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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 2 months

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A TRAGEDY THAT'S BUILT ON DESTINY!

I WOULD CHANGE MOST EVERY SINGLE THING. I WOULD LET YOU KISS ME, KILL ME!

synopsis// multiple different universes, but one thing remains the same: geto loves you in each and every one of them.

pairing// suguru geto x gn!reader

word count// 5.8k

contents// different universes, angst, satisfying angst?, hurt/no comfort but also hurt/comfort at the same time, ooc geto?, character death tehe

notes// inspired by everything everywhere all at once and the song kiss me kill me by mest :3 i wrote this SOOOO long ago but u have no idea how much i adore this oneshot. like i think it might be my fav oneshot ive ever written. it is everything to me!! and i did not do the idea justice but u get the point!!

December 24th

You assume the fight is over because neither you nor Shoko have gotten any more wounded victims. The two of you glance at each other briefly but don’t bother saying anything. What could be said about a full-blown borderline war schemed by your high school best friend and lover? Nothing could possibly be said, so nothing is. The two of you stand there waiting for anything to happen, whether that’s getting called back to Jujutsu High or being brought another victim, and eventually something does happen, and Shoko gets a call. You can’t read her expression for the whole 20 seconds she’s on the phone before she passes it to you. You furrow your eyebrows in question.

“It’s Gojo,” she says blankly before attempting to hand you the phone again.

You hesitate to answer. “Hello?”

“You should get down here,” he says blankly over the phone.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?”

“Um, yeah, just—you know those back alleys by the school?”

“Uh huh?”

“Meet me there.”

“Gojo, you’re kinda scaring me-“

“Y/N, just come; you’ll thank me—I hope.”

You frown and begrudgingly agree, “Okay, fine, yeah, whatever, I'm on my way.”

“Make it quick, alright? I'm serious,” he adds quickly before hanging up.

As you give Shoko her phone back, you roll your eyes at the fact that he didn't even give you a chance to say okay before hanging up.

“What was that about?” she wonders, slipping her phone back into her pocket.

You sigh. “No idea, but he wants me to go meet up with him for some reason.”

Shoko hums curiously. “You should get going then; must be urgent.”

You nod, “Yeah.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

It doesn't take you long to get to the school given how fast you were walking since Gojo told you to hurry it up, the tense anticipation aiding in your speed. It does, however, take you a few moments to find Gojo, but once you do, you find that he's not looking at you, but he’s speaking, and it's not to you either; it's to something—or rather someone—he's blocking with his body.

“Gojo?” you ask once you finally reach him.

Gojo turns to face you, a sorrowful smile on his face, before stepping out of the way to reveal who he was speaking to and the whole reason why he called you here in the first place.

When you see Getou on the ground, your heart sinks into your stomach, and your blood runs cold. You look back at Gojo, who merely shrugs.

“You should say your goodbyes; I already did,” Gojo whispers before leaving you and Getou alone.

Getou lets out a hushed laugh. “That’s a little melodramatic of him, don’t you think?”

The hammering of your heart roaring in your ears makes it difficult to hear what he says. You stand there frozen in what you can only describe as horror as you stare down at Getou, who's missing an arm and is only growing more pale by the second from blood loss.

“Do you plan on ignoring me?” he asks softly, as though he’d understand if that really was your plan.

You blink a few times and shake your head, your tears blurring your vision. “I dont-“

Getou hums appreciatively and smiles up at you, which makes you completely break down, a sob racking through your body so violently that the only thing you can do is collapse to your knees. Getou winces as he tries to sit up straighter, as if he’s going to catch you or crawl over to you. You sniffle, your sobbing uncontrollable, as you crawl to him, and once there, you let your head fall upon his blood-stained chest. Getou immediately places his only remaining hand on the back of your head, as if holding it to his chest, and gently pats your head.

“Are you an idiot?” you snap.

“Might be.”

You sob even harder into his chest. “Why would you do this?”

Your question makes his heart race. “I wanted something better for Jujutsu society.”

You shake your head at him disapprovingly. “Why’d you have to go about it this way?”

“I don’t know Y/N," he sighs. "Does it make a difference?”

You scoff, raising your head to glare at him. “Of course it does, you idiot! You left! and had a hit placed on you! Why couldn’t you have just stayed?” You sob, letting your head fall back onto his chest. “Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as you wanted this? Why couldn’t... Why couldn’t you have wanted me as much as I wanted you?”

“Y/N,” he coos regretfully, as if he doesn’t know what to say, which he doesn’t. He did want you, and he’d even go as far as saying he wanted a better jujutsu society for you so you wouldn’t have to live your days slaving away for the non-sorcerers. “Y/N, look at me.”

You shake your head and screw your eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. You don’t want to see your first and only love withering away right in front of you.

“Y/N, please look at me.”

“I-I can't."

“Y/N, open your eyes.”

The demandingness dripping from his voice has your head shooting up to look at him and your eyes opening wide, but as you open them, you’re not met with an actively dying Getou; you're met with a sunny and flower-filled meadow? You move to wipe your tears, but your face is dry. You blink a few times, trying to take in your new surroundings, given that a moment ago you were just in a dark alley and now you're sitting on a blanket in a field under a glowing sun.

“Y/N?” Someone speaks from beside you.

Your attention is drawn to the person. “Getou?”

He smiles at you.

“Getou, where are we?” you ask, now starting to slightly panic.

He looks at you in confusion. “We’re on our date?”

Your chest heaves up and down, and you're more confused than ever. “Huh? But- We-“

“We what?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“We were just behind Jujutsu High; you were missing your arm, and-"

Getou scoots in closer to you and cradles your face in his hands. The feeling of a warm, full-of-life Getou touching you brings tears to your eyes all over again.

“Woah, woah, love, calm down. What are you talking about? Jujutsu High? Me missing an arm?”

“You don’t remember?” You croak out, distraught, and slightly convinced that you’re going crazy.

“Remember what, love?” he asks softly.

You stare at him in disbelief. “The fight—you wanted a better jujutsu society, and you tried? You lost your arm! You were dying; I saw you! I was there with you! You were covered in blood and-“

Getou gently wipes your tears away. “Love, that didn’t happen. I’m here, yeah? and I have both my arms, and there was no fight for Jujutsu society? Whatever that means..."

You blink at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“It was probably just a bad dream, Y/N.” He smiles at you reassuringly.

“You don’t know about jujutsu society?”

“Am I supposed to?”

You stare at him in awe. What’s happening? How could he not know about jujutsu society when it was the very thing he was fighting for? But then again, how could he not be missing an arm? And how could the two of you not be in a dark alleyway right now? How could any of this be happening? Maybe he’s right; maybe it really was a bad dream. A very vivid, detailed, lucid, and lifelike bad dream.

“I guess not,” you respond with a frown.

Getou wipes away your last few tears and smiles at you. “You’re okay; I’m okay. We’re okay. It was just a bad dream, love.”

“Yeah,” you say haltingly, "yeah, I guess it was..."

“Are you okay now?”

You nod as you take one of his hands off your face and into your own. “Yeah, I think so... Um, where are we, Getou?”

“On our weekly date?” He answers curiously as he removes his other hand from your face.

You look around at your surroundings curiously. “In the middle of a forest?”

“This is your favorite place, Y/N,” he says, quizically.

As you take another glance around, you hum, not necessarily agreeing or disagreeing. “I can see why; it’s beautiful here.”

He raises his free hand and grips your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Y/N, are you okay? How come you don't remember?”

You look into his eyes, and something doesn't feel right—as if you're not meant to be here—but you digress and shrug anyway. “I don't know...”

He frowns briefly before leaning in and giving you a quick peck on the lips, and you practically melt, having not felt his lips on yours for far too long.

“That's alright. We can still make the most of the rest of our day, right?”

You nod, and he smiles at your response, letting go of your face and hand to open his arms to you, inviting you into his embrace. You return the smile before laying yourself in his arms, trying to ignore the rising feeling that something is wrong, but you can't because the minute your head touches his chest, you're thrown into a moment, a memory, a dream? where you're back in the alley with your head on a bleeding-out Getou, and it's just for a split second, a flash in time, but it's enough to make you go stiff and your breath hitch.

Getou rubs his hand down your back soothingly. “Hey, what's wrong?”

You swallow harshly and try to concentrate on the green scenery in front of you rather than whatever you keep seeing. “Nothing, I'm fine. It's fine.”

Getou places his head on top of yours. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I am.”

He hums disapprovingly but doesn't press the issue any further; instead, he just runs his hand up and down your spine in an attempt to calm you down, which works as you begin to relax into his embrace and regain control of your breathing.

“What do we usually do here?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He shrugs. “Usually just talk about our days, our future plans, and stuff like that.”

You hum. “Is it nice?”

“Very nice; I like spending our days together.”

“I do too,” you correct yourself, “or I'm sure I did too.”

Getou doesn't say anything; instead, he lays himself down and, since he's holding you, takes you with him. You sigh contentedly and let your eyes flutter close, the sun and his hold keeping you warm. Suddenly, even with your eyes closed, you can tell it's getting brighter outside, and you groan. You’re about to ask what's up with the sun when a shooting pain in your head causes you to wince. Your heartbeat rings in your ears, and you can feel your hands grow clammy.

You feel unstable, as if you're no longer on the ground being held, as if you're floating through time and space, and the uncertainty forces your eyes open, but you're not met with anything—no, that's not right, you're met with everything, glimpses of time that you can barely make out. One moment you see Getou at an alter, and then you see you and Getou nodding to each other in determination, and the next glimpse is of you, Getou, Gojo, and Shoko laughing about something before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you hiss in pain, and all too suddenly, you're back on stable ground, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone.

You still hesitate to open your eyes, unsure of what you'll see, but when you can just barely make out that you're not where you were before, your eyes shoot open. You're now standing in the doorway of what appears to be the room of two teen girls, and Getou is sitting at a vanity staring at you; his hair and make-up are done, and he's frowning. Despite your confusion about where you are, you can't help but burst out into a fit of laughter.

He sighs and rolls his eyes. “Oh haha, yeah, keep laughing.”

You slap your hand over your mouth in an attempt to stifle your laughter. “What happened?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, mumbling, “Our daughters thought I would make a very good model, apparently.”

You go to laugh again, but it hits you, and you look at him like he's crazy. “Sorry, daughters?”

He returns the look. “Yes? Our kids?”

You look away, muttering to yourself, “We have kids...”

You didn't mean for him to hear it, but he does anyway and instantly stands up and makes his way toward you. He grabs your shoulders, drawing your attention to him, and when you look at him, he's staring back at you in concern.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You want to take him seriously, but truthfully, you can't when he’s wearing bright pink lipstick and bright pink eyeshadow. He does look cute, though. You try to bite back a smile.

“I'm sorry, but I can't take you seriously when you look like that.”

Getou sighs. “I know I look amazing. Can you try to ignore my beauty for like five seconds and tell me why you’re acting like you don't remember our kids?”

You frown. What are you supposed to tell him? That you're apparently having nightmares upon nightmares about different lives with him? And now you're not sure what's real and what's not? You can't say that, so instead you shrug and merely mutter, “You do look amazing like that, though.”

His head drops to the side at the same moment that his smile fades. “Y/N.”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“Some really weird shit is going on, Getou,” you breathe out heavily.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing your hand and leading you to one of your apparent kids' beds, where he sits you down.

“What’s going on?”

“I don't know, and you wouldn't know either so,” you explain vaguely in frustration.

He gives your hand a squeeze. “Maybe I would?”

You shake your head. “I don’t wanna waste time on that; I don't know how long I have here.”

“What?” he asks blankly. “What do you mean you ‘don't know how long you have here’?”

“Getou,” you whine, not wanting to think or talk about it because you wouldn't even know where to start; all you want is to learn about this new nightmare and what it holds.

He relents. “Okay, I won't ask.”

You smile at him and let a moment of silence pass before asking, “What are they like?”

“Huh?”

“Our kids—daughters.”

Getou hums. “They’re great; we raised them well.”

“They are especially great at making you a model, huh?” you snicker.

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Oh whatever, you're just jealous they never make you model.”

You shrug. “What are their names?”

“Well, we were gonna keep the names they had when we adopted them, but they ended up not having any names at all, so we settled on Nanako and Mimiko.”

You stare at him in awe. “Did you pick the names out?”

“We both did,” he recalls fondly and vividly, as if it were just yesterday that the two of you were picking out names.

“And we are...?”

He kisses your cheek before answering, “Married—we’re married.”

You hum and raise your left hand, your gaze fixed on your ring finger. “I don't see a ring?”

He hums curiously. “You were wearing it this morning? Maybe you dropped it somewhere?”

You nod. “Yeah.. Maybe..”

Getou doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what to say. What could he? His partner of multiple years suddenly has some form of amnesia and can't remember that they have kids, let alone that they’re married to him. You turn to face Getou. He looks like Getou—like the Getou you know, who apparently was merely a nightmare. Besides all the makeup and stuff, he looks like Getou. He says he’s Getou, but something just feels off.

“Are you real?”

He nods. “Very real.”

You look around the room, taking in the messy vanities, the messy beds, and the drawers stuffed with clothes. “Are our kids real?”

“Extremely real.”

You study his face for any hint of uncertainty, and when you find none, you ask, “Am I real?”

He narrows his eyes at you and hums curiously. letting go of your hand only to bring both hands up to your face and start smooshing your face together, pushing and pulling at the flesh on your cheeks.

“Getou,” you mumble.

He hums approvingly and nods, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Yep, you’re real.”

You smile at his idiotic antics but appreciate them nonetheless. And although you can touch him and feel him, and he is real, as are you and your kids, it still doesn't seem real. And then, all too suddenly, your head starts throbbing again.

“Fuck no, not again,“ you panic.

“Y/N? whats wrong-“

You can't hear what he’s saying anymore; it's like you've gone underwater and he's speaking to you from the surface. Another shooting pain in your head has your eyes screwing shut, and you know you're fucked when all you can hear is your heartbeat ringing in your ears and feel your hands grow clammy all over again. You’re back to feeling unstable, drifting between time and space once more, and just like last time, the uncertainty of the feeling forces your eyes open, and you're faced with everything again—more glimpses in time that you can barely make out.

One moment you think you see yourself back at the beginning on Getou’s cold chest, and then you see yourself and Getou covered in blood, and you're not sure if it's yours or someone else's, and the next glimpse you see is of Getou on your cold chest, like your roles had been reversed, before you’re hit with another shooting pain in your head. Screwing your eyes shut, you wince in pain, and finally you're back on solid ground again, no longer floating, and the brightness you could see through closed eyes a moment ago is gone. This time you don't hesitate to open your eyes, and you find yourself in a cemetery.

You look around curiously, trying to assess your surroundings while simultaneously trying to recover from whatever just happened. But you're starting to realize something now. All of this is real. You laying on Getou’s chest was real; having a picnic with a perfectly fine Getou in a world where curses apparently don't exist was real; having kids and marrying Getou was real; and all of those little bits of time in between each new life were real. All of it was real—is real; all of it happened—is happening; it just didn't happen to you specifically. Not this version of you, at least. You’ve realized that you’re experiencing different universes and living alternate lives of your own. You didn’t think alternate universes existed, but it's not too hard to accept when the world you live in—the world you belong to—is riddled with curses and sorcerers. You are not above believing in alternate dimensions.

Finally over your sudden epiphany, you're able to realize that you weren't immediately met with Getou like you had been the past two times you got transported into another dimension. As you put the pieces together, a grave feeling washes over you—no Getou, and you’re in a cemetery. You swallow harshly.

No, no, no.

You start running around the cemetery, inspecting each and every headstone, and praying to the universe(s) that you aren't about to find one that reads his name.

No, no, no.

You keep running, the cemetery seemingly interminable, until you run up behind someone who looks suspiciously a lot like Getou, and when you hear him murmur under his breath, you sigh heavily in relief that it is him, but why is he here? You tilt your head and try to look around him to read the gravestone.

“What the fuck?” you exclaim, stunned.

Getou spins around faster than you can even blink, and he almost chokes on his spit. “Y/N?” His chest heaves up and down as he shifts his gaze between you and the gravestone. “But-but-how-you’re-“

“Dead apparently,” you say, finishing his sentence as you stare at the gravestone that reads, "HERE LIES L/N Y/N."

He stares at you, completely bewildered, and you can see him trembling. “How—how are you here?”

Will something bad happen if you tell him this isn't your universe and there are actually multiple universes out there? Who knows, but you’re about to find out.

“I'm not, well, I'm not supposed to be.”

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I'm just hallucinating; you’re not real.”

His reply breaks your heart. “I am real.”

“You’re not.”

You step forward, taking his hand in yours. “I am.”

He finally opens his eyes back up, and he stares at you through tears, completely amazed that you're here, that you're actually touching him, and that you're actually alive and real.

“I don't—I dont understand—you're dead!” He stammers, yanking his hand from yours, and as he breaks out into full-on sobs at this point, he’s reminding you an awful lot of yourself in your own world.

You nod slowly. “In this universe, it seems so... how?”

“What?” he stutters. “This universe?”

You ignore his question. “How did I die, Getou?”

He shakes his head sternly. “No, I'm not saying anything until you explain what you meant. What if you’re a curse? What if I cursed you, holy fuck? Fuck!”

“Okay, curses still exist in this universe; good to know,” you acknowledge with a nod.

Getou snaps, “What are you talking about!?”

You flinch, which only makes him sob harder.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap—I'm just so fucking confused; you're supposed to be dead,” he bawls as he falls to his knees.

You take another step closer and kneel down, drawing him into your embrace and letting him sob into your chest for as long as he needs, ignoring the horrible feeling of deja vu crawling all over you like worms.

“Shh, you're okay,” you whisper, soothingly brushing your fingers through his hair.

He finally starts to calm down after a few more minutes of whispering sweet nothings to him, and once he’s no longer sobbing, he pulls away.

“Answer my question, and I'll answer yours,” he says through sniffles.

You nod.

“What were you talking about, universes? How are you here, Y/N? You’re dead—or you’re supposed to be...”

“Do you believe in alternate or multiple universes?”

He shrugs and wipes away any remaining tears. “I don't know; I never really thought about it.”

You hum and nod. “Right, so, uh, they exist! There are a lot of universes out there, actually." You let out an uneasy laugh.

He stares at you curiously.

“Obviously, I'm not from this universe.”

He continues staring at you.

“Oh, cmon, curses exist, but you draw the line at alternate dimensions?”

Getou frowns and says, “I guess you’re right... So you’re from a ‘different dimension’?”

You point a finger at him, narrowing your eyes. “Don't air-quote me like you don't believe me; how else would I be here right now if I were supposedly dead?”

“I don't know; that's what I'm trying to figure out!” he exclaims, gesticulating wildly.

“Can you just humor me and hear me out?”

He takes a deep breath before ultimately agreeing, “Okay, fine.”

You clasp your hands together. “Okay, um, in my universe, you’re dead.”

“What?!”

You shake your hands and your head. “Ok, no wait! You’re not dead yet, but, uh, you were like on the verge of death when I got put into another universe.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “And you just left me?!”

“It wasn't on purpose! Why would I want to leave you when you’re dying? I don't know how I ended up here! or in the last two other universes!”

He stops you and asks, "Okay, okay, wait—how am I dying?”

You look away awkwardly. “You wanted to change jujutsu society in… a not-so-friendly way... And, um, you were willing to die for your cause.”

“I'm dying the same way you did?”

You return your attention to him. “What?”

Getou nods. “Yeah.”

You shake your head. “What do you mean you're dying the same way I did?”

“In this universe, you’re the one who wanted to change jujutsu society in a... not-so-friendly way,” he explains sheepishly.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself.

He nods again. “So, in yours, our roles are reversed.”

“And I'm dead already? I didn't even last as long as you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess," he shrugs, "but it worked; there hasn't been a curse, at least not a special-grade one, since you died." His eyes gleam as he looks up at you. “Did I succeed?”

