#any way to distract and sedate

[davey-in-a-minivan]

Chapters: 1/11 Fandom: The Pasithea Powder (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jane Gonzalez/Sophie Green Characters: Jane Gonzalez, Sophie Green Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sophie goes AWOL, Season/Series 01, Canon-Typical Drug Use and Language and Violence, POV Jane Gonzalez, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

Three months after Evelyn dies, Sophie knocks on Jane's door, looking like hell. She asks for a place to spend the night. She needs a lot more than that.

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IT’S HERE!!!!!!!!!! been working on this au for the better part of a year and i’m very very very excited to share!!!!!!!!!

[goto-hauntrcss]

✍💕💭

✍ Favorite thing about writing the muse?

I love getting to bring awareness to this character who otherwise seems mostly overlooked. definitely in media. I love her, and she's not only a badass but she's quite the character herself. she's overcome a lot in her life. the reason I decided to write her in the first place is because I did not enjoy the way they portrayed her in the BIP film. I think I started writing her literally the day after I watched it because it bugged me so much.................

💕Favorite ship for the muse?  @batcaller & @atlantaen (rip arthur you will never be forgotten) & @pizzatheif & @tangerinesour (aka @criticalfai1ure). Basically i love any pairing that my partner and I can dive deep into. Those are my FAVORITES. 💭 Favorite memory of the muse?  when helena survived a murder mystery house group thing by killing @cardiomyapathy in a discord server started by @accruing. It was a really great experience, and super creative!

[edensrose]

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 heian r. sukuna ✧ f reader ˚₊‧꒰ა kissing to distract ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˖ ꯴ ⌇ “ 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 ”

When the King of Curses has set his mind to something, nothing can stop him. If violence was on his mind, sure enough, blood would paint the floor.

He was ruthless, cruel, in a constant need to assert his rule as any ruler of his stature should. There was no time for mercy and forgiveness was a weakness. If someone crossed him, surely they must have a bite for blade and bloodshed.

No one could stop him. No object, no cosmic force.

But your kisses were a different kind of divine intervention.

The heavens shook, hell stilled — when your lips found his. Like a crash of sin and salvation all at once. As if you were his redeemer, his condemner and everything in between.

It was by pure accident that you discovered the one flaw to his anger: it never had eyes for you. He had grown enraged by his servants and their lack of success in their newest task. Like hellfire, two arms on his right raised and all sets of his eyes were ablaze. The boom of his voice shook the earth in a quake. Surely, their demise would be the only thing to sedate his —

"Sukuna!"

Two arms thrown around his neck froze him in spot. Your lips found his like a cool stream over blistering coals. Each of his eyes widened one by one, in an almost comical, delayed way.

Before he even found his ground again, you parted with that wide smile of yours. One that rivalled every cursed spirit and calamity in this wretched universe. "I saw your gift! Thank you much, you are so dear."

All he could do was stare at you, dumbfound, blinking slow. As if fighting heaven and earth to get a grasp back on his wrath. All he can ground himself on is a four-hand-hold on your waist and hips.

You furrowed your brows in confusion and quickly whirled your head to the line of trembling servants. Your big, frightfully adorable eyes turned back to him. "Oh, did I interrupt something?"

And that's when he knew he was damned.

It wasn't something you used often. You knew that your beloved's methods were violent in comparison to your own . . . Lies. It was that very reason that you used this to your fullest advantage.

If there was a meeting going horribly wrong and his temper flamed? You were tapping on his shoulder so he turned his head. Kiss.

An attendant pissed him off with being a second late? Suddenly you were behind him - why is your finger on his jaw? Kiss.

He's seconds from marching out and setting a village ablaze? Your arms are thrown around his neck, hands in his hair. Kiss. Passionate, fervent, kissing.

"Damn you, woman." His groan rumbled into your short laugh as he stumbled back into his estate with your feet fumbling. One hand swiftly braced on the wall behind you, another cradled your head and a third on your waist.

You smiled into his lips and he squeezed on whatever part of you he could. Lips met in a fervent frenzy hotter than any blister of his rage. Nimble fingers stroked through his hair and gripped along the strawberry strands in the way that elicited another groan.

"You lovveee meee. . ."

"You ruin me." He huffed, weak, feathering on affection.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[schizoetic]

Things you can do to help someone while they're in psychosis in a psych ward:

Bring them necessities like soap and clothing and good toothbrushes. After being forced into gowns for a while it's really nice to be able to wear something personal and comfy. It's also nice to take care of yourself when coming back to reality. When realizing you haven't washed in ages a good shower is beyond awesome

Bring things to distract them like books and magazines that suit their interests. Hospitals can be incredibly boring. They can also most certainly feel like jail. It's brutal sometimes. These places have the bare minimum and any little bit of this helps a lot

Visit to show moral support even when they can't communicate or keep their eyes open from sedation. Physical company helps a lot of the time

Accompany them for walks when permitted. Feeling the wind or seeing trees or stars after being unable to for a long time is priceless

Keep them company by calling them after visiting hours end

Gift them coffee or comfort food. They can be big sources of endorphins. Something yummy will always be yummy no matter how detached from the world you get... provided things like delusions don't get in the way

Remain calm if they lose their composure. It personally tended to help me ground myself or lessen the panic I was having. People who were reactionary to me in a negative way defeated the purpose of being around me at the time

Show good vibes. When living a mental nightmare this can help improve state of mind or even delusions and hallucinations. Like even a smile can help tons ngl

Keep patient and don't take things personally. I had my own mother and doctors yelling at me because I wasn't acting the way they liked and it made things so so much worse

Understand that someone unwell might have a long grueling road of recovery ahead of them. Best thing to do is accept them regardless of what occurs

Advocate for their personal needs such as dietary preferences

This of course is all dependent on what's allowed at the psych ward

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird and a Menace of Bats - Part 17

masterpost

“We could always look up where he lives,” Tim suggested.

Bruce gave his son a tired look, turning slowly that he was sure not to jostle the sleeping man on his shoulder. “No, we can’t.”

“Sure you can. WE has to have it on file.”

“That would be a gross misuse of my postilion and an invasion of privacy,” Bruce said. “As in something Danny could very well sue for as us taking him home has nothing to do with his work and why we would have his address on file.”

“What about his driver’s license?” Duke suggested.

“He doesn’t have one, or at least not on him,” Dick said. He had Danny’s jacket pulled open and was carefully feeling inside for pockets.

Next to him, Jason was going through the card pocket on the back of Danny’s cellphone case.

“He does have a rewards card for Lacey’s though, so good taste there.”

Bruce rubbed tiredly at his face. “Dick, stop looking for a wallet. Jason, put all the cards back where you found them, please, and no hacking the phone.”

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jason said in a mocking whine.

Stephanie stifled a snicker.

“Stephanie, stop stalking him on social media and Babara, stop using what she’s found to try and triangulate where he is from,” Bruce said.

“Jason’s right,” Stephanie said as she slumped dramatically back into the seat, “you’re no fun anymore.”

“Yes, how boring of me,” Bruce drawled, “not invading the privacy of a man so unwell that he fell asleep in a noisy limo full of near strangers.”

Cass leaned forward at that.

Bruce quickly shifted gears to try and reassure her. “He’ll be alright, Cass.”

“Breathing is shallow. Heart?”

Bruce nodded. “He said there was an accident when he was a child that affected his heart and pulse. It was very slow and weak early after he stood up from his seat and had to sit back down. But he also said that it wasn’t unexpected and that he’s been to his doctor recently.”

“He did take this week off.”

“Tim.”

“What?” Tim said defensively. “He befriended my sister, I had to check him out.”

At least that was a reasonable excuse in case Danny was hearing any of this.

“If he’s doing badly, he shouldn’t be home alone, right?” Stephanie asked far too innocently.

“Not that we even know where he lives without waking him. Shouldn’t we let him rest?” Tim added.

“I shall start to the Manor then,” Alfred said, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion so suddenly that was that.

For what felt like the millionth time that night, Bruce sighed heavily.

-

It rather said something about the family that they were both efficient and graceful in getting an unconscious body out of the car. Bruce, with Dick’s help, passed Danny to Jason who held him out of the way as the rest of the family climbed out. Bruce was surprised to have Danny passed to him the moment Jason was able, but Bruce was quickly distracted.

“Right?” Jason asked.

“Hn.”

“Hn? Hn what?” Steph asked, popping up at Bruce’s elbow.

“The guy’s too light,” Jason answered. “It’s like he’s got bird bones.”

Tim stifled a snicker. Bruce, once again, sighed.

“Tim, take Steph and go help Alfred make sure the room is ready,” Bruce instructed. “Dick, help wrangle. Cass, darling, go rest. Jason, manage the doors for me, please.”

