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ghostarii · 1 year

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GLASS TABLE GIRL ! ～ BLADE . ❛ i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  SHOW NOTES fem!reader ❱ guitarist!blade ❱ groping ❱ reader is a groupie ❱ PWP!!! ❱ (reader is intoxicated so technically) dubcon ❱ spanking ❱ degradation ❱ clit n nipple slapping ❱ ig ooc!blade but who cares ❱ choking/asphyxiation ❱ size kink ❱ dacryphilia ❱ outdoor/public sex ❱ exhibitionism ❱ spit ❱ face-fucking ❱ dirty talk ❱ reader has 0 self respect ❱ name calling ❱ overstimulation ❱ creampie & unprotected sex (stay safe) ❱ clit pinching ❱ hair pulling ❱ multiple orgasms ❱ cumplay(?) ❱ no aftercare ❱ minors & dc antis do not interact.

˖ ⁺ ⫾  CREDITS i have not written a fic in so effing long nd i was high writing this so excuse my rustiness :c but i have risen from my grave so let’s rejoice nonetheless ! !blade is on my mind 24/7 n i just want to be used n abused by him omfg turn me OWT! i listened to one of the girls by the weeknd literally the entire time i wrote this sooo feel free to listen while reading ^_^ i was js writing as i went so ts is very pwp sorryyy . . i’m gonna try to be more active on here i js need time to write so in the meantime pls show that my works would be appreciated here =( likes & reblogs are so GREATLY APPRECIATED ! ! ! if u don’t like, pls scroll cs comm guidelines r so mean to creators T_T

˖ ⁺ ⫾  RUN TIME 7.5k+ words . (of pure filth)

IF SOMEBODY ASKED you who your favorite artist was, you would say Ren—known by his moniker: BLADE. There was nothing you didn't like about this man; everything about him fundamentally and ultimately was the object of a girlish obsession. You knew all of his songs front to back, followed his social media on every single platform, and never missed a single piece of media uploaded about him. Your life was built around his style: dark and mysterious and enigmatic. He was your number one, unmatched and unchanged.

He was a hard man to come by. He frequently held small shows, with no more than twenty-thousand people on the high end. It was impossible to go, and every time you tried, your chance miserably passed you up. But this time, June twenty-third, twenty-twenty-three, you were right there, in the middle of the pit, only mere feet away from Blade. It was your first time seeing him in person by the grace of your best friend who surprisingly snagged tickets, and you’d never been more grateful in your life.

Blade was ethereal. The concert videos you’d seen over the years did not compare to the image in front of your face. It was dark, the main lights being spotlights shone on his pearly, perspiring, black, skin-tight silk-clothed skin, and dim red LED lights on the set behind him. His fingers ran effortlessly across his guitar, an inexplicably attractive riff and tone singing from the instrument. You felt like you were in Heaven, your eyes never leaving the show before your eyes. It was hot and uncomfortable in the pit but it was worth it. So worth it because he looked at you: taking you in with an unfaltering stare. His lip slipped between his teeth, and he shook his head, throwing stray locks to the back, and God, you felt as though you needed to be bolted to the ground with the way you wanted to jump on the stage. He walks up to the microphone, the most gut-wrenchingly hot vocals sliding off of his tongue. His eyes were closed, smudged eyeliner emphasizing his fluttering, long lashes, and his lips were spit-slicked, parting and pursing with each sultry lyric leaving. They were plump and rosy as if they were asking to be kissed—it was a sight to behold.

You sang your heart out, dragging your hand from waving in the air down a curvy path on your body, going from your shoulder to your chest to below where Blade’s sight would reach. You turned to your friend and recited the lyrics with a big smile and following giggle, all to turn your attention back to the stage and lock eyes with him. Your thighs clamped together just at the narrowed and burning gaze he delivered. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted a man more than you do right now.

Your friend found a way closer to the stage and you wedged your way between the crowd, finding yourself so close that the speakers were banging on your eardrums. You could feel the music in your bones, and all you could think of to describe it was hot and heavy. Maybe it was all of the pregaming you and your friend did before the concert, or the condensed heat and gyrating bodies, but you were so hot. You wipe your sweaty skin as you sway to the beginning of the next song, taking out your phone to begin recording.

Blade leans into the mic, muttering lowly, “I want you all to sing.” He pulls the microphone out of the stand, letting his guitar hang off of his shoulder from the strap. And that’s when he makes his way to where you stand, muttering small “yeah”’s and “good job”’s into the mic as the crowd collectively sings. He kneels right before you, “Sing.” he says into the mic.

You go wide-eyed—cute, he thinks—but you start singing. You grab an open portion of the microphone, leaning in as close as possible and reciting the lyrics of the song just as you were told. All eyes and cameras were on you, and that included Blade, who held an intense gaze on you the entire verse. When you finish the crowd erupts in cheers and screams, and he pulls away, finishing the song. You turned to your friend and screamed about your main character moment, dancing and singing even happier into her recording phone. This was the best night of your life.

For the rest of the concert, you had the time of your life. Blade ends the show with a final guitar solo, the entire audience silent as he wrecks the strings and pours his heart into his vocals. He briefly spoke to his fans, thanking everyone for coming out and heading backstage as everyone began to clear out. And all he could think about was that girl who his eyes couldn't help but wander toward, and to whom his thoughts dedicated his innuendos. He remembers the sign you held at the beginning of the show: “BLADE ♡WNS M(Y)E (HEART) ♡”. Your eyes honed filth that your natural disposition didn’t and he longed for it. He held bated breath as he informed his security about you, requesting you be located and brought to him and they replied with “We’ll try our best, sir.”

It was an after-concert tradition for Blade to hit up a local club, especially in situations like this where it was his last stop. He hoped he’d find you there, but he knew you would, especially if you were as big of a fan as you looked.

“Yukong, just thirty minutes! Please!!” you pleaded, trying to pull your friend into your opinion. She shook her head no, “I can’t! I have to go home! I’m so tired and you know…” you stop your friend there, not wanting to hear about her boyfriend.

“Fine. I’m still going though, text me when you get home.” you didn’t want Yukong to go home. But arguing was pointless, and only time was being put to the test, not her stubbornness. You knew from your years as a Blade fan that he always went to the club after a concert to meet fans, and some rumors even suggested ulterior motives, so you wanted to go. Yukong frowned at your flat expression but still hugged you, waving at you as she got in her car to go home. You’d be flying solo, but you had faith in yourself.

So you make your way over to the nearest club via taxi, praying that this is the one that Blade would visit. You weren’t all too familiar with the place, its name, Starskiff Haven, only being one you’ve heard in passing. Regardless, your thoughts were assured by the abundance of fighting and pushing bodies to get in the door—and when your phone lit up, a Twitter notification from a Blade Updates page noting his location, Starskiff Haven, you smiled widely, making your way to the line.

It was way too long and you weren’t interested in waiting all night—you had to meet Blade. A time like this is when Yukong comes into hand with her very stern persuasion, something that’s near impossible to deny. But she left, and you’d have to figure out a way in. And a thought immediately came to mind.

You walked to the front of the line, breathing in deeply and psyching yourself up for how incredibly you were about to embarrass yourself. When you exhale, you book it, beelining straight into the club, right past security. You immediately shift your demeanor, blending into the crowd seamlessly as security guards rush in, looking around for you. Hiding behind the most cluelessly drunk girl, you make your way to the bar, immediately ordering a sidecar. It packed a punch and the combination of how many shots you had earlier, it’d be just enough to get you through whatever you were about to do.

You turn around in the swivel stool, taking in the atmosphere and coasting the area for any sighting of Blade. The club was darker than the concert but heavily illuminated with hazy, colorful LEDS and much, much louder, filled to the brim with chatter and deafening bass-boosted music. Your drink was brought to you moments later, and with a big sip, you raked your eyes over the club once again. You could see bodies grinding on the main floor, the DJ bopping his head as his hands moved diligently across his DJ controller, couples making out and slipping into cornered areas, and friend groups recording and taking pictures. It was a lively environment, sure, and from the strength that beat on your tongue, established by incredibly skilled bartenders—but you weren’t looking for a new clubbing spot, you were looking for Blade.

And Blade was looking for you. Swimming through the unforgivingly hot crowd for you. He wasn’t itching to have you, he was itching to take you. Every time he closed his eyes he was brought back to his time on stage and how you danced in the audience. How your lips pushed out his lyrics and how your hands couldn’t stop waving in the air and running on your skin. How you swiped off sweat from your forehead and fanned yourself with your sign. And how you couldn’t keep your star-filled eyes off of him. Every light reflection off of your eyes showed desperation and neediness. You were begging to be picked without ever uttering a word, and he was not one to ignore indulgence. You needed him and he wanted you—so where are you?

Perched on that blue-velvet cushioned swivel stool. Sipping whatever remaining contents of your sidecar. And when he saw you, you saw him. You locked eyes and each plastered ill-intended smirks across your faces. And while you had his attention, you brought the glass to your lips, smacking them open and running your tongue along the sugar rim, collecting the sweetness on your tongue. You sucked on your tongue, rolling your eyes and he swears the “Ahh” leaving your lips is audible from his distance. He stayed still even as you slapped down your money on the counter, hopping down and disappearing into the crowd.

You make your way to him quickly, holding onto your rapidly rising chest and laughing at yourself. You were on a roll of unbelievable behavior, but it seemed to be a clean stroke because you were yet to meet a roadblock. And in a very blurry couple of minutes, the goal you’d been working toward was in the palm of your hand—literally.

You danced your way to Blade when you were finally close to him, sliding up against his body sweetly. He was tall and so sturdy against you, but he was smooth like butter as he synced to your movements and danced behind you. His hands were on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pushed up against you. Your exchange was wordless but it spoke volumes. It felt like a dream, entirely too good to be true but you indulged anyway, grinding against him. A gasp escapes your mouth as his left hand unabashedly grapes your tit, squeezing roughly and experimentally. His other hand trails dangerously on the band of your shorts and you let your head fall back on his shoulder, “I'm your biggest fan…”

He laughs at your declaration, leaning to press his lips feather-lightly at the shell of your ear, “Are you now?” you nod immediately, pressing into him. “‘Blade owns me’.” he mocks your sign, and laughs when he feels you slightly tense under his touch.

“I picked you,” and again, he leans down to your ear, “Are you happy, slut?” The word is so mean but it sounds so good from him. You nearly moan, nodding eagerly, as if complying with his word came with a medal. You were a slut, so willing to give it up as soon as he laid eyes on you. And you weren’t afraid to go low to get his attention, doing just about anything to be his for the night.

Fangirls like you are nothing new to Blade and as a man who looks like he does, it comes with the territory. He can read you like a damn book, cover to cover with ease because despite how enigmatic and indifferent to the norm you may try to appear, you wear your whole being on your sleeve. You do everything in your power to be somebody you're not. Your life revolves around who you think you should be and not who you are. A lot of girls are born with “it”: an innate ability to be the one wanted and desired, but you? Your “it” is manufactured, the blueprint drawn out by girls who are it. You're stuck in a limbo created by your age: too old to not be settling down, but too young to not live your life, and you try to make a box for yourself, being the exception to a path laid out for you. You're lost in the life you lead, and with the way you're dancing so shamelessly and needily on him, Blade knows you. You’re the type of girl who sees getting used as a flex, and despite signing an NDA or promising to never say anything, you’ll tell this person and that person that you got to sleep with the Blade; that the Blade picked you. Women like you are a cancer in the industry. Pests that are incessant and damn near impossible to get rid of. He knows you won't be any different than those before you, but there’s a desire to take you that he cannot ignore.