You bite the inside of your cheek anxiously and shake your head.

“I'm dying for nothing, then?”

You look away and mumble, “My Getou is okay with it; he knew he might fail—he knew Gojo was the only one who could probably change anything—but he still wanted to try.”

“Okay, well, this—” he gestures to himself, “Getou isn't okay with it.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, well, you’re also still alive, so it doesn't really affect you that much, now does it?”

“Still! You just told me one version of myself is dead—or dying—and I'm supposed to be chill with that?”

You stare at him blankly. “Your version of me is dead.”

Getou grows quiet, and you can almost physically see how his demeanor wilts away.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he says, shaking his head. “You said you were in two other universes before this one, right?”

You nod.

“What were they like?”

You smile as you think back on the previous universes: “We were both alive and happy, and we were together in them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah... and curses didn't exist either.”

“Huh,” he says ambivalently, like he's not sure whether to be happy for his other selves or be bitter that that isn't him. “Tell me more?”

“In the first one, we were actually on a date in some forest that I apparently loved.”

He stares at you wide-eyed, completely engrossed in your retellings.

“In the second one, we were married.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “Really?”

You nod. “We even adopted two daughters.”

“What were they like?” he wonders, enamored by some alternate universe of you two.

“I'm not sure; I didn't get to meet them,” you confess meekly. “But I know their names were Nanako and Mimiko, and they loved doing your hair and makeup. You adored them, and I'm sure I adored them too.”

He nods wistfully. “In your universe, were... were we together?”

“For a bit.” You look away sadly. “We broke up when you, uh, went off and wanted to-“

“Change jujutsu society,” he chimes in.

“Yeah... How'd you-“

“Same thing here, just roles reversed, remember?” He laughs sadly.

You nod. “Did you still love me? even after I'd gone off and did what I did?”

“I did. I do,” he quickly corrects himself. “Did you?”

“I still do.”

The two of you sit looking away from each other in glum silence. It's hard to stay upbeat about your happy alternate selves when your actual selves are currently dying or dead.

“Kinda feels like we got the short end of the stick, don't you think?” Getou mumbles softly.

“Huh?”

“Well, I mean, there are no curses in those universes, and we’re both alive and happy, but in ours we’re dead?” he elaborates.

You nod reluctantly. “Well yeah, but I don't know; I guess it's kinda nice to know that it worked out in at least one universe.”

“Don't you wish it worked out in ours?”

“Of course I do, Getou; what kind of question is that?" you scoff. "You think I want to go back to my universe just to watch you die?”

“Well,” Getou pauses, turning to face you, “what if you don't go back?”

Your gaze zeroes in on his. “What?”

“What if you stay?…”

You abruptly stand up and chuckle uncomfortably. “Getou-“ your sentence is cut short by an echo of your name that only you seem to hear because you're the only one gazing in the general direction it seemed like it came from.

Getou joins you on your feet and follows your stare, but when he realizes you aren't staring at anything, he returns his sight to you.

“Think about it.”

His voice snaps you out of your trance, and you look back at him with a small frown.

“I'm practically dead in your universe, and you're dead in mine, but we’re together right now!" he says, taking your hand in his. "Maybe the universe put you into mine for a reason— so we don't have to go back to one where we’re not together…”

You struggle to swallow; your mouth suddenly goes dry as Getou stares at you in full, unadulterated hope, and you can't bring yourself to say anything to crush that.

“Y/N, wouldn't that be nice?”

You nod and murmur, “It would.”

“Then?” he asks expectantly.

Someone calling out your name echoes in your head again, and you quickly look down the street to now see a small, bright light in the distance, and you know your time here is soon coming to an end.

“I... I can't stay, Getou.”

His voice cracks as he panickedly asks, “Why?”

"Because,” you explain with a shake of your head, “I'm not your Y/N, and you're not my Getou.”

“I could be,” he says confidently, or he would have if it weren't for the way his voice trembled.

Your vision goes blurry from the tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head.

“We could try!”

You sniffle and reiterate, “I can't stay.”

“Please,” he begs through his sobs. “Please, we can make it work.”

You look away from him, trying to fight back your tears, but it's futile; you’re a complete mess, just like he is now. “No.”

His hands shake as he grips your face and forces you to look at him. “Y/N, please, I'm begging you.”

“I cant.”

“Don't leave me again.”

The same voice calling out your name echoes in your head again, this time louder, and the bright light is getting bigger and closer.

“I don't want to go back to a universe where you’re just gonna leave me either, but,” you sob, weakly clinging onto the wrists of his hands that are still on your face.

“So stay.”

You shake your head and take his hands off your face. “I won't.”

Getou’s head goes limp and drops as sobs shake his entire body, and you can't help but think that's exactly how you'll look when you return to your universe and have to deal with the death of your Getou.

“Please,” he pleads.

You're both in tears as you lift his head up by his chin to look at you. The voice calling your name echoes even louder, and the bright light is getting closer by the second.

“You’re not my Getou, and I'm not your Y/N.”

He nods reluctantly. “I know, but...“

The bright light is only a few feet away at this point, and the voice echoing in your head is so loud that it's giving you a migraine—you know this is your last few minutes, if that, in this universe, so you lean in and take Getou’s lips into yours—a goodbye kiss for a Getou who you'll never see again, a goodbye kiss for a Getou who desperately needs one when he never got one from his y/n. You pull away and cradle his cheek gently.

“I have to go say goodbye to my Getou now; I think he’s waiting for me.”

He nods. “If he’s anything like me, he’ll want a goodbye kiss too.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips. “I know.”

Getou doesn't get the chance to respond when you're suddenly gone—completely vanished right before his eyes.

You, on the other hand, are back again, feeling unstable as you float through time and space, and again, the uncertainity of the feeling forces your eyes open, but this time you're met with only one thing—the image of you on your Getou’s chest. With every passing second, it grows closer, as does his voice calling out for you, and before you know it, you're back in your body, looking up at him with a gasp.

“Y/N?” he asks weakly.

You're still in tears from the previous universe as you now pull him into your embrace.

He winces, and you quickly let go of him. “Sorry.”

He smiles at you with blood in his mouth and teeth. “It's okay.”

You have to force yourself to look away to try and choke back a sob, but Getou notices immediately and slowly lifts up his remaining hand to cradle your cheek.

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You nod. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” you croak out.

“Kiss me?” He asks out of breath, knowing he doesn't have much longer.

You don't hesitate to lean in and kiss him, ignoring how it tastes like blood and tears as well as how cold his lips feel. You ignore it because he's kissing you back. He’s kissing you with all the power his frail body can muster, and it makes up for all the years, months, weeks, days, minutes, and seconds that your lips haven’t touched. But just as quickly as he kisses you, he stops, but it's gradual; he gradually stops kissing, moving, and breathing. It doesn't take long for it to get to that point, and even when he's not kissing back, you still kiss him with some fairy-tale hope that it will bring him back, that your kiss will somehow save him, like he's Snow White and you're Prince Charming. But it doesn't.

It doesnt.

You pull away to look at Getou, whose eyes are glazed over but not closed. You sob as you reach up to close his eyes, only to let your head fall against his chest. He’s so cold. Too cold. That's why you have to stay there on top of him to keep him warm. You'll stay there all night if you have to. But you don't even get the chance to stay there for longer than a few minutes when someone suddenly pulls you off of him, and you look over your shoulder to see Gojo, who's crying as well.

“He’s gone, Y/N.”

"I know," you sniffle, “I know.”

Gojo helps you up to your feet, his hand on your waist to keep you steady as he leads you away from Getou’s body. The further you get from it, the harder you cry.

But it's okay. It’ll be okay because, even though you lost Getou in this universe, you’ll eventually be able to come to peace with it knowing that in a hundred, a thousand, and even a million other universes, you and Getou are living happily ever after.

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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nothomegal · 7 months

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"Safe and sound"

(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)

Summary: after being caught and claimed by the executioner, Silent Hill became a rather tranquil for you. However, a one particular entity, or rather entities, of this town kept bugging you anyways... Pun no intended.

Warning: mention of bugs and/or insects crawl on (Y/N)(?)

World count: 1.2k (kinda short ik hshalsdha)

(sorry if this is freaky, but I literaly dreamed about something similar and I just had to write it down hahdajkdha)

Waking up in this place is a bittersweet experience, on one hand, it's nice to wake up with some extra energy to tolerate the surrounding nonsense, but on the other one, it hurts and sucks to realize that one is still trapped in this hellhole. And today, (Y/N) woke up with the negative thought, but the sight of the broad muscular chest of their lover made their 'morning' a bit better, and also more flustering.

The shift from sleepy and grumpy to shy and akward seemed to amuse the beast, as he let out an low rumble, which resembled a purr.

—"Y-Yeah yeah... Good morning to you too."— you say a bit shy, looking away and gripping his clothes.

Though they don't look away for too long, because soon a large hand grabs their jaw and moves their head just enough for Pyra to see their face. Oh how much he adored that flustered and innocent expression of theirs, a great contrast from the faces of pain and horror he've seen on his daily basis before meeting (and then pursuing) (Y/N).

The mentioned person simply stares back at his massive metal helmet, slowly and involuntarily melting into his warm touch.

—"Do you really like to stare at my face so much?"—

As an answer, Pyra gives them a little squeeze on their cheeks and let out another low amused purr when (Y/N) tries to pull away.

—"He-Hey! Nyo, shtop!"—

Pyra messes with them for a bit longer, clearly enjoying to see them getting upset as they speak funny. This little playfight ends up with the beast wrapping his arms around his little human and pulling them back against his torso, letting them know that he's not ready to let them go, not just yet.

(Y/N) simply sighs and accepts their fate, this is still better than having their face licked and end up with saliva all over it. They start to get comfortable but...

—"Ah...- Aah-!"— you yelp suddenly as your body shivers violently.

Pyra instantly let go of them, allowing (Y/N) to sit up and put their hand underneath their shirt to then pull it out, holding...

A creeper.

That goddamn stupid roach-

—"AGH! For fuck's sake!"— you exclaim as you throw the insect against a wall.

Call this animal cruelty or whatever, but when these little shits keep crawling under your clothes and shirt every damn time you lay down and doze off for a moment, one kinda becomes annoyed with it. And feel their insect limbs and scaly body cling and brush against your soft skin or make the low hissing noises whenever you try to pull them away is straight up disgusting! Ew!

(Y/N) then lift their shirt, to make sure they spot any sneaky ones, and of course there is another one because life sucks. Yet this one resulted to be more stubborn.

—"Ugh, just get off! Is there really no other creature whose warmth you could leach on?!"— you grumble angrily as you try to shake the insect away, yet it kept clinging to your sleeve tightly.

Thankfully their struggles didn't last long, a single growl from the massive beast was enough to set the little roach-like thing into flee, quickly crawling away from them and disappearing into a random crack on the wall.

After a second check and coming out clean, (Y/N) let out a relieved sigh as they fix their clothes a bit.

—"Thanks... Sorry for the yelling, but I'm just tired of waking up with these little shits on me."— you admit tiredly. —"I mean, I'm no snowflake and definetely can handle them crawling on me, but when they go under my shirt..."— you instinctively shiver after mentioning that.

Pyra does nothing at first, not even a movement or a sound. (Y/N) knows that sometimes he goes into this stiff position, and it never fails to kinda freak them out because it's impossible to tell if he's thinking or holding back his anger.

He eventually moves, which caused them to flinch a bit because it was way too sudden. Pyra then began to slowly uncover his torso by opening the upper part of his vest while (Y/N) simply stares at him with a confused and kinda concerned expression, oh god don't tell his possesion over them made him feel lustful again-.

Luckly, Pyra seems not interested in any heated activities (for now). He remains completely still again with his vest opened, revealing his torso all the way down to his toned and scarred abdomen as he 'stares' back at (Y/N), like expecting them to do something.

They remain quiet and hesitant, eyes flickering between his torso and his helmet until it finally clicks.

—"Hold up... You want me to get in there?"— you raise your brow.

A metallic clank resonated from Pyra as he tilts his helmet slightly, movement resembling a nod. (Y/N) blinks a couple of times before doing as told, they're not sure what Pyra's plan is but they won't question it, and if he wanted to take them he'd ripped off their clothes a while ago-.

They slowly slide inside of his vest, their body getting a little spine chill at the sudden warmth of the beast's bare skin, it feels even warmer when exposed. They settle down, their head resting on his chest and their body slightly curled in a ball. The monster then closes his vest, wrapping the clothes around (Y/N) and keeping it closed with his arms wrapped around their smaller form.

Do you know how an owner sometimes let their cat hand out inside of their shirt? Well this is basically the same, but instead of the owner and a cat, it's a giant piramid headed beast and his little lovely human (Y/N).

Despite how weird of an idea it may seem, this is incredibly comfortable and cozy, (Y/N) just can't help but to nuzzle into Pyra's chest as they let out a content hum.

—"Not gonna lie, that's a very clever idea."— you momentarily stop nuzzling, then give a small kiss on one of his pecs before comfortably settling in place again. —"Thank you, really."—

A pleased rumble resonated from Pyra's helmet, making his chest and (Y/N) vibrate a bit. They slowly start to doze off again, and the little gentle nuzzling from the beast against their back isn't making their task to stay awake any easier. The sound of his breathing also resulted incredibly soothing, the way his chest raise and fall with each large breath he takes only lulls them further into sleep.

They feel one large hand slide up and rest in the back of their head, pressing them further against him in a protective manner. They involuntarely smile, childishly grin at the though of them being the only living thing to ever witness and experience this side of the fearsome executioner, who will do anything to keep other creatures away from them, him being the one and only allowed to be this close to (Y/N).

A sane mind would tell that such obsession and posessiveness is absolutely awful, but who said (Y/N) is sane? They lost it the moment they accepted to be taken away by the monster, or maybe they never even had any sanity in the first place! Who knows? Who cares? They surely not, not when they can enjoy being in the beast's arms, bathing in his warmth, listening his heartbeat...

Being kept truly safe and sound.

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #pyramid head #pyramid head x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 8 months

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i feel like this year a lot of dracula takes have focused in an interesting way on the ways that the horror of dracula includes how he makes his victims be or at least feel complicit in their own victimization. some of this is supernatural vampire stuff like the prohibition against entering uninvited or the ways that vampiric hypnotism seems to include as part of its nightmarish quality the experience of a desire that you don’t actually have, which we see the vampire ladies exert on jonathan in the castle and can extrapolate as a drac-power as well. but a lot of it is the straight up weird psychological manipulations and power play dracula does to jonathan in the castle - the emphasis on “enter freely and of your own free will,” all the little moments of dialogue where he makes something jonathan’s fault or purports to presume jonathan’s desires in a way that leaves no room for jonathan to dissent. it’s a kind of horror that still rings as genuinely unsettling today because it remains an unfortunately familiar and very human kind of violation. and actually even the more magical vampire stuff translates pretty easily to a metaphor for familiar human experiences, right? how many people in the midst of a traumatic event have frozen, like jonathan does when the ladies set upon him, and felt the shame afterwards of their inability to fight against what was unfolding? (cw sexual assault) it’s also well attested to that human bodies sometimes react in situations of sexual assault/abuse with physical responses that overlap with those that accompany consensual sexual experiences, something survivors of sexual violence have spoken about as part of what can make it so difficult to emotionally process what happened - and that’s not even getting into situations of coerced consent or other forms of manipulation that result in experiences only recognized as nonconsensual in retrospect and often with much difficulty and doubt.

anyway. it’s a really rich vein in the novel for me on this reread and i’m grateful for all the posts pointing out the count’s language games in particular, which didn’t jump out at me but once my attention was drawn i couldn’t stop seeing them. but while i am on principle neutral about any individual adaptation doing Whatever with the material, tracking this aspect of the novel’s horror has given me a new dimension of But Why for the sheer prevalence of adaptational choices and academic analyses that have looked at a novel that so viscerally captures so many aspects of violation and gone, “but don’t you think she kinda wanted it?” or even that have looked at dracula’s choice of victims and tried to find or place in them some appeal or weakness inherent in their essences rather than their status as victims of opportunity and vulnerability and dracula’s ability to use them to demonstrate his own power and control, which is how he operates in the novel and which is also an extremely strong parallel for how serial predators operate in the actual world. like any individual movie or retelling or whatever can do whatever it wants, but it is hard to look at the ways the contours of the story as “known” through cultural osmosis have morphed across the century-plus of its popularity and not feel like the versions of it that have lingered have done so in ways that ultimately tone down the horror by placing it more in line with many common cultural misapprehensions about abuse & sexual violence.

#feel like this is not unrelated to my Jonathan Is Too Human To Be A Man In This Culture hypothesis but i can’t quite make the link work #and i gotta get ready for work #dracula daily

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moonknightly · 1 year

Text

morphine dreams

steven grant x reader, marc spector x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: somno (we’re assuming there’s pre-established consent), oral (both m and f receiving), reader has female anatomy, a lil bit of degradation and humiliation if you squint, voyeurism, exhibitionism, kinda rough sex, teasing, marc telling steven what to do

synopsis: steven’s having a sex dream and you wake him up from between his legs

Steven’s dreaming. He’s whimpering in his sleep, tossing back and forth and you wonder briefly if you should wake him—he’s either having a very good dream or a very bad one and you’re not entirely sure if his moans are sounds of pleasure or if he’s facing new horrors brought on by his subconscious and the pain medicine swirling through his veins.

On the off chance he’s having a good dream, you leave him alone. You’re not sure if you could wake him through his morphine induced daze anyways, and he needs the rest. His body doesn’t heal itself like it used to, not anymore, and he’d gotten banged up in a stupid accident on his way home from the grocery store. You’re not entirely sure you believe him either, not entirely sure he’d gotten hurt falling off his bike because you don’t think his injuries match and Marc had been fronting before they left but it doesn’t matter. Either way he’s sporting a cut above his eyebrow and his ribs are going to ache for the next several days.

It doesn’t matter. He’s still hurt.

Steven moans again and this time you reach for him, stopping when your hand is hovering just over his bicep. You’d let him pop a morphine to help him sleep and hopefully alleviate some of his discomfort, and you know the drug can cause a disturbance in dreams but you just don’t know.

His hips buck, just a little and you think you have a slightly better picture.

Steven’s dreaming of you. He’s dreaming he has you pinned to the kitchen counter and he has his own body again—he knows he has his own body because Marc is sitting there telling him each and every thing to do to you. Marc is telling him how to kiss you, where to kiss you, where his hands should go. He’s telling him how hard to fuck you and when to stop, when to hold still and switch his thrusts for licks along your collarbon so the pleasure doesn’t end too soon. He’s telling him when he should rub your clit and when he has to pull his hand away and make you cry out for him, them. Cry out for them. Fuck he’s getting off on hearing you moan someone else’s name while he’s inside of you.

It feels so real, he doesn’t even realize he’s dreaming. Gods, it feels so fucking good.

He bucks his hips again and you chuckle under your breath, rolling your eyes because of course he’s dreaming about sex. Now you’re glad you didn’t wake him.

Except you want to. Fuck, you want to so badly.

You want to start all the way down at his toes and kiss your way up his body, take your time, nip and lick here or there and leave little bruises for him to find later. You want to trail your nails along the inside of his thigh and watch him squirm. You want to kiss around his hips and hear him whimper for you to touch him, want to hear him beg for you so pretty like he always does. You want to pull his cock into your mouth, suck on him gently at first, then harder. You want to gag on his length and watch your drool fall onto his belly.

So you do, and Steven stays asleep, even when you bite his calf muscle and scratch his thighs like you promised. He doesn’t stir when you manage to pull his sweats and his boxers down enough to free his cock, only twitches just slightly when you lick up and down his length.

You spit into your hand and start to stroke him slowly, tsking to yourself when you feel how hard he is against your palm. His hips buck into your touch and a moan falls from his lips and for a second, you think he wakes up but a soft little snore escapes him a second later and you have to stifle a giggle.