There was a coarse of agreement and the children were off. Bruce and Jason followed more sedately to be gentle on Bruce’s sleeping cargo.

“Jokes aside, he’s too light,” Jason said, keeping his quiet words between them. “This might be more than just a weak pulse.”

What Jason didn’t say is that they knew it was more than just a weak pulse—or at least it had been that night. It was concerning to think what lingering effects the transformation might be having on Danny. Especially concerning because…

“Cass is already attached,” Jason said, as if finishing Bruce’s own thoughts.

“I know.”

“And now the others are curious. Well, more curious.”

“I don’t suppose I could pay you to keep them in line?”

Jason snorted. “Even you couldn’t afford that, old man.”

“I was afraid not,” Bruce said as he fought back a smile.

Despite Jason’s refusal, Bruce knew that his son would keep his eyes others. Jason wouldn’t likely stop them, but he would keep an eye on them. Danny was still enough of an unknown that Bruce couldn’t help but be wary of the man’s presence in the middle of the family.

At least the guest wing was on the other side of the Manor from the family wing. The spaced eased the anxiety, a little. Alfred was just finishing shoeing Stephanie and Tim from the guest room as they approached and Jason peeled off to take his leave with them. Bruce entered the room with Danny on his own.

And apparently it was going to stay that way as Alfred said, “I trust you to see our guest settled,” and closed the door.

Bruce resisted the urge to sigh one more time.

At least Alfred had already folded down the sheets.

Bruce laid Danny down and started with the dress shoes, mostly to delay having to decide just how much clothing was appropriate to strip a near stranger of. After all, Danny didn’t know that he had slept curled up with the whole family once before. Bruce was also aware that he had less propriety than most people, given his unusual night life.

By the time the shoes were off and set aside, Bruce decided that the bare minimum would likely be most comfortable for Danny in the morning. The tie and belt went onto the seat of the nearby arm chair while the suit jacket was draped over the back. Danny’s phone was set on the nightstand. Alfred, of course, already had clothing set out for Danny to change into in the morning, should he wish. Bruce left it at that and covered Danny lightly with the sheets before he took his leave.

[mod2amaryllis]

im just gonna be petty ignore me

are you ever training someone and eventually it gets to a point where you just like

give up on them lol

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 6

-. —- / .-. . -.-. —- .-. -.. … / . -..- .. … - / ..-. —- .-. / …. . .-.

Part 1 found here | AO3

Johnny watches. He’s good at it. Not many notice that only ticks above his bright smile and well-placed nose are even brighter eyes. Oh, they notice the color, hard to miss his shade of blue, but they missed the brilliance behind them. Quick and sharp, they’ve served him well. Distraction as well as detection.

You stomped from the truck before he could put it in park, slamming both the car and front doors. Johnny followed more sedately as he thought about what you had said. Two weeks without a food delivery, and no one answering their calls. Why didn’t you leave a message? Had you tried Kate? She would have said something, wouldn’t she?

One of the reasons he earned the nickname Soap came from how well he could clean a room. Now that he has you back, he can take in more than the absence of wife. On the couch sat the laptop they had given you, sitting at an angle atop a blanket that spoke of an imminent return. Everything from the cans moldering in the bin to the slight wrinkles in your neatly made bed spoke of intentions.

You had stomped through the house and right out the back door. His coat lay tossed across the counter. A rhythmic scraping of plastic against snow tells a tale. Interesting.

Two weeks without a delivery shouldn’t have sent you sliding down the mountain in your boots. They had left the second vehicle for you, keys hanging in the kitchen. Stepping into the space now Johnny’s eyes were drawn to the hook. It looked exactly as they had left it. So interesting. Johnny can feel his brows pull together as pieces slide around in his mind. It almost makes sense. The picture is forming despite the missing bits.

Turning, he opens the freezer and finds it half full with neatly wrapped hunks of frozen meat. They reminded him of gifts, all packed in white paper and tape. Two roasts and a pork shoulder stared out at him from among frozen veg. You didn’t eat much, and there was enough food in the house to keep you sustained for more than two weeks. Pulling out a roast, Johnny set about getting dinner ready, keeping one ear out for you. With the other, he pops in a headphone and calls Kate. The roast is in the crockpot, and the potatoes on the counter before she answers.

“Laswell.”

Kate’s voice is professional but tired. She had been neck deep in a project they weren’t involved in for months now. It had to be something about you.

“Kate, got a question for you.” Johnny lets his voice reflect a calm happiness.

“If this is about the extra C4—”

Johnny cut in, letting the anger that burned in his bones out. The knife he had pulled from the block to cut potatoes caused his hand to ache from the grip he had on it.

“This is about our new wife, Kate.”

The electronic buzz of silence in his ear told so many tales.

Realizing she wouldn’t be volunteering any information, Johnny takes charge of the conversation. Gently resting the knife on the counter, he lets his body move, finding the cutting board, and begins washing the potatoes.

“Did you know she’s allergic to peanuts?”

Papers rustle through the line.

“No, I didn’t.” Kate bit the words out.

“Why can’t she drive, Kate?” He sets each clean root to the side. Johnny imagines this conversation as a series of tugs on a spider’s web.

“Obviously she was never taught, Soap,” Kate replied, exasperation floating her words.

“She took herself to town on foot because the food deliveries stopped. There is food in the house, but it requires cooking. A peek in the garbage tells me she spent the entire time on canned or fresh food. I’m not a good cook, Kate, but even I know how to throw a roast in a slow cooker. Where did you find her?”

“Soap,” Kate dragged out the word like he would give up his questioning if she held it long enough. Something clicked in his mind. Kate wouldn’t have found her in any normal way. Betas were rare these days and Kate never ended up on projects that didn’t involve some level of fuckery. Chopping the veg, he loads them into the crockpot and dumps enough spices that Simon would whine about a stomach ache if he were here.

“Kate,” her name crunched between his teeth. He growled out his next words. “What the hell happened to her?”

Leaving time and heat to do their work, Johnny turns to the wood-burning stove.

He prepares it while waiting for Kate to navigate the mental hurdles of telling him the truth. Johnny wonders about you. If he were to put you on canvas, it would be a study in contrasts; pastels peering through pockets in watercolor.

“We are two days out from this hitting the news, so keep your mouth shut until after the story drops. Your security clearance isn’t high enough for most of this.” Kate muttered a bit more that he almost missed, “Neither is John’s, for that matter.”

His clearance was pretty damn high, what could have happened that required a higher clearance than what John had currently?

“Better talk fast, then, Kate.”

She does, and with each new sentence, Johnny thinks he is going to be sick.

The stove is cool, and cleaning the ash gives him something to do while he listens to the horrors Kate and her team found in the facility where you had been kept.

While spring had started to unfurl with the appearance of dandelions in the valley, winter reigned here for at least another month before spring could creep beneath the drifts. Lighting a small pile of kindling inside the black stove, Johnny continued to listen. Feeding the hungry licks of heat, he made his plan.

Snagging his coat, Johnny popped down to the truck.

“So let me see if I understand this. You’re telling me that betas lost their rights thirty years back and then were shuttled off in droves to facilities that experimented on them to the point that they discovered the calmers that are being pumped into the water system.” Johnny rubbed the inner corner of his eyes. “But you don’t have her full chart? You don’t know what happened to her?”

Kate sighed, and the distinctive sound of a lighter flaring to life reached him. He pulled open the back door of the truck and shouldered his pack.

“I thought your wife wanted you to quit,” Johnny commented lightly.

“My wife has given me a pass until this is all wrapped up,” Kate replied darkly. “No, we don’t have her full chart. What we do have are records of nearly 6,500 dead betas, and being realistic, there are probably three times that many between all the branches of Scorpio. All we did find was the most recent data about your wife, and it didn’t tell us much, only the drugs they pumped her with the two days before the raid.”

Johnny stared at the stitching of the back seat as he absorbed this information.

“Is there anything else I need to know about our wife, Kate?”

The silence is telling.

“Nothing I can tell you. If she shares anything about what happened to her, would you let me know? We are going to have to recreate Scorpio’s records.”

“I’ll let you know.” Johnny ended the call with a tap to his headphone. He slammed the truck door, watching the body of the vehicle rock under the force of his anger. When he could breathe without vomit staining his throat, he headed inside.

Shutting the front door tight to keep the slowly warming air, he rested his pack on the back of the couch. Digging through the tightly packed clothes, he unearths his sketch book and removes the wall stickers he had found in a tiny shop outside of a base he couldn’t recall the name of. Sprinkles, for you. Johnny set them on top of your laptop. Everything is shoved back into the bag as best he can manage; it gets left by the stairs to deal with later.

