#stressed + stresses= morbid plans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

politemenacephd · 3 months

Text

Arachnophilia: (Part Fifteen)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Heavy Voyeurism/Mild cuckoldry, Fingering, Bondage, Praise kink, Oral (reader recieving and giving), PinV sex, Creampie, Breeding kink, Size difference, Monsterfucking, Masturbation.

Word count: 6200 Notes: this really might be the most smuttiest smut i've ever done, this shit made me blush writing it, jfc pls enjoy

You’d hoped to get home to Mig as soon as you left Miguel’s office, but at the last minute you were been called to help wrangle an escaped Lizard with a few other lower-level spiders.

You hated not being able to message Mig about your whereabouts. He knew you might be gone for most of the day but you knew he’d worry regardless, and with nothing to distract his mind it must be so much worse.

You took a few dangerous risks while trying to capture the escapee just to get it done faster, risks that your colleagues absolutely noticed. When they asked what you were thinking and you just awkwardly shrugged them off, you saw in their eyes the same mix of morbid curiosity you saw in everyone now.

Everyone knew. You couldn’t avoid it now. Whether Miguel had snapped after your fight and spread it even wider you didn’t know, but you knew you’d just have to learn to live with the universe’s judgement.

You were dating a spider. Big deal. Everyone here was a spider in some way or another, and nobody looked at MJ weirdly.

By the time you returned to Mig’s universe it was getting dark, with the sky a messy palette of dark red and purple above the darkened silhouette of the pines. You called up to Mig after dropping the tech you’d brought at the base of the nest.

‘MIG! Babe, you okay?’

‘Ah, mi arañita!’

You paused, your hand hovering over the rope ladder. Did he sound okay? You tilted your head as you replayed his voice. That was weird, he sounded almost worried? Was he still stressed out?

You grappled onto the rope and tore your way up to the entrance.

‘Hey! I’m okay Miggy, don’t worry!’

‘Arañita! Don’t—’

You grabbed the door right as he spoke, but you didn’t hear the last part of his sentence as you grunted to get over the edge.

‘Hey baby! Are you—’

You jumped out of your skin as you pushed the door aside, only barely catching yourself from falling back out and onto the earth below.

‘AH—WHAT—YOU?!’

Miguel was sitting in the nest, his body perched on one of the stools to the right side of the central fire. He didn’t even look up as you entered, but Mig rushed to steady you from falling.

‘Arañita, are you okay?’ he whispered. You didn’t hear; you were utterly fixated on Miguel.

‘What are you doing here?!’ you snapped.

Miguel narrowed his eyes, still refusing you eye contact.

‘Change of plans. Until you fill out the full paperwork to sanction this relationship, I’ve filed for an emergency supervision order. I need to be sure that you’re not breaking any rules.’

You were incredulous. Wait, is this what he’d meant? Was he really that petty? This man who was supposed to be in charge of the multiverse?

‘What- what the fuck are you— Why not put a camera up? Why not fucking warn us first?’ you snapped, your hands flying wildly as you pointed between him and the nest.

‘You could turn off a camera’ Miguel noted. ‘Besides, it’s a waste of resources.’

‘Oh, and the head of the society wasting his night watching us personally wasn’t a waste of resources?’ you argued back.

Miguel was keeping a straight face, but his smug aura radiated out of him like pus. He simply curled his lip and scoffed. ‘My job is to avoid anomalies. I’m doing that now, by ensuring that you’re both… following orders, and remaining on birth control, and that you’re not getting hurt. It seemed- the right approach, to me, as boss.’

‘You don’t need to watch us to prove that!’ you snapped back. ‘Put a- tracker in my fucking patch or something, or let me do the check ups like we agreed!’

Miguel had the audacity to yawn as you stared at him with an open mouth and clenched fists. ‘I could. But that would be a breach of your physical rights, you’d have to sign off on it, and you haven’t gone through the company mandated relationship therapy or de-escalation training. We need to agree the terms of surveillance. Until then it seemed safest to keep you on observation. That’s all.’

You opened your mouth to argue back but Miguel was faster. He raised his hand, halting you in your tracks, as those cold red eyes lingered on your face. ‘Or, would you rather hand over your watch?’ he said, his voice dipping as he spoke.

Your eyes narrowed until it hurt, your forehead furrowing with the injustice of it all.

‘You—You petty bitch.’

Both Mig and Miguel seemed startled by your language. You pointed your finger squarely at Miguel’s face, your lips drawn back over your bared teeth.

‘You petty bitch. You really think I’ll let you do this? Signing off orders so you can invade my space, because I wouldn’t sleep with you?!’

Miguel’s lips twitched. Was he holding back the urge to smile?

Mig, in contrast, looked horrified. His eyes darted between the two of you.

‘He- arañita, I-I don’t understand’ he stammered. You looked at him with nothing but sympathy in your eyes.

‘Your variant, there, revealed that apparently while I was in heat, he was hoping to— what did you say Miguel? Help me out? Ease that, hormonal pain? Something as slimy as that, anyway. He even asked why I picked you over him, and now he’s here, what a fucking surprise, huh?’

‘Mm. That’s quite the accusation. Shame you don’t have any evidence’ Miguel noted as he admired his claws.

You felt Mig beside you bristling violently.

‘You… Is this true?’ Mig murmured. He was addressing Miguel, not you, which was a comfort. He clearly believed you, as he was clutching you so tightly against his side that it was crushing your ribs.

‘Yes’ Miguel said. ‘It’s true. Of course I was interested. They reeked of heat, it was distracting. Repulsive almost. The most- desperate stench. But, that was supposed to stay between us. And it will. Because like I said, it’s your word against mine.’

‘You—’

Mig took a step forward but froze again when Miguel raised his claw, pointing it directly at your watch.

‘Again. I will remove your watch if you don’t follow the societies rules. Understand?’

You and Mig both glanced at each other. The hopelessness in your eyes was clear; you could lose your watch, and then you’d lose Mig. With a frustrated huff you turned and stormed across the nest. ‘Fucking—asshole’ you hissed beneath your breath.

Mig followed and caught you in his arms as you practically fell into his lower abdomen. You allowed his fur to muffle your continued insults.

‘It’s okay arañita. We’ll be okay.’

His soothing words were like honey, warm and sweet after a long and exhausting day. You settled into his grip.

‘So- fucking unfair’ you grumbled into his fluff. Mig didn’t disagree.

‘You need to learn some accountability’ Miguel snapped across the room. ‘You chose to do this. You chose to put yourself in a situation where you could cause an anomaly, and even though I can’t bring it forward in formal writing, you decided as a member of my society to get close to someone who is a threat. Now its my job to make sure you’re safe.’

You felt Mig breathing on your neck as he turned to watch his counterpart. His lips parted as he tasted the air with his tongue, feeling the brewing tension in the back of his throat.

In his heart, something was changing.

He’d spent so much of his life terrified of the man before him. Miguel had posed himself as the better O’Hara, the superior O’Hara, the one who knew what was best for him. But, was that true?

Mig had been told he wasn’t safe, worthy of love or affection. He was disgusting compared to Miguel, a monster in the flesh, and yet he’d soothed his self-loathing by promising that they were at least both monsters inside. Both bound to abstinence for the greater good.

And this hypocritical scum, now sitting in his nest, had tried to steal his arañita from out under his paws? How could he?

But you weren’t with Miguel, were you? Mig looked down at you as his rage boiled over. His poor arañita, nestled into his fur. No, you were with him. You’d slept with him, and you were still alive.

You’d looked him in the eye, knowing what he’d done, and you’d said he was still beautiful to you. You said you’d stay. Not with Miguel, but with him, the monster.

In his heart, something was definitely changing.

‘Fine. Miguel, you may stay’ Mig bluntly replied. ‘I’ll let you observe.’

Miguel, ignorantly assuming Mig’s concession was a sign of him backing down, took a step forward. He had such a smug look on his face.

‘Good. If you want to continue this charade, then you have to—’

Miguel’s words turned to muted gibberish as you squeaked. Mig had grabbed you between his forelegs and arms, and while Miguel had been preparing his self-righteous speech, he’d lifted you up into the air. This wouldn’t have been that unusual spare for one thing: Mig had shifted his fluffy little foreleg between your thighs, and now it was lightly probing at your clothed pussy.

Miguel just stared, too blankly shocked to respond.

‘Mi arañita, I’m so glad you’re home. I missed you so much.’

Mig purred softly as his hands began to grope you in a similar manner. He cupped your chest and your waist with his clawed fingers, lightly ripping the fabric to reveal the tender skin beneath. He prodded your clit a second time and noted the way you squirmed.

‘M-Mig, fuck—that’s, sensitive—’

‘Mmhm. Soft little pretty spider’ Mig breathed. ‘So, so pretty… Let me help you relax.’

‘What- the, f- what the fuck are you doing?’ Miguel spat in disgust.

Mig’s foreleg continued to squish against your clit, the fluffy appendage moving in neat little circles over the bunched-up fabric. He pushed it in until your lips were perfectly highlighted by the thin silk. You felt Miguel staring.

‘F-Fuck—’ Your legs kicked involuntarily as a whimpered moan escaped you.

‘I said, what do you think you’re doing?!’ Miguel repeated louder.

‘I’m just abiding by the rules, sir’ Mig hissed. ‘If you want to observe, then you may observe. But this is my home, and I’ll act how I usually would on my own territory.’

It clicked for you then, still suspended in a potent mix of embarrassment and pleasure, what Mig was doing. You caught Miguel’s eye. This selfish asshole, who’d hounded and followed and attempted to embarrass you at every turn, was now stuck here watching Mig ravage your body. Against your better judgement, you were filled with the sheer thrill of embarrassing him right back.

You gave in and relaxed in Mig’s grip. ‘M-Miggy, fuck—more, please—’

You whimpered as he moved in to kiss your neck. His full lips were warm and wet on your jugular. You felt his tongue on your skin, his claws kneading your chest. A full body shudder went through you as he gently bit down and sucked.

‘F-Fuck- Mig—’

He was rough on your neck, his fangs easily piercing down through the soft flesh. It was a potent mix of pain and pleasure, especially with his paw still massaging your clit. Your blood was pumping at this point. Your pussy throbbed in short bursts with each tender caress.

‘You—Y-You—’

To his horror, Miguel stammered. He couldn’t even find the words to berate you with. All he could do was stand and stare, eyes fixated on this ravenous display of sexual need, powerless and confused.

‘Mm—mm—’ Mig released your neck with a wet pop and a satisfied grunt, revealing a deep red and blue hickey mark. He kissed it once.

‘Mm- you like that, arañita? Mi tesoro?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, fuck—so much. I missed you so much.’

Miguel continued to stare as Mig dropped you to the mattress. He watched his variant crawl across you, with his abdomen rustling and his soft paws tapping. He was drooling venom, practically shaking with the adrenaline rush of having an audience to his physical validation.

You reached out and sleepily welcomed him with open arms, drawing him down with your arms around his neck.

‘Let me mate with you, arañita’ Mig begged, his voice muffled as he kissed your neck. ‘Please. I need you. I need you. Te necesito, mi tesoro, te lo pido por favor.’

‘Yes’ you breathed, ‘yes. Please.’

Miguel snapped his eyes away and gripped the edge of the nest with his claws. He couldn’t stand this. If he left, he was a liar, but if he stayed he had to endure this show. He could tell you to stop, but, could he force you to stop?

He could have theoretically started a fight. He could have. He could have continued barking at you to stop.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, eyes on the wall and arms folded, trying to ignore your sweet little whimpers as Mig tore your suit aside.

He drew you close with his spider legs and began to spin a silken web across your bare skin, easily turning and spinning your body. He was soft, dexterous, so alien on your human skin. Such a filthily delicious taboo.

You lay back and let your monster bind you. You succumbed to him far too easily.

Mig spun you into a shibari style tie, with a neat little spider web on your chest and your hands tightly bound at your sides. He finished by binding your ankles with webbing he’d attached from the ceiling, using it to draw them up until they were taut and spread, with your hips right at the same height as where his phallus would emerge.

‘There. Perfect. Are you comfortable, arañita? In my web?’ he asked.

‘Y-Yes’ you rasped.

You watched Mig give an affectionate grunt as he admired you from above. He was huge. You saw his abdomen twitching and rustling with anticipation, the black fur faintly glowing the same red as his eyes.

‘Mig’ you whimpered, your lips pathetically wet. You were so hot it hurt.

‘Arañita…’

Mig purred as he put his clawed hand on your naked rear, giving your right ass cheek a firm squeeze. He wanted to look at your tight little hole, desperately dripping and clenching around nothing, aching for attention. You felt him brush one calloused finger against it and jolted in place.

‘That’s my little spider’ he purred. You felt him circling his finger around your entrance, stroking that velvety flesh until you whined.

‘Mi tesoro, my precious thing. Let me see how much you’ve missed me.’

He pushed two fingers in and you melted. The moan that escaped your lips was loud enough to echo, loud enough to grate on Miguel’s ears until he hissed.

He was trying not to look. He was facing the wall, body rigid as stone, but the noises were getting to him regardless. His mind kept imagining what you felt like.

‘You were supposed to be observing, sir’ Mig noted. He was still fucking you with his fingers, still spreading you wide as you dribbled over his hand, but his eyes were fixed on his counterpart now.

Miguel refused to turn. His eyes darted, once, and he immediately felt that disgusting flush rising in his cheeks.

‘I’ll- kill you, I swear to god’ Miguel seethed.

‘You can just go’ Mig offered. He was aggravatingly calm, the only emotion in his voice the slight pant of arousal from feeling you clench around his fingers. ‘If you’re- uncomfortable, with how I conduct myself with my mate.’

‘I can’t just, go, I am stationed here’ Miguel spat. ‘YOU could have some human dignity and cover yourself up!’

‘This is my home. My territory. THIS is my territory’ Mig replied coldly, emphasising the word ‘this’ by pushing his fingers as deep as he could. You bucked your hips and cried out in response, something that make Miguel’s stomach knot.

‘It is normal for- males, to assert their territorial claim. You’ve given me no other option. Besides, aren’t you curious? Since you’re so- good, and abstinent. Right? That’s what you told me, so how about I show you what it looks like?’

Miguel was forced once more to look away. The sound of you moaning, the sound of you pathetically whimpering, and worst of all the wet slap of Mig’s hand against your pussy as he pulsed his fingers in and out, it was stirring up something potent in him.

Anger and arousal flooded his mind. He was fighting to not throb. He couldn’t allow it, he couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself if he got enjoyment from this.

But, fuck you sounded so wet. You’d probably swallow him whole, begging and whining the whole time. Were you a little brat when fucked, complaining about it being too big, or did you beg for more? No. You probably took it all, your eyes covered in those pretty little tears as you were fucked raw.

He violently shook his head as if that would clear his thoughts, but your body cruelly decided to cum right as he was reaching the peak of his tether.

‘F-FUCK—’

Your back arched as that sweet release flooded over you. All you could see was Mig’s smug, fang-filled grin as he felt your insides clench, his enormous spider legs pattering back and forth to indicate his own excitement.

‘There you go. Well done, mi amor, you feel so pretty when you cum.’

Your body went limp as your orgasm sapped all your energy away, but Mig wasn’t done. He shifted himself down between your spread thighs and began licking up your slick with his flat, wet tongue, that warm muscle flicking deliciously right on your overstimulated clit.

You screamed, unabashedly, in a way that drove Miguel mad.

With a wet pant Mig pulled back just to slather you with praise. ‘Estas mojadita, mm- Quiero explorar tus sabores, arañita.’

You knew he was speaking deliberately to provoke Miguel, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed it even more that way.

He settled down to gently suck on your clit, his red eyes fixed on Miguel’s rigid form in the corner. The man was trying his hardest to stay sober but his eyes kept darting, and every time they did Mig widened his lips and ran his full tongue across your folds, wilfully dribbling hot spit and venom down your sensitive lips.

Miguel quickly looked away, but he just kept looking back.

You kept wincing from the overstimulation, your wet lips parting and then pursing hard to avoid screaming again. You must be so god damn sensitive, he thought. Such a fucking brat. Crying over a tongue like that.

He felt his cock throb and struggled to adjust his suit. He wondered what you tasted like. He’d never got to taste one before. It probably tasted amazing.

‘Mm… so soft…’ Mig murmured, his voice muffled by your pussy as he continued his rabid smothering of your cunt with his tongue. He wasn’t skilled so much as desperately passionate, and god knows it was enough.

‘Wish—I could eat you right up—all of you, all of you, mm—’

His eyes were dangerously red, but you were too close to cumming to care. His claws dug into your hips as he pulled you into his mouth, his lips soft as they ravenously made out with your clit.

You came quickly the second time.

‘FUCK—’

As you shuddered in his grip his entire body shivered, a low rustle emanating from his abdomen as it visibly shook.

‘Ahh.. ah, good arañita, that’s it’ he breathed dreamily. He was still licking, still lapping up everything he could, to the point that his spit was sliding and dripping down your thighs and rear and back.