It’s his natural instinct as a man—or he’s just a shitty person. Perhaps a combination of both, because all he can think about is putting you to use. You’re making it so easy, moaning into the air under the thick remixed song the DJ is spinning, grinding against him, and holding his hand on your tit—you want him, and you’re giving yourself to him on a silver platter. You have a clear lack of respect for yourself, but luckily for you, that’s Blade’s type in women.

The atmosphere seems to be getting heavier, and it feels like time is getting slow and choppy. Now your arms are around Blade’s neck and his large hands are holding onto your ass, and you’re so close, you can feel your chests brushing with each breath you take. The world around you is nothing but background. It doesn’t exist to you, it doesn't matter to you. Not when you have Blade, the literal man of your dreams, right in your palm, and all he's looking at is you.

You feel so special. So wanted and so desired. You feel all eyes on you like you're the main attraction and everybody can’t help but watch and weep, wishing to be you. Your ego is skyrocketed and every embarrassing thing you’ve done tonight doesn't matter to you anymore because it paid off. Your eyes locked and the space between you closed. Your heart synced with the booming beat of the current song playing. You lean in, pressing your hands at the back of his neck and pulling him in. And you kiss him. You kiss Blade.

Blade kisses you back. He tightens the grip on your ass and you moan into his mouth, letting him infiltrate your mouth. He sucks on your tongue, smiling against you when he feels you push up on your tippy toes and hears you whimper into his mouth. He kisses you back. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, pecking your lips once more before moving to your cheek, then to your jaw, then to your neck. His hands are groping at you, roughly grabbing your ass, then your waist, then your breasts. “Are you wet?”

He says it so only you can hear it. You nod. “How wet?” He moves back up to your jaw, placing another kiss. You flutter your lashes, meeting his gaze, “So wet. All for you.”

At your response, he groans, pulling off of you. He chuckles when you pout at him. You’re just what he needs for this night. He grabs your chin, holding your face and leaning down, your lips brushing against his own. “I'm going to go smoke.” and he tells you this for a reason.

You watch with the biggest smile on your face as he sifts through the crowd, heading out of a side door. It was now or never.

Quickly, you rush to the bathroom to freshen up. You fix your hair, digging into your pocket and fishing out your lipgloss, reapplying, and you fan yourself, cooling down to not look a flustered mess. And just as quick as you ran in, you ran out toward the side door, immediately looking both ways for Blade. You smell smoke distantly and turn right, and a few paces down he stood, leaning against the brick wall of the neighboring restaurant. He's next to stacks of old wood and crates and you smile, thinking about whatever was about to go down between you.

You step in front of him and he smiles, taking you in once again. He blows his smoke in your face, tapping the ash off the cigarette before smashing the butt into the wall behind him. “Hi,” you say. He says nothing back, just slides his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you in. The kiss you share this time is messy and he now asserts control, nipping your bottom lip when he feels you go weak and pulls back.

He rakes his eyes up and down your body as you stand for him. This is the first time all night he’s seen you properly, in moderately okay lighting. Your jean mini-skirt is tight to you, accentuating the curve and fullness of your ass, and teases what’s beneath with your plump thighs poking out and how it rides up slightly. Your skin-tight baby tank is seemingly one with your figure, bringing out the best in you and making him smile with the “I ♡ BLADE” print across your chest. Your thigh-high boots did nothing when you were near him—he was looming and caging. He was intimidating and arousing, and with the lustful gaze you shared, the climax of your day was steadily approaching.

“Take it off.” He looks down at your chest and you get the memo; immediately grabbing the hem of your tank top and pulling it over your head. “Slow. Take your time…” And you listen, letting your body swivel as you remove the shirt. You unhook the clasp of your bra, and before your boobs could spill out of the confines, he grabs you and wedged you between him and the wall he previously leaned on.

The front of your body is slapped on the cold brick, but you’re swallowed in warmth as he presses against you, grinding his hard-on against your ass. One hand grabs your wrists, and the other turns you around. You look at him innocently, shivering at the breeze that blows down the alley. You can smell him: woody, smokey, and expensive. Yet here he was, pressing you up against a brick wall in a random alley. “You’re such an easy slut, y’know.”

“Bet you been thinking about this; daydreaming about your favorite artist pinning you and trashing you like the fucking whore you are.” he presses against your front, nipping at your jaw. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You whimper, “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours.”

“Tell me.” He growls - your answer not sufficing. “Want you to break me,”

“Always fantasized…wanting you to shove your dick down my throat and use it mindlessly and mercilessly.” He begins to kiss down your throat again, licking the tender skin. He smirks when you stop talking, your breath hitching and your head craning backward to open the expanse of your neck. He starts biting on your newfound sweet spot when you begin again, “Spit in my mouth and force me to swallow it with your cum,”

He gets to your chest, immediately taking a nipple between his teeth. He listens to you wince and whine as he does, pushing your chest into his face. “And make me beg you to fuck me. Teasing me…fuck—pinching me, pulling my hair until I'm teary-eyed and begging…”

“...And then you fuck me like you hate me; choking me, slapping me, degrading me all while I thank you stupidly.”

“You’re just fucking disgusting,” he mumbles around your nipple. He lets your hands go, palming your free tit immediately. His eyes are narrow as you whine when he twinges the bud roughly. “Put so much thought into this…you’re a weirdo slut.”

You shake your head, breathing out heavily to refute his claim, “Nuh-uh—your biggest fan.” you correct.

He laughs at you. You’re much more fun than he thought, and a lot less shameless, too. You're throwing all of your big cards out; this is your go-big or go-home moment, and while you have him here, you’ll bare yourself wholly because if not now, then not ever. Blade has to commend your patience though. You're letting him toy around, graze around your unknown territory and feel you out. You’re needy but obedient. Tired of waiting but understanding. Absolutely fucking shameful and proud, but eager to be good—so maybe he was wrong about you. You do have an “it”: an innate ability to be the perfect fucktoy.

When he lets you go, he immediately instructs you to get on your knees. And you listen immediately. The cold gravel digs into your bare knees and it's incredibly uncomfortable, yet you don’t utter a word. Your nipples are hard and pebbled and are probably so sensitive, yet you say nothing. You only sit before him, fingers dancing on the exposed thigh as you look up at him, waiting to be put to use.

So he slaps you. As you told him to—he slaps you, and his hand is heavy coming against your skin. It sounds off for what felt like possibly hundreds of miles, and your face doesn’t sting, but it hurts. The skin is heating up from the impact and your head turns to the side, hair falling against your face, yet you don’t utter a word. He grabs the back of your head, forcing you to look at him and dangerously smiling when your teary eyes look up at him wide and thankfully. “Pull my cock out,” he instructs, letting you go and standing up straight.

You get to work on his belt, undoing it swiftly, and then you unbutton his pants. You tease yourself: slowly pulling the zipper down, and when pulling his pants down to his ankles, you palm him softly, gently patting his throbbing cock and staring at the growing wet spot in his underwear. You kiss the wet spot, and then you kiss it again, and again until you suck lightly on it while making eye contact with him. You moan at the very faint taste, fluttering your eyes shut, and finally sliding your hand under the band of his underwear, holding his dick.

Blade hisses at your touch, bucking slightly into your hold at the initial contact. Usually, he’d curse you out at this point for going so slow, but he’s letting it slide this time; allowing you to take control and show him how worth it and nasty you really are.

He’s big. He’s thick—your hand can just barely wrap around the entire shaft, and as you lift him to unsheath him from his boxers, you feel how heavy he is. And hard. So fucking hard.

You gawk at his cock like a kid in a candy store, staring at his leaking slit intensely—almost as if you're waiting. “Go ahead; show me how big of a fan you are.”

You kiss his tip, the bead of precum smearing on your lips. Smacking your lips apart suggestively, you wrap your right hand around the base, applying tightness and pressure as you find the right grip, and when you do, you finally lick a clean stripe across the head. Your tongue sweeps up the new milky droplet spilling out, and you contently hum at the taste, making him groan in response. You lick from the angry tip all the way to his trimmed base, then back up again until you’ve teased every side of him and located his sensitive vein.

If anybody would have told you that all you dreamed about would be coming to fruition—all by mere luck and chance—you wouldn’t believe it. And you still don't; even as you spit a thick bead of your saliva on his cock and then massage it in with your tongue, swirling all around the sensitive head. But it’s real because he moans out for you as you finally take him in, the throb getting heavier as he sits on your tongue and your lips hug him tight.

You begin your ministrations: toying with his balls lightly as you bob up and down, going as far as you could. You tried your best to take him all in. You stretched your mouth wide around him until it felt like your mouth was going to rip at the corners and until it felt like all you could do was sputter and leak drool around him. Tears brimmed in your eyes and each time you blinked them back, keeping a pretty smile on your face every time you came up for air. Your lipgloss was mixed in with spit, and clear tear streaks had already begun to run their course with your base makeup, but you didn't stop. You were moaning incessantly, suffocating his dick in your intense vibrations that had him moaning and grunting.

When you come up from your nth deepthroat attempt, it's not for air, but to breathlessly huff out “Fuck my face…please,” And since you asked so nicely…

“Blink twice if it gets to be too much.” You open your mouth as wide as you could, sticking your tongue out. He pulls your hair back for you, yanking your head back and spitting on your tongue. His eyes tell you not to move, so you don’t, keeping eye contact with him as he wraps his other hand around your own, guiding your smaller hands up and down his shaft. He shudders, “F-fuck…’m so fuckin’ hard…”

And then he slides onto your tongue, not wasting any time before bottoming out in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, and your unprepared gags speak volumes to your shock. But that doesn't deter you from wrapping your lips around him. And from there, he pulls out, pulling your head back and then pushing you back down as he thrusts his hips forward. He curses under his breath before picking up his pace, thrusting so hard that his grip tightens on your hair to hold you properly in place, fucking roughly into your face. You can only choke and sputter, having already taken your hands from around his dick and digging crescent nail shapes into his thighs. The sounds eliciting from the two of you are so nasty and filthy. His balls slap at your chin, your voice rings out from around his girth, and his moans echo around the world. You can’t take it but you’re doing a great job of trying. He slaps your face again, pulling out and hitting his tip on your tongue. “Keep your fucking eyes on me,”

“If you can do that, I'll cum all down your throat and all over your pretty fucking face, okay?” You nod eagerly, and as an incredibly degrading action of praise and acceptance, he slaps his spit-slicked dick against your cheek a few times. “Good girl.” Butterflies swarm in your stomach at his praise.

When Blade slides in, he smacks against your face. He goes to the very hilt, pushing his way to the depths of your throat roughly. Your nose is pressed up against his pelvis, and your cheeks are catching stray tears. But this is consistent as he begins thrusting, using you per your request. He grunts out each time his tip hits the back of your throat, thrusting so roughly and meanly into you. Again, you feel like all you can do is choke and gag, spilling slobber and precum mix back down his length. It’s fucking filthy and the loud squelching and impact noises hit your ears nastily, yet you can’t help but squirm and attempt to grind for friction to subdue the need throbbing in your clit.

Above you, the man is falling apart. His hips stutter every now and then and his voice is fucking endless. His long hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and sides of his neck, and it looks damn near intentionally placed from how beautiful he looks. The outdoor lights are like distant illuminators; glowing behind him softly—almost angelically. His eyebrows are knitted together and he struggles to keep his eyes every time he reaches the back of your throat and you start gagging. It’s beyond pleasurable. Blade isn't sure if it’s because of all the tension the two of you have built up, or if it's because he hasn't had any action in the last 3 weeks because of his neverending schedule, or if it’s because your mouth is fucking amazing, but he can't keep himself together. His chest starts heaving faster as he comes close to his high, his knees beginning to buckle, and his stomach caving.