With that settled, he headed to the back door to invite you inside. The interior had reached an almost cozy temperature. The sheriff’s office had refused to give up your phone, coat, and the cards that clearly stated your name. John would call to rip the entire office a new asshole once he heard what had happened.

Johnny watches you. Feet spread wide, head down, shoulders tense under your shawl, and your fist tight around the snow shovel tells quite a tale. Sliding the glass door open, he watches as every speck of you shrinks. When you turn, there is no snarling beta who sent the deputy into a tizzy by singing made-up lines to nursery rhymes or a wife who would rather scar him with her teeth than accept his concern.

He eyes you over dinner. Johnny, with his blue eyes that would cut if they were ice, smiled with closed lips every time he caught your eye. After two weeks of suspicion, it rankled.

“Stop staring,” you mutter the words as you stab a potato that has taunted you. Cleaning was a skill valued in Scorpio. Cooking? Not so much. You didn’t dare open the cooking oven for fear of something happening.

“I missed you.”

The sincerity in his words whispers to you like the demons that lived below the floorboards. An offer too good to be true. The mask that kept you safe in Scorpio, calm and sweet with big, sad eyes, slips as you glare up at him.

“There she is,” he says, sounding pleased.

“Who?” You roll the question off your tongue with the hesitance of a base jumper on their first dive.

“The beta who nearly sent a deputy to murder with nursery rhymes.” Johnny smiled with his whole face, cheeks pulled up, and bright eyes wrinkled at the edges.

The heat suffusing through you rivaled that of the stove. You dropped your gaze to the plate before you. Only streaks were left from dinner. There is no good way to soft-step through the differences he had seen today. You were so careful before they left to play that submissive, quiet beta that everyone could accept. Nearly a decade of pretending slid off, bleached by the sun, and cleaned the crows that kept you company.

With a wink, Johnny stood from the table. He took your plate and set them in the sink.

“Let me take care of those!” You squeak out as you jump to your feet.

Johnny gives you a lopsided smile and steps out of the way. Turning on the water, you focus on the sensation of the water and soap on your skin and not the heat of him at your back. He stays for longer than you anticipated, but after the first plate is clean and placed in the drying rack, Johnny leans in and places a kiss on your temple.

“I’m going to shower. You’re up after me, I doubt the sheriff’s office took good care of you.”

His scent lingers in your nose and in the air even as he walks away. The shower is still running when the dishes are done. Deciding that the suggestion was a good one, you head to your room. The main bathroom is opposite your room. Turning left from the kitchen, you spot Johnny’s open pack, shirts spilling from the gaping top. Without a thought, you snag one. It is nestled neatly under your pillow.

You don’t think about the shirt again until you are tucked behind the bathroom door, Johnny and his body wash clogging up your throat. He had knocked on your door when he had finished up. The warm water washing over your skin prickled with a tad too much pressure. Something was off. Turning your back to the spray, you let your hands wander, sometimes your beta side couldn’t come out and tell you what you needed, but you had learned to let it out by degrees.

Both hands settle at your breasts, kneading and plucking at nipples. This remains your focus for long enough that you start shifting from side to side, needs rising. Running your tongue over your teeth, you decide you can indulge this need, but you need to be clean first. When you reach for the soap, since you did your hair before the internal unease had escalated, the one wet from Johnny’s hand is the one you lathered into your cloth.

The scratch of the rag on your skin escalated the need settling between your nerves. Cleaning to your toes, you rinse off and wring out the cloth. Adding more soap you focus on cleaning between your legs and ass cheeks. Bringing the rag back to the stream of water, the mixed scent of slick and Johnny’s body wash simultaneously causes a rush of need and a stream of terror to rocket through you.

Fuck. Your heat was coming.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad @sun-daddy-yoriichi @wiciclesatmidnight @kaoyamamegami @little-mini-me-world @corvid007 @skeletonsucker @feyresqueen @dreamland08 @sweetybuzz25 @minxx3d @ovxlovxy @night-shadowblood-writes2

[fruitidyke]

No One Else Noticed

SYNOPSIS: You were one of the toughest players in basketball history. That was until you got hurt, one bad fall had costed you everything. Your dream, your career, your future on the court. You hide the pain from everyone, pretend like it doesn’t bother you. But Nika knows better. She sees right through you, every time.

WARNINGS ⚠︎: INJURY (ACL TEAR), FAILED SURGERY, HURT/COMFORT, AND GRIEF OVER A CAREER. I MIGHT'VE MISSED SOME AND IF I DID DM ME OR LMK <3

WORD COUNT: 𝟏𝟐𝟐𝟏

RECOMMENDED SONG: Like real people do- Hozier

masterlist

It was your last game before the WNBA draft. You were predicted to become the third pick overall. Life felt like a high, and you never thought it could get better. You were hyped, you had helped getting your team to the championship game, and this was it.

It was the third quarter. It was difficult. Both teams were neck and neck the entire game. The crowd wasn't helping either, some booing when there was a foul helping your team, or the overly supportive fans that distracted the team.

You stole the ball from a player on the opposing team and got to the offensive end as fast as you could, trying to plan a left-hander in the hoop and get the lead by four now. That was all until the girl caught up to you, and fast. She went to block it, yet moved the wrong way, toppling on top of you.

When she did, you hit the court awkwardly, and it was clear something went wrong. It took a second to realize what the hell just happened. The stadium was silent after hearing the pop in your leg. It felt as if everything had just stopped except the excruciating pain in your leg.

Coaches, trainers, and teammates all ran over once you didn’t get up. You laid there on the court, crying out in pain as you held your left leg, trying to relieve any of the pain. A teammate and a trainer helped carry you off to get the medical attention you needed in the locker room.

After everything...the years you spent as a kid telling everyone that you were gonna be a professional basketball player, the times people laughed in your face and said, “In your dreams, kid. Find something more realistic,” to the hours spent practicing to prove all those people wrong one day, it felt like it was all thrown away when you were told you tore your ACL and needed surgery.

After you woke up from your surgery, the uncomfortable throb and pain was noticeable but wasn’t unbearable due to the drugs. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still wrong. Your parents sat next to you, gently rubbing your arm and talking, but you were too busy fighting off the sedation to hear them.

A little bit of time passed before there was a soft knock on the door and it opened, revealing the doctor, a solemn expression on his face.

“Hey kid, how are you?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, slowly repeating the words that were stuck on repeat in your head. “When can I play basketball again?” you asked softly, still feeling the effects of the drugs.

“I’m sorry to inform you... but you won’t be able to after this. There were complications during the surgery, and you won’t be able to exert yourself like that anymore,” he said, trying to break the news gently.

He saw the look on your face. He saw your world completely crumble at his words.

“What?? No-no, I need to… Mom, I need to!” you said as tears welled up.

“Baby-” she got out.

“No! I can do physical therapy, I-I just need time!” you panicked, feeling that dream slipping from your fingertips. You tried to sit up even a little, but it was no use, your parents gently held you back.

“With the problems that happened during the procedure, physical therapy won’t help. No matter how much time passes, you won’t be able to go back,” the doctor said.

Those dreams of the WNBA never became your reality.

You were an assistant coach for the Seattle Storm now. But hey… at least you were finally dating the girl you’d been pining over since your sophomore year of college, Nika Mühl. She was the most amazing, sweetest person ever. She could read you like a book. No matter how hard you tried to hide things, especially your pain, she already knew when it started.

She was handing you your pain medication when it flared up, not even having to ask if it hurt. She was the one running a warm bubble bath and sitting in there with you, gently massaging your shoulders and whispering how proud and in love she was with you when you couldn’t bear it. She was the one waking up in the middle of the night to help you.

You were snapped out of the nightmare haze that repeated in your head of getting that news over and over again, by the sound of the team playfully arguing over who had won, they were messing around, trying to see who could shoot the most in a minute. You weren't in the hospital but sitting in the Seattle Storm Center for Basketball Performance watching the team mess around during practice. A player, Zia James, came over, tossing the ball in her hands to you.

“Still got those skills, coach?” she asked, crossing her arms and looking at you.

“Come on now, you know I do,” you said with a soft laugh, standing up from your seat on the sideline, hiding the stabbing pain flaring up.

“Then show us,” she said, watching you.

You got up, walking to half court where the other players were. Everyone watched you, eager to see what you’d do. Nika watched you too, a hint of worry in her eyes. She tried to subtly get you not to attempt it. She was the only person—other than family—who knew the surgery had failed two years ago. Everyone else assumed you went into coaching because you liked it more and didn’t want to risk another injury.

You got to the three-point line, dribbled a little, watching the hoop and calculating your shot. The team was cheering you on as you perfectly swished it in.