Once you collapsed with exhaustion for the second time, Mig began to move in. He couldn’t wait a second longer. His cock was painfully erect, having sprung from the slit on his abdomen the moment he tied you down, and it was aching for you.

‘Here. Help get me wet’ he said softly.

You looked up to find Mig bent over your bound head, his thick shaft lightly pulsing about an inch from your lips. You could see each black vein pulsing, the tip already smeared in pearly cum. In a trance you licked it.

‘M-mm—that’s it, that’s it.’

It was adorable the way he shivered at just the lightest brush of your tongue. He let you take the tip into your mouth and gently suck on it a little. Fuck, you thought, his cum was sweet. Strangely sweet. The sensation of warm, heavy, throbbing skin on your tongue was mesmerising.

After a few wet licks Mig gently released your mouth with a wet pop. With everything now utterly saturated and sopping, he moved to fuck you instead.

‘Shh, that’s it’ he soothed. You stirred in your bindings as he mounted your strapped body.

‘I’ve got you. You can take it.’

With both hands on your ankles, Mig drew you body up and began to penetrate. Instinctively you squirmed.

‘A-Ah--!’

‘Shh, shh. You’re so tight, mi tesoro. Can you loosen up for me?’ Mig affectionately whispered. You tried your best to relax as he edged deeper but with an audience it was hard. His thick veined cock was pulsating hard, stuck with only about a fourth of it inside you.

In truth, Mig was enjoying it. He would never hurt you, but, was his ego slightly peaked at how big he looked inside you? Absolutely. Spiders were judged on their size, after all, and that primal part of his brain loved feeling so large. He wanted Miguel to see you spread wide on his cock.

‘Shh, you can do it. You’ve done it so many times before, arañita.’

Another subtle jab, one that made Miguel sneer.

Mig gave himself plenty of time to fit. He’d pump a few times, gently stretching you out, and when it proved too tight he moved to licking you instead. He’d let his cock slide out and replaced it with his tongue, eagerly slathering every inch of your pussy with venom and spit. The venom helped ease the ache and the spit was lubricating enough, and after three or so tries he bottomed out.

You whimpered as he settled himself inside you. Yes, you’d taken him many times, but it always took you by surprise. You were stretched to the limit, your belly bulging, his thick shaft putting a heavy pressure on your muscles that you felt whenever you moved. When he throbbed it pulsed through your entire body.

He could see those pretty little tears on your lashes as you grappled with the pressure, the light pain in your core.

‘F-Fuck… ‘s so big, fuck—’ you whined.

‘You’re doing so good’ Mig praised. He vibrated his abdomen just a little to help ease the ache, as it allowed his shaft to gently vibrate against your insides. Your body shuddered at the unusual sensation. ‘Shh, you’re doing so, so good. That’s it. You’re taking it so well.’

Slowly, Mig started to move.

His whole body arched as he thrust into you, the power of each movement making your thighs and ass jiggle on impact. He loved feeling how soft you were, how squishy and comparatively small you were against him, how his claws sank into your bare skin. He started to pant.

‘Ah… ah, that’s it.’

In the corner Miguel was wincing. His eye kept twitching from the strain of not looking, and now the soft thwap of your mating was ringing in his ears. He couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t take his humiliation. He couldn’t take it.

‘Ah-- Maybe I’ll, rip that patch off, arañita’ Mig purred. He was pushing the limits in this pussy drunk state, pushing every button that Miguel possible had.

‘I think—you deserve a belly full of my babies, don’t you, sweetheart?’ he panted. ‘I want to see what you do with my seed. Let- let me fill you, please, pretty little spider. Let me get you pregnant.’

It was too much. Miguel snapped. He rose to his feet and stormed forward in a blind rage, his claws spread and ready to tear you both apart.

‘¡QUÉ CABRÓN ERES!—’

But then he faltered. Once actually face-to-face with the mirror image of himself he weakened, because Mig was, as you’d noted before, huge. He was bent over to fuck you but still had to look down at Miguel, his red eyes burning in the dim light. His fangs were bigger, his claws sharper, and his body heftier from carrying such weight.

Miguel froze. He’d always seen Mig cowering or backing down, too afraid of his own strength to show it, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. To his great shame, Mig saw the hesitation in his eyes. The spider’s lips curled into a soft smile.

Mig continued to move inside you, openly panting onto his counterpart’s face with each hard thrust.

‘Mm—mm—mmf—’

You jolted slightly with each pump as your belly bulged.

Beneath the two you were helpless, your body small and bound. You were inches away from Miguel’s thick thighs, his carefully contoured pelvis sitting right above your face. You saw his suit throb and desperately tried to look away.

‘You— Y-You—’ Miguel bared his teeth in a desperate attempt to regain control, but his eyes gave away his own perverted thoughts. He was losing. His breath was hot and his cheeks were the colour of burnt umber.

You let out another pitiful whine as Mig arched himself back, allowing just half of his shaft to pump into you so he was rubbing your g-spot. You immediately swooned, a slurry of mewls and moans dripping from your wet lips.

Miguel couldn’t help it. He looked down.

Right in front of Mig he looked down at you, bound and helpless beneath, brainlessly taking that monstrous cock right into your guts.

His lips parted, flashing just an inch of fang. His own lips were wet at this point.

‘F-Fuck’ he grunted.

He could see it pulsing in and out. He could see the glistening slick coating his abdominal fur, thick and sticky and hanging in strings. He could see the way your cunt stretched to swallow every inch of Mig’s shaft. How could you let out those soft, needy moans when you were impaled like that?

‘Fffuuuccck’ he repeated in a low whine.

‘Mine.’

Mig hissed that word with dangerous intent, right in Miguel’s face. He continued to pant on him as he pumped, and Miguel continued to watch you get fucked. His hand was shaking at this point.

‘Sweet arañita, who do you belong to?’ Mig panted.

You felt his cock slipping right up against your velvety little cunt and abruptly clenched, involuntarily squirting slick all over his soft fur. It clung to his fur in pearly strings, and he gave an approving grunt as he felt it.

‘Arañita, mi amor, your body is too kind, but I need your words’ he whispered. He was unnervingly calm as he rocked inside you.

‘I-I’m yours’ you dumbly panted. You were rewarded with another toe-curling insertion, that perfectly timed grind which pushed his fat girth into your spot. A flood of aching pleasure forced you to squirt again.

‘MMF- Mmm, Mig!’

‘That’s it, good arañita. You’re all mine’ Mig praised a second time.

Miguel couldn’t stop watching. It was maddening.

Instinctively his hand began to creep downward, his fingers shaking as they drifted to your swollen clit. He wanted to feel how wet it was, how warm, but the moment he drifted over your lips he was forced back by Mig.

The larger spider hissed violently, his pale green venom pooling and dribbling from his mouth. A little bit hit Miguel’s cheek as he fell onto his backside.

‘Mine’ he repeated. ‘I’ll let you look, but you don’t touch.’

The embarrassment was unbearable. Miguel scowled, torn between a desire to leave and a desire to fight. Those urges he’d desperately tried to avoid were ruining his brain.

Seeing Miguel’s obvious distress, Mig decided to make it so much worse. He wasn’t done humiliating his other half, not yet.

‘Unless, they want you to’ he panted. Mig pulled back and gently tilted your body so you’d catch Miguel’s eye, all while maintaining his wet probing of your cunt.

‘Do you want him, arañita? Or do you want me?’

At this point you’d been fucked dumb, and you were barely coherent. You were drooling onto the silk, your thighs saturated in slick and sweat, your legs trembling from overstimulation as he continued to fill you like a toy.

‘You’ you whined with zero hesitation, ‘you, I want—you, please, Mig, more—’

You didn’t see the overt disappointment in Miguel’s face, the bruising of his ego. You didn’t see the jealousy in his face as Mig groaned.

‘You sure?’ Mig purred. His gratification was fuelling his over-confidence, as was the sweet release of feeling wanted after years of neglect. ‘You wouldn’t want some extra?’

‘Mm—want—you, p-please—f-fuck its so good, so—big— you’re amazing, Mig.’ Your words were slurring each time he pumped his cock, but he heard you loud and clear.

‘Even though I’m a- filthy, half-way spider?’ he coaxed. ‘Even though I’m- a monster?’

‘Yes- f-fuck, you’re my spider’ you whined.

His whining got louder, his moans turning to pathetic whimpers. He seemed more aroused by that than anything else.

‘Ah- you want me to mate with you?’ he pleaded.

‘Yes, yes—please.’

‘You want my babies, arañita? You want me to impregnate that pretty little body? Get you nice and full?’

‘Yes, yes, fuck—’

Those soft words tipped you over the edge as you orgasmed for the third time, your desperate moans echoed out into the wider forest. Mig savoured them with a look of pure ecstasy on his face. ‘F-fuck, you’re- so tight—good arañita, so good, well done’ he breathlessly praised.

Miguel wanted nothing more than to break his counterparts chiselled face. He could feel his claws extending, his heart pounding. He was itching for a fight. But, if he fought him, he’d have to stop watching. Those soft sounds were addictive as they floated through his mind, lulling him like a siren call.

Miguel took another look at your glassy eyes and wet lips, your body shimmering with sweat as you moaned. He felt himself throb. It was, in a way, easing his rut, by vicariously experiencing this primal breeding.

It was mortifying, but he stayed. He stayed back and watched as Mig continued to mate you.

‘Mm- fuck they’re so tight’ Mig moaned, now directly addressing Miguel. ‘So- soft, so- tight—so small. Can’t, wait to fill them—’

‘You’re disgusting’ Miguel spat.

Mig didn’t even seem to hear. His eyes were half closed, his lips parted as he felt your sweet cunt squeeze the life out of him.

‘Mm—mm—mi arañita—mine’ he repeated, over and over with each thrust. Miguel buried his face in his knees.

The clap of his fluffy abdomen on your bare ass filled the nest as he started to get rougher. He looked high, his eyes almost pink in the dim light. Every part of him was shaking.

‘Ah—I’m inside them—I’m inside them—’

You squeaked as Mig started to push your ankles back, curling your spine so he could get deeper. He’d involuntarily covered the floor in webbing from his sheer excitement. He was like a man in rapturous prayer.

‘I’m inside them-- they’re mine—’

Each wet thrust was now splashing slick as Mig began to verbally pant. He was spanking your body with each insertion, releasing the most obscenely lewd noises.

‘Okay, I’m close- I’m close, fuck—stay still for me arañita, that’s it—’

With a guttural groan Mig aggressively ejaculated inside you, his abdomen jerking and grinding to get each spurt as deep into your cunt as possible. You welcomed the thick warmth as it soothed your stretched out muscles.

Miguel had no choice. His pride wouldn’t let him leave, so he watched Mig cum inside you.

He fixated on your face as it happened, his sharp eyes watching the drool pooling from your open lips as your eyes rolled. He sneered, trying to disguise his jealousy with disgust. He could have done that easily, he told himself, he could have filled you just as well.

‘Ah…. Fuck, are you okay arañita?’

As Mig gently rocked to a halt he bent to check your face, tenderly nestling your cheek. You could only moan in response.

‘I’m- so, good—so, so good…’

Mig let out a soft sigh of relief. Somehow, the tenderness of his aftercare seemed to disgust Miguel more than anything else he’d seen. He was scowling openly as Mig gently slid himself out and admired his work.

‘Pretty little spider… Do you want to see?’

Miguel was taken aback as Mig addressed him directly. The larger man had his hand on your suspended hips, his eyes glowering in the candlelight.

The two narrowed their eyes almost in unison. Miguel knew he should leave, but he was too far gone at this point to stop. It was over. He was a beaten dog of a man, so why not indulge once more? He silently walked across the room to admire your quivering body.

‘Is that okay, arañita?’ Mig whispered to you. You nodded, and with a grunt Mig lifted your hips for Miguel to see.

You were utterly soiled at this point. Mig put his huge hand on your rear and tilted you gently, showing off the thick white seed oozing down your thighs. He made a point to push some back inside you with his finger, only for even more to squish out. You were stuffed.

Miguel shamefully relished the sight. It was strangely soothing, like he was tricking his brain into thinking he’d finished himself and could therefore ease the rut he was in.

‘This is mine’ Mig purred, his claw squeezing your right cheek until it left a red imprint. ‘This beautiful little creature, is mine. Understood?’

As Mig quietly addressed Miguel again he made a point of sealing your entrance shut with his web, excreting a thick and sticky plug right over your cunt. You oomphed as he did.

‘Yes’ Miguel hissed through gritted teeth.

‘And you won’t stop me enjoying them’ Mig added coldly. ‘I… I, deserve this. I’m not a threat. I’m not like, you.’

Mig felt you proudly shuffle your hips into his palm.

‘I’m not a threat’ he repeated. ‘And you can hound us all you want. I’m done with you now. I have… I have them.’

As you rolled and moaned on the floor Miguel felt his nose involuntarily wrinkling. He was still a mess of anger, resentment, and arousal, all of which were fighting each other in a gut-churning mess. All he knew is, he couldn’t stay here another minute.

‘You’re both animals. You deserve each other’ he grunted.

Miguel stormed towards the nest’s entrance as Mig began to cut you free. ‘I’ll finish my watch outside’ he called over his shoulder, and when Mig’s only response was to chuckle he snarled.

Miguel pushed open the door and jumped to the ground, his feet thumping as he hit the cold forest floor.

As he moved into position to watch he could hear you giggling above him in the nest. He couldn’t make out what you were saying but you sounded happy. Mig sounded happy too, with his soft words and his gleeful chuckles.

Miguel breathed out, hard, his breath turning to vapor in the air. The forest was a sea of black and white, with no illumination spare the pale, draining light of the moon.

He stood, rigid, as he listened to you and Mig laughing upstairs.

And then he palmed his crotch. He rubbed himself hard, his calloused fingers feeling each inch of his own fat girth.

His breath came a little faster. His blood was pumping in the cold air, his body steaming. With a desperately muffled moan he phased his suit away at the groin and began to stroke his cock.

‘Fuck…. Fuck, fuck—’

He was dripping pre-cum in mere seconds as he strained in his own fist. In his mind, he indulged. It made him sick to his stomach but he indulged regardless. He thought about your pleading, your doe eyes as you blinked away those overstimulated tears. The sounds of pleasure. The sounds of being wanted.

It was easy to blank out Mig’s lower body. It was easy to see that as him, to put himself there like a mirror, and to pretend he was receiving your praise, that he was inside you. It was him, after all. His face, his eyes.

No one-night stands. No desperate, animal fucking to placate his brain. He could pretend for one moment he was experiencing something real. Those soft words, that need for more. I’m yours, you’d said. He replayed it in his mind.

So wet. So tight. Squirming on his cock, begging for more. Begging for him. Pulsing, filling, breeding. Being so wanted that you’d let him get you pregnant.

Oh god. Being wanted.

He vicariously put himself in his counterpart’s place, and with his free hand over his mouth he orgasmed onto the ground below. It was hard enough to make his body shudder and his knees weak. He coated the grass in his seed, the strings glistening slightly in the pale moonlight, before slowly phasing his suit back on.

The post-orgasm clarity hit him like a bus. Now satiated all he had was rage. Rage at himself that he couldn’t accept, and so just as he’d vicariously lived through his variant, he shifted all the blame to Mig.

He was going to ruin his counterpart’s life, whether it killed him or not.

But, first, he’d live through him. Link to next part

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #drider #miguel o'hara x you #smut #arachnophilia #smut with plot #miguel o'hara smut #drider miguel o'hara #monster human relationship #monster fucker #miguel o'hara au

304 notes · View notes

sematarygirls · 2 months

Text

Living Dead Girl Pt. II — Patrick Hockstetter.

part one

pairing : patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader

summary : patrick gave into his urges and finally tested his morbid curiosities on prey much larger than just a cat or dog. little did he know his actions would come back to haunt him... literally.

warnings : patrick being a psychopath , animal cruelty , male masturbation , graphic descriptions of murder and suicide , reader being manipulative , degradation , sexual themes ,

word count : 4.5k words !

a/n : can't believe i'm finally posting this after a year and a half. also this is my first attempt at smut-ish so i'm sorry if it's ass. im not gonna say this is 18+ bc I myself am not 18+ (im turning 18 this year tho) also im not your mom and idgaf what you read.

"Finally," a voice sounded, causing him to drop both his can and his plate. The sharp sound of glass breaking followed by a loud thud echoed through the room as the plate and soda can collided with the floor.

"No, no, no," Patrick shook his head, shutting his eyes. "This isn't real. I killed you. You're not here. You're not real."

"Sorry, babe," the voice, your voice, whispered into his ear. Your warm breath fanned his ear, and he felt his whole body tense. "I'm very much real."

"That's not possible," he said through gritted teeth. "I watched you die. I buried you!" He opened his eyes, convinced that this was all some terrible drug trip. Maybe the weed he'd just got from Henry was laced, or maybe he was suffering from a temporary psychosis. Either way, there had to be some rational and logical reason that he was seeing you.

