Chrollo enjoyed the city life, but the truth was that he liked peace and solitude. It would do you good to get some fresh air without him having to deal with a possible escape attempt on your part. It would be perfect to have a nice house somewhere that was quite isolated, but still not too far from civilisation, both to keep you from going to other people for “help” and for him to live in relative secrecy, away from prying eyes. He started looking for houses in natural reserves, in a place that was neither cold nor hot.

The blimp landed four hours later, and Chrollo sighed, closing his laptop and putting it back in his bag, getting up and walking to the cabin. He gently knocked on the door. No answer.

‘Dearest’ he said against the wooden door, listening in for any noise. Nothing.

‘Dearest. Would you come out, please?’ he repeated, his voice calm and purposely soothing. Once again, there was no answer. He let out a deep exhale, turning the doorknob and walking in. His face smoothed and softened as his eyes set on your sleeping form curled up on the duvet. He silently walked closer, observing the damp patch under your face, a clear sign you had cried yourself to sleep. He brushed your hair out of your face with reverence, observing the face of the woman that had thawed his heart. You looked so fragile when you slept. It made him want to protect you and hold you close. He squeezed your delicate hand slightly.

‘Darling, wake up’ he said, his voice soft but slightly louder, and you stirred, gasping, your eyes snapping open, and you scrambled away from him. He observed you quietly.

‘We have landed’ he said simply, his gaze darkening ever so slightly at your reaction, but he did not let it deter him from treating you with the utmost tenderness. Even idiots knew vulnerable times were the best moments to manipulate someone into depending on them.

‘You do not have to fear me, sweetheart. I would never hurt you, you are my precious girl’ he said with a slight smile. You grimaced, and he could practically taste your next words in the tension building in the air.

‘So I’m precious, but everyone else is trash and it doesn’t matter if they die? They’re disposable? They’re unworthy? They mean nothing? But me, I’m oh so fucking special?!’ you said in a disgusted, angry voice. Chrollo straightened up, leaning towards you and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

What an obvious question, he thought.

‘Exactly. You are my woman. You are the most important thing in the world, and your life is worth millions of theirs’ Chrollo remained calm, despite the anger that blazed in your eyes.

'Is that so difficult to believe?', he continued candidly, 'when you think about it, that's exactly what every human being thinks, myself included'

He straightened up, his face serious again, his voice still soft.

'Yes, my love, that's exactly what I think. You are the most wonderful person I have ever met, you deserve the world, and everyone else means nothing at all to me. This is how the world works. A parent will let millions die if it means they can save the life of their child. People prioritise that which is dear to them’ he said simply. At the candid, casual tone of his voice, your arms flopped at your side and your jaw slackened in defeat and resignation.

‘That doesn’t mean they had to die’ you murmured, your eyes searching for something, anything in his dove grey eyes. Something that would make him human in your eyes. But what he said... perhaps that was the most human thing of all. To be selfish, to care only about one’s own, to look only after one’s own. And yet, you didn’t even think what Chrollo had with you could ever be considered “caring”.

He took a step towards you, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, and he sat down on the side of the bed, leaning forward.

'Look at me, darling'

Your eyes slowly followed his finger and met his gaze. Chrollo remained very still, not daring to move so as not to break the balance of the moment, and he spoke softly.

'Do you care, love? Do you care if anyone else but you dies?' he asked almost curiously, with clinical fascination. You stared at him, your lips parting in disbelief at his question.

‘Of course I do’

Chrollo raised an eyebrow, his expression intrigued as he looked at you.

'Do you?' he asked, and you stayed silent and Chrollo continued to study you, his voice still soft, ‘Do any of the people who died today mean anything to you, my love?’

Chrollo's fingers slid across the duvet over your knee and he touched your skin gently, the movement of his fingers soothing and gentle, and yet to you, it was like being burnt.

‘This is just how humans work. You only care about those who are important to you. It is how you protect yourself’ he said simply. You stared at him, shaking your head stiffly.

'Do not liken me to you. I care because they are human. I care because you took human lives. Innocent lives. Just... just to stop me from escaping. You killed- so many people... do you not think of all the potential you robbed them of? Every single one of them had a life as nuanced and complicated as you or I do. And yet... you do not care, because they are not close to you? You have no humanity' you said, torn between disbelief, guilt and rage. Chrollo was selfish, you knew, but somehow, you had hoped in the depths of his darkness, there had to be some humanity, some... compassion. But you were once again mistaken.

‘I don't care. Their lives meant nothing to me’ he paused, but kept his fingers gently stroking your skin, 'I know you do not approve, but I stand by what I did. They were in my way. And I did not want you to leave me. Can you blame me for wanting you to be mine forever and not wanting another soul to touch you? I had to kill them, to stop you from leaving me. Simply put, my lovely, you signed their demise. You were aware that by trying to escape, you were putting innocent lives in danger, but you put yourself and your happiness first. Shh, it’s okay. I could never judge you for it, it’s as it should be, my darling. But you cannot play preacher with me, and speak of morality, when you also thought of your own needs above people’s lives' he said with a small smile. You froze, a cold, bitter nausea gripping your body, paralysing you, making you its prisoner in the truth he spoke. Because you had known Chrollo was powerful, strong and dangerous. You had heard him say he would kill people to ensure you did not leave him. But you had chosen to naively ignore that fact, blinded by the delusion that everything would work out in a world where nothing ever did.

‘I never wanted- I never wanted...’ you stammered, clutching your lurching stomach.

‘You didn’t want it to happen, but you overlooked it' he whispered, keeping his voice gentle and soothing. He looked at you, his eyes taking in every inch of your face, of your skin. His fingers continued to stroke your knee, his touch soothing and tender.

'I know, darling, I know. Your mind and your heart are telling you different things. I am like a poison to you, and yet you cannot resist' Chrollo tilted his head, his eyes still on your face, 'I know your struggle is a difficult one, but I will help you overcome it. You can abandon your morality, the shackles of society, the good and proper, and you can have freedom from those useless rules that society has imposed on you. It is only human nature. Break free. Life is so much easier when you do not care for those that are not your own, sweetheart' the last words were laced with some kind of heaviness as he uttered them, as if they carried a much larger meaning than what he was willing to divulge, but you were too concerned with the breaking of your own mind, the shattering of your own heart over the guilt and repulsion you felt for yourself, the dread you felt at knowing he was right, in a way. You had chosen yourself even at the expense of many innocent lives. You were selfish, heartless and a monster.