You flick your tongue on the underside of his cock as much as you can and glue your eyes to his, seeing his release breaking him down inch by inch. “Fuck! I'm gonna fucking cum!” He announces, throwing his head back.

He stills in your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck harshly on his tip, swirling your tongue around it like it’s the sweetest lolly you’ve ever tasted. He pulls out of your mouth, and you vigorously stroke his cock, so focused and determined to milk him dry. He leans forward, slapping his palm against the wall behind you for stability as he cums. He moans so prettily as he paints your face, the warm ropes making you hum contently. You give him no break, sucking his tip one last time to make sure you get the most out of what he’s given you.

Blade catches his breath, standing up straight soon after and condescendingly cooing at the mess made on your face. He picks up a glob as he sweeps his thumb over your cheek, sliding the digit in your mouth. He presses on your tongue, finding pleasure in how you swallow your sounds under a layer of gagging, but how you never tear your eyes off of him. He does this until you’ve cleaned off your face—but he's not done with you.

You're finally allowed off of your aching knees. You're sure the gravel will leave an indent from how long you were down there. He pinches your pebbled nipples, smirking as you yelp. “What was it that was next? Making you beg..making you earn my cock in you?” you nod rapidly, backing into the wall for stability as he toys with your very sensitive tits. “Show me how you beg then.”

You put your hands on his shoulders to help you stand up, feeling so weak all of a sudden. Your voice cracks as you try to speak, meek little whimpers flowing out as he works your body expertly—like he knows what gets you going. “Please…fuck–Please fuck me, I need you so bad…!”

A shrill yelp is chased out of your throat when his palm cracks against one of your boobs, “Is that all you got? Try again.”

So you do. “Need you to fuck me, Blade. I wanna be used by you, broken–please, I'll do anything!”

“Not good enough. Again.”

“Please fuck me like the slut I am! I need to be full of you, need to have you fuck me ragged and dumb so all I think of is you!” you pitch up your voice, breathing it all out in one breath.

Pitiful. Another smack. “Again.”

“I'm so needy for you, please! It hurts–I need you so much, it hurts! Please…”

And he's heard enough. His right hand slides up to your neck, forcing you against the wall. His grip is tight, fingers pressing into the sides and you have to fight for your eyes to not roll to the back of your head. “You must not want me as bad as you acted like you did…”

“I do! I do!” You interject, but your voice is weak and small—nothing in comparison to his deep and lust-saturated tone. “Then act like you do. Beg.”

He runs his other hand up your thigh, cupping your cunt. Your panties are soaked, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. He pushes the fabric to the side, running two fingers through your folds and you swear you almost fell out then and there. You'd gone teased and untouched all night—you were beyond ready.

“Pussy is fucking soaked…” he mumbles, letting his index and middle finger twirl through your folds, getting closer and closer to your clit. “You want me here? To fuck your sloppy pussy until you're cumming your brains out?”

Your eyes start to roll and he can feel the pulse intensify in your cunt. That's exactly what you wanted. “Say it. Say ‘I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade’. Say it,”

You part your lips, and he slightly loosens the grip on your throat, “Wan–want…I want my sloppy pussy…” You get shy with your words, and he delivers a slap to your clit. The stimulation has you buckling over. You feel like his hands on you are going to be the death of you. “Say it.”

With the courage finally built up, “I want my sloppy pussy fucked until I'm cumming my brains out, Blade! Please, I need it s’bad…feel like I'm gonna fucking die!” leaves your lips easily like spreading butter on toast. His lips that you never got enough of tasting quirk up into his signature smirk. He lets you go, pushing you against the wooden crates and flipping up your jean skirt.

“There you go; atta-fucking-girl.” he practically rips your panties off of you, slapping your pussy just for the hell of it. He cringes at the sound it makes and laughs cruelly at your whimpering. He presses up against you, his semi-hard dick pressed against your ass, and he wraps his arm around you and shows you the coat of your arousal that paints his fingers. “Spit.”

With your spit and abundance of slick collected on his fingers, Blade strokes his cock, going until he’s near painfully hard. The sounds he elicits make your pussy clench around nothing, needing to be satiated so desperately. “Are you ready? There’s no going back.”

This is somehow the sweetest moment for you. Your heart swells and you can only sheepishly nod, wiggling your hips eagerly. “Never been more sure about anything in my life. Ruin me.”

Ask once more, and you shall receive once more. His cock is swiped through your folds and collects a considerable amount of your arousal. He lines up at your entrance, watching you brace yourself with a smile ingrained into his face. He pushes in with a sharp inhale, biting his tongue at the feel of your tightness. Your pussy sucks him right in and—fuck. Warm and soft and tight, he could cum right now.

Your face crinkles up and you grip tightly onto the wooden crates in front of you. You’ve dreamt of this for so long—touched yourself at night to the thought and it's finally happening. He's inside of you, stretching you out, sinking in and in and in, inch by inch until he buries himself deep in your guts, until his tight and heavy balls are touching your folds. You're so sensitive you feel like you're ready to cream already, and you need it, need him, and need more. You grind your hips back on him, exhaling thickly as you rest your head against your forearm. “So fucking ready for me…”

His hand cracks down on your ass. It hurts so well and you wince, arching your back further. He sighs, kneading your skin softly. Then he pulls out, inching out until only the tip sits idly in you. You turn around to look at him, and doing that ignites his fire.

Your face is pathetic and fucked out already. Eyebrows knitted together and your eyes heavy, hardly staying open. Your lips are parted yet folded into a small frown, and perspiration rests at your hairline. You egg him on to slam into you, and he watches your frown drop into a wide ‘o’ shape, your eyes fluttering. So he does it again. And your lip now slips between your teeth. And again. And you drop your head back onto your arms.

And so Blade keeps up this pace, gradually going faster as the pit in his stomach urges him to do so. Your sounds are now uncontrollable—they fly out of you like a skipping record, incoherent babbles, and sinful moans. Each collision of your bodies elicits a visceral, wet slap that echoes off the walls of the alleyway. People around the world could probably hear what you're doing, and you're not sure if that bothers you…if the thought of a curious passerby walking down this alley naïvely would be an issue. If anything, it makes you get louder, your throat not getting to rest.

He hits you again, groaning when your pussy clenches around him. “You’re so fucking loud– you want somebody to find us?” Yes, that is what you want to say. But you moan out louder, shaking your head no. He hits you again. “Don’t lie to me,”

“You’re a fucking painslut,” he spits at you. He wraps his arm to reach your clit, immediately finding the bud and pinching it. Your knees go weak and he stabilizes you against him by pushing you further into the crates in front of you. You sniffle and whimper, presumably spilling tears down your filthy fucking face but doing nothing but asking for more. You've gotten so wet, dripping everywhere messily and Blade only cringes his face up with each wet collision. You're so nasty, so filthy, letting a stranger who you parasocial bonded yourself to defile you in public. He's feeding into your crazed delusions, but he’d honestly rather be doing nothing else. When he pinches your clit again your body shakes. Your knees buckle again and from the waist up you're basically limp. He feels you tighten around him and he sucks his teeth, parting your ass to peer at the milky ring forming around the base of his cock. “Did you just fucking cum?” Yes, you did. And you felt like Heaven doing it.

“You came ‘cause I pinched your clit…” he does it again and you jolt up, whining for him to stop. “So if I slap it…” he slaps it, eyeing you for your reaction. “Or rub on it like I love you…” his fingers run circles on your bud, feeling you get impossibly tighter around him. “So fucking easy.”

He resumes his thrusts like he never stopped—slamming into you unapologetically and now additionally, rubbing on your cute, abused clit. He's not going to last long at this rate. Your pussy gushes around him like a running river and the noises have gotten even nastier. Squelching and the occasional puffs of air escaping…you’re a mess.

“Love this fucking cunt,” he praises while pinching your clit. His free hand that rested on the small of your back is now holding onto your neck, forcing you to stand upright against him. Blade is lean but muscular. His arms flex and you feel his abs every time your bodies get close enough. His strong thighs touch yours and it's like you feel his entire body weight every time he pushes into you. “So good, ‘s so fucking good, Blade!”

The man laughs at your outburst. He angles his hips differently, trying so hard to find your sweet spot to get you creaming again. “Yeah?” he asks, tightening his grip on your throat. “Mhm-!” you concur.

“Where?” He’s sure he's found it, and he drives his hips up, groaning happily once he feels your gummy walls contract around him. “Here?”

Your head nods rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes–fuck! Right there, oh my fucking God!”

Neither of you are going to last. Blade’s balls are so tight and the way your pussy hugs him is even tighter. You suck him in like you never want him to leave, but your over-stimulated squeals and shaking thighs suggest otherwise. He’s found your sweet spot and is recklessly abusing it, going all or nothing. The way he toyed with your clit like a kitten pawing at a toy was too much—it started to hurt, to throb endlessly as your stomach knotted and your hole drooled. His grip on your neck was the icing on the cake. You felt like you could no longer breathe — like his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you and him choking you was keeping it out. Every little thing he did pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

He was even more merciless than before. Blade fucked into you harder, rougher, and faster than before, and you chalked that up to his orgasm catching up to him. You listen to his songs on repeat all the time but never have you heard him sing more beautifully than now as he digs your pussy out. You were really blessed with this night, and now it is coming to a very eventful end.

“‘M gonna fucking cum–!” You announce, and Blade nods his head in agreement. He slaps your cunt one last time, his fingers covered in your juices now tweaking at one of your nipples. “Me…me too, fuck.”

He leans into your ear, “Make me cum in this fucking pussy,” a throaty moan breaks his sentence, and you moan back, feeling it coming. “So close, so close…!”

It's this contraction that has Blade falling apart. He thrusts into you one last time, his eyes shooting wide open as he cums deep in you. He moans gutturally and shakily, feeling you clench tighter as you orgasm as well. His hips stutter in you and your hips ride back onto him as you both come down from your highs. The alley is now deafeningly silent and you flush in embarrassment from how loud you must have been. He lets your neck and tit go, using one hand to now spread your ass and pull out his cock. Your pussy is puffy and shiny, and when he’s out, he watches with a burning gaze as your mixture of cum starts to slightly spill out.

He groans, slapping your ass one last time. You two finally separate, and you turn around to look at him. You're sure he doesn't look as fucked up as you do, but even so disheveled and fucked out and sweaty as he is, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter. He pulls up his boxers and pants, fixing his shirt before he looks over at your mostly naked frame. He comes over to you, pulling down your skirt, and his doing this makes you feel less like a one-night stand, and more like one of his girls.

Being so close to you, he breathes you in. You smell like sex, but beneath that is a layer of whatever fruity perfume you sprayed on you, and it's delectable; so he kisses you. It's something he doesn't usually do, and he wouldn't have done it for you, but you entrance him. Perhaps it's because you're what he likes— he's met his match.

But you kiss each other passionately like you were trying to reignite the flame you just spent God knows how long fucking out. Your tongues are well acquainted with one another, swirling and bumping and riding past one another knowingly. He pulls away from you, looking in your eyes as he lets spit fall onto your tongue once again. You smile happily as you swallow it—God, you could do this forever. “Come back with me,”

You didn't expect him to say that. You blink your eyes a few times in disbelief. This night can't be any more unreal. He notices your confusion and smiles, “Is that a no–”

“–No! I'll come with you!” you don't know where he’s taking you, or what it means to go with him. You do know that you’ll have a lot to tell Yukong, NDA or not, and that you’ll never forget this day.

Smiling again, this time devilishly, Blade pulls away from you, pinching your cheek. “Good girl.”