However, when he saw you there, sitting there with a smug look on your face, your presence as solid as any living person, he felt his heart skip a beat.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing as you pouted. "What's wrong, Patrick?" You asked condescendingly. "Don't act so scared now." You walked toward him slowly, watching him scramble backward in a panic. A smile spread across your lips as you saw the pure fear in his eyes when he hit the wall behind him, having nowhere else to go. "You weren't scared when you stabbed me. You weren't scared when you watched me bleed out in your arms. You weren't scared when you buried my body like some animal you found on the side of the road." Your voice was seeping with anger as you stepped closer and closer, cornering him. "So you don't get to be scared now."

Patrick Hockstetter was not someone who was frightened easily. In fact, up until this very moment, he didn't think he had the ability to be frightened at all. His unique ability to remain calm and collected in situations that would often stress others out was one he was prideful of. However, at that moment, he felt all composure and level-headedness dissolve. For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not just scared—terrified.

"What- What do you want?" He asked, his voice shaky as he looked into your eyes. You no longer looked at him like he hung the moon. There were no remnants of your innocence and naivety—willing to trust that people have the best intentions. There was nothing behind your cold, lifeless eyes. It was like staring at a corpse.

"Now, what's the fun in that?" You grinned, leaning forward so your face was inches away from his. Your gaze flickered to his lips. The same lips you thought he'd planned to kiss you with, but instead, he'd stabbed you in the stomach and mocked your intelligence. "You should really watch your back, Patrick," you whispered with a devious smirk, your breath fanning over his face. "I heard the search for me is really picking up after they found my blood in the woods."

Your words snapped him back to the reality of the situation at hand. He had killed you. What you were saying was impossible though. Right? He was meticulous in every stage of his plan. There was no way they found any trace of you. "What are you talking about?" He asked, his eyes searching you for any sign of deception, but you were impossible to read like this. He was no longer able to detect everything from a single glance. He only knew what you wanted him to know.

Without another word, you disappeared, leaving the boy spiraling as he went through all the events of that night over and over again. "Come back!" He screamed, his voice echoing through the empty house. "You can't just leave like that you bitch!"

Patrick let out a frustrated yell as he grabbed the nearest thing—which happened to be a porno mag—and threw it across the room in a fit of rage. Who did you think you were to haunt him? To come into his room, make him feel that horrible emotion, and tease him just to leave abruptly?

He sat on the edge of his bed, trying to control his heavy breathing as his anger took over. You had to have been lying, trying to get into his head. He hated to admit that it was working. He was supposed to be the one in your head. This was his world. He controlled everyone and everything. You shouldn't be here. You should be dead and buried like he had intended.

He fell back in his bed and took a deep breath, letting his mind settle as he chased sleep. He told himself you would be gone tomorrow and that would be that. Your appearance to him, like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, was just a fluke. Tomorrow you would be dead and all would be right with the world.

He drifted off to sleep, having convinced himself that he would never see you again. He was able to get a few hours of sleep, but you weren't going to let him be at peace for long

At around 4 am, Patrick had a very vivid dream that he was choking. He was gasping for air, clawing at his neck as he looked around frantically. His surroundings dissolved into a pitch-black room. He felt his lungs burning, his brain growing fuzzy as the oxygen left him. It felt so vivid, so real.

He awoke in a panic, sitting up straight as he gasped for air. His lungs felt like they were on fire. Like he had truly been deprived of air like he'd dreamed about. He panted, catching his breath as he looked around at his room, thankfully finding no signs of you. However, when he finally felt secure, able to draw a breath without feeling like a thirsty man drinking water, he realized the pillow that had been behind his head was now sat on his lap.

The realization dawned on him that he may have been actually suffocating, and you were the culprit. He shook his head, trying to expel the thought as he laid back down, throwing the pillow off into the black depths of his room, so he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It was just a dream. Just as you were just a vision.

Patrick wasn't stupid, though many would argue to the contrary. Just because he didn't give a shit about school and didn't try didn't mean he wasn't smart. He just saved his intelligence for things that actually mattered—like planning and executing a murder.

That in mind, his refusal to accept the things he deep down knew to be true was not, as some would think, him being stupid. On the contrary, he believed himself smarter than to believe in silly things like ghosts. Dead things stay dead. He'd learned that at a very young age. He knew when he killed his brother that he would not be coming back. Just as he knew when he killed you that you would not be coming back.

Ghosts don't exist. He wasn't dumb enough to believe that.

As he laid in bed, trying to rationalize himself into a calm enough state to fall asleep again, he found himself more on edge with every creak of the old house around him. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes conspiring with the moonlight to play tricks on him. His breath hitched at every shadow dancing around the dark.

You were proud of your work, and you had barely done anything yet. You watched from the shadows, pleased as he seemed to run himself in circles trying to cope with everything going on. The mere thought of you was torture enough.

You grinned, biting your lip as a thought washed over you. As a ghost, not bound by the physical realm, you had the ability to do a lot of things. One of those so happened to be raising and lowering the temperature in a room.

You focused hard, raising the temperature several degrees, making Patrick swear at the sudden sweat washing over him. You watched with a satisfied smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, trying to cool himself off.

He didn't have a six pack or anything, but you didn't expect him to. He had a lean, toned torso with a very sexy v-line peeking out from his jeans. A small tattoo sat on his stomach just above his v-line on the right side. You couldn't make it out in the darkness, but you didn't care much. The sight of it alone was enough.

After all, who said you couldn't mix a little bit of business with pleasure.

He had taken away the rest of your life, all the possibilities of experiencing having your first kiss, losing your virginity, falling in love. It was only fair he made up for that in one way or another before your time together came to an end.

The time passed agonizingly slowly with Patrick staring at the ceiling and you watching him, studying him like he was some foreign thing. It was so interesting to watch someone when they don't know they're being watched. Of course, he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his body detecting the unseen eyes on him, but he chalked it up to paranoia—as he did every other unexplainable thing that seemed to be happening to him.

His mind drifted off, the heat making him restless as his brain filled with gruesome images of his previous kills. He sifted through his memory for the most interesting ones—dismembering birds, beheading cats, snapping a squirrel or two's neck—but none of them seemed to get him off anymore.

The image of your face right after he stabbed you made it's way into his mind. Your eyes, so wide and filled with fear. He could practically hear your sweet voice crying out, asking why he would do this to you. The thought made his cock tighten in his jeans.

He reached down, palming himself through his jeans with a groan. Reliving the sounds of you choking and coughing up your own blood had his fingers working quickly to undo his belt. He tossed it to the side, practically ripping the button off his jeans as he pulled them down along with his underwear, allowing his dick to finally be free from the restrictive fabric.

He spat in his hand, gripping his cock and lubricating it. He caught his chapped lower lip between his teeth as swept his thumb over his pink head, smearing his precum across it. He let out a low moan, letting his hand travel up and down his dick at a slow, agonizing pace. He kept his eyes screwed shut, immersing himself in the memory of your murder as he stroked himself.

Patrick was not a moral man by any means but this was a new low. Getting himself off to you, in his mind, was no better than if he was imagining one of his dead animal playthings. You were nothing to him. You were roadkill.

But, for some reason, the fresh sight of you, wearing the clothes he killed you in with that dark blood stain right where he'd stabbed you, your hair all matted, and the cold, lifeless look in your eyes, made it so easy to relive that night in great detail.

It was the greatest night of his life. The biggest release of pressure he'd ever felt since he began getting those homicidal urges—those itches. He didn't think he'd ever get to feel that euphoria again, but fucking himself to the thought of it would get him pretty damn close.

He let out a strangled moan, his hips pushing into his hand as he came, and he was right, it was the second-best feeling he'd ever felt. It didn't compare to killing you, but it was enough to satiate his urges once again.

He laid there, panting for what felt like hours. The time moved by so slowly until finally, the sound of the alarm block beside his bed blaring pulled him from his thoughts.

The red numbers reading 7:30 blinked slowly, reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for school. He leaned over, smacking the top of the clock roughly to silence it before falling back flat on his bed, preparing himself to get up.

He groaned, pushing himself up and grabbing a random pair of jeans and a shirt that smelled clean enough. He quickly got dressed before making his way back downstairs. He knew Belch would be here any second to pick him up—he always woke up later than he was realistically supposed to.

He slipped his boots on, and a few moments later, he heard Belch laying on his car horn. Rolling his eyes, he opened the door, heading outside and letting it slam just behind him.

"Calm your tits," he shouted in annoyance. Patrick always had a short fuse, but after the particularly restless night in which he'd been visited by some fucking ghost of Christmas Past, he found himself particularly irritable.

"Dude what happened yesterday?" Victor asked as Patrick climbed into the blue Trans Am.

"You were totally tripping the fuck out," Belch chimed in, starting the car and peeling out of Patrick's neighborhood.

"Dumb fuck can't handle his liquor," Henry scoffed from his spot in the passenger's seat.

"Shut the fuck up, Bowers," Patrick bit back, gazing out the window. "At least some of us don't piss our pants when we drink."

"It was one fucking time you dickhead!" Henry defended quickly, his cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

At the feeling of someone's hand on his thigh, Patrick quickly looked over at Vic. "Don't fucking touch me you-" he paused just short of spitting some derogatory remark about Victor being gay and a freak when he saw you sitting between him and Victor, grinning at him darkly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dude?" Victor asked, bewildered by Patrick's behavior. Patrick was always an odd one, but he never acted this weird.

"He probably smoked himself fucking dumb," Henry grumbled, still annoyed about the pants pissing remark.

You held a finger to your lips as climbed over onto his lap, holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. You just wanted to rile him up a little, make him feel suffocated by you, like he could never escape. And truly, he couldn't. You were never going anywhere until you believed justice had properly been served, and you would take that in any form.

He glared at you, but you paid him no mind, leaning to whisper into his ear: "How cute," you condescended him. "You thought I would just go away." You dug your nails into his shoulders making him sharply inhale, trying not to tip off his friends to the seemingly unwarranted pain he was feeling. "You will never be rid of me," you whispered menacingly, looking deep into his eyes with a sickening grin that made nausea pool in his stomach.

In any other situation, having someone on his lap, digging their nails into his shoulders would probably have been a pleasurable experience, but this was not any other situation. This was a nightmare he couldn't seem to wake up from.

When Belch finally pulled into the school parking lot, Patrick couldn't get out of the car fast enough. You disappeared as he scrambled to unlock the door and get out, finally feeling like he could breathe. He pulled his shirt collar to the side, looking down at the angry red marks where your nails had been. They served as a disturbing reminder that you were really there, and you could do anything to him.

"You get laid last night, Hockstetter?" Belch asked, grinning as he saw the red marks.

"That why you ran off yesterday?" Henry snickered. "You pussy whipped?"

"At least, I actually get pussy," he sneered, paling as he heard your laugh echoing around him the moment the words slipped from his lips. It was a deafening sound. Like a mix between a cackle and a scream that seemed to permeate his surroundings.

His jaw clenched, eye twitching as he resisted the urge to cover his ears. Apart from not wanting to look insane, he also didn't think it would help much. You weren't around him. You were in him, in his head.

The bell could faintly be heard going off inside the school, making Victor curse under his breath. They had two minutes to get to class or they were late.

"Mrs. Denton's gonna throw a bitch fit if I'm late again," he groaned, watching as Henry lit a cigarette.

"Kiss ass," he remarked, taking a long drag before exhaling the puff of smoke into Belch's face as Victor walked away.

"You asshole," Belch coughed, shoving Henry.

"Oh, shit." Henry's eyes widened as he tossed his cigarette on the ground, quickly stomping it out. "Let's go," he ordered, making his way up the stairs to the front doors of the school, looking behind him frantically.

Patrick's eyebrows furrowed at the sudden shift in Henry's demeanor. He followed the brunette's gaze, his eyes locking with those of Butch Bowers, the sheriff.

"Wonder if they're here for you," your voice taunted him, breath tickling the back of his right ear. He turned, preparing to come face to face with that condescending smile you always seemed to be wearing, but you weren't there.

He looked back, finding Sheriff Bowers still staring at him, seemingly ignoring whatever the deputy was leaning into his ear to say. Patrick wasn't one to back down easily, but your presence, your warnings, had him on edge. He quickly advanced forward, his lengthy legs providing long strides as he followed suit in heading inside Derry Highschool.

The sounds of his heavy boots hitting the linoleum floor echoed through the empty hall as he made his way to his math class. Victor was right; Mrs. Densen was going to throw a bitch fit that he was late, but he didn't care. He wouldn't have cared on a normal day, but on this day, with the police sniffing around and you practically breathing down his neck, he cared even less—which he didn't even know was possible.

He pulled open the door to the classroom, a hush falling over the students as he entered. Most stared at him wide-eyed, some avoided looking at him altogether, and he briefly caught Vic looking at him with sympathy. The teacher, however, was glaring at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Mr. Hockstetter, late again I see," she said pointedly. "You've earned yourself a detention after school today." Patrick stifled a laugh as he made his way to his seat at the very back of the classroom. "Is something funny?" She asked, her tone displaying clear annoyance.

"Yeah, that you think I care," he rolled his eyes, slipping into his desk. He tuned out whatever lecture the teacher decided to give him after that. His gaze drifted to the empty desk in the front row— the one you used to sit at.

"Don't go feeling remorseful now," you said into his ear. He felt your arm around his shoulders as you leaned down, your face positioned next to his. He turned to look at you, and you turned to look at him, your faces almost touching.

your breath fanned across his face, the moment oddly intimate until you grinned at him, opening your mouth and emitting an ear piercing scream.

"Ah," he grunted in pain, his eyes screwing shut, and his hands gripping his ears. It felt like his eardrums were seconds away from bursting and causing blood to pour out of his ears. "Shut the fuck up!" He yelled, the room, and you, falling dead silent immediately after the words left him.

He peeled his eyes open, his hands falling as he looked around. "Excuse me, Mr. Hockstetter," the teacher gasped, clearly taken aback by his outburst. "Take yourself to the principal's office right this instant!" She ordered him.

His blood began to boil as he stood up abruptly, storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. He was getting very very sick and tired of your little games. He headed toward the back door of the school, not wanting to cross paths with Henry's dad.

"This doesn't look like the way to the principal's office," you mused, appearing beside him. He stopped, turning to shove you against the locker. He groaned when his arms made contact with the locker instead of your body, and your laugh echoed behind him. "You think you can hurt me, how cute."

He let out a frustrated groan, smashing his fists against the locker. He couldn't stand you. He couldn't stand having someone that he couldn't manipulate or hurt but that could manipulate and hurt him. "What do you want with me?" He asked, refusing to look at you.

"To break you," you grinned. "To have you begging for it to stop."

Yeah, right he thought.

He was Patrick fucking Hockstetter; he didn't beg. He didn't bend to the will of others, especially not some dead bitch. He was determined not to let you win. You would eventually get tired of tormenting him and go back to wherever the fuck you came from. He was sure of it.

Oh, how he underestimated your patience and overestimated his resilience.

He lasted exactly a week. A week of you screaming and poking and scratching and fucking with his head. A week of people staring at him like he was insane with his random outbursts and talking to the air. A week of torment before you finally had him right where you wanted him.

"Just leave me alone!" He begged, standing in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. You had finally drove him to the brink of insanity, and he didn't know how much longer he could live like this. You, being everywhere all the time, taunting and touching and teasing, it was too much for him. He couldn't take it anymore. "Go away!"

You tsked, grinning at him, that condescending grin that filled him with indescribable rage. How could you look at him like that? Like he was stupid? You were the stupid one. You were killed by him not the other way around!

"I'm afraid that's not how this works," you told him, shaking your head slightly. "I get to stay until you give me what I want." You took a step, punctuating the next words you said with a pause between each one and another step forward. "However. Long. It. Takes."

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He yelled, desperate to get you away from him forever.

"Well," you drawled, running your index finger along his chest, making him flinch. You smiled at the effect you had on him. He talked a big game, getting mad when you left—cursing, throwing things, even—having the audacity to fuck himself to the thought of your murder— but when it came to being face to face with you, he cowered away.

Ain't nothing like a little fear to make a paper man crumble as Henry Bowers' father once said.

"I'll be nice and give you a choice," you said darkly. "You can turn yourself in," you almost laughed at the way his demeanor hardened. "Which we both know you're too proud and stubborn to do," you continued. The intrigue behind Patrick's eyes was undeniable as he eagerly awaited his second choice. "Or," you trailed off, grabbing a razor from his dresser and holding it in front of his face. "You can die."

"You're a crazy bitch!" He shouted, though his inability to mask the tremble in his voice made him sound less than threatening.

"Maybe," you shrugged, admiring the sharp piece of metal. "Hmm," you hummed. "I wonder how you'll feel about me in another week," you asked thoughtfully. "I bet you'll be wishing you took the chance while you had it."

His jaw clenched at your words. He'd already lost a considerable amount of sleep because of you, and the thought of you tormenting him any longer was a fate worse than death. "Why don't you just kill me?" He asked defeatedly. You'd backed him into a corner that he was positive he couldn't get out of without doing things your way.