'You are my own, my love. You're the only one worth anything in this world, and I would destroy a thousand worlds just to keep you by my side. Is that not the ultimate expression of love?' Chrollo's lips curved up in a slight smile, as if he had just imparted a sacred lesson to you, as if the words he had spoken were the wisest in the world. He had some kind of dreamy look in his big dove grey eyes, as if he truly saw himself as the romantic lead in a film. It made your stomach churn.

‘You think murder is the ultimate expression of romanticism? Have you any idea how fucked up that is? That you should be obsessed with somebody, and willing to trample on the whole world and all its worth just to get what you want? Even at the expense of the happiness of the one you are so obsessed with?’ you asked, your voice straining, struggling to pass through the heavy lump constricting your throat.

‘It is not only romanticism' he replied with a slight frown on his face, 'it is reality. People murder, steal and ruin each other's lives over and over again, all over the world, every day. This is the way of the world. I know you find it difficult to accept, my love. The truth is that most people are selfish and cruel, and if you want to live a happy life, you have to be as well’ he said simply, as if it were a dogmatic truth imparted from the heavens.

‘And so, instead of attempting to better the world, you simply decided to be the worst of them all? Why add cruelty onto cruelty? Why make the world worse?’ you continued, spreading your arms as if to illustrate your point. Chrollo sighed deeply.

'Because the cruelty of the human race cannot be changed, my love. It is part of our nature, and attempting to deny our own nature is futile. But that should be a good thing. It is who we are, and we should not want to be any other way. And those who accept their human nature, darling, those are the ones who shall be free and happy’ he said with his placid, enigmatic smile.

‘I will take everything from this world, and create freedom and happiness for those I call my own. The rest of the world could burn, and I would not care' he said simply. You stared at him, shaking your head slightly. Arguing with Chrollo on morality was utterly useless. You'd probably have more luck convincing a lion to stop eating zebras. You picked up your bag and exited the cabin, wanting nothing more than to get off that blimp and get to whatever flat Chrollo had decided you would live in next and try to forget the massacre you had caused. Forget the blood and the corpses and the smell of iron in the air.

#yandere chrollo #hxh chrollo #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hxh x reader #yandere x reader #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #yandere chrollo x you #yandere chrollo x reader

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f1nalboys · 7 months

Text

Movie Night ; Randy Meeks

Randy Meeks x Fem!AFAB!Reader

haiiii guys :3 sorry ive been away for so long. im still not totally back, i had inspo for this after a convo me and tati had and i needed it OUT of my brain tbh!!! pls be gentle with me this is legit the first thing ive written in months JSGJBSGB anyways!!! i hope u all enjoy it take this as a silly kinktober kinda thing? idk <3 peace and love babies ily all

WORD COUNT: 1083

WARNINGS: smut, dark!randy and if you squint, ghostface!randy, handjob, implied fingering, slight dom!reader but it's switchy, randy gets jerked off to a slasher film, just kinda fucked up if you look at the implications of everything... not proofread bc im so lazy please be kind to me <3

The apartment was dark. Everything had been flicked off, even the overhead light of the oven that Randy always kept on so he could see in the middle of the night, leaving the TV as the only source of light in the entire apartment. On the slightly out of focus screen was a generic slasher from the late 80’s, one Randy had rented and seen a million times before, but he wasn’t focused on the screen. No, he was sitting there with his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his lips pink and swollen, your hand wrapped around his cock.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You purr into his ear, your other hand running through his hair. Your movements are slow, calculated, and Randy is barely able to swallow back a moan as he nods his head, his eyes still squeezed shut. He can feel the vibration of your chest and he flushes, knowing you were laughing at him. “Your favorite scene’s coming up, Ray,” you say, your hand stalling its movements at the base of his cock as you squeeze gently, drawing a sharp hiss from him. “Don’t wanna miss that, now do you?”

Randy shakes his head, swallowing heavily as he forces himself to open his eyes. His pants were shoved down his thighs just enough to pull his cock out and yet you were still fully clothed. He glances over at you and the large smile on your face and he squirms, breathing a little harder as he tries to talk to you. “You sure you don’t wanna ride me, baby?” He asks, giving you a small smile when you shake your head. “You’re such a tease.” He murmurs, moaning when your hand moves up slowly, your grip still tight.

“How am I a tease if I’m letting you cum?”

“Beacuse, fuck,” his head tips forwards before he swallows, looking back up. You were still curled into his side, pressed tight against him, and the movie had gotten to Randy’s favorite chase scene in the entire movie. He glances at you. “Because you’re using your hand.”

“You seem to be enjoying my hand.”

“Oh, I am, don’t worry. I just know, mmf, fuck, I know that your tight pussy would feel so much better.”

You laugh, shaking your head as your movements speed up a little bit. You squeeze tighter around his tip, drawing a long moan from him. “You’re such a charmer, but you asked for this, remember?” You say, your lips just by his ear as you whisper. “Now, keep your fucking eyes on the screen or I stop completely, okay?”

Randy nods as he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes searching your face and, after deciding you were actually serious, turning to look at the TV. The final girls best friend was being chased all through her large house, the masked killer wielding his knife chasing after her. Randy swallows heavily as your hand begins to move faster, just a little bit, his heart beating in tune with it.

“Fuck,” he moans as the killer slices at the girl who’s name he can’t even remember, her shirt getting cut off. It was cheesy and stupid, something Randy would normally roll his eyes at, but he knew what came next. His cock throbs under your palm, slick with your spit and his pre-cum, and he whimpers as you begin to swipe your thumb over the head of his cock with each pass of your hand. “Ke-keep going, please?”

His question is closer to a beg, but not quite there. His eyes roll into the back of his head for a second but he keeps them focused hazily on the screen. The girl was running slower, the house dark. Randy’s breathing picks up and his hand, which had been on your thigh, squeezes you tightly, his nails digging into your flesh. The girl was cornered now, the killer standing above her as she begs for him to stop, to leave her alone, to go away. She slinks down the wall, the killer looming tall, his mask and the knife the only discernible thing about him.

Randy’s hips twitch ever so slightly as the killer drags the blade down the girl's tear-streaked cheek, a thin line of blood bubbling up in its wake. He can’t help but replace the girl with you, imagining the fear in your eyes as he, masked and unknown to you just yet, hunts you down like an animal. “Holy shit, baby, fuck!” He grunts as the killer raises his knife and your hand speeds up, jerking him off as quick as you can. Randy’s hips thrust up into your hand as the knife is plunged into the screaming girl's chest.