For the rest of practice, you helped with plays, shots, and perfecting their movements—masking the worsening pain.

When you and Nika got to the car, she sighed, put her basketball bag in the backseat, and got in the passenger side. As you started the car, she pulled out your pain meds from her bag.

“Ljubavi, you need to stop working yourself so hard,” she said, gently pushing some hair out of your face. She handed you the medicine and her water bottle.

“I-” you cut yourself off, knowing you were about to give her some excuse she’d see right through. “I know…” you said softly as you took the medicine before driving out of the parking lot.

When you got home, she ran a bath for both of you. While she was doing that, you slowly undressed, not wanting to push yourself any more than you already had. You looked down at your leg, it was red and puffy from being aggravated.

Your thoughts were cut off by Nika’s voice calling out that the bath was ready. When you got to the bathroom, she gently kissed your head before helping you in. The warm water helped a little with the pain you were experiencing but Nika helped you the most.

You rested between her legs as she held you, gently placing kisses on your shoulder. In that quiet, intimate moment, it felt like only you two existed.

A/N: this has genuinely been such a fun story to write. I tried my best with the idea, hopefully I did good. Pls enjoy <3 I love yall, please stay safe.

[burgerrat]

"No one gets me like you do."

Harley Sawyer x Reader

NOTE: gender-neutral reader, mentions of gore, threats of violence & light angst.

(I'm gonna be honest the positive feedback with my headcanons made me wanna make s'more Harley stuff. Praying that I kept his personality as close to I think he'd act canonically. Ough

My main inspiration behind this was dovewingkinnie's art piece mixed with that scene in Sonic 2 where Dr. Robotnik's grabbing Agent Stone's face

Aaaaandddd the prompt that makes the title comes from melamemea's prompt list here!

Hope you enjoy!)

It felt like you had been watching the procedure for years, when only 30 minutes had passed by as the Doctor poked and prodded at some unfortunate, sedated Smiling Critter's insides.

Sprawled on an operating table as a robotic, three-fingered limb attached to the ceiling of the room, worked away with a scalpel; a mechanic vessel bent over the operating table, a singular, wide eye displayed on it's screen as it observed the process, also lending its pair of hands, when they were of need. 

He was gruesome in his work, yet his hand was gentle in the most skilled of ways, in however form it came.

A professional in his field, until the very end.

"Do I really have to sit through this?" You huffed, resting your head in your palm.

You were spooned into another of Harley's vessels, sitting cross legged as the metal giant behind you remained still, like a protective shell.

"Squeamish, are we?" The Doctor casually asked, not bothering to actually acknowledge you with one of his physical forms.

"No! I just- ugh, how do you sit through this without falling asleep? It's not like taking a walk around inside here will be the death of me."

Soon as you responded, the scrap robot behind you hummed to life, the operation before your eyes coming to a pause quickly, and now... the screen of the vessel behind you turned on, displaying that oh so familiar eye.

"Your blathering is distracting enough." The Doctor hissed, his anger thinly boiling over.

"I might as well put you on that table instead. Perhaps you'll find my work more 'interesting' once it's skin-deep?" He chuckled.

This was Dr. Sawyer's attempt at humor, only his sadistic side could see the amusement about his threats.

But you knew better, you knew he bluffed each time, because he'd never acted upon it. Not when he was furious, not when you were asleep and vulnerable.

You glared at the vessel behind you, as if to say:

'do it, I dare you.'

The eye on the screen squinted, a quiet confrontation.

Then, dropping all hints of sadism, his voice returned, gentle and monotone.

"I cannot, and will not allow you out of my sight. Set one foot outside of my laboratories, and you'll be just another lamb to the slaughter, I can guarantee the probabilities." 

He'd told you this a million times before, each time more frustrated than the last that he had to deal with such a thick headed person.

His apathetic logic brought him once more to question why, why he kept you. Why did this type of recognition mean so much to him, when it came not only unprofessionally, but brought him objectively nothing?

"I know, I know, Harl. Look, I'm sorry-"

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His eye, once zoned out, focusing back on you.

Harl.

He liked the ring of that.

Only you bothered to give him nicknames like that.

He liked whatever this was that he was feeling, it... helped him relax.

"I just can't do it like you do- the patience. And at least you're doing something. Maybe I can be your assistan-?"

"Absolutely not." He interrupted before you had even completed your question.

"It's my work and my work alone. You may take notes if you wish, but I will not allow any interference. Especially from an unqualified hand." He sternly said.

You sighed in defeat, you knew how much his work meant to him, you happily engaged- but watching it actually happen? Much less intriguing (or violent, really) than you'd imagined at first.

"However..."

His sing-songy tone as he continued caught your attention. His metallic hands gently took hold of yours briefly, before they snaked up to cup your face, the vessel's head lowering slightly so his eye could analyze your expression. Your entire face, really.

You could feel your cheeks heating up slightly against the cold touch of the machine's fingers as they smushed your face gingerly, his fingers slowly moving in small, smooth circles.

"Mmm, yes... I think we can build a little enrichment area for this little mouse."

He purred, his eye squinting playfully.

He knew what he was doing.

For a moment, a brief moment, he indulged exactly what you wished for: more of his attention, his touch. His hands did not come off of your face at any point, one moved to knead your head as the other continued to study your physiognomy, observing your behaviour, taking mental notes.

But all good things must come to an end, regrettably. And, much as he cherished you, his work was more important, you (or anything else) weren’t above it.

"I do wish to study your reactions upon being presented with certain... situations." The Doctor trailed off as he readjusted his position around you, his consciousness switching back to the other vessel and the robotic arm hovering over the operating table, casually going back to digging his scalpel around the Smiling Critter’s guts mixed with stuffing. His tone became fully professional, as if he were discussing business with you.

"E-excuse me??" You babbled out, face still red from his probing.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I won't place you in any hostile environment. Since my surgeries are so boring to you, I might just have to leave you with some homework to do instead, mm?"

Once his response was met with silence, he continued.

"I'll just place a few seeds around a labyrinth for you to find and collect, and see how well your cognitive abilities are. After that? Who knows! I might reward you with some cheese." He mocked.

You raised an eyebrow, unamused.

"Fine. So long as I'm doing something." You huffed, earning a contented chuckle for a response from the Doctor as he worked.

You were tempted to ask him to elaborate instead of speaking about his metaphorical 'lab mouse', to satisfy your curiosity, but you didn't want him to think you doubted your safety around him... he'd kept you alive this far, was ever-so vigilant to make sure you were well and alive.

You trust him.

You care.

~

"Most would come to think I'd be laying some sort of trap. The logical outcome." Harley observed once he concluded his procedure on the Critter, the robotic arm once more going still, the vessel remaining active and now... focusing on you.

"Oh, to be so blissfully void of paranoia."

"Yes." You agreed, then shaking your head, "but I know you, Harley. You word it like we're strangers." You added. "I should be able to trust you."

Silence.

"Do you know why?" The Doctor vaguely asked, his monotone voice sounded like he was miles away, yet he was so close to you. The automaton had begun approaching, the one behind you had turned on again. Yet he seemed... disconnected.

Not in the technological sense of his vessels.

"Why won't you lay a trap for me...?" You tried to clarify, "or why I should be able to trust..?"

"Neither." He scoffed.

"Why it is human nature to seek pointless connections, such as this. Nothing of value is extracted, there are no means to an end. What's the value of a life, when it can mean so much more? When it can be so much more?"

You tilted your head slightly, raising to your feet.

"Why does it have to mean anything?" Your answer was another question.

"It has to mean something to me." He barked.

That hurt a little. No… maybe not his intention, but your expression changed, and it didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Don't I?" Your voice softened.

He made a noise, like he was about to respond, yet held himself back the moment the words were going to leave his speakers. The main vessel he was using to express himself retracted a little.

You'd caught him off guard enough to remain speechless.

Because you were right.

You meant something to him.

You, who interacted with him even when you had no need for him, unlike the company who'd betrayed him twice.

You, who listened, who liked him even through his irritable, sadistic nature.

You, the one person that came back to find him, even if there wasn't much left.

And it wasn't because of his research.

You came back, for him.

"Harl...?" Your voice quivered a little, concerned with what his reply would be. Now, you were starting to doubt your safety through the hurt.

"You do." 

His response came out quick but monotone, void of emotion.

He wasn't sure what to make of himself. He hated it when others displayed sympathy towards his experiments, but he was telling the truth: you meant something to him, and, much as he hated to come to terms with it, it wasn't for his research.

You sighed in relief, your expression softening as you looked to the ground.

"I apologize, I was merely... pondering." His tone now took on its usual, eloquent speech. Or at least he tried to keep it that way, like how he'd word a presentation.