"I'm not you, Patrick," you spat hatefully. "I don't kill people or things."

"What? Like driving me to suicide is any better?" He scoffed, challenging your sense of superiority over him.

"You have an informed choice," you told him, trying to regain your calm. You didn't like losing your temper, especially not to the likes of Patrick Hockstetter, scum of the earth. "That's a luxury you didn't extend to me."

He eyed the blade in your hand warily. He didn't like accepting defeat. He would never admit to killing you. Being confined to a tiny room, unable to satiate that burning itch deep inside him whenever he needed; it would drive him mad.

"Go on," you urged him softly, holding the razor out for him to take. "Put yourself out of your misery. End it all and be free."

He looked between you and the blade hesitantly, a million thoughts running through his mind as he tried to make a decision. Glaring at you, he took the blade. A scowl formed on his face as he observed the triumphant expression that you seemed to wear immediately after he made his choice.

"Two deep cuts, and you'll never have to see me again," you assured him. That all but sealed the deal. Patrick didn't believe in heaven or hell and death didn't scare him. Being caged like one of the many animals he's so cruelly killed scared him more than dying. He walked over to his bed, sitting on the edge.

He sucked in a breath, pressing the blade into his wrist and dragging it upward toward his inner elbow. He clenched his teeth, deeply inhaling through them. A groan of pain fell from his lips as he felt the warm blood begin seeping from his wound, running down his arms and onto his jeans. He continued the action on the other arm, feeling nauseous and lightheaded.

The blade fell from his trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as he fell back onto the bed. His head felt foggy, and the pain began to melt away into numbness. His eyes began to droop, and he faintly saw your outline standing above him.

He just barely felt you lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His ears began to ring as his eyes fell shut. The words you spoke next were the last he would hear before his heart slowed to an eventual stop. He almost couldn't make them out, the sound muffled, as if he was underwater, but his mind used its last bit of energy to process them before giving out.

"Goodbye, Patrick Hockstetter," you said softly. "May you burn in hell."

tags! : @fatfagsj , @mysticalhills , @simpingforthe80s , @slasherho , @pinkpanther-44 , @slaggylemon , @kyranisnotdead , @ladydragiiss ,

#🎀#patrick hockstetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #the bowers gang #it 2017 #patrick x reader #patrick hockstetter x ghost!reader #henry bowers #victor criss #reginald huggins #belch huggins #it x reader #living dead girl #dark romance #dark themes

133 notes · View notes

ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 2 months

Text

"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Chapter 4: The Magic I Can Do

Your only way to begin your journey to see The Doctor is when Loki pulls out the few tricks he still has at his fingertips to lie and deceive your way onto a train, which stirs new feelings of jealousy.

CHAPTER WARNING: Reader has a panic attack, jealousy

Previous Chapter · Next Chapter MASTERLIST

Admittedly, having a panic attack in front of Loki, dignified and noble God of Asgard, was not your finest hour.

Joey’s words immediately unraveled the net of plans that you and Loki were just beginning to weave. You were back behind Square One. Your head went fuzzy and your breathing grew heavy. The room grew hotter than it already had been, and the humidity only served to further suffocate you. Your senses began to take flight, and all that was on your mind was how this was going to make staying in the apartment almost impossible unless Joey procured another job immediately.

In this economy, that was hardly likely.

You mumbled nearly incoherently, your anxiety disorder bubbling to the surface again. “Fired? But…London! And our rent! And…him!”

Everything was happening at the same time while your body began drinking its own internal speed and making things worse. Half your livelihood was gone for at least the summer, and now you had a helpless, sexy dependant who needed to be taxied halfway around the world before it got sucked into some anti-world where up and down. Your eyes began darting back and forth as if you were reading your morbid premonition on a teleprompter.

Joey knew what to do when you had a breakdown. Without adding to the drama, he brisky went for the kitchen, getting a glass of water as Loki guided you over to the sofa. Thankfully, a near lifetime of a moderate anxiety disorder meant that Joey knew how to take care of you (though it was embarrassing to admit even to yourself that your little brother sometimes had to step up and be your keeper, if only for a few minutes). The one consolation was that usually, the meltdowns were brief.

As you recalibrated, Joey forced Loki aside and sat next to you, water ready for whenever you reached for it. Loki stood behind the sofa, watching with regret.

“I’ve brought all of this trouble onto you both, and I never meant to hurt her,” he began blathering. “She’s wonderful.”

Joey held up a silent hand, his usually reckless attitude pushed to the side for the sake of brotherly love. Loki felt envious, wondering if this was what he would do for Thor, or Thor for him, if they both lived in this magicless, Asgard-less life.

About fifteen minutes passed before your heart slowed and your temperature dropped. The heat in your face receded. Loki pulled the barstool over and sat nearby, giving you the only privacy he could by looking everywhere but your direction.

“Jesus, guys, I’m sorry I did that,” was the first thing you said.

“Y/N, you know I’ll smack you if you apologize for that again,” Joey mumbled, making both you and Loki smile in relief.

“You say that every time. But I’m back,” you said.

You asked them not to bring it up, but you still sensed the icky feeling of pity falling over you from Loki’s direction. Great, now he probably thinks I’m a baby!

“Joey, what are we going to do?” you asked meekly, refusing to acknowledge the God-shaped elephant in the room while you still got over the internal embarrassment.

“This month is paid,” he reminded you. “I can borrow money for rent if it’ll ease your mind.”

You shook your head. The idea of taking on debt only added to your stress levels. “I don't want that.”

“Or we could talk to Gino. He’s not a bad guy, maybe he’ll spot us a month or two,” your brother suggested.

“Joey, even rent can wait,” you interrupted. “What about…?”

Joey looked up and nodded. “Yeah, we need to figure that out first. You think you’re back in your head enough to strategize, Big Sis?”

You affirmed with a wink. Loki’s tense posture relaxed.

You had Joey make a pot of coffee and pull out whatever food was left in your kitchen, which ended up making an odd meal of frozen fish sticks, vanilla pudding, and a few apples due to expire in the coming hours.

The summer sun took it’s sweet time setting, but even by dark midnight you were sitting around, slowly eating the last food you had in the house and planning for Loki’s escape together. The apartment cooled as the heat no longer radiated in from the west window. You hadn’t realized how much the hot, sticky environment was contributing to your stress until it was gone.

“Joey, I’m really beginning to think we need to get Loki to London,” you said. “I feel like it’s the right move.”

“Maybe I can try posing as the actor again,” Loki suggested. “Clearly it works.”

Joey frowned. “Until the wrong person spots you and it gets back to the Real Guy that he’s got an imposter.”

“You don't understand, Loki,” you sighed. “It’s one thing to fool a drunken old fart in a southside pawn shop. Getting out of the country requires paperwork and money! I mean, I think Joey and I still have valid passports, but I don’t think that shiny little stone is going to get you past customs in Merry Ol’ England.”

“Trains are cheaper,” Joey suggested. “Your paycheck would cover seats for all of us.”

Rolling your eyes, you reached out for a fish stick. Loki had been reaching for it at the same time, and your fingers brushed against one another. You almost giggled at how silly the cliche was, or perhaps at how his skin tickled your knuckle.

“It’s yours,” he insisted. You batted your eyes in flirtatious thanks. He winked back.

“And how many trains go over three-thousand miles of ocean, wise-ass?” you quickly recovered, leaning back against the sofa and crossing your legs.

Your brother threw up his hands. “I’m saying let’s get to Boston first, Sis. We’ll stay at my friend Paulie’s. We can see about getting on a plane or a boat from there.”

“Paulie, your old college friend? Ugh, he always smells like warm cabbage,” you cringed.

“Well it’s either we get to Boston via train and stay with Paulie for free, or we stay in a dirty hostel three-to-a-mattress and walk.”

Ugh, you don’t need to be a jerk, you thought. It was remarkable how quickly Joey could switch from being a sweet man to being a complete jackass.

Meanwhile, the split-second idea of sharing a mattress with Loki made your head spin in a different direction.

“And what happens when we get there? Do we know where this Doctor fellow is? Do we know for sure he can get me back to the TVA?” Loki interrogated. “And how do we do it?”

You bit your lip, looking down at your feet. “I don’t know. For all we know, he could just be a stuntman and the whole thing is a dead end.”

“But what else is there?” Loki asked. “You’re right, we need to try it, but can we really wait a whole week?”

You thought. “Well, no. I can ask Mrs. Graves for an advancement tomorrow. She’ll give it to me, but it won’t be much more than what the train tickets are worth.” You’d taken a day off the previous week for a dentist appointment that went longer than you’d expected. That meant a whole day’s work would be left off your check this week for the sake of three fillings that cost eight times as much as the day would have paid.

Loki’s ip twitch as he had a thought. “How much can this man really do if his own means of traveling has left him abandoned?” You and Joey looked at one another in silence. Neither of you had the answer, because the question answered itself.

Joey smiled, deciding to diffuse the pessimism. “Wow, going to see the Doctor! And the fact that he’s actually real!”

Twisting your lip and letting the stress melt away as best you could, you added, “Well given the circumstances, maybe that shouldn’t surprise you.”

“No,” Joey replied, pausing fondly to recall a memory, “It’s just that…it would’ve rocked Dad’s world to see this.”

“I know,” you said sweetly.

“Perhaps…” Loki chimed in, “If he has a set of films or shows like Loki of This World does, I should watch these, or I’ll remain confused about this mysterious man no matter how close we get to him. I’d rather not have any more mysteries in my life at the moment, if you don’t mind.”

You looked at Joey with a grin. “What say you? All-night Tennant binge?”

You already knew the answer.

For as invested as Loki seemed to be in the first few episodes of Doctor Who that you showed him, after you came back to the sofa from a bathroom run, he’d fallen asleep on the couch, sitting up, his head lolled back in peaceful repose.

Joey hadn’t even noticed, lost in Silence in the Library, until you pointed at him silently.

“I guess even Gods need sleep,” he joked, turning the TV off as you threw a crocheted blanket over his chest. Perhaps this was the only time his mind could be at ease in this strange, worthless universe.

You weren’t expected at work until 1pm the following day, but if time was of the essence, you decided that taking the earliest bus up into the village of Liverpool was the best course of action. Thankfully you had a bus pass that still had money on it, so it didn’t cost anything in cash to get you and Loki up and out of the city that morning.

Liverpool was a small, dense little village at the opposite end of the lake that bordered the north side. It was the closest the region got to a sweet provincial town, with several parks, small businesses, coffee shops, and libraries. The bookshop where you worked was a hop and a skip from the bus stop, sandwiched between a chiropractor’s office and a cafe.

“Mrs. Graves is a kind old lady, but she’s a bit conservative,” you warned as you opened the door for Loki. “Let me do the talking, please.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I regret to inform you that you have just asked an impossible task of me.”

“What?” you asked harshly, squinting your eyes.

“Well, someone once told me that I like to hear myself talk. The more I go forward, the more I guess I’m starting to believe it.” He didn’t sound overly serious. You chose not to press the matter further. Loki may have been a bit mercurial for the average person, but he had to know the basics of how to behave on Earth…

…or is it Midgard? No, Earth! You may have been adjusting to the situation now that you were thirty-six hours into it, but the absurdity of it all was still overwhelming.

“Hello?” you called as you walked in with your charge. At first, there was no answer.

“Mrs G?” you called louder, walking into the stacks and shelves, leaving Loki to meander behind you.

“Mom’s not here,” called a higher, younger voice than you expected.

Fuck. It’s Danielle. This will be a blast.

Danielle was Mrs. Graves’ daughter. She was a sour, grumpy woman the same age as you. You’d gone to school together, where you rarely interacted beyond the few times you were lab partners. While you were supposed to be working after school, she’d always ditched you to do everything while she snuck out to football practice to collect STDs from the benchwarmers.

What sucked was that she was a stunner, tall, thin in all the right places, and of course, naturally charismatic with whoever she deemed worthy of her attention. In school, she used to get away with everything. Now that she was your de facto supervisor whenever her mother wasn’t around, it was evident that some people never changed.

“I need my check early, Dan,” you continued to raise your voice, hoping to save face before she inevitably slapped it right in front of the God of Mischief. “I’ll get it and get out of your hair.”

“As if! Like you’re getting a dime before Friday!”

She emerged from the Sociology section in a bright blue sundress that you immediately envied. Automatically, she began to berate you in the way only she could get away with. “Mom called me in because she thought you were going to call in sick again. You’ve been doing that way too much lately, Y/N. Between dental work and getting sick all in the same week, are you sure you aren’t just falling apart?”

She immediately laughed at her own joke. You hung your head, aware of Loki right behind you, listening to her insults. She stopped short when she noticed him.

She was always reading every celebrity rag she could get her hands on, and you had no doubt she could recognize an A-lister from behind a brick wall. Therefore, it only took her a moment to completely change her demeanor. “Wait…are you shitting me? Oh…it can’t be! Y/N!”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and cocked a hip to the side, posing like a runway model. “I mean, you didn’t tell me you knew Tom Hiddleston! Mind introducing me?”

You grunted, but before you could say anything resembling words, Loki gently nudged you aside, walking forward and extending a hand. “Good morning, Madame. Might I say, that dress is lovely on you.” He swept up her hand in order to kiss it delicately.

“Oh!”

She widened her eyes. You narrowed yours.

“Uh…Lokes?” you said insecurely.

He ignored you. “Y/N and I have a distant relative, and I happened to be around filming a secret project.” He flirtatiously bright his finger to his lips, punctuating the lie with a ‘shh!”

Your jaw dropped, showing off every one of those new fillings.

“Mr. Hiddles--”

“--Tom, please. It’s Tom to the prettiest ones.”

Danielle looked about ready to pee. Her body spasmed as it tried to keep poise, only to fail instantly at the god’s unfurling smile. “Oh, I’m surely not as lovely as all the girls out there--”

“--a-HEM!” you suddenly cleared your throat from the sidelines. “Uh, Cousin Tom,” you warned, hissing through your teeth with all of the self-control you were capable of, “Need I remind you that you’re married.”

The couple ignored you. Your eyes rolled so far back into your head you saw black.

“I’m afraid something’s gone terribly amiss with my accounts, love,” Loki’s words came out like smooth butter. They sounded so genuine. Of course he would go after Danielle like this! “Some monster tried to rob me.”

“How terrible!: Danielle swooned. “Who would do such a thing?”

“People who think just because I have the world at my feet that I am not still a man,” Loki answered, looking off dramatically into the middle distance. “I feed my family with that money…I earned it bringing smiles to the people of this world…”

Shoot me, you thought. Please do it quickly, before she has your baby!

“I need to get home, my daughter--”

“--son!--” you corrected with a cough.

“--my son is missing me!” he corrected without missing a beat.

Danielle held her hands over her heart, eating his disgusting story up like kibble. “Oh my goodness! Let me help you out!”

Danielle led you up a set of stairs behind the childrens’ section, up to the small office built into the second floor. The besotted bitch wasted no time in opening up the safe. First, she pulled out a slip of paper and slapped it onto the desk, signing it and tossing it to you with little ceremony. “Here, Y/N.”

Your check had a little less to it than you’d anticipated, but as it turned out, that wouldn;t matter. Danielle pulled out a large brown envelope from the safe, taking a minute to sift through it. As she pulled out a smaller white envelope, you decided that enough was enough. You couldn’t have Loki committing both identity theft AND robbery on the same day. Showing off too much would eventually draw the worst kind of attention.

“Loki, let’s leave before--”

Danielle pressed the envelope into Loki’s hand. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you first class on your way back. I’m sure coach conditions would be too harsh for you, Tom.”

You finally reached out to take Loki’s arm, tugging it firmly. “Let’s go…Cousin Tom!”

“One moment, Cousin Y/N!” Loki leaned over Danielle, laying a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, beautiful Danielle. I shall remember your kindness forever.”

You couldn’t get Loki out of the store fast enough. You were so angry, you felt as if you could spit fire. The embers of jealousy were glowing inside your chest as you puffed it out defiantly, beginning to scold Loki like a mother.

“You can’t keep doing that!” you barked.

“Why not? I just got us--” he trailed off as he handed you the envelope. You opened it and quickly counted nearly $1000 dollars. Combined with your paycheck, it was enough for train tickets, possibly even the whole week in a cheap motel outside of Boston.

At least we won’t have to stay with that dumbass Paulie!

“Loki, you’re lucky she didn’t think to ask for a photo! You can bet she’s going to be going to all of her social media accounts about this,” you explained. “It can get back to the real man you’re pretending to be. You don't have the magic to get out of federal prison! You get busted, Loki, and you’ll NEVER get home!”

You were so angry and jealous that you turned your back, keeping tabs on the envelope, and walked back toward the bus stop. Loki had to chase you.

“Y/N, are you upset with me?” he asked, disbelieving.

“I…” you stopped yourself, touching the necklace you were wearing that he’d just gotten for you without a thought. Suddenly, it didn;t seem to matter as much that he’d batted his eyes at the likes of Danielle. He wanted something from her. He’d only wanted to give something to you.