He grunts, an almost animalistic sound, thrusting his cock into your hand in tune with the knife. He lets the pleasure overtake him, his cock the knife, your hand your body, and he cums, the only other sound besides his moans being the gurgle of life leaving the poor girl’s throat one final time before she slumps over. Randy lets his head tip backwards as he finishes cumming, your hand and his cock covered in cum. His hips stop moving and he sits there beside you, staring at the dark ceiling as he catches his breath.

“How was that?” You murmur. “Everything you thought it would be?” Tilting your head, you bring your hand to your mouth and lick away the cum that has covered your skin, a smug smile on your face. He looks over at you, his cheeks flushed pink, and he gives you a toothy grin, leaning in to kiss you. It’s a sweet kiss, one you always expected from Randy, with just a bit of heat underneath it. “It was fucking amazing, Y/N.” He says against your lips, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. The kiss deepens for just a second before the noises of the movie draw his attention; it was the final chase scene, the bloody battle against good and evil.

When he pulls back his hand slides down your shoulder and arm down to your waist, his large hand tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Get this off,” His voice is gruffer as his hand slides down again, this time to your pants, your breath hitching in your throat at the feeling of his calloused fingertips dipping past your waistband. “And these. Let me repay the favor, final girl.”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #randy meeks #scream 1996 #scream 2 #scream 1997 #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #ghostface!randy meeks

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nico-di-genova · 20 days

Text

In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

--------

Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

--------

Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.

#there may be a chapter 4 actually #I wanted to write more but I didn't want the chapter to be stupid long #strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #lance stroll #fernando alonso

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sscrubberhose · 25 days

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Ya got any dialtown headcanons? :3

hooo boy. ive been chewing on this all day and I think i have a decent amount to say!

Spoilers for Dialtown!

Tw for mentions of suicidal ideation and religious guilt

Phone/Typegingi:

-Is aware of everything that happens in my fics but forgets

-is more aware of how people perceive them than people give them credit for, wants to make everyone happy

-has a strong fear of being alone, which is why they bother people so relentlessly. if they were to be fully ignored for an extended period of time they would have a breakdown

-Has both the phone and the typewriter head and can change them out at will, dont ask where they keep them.

-has bitten theoroar many, many times and will do so again. is even more fearful and hateful of him after the zoo explosion

-has a lot of love to give and genuinely prefers being around their friends

-has a level of intelligence that is genuinely sort of surprising sometimes. this intelligence is used at random

-is surprisingly easy and hard to kill at the same time

-the narrator is actually a separate entity to them who cares about them very much

-seems to be passively suicidal but no one can tell if theyre joking or not

-roger rabbit rules, whatever biology is funniest is what they have

-perceived height changes based off of this rule as well. no one notices.

-breaks into town hall once a month for funsies

-enjoys sweet things quite a bit

-autistic beast

Randy:

-is actually a decent cartoonist, but rarely draws due to hand pain. likes drawing gingi and oliver the most

-has a lot of religious guilt due to growing up catholic with a very very strict, religious father, left home as soon as he could. also why he is afraid to talk to God.(hobo)

-father harped on him his entire childhood about being a burden, now feels that he owes the world for existing. this is slowly healing.

-due to his upbringing hes still learning how to function as an adult, i.e cleaning, cooking for himself, things like that. hes working on it!

-has sensory issues, has ASD

-fear of cgi animals comes from having to watch weird religious propaganda films for kids when he was young. he is getting over it thanks to oliver.

-extremely observant and notices things a lot of people don't, but usually doesnt say anything for fear of being annoying

-knows shooty and stabby on a first name basis(not that he knows whos who)

-sees Norm as a father figure but would never admit that

-has a long list of phobias that hes working on recovering from, but is too nervous to go to therapy for

-has a LOT of plushies in the ticket booth that Oliver and Gingi have given him, refuses to get rid of any of them

-taking the bandage off wont instantly kill him, he doesn't know this.

-can skateboard, does not do this often

-gets sick very easily, has to be forced to rest as he tries to insist hes not sick

-is roommates with Oliver, they have a bunk bed

-got his number changed so the hotline wasnt tied to him anymore

-is actually a good singer, never sings due to thinking he sucks. Will hum to himself while working at the ticket booth

Karen;

-Has actually gotten fairly close to the other datables since the conclusion of the game, doesnt know how to express this

-Visits Dialtown for a few months out of the year to catch up and spend time with her friends

-part of her contract with helping rebuild was better wages for those who worked at the bank. It took a lot of arguing but she felt that no one should suffer like she did.

-expresses her love for her friends by making them ponysonas. Is a huge pegasister. will infodump about it for hours to anyone who will listen

-enjoys botanical illustrations the best, next to drawing horses

-draws horses with normal horse heads as a form of abstraction

-puts capsaicin oil in her paints so Gingi will stop drinking them. This did not work.

-enjoys vintage movies and game shows and talks at length with Oliver about them when they go out for coffee or dinner together.

-she and randy doodle together sometimes

-also has severe sensory issues and has safe outfits she wears. will cry if she has to touch certain fabrics. (LOOKING AT YOU CRUSHED VELVET)

-safe foods are microwave dinners and pasta, but she keeps her diet balanced.

-her and Norm get along now and will sometimes go for hikes and chat about life(and ways to wrangle gingi)

-allergic to shrimps

-can play piano

Oliver:

-Got a new therapist who doesnt think hes weird or annoying(it didnt phase him but thats not groovy to say to someone)

-has POTS, often needs to sit down at work so he doesnt faint.

-is a HUGE horror fan, could tell you everything about the behind the scenes of every major and minor horror movie to come out in the last decade.

-works as a haunt actor for the Dialtown Haunted House every single Halloween, wants to run it someday

-has a log of every new thing he notices about Gingis biology, the log is three books long now.

-Really wants to run a youtube channel where he does amateur ghost hunting with randy, has yet to convince randy that this is a good idea

-is very physically affectionate, though he does ask permission first before touching anyone!

-Has had top and bottom surgery and is comfortable where his transition is, thankfully his insurance under Mr. Dickens covered it! (Mingus isnt a TOTAL monster)

-has a digital scrap book of all his favorite memories with his friends

-makes rage comics unironically.

-favorite color is actually black, red just seems to be his thing!

-has been legally adopted by Mr. Dickens but decided to keep his last name as Swift because "it was rad."

-is actually friends with most of the ghosts and poltergeists that live in the cinema/scareshack

-kept the popcorn and soda dispensers, but got the soda dispensers to dispense SODA and not...whatever the fuck it was doing before.