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai x reader #blade honkai #honkai smut #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #hsr blade #blade smut #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x reader smut #minors & ageless blogs do not interact.#hsr blade smut #hsr ren

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 6 months

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F The Police- Spencer Reid x Alternative!Reader

Summary: Reader takes ‘f the police’ a little literally

Word count: 1, 162

A/N: Has tones of being anti-cops so if that’s not your thing please don’t read

Even though you despised the police and especially the FBI, you couldn’t deny how cute the agent in front of you was. He tried to be professional while asking about your missing coworker but you couldn’t help but make him blush.

“So is that all the questions you got, doc?” You asked him, standing in the empty car park of the bar together, your hand not very subtly reach over his cardigan.

“U-uh ahem, ye-yeh for now.” He asked trying to maintain his composure.

“Well if it’s alright with you, I’d like to ask you some questions.” You smirked up at him, slightly backing him against the wall.

“O-okay.” He stuttered out nervously as your hand skimmed his chest.

“If you promise to not bring the badge and gun would you come back to see me on Saturday? We had a band fall through so I’m gonna play some songs.” You stare up at him, batting your lashes at the handsome agent. “Although that’s not the only way you can hear me scream.” You whisper in his ear, lightly kissing his cheek.

You know you shouldn’t be so forward with an officer who’s interviewing you about a disappearance, but the way he blushed, and the slight moan you hear as your breath fans along his neck, you just couldn’t help it.

“Wh-what time?” He slightly moaned out as you lay sweet kisses on his neck, his hands now lightly on your hips.

“Be here around 9.” You almost order as you step away from him. “Got any requests let me know.” You shout over your shoulder with a laugh as you walk back into the bar.

*******

Spencer shouldn’t have done that, he really shouldn’t have. He should have stopped you and certainly shouldn’t have pretty much said he’d see you play, but he couldn’t help it.

You weren’t really the type of girl Spencer would usually get all flustered for, but he couldn’t deny how beautiful you were and he couldn’t help but be commanded by you.

*******

“So you did ended up making it, Doc.” You smirk up at Spencer as you both stand at the bar, the bartender handing you a glass of water.

Spencer barely registered what you’d said, too busy staring at your smudged makeup and sweaty body, especially your chest.

“Ye-yeh!” He nervously shouted back.

“Not really your scene is it, baby? Maybe we should go somewhere a little quieter.” You spoke loudly in his ear over the music.

“Ye-aaahh mhmm.” Spencer began to answer before your bites and kisses on his neck made his body tingle and his words slip.

“Come on, Doc.” You encourage as you take his hand, pushing him through the bar and to the toilets.

Luckily for you they were surprisingly empty.

Before Spencer had a moment to worry or spout off facts about hygiene and bacteria, you had him shoved against the toilet door, quickly overpowering his mouth. Reaching your hand down, you began to unzip his trousers, already feeling how hard and desperate he was.

“W-we shouldn’t be doing thiiiiss.” Spencer whined out, your hand now palming him over his underwear.

“Here or in general? If you want to stop now we can and I won’t judge you, but if you want to fuck in one of those stalls where no one can see us then we can.” You explain gently against his ear, sweetly nipping at his neck as you begin to palm him faster.

Spencer weighed up his options. He didn’t feel pressured by you and he did really want you, but he also knew all the laws about doing such things in public and all the facts about how unhygienic these toilets probably are. Soon his rational mind begin to quiet as he simply craved you.

“Please, please let me fuck you.” Spencer suddenly blurted out, your teasing becoming too much.

“You’re so dirty, Doc.” You tease him as you roughly pull at his hair, pushing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss.

Not bothering to break from the kiss, you backed up until you both fell into the toilet stall. Manoeuvring each other around, you pushed your own back against the wall of the stall, Spencer crashing into you hard and fast.

Making quick work of Spencer’s pants and underwear, you pulled them both down, revealing his leaking and bouncing cock.

“All this for me?” You tease him, smirking as you begin to jerk him off.

“Yes.” He answers breathlessly, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

Letting go of his cock, Spencer’s eyes shoot to yours, pleading you not to stop. Before he can protest too much though, he sees you’re stepping out of your panties. Cheekily smiling up at him, you put them into his jacket pocket.

“Hold onto those for me, baby.” You smile at him as you pull a condom out of your bra.

Opening the packet, you jerk Spencer’s cock a few times before putting it on him. Once it’s slid on, you raise your leg to sit over his hip, opening yourself up to him.

Surprising both of you, Spencer grabs both of your thighs as he holds you up against the wall and pushes deep inside you.

“Oh fuck!” You shout as Spencer quickly fills you up with his cock.

Spencer is quick to setting a brutal pace and you’re quick to grab at his hair and begin biting his neck.

“Fuck, baby! You really are a dirty boy!” You shout as he fucks you hard against the door.

Your nails begin to dig into his scalp, pulling his hair back to expose his neck. Licking, sucking and biting at him, you make sure not an inch of his neck and chest is left without a mark or saliva.

The room is filled with both of your moans and grunts, grabbing at each in, desperate and animalistic need driving both of you.

Feeling Spencer was close, you keep one hand in his hair as the other makes its way down to your clit, rubbing it so you can both meet your ends together.

“You close, Doc? You gonna cum for me? Come on baby! I’m so close.” You moan out as you throw your head back against the wall, the pressure becoming too much.

Spencer seeing an opportunity for a little pay back, leans down to your exposed neck and begins sucking his own bruises.

“Aaah-ah! Fuck I’m gonna cum!” He shouts as he thrusts a few more times into you, both of your releases coming at the same time with loud shouts and moans.

Rocking into you a few more times, he places you back onto the bathroom floor. Both of you wobble slightly as your hazed-filled minds come back down.

Spencer truly was a sight right now, all roughed up and sweaty.

“Maybe you should come to more of my shows.” You joke as you stare at the sweaty, bruised and roughed up agent before you.

#spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #alternative!reader #Spencer Reid x alternative!reader

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esosage · 25 days

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Had another au idea where stone and robotnik, in their crab house, are being haunted. They hear whispers in their ears, chills creep down their backs at random, things go missing out of nowhere, stuff gets knocked off the shelves with nothing to mess with it, and the mirrors are always fogged regardless of wether or not someone takes a bath.

(Trigger warning for blood and maggots btw. None of it is drawn, but it is talked about! Even if its sandwitched in between breif "meh" level horror.)

Stone, naturally, is the first to belive they're haunted, and tries talking to ivo about it. But, robotnik is a firm anti-supernatural person.

He makes a billion reasons as to why its probobly not a ghost: Wind drafts, lack of sleep, the pressure from the crab house being under water..... But, One night, when ivo goes out to get a glass of water, he carefully rounds the corner only to see an shakey figure at the end of the hall.

At first, he thinks its stone: the hallway being far too dark for him to make out much. But as he starts to draw closer, the sound of his steps being the only thing to peirce the base's sudden silence, he begins to make out a few details. First it was their posture: hunched and drawn in. Second it was their hair: long and matted; smothering their face. And then, lastly, as he hesitently stepped a hair length away from them, their rancid order bashing against his senses, he spotted peircing crimson peaking out of their blond hair. Most was soaked in and dried up; deffinetly old. But yet, the maggot infested cavern that was the bullet wound in the side of their head still oozed thick, pulpy blood regardless.

He didnt have much time to hear them speak, because, once he saw their half rotted, blood shot eye peer up at him through their matt of overturned hair, he was already clambering to get back to his room.

He cant hear them trail behind him, nor does he hear them bang at the door once he closes it shut, but he doesnt need need to. He can feel their cold, horrid breath tickling the back of his neck as he dashes to saftey, and thats more than enough to make him keep running.

Safe to say, the next morning, he starts humoring stones idea about the house being haunted.

And much to robotniks poor ego, he has to eventually admit that, yes, ghosts are infact real.

It gets even worse for robotniks poor brain when they actually have to look at, ugh, supernatural forums, to figure out how to deal with the ghost in their house.

The first plan is salt, sprinkling it on every entrance and exit of the crab house. Although, robotnik quickly insists that they scrap it once he walks out of his room to see: "let me in >:(" written on the wall in blood.

He doesn't know where, or how the ghost got all that blood, but he doesn't really want to.

After the salt fails and they get rid of it, (much to the ghosts delight it seems as they draw a heart in the fog of the two's bathroom mirror,) they start throwing shit to the wall to see what sticks. or in other words: trying bassically everything.

Smudge sticks, insence, holy water, cleaning the entire house, even prayer in a very desprate attempt. (Ivo had stone be the one to pray, because he refuses to acknowledge gods exist. He caved in on the ghost thing, but he refuses to cave on this!)

But, much to their chagrin, nothing worked!

Meanwhile, the ghost seemed to appear a lot more often. Wether it be in pictures or in person, it didnt matter because the two started to see them more and more. Which gave them a couple of more discoveries about the ghost. The first one being that they're a little girl wearing a worn out, blue dress. And the second one being that they're not too hostile. They rarely bother them much, other than stinking up the place. But they are creepy, and come far too close for comfort most times. Which makes robotnik firm in wanting them gone: he values his personal space a LOT, thank you very much.

Now, if it wasn't obviouse already, the ghost is maria! Do the two know its her? No deffinetly not. But they do know that she seems to gravitate twards robotnik more than stone. She appears to him more often, and most of the time when takeing a pixture of robotnik, stone can faintly see her form next to him in it.

The reason this is, is because shes formed a spirit bond with ivo! Mainly because he is the only family member she has left besides shadow, but she doesnt know where the hell he is, and she wants to make sure her cousin stays safe. (Its of my personal headcannon that she got to see him once as a baby, and thats also another reason shes kinda attached to him. But i digress.)

Now, you might be wondering if maria is an agressive ghost, and the answer is a firm no! She's quite freindly, its just everything she does is taken as very agressive or creepy. So that time where she banged on robotniks doors after he ran away from her? Yeah it was really just her knocking, its just, as a ghost, she has to put in a lot more energy into makeing contact with things so it came across as banging.

And her appearing to him more often was her trying to say sorry for scareing him so bad, but he just kept going away when she came closer.

This is probobly the main point of the au, robotnik and stone being scared ahitless of her while she's just thinkimg: "god im haveing such a good time with my cousin and his boyfreind :3" sometimes she realises she's scareing them, sometimes she doesn't, but she tries her best to come across as nice regardless of if it works or not.

A good show of her trying to look as freindly as possible would be her covering her face with her hair. Her face is very scary (think a mandela cattaloge face, except with maggot holes and dried and fresh blood covering half of it. And also Some maggots being visible under her eye socket if she turns it a certain way.) And so she tries to hide it from everyone, to not scare people away. But even with their hair covering her face, robotnik and stone still think she looks very disturbing.

Maybe they realise its maria eventually, either by talking about her with gerald, or shadow once they're on freindlier terms with him. But still, until then its shennigens up until that point. (Because while maria does try her best to be freindly, she cant help but scare ivo just a bit. Its funny to hear him yelp.)

Side notes :D :

Maria likes whispering random shit into robotniks ear sometimes. She's tried to do the same thing with stone before, but the assistant has had to deal with a lot of weird shit (mainly from ivo) before so he's far too used to it for her likeing.

How i imagine it going down is her face (uncovered) fazeing into existance right ontop of ivos shoulder as she whispers: "i know what you are." Into his ear before fazeing back out.

It confuses the living daylights out of robotnik, but she thinks its funny.

Another thing she likes to do is watch ru pauls drag race with robotnik. They're both super invested into it (ivo religously watching ru pauls drag race being a headcannon i stole from someone.) And she quite litterally rushes over onto the bed with him whenever he turns it on. She's sad she can't share his popcorn, but hanging out with her cousin more than makes up for it!