“...you know what? I’m being silly. It’s been an emotional few days.” You didn’t want to risk another panic attack in front of him, especially seeing as you didn’t have your Emotional Support Joey this time. “I imagine you get it.”

Loki smiled, clearly relieved at your changing mood. “I do.”

You stood at the stop for about fifteen minutes. Luckily, today was a bit more temperate, the humidity giving way to a rather refreshing breeze. “Well,” you said with a smile, “At least we have a way to get to the coast….thanks to you.”

You looked up at him as he stepped toe-to-toe with you. “I owe the hope that I have to you, Y/N, but I must ask you something serious.”

You took in a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“...was my performance stirring? Was I sweet?” he asked, barely holding in his need to tease.

You pursed your lips and shook your head. “Sugary-sweet, Mr. Loki, and the last thing I needed today was another cavity.”

He chuckled, putting a kind hand on your shoulder as the bus pulled up. “Well, it seems I can pay for your surgeon’s bill this time, courtesy of Danielle!”

Of course he was only joking. Every cent of that bonus money needed to be spent on your upcoming journey, and after you returned home, it was nearly noon. Joey had fallen asleep with the TV still turned on. You chucked a pillow at him in order to wake him up, and the rest of the day spent planning and booking tickets to New England.

By 8am the following morning, the three of you were walking the eleven blocks northward toward the transit station, you and your brother with duffel bags slung over your shoulders, Loki holding the tickets, passports, and money in a messenger bag of his own that you’d dug through the closet to find. It was foggy and overcast, which was a weather pattern more common in the city than bright, sunny skies.

Luckily, the train was on time, so you didn’t have to spend much time in front of everyone in the waiting area, risking someone identifying Loki as someone of consequence.

“You didn’t spring for Business class?” Joey complained, reading his ticket. “We could’ve afforded it, Sis.”

“Twenty bucks extra each? That’s grocery and lodging,” you reasoned. “Fuck that. We don't even know how we’re going to be able to afford to get out of Boston! The first thing we do after we check into our motel is find a bodega that has food.”

Joey leaned in to Loki with an aside, as if you couldn’t perfectly hear him when he said, “She’s worse than a mom, isn’t she?”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t always act like you still needed one--”

“--here it comes!” Loki announced as you made your way onto the platform, where four other individuals stood, waiting about as you now were. The train was always close enough to hear as it pulled up, a strong breath of wind in its wake. It was nearly deafening.

Several conductors in matching suits exited the train and began scanning tickets, letting people abroad.

Joey whispered behind his hand to both of you: “Let me go first, I got this.”

You grunted with disapproval. Joey presented his ticket to the conductor, choosing the only woman among the staff. To your deep regret, she was also an attractive lady.

“I don't know, Mr. Hiddleston, trains are good for traveling incognito, but someone could still discover you in coach--”

The conductor immediately whipped her head up, observing Loki for several seconds, assessing him. Her cheeks grew red as she quickly grew embarrassed to be standing there in her stiff gray dress skirt.

“--oh, our Business class car has plenty of unassigned seats,” she said quickly. “I can let the conductor back there know that we upgraded you.”

“Oh, are you certain?” Loki asked slowly.

Don’t rub it in, showboater. you prayed. You were growing agitated again. Had Loki listened to a word you said outside the bookstore?

“It;s Amtrak’s pleasure,” said the conductor. “Go down to the last car, and I’ll radio our staff down there that you’re keeping a low profile.”

“A million thanks,” Loki pressed his hands together as you presented your ticket, choosing to brush past him.

You could hear the conductor saying in a coquettish voice, “Maybe I’ll wander back later and we could take a photo together?”

Within five minutes, the train jerked to a start, and the three of you finally left Syracuse behind, the announcer on the loudspeaker promising an arrival in Boston seven hours hence. The Business Class car layout was simple, but with more space than a coach car. One side of the aisle was lined with single seats, the other doubles. Joey claimed a single seat near the middle of the car, and you took it as a signal to put your bags up above his head and settle in the double-set of seats across the way from him.

You quickly claimed the window before thinking better of it. “Loki, you take that one. Everyone’s going to see your face if you’re right on the aisle.” He quietly got into the seat, you next to him. You instantly became aware that your thighs were touching. If he noticed, Loki didn’t say anything or shift in his seat.

“See ya in seven hours, nerds,” Joey put up his leg rest and pulled down the baseball cap he wore over his eyes.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Loki leaned over to whisper in your ear. “Don’t fret, please.”

“You haven’t listened to me! We cannot be caught, Loki!” you answered.

“I know that, Y/N, please trust me,” he answered. “But perhaps your brother was correct. There was more of a risk sitting among all of those extra people.”

It was true, this car was nearly entirely empty as opposed to the rest of the train.

“Y/N, this world is the strangest I’ve ever seen, including the version of it where I;m from,” he confessed. “I have never been so vulnerable…so…mortal, than as I have been these past few days.”

That hadn’t occurred to you.

“This is the only thing I can do to help you and your brother with this miserable chore I’ve given you by showing up in your lives unannounced like this. I have no magic, no illusions other than the ones I can conjure with my lies.”

You were bold and laid your hand on top of his. “You’re not a burden. Never.”

Loki looked touched. “Thank you, Y/N.”

.The two of you fell asleep before being on the train for an hour. When Loki awoke hours later, he noticed that you’d never let go of his hand, and that your head was leaning against his shoulder.

He smiled tenderly and leaned his own head against the top of yours, getting the slightest whiff of your floral body spray before letting it lull him back into a pleasant sleep.

TAGLIST: @crashingwavesofeuphoria @kkdvkyya @red-shirt-mania @misschris1412 @salvinaa @marygoddessofmischief @spiderstyles04 @fireflymoonwitch @mochie85 @loz-3 @lcolumbia1988 @lokilurker @eleniblue @gruftiela @starkzdaughter @mrsbarnes-avenger @thedistractedagglomeration @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @itsthattimedarling @wolfsmom1 @scully2u @shinisenko @mischief2sarawr @ririsutty73 @lulubelle814 @meg81589 @gloriuspurposeposts @theonetruepotato87 @linllewellyn @wistfulclueless @etherealkistar @tinydancer40 @hardtravelerwizard-blog

97 notes · View notes

thebigbiwolf · 7 months

Text

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor.

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground.

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground - in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads.

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve.

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he?

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns.

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun.

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost.

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable.

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his.

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.”

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows.

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?”

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…”

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,”

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully.

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give?

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration.

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road. The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help.

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link.

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself.

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him.

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?”

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.”

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place?

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering.

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you?

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh.

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement.

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him.

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless.

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please."

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse.

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?"

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is?

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed.

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry.

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.”

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste.

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures.

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this?

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure, fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter.

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste.

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets.

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that.

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite.

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking.

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much.

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough.

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind.

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most.

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged.

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man...

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.”

His heart sinks.

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him.

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember.

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.”

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask.

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.”

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks.

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away.

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life.

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all.

What a strange feeling, that was.

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

120 notes · View notes

glitch-karma · 9 months

Text

Bsd as Spidermen

Dazai:

His name would be Spider Stray

He was investigating something with the detective agency when he was bit

Sees his new abilities as a nuisance and tries to ignore them, much like the og Peter Parker

Dazai's dark and sarcastic personality carries over into his version of Spider-Man ofc

He would make dry and morbid jokes while fighting crime, often using his mind to outwit his opponents rather than relying solely on strength

Dazai's spider-like abilities would include enhanced agility, reflexes, and ofc spider-sense, but to go with no longer human I'd like to say he can minimally dull powers

His spider suit would be a sleek black with a light red web pattern, I think of his webbing as black instead of white as well. He does still use traditional web-shooters tho

Definitely does the classic spider kiss with you (like a lot of other people on this list..)

Immediately made it very obvious to you that he was the famous spider stray

He accidentally drags you into a lot of shit though

Kunikida:

Introducing: The Web Detective

Kunikida was bit the same way as Dazai

His new powers are the same as normal petter parker

initially, he struggles to accept his new powers, feeling burdened by the responsibility

utilizes his detective skills to investigate and stop criminal activities in the city

often targeting corrupt organizations that threaten the peace of the city

operates primarily as a solo hero, but he occasionally partners with other members of the Detective Agency

His suit is also black, with accents of dark greens as reds along with white webbing patterns

Idk why but he is giving real webbing vibes.. ew

Tried his very hardest to not involve you in anything

After all the stress built up, he confesses his identity to you

Was still very keen on keeping you out of it though

Ranpo:

welcome The Yokohama Webcrawler

Was bitten while in an abandoned sweet shop

retains his highly intelligent and observant nature as Spider-Man

uses his deductive skills to unravel criminal activities and solve mysteries

Although, his laid-back and somewhat lazy demeanor remains intact, often getting him into trouble

Ranpo focuses more on detective work and strategic planning rather than actually getting out there and fighting

uses his deductive abilities to analyze crime scenes, anticipate criminal activities, and identify potential threats

He has enhanced agility, sight, analytical combat, and stealth

Has a dark suit with light blue accents, his webbing pattern is off-white. I'd like to imagine he also keeps his hat lmao

His web-shooters are upgraded to include various detective gadgets, such as tiny cameras (Shapped as spiders ヾ(•ω•`)o), fingerprint scanners, and chemical analyzers

Told you immediately

Was casual abt it too

"Oh btw I'm actually the Yokohama Webcrawler." "Oh cool."

"WAIT WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY-"

Yosano:

Let's hear it for Arachne!

stumbles upon a hidden laboratory where she accidentally gets bitten by a genetically enhanced spider

Powers included; enhanced physical attributes, healing for herself, spider-sense, and a healing venom

She has permanent fangs (Coughs in Miguel O'Hara)

She has a black form-fitting suit with purple accents and light purple webbing, also includes a red hourglass-shaped symbol on her chest to ref the black widow

Uses a classic web shooter

You figured it out after she accidentally called you a nickname as Arachne

Classic spiderman kiss <3

Prioritizes you at all coasts

Chuuya:

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH coughs

The beloved, the great, the amazing, Spider Venom

Was transformed against his will by a threat to the Port Mafia

Although Chuuya is already pretty agile, his new powers include enhanced agility, reflexes, strength, and Spider Sense

Chuuya's gravity manipulation is incorporated into his web-slinging techniques

Instead of using mechanical web-shooters, he generates and controls threads of gravity that act as webs

He can swing from buildings and create web-based constructs to trap or immobilize enemies

His suit would be a sleek, form-fitting style (I am actively drooling)

His spider web pattern would be red and have a slight glow effect to it and the spider symbol on the chest would have a gravity-inspired design, incorporating swirling patterns around the spider

He also keeps his coat and hat <3

Chuuya cracks jokes during battles and maintains a cocky demeanor, even in the face of danger just as usual.

However, he is also a deeply compassionate and principled individual, using his abilities to protect the innocent and stand up for what is right

He did his rich girl voice to hide himself from you..

It didn't work.

CLASSIC SPIDERMAN KISS EVEN THOUGH HE CAN DO THAT WITHOUT THE SPIDER ABILITIES LOLZ LET ME SIMP

Terrified of you getting hurt

Has a moment where he almost was too late and has a full panic attack over you

(Can you tell he was the reason I wanted to do this?)

The best one in this list prove me wrong.

I was planning on doing more but tbh I couldn't think of anything for a lot of them

But I hope you enjoyed

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #chuuya x reader #bsd fanfic #dazai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #kunikida x reader #ranpo x reader #yosano x reader #bsd x spiderman #across the spiderverse #glitchs✧works

306 notes · View notes

fatuismooches · 6 months

Note

IT IS ME, the muzzle anon, hello again

after almost 1 year in hospital, im starting uni this year finally :]

being sick really reminds you how nice it is to be healthy, so while I was thinking about dottore and fragile reader I just had thought that reader probably had days where they felt like they were dying as they were laying on their bed. They already have an unknown disease that makes them weak and then a sudden fatigue hits them one morning and they can't even open their eyes, can barely move their hands, their whole body trembling and such- I would be very dramatic when I am sick, literally crying and thinking, "Yep, this is the end."

so imagine going, "I think this is the day I die..." to Il Dottore, tHE DOCTOR.

Dottore just goes, "No. 🤨"

To be honest it probably isn't the end it just their body trying to fight the sickness but reader just immediately starts writing their last will and testament.

"For Boattore, I left my drawings, for Zandy, the plushies I have, for Clowntore, I-"

Then the next day reader is okay, and like, "😐"

(As okay as they can be at least)

So Dottore and the other segments are repeating everything reader said to tease them now.

(Yeah they love reader, yes they were worried, but now that they are okay they are allowed to make fun of them)

swoosh

have a nice day <3

MUZZLE ANON... i just want you to know the muzzling Dottore brain rot still lives in my head rent-free. And congratulations on starting uni! That's such a huge step and I wish you the best, I'm very proud of you and hope you'll do amazing ❤️

Mhm, fragile reader definitely had bad days like that. The pain can be so bad and all you can do is lay helpless, unable to do anything besides wait for it to pass. Even when it's not physical pain, sometimes you simply don't even have the motivation to get up. It's just... really bad sometimes and you can't even predict when it comes, so it just hits you out of nowhere. And every time, you can't help but stress out and worry about what will happen next. Will the pain pass over? How long will it stay? These relentless headaches, aches, and sores? When can you finally get back to normal and go about your life? It seems like an eternity from now, and you can't help but wonder what will happen until then...

The first time you say that he nearly drops the vial he's holding. Did he miscalculate your pain? Is it more grave than he thought? He's going through all his notes again and asking you a bunch of questions rapidly. Until he realizes you're just (mostly) joking and being extra paranoid. His response is always to not be so nonsensical as he sighs every time. You're not going to die while he's around, he says matter of factly. Writing your will is... sort of a morbid kind of amusement for you. Yeah, ignoring the fact that you're planning for your own death, it's kind of fun to decide which segment will receive a little piece of you. There's a section for each of them with a mini-essay. Ahem, just don't let little Zandy know about this because you don't want to deal with a crying child blubbering about how you're going to leave him. And YEAH i imagine fragile reader says some pretty funny and weird things when they're sleeping or half-conscious. Segments are definitely listening in and write down everything you say to bring up later 😭

#smooches talks #muzzle anon #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #😭😭 reader leaving something for all the segments tho has serious angst potential that i'm NOT going to get into #anyway love love love this anon! 🫶🫶 i love the idea of joking with them as a way to cope

77 notes · View notes

sugolara · 6 months

Text

𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖

ft. yandere! Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

previous || series m.list || next

Silence

She groaned as she sat up and let a yawn out. She had not realized a tear droplet had fallen from her e/c eyes. She felt the tear tickle her and so she wiped the single tear with her thumb before wiping her eyes with her sleeves.

It was strange. Had she been crying in her sleep?

A look at her pillow and it was confirmed. She could see a part of it was wet, no doubt her tears staining it. She then tried to recall her dream that she had, yet she remembered nothing.

She could only make out a familiar voice before she woke up. Yes, it was indeed strange as this was the first time she has cried in her sleep since she was young.

And it didn’t help that a headache had begun to form. She placed her hand on the right side of her head. For some reason, it almost didn’t even feel like a headache. In fact the pain was so bad that she had to lie down for a couple minutes and hope that the pain would be a little less painful.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t realized that time had gone fast as her mother worryingly came in to check on her.

Seeing her only child lying in bed with both hands on head had her extremely worried. She softly called to her daughter, “F/n, honey are you feeling alright? Do you feel sick?”

F/n grunted and sniffed, tears once again began to form on her waterline, “N-no, I’m okay. My head just hurts.”

Her mother placed a hand on her chest feeling relieved, “It must be a migraine. School must be stressing you out.”

Her daughter just sniffed and closed her eyes. The pain seemed to be going away.

“Do you want to stay home? You’ve already missed an hour of school.” Her mother noticed how messy her room was and picked up her school bag that was beside her feet.

A notebook fell out but her mother picked it up and placed it in the school bag. She then looked at her daughter again, “F/n?”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” The daughter wiped her tears and sat up, “I think I just need to take some pain meds.”

Her mother smiled softly, her tired eyes crinkling, “Sure. I’ll get that ready. Your father will be taking you to school so you don’t miss any more time.”

When her mother left, F/n got up and began to dress into her school uniform. She quickly ate a muffin that her mother baked and headed out the front door where her father waited for her in the car.

Once the seatbelt clicked, her father backed out of the driveway and headed to U.A..

“Whatever happened to that Todoroki kid. I haven’t seen him in months.” Her father asked. “You two are still friends right?”

“We’ve been friends since forever and yet you still don’t remember his name?” F/n smiled, “Do you have some vendetta against him?”

Her father sputtered as he turned right, “I do if he’s planning on stealing you away!”

She whined, a small blush decorating her checks, “Dad..!”

