#brain leaking black sludge
Text
this is me (if i gave a fuck ….)but girl,
#sketches from fucking. bleh like 10 hours ago maybe#will i finish them oooo#maybe!#mhhhhhh#brain leaking black sludge#sorry for#something#idk#my art#oc art#doodlings#digital art#empty and too full at the same ??.?.??.!!!!#yknow#oh yeah and fucking uh#suggestive#because sugars Tits.
104 notes
·
View notes
Text
mourn. intro. (e.w.)
INTRO.
WORD COUNT: 4.1k
WARNINGS: streetracer!ellie, dealer!oc, backstory lemme cook, parental death, mentions of overdoses, funeral, baby ellie :), oc intro… cackles evilly
A/N: last post til eid lol
pay zakat. feed a family this ramadan. k!ll zios.
SEPTEMBER, 2009
ANGUISH floods Ellie’s chest as she witnesses decorative rosewood being lowered into the sopping dirt. It’s cinematic; watching herself from a bird’s eye view, floating above her own body. Her brain cranks at an alarming rate. Churning in attempts to convince her that she’s not actually here, staring dead at her mother’s casket. The grass sludges beneath her shoes with every unsteady shuffle of her feet.
There aren't many people around. Three of her mother’s former work friends, a service dog, and the officiant. They’re hardly acknowledging Ellie; no one would be able to stop her from leaping head-first into the ground due to the lowering clouds. Buried and suffocated by grass and mud, a feast for the maggots, but loved eternally. Every cell in Ellie’s body thrums with anxiety. Just when she trusted that her mother’s health was improving, she woke up, shrouded in ice next to a limp body and an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. The same ones her mother took to sleep throughout the night.
That was three weeks ago. She doesn’t remember calling 911.
Her best friend — her only friend is gone. And it’s permanent. This isn’t like how her mother used to scavenge the streets until dawn searching for another job before Ellie woke up. She’s not coming back to crawl into their shared, warm bed, sleep for half an hour, then help her get ready for school. No more oatmeal in the mornings. No laughter. No joy. No symmetry. Ellie’s life is forever scattered. Beaten to death until she’s leaking venomous, black blood.
There’s a man that keeps staring at her with pity: familiarity crushes her every time they lock eyes. She kind of remembers him. Somewhat. She almost forgot her shoes before coming here. He seems more upset than her. At least externally; Ellie’s rotting from the inside.
Her mother’s chamber is completely submerged underneath dirt within the next few hours. The man from earlier is much closer now.
She jumps when he whispers,
I owed your mom a favor.
OCTOBER, 2009
Ellie hates Joel. Hates her mother for leaving her with him. Hates herself for not being able to save her from the claws of addiction.
Joel’s home is always silent during the day. He gave Ellie the grace of letting her stay home until the Spring, but it’s too quiet. Music never plays and they never talk, and it’s driving her to madness. The silence makes her itch.
Until the sun sets.
She already has trouble sleeping. Her insomnia combined with the thunderous clanking that blares from the garage every night is enough to get her sobbing into her pillow until the sun rises the next morning. One night, the noise had gotten so uncontrollably loud that Ellie barged into the garage to shout every curse she recalled her mom screaming into the phone before bedtime.
She didn't expect, however, to see Joel’s legs extended out from underneath her mom’s wrecked ‘57 Chevrolet. Ellie could hear him grunting as cranking and banging of metal took over the space.
… What are you doing?
Joel rolls out from beneath the car on a creeper, face confused and smeared with dark sludge.
Why’re you up?
It’s loud. She snaps. Why is her car here.
Joel sighs. Just trying to fix it up.
For what. Ellie eyes the cracked windshield. She somehow remembers how a rock hit it on the freeway when she was six. Her mom was livid. She can’t drive it anymore.
Joel’s face twists uncomfortably. It’s almost comical; the seemingly boiling child stands at a whopping four-foot-three with her fists clenched, burning holes through her bright yellow Spongebob pjs. Her glare sharpens when he mumbles,
Kid…
So you stole her freaking car? Her eyes swelter, brows hauled downward and hands in fists. He sits up straight, palms up in surrender, wrench in hand. How’d he even get back into their old house?
No, I — He rushes, She asked me to try n’ get it started again. That’s all. I… I shoulda asked you —
Ellie’s not sure why she’s so enraged, but she’s hollering with a pointed index in his direction, berating him, degrading him with sobbed vulgarities. Pushes him hard when he rises to comfort her. Eyes him with so much disdain that he flinches.
She hates him. She misses her mom.
The guest room door slammed shut with the click of a lock. She screamed for her mother for hours. Voice shrieking so loud that the neighbors came knocking after the first fifteen minutes. Cops pounded on Joel’s door and proceeded to conduct a wellness check on the household after an hour.
Their presence made Ellie swallow her scorn. Ellie’s already received a small taste of what it’s like to be in the system. She vowed to never reenter as if her life depended on it.
NOVEMBER, 2009
Joel made Ellie chocolate chip pancakes for her birthday.
Breakfast is silent, per usual. Light clinks of utensils on silverware and breathing are the only proof of life in the room. Ellie refuses to touch the squared slices of pineapple. It was her mother’s favorite, despite her complaints of an itchy mouth after every juicy piece.
Your mom and I…
Ellie pauses, skeptic eyes connecting with Joel’s. He’s treading light, she can tell. The nerves in his fingers are evident; The sorrow in his eyes suffocates her. Joel’s gaze drops onto his plate at the scrutiny he receives from across the table.
She’s a good friend of mine, He mutters before his lips turn downward. Was.
Ellie snorts humorlessly, Way to rub it in.
Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs, I’m… Sorr—
Were you the one she told? Her tone is sharp. Unforgiving. I heard her on the phone a few days before she did it.
A storm flurries in the man’s gaze. A familiar one; It’s identical to when she would catch her mother in the middle of night talking to herself with a bottle in her hand. The winds in his pupils take her back to one of the darkest times of Ellie’s life. Maybe they were closer than she assumed. They look identical when they’re guilty.
I didn’t—
But he did. He’ll never forget being on the other line with Ellie’s mother as she attempted to keep her cries to a minimum. Her croaked wails terrified him. Left wounds in his chest as his heart raced. I can’t do this to her, She’d said, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! … Please… You owe me…
Joel did what he could over the phone. Made promises to her that he couldn’t keep, reaffirmed how much Ellie loved her. How badly she needed her mother, and eventually eased her sobs into pained whimpers. He believed the calmness she exuded prior to ending the call was a sign of understanding of her importance, but it wasn’t. Her mind and body merely accepted her fate. She was dead two mornings after.
And Ellie was a witness to it all.
Ellie’s eyes roll and sickness floods her, so she stands, You’re a liar. When you’re ready to tell the truth… You know where I am. She doesn’t bother to push her chair in, clean her dishes, pause at his calls of her name. Her feet stomp through the hallway, marrow searing beneath her skin. The guest room door slams shut and she breaks, guarded by the plainness of the beige walls while tears flow.
She knows he knew. Why else would her mother leave her with him?
-
-
-
When Ellie got up to use the restroom hours later, she nearly tripped over a teddy bear holding a birthday cake. With candles. She’s never received a gift before.
She doesn’t tell him that she slept for an hour with it hugged to her chest.
The noises in the garage halt for a week. Ellie still can’t fall asleep. Joel has the same problem, she’s discovered. She finds him sprawled out on the couch one night, burning holes through the roof with a picture frame in his arms. She watches him silently for some time, perched behind the main wall of the hallway.
Hey.
Joel’s acknowledgement earns a gasp followed by scuffling, and he snorts. He sits up and sets the dusty frame on the cushion in front of him, noting how awful Ellie is at hiding; It makes him smile. Barely, but he’s endeared; Her entire arm was exposed. He can even see her duck-shaped slippers from where she’s tucked behind the wall.
Ellie.
She doesn’t come out, and he sighs. His heart twists painfully when he hears a wet sniffle. He’s up and moving when a guttural sob echoes from the hallway, crouching down in front of Ellie with her knees squeezed into her heaving chest. Joel’s heart cracks at her flushed cheeks drenched in salt. Talking won’t calm her, he knows it, but he’s unsure of what else to do. Ellie… isn’t an emotional kid, but he hushes her, attempts to cradle, apologizes softly.
But when her wet eyes pinch open, she unravels and falls into him completely. Her arms squeeze around his neck in a deadly grip and she cries and coughs and whines for her mother. Joel holds her just as tightly as she hangs off him.
We're gonna be fine, sweetheart. He mumbles, and he feels her head shake in denial, tucked in the crook of his neck. His knees wobble, and a soothing hand rises to caress the back of her head; He's never seen a kid this hopeless. It makes him wonder.
What the hell did she witness in that house?
Ellie’s always struggled to fall asleep alone.
Her need to be coddled to dreamland was always a mystery to her mother. Skin-to-skin was a normal trait for infants, toddlers, maybe even a little over, but at age ten? Eleven, and unable to fall asleep without the feeling or knowledge of a loved one present? There was only one time where she recalled her mother carrying her to her own room to rest, but the second the door clicked shut, she was up. Awake. Alert and exposed to harm. Or, at least that’s what she convinced herself.
She crawled into her mother’s bed minutes later and snoozed throughout the entire night. She didn’t hear the end of it when the sun rose.
Joel doesn’t berate her, though.
I can’t sleep by myself, she’d said to him after she calmed from her breakdown in the living room. They’d sat on the couch as he rubbed a comforting palm down her back, her small ones coming up to wipe her wet cheeks.
How come?
She scoffed, Scared of the dark, I guess? I dunno. I just can’t.
Joel hummed in understanding.
I’m like that, too. Sometimes.
Ellie snickered wetly, You’re old, though. It’s not the same.
Joel scoffed and snatched his hand away in mocked hurt. I’m not old!
The gray hairs say otherwise!
That night was the first time they ever laughed together. The first time Ellie laughed since her mother’s death, and it carried on until she knocked out beside him on the couch.
For Joel, though, he couldn’t rest. Not when Ellie favored his daughter that much. Whenever he feels as though he’s progressing, letting go of grief, something life changing — disastrous — forces him right back to square one. Meeting Ellie was one of those moments. He tried to keep his weeping to a minimum as he held her sleeping form, eyes glued to the picture of him hugging his baby after her first soccer win.
DECEMBER, 2009
It’s New Year’s Eve, and Ellie’s trapped inside the garage with Joel.
Watching him tweak her mother’s vehicle has aided her raging boredom… To a certain degree. When he starts getting nerdy and raving about car parts, she tunes him out, despite the slight interest she’s taken with underneath the hood.
The connecting wires, the bolts, the valves and cranks and this manual makes absolutely zero sense—
Can you stop dillydallyin’ around n’ hand me that?
Ellie’s gobsmacked reading is paused when she passes Joel the manual, dark sludge-covered hands staining the fading paper. She cringes.
Ellie watches silently as Joel inspects the contents, nodding to himself as his eyes flicker from the vehicle to the booklet, mapping out his next moves of attack. His eyes sparkle and curiosity sparks in her.
Did you fix it?
Joel only murmurs to himself, and Ellie’s eyes roll. She inches closer to him and waves a hand in front of his eyes. Hellooo? Is it gonna start?
… I think so, kid. His head shakes in disbelief, If I can get that transmission replaced, it might be alright.
Ellie’s brows furrow… What on earth is a transmission?
I’ve been workin’ on cars for a while. I can tell you now that finding such an essential part for a model this old is gonna be tough. Might cost me an arm n’ leg.
Ellie shrugs, You’ll figure it out, old man.
He stares down at her blankly, Gee, thanks. Hand me that wrench, assistant.
Ellie mocks glee on her skip to the rolling cart, Gosh golly dang, does this mean I’m hired?
He jokingly snatches the tool from her extended hand. Little bugger. And just like that, you’re not gettin’ paid. How’s it feel to be outta funds?
WAAAAAAA—
Ellie’s fake wails earn her a deep holler.
Ellie oversees Joel until the clock strikes twelve, following his line of vision on every rusted compartment of the vehicle. Stood attentively at his side as he pointed out the carefully crafted machinery, listing their parts despite Ellie’s protest of forgetfulness. There are so many names for everything; Building cars seems so complicated, but curiosity sparks in her. She starts to think: maybe cars aren’t so boring.
Another sleepless night for the both of them; Might as well commit to movie night. Fireworks are still going off in the small neighborhood hours later. The booming colors in the sky makes Joel's teeth grind. Reminds him of the time he took Sarah to Santa Monica Pier.
Joel?
Mhm?
… What favor did you owe my mom?
Thickness builds in his throat the second Ellie mentions her. He sets the large bowl of chocolate-doused popcorn onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote to turn the movie down. Not off, down. Ellie hates feeling like she’s being scolded.
Joel doesn’t look at her, but her eyes are glued on the side of his face.
Umm… He scratches his face, Did your mom ever mention me to you? Ellie denies with a hum.
Joel’s mind whirs back to the first time he met Anna: sophomore year. He was exhausted, drained, barely making it, but despite being miserable, he still cared deeply for his education. He studied until his eyes burned, jotted down notes until his hand cramped and the librarian was gently urging him to head home.
She… We were friends in college. He fonds, We met at an ice cream truck.
Weird. Ellie notes causally, She hates dairy.
… Yeah. She does. Joel coughs to mask the brokenness in his voice.
Anna was… a genius, to put it lightly. Academically gifted to an intimidating degree. Her mind was a camera; She’d scan one excerpt from the thickest novel once and still manage to repeat it word for word years later. They had comms together; Her voice sounded like tweeting birds whenever she recited her prepared speech like it was nothing. She was an emotional speaker, entranced everyone in the room, and always ended with a question that forced students and professors to self-reflect. Joel wouldn’t call it a crush… Merely admiration. Envy. He was motivated whenever he left comms.