Stone and robotnik eventually get a spirit box. Robotnik adamantly refused to get one, siteing him haveing standards as one of the reasons, but eventually he caved. Maria relentlessly teases him while talking through it, so he tries to avoid useing it as much as possible. But sometimes maria gets bored and throws a hissy fit, flinging things off the shelves and tables until he turns it back on to talk to her again. (Maria telling them that its her through the spirit box could also be another way they learn that they're being haunted by robotniks cousin if its not through shadow or gerald, but i digress.)

Stone, once he learns maria isn't all to hostile, actually kind of vibes with her a bit. Sure, she still scares the shit out of him sometimes, but due to his experience in dealing with robotnik, he learns to tolerate her presense. Even if its from 6 ft away. (Its a lot more than robotnik does anyways.)

Final thought! I'd imagine that sonic (and maybe the rest of team sonic) end up haveing to stay in stone and robotniks crab house temporarily while they're busying trying to track shadow down or something. and its only when maria appears to sonic (since he reminds her of shadow,) that robotnik tells him "oh yeah, the base is haunted." Which pisses sonic off a bit, because if he had known, he would have never agreed to stay in the damn crab house to begin with. But oh well, he'll deal with it. Maybe she's freindly! She did wave at him.. in a very creepy way- but that doesnt mean she's bad! In the end, sonic ends up being decent freinds with her. (This is litterally the only time that someone doesn't think maria is out to get them btw. Poor girl, she just wants to bond a bit more with her cousin that she never got to meet.)

#stobotnik #jimbotnik #eggman #dr. robotnik #ivo robotnik #agent stone #maria robotnik #my au #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #DONT SUPPORT PARAMOUNT!#DONT GO SEE THE THIRD MOVIE!#anyways #poor maria #dont let these haters dim your shine girl!#even if the only thing that's “shining” on you is that giant bloody gun shot wound on your head.

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firefly--bright · 7 months

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧!

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern smau.

⁀➷ introducing ; apartment 201 !

⁀➷ jean boy!

has vinyls stacked up against a wall.

proud plant dad (after many failed attempts at it)

went to one (1) tame Impala concert and made it his entire personality for two whole years.

an "old soul" is what he likes to call himself, but in all reality he likes to grumble alot. regardless, after his friends make their way into his heart, there's no getting out. he's not the best at uttering his words out loud in a way that makes sense, but his love is ever-present. its everywhere until you're covered with it, littered in the ground and in the laundry that he complains about, in the takeout he buys, in the little lamp he keeps on so that Connie doesn't hurt himself when he reaches home late.

⁀➷ constance springer!

has a meme account on Instagram that he takes way too seriously

"I'm a...niche mirco celebrity.. influencer. i want free nachos in this fine establishment."

second year set and film design major in University of Paradis

chronically online but not in a creepy way, he swears

almost failed 8th grade because he "forgot" about the exams

self-proclaimed aux guy in every road trip. despite all his jokes, it's easy to love him. he's light of the party, and even if he's not the smartest academically, he's smart emotionally and offers surprisingly good advice, and will always be determined to put a smile on everyone's faces despite any adversity.

⁀➷ sasha braus!

won a hot dog eating competition in 7th grade against grown adults. the trophy rests in her closet at all times.

if Connie is the life of the party, she's the encore.

hoards twice posters and photocards. she made Connie, marco and jean listen to it and now they're hooked onto it too, although not as much as her

doesn't know how to spell, barely uses any punctuations ever

once she starts talking, it's really hard for her to stop. but even during her rants, youd find her making a note of anything and everything. nothing can escape her watchful eye, and she'd offer you a helping hand even if her own hand was chopped off. lives and breathes in the kitchen and believes that the kitchen is the heart of the home. her love is radiant and within your grasp at all times, not leaving, always patient.

⁀➷ marco bodt!

has a dog (golden retriever) named polo. if it wasn't obvious.

has always loved and been surrounded by animals. doesn't like crowds but he loves hustle bustle because it feels like home to him

coffee addict

dad friend. always has bandaids, aspirin, and gum in his pocket.

his glasses are always smudged with fingerprints, jean has to remind him to clean them

very intuitive. knows other people's emotions and behaviours probably more than he knows his own. loves his friends in the deepest and purest form, his comfort lies in spending a night in with them. his love is like when your favourite song comes on in an unexpected setting - you didn't know you needed it but it would put a smile on your face nonetheless.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ previous episode! (introducing; the homeless) ➷ next episode ; pilot!

⁀➷ fic playlist ➷ fic visuals

⁀➷ series masterlist ➷ main masterlist ➷ enter my taglist!

⁀➷ taglist ; @mrsnobodynobody , @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @cherrypieyourface , @jeanscremebrulee

line dividers by @peachesofteal

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #fireflys rambles #jean kirschtein #marco bodt #marco bodt x reader #sasha braus #sasha braus x reader #connie springer #connie springer x reader #aot smau #attack on titan smau #snk smau #shingeki no kyoji smau

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eshasunrise · 6 months

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Deepsea Glass

This is a pre-Splatoon fan fic that takes place in Alterna, days before its destruction.

Selena (Saline, moon) is an analogue for Marina

Kohime (little princess) is an analogue for Pearl

Inspired by the squid ink panels reflecting the desires of humanity.

Read below the cut.

Selena wanted to bash her head against the wall. She was the project lead in Alterna's delusional corporate suicide cult. Sorry, she meant 'Happiness Research Lab', a once important figure in maintaining Alterna's long-term survival, now a haven for madmen demanding humanity return to the irradiated, flooded surface.

Her job was to figure out the logistics of building, and launching, a rocket from deep beneath the sea and into the Earth's soil. Needless to say, all calculations show the probability of successfully launching a rocket deep underwater was literally, no smudging the numbers, 0%. And that's ignoring the readings showing that the surface is still flooded, irradiated, and over 15 degrees hotter than is ideal for agriculture, let alone maintaining human life. And THAT is ignoring the fact that the force of the rocket would fracture the stone of the cavern in which the population is maintained, assuming the psychic backlash of every neuroLCD panel suddenly exploding from energy overload wouldn't kill the population outright.

So obviously, the higher-ups appealed to reason. Or not. Instead, they scrapped the research to start building the rocket. Needless to say, it was now up to Selena to build an anti-gravity device which could withstand the water pressure while her roommate and boss, Kohime, tried desperately to get the company to stop.

It had barely been 60 years since Alterna was finished and colonized, and yet already people were demanding the impossible. Small crowds creating conspiracy theories about the land being just outside the walls, as opposed to the waterlogged crag of the flooded cavern that you can very clearly see if you just switched off one of the panels.

Selena needed a break. She decided, if her job wasn't going to listen to her findings, then she wasn't going to bother staying the full day. Clearly she wasn't alone in this thought, as when she approached the door, she caught her roommate standing outside on her phone. Selena's own phone pinged a notification right as she opened the glass door, greeting the shorter woman's slightly embarrassed face. That didn't last long however, as she begun to speak:

"Oh good. I just texted you." Kohime said. "You wanna head out early?"

"Absolutely." Replied Selena. She was glad that she was living with somebody who had some sense. The two of them grabbed a frozen tofu desert on the way home (most of the non-seafood was tofu, as it was one of the few crops to easily grow down here), and Kohime began to complain.

"Every day. Every goddamn day, these fucking bastards keep fucking ignoring me! 'Oh look, the princess is mad again' like, no shit? I'm trying to keep you alive! I don't care if the goddamn escapists are profitable, we aren't here to make a profit! We need to focus on the future! Making sure there's a planet to live on, not running to our death as fast as possible! What are we, fish to an angler?!"

Selena sighed in agreement. She had nothing to add, as everything she would say has already been said. Instead, she half-listened to her best friend's impatient ramblings while thinking of how to cheer her up later. There was that one project...

"Hey Kohime." Selena interjected. "You remember that old shark movie we watched the other day?"

"Oh yeah, Jaws, right? You wanna watch it again?" Kohime responded.

"We could, but first there's something I want to show you."

Kohime's attention was peaked right as they got home. From the table in the back, Selena grabbed an audio device.

"I came up with this song while thinking of that movie."

"Oh, fresh! Lemme hear!" Kohime slipped the speaker cuff over her left ear. From it emitted a steady, slightly modern approximation of the shrine music her grandmother would play for her. It was a curious sound, but she couldn't figure out what it had to do with...

"Wait a sec. The chorus, is that-?"

A slightly mischievous grin snuck up on Selena's face, "yup. That was made using the two note progression from the really tense scenes!"

Kohime's face lit up like the midday skylight. "That's hilarious AND awesome! Only you could come up with something so crazy, I love it!" A giggle pushes her face into childish glee, while Selena turned to grab something else, hiding her guilty smile.

It's been twelve years now, but she still couldn't get over that phrase from Kohime. 'I love'. It makes her uneasy every time.

"You wanna watch another movie?" Selena asked, "I found another Jaws movie, although I think it's the third one. Don't know if there's a two we're missing."

"Oh hell yeah! Pop it in!"

An hour later, and Selena was thoroughly bored. This was definitely a sequel to the first movie she saw, but it felt half-hearted and phony, like the corporate slogans she had to write for every apartment and street corner back at her old job.

"Are you watching this?" She asked the small woman beside her. No answer. Her roommate had fallen fast asleep, clearly as bored as she was, and had let her head fall against Selena's shoulder as she dozed.

Selena felt a pang in her chest. A muddy feeling that followed every bit of affection Kohime had given her. She stayed like this however, in part to let her old friend rest from the nightmarish days they've had, and in part for the comfort she has in knowing Kohime would always be beside her, ready to take on the world, which day by day became increasingly relevant.

Selena slowly nodded off herself.

That night, an exhausting dream filled her mind. In it, she was swimming up waterfall after waterfall. She strained against the crashing current, believing that soon, she would find rest. But no rest would come. At the final hurdle, the last jump, she dove straight into the maw of a hungry bear, wearing the Alterna logo on it's forehead, and announcing her retirement.

Selena woke with a start. It was midnight, and she felt dumb for being stressed about such a wild dream. She didn't question why she had it though. She had been working too hard for too little. The research she conducted, the machines she built, all wasted on projects that would kill her led by people who would never listen. She needed to quit. She could do so easily in fact. Sleeping in her lap, having moved herself in her sleep, was the very person she worked under. All she would have to do is wake her and tell her she couldn't work there anymore.

And leave Kohime to fight alone.

Selena let her head fall back onto the couch cushion. She would work tomorrow, if for no other reason than to ease her guilty conscience. To make sure some semblance of sanity stayed in this broken order, just because she knows Kohime would never stop fighting. She's always been bull-headed, and they needed that now more than ever.

"It's is time for your shift at the Happiness Research Facility, Citizen 2117: Assistant Director KOHIME.

It is time for your shift at the Happiness Research Facility, Citizen 2224: Project Manager SELENA.

Have a productive day."

Selena's second waking was a slow groggy ordeal. She had barely gotten back to sleep, and it feels like she just had that nightmare. Clearly some time has passed, as Kohime was sitting next to her. Unusually though, she wasn't dressed yet. Instead, she had an uncharacteristically uneasy glower in her face.

"Oh, you're up." Selena noted.

A long, heavy silence dulled the air at her voice. Kohime continued to stare, pressure rising from her sleep-matted hair. Eventually, she spoke:

"Selena."

At her word, a deafening pause filled the room.

"Do you ever feel like...something big is coming? Like..."

"The end of the world?" Selena finished her thought. "Of course. Every day. It bears down like an ocean of pressure every time I have to think about that goddamn rocket."