You kiss all around the tip of his cock before gently taking him into your mouth, sighing when his familiar and tangy taste hits your tongue. He twitches again, and you hold completely still, not wanting to wake him just yet. Once you’re sure he’s still sleeping, you rub his hips gently while you take more of him, a soft hum purring in your throat as you slowly bob your head, trying so hard not to be too eager.

Steven moans again, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his heart rate starts to pick up from the pleasure moving through his body. In his dream, your mouth is replaced with your pussy and he’s fucking you slow but hard, each movement deliberate, precise. He has you nearly screaming for him, your legs thrown over his shoulders, nails clawing at his chest. You’re wrecked. Just for him.

When you swallow around him in real life it’s like you’re clenching around him in his dream. You do it again, a little more eager to have him wake up and find you between his legs now, a little desperate to see him all flustered and maybe just a little embarrassed. You scratch down his thighs as you release him from your mouth, going back to placing soft and gentle kisses along his length.

This time, when he stirs, you let him come out of his sleep. You let him slowly blink his eyes open, let him feel your lips on his cock and your soft chuckle against his skin, a rush of warm air.

Steven looks down at you, head a little foggy and he’s not sure if it’s from his dream or the morphine or the sight of you between his legs looking so fucking pretty. He laughs quietly, breathlessly, one of his hands moving to tangle into your hair.

“What’re you doing down there love?” he coos, groaning when his erection throbs just a bit. This is so much better than his dream.

“Nothing,” you purr, voice laced with mock innocence that drives Steven wild.

“Mm,” he hums, glancing towards the mirror when he hears Marc chuckle. “Seems like you’re doing a little more than just nothing, don’t you think?”

You chuckle too, laying your cheek against his thigh, looking up at him with eyes so round. “You seemed like you were having a really good dream. I just wanted to help out.”

“Jesus,” Marc breathes at the same time Steven does, causing the later to have to work not to roll his eyes.

“I was having a very nice dream honey,” Steven sighs, closing his eyes when you start to stroke him again.

“Want to tell me about it?”

Now is when Steven becomes embarrassed. His cheeks turn red and he looks like he wants to crawl inside of himself. You just giggle and pull the tip of his cock back between your lips, silently encouraging him. It’s all he needs to break.

“Fuck, you, Gods love I had you nearly split in half from how deep I was inside of your perfect little pussy,” he groans, trying to catch his breath when you hollow your cheeks. “I was so deep in you honey.”

You hum around him, telling him to keep going, feeling the wetness between your legs start to pool.

“And you were making such pretty noises for me. Sounded so amazingly perfect darling, just for me.”

Marc scoffs from the mirror, the sound deaf on your ears but ringing in Steven’s. “Just for you? Don’t lie to her, tell her what you were really dreaming about.”

“Piss off,” Steven mumbles under his breath, causing you to hesitate for a moment but he uses his grip on your hair to keep you on his dick. “Not you. Not you, sorry love.”

You pop off of him anyways, a string of saliva still connecting you to him. “What’s he saying?” you breathe, not sure if it’s Marc or Jake but either way you want to know.

“Tell her.”

“Marc’s just being an ass honey.”

“Tell her or the next time I have the body I will, and then I’ll be the one getting her off on it.”

Marc has a good point. If you’re into it, Steven wants to be the one to make you feel good. But fuck-

“Steven, you can tell me.”

It’s almost like you can read his mind. He sighs, propping himself up on his elbows so he can get a better look at you.

“I dreamt that Marc was telling us what to do,” he finally admits, cheeks turning an even darker shade of crimson, almost maroon. “He watched us and he was…telling me how to fuck you.”

A little whimper catches in your throat and Steven knows you like the thought. He watches as you squirm a little, pressing your thighs together and a lightbulb goes off inside of his head.

“Would you like that? For him to tell me what to do to you honey?”

“Jesus, yes,” you mewl immediately, eyes so so round and wide and full of dark desire. “Please.”

Marc doesn’t need to be asked. He nods his head and tells Steven to climb on top of you, not wasting a second of time.

Steven does, flipping you over and pinning you down, gulping, his eyes wide as he throbs and twitches from just how turned on he is.

Your eyes are just as wide, waiting for his next move.

“Tease her a little, like she was doing to us.”

Us. Gods, it nearly sends Steven into a fit.

Steven trails his fingers up and down the inside of your thigh, slowly, touching every inch of skin he can manage before he travels up to your hips, rubbing gently, fingers moving back down to your thigh where he grabs and hitches your leg up so he can better settle between your legs.

“You feel how hard I am?” he squeaks, a choked moan catching in his throat when he ruts his hips against yours just once, in desperate need of friction.

You whimper and nod, hands sliding up and down and over his chest. “Believe me I know.”

“Slide your hand under her shirt. Pull and tug on her nipple.”

Steven obeys. He does exactly as Marc says. He listens when Marc tells him to gently nudge your clit with his thumb, when he tells him to slide a finger inside of your dripping heat, then two, then three.

“She’s fuckin’ dripping on our fingers man,” Marc groans, having to fight to let Steven stay in control because honestly? He wants nothing more than to takeover and fuck you himself. “I think she deserves our tongue, don’t you think? For being such a good little slut for us?”

“Gods, yes,” Steven groans, slipping down onto his stomach, his messy head full of curls poking up from between your legs. “He wants me to eat you out darling. Is that okay?” he purrs.

You’re completely wrecked already, a whining, quivering mess. You just nod, fisting the blankets, your nails nearly ripping the fabric and Steven wishes you would pull his hair like that. He grabs your wrists and guides your fingers to his curls before he nudges his nose between your lips, breath hot against your core for just a moment or two before his tongue gets to work.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, pulling just how he wants, back arching off the mattress when he sucks your clit between his lips.

He starts off slow, maybe a little soft but the harder you pull the harder his mouth works your weeping cunt. He brings a finger to your entrance, teasing it around your hole, only adding to the tightness coiling in your belly when he slides it inside of you again and curls upwards, hitting that spot over and over again. When he feels you start to shake, he replaces his finger with his tongue, using his nose to continue stimulating your clit and you’re an absolute goner in seconds.

You let go all over his tongue with a lewd moan and a loud cry, bucking your hips against his face, never wanting it to end. Marc doesn’t let him stop, Steven knows better than to stop until Marc tells him to and a second wave comes crashing down on you from the continuous stimulation. You’re on the brink of a third when Marc finally tells him to come up for air and Steven almost doesn’t want to.

But he’s throbbing so hard it fucking hurts and he thinks if he doesn’t bury his cock into you soon, he might cum all over the blankets.

Marc thankfully isn’t feeling too sadistic.

“Push into her. Just the tip. Make her beg for the rest of it.”

And you do. Steven holds completely still while you beg and beg and beg and whimper for him to give you more and just fucking move.

Marc finally gives him the okay, after he notices the tears of pure frustration and need welling in your eyes he lets Steven move. He makes him start off slow, wanting to drag it out for all of them, wanting to make it last so they can savor it but Steven can’t keep control of his hips for long.

He grabs your wrists, pinning you down to the mattress while he brutally fucks your pussy, the squealching wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out sending him into a complete frenzy because he knows it’s all for them. Just them.

“God honey I wish you could hear him. I wish you could hear all of the filthy things he’s saying,” Steven groans into your ear, nipping at your earlobe, teeth sharp. “It’s so fucking hot love.”

“Oh God I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Marc just smirks, chuckling to himself because he knows he has the filthiest mouth. “You like it Steven? Listening to me tell you how to wreck her little cunt? How to fucking destroy it and nake her feel like she’s being split in two?”

Steven just moans because he does, he fucking loves it. He can’t get enough of it.

“You want to touch her clit, don’t you? Want to make her cum again so you can feel her pussy squeeze around our cock? Want to see if you can make her squirt like I can bud?”

“Gods, yes yes yes yes yes.”

“Aw c’mon Steven, you don’t want to blow your load before she cums again. C’mon, rub her clit for me. Hard and fast, you got it.”

Steven’s fingers are on you again in a heartbeat, building you higher and higher, closer and closer to the edge. You’re right there, you’re right fucking there Steven can feel it.

“Tell her I’m gonna fuck her after this. Tell her I’m gonna ruin her, tell her Steven.”

“Fuck!” Steven yelps, having to hold himself back from letting go right then, right inside of you. “Fuck, baby, Marc is going to wreck you. He’s going to tear you apart once I’m done with you love. You like that, don’t you? Giving Marc my sloppy seconds?”

“Hey!”

But that does it for you. Steven’s words send you tumbling over into your orgasm, your entire body shaking as you cum around his cock, nearly convulsing.

And it sends Steven into his own orgasm, hips working you both through your highs, his fingers never faltering. He keeps you there for as long as he can, until the pleasure starts to become too much and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty pile of tangled limbs.

You’re nothing but labored breaths and a racing heart, neither is he. You’re both so entirely spent, so entirely sated. It’s not the morphine that sends Steven back to sleep, but fuck he’s just so entirely worn out and so are you, easily drifting off beside him.

Marc’s fine with it, because now he gets to wake you up from between your legs.

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight system x reader #moon boys #moon knight smut

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thecreelhouse · 3 months

Text

I can be your rotten fantasy ☠︎︎🔪♡

Paring: dbd!Steve Harrington x Reader x dbd!Ghostface

Summary: In search of taking your sex life to the next level, Steve takes something that doesn’t belong to him, only for the consequences to be greater than either of you expected.

Word count: 3.7k

CW/Tags: Steve and reader being horny morons, rough sex (PiV), oral sex (m receiving), light impact play, bondage, dacryphilia, dub-con, dirty talk, knife kink/play, DBD references, Pyramid Head mention

A/N: this has been sitting in my docs since 2021, and I kinda forgot all about it until last night. This is Dead By Daylight based, but it can still be read without any knowledge of DBD! title is from body parts by bludnymph. happy reading, fellow horror sluts. <3

🔪♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎🔪

“Wait, wait— did I show you what I was able to swipe?”

Your brows knit together, curious over Steve’s words. He takes it as a sign to reach into his back pocket, pulling out a mask to show you— Ghostface’s mask.

“Steve, how the fuck did you get this?”

“He keeps extras in the basement. I found one hiding in a locker down there during the last trial.” Steve smirks— the same way he always does with the small ounce of ‘cocky son-of-a-bitch’ he has left in him.

“He’s gonna kill you.” You murmur, watching as Steve puts it over his head, pausing before slipping the mask over his face.

“Not much of a difference from how he usually does, huh?” Steve still looks too confident, while you cant help but look over your shoulder in worry that Ghostface is around.

He wouldn’t be, realistically. The two of you aren’t even in a trial, and far away, safe from the killers. For now.

“Steve…” Your voice warns, ignoring the warmth in your lower stomach. “This could really get us in trouble.”

“C’mon, you said you had a thing for bad guys.” Steve mumbles as he leans towards your face, lips barely touching yours. You snort at his corny words, but he ignores that. “You’re the one that said you have a thing for being scared.”

It wasn’t a lie: you really did have a thing for being scared, in the right situations, of course. There have been times you felt … excited as you were cornered or downed by some of the killers. You weren’t sure what exactly did it for you— the stalking, the weapons, the darkness of the beings themselves …. There was always something that got you way, way too aroused.

Steve pulls the mask over his face, donning the signature expression Ghostface always wore. His rather soft touches became rougher, fingers digging into the skin of your hips where your shirt rode up.

You’re flipped around, back against the wall, while Steve grasps your throat. A strangled moan escapes you as you try to hold it back, trying not to come off as so needy and desperate already.

It doesn’t miss Steve, though. “You do like this, don’t you?” His voice is muffled through the mask, but still low and laced with lust.

You shut your eyes before nodding hesitantly, squeaking out an affirmative sound. You can’t see Steve’s face, but you know damn well he’s still smirking under that mask.

Steve rolls his hips into yours, grinding his already hard cock against you. Again, you try to hold back a moan, but it still comes out in a fractured, shuddered, breathy mess. He gropes your breasts roughly, tugging at your nipples through your shirt with a firm pinch.

“F- fuck—“ You gasp, hands flying to Steve’s pants, immediately undoing them. Steve moves a hand down to yours, mirroring your actions. The two of you end up nude waist down quickly.

The thing was, you never knew when you’d be summoned to another trial, so usually any sexual experience had to be rushed, just in case. At this point, you and Steve were pros at quickies.

“God, sweetheart… wish I had a knife to play with you some more,” Steve grunts as he runs the head of his cock along your wet folds. You hook a leg around his hip, giving him easier access to your entrance.

“Nex- next time,” You gasp as he presses against your clit. Steve chuckles lowly behind the mask, teasing you again by dragging his leaking head against your sensitive spot. “Steve, please, j- just fuck me alrea—“

Steve thrusts into you without much warning, causing you to scream out and throw your head back into the wall. He slaps your face, albeit still with his gentle touch, but it makes you clench around him regardless.

Steve groans loudly as he keeps his brutal pace, knowing he’s close already, and you’re not far behind, squeezing him so tight, threatening to milk him dry.

“Yeah… fuck…” His grunts are muffled, but you’ve never heard him so… feral. You can’t hold back the filthy cries spilling out of you, almost screams, as Steve continues drilling into you. “This was worth the risk.”

—————

As silence settled around you, your ears still rang, filling the void. Chest still heaving with deep pants, you wondered if you had ever run that fast in a trial before.

Exhausted, you let yourself collapse back into the overgrown grass underneath you. You made it through, you actually escaped. You should’ve been relieved you bypassed another gruesome death, but all that was on your mind was Steve.

The two of you became separated after the second generator kicked on, sprinting in opposite directions after a close call with Pyramid Head. After that, you tried keeping an eye out for any sign of Steve, but were unsuccessful. Eventually the timer ran down and you had to leave through the open gate while you still could.

You could only hope that Steve made it through before you.

“Jesus Christ, the deaths aren’t permanent in this place, settle down.” You mentally scold yourself, dragging a dirt caked and blood crusted hand down your face. “He’ll be fine either way.”

Even with the self reassurance that the deaths weren’t final, your exhaustion was slowly turning over into rage. Fuck these trials, fuck these goddamn killers, and the Entity can absolutely go fuck itself to hell and back as far as you were concerned.

The post-trial fatigue was always ruthless; you could feel your eyelids slowly closing on their own, muscles growing limp as your body relaxed from its fight-or-flight mode that was a part of your everyday life now. With all your strength left, you moved back to rest against a giant tree, one with yours and Steve’s initials carved into the decaying bark.

“You could just wait here for him, this is your spot anyway, he knows where to find you.”

It’s unclear how much time passes since your eyes slip shut, but you let them flutter open at the sound of someone walking on the gravel nearby.

At first sight, you jump and yelp, falling onto your back on the ground. You begin to nervously laugh as you realize—

“Steve, give it up already.” You tease as he leans over you, while you look at each other upside down. He’s wearing the Ghostface mask again, but then you notice something new. “Did you steal one of his robes too?”

Steve shrugs silently, and you have to roll your eyes.

“What? Now you’re not talking either?” You lean up on the backs of your arms, staring into the mask’s pitch black eyes. “Should’ve got the voice changer to make it believable.”

His head tilts slowly as he continues to look down at you. Another nervous laugh slips past your lips.

“Very funny, Harrington.” You reach up to pull the mask off, but his strong, gloved hand pins yours down to the ground. You grunt in surprise. “Hey! A little warning when you wanna play rough. Jerk.”

His other hand grips your free hand, pinning down next to your other hand. Yanking them together, he positions them above your head, gripping onto you with one hand as his other hand reaches behind him. Searching quickly, he pulls a rope from god knows where, before sloppily tying your hands together.

“A- are we gonna pick a safe word?”

Steve continues binding your wrists together; the knot is a wreck, but still effective. He hovers over your trembling form, staring at you like you’re prey.

“O- okay… I can pick it—“ You sharply gasp as Steve swiftly slips a knife under your shirt, slicing up the middle of the fabric. The ruined shirt falls aside, leaving your bra exposed. “Fuck… fuck… okay— uh— entity?”

Steve’s shoulders fall, then begin to shake ever so slightly in a silent laugh. You roll your eyes and huff, but he nods regardless.

The knife is polished, like it’s never been used. It makes your skin crawl with terror and excitement. Steve rests it on your chest, flat side to your skin, still for a moment. Then he slides it under your bra, tugging the sharp side up away from you. The twist of the weapon with the pressure from your bra, tight against your skin, digs the blunt side of metal into your sternum uncomfortably.

Shivering, you hold still, apprehensive to make any detrimental moves. It takes a bit of effort, but the blade finally slices through the stiffness of the bra’s gore. Though the two of you are ways away from the camp, you still blush at feeling so exposed out in the open.

One gloved hand reaches for your chest, groping roughly. You wince at the sudden painful pace, but you’re not immune to the pleasure that follows, arching into his touch. The other hand holding the knife begins to trace teasingly along your skin.

“You uh- you know how to use that th- thing, right?”

Steve nods slowly, still silent. You didn’t expect him to be so… dedicated to the character.

The knife’s tip catches along your sensitive skin, just enough to prick the surface, but it still startles you, granting another gasp.

“Wait- wa- hold on—” You panic, but force yourself to stay still. You trust Steve, he’d never hurt you, but something about this all feels… off.

Across the softest part of your breast, the entire edge slides across, ever so slightly. It’s smaller than a paper cut, but it still stings enough that you wince.

You watch blood bubble up a little through the laceration, gulping in fear. You didn’t expect Steve to jump right into knife play, ever. He teased often, but he was too nice to actually do it.

Thinking about it all made you dizzy with pleasure, soaking through your bottoms with arousal. Steve slowly starts to grind his hips into yours, knife still teasing along the surface of your skin. It catches and scrapes every so often, leaving behind thread-thin lacerations along your torso. You don’t bother to hide the whimpers his actions earn.

“St- oh, fu- fuck!”

So distracted by the knife, you didn’t even notice that he undid your pants before slamming into you mercilessly. It takes you a moment to register the way he stretches you so suddenly, and then the wave of pain hits.

Your mouth hangs open, but you can’t find your voice, can’t bring yourself to form words. A beat passes before a raw, raspy scream escapes your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve, what is your—“

He slams himself into you again, stealing the rest of your question. The knife comes up to your throat, blade just close enough to threaten you with fear and the possibility of consequence as it rests on your skin. You’re tempted to use your safe word, jarred by how fast the scene has escalated.

Terror running through your veins only heightened your arousal more; Steve throws his head back, releasing a strangled groan under the mask.

That didn’t sound like Steve. … At all.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound, pure horror replacing every other feeling you had just moments ago.

Eyes wide, you dare looking at the mask, fighting back moans as he pumped into you. “You… you’re- you aren’t St—-“

“Hey, sorry I’m late, that trial was a nightm—“

Your head flips to the side, unable to believe the sight just feet away from you. Steve, worn out, exhausted, dried blood across his features.

Steve freezes in place, eyes growing as wide as yours, silent in fear. You do a double take— to Steve, then Ghostface. Ghostface, Steve. Steve was never in the Ghostface costume, so that means—

“Surprise, sweetheart.”

The gravelly voice confirms your fears, and you squirm under the stranger, with no luck on escaping.

Steve begins sprinting over, his well intentioned hero instinct taking over by default, but Ghostface presses the knife closer to your throat. You do your best not to hyperventilate as the sharp edge sits against such a sensitive area, but you’re terrified.

If you die outside of a trial, is the death permanent? Because this was not the way you wanted to find out.

“Watch yourself, Stevie.” Ghostface’s tone dripped with mockery, continuing his rough thrusts into you, earning faint, defeated whimpers from you. “They’re really enjoying this. Should feel how wet they get when they’re threatened.”

Steve’s face contorts into concern and rage all in one, eyes darting between you and the masked killer.

Meanwhile, you’re trying your absolute hardest not to moan while your eyes well up with tears. Of fear? Maybe pleasure? Guilt? You weren’t sure, but Ghostface is right, you’re enjoying this, and you feel filthy.