He’ll never forget the image of her, sweating and worn, carrying what seemed like a twenty-pound backpack — all stuffed with calculus books — while ordering a can of Sprite from the humming, beaten down truck. Anna didn’t leave after the vendor handed her the soft drink. She simply turned to Joel, inspected him from head to toe, and turned back to the vendor.
I’ll cover whatever he gets, too. With a thumb aimed at him. He nearly choked.
A free snow cone couldn’t halt the racing in his chest.
I know what you are.
What, He questioned without a stutter.
You fix cars? Anna quirked a brow at him. Joel’s brows pull downward. How did she know that? He’s fixed one car since he’s been enrolled. His buddy pulled up in front of his dorm asking for a windshield repair. But he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. I dunno.
The green-eyed girl scoffs and sips from her nearly emptied can.
You down to replace a tire? Some jackass thought it would be funny to leave a rusty nail in our parking lot.
Our. She must have roommates… or lives where he does, he thinks. For how much? Not a beat missed.
Her shoulders lift, I dunno. How much does a tire cost?
Depends on the model. What d’you drive?
A chevy. Don’t ask the year, I’m not sure. It was a hand-me-down.
A slight pause between them before Anna suggests with a sigh,
Come see ‘er.
-
-
-
Thar she blows.
Joel can’t help but snicker at the woman in front of him, posing right next to her teetered vehicle. It’s quite charismatic; the bright pink bumper stickers, the crisp turquoise paint job, the slight scratch on the trunk. It’s nice. Classically vintage; it suits her.
A beauty, he notes with his eyes locked onto Anna’s. She gives a hum in agreement.
Revive her, if ya don’t mind. I’m desperate and can’t sue, so. Joel nods and inspects the damage on her tire. The air is nearly fully gone, and it’s making her drive slump.
Tire shouldn’t be more than thirty-five… Gonna have to head home for some stuff. Willing to wait an hour? When he turns to her, they’re shoulder to shoulder.
Anna smirks, Whatever you need, mechanic.
My dad, Joel corrects, He taught me the basics when I was like… twelve.
Her voice lowers, Good on him… Earned me a discount, eh? A hand claps down on his shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze, and he revs to life.
He swears the tips of his ears are red hot, Sure… minus that deposit. I needa twenty for emotional damages.
Fuck off. Her eyes are soft, Might never go to the shop again. You’re officially my car fixer-upper. Fuck these grease-balls n’ their price spikes.
Joel snorts, You get into that many goddamn accidents?
She leans in closer, and his throat closes. Slams shut. Turns to dust.
You’ll find out, mechanic.
That’s why you’re spending so much time on it, Ellie notes at Joel’s retelling before a harsh gasp escapes her. Dude, were you in love with my mom or somethin’?
The man stutters and coughs, No — what? I told you she was a frien—
Ellie snickers with a judgmental point, Yeaaah, yeaaah, I know how these things go. You sucker!
What the hell — I’m not a sucker… And what things—
Anna and Joeeel sitting in a tree! —
A pillow smacks Ellie dead in the face, and she topples over in cackles. Joel rubs deep in his temples. Ellie would’ve loved Sarah. Two little bullies who feast on his suffering.
No more storytelling. I’m going to bed.
You can’t! Remember? Ellie hollers as tears fall from her eyes. She coos at Joel when he lifts himself off the couch and down the hall, trying to mask his small smile.
Aww! C’mon, old man, it was a joke!
I can’t wait for you to go back to school, ya vermin!
-
-
-
An exhausted Ellie creeps into Joel’s room half an hour later. She sighs in relief when she doesn’t hear snoring. Her mom was the worst when she was tired. She tiptoes across the carpeted floors until she’s in front of the unoccupied side of the mattress, stealthily adjusting the blankets and pulling back the sheets.
She slowly manages to tuck herself in, fixing the pillows so her head rests on the cold side of the case, exhaling happily at the warmth defrosting her limbs.
The second she dozed off, she yanked to consciousness by raspy sarcasm. Her eyes roll underneath her lids.
You can’t, either. Joel croaks, Remember?
JANUARY, 2010
Five days until school. Five days until misery. Five days until… strangers. Ellie’s skin crawls whenever she thinks about being an enclosed space with snot-nosed boys and soggy lunches.
And math… Gross.
Joel has been more than willing to postpone Ellie’s enrollment whenever she becomes anxious, but she always denies his requests. She’s grown to like Joel, but… he’s not the best teacher, especially social studies. Reviewing one of her old packets nearly gave him an aneurysm. She can’t afford to be homeschooled by him.
What's been the best distraction from her impending doom?
Binge watching Cars for the billionth time… And helping Joel patch up that blue Chevy.
They celebrated their first victory last night for repairs, at least: Joel stuck and twisted the key to start up the engine, and it managed to stutter to life. For less than five seconds. The headlights barely came on and an old Foreigner record broke through the crackly speaker. They rejoiced with the brightest smiles as their hands slapped the dashboard before the vehicle crashed out once more.
A glimmer of hope. A chance for reconnection. Anna’s sending them messages. The joy in that car shifted to grievance; Joel had to cradle Ellie in his lap as she wept into his shoulder.
But there’s hope. Ellie wanted nothing more than to get this car working after that. Duty calls, though, and the alarm’s coming from a backpack.
You got this, kid. Stop stressin’.
Ellie, without a doubt in her mind, does not got this.
Screaming children, muddy slides, bloody band aids; they’re all on the other side of that office door. Her worst nightmare has come to life, and she desires nothing more than to hide out in her mom’s car forever. The bag strapped around her shoulders matches the weight of a body. She refuses to let go of Joel’s hand as he speaks with the giggly receptionist who’s too happy to see him (what the hell), but it's okay; he’s holding hers just as tightly. Just as paranoid, apparently.
She’ll be with Mrs. Lawson for the remainder of the year. Ellie hears the receptionist say over her pounding heart, She’s incredible! I’m sure they'll develop an amazing bond.
Ellie’s palms are sweltering. Joel must feel it because his thumb nuzzles into her wrist. She’s not built for this. Maybe returning so soon wasn’t a great idea. She can’t do this without her mom.
Cool backpack, Spidey, is said from behind her, and she stiffens instantly.
She has a Spider-man backpack.
Hush. An older man’s voice replies. Sounds strained. Stressed, but he only receives a light snicker from her in return.
Ellie watches with squinted eyes as a young girl gets escorted towards the front of the office by… the principal, she assumes? He seems fancy in his suit slacks.
You stay right here until I get your uncle on the phone, The suited man is stern towards the girl, who plops down on one of the waiting chairs. Backpack and all, You can explain to him how you swore at a teacher. I’m not dealing with this from you today.
M’kay, Mr. Harris.
Ellie observes the entire scene indiscreetly. Her stares are obvious, glued to the clearly agitated dean who stomps into his office.
Where’d you get your backpack?
Ellie’s stunned at your sudden whisper. She shocks herself when she quietly stutters,
Um… Walmart?
You smile, I like it. I want one.
Ellie simply nods, but gets paused before she can redirect her attention to Joel.
Are you new? Your voice grows quieter when you look over your shoulder. Right at the principal’s door. I am, too. I just moved schools.
This shocks the brunette. The new year just started, and you're already locked in the office with evidently angry staff.
Yeah… I’m new.
Something in your grin shifts. Ellie’s nails lock into Joel’s hand. … Interesting—
Young lady! Did Mr. Harris give you permission to speak?
You audibly ponder like the attendance clerk asked you to solve a riddle.
No, ma’am. I apologize.
Then hush. Not another word.
Ellie watches you fold your hands politely, twiddling your thumbs. Your eyes don’t leave her backpack.
Ready, kiddo?
Her eyes finally reconnect with Joel’s, encouraging and chocolate, and she nods. He guides her to the office exit where her new life resides. Before their departure, she can’t help but take one last respectful glance over her shoulder. She finds you staring with a quirked lip and your wrist outstretched like your shooting spider webs at her. Ellie jerks her head forward and releases the breath she’s been holding.
What a weirdo.
tagggiiiiessss :3: @inf3ct3dd @fleshunger @sawaagyapong @elliesbitchh @aouiaa @elliesatchel @williamellieslilho @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @myluvforstarz
#ellie williams smut#ellie williams au#ellie williams#ellie williams angst#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams tlou#lesbian#streetracer!ellie#works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams x f!reader
228 notes
·
View notes
Text
obligatory qsmp zombie au thoughts that have been swimming in my brain (except its a little bit charlie/slimeriana centered bc im a sucker for them)
zombies are (more or less) the same functionally as normal zombies, but significantly more... sludge-y. as the infection spreads throughout the body, anything that can rot is overtaken by a disgusting, slime-like substance (jrwi fans think victims of the black sea). this substance, in its "purest" form is bright green; however that color may change when mixed with rotting flesh. this substance is extremely maliable, sticky, and can stretch quite far- but should not be handled without proper protection, as infection can and will occur.
direct contact with this substance is the only way to be infected by it. however, when an individual is infected, after a certain point slime will begin leaking from the eyes, nose, and mouth, as well as any wounds the individual may have.
behaviorally, changes don't typically occur until the previously described stage. then, infected individuals will become noticeably more hostile. an individual won't lose their sentience in full until the infection reaches the brain.
charlie slimecicle is patient zero. my man cannot catch a break. because of the manner in which he was infected, he seems to be partially exempt from the behavioral changes the other infected show (hostility comes and goes, essentially. he's usually able to control himself.) charlie is missing his left eye and entire right arm and shoulder; the latter has been replaced entirely by slime (though he usually wraps bandages around it to cover it up). he also as a large gash on his forehead, above said missing eye.
the first group survivors were originally two groups that merged into one (the two train groups minus charlie). the "eggs" are children they found about a month after joining forces. they split up the work of raising the kids between them, but it is very much a "it takes a village" situation. the brazilians and french are small groups of survivors that found and joined the larger group at later dates.
anyway uh at some point, somehow, juanaflippa is separated from the group. for almost a full month, no one has any fucking idea where this kid vanished to, and many are convinced that she died- but surprise, she didn't! eventually she finds her way back to the group, with a new friend in tow. another survivor, they think-- until they get a better look at him.
enter patient zero. as it turns out, flippa got very lucky, being found by charlie. injured and being hunted down by a hoard, he saved her life. it didn't take long for flippa to figure out just how infected he was, and how much danger she was in just being AROUND him- but he was kind, and took care of her as best he could in the month spent searching for her makeshift family. she was the one who insisted he join her when they found them.
it took a little bit of convincing, but they didn't immediately kill charlie. but, for fear of possible infection (though she had no way of spreading it if she WERE infected) the adults very strictly instructed the rest of the children to stay far away from flippa, and charlie as well. mariana, though relieved to have flippa back, was in the same boat regarding charlie's presence. they tended to argue a lot- but flippa still insisted upon being around him, so he and mariana spent more than enough time around each other.
I don't have many specific thoughts after this point yet but like. I have so much brainrot over this ik I don't normally post abt au's but I NEED to share this
if you have any ideas for ANYTHING w/this (absolutely doesn't have to be centered on the characters I talked abt specifically) even if it's just possible worldbuilding PLEASE add on I would love to hear more ideas!!!!!!!
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
wanted to take my addition and make my own post so i could keep talking about it
You know the ancient primordial forests and seas? well they were full of so much Life that it created huge pockets of Death, and if you trap those pockets of death under the weight of the ocean or earth and heat it with the fires at the center of the planet you can transform all that dead life into a sort of eldritch black sludge
Then you simply take your eldritch death sludge, and ceremoniously burn it to create power. Of course doing so does choke the life out of the world and could possibly end human existence, but what do you expect when you use eldritch death sludge to create power?
There IS a movement to instead use the bones of old stars that have died violent deaths in huge explosions. These star bones leak an energy that can melt any life that gets too close (but like melt it from the inside kinda) and it can sort of infect anything it touches to make that thing also leak energy that melts living beings. Anyway, you can use that life-melting energy from the deadly star bones to boil water. So that's where we get most of our power that isn't made from ceremoniously burning eldritch death sludge.
i think that's actually the part that fucks me up the most is that in both cases, what we are using it for is to boil water. Like. Your entire nation, all the electricity in your home, the street lights, all of it, is run off of a few really giant steam engines.
Literally. The cyberdistopian future is real and it is simultaneously steampunk. fml
we use the eldritch death sludge and the life-melting star energy to boil water. through a steam turbine. For all our power needs.
Like. C'mon. Space programs and gene therapy and microchips in brains that let a person use a computer with just their mind (yes that actually exists, primarily to allow paralyzed people to do things) ALL THAT and we can't find another way to boil water so we don't fuck the planet into unlivable conditions? Really? Brightest minds on the planet, can split an atom and destroy the world, but we can't cook up a better way to BOIL. WATER. are you sure?
it just. Kinda feels like we're getting punked, tbh
#i am aware of the alternatives we are trying like solar super heated ultra black materials and municipal capacity battery storage for solar#but it really seems like we could have come up with a fully functioning option or two by now if the goal is just to fucking boil some water
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
god not to star in my own gas-leak-vent-spore story but i just discovered some mysterious black sludge growing on the bathtub where i frequently spend Literal Hours A Day soaking. i'm cleaning it up rn so i guess we'll see if my.... uh.... weird memory-hole broken-brain symptoms..... improve.
