#i get it so regularly where even just fabric touching it hurts :(((( and it's near constant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pastafossa · 1 year

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so i've asked briefcasejuice about this already but i'd also like your take too - since you're part of the daredevil tumblr fandom council and all ...

I'm writing this scene and one of my ocs asks matt if he can handle spicy food and i wanted him to explain this whole thing about pain receptors in his mouth being "sensitive"... and how he hated pineapple because of the bromelain...(the substance that breaks up the protein in your mouth, that's why it's tingly)

and then my oc asks about like regular "body" pain since touch is after all one of the senses of his that have been heightened, and he explains something along the lines of even if the feeling of pain is heightened -- his body isn't actually weaker or more sensitive - so while he gets injured like anyone else he feels the pain of those injuries differently (more). over time he has gotten used to it but its still something he's working on as he hurts himself worse with every fight.

WHAT I'M GETTING AT is that i came to @briefcasejuice about this because they're very knowledgeable about matt stuff and comic matt especially, and they told me it did sound pretty accurate - so now i guess i just want to know -

how do you interpret or view matt's sensibility when it comes to pain - and if it came up in TRT (which maybe it did and i forgot oops?) how would you write it out?

and btw - congrats on the mango thing!! what's next on the fruit discovery journey 🤨 (what else can i be shocked that you didn't try)

Ok first of I love the idea of a Daredevil tumblr fandom council, because now I've got the image of all of us gathered solemnly to talk about DD fandom topics and headcanons like

Second off, ooooh this is a good question. I can't remember if I've ever gotten deep into it in TRT, although it'll probably come up eventually. But I absolutely agree with @briefcasejuice, and with your take on it. This seems right, for a couple reasons, including my own experience with pain.

So a lot of this is based on my own issues (and one of the reasons I relate really strongly to Matt's sense of touch, touch starvation, and pain, and when writing generally include him being comforted and going near comatose beneath gentle touch). Without getting too specific, due to chronic pain and health problems, I experience something called allodynia - "pain due to a stimulus that does not normally provoke pain." Basically, my nerves are all spun up to 11 and even light sensation often reads as pain, regardless of whether I'm actually hurt - Matt's comment about 'cotton feels like sandpaper on my skin'? I get that, cause rough fabric's painful to me (another ex: put icy hot on my skin once, just about clawed it off my arm because I was convinced something had gone wrong and it was burning me). And on bad days, even very soft fabrics or, hell, a breeze, any sensation anywhere I have nerves feel like bits of glass grinding into a burn. Best explanation I have for a really bad day. And we know Matt's sense of touch is heightened. So I often think he feels a lot like me, and how you described it feels right.

Everything hurts more, even if you're not being hurt more, and even if your body's strong enough physically to take whatever's being done. Physically, there's no reason his body can't handle cotton sheets, or a food with acid, and God knows the man can take a punch. Functionally, his body is fine. But his nerves don't act that way. They send way more signals than they need to, and sure, this helps if he's trying to use them to his own advantage, but it also means he's left wide open to a far higher degree of pain from stimuli that most of us would consider more minor (pineapple, in this case) along with the pain we all regularly avoid.

Does he mostly block it out? Yes. Especially on a day to day, to the point where he may actually miss smaller injuries because he's focused on tuning out other, larger pains. I know I do - your brain eventually just goes 'oh new baseline and I still need to live so Imma put everything below it into the background so it doesn't stop us doing what we need to'. I hug people, I touch things that are rough, I use hot water with the dishes, and if I focus on it, I remember that it hurts a bit, but I've learned to tune that out for the most part. Much like me, Matt's dealt with this for years, so while he does what he can (soft sheets, avoiding certain foods, wearing certain types of clothes), he's gotten used to a lot of the day to day stuff he can't avoid, though like you said, as the injuries pile up, it just gets worse and worse as that pain stacks. Some of it might be tempered by surges of adrenaline and endorphins (why I theorize he can fight even when injured - tune it out thanks to all the practice, PLUS fighting so ferociously that his body pumps him up until he can ignore it, at least until he crashes afterwards, and crashes hard), but he's definitely feeling it far, far worse.

So I basically think it's likely, especially when pain is stacking, that he's just made a bunch of calculations for his everyday life on what's worth the pain and what isn't - certain foods? No point. Cotton sheets? No point. There is no benefit, and so he comfortably avoids it, whereas going out to fight he generally always sees as worth it since there's a tangible benefit. Those calculations at least are something we all do every day - we decide the pain of a tattoo or working out or that sour candy is worth it cause it gives us something we like. Matt just takes it up to 11. I can absolutely see him taking something like, say, pineapple - tingly and acidic - and not only feeling pain when eating it but also just literally running the mental math and going, 'yeah not worth it' because he's in enough pain day to day thanks to injuries and other things he can't avoid.

In summary: you're right and I headcanon Matt operates much like someone who's been dealing with allodynia for a while, which means he'd feel more pain from stimuli even if it's not hurting him, so he chooses things in his day-to-day to avoid and then just throws himself into the pain on big things and hopes the endorphins and adrenaline will help him tune it out.

LASTLY THANK YOU ON THE MANGO! I cannot BELIEVE I went so long without knowing how fucking delicious they were. New fruits I haven't tried that are on my list now that I realized I need to find if there are MORE DELICIOUS UNKNOWNS LIKE MANGOS: boysenberries, figs, grapefruit, guava, kumquats, passionfruit, papaya, prickly pears, and satsumas!

#daredevil #matt murdock #headcanon #allodynia #this is how i treat matt's dealing with pain anyway #i know it's not exact so i often make some adjustments #but there's just things he's said or done that resonate too much for my brain not to go 'like me??? matt is like me???'#which is strangely comforting #and so i've used a lot of personal experience to fill in the gaps on how he might operate in his day to day #and how he might function #in that he's YES more sensitive to pain even if there's not technically more pain #he just FEELS it more and his nerves TELL him it hurts more even if it's NOT hurting more #on the up (down?) side he can probably stand getting stitched up easily because he's felt way WAY more pain so it barely registers #because he's so used to tuning out even more pain so his brain's used to filing that away #BUT #when his concentration is down or he's tired that gets harder #same during injury stacking which'll only get worse as he gets older #either way he'd look at shit like pineapple and just go 'uh no that hurts I'll pass' because there's no good reason to eat it #we joke about matt's catholicism making him suffer and I joke about it too but #i think in reality he'd do these subtle little avoids for stuff like this unless he was REALLY depressed or in I Am Stick mode #or just has a good reason #and on some bad days he probably can't stand being touched tbh and would barely be able to drink room temp water (cold = pain)#at least it means the reverse it true - he'd absolutely melt beneath gentle touch or pleasant things or fleecy soft fabric #and sometimes even on bad days if you touch him *very* gently he'll tolerate the pain because he knows #that the oxytocin he gets from affectionate touch helps dull the sting just a little #(i realize this sounds bad ya'll can hug me if you see me at the con i won't turn them down i like hugs they're worth the sting)

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

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OKAY so on the topic of Star Wars takes wrt “character ends up in an A/B/O universe where they’re an omega, but they were previously a cis male in their canon”

@atagotiak and I had some Thoughts on discord

So, obviously, Anakin would make a good omega and he’s also incredibly murdery. Foregone conclusion that we're using him for this.

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse. He shows up JUST as the war is starting. Canon timeline is in the third year of the war (he’s 22), but whatever dumped him into omegaverse also tossed him back a few years. No de-aging, just a bit of mismatched timeline stuff.

He's... really good at war, and clearly a Jedi, so the Temple just kind of goes "WELL OKAY THEN, SURE, YOU'RE IN, EVERYONE PRETEND HE'S BEEN HERE THE WHOLE TIME." The Jedi, by and large, don't care about omegaverse dynamics beyond 'what do you need, medically, to be happy and healthy' and 'what do you need to be aware of so you can be prepared for biases you encounter in the field?’

None of the civilian natborns (mainly politicians) want to put him on the field because of those biases. Anakin, being Anakin, is VERY blatantly an omega in scent, has never been on suppressants (because it wasn't a thing he fucking NEEDED), is incredibly emotional as a person, loves kids, etc.

Like, nobody wants an omega fighting a war anyway, but THIS one is like PINNACLE omega, and those awful Jedi are making him FIGHT just because he's good at stab!

The Jedi: Actually, it's because he's got several years of war experience that we don't, and he's a good tactician that works well with the clones-- Coruscant: You MONSTERS The Jedi: Look, we gave him the option to not stab and he looked absolutely devastated. Anakin, several days earlier: You don’t want me? I’m not good enough??? Jedi: Also he can beat up at least half the temple.

He doesn't know a damn thing about dynamics, but he DOES know that sometimes he's so horny he wants to stab HARDER. The clones are largely disinterested in their generals' dynamics because between mostly-Mando* trainers and no-dynamic Kaminoans, they only really care if a person can shoot.

* Mandalore approves of Fighty Omegas. As far as (traditional) Mandalore is concerned, you want an omega that will kill the threats to your children as well as you do.

Anakin: You know more about being an omega than I do. Rex: ...I'm an alpha. Anakin: Yeah. Let that one sink in a bit.

We have two options for Obi-Wan!

Omegaverse local Obi-Wan (beta) has never met this man before, and is very unnerved that the immediate default reaction Anakin has to his presence is releasing Family pheromones as if Obi-Wan is his DAD and like. This strange, too-tall man from another dimension has got absolutely NO control over what he projects in the Force OR in his dynamic.

Obi-Wan was ALSO transplanted from canon to omegaverse, and is also an omega, for contrast reasons. He is nice and friendly and and likes poetry and that sort of thing... but also he has the highest dismemberment count in the movies. Also he doesn’t prioritize romance.

We went with the second one because it's hilarious.

Someone watching them spar: Wow, omegas from that universe are terrifying.

As previously mentioned, now with some tweaking to account for both: Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don't exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood. (It's mostly not theirs.)

Nobody realizes either one is an omega until they "naturalize" to this dimension and Anakin goes into heat... and doesn't realize it, actually, because his primary symptom is heightened protectiveness and aggression. Everyone else with the right nose realizes, because the man has no control over his pheromone production, but Anakin? No. He just stabs. He’s angry and horny and he will cut someone.

Ahsoka has no reaction to human pheromones but basically everyone smells Anakin's "my child!" reaction to her, so... Cool. Have a padawan, we guess.

Anakin ends up sparring a lot with Aayla and Ahsoka, because only humans and near humans have dynamics, so these two don't REACT to the pheromones situation.

(Palpatine is a Kindly Old Beta who tries to treat Anakin the way he EXPECTS Anakin wants to be treated, which is. Not. Accurate.)

(Anakin hates it.)

I'm just so in love with "An omega can't fight." "You wanna fuckin' bet?"

There are plenty of omega Jedi, by the way, it's just... most of them can keep it relatively low-key instead of Anakin's jet-engine broadcast. Some, if they're known to be omega, probably take advantage of being underestimated, like Obi-Wan probably (and especially a version of Obi-Wan that was always an omega, unlike this version). They have a very different way of presenting themselves than Anakin, who's not subtle about being an omega and also not subtle about being all aggressive and stabby.

At one point, Anakin has to protect some Very Traditional Individuals who get all "Stay back, Omega, it's not safe!" and he's just... so tired of this shit. “You are squishy civilians and I'm a trained Jedi Knight and accomplished GAR General who's killed more people in one sitting than there are in this entire palace. Sit the fuck down and let me do my job.”

It starts making the rounds that Anakin insisted on fighting in person, and the rumors shift from "how dare the Jedi force an omega to fight" and over into things that are deeply hurtful in-universe in the vein of "broken omega" and some people try to say it to his face but like...

He didn't grow up here.

He doesn't care.

Say that to one of his friends and he's going to rip out your spleen, probably, but say it to him and he's just staring at you flatly and asking if that's a negative on getting away from the encroaching battle droids, sir?

"You're rather unpleasant for an omega, aren't you?" [deeply offensive] "I literally could not give less of a fuck about your opinion. Move."

It's not that there aren't omegas that act like Anakin, either, it's just that most of them aren't, you know, Jedi who regularly interact with the upper crust, or capable of his level of destruction. Unbeknownst to Anakin, everyone clocks him as Outer Rim based on his behavior, well before his accent gives him away, and certainly before he mentions he's from Tatooine, because Core Omegas Don't Act Like That.

Someone they meet in a more diplomatic setting says something decently passive-aggressive about how at least Obi-Wan acts more like how an Omega should. Then a battle breaks out for some reason, and... well. Anakin and Obi-Wan cause such a scandal by keeping score of kills in a battle, don’t you know?

Turns out sending Anakin to fight Ventress is great because she keeps expecting him to react a certain way but NO he's here to STAB.

I like the idea that Obi-Wan's favorite opponent these days is Grievous because the cyborg doesn't have a nose, and thus gives zero fucks about dynamics or heats. Dooku is a rich old man who has opinions heavily influenced by Sith Juice Making Him More of a Dick, and the Dathomiri can smell dynamics even if they don't have them, and so they have biases about those things. Meanwhile, Grievous is just there to Kill, and Obi-Wan genuinely appreciates the lack of commentary on his dynamic.

Dooku’s probably an alpha, or a beta who's used the whole "we are more level-headed" thing as one of several angles to keep himself the public face and supreme commander of the CIS.

On to more fluffy things that have less to do with political biases.

There's a lot of "I'm upset that my loved ones don't know me," but also please understand the appeal of Obi-Wan marching up to Quinlan like "Yes, hello, I understand you've been read in on the full situation behind myself and my former padawan. I was close friends with your alternate universe self, which I feel is necessary disclosure before I propose the following: Would you like to join me for my upcoming heat, as I have minimal experience with the dynamics situation and even fewer people I actually trust, and I believe I can put my faith in you to treat it as casually as necessary while still having control and respect for my person."

(The Team is in a fairly safe place to process stuff, but having sudden unexpected changes to your biology has gotta be a little traumatizing, on top of ending up in a universe where none of your friends know you and people have a whole host of unfamiliar forms of sexism to point at you.)

Obi-Wan, who wasn't quite touch-averse but was much more easily overwhelmed by physical contact than Anakin (who craved it), suddenly finds his body switching gears and insisting on cuddles with Trusted Loved Ones, which is.... mostly Anakin, on account of nobody else really knowing him yet. Also Ahsoka, who is aware that she's something of a replacement for her alt-universe self, but Anakin explained it as "I love you so much no matter which dimension I'm in or what you're like, and I'd like to get to know you the way I got know her."

(It's rather eloquent for Anakin. He got Obi-Wan to help him draft up the script for when he pitched taking on omegaverse Ahsoka as a padawan.)

Anakin gets a more intensely sexual heat than 'usual' at one point for Reasons (IDK it could be as innocuous as 'we got better food than the usual rations and my body is reacting to the higher fat content with the belief that it's safer to have a baby now'), which nobody takes a whole lot of notice of because they're in a WAR, and also this is only his fourth one so it's not like he's got a lot to compare it to... except then the predominantly alpha clones can't stop themselves from reacting to the pheromones, mostly by wandering past his door and asking if he needs anything, offering up alpha-scented blankets and stuff for the nest to soothe the hormones, bringing snacks and electrolyte drinks, and like, Anakin is flattered, really, but fuck off please.

(He got a warning from medical a few hours before it hit that it would be different, so he actually does have alpha-scented fabrics to help him out. Apparently that's a thing you can just ask friends for, so he asked Rex if he had anything on hand that he could spare. He now has one of Rex’s recently-used sheets and a bodyglove in the nest.)

(Anakin has no idea how to feel about the nesting instinct, but at least it’s warm.)

Tia asked "Oh hey, who has the scared and horny reaction to his carnage?" and like.

Listen. I'm not saying I've been low-key imagining this as Rex being a very subby alpha who's really into Anakin's whole Thing but...

At one point Anakin gets injured in a way that requires painkillers and he ends up whining to the point of almost crying about the fact that nobody is cuddling him right now in medbay and Kix just gives up and comms Ahsoka to come hug her weird older brother.

And Then There Is Purring.

That’s a Thing Now.

Rex ends up in the pile somehow. He came over to check on Things and ended up yanked in by half-asleep, half-high Anakin, who has a grip like an octopus and no impulse control and is purring like a pod motor while NUZZLING HIM.

There’s a lot of blackmail photos featuring Rex’s very intense blush as he’s cuddled by his commander (giggling at him) and general (clinging like a tooka and rubbing himself all over).

Anakin is deeply offended that ANYONE thinks he'd want to get pregnant by just any old person, NO he needs to fall in LOVE there needs to be EMOTIONAL DRAMA and if Padme won't have him (apparently she's in a relationship and no he's not BITTER) then he'll find someone else to have a whirlwind romance with!

People think Anakin's a slut because he can't control his pheromone production (he has NO practice and for health reasons he can't go on suppressants) so he always smells open and ready for flirtations, which Obi-Wan also has to a somewhat lesser degree (he's older so his body just naturally produces less), and then someone tries to cross a boundary and grabs his ass and ANYWAY Anakin has to now fill out an incident report for breaking a civilian's arm.

Again.

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Rexwalker #Quinlan Vos #star wars #the clone wars #time travel #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #phoenix posts

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hanatiny · 3 years

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Aim To Please

a/n: I’m aware that certain kinks in this may not sit well with some people, but I have a very specific target audience for this one so :) a/n 2: happy birthday to the stressed mom Seonghwa, hope he eats well and has a good day~ <3

pairing: incubus!Seonghwa x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 1866

warnings: consensual somnophilia, unprotected sex, noona kink, pet names, Hwa has a gun kink, he's also a whiny service top, praise kink, marking (both biting and light scratching), brief mention of overstimulation, orgasm control

-----

Seonghwa had been visiting you somewhat regularly for a couple months now. He first came to you in a dream while you were feeling lonely and then another night, when you found yourself unable to sleep, he actually physically materialised in front of you.

Incubi were said to simply come to 'their human' for sex and that was that, they would leave once they got what they wanted.

Seonghwa, however, was a little different. He had a bit of a childlike curiosity to him, ironic as it seemed for an immortal demonic creature, and you adored the way his eyes would light up like shooting stars every time you'd talk to him and tell him about your day or simply recount a memory you happened to be fond of.

You grew attached to each other rather quickly and easily, a strong emotional bond forming between the two of you that one wouldn't necessarily think possible.

And so, when he arrived this particular night, he couldn’t help but pout a little when he found you fast asleep in your bed. Then again he couldn’t really blame you, it was sometime between 2 and 3am after all. In all honestly, he was relieved to see you get some rest, knowing how you struggled at times.

He visited you for a different reason tonight though; it was his creation day - or birthday, a word he learned from you that meant essentially the same thing in human terms, which he used interchangeably.

He wanted to celebrate it with you and to do so, he’d either have to wait until you'd awaken on your own accord, or wake you up himself. He technically wanted to do neither but he was an incubus, so he did the one thing that he knew how to do.

Hesitating for a beat, then, Seonghwa's face blossomed a cherry red when he recalled how you had previously informed in a conversation that he had been given explicit permission to have his way with you whenever he pleased.

Feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight, he carefully maneuvered himself onto the mattress to hover above you. Seonghwa, careful and gentle as ever, balanced himself on one hand while lifting the other to brush a few strands of hair out of your face.

Your expression was peaceful as you slept, head tilted slightly to the side, and he couldn't help but coo softly at the sight while he briefly lost himself in his own thoughts.

How would he ever tell you that he had fallen in love with you, someone belonging in a different world...? He had yet to figure it out.

He shook his emotional dilemma off in favor of trailing his lips down from your jaw over your neck and collarbone with slow, deliberate kisses. You stirred slightly with a soft hum, remaining asleep.

Seonghwa’s soft lips attached themselves to your skin to gently suck a marking near your shoulder. Once satisfied, he pulled back and his hands went to free your sleeping form from the blanket it was covered with.

He froze in his tracks for a brief moment, not having expected you to be dressed exclusively in an oversized t-shirt. He bit his lip and toyed with the hem of the piece of fabric that still covered your body before pushing it up to under your breasts for easier access to where he wanted to be.

His hands established a gentle but firm grip on your thighs and parted them for him while he nipped all over the skin of your stomach, trying to distract himself and not turn bright red once more from the realization of your lack of underwear.

Like the gentle man he was, Seonghwa glided his fingertips over your inner thighs with featherlight touches and if it wasn’t for the airy giggle you let out, having known you were rather ticklish, he would have thought you couldn’t feel him at all.

You leaned into his touch slightly out of instinct when his fingers ghosted over your slit to see if you were wet enough to take him - he knew it could be painfully if either party isn’t aroused to a more than sufficient level. But, to his relief, you were practically dripping, which led him to believe you may have been having a wet dream. Little did he know, you had been in a limbo between asleep and awake ever since his hands first came into contact with your heated skin.

Seonghwa was way too focused on his task to notice your state of half-consciousness, and he didn’t even connect the dots when you mewled out loud after he had discarded his pants and gradually pushed his length into your entrance.

Once he bottomed out, he whined softly as he began to rock his hips into you and it surprised you time and time how gentle he’d start off with you - as if you were a porcelain doll and he was afraid of breaking you - and that you’d always, without fail, remind him that he didn’t have to be, that you could take it.

There was a tenderness in his actions that you couldn’t quite place. You refused to believe that the root of it was love.

It was when his voice went high-pitched with a shaky “N-noona..~” that your eyes flew open, thankful for his lack of focus on you while he moaned softly, your hand blindly fumbling for something under the pillow next to you.