“You just can’t stop soaking my cock, huh, sweetheart?”

Your mouth falls open, unable to find your words still. Before your eyes roll back, you glance over at Steve with shame and desire.

“Sit and stay, pretty boy.” Ghostface points to the ground with his knife, and Steve reluctantly obeys. While still drilling into you, he groans “This is what happens when you fuck around with my shit.”

“We di- didn’t—“

“I wouldn’t fucking lie now if I were you,” Ghostface pushes the knife just a little further, and this time you can feel it catch ever so slightly on your skin.

You gasp, then a sob escapes you, to which Ghostface just laughs.

“Who are you trying to fool, slut?” He growls as clearly as possible through the mask, keeping his pace. “You just squeezed me so fucking tight when I moved the knife, don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

Another sob leaves you, but it molds into a moan, because he’s right. You like this. You shouldn’t, this is wrong on so many levels, but the way Ghostface continues to rail you, you go dumb as your mind goes blank. Nothing else matters.

Ghostface pulls the knife away from you, and you shudder a sigh of relief, though internally you’re kind of disappointed at the loss. He notices and laughs again. Laughs right in your fucking face.

Before you can process anything, he pulls out, leaving you empty for only a moment before flipping you over on your stomach. As his hand reaches to shove your face into the ground, he bottoms out in you, earning filthy noises from you both.

Steve is horrified, but he can’t look away. Was it shock? Was it anger? He wanted to step in and help you, but he was afraid the wrong decision would cost you your life.

And if Steve was being totally honest, he wasn’t sure how the rules worked outside of trials. Killers didn’t approach survivors outside of the hell the Entity conjures up. There was no way for him to know if that changed outside of trials, and he wasn’t trying to find that out by sacrificing you.

… And, if Steve was being totally, absolutely honest, he was finding it hard to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. He couldn’t figure out what the fuck was wrong with him, but he was well aware how twisted this was.

“S- Stevie—“ You whimper, trying to reach your bound hands out in his direction. Ghostface laughs again, pushing your face into the ground with more pressure. Again, your walls constrict around him, and you feel shame at how much you like the abuse.

“Oh, does the poor damsel in distress want their knight in shining armor?” Ghostface mocks, thrusting all the way to the hilt with no concern for how you feel. You feel gravel and dirt scrape against your face as he continues pounding you into the ground.

Something about that, all of that, just makes you even more wet.

Steve can’t help but let his hand palm himself through his jeans. God, does he look ashamed, but something about that just made your skin burn up even more.

“If your pretty boy wants to join in, by all means,” Ghostface snarks as he gestures towards you while staring Steve down. “But I call the shots.”

———

You’ve lost count on the amount of orgasms that’ve torn through you already. Somewhere around the fourth high, the one that rolled right into the fifth with no warning, that’s when your brain went fuzzy, deep in subspace.

“So cock drunk, you just couldn’t stop at one, could you?”

Ghostface’s gloved hand shoves you closer to his pelvis, causing you to gag on his length. He tasted of you and him combined, and that alone was able to drive you wild. Even better, Steve was railing into you from behind as Ghostface fucked your mouth, matching Steve’s pace.

“Pretty little thing needed to be spit roasted so bad.” Ghostface teases, admiring the way your wide eyes look up at him as he continues fucking your face, eyes rimmed with tears. “Bet you let everyone fuck you around here, huh?”

You groan around his shaft, his words causing you to clench up. That sets Steve off, moaning sinfully as he slammed into you. His fingers on the left hand grip the swell of your ass, desperate for something to hold onto for balance. His right hand holds the knife— Ghostface encouraged him to try some knife play— the length of the blade parallel with your spine.

Every so often the blade scrapes your skin as he creates taunting patterns with the tip. You whimper, scared, but your cunt tells a different story. Steve continues fucking harder, harder than he’s ever fucked anyone before.

“Our p- personal little fuck toy,” Steve grunts; every so often he makes a comment with some dirty talk much tamer than Ghostface’s, but hearing him talk at all is enough to make the coil in your stomach tighten.

“I usually don’t— yeah, right there—“ Ghostface grabs your head with both hands, hips snapping into your face mercilessly. “I don’t usually share, pretty boy… Jesus Christ— but I- I’ll make an exception for you two.”

Steve’s hips stutter— he’s close. His head lolls back with a deep, gravelly groan. “Th- they were mine first.”

The way they talk about you with objectification, as if you’re not even there, it humiliates you, sending you closer to yet another release. Your legs shake, and your arms weaken, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Ghostface twists his gloved hand into your hair, tugging your head up to stay on his cock. The pull is intense, causing tears to spill over onto your face, mixing in with the dried blood and dirt that already settled there hours ago.

Ghostface ignores Steve’s claim, rutting into your mouth with all he’s got. Steve takes that as a challenge to one-up him, thrusts picking up to a merciless speed and force. The silence of the night around you is broken by all three of you grunting, groaning, and especially you crying from how good this feels. The filthy noises of your slick cunt sucking Steve in as his skin slaps against yours, and the gagging from your mouth as Ghostface continues fucking your face are dragging you to climax with ease.

You’re drooling on Ghostface’s cock while you soak Steve’s, eyes rolling back as another orgasm hits you full force, causing your entire body to convulse as pleasure consumes every inch of your being. Steve finally spills into you, making a mess of your tight, velvety walls that continue to flutter around him, while a guttural moan escapes him.

Light flashes quickly in your face; Ghostface has his fucking camera in hand, skillfully taking a selfie as Steve cums, and you’re crying with Ghostface deep down your throat. He’s definitely done this before, only taking one and sighing satisfied before he cums, too.

“Oh, fuck… good girl…filthy bitch.” Ghostface grunts as he shoots his seed into your stuffed mouth, saltiness hitting your tongue before you swallow, left panting as he pulls out from your swollen lips. “That was fun, sweetheart, but I gotta go score some kills.” He releases the grip on your hair, and you collapse into the ground.

Steve throws the knife to the ground near Ghostface, panting as he pulls out of you, watching the mix of your arousal with his drip out of you and pool on the ground below.

“Next time you try stealing my shit,” Ghostface points his knife towards Steve, “You’re choking on my cock too, pretty boy.”

Steve ignores the way his threat stirs something within him.

The masked killer stands, flipping the knife in his hand before sheathing it somewhere under his robe, walking away like nothing even happened. His tall, threatening figure dissolves into the mist by the edge of the forest, leaving you and Steve alone.

“Jesus Christ, what the fuck just happened?” Steve breathes, pulling you towards him as he moves back to the tree you were waiting by earlier. Working on the knot that still holds your wrists together, he asks softly “Are you okay?”

Gazing up at Steve as he pulls your back against his chest, he notices the mess your spit and tears made all over yourself. You’ve got small, superficial cuts along various spots of your body, your lips are cock-swollen, and bruises are forming already from where they both gripped and manhandled you. Above it all, you’ve got the most dazed, sleepy smile plastered on your face.

“M’so okay, you?”

Steve reveals a smirk he was holding back as he looks down at you. “That was… fucking terrifying, but at least neither of us died.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You tease, eyes fluttering shut as you settle into Steve’s arms.

“I’m not denying that.” Steve admits, kissing the top of your head. “Never stealing from him again, though.”

“You better not steal from any of the killers ever again.” You murmur, sleep creeping up on you.

There’s not much to do for aftercare out here, other than keeping one another company while giving comfort. You’re still a filthy wreck; tears, saliva, dried blood and dirt everywhere, while still dripping the mixed slick from Steve fucking you.

“Trust me, I won’t.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you, but you break it before exhaustion can steal you for the night.

“… You think Pyramid Head likes threesomes?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #steve harrington x reader x ghostface #steve harrington smut #ghostface smut #dbd!steve harrington #dbd!ghostface #dbd fanfic #dead by daylight fanfic #my fics

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bobosbillionsknives · 1 month

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i agree with a lot of your points about knives, i do also think he is aroace of some kind (demi imo), but the way he ignores bodily autonomy wasn't a theme that was new to stampede. the way he consumes other plants and forced vash to use his angel arm are examples of it, though less explicitly 'sexual'. either way, his actions weren't born out of sexual attraction, he simply thinks that all plants are an extension of himself and he can use their bodies as he pleases since its for a 'greater purpose'. he is not a predator but he isn't innocent either

Oh no no no no no no no I do NOT wanna give the impression that I am genuinely defending knives is ANY way. 😭

I completely agree with everything you're saying. He is inarguably abusive. Saying he's not would be a wild ass claim to make. 🙏 My only argument here is that it isn't specifically sexual, but I'll get more into that in a bit. 😝 I have SO MUCH to say abt this...so I'm gunna use this as an excuse to word vomit on y'all. Thank you for bringing this to me I am itching.CRAVING to talk about my favorite girls always. 🤗💖

INSANE ESSAY POSTING LETS GOO !!!

I think your point on Knives seeing the plants as an extension of himself is SPOT ON!!! He does the same thing with Vash too. He's doing it because hes so stuck up his own ass he seriously thinks there is no possible way he could ever be wrong, everyone else is just too blind or stupid to see it his way. That's why he does the whole "eternal suffering for Vash the Stampede" bit. He genuinely cannot comprehend that Vash just fundamentally disagrees with him. He thinks if Vash goes out and sees every horrible thing a human can be he'll finally give up the hippy dippy act and face this false reality Knives made up as a coping mechanism so he never has to actually face any of his problems. Cause stabbing all your problems away is waaaaay easier than actual growth or change. Top ten girls who are trapped by the horrors of their past 😂!

Knives has a blatant misunderstanding of people's worth outside of himself. He disregards the lives of others constantly, he literally murdered 20 mil+ and was genuinely confused when Vash was mad at him for it. He doesn't take anything seriously. He especially doesn’t take physical pain seriously, unless it’s happening to himself. [DID YOU ACTUALLY SHOOT ME!!?] He's said that he knows none of the crazies he sends after Vash can ever kill him. He thinks if they can't kill him, then none of the hurt Vash experiences during these fights really count. Its always a game to him. He knows Vash will be fine because he has faith in his ability to fight. (He's complimented his fighting skills several times lol.) Yet he’s consistently shocked and disgusted when he sees Vashes scars, like he didn’t play a role in that ??? He just never thought of it until it was literally staring him in the face.

HE THINKS EVERYTHINGS A DAMN GAME !!!!!

Knives never really wants to force Vash to agree with him either, he's literally waited decades for him to come around to his point. He's definitely lashed out violently before, and has disregarded his safety. But I don't think he actually even likes seeing Vash in pain 😭 (maybe a little in a Itoldyouso brother kinda way lol.) He's completely horrified when he sees his scars. This panel speaks absolute VOLUMES to me. He is angry that Vash would allow people to hurt him this much. (Bro is for sure a victim blamer 🥱 Vash OBVIOUSLY should've known humans are evil and would do this to him. 🙄 HIS FAULT !) Those scars solidify in his mind that his brother is reckless, and clearly doesn't know what's best for himself. That's why he feels the right to "save" him from humans. Knives out of anyone in the world knows how much Vash disregards his own life. He's angry that his own brother would choose the perceived violence of humanity instead of the safety he has worked SO hard to cultivate for over a hundred years. After everything they learned from their childhoods, Vash would have to be deaf and dumb to keep crawling back to them. (From his perspective anyway.)

Everything Knives does he thinks is to better Vashes life. That's what makes him such a tragic character to me. He genuinely believes he's in the right and doing everything he has to so him and his brother can feel that safety that was never guaranteed to them in childhood. He loves Vash, (PLATONICALLY !!!! 😰) He wants Vash to be happy. He just doesn't understand why, that despite everything, living alongside the humans is what makes him happy. Something he only accepts at the end of trimax when he literally trees himself to assumed death so Vash could have that. Knives is unambiguously in the wrong, but I do think his thought processes are sympathetic. WRONG. But like .I get it girl. Besides, he acts more like a toxic mother than anything. How DARE you be so ungrateful after everything I've ever done for you that you've never even asked for. ✋😒 and EXPLICITLY told me not to do. Ugh. 🙄 you don't even love me…guess im just a terrible brother than huh…🥀 BITCH SHUT UP !!!!

Now about the asexuality, not only...do I think Knives is aroace. I think he's completely sex REPULSED!!!!! Sex is a mark of human degeneracy, animals clinging for power over each other. Hed think hes above it !! It would disgust him, I don't think he's ever had a sexual thought in his life. He’s also a Jesus freak he'd think procreation in general is a sin 🙄‼️ik his interpretation of the bibles gotta be INSANE. Exploring sensuality is like a normal and healthy thing to do no fucking WAY Knives is self aware enough to do all that. If he could experience any kind of libido, his hatred of humans would never allow him to explore it anyway. Since sex is such a huge part of human culture. He probably thinks consensual sex is a myth humans made up to assault each other easier…😭

this is literally him bro I can't see him any other way...🚬 He's literally a pearl clutching mom who refuses to understand anyone else's experiences because he doesn't understand them.

I can't imagine him being able to feel romantic love either...I actually think it would be pretty out of character ngl. Plus I think it could be an interesting element of why he feels so disconnected from humanity in general. It would be part of why he feels the need to define himself as alien. Knives would rather die than admit this, (and he did) but all he's ever wanted was understanding. The same way Vash does. Knives doesn't understand sexuality/romance, or deep empathy, or most social confinements at all. That's clear by his inappropriate emotional reactions and lack of a filter. He can't feel emotions the same way Vash or Rem can. It makes it very difficult for him to relate to and connect with others. Especially Rem. He feels too wrong, too broken, too alien. But he's convinced himself that this is actually a superiority. So he can sleep at night. But he's far more human than he'll ever be willing to accept. The familial love he feels for Vash is the only thing that makes him feel normal. And it's why he clings to it so desperately. I think that feeling being explicitly familial makes the most sense for the story.

(cut for explicit talk of SA/CSA)

Im never one to dismiss bad actions from a fictional character. If I thought Knives was a sexual abuser, id say it. I even considered it before I watched/read Trigun and kept it in mind the whole time because of how prevalent of a take it is. If anything, I feel like theres more evidence for metaphorical depictions of Knives BEING sexually abused than being the sexual abuser. I mean his literal whole thing is how plants bodies are used and abused against their will. Solely for the humans gain. While it's slowly and painfully killing them. And how afraid he is that they'll do it to him too....😭 He would be absolutely HORRIFIED by SA. I just don't think it's an abuse he'd perpetuate. It goes against literally everything he stands for. I get he’s a hypocrite and all but I could just never see Knives of all people doing anything sexually ever. ESPECIALLY for his own pleasure.

Both Vash and Knives read to me as CSA victims. This would need to be a separate post all together because there is entirely just too much to say. But I feel very strongly about this interpretation and it's why I'm so firm on this. Sexual abuse is a huge theme in trigun OBVIOUSLY!! And Vash and Knives can easily represent different ways people cope with trauma like that. Knives gets angry, and bitter, and lashes out. While Vash shuts himself off, and tries to run away from it all. Two extremes from two brothers. Two sides of the same coin and all that. They've been victimized, I think it's the main reason why Knives would be so angry and distrustful of humans. Now I know Steve was kind of a throw away character from the anime- but I believe long term interpersonal abuse from a human early in life would explain a lot of the deep rooted hatred Knives has for humanity. Along with his hatred for Rem if she failed to protect them, and his deep sense of entitlement to protect Vash if Vash couldn't protect himself. (Tesla was the last straw for Knives bc at least for a while he thought he could trust Conrad till all that happened and he realized the only person he could ever trust was Vash, and that fear never really left him even 100+ years after.) (My interpretation of Conrads role is also a different post gerrrrr TOO MUCH TO SAY.)

Knives' ideology has always been inconsistent, I can easily see him disregarding autonomy in some ways but refusing to in others and never making a mental connection between the two. Plus Knives would think Vashes scars are shameful and disgusting. He probably cant even make himself look at him let alone touch him be so fr. Knives' definitely has an unhealthily attachment to Vash but not in a sexy sex or ROMANCE way 🤦‍♂️ ITS JUST HIS BPD YA’LL 😝‼️#favoriteperson #extremefearofabandonment #vashkeepsleavinghim (also another separate insane essay post) there is no argument here that Knives isn’t extremely bad at emotional regulation. Familial/platonic dynamics like that happen literally all the time it’s just not evidence of anything to me. I can't even see Knives directly punching someone let alone be capable of sexual violence against his own BROTHER ? I'd argue he's far more verbally/emotionally abusive than he ever is physically anyway. He doesn't even kill directly, it's always either done without a second thought by his powers, indirectly by starving the population out, or by making other people do it for him. He doesn't seem to actually enjoy seeing people in pain, more the satisfaction of a job well done. I don't see why this wouldn't apply to Vash too? He doesn't even usually initiate their physical fights. Vash does. (He has every right to, for the record. Knives just doesn't comprehend why Vash would be mad so he always tries to talk like everything is normal. Lol.) And when they are fighting he always puts his hand on his face ?? More annoying than a direct indication of violence. He could just punch him or something but he doesn't? Like violence in Trigun isn't a thing known to happen. Idk I think that's interesting and worth exploring a bit yk ???

Obviously he chopped his arm off I'm not saying he's innocent there either, just that he's more likely to be emotionally manipulative than explicitly interpersonally violent LOOLL. He didn't chop off his brothers arm because he enjoyed it, to him that pain is neutral. It was just a super casual reminder. But SEXUAL violence is completely different, sure it'll leave scars but you can heal from physical pain all day and night I mean commooon it barely even COUNTS as real pain. (Because he rarely has to experience it.) (A certain someone's got a major empathy problem.) And if it kills you it doesn't matter cuz you're already dead 😝!! But SA is different. It's his worst fear and greatest agony. It's something he knows sticks with you your whole life, he doesn't think that's a wound capable of being healed. (So he never tries and chooses to live in constant fear and anger instead.) That's how I see it anyway...🤕 Again it's not like he's a reasonable guy he is known to be a bit unstable idk if u knew...

Actually if anything, I think Vash would be the more interpersonally violent of the two. (Vashes abuse is always reactionary tho he would never act like that if Knives would just be normal lol he is not the aggressor here.) I can't see Knives punching Vash but I could VERY easily see Vash punching Knives ykwim ??? (For trimax anyway, ik kid Knives beats the shit out of him in 98 which I DO think is funny. But I don't accept into my personal canon okay LISTEN we are talking about a lot of conflicting characterizations here. JUST HEAR ME OUT. ✋) Knives never even really blames Vash for BLOWING HIS LEGS OFF in July too, which I always thought was so interesting. It makes me think this is actually a common thing for them to the point that they don't even argue about it outside of "are you actually aiming at me again 🙄?" Which is more bitchy than angry. Like ugh I can't believe you. Typical, typical Vash. 🥱 He'd probably use it as a way of proving to him that they are the same. And despite denying it, Vash would actually agree and feel a deep sense of shame abt it. He's had 150 years of pent up anger after all. He almost killed him with a rock once lol. I'm tired of everyone woobifying Vash as some kind of perpetual uwu victim. Vash is fucking mean sometimes. He is just as capable of violence as Knives is. The same way Knives is just as capable of great kindness. It is known that Vash is in fact physically STRONGER than Knives. (With his plant powers and id assume in general because Vash actually goes outside while Knives reads in his garden all day.) I truly believe that the only reason Knives ever wins the sibling fights is because of Vashes constant hesitance. He's not a battered wife stereotype. All Vash wants is control over his own life, the last thing he'd want to see himself as is a helpless victim. It's why he always pretends nothing is ever wrong with him. It's why he doesn't accept help, and values other people's problems far above his own. His kindness was always an active choice and that's why he's such a powerful character. And Knives would bring out the absolute worst in him LOOL all that work he's done to better himself is instantly thrown out the window the second Knives' very punchable face walks in the room.