#not neurological or psychological but a secret third thing (poisoned by mold)#now it's entirely possible and even probable that the memory stuff is still autoimmune n chronic pain related#but cleaning up the Mystery Sludge certainly won't. hurt.#autoimmune tag
50 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fnaf system reboot au
The glitchtrap virus
Explanation: information on what the glitchtrap virus is and how it works and what effects it has. (Reminder: since this is a au certain things will be changed in order to make sense here).
Base: The G-T virus: the glitchtrap virus is a supernatural computer virus that can not only affect electronics and machinery but can even infect people and other living things, the virus originates from the anomaly know as glitchtrap himself for it is the source of his power. When the G-T virus effects any form of technology it gives glitchtrap complete access and control to said technology, however the virus affecting living things is a completely different book, when a human or any living thing is infected they can experience a number of different effects.
List of effects the virus has on living creatures (specifically humans).
1. Strong headaches
2. Vivid/vague nightmares
3. Insomnia
4. Hallucinations/delusions
5. Memory loss
6. Mood swings
7. Personality disorders
8. Obsessive behavior
9. Aggressive/violent behavior
10. Emotional numbness/detachment
11. Negative/Toxic aspects increase
12. Insanity inducement (psychosis/mental instability)
13. Psychological breakdown
14. Fatigue
15. Body aches/pain (physical pain)
16. Illnesses/sickness (weakening immune system)
17. Internal bleeding (eyes/ears/mouth/nose)
18. Purple irises/black sclera/black cracky veins
19. Purple/black veins
20. Purple/black sludge leakage (eyes/ears/mouth/nose)
21. Virus mutations
22. Purple/black mold substance (bits only)
23. Death
24. Bad brain functions
Mutations: when the virus stays inside a living person long enough it can cause mutations in a person’s biology which will either kill or alter the victims body, the person will begin leaking purple/black sludge (the same kind that the rabbit amalgamation monster in princess quest looks to be made of) from their eyes, ears, mouth and nose and will most likely be turned into said sludge that glitchtrap can then absorb and use for his physical animatronic form, for bots when infected long enough they will become withered and cracky and begin growing a purple/black mold like substance over their body’s (its description is like the toxic ar skins in special delivery) until it eventually spreads all over and either destroys the animatronic or completely take over.
Hive-mind: when living creatures are infected by the virus it’s possible for their psyches to become linked in a digital collective consciousness that slowly drives them crazy.
Cure: the only way to cure someone from the virus is destroy the source of the virus or to strengthen your mental and emotional health, once a person is cured/freed from the virus they can no longer be infected again.
Extra: there are certain individuals who cannot Be infected either due to having strong mental power or something else, also the only way to interact with the glitchtrap virus and control it (to an extent) is with a class V technician VANNI mask and a fazwrench, if a person tries to reject and resist the glitchtrap virus they can retain some control over themselves, but if a person gives into the virus they become a completely different person and become obsessed with glitchtrap.
#fnaf#alternate universe#fnaf help wanted#fnaf help wanted 2#fnaf special delivery#fnaf security breach#fnaf tales from the pizzaplex#fnaf glitchtrap#fnaf mimic
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
The skin along her arms wrinkle and protrude up like thousands of mountains closely knit together; a ripple running from the base of her spine up to the tips of her horns makes her shiver briefly. What is this sensation? This strange emotion welling up within her? The onis eyes dilating as her surroundings begin to become overtaken by a filthy inky ooze; the sludge overtaking the sands at her feet dominating the seas before her, and forcing its ways into the skies above by some diabolical means.
The oni confused by what was occurring, turned this way and that to try and get a better understanding of just what the hell was going on. She could feel her heartbeat pounding from inside her chest, beating at her ribcage as if attempting to bash it’s way out of her very center. Her breathing would begin to up in pace, faster and faster until the darkness around her gave way to something, leaving her breath hitched momentarily as she was able to make out the recognizable form of a hand reaching out from the darkness, illuminated scarcely by a light source that confused the senses.
She was uncertain how to react to all of this, to everything she was witnessing, to the battering of her senses in a manner she was wholly unfamiliar with it was almost too overwhelming, but she was a sturdy creature and held firm enough to at least try and make sense of all of this.
The hand reaching out from beneath the sludge, a good distance away, would slam down atop the inky surface, as if it were a solid surface, beginning to slowly force what it is attached to from the murky depths of this eternal darkness. More and more of this things form was forced out, revealing what could be mistaken as a person wearing full plate armor, but no normal mortal she knew of was capable of such a dramatic display. Sludge leaked thickly from each crevice in this creatures armor, dripping down to casually join the vile mass it had pulled itself from.
While this creature was revealing itself, Olgan would feel only one sensation start to creep over her as the neurons in her brain fired at lightning speeds, pulling up old memories she scarcely recalled on a good day. She recognized this armor, she knew this creature, she knew just who this was. The scars on her right arm began to pulse with a phantom pain, as her mind pulled up more memories, this time of what emotion she was currently feeling, one she hadn’t felt in nearly a century,
FEAR!
This was a man who had instilled absolute terror into the oni, who hade broken hear spirit almost completely. He had caught her when she had just come into being, brought her down to her knees with an unrelenting brutality and cold ruthless efficiency. This man was the first person to hand Olgan a merciless defeat that nearly cost her her life.
Olgan cracked her jaw and clicked her teeth together, barely able to put on a brave face, one of shaken confidence at best. “We've settled our score! I won!” She beat her chest once as she proclaimed her victory over this creature. “You have no right to come back in a miserable attempt to reclaim what you have lost!” She roared out, muscles flexing as she pointed at the creature, who had finished rising from the depths of the darkness beneath the two.
He was standing their silently, the sludge leaking from his armor had lessened somewhat, but remained ever present, most prominently leaking from the many holes in his helmets faceplate. A sickly looking poleaxe was now in his grasp as he per Olgans perception, he seemed to loom far taller than she remembered him being.
He began walking
She attempted to take a step back, but was unable to. Giving a quick glance downward it looked as if the sludge was clinging to her boots, grasping at her desperately to keep her still, or drag her under..she didn’t know which was more unnerving, or which put her in the worse position.
Regardless her head whipped back up, seeing the man in black slowly walk his way closer. Brows furrowed as she grit her teeth harshly, grinding them together as she attempted to yank her feet free. The pounding in her heart seemed to grow louder and faster as he drew closer! She was defenseless! Powerless! This was his home turf it would seem, how would she be able to fight back and defend herself?! How could she defeat a foe when not even given the chance to move in retaliation?!
“Our conflicts were fair! Our strengths battling out it to the bitter end! I could hardly call this situation fair!” Her voice bellowed out, a twinge of fear present beneath her growing fury at the situation.
He kept walking
Anger. Anger is what liberated her from all her shortcomings, it’s what allowed her to push just that little bit further to overwhelm and destroy her foes, it had never failed her, and it would be her savior in just such a situation once more. Roaring out her frustration, electricity burst out around her as she slammed her fist against the thick surface, a thunderous boom echoing out into nowhere, but returning from everywhere around them. Olgans feet shoot free from the sludges grip, allowing her to use such freedom to flash forward on her foe.
Overwhelm!
Overpower!
Annihilate his ability to react in any sensible way!
Arms outstretched, maw open wide to show off sharp pearly whites, her expression filled with the fury of a thousand storms!
But in a moment her expression twisted into fear filled realization as time seemed to slow down momentarily, her vision offering the utmost clarity in such a swift situation. The man had already moved into position far faster than she could react, he had already planned ahead...
he had already beaten her.
She saw the tip of his poleaxe aimed right where it needed to be. She could feel it all happen slowly. The rusted sludge damped tip of his weapon piercing directly through her midsection, impaling her with ease.
The shock, the pain, the realization of it all. She had lost in an instant. Claws offering a crushing grip to the shaft of an uncaring iron weapon, now slowly coated and stained with rivers of red originating from the oni.
The unfeeling uncaring man, kicked the bottom end of his weapon, twisting it out from under the oni swiftly to allow her freedom to fall hard against the oddly solid inky surface. Olgan coughed up blood as she put her claws atop the inky surface, grasping at anything, at everything, in attempt to get away
To flee...
Emotions she felt when she first came to being...when she first faced this man...when she first faced death.
Her eyes went wide as her breath was caught in her throat, feeling the mans weapon once more pierce through her, though impaling through her back this time, further sapping her strength as she felt bones crack, and internal organs ruptured.
He yanked his weapon back out, and began to slowly circle the downed oni. His strikes precise, bearing down right where they needed to to immobilize the creature he sought to bring so low.
She could see small ripples at his feet with each step he took. She felt cold, weak, finding little strength at all to move as she lay there, at his mercy to do with as he pleased. Felled so easily...had she even grown in strength? Had she even progressed in all the years she lived? How could she be bested so casually? She was zoned out, she wasn’t paying attention as the man reared back with his weapon, the axe head aimed at the onis neck.
“Ad mortem invictus” He said, his voice sounding as vile as the sludge he inhabited, and that the last voice Olgan heard before the axehead of his weapon bore down on her neck, cutting everything out of sight for the oni, and leaving her in true darkness.
With a harsh breath in Olgan would sit up from the sandy beach she had been laying atop of, feeling the gentle waves of the sea lap at her legs. Her heart was still beating, her body felt weak and sore. and her head was still abuzz with confusion.
She still felt severe pain coming from her back and stomach that slowly seemed to fade once she took note of it. Cracking her jaw and clicking her teeth together, feeling as if the events that had just transpired felt too real to just be a dream...
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
we are only thankful for the tunes around here
I've been a little lax posting new shit, even on IG, so here are some recommendations
in 2020 i fell down some rabbit holes, and one of the rabbit holes was goth/post punk.
One of my current favorites is this band from Australia, Locust Revival. They began as a one-man project, but added two members last year. This is a brand new song, and one of their more shoegazey numbers.
I don't know how such a weird dissonant band can get catchier every album, but they do.
2023 has been grindcore year with so many bangers dropping, your fave may not even have the best record this year. (I'll show you the best grindcore record in just a minute). Atomck from the UK bring chaotic powerviolence with some unique vocal styles.
grindcore album of the year, right here.
there's been a sort of industrial metal revival in the underground, and if you ask me, Dome Runner are the stars. Combining Godflesh, Fear Factory (Concrete era) and taking it in a sludgy direction, they may have dropped the best EP of 2023.
My guy Marc dropped a new album this year. Instrumental bass and drums sludge doom, with tons of atmosphere.
Afterbirth's new album, which goes in some wild directions, more progressive than ever, while still keeping that brutality.
(I kind of have a guest vocal spot on this)
Garry Brents envisions an alternate universe where nu metal wasn't a mass produced major label creation in his new project Memorrhage.
hypnotic darkwave that gets stuck in your head for very long periods of time.
G.G. from Cosmic Putrefaction is back to take you on another journey. This time around, they venture in and out of some symphonic black metal.
. . .and I've hit my limit for audios in this post apparently.
bleh.
follow me on Instagram for more tunes, and also live vids I take so I don't forget what shows i went to in 6 years (since nobody has physical tickets anymore.
#vertebra atlantis#locust revival#lovely eddie#baring teeth#memorrhage#orion's sword#afterbirth#dome runner#atomck#cognizant#black metal#grindcore#goth#post punk#industrial metal#death metal#Bandcamp
0 notes
Text
My neurotic sick little brain leaked out like thick, black, gasoline scented sludge and started harming society today
0 notes
Text
Atomic Trip Drops Explosive New Music Video, “Bomb #6″
~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~
By Billy Goate
One hundred and fifty years ago, cities around the world began to turn on one by one, wired with the wonder of electricity. In 2023, electrified instruments have come to life, raging against the machine that created them with sounds astounding and fierce. Caught under their hypnotic spell, three lads from Lyon erupt in worshipful noise to the almighty Riff.
This is ATOMIC TRIP. The doomed crew have hijacked our eardrums before, contributing big tracks to both Doomed & Stoned in France and Doomed & Stoned: The Instrumentalists.
Today, we witness a 21-minute behemoth from their latest album, 'Strike #3' (2022). Its powerful vibe seems all the more weighty in slow-motion frames and stark black and white. Cymbals tremor and drums rattle, joined by rumbling bass and crunchy guitar tone.
"Bomb #6" lumbers about like some faceless sludge monster from a 1950's horror movie, glowing with irradiated fuzz. Each beat takes the hulking mass deeper into dank surroundings. Atomic Trip turns simple motifs into a psychedelic trip through a slow 'n' low soundscape, crackling with strange fire.
Strike #3 yields two big bombs for an impressive 45 minute run time. Vinyl comes out March 24th via Tentacles Industries (pre-order here). "Bomb #6" fits just right on a playlist with Conan, Bongripper, and Electric Wizard.
This is the Doomed & Stoned world premiere.
Give ear...
WATCH & LISTEN: Atomic Trip - "Bomb #6"
SOME BUZZ
France’s Atomic Trip released their third album this past October and coming this March 24th, 2023, they will have it on vinyl available via Tentacles Industries. An epic two-track doom and sludge marauder, today the band presents their video for the 20-minute closer chef-d'oeuvre "Bomb #6".
"Bomb #6 follows with penetrating feedback and toms rolls, before a brutal silence and the entrance of the absolute anvil, its main riff which is the summit and the summary of the whole universe of the band. The more it goes on, the more the psychedelic heaviness sets in. And the end is just as definitive, with two last leaden minutes that twist your brain, concluded by leaking feedback and a final absolutely definitive drum hit." adds the band.