Your fingers finally took hold of and wrapped around the cold metal item, pulling it out from where you hid it until mere seconds ago, and Seonghwa’s hips stuttered slightly when he heard a familiar soft click, but he only snapped his gaze back forward to look at you wide-eyed as he felt a gun barrel pressed to the side of his head.

“Noona, I-”

“Hush, sugar. You’ll be good and listen to every word I say, yeah~?” You smirked up at him as he nodded and let out a desperate whine of affirmation.

It was a peculiar kink of him to have to want to call you noona, you mused, considering that he was a century old creature and you physically would not be able to top that as a human being. But you figured that it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him, considering that no one in his past seemed to have done so based on his delight when you complied and agreed.

Whimpers from the man above you pulled you back into the present reality as you watched him struggle to keep up a rhythm with the gun pressed to his head. You cooed at how good of a job he was doing regardless, “Such a good boy, fucking noona good just how he knows she likes it...~”

Seonghwa cried out, his face flushed because of how he submissive he acted, contrary to how he usually at least tried to appear to be.

“Mhm, my pretty babyboy figured he could use my body for his own pleasure, similar to how the rest of his kind does hm~? It’s cute, really.” You purred, unable to stop a moan from slipping from your lips while your grip on the loaded gun tightened slighly, although you made sure to keep your fingers away from the trigger just in case.

“You make noona feel so good, sugar, just like you’re meant to...~” You smiled up at Seonghwa with a so obviously deceiving sweetness that made his pouty lips tremble slightly, a few strands of his messy hair sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead.

You knew the telltale signs of when he was about to cum, your first trist with the demon having been what felt like years ago although it only lied back a few months.

“I-I... Noona, ‘m already close...~” He panted softly above you, causing you to coo as he twitched inside of you, a smile tugging at you lips.

“Mhm I can tell, baby~ You can hold it in for a little longer for noona, no?” Your voice carried a lilt as you hummed and it unsettled Seonghwa that he couldn’t quite place it, but he nodded eagerly nonetheless, not willing to even so much as risk disappointing you.

“Y-yeah!” He gasped softly when you suddenly wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper inside of you, your back arching as you did so, “Good boy...~ Oh fuck, right there-”

You hissed lowly under your breath, having unintentionally pushed the tip of your lover’s cock right into the spot that would make you come undone. Seonghwa whined loudly and desperately above you as he continued his almost frenzied thrusts into your heat, his head thrown back and his body on the verge of overstimulation when you found your climax around his length.

It was convenient for him to be so well-endowed, you mused, since he was able to hit the most pleasurable spots deep inside of you with ease.

“P-please noona, I-I can’t-”

“Cum, Seonghwa.”

And just like that, with two simple words, he let go and released himself inside of you, a soft moan drifting from you at the feeling of warmth spreading through your body.

Seonghwa panted softly as he slowly came down from his high, reaching to caress your cheek as if in a trance while you dropped the hand holding the gun onto a pillow next to the two of you before letting go of the item entirely.

Having caught your breath, you nudged him to roll over, which he willingly did after carefully pulling out of you.

You turned to face him, tenderly threading a hand through his hair as he pouted at you.

“Y/n-”

“Shh, I know Hwa. I should get cleaned up... but I’m too tired, so I’ll just shower in the morning.” You smiled reassuringly, to which he relaxed as well and wordlessly wrapped his arm around you to pull you close and cuddle you.

“Happy birthday...~” You murmured before drifting off, leading Seonghwa to coo softly at you in endearment as he held you close to himself protectively.

You were truly the only gift he could ever want and need.

When you woke up the next morning, it was in an entirely different position than the one you fell asleep in. Shifting in your bed, you realized that your supernatural companion had cleaned both himself and you in the night before making sure to dress you appropriately so you wouldn’t be cold.

You found your gun on the nightstand next to you a few moments after, along with a small note Seonghwa must’ve written in a hurry if the handwriting on it was anything to go by.

‘Thought I’d allow myself to clean you up so you could stay under your comfy blankets a little longer. Hope you don’t mind :)’

There were a few hearts scribbled all over the piece of paper, and your head fell back against your pillow with a knowing smile and a happy sigh.

You were glad the incubus seemed to reciprocate your feelings, and you’d be sure to tell him so when he would return.

“I love you too, Hwa.”

----- Taglist:

@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @innosintsan @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @vocalyunho @yunhoes-twancings-nsfw @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet

#8makes1teamnet #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #ateez seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff #someone please appreciate my pun-#hanatiny writes #park seonghwa smut

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 11

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: “When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll be happy together.”

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,511

Warnings: captured reader, angst, bonding with Grogu, plot plot plot

Author Note: To anyone and everyone sticking with this series, I love you so much! I know the plot is more than a little thick right now, but answers are slowly but surely being revealed.

Links to Part 1 and Part 10 and Part 12

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

You pace the length of the cell, brow furrowed as you try to organize your racing thoughts. Between the chilly atmosphere and the severed bond wailing for its other half, you imagine you outwardly resemble the jittery and unbalanced mess you feel internally. You refuse to feel humiliated by your appearance, not when the witnesses are Gideon and his minions. They can think what they want about you, believe they have broken your spirit, because that just means they won’t expect it when you free yourself until it’s too late.

However, part two of your plan of escape is proving to be more challenging to conceptualize than you initially thought. The collar is tightly wound around your neck to the point of chafing. Apparently the rule of being able to slip two fingers under a collar is only applicable to animals in Gideon’s eyes because your attempt of slipping your finger between skin and metal is dissuaded by another electric shock zipping through your body.

However, as you lightly trail your fingertips over the cold metal, you’re surprised to feel a noticeable dip in the back. It’s not a design flaw, you think as you try to visualize it in your mind. Your heartbeat quickens as realization strikes: it’s a keyhole.

Any excitement you might feel at your discovery is spoiled by the fact a keyhole is useless without a key. You look at the laser gate, further disappointed as you contemplate the complexity of the tunnel system. There could be dozens of cells down here, potentially thousands of hiding places for Gideon to keep the key to the collar secure. Not to mention, you don’t even know what the key looks like. It could be hanging right outside the cell and you’d have no idea.

Lost in the sea of disparaging thoughts, you don’t notice the return of the baby crawling through the hole in the wall until he latches onto your foot. Startled, you barely manage to refrain from shouting a curse as you stare down at him. He giggles, clearly amused by your wide-eyed expression, and then slaps a silver plastic bag against your shin using the hand that isn’t gripping his favorite black cloth.

“Did you bring me a present?” you ask, taking a seat on the pallet and lifting him up onto your lap. This time when you reach forward, he willingly lets you take the item from him instead of trying to take a chunk out of your hand.

You tear open the plastic, revealing its contents to be five teal-colored cookies.

“Wow, bud,” you murmur, holding one up between pinched fingers. The treat smells distinctively like vanilla. From what you’ve witnessed, you doubt Gideon is the type to offer his prisoners dessert with their meals which means these were probably stolen from somewhere. “Where did you find these?”

The baby only babbles unintelligibly in response, gesturing with his free hand in the direction of somewhere beyond the laser gate. You nod along, feigning understanding, but your eyes can’t help but drift to his collar when he turns his head. The keyhole for his collar is smaller than you expect to see which has you quickly theorizing there is not one universal key for all of the collars. If that theory is true, then it raises the difficulty of escaping yet another level.

With a sigh you cram the cookie into your mouth, finding the tiniest smidge of joy in its crunchiness.

“When we get out of here I’ll buy you a dozen boxes of these,” you tell him once you’ve swallowed, offering him one of the cookies. He coos excitedly and takes a large bite, uncaring of the blue crumbs that rain down upon his coat. “And once Din sees you, I bet he’ll want to spoil you rotten, too. He has a not-so-secret soft spot for kids.”

The baby’s head tilts, reacting to the name-drop by making a confused gurgling sound around his mouthful.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” you scold gently, tapping his nose with your finger and laughing under your breath when it proceeds to scrunch up in an adorable manner. Leaning your head back against the wall, you’re unable to keep the note of wistful longing out of your voice as you explain, “Din is my soulmate. To the rest of the world, he’s known as Death. They’ll have you believe he’s someone to be feared and avoided at all cost. But luckily I’m here to tell you the truth.”

He stares up at you, snack seemingly forgotten in favor of listening intently to every word coming out of your mouth. Distantly you think you should be a little scared by how intense his gaze is, as if he’s attempting to look past your skin to the soul beneath, but you remind yourself all babies are innately curious and don’t know it’s rude to stare.

“He’ll never admit to it himself, but underneath all that beskar armor, he is the most socially inept being in the galaxy. I swear, bud, the first time I met him I thought it was impossible for him to say more than two words or else he’d hurt himself.” Your lips twitch at the memory, the smallest of smiles you can make without it feeling forced. “Still, despite his horrible first impression, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I wouldn’t call it love at first sight, but—look, I know how crazy this sounds, okay? But I felt like I had to get to know him better. There was this voice in my head insisting we couldn’t just remain strangers. It took about ten thousand questions and three more meetings for me to earn his trust enough for him to take off his helmet and let me see his face.”

You take a deep breath and stroke your finger over the baby’s ears, needing to feel something other than the flaring pulse of pain from the bond. “One look at those beautiful brown eyes and I was done for.”

Saying Din’s eyes are brown feels sinful. It’s like saying the ocean is blue—accurate, but not detailed enough to describe its depth and volatility. There are days when his eyes are the shade of brown reminding you of leather bound journals—ancient and full of profound wisdom, meant to be admired and cherished for an entire lifetime. Other times, they are the kind of brown that matches your favorite chocolate pastry from the bakery down the street from your apartment—decadent and warm with the slightest hint of temptation.

“When we get out of here, Din will fly us far, far away,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the baby's resumed chewing. “I promise you we’ll all be happy together.”

And I’ll never get tired of seeing those brown eyes everyday.

The hours start to bleed into one another. The baby snoozes in your lap, head pillowed on your thigh, but you have no idea if it’s night or day. Gideon had said he’d let you talk to Din ‘tomorrow’, but that doesn’t tell you how many days you’ve been here in total.

Your legs have started to feel numb from sitting in the same position so long, but the last thing you want is to wake him up by moving. The importance of him feeling safe enough to be vulnerable and sleep is not lost on you. His desire for attention and physical contact is so painfully obvious you hate thinking about how often he must have been ignored before your arrival.

As he sleeps, you’re unable to resist your curiosity any longer and carefully maneuver the piece of cloth out of his grip. Despite its aged and dirty appearance, it is still surprisingly soft to touch. Whatever article of clothing this was torn from must have been well-tailored, you think, imagining a hooded cloak or perhaps a long coat. Your nose twitches when you hold the cloth close to your face to better study it, reacting to the variety of odors embedded in the wool fibers. Maker knows how long the kid’s been dragging the fabric around with him without it being washed regularly, so you shouldn’t be surprised it has absorbed a couple dozen scents.

Still, the faint essence of smoke you detect swirls around in your brain even long after you’ve laid the cloth back over him like a makeshift blanket. Memories of your death start to resurface again despite your best mental efforts to push them away, causing your stomach to clench with nausea as you recall the horrific stench of charred remains.

It isn’t the same, you tell yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your head to clear itself. It can’t be because that day was fifty years ago and he’s only just a baby.

You repeat these thoughts like a mantra until, without meaning to, you fall into a dreamless sleep.

You’re startled awake by hands seizing hold of your arms and pulling you up onto your feet without warning. You yelp at the sudden rush back to consciousness, brain scrambling to make sense of everything. Your eyes sweep the ground, panic washing over you like a bucket of cold water when you fail to see a tiny green body.

“It’s time, pet,” the twi’lek’s voice hits your ears and you turn to see her standing near the cell’s entrance, a lantern in one hand and a shiny blade in the other. “The Moff is expecting you.”

It takes you a minute to process in your frazzled state, but you realize it must be time to talk to Din. You’re shoved forward by whoever has your arms twisted behind your back, but you manage another quick survey of the cell. There is no sign the baby was ever here and you send a quick prayer to the Maker he had snuck back through the hole without anyone seeing him.

You have mixed feelings about not being blindfolded as you’re led through the underground labyrinth. On one hand, you get to observe everything and everyone you come across, making as many mental notes to flip through later when you’re alone. On the other, you think this must be an intimidation tactic. Gideon wants you to see everything so you know with absolute certainty how high the odds are stacked against you.

There are cells identical in appearance to yours on either side of you, carved into the tunnel rock and blocked from entry by laser gates. Except not one of them contains a prisoner. Either you have severely overestimated the size of Gideon’s collection, or he is purposefully keeping you separate from the rest for reasons known only to him.

Another surprising and unsettling observation you make is how many different types of species Gideon has employed as minions—human, rodian, trandoshan, you even spot a devaronian in the mix. Except for the Cupid twi’lek in front of you, everyone you come across is mortal. It does not make much sense to you why a seraph as powerful as Gideon is relying on mortal henchmen to help maintain control of his secret prison. Your gut instinct is insisting you’re missing a vital piece of information and you don’t like being in the dark about it.

The tunnel you’re being marched down eventually opens up into a larger cavernous space with several dozen lanterns hanging along the walls providing ample lighting. There are several crates spread about the area, and some have been pried open to reveal they are packed full of blasters and ammunition. You rack your brain trying to determine the purpose of the weapons. Yes, clearly, they are meant to cause havoc and destruction, but why are they here? Who or what is the target they will be aimed at?

Gideon stands in the middle of the room next to an empty chair. On his other side is a mortal human male, bald-headed with ginger facial scruff, who has two blaster pistols holstered around his chest and yet another one held by a droid arm attached to his backpack. Overkill much?

You’re shoved in the direction of the chair and gruffly told to sit. Huffing, you wordlessly obey and try not to squirm as all eyes lock onto you as if you’re going to perform a trick for their entertainment.

“You have a minute to record your message,” Gideon says, holding out a piece of paper towards you. “These words I have prepared must be included in those precious sixty seconds or you might find me reluctant to allow you to send a second recording.”

Is he serious? This isn’t the arrangement you previously discussed with him.

“Record?” you repeat, reluctantly taking the paper.

“I never said you would have the opportunity of speaking to Death face-to-face.” You want more than anything to tear the condescending smirk off his face with your fingernails. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that the mortal saying? You would know better than me, living amongst them in that quaint little apartment on Umbriel.”

Of course he knows about your home. Of kriffing course he does.

Heartbeat quickening, you avoid eye contact by scanning the few lines of words he’s written, eyebrows slowly inching up your forehead the more you read. “I don’t understand. This isn’t a demand to kill anyone. What does it mean?”

“Now is not the time for you to know,” he answers cryptically.

You shake your head, insisting, “Well maybe it should be. He knows me better than anyone. He’ll be able to tell I’m confused and—“

Gideon’s heavy sigh interrupts you. Then, quicker than you anticipate, he steps to the side of you and unsheathes his sword, its black blade positioned at your throat. It happens in one fluid movement, and the danger of your current predicament doesn’t sink in until the frightening humming notes of the weapon register in your eardrums seconds later. Your expressionless mask wavers, facial muscles tightening as you fail to refrain from flinching.

“All that is required from you, Cupid 1-1-7, is for you to speak from the heart and convince him to follow this one instruction. Do you think you can accomplish that?” he asks the question as if you have an actual choice. Like you can walk away now and there will be no hurt feelings.

But that is ridiculous. Everyone knows Cupids don’t get to have choices. Not when they are only given orders to obey.

You give him the tiniest of nods, careful not to let your skin make contact with the blade. “Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s begin.”

The nav computer on the Razor Crest contains the coordinates of every moon and planet within each region of the galaxy. There is not one inch of space unknown to Din and yet his search for his angel continues to remain unsuccessful. He doesn’t consider the possibility of her being deceased for even half a second. As her soulmate he would have felt her passing the moment it happened. The bond he shares with his angel might be young and fragile still, but he doesn’t doubt her loss would eviscerate him in the same merciless manner he had done to Hess.

His inability to find her can only mean a powerful immortal is involved in her capture. As Death he roams the universe as a neutral entity. The only enemies he encountered—and he uses that term loosely—were foolish mortals thinking they could outlive their destined time by fighting him, only to ultimately meet their fated ends in the process. Prior to Hess’ demise, he had upheld his sworn creed to the universe and never once was tempted to defy the natural order or break a sacred rule.

Although admittedly strange to consider, the thought that maybe his angel’s capture isn’t meant to deliberately hurt him or her is one that keeps crossing his mind. Perhaps they are merely pieces in a game neither of them recognize nor want to willingly participate in.

As Din sits in the pilot’s seat, staring at the screen dispassionately through the visor of his helmet still coated with Hess’ blood, he is well-aware of Bo-Katan standing behind him, attempting to freeze him solid with her iciest glare.

She is the bravest of his reapers, unafraid to piss him off and counteract his opinions with her own. Yet ever since they left Hess’ body hanging in the warehouse and returned to the Crest, she’s not said one word to him, seemingly content to suffer in silence as a background presence while he contemplates whether he should be the one to track down the twi’lek Hess referenced or if he should have his reapers engage in the hunt.

“We’re going to talk about what happened,” Bo-Katan says coolly.

He grinds his teeth. “We will talk if and when I want to.”

“No.” She forcefully pulls at his chair, turning it around to face her. A snarl escapes him, animalistic and furious, but her green eyes don’t even blink, not the least bit intimidated. “You reaped a soul before it’s destined time. The universe isn’t going to easily forgive you for that. There will be consequences.”

“The only thing that matters is getting her back,” he answers. It’s the truth too. The second his angel was taken he knew there was not one rule he wouldn’t break to have her back in his arms—consequences be damned.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Bo-Katan asks, looking him over as if she no longer recognizes him. Her eyes linger just a second too long on his bloodstained gloves. “You’re losing your mind over a soulmate you’ve barely known a year.”

“Have you ever had someone you loved taken from you?” Din counters.

She scowls, eyes narrowing with loathing. “How dare you compare—”

“Answer the question!” he shouts, slamming his fist down on the armrest hard enough the metal creaks ominously.

“Yes.” Her chin dips briefly towards her chest as she takes a second to compose herself. “You know I have.”

Din does know. Hours prior to every major catastrophic event in the galaxy’s history he’s felt an invisible leash wrap around him, pulling him in the direction of the tragedy and demanding he be there to personally reap the souls of the victims in the aftermath. He had witnessed the destruction of Bo-Katan’s homeworld when it was ravaged by a series of bombings orchestrated by an unknown enemy. Thousands had been killed, including Bo-Katan’s sister.

He doesn’t let the silence stretch too long, voice unwavering as he says, “And if you had the chance, would you not kill the one responsible for your pain?”

“It wouldn’t bring her back. Not any of them.”

Din sighs, glancing away, but Bo-Katan surprises him not even ten seconds later, apparently unfinished.

“I’d still do it though,” she says, not sounding the least bit guilty for admitting to hypothetical murder. “I’d carve the heart out of whoever set off those bombs and force-feed it to them.”

“We’re more alike than you may think,” Din says. “Think about that before you question my actions again.”

Any potential response from his reaper is interrupted by the beeping of an incoming transmission. He turns his chair at once, noticing the recorded message’s origin source is a random scrambling of letters and numbers. Every instinct is telling him he won’t like what he sees, but his hand reaches forward anyways, as if possessed by an unseen force, and presses the button to view the recording.

His angel appears as a holographic figure and immediately his eyes zero in on the collar around her neck. Anger threatens to course through his veins again, but Din forces his lungs to draw in a deep breath. Now is not the time to unleash his temper. Now is the time to listen and commit every word she says to memory, to study her every feature for any sign she’s been hurt.

“Death,” she begins, and his entire body tenses at the use of his title and not his name. It’s been so long since she’s addressed him as such, he knows it can’t be accidental. “I hope this message reaches you wherever you are. More than anything I wish I could be with you right now. I’m so sorry I broke my pinky promise to you, sweetheart. The way our bond is...I hate to think you’re feeling as much pain as I do.”

Din’s heart shatters when she starts to anxiously rub at her soulmate marking, sniffling quietly. His fingers itch with the overwhelming longing to hold her hand.

“I’m not safe here. What they’ve threatened to do to me...it scares me. I-I need to ask you a favor, a very important one.” A few teardrops escape the corners of her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Din bites the inside of his mouth so harshly he tastes blood. “If you want to protect me, then you must let go.”

The transmission goes dead.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @oh-no-a-whovian, @over300books, @chibi-yuki, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my writing

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sneezefiction · 4 years

Text

making up for lost time

Daichi x fem!Reader - Scenario

@miss-rin‘s request: “Where Daichi reunites with the reader several years after highschool... She’s messed up from her last relationship, but wants to try again.... With a fluffy ending though, please!!”

a/n: eeee this was really therapeutic to write. i know it’s a little on the longer side of things i usually post, but i wanted to set it up well. enjoy some angst to fluff Daichi content bb <33333

warnings: break ups, cheating, low self esteem, slight language, general angst

wc: 3350

---

It’s strange. Staring at your textbook, your fingers brushing against its textured, thin pages, you hadn’t noticed the tiny droplets forming on the sheets below. Only when you recognized its salty taste did you realize you were the source. You lean back, using the table to tilt your chair onto its back legs, balancing there for a minute to keep your tears from staining anything else on the desk.

With all the mentions of bonds and fusions, somehow chemistry homework has brought you back into the reality of your current life crisis.