He was fighting absolute demons not to run over and beat tf out of Knives in this panel

This is why I feel so disgusted by stampede and the way they handled their relationship. They've dumbed down these characters to the point that they are unrecognizable. Literally every aspect of stampedes portrayal of them feels like a first conclusion based on a synopsis of their goals and personalities. I get there's only one season but that's a LOT to fuck up in one season bro. 😭. There is absolutely no salvaging Nai as a character for me. I'd cover my drink around that guy I find him genuinely repulsive. At least with trimax, you can read around an initial sussy reading if you wanted. How anyone defends Nai, I don't even know. That whole plant insemination thing is pretty on the nose y'all. Literally doesn't even make sense for him to do that like? Why would he want more independent plants??? It's like they tried to make Knives' motivations make sense when the whole point should be that they don't. He's fighting ghosts out of fear. Stampede wasn't even good enough to justify its own existence by how it looks. Adding peculiar plant pregnancy preggo fetish incest bait is just the turd on the turd cake. They ruined the most compelling part of the story for me. Pfft.... But whatever...🚬 not like I care ....🚬

Not to mention Legato y'all don't even get me started. The guy that HATES humans more than anything in the world taking in a HUMAN -SEX TRAFFICKING VICTIM. The one time he's ever taken pity on a human being and it was someone who was the victim of a violent sex crime. Yeah guys that dude. Total raper. Defo a brother diddler. What the fuck are we talking about right now y'all. I genuinely feel like sexual violence would be the last thing knives would ever do ever. I understand that there are sus scenes in the manga that could be interpreted this way, but considering the many themes in Trigun and his place in the story as a whole, I think it is such a misrepresentation. And it frustrates me to see it as one of the only things talked about in regards of his character. If I could, I'd rewrite every scene in the world so people could understand what I see, but I can't. And I know I can't control how other people see the media I like. Trigun is extremely interpretive, and I understand why this is a common conclusion. But I guess I just can't shake the feeling that it's more complicated than that. I have criticisms with trimax and ESPECIALLY 98. And there's obvi a lot id change to fit what I'd find most interesting. (Also why every headcanon revolves around Knives somehow teehee) BUUUUUT I do think all of my analysis is pretty based in canon. I can't stress how insane I am about this and how much I've thought about it 🤕🤕🤕🤕🤕. Believe me, I've considered every obstacle. And I've stayed consistent.

Knives is a raper feels like the easy answer to me. To be completely blunt, it's just not as compelling. Vash and Knives would both have very complicated relationships with their bodies and sensualities and gender and their relation to their plantself and their humanself and blah blah blah whatever. I'd much rather explore that as a separate result of the same abuse than default to supercestsimulator69. Knives is already an abuser. Making him a sexual aggressor too doesn't really add anything to the story besides diminish and dumb down his very complex motivations. Vash and Knives should be very good friends who know each other better than anyone. (They are trauma bonded like CRAAAZZY, very codependent like y'all get it.) I think that would make their conflict SO much more interesting. While providing some great context to why Vash is so willing to give every horrible person he meets a second chance at life. If I saw my brother, who I love, and is my best friend in the whole wide world, slowly deteriorate under the pressure of the abuse we we're BOTH experiencing; go fucking crazy and kill everyone. And I KNEWW. He genuinely believed he was doing what he had to do to protect the both of us...I'd probably also give everyone the benefit of the doubt idk. Vash understanding Knives' motivations but still holding on to that (justified) resentment and anger is ESSENTIAAAL to their dynamic and also literally all of Trigun. Sexual abuse throws a rock in all of this. If anything I think Knives would tell Vash "I'm the only one who WOULDN'T assault you. They're human, they'll only see you for how useful you are. It's what they do. It's what you know they do. You're choosing them over me the same way Rem chose Steve over us." Knives' abuse is complicated and multifaceted, not just some gross display of power. He's not even the most power hungry character in the world. He's got a whole cult dedicated to him that he canonically IGNORES.

And he sure as shit doesn't respect people who are desperate for power over others!! He'd think he's above that too. Just more evidence of human deviance. (Like the scene in 98 where kid Vash and Knives are watching the humans fight over water. Animals who think one is more deserving of resources than the other.) He's narcissistic in the literal diagnosable sense but definitely not some kinda megalomaniac. I think that's a huge mischaracterization. He doesn't want to rule the world, he wants to destroy it. And he wants Vash to be his equal in this, he respects Vash. (as far as someone like Knives can respect anybody at all) He doesn't understand why Vash would choose to be so "dumb" because he's never allowed himself to feel the vulnerability of potential harm that Vash wants him to understand is worth it. It's why he locks himself away from the world, he's afraid of being victimized again. Knives' morals are all over the place, he genuinely doesn't think murder is bad but would consider sexual violence to be the worst thing anyone could ever do EVER. It's not like we're talking about the beacon of reason and consistency here y'all, Knives is cray cray sauce.

Anyway that's my thoughts, sorry this took forever to answer. 😿 And ended up being SOOO long.. I've on and off mauled over this writing and rewriting again trying to make any of my garbled thoughts make any sense. Hope it resonates with anybody at least bc I genuinely feel like I've been taking crazy pills lately LOOL. Take care of yourselves everyone. 💖 Never an easy subject to talk about.

#tw sa mention #theres more to say with knives and the plants too but thats an entirely different essay post LOLL #thank you again for the ask I was itching for some kind of excuse to get my thoughts together like this 😭🙏#my based takes #asks #vash the stampede #millions knives #trigun #ive been putting off posting anything else to force myself to finish this...sorray yaaalll.....hope it was werth it thoo....#do NOT let him talk about trigun yall. 😂 !! you'll never hear the end !!!!#trigun maximum

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amyispxnk · 6 months

Text

Back home

Summary: Javi returns home and you guys have some fun 😜 (I'm bad at summaries haha)

A/N: I wrote this before Halloween ended so forgive the Halloween activities. I can't be bothered to change it. Also I don't really know what perspective this is written in..?

I have not proofread this so I'm sorry if there's any confusing bits or mistakes. Lmk if there's anything major!

Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 1858

Warnings- pet names, smut (oral f receiving, PiV) fluff

DO NOT COPY THIS WORK IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

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He turned off his car and walked outside, unlocking the door to his apartment and stepping inside, admittedly a little excited to finally see his girlfriend after a long mission abroad.

As he opened the door, she jumped up and ran over to him, crushing him with a hug as she practically jumped on him.

"Javi! I missed you so much!" She squealed.

He laughed heartily, catching her in his arms as she leaped towards him. He spun her around once before setting her back down on the ground, kissing her passionately. "I missed you too, mi amor. It feels good to be home."

Pulling away, he took a step back to look at her, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and there was a new sparkle in her eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

"You look more beautiful than ever." He said sincerely, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "How have you been holding up while I was away?"

"Been good.. kinda bored though, without you. I did some decorating as you can see..." She said, nodding her head in the direction of the Halloween decorations strung up thoughout the apartment.

His eyes lit up as he took in the festive decorations adorning their home. Skeletons hung from the ceiling, cobwebs were draped across corners, and pumpkins sat on every available surface.

"Wow, you really went all out." He remarked with a grin. "Looks like we're ready for Halloween."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as they surveyed the scene together.

"So what do you say we make the most of my first night back? We could watch a scary movie, eat some popcorn...maybe even carve a pumpkin or two."

"Oh, scary movie marathon was already on my list of stuff to force you into. Sit, I'll go bring some popcorn. Put a movie on too, you get first pick as a courtesy of mine." She winked before kissing him again then going to get the popcorn ready.

He chuckled, watching her walk away before turning his attention to the television. Flipping through the channels, he settled on a classic horror film - one that had given him nightmares as a kid but seemed strangely comforting now.

By the time she returned with a steaming bowl of popcorn, the opening credits were rolling. She handed him a large handful before settling in next to him on the couch, resting her head against his shoulder.

"This better not give me nightmares," she teased, reaching for another handful of popcorn. "But if it does, at least I know who to blame."

Halfway through the movie, she moved to sit between his legs on the couch and pulled the blanket on top of them, muttering something about being cold and Javier's body being a 'fucking heater'.

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. As the tension mounted on screen, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him - there was no place he'd rather be than right here, with her.

She moved to tug the blanket tighter around them as she complained how cold it was when it was barely November.

"You're cold?" He asked playfully. "Let me help you with that."

With a mischievous grin, he began to tickle her sides, eliciting a fit of giggles from her. When she tried to retaliate, he captured her wrists in his hands, holding her still as they both dissolved into laughter.

"Okay, okay," she gasped, breathless. "I surrender!" But he didn't let up.

"Javi, stop!" She shrieked as her face went red from laughing so hard. "I'm gonna piss myself, stop!"

His eyes twinkled with amusement as he relented, releasing her wrists and leaning back against the couch. But even as the movie continued, his gaze remained fixed on her - taking in every curve of her body, every freckle on her skin.

"You know," he said softly, running a finger down her arm. "There's only one way to make sure you don't have nightmares tonight."

Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as they lost themselves in the moment.

"We need to make sure you stay awake," he whispered, making her breath hitch slightly as she turned to face him fully.

"How do you plan on doing that?" She pressed, any attention she was paying to the movie before long gone.

A smile played at the corner of his mouth as he traced a finger along her collarbone, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His voice was low and husky when he spoke, sending shivers down her spine.

"I have a few ideas," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips once again. This time, there was nothing gentle about their kiss - it was fierce and hungry, fueled by weeks apart.

Breaking away, he looked into her eyes, his own dark with desire. "Are you game?"

"Am I game?" She laughed before moving to sit completely on his lap.

"Yeah, I'm game."

His heart raced as she straddled him, her warmth enveloping him like a second skin. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply before trailing kisses down her neck.

"Good," he growled against her skin. "Because I've missed you too much to wait any longer."

With that, he stood up effortlessly, carrying her bridal style towards the stairs. She buzzed with excitement as he climbed each step, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"It's really hot how you can just carry me like this." She said with a little giggle as she looked up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before answering.

"Years of working in the DEA have paid off, I guess." He flashed her a grin as they reached the bedroom door. Setting her down gently on the bed, he took a moment to admire the sight before him - her flushed cheeks, her tousled hair, the heat in her eyes.

"Now," he said softly, crawling towards her on the bed. "Where were we?"

"I think we were here." She said as she straddled him once more and leaned back slightly to pull her top off.

His eyes widened in appreciation as she revealed her perfect breasts, her nipples already hard from their earlier encounter. Leaning in, he took one into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue before switching to the other.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands wandering over her body. Reaching behind her, he unclasped her bra completely and let it fall to the floor, revealing even more of her smooth skin.

She gasped as the cold night air hit her breasts before her hands came to grab for his shirt, fumbling to get it off.

Laughing softly, he helped her remove his shirt before moving on top of her. His lips trailed down her stomach, leaving a path of kisses in their wake. Reaching her jeans, he undid them quickly, sliding them down her legs along with her panties.

"So wet for me," he murmured appreciatively. "Just like I knew you would be."

Dipping his head, he ran his tongue over her clit, causing her to cry out in pleasure. Her taste was intoxicating - sweet and tangy at the same time. He lapped at her folds greedily, drinking in her essence.

"Oh my god" she moaned, head tipping back as she fisted his curls tightly, begging him for more.

Encouraged by her reaction, he redoubled his efforts, using his fingers to massage her clit while his tongue delved deeper inside her. She was so close - he could feel it in the way her body trembled beneath him.

"That's it, baby," he growled, adding another finger to increase the pressure. "Come for me."

And with a loud cry, she did just that, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. He held her through it, his arms wrapped around her waist as she rode out the aftershocks.

"Wow," she breathed finally, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"You're really good at eating pussy." She said with an airy chuckle as she leaned forward on her forearms.

He grinned at the compliment, leaning in to steal a kiss. "I aim to please," he said cheekily.

Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top of him, enjoying the feeling of her naked body pressed against his. Her breasts were soft against his chest, her thighs slick with sweat where they rested on either side of his hips.

"Your turn," he said, reaching down to cup her ass. "I'm not done with you yet."

"You better not be." She murmured against his lips before pushing herself up and steadying herself with her palms against his chest, starting to rock slowly against his erect length.

His breath caught in his throat at the sensation of her moving against him. It felt amazing - the friction of her wetness against his cock driving him wild. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, but he didn't want it to end yet.

Reaching up, he grabbed her hips, guiding her movements until she was riding him just right. Her moans spurred him on, and soon they were both lost in the rhythm, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

"Querida," he groaned, unable to form coherent words anymore. All he knew was that he needed more of her - needed to be inside her.

"What?" She teased as she slowed her movements slightly, head resting sideways on her shoulder.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to hold back, but it was no use. He lifted her up and pulled her back down on him in one swift movement, barely giving her a chance to breath before he was thrusting rapidly inside of her.

Her head fell back and he bent down, attaching his lips to her nipple once more and swirling his tongue around it, his pace inside of her still relentless.

Her hands tugged on his disheveled hair when he angled his hips a little differently, making his cock hit that perfect spot inside of her.

"Fuck, don't stop! I'm gonna come, Javi!" She moaned.

"Come on baby, come on. Soak my cock. Come on." He urged, moving faster and faster until she finally came undone, clenching around him and making her pussy impossibly tight around his dick.

With a final thrust, he came inside her, his release so powerful it left him weak and breathless. As the last of his orgasm subsided, he pulled her down onto him, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Fuck," he breathed against her neck. "That was...amazing."

She smiled, pressing a kiss to his jawline. "It certainly was," she agree before resting her head in the crook of his neck until her breathing slowed and they both came down from their highs.

He lay down in a more comfortable position after a moment and she shuffled to the side slightly so her head was resting on his chest, slowly drifting to sleep.

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Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javier peña smut #javier peña angst #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #javier peña narcos #amyispxnk fics

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ghost-bxrd · 2 months

Note

So I posted this on my blog, but I really wanted to share it directly with you. This AU has me in a chokehold, and I literally woke up in the middle of night dreaming about this, so imagine:

Based on @lynzine‘s prompt: Dick hears Red Hood make chirps or hoots, and then freaks out thinking Red Hood is a member of the Court and is targeting Tim.

So, what if, instead of Dick offering himself up as a sacrifice, Dick gets angry.

Dick hunts down the Red Hood, stalking him all over Gotham. When Dick sees him, he immediately attacks with the intent to kill. (The court wants his owlet. He already lost one, he can’t loose this one, he will not fail—). Jason doesn’t want to fight Dick, but Dick is vicious.

And the fight just confirms Dick’s assumption that Jason is a part of the Court. Because not only does Jason probably have some training from Dick himself — back when he was Robin — but now he has even more assassin training via the League. Dick sees this, and he’s so so convinced this is a member of the court—

But then part of the helmet cracks and falls off. Part of Jason’s face (his owlet’s face) is visible.

Dick freezes.

Jason shoots.

(It’s not fatal, but it’s a close thing.)

Bruce rescues Dick, but Jason is long gone by then. Between the shock and the injuries, everything is kinda hazy for him. But Dick knows what he saw, and he realizes… he just tried to kill his owlet. His owlet is alive again, somehow, and Dick almost killed him again.

Dick becomes depressed and devastated, which results in him basically ignoring everyone — including Tim. He stops making nests and refuses to cuddle. He becomes almost catatonic.

But that’s okay. Tim’s worried for Dick. Tim’s used to being ignored.

Danggggg, okay, ooookay, I see you went for even more angst! Which I can totally respect, but still, how dare you 😭 alright, okidoki, let’s get to angsting my friend!

So we know that Jason’s beef probably wouldn’t be with Dick if he were to resurrect like in canon, mostly because, well, Joker made it a hot day after killing Jason before Dick tracked him down and distributed him all over Gotham like confetti.

As such it would stand to reason that Dick attacking Hood wasn’t part of the plan. The altercation happened by chance and, ok, fair, Jason was kind of targeting Tim so mayyybe he should have counted on that. What he DIDN’T count on was his mask coming off and Dick just—- freezing. And there’s this split second of absolute horror in both their eyes— for Dick because he thinks the Court took his owlet’s dead body without him noticing, and for Jason because he already pulled the trigger but dick isn’t moving out of the way—

Jason flees, only staying long enough to press a trembling hand to Dick’s pulse point and ascertain that Dick is alive— that he didn’t kill his brother, before fleeing and leaving Bruce and Tim to pick up the pieces.

Dick is adrift for a long while and neither Bruce or Tim can figure out what’s wrong because Dick refuses to tell them what happened, that Jason is alive. Because now that Dick knows— he’s terrified. And guilt ridden.

Somehow, he missed the Court taking Jason’s body. And now he thinks his owlet had been subjected to the same horrors that Dick was, turned into the same monster Dick spent years believing himself to be. And Dick— Dick is a talon. Dick will always BE a talon. He should have realized that Hood is Jason. Should have realized that’s his owlet under that helmet, instead he attacked him, aimed to kill him, and Dick knows how deep betrayal can run when you’re running mostly on instinct and half remembered emotions. Dick had Jason, Jason saved him when he all Dick knew was how to kill, and when Jason came back to him after Dick thought him lost forever—- Dick attempted to kill him.

Jason is… confused. And reluctantly worried. Batman and Robin are rarely seen on the streets after the altercation and Nightwing is gone altogether. He knows he didn’t kill Dick. He made triple sure of it. Even went as far as to sneak onto manor grounds and hang out in a tree until he’d caught a glimpse of the talon.

I think Jason wouldn’t be able to curb is growing concern for long, maybe a couple weeks, before he goes back and breaks into the manor while Batman and Robin are out on the streets hunting rumors of the Red Hood’s whereabouts

(Jason is horrified when he finds Dick sprawled listlessly in a heap of blankets that certainly looks like someone tried to arrange it into a nest, but failed miserably.)

#hi I took your angst and made it FLUFF #but!#and you may consider this a threat hehehehe #if you come back at me with more angst I promise I WILL make this even angstier #MWAHAHA #entering my villain era #or trying to #is there such a thing as soft villains?#like a club or something?#cuz I’d like to join #jason todd #dick grayson #talon dick grayson #owl song #ghost talks

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carpenoctem-if · 2 months

Text

Carpe Noctem - Intro Post

DEMO - tba

You are a nobody. A supposedly ordinary human in a world full of powerful beings. Your life is all in all pretty average if not bordering on mind-numbing, like watching paint dry... That is until you were kidnapped and tossed into one especially small carriage to be delivered somewhere only the ancients knew of.

From now on nothing will ever be the same and you need to adapt to the ever-changing outside world as fast as possible. All the while trying to decipher your past and with that your part in an every-growing political conflict that borders to develop into an all out war the world has yet to see.

General content warnings: Bigotry & prejudice, horror elements, interspecies awkwardness, explicit language, depictions of violence, injuries, blood and death, explicit sexual content (if selected), flashbacks of a dark past to unveil, sprinkled with some homophobia here and there & general an unfair treatment of people with disabilities.

FEATURES

-> customizable MC (name, pronouns, appearance, identity)

-> semi-set personality due to evolve (MCs reclusive upbringing forces you to start as someone that's not entirely comfortable with other people and as such you'll be able to choose coping mechanisms your MC will use to compensate such a deficit)

-> 5 characters to romance (3 in book 1, not sure if the other two will follow, they'll probably be fully romanceable in book 2)

-> POVs of the ROs included

-> an open-minded author that is inclined to change some NPCs to fully fledged ROs depending on the general opinion/wishes of readers

-> an emotional roller coaster, all in all nothing for ppl that want a light-hearted theme

-> later on you'll be able to choose part of your race (vampyres, merpeople, demons, shapeshifters, phoenixes -and many more) & with that you can determine and further develop your special skillset. Your heritage will reward you with quite different flavour texts for every possible race there is, so yes. It will matter greatly what you chose. And each of the available races will have disadvantages that could prove quite...fatal in certain situations.

romanceable characters:

the master [Alois|Alice|Alix] (m|f|n) 24 winters

An aloof demeanor at the first glance, A has a cold, strangely shrouded gaze. They're reclusive as fuck, so there isn't much the general population knows about them. Oh. And A is your esteemed master -as if any of you actually want this dynamic... A seems to hate you and your position even more, especially the hidden context it supplies to everyone they meet...