-helped renovate the basement of the cinema into a haunted maze that he helped design, the theme changes once a year!

-got those unicycle lessons and knows how to juggle as well!

-likes rollerskating, has Heelys on all the time

-allergic to peanuts

-can play guitar

Norm:

-Is aware that Gingi sees the face on the sticky note change and thinks its sort of funny

-Is actually good friends with God and the two go out to lunch once or twice a month

-enjoys fishing and will take Randy and Oliver on fishing trips, Gingi usually follows regardless of invite.

-Sees himself as a father figure to most of the dateables, and is willing to fill in that role.

-apologized to Karen for his behavior by baking her fresh bread. is actually an extremely good cook

-irises and pupils are both void black due to exposure to the wormhole. He has not noticed this. Eyes used to be honey brown.

-Has to stop Mingus from doing a new evil scheme once a month, has a spray bottle for this purpose.

-does actually have other outfits for when the space suit needs to be washed, is never seen outside the house when this happens

-Oliver, Karen, and Randy have seen his real face, they were like "cool" as Gingi is just...far weirder.

-i imagine him as strawberry blonde. Short hair, either buzz cut or just short. maybe some stubble. I dont have a good image of what his face looks like, it is just bag to me

-not great at public speaking but REALLY good at pretending to be

-is actually very good at using technology but will sometimes pretend not to be just to tease Oliver.(it works every time)

-can also play guitar

Bigfoot:

-...no.

-okay okay i have one. You could use his fur to make yarn IF you washed it. You will never be able to get close enough to brush him though.

Misc headcanons:

-heads can be repurposed after death, like cadaver bones!

-the more popular headtype for modern business men and women is a laptop

-after what happened to Callum Crown, the answering machines function was completely separated from memory storage

-Snakes have syringes for heads

-peter and his wife are poly and want roger to be their third, but roger is as dense as a brick and peters too formal to just say it out loud.

-Harry and Jack are a couple in this universe, Jack is just a very odd boss to work for regardless

-Billy is Abel's kid. The mother is unknown. probably a one night stand.

-the swans miss randy :(

-there are a few headtypes that are banned for various reasons, one of which is having a megaphone AS your head.

-Roger is autistic and has a stutter, and sometimes has to use ASL to communicate. Peter knows ASL for this reason

-The Narrator could talk to the others, but only if it was an emergency

-all Dialtown OCs are canon. theyre in town somewhere, having fun and living their lives!

-Dialtown is bigger than shown in game, including the town square which has a fountain and a park surrounding it, as well as a skate park, rec center, arcade, a pizza place, etc.

-all the dateables have met satan at least once, they just didnt know thats who that was

-shooty and stabby are dating, theyre just very bromance about it. good for them...

-rotery phone heads are coming back in fashion as a sort of 'retro' vibe.

-getting prosthetics/emergency plastic surgery and medical care is actually quite accessible.

-jerry and his wife come visit dialtown every christmas soley so that gingi doesnt run all the way out there to visit them and get hopelessly lost. theyre doing quite well!

-there are competent members of the dialtown mob but they dont really do much other than hang out at the bar

if i think of anymore Ill let you know!! thanks for askin!

#dialtown #answered #text post #headcanon #sorry this was so bloody long

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thebatbites · 6 months

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MORE random hcs that will potentially appear in my rewrite

not all of them are headcanons, some of them are lore drops that i decided to throw in for funsies

ive had this sitting in my drafts for so long

[ link to my last hcs post in case ya missed it ]

aphmau is obsessed with dating sims (this was inspired by me discovering blooming panic)

aphmau is a compulsive doodler. to the point where she keeps a little notepad in her bag so she doesnt draw on her hands

laurence is visually impaired/going blind

travis, garroth, and katelyn have all gotten their tongues stuck to frozen lightpoles in their lifetime

dante & travis are childhood friends and travis had a crush on dante in highschool

katelyn and lucinda met in middle school and have had a weird love/hate relationship since

cadenza, kiki, and zoey live in a neighborhood close to the main cast

nana goes by [kandi/honey/sugar] not kawaii chan (there was no way i was keeping that stupid nickname. havent picked which nickname shed go by)

aphmau loves dating sims and got katelyn and nana hooked on them too

nana is actually a magicks user just like in mcd

she uses her little maids to do her chores around the house (katelyn and aphmau hate her for it)

aphmau had a fnaf hyperfixation and infected the entire group with it

aside from nana, who hates anything even remotely spooky

during halloween on mystreet, aaron has dressed up as ghostface

everyone lost their minds

aside from aphmau and katelyn, who laughed at everyone losing their minds

nana actually has an intense fear of relationships which is why she obsesses over other people's relationships because she romanticizes them in her head

garroth, despite also being of the fruity variety, is the friend who buys anything rainbow and gives it to his gay friends

laurence has been and will continuously be the main victim of this

garroth also has no idea what a lot of the flags mean despite everyone reminding him

katelyn has bpd

and he frequently wears crop tops to show it off too

travis is a lil sleepy guy. if hes not doing something important, you can and often will find him curled up snzzing

and we love him for it

aaron is the friend that carries around shit for his friends

specific stim toys for specific people (chewables and clicky keyboards for aphmau, a puzzle ball for zane, soft weighted plushies for nana)

hes got a man purse /hj

aphmau has two long, jagged, faded lines on her back that she was born with. they look like were once deep scars

but theyve never went away and only seemed to have gotten bigger??

while not a big practicer of the craft, travis seems to be really good with witchcraft and magicks

no one knows what his magicks is though because both lucinda and nana have said it feels off

aphmau used to scare zane in a weird way. which is why (aside from just hating everyone and everything) he avoided her for so long before they got close

that fear is gone though

...mostly

travis has dressed up as spiderman for several halloweens in a row

aphmau and zane have gotten hyperfixated on beetlejuice together and dressed up as bj and lydia for halloween and cons

not at all inspired by myself and my best friend wdym

okay this hc list is even longer. i was supposed to be writing but i ended up... not doing that.

anyway thats enough for today!! sorry for my absence im focused on actually pushing out the fucking rewrite instead of just yapping about it

#aphmau #mystreet #aphmau mystreet #aphverse #aphblr #aphblur #aphmau shalashaska #laurance zvahl #travis valkrum #zane romeave #nana ashida #katelyn aphmau #aaron lycan #garroth ro'meave #zane ro'meave #aphmau dante #rise of the phoenix #rotp

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egophiliac · 2 years

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hi, just wanted to say I've just started to get into Twisted Wonderland and binge read your comics and content for it, it was really fun to read! i love how you draw the different characters' expressions! im still super new to it (haven't played the game yet but i got kinda hooked on reading the main story after looking it up by chance) but id love to play it eventually! do you have any suggestions on what to look up/read next as far as character backstories/interactions go? ive really enjoyed the parts from the birthday events (? i think?) that you have done comics from, they sound really fun! thanks for your time!

oh boy, GET READY because the personal stories/vignettes are where the real meat lies. like, the main story is the main draw, of course, and for good reason -- I am champing as the start of episode 7 grows nearer -- but Twst's strength is definitely in its enjoyable characters and their slice-of-life interactions in Zany Magic School. and fortunately, there's a lot of them!