It’s not like you hadn’t expected tears, but did they have to overtake every aspect of your life?

In public. Walking through the park. At 4 in the morning.

It was cruel, really.

That even after a year of complete distance, everything insisted on reminding you of him.

---

Your ex was supposed to be a one night stand. A ploy to get over a deeply established crush. You were running from young, uncertain love, pushing it down, and drowning it all in heavy doses of pleasure. But weekend-after-weekend, your interactions with this mystery hookup turned into regular flings.

From there, you allowed something deeper to develop.

You started sharing with him.

Lying on the bed, limbs entangled, panting subsided. You released small thoughts and simple secrets into the dark of the night. Maybe he would capture those words, pondering them, making a space for them in his mind. Maybe he would let them drift by, like white noise and formless background music.

But it didn’t matter. You spoke anyway.

Nights passed and you would let out more gentle, whispering comments. Insecurities, dreams, stories.

And at some point, he started responding. Listening. Mulling over your words. Whether you meant for it to happen or not, things grew personal. He became your stand-in security blanket, pulling you in and showing you his own little world. You didn’t care if it was fabricated and make-believe.

Because for the first time, it seemed like someone reciprocated your words and actions. You were no longer relying on past passions and feelings because you were so busy drowning in the touch of a stranger. He gave you endless chances to let go of your greatest love and high school infatuation. And you took each one.

You pushed yourself to like him. You asked him to be exclusive. He agreed.

Because his touches were soothing. The way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into his chest and whispering dirty, sugar-coated words into your ears. It made you feel wanted. Needed. Like maybe this could be the one. Like maybe you didn’t need the brown-eyed boy from so long ago.

Yes, your ex’s hold on you was physically tight…

But his intentions were loose and undefined. Eerily disconnected from the reality you had pictured yourself in.

In the back of your mind, you knew something was off. The puzzle pieces that tied your interactions together were either damaged or missing. Information and stories didn’t match up.

At some point, he started coming home wearing the scent of sex and perfume. Fragrances that didn’t belong to you. All of the staying out late and leaving the bed early... He was clearly cheating on you.

But ignorance is bliss... and you were swimming in it.

You now realize he only told you what you wanted to hear. Little, white lies iced with sweet, generous promises.

What did you expect? That he actually needed you? Why would this stand-in boyfriend be any different?

Finding him on top of a girl in your bedroom should’ve cut you deeper. It should have left you with your knees collapsed and your fingers painfully digging into the carpet. You could have screamed and cried, kicked something, at least outwardly shown your pain.

Yet all that came over you was a dizzying numbness. So you shut the door, closing yourself off to their shocked expressions. Cutting yourself off from another failed love attempt. A worthless endeavor.

---

You’re still fighting a losing battle against hot, streaming tears in the library.

You wish the tears stemmed from the breakup. It would be a logical justification for your pain. Yes, it would be easier to cry over something present… or at least something sensible.

But fate is fickle and so are your emotions. Fragile and nostalgic.

Because you aren’t choking on sobs in the campus library over that unloyal asshole.

No, your mind was fully centered on Daichi. The one person who had actually made you feel whole. Who regularly told you how much he wanted you.

You could’ve drowned in his warm, honey-glazed gaze. He drew you in, submerging you in a euphoric, blissfully intoxicated state.

Memories flittered back to you. How he would always comfort you, using his firm shoulder as a pillow during after school hours to cry or sleep on when life began to smother you.

How he snuck up behind you in the schoolyard, grabbing you by the waist, lighting a fire inside you that filled you with warmth and made your stomach do somersaults. It was playful. Lighthearted. So very Daichi.

And you wanted more. More than platonic. More than best friends.

His touches were nothing like your ex.

It was like gentle floating fireflies, blinking and flickering in a field at dusk. Consistent but surprising. Sensitive, feathery, and comforting. Not at all greedy or dismissive.

You didn’t have to think twice about it. Daichi still remained in the softest parts of you.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. He isn’t coming back to save you. To take you by the hand and rekindle whatever it was you two had shared back then.

Because Daichi wasn’t ready to commit.

He had told you how he felt. How he wanted you so badly that it physically hurt him. That he wanted to be there for you, by your side, hand-in-hand.

But he just wasn’t ready to follow through. Not with graduation and change so near in sight. Not with the possibility of losing you just as soon as you’d become his.

You knew he was right. College shifted you two into completely separate directions. 12 hours to be exact.

You and Daichi were at the right place at the wrong time.

But as you drifted, the words morphed and manipulated themselves in your mind. They echoed a tone that claimed that you were the faulty one. That you weren’t ready. You weren’t lovable enough. He didn’t want to commit to you.

So naturally, you equated it with not being enough for him. That it was some silly, unfounded puppy-love. Just a bunch of hormones and high schoolers.

So you tried to bury your longing for him, making countless mistakes in the process.

You had changed. This was your life now. Broken, exhausted, and weathered.

In defeat, you close up the heavy, tattered textbook, gently maneuvering it into your backpack and take your leave from the softly lit library. You’ve suffered enough for one day, so you may as well give yourself a break from studying.

As you make your way out the door, you feel an unexpected buzz in your back pocket, your phone lighting up with a notification. You reach a hand back to check it.

3:47 pm - sawamuradaichi38 followed you

You stop abruptly, feet planted in the doorway, eyes processing the words before you.

“Shit.”

Daichi…

High school Daichi.

The “I was just crying over how much I hate missing you 5 minutes ago,” Daichi.

You hadn’t spoken in over a year and suddenly this?

It was out of the blue, not to mention at one of the most pitiful moments in your life.

Broken up, red-eyed, and still helplessly in love with his brown-eyes. How could someone so wonderful have such disastrous timing?

You receive a rude awakening, the door to the library smacking you in the face, drawing you out of your thoughts and leaving you rubbing the now red spot on your forehead, the phone still clutched tightly in your palm.

Leaving the doorway, you spot a park bench and take a seat outside, your thumb still hovering over the “follow back” button.

It takes some persuading, but eventually you convince yourself it will be fine. It’s not like you’re selling your soul to him.

It’s just a simple “follow back.”

It also wouldn’t hurt to see what he looked like.

So you click.

And there he is. Several month’s worth of photos, flooding your eyes.

Party streamers, candids, squinted smiles, polaroid photo-shoots, flushed faces from tipsy weekends, throwbacks… and your heart is pounding at the sight of just how mature he looks.

He’s developed a flattering tan over the summer, giving him a golden glow. The deeper tone has either made him look more toned or he’s gained muscle in the past couple of years. Both are very likely.

You proceed your scrolling, subconsciously looking for any signs of being in a relationship, before you’re startled by another ‘ping’ noise.

Damn this stupid app.

To hell with media.

Why did he feel the need to message you? Is he messing with you, right now?

But the questions don’t keep you from opening the text.

Nerves settle in.

3:55 pm - Daichi: Y/n!

3:55 pm - Daichi: I’m in town for a while and I really want to see your face.

3:56 pm - Daichi: Only if you want to though… I know it’s been a long time.

How is it possible that your hands are already shaking? It’s just Daichi.

Just Daichi.

What the actual hell, Daichi.

3:58 pm - Y/n: Heya! I’d love to, but I have so many questions???

You have more than just questions.

4:00 pm - Daichi: I’ve got answers. So is that a yes? Bc if it’s a no, that’d be super awkward…

4:00 pm - Daichi: ...given that I’m 5 minutes from your university right now. Could I pick you up?

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL HELL, DAICHI.

4:01 pm - y/n: Well damn, ok. Looks like I don’t have any excuses. Come n get me :)

You do your best to sound smooth, sending him the corner to pick you up on, but you still looked and felt like a total wreck. Your makeup was messy, mascara staining the underneath of your eyes. Luckily, you had baby wipes and could clean up a little, but you were still left with a slightly puffy, red-tinted face.

The blush that appeared after receiving his text messages didn’t help either.

If you were being honest, you felt completely hysterical. You had finally given up all hope, tossing your dreams of being with him out the window.

And here he was, casually asking you to hangout as if you two hadn’t ever lost contact. As if you hadn’t been bawling your eyes out over him for the past several months. Real cute, y/n, you laugh, thinking to yourself.

You do your best to fix your face up with your phone camera and a little extra concealer, but if Daichi is anything like he was in high school, he’ll see through it almost instantly.

You spot his car, pulling up into a spot on the side of the road. He’s scanning for you.

Your breath hitches at the sight of him, heart skipping a beat.

He’s even prettier in person. Photos couldn’t capture something that strong and handsome. His features were still kind, but his expression showed how much he’d grown. The turn of his head, showcasing his jawline. Sharper, older. Your heart is pounding and you feel the anxiety settle in.

But as soon as he captures your eyes, you both grow soft.

You could tell from the way he was looking at you, he’d been longing for you too.

He hops out of his car, focused solely on you, and starts walking. Your pace matches his but it quickly increases. The hunger you’d felt for his embrace drives you both to move faster. He felt it too. It was magnetic. Almost like you’d been waiting your whole life for this reunion.

You practically throw yourself into his firm chest, his sturdy arms circling around your torso, the rate of your collision shaking his balance. But he managed, steadying himself one footstep at a time. One of his hands makes its way up to your neck and tangles itself into your hair, grasping locks and running his fingers through it. It was as though your bodies were making up for the lack of touch and all of your unspoken words, closing any spaces between you and affirming the reality of each other’s presence.

You notice him tucking your head into his chest... just how he used to.

It’s as though nothing had changed. Like you had both been talking and touching and breathing the same air for the past year when in truth, your relationship had mimicked radio silence.

It stays silent, your bodies choosing to take one another in. He smelled of coffee and cedar, with a dash of maple. He’d always carried a sweeter scent. It never failed to make you melt into him.

Daichi’s face is buried within your hair and he can’t help but breathe in the familiar fragrance of your conditioner. A huge swell of nostalgia passes over him like a crashing wave, causing him to pull you even closer.

The very feelings you had been protecting yourself from were overloading your senses.

So you break off the hug, opting to grasp his hands instead.

His gaze is so understanding. So full of raw emotion. It’s apologetic.

“Daichi I-”

“I’m so sorry, y/n.”

There’s a pause. You give him a wobbly smile, nodding gently to let him speak first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s silenced as raindrop lands directly on your nose. You giggle, wiping it off with your hand, then placing said hand back into his.

“How ‘bout we go sit in the car?” He suggests as the rain begins to drizzle.

You follow him wordlessly, taking him by the arm, quickly crossing the road.

You’re snug in his passenger seat, one foot tucked under your other leg, torso facing him directly. Daichi takes a moment to look you over. You flush under his intent gaze. That’s when he notices your reddened eyes.

“You’ve been crying.” He states directly, hand making it’s way to your chin, lifting it while examining your face.

“A-ah yeah. You’re as observant as ever, Daichi, I’ll give you that.” You smile slightly.

“Why? What… or who did that to you?” He asks, concern lacing his voice.

You look away, head tilting out toward the grey-lit street.

Should you be honest?

That he was the reason for your tears?

You want to trust him.

To believe his words at face value.

You wanted to bare your soul, letting him absorb every moment of the last year of your life. To cry out to him and explain that you wanted him so deeply that you betrayed your own feelings for him.

But look where it got you last time.

Your ex took the most precious pieces of you and stomped all over it. He had used you. Your stories. Your secrets.

You were different from the girl that Daichi used to know.

He couldn’t love that, he couldn’t possibly-

“Y/n, I mean it. You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll just listen.”

And with that, you muster up your last ounce of courage, putting full trust in him.

It comes out in a soft mumble.

“...I still love you, Daichi.”

His eyes widen, lips parting.

“I-” You begin to choke on your own words.

The emotion of everything, from your breakup to seeing your ex with another girl, to the sad eyes in front of you. It all begins to spill out. It’s not a sob. More like a release.

“I tried to like someone else. I tried so, so hard, Daichi.” Tears drip down your face, catching on the hand still holding your cheek.

You do your best to speak slowly and coherently, but you can’t seem to prevent the stutters that emerge from embarrassment and months of pent-up shame.

“It didn’t work. I- he didn’t love me.” You pause, considering if you should share the next details.

You inhale deeply, remembering his words.

I can tell him anything.

“There were other girls and-”

Daichi’s eyes darken, realizing what you meant.

“He- he didn’t,” hiccups break up the sentences you’re already struggling to form, “I just wasn’t good enough, Daichi.” You meet his eyes, “Not for you. Not even for him.”

He rubs a thumb over your face, somber and troubled.

A wave of guilt washing over his face, his own eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Daichi wasn’t there for you. He knows it.

He had left you high and dry, letting himself get washed up within his own pain, not considering how badly it would affect you. You both cut off communication to make things easier, assuming it would help you both to move on, but it had only made things worse.

Now he’s watching it all unfurl…

You’ve been mistreated and he wasn’t there to protect you. To save you. To hold you tightly within his arms.

But he wants to help pick up the pieces.

He wants to dry those tears, one by one.

He’s ready to make up for the lost time.

It’s time to prove that he’s ready for you now if you’ll have him.

So Daichi removes his hand from your face and grabs your hand, staring at it for a moment. He brushes his calloused fingers over your knuckles.

“Y/n, I never stopped loving you.” He half whispers.

He’s tracing the lines and divots in your palm now, but his eyes are on yours now.

“I couldn’t handle not seeing you… 12 hours is a lot.” He acknowledges.

“But it should never have stopped me from being with you. That was my mistake. It had nothing to do with you not being good enough.”

“Y/n, please, God please, promise me you’ll never say that again.” He begs.

Ah, that.

You couldn’t remember if that had slipped out, but it, in fact, had.

This lie you’ve been telling yourself seems a real as the gentle drumming of raindrops on the roof of the car. Your ex had affirmed it. The breakup sealed it.

And now you’re being told to let it go? To just believe you’re enough? Worthy of love?

If only it were that easy.

“I know you don’t believe me right now… you have every right not to. But I want you to learn to trust me again.”

He continues, “You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t leave you.”

Heavy.

The words were so heavy on your heart.

“...Okay.” Your voice cracks, another few tears slipping out.

“I- I’ll try.” You look away, pain creasing your brows.

He drops your hand on your lap and reaches toward your face, cupping it.

“I mean it, y/n. I won’t leave you.” His tone is scarily serious.

His lips brush against yours, asking permission. You lean forward, gently pressing your lips into his.

It takes a moment to adjust, but you meld together smoothly. It was always supposed to be this way. His warmth is sobering.

It’s tear-soaked and somber, but oh so real.

Noses brush. He runs a hand through your hair, tucking loose strands behind your ear, running a thumb down your neck. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss while leaning into his hand. Lips parted, rhythm slow and comforting.

No part of it is rushed. This moment wasn’t for anyone except for you.

Kiss after kiss, you’re being seen. Listened to. Re-opened.

And it may take tens of thousands of kisses. You’ll probably cry into his chest more times than you can count. You’ll have to fight like hell to escape the lie of “never being good enough.”

But Daichi will be there. Because he came back to you.

And he’ll keep coming back until he doesn’t have to anymore... because by then, he’ll hope to have you by his side forever.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @kaidasen, @starfissure

#haikyuu #daichi x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi imagine #daichi scenario #hq #hq scenarios #hq imagines #hq headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #karasuno #haikyuu captains #daichi x you #daichi sawamura x reader #sneezefiction

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jaalismyhusband · 4 years

Text

Roommates (part 2)

Title: Roommates

Pairings: Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: male masturbation, dark!bucky

Wordcount: 1.2k

Catch up: Part 1

Masterlist

Part 2

“Alright, I think I’m going to head home,” Y/N spoke, trying to stand up, but quickly sitting down again. Sudden movements caused dizziness and a rush of nausea.

“Woah, I can’t let you go alone. It’s not safe.”

She tried to tell him that she’s ok, but Jason was having none of it, as her body betrayed her, swaying a little bit on her wobbly feet.

“It’s not safe. Come on.” Jason grabbed her by the arm and made their way out of the bar. Y/N was glad that he was decent enough to get her home safely. Maybe it was too soon, but she felt good around him. He was funny, definitely handsome and made her feel wanted, by the way he looked at her. He was nothing like Bucky, but she challenged herself not to compare the two men. If she truly wanted to bury her feelings for Bucky, maybe Jason had the means to help her. God, she just wanted to forget about her perfect roommate.

“What are you thinking about?” Jason asked out of the blue. They were nearing the Stark Tower, where she and other Avengers resided. It was rather late. Cold night left Y/N shivering. When Jason noticed, he immediately lent her his jacket. He was doing and saying all the right things so far.

“Nothing, just can’t wait to get a good amount of sleep.” She answered as they stood before the front door.

“You’re leaving me that easily?” Jason faked a hurt expression, making Y/N laugh. She thanked him for the lovely evening and gave him his jacket back. They exchanged numbers and said their farewells. Y/N felt happy. She was done chasing someone, who didn’t reciprocate feelings back.

Still smiling, she took the elevator up to her and Bucky’s floor. Tip-toeing, she made her way through empty halls, trying not to wake him, as she returned from her night out. The walk home helped her to sober up a little, with cold air rushing to her nose. Nevertheless, the effects of alcohol lingered.

“Had fun?” A cold tone of Bucky’s voice made her gasp. She stopped in her tracks and looked at him, sprawled out on the sofa, changing the channels mindlessly. Deciding to join him, she sat next to him.

“Yeah, I needed to clear my head.” Bucky’s gaze was transfixed on the screen. Y/N couldn’t help herself and admire his side profile. The way he clenched his jaw had her pressing her thighs together. He moved his focus from the screen, catching Y/N staring. Avoiding his knowing gaze, she broke the eye contact.

“Were you safe?” he said in a much softer tone now.

“Yes! You don’t have to worry so much. I actually met this guy and we talked the whole time. He even walked me home.” Ouch, Bucky wasn’t pleased with the pain forming in his chest after her statement. He scolded himself internally for being unreasonably jealous. Y/N was a single woman and he had his chance. But he didn’t take it and now he needs to deal with the consequences.

“I’m happy for you.” Bucky tried to give a genuine smile, although Y/N noticed, that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Right,” she sighed. “I’m going to bed. See you later?”

“Sure.” Bucky mumbled, as his focus was back on the TV. He looked over his shoulder for the last time, to make sure he was alone. Exhaling the held in air, he leaned forward, pulling on his hair. He wasn’t expecting the uneasy feeling crawling on the surface. Not in a mood for sleep, Bucky decided to get out of the house. Knowing that she was in her bedroom just a few doors apart from him made the air thick, almost suffocating.

Over the next weeks, Y/N was hanging out with Jason more and more often. Nevertheless, she missed Bucky. They grew distant after their midnight talk.

“Hey, want to watch a movie later?” Y/N asked full of hope. It’s been a while since they got to hang out alone. With her new relationship, she didn’t have much free time left for Bucky. To be fair, he didn’t make it easy for her either, constantly telling her off.

“Nah, I have work to do.” Their conversations repeated in a similar fashion. One came up with an idea and the other turned it down, for whatever reason. He always had a mission to accomplish and she had already made plans with Jason. The never-ending story. They didn’t even talk to each other like they used to.

Bucky missed her terribly. He missed her laugh, her face, her scent. He was alone again, with her on a date with Jason. Bucky despised him. He didn’t know him personally, but the fact that another man worked up the courage to take Y/N out embarrassed him. Although, the worst part was, that the offer was accepted.

He punished himself with thoughts of Y/N. If only he had said something. She would have been in his arms right now. And he would show her precisely, how much she meant to him. He knew he would treat her better. She was driving him insane with her skimpy outfits around the house and all the little innocent touches. The way she gasped his name, when he startled her. She must have known what she was doing to him, bending over every surface in front of him. The images of her rounded ass filled his mind.

Shaking his head, he stood from the couch and made his way to the bathroom to take a cold shower. On his way, he noticed the door to her bedroom was left open, inviting him in. Bucky cautiously pushed the door to reveal her bedroom fully. He has been here before, obviously familiar with the space and yet, something felt different. He wasn’t supposed to be here this time. Y/N didn’t let him in. He was invading her privacy.

Thoughts in his mind were quickly fogged up, as he stepped forward, inhaling her scent. He made his way around her room, remembering it like it was the first time. Fingertips tracing the discarded clothes on her chair, he picked up her half-folded hoodie. Burying his face in it, he straightened it out, noticing more of the clothing falling off on the carpeted floor. Putting the hoodie back, he bent to pick up some socks, t-shirt, jeans and black lacy underwear.

The undergarments piqued his interest, the other clothes long forgotten as he sat on her bed with the skimpy piece of fabric in his hands. Examining the bra and the panties, he felt his jeans tighten around his groin. He was already half-hard from thinking about her. Discovering the lacy underwear had him sporting a full hard-on.

He started palming himself through the dense fabric and soon it wasn’t enough. Pulling his twitching cock out of his pants, he spat on his right hand. Imagining it was her mouth wrapping around his leaking tip, he sniffed on her panties. Letting out low growls, he sped up his pace. A wicked idea came up to him. He wrapped the lacy panties around his right palm and brought it back to his throbbing cock. What he was doing was wrong, but felt oh, so good. He felt he was close, as his cock started twitching in his dressed-up hand more often. Bulging veins were rubbing on lace and soon enough he finished, shooting white ribbons of cum all over him. Cleaning himself with her lace panties, he smeared his cum, working it into the fabric to hide the evidence of his little adventure. What he did was sick, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. From now on, Bucky masturbated in her room regularly.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #fanfiction

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haxorus-imp · 3 years

Text

Dreamer Biology - Newton and Reader short fic

Just a short fic on how I feel like Newton and a Human would be friends. So they chill and have meaningful conversations together while they hang out. Just some ideas I drew up and like the thoughts of. Platonic Newton and Reader - Gender neutral Reader - Alien Concepts No thoughts, just Single Braincell Shenanigans. AO3 link for those that would rather read it there > https://archiveofourown.org/works/28950645

You were currently dozing peacefully on a plateau that was near the top of Needlepoint Peaks in Bunkum. Which was the perfect place for a midday snooze. The air at the top was crisp and fresh. Which sent a pleasant feeling that rang throughout the entirety of your organic lungs.