"Wondering why humans need to seek... connections... what drives this.. urge. This feeling." He rasped that last bit with spite. He couldn't understand himself, this counterproductive hypocrisy, and oh how he hated it.

This was his indirect attempt of saying 'I'm sorry that I hurt you', having taken notice that his selfishness had actually caused damage to the one person who gave a damn to even look for him. It wasn't good by any stretch, but it was an attempt to mend things up with clarifications. 

"I don't think... you need to know specifically the why of it...we're social creatures, it's, uhm.. normal, to want connections.." you tried to explain, approaching the automaton, reaching to hold his hand.

Were he in his human body, he would've noticeably tensed at the contact.

"Why still bother, when you have been betrayed over, and over again? And the funniest part: there is no prize for it. It has no meaning." He spat, once again void of emotion. He was subtly venting at this point, really, not even trying to hide that he was talking about himself.

In this moment, his complete detachment from humanity matched with his current body.

"Must have some meaning, if our relationship is an indicator of it." You played with his hand, intertwining your fingers.

Even when he had little regard for how you felt, you gave him compassion. You cherish him.

"I don't understand what drives you to it. What compels me." The Doctor's grip tightened around your hand for a moment, frustrated.

Then, he relaxed, his other hand tenderly taking hold of yours. Even though he was machine, it was his gentle handling that reminded one that he was still a man, despite the sharp metal.

"But.. one thing I do know, is that no one gets me... like you do. There is something there... and I intend to study it, why you, and nobody else."

Part of you knew that you both knew what it was.

Perhaps he was in denial of it, or maybe this was another indirect attempt of his, to say 'I love you' in his own way.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Thirty-Three - Opia

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism, Suicidal Ideation, Psychiatric Wards, Forcible Sedation, Depiction of a Suicide Attempt

A/N: Mean't to get this out on Shigaraki's birthday proper, but oh well! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I have a feeling you will xD

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Well that was a shit show.

Two shit shows actually, she thought as she locked up the empty pool deck, and she couldn’t figure out which was more pathetic. Her disastrous attempt at reconciliation with Shigaraki, or that sorry excuse for a swim practice she’d used to try and get over it.

It’s not like it was even a high stakes practice. Yes, they were fully back from winter break now and gearing up for prefectural and championship qualifying meets, but the time now was being focused on cleaning up fundamentals and technique, rather than locking any specific rosters. Times were not make or break at this point.

And yet, somehow, she managed to seriously break.

Subpar times, late entries, jesus, she even missed touching the wall on one of her turnarounds — complete amateur hour. And she knew everybody noticed, how could they not?

At least they were polite about it though. Nobody giggled or whispered to themselves or made snide comments to her. They were still her friends after all (for now). But also, at this point in the year, they just assumed it was the typical senior fears and pressures getting to her. College recruiters, finals, entrance exams, what she was going to do with her life — things a lot of them were just as freaked by. So they didn’t feel the need to ask if something else was going on, sparing her that obnoxious little dialogue tree of:

“Hey are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty out of it. Do you need to talk about something?”

“No really, I just have a lot on my mind and blah blah blah…

No, everyone had made their assumptions already, picked up on her wound-tight and, frankly, sour disposition, and figured she probably didn’t want to talk about it.

And they’d be right.

Because what could they possibly say to encourage her in this situation? Hell, what could she even say about this situation? They didn’t know what was going on with her and Shigaraki, and she certainly couldn’t explain it. 

“My kind-of-but-not-really-reformed-emotional-and-sexual-extorter, who I have the most inexplicable feelings for, is lashing out at me. I think our not-relationship is on the brink of ruin, and I don’t know how to fix it. What do you think, Nejire?”

Yeah, no. That was so beyond any teenage friend’s paygrade. 

Actually, it may be above anyone’s paygrade that didn’t hold a Psy.D…

She should’ve listened to Kurogiri and just given Shigaraki some space. Maybe if she did that now, let him cool down and come to her, this situation might be salvageable.

And yet, she couldn’t stop the anxiety from flooding her brain as she made her way to the school gate. She’d volunteered to stay late and oversee cleanup and locking the pool today. She’d figured that she could use the time to try and distract herself. 

For all the good that did. She was just as preoccupied as during practice. She ended up re-organizing the pull floats in the storage room three different times because her mind just couldn’t figure out how to make them all fit — despite having done this for three years now. She just couldn’t focus on anything other than the panic and what-if’s bombarding her.

What if Shigaraki interpreted her giving him space as her giving up on him? Of not caring? He was a persistent son of a bitch when the tables were turned, so maybe he needed her to be the same. God, but what if that made things worse?! It already had this last time. What if she completely ruined things by pushing? What if she ruined things more by backing off?

Maybe she was just doomed to ruin things no matter what.

She came to a stop just outside the school, all of her swirling thoughts and pressures dizzying and weighing her down. She groaned at the physical hopelessness of it all, “This is impossible…”

“What is?”

She jumped at the unexpected, but familiar monotone — not expecting anyone to still be on campus. Or at least, not anyone that would be paying attention to her acts of despair. But when she turned to the voice, she was even more surprised to see a very distinct head of hair waiting just a few feet away.

Continue on AO3

[davey-in-a-minivan]

Chapters: 11/11 Fandom: The Pasithea Powder (Podcast) Relationships: Jane Gonzalez/Sophie Green Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sophie goes AWOL, Season/Series 01, Canon-Typical Drug Use and Language and Violence, POV Jane Gonzalez, POV Sophie Green, Hypnos usage, Memory Loss, Truth Serum

Chapter Summary: Jane is predictably difficult about the actual experimental trial. She doesn’t want Sophie there. She’s concerned about having a person with a gun in the room as Pasithea powder is administered.

last chapter is up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🎊🎊🎊

[goto-hauntrcss]

❝ with a smile like that, i can’t help but want to know your secret. what’s got you so cheery today ? ❞ sent by @wrang1er

her eyes roll, setting his coffee down on the table in front of him. he doesn't know her well enough to know the difference between a truly happy helena, which she's hesitant to believe exists, and one who's just playing along. still, he's not entirely wrong that there's an extra spring in her step. "what can I say, I can't believe you're still here." gotham city. it's funny she'd invite him here, knowing how much that she herself hates this place. she subscribes to the fact that no one should visit gotham. hell, no one should live here. but it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the reason why she stays, instead of returning to palermo: there are people, children, who have no choice when it comes to leaving. people who don't deserve the terrors that walk the city streets. she cannot, in good conscience, leave them behind when she knows there's more work to be done. "I was sure you'd get word of some storm brewing and leave me in the dust." there's still time. it echoes in her mind, knowing full well that people never stick around — not for her, but they could have fun while it lasted. "It's killing you not to be out there, isn't it?"

[farfromstrange]

GOOD MORNING DAREDEVIL GANG! I am once again coming to you with thoughts, and they are SCRAMBLED because I’m still reeling from that fucking shower scene. Lord help us all. These thoughts are not as well articulated as I wanted them to be, but it is what it is.

Buckle up. Spoilers for episode 7 Of Daredevil: Born Again ahead.

Matt washing the blood off him and Heather coming in, and him pinning her to the fucking wall to distract her from the fact he’s bruised was not how I thought the shower scene would play out, but it worked, and if it had been me, it would have worked too because holy shit, the way he kissed her. I am unwell. He’s always used his sexiness to avoid answering questions and honestly, good for him.

Sorry, let me just crash out real quick: I want him to grab my face and fuck me against the shower wall like an animal to distract me from the fact he’s bruised and bleeding, and I want him to bite me so hard I start bleeding, too. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK ME MATT MURDOCK. Why’s he so hot I don’t understand. I’m supposed to give an in-depth review, but here I am wetter than the Pacific Ocean, begging to God to make him real so he can kiss (and fuck) me like that, too. Oh well.

Matt seemed so annoyed when she asked him about what was going and what happened to him, and I get it. Not just that he was annoyed but that she was asking him all these questions (that any normal girlfriend would if she thought her boyfriend was just a really traumatized lawyer) because she’s worried and desperate. Who wouldn’t be desperate with Matt ‘I hate therapy talk’ Murdock? Let’s be real here. He sucks at this.

She doesn’t know him the way the people who also know about Daredevil do, and that’s the problem, I think. I mean, I do get that Matt was annoyed because he himself is grappling with what he did, with all that’s happened and did happen a year ago, and he is basically trying to hold up two lives again, which is exhausting, but a lot of his problems would be remedied if he just talked about them and didn’t push everyone away. But we’ve known this.

Him calling her ‘sweetie’ took me right out though, and the fact Charlie’s accent slipped made it ten times better. Like, I can’t be the only one who noticed that?