"Exactly!" The smaller woman replied "it all feels like we're marching into the end, all over some vague dream!" Tension filled her voice. She lacked energy, however. Selena took notice and pressed the back of her hand to Kohime's forehead.

"! W- what are you doing?" Kohime was flustered.

"You're overheated." Selena spoke.

"Well, that's 'cause you-"

"No, I mean actually" she wouldn't let Kohime finish. Now wasn't the time. "You're getting sick. R.C.A.?"

Selena called to the AI transcriber installed as living assistance. "Contact the HRF. We're taking today off."

"Very well." The voice responded.

Kohime protested: "No! Without us, who knows what those idiots will do?!"

Selena was worried of course, but she wasn't going to let her friend suffer. "How smart do you think they actually are. The lunatics wanna fire a rocket in a closed cave, through the ocean. You think they can think through the logistics without us?" She prattled, hoping she was right. It was her last hope at this point.

"..."

"Come on. You need to rest, and they'll never figure out how to actually build a rocket in the few days we'd be gone. Plus when we get back, you can rub the fact that you were right in their faces."

Kohime couldn't help but laugh at that. "As if. They're heads would be so far up their asses, they wouldn't be able to hear me." She joked, coughing near the end of her sentence.

Selena chuckled back, "in that case, I'll build you a megaphone. Nobody'd be able to ignore you then. Better yet, I'll build a bomb-"

"Okay, stop right there crazy lady. Don't give R.C.A. the wrong idea. Plus, that'd totally defeat the purpose of stopping the rocket in the first place."

The two joked like that for a few more minutes, until the tension left Kohime's shoulders, and she nodded off again.

It would take a week before Kohime would recover. The anxiety from the escape project pushing them to the boiling point. It was only at the end of that week when she had rested enough to feel like working again, and scheduled their shifts for the next day.

When Selena woke, from her bed this time, to the work day she'd been dreading, she noticed that Kohime had already left. Nothing unusual there. She was always a bit of a workaholic, and the praise helped feed her ego. Selena would finish her breakfast before heading out.

Upon opening the front door, however, she was blinded by a scorching white light. The skylight above them was in overdrive, forcing her eyes down. On the porch, collapsed to her knees, eyes wide despite the overbearing light above, was Kohime. Her face was filled with fear as defeat killed what little hope had remained.

Fearfully checking her friends help, Selena would follow her unbroken stare to the neuroLCD panel on the West edge. There, where once was the image of a field with sparse green trees, now stood the image of a white rocket ship, repeating down the walls. The grass, which once had a photo-like quality, now rustled as if blown by the wind. Sparse depictions of clouds were circling the blinding sun.

To any other, it would be an echo of their deep-seated desire to reach the upper world. To the two women here, however, it was a monument to their failure.

Selene rushed to the far moat, from the shore of which she grabbed a raft, unconcerned with ownership. Kohime followed behind, having barely broken from her stupor, and praying her closest could find a miracle. The datapad Selene brought was connected to a terminal on the wall. The screen behind it flickered off, exposing behind it the rocket they had lobbied so hard against, somehow completed.

Selene swallowed her fear as the datapad downloaded the Alterna Logs only people from the Happiness Research Facility has access to. The log read as follows:

HRFLog004.02: The Divide

As humanity began it's foolhardy errand to escape their salvation, a small group of resisters, lead by those scientists from the first generation, had resisted the change.

Amongst these were two high-ranking officials who had researched the surface, and concluded escape would doom humanity. These two would be the head speakers, and last bastions, of the Preservationists.

Rather than heed their warnings, those who profited from the Escapist movement would instead sabotage the resistance, slipping a mild poison into one researcher's water.

With the voice of opposition in recovery, the Preservationists were left without a rallying point, and a new fervor would grip the escapists. Thus, the rocket would be built in record time.

Awaiting further data.

Selena's heart dropped. A deep, fervent rage built in her heart. They had nearly killed her closest friend, over this pipe dream?! They would doom humanity for their pride?!

Her rage was interrupted, however, by a deafening scream of anguish. Having read the report on her own datapad, Kohime collapsed into a ball, shaking the raft beneath them. Selena steadied herself, then crouched to her friend.

"IT'S OVER. ITS THE END OF THE WORLD. WE'RE GONNA DIE..."

She was yelling, but a defeated misery filled her voice. She was not just screaming out of anguish, but because she couldn't find the strength to control her voice. Selena watched in pain as, for the second time ever, she watched her friend's heart break. She grabbed the girl and held her close, ignoring the pain in her ears. She needed to help her, to make her happy. Something to make her smile. Something she...

A familiar tune resonated from the wall behind her. The neuroLCDs picked up on Selena's desire, and reflected a memory of a week ago, the smiling face of her closest friend. The sound that played was the song she wrote, and Kohime took notice. Her crying slowed as she looked towards the reactivated panel. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Look, it's us." She barely managed to croak through tears. She hummed sobbing in a strained voice to the song that played, while holding desperately to Selena's waist.

This brief reprieve would not last. Those other researchers would hear the song, and, seeing the crying girl, wished for her to be happy. The rocket would be starting it's test launch after all. Soon, she could go home.

As the song spread, more and more people would hear it, carrying with it the image of the surface and the big white rocket. Soon, people began to sing along, making up lyrics that blurred together, as an anthem to the freedom they strived towards. All the while, the woman who wrote the song wondered how her feelings were strong enough to override the panel.

She wouldn't have long to wonder, though, as the nearest panel changed again, this time to a scene all too familiar. A scene she had avoided for so long. As it played, the sobbing in her arms changed to a wretched scream.

At once, two voices spoke. The same person twice, one screaming to a world that would not hear, the other whispering to her closest friend, who alone would listen to her once and once again.

"Selena"

"HOW DARE YOU"

"Is it alright if we talked?"

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!"

"I wanted to get something off my chest..."

"THAT WAS HER SONG"

"It feels like we've known each other forever"

"THAT WAS HER LIFE"

"And I needed to tell you"

"YOU CAN'T TAKE IT FROM HER"

"Just how important you are to me."

"YOU CAN'T TAKE IT FROM US"

"Selena"

"ALL OF YOU"

"I love you"

"I HATE YOU"

"I love you so much."

"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU"

"You don't have to respond"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED"

"And I'm sure you don't feel the same way"

"SHE CARED FOR YOU ALL"

"But I wanted to be honest"

"AND YOU BETRAYED HER"

"I've always felt this way"

"I'LL NEVER TRUST YOU AGAIN"

"And maybe, if you're willing"

"YOU ALL GET WHAT YOU DESERVE"

"We could go out some time?"

"FOR KILLING HER!"

A lump held in Selena's throat. She knew what was about to happen. She felt it. She tasted it. Regret boiled in her stomach. And here at the end, she could only manage one more sentence.

"Kohime,"

"Kohime-"

Behind the wall, the rocket's thrusters burst to life.

"I'm sorry."

At her final word, the pain of her closest friend before her once and once again, the wall cracked. The crying smile shattered into a thousand pieces, lacerating the overflowing wrath. Selena tried to hold onto Kohime's dying body, but was pushed back by the torrent erupting from the wall in front of her.

As Selena fell deeper and deeper beneath the flooding water, shards of neuroLCD shone around her. In each reflected the memories that replayed in her mind. Not the plans to maintain Alterna, and not the speeches she gave to the reckless businessmen that doomed them.

Her memories were of the happy times. The days in University she spent learning. The machines she managed to make float in the air. The simple Japanese style tune she composed from the Jaws theme. The grin on Kohime's face when she showed her.

The times she and Kohime would complain about work. The praise she received when Kohime was in charge. The sleeping face of Kohime resting her head on her shoulder. The day Kohime confessed, and how she stayed beside her despite rejection.

Selena scolded herself as air left her lungs. She should have spent more time with Kohime. She should have done what she could to make her happy. She should have humored her, just to see her smile one more time. She should have loved her.

Oh.

She already loved her.

Selena's thoughts were clear in her final moments. She already loved Kohime. She had spent her life seeking that attention, that love, which was always reciprocated, and she never paid it any mind, taking for granted the bond they had shared.

Warm tears of regret mixed with the bloody seawater, as Selena's thoughts betrayed her feelings. Her love. Her fear. Her shame. Reflected in the shards of the neuroLCD, her memories changed to the visage of Kohime. Her smiles, her rage, her sadness, her love. All surrounding her in the deep dark ocean. Even as her sight went dark and her thoughts slowed, all she could see was Kohime's proud, loving face, smiling back at her, as if everything would be alright.

She should have loved her.

She should have...

Tens of thousands of years later, a young woman, barely 18, nervously approached the loud stranger on Mt. Nantai. Just a few months earlier, she had defected from the army she was raised by, inspired by a strange song she had heard. A simple, repetitive shrine song performed by enemy mercenaries. One which filled her with fear, love, and a dream of freedom. One which, two days earlier, she heard screamed from the other side of the mountain, as if sung by a particularly skilled jet turbine.

Five years after, at the height of her career, Marina Ida ducks backstage at the end of her band's world tour. At her side, marches the proud woman who found her, one Pearl Houzuki.

The small woman looks back at her, and flashes a proud grin, as if telling her that everything would be alright. At this, only one thought echoed in Marina's head.

I love her.

#Splatoon #Off the Hook #Pearl #Marina #Pearlina #Alterna #O.R.C.A #fanfic #Selena #Kohime #Blood #death #suicide mention #tragedy #romance #sci fi #I don't have an ao3 yet

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greenpanda-basicfakewitch · 1 year

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Witch Tools | Herbs Used In Wicca

Like Herbal tea/Baths or would then later become smudge sticks. List Of Herbs: Sage. Rosemary. Ginger. Garlic. Chilli Nutmeg. Cloves. Bok Choy. Cinnamon. Capers Pepper. Dill Banishing. Bay Leaf. Thyme Dill. Allspice. Vanilla. Cardamon. Chives Mint. Rocket arugula. Sage. Bay Leaf. Basil Chamomile. Vervain. Lemon Balm. Mugwort Wolfsbane. Rowan.

*Authors Note: Take this post with a grain of salt/most sources came from pinterest/internet. And nothing goes into detail about flowers/Herbs and the difference between the two.

Herbs Used In Wicca

Four Corner Home Blessing. Four clear Glass Vessels, For North, south, east and west. Lavender: For peace. Sage: For good vibes. White Rice: For Abundance.

How to dry Herbs:

Air-drying works best for low-moisture herbs like marjoram, oregano, rosemary and dill. Trim fresh herbs at an angle to protect the rest of the plant. Gather 5-10 branches together and tie with string or a rubber band. The smaller the bundle, the easier and faster they will dry.

Put the bundle of herbs, stem side up. Hang over a week ideally in a cool dark place.

Herbs are best stored in airtight glass containers, they’re uses range from cooking, tea, tincture, even decoration.

What herbs can you think of to use in your craft?

Tea Magick

[Reminder that Alastar Crowley added a K to Magic to differentiate between the craft or magician parlour tricks]

Green: Energy immunity cleanse. Peppermint: Decongest, clarity, tummy ache.

Chamomile: Anxiety, stress, sleep. Hibiscus: Blood pressure. Love, Harmony.

Black: Strength. Repel negative energy. Ginger: Nausea. Menstrual pain, tummy ache.

White: Cleansing, protection, antioxidant. Cinnamon: Cold relief, anti inflammatory, metabolism

Matcha: Mental clarity, tasty af detox. Chai: Calming, energy, digestion.