Your skin shivered at the brisk wind as it brushed on by. Carrying the cardboard clouds that hovered nearby away in a random direction. Despite the slight chill, you were completely relaxed and you stretched your arms slightly to loosen the remaining tension from your hike up the mountain. Then, your ears perked up a bit when you heard a hushed curse come from nearby. Ah, that’s right. You almost completely forgot about your companion that decided to accompany you on your trek up the mountainside.

You slowly crack open your eyes and look over. A few meters away from your dormant form sat your only friend in the whole ‘imagisphere’, Newton Pud. Who was fiddling with some equipment just a few feet away from your lazy form. He seemed to be concentrating as he worked on the random project in his lap, getting slightly frustrated at something that wasn’t cooperating with the fixture.

Surrounding himself was a picnic blanket, a basket full of goodies (that you couldn’t ingest sadly), a pile of mechanical pieces,a notebook and pen, a laid out blueprint, and some bottles of some foreign lubricant.

You simply watch as he would look over to your ‘sleeping’ form a few times before getting back to his project, despite the frustration. It made your mind wander a bit. It was rather strange how you two became friends. A human and a lightbulb object-head. Not that you could complain. You were probably really lucky to make any friends out here in the imagisphere. It wasn’t like the natives were hostile to you or anything. It was just because you were a rather strange case. Nobody around here on ‘Bunkum’, nor on the neighboring nearby planet called ‘Craftworld’, have ever seen your kind before. Not that you couldn’t blame them for being a bit cautious. There was rarely anything around here that resembled ‘organic’ materials. It was a dimension filled with fabrics and crafts that were made to mimic the real thing. Nothing here seemed to be made of flesh. Which is what you were made of. Flesh, blood, and bones.

Which was strange in this universe.

You don’t even remember how you arrived here nor why you’re here. But once you were found by the little brave Sackthing, you found yourself meeting ‘The Alliance’ and going on a trip in a little rocket ship. As of right now, you were under the care of the members of that Alliance. Until your culture shock, amnesia, and living predicaments were addressed. So, Larry has been coming to and from Bunkum while attending the popit academy.

With an invitation, you were allowed to travel with Larry and visit Bunkum. That’s when you met Newton and he gave you a grand tour of his homeworld while Larry was teaching his lessons. After that day, you two have been hanging out regularly and seemed to have developed some form of bond. I guess two oddballs being friends wouldn’t be that far fetched, now would it? It was fun hanging out with him though. So you couldn’t really complain. “Erm...pardon me, Chum.” Newton’s voice broke the silence between you two as you sat up slightly, humming in acknowledgement and turning your gaze towards him. He was sitting a little bit away, now facing you fully. The contraption in his lap looking no closer to completion as his electric eyes stare at your own. “Yeah, Newton?” “Um...well. I know this is, uh, rather sudden. But, I have waited a while to question you on this particular topic.” Newton begins as you listen in.

“I can tell from the moment we met, you’re not from around here. Like...you’re not from either Craftworld nor Bunkum. Not even from that odd place, Carnivalia. So, I have gotten rather curious about where you came from.” Newton questions. You think for a second as memories of your true home flash in your head. You shrug.

“I honestly don’t know how I got here, but I’m from a place called Earth. It’s like this world and dimension...just...organic? ‘Real’? Like...stuff is made out of...it’s kinda hard to explain it…” You mutter. Your explanation was met with silence. Newton seemed almost completely confused as he appeared to be thinking deeply before replying. “Uh, chum? Not to doubt your explanation...but ‘Earth’? Isn’t that the ‘Orb of Dreamers’ from mythology? Like...from what I can remember, the legends said that beings from a place called ‘Earth’ is what created the imagisphere long, long ago. Like...we’re talking ancient history here...” You get a bit upset and sit upright to look at Newton fully. “Oh, come on! Newton, look at me! How can I be lying? I mean, nobody around here has ever seen a human before! Do I look like anything ‘natural’ that’s been made around here?” You gesture to yourself as Newton does a quick skim of your figure before locking your eyes together again. “Er...well...now that you say it like that...no? I apologize. I wasn’t saying that you were a liar. I was just...caught off guard a bit by that explanation.” Silence hangs in the air for a moment while he looks a bit bewildered before speaking up once more.

“So…’Earth’. The ‘Orb of Dreamers’. It’s real then? A real place? Not a myth like the mythology legends say it is?” Newton wonders, his eyes sparking a bit.

You roll your eyes comically at his question. “I don’t know, Newton. Am I real? Am I just a hallucination?” You joke. Newton blinks a bit before he looks away timidly. He closes his eyes for a moment, then he presses a finger to his non-existent chin. After a moment of thought, he seems to be ready to ask another question. He opens his eyes and glances back towards your general direction. “What’s it like? The orb of dreamers, I mean.” He asks.

You ponder the question for a moment.

“Well...like I said before...like this place. But, everything is MUCH bigger. Like...I would probably match this mountain in height...or I would be able to pick up a large tin of crackers with extreme ease. I’m scaled down, but everything seems to be accurate to the size of Earth. As for what makes up Earth...it’s just...different? Like...hmmmm...” You were at a complete loss on how to describe your home world to someone who knew only fabric and material. Then, you got an idea while you ran your fingers through your hair. You hold your arm out to your lightbulb companion and he flinched a bit before looking at you curiously. You wiggle your arm for emphasis. “Touch my arm. Tell me what you think.” You gesture again, still holding it out. Newton gives you a questioning glance, but eventually places down the tools he was holding before reaching out with both hands. His fabric appendages touch down on your hand before they grip your palm and fingers. His gaze focuses intensely as he runs his hands up your wrist, forearm, and elbow. His white cloth fingers press in on the flesh. Feeling the hard bones underneath as he curiously prods the alien material that made up your form. He even took to bending the limb. Turning it one way, then the other. Watching the muscles and angles change to provide movement for the direction he chose. He seemed completely fascinated. You almost wanted to laugh as his expression looked similar to that of child wonderment. Like he discovered something for the first time, guaranteed that this was the first time you let anyone else other than Eve touch your flesh.

He slides his hands down your arms and back to your hand, which he begins to mess with the fingers. That is, until he pushed one a bit far and it let out a distinct ‘pop’. He quickly lets go before a flood of apologies suddenly spill from his wiry mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m so so so sorry! I didn’t know--oh crumbs! What if I broke it?!?” Newton nearly panics before you shush him. “I’m okay, man! That’s normal...for the most part. Our body parts pop like that to release tension and strain. Keep in mind that we CAN break them, but a mere pop is nothing to be worried about. Observe.” You say. Then, you promptly lace your two hands together and push them outwards.

Resulting in a large series of pops from your fingers and shoulders. Newton’s face violently glitches suddenly at the sound and it quickly morphs into a face of horror. You smirk at his reaction and then begin to turn your back while sitting in place. This resulted in more and louder pops that make Newton recoil in disgust. “AUGH! How does that NOT hurt you?! It sounds so PAINFUL!” Newton yowls. You just laugh a bit and shrug. “Humans are weird like that, Newton.” You say, a smirk still present on your face as Newton tries to shake off the discomfort of the sounds he just witnessed. “You should’ve seen how the others reacted to my bones popping. Larry thought I snapped myself in half and Eve wanted to give me medical attention. So it’s not the first time someone reacted that way.” “Wait...THOSE ARE BONES?!! WHY WOULD HUMANS DO THAT TO THEIR BONES?!!” Newton shrieked as you burst out into another fit of laughter. You struggled to gain your breath as Newton looks at you in a horrified manner. “T-To...hah, release tension! It’s really quite relaxing!” “Balderdash!!” Newton retorts. You snicker a bit as you finally are able to catch your breath. Your laughter and shenanigans echoing through the mountain ranges as Newton quickly shakes his head around a bit, as if trying to dislodge the sound of your bones popping from his memory. A second of bliss passes. “So...you’re naturally warm all of the time?” Newton speaks up again, fiddling with the machine in his lap as he looks at you from time to time from underneath his egg-timer bowler hat. “Well...yeah. Don’t see how you lack body heat, since you’re a lightbulb and all. But, I guess we humans feel like we have little furnaces inside of us that are lit all the time.” “Oh. It’s not like we don’t have body heat. But, we just...don’t feel like you do? It’s kinda strange. You feel like something is constantly warming you up from the inside. Plus, we don’t freeze like you do. We can get ‘cold’ but not enough to actually freeze.” Newton says. You nod in understanding. A brief memory of you nearly freezing in the Ziggurat while touring Bunkum flashes in your mind. Newton then continues. “And your… ’skin’ ...it feels different too. It’s very soft and similar to leather. But, like...there’s really REALLY fine threats that go through it? No stitching or pattern lines...it just looks like everything on you was burned into the covering.” Newton rambles as you listen in. Was having flesh really that strange? “And...I was wondering...what about that stuff on your head? Is it yarn...or a fine string?” Newton ponders out loud, pointing to your hair. “That? Well...I guess silk or ‘fine string’ would be a way to describe it. It grows out of my head naturally. Every week or so, they get longer and longer.” You explain. Newton seemed intrigued by this information. “Wait...you PRODUCE things from your body? Like...constantly??” “Well, yeah. Same with my fingernails. They grow constantly and I have to cut them every now and then.” You show Newton your hand as an example. Newton looks at the ends of your fingers and takes notice of the nails on the end, as well as the creases of your palms and skin lines on your bendable bits.

“What about your eyes?” He asks, letting go of your hand and pointing to your face.

“My eyes? Well...they are a complicated organ. Unlike sackfolk and such, I can’t just change my eyes willy-nilly. These are the same eyes I got from birth. If I’m careful, I’ll have them for the rest of my life.” “If you’re careful?” “Yeah. A human can lose parts of their body and they can’t grow back. Some things can be replaced or substituted. Like a leg or arm, but eyes grant me the ability to see. If I lose them in an accident or fight, I can become blind.” You elaborate. “Ah. I understand...anything else…?” Newton mutters a bit, as if he was thinking of anything else to say. “I also noticed that the locals around here have a tongue made of fabric. I just wanted to say that I have one too.” Without even being asked, you stick out your tongue and wiggle it for emphasis. Newton gives it a disturbed look as he leans back a bit. “What is...what is that bloody thing made of?? It looks so wet and slimy!” You return your tongue back into your mouth before you speak. “Flesh. It’s a muscle that allows me to enunciate and properly pronounce my words. Without it, I would have trouble speaking and communicating vocally.” You idly speak. Newton’s mouth makes a waving motion as a sound of uncertainty emits from him. Then, a minute or two passes once again before Newton seems to take an interest in something else and sets his project aside in favor of the notepad that he was writing on. He flips a few pages before stopping on a blank sheet. Picking up his pen, he begins to write some things down. The sound of his pen was frantic as he seemed to be thinking while he wrote. You could catch some quick sketches of a humanoid-figure being drawn up in his notebook before a few boxes were sketched nearby with lines going towards certain parts of the sketch. Then, you realized what he was doing. He was taking notes of your conversation. How cute. You smile a bit as you look off into the distance. The mountains around you both were slowly turning a pale orange while the sun was beginning to sink towards the mountain-embraced horizon. The cardboard clouds slowly creeped along, turning some various shades of purple and pink while they drifted. The sky was slowly changing as well, giving the scenery around you both a feeling of tranquility as the evening was slowly creeping towards nightfall. You could even see a few ‘stars’ beginning to appear as the night slowly was coming around. It was easy to get lost in the scenery before you. “So. You’re a dreamer then?” You are suddenly pulled back to this reality as Newton interrupts the blissful silence. You look back toward him and give him a confused look. “A dreamer?” “Yes, chum. You came from the ‘Orb of Dreamers’, right? So that would make you a dreamer.” “When did you come up with that assumption?” “I didn’t. That’s what the mythology books I read sometimes say. I quote, ‘Earth, or as the Omniverse calls it, the ‘Orb of Dreamers’. In which the occupants spend so much time asleep and dreaming. Their imaginations humming away, charged with creative energy.’ end quote.” Newton explained. “The book also said, like before, that ‘Earth’ is responsible for the creation of the entire imagisphere. Again I quote, ‘Their energy travels up through the ceribrumbilical cord to meld with all of the other dreamers energy. And from that energy, they make a planet. An abstract plane of wonderment. Filled with adventure and endless possibilities.’ , end quote.” He continued. You sit there in contemplative silence. “That’s what you are...right? A dreamer?” Newton cautiously prods. “. . .” You sigh a bit. “It explains a lot actually.” You say, confusing Newton. “Explains what?” “What happens when I fall asleep.” You explain before continuing. “Everytime I fall asleep, something happens. Like...things pop into existence. I woke up once after dozing off in Clive’s factory to find some new robots standing next to me. Clive claimed he didn’t build them and I said I didn’t either. Then, I went to sleep in the Gardens and a flowerbed had grown up around me so quickly while I was dozing. It’s just...weird stuff happens when I take a nap or sleep.” You admit. Newton seemed to blink before getting a bit excited. “Does that make you a creator then??” He says ethustiactally. “Crumbs! That means you can make anything real! You’re like a creator or a maker or--” “Shush, Newton!” You hush him harshly, in which you feel immediately bad after he recoils.

You simply let out a stressful sigh before continuing.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you...it’s just...well--I don’t really know what’s going on...nor even how I got here. I really don’t want a lot of excess attention on me. So for now, I’m (Name) the Human not (Name) the Dreamer, okay? Please, let’s just keep this revelation between the two of us.” you finish. Newton looked thoughtful before nodding in agreement. “Okay, chum! You can count on me! Not one word will slip past my wire, not one!” He pridefully states before writing more information down in his personal notebook. You merely roll your eyes at the overly excited lightbulb before looking back at the sunset.

Then, a sudden thought comes to your mind. “Hey, Newton?” “Yes, chum?” “When we get back to Stitchem Manor, do you think you can lend me one of those ‘mythology’ books? I would like to see what this realm thinks of my homeworld.” Newton perks up at that request. “Sure thing! There’s a couple of books in my personal library I can lend to you! I may even search for more information on the topic if you want!” He offers. “Just a book will be fine for now, Newton. Thanks for the offer, though.” “Anytime, my chummy friend!” You stare at the horizon as Newton scribbles down notes nearby. A smile slowly creeping across your face at the potential possibility of being able to find your way home. Looking into myths and legends may be a stretch, but a lead is a lead.

So you just enjoy your time on the mountain. Thinking about the things Newton told you and the secret you both are now keeping between yourselves.

Who knew being a human would lead to such a conundrum such as this. And all over your biology too, who would’ve thunk?

#little big planet #LBP #LBP3 #Newton Pud #reader insert #LBP fanfic #Just some ideas I have about humans in the imagisphere #reader is gender neutral #Reader is a human

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

The Magic Touch - hyung line

Pairing: hyung line member x reader

Wordcount: 1.2-1.8k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello there everyone! I was very conflicted about posting, especially since I realised some of you might be focusing your energies on the BLM movement -- at the same time I thought that, as a writer, one of my priorities is to offer a momentary getaway from real life, especially since many countries are still affected by quarantine and lockdown, and many of us might need to get away from all the stress in the meantime.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m pretty busy with exams and studying but I really wanted to post it (even though I don’t know when I’ll be able to finish the maknae line, Jimin’s scenario is giving me a rough time). I really, really want to post because last week, on May 28th, we celebrated International Masturbation Day! So, as you can see, the theme is masturbation.

I think that the general message here is that you don’t have to be single to masturbate, and that masturbation and couple life are not mutually exclusive.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There is swearing. Also, well THIS IS QUITE DESCRIPTIVE (sometimes even too descriptive for my own good), pretty much any kind of masturbation, mostly mutual, but also individual, of course this thing is filled with exhibitionism and voyeurism, these guys are not shy about porn and some of the girlfriends aren’t either (ahem), unprotected foreplay and spit play, mentions of unprotected sex (GUYS, PLAY IT SAFE, CONDOMS, DENTAL DAMS, GET TESTED REGULARLY!!!!), sensory deprivation, blindfold (again, guess who’s the freakiest of them all ? ;)))))))) mentions of sextapes. Jin’s scenario might contain some angst, based on the little gap I imagine between Jin’s fictional gf and him; Hobi’s scenery also contains slight angst but waterfalls of fluff too; Joon’s a daddy, fucking fight me; Yoongi and his gf could talk abt sex for hours and they would be absolutely fine with it (talk your kinks out with your s/o, sex gets 100 times more intimate and fun!!!!!)

Here you can find the maknae line

And here you can find my masterlist

Namjoon

“Hello there,” Namjoon said, standing against the door.

You turned, without even feeling guilty or shy. “Hello.” Your hand slowed down, the motion subsided to focus on the conversation with your boyfriend.

“Didn’t know you had started without me.”

“Wanna join?” With a smirk you patted on the bed beside you.

“What you watching?”

“Mh, just scrolling.”

“Yeah?”

He took off his jacket and shirt, his hands fumbling with his belt.

“Slow down, Joonie, we don’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.” You chuckled, your hand again picking up the rhythm.

You had come home early from the office and headed straight for the shower. Wrapped in a towel, you had realised you still had a bit more than an hour to yourself. You laid down and let the towel unwrap, stretching to reach your phone on the bedside table. It had been only twenty minutes when you heard the keys enter the lock at the front door, though he didn’t call for you. He hadn’t expected you home yet.

Still, you let your whimpers resound louder from the room, moaning his name, hoping he would hear you.

When Namjoon found you, you were laying against the headboard, one hand scrolling through random NSFW gifs, the other caressing your pubis, quite innocently, not to actually reach completion, but merely to arouse.

“Where do you want me?” He asked, climbing on the bed beside you, his boxers still on.

“Behind me, I wanna lay against you.” You sat up and moved your hips forward, letting him sit behind you, his head and back propped against the pillows, as you lay with your shoulders against his chest.

“Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“Don’t know. The usual?”

He kissed the tender skin behind your ear. “Want me to take over?” He was already reaching for your chest, gripping a breast with a heavy touch.

You thought about it for a second. Nodding, you moved the hand between your legs inch away, the tips of his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin under your belly button.

“What do we have here? Let me see, love.” He half-whispered with that deep voice of his.

In the meanwhile your hand reached for his thigh, your nails scraping against the soft, sensitive skin there. “It’s been a long week. I need to decompress.”

“You wanted some alone time? Want me to go?” He said, understanding filling his voice.

“I want you to take me there. Help me stop thinking.” You tapped on a gif, looking at the way a woman’s hips undulated against a man’s face.

“I’m here for you.” His lips venerated you. “You like that?” He meant the gif.

“You know I love your lips there.”

“The weekend’s long, let’s save that for later.” His palm started stroking your outer labia, your spine muscles relaxing against his chest.

Another gif, now of a woman performing oral on a man. “What about this?” You teased.

He moaned when you turned your arm behind your back, reaching for his manhood over the fabric. “Your mouth’s pretty. I like fucking it. Prefer your hands though.” You knew you would find loads of lovebites on your neck and shoulders later in the evening.

“You’re enormous, just one third of you fills my mouth. The problem’s the thickness.”

He chuckled. “Doll’s mouth. So tiny.”

You reached inside his underwear. “Oh, I like this one,” You said, looking at the screen, a man fucking a woman while standing, lifting her up and down against his length.

“I’ll have to hit the gym like JK to get that.”

“Bet his girlfriend gets a lot of that game — Wait, yes, there...” you replied, his hand circling your clit just right.

“Like this?” He questioned.

You nodded. “We’re lazier.” You said, continuing your previous conversation.

“We’re older. We like the mind games.” He commented. You giggled agreeingly. “Look at you. Half of the sex happens in your brain. No youngling could give you that.”

“You know what I like.” The hand on your breast moved to your nape, massaging your scalp and tense tendons. “That’s it...” You abandoned yourself against him.

“I wanna take off my boxers but I don’t wanna let go of you.” He kissed the tip of you ear.

“Take ‘em off.” You gave him space to manoeuvre out of them, licking your lips at the sight of his sex. You swallowed, your mouth salivating, your desire inhibiting your embarrassment.

“Not yet, come back here.”

You didn’t waste time easing back, your free hand naturally reaching for him.

“You taught me a lot with your naughty hands.” He commented as he again started touching you, now with more pressure. He let two fingers slip inside, your arousal making the insertion so easy you blushed.

“So wet. Bet your pretty pussy is clenching for me. Thinking about my cock.”

“Joon-“

With two of his fingers tweaking your nipple, other two pressing your g-spot, you started stimulating him with more pressure, adding a squeeze.

“____, yes, just like that.” He praised, calling out your name. His tip was blunt and soft, the texture like marshmallow. The heady smell of your arousal filled the room, his moans intensifying with the way you rolled your thumb against his frenulum.