Fans familiar with Atomic Trip will not be disappointed with their latest album “Strike #3”; the sequel of “Strike #2” and Strike #1, it is even more crushing, and even more “in your face” than its predecessors. “Bomb #5” is full of finesse and heaviness, a fuzz apocalypse, and a cavalcade of mad drumming. “Bomb #6” interjects with penetrating feedback and toms rolls, and psychedelic heaviness. The last two last leaden minutes of it will completely twist your brain.
“We are so proud of our third album. We think that we have pushed all barriers to keep our motto: less is more. With a few riffs, we have made a progressive psychedelic doom masterpiece. Here the most simple becomes the most complex and every single note weighs a ton. A ton of harmonics, of resonance, of feedback. When we first played those tracks live, we were not confident and hesitated, but people reacted so well! From dark basements to the bigger stages at metal festivals, it has always been a total blast, from the top to the final drum hit. To describe Strike #3 in one sentence: like it or loathe it, you cannot ignore it.”
The album was mixed and mastered by Alexandre Borel and the album artwork was done by Jean-Luc Navette. Best served with a couple of brews and a joint, Atomic Trip is providing the soundtrack for a hazy evening and a cosmic trip so sit back and relax.
Follow The Band
Get Their Music
#D&S Debuts#Atomic Trip#Lyon#France#doom metal#sludge#fuzz#music video#Tentacles Industries#D&S Reviews#Doomed and Stoned
1 note
·
View note
Text
January - The Sewers, Area 2B
#dungeon23
15. Sewage Control
Iron doors. Locked. Within, two partitioned workstations lined with control panels, blank screens coupled with various buttons and dials. Inspection reveals that rats have nested in the workstations’ electrical innards, chewing through most everything.
Two skeletons in tattered uniforms are slumped at each workstation. Ornate ID badges, attached to their hips.
Selective repairs could reinstate normal function to some areas, allowing remote control of pump operation and water flow throughout the sewer, as well as basic maintenance and surveillance reports from any active service automata.
Two large battery cells need to be recharged before anything will power up.
In the common area, an enthusiastic coffee machine will activate when exposed to light. 2-in-6 chance it catches fire when trying to serve you.
16. Pump House
Two massive pumps are housed in this area. Each has been lightly scavenged, but seem generally intact.
A black slime leaks from most coupling points, years of sludge has built up inside them and they are ready to burst.
17. Lever Alcove
A large number of rats scurry around the alcove.
A bent lever protrudes from the ground. With some effort, changing its position will affect the flow of water in this area of the sewer. All the way open, the water will flow quickly. All the way closed, the water will be near still.
E: Ladder, exits to The Gate House.
18. Brain-Can Automata Bank
Rusted, iron doors. Locked. Within, six pods line the walls, preserving the automata inside. 1D6 brains are still alive.
Brain-Can Automata: Bipedal machines, implanted with human brains. Originally used to maintain the sewers, but have not been in operation for at least a century. Once post-extraction programming techniques were perfected, brain salvaging became more convenient than constructing an artificial operating system.
The automata need to return to their pods every few days for preservation protocols. The brains are prone to decomposition if unable to return to their pod, or if the pod’s environmental seal fails.
19. Brain-Can Automata Control
Iron doors. Locked, but loose on their hinges. Inside, a small control console, unpowered. Two portable battery kegs are stacked near the northern door, a 3-in-6 chance each, that they still hold a charge.
If powered, the console can send remote commands to any active Brain-Can Automata within the sewers.
Their primary program is to inspect the sewers and perform any dextrous repairs that an Auto-Barrow cannot manage. They will also act as security, attacking any unauthorised person they find.
0 notes
Text
9/23/22
Cornflower dreams
Of sunflower leaves
Black beads for eyes
Banana fruit flies
Away on my bread
Baked into toast
Slather it with jelly
Leaking from my head
It's pink pink jelly
They find it enjoyable
Sliding down their gullet
These thoughts are deplorable
Actions to be taken
Distractions like cornflower
Starch, white powder starch
These flies increase by the hours
Is not yours for the taking
It's ours, ours, ours
Mine is two people
Dinner for two people
Dinner is the jelly
Slather it onto toast
Pink pink brain sludge
I hope you find me enjoyable
0 notes
Text
Infected
There are days where I yearn
to reach down and unzip my flesh
so I can reach into my chest
and pull out all the dark sludge
infesting my heart with pain
and with sadness and with anxiety
and with the kind of self hatred
that’s impossible to fight
even after all these years.
The black, curdled mass
is drowning me in a sorrow
so potent I can’t take a breath
and so dense I fear I may be blind,
never to see the light of hope or joy again,
and so immense that running a hundred miles
wouldn’t get me away from this poison
even if it wasn’t already swimming in my veins
nor making a home in my brain.
I wish to split apart my skin
in order to look within
and see what it is that makes me tick,
find the root of my leaking uncertainties
and plug the holes with confidence,
locate the weeping remainder of what should be self love
and stitch up the bleeding wounds
with kind words and compassion.
I wish to unscrew
the top of my head
and scoop out the thoughts
which so rudely intrude,
insisting on destruction, intentional or not,
and forcing distance between me
and all those I love.
I crave the ability
to operate
on the defective growths
of my soul
and to start anew
without the infection
smothering me.
29 June 2022
1 note
·
View note
Text
Support - Katsuki Gets A Support Dog
commissioned art by T1N4K3 on IG
Characters: Katuski, Kiri, introducing Diesel (Katuski's support dog) 😩
Genre: SFW - Gen/Platonic Friendship
Summary: Katsuki is plagued with night terrors, replaying traumatic scenes from previous missions and life threatening situations, making it almost impossible to sleep. Kiri sees his friend is struggling and makes a suggestion to reach out for help.
WC: 1938
CW/TW: angst, conversation about mental health, mild language
A/N: Okay so, this was not initially on my WIP list, but I'm so soft for him and since I was still in the process of building my SFW portfolio, this just felt right. It's a short one, but I don't see alot of writing that centers around Katsuki's mental health and my brain wouldn't let this go.
“Kacchan!”
Izuku’s voice echoes around him. The pull of an invisible force dragging him further into the icy black darkness swallowing him. He tries to breathe, every ragged inhale burning his lungs. His eyes widen, frantically looking for an escape, any source of light but his vision is blurring. He’s flailing, every swing, grasp, and kick slowed as if he’s fighting underwater. There’s not enough air, nothing to hold on to, his body frantic and senseless, like a live wire thrashing in a pool of water. Katsuki opens his mouth to scream.
“Stay back, Deku.”
The hollow sound of his own voice reverberates in his ears, the volume increasing until it feels like it’s clawing at the surface of his skin, threatening to rip him apart.
Am I going to die here? No-I’m stronger than this. My quirk- I can use my quirk-
He wills the sparks to form in his hand, and an unfamiliar cold feeling begins to ooze from his palm.
No-this isn't…
He struggles to lift his arm, the invisible force becoming fingers, wrapping around his throat. If he could just use his quirk he could- What the fuck? He’s straining to see, reeking black sludge leaching onto his face, impeding his vision, but the crimson liquid leaking from his hand screams through the haze. Blood. His chest tightens, gasping for air as the sludge creeps into his mouth, into his lungs.
I can’t breathe.
“Katsuki…”
I CAN’T BREATHE!
“Bakugo…Bakugo!”
Katsuki bolts up, screaming, eyes wide, and arms thrashing, hitting Kiri square in the chest.
“Bro! It’s me! It’s me!” The red head says, guarding his face with his arms.
Katsuki’s shoulders heave, his body drenched in cold sweat, as his surroundings come into focus.
I’m in my room?
His head snaps up to see Kiri sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyebrows pulling together as he cautiously observes the blonde.
“Kiri? What-what are you doing here?” Katsuki’s voice is tight, his words choking through ragged breaths.
“You were screaming in your sleep again,” Kiri replies, “I figured you were having another nightmare…” he observes Katsuki’s hair, damp with sweat, and his hands still fisting the sheets, “From the looks of it, I guess I was right…”
Reality starts to sink in. This makes the third time this week Kiri’s had to use the spare key Katsuki gave him to wake him from a nightmare. He’s not a stranger to nightmares, but they grew into something more real, more painful, as he got older. Tonight’s hell has been an almost monthly recurring mind fuck that started around the same time he was attacked by that sludge villain a couple years ago.
Katsuki tightens his fists, his jaw clenching as the fear wears off and the rage settles in. How? How am I still this fucking weak? In that moment, he thought the lowest he could’ve gotten was having quirkless Deku risking his life for him. He remembers straining, fighting, cursing himself for being so useless someone without a quirk had to try to save him.
Never again. He swore, after that, he would never need saving again. He trained, studied, kept his head down and resolved to become the strongest. But even after all the tests, all the work he put into honing his quirk, he was still captured by the League of Villains, putting everyone’s lives at risk, again. The results of that, ultimately leading to All Might losing his power fighting All For One, and being forced to retire as a hero.
It felt like all the work, all the fighting he had already done, was for nothing. He was still just as weak as he was when all of this began, ensnared in his own inadequacy. The scars that litter his body are a daily reminder of how much he’s endured, how far he was willing to go to prove he was worth something. But he’s found himself aligning them with his failures, using them as fuel to keep pushing. I have to be better than this. I have to get stronger.
“Hey…Katsuki…?” Kiri puts his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I know you said not to talk about this and all, but I think maybe you should-“
“Stop right there, Shitty Hair-“
“Just…just hear me out, man,” Kiri continues, placing his other hand on Katsuki’s opposite shoulder now, turning his body to look him in the eyes. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone about this?”
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, grimacing at Kiri’s question.
“Tch. I’m not broken, shit head,” Katsuki mutters. He pushes his sheets back, swinging his feet off the side of the bed, practically knocking Kiri onto the floor. He roughly pulls the nearest shirt down over his head, turning his back toward his friend as he glares out of his dorm room window. “I didn’t give you a key so you could come in here and lecture me. I just have trouble sleeping, alright?”
Kiri opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. Instead, he walks up beside his friend, shoving his hands into his pockets as they both look out into the night. He keeps his eyes forward as he speaks.
“Ya know, you’re kinda the manliest guy I know.”
Katsuki side eyes the red head, folding his arms across his chest.
“I mean training with you, taking villains down with you…seriously, how many times have you had to save my ass?” Kiri laughs, “You’ve always had my back, man. Never thinking twice, never backing down. You’d think just lookin’ at you, you couldn’t be afraid of anything.”
Katsuki doesn’t respond, his eyes locked on the window in front of him letting his vision blur out of focus as he listens to Kiri’s words. Fucking right, I’m not afraid of anything. He couldn’t afford fear. With his quirk came expectations. Eyes always watching, waiting to see what he would do next. He couldn’t be afraid of anything, because that would hinder his logic. For him being weak was never an option.
Yeah, he might be aggressive. To be honest it wouldn’t be too far off to say he’s an asshole, but more than half the shit he’s screaming at his classmates is shit he’s also screaming at himself. Pushing himself to be the best, to be the hero that people believe in, that people can rely on. But how can he expect anyone to rely on him, when he can’t even believe in himself?
Kiri shuffles his feet, putting his hand on the back of his head as he speaks, “All I’m saying is…it’s manly as hell to ask for help.”
Katsuki snaps his head in Kiri’s direction, opening his mouth to combat him, but Kiri is already speaking.
“You know I got your back bro,” he says looking over at Katsuki, “but you gotta have your back too ya’ know?”
Katsuki’s eyes widen as Kiri’s words slide something into place in his mind that he hadn’t realized until that moment. Would he be standing in his own way if he chose not to talk to someone about this?
“Alright, Shitty Hair. I’ll bite. Losing as much sleep is probably going to fuck up my training and I’m not about to let myself fall behind so…if I do this ‘ask for help shit’ I don’t wanna hear a single word about it again. Got it?”
Kiri’s eyes lit up as he looked Katsuki in the eyes, “I said I had your back didn’t I? No way I’d let you fall behind.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” Katsuki says pointedly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Kiri laughs as he walks over to Katsuki’s phone charging on the nightstand. Katsuki catches it with arched brows.
“Now we gotta call your mom.”
“What?!”
************************************************************************
3 months later
************************************************************************
“Come on, D,” Katsuki calls to his Kai Ken breed, trotting behind him as he walks into his room. The rich brown and caramel colored dog sits on the floor at the foot of the bed, waiting patiently for Katsuki to finish his nightly routine. Calendar check, charge phone, sleep clothes, dog food. That was one of the things his therapist recommended he try to maintain before bed. Said it would “help prepare his mind and body for rest,” or some shit like that.
Katsuki snorted at that, he recalled asking how doing the same shit over and over would help him sleep. To which the woman with the notepad asked him if he ever found himself thinking about his nightmares before bed. Of course he did, never knowing if he would get a peaceful night's sleep or jolt awake, fear clinging to his skin like cold sweat.
Hell, who knew that kind of shit would actually work? Katsuki smiles to himself as Diesel sits up, tail wagging and tilting his head as he watches Katsuki pour fresh food into his bowl.
“Come here, boy,” Katsuki calls to his support dog, who happily trots over tongue lolling out of his almost smiling mouth. It’s hard not to feel the warm sense of comfort spreading through him when he squats down, patting his back affectionately. The feelings of anxiety, usually accompanied with the prospect of sleep, waning like a falling tide as he moves to refill Diesel’s water.
His phone vibrates on the nightstand and Katsuki grabs it, reading the newest notification.
Shitty Hair: All good bro?
Katsuki rolls his eyes, smiling as he types his response,
Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Get to bed.
Shitty Hair: Alright, alright. Just keepin up with my duties as an A.B.