I love LOVE that he finally admitted that the life he has now is so different from what he had before and it feels fake—because it’s not him. It’s not the life Matt had and was happy with before Foggy died. I mean, we saw how happy he was in She-Hulk, and he was doing good for himself with friends who knew and loved and understood him. He was getting back on track. Now that that’s gone, and he has seemingly loads of money and a girlfriend who doesn’t know about his darker half, it’s not going to work out, and we know it won’t. Marvel is doing this on purpose.

That’s why that relationship seems so dysfunctional and wrong and inauthentic the closer we get to the finale. Because it is dysfunctional. It’s supposed to be dysfunctional because Matt doesn’t want to be alone. He was trying to be normal, and Heather is part of that, but that no longer works for him. It was never going to, but he’s only realizing that now. That’s not who he is, and that’s why they have so many issues. It’s not Heather’s fault.

He said ‘I love you’, but the smile before he said it feels forced. Now, that doesn’t mean I think he lied. I do think he loves her. I think, he loves her in a different way than we’ve seen him love Elektra or Karen, but he does love her. And he cares about her. She matters to him. So, as dysfunctional as they are, he does have feelings, and if he ends up losing her, I think it will be the last nail in the coffin.

I love that he said “Dr. Glenn” after she gave him that therapy talk, and that he brushed away her tears, trying to reassure her. He’s a little shit and we love him for that.

But him feeling her face? The forehead kiss? What the fuck. Somebody fucking sedate me.

Heather was right though, the things he does border on self-harm because he pushes it too far. And we know what happened in Season 3 when he was so willing to die. One does not just let go of that. He’s always had this tendency to self-destruct, and I love that she finally pointed it out to him.

That’s what makes him such a complex character. He has different facets, and just when you think you’ve seen it all, there’s more. That’s why he needs someone who understand and accepts all of him, and this whole thing with Heather is just a ticking time bomb that is bound to backfire.

(I typed all of this after pausing that scene because I had to get these thoughts down. The rest will be written after I finish watching.)

I have three words: what. the. fuck. I mean, I knew Muse was going to be a problem for Heather. He seemed pretty obsessed with her the first time he talked to her, but the fact he tied her up in her own office in broad daylight, ready to bleed the shit out of her kind of came unexpected.

Matt knowing he was going after Heather by feeling the drawings Muse had made of her face… I said earlier how sweet it was he felt her face, BUT THATS HOW HE COULD TELL IM CRASHING OUT if he hadn’t done it who knows what would have happened

And he really put the suit on in the middle of the day. That fight scene was amazing, but I have to admit, those new Billy Clubs are definitely made to fit the new Matt and not the old one. What do you MEAN they have blades attached to them? What do you mean he impaled Muse and didn’t give a fuck? Oh, that man has lost it. Foggy was the last thing tethering him to sanity, and now that he’s gone, Matt is just saying ‘fuck it’ to everything, and I am so here for it.

I kind of thought Muse was going to kill Heather, but she actually killed him?? I didn’t expect that because we got him for what, two episodes? I kind of liked him. Muse was an incredible villain! Sure, the symbolism of him lying like a mural on that sheet was great, but I’m sad he died so soon.

Anyway. Marvel is doing a good job at presenting Matt and Heather’s relationship as ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’ at first, with the flirty dates and Kirsten setting them up so they’d both get a little action, but also at the same time slowly presenting all the ways in which it is flawed. Matt jumping into a relationship with her after not dealing with his grief, her being a therapist who knows the signs and is starting to suspect things, Matt putting the suit back on without her ever knowing about Daredevil, him not even acknowledging the fact that he was a hostage in a bank robbery, and now she’s also traumatized without knowing the man who saved her was actually her boyfriend, the same man who’s been lying to her all this time about his alter ego. Matt is so caught up in everything, he’s just continuing to build that house of cards until it’s ultimately blown away.

And don’t even get me started on Fisk and Vanessa. Therapy seems to have done nothing because that woman was ready to have her husband killed because she misses her power as Queenpin, and honestly, good for her. I just think it’s fucking hilarious that happens right after their therapist is incapacitated (because let’s face it, Heather won’t be able to go back to that office for a while). Like, we knew it was never going to work out, but her affiliation with the Fisk’s is another thing that might put Heather into trouble again and possibly lead to more tensions between her and Matt because he has a history with them, too that she doesn’t know about.

I love how Fisk partly doesn’t want to believe Matt went back on his promise but he also does believe it because he’s mad at him for ruining everything in the original show, which, let’s face it, is the only reason he’s doing it. That man is holding a grudge, and when he does that it gets dangerous. Anyway, I’m curious to see what he’s going to do because he was pretty quiet about possible actions against Daredevil in the episode, but we know shit’s gonna go down, so we’ll see.

All in all I am screaming crying throwing up. He was so soft but also so fucking dark and dangerous in that episode. And the fight scene in the middle of the day was definitely something else, something different, especially with all the light we usually don’t get, but I’m not complaining.

[sillysowa]

Could you do a lil one-shot of Hobie and fem reader on a road trip, reader driving until he takes the wheel since she took too many distracted stops at roadside shops. That’s until he takes his own stop this time but it involves him on her lap🤭 or not, nsfw or sfw- just a lil idea <3

Not gonna lie, I started writing this request and half way through I realized I read it wrong. Hobie on her lap caught me off guard and I didn’t quite understand how to do that in a car (or what your specific idea was) but I hope this is satisfactory—I went with a switch reader vibe!

I WANNA BE SEDATED!

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X FEM!READER

GENRE: SMUT! PWP

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: USE OF Y/N, USE OF PET-NAMES, SEX IN A CAR, SLIGHTLY DOM READER AT POINTS, VAGINAL SEX

AUTHORS NOTE: NOT PROOFREAD SO THERE MAY BE SLIGHT MISTAKES!

SYNOPSIS: WHATS A ROAD TRIP WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND WITH NO SEX ON THE HIGHWAY?

—

“Oh my god, Hobie! This one looks cute!” You gush for about the sixth time in the past two hours, pulling off into another local cafe in a small town. The car swings to the side as you enter the tiny parking lot and Hobie’s lanky frame bangs around in his seat as he clings to the handle on his side,

“Shit! Holy fuck, love! Go easy.” He curses, laughing in complete disbelief at your trash driving. You pull into the small bakery parking lot and bother the shit out of Hobie the entire time you’re inside (he loves it.) He pays for it all and you leave with a couple cases of sweets and pile them into your baskets in the back of the car for safekeeping. You “dust” your hands off, reaching for the drivers side door when Hobie’s hand shoots out and snatches your wrist,

“I don’t think so, dollface. It’s my turn—get your sweet ass in the passenger seat.” Hobie quips, nodding towards the other side of the car. You huff and walk over,

“Your driving isn’t any better than mine!” You say, getting comfortable in your seat and not so discreetly catching glimpses at Hobie’s hands as he turns the car on and shifts it into reverse.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He laughs, his hand over you and firmly on the back of your seat as pulls out of the parking lot.

“Oh shut up.” You snap, sipping your drink and messing with his radio. When he’s noticed this, he quickly stops you,

“Ah-ah-ah! I’m driving, my songs.” He tsks, waving his finger at you all annoyingly and pointing to the cds he brought into your car. (He stole every single one.) You sift through all of them, announcing the titles until Hobie gives you the green light on one,

“Road to ruin, Ramones?”

“Yes! Play that one, love.” He smiles, eyes on the road as you put the CD in. Instantly, loud punk rock fills the car, the both of you getting hype and energetic. Hobie drummed his ring clad fingers over the wheel, thrashing his head around and yelling out lyrics, having the time of his life. He stole glances at you—the way your lips locked around the straw of your drink from the cafe, the way you sang along to his favorite songs, and how jaw droppingly gorgeous you look as his passenger princess. It made him feel a certain way, his mischievous side coming out as he pulls over the car in the middle of nowhere on the busy highway.

“Hobie?-“

“Get in the back baby.” Hobie mumbles, that special glint in his eyes as he looks at you, swallowing. You smile widely for a moment before you hurriedly unbuckle and clamor into the backseat with Hobie, a giggling mess. His tall stature struggles in the small car, stumbling around and falling onto the seats. You’re both breathless and laughing, the sunlight fading from view and the only lighting being the cars on the road and the inside lights on in the front seat. Hobie’s under you, kissing you passionately with his hips thrusting up against yours. You break the kiss to suck hickeys into his neck, your whole body shuddering at the sounds he makes,

“A-Ah! Fuck-Don’t stop.” He grunts, his hands finding their way to your hips. You pull back looking him in the eyes, waiting,

“Oh, Y/N don’t make me-“

“Beg.”