“Open wide baby, wanna use both my hands on you.” You spread your legs further, obediently, the addition of his middle finger caressing your clit making you focus and suddenly turn very quiet, your breaths becoming more shallow and rare.

“Keep going like that, baby, don’t stop, I’m so close.” He moaned, licking your neck.

“Joonie— ”

“Let go, love.” As you took one last breath you felt your limbs catching fire and caving in, your whole body melting.

“Yes, babe.” Taking the hand on your clit away from you, he kept massaging your inner walls heavily and slowly, applying that pressure that you always needed to fully enjoy and ease out of your orgasm. With one hand joining yours, he helped you around his girth, squeezing the base as you fondled the head.

“There, yes— ” He moaned again, his hips now rutting against you, and finally with a groan you felt him spilling over, the orgasm catching him by surprise as he collapsed over your shoulder, “There. Love, fuck, yes.” The warmth of his cum hit your hand and your lower back, and you used the lubrication to caress him gently, slowly, accompanying him out of the high.

Your phone now discarded on the bed, you turned around, laying your front against his. “Joon, I love you.”

“Love you too, little vixen. My pretty doll.” He palmed your ass and kissed your lips calmly. “Wanna get cleaned up.”

“By now the sheets are messed up. Might as well finish the job.”

He smiled viciously then bit the inside of his cheek. “Then get on your knees, Princess.”

Seokjin

“I’m not sure I’m allowed to do this.” He said.

“Why not?”

“It’s- Private?”

“Don’t you like it?”

Jin loves you. Every little inch of you. Every nook and cradle. He loves the air around you, worships the ground you walk on. And of course the feeling is mutual. “Don’t ask dumb questions.”

“Maybe I just wanna hear you say it.”

“I love you. And I really like it. But are you truly okay with it?”

“I’m doing it because I love how you look at me.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like I have all the secrets in the universe.” He kissed your lips tenderly. He could barely hold himself together. He was scared to move. His eyes hesitant, he gave in and started getting caught up in the video again.

“That mole over there,” he whispered, eyes droopy as you kissed his face, your hand spurring him on. “It’s so yours. Unique.”

You took a deep breath.

“Why are we watching it on the screen when you could be doing that right in front of me?”

“Because I caught you jacking off to one of the videos I sent you while you were on tour. Now I wanna see what you do when I’m not around.”

“Why is your hand on me, though?” He said with a playful smirk.

“Because I can’t help wanting to touch you.” You replied matter of factly.

“Keep your hands to yourself and sit on the chair, please.” He suggested, exiling you to the comfy armchair in the near corner of the room and getting the bed all to himself. With one hand he kept the phone propped to a comfortable angle, the other, a bit shaking, timidly propped against his jutting hipbone. He let his fingers tentatively spider to his sex, laying against his lower belly, so hard and looking so delicious.

You watched how his hand wrapped around himself, how the thumb started teasing the head, without much pressure. From his breathy moans you could tell it wouldn’t be long until he come apart. Oh, how his eyes were glued to the screen… Normally you wouldn’t be this affected, he’s looked at you with those eyes from up close while you were making love, still seeing this from a distance, as a third party, really made you understand how much he loves you. And how much you love him too.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, his eyes still entranced. “I can’t believe I can have that whenever I want.”

“I’m yours.” You said in a small voice from your corner.

His hand got still for a second, his head turning towards you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied, your stare gently holding his. “I want to see you cum.”

He blinked slowly, his gaze again on the video, his hand massaging slowly from the base to the tip, squeezing, the soft of the palm on his hand stroking against his tip. His slightly high pitched groan was all you needed to tell that he’d be lasting less than seconds now. His face wrinkling, his legs flexing and his back arching, you marvelled at how his hips snapped up, his dick forcefully fucking his hand. You got truly surprised at how strong he could be, and how much he must have always restrained himself while fucking you. He was always careful about your well being, holding himself back not to hurt you.

“That’s my handsome, lovely man.” You commented from the chair, licking your lips as a thin string of his semen dangled from his palm and fell to his lower stomach. He had avoided making a mess, keeping himself in his palm.

You wanted a taste.

You climbed onto the bed, crawling between his legs.

“What are you doing?” He looked wary.

“I’m hungry.”

“Want me to cook?” He asked, getting ready to get up.

“No. I want to taste you.” His lips curled, his expression doubtful. Oral sex wasn’t among your most common activities. Sometimes he felt too shy for it, like it was too daring.

Sometimes you marveled at all the things he didn’t do because of nerves or because “it’s not really appropriate”.

As you saw the discomfort lingering on his face, you took a step back, hands retreating to your own comfort zone. You felt yourself shutting off.

There are differences between you and Jin, and you’ve always known it. He wouldn’t always explore with you. Considering how far you’ve gone together today, you really didn’t know why you felt so disappointed.

“What is it?” He asked, concern overcoming shyness.

“Does it bother you? That I’m so dirty?” You asked, avoiding his stare.

“No. I’m just afraid of hurting you. When you put your mouth on me I get nervous and I can barely concentrate on anything but the feel of you. Makes it very difficult not to snap. And when it happened you always ended up with a sore throat.” He used his clean hand to tip your chin towards him. “Maybe you don’t realise it, but you’re so cute and small and sometimes I just wished I could trap you beneath me and do you messy, but when I let go, I see you wince and I get back in control.”

“I might wince or choke or end up with a sore throat but I don’t care. All I care about is I was looking at you right now, wishing you did me like that, hard and fast. Every now and then.”

“You want it like that?” He asked with wonder.

“I just need you to get me ready, warm me up a little and be patient if I ask you to slow it down a notch.”

The hand on your chin caressed your face.

“Okay. And of course we can go gradually. See how far you can take it.” He kissed you temple and then your lips.

Naked and below him, his fingers started exploring your most intimate parts, toying with your delicate breasts, adoringly caressing your sides, reaching you hipbones and carefully tipping closer to the apex of your thighs.

There was nothing but adoration in his eyes as you gripped his strong shoulders as an anchor, his caresses teasing all the right places, stimulating all the right nerve endings, his fingers inside pressing the exact same spot of his digits outside you.

You went off in record time, much to his surprise, eyes blown wide and imploring as he gently accompanied you in your high. You loved his hands. But the thing you adored the most were his eyes, bathing in the vision of you, covering you in nothing but love.

Yoongi

You were both being lazy on the sofa, nothing to do on the rainy Sunday afternoon. You were almost ready to head to bed for a cozy winter nap when he tutted with his mouth a couple times, then pouted a little and turned to you.

"Do you wanna watch something?"

You turned on your side, looking at him from your side of the sofa. He was sitting at one end, a book in his lap, one hand innocently trapped between his thighs, close to his knees, as if to warm it up. You were on the other side, curled up under a blanket that covered you up to your nose, only your hand, your phone and your eyes coming out of the covers.

"Mh. What do you wanna watch?"

"I was thinking of trying something."

"Like?"

"Porn?"

You chuckled, thinking it was a joke. He was dead serious though. You stopped laughing and looked at him with fascination. "Okay."

"Good." He grabbed the TV-remote and quickly connected it.

"Do you usually watch it on the TV?"

"If I need to, I watch it on the laptop, but I used the TV while you were away."

You had been on a 10-day trip for a family party -- a cousin of yours was getting married and wanted you to be there as a bridesmaid, and Yoongi had preferred to stay at home, waiting for a better moment to be introduced to your family, not wanting to steal the attention from the bride and groom.

"Was it a satisfactory experience?"

He looked at you, questioning whether it was a test. "I guess…"

"What were you watching?" You asked curiously.

"I didn't watch it all, just some foreplay. I wasn't in the mood. But it was good, that's why I thought you could enjoy it too. The director's a woman and you can really tell it's female-supporting."

You smiled at that, your man being considerate in every single way. "That's very nice of you, Yoongi."

"I'm glad you wanna try this with me." He showed you the platform, the different titles and the one he had selected. Even the cover picture looked quite decent and classy.

He sat on the sofa again, this time closer to you. You also sat up, cuddling against him.

"Ready?" He asked. "We don't have to do this, you know."

"Yeah, but I want to." You took his hand and kissed his cheek.

He pressed play. It looked cute. A nice dinner at home, candles, flowers, slightly cliché but really cute, romantic. The chemistry between the actors was cute. They looked like they were dating.

"That looks very nice."

"Yeah, mundane. Average. I thought it was nice because it shows them in a relationship. It's like 'you know, you can do this stuff with your girlfriend, cause maybe that's the stuff she likes.'" He said, shrugging.

"That's cool."

They were kissing.

“Sometimes I forget not all couples talk it out.” He commented, still watching the video.

“I like it this way, being open about it. I think it makes us happier.”

Some clothes were now missing. She was wearing sexy lingerie, still something realistic. One of your triggers were the disgustingly cheap, poorly made and revealing clothes these actress usually wear. As if you need a short chequered skirt and no panties to be turned on. Usually all it took you was one of Yoongi’s enormous white T-shirts and very unsexy grandma cotton briefs to turn him on, often leading to him bending you over the closest flat surface or burying his tongue between your folds.

“What would you do if I were more vanilla?”

You thought about it, staring at the screen without really watching. “I don’t know. We could talk it out. Explore what you’re willing to try. Probably I’d masturbate more.” You quietly mulled over the idea.

“You wouldn’t leave me?”

“It’ll probably be a revelation to you but I’m not just here for the sex.”

He laughed, leaning against you.

“I think I’d leave you if I found myself wanting someone else, something more. If I found out that I’m really missing it rough. And also if you felt uncomfortable about the imbalance.”

“That’s good. Honest,” he replied, his tone neutral and reasonable.

“But you’re not all that vanilla.” You commented, looking at him from head to toe.

“Maybe I am.” He said, looking at the way the man picked the woman up and kissed her against the wall. With a furtive motion you delicately strokes you hand down your thigh, reaching for the spot where your knee connected with his. He parted his legs a little more, looking lazily at your leg for a second, then focusing again on the tv.

You were slightly bothered by the lack of attention he was paying you, most surely teasing you.

The couple had moved to the sofa, she was getting rid of the underwear, he was touching himself to the sight of her.

“Were you vanilla when you fucked me against the mirror in the walk in closet last Saturday?” You nudged your hand higher up his inner thigh.

“Pay attention to the movie, please.” He said with a snicker.

“I’m sure I’m not missing out on the plot.”

“How arrogant,” He commented. As a reply you pushed your palm against his clothed crotch.

“You say I’m arrogant?”

“We both know you act all bold but if I were to touch you now you wouldn’t last a minute.”

“Is it a challenge?” You asked, stroking him with more passion now.

“Wanna see how long’s gonna take me?” He taunted. “Off with those pants and open up wide, kitten.”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” He smiled at you with a cheeky grin.

A few minutes later you were both naked from the waist down, his pants rolled around his calves, his eyes on the screen, one of his hands comfy and snug against your sex, the other behind your shoulders playing with your chest and nipple.

“You eat me out way better than he’s doing with her.” You commented, both your hands busy around his shaft, every now and then caressing his testicles gently. You were a complicated tangle of arms and legs, your left one flung over his right, in order to gain more space for him to finger you, but also to keep him open.

“Because I love you.” He commented. “And because you taste like sugar.”

You moaned, warning him that you were reaching your limit. “Are you close?”

“If you keep doing that with my balls I might.”

Without even knowing how, you found yourself both spent, your head propped against the headrest of the sofa, cradled in his arm, his sensitive eyes hidden in the crook of your neck, mouthing at it in the calm that possessed him after an orgasm.

“We’re way better.” You replied.

“That’s why I usually watch our videos.” He deadpanned.

Hoseok

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“I think it’s a yes.”

“Great. Amazing.” He grabbed some lube and poured it over himself. “Is it good like this?”

“Perfect.”

“Want me to switch the light off?”

“No, the bedside lamp is good.” You answered sweetly.

“Do you want me to start?”

You paused and licked your lips. “I think I’m a bit nervous.”

“I don’t really understand why, but I think I’m a tad nervous too.”

You suddenly sat up, your mood set aflame. “Yeah, right, I mean, we’ve done way more kinky stuff than this. I don’t get why I’m so tense.”

“Maybe it’s because we usually don’t plan it like this. It comes natural.”

“I mean, some nights we do plan it out like a week ahead, so everything’s ready and we don’t risk any accident. But it’s just jerking off, in front of each other. I’ve touched myself in front of you so many times already. Fuck me, I actually squirted while you fingered me. Why am I so damn tense?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. No need to do this tonight.” He said, understandingly, not a sliver of disappointment in his voice.

“But look at you.” You frowned. All you wished was to reach out and touch him. “You look so hot.” He was hard, naked, beautiful in front of you.

“What do you want me to do?” He said, leaning over you, kissing you with devotion.

You needed to have control. His usually domineering attitude didn’t relax you tonight. You needed to hold the reins. That’s when the idea struck you: you rummaged in the drawer beside the bed, finding one of the first articles you’d bought as a couple. A silky black blindfold.

He looked at you. “I guess that’s not for you.” He smiled.

“Not tonight, no.”

You hoped he trusted you enough to let you watch him while he couldn’t see you. “Do you want to put it on me?”

“Sit against the headboard. You’ll be more comfortable.” His face got warm at your display of concern.

He settled as you suggested, pressing a frilly kiss against his smile, your hands slipping the blindfold around his head and over his eyes. “You ready?” You asked.

“Whenever, darling.”

“Can’t wait to see you like this, Hobi.” You were trembling with anticipation to see him this vulnerable.

In the meanwhile he had noticed how sensitive his senses grew when his vision was inhibited. He thought your breathing was already louder. Had you already started touching yourself? His memory helped him create an image. You kneeling, knees wide apart, your whole palm moving in circles against your lower belly, every motion inching closer to your intimate parts.

He grabbed the base of his shaft, the lube now warmer though a bit dry. He felt your weight dip the mattress on each side of his hips, then a warm liquid falling over his sex, from the tip to the base. “Is that you?”

“Thought you needed it wetter than that,” you said apprehensively.

“Thank you. Is it…”

“You love it when I use my saliva.”

“Good god.” The sudden image of you, eyes closed, mouth open and drool dripping down your tongue.

Then he heard your quiet moan. “Are you touching yourself already?”

“Two fingers inside me. I could probably insert a third. You’re so sexy. You’re making me so fucking wet I’m dripping, Hobi.”

“Let me feel it. Can I use it to stroke myself?”

You guided the hand on his cock between your legs, dragging against the inner side of your legs, where your thighs grew tender, and you let him feel how your wetness reached even there. Impatiently he cupped your cunt. “Sweetie, you’re so warm and sensitive. You must be so turned on. So fucking plump. And so, so wet.” He licked his lips and brought his hand to his mouth. “So sweet. If I entered you now I would be gone in seconds.” He chuckled. “So embarrassing.”

“It’d be lovely. You’d like it so much you wouldn’t even be able to help yourself. And we know you’re always ready for multiples,” you giggled. “It wouldn’t affect your overall perfect streak at all.”

“I love making you cum with my fingers.” In the meanwhile he was back to your thighs, using his full hand to tease you with some friction, then using your wetness on his dick, tugging himself slowly but with quite some pressure. “I love getting hard again while I finger you. You’re ten times tighter when I enter you again. And you always lose it. Really, it’s so easy to overstimulate you. It’s my favourite thing.” He emitted a grunt as he reached the tip and circled his all palm over the sensitive sponge tissue, the colour a bright red.

You thought of how easy it would be to make him cum now if you trapped his glans between your cheeks and tongue, rolling it against his frenulum. Your hips started undulating on their own against your fingers. Hoseok immediately heard the small whine you emitted. "I wanna know when you're close."

"I need to see you cum first."

He grew impatient and whiny. "Come on." The rhythm of his hand was now furious, his hips writhing like wild, vicious, the kind of pace that made your legs shake and you eyes roll shut when he moved inside you.

"Come on baby, if you cum I'll let you see me."

"Touch me, please. I need you," he cried, feverishly needy.

One of your hands cupped his balls, the other caressing his face, comforting him. "I'm here, baby."

His panic subsided but his frenzy kept spurring him, his brow creasing. You kissed his forehead, his mouth opening and a silent cry leaving his throat.

You were used to him being noisy and shameless, but this vulnerability and softness were rare and precious.

He came, his semen spilling on his hand and his abs, hot spurts coming out almost endlessly, causing in you both wonder and worry. With his hips slowing down, his essence started bubbling more discreetly on his tip, rolling down in pearly globes down his shaft and onto your hand.

"Are you okay, my love?" You instantly removed the blindfold, his eyes searching for your face.

"It was the most intense thing ever." He said, almost scared, finding peace in your arms.

You stretched to the t-shirt you had abandoned on the bed, drying the sweat on his face. "You are the most marvellous thing I have ever seen." You kissed him again in comfort and praise. "I've got you." You pondered over licking him clean or simply cleaning him with your cloth. Considering how sensitive he must be, you gently dabbed the fabric against his abdomen, then using it to clean your hand and, very with a very light touch, his soft sex.

"Did you…?"

"You were all I needed."

You didn't mind helping him get clean in the shower, your needs shut down by his own.

You didn't mind falling asleep beside him right after you finished taking care of him.

Most importantly, you didn't mind when he woke you up with his mouth on your nipple, pressing his hard on against your clit and finally helping you with your arousal. After all, for him once was never enough.

155 notes · View notes

megashadowdragon · 3 years

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It has been called many things- the unwalkable disease, gutta (drop), podagra, arthritis of the rich, and the disease of kings (which sounded suitably dramatic for a title).

But we more commonly call it gout.

Doran Martell suffers from an advanced stage of gout, perhaps even exaggerated, since he has had his movement restricted to such a degree that nearly all motion is difficult without severe pain. (I'm not a doctor so, I can't say for certain)

Gout as a Facet of Doran's Character

We know that Doran is in constant pain, that it prevents sleep, and he finds no hope in medical treatment curing his disease.

The prince turned his chair laboriously to face her. Though he was but two-and-fifty, Doran Martell seemed much older. His body was soft and shapeless beneath his linen robes, and his legs were hard to look upon. The gout had swollen and reddened his joints grotesquely; his left knee was an apple, his right a melon, and his toes had turned to dark red grapes, so ripe it seemed as though a touch would burst them. Even the weight of a coverlet could make him shudder, though he bore the pain without complaint.

For comparison here is a testimony from a patient with gout in a single leg:

"The patient goes to bed and sleeps quietly until about two in the morning when he is awakened by a pain which usually seizes the great toe, but sometimes the heel, the calf of the leg or the ankle. The pain resembles that of a dislocated bone ... and this is immediately succeeded by a chillness, shivering and a slight fever ... the pain ..., which is mild in the beginning ..., grows gradually more violent every hour ... so exquisitely painful as not to endure the weight of the clothes nor the shaking of the room from a person walking briskly therein."

That is what Doran endures each day, constantly. Even the weight of a sheet would make the man shudder.

It is no wonder to me that he loves watching the little children splash and laugh and play in the Water Gardens. I imagine each glance must be bittersweet- imaging a time when he could run and splash with the other children, or watching Oberyn and Elia do the same. Knowing that now, his mobility, his autonomy has been taken from him, just as his siblings have been taken, leaving him unable to move, and unable to act.

Doran must be quite aware of how the children view him, and he takes special care to put them at ease, even at his own increased pain.

Then nought would do but he must say farewell to several of the children who had become especial favorites... Doran kept a splendid Myrish blanket over his legs as he spoke with them, to spare the young ones the sight of his swollen, bandaged joints

That splendid Myrish blanket sounds heavy with adornment (or even fabric) knowing that even a light coverlet's pressure pained him before this must be agony. It is my opinion that this blanket is as much for Prince Doran as it is for the children. He invites many children to the Water Gardens, a virtual safe haven free from class differences, a near oasis, the Prince entertains them, and it seems he must speak with them and come to know many of them. So much so, that he must say good bye.

Prince Doran carefully guards his image, this is part of the reason they left Sunspear nearly two years ago- he was getting sicker and needed to retreat from the whispers that filled the Shadow City. In the Water Garden's he is better able to project strength and wellness- his people clearly are unaware of how far his gout has progressed.

That this performance also extends to the children speaks to some form of painful self awareness on Doran's part- he doesn't want to expose his legs and upset them. I think he also doesn't want to see the children's faces and face their questions if they saw his legs.

Mobility and Autonomy

Something as simple as walking, is a thing we often take for granted. Doran can't get up to pour a glass of water, he needs help sitting up each day, he cannot support his weight enough to stand. It's paralyzing, it shrinks your perspective down to minute motions where every move is weighed by how much pain it will cause.

I think we can see this same restriction in his political moves as well- a painful reflection of his limited physical autonomy.

Hotah slid his longaxe into its sling across his back and gathered the prince into his arms, tenderly so as not to jar his swollen joints. Even so, Doran Martell bit back a gasp of pain... Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome

The Prince of Dorne had to be carried from his seat, in the arms of his guard, up the steps of a tower to his bedroom. For a man in such a medieval martial society, that frames its conceptions of strength over acts of physical strength and war, which scorns physical disability, this must be a humiliating experience.

A Thimble of Poppy

It's after this day of bad news, of constant increasing pain, that we finally see a true crack in Doran Martell's armor. First the letter, which brought news of his brother's death, then his nieces repeated threats and calls for war (Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene), and humiliation from each we see him ask for a thimble of milk of the poppy. I'm not certain why, but these words (even after watching Maester Caelotte worry over possible poisoning) were very sad to read.