“Jesus Christ,” Katsuki laughs at the muscled arm emoji Kiri just had to add to the end of that already obnoxious response. He remembers the dopey grin on Kiri’s face when he asked him if he would be his accountability partner.
“Hell yeah, I’ll be your accountability bro!”
“It's an accountability partner, dumbass,” Katsuki replied, shoving Kiri’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but accountability bro sounds so much cooler.”
It was another annoying suggestion made by the therapist UA’s Guidance Counselor, Hound Dog, referred him to. She said it was a common help for patients with post traumatic stress disorder, the condition she diagnosed him with. He was surprised when he heard the diagnosis for the first time, he just thought he was having shitty recurring nightmares, but what she said made sense.
Hostility, self destructive behavior, the nightmares playing flashbacks of moments he wanted to forget. All symptoms of PTSD, which he wouldn’t have known without Kiri convincing him to tell his mom about what was going on. It’s likely he’d be in the same hell he was in three months ago if he’d put it off. Shit, it might’ve even been worse after everything that’s happened since then. Diesel nudges Katsuki’s leg while he stands by his side, looking up at him while he waits for him to get into bed.
“Alright, alright,” Katsuki smiles, setting his phone down and sliding under the sheets. “Get your ass up here.” He pats the space beside him, allowing Diesel to hop up and lie next to him. “No droolin’ all over me this time, got it?” He scratches the top of Diesel’s head, patting his back while he thinks about how crazy it is how much getting this dog has helped him. He can’t quite place the unfamiliar feeling of warmth that spreads through him when he drifts off to sleep, knowing even if he woke up in the middle of the night, he would have a friend by his side.
#katsukibakugou#bakugoes trauma#bakugou katsuki#katsuki bakugo fluff#katsuki bakugo fanart#kacchan#dynamight#mha fanfiction#mha fluff#mha angst#bakugo angst#katsuki#kirishima eijirou#bnha fluff#bnha angst#shinigamisfw#shin writes mha
345 notes
·
View notes
Text
@coffeeandchemicals (aka the sweetest angel bb) asked: For the drabbles, 55 or 60 or 72 with harringrove! Please and thank you!! 💙
55. “Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?
Paper Angels.
The things is. Steve’s always had a sixth sense when it comes to falling in love. Can smell that shit from a mile away, the reeking infatuation that turns his already liquified brain into something like sludge. Mashed potatoes with too much milk, or something.
And it used to be that Robin would point it out in that usual way of hers, before Steve became a pro at monitoring his own downfall. Pick your tongue up off the floor, dingus.
And it used to be that Steve would take it like. A basketball to the back of the head, the realization that he was bleeding out in an open field for fucking whoever. Nancy Wheeler or Mark Lewinski or Brittani Clark. Robin could always sense it when Steve’s feelings started leaking out of his ears, but.
Billy Hargrove was something else entirely.
Neither of them saw it coming. The pushes and snarky comments that morphed into butterflies and concealed smiles under the light of the full moon, it was like.
Crossing a deserted road only to be fuckin’. T-boned by a cyclist who doesn’t have their lights on, or something.
One day they were enemies. Avoiding each other like the plague--Billy actually gagged when Steve passed by him at parties. Called him Steve “Sloppy Seconds” Harrington, and. Yeah. The feeling was fuckin’ mutual, alright?
Because Hargrove always wore too much cologne and Steve had the sneaking suspicion, after that night at the Byers’ when contact sports took on a whole new meaning with the sound of ceramic against his skull, that Billy perfumed his dick.
Sometimes guys did that, he’d heard. And if Steve had to bet, like, cold hard cash on it, Billy Hargrove was definitely one of those guys. And not that Steve really. Thought about it much or anything but kissing Billy was probably like licking the inside of an ash tray.
Just the thought of made him gag.
So, yeah. The feeling was mutual. The queasiness in Steve’s tummy was, like, disgust or something. Every time he saw that curly top above a sea of drunk high schoolers, he would start sweating a shit.
Bullets. Like he was going to face the electric chair, and. Steve had never thought for even a second that that feeling was mutual.
That Billy would be anxious to see him. Would escape the moment he heard Steve rounding the corner into whatever lame party was on the ducat this week, so. When they eventually became friends. Best Friends, close as a couple of girls, it felt like Steve had solved the most difficult puzzle in the universe.
They were shitfaced. Drunk enough to forget ceramic plates and nervous feelings, and Billy had tried to high-five him. Steve, on his way out for a smoke. Passed by with a little, well if it isn’t the leftover turkey, and. It would’ve been cool, but. They missed.
By a lot. Two guys who never sat on the bench during a game, they. Fuckin’ couldn’t land a high five from less than a foot away and that was it. Billy’s walls crumbled around them like so much graham cracker dust, and.
His eyes were pretty. Had they always been that pretty? Steve couldn’t remember but then Billy was leaning in, cheeks pink from laughter and whispering, You ain’t half bad, Harrington, into the shell of Steve’s ear.
Like it was a secret only the two of them could remedy, and. Billy pulled away. Winked, waggled his stupid, ridiculous tongue, and. When he passed by he smelled like summer rain. Black pepper and grapefruit.
Steve closed his eyes and felt the love leaking from his ears.
Shit.
--
After that it was like surviving a forest fire. Billy would show up at Steve’s just before midnight with a six pack of Budweiser and a half smoked joint. On bad day’s he acted like coming to Steve’s house was a chore, like. Steve was holding him at gunpoint, preaching about commitments like Steve had even asked for his company in the first place, and.
On those nights it almost wasn’t worth it. The feeling of being close to Billy, it was. Hard to talk to him.
And it wasn’t like falling slowly. Through syrup or stacks of blankets, like his usual style, it was like.
Getting in the car and driving way, into the night, with no map and no funds and no clue of what the end would look like. Steve fell hard and fast and slammed into the ground until he was one with the molten earth, on the good nights, too. When Billy grinned and cracked jokes and fuckin’. Winked.
So. The good outweighed the bad. For months, for millennia, it seemed. Until Steve couldn’t remember a time when midnight didn’t signal the arrival of love. And he would take it, anything, everything, for just a peak at the person he knew was hidden under all that hairspray and chiseled skin, so.
When Billy showed up one night with his car packed full of shit, Steve grabbed his coat without a word.
What are you doin’, Harrington.
I’m coming with you.
No you aren’t, that’s not. Look. I just came to say goodbye, so.
Not that easy to get rid of.
Billy tried to fight him, tried to. Hold him off, or something. Like any force in the fucking universe would be strong enough to keep them apart.
Steve made a face.
And Billy knew what that face meant so he cleaned out the passenger side of the Camaro. Stupid shit like lamps and folded quilts, shuffling it all to the back seat where there was clearly enough space.
It was almost like. He had known what Steve would do.
It was like he’d been preparing to say no, baby. I don’t have enough room, see? I’m saddled with more than I can take already, and I just--
Almost like he was hoping Steve would insist, anyway, and.
“Go pack a bag, pretty boy.”
Steve would follow him anywhere.
--
Billy came alive in California. The bad nights stopped existing out in the open air, they hid instead. Under the blanket of nightfall, under the sling of Steve’s arm. They paid extra for a two bedroom apartment on the beach, because.
I’m not expecting you to. Sleep in my bed, Steve.
Right. They were still pretending.
The second bedroom sat collecting dust. Steve emptied his trash bag of essentials into the dresser in Billy’s room, because. The love was constantly ruining his shirts, these days.
Steve bled blue and gold. Blatantly. Because he never felt it before, this. Feeling. Like the sand is being washed from his skin. Like he’s curling up in bed after a long day of hard work.
Billy makes him feel that way, so.
Steve can’t hide it. And he doesn’t try to. Not when they watch cartoons together on the couch, not when Billy sucks a hole into his neck under their blanket in their bed and asks, we goin’ steady? Like it’s even a fucking question, or something, but.
Steve realizes they went backwards. Won the game before actually learning the rules.
Do you wanna go on a date with me? He asks one morning. It’s raining, so Billy isn’t surfing and Steve isn’t sketching out on the porch, and.
It seems as good a time as any.
Billy has milk running down his chin when he looks up, eyes so blue and wide like he never expected it to fucking happen. Isn’t this a date?
What?
Right now, Billy says through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. We’re eating. Alone. Making eyes at each other over our meal--
Steve snorts. This isn’t a date.
And Billy’s face, fucking. Falls. He rinses his plate in the sink and kinda, doesn’t turn back around. Steve doesn’t know how he fucked it up already.
Bills?
What’s a date look like then? And that. Makes Steve laugh.
You’ve been on, like. So many dates, baby.
Not with you. Billy says flatly. When he turns around again his cheeks are pink. Not from laughter, but. From something else. I never went on any dates with you, so. How would I identify one in a crowd.
And Steve knows. Instantly, knows he’s not going to get out of this one.
Perfect first date shit, alright, I can. I can do that. He leans back in the hideous avocado green chair Billy picked out and. Sucks on his bottom lip. We have the day free. Because, um. It’s the off season. Right after labor day and, uh. The shop’s getting ready to shift into winter.
Billy grins. So in your perfect scenario we’re broke?
Listen, asshole wouldja just--
Alright, baby. Billy sits in the chair across from him and looks, fucking. So pretty in Avocado Green. I’m listening.
So Steve tells him. Their perfect date begins and ends with ease, it’s as simple as breathing. The way it’s always been for them. Natural. Steve packs a basket with a goddamn. Charcuterie board and like, fresh fruit and shit. The sun sets and Steve gets down on one knee and--
Our first date is a picnic. On a beach..under the stars? Billy doesn’t look even a little bit like laughing, not. Not when his nose goes all bunchy. Have you swallowed a romance novel? Do I need to call a doctor?
Steve isn’t really in the mood for jokes.
He covers his face with his hands, because. They went backwards. Never even put labels on it, or second guessed anything because Steve won the lottery. That night when the high fives went up in smoke, he.
Got everything he ever wanted.
Billy tugs at his wrists. Yanks and soothes and rearranges Steve’s skin until they’re chest to chest against avocado green. His eyes are teary. Fuck.
I didn’t mean to make you cry, baby. Steve says. ‘S a bad idea anyhow, too much pressure. You mean a lot and I fuckin’. Made you cry. Tears were never a part of the deal.
Billy lets Steve wipe his cheeks and then he’s smiling.
Not grinning or smirking or teasing, but. Happy. We could make this a date.
Steve shrugs. Yeah, I guess we could.
Pack some sandwiches, sit on the patio. Billy winks. Just like all those nights when neither boy could give their emotions a name. Take away some of the pressure.
I kinda dig the pressure, though.
Were you really gonna get down on one knee? Billy whispers. At the end of our first date? You know the statistics on divorce are--
Against his will, Steve’s chucking.
And on the first date? Billy tuts, cheeks pink again. You know I don’t put out for any ol’ pair of brown eyes, Harrington. I wait until at least the fourth date.
It’s been five years.
So marry me. Billy says. On Tuesday or something, we can. Go to the beach or whatever. Elope.
And.
Just like that night. With the Camaro stuffed to the brim, and Billy gripping his fingers like a lifeline in a storm, Steve has no choice. He never did, because. Yeah.
He kisses Billy, each cheek, both eyelids, before carrying him to their bedroom and wonders. If they’ll ever start at the beginning.
#harringrove#steve harrington#billy hargrove#again#this ran away with me#I hope it reads alright#domestic fluff#california#running away together#first dates
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dream a Little Dream of Me Pt. 6
Hi, so I’m just gonna leave this here and pretend it didn’t take me for fucking ever to get this done. Also like real talk, my classes are starting up soon and I’m working multiple jobs so updates from here on out might get a little sparse. I AM BY NO MEANS GOING TO STOP WRITING IT. Just like, it’s gonna take me awhile or the chapters might be shorter, who knows (not me). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this shit show and if you have any theories about where the hell this is going or critiques or just general explicit thoughts about Kylo please hit me up! I love you all, I hope you’re staying safe and healthy <3333
AO3 Mirror
Part 5
Warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, male masturbation, unconscious reader so not dub-con but just so you know, Kylo’s POV in some parts, I threw in some size kink if you squint cause he’s a big boy, possessive Kylo, slight boot kink, I think that’s it?
Ship: Kylo Ren x Negotiator!reader
Word count: 9.4k (god I’m so sorry this really got away from me)
He was looking at you.
Really looking at you.
Hadn’t until now.
But that wasn’t completely true. Of course he’d looked at you—noticed you, heard all the dagger sharp curses you threw his way like a child put in the corner impertinent and prideful and intoxicating in a way that pain often is. So, yes of course he’d looked, but you hadn’t been important.
And that was not to say that you were important now, just that—
Just that the sea was churning behind him, crashing against the shoreline and the Force was stirring. It was a wild thing, and sung like the insects hiding in the nearby treeline. He could feel the pull of it, like a chain that swung in the small space between your bodies. Connecting your throats—growing every shorter—rubbing him raw and bloody.
It was in you, whatever it was that tethered him like a boat to the harbor.
He was inside you too
“No one will ever feel like I do.”
That’s what you’d said.
You were right, as much as he was loath to admit it, no one had ever felt the way you did clenching around him.
There was something primal that made him ravenous to pour himself into you. He was always too much too full to angryangryangry every waking second. Now, finally, it all had some place to go. Some well to fill—a space for all his extra self to belong.
For once, he found there was nothing more than the sound of the sea inside his head.
He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that revelation.
Who were you? What were you hiding and where was it buried?
Kylo needed to know and you were there, already limp and pliant with no jumbled slur of raging thoughts to cloud his path.
He found that slipping into your mind was one of the easiest things he’d ever done, like following the current of flowing water. Drifting in as if carried by the waves.