“Fuck.” Hobie sighs, looking up at your beautiful smiling eyes, the sadistic look in your them making his cock twitch,

“Please…please don’t stop.” Hobie grunts, his hand reaching up into your hair and tugging it, the moan that leaves your lips a firm reminder of how much you both want this. You grin at him, leaning down and kissing his neck, sucking hickeys right into that sensitive spot of his. Hobie’s hips grind into yours, and you grind back. He’s breathless in the warm air, the windows starting to fog up in the corners.

“Y/N…Y/N.” He moans, reaching up and holding your waist, his fingers dipping under your top as he looks up at you, asking for permission. You nod and he instantly pulls your shirt off of you, nearly cumming at the sight of your tits.

“Fuck…” He groans, sitting up slightly and immediately flicking his tongue over one your nipples, the needy look in his eyes and the sensation driving you insane. Hobie sucks and licks your nipples, biting every now and then, letting out growl-like noises. The bulge in his jeans is hard against your covered pussy, and you feel his need in the sweat on his skin, the agog look in his eyes and the labored breathing that plagues him as he tugs at your pants by the belt loops. Both of you waste no time in stripping completely naked, panting as his loud rock music thrums in your skulls,

“Y-Y/N please,”

“I’m ready, Hobie.” You groan, your pussy rubbing over his hard cock before he grabs your face in his two large hands and kisses you passionately. It’s a mess—you’re both groaning and moaning, so horny you think you could die. Hobie breaks the kiss. his gaze traveling down to where you sink your hips down and he slides all the way inside you. Hobie squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling—warm, wet, walls clenching his cock and threatening to milk him for all he’s got. Hobie feels his adrenaline race and his arms come around your back, pulling your flat against his chest as he fucks you as hard as he can,

“H-Hobie!” You moan, surprised as he aggressively rams into that sweet spot in you, the sound of sex barely heard over the sound of punk rock. The car shakes and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation of his cock deep inside you, stretching you wide open and leaving you breathless,

“Take it, doll. Take all of it, I know you can—your pussy loves my dick, fuckin’ made for it.” He groans, a mumbling mess drunk on your pussy. He fucks you with a steady rhythm, the cars on the road flying past the both of you with their high beams illuminating the car. Hobie’s eyebrows are pinched, his face warm to the touch and you can what his heart beating rapidly. Your pussy clenches and pulsates, the feeling of being fucked like this leaving you delirious. Your head was fuzzy, and your walls were growing tighter as you neared your orgasm, Hobie dirty-talking you through it.

You feel warm cum spilling out of you as he just beats up your insides. You couldn’t tell how many times you came, all you knew was “Yes!” “More!” and “Hobie~!” Hobie loosened his grip on you just as he was about to cum, moving his head to kiss you while he spills inside you, both of you moaning into each others mouths. It was loud, it was messy, and it was insane. You felt the twitching of his entire length as his warm cum filled your insides, Hobie still pumping into you in your overstimulation. You both had to take a minute to regroup yourselves after that kind of sex, stumbling to sit up and get dressed again,

“Couldn’t help it, you looked so good sucking that straw eatlier.” Hobie confesses as he pulls his jeans on,

You laugh, disbelief al over your face, “That’s what this was about? You fucking pervert!” You laugh, playfully shoving his arm. Hobie smirks,

“I’ll be that if it means fucking you like this.” Hobie says in a deep tone as he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, getting a taste of you one last time before you have to get on the road again.

[shadyteacup]

Bated Breath

Dazai x fem! Reader

Wait till the end, it’s worth it ;) || part 2

Dazai wondered how he ended up like this.

Bullets flying through the smoky air, clearing a path for fresher air. He hated the fact that he actually felt a rush as he inhaled the gunpowder.

Was it because it reminded him of the dark old days? His past haunted him like a tenacious one sided lover, who failed to acknowledge his delusions.

Oftentimes he found himself actually giving in to the warm embrace of his mafia days, the memories feeling more hot, than warm. Hot enough to burn through his clothes and leave burns on his porcelain skin.

Was this just that? Was he melting into a ghost of his past?

No.

This was much worse, he thought.

Because behind one of those bullets, stood a gun, aimed point blank at him. A slight tug at the trigger, and he would be a few grams lighter, a part of his brain flying out from his skull.

Yet, the one who held the gun stood perfectly still, almost like a statue.

Their finger on the trigger, their eyes sharp, and their lips in a smirk.

An oddly warm smirk.

“Osamu.”, they whispered, almost inaudible considering the many bullets zipping past his ears, fuzzing up his brain with the constant ringing.

Nobody could hear them. But he could. Because he knew those lips well. Way too well. He knew how they curled, and had almost memorised the way they called his name. They didn’t have to let out any sound, just the way they moved, told him they were tracing out the syllables of his name.

As I said, he knew those lips well.

Because he was caressing them last night. He was whispering sweet nothings as he slid a tongue into her mouth, those very lips opening in delicious moans at his antics in bed.

He knew her so well, that all it took was a look, and he knew what was coming.

He threw his head back. His torso leaned back due to the sudden movement, and in one swift motion, he fell to the ground, unmoving.

She giggled, as her love, for the man lying in a pool of blood by his head, a few feet from her heels, oddly, only grew.

She waited patiently for her men to finish the task before them.

Soon enough, many lifeless bodies laid on the ground, and shot members of the ADA stared back at her, their looks deadly.

Sadly, that’s all they could do; glare at her. They were hopelessly wounded, and their mastermind, the man who always figured it all out, who was a hundred steps ahead of their enemies, was lying stupidly at her feet.

“I’ll kill you.”

You heard the weretiger mumble out helplessly.

He was injured, and his powers would take time to kick in due to the severity of the blows he had been given.

Your men weren’t amateurs, they were pretty good at their job.

“I’d love to see you try, hun.”, you said, in a voice too calm and caring for the situation you were in.

Kunikida coughed up some blood as he tried to apply pressure to his wound.

The doctor used one hand to hold her head in place, as the drugs she had ingested unbeknownst to her, were forcing her to sleep. A simple yet effective method to slow down her healing. If she gives in to the sleeping pills, she won’t stay awake to heal her fatal wounds, and the grogginess didn’t let her focus.

Kyoka had been sedated, and Tanizaki had been dealt with, by using Naomi as a distraction, causing him to lose focus for a split second. That was enough to wound him enough to immobilise him.

“Take them away.”

Your men bowed and got to work, working on taking away everyone, except your lover.

Atsushi had already healed a little, and had regained enough energy to scream at you.

“YOU’RE DEAD! IM GOING TO KILL YOU! You.. I -“, Atsushi yelled, before being sedated by your men.

You watched as everyone, save for Yosano san, was given a heavy sedative, and rushed out of the room.

They had to work hard to keep her awake; she couldn’t pass out yet, for her own sake.

The room cleared, and now it was just you, and him. You watched his body, sprawled on the floor.

You kneeled down near his face, observing his beautiful features.

Hesitantly, you traced a finger on his jaw. His face felt so soft.

Angelic even.

You admired him some more, tracing his cheeks, his lovely lips, and his nose. Your thumb brushed his eyebrows lovingly, before leaning down to his lips.

You kissed him.

Passionately.

Some would call you a psychopath, for doing something so loving to someone you had killed.

The funny thing is, Dazai kissed back.

“Was I convincing enough, Bella?”

Tag list:

@anarchy-black-cat @707xn @evalynanne @b-i-t-t-i-e-s @kuraxmasha @syynnaaah  @roserosie05 @mikasa-stan-account @alittlesimp @greenshirtimagines @paradise-creator @kiyokoxd @ranposlover @the-foreigner @sakikoshi@h3xa413a @sukunas-cult-leader @ilOvedaydreaming @del1111 @craftypeachmoneyhound @notquitehereorthere @mikasa-stan-account @kenmasbbygrl @alphaofdarkness @duhsies @cees-sims @the-foreigner @uglapuglamuglafugla @sugarandsoft @jadegreenimmortality @flanelsantito @shiny84244 @one-hell-of-otaku-is-here@missrown @requiem626k @sukunas-cult-leader @ilovedaydreaming @roserosie05 @mikasa-stan @ukiyoo0430 @boineko @missrown @munakara @dazaiaiko @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15

[marlynnofmany]

Preferred Speed

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

The cargo bay was full of people and packages. This was, they told me, how things used to be in the old days.

“Only four deliveries to the same location is simplistic,” Zhee declared with a flick of his antennae. “There were days when we had six or seven, and Sunlight or Mimi would be sent out too.” He flicked his antennae in a different direction at the missing honorific. “She wasn’t the captain then.”