Doran has reached a wall, a point where he doesn't care anymore about keeping a clear head and frame of mind. He just wants relief, that constant spike in every joint, to be muted and fade to the background for a while.

Treatment

It seems that his gout has grown quite worse in the last few years:

Two years ago, when they had left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step

Although gout has been treated in our own history for more than 2,000 years, it does not appear that the more advanced medicine of westeros (compared to our medieval history) has developed even basic treatments.

Since the time of Hippocrates we have known that gout was linked to lifestyle, and since Galen we've known that there are genetic factors associated with its development. For both of these periods gout was treated with a flower called the Autumn crocus- a powerful purgative (colchicine) was derived from it.

Strangely, there doesn't appear to be much help for it in westeros.

Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?” The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?” “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?” “No. I need my wits about me

In my opinion, this implies that the treatment automatically given is milk of the poppy. A pain reliever which would impair Doran's judgement- and milk of the poppy seems to fit (barring a more specific remedy we haven't heard of).

We also have reference to:

the maester helped Doran Martell to bathe and bandaged up his swollen joints in linen wraps soaked with soothing lotions

Although, I don't expect Hotah to be knowledgeable about the exact methods the maester uses to treat Doran- Hotah is in the third best position to know how the Prince is being treated (after Maester Caelotte, and Doran himself).

Lifestyle

Doran does not appear to have been given treatment options regarding his lifestyle.

A serving man brought him a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste. He ate a bit of it, and drank a cup of the sweet, heavy strongwine that he loved. When it was empty, he filled it once again.

This is, perhaps, the worst dinner Doran could have eaten in regards to his gout. Yet, it also is terribly mundane (by which I mean- likely a meal consumed regularly and not an indulgence). It is a staple meal- flatbread, cheese, and hummus. Simple, and certainly not King's Landing fare. But it is loaded with sugar, salt, and alcohol. All things which make gout worse- much worse.

We have another example:

He had decided to break his fast before he went, with a blood orange and a plate of gull’s eggs diced with bits of ham and fiery peppers

This is just as bad- sugar and meat- another food which exasperates his condition. One of the first lifestyle changes used as treatment was the elimination of alcohol, sweet foods from the diet.

It doesn't appear that Doran is remaining sick with gout to raise his popularity (as it was in our own history)

Gout (Everyone's Doing it These Days)

"The common cold is well named – but the gout seems instantly to raise the patient's social status", and to another in Punch in 1964, "In keeping with the spirit of more democratic times, gout is becoming less upper-class and is now open to all ... It is ridiculous that a man should be barred from enjoying gout because he went to the wrong school."

Nor does it appear that the gout is being used to ward off other more serious diseases (the gout seems extremely concerning)

In earlier times, attacks of gout were also seen as a prophylactic against more serious diseases. According to the writer Horace Walpole, gout "prevents other illnesses and prolongs life ... could I cure that gout, should not I have a fever, a palsy, or an apoplexy?"

My Takeaway:

I took a course on the intersection of disease, medicine, and history a while ago as a fun class- after reading this chapter again (Hotah I AFFC) I don't find him boring or lackluster anymore. If anything, Doran is incredibly human, and extremely relatable once you break him down.

He lives very much inside his own mind, I imagine wherever he is, Doran is always in the Water Garden's in his own head, seeing himself, Elia, and Oberyn shouting and splashing, as they were never able in childhood.

(Note: This is all said in the context of this one chapter, I haven't reread the next in the Dorne storyline yet.)

comments : I am not a medical student, so probably take my words with a grain of salt. Based on the source I listed below, it’s very universally known that sweets, alcohol, and meat (even sugar from fruit) exacerbate gout. The “drops” (Uric acid that builds into crystals in joints) is worsened by large amounts of sugar. (Like in the strongwine that Doran enjoys)Cherries do have sugar, not as much as other fruit, but I think they might have been referring to a combination of cherries and allopurinol which is used to reduce the amount of uric acid.Some older treatments of gout (that originated in the 19th c) basically attempted to purge the body of uric acid through urine. To my knowledge they use other methods today, but it must have been at least mildly effective (I remember reading about negative effects of such purgative treatment- so I’m not entirely sure).

#asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #doran martell #asoiaf meta

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tired-college-student-writing · 4 years

Text

The Painter’s Daughter Ch 4

Summary: Marinette is the daughter of two bakers

Marinette is a happy sometimes naive girl

Marinette is loved to create and make more than they liked to destroy

or was she?

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (HERE)

Chapter 5

_________________________________________

“You’re both coming with me,” Helen spoke the second Adrian reappeared from the bathroom, wrapped in Marinette’s oversized pink polka-dotted bathrobe. The blond looked surprised and suspicious.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Helen continued, “I’m not going to hurt you. I can’t in what little good conscience I have left let anyone become a creep if I can help it, let alone my daughter and her superhero partner.”

“Creep?” Adrian raised his brow at this, edging away slightly.

Helen just rolled his eyes and allowed his glamor to fall, leaving a teenage boy who could have been Marinette’s twin standing where the once lanky man had. He cracked a smile as the boy jumped.

“It’s short for Creepypasta,” He explained, “You’ve probably found our stories before, stories of Jeff the Killer, of Laughing Jack, of Smile Dog, of Slenderman, and thought we were just that, stories. The reality of the situation is Kwamis and Miraculous aren’t the only magic in the world, there’s a much darker side to the unexplainable out there. I and, by extension, Marinette are part of this world. ”

Adrian’s eyes were the size of dinner plates, but even so, a new emotion was flickering in his eye. Most of the time creeps see fear or anger in the eyes of those that discover them, but Adrian has been in such deep broken fear and hurt anger for too long. In his eyes, the father and daughter saw curiosity slowly trickle in.

Marinette smiled softly, “It’s okay Kitty, you’re still safe. Dad’s not going to hurt you.”

Helen snorted, “Even the stupidest creeps have a code. You’re the last person we’d want dead even if you didn’t have a tiny little god of destruction in your pocket. Especially since Marinette likes you so much.”

“Damn straight,” Plagg huffed, tail lashing as if daring the creature to do anything.

“My dad is what’s known as a Proxy,” Marinette explained, “A worker of sorts for a more powerful entity. In his case, he’s a proxy of the Operator, or as you most likely know him, Slenderman. I was conceived after he was made so I fall under the creeps domain as well even though I’m not a creep and will never be a creep unless I commit a murder worthy of my own creepypasta.”

“So all creepypastas are real, and you’re the daughter of,” Adrian’s eyes darted across Helen’s form landing on his pin and the mask attached to his belt, “The Bloody Painter?”

“Ha, you ARE a fan,” Helen snorted.

“And he wants us to come with him because why?”

Plagg winced, floating up to headbutt his user in the cheek, “Kid… he’s worried you’ll become like him. Your sanity is in such a fragile state… it’s worrisome even if you weren’t fighting Hawkmoth. You need to get away from your dad, from Paris and you certainly need to get away from that abusive rapist bitch that broke you before one of us, at best gets akumatized, or worst does something drastic that we can’t take back.”

Adrian cupped the small cat by his face, a single tear running down his cheek as he looked to see the deep understanding of the pair in front of him.

“Okay,” He said in a soft voice that was barely a breath, “But if we really leave then Paris will be undefended, and won’t people put it together when we leave at the same time as the heroes stop showing up? Can we really leave Paris unde-”

“I have a plan,” Marinette cut in, “but it’s going to take a bit to get into place.”

Helen rolled his shoulders, shifting back into his adult form, “Adrian eat. Let's get some bags packed and put this plan into action.”

_________________________________________

The morning saw Ladybug and Chat Noir swinging through the city with smiles, laughing and greeting the citizens with cheer. When asked why they were out so early they let pain and uncertainty flicker across their faces for a split second, before the smiles were back and they gave some lame excuses about needing a break from their everyday life.

Paris felt a twinge that something wasn’t right that the city couldn’t shake.

When school started Ms. Bustier’s class was surprised and worried to see their principal in their classroom. Adrian was still missing as far as they were aware, they really hoped nothing happened to him.

“Students,” Damocles started once the bell had rung, “Before school today, The Dupain-Chengs came in and informed me that Marinette was being pulled for the rest of the year and moved to homeschooling.”

“What!” Alya yelled, the room breaking into a frenzy.

“SILENCE!” Mr. Damocles barked and patiently waited until the room froze, “Now before any rumors start, they wished for you all to know that Marinette’s birth father had been in a terrible accident and she was on the first plane they could find last night to the United States to be with him as they were not sure if he’d survive very long. She will remain in the US until he is better or until his affairs are put in order. I hope you all do your best to understand and be supportive of her if she reaches out.”

The teacher and principal exit the room soon after with remarks about needing to get the proper paperwork in order for the transfer leaving a shocked classroom.

“Mr. Dupain isn’t her dad?” Alya whispered in shock only for Nino to shrug.

“Well, yeah, Kim and I were invited to the wedding and Marinette told us when she was changing her name. Her dad is some artist from the states, Sabine didn’t give out too many details but it wasn’t hard to put together Mari was a one night stand baby. Her dad was pretty cool though. I hope he’s okay.”

Kim nodded when the class turned to look at him, “ Yeah we met him when he came for her tenth birthday, gave her some really awesome fabric she ended up making into a dress she wore to the school banquet. Apparently, his job is pretty sporadic so he’s not able to visit regularly, but you can tell he really loves Marinette and treated all of us pretty well.”

Chloe snorted, “Speak for yourselves, He gave me the creeps with his stare when I tried to say something to Marinette, made some weird comment about how I’d make a lovely medium for art one day.”

Nathanial gave her a quizzical look, “You mean muse?”

“No? I’m pretty sure I’d remember the ridiculous statement the man-made to me. He definitely said medium.”

“But,” Nathanial muttered, “That makes no sense. A medium is the materials used for an art piece, not the subject of the piece. How could he make you his medium?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

Nino’s phone buzzed and he paled looking down, “Uh dudes, Adrian just posted on his insta, like his model insta.”

The pictures on the post were vaguely graphic, nail marks and bruises littering pale skin in sickly colors. Nothing below the belt but they could see how the bruises fell they extended further then he was showing.

I’m sorry I ran, but I couldn’t handle the sexual abuse anymore. A fellow model, my father’s muse no less, decided I was hers and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s lied and lied so much even my friends from school are convinced we’re a couple but I just want to be able to live my life without the fear of her touching me and spinning tales of how no one will believe me if I spoke out, how she’ll tell the world I raped her if I did. I still feel so dirty after she slipped something into my drink. It didn’t even knock me out, simply made it so I couldn’t move. I’m done. I’m sorry but I’m done.

None of the class could stop the bile from rising in their throats as their eyes flash to Lila who was slowly turning pruce.

_________________________________________

The weekend arrived, with only two Akuma attacks since Marinette left for America, Ladybug and Chat Noir taking care of it swiftly and near silently, their normal banter sporadic at best the first time, almost melancholy the second.

Paris had noticed and was nearing panic. What was wrong with their heroes?

Two siblings found out, as the clock clicked closer to Saturday.

The Couffaine siblings were hanging out on their beds, idly playing music together, already in their PJs. Their mother was out for the night, invited to drinks with Jagged to reconnect after all these years. So when they heard thumps on the deck above they froze.

The fear only reduced slightly as the familiar faces of the city’s heroes appeared from the top of the stairs, though the panic shifted to a different source. Luka shoots worried glances at his sister. How would she react to him being a hero?

“Ladybug, Chat Noir,” He greeted, “What’s wrong? An Akuma?”

“Not right now,” Ladybug responded, face serious but ever so kind, “But we have a large favor to ask both of you.”

“You know I’m always willing to help,” He answered without hesitation and saw his usually timid sister nod in agreement.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

Chat Noir gave a ghost of his usually cheeky grin, “Can you keep a secret?”

Before either sibling got to ask what he meant the pair was engulfed in bright light. When it faded Marinette and Adrian stood in front of the pair.

“Luka Couffaine,” Marinette said, holding out the box with a broken smile, “This is the miraculous of the Snake.”

“Juleka Couffaine,” Adrian continued, holding out an identical box, “This is the miraculous of the Mouse.”

“We’re entrusting you to use these miraculous to keep Paris safe in our steed,” They replied in unison to the frozen siblings, “Do you accept?”

“What?” Juleka squeaked, “You two…”

Luka took the box with a stony look, “What do you mean in your steed?”

Adrian’s face fell, “Chat Noir and Ladybug are leaving Paris for a while. I’m sure you know why I need to leave, but Mari offered me an escape and needs a break as well.”

Marinette’s steely look silenced any protests, “We’ve been failed too many times. It’s breaking us, if we don’t leave soon we're going to end up akumatized ourselves or worse. We’re entrusting you two with the truth, and with being the main protectors of Paris while we’re gone.”

“We’re handing over an official video tomorrow morning explaining our leave of Absence to Nadja to play during the news cycles, probably all of them,” Adrian said with a hollow laugh, “

“But what about the other miraculous?” Luka asked, “We’re not going to be Ladybug and Chat Noir, and even you need help sometimes. What do we do if we need help?”

“The Fox is with a male user named Badulf and the monkey with King Monkey. My mama currently has the miraculous box, so if you need to get the Bee to Hachimitsu or the dragon to Kaida she’ll have them,” Marinette continued, “If you need another miraculous I trust you to make the choice of who to give it to with a view exceptions. We don’t need another Aspik incident.”

“In my defense,” Adrian counter, “I have a hard time saying no to anyone, let alone my best friend who was trusting me with a very important task.”

“Okay,” Juleka let out a shaky sigh, “You need to start from the beginning.”

And so they did. They told the pair about getting their miraculous, about the allies they had taken throughout the years, the ones they didn’t trust anymore, the ones that had hurt them too many times. They told them about how life outside the mask had grown harder and harder and trying not to be akumatized was growing near impossible. They listed the spells and charms they had created to allow the pair to contain the akumas since Ladybug would be gone.

Luka and Juleka held their hands, anger, fury, and sympathy rolling off of them. By the end, Marinette worried they would deal with another akumaztion but Juleka elbowed him with a scowl and he took several deep breaths to calm down.

“Okay,” He said finally, “We’ll take care of the city. You two get better okay,”

“Don’t worry,” Marinette said with a soft smile, “You’re going to stay with my dad. He’s going to make sure we don’t snap under all of the pressure.”

“Take this,” She handed over a notecard with a pair of emails on it, “If something like Syren or Stormy Weather shows up again so I can use Miraculous Ladybug. We believe in you.”

As quickly as they had arrived the heroes had left, leaving the siblings to get to know their kwamis and prepare for the news that would break in only a few short hours on how the safety of the city was now on their shoulders.

“Everything done?” Helen asked once the heroes landed in Bois de Boulogne. Once they nodded he tossed them their backpacks and turned to the tree he already carved the Operator symbol into, opening the portal to the Slender Forest.

“Let’s make this quick,” Helen groaned, “Slender isn’t going to be happy I waited this long to get in touch with him.”

“Do you think now is a good time to give Slender the new tie I made him?”

_________________________________________

Taglist: @crazylittlemunchkin @sassakitty @marinettepotterandplagg

#miraculous ladybug #creepypasta #marinette dupain cheng #helen otis #Adrian agreste #tw rape #mental instability #lila rossi #lila rossi is the worst #gabriel agreste a+ parenting #tw murder #miraculous class #Alternate Miraculous Users #juleka couffaine #luka couffaine

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lotusss-flowerbomb · 5 years

Text

What’s Done In The Dark

Summary: Viktor spots you from across the room.

dark!Viktor Drago x reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, dub/non con, so if this isn’t your cup of tea please do not continue.

A/N: This story has two endings. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,573

********

The music thumped loudly throughout the club. At first, you didn’t want to be bothered with going out, but it was your best friend’s birthday and she wouldn’t stop whining about how you never wanted to do anything with her. So you sucked it up, got dressed and now one fruity drink and three shots of tequila later you’re dancing on top of a table with a pole in the middle of the nightclub.

You made your ass bounce to the beat as you rapped along with the song. Happy that you’d chosen to wear the looser dress, so that the on lookers could get the full effect. Your best friend reached out to smack your ass while she loudly encouraged you to continue. A man walked over and stood near the small crowed. He caught your attention immediately since he was probably the largest person in the place. He was tall, sexy and the muscles beneath his shirt let you know that he works out regularly. You put on a bit more of a show for him. Expertly popping one cheek at a time as you turned towards him and looked back to make sure he was watching.

He was definitely watching.

Once the song was over, he stuck his hand out to help you down. You accepted it as he cradled you in his arms and lightly set you on your feet. You smiled, thanked him and walked towards some tables behind your friend. She saw a few people she knew and was headed in their direction.

After a few minutes of listening to them talk you headed towards the bar bored with the conversation. Not long after you approached you saw him again.

“Hi,” he spoke with a thick accent.

“Hi,” you said back.

The bartender came over and handed him two drinks. One with dark brown liquor and the other was bright orange and red with fruit in it.

“For you,” he stuck his hand out. You hesitated before taking it. It was a Sex on the Beach. The drink you’d had earlier.

“Thank you,” you grabbed the drink out of his hand, but didn’t have any.

“I’m Viktor,” he offered his hand with his name. You smiled at him and introduced yourself with the handshake. Here you are in the middle of a club and this guy shakes your hand after buying you a drink instead of immediately trying to put his hand up your dress.

“Where are you from, Viktor?” You asked and take a sip of the drink. It tasted a little different than the one you’d had when you first got there. Maybe the bartender did something different this time around; added more liquor or something. It still tastes good though. So you continued to sip.

“I am from the Ukraine. I’m here on business,” he smiled.

The two of you made light conversation for a few more minutes until the room suddenly started getting warmer. You shifted in your seat a little uncomfortable at the sudden temperature change. You finished your drink hoping the coolness would help, but it didn’t. it was only getting worse.

“Well, thank you for the drink Viktor. I should be getting back to my friend and make sure she isn’t getting into any trouble.” Once again, he held out his hand to help you down.

“It was nice talking to you,” he said.

“You too,” you tried to get away without seeming rude, but fuck was it hot. You heard Viktor’s voice again and it almost sounded like he said he’d see you later, but whatever you were going home. Too much body heat in this place.

You found your friend still gathered with the other group of people. You told her you were ready to head out, but she wasn’t, so she asked one of them to drive her home. They readily agreed, so you said your goodbye and made your way to the door. The valet retrieved your car and you went about your way after tipping him.

You were doing your best to concentrate on getting home instead of how hot you were getting by the second. The drive back to your townhouse was only ten minutes, but it felt more like ten hours with the way your insides were burning up. You let down all of the windows and cranked on the air. So busy trying not to melt that you hadn't even noticed the black SUV that had been trailing you.

Finally home, you pulled into your designated spot, grabbed your purse and jumped out. You were walking so fast that you stumbled on the curb, but before you could lose your balance too much a pair of strong arms embraced you.

"Viktor?" You looked up at him confused. "Did you follow me here?"

"No, I have friends who live just up the way," he pointed. You looked in the direction and saw people standing around outside. Must've been a party he was headed to.

"Oh, coincidence I guess," you let out a small laugh before pulling away from him.

"Are you okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned about you, but the look in his eyes betrayed his voice. The hazel green of them glinted with mischief beneath the street lights.

"I'm fine, I just need to get inside." You all but stumbled away. You dropped your keys when you were almost to the door.

"Here, let me help," he scooped them up.

Why the fuck was he still so close? You eyed him.

"That last drink I got you must've really packed a punch, huh?" He said as he pushed the door open and pulled you inside.

"What did you do? Did you put something in my drink?" You snatched away. Your back hit the wall and you welcomed the cool sensation it offered.

"I mean, I may have used a little too much, but to be fair I didn't think you'd actually finish the drink." He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged.

"What did you give me? Why am I so damn hot?" You wiped at your forehead expecting it to be drenched with sweat.

Now your pussy was starting to throb. No longer caring that he was there, you stuck your hand beneath your dress and felt yourself. The seat of your underwear was soaked. You glared up at him.

"Viktor, please," you put your hand up as he started towards you.

"It's okay, beautiful. I'm only going to help it go away.”

He turned you and unzipped your dress. No bra, just a delicate light pink lacy thong. He trailed a finger starting at the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades to the band of your underwear. He hooked his finger in and let go with a loud pop. He pushed the dress from your shoulders and let the fabric bunch at your feet.

"Why?"

"Come on, let's get you to bed," he pulled you up the stairs and completely ignored your question.

You planted your feet in the carpet outside of the bedroom door. He yanked you along until you reached the bed. The throbbing sensation in your pussy was becoming more intense. You couldn't resist the urge to touch yourself.

"Mmm, can't wait for me?" He watched you.

"What the fuck did you give me? It's starting to hurt!" You rubbed yourself.

He removed his shirt. Perfect muscles rippled across his body as he continued to stand and watch you.

Feet on the bed, back arched and panties pushed to side while you rubbed your clit. He licked his lips in anticipation. He couldn't wait to get a taste of you.

His own erection became uncomfortable as it pressed against his jeans, so he quietly finished undressing as to not disturb you. He left the black tight fitting boxer briefs on and pulled his dick through the hole to slowly stroke it.

Your back started to arch more as your rubbing sped up. The first orgasm, that's what he'd been waiting for. Your breathing became heavier and louder as you melted from your core. The orgasm only bringing you minimal relief. You needed more, so you kept on rubbing spreading your slick all around.