Her father shook his index finger, “I see the way he looks at you. I used to look at your mother the same way and believe me, I know the signs!”

“Dad, knock it off.” She crossed her arms, “We’re friends and we want it to stay that way. Besides, why ruin the beautiful friendship we have?”

“Me and your mother had the sam-”

“Dad.” She sternly looked at him.

“Okay, okay.” He chuckled, “I’m only watching out for you. You’re my only kid after all. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“And nothing won’t.” The school came into view and she grabbed her bag, “So stop worrying and stop asking morbid questions.”

He once again chuckled as he stopped, “Understood. Have a nice day and behave. I’m watching.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and got out of the car, “Aye, Aye, captain.”

She strolled the hallways. It was eerily quiet. She could hear her footsteps and even her breathing. Everything felt so loud. She quickened her pace.

As she entered her classroom, everyone was in groups for their projects. Mr. Aizawa gave a brief glance at the girl before writing her name in the detention list, “You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, this won’t happen again.” She bowed.

He grunted and waved her off, “Just get in your group.”

She nodded and headed to the back where her friends were at.

"So we all agree then?" Tenya wrote in his notebook, "Nothing about crime."

Ochaco puffed out some air and muttered "Lame.”

"We just don't want to get in trouble." Shoto shrugged and noticed F/n, “Why are you late?”

“Being late is unprofessional! Make sure to arrive on time, F/n!” Tenya scolded her.

“It’s not like she missed anything.” Ochaco shrugged and then glanced at her, “But why are you late?”

F/n sat in between Ochaco and Shoto, “..I stayed up..watching movies.”

Tenya adjusted his glasses, “As always.”

Next to the navy-haired male, Izuku sat up as he looked at F/n. He noticed her eyes were a light shade of pink. It almost looked like she had been crying.

This made the boy curious. What was it that she was crying about? Has someone hurt her or made her upset?

He didn’t know, but he felt saddened for her as well as a bit mad. Who was it that hurt her? He wanted to say something but the conversation had already ended and they were back onto the project thinking of other ideas.

Some other time, he thought.

“What about a candy stall?” Ochaco then grinned, her eyes shining as she thought about another idea, “Oh! Or an ice cream stall!?”

“I heard Momo’s group is already doing that.” Shoto pointed out as he looked towards the raven-haired girl.

“So candy stall?” F/n suggested.

The group nodded, “Yeah.”

“We’ll also need uniforms.” Tenya hummed, “Since it’s candy, what color would go well with it?”

While the others thought about it, F/n glanced at Izuku as she felt like he had been quiet. She didn’t want him to feel like he wasn't part of the group. The last thing she wanted was for someone to feel excluded, “What do you think, Izuku?”

His heart sped up as her attention was on him. It felt really good for her eyes to be in him yet he couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at the thought, “Anything that you agree on should be perfect.”

She smiled at that, “How about pink?”

“Pink?” Shoto and Tenya both said.

“We’re talking about candy and I feel like pink fits it so well.” She then added as she looked at Ochaco, “Plus, it’s her favorite color. Last year we did mine.”

The group agreed. As Tenya finished writing down notes, Shota rose from his seat and caught the attention of everyone, “Finding an idea shouldn’t take too long so I imagine that everyone has already picked one.”

“And if you haven’t, too bad.” He then turned around where a board was placed and began writing groups 4 times. He looked towards F/n’s team, “Your idea.”

She stood up, “A candy stall.”

He wrote it down then looked at Katsuki’s group, “Yours.”

Mina stood up grinning proudly, “Spicy food stall!”

It was obvious that the idea was Katsuki’s.

Shota then looked towards Momo’s group. She stood up and presented their idea, “Ice cream stall.”

“Aw man!” Tsuyu whined, “We had that one planned out.”

Momo frowned, “Oh no, I’m sorry, if you’d like we can pick another idea.”

Katsuki scoffed, “It’s just a damn stall. Pick another frog face.”

“That comment wasn’t necessary, Katsuki.” Mr. Aizawa let out a sigh, “Since the ice cream once isn’t available, you’ll have to pick another.”

“A baking stall?” Rikidou proposed.

When his group agreed, Shota wrote on the board and then placed the chalk away, “Great, starting tomorrow we’ll be building the stalls.”

The bell rang and everyone began to grab their bags. Before they left Mr. Aizawa let out a final statement, “And remember to take this seriously, everyone else will be doing the same thing.”

Everyone headed to their next class. They internally groaned as they would have math next.

#izuku midoria x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x y/n #yandere izuku x reader #yandere izuku #deku x reader

78 notes · View notes

missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

Wednesday Addams' Masterlist

Updated 05/18/2023

» Please do not repost or translate my work onto any other sites. I do not give permission for anyone to do so & please respect that or I will have to report your ass.

» if you like my fics, please feel free to send asks, comment, and/or reblog! Interaction makes this site run ♥

» All works are with OFC/fem!reader unless stated otherwise

» ✧ means 1k+ notes

WEDNESDAY ADDAMS

S E R I E S

Wednesday's Encyclopedia

» Wednesday's Dictionary of Emotions ✧

Wednesday's second year at Nevermore is a lot less eventful. Unfortunately, there are no murders or psychotic serial killers to find. There are not even any attempts on her life. Yet, somehow, Wednesday finds she's more stressed about the new outcast who casually walks around with Wednesday's heart in her hands (not literally, sadly).

» Wednesday's Book of Flowers [TBA]

Sequel to Wedneday's Dictionary of Emotions.

O N E S H O T S

» Oblivion ✧

Everyone has vices, some more than others. Wednesday has quite a few: her morbid curiosity, her vindictive or cruel demeanor, and most recently—finding any reason to kiss you. [soft angst. romance]

» Just Like Silk ✧

Wednesday is a rigid person. She wears the same type of clothes everyday, eats the same thing every morning, and always wears her hair in braids. You find something exhilrating about undoing all those things—undoing her. [Intimacy. Fluff]

» Lips Over Your Nightmare ✧

You've been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares haunt you every time you close your eyes, and Wednesday offers a solution in the form of comfort only she is capable of. [soft angst. comfort]

» Just Last Lifetime | Just Last Lifetime (2) •newest•

You didn't move after Tyler knocked you down, and it would've been over had Enid not come when she did. Wednesday stays beside your hospital bed diligently, hand tracing yours as she plans how to torture you for the rest of her life and how she looks forward to letting you plague her. But the moment you wake up, nothing will ever be the same again. [angst]

D R A B B L E

» mm.drabble.wednesday

WENCLAIR

S E R I E S

» TBA

O N E S H O T S

» Keep You Warm

Wednesday had warned Enid to dress warm for the weather, knowing the blonde had a penchant for thinking she was invincible because she was a werewolf. Because if Enid caught a cold...

D R A B B L E S

» mm.drabble.wenclair

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams fanfic #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesdayedit #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #mm.masterlist

277 notes · View notes

dross-the-fish · 6 months

Note

I can't find it now but I saw a post where you said Erik's mask isn't a comfort item. Why do you think it isn't? Why would he get so angry at Christine if it wasn't?

Ok, I'm about to get ranty and it's not directed at you specifically so don't take it personally.

I hate the take that Erik's mask is his "security blanket" or his "comfort device" because it's incredibly LAZY.

It's fucking lazy. It's a lazy and reductive take and it almost always comes with the intent of woobifying Erik and villainizing Christine.

Erik does not find his mask comforting, he feels he has to wear it to conceal himself and if anything he gives the sense that he would much rather be able to live without it. He's angry at Christine for a few reasons and I speculate some of them are not even about Christine.

The most obvious and superficial reason is that his carefully laid plan has gone to shit

Erik believed whole heartedly that if Christine didn't know what he looked like that she might be compelled to return to him if he let her go. My guess is that he had planned to try and win her over and wait to tell her the truth after they re-built some of the lost trust...trust lost because he lied to her...and kidnapped her.

Erik is a wee bit unhinged.

But I also think there's more to his freak out. This may be headcanon on my part but I always interpreted this

As being something of a traumatized response. Not because the mask gives him comfort or something like that, but because when someone is deformed, especially back in that time period, people often stared or treated them like a horror novelty. Erik has no doubt endured a life time of people trying to look at his face as some kind of morbid curiosity to be gawked at and Christine snatching it may have put him back in that mindset and he is PISSED.

His bit about "Women being inquisitive" also strikes me as him referencing things that happened before. I almost wonder if Christine wasn't the first person to catch his interest and if he's tried this before with....horrible results.

It reads less like "Oh no! You took my safety blanket! Now I'm exposed and vulnerable!" and more akin to

This specifically is why I hate the whole "mask is his comfort item" take because it makes Erik sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum because someone took his binky and paints Christine as being somehow in the wrong for wanting to see her kidnapper's face.

A thing she had already demanded of him previously which he denied without giving any explanation whatsoever. I cannot stress enough that Erik is the one with the power in this scenario. They are in his house, he has her trapped and he has been the older mentor/protector figure in her life for some time. The scale is tipped in HIS favor, not hers. I've always felt that at this point in their relationship her taking off the mask is, in a way, her trying to level the field because he's had her at such a disadvantage this whole time.

And that's not to say that Christine doesn't have feelings of some kind for Erik. Christine's feelings for Erik are messy and complicated but there is an undeniable fear and discomfort that she expresses over her captivity. She does pity him enough to come back, I think she also feels a lingering attachment to him, despite everything, but Erik keeps making. The. Worst. Possible. Choices.

To be clear, Christine is not in any way to blame for "provoking" Erik. He is a victim of the the time period and the society he lives in but he is not in any way shape or form CHRISTINE'S victim.

Erik isn't to blame for how he's been treated by the world at large and he's clearly been through some shit, he deserves sympathy but that doesn't make his treatment of Christine ok or make it Christine's job to give him affection and companionship.

#the phantom of the opera #Poto discourse

64 notes · View notes

enha-cafe · 1 year

Note

Omg can you please elaborate on getting high with enhas legal line

Getting High With ENHYPEN Legal Line

heeseung

heeseung doesn't like to get high very often but he does he makes sure to have any and all snacks ready for whenever he gets the munchies. is definitely giggling at any and all things. found a picture of the two of you on your wall? he’s laughing. he went to the restroom real quick and just got back? he’s busting a lung. never a dull moment with a high heeseung.

“why did the chicken cross the road” “i don’t know hee tell me,” you say just smiling at him “TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE HAHAHA” he busts out laughing “hee i don’t want to ruin your fun but i hope you realize that joke is actually a suicide joke” heeseung stops laughing “wait- that’s not funny at all y/n why would you let me make such a morbid joke about a chicken?” now it’s time for you to laugh “wait you genuinely didn’t know? oh my goodness now i feel bad heeseung” you pout “hey you know what would make it up to me” he quirks his brow “i have the leftovers that jay gave me in the kitchen you can have them” “YES THIS IS WHY YOU’RE MY SMOKING BUDDY,” heeseung says as he walks over to the kitchen only to trip over his own two feet “HA OH MY GOD YOU’RE HILARIOUS HEE” “Y/N THAT WASN’T FUNNY THAT JUST HURT”

jay

is such a nerd and will research everything before he even touches the blunt. makes food for the two of you beforehand because if he's going to be getting the munchies he wants to make sure he has food prepared beforehand. jay is also the type of person to play music when he gets high and just sits there and chills. most likely to supply their own weed.

“jay are you alive over there?“ you say while you’re staring at the wall “yeah i’m fine why?” “just making sure you’re more quiet than usual” he lets out a scoff “maybe because i’m relaxed and my brain is off” “okay sure i guess anyways where are the snacks I'm hungry" "y/n we go over this each time, they're in the fridge for you" "i knew there was a reason I invited you to smoke" you smile at him "i swear you're worse than any of the members when it comes to me making food for you" "yeah, yeah whatever get back to staring at your wall while listening to your music like the vegetable you are" you wave him off and he laughs "love you too"

jake

jake is the type of guy to want to try out all of the tricks while smoking and ends up coughing after his first puff. definitely begs you to try shotgunning with him just for the heck of it and it may or may not have turned him on a little bit. in addition to that jake is also the type of guy to get really clingy and want kisses whether you two are in a relationship or not.

“jake i already told you i’m not giving you a kiss because i know you’re going to want more than that,” you say to jake pouting and giving you nothing but puppy eyes. “c’mon just one kiss won’t hurt” he pleads “last time you said that you had to Venmo me the cash for a plan b,” you say after taking a quick puff “it’s not my fault you’re a really good kisser” he rolls his eyes "okay fine y/n i'll just sit here unloved and high" you giggle and decide to give him a small forehead kiss and sit on his lap "better?" "much, now can we at least do some shotgunning?" you swear you saw him with a wagging dog's tail "only if it'll shut you up and you promise not to get horny again" "scout's honor" "jake, you were never a scout"

sunghoon

sunghoon 100 percent knows how to roll and figures out how to do all the tricks quite easily but is unfortunately a lightweight. if you smoke with sunghoon make sure you know how to take care of another person while high because this lightweight is quite needy.

“sunghoon you never told me where you learned how to roll” “oh i learned from youtube it's also where i learned how to do this” you direct your attention to sunghoon only to see him blowing smoke rings "sunghoon be honest with me, how stressful was ice skating?" sunghoon lets out a laugh "y/n we've been over this you're the only one I've smoked with now come here and cuddle," he says that last part with a slight pout. making your way over to him on the bed he put his hands out to grab you and pull you onto his lap. "hoon you get so needy when you're high" you giggle while he nuzzles his nose into your neck "but you're so cozy and so nice to cuddle with, also I doubt any of the guys would let me do this" "okay mr. needy" you say taking the blunt out of his fingers and smoking the rest of it

sunoo

sunoo is probably the best one to smoke with because during his first time getting high he never coughed and all he ever wants to do is just cuddle and talk. he also seems like the kind of guy to take naps when high. he most likely gets prerolls when he buys because he doesn't know how to roll and refuses to ask for anyone to teach him how.

staring at the ceiling fan while on the bed with sunoo while high is one of your favorite pass times while high “y/n would you still love me if i was a worm?“ “sunoo i would still love you even if you were a worm.” you say between puffs “would you make me a little worm enclosure?“ “yes, and maybe i’d even get you some little worm friends so that you’re never lonely“ right as you say that sunoo takes his head off your chest and stares at you, “hell no! if you’re going to be taking care of other worms too you might as well kill me. i want to be the only worm you make a special enclosure for.“ this causes you to let out a giggle “so what would you do if i was a worm?“ he thinks for a second while taking a long hit “easy i’d get you one of those huge aquarium tanks and make you a lavish mansion and feed you only the finest of trash“ “nice. what if we were in a plane and there was only one parachute“ “y/n no” “y/n yes” “no it’s nap time” “but we haven’t even finished the blunt” you say with a pout “well then you finish it i’m taking a nap”

tag list : @sunoouz

tag list : open

329 notes · View notes

streaminn · 11 months

Text

Streamer au: Junior year stalker edition

Aight guys, lemme drop some lore shit on yall for the streamer au

We all know that sophomore year (season 1) is all abt Wednesday. Tyler is there etc etc, it's all show except more signs of Wenclair pop in and Enid kills Tyler in self defense by the end. They continue onto the second semester, more signs of the stalker show up and it just seems like little pranks and horrible dark morbid jokes has Wednesday huffing out what could be a laugh.

Enid is seen getting more and more irate, gets easier to piss off during this semester and alot more overprotective. Then the year ends

Wenclair get closer during the summer break, stalker isn't able to send dumb rose stems with thorns anymore and Enid is relieved

Junior year rolls around and it's a new semester. This time, while Wednesday is still a focus there's more Enid screen time. Her mental is a little bit down the drain bc after her first shift, she hasn't been able to shift at all

Like sure she can bare her teeth, actually growl and showcase her nails much longer than before but that's it

No call of the moon every month

Family isnt so supportive of that.

she's been having these dreams lately and this whole stalker thing with Wednesday is stressing her tf out. Like sure it looks like an admirer who's trying their best to go try Wednesday aesthetic in an attempt to woo but she's not jealous!

She's worried!

And.. Maybe a little concerned. She and Wednesday literally confessed into loving each other sometime during the semester. She just wanted to confront them and see what they're planning because while Wednesday can see it as courting, Enid wonders if someone is planning to kill her girlfriend?? (loved one?? They haven't talked it out yet)

So she catches a whiff of a scent and seeks out the stalker herself.

Surprise surprise, it's a guy. Og plan was for them to be the left over gang who did the raven prank. Then I realized that with how odd the Addams family is, death threats might come off as 'romantic' inclined gifts and it made me think of using xavier

Maybe he got approached by these guys and got roped into it. He could've had plausible deniability, if it weren't for the fact that he helped give the boys access to silver. Xavier was a good kid, he meant well

But enid kept hovering over wednesday and it was frustrating. He could have a chance, he just needed her out of the way for a moment

When promised such a thing, it's not his fault he accepted

The boys sought revenge for Tyler, having heard that it was Enid who killed him. They were planning to strike Wednesday originally, thinking that it's her influence that made him think outcasts were ok to hangout with until they heard the news from sheriff galphin during Tyler's funeral.