Flashes of memories rushed past him, mostly just amalgamations of indecipherable emotion—fathoms of pent up aggression Kylo was forced to wade through in order to reach the black depths of your head. At every turn he was met with his own face staring back at him.
He saw his saber, swinging in a red arch into durasteel paneling, saw himself through your eyes. Felt your awe, felt the stirring in your chest at the sight. He pushed on.
Past shots of offices he’d never seen, a barrage of falsely smiling faces, teeth gnashing, always hungry. He was walking down an endless grey hallway lined with First Order uniforms all towering over him—you—looking down, casting judgement like arrows in his back. Frustration morphed and twisted into a thick sludge of resentment that bubbled and clung to his feet.
With every pop a voice escaped, shouting “everything, everything, everything” in a sick, distorted roar.
And then he found it, the source of the muck that caked his path. A pit, deep and black as pitch that spit up it’s roiling contents and dragged him tumbling down, down, down.
He could barely make it out at first, but as he fell the dim red glow grew bright, crackling and electric and throwing sparks. At the bottom of the well the light bloomed like a pyre, some flaming effigy of pure potential. The heat of it licked at his skin, tracing the edges of every scar like it knew them.
Maybe it did.
Something like a shockwave rolled out through the Force, and he backed away from the raging flames. Back, back, back until he was kneeling again on the shoreline, your cooling body still pressed firmly to his chest.
The feeling of your weight, not cold and dead, but with life still in your limbs was alien to him. Kylo battled internally with the instinct to throw you off him to the ground. He could leave you here, go and wait or never come back at all.
It would be easy.
He could see it now:
Your face twisted, lips pulled back and teeth bared like you weren’t half his size. Like he couldn’t snap your neck with a wave of his hand. He imagined you naked, covered in dried blood and bruises bursting onto your balcony, tits on full display and your finger in his chest, vitriol spewing from your mouth.
It was comical really, how you puffed up like an animal threatened, small but vicious.
Yet even as he considered the scene, his aching knees were unlocking and shifting you, soft cock slipping out in a gush of your combined releases. Kylo swung your legs easily over one arm and climbed back up the beach towards your room.
The sun was starting to rise over the sea, casting gilded strips along its surface when he laid your limp form on the bed. Your skin was marbled with the evidence of your coupling and shone in the light.
Kylo stood silently above you, the ocean breeze occasionally ruffling his damp hair as he brought a hesitant hand to his jaw. The skin was swollen from when you’d raised your hand to him. His fingers dug into the bruise, and the stinging ache of it made his cock twitch. Your face, twisted and snarling and so defiant, so foolish, inches from his before your palm cracked across his cheek.
He dropped a hand down, stroking his half hard length and remembering how your thighs felt crushing his ribcage between them. His hips twitched up into his hand in slow, languid thrusts, precum and your residual slick easing the slide of his palm.
You weren’t afraid to fight back.
Kylo’s teeth tore at his bottom lip as he pumped his cock in earnest now.
You weren’t afraid of him , he realized. But you should be.
Especially now with how his mind was supplying all the numerous ways he could beat you into submission—fuck you into submission. God he’d love to watch you crack, it would truly be a feat worthy of celebration to break the will of a creature such as yourself.
But he couldn’t deny—certainly not while he’s jerking himself faster thinking of how delicious your wet cunt felt around him—that he liked when you bit back.
His name rolling off your tongue was ricocheting around in his brain and he was sure it was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard in his life, that he would never get enough of it. He’d known that since the very first time he heard it, when you opened yourself up to him and came in his mouth, on his fingers.
A familiar warmth was building in his stomach as he thought of all the ways he could make you say it again. Thought of dipping into your head and erasing everything else but that. So it was the only word you knew.
That sent him, made him spill over his hand, white ropes of his cum painting your breasts. You looked good like that, he thought as he worked himself through his orgasm, breath rasping in his chest.
When he was well and truly spent, he let his overstimulated cock settle back against his thigh and dropped a hand to your chest. His palm spanned nearly the entire width of you, fingers swirling in the mess of his release and rubbing it into your abused skin until you were perfectly glazed in him. The sheen of it glinted in the light, a reminder that you’d been marked and would never know how completely he coated every inch of your body.
Even as the darkness whispered into his mind that this was potential, this was uncharted, this was the dragon that hid in the corners of ancient maps filled with unknown stars, Kylo didn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t pull his hand from your breast where his fingers dug into the flesh and made their home.
Not until the sun had fully risen and you began to stir from the Force induced sleep he’d buried you under.
Not until the very last moment.
***
You woke to the sound of rushing water. It was dim though, out of focus like an echo nearly faded away. Your eyes were lead in your skull, struggling against opening to the soft light filtering into—
Well into where you weren’t exactly sure.
Thoughts were elusive and seemed to slip from your grasp or sit constantly out of reach. Details stood blurry behind a layer of foggy confusion. It was as if your brain had been frozen and restarted like one of the old monitors on the Bridge, leaving important documents to close improperly. You pushed incessantly against the film that seemed to separate you from full awareness until, finally, it popped and the world came flooding in.
Light, bright and all encompassing was stinging your eyes through the open balcony doors. The smell of salt and sand and sweat was everywhere. You were laying on your bed, the spot next to you cold and vacant—never occupied. Your chest and bare thighs were sticky as you peeled them apart and tried to sit up, feeling the uncomfortable squelch of something leaking from you onto the sheets.
And then you ached.
The deep kind of pain that extends past your muscles and sent nerves misfiring with every movement. There was not a single inch of you free from the pulsating burn of it. You laid out flat on the mattress, moving your head as slowly as possible to take stock of the damages. Bruises littered you, mottled you in painful stripes. With every new mark catalogued another memory drifted to the surface:
Hips, his hands surrounding your waist to lift you clear off the ground, his cock slipping ever deeper inside.
Breasts, where the Force and his fingers had cupped and palmed and rolled pleasure into your flesh.
Chest, his bitten nails that scratched large welts which stung when you breathed in.
Legs, how he’d ripped you through the churning water and pressed deep into the meat of your thighs.
Neck, you could feel the dull throb of where he’d bitten into the skin, sucked hard and marked you with a small supernova of broken capillaries.
But the sting between your legs topped the rest. He truly had split you in half, his cock massive and leaving you clenching to your very core in its absence. His cum still dripped out of you in a slow stream. If this was the recompense you bore, there was no telling what he must look like.
You recalled the sole of your foot connecting with muscle and bone, the crack of your palm on his sculpted cheeks.
The way his mouth tasted, the fullness of his lips and how warm he was pressed against you with no space in between. The desperation for him, the sweet sting of him moving inside you, sinking into you, the fullness, the absolution. The presence of him not just in your body but in your mind, in your being, the relief of it—like the first breath after years of asphyxiation.
You could feel him still, you realized, a tingle at the back of your neck. A soft, comforting thump when you closed your eyes. Like a heartbeat. Kylo Ren’s heartbeat, faint but present, evidence of mortal flesh and blood. Your head on his chest, his voice a hush under the roaring sea.
“You aren’t going to die.”
It felt like a promise, and maybe it was.
But really, how long could you expect him to keep it?
And that was just the first of many questions. So many questions.
The sound of water was not the ocean, but the shower you realized and it filled the room with a hazy steam from the crack in the door. You thought about joining him for just a second, indulged in the idea of seeing him bare. Seeing the wounds he bore, the ones he let you put there.
But there was no time for that now, unfortunate though it was.
Instead, you tumbled out of bed onto shaky knees that nearly gave way as you looked around for something to cover yourself with, grabbing the first piece of clothing available. It was Kylo’s, you noticed as you tugged the massive black shirt over your head and watched it fall well past your thighs.
It smelled like him. You tried not to think about it too much.
You sifted through the mess of clothing on the floor and finally located your bag and datapad, tripping over yourself to crawl back onto the mattress. New messages flashed on the screen, although strangely none originating from the First Order. Each one another of Gahl’s staff asking you for speech revisions to be approved by the advisory committee and the last one a reminder of the day’s worth of meetings with campaign staff.
You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t really the meetings themselves that bothered you, that was routine, muscle memory at this point. But it was harder now, harder to sit still and spit out pretty fake chuckles to every pompous politician's horrid sense of humor, harder to slip in silent ultimatums when there was a knife positioned squarely at your back. When you could never truly tell who would be the one to twist the blade or at what point you would have outlasted your usefulness.
At what point it was your turn to become the next example of what pride does to the body.
No amount of whispered half covenants would be able to stop that, regardless of which masked, saber-wielding commander they came from.
Sighing, you tried to quell the constriction in your throat and typed away quick, formulaic responses. A few minutes passed until you heard the shower putter out and the soft sounds of the Commander dressing. He didn’t look at you when he pulled the door open and stepped into the room, shirtless this time and sporting a dark purple starburst that dipped below the waistband of his pants and circled over the ‘v’ of his hips.
You tensed at the memory of your bodies twisting in the surf and glanced away as he silently dug through his discarded clothes.
“That looks like it hurts,” you said, just to break the uncomfortable quiet.
Kylo regarded you in your seat by the headboard, eyes narrowing just a bit when he straightened and crossed the room. He stood by your side, taking the hem of his shirt between his fingers for just a second.
You felt him hum in your head, not nearly as loud as it was the night before, but still there—a pleasant weight in your chest. He liked the look of you drowning in his clothes. Liked the way you disappeared into them. Liked the reminder of how you fit well in the space he left behind. Felt his hand rip away like it had been burned.
“It doesn’t,” he said and turned his back to you.
As if you could hurt him.
You felt yourself flush at his response, electing to simply watch as he plucked another top from one of the piles and tugged it over his head. You lamented silently at the loss, earning you a sharp glare from the man in question. Well, at least he was giving you some indication now that he heard you.
“Yes,” he sighed, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. “You’re incredibly loud.”
Crossing your legs, you sat the datapad aside and leaned back against the headboard.
“Oh, well my apologies,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not exactly familiar with how this works.”
He scoffed at your hand gesturing between the two of you, “I’m well aware.”
“Is being as aggravating as possible a personal goal of yours or something?”
Kylo’s hand shot out, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed. Before you had the chance to register the stab of pain that accompanied the sudden movement, you were situated firmly on his lap, thighs spread uncomfortably on either side of his hips.
“Is being a defiant little brat one of yours?” he retorted, one hand gripping hard on your jaw.
You tensed your legs against the searing ache and dug one of your knees into the bruise on his side, “Only for you, sir.”
The hand on your jaw slipped down to wrap around your throat, clamping down on the vein there and you felt the surge of blood that rushed to his dick at the memory those words elicited. He liked them in your mouth, he couldn’t hide that anymore and it frustrated him, enraged him that you smiled at the thought. Stars, you supposed if you kept mouthing off like that Atreus would have to speed things up before Ren killed you for him.
Kylo’s fingers twitched around your neck, eyes flicking to the mark he’d left on the joining of your throat and shoulder which had slipped entirely from his shirt. He seemed to be debating with himself before dropping his head and sucking the abused skin back into his mouth.
Your fingers slipped instinctively into his hair. Whether you were trying to yank him off or push him closer, you weren’t sure but then his jagged teeth sunk into the worried flesh and you whined like something wild at the display of dominance and acknowledgment that last night had been more than just another dream.
When Kylo finished with you, he stayed soothing cool mint breaths into the sensitive skin under his lips. You wanted to ask him what it meant—the mark, the beach, the newly filled to the brim, shaking in your fingers feeling blooming into existence in the intercostal spaces of your ribs—but you knew he’d never answer that.
Luckily, the waiting game was your specialty. There was no one better than you at playing the long con. He’d crack eventually, they always did. So you hid your ace and plaid something a bit safer.
“How did I find you in the hall last night?”
The Commander huffed against you, lifting his head to nip sharply at your earlobe.
“Projecting,” he conceded.
“What does that mean?”
His hands drifted to your hips, digging in and forcing you off his lap and onto the floor. The wood dug into your knees and pressed valleys into the skin. Kylo motioned with a hand and his boots obediently floated over and settled in front of you kneeling between his legs. You frowned as he stared down at you blankly and his command dawned on you.
“Really?” you asked, unable to keep the incredulity off of your tongue.
He lifted his brows and rolled his lips together, and you found yourself understanding with terrifying clarity what that meant. If you were going to play games so would he, and Kylo’s preferred method always seemed to be humiliation in some form.
Jokes on him, you thought with a shrug. You had very little dignity left to be squashed under his boots which you ripped from the air by your head. His feet were massive, nearly the size of your thigh as you slipped one into the rough leather.
“Consciousness can be detached from the physical body,” Kylo explained.
His voice lacked any of its usual rasp or vitriol, he was simply saying the words, not forcing them out. You thought he’d make a good teacher if he wasn’t such an—
The boot in your lap ground down harshly into the especially sore spot between your thighs covered only by his thin black shirt. Your cunt ached as he pressed the toe of his boot into your clit. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you kept your mouth shut and nodded for him to continue, pulling taught all the laces from his ankle to calf. The muscles were impossibly hard under your fingers
“The Force can allow you to take advantage of that separation,” he continued, swapping feet when you’d finished the first, “so physically you remained here, and your consciousness was able to project elsewhere.”
Your hands guided his foot past the leather straps and hastened through the last few laces. When the last was tied off, you tried to knock his leg to the side, but he pressed it back between your legs, smearing you with rocky earth and grinding his heel once more on your slit.
“So everything we overheard then, that was real?” you continued, voice strained as you squirmed out of his reach. Shockingly, he let you.
Kylo shrugged examining your slick stain on the leather, “Projection involves a real place and time. Dreams are more abstract.”