A has almond-shaped silver eyes that always seem distant and unfocused. They have defined cheek bones with mostly soft facial features and quite long, silver hair that is often tied to a simple ponytail. A wears fine dark clothing without other prominent features to despict their wealth.

Content warnings for A's route: denial of feelings aka one of the slowest burns imaginable, domestic violence, implied/referenced rape/non-con, anxiety attacks, self-harm, angst & hurt/comfort

the protector [Leto] (m|f|n) too many to count

Leto is a raven-like creature most would describe as monstrous-looking. They are rarely seen and the few moments they are, death is certain. For many commoners it's enough to see one of Leto's black feathers to warrant a swift escape.

Their past eludes them and you have to wonder - why does some antics of them seem kinda...familiar?

Content warnings for Leto's route: survivor-guilt, body dysphoria, angst, captivity & enslavement, torture, ptsd

the assassin [Zane|Zoey] (m|f) 28 winters

Z is everything their mother wanted them to be. Her own personal weapon. One she is now inclined to use for her vendetta against you.

They have dark brown hair with intelligent hazel green eyes that seem to observe their surroundings constantly. Z was raised with stories about you, stories you know nothing about. How can it be that they seem to know more of you and your family than you yourself?

Should it worry you that they sound extremely resolute in stating their sole purpose is to rid the world of your existance?

Content warnings for Z's route: enemies to frenemies to lovers, eating disorder, alcohol-addiction, a tendency of morbid jealousy, past emotional abuse & manipulation

??? [redacted]

??? [also redacted]

more info tba

Small note of the author:

Everything is slow burn in this - even the character customization, cause I want to add those moments seamlessly into the story.

I tend to take my time. You can expect me to heavily focus on the characters and their feelings, with a slight disregard to describing the environment and such. I work with minimalistic efforts to still give a sense of what I imagine everything to be but with the intention to leave fine details to the reader's own imagination.

I'll try to be considerate of everyone's preferences, especially in the more kinky parts of the story. There'll be versions for more assertive characters as well as more passive one's. Though I should add that the ROs all have their own set of bias that they prefer. However there will be growth throughout the story, including that.

The gravity of your choices will intensify throughout book 1, especially as you get to know the Circle and the Court and every other political hive of intrigue.

And yes. You can die. The ROs can die. Almost everyone will be able to at some point, I guess. Though I don't like the idea of writing a total distopia, don't expect me to change my mind regarding that one that easily.

More infos will be added over time. I'll post lore snippets of my sketchbook soon, like the worldmap, the general outlines of the Circle & the Court, the different races and such.

Asks are welcomed.

#interactive novel #interactive fiction #wip if #choicescript #lgbtqia

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almightygremlinblob · 5 months

Text

Promise Me This (Kaorijaku x Jin Itadori)

Writing this was…honestly a fever dream. I did NOT mean for Jin to be this unhinged, JESUS CHRIST. Kenjaku is reffered to with he/him pronouns (except for wife) but has fem!body parts cuz…well, Kaori. This is also under the HC that the Itadori family, while not exactly sorcerers, weren't completely oblivious to the world of curses. Anyways, no beta'd smexy-times under the cut, so minors or anybody not comfortable with that DNI pls.

Word Count: 2730-ish words of Kenjaku having the time of his life and Jin being a maniac

⚠️CONTENT WARNINGS⚠️

Soft Dom!Jin Itadori. Jin being just…absolutely UNG-FUCKING-HINGED in this, like, he dives face first off the deep end. Kenjaku being a complete slut and bottom for Jin (like, srsly, he is down HORRENDOUSLY BAD for his man), ft. his breeding kink and a little OOC. Multiple orgasms. Monsterfucking. Body horror cuz Kaorijaku. Squirting. Jin makes out with Kenjaku's brain mouth. Everything's consensual, tho and ends in kinda fluff? Would you consider that fluff? Does that make it worse? I don't know.

It was amusing the first few weeks, but Kenjaku's had enough of it; deciding he might as well rip the bandaid off.

"Why do you pretend, Jin?"

"Pretend what?"

Kenjaku huffed, humans could be so interesting (and infuriating), sometimes. Jin may have been grieving, but he wasn't an idiot, and Kenjaku knew this. Sensed it in how cautious he'd been when they first met, though…that didn't stop him from playing around with what he could get away with. Yet, still, ever since 'Kaori' came back, the both of them had settled into an awkward domestic bliss which was…quite intriguing. Actually, that was a lie. Kenjaku very much enjoyed it. Jin was fun to prod and play around with; watching the mix of confusion, horror and sometimes arousal from the other was just…

It was so much fun.

Though, during the time they were together, nothing too intimate ever happened. They'd cuddle, hug, sleep in the same bed together, take baths together, and he'd never miss how tenderly the other would touch his scars when he thought he was asleep - a strange development in the past month - but nothing more than that. Hell, Jin never once even kissed him all this time, despite the curse's relentless flirting - which was NOT something Kenjaku enjoyed.

Clearly he knew something was off, and yet…

"Kaori?" The water stopped running, and Jin put the last of the dishes onto the drying rack, before going over to his late wife and wrapping his arms around him. "I'm not pretending anything, silly."

"You know something's wrong with me."

"…yes."

"And yet you still play make believe with me?"

"I do."

"…" Kenjaku sighed. "Care to tell me why?"

"I told you…" Jin's lips trail over Kenjaku's neck, not kissing but…definitely teasing.

Oh, this was new!

The curse couldn't help but the smile that formed on his lips. Jin's touch was sending delightful shivers throughout his body, and it made Kenjaku almost ecstatic that he was finally initiating something. His next words though, practically had a growing heat start to pool in between his legs.

"I'm not pretending."

"I don't know what you are…" Jin sighs, and Kenjaku doesn't realize how he chases the touch of the other's lips on his neck; too drunk on the way his body was feeling. "And I've decided I don't care. You brought Kaori back to me…even if she's not…you're not…"

"You still brought her back, in some way." Kenjaku feels Jin's grip on him tighten, most probably out of frustration, but he enjoys it regardless. "And if you want to play good little housewife, I can give you that."

"You're an interesting one, Jin." Kenjaku laughs. "I think…think I'll keep you."

"Say, your name…your real name…what is it?"

"Ken…K-Kenjaku. I've-I-I've heard, ah…" Shit, he was stuttering. Kenjaku smirks, feeling a pleasant dizziness but takes a deep and shaky breath to recompose himself. "H-heard you arguing with your old man, you know…a-about a child. Did you want one?"

Jin's breath hitches. "Yes…with her. It was a shared dream of ours…"

"I-I can still do that for you."

Jin is silent for a while, thinking. He could still have a child with her…oh, but who was he kidding? No, no. This woman in front of him wasn't just her, was it? Jin's grip on Kenjaku loosens just a little. Just so he can look at the other - this…this thing wearing the corpse of his wife - properly. Jin smiles softly at the realization that…perhaps, he really was going insane.

Because it wasn't just about Kaori, anymore.

"Do you want one? Hm?" Jin's eyes pierce through Kenjaku, even though his smile is kind. The curse is caught completely off-guard by the intensity of his gaze, and it makes the heat pooling in between his legs only grow more. The pink haired man tilts his head, finding his lips and Kenjaku swears he stopped breathing for a good minute as Jin continued to gently kiss him. A strangled noise escapes Kenjaku's throat when he feels Jin's tongue slowly lap at his bottom lip. "With me?"

"I-I…" For the first time in a while, Kenjaku is speechless. He simply laughs, before kissing the other back. Shit, he didn't realize how ecstatic he'd been until he was feverishly exploring Jin's mouth with his tongue.

Before the both of them know it, they're naked in their shared bed, Jin passionately lapping at his wife's dripping folds. Kenjaku can't help the noises that come out of his mouth. "Y-yes! God, ye-"

A hand harshly grabs at his throat and squeezes hard. The curse sees Jin glare at him from between his legs, and it makes his cunt throb even more. "Be quiet. You'll get your turn."

Kenjaku can only whimper and whine when Jin continues to feverishly lick and taste him, dragging his tongue up from his folds up to his clit and occasionally sucking on the sensitive nub eagerly. The curse gasps for air when Jin releases his grip, dizzy and ecstatic, before whining when Jin inserts a finger. Another easily slips in, shortly after.

"I'm so happy…your body still remembers me, Kaori." Jin laughs quietly, and Kenjaku is chokes on a sob when Jin curls his fingers - fucking that wonderful spot inside him while scissoring him open. The pink haired man smiles softly as he glances at the curse above him, the look going completely unnoticed by said curse who was lost to the pleasure. Jin closes his eyes and begins to suck on his clit, fucking the curse with his mouth and fingers.

"A-aah, fuck-Jin!" Kenjaku practically mewls as he bucks his hips, gripping onto Jin's hair and grinding himself on his tongue and fingers. It only takes a few more moments until Kenjaku finds himself coming undone, entire body shaking as Jin rides him through his orgasm.

Kenjaku feels strangely empty, though not unsatisfied, when Jin pulls his fingers out, giving his clit one last tender kiss before getting up. It takes several breaths before the curse can speak again. "I-I…what abo-"

His words die in his throat when Jin hooks the other's legs around his hips, caging Kenjaku underneath him. The curse can feel Jin's cock, deliciously hard and leaking against his cunt, and what the other says next has Kenjaku's legs go weak.

"Your turn now, Kenjaku."

Jin says into his ear, low and hungry, but then stays silent and still for a while. The curse can tell he's thinking of something, and he can't help but feel intrigued. His arms find their way around his shoulders, not realizing how tenderly he strokes the others back.

"Tell me what's on your mind, Ji-…n…" Kenjaku's words die in his throat when he meets Jin's eyes. They're hungry, and it makes his cunt ache again. Only...he wasn't looking at his wife's eyes, he was looking somewhere a little higher.

"Stitches. Off."

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"It's where you are, isn't it? And I told you, it's your turn." Kenjaku goes still for a while, shocked, but then just starts giggling; giddy and elated. "You know…normal people can't see my kind. U-us curses, we're-"

"Take them off, Kenjaku."

Kenjaku smiles, and wordlessly does as he's told. Fluids leak from his head as he parts the cut to reveal the light pink flesh underneath. Jin finally sees the curse for the first time in months. The curse doesn't miss how soft his eyes become, and watches as he carefully traces his thumb over the curse's mouth. "There you are…"

"Ah, my bad. So I correct about you lot…"

Jin sinks himself into the other's cunt, hissing at how hard Kenjaku's walls suck him in - though with how wet the other was it was easier than expected to slip inside. The curse nearly comes undone again, then and there. He's never felt this full, before and it felt incredible. Jin's lips meet the curse's actual mouth and has Kenjaku drooling and whimpering underneath the pink haired man, overwhelmed as Jin's tongue explores him completely. When he pulls away from the kiss, Kenjaku starts laughing, and Jin gives him a worried look. "Are you…are you alright?"

"G-god, you're insane, Jin Itadori…"

Jin huffs, smiling softly but not denying it. "I'm gonna move now, okay?"

Jin starts slow, but his cock deliciously drags against every part of the curse's cunt. The pink haired man smirks, feeling Kenjaku's nails leaving dents on his back as he holds onto him. "A-aah…f-fuck, I…"

Jin laughs softly. "Is this your first time?"

"A-as a woman, yes…" Kenjaku can't stop his legs from trembling as they wrap tightly around Jin. "I've…c-courted many in all my bodies as a man, but this is…I-I've never…"

"I'll take that as a compliment, then, but…let me make it better for you." Jin huffs. He didn't miss the implications of…of body hopping that this monster was capable of, but…well, he didn't particularly care at this point. He puts two of his fingers in his wife's mouth. "Be good and suck on this for me, yeah?"

The mischievous look in his eye doesn't go unnoticed by the curse, but Kenjaku simply does as he's told. Jin rewards him with a kiss on his real mouth and adjusts him a little, before thrusting with a steady and brutal pace and making the curse see stars. Despite his whining, Kenjaku's cunt sucks his cock in hungrily as he's brutally fucked by the other.

The nails that rake against Jin's back and arms break the skin and only serve to spur him on. Kenjaku sobs when Jin pulls away from the kiss and removes his fingers from his mouth. The curse greedily sucks and marks the other's neck using his wife's mouth, all while begging him with his actual one. "Ngh! God, d-don't stop! Fuck, p-please, Jin-!!"

"C'mon, louder. Let me hear you."

"Y-yes, oh god, Jin-!!!"

Jin's hips still and he groans as he fills Kenjaku. He takes a few breaths before slowly starting to move again; fucking his cum deeper into the curse. The feeling of so much of it inside him has Kenjaku seeing stars, but what sends him into another orgasm was the realization that Jin was going to get him pregnant at this rate.

He was actually going to carry this man's child.

"O-ooh, fuuuck…" Kenjaku's body tenses, cunt squeezing him deliciously hard that it has Jin hissing again. He notices Kenjaku breathing deeply, his body twitching and limp, and gives him an apologetic smile. His hand gently strokes the pink flesh of the curse.

"You okay?"

"D-don't. Stop." Kenjaku manages to say in between breaths. Jin laughs softly, kissing him tenderly on his mouth and making the curse dizzy with delight.

"If you say so." Jin smirks, before hooking Kenjaku's legs over his shoulders. The curse screams something in a dialect Jin can't understand, but was clearly some kind of Japanese, when the human somehow reaches even deeper into him; tip kissing the entrance to his womb with every thrust and shaft deliciously rubbing against a spot inside him that has Kenjaku nearly blacking out. Jin was reaching every part of him, the deepest parts of him, and it was incredible. The human forces his tongue inside Kenjaku's mouth, and the curse's eyes roll back - body completely tense and overwhelmed - when Jin begins rubbing on his sensitive clit. This was all so much.

Kenjaku was going to lose his mind at this rate…

Not that he was complaining, though.

Jin's pace picks up, and Kenjaku feels him twitching inside. It doesn't take long until Jin spills inside him with a few messy thrusts, the curse mewling when he feels him spill right on his cervix. Though Jin doesn't stop rubbing on his clit, and this has the curse squirting his own fluids and making a mess of both their legs shortly after. Kenjaku whimpers when Jin flips him on his stomach, though doesn't make a move to stop him at all, Jin's hand finding its way around his neck once more. Bringing him close to his face, the curse's back arching beautifully underneath the human.

"A-ah, Jin…please, I want-" Kenjaku is cut off by Jin's lips on his mouth, sucking and kissing him tenderly.

"Shhh, shhh…I know, baby." Jin pulls out nice and slow, leaving just the tip before harshly thrusting it back in. "You like that, yeah?"

"Ngh…n-need...p-please!" Kenjaku's cunt is practically leaking with how wet he was. Jin fucks him slow and brutal, cock dragging along every part of his insides before being slammed back in.

"Thaat's it…good." Jin huffs into his ear, licking and biting his neck before pulling away. Kenjaku feels his heat leave his back as Jin repositions himself, placing his hands on Kenjaku's hips as the curse's head rests on the bed. "M'gonna move a bit faster now, yeah?"

Kenjaku just nods frantically and his moans turn into screams when Jin ruts into him like an animal in heat. The curse screaming in that dialect that Jin can't understand. Kenjaku's eyes roll back, mind going blank as his cunt greedily sucks and squeezes Jin's cock with every thrust. They both lose count of how many orgasms and hours go by, as Jin ruthlessly makes love to Kenjaku and his wife, with all the pent up feelings he has for them both.

All Kenjaku knew was that his mind was going blank. His legs felt like literal jelly and it's as if his body was being torn apart. He's never felt this close to breaking without actually dying before.

It was incredible.

"A-aaah, you're doing so fucking good, Kenjaku. Cum for me one more time, yeah?" Jin bites his lip, Kenjaku can feel him twitching and throbbing inside him again. "Almost there, baby. I'm so close…"

Kenjaku smiles, nearly delirious with pleasure, as the thought of carrying this man's children sends him over the edge, again. His legs trembling as he spills even more of his fluids onto the bed. "J-Jin, o-oh fuuck-!"

With one last, hard thrust, Jin stills inside him again - cock fully sheathed and throbbing as he gives Kenjaku another thick load. His cunt milks him deliciously, but he feels Jin filling him beyond what he can take - hot streams of cum dripping down his thighs. Kenjaku's almost sad that so much is going to waste.

Jin groans and nearly pulls out but Kenjaku quickly grabs his wrist.

"S-stay. Stay inside me…" Kenjaku barely manages to say, completely fucked out of his mind. Jin looks at him softly, carefully moving him without pulling out, so the both of them can lie down in a more comfortable position.

For a long while, their breathing was the only sound there was.

"Th-that was…" Kenjaku finally breaks the silence, but is unable to continue his sentence.

"Good?" Jin gently kisses the curse on the mouth, again.

"Nearly the best I've had in a while…" Kenjaku gulps, and looks at Jin cautiously - dare Jin say he almost looked nervous. "Th-the world I'm in…it isn't known for being the nicest, you know. You should leave me, while you can. It's safer for you. Curses, we aren-"

"No." Jin huffs. "I am not. Leaving you."

Kenjaku is silent for a while. "Why?"

"You brought Kaori back to me, in some way, even if she isn't…I mean, you aren't…" He gently strokes the curse and sighs. "But I'm not staying for just Kaori…you understand that, right?"

"I…I see." Kenjaku can't help the way his stomach flutters, or the warmth that blooms in his chest upon hearing that. It was irrational, and yet...

Jin takes a deep breath. He knew staying with the other was practically a death sentence for him. However, if he was to be honest with himself...he didn't really care anymore. Only...he worried for his child. "Just…look, I know I won't last long with you. So please promise me something. Promise me you'll continue to watch over my child even if I'm gone."

"And if I don't?"

Jin rolls his eyes, knowing the other was just messing with him. "Then I'll haunt you for the rest of your life."

"All the better to break it, then." Kenjaku laughs softly, and decides - for once in his life - to do something stupid for reasons outside his plan. Jin makes a confused look as he feels something almost constricting him, but then Kenjaku plants his mouth on Jin's and seals that silent vow with a kiss. The feeling is gone as soon as it came. "But…you have my word, Itadori Jin."

WRITING THIS WAS WOWZERS MAN. 😬Also, "watching over" isn't necessarily the same as "taking care of". But, anyways, if you like my work, consider donating! Edit: WTF WHY DOES THIS HAVE 75 NOTES??? NOBODY LOOK AT THIS WHAT

#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jin itadori #itadori jin #jujutsu kaisen kenjaku #jjk kenjaku #kenjaku #kenjaku jjk #kenjaku smut #kenjin #kenny cursing in ancient japanese is so canon #nobody look at me JESUS CHRIST #WHAT DID I WRITE???

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verybadatwriting · 10 months

Text

The Winged One

Summary: Bucky falls off the train, but HYDRA doesn't catch him. Someone else does.

Warnings: a fall from a great height, descriptions of fever/sickness/infection,

Notes: Uhhh. I guess you get two fics in one day after me not posting in months. I'm open to doing a part 2, if anybody wants that. Reader is a person, but with wings. (They're an Inhuman, which are kinda like the Mutants) Part 2 is out now! :D

Gn!reader

Word Count: 2,765

A train passed by somewhere far overhead. It almost didn’t warrant note, since it happened fairly often. The white of your wings concealed you perfectly in the snowy landscape. You continued walking when all of a sudden you heard an impact somewhere off to your left. Interested, you picked your way through the low shrubbery in that direction.

There, lying on the cold ground, was a man. His whole left arm was all crushed, and he wasn’t conscious. You knelt next to him, and was surprised to discover that his heart was still beating. Unslinging your bag from your shoulder, you tore off the strap and fastened it into a tourniquet around the small bit of arm left. You straightened up as you finished, and started to figure out what to do with him.

One fear you had was that he could be a Snake Worshiper. Those foul men had been stinking up the area; forcing train tracks into the landscape, scaring off the animals, and crafting forts and encampments into the woods you once hunted in.