-> Flowers Page

#dry herbs #Wiccan #Witchblr #Witchtok #witchcraft #witch community #babywitch #paganism #wicca #witch #witches of tumblr #beginner witch #Herbs #Witch Herbs #Wiccan Herbs #Herb Magic #Herb Magick

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grim-wildwood · 6 months

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Fruits in Ritual

These kinds of fruits are very common in every household and grocery store, yet many rarely think of the magickal properties of these sweet gifts from nature. Herbs are aromatic and sensual, but thinking outside the box, especially with food items, is a great way to expand your understanding of the craft.

Apples

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Surround the Empress card from the tarot with apple slices (dried or fresh) and leave them on the altar for help with fertility.

Pour a libation of apple juice during your ritual to ask for the gift of insight or to seek help with life decisions.

Add apple peels to a large pot or cauldron of water with cinnamon, allspice, and/or ginger root to infuse your home with romance.

If you cut an apple in half, you will find a pentacle star in the middle. Press spell ingredients into the flesh or use it to symbolize earth on an all-natural altar.

Apple branches make gorgeous wands. Leave yours natural, or decorate it with gemstones, shells, sea glass, feathers, etc.

Burn apple blossom incense to enhance your connection to other realms.

The bitter seeds of an apple make excellent additions to mojo bags, spells, or amulets for protection.

Plant an apple tree in your yard to bless your home for prosperity.

Blackberries

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Blackberry leaves can be used in sachets and spell jars for protection and prosperity.

Blackberries are considered sacred especially to Goddess Brigid.

A blackberry bush forming a natural arch is considered a good omen and a great aid to magickal healing.

One traditional use consists of crossing the brambles to get rid of evil spirits.

The leaves of the blackberries have stomach settling and anti-inflammatory properties.

Eat blackberries or drink their juice before divination.

Blackberry bushes were also used for home protection under the assumption that any malevolent spirits would be compelled to count all the berries, and that would prevent them from entering your home.

Juniper

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Juniper has strong cleansing properties in magic. Traditionally, it was used in burial rites, in protective rituals, and to eliminate evil spirits.

The house can be smudged with smoke from burning juniper needles to cleanse the energy.

Juniper twigs are hung on the front door for protection from people with impure thoughts and from evil spirits. A properly planted juniper, with magick, care, and love, can protect the home from thieves and general bad vibes.

Juniper is widely used to remove unwanted love spells.

Juniper attracts good luck and protects against diseases. Juniper woods are burned, and their pleasant fragrance is suitable as an incense for ritual offerings during the autumn Samhain fire festival at the beginning of the Celtic year to honor the Gods and Lunar Goddess.

If you feel like your body has absorbed so many negativities and need healing, Juniper Berries can be used as an amulet to facilitate much stronger healing.

Juniper Berries can be used in love spells to draw love to your circle or eliminate undesired emotions and suitors.

There is also an opinion that magick wands and staves can be made of juniper. Juniper wands enhance the psychic abilities of the owner as well as protect them from curses and evil spirits.

Pomegranate

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Pomegranate juice can be used as a symbol for blood in a spell.

Pomegranate juice and seeds can be used in love spells as well as protection spells.

Make an ink using pomegranate leaves and vinegar and use it to write fertility, prosperity, and protection spells.

Give pomegranates as a housewarming gift to bestow the blessings of abundance and prosperity on a household.

Hang branches near or above your door to ward off evil.

Drink the juice or eat the seeds while working with the moon. Meditate and ask for guidance, knowledge, or wisdom.

Oranges

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Valencia oranges, associated with the high midsummer season, can be placed on the Litha altar.

Dried orange peel can be included in creativity sachets. For example, try combining dry orange peel and coffee grounds to break through writer’s block.

Oranges are a sun symbol. Use them in sun magick and solar rites.

Leave dried orange peel by the bathroom sink or wherever you get ready in the morning. Oranges have an energizing effect.

Associated with abundance, oranges make the perfect addition to spells of monetary success.

Blend dried orange into ritual incense. Orange peel blends well with a variety of other scents, particularly spicy ones.

During the solar holidays, fill your chalice with orange juice to welcome the sun back at Yule, or bid him farewell on Midsummer.

Combine a few drops of orange essential oil with a natural alcohol base like vodka, put it in a spray bottle, and spritz it over the altar for a lovely energy cleansing.

For the kitchen witch, make some orange marmalade from scratch and bless it for joy.

#witchcraft #nature #paganism #witch tips #Wildwood Witchcraft

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grellestie · 1 year

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a piece made for a fic that does not exist <3

(tw blood)

BUT here's a bloodless version for the gang who don't likeda blood (i understand)

just pretend like i gave her the glasses chain whoopsie

(zoom to see more of my mistakes!)

and as always

below the cut is the fic i never actually made and the version WITH blood.

now the anti-blood people are gone, let get into it-

here's the excerpt i made up;

Nightlife isn't exactly for everyone... However this cute bar attempted to make itself welcoming to anyone visiting. It was surprisingly large yet only appealed to the militant populous more than any regular guest. As long as you served time, you were welcome and most likely could see old friends of old. But even then, normal patrons can definitely have a good experience too! What the bar was most known for was its' gardens. They prided themselves on their pure white roses along with other flowers. They were never a tint red, yellow, or what have you. Not to mention, what was obvious to any botanist worth their salt, how healthy and vibrant they really were. The bar was always worth going to even if you didn't have anyone to experience it with, the atmosphere, the loving air, and people around you created the experience for you. Even despite the times of the unexplained deaths, it was able to sit as a community and be something that felt safe no matter how many more bodies dropped and met their unfortunate end. Even after the bar is long destroyed, it'll be something to truly remember...

However, this night wasn't something meant to be remembered... At least that's what he thought. Just another night to be free and maybe find a beautiful lady to take home! But that's just a little too ahead of himself. He needed to find one he got on with first. His eyes glanced around the room until he saw two beautiful women talking with each other. The first one was a gorgeous blonde, her makeup was a little smudged but hey! It's a bar! The other was a little bit more... mysterious. He couldn't see her face which was a shame but he could perhaps fill in the blanks when it comes to just knowing someone with such striking crimson locks could be just as beautiful if not more than the other.

As he was about to start attempting to flirt with them, the blonde got up first and then the other followed. The redhead seemed to take some time before heading right behind the other woman, however. Her shifty looks around didn't really make her look so innocent. She didn't seem to fit in with the bar at all. It was more casual yet she was dressed up. Her steps seemed so quiet and unloving compared to the loud and warm sounds of the bar. Something just didn't seem right at all... Nobody seemed to notice what had happened except for the man. He decided that maybe he should be the one to check on them. If it's nothing, he can blow it off like it was just for a smoke break.

The walk towards the garden was... extremely off. The echoes of people celebrating were dissipating as he walked away yet they only felt like a distant memory. His shoes clicked as he walked and the sound was deafening, almost more than the growing silence This was just a normal thing right? Maybe the murders were just becoming more and more on his mind and he was overthinking it... Maybe he is just being paranoid. He decided to linger outside the door before opening it.

...

There was a slight yelp- Not a scream but definitely the sound of someone caught off guard. Without any hesitation, he opened the door. He wanted to run and see what happened but he kept a steady pace instead. He saw what he assumed was a body but it didn't look right, it just looked to be a large pool of blood. The blood splatted onto the perfect white roses, painting them a depressing red to mark as a reminder to what had happened. It was almost satire of a murder scene. He looked up to the woman with red hair attempting to clean the blood off of her glasses. She was completely soaked in blood and seemed somewhat shaken. Poor thing... Seeing such a safe and secure place be still subject to something so horrible must have been hard for her... Which he what he wanted to think until his eyes met with hers. Her chartreuse eyes were so... unforgiving yet dreadfully cheerful. She kept looking and didn't really... seem to grasp what she was looking at until he cleared his throat. She smiled entirely insincerely and he couldn't help but keep staring. He needed to break the awkward silence

The woman's voice seemed to be pretending to be calm. Yet her shock wasn't one of someone who saw someone just die. He wanted to run away and get help but he couldn't help to stay.

"Are... you alright...?"

"Oh! Never better."

"What... What happened? There was a woman with you and she's... there." He crudely pointed. "Were you two attacked... Why would this murderer only go for her and not you...? Come to think... I only saw you follow her over here..."

That last sentence would have sent any killer over the edge, he thinks, yet the woman seemed to keep her composure despite being clearly upset, said by her body language.

"Hm~ Aren't you a smart one? Well... I'll explain everything if you help me back to my room. How's that sound?"

and there u go!

(zoom for worse quality! and reblogs are always appreciated more than likes but hey! i'll take what i can get in this economy!)

also dumb comic bc im not immune to the funnies (based on a "life is deranged" strip);

okie bye bye now <3

#real talk- the only reason i havent written it is that idk who would be the narrator here #oh well!#i dont have time to write it anyways #sobs in college student #black butler #kuroshitsuji #grelle sutcliff #grell sutcliff #grell #art tag #writing tag #uhh #cw blood #artists on tumblr #just realized i gave grelle little autistic t-rex arms #slay queen

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mymoonagedaydream · 2 years

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Part 4

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment, very mild smut

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

---

A loud banging jolted you awake. Your first few seconds of consciousness were dominated by confusion at your unfamiliar surroundings, the previous day’s events only returning your mind after a yawn and a furious eye-rub. Sunlight was streaming in through the smudged windows at the front of the apartment, illuminating all the specks of dust that were hanging in the air and highlighting every corner of the room you'd previously only seen in dim lamplight. Your neck was stiff and your lower back was numb from sleeping on the lumpy old couch but, somehow, you felt much more rested than you ever had after a night on your mother’s mattress.

Your eyes landed on Bucky. He was staring intently through the window at something down on the street, arms folded over his chest, shoulder pressed against the glass. His head only turned in your direction when he heard you stirring, his confused frown softening into a smile.

‘Morning beautiful,’ turning his back to the window, he gestured his head in the direction he was previously staring, ‘there’s cops outside.’

The banging sounded again.

‘There’s what?’

‘They’ve been down there for a couple minutes already,’ he chuckled, ‘we should probably go see what they want.’

Incredibly dazed, you hoisted yourself onto your feet, your host swiftly moving to your side to help steady you; nothing more than a sip of water passed your lips yesterday and now you were really feeling it. Just the trudge downstairs was enough to send you reeling into a dizzy spell. Bucky tugged the front door open to reveal three uniformed officers waiting outside: one at the doorstep, one hanging a bit further back and another leaning against a marked car parked on the road.

‘Are you y/n?’ The closest piped up as soon as you appeared in the doorway.

‘Yes, why?’

‘Your parents have reported you as kidnapped, they gave us his name.’ The officer glanced over to your companion, looking remarkably unimpressed. ‘James.’

‘Hi Terry.’ Bucky grinned, folding his arms and leaning against the opened door.

You were in complete disbelief, quickly trying to string together some kind of plausible response whilst bracing yourself for being tasered and tackled to the ground.

‘I’ve not been kidnapped.’ Well, that definitely wasn’t high on the list of sentences you expected to say today. ‘I’m sorry, my parents have wasted your time.’

Terry’s eyes darted between you and the suspect, seeming as though he was trying desperately to find something amiss. It was clear that, in his opinion, two loyal churchgoers from the suburbs reporting their daughter kidnapped by someone from this neighbourhood warranted an incredibly thorough, three-man investigation- one that didn’t cease even after the ‘victim’ confirmed that they were not, in fact, a victim. It was reassuring to see how responsibly the taxpayer’s money was being spent. After an uncomfortably long silence he seemed to draw a blank, a mumbled concession escaping through his lips and he nodded and withdrew.

You heard a gruff chuckle beside you. ‘Stockholm syndrome, officer. Ain’t it a bitch.’