(sorry this got so long, I have many feelings about anime characters)

most of the stories and events don't have a specific chronology aside from taking place sometime after episode 2 of the main story, so once you've gotten that far you're good to jump in almost anywhere! (the more recent events, starting with Fairy Gala IF, are explicitly set after episode 6 -- though if you're going off of the English version then I don't think any of them have been released yet.) event cards also assume that you've gone through the event story first and usually have spoilers or references for it. otherwise there's no real order, so you can just pick a character you like or event you think looks interesting and go from there!

one of the things I really like about Twst is that interactions aren't limited to defined groups -- everyone has inter-dorm friendships and clubs and sub-friend groups and opinions on everyone else that range from "well, I don't know if we're exactly friends, but we study together sometimes" to "I would literally die and/or murder for him" (and sometimes "I would literally die and/or murder for him but he won't let me >:("). characters pop up in each other's stories all the time, and pretty much everyone gets some extra depth or development to them that doesn't come out in the main story, so I do think it's worth it to read through at least a few for every character.

like, if you just go through the main story, you only really get to see Nice Mom Friend Trey, and not that he's actually kind of a petty asshole who is weirdly obsessed with dentistry and goes around sticking his hands in people's mouths. everybody has things like that! Jade is super into mushrooms! Leona is a feminist! Malleus has an intense emotional attachment to his tamagotchi! Cater participates in shallow consumerism because nothing in life has any meaning and actually his friends are pretty worried about him!

tl;dr read everything because this game knows what it's about and that's ✨Characters✨

#twisted wonderland #some exec at the mouse house was like 'okay we have a big castle full of sparkly anime boys'#'what more do we need'#and from a shadowed corner comes the voice of a wise sage #'make them all so stupid. just the biggest dumbasses. there should be not a single braincell amongst them.'#'what...like...even the headmaster?'#'oh my god ESPECIALLY the headmaster'

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crushedsweets · 8 months

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Do you have and hcs of how Toby and Ben would act together? - Hoodie

YES SORT OF . u know the drill this is my au and bens story is one that i changed a lot so here we go :9

ok toby younger brother family trauma issues lonely grew up isolated etc. ben only child got killed by neighbor for absurd vr theory now inhabits a virus-ghost-form that he partially shares with several other dead kids.

toby and ben wouldnt have gotten along before ben died. only because ben was just. a 13 yr old boy addicted to video games ... those kids r mean, and toby was heavily bullied in his childhood. the ONLY reason bens not a huge dick anymore is bc his 'form' itself is fucked up (he glitches, he has an electronic vocal fry and occasional stutter from glitches, he has a weird glow to him, sickly drowned boy skin, veins look like those green code lines, red/black eyes, HE'S LITERALLY DRESSED LIKE LINK). bens not exactly insecure about any of this, but he knows damn well he cannot make fun of a tic without toby shooting back 10x harder.

which ok yeah kinda sad that ben has to look weird for him to not be mean but .. . like . . yeah. it is what it is.

they met mmm... maybe when toby was around 21? jeff would be 16, and ben wouldve been 14. SOOO toby doesnt really TRY to befriend ben. he's too old for him and has no interest in being besties w some kid. but he has a job to stop ben from tormenting people online and drawing attention to weird ghost sites and whatnot, so he started talking to all sorts of ai- cleverbot being the main, of course.

of all the proxies, tobys the only one ben likes. tobys a dick, but he has his moments where he's funny and gets distracted during a mission, so he's sat and rambled and bickered with the ai on slow nights. ben immediately knew everything about toby, because he has access to every single file on tobys computer, phone, etc.

ben SCARED THE SHIT out of toby upon their first meeting. he crawled out of tobys janky ass computer one day and toby nearly threw up from being so freaked out. yeah, he's killed people and whatever, BUT GHOSTS R FUCKING SCARY (and he has .trauma with ghosts and hallucinations of them (lyra)). ben already knew exactly who toby worked for, what toby was doing, and thought it was beyond funny. ben was the first being who already knew all the slenderman lore because he spends literally. every. second. on the internet. he is basically the internet. and he watches them, listens through their phones, watches, etc. he doesnt know the details perfectly tho cuz technology gets weird around slednerman/the operator. so toby thought that was helpful, in a sense.

so pretty quickly ben was fond of toby. thought he was like, that cool older brother of your friend. the main issue was the proxies at this time were trying to find and kill jeff because he was infected by the operator and slenderman deemed him 'too far gone.'

ben was actually the one who proposed the whole 'okay. so you want me to stop terrorizing kids online. fair. now ive noticed you keep trying to kill my friend(jeff). stop that and we can be cool :3'.

eventually they all came to some weird agreement where. ben will stop haunting people, the proxies will stop trying to kill jeff, jeff has to stop doing his 'full course' murders, and eventually, ben just likes them enough to start helping them with cctv, police files, etc. it was a complicated agreement that eventually ended in friendship, sort of?

they play video games together. eventually toby does see him as a little brother. it's kinda unsettling because the proxies realize just how much power ben has when it comes to just...... leaking everything. toby thinks that 'ok well, if ben leaks stuff about us, we leak stuff about jeff, and now he has no friends and is lonely, so he can't.' but tim and brian are legitimately freaked out at the thought of their lives being ruined anymore than they already are, so theyre pretty courteous to ben

ben will really just hang around. toby can just be eating breakfast and ben will pop up and ask whats up. he's annoying and clingy, and he can tell toby is biting his tongue half the time. . but toby is grateful sometimes. bens laid back and funny, and toby could use some laughs, so its a decent time for them both

again, overall, toby is just kinda too old for ben(although ben wouldve been a year older than toby if he was alive), but ben is really funny, he's nice to toby, he plays video games with him, he comes and checks in on him randomly. so toby appreciates having a freaky ghost little brother thing hanging around. bens one of his fave people (which is only saying so much when the other people he talks to are like . . jeff)