Killed by a werewolf, they were told. It wasn't hard to pinpoint a werewolf with fresh scars in nevermore. This just proved their point, outcasts are dangerous! Enid most especially.

She could go insane, they whisper. Don't you see? The scars are just the start of it. Can you really trust a murderer?

Anyways, enough of that.

Enid gets captured, shit goes down when she went missing for three or so days. Maybe a week if I want to push it but when Wednesday finally figures out where Enid is, she can't believe she didn't realize where.

Wends barges into the place because ofcourse they would be in the crypt, stuck somewhere deeper inside. In the older cells where they kept outcasts in the olden days.

Enid's low key barely hanging on, but she's breathing and she doesn't know how long it's been.

Until she smells Wednesday and the sound of her being struck.

Wednesday has an odd relationship with jericho's police department but even he knows that there's some truth in Wednesday's words at times

There's no harm in checking out the crypt she mentioned to him right?

He smells the thick scent of blood just as he steps inside and immediately calls for back up.

It's silent in there, barely a whisper and when the rest of his crew show up, they all crawl in with a bad feeling in their stomach.

They stumble across five dead bodies and a stained red Enid Sinclair cradling Wednesday Addams the deeper they went.

What they see is akin to a massacre and it isn't until it needs to be documented did they realize that it was a warning.

There's guts spread onto the wall, an organ hanging onto a cell bar and blood staining the mouth of Enid Sinclair.

It's not hard to put two and two together.

She gets taken into custody. Her wounds get categorized and she's left in a cell with a muzzle and mittens on for protection.

It's in jail that Enid finally gets to process everything.

They weren't just dreams. It was memories. Past instances of old werewolves dying, it was a warning.

And she hears them clearly, the choir and is now aware that something is deathly wrong with her.

Enid misses the first semester because of her time. She's still a suspect, she still has her trial.

Wednesday visits as much as she can, it helps keep the noise down.

It isn't until three months away (missing winter break and the start of the second semester) from nevermore did the case settle and Enid was declared a free man for she acted in self defense. The unnecessary amount of force that the normies insisted on was excused by the large amount of silver coated in Enid's own remains

she's different, alot more quiet but then Wednesday hugs her just as she's released and maybe, she can act like everything is okay

Did the Addams family low key bribe the judge? Maybe..

Anyways, some stuff here is gonna be mentioned again for their senior year! Which I will reblog onto this but here are my general thoughts that happened during their sophomore year

They're like what 16-17 here? So rip Enid, she's going through some things but atleast she seems pretty ok present time

#streamer enid au #Timeline #Writing #I suppose

63 notes · View notes

msweebyness · 3 months

Text

MiracOlympus- Theatre Deities

Here’s the next batch of gods! The theater class! Enjoy! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

Ayesha:

(Euphrosyne)

Goddess of joy and cheer

Can find a silver lining in any situation, negativity is a foreign concept

Personal cheerleader for any deity who needs it

Impossible not to smile around her

Great at talking people through their problems

Anthony:

(Thanatos)

God of death

Everything he says is morbid in some way, but he’s still a snark king

Only smiles around Jesse, otherwise he’s a dark cloud

Black Hair, black wings, black everything

SCARY when he’s mad

Jesse:

(Melpomene)

Muse of theater, specifically tragedy

Just as dramatic as his twin, Jean

Will start crying at the drop of a hat

Kind of a pessimist, worries a lot

Seeing him smile is a rare gift

Dot:

(Clio)

Muse of history and records

Keeps METICULOUS files of all happenings on Earth and Olympus

Can be a bit OCD about her records

Can recite an unbelievable amount of trivia

Can be persuaded to sing with her siblings

Petra:

(Iapetus)

Deity of Craft and artistic skill

Always working on some new project

Super critical of her own work

Loves visiting earth to find new materials

Can make anything into a fun art project

Roxie:

(Nemesis)

Godex of Retribution

Can be persuaded to forgive, but NEVER forgets

Believes very strongly in fairness and just punishment

Gives the most savage burns

Refuses to lose an argument

Candace:

(Eunomia)

Goddess of order and lawfulness

The Responsible One™️

Huge stickler for the rules of the divine order

Gets stressed when things go off course

Aggie, Alix and Ismael drive her up the wall

Brecken:

(Cybele)

God of wild creatures and nature

VERY protective of all wildlife

Sweet as a kitten with his friends and Evie

Doesn’t like being inside

Has some animal features, i.e. feline eyes, claws, etc.

Eri:

(Hecate)

Goddess of witchcraft and magic

Still gothic and theatrical as heck

Has a potion or spell for everything

Only likes to come out at night

Everyone is at least a little scared of her

Aggie:

(Atë)

Goddess of daring and impulse

Will NEVER turn down a dare

Harbinger of chaos

Giving the other gods heart attacks on the reg

Lacey’s parkour bestie

Margo:

(Eos)

Goddess of the dawn

Wakes up the world with encouragement and affection

Still a romantic, Rose’s matchmaking buddy

Biggest morning person ever

Dresses like the sunrise

Soo-Yeon:

(Eurus)

God of the east wind and fall weather

Quietest and most restrained of the winds

Still a nervous wreck, tbh

Tries to wrangle his fellow winds as best he can

Can be intense when it’s needed

Has wings like a falcon

Parker:

(Kratos)

Goddess of strength and fortitude

Can deadlift just about anything

Always up to fight for a good cause

Can be VERY stubborn

Best workout coach

Staci:

(Erebus)

Goddess of the ether and gloom

Emotions are impossible to read

Likes to hang out in the shadows

Still snarky like no other

Hangs in the Underworld most of the time

Evie:

(Erato)

Muse of song and lyric poetry

Voice so pure it will make you cry

Still very proper, but cuts loose when singing

Master of wrangling her siblings

Writes love songs for Brecken

Mona:

(Morpheus)

Deity of dreams

Half-awake 90% of the time

Things they say are confusing, but also profound

Cannot stop falling asleep

Keeps a dream journal for the whole world, great at interpretation

Eloise:

(Metis)

Goddess of prudence and deliberation

Consistent voice of reason on Olympus

Does complex math problems or puzzles to relax

Not the most versed in emotion, but a good listener

Always has at least three plans

Anais:

(Urania)

Muse of science and space

Spends hours locked in her lab, working on countless experiments

Never goes anywhere without their telescope

Infodumps about the periodic elements

Is very…intense when curious about something

Missy:

(Asclepius)

Goddess of health and medicine

Will punt any of her fellow deities if they’re not taking care of themselves

She cares, it’s just aggressively

Serves as Olympus’ doctor, nurse, physical therapist, nutritionist, etc.

Snarky, but it’s out of love

Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

#miraculous ladybug #ml au #miracolympus #theater kids #greek gods au #mlb ocs

15 notes · View notes

dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 8 months

Text

Eden VAU part four

TW: captivity, forced intoxication, blood, violence, brief misgendering, implied Stockhole Syndrome, referenced war, vampire whumpers, human whumpees, multiple whumpers, multiple whumpees

Ezra was still laying wide awake in bed when Christopher came to find him. He couldn't sleep again, after only spending an hour or two awake. But there was something comforting about hiding under his blankets.

"Are you feeling alright?" Christopher asked.

"Yeah. Just processing everything that happened."

Ezra stood up and readjusted his binder, then quickly got embarrassed at the gesture. Christopher simply smiled and held out a plate of chocolate cookies.

"These are yours, my dear Ezra. I hope you enjoy."

Ezra took the plate from him and scarfed down the cookies, which satisfied his stress induced sugar cravings perfectly. His mind wandered off to wondering whether Christopher liked sugar too. If so, getting his blood sugar up might be a good excuse to eat more sweets than strictly necessary.

"Thank you so much," Ezra said. "Those were really good."

"I will make more, of course." Christopher took the empty plate from him. "Colt is very fond of my baking."

"Who's Colt?" Christopher extended his hand, showing off a wedding ring. It was made from shiny white gold, and engraved with a pattern of lavender. "My husband. You will meet him in his next visit."

"That sounds good."

Really, Ezra didn't have any feelings on the matter. So what if he had to meet yet another vampire? But he still had that feeling of warmth in his chest he got every time he met another openly queer person, which was far too infrequent for his liking.

"Have you met any others?" Christopher asked. "After myself and Liam, of course."

"Nope. I've just been in here resting."

"You have permission to go anywhere on this flooring of our house. This is third and highest from the ground. My family stays mostly on second. Other humans are here with you."

"Thanks," Ezra said. "I'll try to learn my way around."

Secretly, Ezra was awfully curious to when the whole blood drinking thing would start. He had always wanted to know what it was like, even if he had no real desire to experience it. Morbid curiosity killed the black cat and all that.

"I have business to attend to," Christopher said apologetically. "Please stay comfortable. I will see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow then."

Ezra utterly melted when Christopher hugged him. Such an odd thing, to be terrified of your own shadow in a house full of monsters, but to feel comfortable and… loved in the embrace of one.

Maybe it was the smell of lavender perfume that urged him to relax, or his perpetual touch starvation, but he couldn't help wishing for a little more attention as Christopher left him alone in his room.

Well, there was nothing else for it. He had to find his fellow captives and make himself known. First impressions were so very important, and hopefully he could keep up his girl-next-door facade and not let any of the humans in on how weird he was.

Strange, how much this felt like a first day at work. Getting nervous and planning social interactions. Did the other blood slaves count as his coworkers? That was a funny thought. Clocking in for a short at the blood harvesting center, with vampires for shift managers.

Liam walked in on Ezra giggling to himself. "Hey kid, what's so funny?"

Ezra shook his head and collected himself. "Nothing I guess. Christopher left. On business I guess. Gave me cookies though, so that was nice."

Now it was Liam's turn to laugh. "Yeah, he's always bustling around the kitchen. For someone who can't eat, his food is really good."

"Mind giving me a tour of this place?" Ezra asked anxiously. "I don't want to get lost by accident and get in trouble for being in the wrong place, you know?"

"Sure thing, kid." Liam patted Ezra on the shoulder. "You should meet the rest of us."

Liam strolled out of the room, looking much more cheerful than he had when Ezra had first met him. Ezra followed behind him, bursting with questions but fearing to be annoying.

"This is where all our bedrooms are." Liam gestured up and down the hallway. "Some of the rooms are empty, and I hope they stay that way."

Ezra nodded. "How many people live here?"Liam started ticking off on his fingers. "For humans there's me, Jun, Flora, Leo, and Jane-Marie. Then you, of course. Jane-Marie isn't a captive. She married one of the vampires."

"I didn't know people… did that."

"Eh, sometimes. It's weird. I try to avoid Jane-Marie. Okay, I try to avoid everybody who isn't a captive. You should do the same."

Ezra wanted to talk to everyone in this house, to get a good grasp on the environment, but Liam's attitude made enough sense. He knew far more than Ezra did, and if Ezra were smarter, he would take Liam's advice.

"You're not allowed off the third floor without direct permission," Liam continued, "so pretend that locked door at the end if the hall doesn't exist. It's to the staircase."

Liam led Ezra down to the other end of the hall and into a living room area. A bookshelf lined one wall, and a television stood against the opposite. A chandelier covered in numerous flickering candles cast better lighting over the room than any of the others Ezra had been in.

"Don't turn on the television or any music at night," Liam said. "The vamps can hear it downstairs and it drives them nuts. They sleep like the dead during the day, so you can do whatever you want then."

"Good to know." Ezra glanced around the room, finding it empty save for himself and Liam. "Where is everybody?"

"Flora is sleeping. I don't know where Leo got off to. And Jun is taking care of Dasha."

Ezra sat down on one of the sofas, finding it very comfortable. "Who's Dasha?"

"Another one of the vampire siblings. She's got some kinda… developmental thing? She doesn't really talk or anything. Her siblings are very protective of her, since she's so harmless. Jun has been here for like twenty years, and he's very attached to her. Have you ever seen a human brushing a vampire's hair and trying to convince her to feed because she doesn't know why she needs to? That's them."

"This is going to sound messed up, but I'm kind of glad that they're like that. It's not like vampires with developmental disorders can get caretakers like humans can. And it's not like her family probably knows why she's like that. They didn't have psychology in seventeenth century Russia. Besides, Jun is probably better off with her than you are with Michael, huh? If she's as 'harmless' as you say."

"True." Liam paused, scratching the scars in his neck and trying to formulate his next sentence. "I mean, that makes sense. Jun is a nice guy, but we don't see him much. He's the only one who stays downstairs all night. Frankly, I don't want to throw myself deeper in the lion's den. But he's happy."

"So. There's Jun, who's taking care of Dasha. You, who belongs to Michael. Me, who got kidnapped by Christopher. Then Leo and… Flora?"

"Yeah, Flora belongs to Lucille and Leo belongs to Demyan. Let's go see if we can find them. I bet they're either downstairs or in the kitchen."

"This is a really big house." Ezra stood up and followed Liam towards the kitchen. "Really old looking too."

"Turn of the century manor is what Jun said. Turn from the nineteenth century to the twentieth century, I mean. I have no idea when the vamps moved in."

"Christopher implied it was during World War Two, or a little while after. He doesn't seem all that fond of the Soviet Union."

Liam nodded and opened the door to the kitchen. He and Ezra found a human inside, but not exactly in the state they had expected to.

The human had their head tilted back, so they could quickly down a large bottle of vodka, urged on by two male vampires. Frizzy orange hair hung over their face, hiding any drunken expression they might have. Blood poured from wounds on their neck and arms, staining their clothes in shades of dark red and brown.

The vampires took no notice of Liam and Ezra, too busy passing their drunk blood bag back and forth, playing some macabre drinking game as the human forced themself to drink more and more. They could no longer stand on their own, so the vampires kept ahold of their wrists.

One of the vampires took a break from drinking to give his brother a turn, and looked up to scowl at Ezra and Liam. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

Liam immediately dragged Ezra out of the room, clenching his wrist much too tightly in panic, and slammed the kitchen door behind them. He didn't let go of Ezra until they were back in the living room.

"What the hell was that?" Ezra asked, unable to get the horrible sight out of his mind's eye. "Liam, I'm… scared."

"Sorry kid, but this happens a lot. Leo is gonna be alright after a day or two. That was Demyan and Michael in there with her. Michael was the one who told us to fuck off. Leo was already an alcoholic before they got taken captive and it's gotten so much worse. I feel really bad for them."

"I can tell why you wanted me to stay away from everybody," Ezra said shakily. He collapsed on a chair, trying to keep his breathing under control.

Liam patted him on the shoulder. "I can't do much but try to protect you. Just do as I say and you'll keep your skin mostly intact. God, you're too young for this."

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenlyeden @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chiswhumpcorner @skittles-the-whumpee @whumpkinz @dokidokisadness @enbygesserit @canislycaon24 @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @a-crumb-of-whump

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Eden #Eden VAU #Whump #Vampire whumpers #Human whumpees #Multiple whumpers #Multiple whumpees #Blood bag whumpees #Whump writing #whumpblr #Forced intoxication

21 notes · View notes

viatagrinner · 1 year

Text

I wanted to just reply to this post:

from @queen-dahlia , but my reply came out long, so it turned into a post.

+Gibert can't taste the food yet...

I don't think he's sick and dying, it's another thing he might be going to die.

Gil hates his father, in Silvio's romantic epilogue that thought was there.

Gilbert: The Obsidian Emperor is the epitome of a liar. He is very good at reneging on his promises.

I have a feeling that similar examples of Gilbert's words about the emperor could still be found, but, alas, Silvio's epilogue is what I quickly recalled.

Unless I'm lying, perhaps in the Clavis route Gilbert meant that he was condemning an event from ten years ago, the war (Bloody Rose Day) between Rhodolite and Obsidian. Too much dirt, and he likes to wait. And you shouldn't put him on the same page as those people. A romantic route, perhaps?

Upd. Found chapter 21, His Side Story:

Gilbert hates lies.

Hmm, he also mentions the word "judgment" intermittently. I think it refers to his father...

He probably realizes that in confronting his father, he may not survive.

There is a second option that goes well with the first, but could be a different version.

"The last gift" ... In the sense of "farewell." It means that the prince will try to distance himself from Emma.

I mean, he told himself that he likes our character so much, but he forced himself to come to her.

Maybe he feels so dirty that he doesn't want to "dirty" the girl. He also realizes that the closer he is to her, the more dangerous it is for her.

As for his morbid condition?

Life in Obsidian is no fun... Perhaps at some point Gil got used to restricting his senses, that it transferred to his body.... Living under constant stress, his body has developed this reaction.

He reminded me of Toa from The Court of Darkness. He, too, suffers from a father (also Gilbert 😄), a sister, and is also under perpetual stress.

Gilbert's weakness may also be due to the fact that he has almost no rest: wars, battles, planning, trips to different countries, constant "purges," always waiting for assassins.