You nodded, pulling the fabric tighter around your knees.
“What did he mean?” you asked quietly.
You were pushing your luck, pushing his buttons really but he should be expecting that by now. He owed you this, reparations for months of workplace abuse.
Kylo stared at you, his erection still obscenely on display from your view on the floor.
“Atreus, he said I was ‘in your head,’” you elaborated and Kylo nearly kicked your teeth in with how quickly he stood.
“That’s enough,” he grunted.
You watched on the ground as he walked out onto the balcony. The wind combed through the black waves on his head revealing whitecaps of pale, freckled profile to peek out. You decided to quit while you were ahead, letting him stew. This was the most he’d ever spoken to you in the years you’d worked as his one-woman political clean up crew. Maybe you’d celebrate when there wasn’t a hit out on you.
Stretching out, your eyes caught his mask staring at you dead and resolute from the small night stand. It was heavier than you expected, lined with deep ridges and scars just like the man who wore it.
Head wounds were almost always fatal. Just one blow to the soft flesh of the temple and that was it, end of discussion. They taught you that at the academy. Always aim for the head. You traced the cracks on its carbon black surface and tried to imagine all the people who’d aimed for the Commander’s head, aimed to land the killing blow and failed. You thought of his toothpaste sitting in the vanity in the bathroom. You thought of the bruises on his chest and the blood that had pooled under his pretty skin to cause them. You thought of Kylo Ren dying.
You put the helmet down, pulled yourself off the floor and left Ren to his thoughts.
The bathroom was still thick with steam when you started the shower running. You stripped his shirt from your back and folded it on the sink before stepping in. The hot water felt glorious as it pounded the soreness from your skin. Your fingers brushed carefully over the abstract painting of bruises, the mark on your neck particularly stark in your hazy reflection in the wall of mirrors facing the shower.
You should have expected the Commander would enjoy marking his territory.
Not that you were in any way his territory.
The idea of it certainly didn’t cause a shiver to run down your spine.
When you’d washed the silt and grime down the drain and dried yourself, you left the bathroom and dressed quietly. Your outfit was professional and understated, not drawing the eye and covering last nights events without being suspiciously modest. Kylo didn’t move or speak until you drifted out to the balcony to commune before your meetings began. You leaned against the rail next to him.
“Do you know anything about him?” you asked, gazing out at the waves as the rose and crashed and rose again.
“No,” he responded, and you were thankful you didn’t have to say the name.
It felt greasy in your mouth.
“Right,” your eyes closed against the salty wind, “well I suppose I’ll do some digging then. Know thy enemy and all that.”
He glanced at you, a full once over and nodded in dismissal. You shook your head and turned to head out, shouting back to him over your shoulder.
“Remember,” only your head remained peeking through the crack in the door, “don’t leave this room.”
The door slammed behind you with a crack. Well, he was developing a pattern to say the least, you thought as you wandered down the hall to the drawing room.
***
You did your best to conceal the limp in your step as you entered, slipping easily into the small crowd of legislative staffers and scanning the room. Gahl was nowhere to be seen and neither was his ‘advisor.’ Immediately you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. You consistently spent among crowds of men who frequently murdered people for political gain, however, you’d miscalculated how much harder it would be to keep your cool when your life was the one on the line.
The room was bright and airy, a small table was lined with furiously dainty finger food which you perused but found no appetite for. You sighed and moved on, trying to decide which inane conversation to insert yourself into when one found you first.
“Good morning,” an increasingly familiar voice spoke from behind you.
You turned to find Lem crossing the room and leaving behind a group of idly chatting aides.
“Hello,” you plastered a smile on your face in greeting as he saddled up. “The Representative chose not to grace us with his presence I see.”
He chuckled, “You really do get right down to business don’t you?”
“That is why I’m here,” you picked a tea sandwich off the table and popped it into your mouth just for the sake of the gesture. It tasted like sand in your mouth.
“Well then, I suppose I don’t mind skipping the pleasantries if you won’t think less of me for it,” Lem conceded and turned to stand next to you, surveying the crowd.
“In fact, I might think more of you.”
You followed suit, taking in the gaggles of people as your new companion passed you a glass of something fruity and expensive.
“Well in that case,” he took a sip and tucked a piece of yellow hair behind his ear, “you’d be correct in your assumption, the old man’s been called away on important campaign related business.”
“Would I be right in assuming you know more than you’re letting on?”
Lem glanced down at you from the corner of his eye and took a sip of his drink, “I think we’re both seasoned enough players of this game to know the answer to that.”
You hummed in concession, “Can you blame me for trying?”
“No,” he admitted easily. “But considering the fact you’ve been casing me like a house for robbery I would have hoped that conclusion would have come faster.
“I don’t know what you consider ‘casing,’ but I think you might be inflating yourself a bit there Mr. Alba,” you retorted, taking a sip and jolting a bit as the sweetness hit your tongue.
“A politician's assistant with an enlarged ego? Never.”
“Aren’t you a little too self aware to be in politics?”
Beside you, Lem laughed in earnest and you frowned, looking up at him. He wasn’t nearly as large as the Commander, so your neck wasn’t forced nearly to it’s breaking point in the process.
“You’re funny,” he said by way of explanation. “I didn’t think you’d be funny.”
“I’m just as shocked as you are,” you mumbled as a group of people bypassed you out into the hall.
“Well, you’re right,” Lem shrugged his shoulders, “I didn’t initially intend on ending up in government work.”
That was interesting. You felt yourself falling back into an old rhythm. Maybe Lem was onto something—if you wanted to get to Gahl, what better place to start than with the assistant. After all, if anyone wanted to know all the dirt on Hux, you were certainly the best person to ask. Why would this be any different?
“Is that so?” you prodded, hoping he’d continue on his own.
Of course he did. These people loved to talk about themselves.
“The Representative was a family friend and I was but a directionless youth bringing shame upon our good name,” he lamented, gesturing dramatically to a false, sympathetic audience.
“Was it kindness or pity then?” you asked, smiling and nodding to one of the campaign managers when she dipped behind you for a fruit tart.
Lem huffed out a laugh again and shook his head, “Gahl wasn’t always like this, I recall him being far more benignant when I first started.”
You latched on to the remorse in his tone: a soft spot in the apple. A perfect opportunity for you to worm your way in and feast on the flesh.
“It's an occupational hazard, really,” you glanced at his profile through your lashes and caught the faintest twinkle of vulnerability in the set of his jaw, “the constant power struggle drains one dry of any remaining empathy.”
“Hm, that’s certainly part of it,” Lem continued and downed the rest of his drink. “But he hasn’t really changed all that much until this election season.”
You’d broken the skin, now it was time to dig a bit deeper.
“Gahl seems pretty cut and dry, from what I can tell,” you locked your thighs against the growing ache between them from standing too still for too long, “what would you say has changed?”
“Well in all the years I’ve spent working for him, I’ve never known the man to run a smear campaign, not like this one at least. Really you should have seen the ads we ran for him, absolutely brutal,” Lem was nearly ranting now, and it seemed you’d struck the nerve you’d been searching for. “And, I mean no offense, but he’d certainly never have interacted more with the Order than was strictly necessary, much less agree to meet with your Commander what-ever-his-name-is personally.”
God you wished Commander what-ever-his-name-is Ren was around to hear that. The look on his face alone would be better than any orgasm he could give you.
“No, no, I wouldn’t do any business with us either if I could help it,” you conceded and handed Lem a second glass.
“You’re very gracious, thank you,” he accepted the drink and sighed.
You tried your best not to sympathize, but you were weak and soft and couldn’t quite help the pang in your chest. As lukewarm as you were about Lem Alba, you could see the bags under his eyes and the sallow pallor to his skin and you knew the look he wore too well.
Damn your occasional need to not be a total piece of shit.
“Trust me, I understand your frustration,” you let out a sigh of your own.
Commanding officers were a trial.
“And not to mention, ever since he brought on that new advisor, he’s had no need for any of my input,” Lem grumbled, pinching the bridge of his round nose.
Well, never mind, maybe your horrible lack of apathy was going to come in handy.
“The slimy one?”
He turned to look down at you with an incredulous smile, “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“What does he call himself?”
“Atreus,” Lem said, rolling his eyes. “Although I’m sure that’s not his real name. He seems to get off on being dark and mysterious.”
You could think of another person who fit that description, and both of them had wanted you dead on at least one occasion you were certain.
“Hm,” you nodded in agreement, “any idea where he came from?”
“None such luck, he just came crawling out of the woodwork one day a few months ago and well, you’ve seen the result,” he shrugged and finished off his second glass, taking yours from your hand and setting them off to the side. “Now, fancy a walk on the beach? I believe it’s my turn to take a crack at hunting for information.”
For a moment, you contemplated the likelihood that you were being played, that Lem was some elaborate plant and today was the day of your demise. But holding you hostage leagues away from crowds would invariably ensure your death would be wasted. Couldn’t stick it to the Order if there was no one around to watch. And not to stroke your own dick, but you were very well versed in picking up on genuine animosity towards superiors.
“I’m not entirely sure what you could possibly want to know that I have the answers to,” you said and turned to face him, “but I would love the excuse to skip a meeting.”
The sand was warm between your toes when you stepped onto the shore. A breeze stirred and kicked up the granules which bit at your skin. Lem walked beside you in silence for a while, swinging his loafers in his hand. You looked out at the water, mind flashed with reluctant images of two bodies, bare and bruised, rolling in the surf.
“What’s it like?” your companion finally said, pulling you from your not so work appropriate thoughts.
“What’s what like?”
You turned to see Lem shaking his head and looking down at his feet.
“Working for the Order,” he clarified and you couldn’t stop the scoff before it blew past your lips.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that’s what you really wanted to ask me?”
Lem held up a hand in surrender and swung to face you, “I promise, I’m being perfectly honest.” When you didn’t say anything, he continued, tone much softer under the crashing waves. “Are you always this mistrustful?”
You were certain that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it triggered a bit of uncomfortable introspection. The answer was clearly yes, that was a given, a requirement. Of course you were, everyone who played the game of politics and treaties and thinly veiled threats was constantly waiting for someone to change loyalties at the flip of a switch. That was the rules, no one ever trusted anyone else father than they could shoot them. Alliances only worked when the playing parties were mutually benefitting or consistently in the other’s line of fire.
Truthfully, you hadn’t trusted a single soul since your academy days, and even that was questionable. You couldn’t trust your staff to do their jobs right, and the only conversations they ever had with you was nothing more than ass kissing lacking in both subtlety and class. The higher ups used you as a convenient garbage dump for all their internal screw ups.
Any human interaction you’d had during your time in negotiations was—stripped down to its roots—simply because someone wanted something from you.
Intentions mattered, anyone who said otherwise was only kidding themselves.
“Work is fine, pay is good,” you kept your tone short, “why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I always wondered what it would be like to work for them.”
“Well, I’d say it’s exactly what you’d expect,” you backed quickly away from the incoming tide, trying not to ruin any more clothing that you already had.
“I don’t know,” Lem shrugged and followed you farther up the beach, “I figured it would be more exciting than this.”
He gestured around vaguely at the villa and the ocean. Your balcony visible from here, you realized. Soon the two of you would walk right across the patch of sand where you and the Commander had tumbled desperately into each other. When you had—
“It isn’t,” you quickly nipped that train of thought in the bud. “Just the same sport on a bigger playing field.”
“You’re not doing a very good job of representing your product,” Lem quipped.
“Well thankfully I’m a diplomat, not a salesman.”
You were standing right by the path to your rooms now, in between the parted grass you could still see the imprints of massive feet. Kylo must have carried you back last night, cold and wet and debauched. You could almost see him, muscles in his back rippling, your weight barely registering as he walked on legs like tree trunks up the small incline. The water would be dripping off his hair, coating each pretty strand and leaching away its softness.
“Isn’t it all the same evil though,” Lem mused, pausing next to you on the beach, completely unaware of what the sand here had witnessed only a few hours ago.
“Depends on what you define as evil.”
You wondered if Kylo could see you now, if he could hear you—really hear you. Wondered if you’d ever get to know what went on inside his head. Wondered if you’d even want to. Maybe that made you evil. Or maybe you were just weak.
“I think you’d know better than me,” Lem was staring off at the water when you turned and his neat hair parted with the breeze.
“Why’s that?” you asked, facing back to stare into the window to your room, hoping to catch a glimpse of something.
Just something.
“Well homicide isn’t included in my negotiating arsenal for one thing,” he huffed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.
“I’ve never killed anyone.”
You didn’t know why you whispered the words, didn’t know why you said them at all, but there they were drifting out to sea like a rudderless ship.
“Why not?”
“Never had too,” you said simply, “not directly at least.”
Lem hummed thoughtfully, “But would you?”
You were still staring up at the curtain covered window.
“Is that what you think evil is?”
“That’s what I think devotion is,” Lem replied simply. “The evil is in refusing.”
A shadow passed across the glass, tall and menacing and real.
“I don’t know,” you said finally, after a moment of silence.
“Don’t know what?”
You shook your head, “I don’t know if I would kill someone, personally I mean.”
“Fair enough,” the sound of skipping shells rang out behind you as Lem spoke, “I don’t think anyone really knows until the knife is in their hand and the throat is under it.”
You aren’t going to die.
You could hear Kylo’s voice and the crashing of the sea—or maybe it was something else, something else entirely that was churning around you. Something red and crackling.
An act of devotion.
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
***
You could feel his eyes on you the second you returned. It was well into the night after a day of meetings that ran too long. But one quick scan of the room and you came up empty of brooding men in flowing black robes. Despite his lack of physical presence, you swore you could feel staring, tracking the uneven movement of your legs as you took a step further from the door.