#ticci toby #ticci toby headcanons #ben drowned #ben drowned headcanons #hcs #creeped #lord do i talk.#um #hey.#sorry.#i hope this does talk enough about how they act around eachother #i just feel the need to explain hella context otherwise i'd feel my explanation on their friendship is too random LOL

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moonlit-dreamers · 19 days

Text

been doodling for a while and made this bullshit for @bloodmoons-knife long live the king fic/au

was originally just gonna be a doodle and figuring out wut she looks like then went "wait this looks like a meme-" and realized wut it was so i just. i just had to man

i swear ill draw lunar and binary soon OTL

reblogs appreciated :)

ramblings under le cut

about the art- i decided to take advantage of this moment to fuck around with my art style. they have noses (ik, wow, crazy) and i tried to let myself be as imperfect as possible (ofc i was still annoyingly nitpicky but- i still like how it all came out). i didnt even sketch a single one of these. was that a bit stupid? maybe. but it was still very fun to fuck around and find out

when drawing nebula i wanted to have him look both very soft and kind but also fucking exhausted. at first i was unsure if i had gotten the wet cat energy right until i put a photo next to it and i was like "yeah. thats a fucking soggy man."

rust is forever gremlin, even if they just turn into a teddy bear the moment eridanus picks them up.

eri was actually quite fun to draw since ive never drawn mermaids before but- no time like the present and a pretty lady who must be drawn.

but onto the fic! i am. incredibly normal about it (lying)

the dynamics between everyone is just so fun to read through. especially when theyre all here for similar reasons: grief and loss.

watching them all grow and learn to cope through each other is so sweet to watch. and even tho nebula seems to be more content watching them heal rather than healing himself they wont let him neglect himself any longer it seems :) theyre grabbing a towel and fucking getting him whether he likes it or not. and if they dont then i will.

im so curious as to how lunar will come to fit into all of this as well.

we r putting these beasts into situations and watching them fight to survive and its wonderful

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dekusleftsock · 10 months

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IVE BEEN A GOOD KID AND IVE ACTUALLY LET MYSELF LIKE. THINK ABOUT THE OFFICIAL TRANSLATIONS SO. HERE WE GO BITCHES.

(Along with some other things bouncing around, implications of togachako because of this chapter, maybe even a prediction? This is my FINAL THOUGJTS POST, unless ofc I notice something and I say it BUT HOPEFULLY THIS IS THE LAST AND ITS JUST GONNA BE ME BEING SILLY AND POSTING FANART)

1, i find it funny that Caleb said lickitung than Pikachu since that… totally doesn’t make sense nor was why Twice suggested the name. IDK IM A POKÉMON NERD AND AN MHA FAN SO I JUST FIND IT A LITTLE SILLY.

Like I think Horikoshi chose Pikachu bc it’s the most recognizable Pokémon, along with Himiko’s “chu-chu” noises she makes when she drinks blood ofc, but it was also probably suggested bc… Pikachu has the same blushies that Ochako has…

Not to mention the fact that Pikachu is also representative of Toga’s colors, those of course being red and yellow.

Lickitung makes no sense other than the fact that it paralyzes people/Pokémon by licking them and making them uncomfortable. It’s such a… random gen 1 Pokémon idfk. I can see WHY he chose it, because lickitung is supposed to be a friendly Pokémon that accidentally makes people uncomfortable, but I think Pikachu being said instead just makes far more sense; Pikachu is supposed to be a cute Pokémon. It’s origins in gen 1 were, “I want you to make the cutest Pokémon you can” and the artist Atsuko Nisida had to go through 3-5 iterations of pixel art (bc they would make the pixelated version for the game first AND THEN draw the Pokémon from that) before finally settling on what people call “fat Pikachu” which looked like this

Lickitung works ig by being a Pokémon that ultimately is harmless to people but just accidentally freaks people out and makes them off-put by them, but Pikachu fits much better in a chapter where Ochako calls Himiko’s smile, something we’re supposed to see as creepy, perfect/pretty/beautiful. Comparing her and her cuteness to something like Pikachu just seems like something twice would do anything bc he’s a sweetie like that.

ALSO ANOTHER THING FOR PEOPLE WHO KNOW NOTHING ABOUT POKÉMON: reguri is I think the most popular ship? That might be beat by Selena/ash and misty/ash, but regardless it’s super popular and also is EXTREMELY SIMILAR to bkdk.

This does depend on which version of them you’re talking about, but personally when I read pokespe (the most popular official Pokémon manga, there’s others but that’s just the most well known one) I always thought bkdk were so similar to red/blue to the point it was uncanny. At the time I thought “eh that’s just gay rival tropes there’s tons of other characters in other anime/manga/tv that are similar to them too” but after the mention OF Pikachu and Toga’s purposeful similarities I do wonder if horikoshi was a Pokémon fan in the 90’s during his childhood. That wouldn’t surprise me seeing as the games were such a booming success in Japan (literally it’s the most sold Pokémon games ever nothing has beat it since), so it would make sense if horikoshi was a secret Pokémon fan.

I mean, blues hair is even similar to bakugous but idk, maybe it’s a stretch.

They’re not childhood friends in pokespe, but they are childhood friends in the games, blue bullying him as they got older and pushing red away, red goes and has an emo arc on mount silver by himself without telling anyone, eventually comes down from that mountain in black and white 2 where red and blue are starting to be friends again, and I don’t think they’re seen again until sun and moon where they’re on vacation together in alola. There’s other outside game content that has just… progressively gotten more gay.

AGAIN, IM NOT SURE IF HORIKOSHI HAS READ THE POKESPE MANGA OR IF HE PUT THIS MUCH THOUGHT INTO IT! However I WILL say that if you enjoy bkdk you will probably enjoy reguri and the pokespe manga, especially since it has a more interesting plot than the anime or games, along with being less corny. It’s a lot more… I don’t wanna say graphic but honest? It wasn’t really made in mind that it would be targeted overseas like all the other Pokémon stuff, so it’s just more honest about environmental issues and pet abuse and things like that. Red and blues character arcs and friendship, along with Leaf’s character arc is very interesting just by itself, highly recommend.

MOVING ON… my Pokémon nerdiness aside, I love Himiko’s defiance to conform to hero society especially as a villain. Will she go against this vow because she sees herself as a full fledged villain? I wasn’t really sure.

She didn’t, which is great, but I also think those themes of pity and feeling like Ochako is still looking down on her… remind me exactly of Katsuki.