While thinking, you triaged the man. If you decided to help him, you’d need to know what you’re getting yourself into. His left arm was mostly gone, and the rest of his body was littered with bumps and scrapes. There was a fracture in his collarbone, and one particular bruise on his forehead had you worried that he may have a concussion.

Then his eyes opened.

“Who are,” He began, but the pain hit him and he gasped. You’d been around the surrounding military bases enough to hear the ways the Snake Worshipers talked, and this was not it. They spoke with harsher consonants and longer words.

“I am here to assist you.” You said, wishing that you had paid closer attention to this language’s flow. You had some key part of the rhythm off, and it seemed to take the man a few seconds to figure out what you meant. Once he comprehended that you weren’t going to hurt him, he seemed to relax, just a little bit.

Snow began to fall again, and you knew time was ticking. If you were going to save this guy, you would have to do something now. You pulled his remaining arm around your shoulders, and began to walk, half dragging him along. He tried his darndest to help, but it still wasn’t easy going.

A few paces away from your hovel in the side of a hill, he completely gave out and he tumbled to the ground. The snow was really falling now as you grabbed him and dragged with all your might. You opened the door, dragged him inside, and shut it behind you. After you got a fire going, you rolled him near it, and collapsed into bed. You’d deal with him tomorrow.

It was not long after sunrise when you awoke. You went just outside the door and dug a pot of soup out from under the thick layer of snow. It was fully frozen, so you smashed off two sizable chunks. You left the rest of it in the pot outside, and brought the chunks in with you to melt over the fire.

At some point you became aware that the man was conscious and observing you. You continued on as normal, and dished out the now-hot soup into two bowls. Turning, you set them on the floor between the two of you, and passed him a spoon.

But when he tried to sit up, he found that his left arm failed to push off from the ground. He glanced down and dropped the spoon. Horror spread across his face as he stared at the empty spot where his arm used to be. His eyes turned to you.

“The fall.” You tried to explain using the man’s language,“Falling.”

“Oh.” He said. He adjusted, and managed to lean against the bed next to him. Looking around, he took in the room for the first time.

The walls were made of dirt, the bed had a thick quilt, and he was lying on one as well. There was a shoddily made wicker chair in one corner, and a heavy door with a mat rolled up against the cracks to keep the cold from seeping in. Nothing was level or smooth. It was like it had been made by a very inexperienced craftsman. The room was dark, but would have been pitchblack if not for the roaring fire. The room was small enough that one hearth was enough to warm the whole place.

He then looked at you, and you stared back. You were an unkempt, wild looking teen with two giant wings, eating soup out of a homemade bowl and beckoning for him to do the same. He picked up his spoon and began to eat. He found he was insanely hungry, and devoured it.

Seeing that he’d finished his serving, you took his dish and rose to grab him another from the pot out in the snow.

“Wait,” He said, “Kid, where are you going?” But you didn’t understand his words, so you continued on and opened the door. A cold wall of air flooded the room as you left. The man shivered and pulled the blanket closer around him.

When you came back inside carrying a pot, and set it on the fire, he seemed to understand. After he’d eaten his fill, the pot was empty. It was meant to last you a few more days, but that didn’t really matter. One less man was dead. On that note, you needed to figure out who this guy was.

“I am,” You said, pointing to yourself, “Y/n.”

The man paused for a second, then pointed at you and repeated your name. You nodded. Then he motioned to himself.

“Bucky.”

The next morning, he was well enough to walk, and so he followed you all around and helped with the basic chores of your days. Foraging, checking traps, repairing old things, really anything that was needed.

After a day or two of trying to figure each other's language out, Bucky seemed to pick the basics of yours and vice versa. When you added this to a little bit of the Snake Worshiper’s language – Which Bucky told you was German – you’d created a strange mash of language.

As you showed him how to make a hare trap, he inquired about the elephant in the room.

“How did you get those wings?” He asked, “Were you born with them or…?”

“Oh.” You inhaled, “I don’t really remember the story that goes along with them, nor do I like to remember it. All I know is I was born a normal person, then touched a strange rock and was cocooned in it for hours, and when I emerged I had these.

“My mother was concerned, so she brought me to the town’s cleric, who decided it was best if I was left in the woods for nature to reclaim, since I was obviously cursed. My mother didn’t much like that idea, but she had to go along with it. She sent me out here with the barebones supplies I’d need to survive.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky said, “How have you been out here alone?”

“Five winters, give or take.” You replied, “What about you? How did you come to fall from a Snake Worshiper’s train into this valley?”

“Steve – he's the friend I told you about – Gabe Jones, and I were trying to stop some mad scientist who was on the train. It didn’t go too well.”

“I know.”

“I've been meaning to ask you,” He said, “Do you think it's possible that you could help me get back to my camp?”

“Maybe…” You said, “Let's finish this trap and then I'll show you something.”

“Here it is.” You said, opening a small box you kept on the least crooked shelf. You pulled out an old, faded piece of paper. It was rough around the edges.

“I’ve been mapping out the actions of any newcomers to the area,” You said, pointing to specific parts of the paper, “Here is where I think your camp is. This thick line is the train tracks. And over in this dark splotch is a Snake Worshiper base.”

“Snake Worshiper… the ones that speak German?” Bucky asked. You nodded.

“Okay. Where are we on here?” Bucky asked.

“Well…” You sighed, “That's the problem. We're all the way over here.” You poked a spot worryingly close to the Snake Worshiper's base. “And your people's camp is all the way over yonder. It's as far as I've mapped, since I don't have much paper.”

“How long did it take you to map all this?” Bucky asked.

“It only took me a day's journey to get from home to the – what did you call them? Allies? – base. Sadly for you, I was flying. On foot, that would take close to three days.”

“Should we start preparing for the trip?”

“Of course.”

Hunting, fishing, gathering, even some sewing, was required to prepare. The work went by faster when you had a helping hand, and it gave Bucky a chance to learn how to navigate life with only a single arm.

Everything was almost ready, and you could probably leave in a day or two, but that evening, as you were unwrapping the area where his arm used to be, you noticed it looked strange and had an unpleasant smell.

“Well…” You said, after cleaning the wound, “I think it’s infected. I know some herbs that could help, but it’s a bad one.”

“It was normal this morning.” Bucky said in awe.

“That just means it’s moving fast.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don’t think you’ll survive unless your people have some way of fixing this.”

“Oh.”

“Our objective doesn’t change, just the degree of urgency.” You said, “We’ve still got to get you back as soon as possible. If it gets worse on the trip, we just have to push through it.”

The next morning, you two were out the door as the sun rose. You had enough food and water to last for the trip, and a sack of herbs that could lessen the infection’s power. He took one dose in the morning.

That first day of travel was brutal, but not the worst. Occasionally, you’d fly ahead to ensure your navigation was correct. Aside from that, you two walked side by side and talked. It was mostly you asking about his people and his base.

“What’s the food like?”

“It’s not great out here,” He said, “But that’s just because of the war.”

“So there was a time before?”

“Of course!” His face lit up a little as he remembered, and started rambling. “We’d have things like fresh bread, pies, chicken, and meatloaf. Sometimes, as a treat, we’d have pancakes for breakfast. Those were the best days…”

The conversation went on, but over the course of the day his energy decreased and his words became jumbled. His pace slowed, and by the time the sun started to dip beneath the trees, he was barely trudging along.

As you set up a fire, Bucky was trying to string two hammocks between trees. Eventually, you just told him to sit by the fire and hung them by yourself. You cooked, and then shared a meal with him. He was crashing, fast. To try and combat it, you gave him tea brewed from the herbs, and told him to sleep.

The next morning you packed up the camp, all besides Bucky and his hammock. When you went to wake him he woke up and started incoherently murmuring. He was burning up, sweating, and shivering– definitely in no condition to complete the journey. But you knew if he didn’t make it to his people’s base he wouldn’t make it anywhere.

You wouldn't help him survive this long just to die of an infection in the icy forest. He didn’t survive the fall just for a few days of misery. He didn’t walk a whole day for this. He didn’t learn a whole new language for this. He couldn’t die today.

So you came up with a plan. After gathering some thin but sturdy strips of wood, you tied them together with strips of your hammock. With a lot of work, you managed to fashion a sort of sled. It had ropes at the front you could pull it from, and a spot for Bucky to lie on top of the bags.

Carefully, you maneuvered the sled underneath his hammock, and loosened the ropes securing him. He slid down and landed right where he was meant to. He awoke slightly, and looked very confused.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You said, “We’re gonna get you home.”

He seemed to calm down after that. You looped the strap across yourself, and started to pull Bucky across the snow-covered landscape. You swept across the snow, and you barely stopped around noon for a swig of water, to get a bite to eat, and to check on Bucky. He was disoriented, so it took a bit of convincing to get him to drink a few sips of water.

It wasn’t horrible, that first day pulling the sled. Once the sun started to set, you contemplated stopping and sleeping. The pitch darkness surrounded you, so you lit a torch. Shadows flickered at the edges of the light, sometimes looking like a pair of eyes. You wedged the torch into a crack in the ground, to keep it upright while you slept.

You sat Bucky up, and gave him some more water. You wrapped him in as many blankets as you had, then sat at his feet on the edge of the sled. It was deathly cold, but you’d been through this before. During the first few nights after the Cleric had cast you out, you’d figured out that you could tuck your knees to your chest and shield yourself from the cold with your wings.

About halfway through the night you were awoken by a gagging sound. Turns out, Bucky’s infection had gotten worse, his fever raged on, and he was now heaving up the few sips of water he’d had. You sat him up and turned him so he would throw up into the snow, and not choke.

After you were reasonably sure he was done, you decided to continue onwards, despite the night. You grabbed the now long extinguished torch and pushed off the ground into the sky to see if you recognized anything.

Far ahead, there was a river. If you moved fast, you could probably reach it by dawn. Then you could stop for a bit, refill water and such. You enjoyed the air swirling around you, making you feel weightless. But you knew you had to descend sooner or later. You dipped your wings, and glided downwards. To combat the forward motion, you angled them to swoop in a slow spiral.

Landing softly, you checked on Bucky once again. His arm was much worse. You cleaned it, applied more herbs, and wrapped it back up. It looked quite painful, and you could only hope that he couldn’t feel it through his feverish sleep.

All day was spent sprinting through the forest. Night fell, and you could tell you were drawing close to the Allied base. The shrubs were growing sparse, and the smells of humanity wafted through the air. Right when the camp was in view, you stopped. Shrouded in darkness and trees, you unhooked yourself from the sled.

Taking one loop of Bucky’s hammock in each hand, you rose steeply into the air. From above, the camp seemed like a maze of tents. You searched for a symbol of a red ‘x’ on its side, which Bucky had told you was the doctor’s emblem. After spying a tent bearing the sign, you awkwardly descended to the ground.

You untangled Bucky from the hammock, and balled it up. He hadn’t gained consciousness all day. His only hope was the doctors here.

Taking a breath to steady yourself, you knelt next to him.

“Goodbye.” You whispered, “Thank you for being my friend.” You took a large stick and banged it against the metal pole of the tent to draw attention to him before you flew away. As you soared into the woods, you glanced back. People streamed over, and you could barely see them taking Bucky into the tent.

After bringing the sled deeper into the woods, you set off for home.

Part 2

#marvel #writing #fan fic #bucky x teen! reader #bucky barns x teen!reader #teen!reader #marvel x teen!reader #avengers x teen!reader #bucky x teen!reader #gn!reader

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kikixreverie · 2 years

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Crawl home to her

Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced!reader

Summary - Bucky's nightmares never seem to stop, and he despises himself for dragging you down with him.

Word count - 1.7k

Warnings - Angst, descriptions of torture, descriptions of seizures, PTSD, mentions of blood, sad fluff at the end.

A/N - Reader does have powers in this fic which aren't really explained but hopefully they're easy to understand, I kind of imagine them to be similar to Wanda's in certain aspects. Also, apologies if my writing is kinda wordy in this, I kinda went off on one and couldn't stop. Enjoy :)

The title is based off a lyric from work song by hozier.

__________________________

It was like something carved from a horror movie.

The giant, hulking figure emerging from the chamber, the surrounding air clouded with vapor so cold it burned to the touch.

His face was concealed, a black mask and goggles hiding the human features beneath, with silver, reflective metal taking the place of his left arm, gleaming in the yellow overhead lights. He looked solely like something built for destruction.

The soldier was put in the chair before he could even comprehend that he was awake.

They had strapped his wrists to metal, encasing his head in a familiar contraption and his mouth was forced open by rough hands on his jaw, rubber shoved between his teeth.

He was vaguely aware of the routine. Everything was familiar in a way that made his skin crawl and his hair stand on end, but for all he knew, there was no reason to be scared, soldiers don't feel fear, and emotion only gets in the way of the mission.

He could barely taste the bitterness of the rubber before he heard the whir of a machine begin, and he was so mind-numbingly cold that he could almost barely feel the electricity suddenly tearing through his skull.

He didn't scream, he barely moved, and it would be easy to wonder if he could even feel it, or if pain was just another thing that Hydra took from him, just to strip him even further of his humanity, but he felt every second, his body just too in shock to react, convulsing in his restrains.

The agony seemed to last hours, pain so intense that he could barely breathe, but the machine eventually came to a slow halt, the rubber taken from his mouth, and the soldier heaved his first full breath in what felt like years, the cold air filling his lungs too fast and ripping back through his oesophagus in painful coughs.

Once the coughing had ended, he let his head fall back against the leather beneath him.

His veins were on fire, crawling in his skin as icy heat travelled up his forearm and carved its way through his neck, residing in his temples with a throbbing headache. His jaw ached, as did every single muscle in his body and when he rolled his eyes open, he found that the bright lights surrounding him kept him blind to the people standing in the room, crowding around the soldier writhing and twitching in the chair as if he was some kind of circus monkey to be watched for their amusement.

He managed to unclench his fists and release his jaw, feeling his body go lax for a few seconds before he felt a spike in his heart rate, his muscles tensing against his will as his eyes rolled back.

Then he was gone, unaware of the stares of the doctors writing on their notepads when he began seizing for the first time this session. None of them stepped forward, not a single medic attempted to check on the soldier, or wipe the blood that spilled from his lips when his teeth clamped down onto his tongue.

He was only given a few seconds of refuge after the seizure had ended, before he was torn away again, his body taken with another, and another, and another. It was endless.

His chest spasming with every gasping breath, every muscle in his body clenched painfully. He wasn't present enough to see a man in a white coat move closer to him, positioning the headpiece over his face again and this time not even bothering with the mouthguard before the electricity returned, and his brain caught fire again.

This time, he screamed until the sound died in his throat and his vocal cords refused to make any more noise. A vague image of a man with blonde hair, standing straight with a shield pulled to his chest, flashed behind his eyes, and a part of him felt relieved at the sight, as if the man in his memories could somehow save him from this living hell, but the thought disappeared before he could even acknowledge it, and this time, when the machine finally stopped, he passed out before he could feel the after affects, pulled under when his body and mind could no longer handle the agony, deciding to just completely shut down instead.

______________________

You woke with a start, Bucky's harrowing scream beside you as you sat up so fast your head spun, and you stretched out an arm into the darkness, searching for the table lamp to your right and wasting no time in turning it on, bathing your bedroom in warm light.

Crawling onto your knees, tears were already forming wet tracks down your cheeks as your lover cried out in his sleep, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly behind his eyelids, hair stuck to his forehead, bare chest glistening with a sheen of sweat as he heaved for breath.

You reached for him and pressed your hand against his forehead, no hesitation as your eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light, forcing Bucky awake with your ability.

There was no way you'd let him sleep through that one, no matter what his therapist demands.

Bucky's eyes tore open as he gasped for air, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Bucky?" You asked quietly, not wanting to risk startling him further as your hand hovered over his shaking form.

He looked at you, relief flashing in his eyes before he eyed the tears dripping down your chin and his mind clouded with guilt.

It was too often that you found yourself falling into Bucky's dreams. And no matter how many times you tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, he'd never believe you, he knew better, and he knew how your powers worked.

He pulled himself up, resting his back against the headboard and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment, listening to your racing heartbeat with the saddest look on his face. He then opened his eyes, a tear of his own falling down his cheek as he looked at you and parted his lips with a shaky breath, "I did it again, didn't I?"

His voice sounded broken, shot from all the screaming he had done before, it broke your heart and you leapt forward, wrapping your arms around him and letting him hold you tightly, clutching you to his frame as he cried, repeating over and over how sorry he was.

You stroked his hair affectionately as you both cried.

"It's okay Buck, it's not your fault."

He was so distraught by his nightmares, that he was reaching out for you in his sleep, pulling you from your own mind and trapping you into his, forcing you to witness the horrific things that Bucky endured, or the things that he did.

Each time it happened, he blamed himself, despising the fact that he was forcing you to live his trauma, but you would never stop reminding him that it was okay, you'd seen much worse, and he would always be worth it.

Sometimes a deep-rooted, selfish part of him would be glad for your abilities, he doesn't have to explain to you the horrors he had faced in his past, you'd seen them for yourself, lived his darkest moments through his own eyes, but then the guilt would creep in, washing away the thoughts every time he woke up trembling with fear, and you'd be there beside him, shaking just the same.

He apologised to you again as the tears came to a slow stop, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, shivering against you when your fingers dragged softly across his spine, soothing him just the way you always did.

You pulled back this time, hand reaching for his jaw when he refused to look at you, tilting his head for his eyes to meet yours, and your face was serious as you spoke.

"You have nothing to apologise for, James. I want to help. If I couldn't handle this, love, I wouldn't be here, but I love you, and I want to stay." You assured him, your gaze flicking between his eyes, urging him to believe you, to stop carrying this guilt he had no reason to carry.

"I just- You don't need to see any of that." He whispered back, eyes red and bloodshot, breath shaky.

You smiled softly at him, your right hand sliding to the back of his neck, as you pushed his head down to yours, resting your forehead against his, noses brushing together, a simple action so intense and intimate that Bucky gulped, his eyebrows tightly furrowed.

"I'm okay, Bucky, I promise you, I'm okay," Your warm breath fanned against his lips as you spoke, and his eyes fluttered shut, "I just want to take care of you."

A shaky breath fell from his lips, cursing the tears that threatened to return at such simple words, but fuck if they didn't hit him hard.

He couldn't remember a time when someone had wanted to take care of him, not since he was a young boy, before his father died, before he had to step up to take care of his mother and sisters, working illegal shifts at the local factory at the age of 15.

But you wanted to take care of him.

He leaned forward and locked his lips with yours, his hands reaching out to pull you closer and closer in hopes that you'd eventually sink into his chest, finally close enough that his constant need for your touch would be satiated.

He broke away to speak against your lips, so magnetised to your kiss that he couldn't possibly pull back far enough to breathe air that wasn't your own, "Thank you."