“Sounds busy,” I said. “Was that Pockap’s idea?” I’d only spent a short time under the previous captain’s leadership, but I didn’t have much positive to say about it.

“Among other things,” Zhee agreed.

“Hey Zhee, we’ll get back to the ship first!” announced Blip with a wide grin on her fishy face. Blop did stretches behind her, next to a hovercart carrying a heavy-looking crate.

“You will not,” Zhee said with serene confidence. “I will be here well-rested long before you appear.”

“You say that now!” Blip bantered back. “But I think you’ll find us lounging on the ramp when you return.”

Blop finished his stretch and threw a mischievous glance at Paint. “We definitely won’t be the last to arrive.”

“No fair,” Paint complained, clutching her own small box to her chest like a scaly child. “You all have longer legs than me.”

I said, “I could give you a ride if you want. I have the hoverbike.” (I did. I was looking forward to it.)

Paint regarded the old-but-serviceable machine like an untamed horse. “Maybe?”

I brought up the map on the handlebar screen. “Your spot is along the main road, right? That’s an easy stop on the way to the observatory. And your package is small enough to carry while you hold on.”

“Isn’t there room in the storage compartment?” Paint asked hopefully.

I didn’t even have to look. “Nope. Mine barely fit. If we could get both in there, Captain Sunlight probably would have just had me deliver both.”

“Both what?” asked the captain from the doorway, hearing her name.

I explained, “I’m going to give Paint a ride to deliver that package, since she can carry it while it won’t fit in the bin.”

“I see,” said Captain Sunlight. “Very resourceful. And very brave of you, Paint.”

Paint sighed unhappily. “It sure is.”

Mur followed the captain in, chuckling. “Better you than me. Enjoy the speed.”

“I can drive slowly if you want,” I told Paint.

Paint stood as tall as she could, which wasn’t very. “No, I don’t want to hold you up. Regular speed is fine.”

“Great to hear,” said Captain Sunlight with a clap of her scaly hands. “Everyone take your places; we’re about to land.”

We all got ready. Blip and Blop maneuvered their hovercart to be near the front; Zhee shouldered in next to them with his bundle worn like a backpack; I got onto the hoverbike and Paint reluctantly climbed up behind me.

“Have fun!” Mur called with a wave of a blue-black tentacle. “I’ll be doing meal prep with Eggskin, thinking of you.”

I could hear the scowl in Paint’s voice. “I hope it’s something stinky.”

The intercom chimed with the landing tone, just in case we were distracted by bickering or something. A subtle change in engine tone, and we were there.

Captain Sunlight opened the bay door. Blip and Blop scrambled out, yelling cheerfully after Zhee when he used their hovercart like a springboard to jump ahead.

While they all ignored the captain’s reminders to be careful, I drove down the ramp at a sedate pace with Paint’s hands clutching my shirt, and we were out into the alien city.

This was a nice-looking one. Very sunny and clean. The spaceport was right next to a public thoroughfare, which felt weirdly trusting after the tight security at some other places we’d visited. Apparently all the screening for ne-er-do-wells was handled before landing here, or they just didn’t expect any trouble. Either way, it looked safe and pretty, with single-story architecture that reminded me of sandcastles made of porcelain. Everywhere were rounded walls with domed tops, tapering from the bottom like someone scooped the material together. Then turned it glossy white with lots of intricate patterns, and translucent bits where it got thin enough for the sun to show through. Most of the pedestrians were either Strongarms or Waterwills, and I wondered whose culture had come up with the design. Maybe both together.

I was maneuvering the hoverbike onto the convenient skyroad that passed over those pedestrians, and thinking idly about whether there was a different word for people who walked without proper feet, when I noticed how tight Paint’s grip had become.

“Should I slow down?” I asked over the wind. “Or would you rather walk after all? I can pull over.”

“I’m okay,” Paint said, a little tense. “Pretending we’re on the ground. I don’t have to look. Enjoy your crazy human death wish.”

I laughed and shook my head, but didn’t bother to argue. She wasn’t going to enjoy speed or heights no matter how eloquent I was about it.

So I did enjoy the ride, on the nice wide skyroad made of a transparent material that was probably a Waterwill design. Most of the single-person scooters and bigger buses hummed along slowly, though there was plenty of room to weave past them and admire the view of the city while I did. Those porcelain walls got really colorful farther out, and most of the walkways were tiled in colorful squares.

Much too soon, the map showed Paint’s destination up ahead, and I took an off-ramp down to a lovely little public park. There was even something like grass, though the vegetative lumps that passed for trees didn’t cast much shade.

“We’re here,” I told Paint. “Your location is right over there.”

After a pause that was probably Paint prying her eyes open and taking in the surroundings, she let go and said, “Oh good. Thank you.”

“Package okay?” I asked. Hopefully it hadn’t gotten squashed.

“Yes, it’s fine. I’ll meet you back here, right?” She slid shakily off.

“Sure thing,” I agreed. “Shouldn’t take me too long. Enjoy the sun after you drop that off!”

Paint smiled the honest smile of a cold-blooded lizardperson under a warm sun. “I will!” She trotted off with a wave, and I zoomed up the onramp back into the sky.

I drove much faster this time, and it was great. The road got even emptier as I reached the edge of the city, which, for our purposes, was conveniently close. The observatory rested on a hill outside of town. I wondered if the telescopes and whatnot inside had trouble with the city glow, but when I looked for streetlights, I only saw little downward-facing things that I’d taken for security cameras. Maybe this city didn’t glow much at night, at least not in an upward direction. Pity we were doing the delivery now and I wouldn’t get to see it. Though, I reflected, I’d likely enjoy this skyroad less in the dark.

The road sloped down to meet the ground when it ran out of buildings, and I zipped past more tree-lumps on the way up to the observatory. It was built out of porcelain too, looking extra thick and sturdy.

An Earth-style doorbell seemed very out of place, but it was at knee height on me, so that tracked. I rang it and got the package out of the storage bin.

A thick chunk of wall pulled inward then slid to the side with a thud. “Hello!” said the client, a Strongarm with vivid red coloring and a pointy squid head like Mur. I glimpsed another in the background that was a roundheaded coral pink, and much less chatty than this one. “Thank you so much for the delivery! I hope the drive went well? No traffic or accidents or whatnot?”

I handed her the box, which was large but lightweight. “No, it was nice and easy. Nothing to slow things down, and the view was lovely.” This delivery didn’t require a signature the way most of them did, so I wasn’t sure how much conversation I was in for now that my job was technically done.

“Good, good,” she said, juggling the box with a random assortment of tentacles. “Oh, is that one of those really fast vehicles? I could never! I hope they pay you enough for the risk.”

I smiled. “The pay’s just fine, and it goes at a good speed for me.”

“So bold and daring. Here! Take this for your troubles.” She set the box inside, then grabbed a little bag that looked like commercial snack food. “These are the best, and I just cannot stop eating them. You’ll do me a favor by taking a bagful.”

From inside the room, the other Strongarm yelled, “Give two.”

“Yes, quite right. Have two.” A second bag joined the first.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting them graciously. The label held a posing Strongarm that suggested I check with Eggskin’s species database before trying any. Their food was usually pretty compatible, but I wouldn’t want to be wrong.

“My pleasure! Have a lovely day, and a safe drive back!” She waved three tentacles and fairly pranced back inside before slapping the door close button. Even after it shut with a thud, I could make out her excited voice talking about the package.

I put the crunchy snack food into the now-empty storage bin, and sped off down the hill.

There was nobody out there, so I upped my speed from “reasonable” to “enjoyable,” and made it back to the park in no time flat.

“That was fast!” Paint said as she scampered over. She’d actually been lying on one of the lower tree-lumps like a fence lizard soaking up the sun, which was adorable and not something I was going to comment on.

“Yup, and I even got food as a tip.” I opened the bin and showed her a bag.

She grabbed it in delight. “These are the best! Pockap used to get them, and he’d never share!”

“Help yourself,” I said. “I got two.”

Paint made delighted noises and opened the bag to crunch a mouthful happily before folding it into the storage bin and settling into place.

I caught a whiff of seafood, like low tide during the peak of summer. Maybe I wouldn’t bother asking Eggskin if I could eat it.

“All set?” I asked.

“Yes,” Paint said decisively, getting a solid grip.

I scooted the bike gently toward the ramp. “You can have both bags. If Mur likes them too, you could bribe him to trade with you on the next delivery.”

“Ooh,” Paint said. “Thank you. I might do that. Or I might just eat them.”

“Your choice,” I said, then zoomed up onto the skyroad. I tried to go slowly, but I was pretty sure Paint closed her eyes anyway.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).