You can't get healthy from such a life.😅

Plus there are alternate "What if....?" type stories: birthday parties together, their household when they became lovers.... Gilbert is alive and well, just working hard.

#ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikemen gilbert #ikemen prince gilbert #And I wasn't too lazy to find information... Gilbert is the best motivator

78 notes · View notes

talesofadragon · 2 years

Text

𝐉𝐢𝐠𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬

Synopsis: Bucky thought he was fine. He was a free man, had established a strong friendship with Sam, and was finally done with his mediocre therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor. But after an unexpected talk with Pepper and a guilt trip down memory lane, he realizes that he’s nowhere near where he wants to be. Having no other alternative to clear his overcrowded mind, Bucky decides to take Pepper’s word for it and seek professional help once more. But instead of wrinkles, thick glasses, and an obnoxious notebook that matches the old woman’s personality, he finds someone that’s nothing like he expected. Someone that might just be the cure to his shattered mind and maimed heart.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Therapist!Reader

Warnings: Angst | Fluff

Word Count: 3.2K

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

···

GIF by falcvns

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 did I get myself into?

Bucky asked himself once more, having foolishly agreed to go through this. It had already been a good ten minutes or so since he sunk into one of Hudson Clinic’s surprisingly comfortable chairs as he impatiently waited for the secretary to call his name.

The room was overcrowded, people coming in and coming out of the baby blue doors behind the secretary’s desk, but even though there was a lot of activity going on within the beige-colored room, Bucky had not moved an inch. He sat with his back against the chair and his hands clasped in front of him. An exhale left his lips as his mind tugged him back to the moment he found himself agreeing to this nonsense in the first place.

TWO WEEKS AGO

“I’m not sure about this,” Bucky whined again, stepping backward, just about ready to be anywhere but here. Sam rolled his eyes, albeit dramatically, adjusting his grip on the casserole in his hands.

“Bucky,” he said, wincing at the distressed face Bucky pulled. “Look, I get why you’re so worried, but you need to man up and stop stressing out over nothing. It’s just a friendly dinner.”

“With the Starks.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, and Clint. And Bruce and Wanda. If Pepper didn’t want you here, she wouldn’t have bothered to extend you an invite. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. So, stop stalling and ring that damned bell already.”

Bucky let out a long exhale, his chest deflating and his eyes closing in the process. His blue eyes gazed at the bell and then at Sam, the man’s insistence reminding him of Steve back in the 1940s. Reluctantly, and after a good minute of planning his escape route, in case things go south, Bucky rang the bell, and the two men were quickly met with the friendly faces of Pepper and Morgan Stark.

It came as a surprise when Bucky received a call from Pepper, who invited him over for dinner at the Starks’ lakehouse. At first, he declined without a second thought, but Pepper was adamant about not taking no for an answer. She quickly explained that she had also invited all the remaining Avengers, where this dinner would be a good opportunity to reconnect, especially after what happened recently.

After a stern talk from Sam and a chicken parmesan casserole from Sarah, the two men were ushered to the back of the lakehouse, where Wanda, Bruce, and Clint were all waiting for them. And as much as Bucky hated to admit it, it had actually been a lovely dinner and not as morbid or half as catastrophic as he thought.

An hour or two later, after Pepper brought out the drinks, Bucky retreated to the edge of the lake. No one seemed to notice his absence. Everyone was busy chatting with Morgan or nursing their own drinks with clouded minds.

“Thank you for coming.” A gentle voice sounded behind Bucky, challenging his previous thoughts. His grip tightened around the glass, shoulders visibly tensing at the additional presence. “I know it’s harder on you than most, but I really appreciate it.”

Bucky nodded once, his gaze never leaving the lake. He opened his mouth, praying for his voice to come out as steady as possible. “I should be the one thanking you, Pepper. I’m sorry about everything.”

“I know.”

Pepper smiled gently. Her feet moved, leading her to a wooden bench while her eyes roamed the area. She looked at Morgan, who happily chased Sam, then her eyess landed on the tent Tony had built and would often spend hours hiding away from the world with their daughter.

“How… how are you two?” Bucky asked as Morgan’s excited giggles echoed across the area. His lips involuntarily twitched the louder they got, but his eyes remained laced with the melancholy that he never seemed able to shake off.

“We’re okay.” Pepper took a sip from her drink, tracing the rim with her finger. “It was hard at first… really hard. Between Morgan missing her dad and my struggle to go on after all that happened. But then, it got better.”

“With time?”

“Oh no,” Pepper snorted at Bucky’s reaction. It was obvious how fed up he was with the notion that “time heals all wounds.” Much as she was.

He furrowed his brows, moving to the side to get a better look at the woman. “Then, how?”

Pepper glanced back at her daughter, the ocean blue in her eyes intensifying as she saw her happy. “I decided to seek some professional help. At first, it was supposed to be some impartial third-party advice to help me find my footing, but then it became an anchor, you know?” The look Bucky gave her told her he didn’t know. “My therapist helped me rationalize all that happened and find the pieces of happiness I sometimes overlooked. She’s the one who suggested all this, actually. She said it was good for me, and Morgan, to connect with a piece of Tony’s legacy and remember that there’s a bigger family than just the two of us.”

“She sounds better than Raynor–my old therapist,” Bucky clarified when he saw the look of confusion that crossed Pepper’s face.

She hummed, taking another sip from her drink. “I used to have a lot of nightmares; Morgan did too. But ever since I started those therapy sessions, there’s been a sense of calm in my life. A sense of… meaning. I don’t feel so lost anymore.”

“That’s really great, Pepper.” Bucky smiled before gulping the last of his drink. “I’m glad you’re both okay.”

He was ready to withdraw to his apartment and end the conversation there. Yet, as soon as he took his first step back, Pepper’s words planted him in place. “Are you okay, Bucky?”

“I am,” he replied almost mechanically. The smile on his face could’ve fooled anyone, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on Pepper. She shook her head, and he swore he felt like a toddler getting caught by his mother at this moment.

“You’re not looking me in the eyes, and you haven’t attempted to go anywhere near Morgan since you got here.”

Bucky gulped, his hands suddenly becoming sweaty. “I… that’s not true.”

Pepper raised her eyes to Bucky’s level. Instantly, his cerulean orbs darted away from her own, failing to prove her wrong. “All this guilt you’re harboring will not do you any good.”

“I’m fine, Pepper,” Bucky stated aloud, unsure who he was trying to convince.

He thought that he had succeeded–that his words were bold enough to get Pepper off his case. But as the night went on, he noticed her stares and concerned glances. Then, it was Sam’s. For a moment, he wondered if the two had talked, but then he brushed it off. He studied Clint as he sat Morgan on his lap and started telling her stories about her father. Bucky’s eyes immediately fled before Morgan’s chocolate brown hues–which reminded him too much of Tony, Howard, and Maria’s–could find his cold ones.

A single night at the Starks proved as disastrous as he had thought it would be. Those a couple of hours led to a series of nightmares ranging from his days as the Winter Soldier to the fight between Steve and Tony, which resulted in him losing his initial prosthetic . He saw the image of Tony as he snapped his fingers and saved the world before he took his last breath. He relived the moment Steve confessed that he’d be going back to the past to live the life that was stolen from his hands. Bucky relived every scar, battle, and war he suffered through, waking up with a start each day and fighting sleep each night.

Eventually, and after a week and a half of this slow torture, he reluctantly picked up his phone and called Pepper.

Hudson Clinics. Y/N Y/L/N.

That’s all she said before Bucky called the place and booked an appointment.

PRESENT TIME

“Mr. Barnes,” the secretary finally called, catching his attention. The woman, who looked like she was in her forties, adjusted her glasses and pointed to the first door on her right. “Dr. Y/L/N is ready to see you now.”

Bucky politely nodded and leisurely strolled to the door. Stares and whispers followed behind him, but he didn’t spare them a second thought. After a knock, followed by a quiet “come in,” Bucky pushed the door open, his eyes greeted by the natural sun rays that peeked through the large window walls. He took a tentative step inside, feeling himself enveloped by the scent of sweet lavender and delicate sage.

Bucky’s blue hues traveled across the room, unconsciously comparing it to Raynor’s old office. Unlike the white walls and the fake greenery, Dr. Y/L/N’s office held a sense of tranquility with its cream color and a vividness perfectly accentuated by the light blue and yellow furniture. It was vast and inviting with a medium-sized couch in front of a series of abstract paintings that seemed to come to life each time the sun peeked through the windows.

On his right, Dr. Y/L/N was already rising to her feet, a genuine and heartwarming smile painted across her features. “It’s lovely to meet you, James,” she greeted, waiting for the man to cross the threshold.

Between his anxiety and shock, since she clearly didn’t look as old as Rayor, it took a good couple of seconds for Bucky to let go of the metal handle and step closer to the doctor. He waited for her to extend her hand, but she remained still as though she was waiting for him to initiate contact. “Hi,” he breathed, reluctantly extending his right hand. Without hesitation, the doctor shook it with care, her smile unwavering.

“I hope the wait wasn’t too long. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Dr. Y/L/N gestured to the light blue couch while she grabbed herself a notebook and a pen. Bucky took a few steps forward, sinking into the soft surface. He exhaled loudly, leaning back–he made a mental note to ask about the couch’s brand and buy at least two for his apartment’s living room.

Bucky opened his eyes and glanced at the doctor. Her smile was there, confident and honest. Her legs were folded on top of one another, her notebook now resting on the table. “Um.” Bucky cleared his throat, blinking. “I’m not sure how this is supposed to go.”

Dr. Y/L/N let out a small laugh, her Y/E/C filling with mirth. She raised her eyes to catch a glimpse of Bucky’s cerulean orbs, and immediately, a warmth filled Bucky’s chest. It hadn’t even been two minutes since he walked into her office, yet he had managed to find something akin to peace the moment he pushed the metal handle down to open the door.

“It’s okay, James,” she assured him. “I know that this isn’t by any means easy, and you may not know where to begin or what to say. But this space right here is your safe space. Feel free to begin wherever you see fit, and I’ll help you make sense of your thoughts.”

Normally, Bucky would have scoffed. He would’ve raised an eyebrow and leaned back, giving her an unimpressed look. But there was something about her soothing tone and her unrestrained words that made the tension in his shoulders ease.

“You probably already know who I am–”

“I don’t,” Dr. Y/L/N cut him immediately. Bucky was taken aback, a prominent scowl taking over his features. She saw him fiddle with his fingers, his mouth opening without any words coming out. “Unless you tell me your story, whatever I saw or heard does not matter much to me.”

Bucky audibly gasped, his tall and firm stance faltering for a second. He looked at the woman in front of him, his mind struggling to string along a sentence, let alone a word. With a quick shake of his head, and an unsteady inhale, he interlaced his hands and shifted slightly backward. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered shakily. Dr. Y/L/N offered him a reassuring nod, encouraging him to continue. “I was born in 1917 and am a former World War two veteran. During a mission, my unit and I were ambushed by a terrorist organization known as Hydra and were consequently abducted by them. During that period, and without our knowledge, they had injected us with the Super Soldier serum with the intent of increasing our physical strength and making us their personal assassins. After being freed by Steve, Captain America, in 1943, an unfortunate incident hindered our mission against Hydra. I found myself back in their clutches with a prosthetic arm and a mind that was anything but my own. They turned me into a ruthless, massacring, assassin by the name of the Winter Soldier.”

Throughout the entire monologue, Bucky kept his eyes focused on the glass table in front of him. His lashes met for the briefest moments before he dared to look at Dr. Y/L/N. Surprised etched itself on his features when he didn’t find her in her seat, her notebook open with fresh ink on one of the pages.

He heard her hum, finding her pouring a glass of water. Her heels clicked against the parquet flooring before they fell silent when they met the furry carpet. She handed him the glass of water, her fingers high enough to not touch his. Bucky dipped his head in a silent thank you, sipping on the water just as she sat down. “James, you described the Winter Soldier as a ‘ruthless, massacring, assassin.' Are these your own words? Is that how you perceive this… side of yourself to be?”

“Yes,” James replied, his glass of water still wrapped around his fingers.

“Alright, and what about you, James? How would you describe yourself before this whole ordeal happened?”

Bucky thought the question over with the smallest hint of surprise. It had been decades ago since he was anything but the Winter Soldier. His brows knitted together, trying to go back to the days when he was Sargeant Barnes rather than the cold-blooded menace Hydra has created. When he finally got a peek at the past, he looked back at Dr. Y/L/N. “I was… outgoing, curious, brave, and spirited, I guess.”

“And now?”

“Damaged,” he looked away, trying to evade the doctor’s eyes.

“Do you remember your time as the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes,” he said, his gloved fingers curling tighter around the glass in his hand. He took one large sip, Dr. Y/L/N writing another line in her notebook. “I frequently have nightmares where I relive everything. I see people’s begging eyes, hear their pained whimpers, and feel their dread as I creep closer to them before ending their life with my hands.”

“You used a first-person pronoun, James,” Dr. Y/L/N noted. Her voice didn’t sound accusatory in the slightest. It was more as if she had come to a conclusion and was sharing it. “Do you think you and the soldier are one?”

Bucky didn’t take a moment to reflect on her words. “Yes.”

She noted this down in her notebook. “What is the one word that best describes the Winter Soldier?”

“Monster.”

Bucky could hear the ticking of the clock and the scraping of Dr. Y/L/N’s pen. Once she wrote the word in her notebook, an action that was grounding rather than irritating, Bucky had deduced, she extended her hand to take the empty glass. With another candid smile, she stood up and walked to her desk, pouring Bucky another glass of water.

“Oftentimes, James, monsters tend to be a subjective belief born out of a plethora of negative emotions, above them all, fear. This fear is as introspective as it is outrospective, leading us astray in our pursuit of finding our self-worth.”

“What are you insinuating, doc?” Bucky asked, his face a picture of confusion. Perhaps he had misjudged the woman, wasting his time in seeking help from someone that clearly didn't understand him as she should.

“May I ask you a question?” She handed him the glass of water without sitting down. Bucky nodded with a raised brow. When he sipped his water, only then did she sink back into her chair. “You said that you relive everything through your nightmares, feeling people’s trepidation. But has the soldier ever felt anything at all during these occurrences?

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? No thrill? Guilt? Anything?

“Nothing,” Bucky confirmed once more.

Dr. Y/L/N clicked her pen once before tucking it away with her notebook. She turned to Bucky with the same confidence and calm front she displayed when he first walked in, as if his story had not fazed her–impassive to the threat he considered himself to be.

Bucky played with his zipper, looking between her and his left gloved hand. He could feel himself sweating, his left knee jerking in anticipation of whatever was about to come out of her mouth. With an awkward clear of his throat, Dr. Y/L/N reached out to the side table, pulling open the drawer to grab what

appeared to be a small notebook.

“I’m going to give you an assignment.”

“What?” Bucky made a face. Was she for real? Does she think of herself as a school teacher? “I’m sorry, I think I misheard.”

Dr. Y/L/N chuckled, merriment lacing her voice. “You heard me correctly. I want you to talk to any of your friends and ask them about an event that made them see themselves in a different, more specifically, negative light.”

“Why would I do that?” he grunted, the shy amount of respect he had for the doctor hanging by a thread.

“All in due time, James,” Dr. Y/L/N replied. She placed the notebook on the glass table separating her and Bucky before nudging it closer to him. “You can seek someone who has had a similar experience to you or someone who had a different one. During our next session, you and I will explore why this little exercise is a critical part of your therapy.”

Bucky’s tongue met the inside of his cheek. He reached forward, inspecting the leather-bound notebook in his hands. He flipped through the white, empty pages, eager to be filled. Bucky’s nose scrunched at the scent of the fresh paper, his gaze meeting the doctor’s. “And what’s this for?”

Dr. Y/L/N stood up, reaching for her own notebook. “Sometimes, our thoughts are more clear and less threatening when they are laid bare on paper.”

Bucky nodded his head, accepting the vague explanation. Since the notebook was small, he tucked it in his back pocket, standing up to take his leave. Once he reached the door, he hesitated. Turning his back, he spotted the doctor a few steps away from her desk. “What makes you think there’ll be another session?”

Dr. Y/L/N smirked, placing her hands on her desk and resting her weight against the wood. “Curiousness has no cure, James. Nothing in this world is strong enough to erase its trace.”

Bucky bit on his tongue, looking down at his shoes. He gave Dr. Y/L/N an imperceptible wave and then walked outside her office. He took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. Between his mind telling him it was useless and his consciousness edging him to give it a try, Bucky just knew that Dr. Y/N Y/L/N was bracing him for the ride of a lifetime. But was he ready for her to rock his entire world?

------

It's official! I'm absolutely obsessed with Bucky Barnes!!

I'm so excited about this piece. I know I have like 5 series with a WIP status, but I couldn't help myself! I was inspired to write this fic, and nothing was going to stand in my way.

What do you think, witchlings?

Don't forget to send in your Marvel/Harry Potter requests!

Until next week xx

#bucky barns imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel mcu #avengers fanfiction

139 notes · View notes