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impulsivesuperrobin · 1 year

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i saw a post talking about neverafter slander on twitter so i went to check it out

here are some thoughts: (keep in mind, i’m not calling anyone out or saying your opinion isn’t valid if you agree with one of these points. try to read this as a light hearted discussion, like talking about a book with a friend)

a lot of it is people saying the season wasn’t horror enough and while i agree it’s not exactly as straightforward horror as the marketing suggested i think that that’s a take that is fundamentally misunderstanding what this is. it’s the horror season of dimension 20 which is a d&d show first and foremost. it’s not going to be following the beats of a horror movie because that’s not what they’re doing. when you run a horror campaign you fold in horror elements which they have been excellent at doing especially in the eldritch and existential categories

not to make assumptions but it seems to me that a lot of people making a big fuss about this haven’t played d&d for themselves. the things i have seen suggested the most for making the season more in line with the horror people were expecting involves turning the campaign into a more dm vs players situation (which is joked about a lot in fandom but in more of a meta humor way than is being suggested). this is something that anyone who has ever played in a bad campaign knows makes it a hell of a lot less fun to play and, i’m assuming, not so fun to watch either. the point of playing d&d is to work together to tell a story, if you go into to making a campaign with the goal of making your players lose, everyone is going to be miserable and your story is going to suck.

following that, some people are ragging on brennan for forgetting details and not having the lore entirely fleshed out. as someone who does unnecessary worldbuilding for homebrew campaigns every single time, i would just like to say on behalf of dms everywhere: it’s hard! there’s so much stuff to keep track of and so little time to keep the lore straight if you want the session to keep moving smoothly, i’m sure it’s even harder when you have a limited time to film the episodes/season

and maybe it’s just me, but i love horror movies (and other media) and neverafter is about as scary as most horror movies i’ve seen. it’s definitely better written than a lot of horror movies, we get to know the characters and are fully invested in them when bad things happen. it’s sort of on the level as the hellraiser reboot imo. some people make the point that besides the body horror, there’s not enough gore/blood kinda stuff, but i think gore isn’t truly horror, especially in a spoken format. it’s more of a shock factor thing, like a verbal jumpscare

and i’ve seen people saying that the pcs are too much like heroes/they’re too capable to be in any real danger, but in a horror movie, most of the bad things happen around the protagonist(s), they’re still thrown into the shit but most of the time they make it out. horror as a genre is so ill-defined anyway that people still debate if slashers and thrillers even count. plus, how many times in a movie has a side character been forgotten or something about the lore has been off? and that’s with multiple people overseeing the production.

jumping away from the “it’s not like the horror movie i envisioned” complaints, i’ve also seen a lot of people say it’s confusing??? and tbh i’m more confused about that than the campaign. to me it’s pretty straightforward, no more confusing than starstruck at the very least.

for the big picture: it’s different factions of people with conflicting (but occasionally overlapping) goals than all need to get to macguffin in order to reach whichever goal they’re aligned with

the pcs have their own character arcs which are very clearly laid out throughout the season

the minute details are there because that’s how you make your world feel lived in

and yeah, there’s a lot of potential in the stuff they could’ve done but didn’t. but i feel like that’s the whole point, y’know? this is the story they did tell, and the thousands of other ways they could’ve told the story live on like every retelling of a fairytale.

#tbh a lot of the criticism feels like people nitpicking to find stuff to hate but you can’t please everyone ig #feel free to disagree and tell me why! just please don’t turn my notes into a rage-bait discussion #dimension 20 #d20 #neverafter #dimension 20 neverafter

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halfmoth-halfman · 8 months

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fear of the water (i.)

Spider-verse/Subnautica Crossover Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Spider!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: animal cruelty, animal injury, it's a water planet and the fish are very sick and wild, disease, illness, blood, body horror, tentacles (kinda) A/N: this is going to be two parts because i got caught up playing subnautica while doing "research" for this LMAO (ii.)

It starts with a fish.

A single, blue-hued fish no bigger than his fist with a small yellow beak and two massive yellow eyes to match.

One minute he’s talking to Lyla, trying to determine why his watch has been showing him encrypted messages, and the next, the lab is illuminated in orange, and a wet plop echoes across the room.

Miguel stares as the fish slaps against the polished floor. It stares back at him with its large, blinking eye as its pointed tailfin worms against the ground. Thin tube-like organs stretch its body, one from the top of its head and one from the bottom. Three holes run along the side of its small body in place of gills. The water that drips from its slimy, scaleless skin is almost clear and glistens light blue under the lights.

“Should we help it?” Lyla asks, materializing next to the fish to poke at the tube-like organ on the fish’s head.

Miguel looks up, dark eyes searching for the portal that allowed this fish in here. There’s nothing there, no sign of where this fish came from.

“Set up a tank for it,” Miguel says, eyes dropping back down to the struggling fish. Lyla nods, giving the fish one last look before disappearing. Miguel watches it wrestle against the ground for two long seconds before carefully sliding a hand under it and picking it up. It’s cold to the touch but seems to calm as the warmth from his hands sink into its body.

The struggling stops, and, for a moment, Miguel thinks the fish has finally died in his hands.

The fish blinks, the bright yellow of its eye flashing a bright, sickly green as it snaps its head to the right and sinks its beak into the meat of Miguel’s palm.

It’s no more than a light pinch, not even enough to tear his skin, but it startles him enough that he almost drops it. The fish lets go, settling back down into his hands.

“Got a tank!” He turns back to his desk, Lyla beaming at him from where she sits on the edge of a desktop aquarium filled with water. Miguel hums his thanks, dropping the fish into the tank.

It sinks directly to the bottom of the tank, landing on the glass with a dull thud.

It sits there for ten seconds before it blinks, the holes in its body flexing as they filter in water. The fish springs to life, shooting through the water to explore its new environment.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Lyla asks, swirling her hand on the water's surface. The fish follows along, trying to nudge at her hand.

“You pick,” Miguel says non-committally, thumb running across the small, dented bite on his hand. “I need to run some tests.”

That night, he dreams only of water.

Unable to move, he stands on a beach made of pale sand and trees with bulbous fruit that glows at night. He’s forced to look out over an endless ocean of pitch-black waves crashing over each other as a giant red moon circles the star-littered sky.

Fish leap out of the water in front of him, splashing in the pitch-black depths and staring back at him with big eyes of bioluminescent yellow.

A sense of calmness washes over him, a strange, unfamiliar feeling of peace.

It does not last long.

The sound of hundreds of rocks grinding together echoes behind him, the fish darting back beneath the water and scattering. He can’t turn, limbs refusing his commands, and he’s forced to listen to the low electric hum that buzzes into his bones.

A horn blows once. Twice.

A flock of strange birds fly overhead, desperate to escape it.

He hears the buzz again, like something powering up, before the heat of a titanic explosion blasts against his back. It feels as if his eardrums burst with the blast as the sky rains metal and bodies.

Miguel is forced to watch a spaceship bigger than buildings crash into the water and slowly sink into its inky depth until nothing remains but floating debris, destroyed life pods, and not a survivor in sight.

The waves still, and the water before him bubbles and bubbles and bubbles.

Fish rise to the surface in droves, unmoving and covered in glowing green pustules that pop and bleed into the water.

There’s a wailing from the water, something screaming in fear and desperation and heartbreak. It grows louder and louder until the ground beneath him quakes so violently it sends him face-first into the sickly green water.

He wakes before he hits the ground, limbs unusually stiff with the taste of iron on his tongue as sweat drips from his body.

He heads straight to the lab, not bothering to get dressed, and finds the fish waiting, staring at him with those bright, yellow eyes.

The fish is alien; that much is clear.

It’s not from any universe known to him, Lyla, or Margo. They poke and prod at the thing, trying not to comment on how it seems to want them to. Tests are run over and over and over.

Everything comes back inconclusive.

Miguel follows this routine for a week. The fish plagues his days while the dreams haunt his nights. With each passing day, he feels worse, limbs growing heavier, brain throbbing against his skull at all hours. The lack of answers frustrates him to oblivion. The mystery of this stupid fish vexes him in ways he wouldn’t have considered.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, his brain and body running ragged by the week’s end.

If he could get the flu, Miguel would’ve thought that’s what he had when he awoke in the middle of the night exactly eight days after the fish landed on his doorstep.

He stumbles from his bed, body screaming in protest as fever burns through him. His vision blurs, a swirl of greens, blues, and purples, and his mind is flooded with images of those deep, dark waters.

The fish. He has to see the fish.

Miguel staggers to his lab, half-dressed and nearly delusional. He thinks he hears Lyla’s voice in the distance, but he doesn’t see her anywhere, mind focused only on getting to the fish.

The door to his lab slides open, and the fish floats in the center of the tank, staring right at him.

Anger and frustration take over as Miguel forces himself to his desk, shoving his hand into the tank to grab onto the unmoving fish. He yanks it from the water, ready to throw it with all of his strength.

“ꜱᴛᴏᴘ.”

His body tenses, eyes darting around the room for the source of the voice.

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ...ꜱᴇᴇᴋ...”

The voice echoes all around him, echoing in and outside of his mind.

“ᴡᴀɴᴛ...ʜᴇʟᴘ.”

It sounds like it’s coming from…

Miguel stares down at the fish in his iron grip. It gazes back unblinking, tinges of green swirling around its massive eyes.

“...ʏᴏᴜ.”

The fish’s skin erupts, dozens of glowing green pustules rising from its slimy flesh and bursting onto Miguel’s. It burns like acid eating away at his skin, and Miguel screams, dropping the fish back into the tank.

His arm twitches and bends involuntarily, the bright green mucus-like liquid sliding up his arm and sinking into his muscles. His legs collapse beneath him as he scrubs furiously at his arm, desperately trying to stop the trail of green climbing up to his shoulders.

The fish shoots around the tank, slamming itself into the glass.

The infection reaches Miguel’s neck. Like ice stabbing into his veins, it drags up his neck and wraps around his vocal cords. The pain keeps sound from escaping as he lets out a silent scream.

The fish crushes its beak against the bottom of the tank. Dim, yellow blood drifts from its beak as it turns and slams its right eye against the glass.

Miguel can feel it climbing up his neck and into his jaw. He tastes it in the back of his throat, bile and iron.

The fish’s eye swells shut, a green blister forming on its eyelid almost instantly, growing and growing until it ruptures.

Miguel feels it pressing against his eyes as if they’re about to burst from his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut, and his vision is flooded with swirls of blue of purple.

Glass shatters in front of him, and Miguel peels his eyes open to find the tank on the floor. The fish lays before him, half-melted into a pile of bright green goo.

A spiral of purple crosses his vision and whirls to form the vague outline of a person.

“ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ...ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ɴᴏᴡ.”

The voice reverberates inside his head, the person reaches toward him, and the world fades around him.

He’s on the beach again.

The waters crash around him, sliding up the sand to caress his bare feet.

Miguel stares out over the endless ocean, but something’s different this time. Sunlight reflects off the calm waters, a soft breeze blows against his hair, and small grains of sand drift into his face. He grimaces, turning to roll onto his back.

A palm-like tree with round fruit rests over him, and a bird covered in white feathers edged in black stares down at him.

Is this…another dream?

The bird caws—a sound similar to a gull, but higher pitched—spreading its wings wide to reveal a glowing green undercarriage. The bird takes off; its wings connect the bend to its body as it flaps through the air like a manta ray swims in the ocean.

Miguel pushes himself to sit up, groaning at the ache in his body. His body…

He startles—flashes of the half-melted fish crossing his mind—looking over his skin for any signs of the bright green infection that had spread up his arm.

He looks fine, only a small dent where the fish had bitten him. He leans back in the sand, taking in his surroundings.

The sand is almost soft beneath him, the breeze carrying the faintest scent of salt. If he closed his eyes, he could picture himself on a regular beach back home.

Something squeaks beside him, and Miguel nearly jumps when he opens his eyes to find a flat, blue eyeball on four pointed limbs skittering toward him. Instincts take over as the creature leaps, small mandibles aiming for him, and he lands a solid punch to its front left leg. The creature shrieks when it lands, skittering away with a noticeable limp.

Not a dream, then.

Miguel watches the creature run up the beach, heading toward the mountain in the center of the island he’s on, where it disappears into a cave twice as tall as him.

The cave could be a good shelter if more of those things aren’t inside.

He’ll need to find something for food and a way to make a fire.

“Lyla,” he calls, but no one answers. It dawns on him that he’s actually stuck here, on this strange island, in only a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

To the right, the beach ends at a large formation of rocks, and to the left, it disappears into a steep drop-off into the ocean.

The only way he can go is forward, so that’s what he does.

The cave leads deep into the mountain. Thankfully there are plenty of holes in the mountainside to let light in and allow him to see. He finds more of those cave crawlers, but they give him a wide berth after he kicks the first two into the cave walls.

He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s meant to be looking for until he trips over it.

It’s warm but hard enough to nearly break his foot when he stumbles on it: a black cable inscribed with symbols that ebb with glowing green symbols. Half of it is buried in the rocky ground, but it’s wide enough that he’d have a hard time fitting his arms around it.

The cable runs along the mountain floor, trailing up a small hill and leading back outside. Miguel follows it, focusing more on the symbols than what lies ahead.

Momentarily blinded by the sunlight, he shields his eyes, waiting for them to adjust.

When the spots in his vision finally clear, his jaw nearly drops at the sight before him.

The ocean stretches out before him, never-ending and glittering black. On the right, the burnt-out carcass of a massive spaceship sits above the surface, still smoldering as the waves lap at its exterior. On the left, the cable runs to a large cubic tower made of the same material, an arch at its base glowing with a green so bright it’s hard to look at.

Miguel’s vision swims with blue and purple before that same silhouette takes form again.

“ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice in his head speaks, something in his chest pulling him toward the tower.

“Who are you?” he asks, swatting at the silhouette. His hand passes through, and the figure disperses into the air. Miguel scoffs. Of course, they’d disappear instead of giving him answers.

Left with no other choice, he carefully follows the mountain path down to where a metal bridge leads from the beach to the tower. With the same strange symbols carved into the bridge, Miguel cautiously sets one foot on its surface.

It hums to life, the symbols glowing green beneath his foot. It’s oddly warm, much like the sun-warmed sands of the beach. Nothing else happens, though, and it’s enough for him to decide it’s safe to cross.

The bridge hums as he makes his way across. The arch swirls with green semi-transparent energy, and something on the other side calls to him.

Miguel reaches a hand forward, a brief moment of hesitance before he commits and steps through.

The world around him twists and distorts, a distant wailing vibrating across his ears. His limbs grow too heavy, his mind slipping into a limbo of pain and peace.

There’s a moment where Miguel thinks this may be the end.

But as soon as it comes, it stops, and Miguel is left standing in a pitch-black room on the edge of a glowing blue pool.

He steps back, and the entire room pulses with glowing green symbols before fading into darkness. He looks to the pool, a sudden tightness in his chest followed by the absolute yearning to jump in.

“—ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice calls, and he doesn’t know if the echo in the room is in his head.

He listens to its beckoning, one deep breath before diving into the luminous water.

A mistake, he soon realizes.

His muscles tense as soon as he hits the water, locking in place as he slowly sinks down to a platform suspended by chains. He’s in some kind of large chamber, one that looks similar to a well-decorated aquarium. He catches glimpses of schools of fish swimming below the platform as he sinks to it, along with various colorful and glowing flora.

He lands on the platform feet first, something keeping him standing as he struggles against its invisible hold.

He needs to get out. He needs to swim to the surface.

Miguel’s lungs constrict painfully.

He needs air.

A deep groan echoes across the chamber, and Miguel feels the water shift around him, nearly pulling him off his feet.

He’s not alone here.

Something else is in this chamber with him.

Something big.

A dark, spindly limb slithers onto the platform and up the chain to his right. It’s halfway up the chain when a second limb begins curling around the chain to his left. Two more move up onto the platform and anchor themselves on either side of him. Far too big to wrap around his arms, they settle atop his shoulders to keep him anchored in one spot.

Brilliant purple lights flash down the dark skin of these limbs, beautiful swirling patterns that almost distract from the way Miguel’s lungs scream at him.

Skin swirling with flashing purple lights, a creature rises onto the platform before him.

You look human-ish, standing on two legs with two arms and hands clasped in front of you. You’re wearing a black suit that clings to your body and covers every inch of your skin except your hands and feet. What Miguel can see of your skin glows with purple veins that match the blinking patterns of the limbs on his shoulders. He notices they connect to your back, as do the two wrapped around the chains, keeping you hovering just above the platform.

You stare at him, blinking with all four of your glowing purple eyes, head tilted almost curiously.

You glide forward, and Miguel takes note of the other four limbs stretching from your back and draping over the platform's edge. One of them wiggles, twitching slightly before he feels a sharp pinch to the back of his neck.

He inhales, lungs burning as they fill with water. His body feels as if it’s on fire, nerves vibrating as his fingers and toes begin to turn purple.

You blink, at the pain disappears. Limbs loose and back in his control, Miguel chokes and lifts a hand to his neck. He inhales again, and the burn is slight as his lungs adjust and his body changes.

You give him a moment to adjust, watching the realization dawn on him as he inhales and exhales again with ease.

When he finally meets your gaze, your eyes widen, purple lights dancing across your long limbs.

“You are not what I expected,” your voice echoes in his head, clear as day.

“Who are you?” he asks in his mind, harsher than he means to, but not used to the sudden mental connection.

“I am what you seek,” you answer.

“What?” he scoffs.

“Many have tried, and all have failed,” you continue. Miguel narrows his eyes. Your voice sounds…strained like you’re purposely pitching it lower.

“Are you gonna start making sense or—”

“Others came here once,” you muse, looking at the chambers around you solemnly.

“Did you kidnap them too?”

“They built—what?” You stutter, voice losing its low pitch as you turn to him in surprise. “Kidnap? I didn’t kidnap you.”

“No? What would you call it?” Miguel rolls his eyes, frowning down at one of the arms on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, and it slithers to your side.

“No? You came here,” you say, confusion laced in your voice.

“After you left me stranded on the beach,” he scoffs.

“That’s not—” The other limb slides from his shoulder as you glide away from him, picking at the purple veins in your palms. Your brows knit together, eyes focused on the ground. You drift back and forth as if pacing, your voice soft like your words are only meant for you to hear, “You called to me. That’s how I found you, because of the connection, the infect—.”

You stop, turning swiftly to him.

“Where did you come from?”

Miguel takes a step back as you rush forward.

“Shouldn’t you know? You brought me here after your fish melted,” he frowns.

“My fish?” One of your extra limbs reaches up to rub at the side of your temple. He lets you think, watching your face intently. You pick at your palms, wincing when you break skin. The lights on your body flash green before returning to their normal purple, and you both look down to watch yellow blood drift up from your palm. Your eyes widen, slowly lifting to meet his gaze with a worry that sets him on edge.

“How long ago were you infected?” Your voice is soft, almost pitying, and somehow that makes him angrier.

“Infected?” Miguel asks, making no attempt to hide his irritation. You turn your palm upwards, slowly holding it out to him. He can see that small cut in your skin, or rather, the neon green blister that’s taken its place.

“The others brought it here,” you murmur. “They came looking for a cure, but…it didn’t work. They…did something—something unforgivable—and in the following conflict, the virus got out. Everything from here to beyond the Crater was ravaged.”

He doesn’t understand most of what you’re saying, but there’s a sense of loss in your voice that he finds a small part of himself empathizing with.

“I’ve been trying to fix it,” you murmur, looking at him wide-eyed. “But the virus limits my reach to those who carry it.”

You catch the tensing of his jaw and the quick glance down at his hand. You reach for him, slowly and carefully, like one would approach a wild animal. You grab his hand with your unmarked one, lifting it so you can examine his palm.

It’s small, but there’s no mistaking the green edges of the dent in his palm, glowing brighter beneath the water.

“How long ago was this?” you ask, thumb gently grazing the green mark.

“A week,” Miguel answers tightly, pulling his hand out of your grasp.

Your glowing gaze meets his dark one, “Then you don’t have much time left.” You turn your back to him, revealing the bare expanse of your back and the masses of green veins and blisters that gather around where your extra limbs attach. You head toward the edge of the platform. “Come. It’ll be easier to explain…not here.”

He doesn’t move, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t take me back home and explain there?”

You stop just at the platform's edge, extra limbs unwinding themselves from the chains as you look at him over your shoulder.

“No one can leave until a cure is found,” you speak, calm and distant. “I cannot change what they’ve put into place. You either follow me or die here. Your choice.”

Miguel lets your words sink in, eyes falling to the bite on his hand. He looks back up at you with a reluctant sigh and gives you a single nod.

You nod, turning back and diving off the edge of the platform, disappearing into the chamber below.

Miguel steps up to the edge, peering into the darkness below to see your bioluminescent limbs carrying you along the chamber floor like a glowing spider. He takes a deep breath, letting the water filter through his lungs, before stepping off the platform.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderverse fics #moth writes #tw: animal cruelty #tw: animal injury #tw: disease #tw: illness

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