I also find this page and what toga says quite interesting.

Saying that she KNEW ochako was sad too, that’s a VERY interesting observation to make when thinking of someone you “hate”.

And I like the distinction that Ochako wasn’t afraid of Toga because of her smile being creepy, or that she was trying to harm her or tsu, but because she couldn’t understand why she was smiling during a fight.

More bakugou vibes/lines

If/when they ARE canon, explicitly and completely and all that, then that would make mha a, and idk if it’s the first, shonen GL + BL. That would be fucking crazy.

ALSO THIS? THIS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT AN IZU//OCHA MOMENT… let me explain.

It’s a couple of things: Ochako is not explicitly saying how she wishes she could talk about her love with Izuku, instead it seems to be more framed as talking ABOUT Izuku.

He’s not even looking at her, and she’s not looking at him; no, instead Ochako and Himiko are looking at each other, and talking about the importance to talk about your feelings openly, how she admires that quality to Himiko.

In a way this is Ochako saying “No, don’t become like him, this is why I admire you. That trait makes you admirable, it’s a trait I love in you.”

And lastly, that marriage proposal. Is it REALLY a marriage proposal? How romantic or platonic is this this scene?

Well, I went back and read chapter 348 to find out, and a little detail disregarded, not only by me but everyone else, was the line, “If you ask me, being a couple means being one and the same. Makes sense right? Nothing else… would fulfill my desires.”

And then ochako in 393, purposely bearing her feelings to Himiko and offering her blood to her? Even with this knowledge? The knowledge that Himiko would see this as a confession? Fucking crazy.

For all her flaws, I can perfectly picture why Ochako would prefer someone who sees romance like she does, openly unapologetic about her feelings like she is, over someone who can’t even see a teenage girls confession as an actual confession of love. Way to be selfish Izuku.

(God he would be SO offended at all the shit talking I’ve been doing to him recently HAHA! BUT HE NEEDS TO HEAR IT BC HES AN IDIOT WHO SHOULD BE TAKING HIS FEELINGS SERIOUSLY. How are you going to let the hot headed blonde kid that bullied you be better at this. HOW.)

So yes, I think this is so explicitly romantic, I literally thought this scene would never fucking happen because I KNEW how gay it was, how gay everyone KNEW it was—but god damn. Horikoshi you mad man.

#togachako #himiko toga #togaraka #togaocha #ochako uraraka #mha 393 #mha chapter 393 #mha deku #togachako brainrot

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nonbinaryeggrolls · 9 months

Text

Battle of the Larynx IV

Miguel O’Hara x afab!reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

Synopsis: Having Spider-Man as a boyfriend was becoming increasingly more difficult, and his reoccurring absence is tearing you apart

Warnings: SMUT (rough v & p penetration, use of the term “daddy”, oral f receiving, praise, degradation, breeding kink, unprotected sex,) ANGST to fluff to smut, self destructive Miguel, Wholesome Peter!, Y/N doesn’t get preggy let’s just imagine she’s on birth control, WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT BABES!

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

Spider society was bigger than you thought it’d be, SOOOO much bigger. Its 10x bigger than your university was. You and Peter walked silently down the empty halls

Peter: “Lyla you there?”, a woman in all white appeared on his watch greeting Peter, “Is he up there?” He asked

Lyla: “Yeah, he’s been up there for a while.” She responded, “Someone should go talk to him…”

Peter: “Thats all you kid, he’s in the only room on the top floor.” He smiled at you and you pulled him into a soft hug, thanking him for bringing you here.

His floor was quiet and a complete mess. Wires sparking all over the place from being ripped out the wall, desks broken in half and holes punched into the wall; but in the middle of all the wreckage you saw him in the middle of the room with his back turned away.

Y/N: “Miguel?”

Miguel: “…Y/N.” He looked broken when looked back at you, his eye bags were bigger than usual and he was downing countless boxes of empanadas that he had gotten from the cafeteria

Y/N: “Miguel stop you’re going to give yourself stomach cramps.” You ran over and sat down beside him, pushing the boxes of food away so you could sit beside him. You used the sleeve of your sweater and wiped away at the grease and crumbs that were littered all over his face. He kept opening his mouth to say something but no words managed to form, “Talk to me Miggy.”

He crumbled at the sound of his nickname, he didn’t know how much he missed hearing those two syllables until they finally left your lips. Tears started to fall down his cheek and soak your sleeve.

Miguel: “Did you…did you have sex with him?” He finally asked. At first you were confused and thought he actually wondered if he thought you and Peter had sex, but then your eyes widened and realized who he was talking about, “I was just trying to make sure you got home safe, a-and I saw the two of you. God I’m so sorry I pushed you away Y/N, I’m sorry I know I pushed you right to him but please just tell if you—

Y/N: “I’d never. I pushed him away.” He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. All night he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind; of another man giving you pleasure, making you scream, you moaning a name that wasn’t his. It destroyed him knowing how close he was to losing you to someone else

Miguel: “I’m so s—

Y/N: “I forgive you Miguel.” You said pulling him into hug and allowing him to rest on your chest, “I’m not mad anymore. I understand, you’re a really really complicated person but I know you love me. I know you regret the choices you’ve made these last few months you showed that when you opened up to me. That’s all I needed Miggy, was for you to open up to me and not leave me in the dark like you did every time before. I need you to let me be there for you like I need you to be there for me.” You rocked him back and forth and slowly you felt his breathing calm and his arms wrap tightly around your waist.

Miguel: “I’m so sorry for what I did…I don’t wanna hurt you like this ever again.”

Y/N: “You better not or I’ll have to fucking kill you”

You both giggled and he looked up at you through his puffy red eyes. Miguel draws you in closer and his smooth lips find yours in a passionate long awaited kiss. It’s soft and gentle then suddenly becomes desperate and feral. That warm sensation that you had once forgotten rushed through every corner of your body. You felt your body move on its own and start rocking against his thigh. He moves down to your neck and his breath on your skin makes you shiver

Miguel: “Can I take you home? Please cariño?” He begs and caresses your nipple with the pad of his thum

Y/N: “God yes. Please I want you so bad Miggy…

Miguel practically broke the door down to get into your bedroom, acting like a wild animal gnawing and prying at your baggy clothes. He craved you, it’d had been so long since he knew the warmth of your walls clenching around his cock

His suit disintegrated leaving him in his boxers that showed the outline of his erection and his toned structure. It leaves you hazy with desire. Fuck you missed it so badly, you felt a wetness soak your shorts just at the sight of him.