Kylo Ren was here somewhere, you could feel the weight of him, filling up all the extra space in the air.
The sullen feeling of being watched followed you, making your skin flush with gooseflesh, while you stood in the middle of the room. Something moved in the shadows of the balcony. You caught just a twitch from the corner of your vision, the heel of boot pulled back into the dark.
So that’s where he was hiding. Or maybe lurking was a more appropriate word for it.
When your eyes had adjusted to the low light of the moon, you could just barely make him out. Kylo was nothing more than a dark silhouette against the horizon, leaning back against the rail of the balcony. You couldn’t see his face, but you could easily imagine the blank, drawn expression. The regal tilt of his jaw and the sculpted profile of his prominent nose. The slight peek of his ears between dark waves of hair.
You paused for a moment, debating whether or not you cared enough to fill him in on what you’d gathered that morning. Lem had been more forthcoming with you for the rest of the day after your heart to heart and you’d been able to create a halfway decent profile of your target by the end of your last meeting. But there was palpable tension in the room that you couldn’t quite place, and it felt like one wrong step might find you backed up against the wall, feet dangling and throat crushed in an invisible grip.
Turning, you sat yourself gingerly on the edge of the bed and pulled off your shoes. When you dropped them to the ground though, you heard the rustling of paper. Scattered on the floor was the tattered remains of a padded envelope. You frowned, picking up one of the scraps to try and make out the writing.
Your name was scrawled in messy print, torn halfway through.
It was only when you noticed the small shreds of fabric littered among the mess that you realized what you were holding.
“I’ll have one of the aides send for some seaside appropriate attire, you might find you’d like to go for a swim.”
“Let me know,” he cleared his throat, “if that’s not the right fit. I can have another sent up.”
It was the package Lem had given you days ago. You’d nearly forgotten about the awful conversation with Gahl your first night on Coruscant. Some part of you was glad you’d never have to see it in one piece, the memory of his hand on your thigh still made you gag.
You grabbed a piece of the ruined material and felt the rough outline of lace under your fingertips.
From the balcony there came the sound of shuffling boots as Ren adjusted himself and turned away from you to look out over the sea.
“You really shouldn’t open mail that isn’t addressed to you, sir,” you mumbled under your breath, but got no response.
In fact, the entire room was littered with the remnants of your gift from the representative. You wondered how long he’d been sitting there sulking over it. Something in your chest swelled at the thought of him, eye twitching just before he ripped the garment to shreds. You could hear the shout that would have torn through his throat.
Really, he fucks you once and he’s already jealous? Very unprofessional.
The thought did wonders for your ego.
And wreaked havoc on your incredibly sore pussy, that clenched involuntarily against a new rush of warmth.
But however much sick pride you took in exposing the Commander’s inability to control himself, you couldn’t shake the twinge of annoyance that bubbled constantly under the surface of your mind whenever Kylo Ren was involved.
The boots, the cryptic half answers, the unclear label for whatever the hell had happened between the two of you buried in each other on the sand— that was one thing.
But this was a slippery slope and you weren’t one for simply riding along without question.
“Tell me what you want.”
That’s what he always said, be a shame if Ren couldn’t hold himself to the same standards.
Without bothering to look back at him, you stood back up from the bed, proudly displayed at the center of the room.
Slowly you lifted your arms, pulling away your top and letting it drop with a soft thump to the floor. You didn’t see him turn at the sound, but you felt it. Could sense where his eyes alighted on your bare back. They lit fiery trails wherever he paused on the blooms of broken blood vessels under your skin. You did your best not to shudder under his stare.
You worked slowly, peeling each layer off piece by piece. Made a show of it, ran your fingers along the soft skin of your arms and gave him a lovely view of your ass when you bent down to roll off your socks. You could hear the catch in his breath so faint under the sound of the wind, and wondered if he could see the wetness glinting off your thighs in the low light.
Wondered if he could smell it on you.
Never once did you turn to face him, waiting until you were completely bare to walk ever so slowly into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open behind you. Flicking on the soft lights you started the shower with a frustratingly shaky hand. Warm water rushed through the pipes and drowned out any sound from the main room.
You stepped past the two tile walls that blocked off the shower and let the stream of water tumble over you. It poured like a waterfall, cocooning you in the stream of it. You waited patiently to see what the Commander would do, if he’d take the bait.
Of course he did.
You didn’t have to wait for very long.
He took up the entire doorway when he entered, a massive wall of muscle and sinew that towered over you in a way no one ever had before.
It was thrilling.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice low and layered with poorly restrained need.
Kylo was still fully clothed, but the hard outline of his cock was clear against his thigh. You let the water run over your breasts, cupping them as though you were one of those ornate stone fountains.
“What does it look like?”
He rolled his lips, “All I see is a whore who has no idea what she’s getting herself into.”
He was right, you didn’t. But you wanted it anyway.
“Hmm,” you nodded. “So why don’t you show me?”
You stepped out of the water, leaving puddles behind as you crossed over to him, standing just out of arm's reach. Kylo’s fingers clenched at his sides, his neck tilted down to stare at the water running down your chest.
What happened next was not at all what you’d expected.
You’d thought he might snap the way he often did, might yell or bend you over the vanity and give you even more marks that would smart in the morning. But he did none of that.
Instead he lifted a single hand, his arm impossibly long and reaching you despite the distance. The second his fingertips landed on your skin, the world went black.
You felt like you were falling, your stomach doing flips as you tumbled through darkness. Everything was coming in flashes. Your feet—well no not yours, Kylo’s you realized—sticking in viscous black sludge that clung in sticky trails along the skin of your—his—legs.
A pit, gaping and horrible.
Something burning, something blistering and crackling and raging red. It rose above you, flowing strangely like liquid sloshing and rolling like a flash flood and you staggered back. Something was rushing by your ears, light blurring in front of your eyes like a ship just about to jump into hyperspace. All of sudden, you were hurtled back into the present gasping and pitching forward into the Commander’s solid chest.
He didn’t push you away, just stood as you breathed him in and tried to plant your feet firmly on the ground.
“What was that?”
Your voice sounded so small after the intense roaring of whatever he’d shown you. Kylo’s hand threaded into the hair at the base of your skull and yanked back until your knees buckled under the force and you hung limply from his grip.
“You would do well to listen when I say you have no idea what’s at stake here,” he hissed and you clawed at his hands.
“Maybe if you bothered to explain it to me, I’d be more inclined to agree!”
He shook you violently and you tried to kick your feet under you but the slick tiles offered no leverage. Kylo dropped a hand, fumbling with the button on his pants.
“I think you’re far too busy parading yourself around like the little slut you are.”
In one smooth motion, he freed his cock from the confines of his trousers. It was just as massive as you remember, red and leaking white beads of precum. He gave it two long strokes, holding you at eye level with his dick.
You really ought to keep your mouth shut, but despite the pain in your scalp, your cunt was clenching at the sight of rock hard and weeping for you.
“Am I a slut or are you just a possessive bastard?”
You could pinpoint the exact moment Kylo Ren snapped. The change was subtle, a short grinding of his jaw, just a flicker of his eyes before he had your head slammed down on the vanity, ass up and knees spread for him to settle between.
His hand in your hair tilted your head up so you could watch as he guided his length to your soaked lips. He coated himself in your slick, circling your entrance and nudging your stiff clit with every stroke.
“Watch and you tell me,” he grunted before ramming his cock into you.
It burned and stretched until you felt him in your throat, a choked moan rattling out of your mouth. You could do nothing but watch your reflection, tears beading at the corners of your eyes when he pulled out only to thrust back in. Kylo set a savage pace, the sound of slapping skin and his groans echoed around you.
You watched his face in the mirror, flushed bright red, one hand still on your head and the other steadying your hips as he drove into you. The drag of him was delicious, pulling pleasure out of places so deep you’d nearly forgotten they existed.
“So desperate for your Commander’s cock, aren’t you?” he growled, draping himself over your back.
His chest pinned your harder into the marble vanity, crushing your breasts against the cool surface while the hand on your hip reached around and pressed hard into your stomach just above your pussy.
“Feel that? Feel how this cunt was made for me?”
Kylo’s head dropped to your shoulder and his teeth sunk into the flesh, muffling the obscene moan that rumbled between his ribs when you tightened yourself around him. You whined, nipples straining against the cold stone and neglected clit begging for attention.
“Kylo, please,” you sobbed, forgetting the game entirely, all confidence leaking away and replaced by a hunger only he could sate.
“No,” he snarled, rearing back and yanking your head up with him. “You don’t get to beg now.”
You were absolutely ruined, skin more bruised than not and mouth hanging open in a silent cry. He met your gaze through the mirror, and you were entirely convinced it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Kylo’s lovely brown eyes were completely black with lust, his hair a crown of sweat soaked curls and a lovely blush that spread all the way to his ears. Plush lips pulled back to show his crooked teeth that splayed out like white gemstones.
He looked every bit a dark, magnificent prince. A fallen angel or a devil or any number of cruel celestial beings—in any case the man above you could not be human.
And yet, you knew he was.
You’d been gifted with the evidence of it, painted him with purple blossoms and seen him bare with scars and freckles and your favorite mole above his gorgeous full lips. The way his breath always smelled like toothpaste.
In all your life you’d never been known to take orders well from any man, but staring at Kylo Ren as he pounded his massive cock into you—meeting you head on without restraint, a comeback always at the tip of his skilled tongue—you thought you might not mind it so much if it was him.
And then his hips stilled, and he was looping your arms around his neck and pawing at your thighs before locking his arms under them and lifting you up, back against his chest.
“Fuck, Kylo—” you yelped at the change of angle and the strength of his arms to keep you aloft.
The shower sprayed down on him, soaking his clothes as he leaned back against the tile wall and fucked you on his cock. The mirror provided a full view of your bodies joining. You watched entranced as his arms flexed, biceps bulging while your pussy swallowed his length and your tits bounced with every thrust.
“That’s the only name I ever want to hear out of your mouth.”
He turned his face into your neck, lips and teeth sucking and nipping at the skin. It was too much, too much and not enough and you were overcome once again with the feeling of something filling in all your hollow spaces. And you knew in your bones straight to the marrow that the pit filled with churning, crackling magma was bubbling up again, accepting everything Kylo poured into you.
You clung on to the feeling and shouted through it.
Kylo, you called, breath coming in ragged gasps.
You were so close from just his cock in you, but it wasn’t enough.
You weren’t sure if anything ever would be.
Kylo, you repeated it like a holy word, long forgotten and imbued with the power of ancient gods.
He buried his head deeper into the column of your throat, squeezing his eye shut as if that could block out your cries.
Kylokylokylokylokylokylo, you chanted in a never ending string until the dam finally broke and you felt his thoughts slipping into you like they’d always belonged there, like there had always been space for them.
It was all too jumbled for you to parse any meaning from it. Snippets of red hot anger revealed themselves to you in a shower of manilla paper. Voices, dark and malevolent whispered of challengers and danger and design. Your body, motionless on the bed painted in ropes of his release and the comforting weight of you in his arms, real, alive, willing and wanting.
Take me, if you didn’t know better you’d think he was the one begging, take all of me .
You nodded and nudged him with your nose until his lips were crashing against yours in a flurry of hot tongue and teeth. His arms left your thighs which remained impossibly in place, held up by invisible hands as he grasped at your chest, rolling a hard nipple under his thumb while the other found your clit and finally, finally rubbed frantic circles around the neglected nerves.
Kylo’s hips never stopped their frantic pace, his cock reaching its limit inside you, and finally he was cumming, sheathed in your heat and pumping you blessedly full while he sent you tumbling over the edge with him.
And as the waves of pleasure radiated over your skin, boiled in your bloodstream—as Kylo licked the backs of your teeth and swallowed down every cry that left you—everything faded out around the edges once again, although now for much more pleasurable reasons.
***
When you opened your eyes again, you were laying in bed. The sheets were damp, but not uncomfortably so.
And this time, you were not alone. Kylo’s hands, massive and all encompassing were splayed against your stomach and chest, one cupping your left breast gently in his palm. His body engulfed you from behind, bare skin hot against yours.
So hot, you thought something inside him must be burning.
Maybe it was.
Kylo? you wondered silently, unsure he could still hear you.
I’m here.
His hand on your chest flexed as he pulled you tighter. Something told you this was not the first time he’d held you like this, there was something too practiced about the placement of his body.
What is this?
You weren’t exactly sure what you meant by that, but he seemed to understand the question.
He was silent for a moment, I don’t know.
The lie was apparent the moment the words drifted into your head. And confirmation was echoed back to you. He knew, or at least knew some of it, just wouldn’t tell you.
That was okay, you hadn’t really expected anything else.
You’re safe with me, he whispered instead.
And that was not entirely true either, in fact you would not be here if not for him. But all of this had a certain inevitability about it that you couldn’t place. A feeling that this would have happened regardless, or a version of it with the same outcome.
You closed your eyes against the thought and nodded, letting yourself be held like you had so often dreamed of on lonely nights in your small quarters
You were safe then, safe but empty.
And really, that was so much worse.
---------------------
Taglist lovelies;
@thewilddingleberries @kit-jpg @findyourdarkness @contesa-lui-alucard @isaxhorror @obsessionprofessional
#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren x female reader#kylo ren imagines#kylo ren fic#kylo ren smut#dr. b writes#daldom#reader insert#dr. b talks
81 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ahill-24
natalie
19
cigarette-lovesick
Bullshit
fennekomightywolf99
Wolfenneko𐂂
illustratormonu-blog
Fashion illustration