He couldn't resist anymore. Instead of bringing the thong past your hips, he grabbed the wet crotch and ripped it leaving the rest around your waist.

He pulled you right to the edge. You lifted up on your elbows to look him in his eyes. He cracked his neck just before sucking your clit into his mouth.

A hissing sound escaped your lips. You tried your best to remain still as his tongue moved over your needy nub. It was useless. You rolled your hips into his face and could hear him moaning and slurping.

An involuntary, "Yes," slipped between your lips as he slid a finger inside of you. You could feel the fire building within. The realization snapping you back to reality. You shouldn't be enjoying this. He'd drugged you.

You scooted away. That clearly annoyed him and he pulled you back towards him and flipped the bottom half of your body into the air. He slapped your thigh hard enough to make you scream. He roughly entered you with two fingers this time.

His fingers pumped at a furious pace in and out of you. He sucked your clit into his mouth again and moved his tongue over fast. You grabbed onto the comforter and screamed again as you started to squirt onto his face.

Viktor opened his mouth and invited in every last drop he could catch. He let you go, so you lay back flat on the bed. He hovered over you and slapped your face lightly and tapped on your lips. You tried to turn your head, so he grabbed you and squished your cheeks, so your lips would part. He let the cum drip from his mouth into yours.

He sat you up. "Spit it out slowly," he demanded.

You let your bottom lip fall slightly and the mixture of cum and his spit dripped down in between your breasts. He licked it up and brought his mouth to yours for a sloppy kiss. You kissed him furiously, because still that orgasm was not enough. You needed more.

He palmed his pulsing tool and rubbed it up and down over your slit. You raised your hips to try and make him enter you but he pulled away. You reached down and dug your nails into his side to bring him closer. He obliged the silent command and pushed the tip of his dick into you and stopped.

"Viktor," you exhaled.

"Tell me you want it," he nipped at your collarbone. You stayed silent, but raised your hips again. He moved away, causing a soft sob from you. "Say it," he full on bit you this time.

"Ah! Fuck, I want it! I need it, please! " You croaked.

He turned you over and pulled you up to your knees. He spread your legs apart and pushed your chest to the mattress. He slapped his dick on your clit and you rewarded him with a loud moan.

He slid inside of you slowly. Rolling his hips to a slow steady rhythm. You pushed your ass back into him. This slow shit was torture.

"If you're gonna fuck me then fucking do it," you said with an attitude tired of his games.

He paused his movements and then slid out of you. You let out a frustrated groan at his sudden absence. But before you could miss him too much he was ramming back into you.

"Is this what you want?" He asked. He said something else in Russian that you didn't understand. You gripped the sheets as he gave you the best dick you've ever had in your life.

He hooked the material around your waist around his fingers to keep his hand in place as he pressed his thumb to your puckered hole.

"Oh god, yes!" Your screams were muffled since your face was pressed into the bed.

He fucked into you so fast and hard, the headboard was knocking loudly into the wall. That was no doubt going to cause some damage.

He pulled out of you and jiggled your ass. He hit it with a hard slap and then leaned in to get another taste of your pussy. He spread your ass, so he could gain entry to your waiting canal. He slid his tongue over your pussy and sucked it loudly. The lewd sounds only increasing your arousal.

He stuck his tongue inside of you and used it to fuck you with. You shook your ass in his face and the vibration from his moans coursed through your body. He was enjoying pleasuring you just as much as you were enjoying being pleasured.

He turned you over and spread your thighs apart and pushing your knees to your chest. You watched him as he stuck his tongue out and let the spit drip down onto your pussy. He moved it back and forth, so that it would ribbon all over. His actions were disgusting and flat out vulgar. Yet, it turned you on even more.

You clawed at his boxer briefs, but slapped your hand away.

"Take. Them. Off." You demanded.

He hesitated for a moment before complying with your command. He got back into place and put one of your legs over his shoulder. He slapped his dick against your clit again before entering you.

He rocked his hips back and forth as he bottomed out inside of you. He placed one hand underneath you and the other beside your head as he brought his mouth to your neglected nipples. He flicked his tongue over the pebbled peaks alternating between licking and sucking.

You dug your nails into him and clawed from his back and down across his chest. He groaned at the mixture of pain and pleasure, but you could see the annoyance in his eyes, because that was for sure going to leave a mark.

"You want to mark me?" He said, just before he placed one hand underneath you and the other around your throat and squeezed lightly.

You squealed with pleasure as your legs started to shake and pussy tightened around him. You dug your nails into his arm as your orgasm neared and his grip became tighter. You bucked your hips against him as the sensation rained over you. He fucked you harder, so you could ride out your release. You were finally feeling better with that final orgasm out of your system.

His hips began to stutter letting you know that he was close to his own release.

"I'm gonna mark you too," he said when he leaned close into you.

"Viktor, I'm not on birth control, you have to pull out." You began to push against his hips once you realized he had no intention to do so. "Viktor!"

He grabbed your hands and put them above your head as he growled deep and emptied his seed inside of you. He dropped on top of you careful not to put too much weight on you. You tried to push him off, but there was no point.

You might as well try to move a building.

He breathed into your throat hard and heavy.

"Just imagine. You'll look so beautiful carrying our child."

********

Dark Ending

Fluffy Ending

#viktor drago x reader #viktor x reader #florian munteanu #florian munteanu x reader #Smut #dark!viktor x reader #Lotusss Writes

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 157: What He Felt

Simple things were beginning to have an effect on him. Little things that he found Belle did for him were beginning to drive him crazy, and not in a bad way. Fantasizing about her was one thing. Noticing her beauty, craving her body; it was a male human thing that he could easily dismiss. Enjoying their conversations and her company was something he could just as easily explain away after years of solitude without a friend in the world. But what came after Baelfire's birthday, the thoughts that followed that terrible night were not as easy to dismiss or explain.

He began to wonder what it would be like to kiss her.

And not in the way that he'd imagined it in his fantasies, which was always hot and heavy and filled with desire and passion. Those things were not absent in what he imagined now, but what he was thinking about wasn't about sex or relieving any kind of need that he felt. No, he was wondering about what it would be like to kiss her, to touch her in normal everyday moments. He was wondering how it would be to show her, remind her regularly how he felt about her not with words but with actions. What he felt...what the hell was it that he felt?!

This new phase had started when she'd left him that night with Baelfire, just after she'd lit the candle on the altar again. For one brief moment, before she'd slipped through his fingers, he'd wondered what it would be like to reach for her hand, to smooth his thumb over the back of her knuckles, then draw her down to him for a kiss. But not one that led to any kind of sexual fantasy, just one that acknowledged his gratitude. A kiss that told her he was hurting, but reassured her he was alright; he just needed to feel the hurt for a while. Then she would wrap her arms around his shoulders and let his head fall onto her stomach in a simple embrace before she left him once more to his mourning. He wondered what it would be to be with her in a way that invited such touches, where she might reach out and touch his shoulders just to let him know she was there. What it might be like on just an average ordinary day to catch her by the waist, kiss her firmly on the mouth, and then let her go back to her chores as if such exchanges were common or typical between them.

Thoughts like that were deadly. But perhaps even more deadly was the curiosity he suddenly had concerning what she thought of him. Suddenly he found himself wondering what, if anything, she felt for him. If this friendship they'd been developing was how she treated everyone she knew or if it was limited to him. And worst of all, he wondered if she ever went to bed at night and thought of him the way that he thought of her. If she had urges to touch and kiss the same way that he did.

The problem, of course, was her eyes. It wasn't her body, perfect as it was, or her voice, intoxicating as her conversations could be. It was the fact that he'd never known eyes like hers. Soft and yet sharp at the same time. They were friendly, and yet with the right look they cut him right down to the bone, leaving him feeling like all that he was was bared and shaking in the cold as she found the heart he was certain had died long ago made it beat again. It was a problem. Just as it always had been.

The trouble was that now he was having a hard time staying away from her. He still managed when he had to. He left during the week, went out and conducted his business, checked in on the necessary players in his games; but even when he was gone or busy she filled up his senses. He brought her books from the places he'd gone and delighted in her guessing at where he'd been and what he'd been doing. And then there were times like last night, when he'd come back from his trip and sought her out to inform her...he'd found her asleep in her tower instead. His mind had wandered. Again. What would it be like to sit at her side, to brush his fingers over her cheek, to wake her with a kiss? Would her eyes light up when she saw he was back? And, just like that, just when he started feeling like she was washed from his system, she infected him all over again just by being alseep! He'd only just barely managed to drape a blanket over her to keep her warm for the night and escape before he dared to try it. She was like a drug, nearly as effective as magic at making him feel complete inside. It was hard to ignore that and getting harder day by day to deny he was growing attached to her. Just as it was hard to deny how unhappy he was when it was her day to go to the market.

She'd been late to breakfast that morning, a good thing since it left her no room to ask him about the blanket she must have noticed she woke up with. Unfortunately for him, she was not late in getting her things together and preparing to go to town. The castle would be quiet in her absence; quiet and cold.

"Belle," he called out when he arrived in the foyer. He found her in the same place he did every week: the Great Room, struggling with the clasp for her cloak, just as she did nearly every week.

"Oh, there you are!" he smiled, wondering if she knew that this run-in was becoming a weekly occurrence. Did she know he wanted to see her off? Or did she just assume that he wanted to check to make sure her clasp was on correctly? "And so near the front door planning on leaving me?!"

"You know I wouldn't do that, Rumpelstiltskin," she sighed.

"No, certainly not, at least not while wearing that fastener."

"Don't be so dramatic," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "I'm just going to the market down the road. Unless you start spinning straw into meals, I still need food to cook with."

Oh, he was itching to correct her, so much so that he didn't even know where to begin! Should he remind her that he would have been happy to deliver food to her once more? That the market was not just 'down the road' but the mountain? The only thing that managed to keep his mouth shut was the fact that as he watched her struggle, there was something else he was itching to do, and it had nothing to do with conversation.

Before he could even question if he could ever be so bold, his fingers got the better of him, and he'd done it. He'd reached out, wrapped his arms around her shoulders, let himself get close enough to smell her hair, feel her muscles tighten at his presence, and her heart race…and then fastened the clasp properly. Her reaction to him fascinated him. She never pulled away, never acted as though she didn't want to touch him, but he could feel her surprise when he did. Was that excitement he heard in her heart? Or just a trick of his mind? What else could it be?

"Don't forget," he let himself whisper in her ear, "that fastener is enchanted. If you wander off, I'll know." Better yet, if something bad happened to her again, he would know immediately and be able to find her. She was safe.

"I made a promise to stay with you forever," she muttered back with just a hint of bite in her tone. "And I hope that someday you'll realize I'm a woman of my word."

"We'll see about that…"

He finally got the clasp to cooperate. It snapped perfectly into place for him and just on instinct, as he might have done with his son, he let his hands linger over her shoulders to smooth out the fabric before him. That was when she finally moved. She took a small step away and faced him, but didn't move out of his grasp, allowing him to keep his hands on her shoulders. She was a vision. The question he had to ask himself was what kind of vision was she. The present kind that he could admire for making the simplest of cloaks seem fitting for a queen? Or the future kind that he should be avoiding? What was the chance she was both? He moved quickly to pull the hood at her back up and over her hair, letting his fingers brush against her cheeks. She blushed. He might have if he wasn't…

If he wasn't this.

"Now, don't catch cold out there," he warned, pulling his hands quickly away from her and taking a few steps back. She was the present version of a vision. And if he was questioning that, then he was starting to let his fantasies get in the way of reality. Perhaps a little too much in the way. "The forest path is quite damp. We wouldn't want an illness interfering with your daily chores, would we?"

She smiled and shook her head with a small chuckle. "Definitely not," she chuckled gently before reaching for the basket at her feet. "We both know this place would fall into disrepair without me."

He let out his own chuckle as he opened the door for her. "I survived centuries before you, dearie, and I'll survive centuries after."

But he felt an ache in his chest even as he said those words. Worse, as she exited out the door and made her way down the steps, he'd caught her muttering something that he was certain he wasn't meant to hear. "Are you sure about that, Rumpelstiltskin?"

No. He wasn't. In fact, he was positive that what he'd told her was a lie and what she'd said was the truth. Without her, this castle was…well…it was dark. It always would be the Dark Castle, but with her around there was light and life and he found that he'd adjusted well to that in these last few months. How he would ever survive the loss of her…that wasn't something he should allow himself to think about.

He needed to get his head on straight. He needed to stop doing this, to stop letting her into his mind as he was. He needed to figure out a way to end what he was feeling. What he was feeling…

Just down the road, he saw her stop. She turned, glanced back at him and even though she was so distant he couldn't see her eyes, he felt his heart stop as she raised a hand and waved at him. He didn't return the gesture as she turned to go.

He was feeling things again. For a woman. What it was he was feeling didn't matter so much as the fact that he was simply feeling something for someone else other than his son. He hadn't done that in ages, not since Cora.

Cora…

He really needed to figure out what to do about this before it became the problem Cora had.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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keeroo92 · 5 years

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My Angel (Dante x Reader)

My first attempt at Dante x Reader based of a prompt of Character A kills someone who is trying to kill Character B. B is shocked and A gets defensive until the following exchange."You're not scared?" "Of you? Never."

Trigger warning - graphic scene of non-con. Promise it ends happy :)

______________________________________________________________

“I love you.”

The three words sent your mind reeling. You stared at his earnest sapphire eyes, able to see the vulnerability that speaking the words had cost him with ease. You wanted to run and hide.

My best friend is in love with me.

Fuck.

You’d known Dante for years. He’d been there when no one else was, been the person you turned to in times of crisis. He was the person you called after your mother had been in a car wreck. The person you vented to about your dating troubles. The one who came to get you when you found yourself stranded one hundred miles from home.

And he was in love with you.

Fuck.

Have I been taking advantage of him and not knowing it? Did I lead him on, give him hints?

Not a single memory came to mind where you intentionally flirted with him or even casually touched him. You hugged, sure, but the type of contact that came with sexual attraction was never something you shared with the white-haired man. There was nothing, no drunken dirty dancing or double entendre. No awkward comments or anything.

The man in question sat beside you on one of the squishy couches at his place of business, one you’d sat on with him numerous times over the years. Now the atmosphere was different, from three crucial words. He stared at you, waiting for some kind of response.

Fuck.

“Since when?” you blurted. Dante smirked, his hands shifting from his knees to clasp together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

The beat of your heart was erratic, too fast. You were sweating, your hands shaking as panic flooded your senses. How the hell were you supposed to handle his confession?

Dante glanced at your face and the light of hope in his eyes flickered out, so subtly you didn’t even notice as he lightly punched you in the shoulder.

“Gotcha!”

Wait, what?

He was kidding?

It made more sense. He played practical jokes on you regularly, and you on him. But this felt different. He’d never played a joke that messed with your emotions, not once. This wasn’t like him.

I don’t know what to believe.

It was irrelavant matter what the truth was – both options were unacceptable. Either he was trying to pretend he didn’t have feelings for you to give you an out, or he had pulled a cruel prank on you.

Motherfucker.

“You fucking asshole! I can’t believe you!” you shouted, standing in a single fluid motion powered by rage. He laughed, adding insult to injury. It sounded wrong, but you were too far gone to care as you grabbed your purse and jacket, stomping over to put your sneakers on and leave. To run.

“Hey, it was just a joke! You can stay,” he began. “I’ll order some pizza and we can play games like we always do.”

You finished tying your shoes and snarled at him, hands trembling. “Don’t fucking follow me. I can’t deal with you.”

With a slam of the door, you left him alone with the echoes of your fury. The walk home took only ten minutes most nights, but you needed extra time to think before facing your roommates. Instead of turning right, you went left. You paid little attention to where your steps led you as you angrily strode onward.

Unbelievable! Who does he think he is? What the fuck am I supposed to believe now? Does it even matter?

In the grip of your blind rage, you covered several city blocks in a matter of minutes. There was little traffic and as it got dark, the streets became even more vacant. The few pedestrians all but vanished until you pictured yourself as the only person in the city. Isolation gave you clarity. You always did your best thinking alone.

I don’t want to lose our friendship. How can we move past this bullshit? Can I forgive him for the joke, if that’s what it was?

What if he was serious?

Fuck.

You growled in frustration as your thoughts returned to the same conclusion over and over. A confrontation. Just ask him, straight up. He’d be honest with you.

Wouldn’t he?

I don’t know.

The energy faded away as quickly as it had appeared, leaving you exhausted as you leaned against a brick wall and tried not to cry. A few tears slipped past your defenses anyway and you scrubbed them away with the sleeve of your shirt. Sleep never sounded so appealing, and you scanned the area to discern where you were and find a route home.

The buildings surrounding you were stone, and all crumbling away. Someone had boarded over many of the doors and windows, a few with broken glass on the ground beneath the window frame. You recognized none of it.

Fuck.

Guess I’ll just turn around then, been walking in a straight line for a while.

Three blocks passed and panic bloomed in your chest as you still failed to figure out where you were. You walked faster, noticing figures standing in alley ways doing who knew what. Unsavory things, most likely

A loud clatter behind you made you turn your head, your feet moving even as you checked for threats. You didn’t spot the one in front of you.

A grimy hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you sideways into an alcove. You gasped in surprise, your panic morphing into full blown terror as you saw the barrel of a gun pointed at your forehead.

“Good, got your attention. Gimme your wallet, jewelry too.”

The thief’s face remained hidden the shadows, but by the sound of his voice, he was male and probably a smoker. You swallowed nervously and moved your hands to your purse strap on your shoulder, taking it off and handing it over without a word.

“Ah, obedient lass. Show me your fingers and wrists. And your neck and ears too, can’t have ya hold out on me.”

Tears began to stream down your face as you obeyed a second time, putting your grandmother’s earrings on full display. You hoped your pendant distracted him, but his greedy eyes spotted everything.

“Right, take em off.”

The necklace was easy to part with, just a trinket not worth over twenty bucks. You tried to catch the man’s eye but still the shadows blocked you.

I have to try.

You took a deep breath and summoned your courage. “Please, sir. My earrings were my grandma’s, they aren’t even valuable-“

“I don’t care. Take em off.”

“Please. Can’t I give you something else?”

“You got anything else you better fork it over too, missy. No more games.”

No! They’re all I have!

“Take me to an ATM, I can get you cash instead. I have a couple hundred-“

He cocked the gun. Breath escaped you in a quiet gasp as his finger drifted to cover the trigger. You saw straight down the barrel; you’d be able to see the bullet coming at you. Or, you would if you were faster. If you were lucky, you might catch the flash before you died.

You started sobbing in earnest as your violently shaking hands moved to your ears. It took a few tries to remove the earrings and you dropped them into his grimy hand with a shudder of revulsion. The instant they left your palm, your heart broke as if your grandmother just passed all over again. The man smiled cruelly.

“Y’know, I always said there’s nothing as beautiful as a woman crying. I’m gonna take one more thing from ya, little lady. If you stay obedient, I might even let you live.”

Your blood ran cold, your body frozen as his hand tugged your wrist again and dragged you into a narrow alley. There wasn’t anything to hide behind – he meant to rape you right out in the open.

Fuck, what do I do? What do I do?!

You heard fabric rustling as he removed his pants, felt as his hand roughly tugged your bottoms down and revealed you to the night. You wondered what he’d do with the gun while he… did his business. The cold press of metal on the back of your neck answered that question as he forced you to turn around and face him.

“Now, let’s get you warmed up… stay quiet or else.”

The gun moved down your spine, still pressed against you so you tracked its every move as it neared your core. It was still cocked, and your teeth dug so deeply into your lip you tasted blood as he slid the cold metal inside you. He laughed, crouching down to get a better view.

“Ooh, look at that. Quite a pretty pussy you’ve got, missy. And it looks so good taking my gun. Let’s see what else you got. Take off your shirt.”

“P-please-“

“Do it or I’ll ruin that perfect pussy with a bullet.”

He thrusted the barrel deeper, and you raised your shaking hands to do as he said. You held your top tightly in one hand as he waited for you to remove your bra. He didn’t even have to ask. The sobs didn’t stop as you reached behind you to unlatch the hook, letting the straps fall down your arms and you let the brown bra tumble to the ground.

You never wanted to see it again.

“What a good girl you are, so trainable.”

He slid the gun in and out of you a few times and you struggled to relax the muscles enough so it didn’t hurt. You heard the sick squelching sound as your body responded to the intrusion by releasing fluid to ease the foreign object’s passage.

“Oho, she likes it! You naughty girl.”

No, you’re wrong! You don’t understand!

You wanted to scream, to shout and beat him senseless with your bare hands but there was nothing you could do as his free hand, stained with dirt, rose to explore your chest. Your nipples were already hard from the chill in the air, but this sick fucker took it as more proof of your enjoyment.

“What a slut, getting turned on by having a loaded gun shoved up her pussy. Think you're ready for my me now.”

Oh gods… someone help me, please!

The tip of his length probed you, testing your wetness. The ferocity of your crying made your teeth clack together, and disgust filled you from your body’s betrayal as he inched his way inside with a deep moan.

“Oh, you’re a tight little lass! Such a perfect pussy, gave my gun a home and now it’s welcoming my cock.”

He tweaked your nipple, then lowered his filthy mouth over it and suckled like an infant before biting down. He bit all across your breast tissue, leaving marks of your shame.

His thrusts were slow as he licked you from nipple to earlobe. When he reached your ear he whispered, “Tell me how much you love this cock, how you’re a dirty little whore and you love being raped.”