Miguel: “You’re so beautiful Y/N…so fucking prefect.”

Slowly, he kisses you starting at your lips, then to your neck, and down to your chest. Whispered praises leave his lips with every each kiss he lays on your body. However these ones felt different than all the other times, they felt desperate and needy. As if he was afraid that if he stopped now he’s never get the chance again

Miguel: “I don’t know what I’d do without you…I love you so much, I wanna love you for as long as I can. For as long as you’ll let me…” He lays one final kiss on your lips and presses your body up against his broad chest

Y/N: “Miggy please…” you moaned

Miguel: “What do you want baby? use your words.” He wrapped a firm grip onto your hair and pulled, exposing your neck even more and once again latching his lips on

Y/N: “Please, fuck me already!”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to draw this out as long has he could, make it meaningful, but seeing you in his shirt and those skimpy little rib knit shorts that hugged your ass so well made his member leak and throb

Miguel grabs you by your waist roughly before pushing your back onto the soft mattress. As he spreads your legs apart he palms himself and examines the dampness that is showing through your shorts. He hooks one finger on each side and slides them down revealing your slick pussy

Miguel: “No panties baby? You knew i was gonna fuck you this whole time didn’t you?”

Y/N: “No i didn— OH FUCK!” you screamed at the sensation of his tongue entering your heat and darted at a delicious speed

He ate like he was starving. His lips latched onto your clit, soon entering his ring and middle finger. The two curled and pressed against that spongy sweet spot repeatedly and you swore you saw stars

Miguel: “You taste so good baby, so fucking sweet. I missed this cunt so much.” He said between each lick on your clit.

With each passing moment you felt yourself grow closer and closer. The knot in your stomach grew tighter, god you were almost there

Y/N: “Fuck Miguel Im gonna cum. Fuck! please let me cum!” you pleaded and thrusted your pussy against his mouth

Miguel: “Shit cariño cum for me! Cum so I can rip you open with this dick!” He postponed his fingers into you

Y/N: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

With one last suck on your bud you feel the knot snap. Your eyes roll back and you spasm in his grasp as your orgasm hits you like a truck. Your legs tremble as you come down from your high. Miguel brings you into a sloppy and moist kiss mixed with both his saliva and your juices.

You feel his tip position at your entrance but a twinge of hesitation shows in his face

Y/N: “It’s okay Miguel, you can be rough with me. I want it to be just like before.” you say through heavy breathes

Miguel: “Are you sure?” He asks. You bring him into another kiss this time slower and deeper, grabbing onto his locks

Y/N: “Fuck me like you hate me.” you whisper in his ear

It was all the incentive he needed. He grips the meat of your thighs and rams his cock into your tight cunt, not caring if you needed time to adjust. Your cries go ignored as he bullied his dick into you at an unforgiving pace, each thrust making your walls cling to his girth.

The moans Miguel let out were downright pornographic and they filled the room. The room is filled with your combined screams, grunts, and the sound of your skin slapping against eachother

Miguel: “Oh my fucking god baby, you’re so fucking tight Aaagh! Look how fucking good your pretty little cunt is taking me. I SAID FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I FUCK YOU!” he screamed and pulled you in by your throat extracting a loud whimper from you

You couldn’t stop squirming in his hold, his cock was hitting every spot so perfectly

Miguel: “Look at it baby, look at the mess you’re making.” You glanced down at where the two of you connected. Your essence mixing together with his and glazing his shaft. The milky ring that started to form at the base of his shaft made Miguel’s cock twitch

Y/N: “Your so big Miggy, you stretch me so good every fucking time. No one fucks me like you do!”

Suddenly Miguel flips you over and shoves your face into the mattress. You feel a hard slap against your ass, it brings out a moan so sexy Miguel felt as if he could cum right then and there.

Miguel: “Fucking right baby nobody fucks this pussy like I do.” He groans while shoving his cock back in side of you, “If he ever tries to touch you again I’ll rip out his throat.” He whispers in your ear, his new possessiveness made you absolutely feral

His strokes are different now, they’re slow and deep

Y/N: “Miggy I’m so close, I’m almost there!” You sniffled

Miguel: “Beg for it, or I’ll pull out and leave you here to finish yourself off.” He lied of course, he was too close to cumming to stop now but he wanted to here you cry for his release

Y/N: “Please daddy! I want to feel you pump my pussy full of your cum. Please give it to me!” You cried with tears brimming from your eyes. His eyes widened at your request, you had never asked him to cum inside you before

Miguel: “Good Girl. GOOD. FUCKING. GIRL.” He growled putting a harsh thrust between each word

Miguel: “Fuck…Uuugh Fuck baby! I’m so close, so fucking close. I’m gonna paint you with my seed ~fuck~. You want that cariño? Want me to fuck my babies into you? Take daddy’s cum like a good little slut. FUCKING TAKE IT!”

Y/N: “OH FUCK MIGGY!”, You clench around Miguel one last time as he pulls a violent orgasm from you

Miguel throws his head back letting out the most guttural moan you had ever heard from him and finally finishes inside you. His hips spasm and shake, refusing to move until he was sure you took ever drop of him. He stays hurried inside you for a few more seconds then eventually pulls out his softening member.

Your breathing settles and you feel Miguel lay down and pull you in next to him, it brings you so much peace hearing his heartbeat again. His hands loving rub down your back and strokes your shoulder blades, something Miguel regularly did if he thought he was a little too rough during sex. It was silent for the next few minutes, but not an uncomfortable one, one that allowed the two of you to enjoy each other’s warmth.

Miguel: “It feels so good to be back in a bed I can fit in, Peters twin size was terrible.” You both chuckled

Y/N: “Oh my god that must have been awful, I’m sorry no wonder you looked like you hadn’t slept in days.”

Miguel: “Don’t be, I did it to myself…I was kind of a dick.” He said and pulled your head into his chest

Miguel never wanted to stop feeling like this, he never wanted to stop feeling safe with you. He’d never forgive himself for how he treated you but he’d spend whatever time he had with you making it up to you. And he prayed to whatever God or presence that ruled over this world, that the canon wouldn’t take you from him. For the first time in a long time Miguel was truly, effortlessly happy.

Miguel: “You know you were never a replacement, right baby? I don’t need you to be anyone else but you.”

Y/N: “I know…I love you Miguel.”

Miguel: “I love you too Y/N, always.”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #peter parker #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #miguel angst #miguel o’hara angst #miguel x y/n #miles molares #gwen stacy #atsv #miguel smut

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