I can’t… I can’t do this.

You did your best to disassociate from your emotions, putting them on hold until it was over and you had the luxury of dealing with them. For now you had to be stoic and do whatever he asked of you, or die.

You did everything imaginable to hide your expression from his leering as you opened your lips, but his hand came up to turn your chin so you were face to face with him. His cheeks were filthy, his mouth missing teeth and grizzled lines running here and there. It was too dark to see his hair or eye color but what did it even matter?

“I love your cock. I’m a dirty little whore and I love being raped.”

His thrusts accelerated, the pace painful as he forced his way deeper to scrape against your innermost walls.

Breathe, just keep breathing. It’ll be over soon.

“Cry for me, show me them tears.”

You stared at him blankly, still cut off from your emotions. There were tear tracks on your face but none were fresh. To experience the force of your terror and shame would break you; you denied it the chance. Refused to allow this horrible piece of filth to have that power over you.

You couldn’t summon a single tear.

The man raised his gun and struck your cheek with the handle, turning your head to the side where you let it stay. You closed your eyes, praying for him to finish and leave you alone. He pressed the barrel to your temple, the metal digging into your flesh as he growled at you.

“I said cry, bit-“

A gunshot echoed through the alley and for a moment you thought he’d pulled the trigger, that when you opened your eyes you would be in whatever form the afterlife took. But the bricks still scratched against your back and the cold air still caressed your bruised skin.

Then a sudden emptiness struck you as the man’s body fell away from yours. You gasped as you heard the clatter of his gun hitting the ground, but it didn’t go off.

“Fuck, come here, Y/N,” a familiar voice said.

You opened your eyes.

Dante.

He held out his red leather jacket to you, his eyes respectfully averted from your exposed skin. Your shaking hand accepted the offering without a coherent thought, arms going through the sleeves and pulling the coat across your chest as if nothing happened.

“You can look now.”

His cyan eyes met yours and the raw expression on his face shook you from your stupor. The dam burst, the tears painting your cheeks once more as violent sobs wracked you. He stepped forward with caution, giving you the time to move away if his comforting hug wasn’t welcome. It was.

You buried your face in his shoulder and wailed, unable to hold in any of the pain and horror any longer. He wrapped his arms around you and rocked your bruised and battered body, murmuring reassurances that it was over and the man was gone.

Wait… what does he mean, “gone”?

You pulled away and looked.

Fuck. Holy shit.

The man who assaulted you lied on the ground in a pool of blood and brain tissue, a hole the size of your fist in the side of his skull where Dante had shot him.

“He’s… he’s dead,” you choked out. The broken sound of your own voice shocked you, and you realized you’d never seen a dead body before.

“He was… he was hurting you,” your friend replied defensively. He lowered his arms to let you control the distance between you, hesitant as he tried to give you whatever you needed. The muscles in your neck contracted as you gagged, the smell too much to bear. It took a moment to recover, but once you managed it you met Dante’s gaze.

“I… I know.”

He reached out an arm as if to rest it on your shoulder, but paused as you flinched at his quick movement. The pink line of his lower lip vanished as he chewed on it, trying to figure out what to say. He sighed.

“I had to. I couldn’t- I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I had to,” he murmured haltingly. His eyes were troubled, tortured as he crossed his arms and stared at the corpse of the man he’d just murdered to protect you.

Suddenly you knew he’d been telling the truth earlier that night, knew beyond any doubt that he was in love with you. It was impossible for you to process if you might return the sentiment then, the trauma too fresh. It could wait. For now, all you felt comfortable offering was your friendship and gratitude.

You stepped closer to him, grasping his chin with both hands and turning him to face you. He kept his eyes elsewhere, his stubborn streak showing itself.

“Hey, hey! Look at me,” you ordered. The steadiness of your voice surprised you, expecting it to still have lingering echoes of your pain. His conflicted blue gaze met yours obediently and you smiled at him.

“I know, okay? That motherfucker was going to kill me. You saved me,” you told him emphatically. He uncrossed his arms and you dropped your hands, continuing after a quick glance back at the remains of your attacker. “I’m just… shit. I’m just shocked, I guess?”

“But not scared?” Dante replied. He still looked uncertain in a way you’d never seen in all the many years of your friendship.

He thinks I’m scared… of him?

Am I?

The white-haired man waited for your response as you stared at him in silence, assessing your reaction to his presence. The shape of his hands, the angles of his face, even the obvious strength of his powerful muscles… None of it evoked any fear within you.

You felt safe.

You smiled, scoffing as you reached out to flick his forehead in a gesture you knew he found irritating.

“Scared? Of you? Never.”

He grinned, his posture relaxing at last with your familiar teasing. You wrapped him in another hug, sighing as the tension drained from your body. He held you close, letting you lean against him and taking your weight without complaint. The two of you stayed that way for a long moment until he pulled away.

“I guess we should call the cops, huh?”

You grimaced, knowing there would be questions. The man was dead, people would want explanations.

What if Dante gets in trouble? What if they put him in jail?

Fuck.

“I… I’m not sure… I mean, what if they arrest you?”

He huffed, a confident gleam in his eye. “There’s no way. No cop would be dumb enough to bring someone in for shooting a rapist.”

You gave him a dubious glance.

“You just shot him, though. What if they say you should’ve tried something less lethal first?”

He brought his hands to his hips and glared at you. “He had a loaded and cocked gun aimed at you! If I didn’t kill him with one hit, he would’ve put a bullet in your brain!”

A sired whooped from the entrance to the alley, a policeman already approaching and blocking the flashing lights. Someone must have taken the choice out of your control.

Fuck.

The cop had his pistol drawn but pointed at the ground, his partner crouching behind the open door of the vehicle to give him cover. The officer closer to you spotted the corpse with ease, his trained gaze shifting back to rest on you and Dante with a new sense of fear.

“Hands up, right now. Both of you!”

You shared a look with your friend and obeyed. A thin strip of your sternum became exposed to the air as Dante’s coat shifted, and you saw the cop’s eyes widen. Dante followed your lead, raising his palms.

“Evening officer. Uh, so… for starters, I’m armed,” he said awkwardly. The officer gulped.

“Slowly, set any weapon on the ground and take three steps back.”

Two guns and a pair of brass knuckles were soon on the asphalt as you and Dante stepped backward blindly. The policeman came forward and used a tissue to pick up the pistols, sliding the knuckles behind him with his foot.

“Tell me what happened.”

Fuck.

You cleared your throat and began, not giving Dante the chance to answer. It was your choice how much to say, and you spared nothing. Both men cringed and gave you an expression of sympathy as you described what the man had done with his loaded weapon, how he had forced you to say things you never would otherwise. Dante clenched his jaw angrily as you neared the end.

“He… he told me to cry. He liked it when I cried before. I couldn’t though, I was just… too shut off. He hit me with the gun and held it back to my head. I closed my eyes, so I didn’t see it happen, but that’s when Dante shot him.”

You fell silent and stared at the ground, studying the grain of the pavement as you took deep breaths and tried to disassociate once more.

The cop holstered his weapon and stepped closer. Seeing his colleague relax, the other man at the car followed suit and joined the group.

“Jesus…” he said as he got a better view at the carnage. He looked at his partner as if to ask what happened, but the first man in blue simply shook his head.

“Kevin, call an ambulance and a coroner. Might need forensics, too. Have them bring a rape kit and tests for GSR.”

The second cop, Kevin, nodded and retreated to make the arrangements.

“I’m Officer Kingsley, you can call be Rob. What are your names? And you can lower your hands.”

You gratefully lowered your trembling arms and pulled Dante’s jacket closed once more as he introduced you both. The cop led you back to the vehicle, offering you some bottled water. You leaned on the hood and drank as you waited for the rest of the summoned teams to arrive, listening with half your attention as Dante gave his version of events to Kevin.

Rob came to join you with a pad of paper in hand. He sighed and took off his cap, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’m really sorry, but we need your statement too. The more detail you give us, the better. Cases like this… they can get messy without a full report,” he said regretfully. You nodded, swallowing anxiously as you accepted the pad and a pen.

As you finished the last sentence, your heart raced from reliving the whole night. Rob waved Dante over and he joined you on the hood as the officer walked a respectful distance away.

“How you feelin’?”

You clutched the leather seam of his coat tightly, looking back down the alley as you tried to calm your nerves.

He’s dead, it’s over. I’m safe.

“I’m… not great,” you began with a sniffle. “I mean, it’s been a long night. I just want to go home and sleep. But…”

You sighed. Roommates were the worst sometimes.

“My roommates will ask me what happened.”

Dante grunted, leaning back slightly and catching your eyes.

“You wanna crash at my place? Uh… on the couch, of course.”

Right. There was still that fun conversation to look forward to.

Fuck.

In the state you were in, you knew you couldn’t deal with his feelings or even assess your own. It would take time for you to recover enough to face it, especially after everything that happened. Dante saved your life, that much was unquestionable. But you didn’t want to confuse your gratitude for something more. He deserved better than that.

“Look… I know you weren’t kidding earlier. And I’m still mad you tried to backtrack,” you began. He cringed, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort as you called him on his bullshit. “But I just can’t respond to it yet. Not after this.”

You gestured at the alley, the implication clear. Dante nodded in understanding, though his face remained tight.

“Yeah, you caught me. I get it, take as long as you need. And if you wanna pretend I never said anything, that’s fine too. I didn’t expect you to pounce me or whatever. Just thought you deserved the truth.”

“And then you decided to lie and play it off as a joke.”

He raised his hands with a sardonic chuckle. “Guilty as charged. Sorry for that…”

You stared at him questioningly, waiting.

“I guess your reaction freaked me out a bit? You had that face, the one you get when you want to run away.”

I shouldn’t have left. None of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t such a coward.

You sniffled again, gulping back the tears threatening to fall yet again. Dante put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest gently. It would have been easy for you to slip out of his grasp, but you didn’t. You inhaled deeply as you rested your cheek over his heartbeat, listening to its rapid pounding. You gave him a smirk and he shrugged, as if to say he couldn’t help it.

“Thank you, Dante. I’m glad you were there.”

He hummed and pressed a brief kiss on the crown of your head, then muttered an apology as he realized what he’d just done.

You barely heard his words, too busy with the unfamiliar rush his simple gesture had given you.

Fuck.

#dmc #dmc dante #dante x you #reader insert #devil may cry #angst #non-con #I hope I did Dante justice #fanfic

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migleefulmoments · 4 years

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How they make up a whole story to criticize Mia with 10 seconds?? Again, I don't know why I'm surprised, they've doing it for 10 years. But their imagination is getting wild, they're unhinged. I don't know how they can't see they're full of bullshit and they're making lies of everything.

It feels to me that the behavior is getting worse- it’s more intense and the lies are getting more consistent and more outrageous. They have moved from being focused on Criss and Colfer to focusing on Mia but Mia doesn't have a social media presence they can access regularly so they end up having to fill in a lot of blanks and over time she gets bolder and bolder about what she is willing to fabricate. I also think she just living more within the fantasy then she used to be. Obviously, nothing is going her way as Chris and Darren have no relationship and reblogging gifs from 6+ years ago has lost its luster -though they still do it. She admits she is in a constant state of anxiety, that she doesn’t sleep, and that she is very angry-at times she mentions she’s “shaking with rage”. We know she checks Tumbler and blogs in the middle of the night and she spends all her waking hours stalking and blogging. She has doubled down on her fantasy and that includes writing richly detailed backstories to simple photographs which she then she fully buys into and believes. Just read any of her posts where she provides her “evidence cc is real”, they come off as silly and insignificant but she’s dead serious. She brings up the same “facts” over and over; each one is trivial and proves nothing but also has been proven untrue. She has no concern over truth-whatever proves shes’ right is repeated over and over.

This from Oct 22 is a good example

ajw720. Having watched a lot of the footage from Sunday, it is clear to me D was uncomfortable and on edge. It is possible it is because it is his first big movie and the company he is keeping. But he had no issues with standing next to P/enelope or R/icky and bantering with them and enjoying himself to the maximum. (What is “a lot” of footage? Total problem less than a minute of Darren’s day and he wasn’t uncomfortable and on edge because of Mia. He was promoting a movie that he was barely in, with a cast that he barely worked with if at all. I’m sure if he was nervous it was because he was unsure of his place and trying to be engaged but not an attention hog.)

Add that photo with M. he did not even try, it is so clear his tolerance level has been well exceeded and I would add that she was not happy based on the clips of her lurking on the RC during the live-stream not looking happy. (Here she is reading way too much into a simple photo. It is NOT possible to know how someone is feeling from a photo and Abby has proven she can’t read emotions on faces)

Plus we have him playing piano at the after party, which is a wonderful thing, but we know he does it as a coping mechanism and to avoid conversation. (WTAF? None of this is something “we know”. It’s all projected and fabricated by Abby to fit her needs)

So I am asking his team and anyone else forcing this ridiculous situation. What are you trying to achieve? M looks like an idiot at this point, I would be mortified if I were her. D treats her terribly and clearly is disgusted by her. So what is it you are trying to prove? You had to know at some point, as their relationship is unhealthy and utterly contentious, it would be near impossible to sell it. And make no mistake, her 10 stans may not want to let go, but they know it is off. And the wedding didn’t help, it hurt. (Darren treats her terribly? What a horrible thing to say about the man you love. I never understand why she prefers to believe he’s an asshole rather than believe he’s straight. I love the tragedy of insisting we know she’s right-that’s always a standard for a narcissist Trump does that a lot as well).

So can we be done now? I know I have asked this repeatedly, but this makes absolutely no sense. D looks less and less straight every minute he is forced to spend with her. If that were the goal (and i don’t think it is), you would be so much better cutting your losses, separating them, and getting him a new beard he actually likes and that doesn’t repel him when they touch. However I don’t think this has anything to do with him being straight. Straight is just how you control him. (He “looks less straight”? How does one “look straight” or “look gay”. Why would he need a new beard? According to Abby, he’s proud to be gay and ready and anxious to come out so there would be no need for beard.)

When is enough enough? How much longer will you torture him and steal from him? How do you sleep at night? I really wonder. (Oh such drama- she is fully behind the story she’s woven and the emotions are real).

September 2

I don’t think I’ll surprise anyone by saying I’ve been struggling since the sham mockery. I never thought he’d go there and it hit me hard. It physically pains me that this was ever allowed to spin so out of control. That ring hurts my eyes. And I’ve often questioned the motive. The why. I want to believe in him. They’ve made it hard. And no question, that was their intent.

And here we are almost 7 months later. And I’m going on record. I’m proud of our boy. Everyday it’s becoming more and more clear. I don’t think there was a choice. Well at least one that was not dangerous to d or someone he loved. He swallowed his pride and he did the needful. And now I think we are watching him execute a plan conceived with C. He’s using the enablers. Bravo. He set certain people to look like her friend, when in reality I’m confident she (yes one person in particular) is completely team d working with him and c. He’s making strides to pay off his “debts.” Everything this year seems so odd except when looked at critically, it is clear it’s deliberate.

I wondered if c&d could withstand this. And now I’ve never been more sure. Not only are they together. I think stronger than ever.

So I’m gonna fight. I’m staying right where I am. I expect this to get really, really ugly yet. I’m sure there are more tears. More curses. More screams. But I will see him win.

Or one of her “lists” of nonsense “proof”

How do they believe after multiple encagement rings? He said during season 6 of g/lee he had never committed to anything longer, not even a relationship. He has said on camera “I’m gay.” They don’t know when or how they met. B/en lived with them for FOUR years. There are so many videos of him running away from her (the bts is gold). He talks about going to see F/rozen with more enthusiasm than he does about his marriage. He sold his wedding to 100 sponsors.

There is so much, I could go on and on and on and on and on. I do not understand how ANYONE could believe. I truly do not. And it has only gotten worse after the sham mockery.

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musical-in-theory · 5 years

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- “I told you what would happen if you disobeyed.” Henrik and Anti?

(This is really long so I hope that the read more link is working)

“Left. Left! No my left! No wait- GAH!” Chase plummeted to the floor as a pile of blankets avalanched onto him. On top of the pile was a slightly disheveled Jackie. He quickly got his bearings and hopped off of the blankets. The hero scanned the room and walked over to the wicker basket that once contained the blankets now scattered on the floor. Chase popped his head up out of the fluffy mess and huffed, “Glad to see where your priorities lie. Oh sure! My brother could be suffocating under there, but no let me saunter my way to get this stupid basket.” He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes in fake annoyance.

Jackie walked back over, picked up Chase’s hat, and slapped it back on top of his brother’s head. “Oh shut up. I don’t saunter,” he laughed, “and you’re fine. I’m pretty sure you could hold your own against a bunch of fabric.” Chase punched Jackie’s arm and pushed himself up out of the heap. The two gathered up the blankets and continued their journey to the living room. A figure was already sitting on the sofa, the same figure that had been there ever since he had returned home. The two brothers exchanged worried glances and entered the room cautiously.

“H-hey, Hen. We brought you some blankets. Thought it might help you a little.” Chase sat down on the couch next to the doctor and draped one of the blankets around his shoulders. Henrik only blinked in response. Chase looked back up to Jackie in a silent plea for assistance.

Jackie sighed and sat on the doctor’s other side. He placed a hand on Henrik’s knee. Henrik immediately flinched back from the touch and Jackie somberly retracted his hand. “Henrik, bud, you’re home. You know that, right? You’re home. You’re safe. Please come back to us. Please.” Jackie pleaded, but it was of no use. The shell that sat between them couldn’t even hear them. He was still convinced that this was a trick. Anti was just showing him an illusion. Home? Safe? Those two words weren’t even in Henrik’s vocabulary anymore.

“Please Hen. Please say something, anything.” Chase begged, a defeated tone edging its way into the words. But Henrik sat there staring off into the distance as he did every time one of his brothers tried to get through to him. Chase and Jackie exchanged nervous glances again and rose up off of the couch. Chase cleared his throat and continued, “W-well, Henrik. We’ll be right down the hall if you need anything, anything at all. We miss you, Doc.” The two walked back down the hall with arms around each other’s shoulders, whispering that it would get better soon, that it had to.

Henrik was left alone on the couch, a sole survivor. He wanted so desperately for this all to be real. If this all kept up for a few more days, he thought he might actually fall for the elaborate illusion. The doctor brushed his hand against the soft upholstery of the sofa beneath him. It felt solid. It felt real, but was it really? The glitch would all too often make him see images of his home and his brothers and then punish him for believing the lie.

A dark chuckle echoed through the silence, “Awww what’s wrong, my doctor dearest. Can’t trust your own eyes anymore?” Anti laid a clawed hand on top of Henrik’s head. Henrik choked on his fear. He wasn’t safe. He knew it. He knew it. He would never be safe. He would never be home. He hated himself for ever entertaining the hope that he might.

Anti’s light touch suddenly turned into a fist full of the doctor’s hair. “Tell me, my puppet, what makes you so special that you think you could ever get away from me? You’re worthless. You’re nothing. I have given you everything, a purpose, a reason to live, let you be mine. And you think you can escape?” The glitch hissed into the doctor’s ear, jerking his head to the side.

“Nein! Nein! I am yours! I know this! Mein Gott helfen mich bitte! Bitte!” Henrik pleaded. His mind drowned in a blind white panic. Static rang out as it crescendoed within his ears. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He clawed and scraped at the hand that had him captured to no avail.

Anti brought his prisoner up to face him. His acidic green eyes fully swallowed the doctor and made him feel so incredibly small. The demon smirked and wagged a finger in front of his gaze, “Now, now, doctor dearest. I told you I didn’t want you to even think about those low-life brothers of yours. Did you forget already? I told you what would happen if you disobeyed. This is going to hurt you far more than it will hurt me, my pet.” Anti waved his hand, and his gleaming knife appeared within his grasp. “That poor memory of yours is always getting you into trouble. Maybe this time, my lessons will finally sink in.”

Henrik screamed in terror as Anti raised his knife to the doctor’s neck, ready to plunge it into his supple flesh. He scrunched his eyes shut and waited for the agonizing heat of the knife, but it never came. Instead he felt arms enclose him in a tight embrace and a soothing hand petting his hair. “A-anti? I d-don’t under-understand.” Henrik kept his eyes screwed shut in fear of seeing the demon once more. The arms tightened around him, but not as if they were strangling him, more that they were trying to envelop him. He felt something wet drip onto his shoulder. This prompted Henrik to finally open his eyes back up. He didn’t see Anti anymore. The sight that greeted him, instead, was that of his brothers, all of them.

Jackie was holding him in an arm-pinning embrace and crying into his shoulder. Chase was running his hands through Henrik’s hair and shushing reassuringly. Marvin was holding his hands up and chanting an incantation to help him calm down and clear his mind. JJ was hurrying through the door that led to the kitchen carrying his special brand of tea that helped him with nightmares. They were all at his side. Not Anti. His brothers.

“He’s not here, Henrik. We won’t let him near you ever again. We promise. Please, let yourself be home. Please Hen.” Jackie whispered softly. Henrik didn’t think he would ever be able to let himself feel 100% safe again, but in that moment he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he was finally home.

(Thanks everyone for being patient. Working through some stuff, but everything should be fine and I should be getting back to posting regularly very soon. Hope you all enjoyed reading this and I’m sorry for any emotional distress I may have caused because of this angst. Thanks for reading! Love you all!)

#writing in theory #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #jackieboy man #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #jse egos #jse fanfiction #dialogue prompt #tw torture #tw ptsd

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