The two of you watched the cops pile back into their car, only retreating from the doorstep once they were completely out of sight. Bucky shrugged at you with an amused smirk before turning on his heels beginning to climb the stairs. His lively footsteps stopped suddenly, however, when he heard how aggressively you slammed the door shut.

'Whoa there crazy, that thing is old as hell, you're gonna rip it off it's hinges.' His tone was playful at first but his demeanour quickly changed when he retraced his steps and came face to face with you. 'Hey, you alright? You're not worried about the cops are you? Cause they ain't coming back through this neighbourhood without a riot van, trust me.'

His attempts at humour fell on deaf ears, all you could focus on was the seething anger brewing in your stomach and the hot tears prickling your cheeks. 'I can't fucking believe my parents did that.'

'Really? I sorta can.'

'What the hell was their plan? Get you arrested so I'd come crawling back? Even for them that's insane.'

'S'okay,' Bucky spoke softly as his hands came to rest on your shoulders, 'don't let 'em get to you. They've had enough tears outta' you, they're not worth it.'

'I don't know what to do Buck, I just-'

You couldn't hold back the wave of emotions any longer. You'd cycled through the adrenaline high and the anxious panic yesterday, but now you just felt deflated, defeated. Your clamped a hand over your eyes as the floodgates opened, quiet sobs escaping through your harshly stuttering breath. Bucky curled a comforting arm around your shoulders and slowly led you back up to the apartment. He set you down on the couch and knelt in front of you, hands tenderly running over your thighs.

Still clutching your forehead in exasperation, you looked up at him. 'I can't handle it anymore, I can't handle them.'

'So don't,' he wiped a fresh tear away with his thumb, 'I know I've said this already but you gotta remember, you really don't owe them anything. And you can stay here with me as long as you want.'

His eyes were locked with yours, face swimming with kindness and sincerity. In that moment you became acutely aware of how lucky you were to have someone taking care of you so devotedly. Admittedly, you wouldn't currently be homeless if it weren't for your chance meeting with Bucky, but you figured it would only have been a matter of time before the snap came even without his intervention. You were just incredibly grateful to have someone this understanding nearby to break your fall.

‘I’m really sorry Bucky, I didn’t mean to drag you into this shit.’

‘Hey, don't apologise, it's all good. The cops probably would'a been at my door this morning anyway.'

A choked laugh cut through your sobs. 'How reassuring.'

'Nah, not for me. I'm pretty sure the guy downstairs runs an exotic pet smuggling operation.' You couldn't help but crack a smile at his goofy ass. ‘That's better, I never know what to do when people cry.’

You let him enclose both of your hands in his. 'You did great. Thank you.'

After planting a soft kiss on the back of your hand, Bucky climbed up onto the couch beside you. The two of you reassumed the intimate position you'd held all night, his arm pulling you in to his side while your head came to rest in the crook of your neck, a space you were convinced had been carved out to fit you perfectly. It was only a matter of minutes before you felt soothed, a few more passing before Bucky piped up.

‘Maybe we should get out of town for a while, let things settle,’ he whispered softly, ‘I know a place we can stay.’

'I'd like that.'

---

It was late afternoon by the time you were both ready to escape. Bucky had insisted on kitting you out with an appropriate jacket and helmet for the hour-long bike ride into the sticks, but the rest of the time he spent packing, choosing between dozens of white t-shirts that looked identical but that he insisted each had their own 'character'. You ferreted around in his kitchen for any morsels of food that would fit in your already stuffed backpack, eventually settling on a few protein bars, a tin of hot dogs and an old banana. Bucky grabbed a four-pack of beer. You just hoped to god there was some kind of grocery store near your destination, your food intake over the past few days had been abysmal.

Following Bucky to the door, your eyes wandered over to your phone, still resting face-down on the arm of the couch. It filled you with dread thinking about the amount of missed calls and texts that thing must have racked up while being switched off. You hesitated, debating whether or not to grab it, when a hand firmly wrapped itself around your wrist and made the decision for you.

He pulled the door open, glancing back over his shoulder with a devious smile. ‘Let 'em worry.’

You settled yourself on the backseat of the bike, bracing yourself as it pulled into the road but becoming pleasantly surprised when the warmth from Bucky and the steady vibrations actually began to calm you. You pressed your cheek between his shoulder blades, letting his broad frame shield you from the wind. Your eyes surveyed the scenery whizzing past, watching the suburban landscape gradually fall away, replaced by huge expanses of grass dotted with trees and the occasional old farm building.

After an hour or so you pulled off down a gravel side road and into a small campsite. There were a couple of tents pitched a deliberate distance away from each other, most of them inhabited by parents with miserable-looking children, all of whom expressed great distaste at the volume of your vehicle. A crumbling house stood behind the shoddily-built brick wall at the far end of the field but, other than that, there were no other hints of civilisation in sight. Bucky drove on through the first field and into a second. A few seconds later, he finally stopped, your eyes widening as you spotted your accommodation for the next few days. An old trailer. If only your dad were here, his face would be a picture.

‘Sorry it’s not much,’ Bucky obviously clocked your expression as he climbed off the bike, 'the inside is actually pretty nice.'

‘It’s perfect, Buck.’

You meant it too, and not just because you were in no position to be turning anything down. It was quiet, remote and cosy- exactly what you needed right now. A brief tour was given by your host but, with the trailer only having only one bathroom and one lounge/kitchen/bedroom/dining area, there was only a minute or so delay between you stepping through the door and you collapsing in a heap onto the couch/bed.

Bucky unzipped your bag and offered you one of his beers, looking faintly shocked when you accepted and took a long gulp. You'd actually been really hoping he didn't just pack those for himself. You failed to consider, however, that combining your biblically pathetic alcohol tolerance with the tiny amount of food you'd consumed over the past few days would result in a pretty immediate buzz. The supplier sat himself down next to you and ran his eyes over your face, frowning at your distant, bleary-eyed expression.

‘You good?’

'I think I'm hammered.'

'Damn,' he chuckled and clinked the top of his bottle against yours, 'cheap date.'

After taking another, more cautionary sip, you let your head loll sideways so you were facing him. 'I dunno, I just can't stop thinking about how the hell I'm gonna solve all this.’

'Solve? What's there to solve?'

'Well, for starters, I need to figure out how I'm gonna survive without my parents' money.'

'We talked about this, you'll stay with me. I'll look after ya.' He lifted his feet to rest them on the table. 'Anyway, what’s the hurry about? You gotta give yourself a little time to unwind. When you get ahead of yourself you forget to look after yourself, y'know?’

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he casually took a drink and stared out of the window, as if he hadn’t just come up with some of the most insightful shit you’d ever heard. He was clearly chocked full of wisdom beyond his years. Carefully placing your bottle down on the floor, you lifted his arm and draped it around your neck, nestling into his side.

‘How are you so good at this, Buck? How do you know exactly what to say and do all the time?’

‘Ah y’know,’ he shrugged with his free shoulder, ‘parents suck, been there myself. Yours are too involved in your life, mine are the opposite, I guess.’

That revelation hit you pretty hard. You'd been so caught up in your own domestic drama that you hadn't even thought to ask him about his home life, you hadn't had time. Thinking on it, though, you did remember a couple incidents from school, like when he had to sit out gym class cause he didn’t have a kit or when he got picked on for wearing the same clothes for a week straight. As a kid you didn't tend to think about that kind of stuff below surface level, so you'd just assumed he was lazy or forgetful, but now you felt awful.

'You wanna talk about it?'

'Nah, trust me, you don't wanna open that can of worms.'

The selfish impulse to coax him into spilling more did bubble up inside you very briefly, but it really seemed like he'd rather just move on, so you changed the subject.

‘Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to do all this for me. I mean, we barely even know each other.’

‘What? We went to school together for like ten years.’

You gave him a cynical look. ‘Yeah, but we spoke maybe three times?’

‘You knew I always had a bit of a crush on you though, right?’ You snapped your head up in complete shock. ‘Oh c’mon, I wasn’t exactly subtle about it.’

‘I think you fucking were.’

‘Well you always hung around those weird Christian kids so I never made a move or anything, but I knew there was something different about you. Something in your eyes,’ he grinned, ‘itching for rebellion.’

You burst out laughing, nodding at his analysis- here you were living in his trailer after denouncing the Christian life, he was obviously right.

‘Anyway, you must be starving,' he finished his beer and jumped up, ‘and there's a grill outside. I’ll cook up those hot dogs.’

‘The only food we’ve ever eaten together is hot dogs.’ You chuckled, watching him rifle through your bag.

‘We’re livin’ like trailer trash so we gotta eat like trailer trash, sweetheart.’

---

It was a warm evening. You lay back on the grass outside the trailer, staring up at the starry, cloud-dusted sky, taking the opportunity to decompress a little. You never imagined it was possible to pack so many intense, conflicting emotions into such a short space of time, being able to just clear your mind for a little while actually felt like a privilege. Besides, you were reassured knowing that none of the bullshit would be able to find you out here.

You heard Bucky, who'd been cleaning the grill and softly humming to himself for the past ten minutes, padding through the grass towards you. He lay down by your side, close but not quite touching. You got the impression that he was worried about overstepping your boundaries but, while you really appreciated how considerate he was, all you wanted at that moment was to curl up in his arms.

He turned his head towards you. ‘So what d'you do at college?’

‘Economics.’ You felt your eyes glazing over as you replied. Christ, you hated it.

‘That your choice?’

‘What do you think?’

Watching his lips curl into a smile, following his bright blue eyes as they danced over your face, you decided that you couldn't wait for him to close the gap. It was time for you to jump in and decisively resolve his internal conflict. You rolled onto your stomach and threw an arm over him, letting your head come to rest in the centre of his chest. The soft thumping sound against your ear began to quicken slightly when you pressed your body up against the side of his. He returned the embrace, both arms circling you as best they could in this position.

‘I wanted to study literature,' you added with a sigh, 'but my dad said that a degree in being able to read wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.’

‘And what did daddy think you'd do with this fuckin' thrilling economics degree?’

‘No idea but, if I had to guess, I’d say college, job, marry, kids, retire, die. The first four probably within the next few years.’

He let out a surprised laugh. ‘Jesus. You barked that out like a well-trained dog.’

You scoffed, pretending to be offended, nudging your hand into his shoulder in disapproval. He grabbed hold of it, squeezed it and brought it to his mouth, pressing his lips gently against your fingers. Glancing down, he noticed you looking a little distant again.

‘Trust me, you’re doing fine,’ your hand fell back to where it had been resting, ‘you don't have to plan your life to someone else's schedule.’

‘It’s not that, it’s just- my dad wants a secure life for me. I dunno, sometimes I feel guilty for resenting him so much.'

‘That’s the thing about you,’ he leisurely stretched an arm out and then folded it behind his head, 'you can see when you’re wrong but you can’t see when you’re right.’

‘Well they say opposites attract, James.’

‘That's it. C’mere, asshole.’

He growled into your ear before flipping onto his side and grabbing your waist, dragging your body towards his whilst you halfheartedly resisted. The two of you tussled for a while but you eventually relaxed, letting him pull you flush against his chest, arms holding you just firmly enough to make you feel safe without squeezing too hard. Both your hands were fiddling with the jersey fabric of his t-shirt in an attempt to soothe your jittering nerves. When you went to adjust yourself, you realised that your leg was hiked up over him, your inner thigh resting on his hip. This was quite possibly the most intimate moment of your life so far, you could barely hear Bucky whispering to you over the sound of your heart pounding.

‘You shouldn’t go back to college if you hate it.’

You raised an eyebrow, suspecting that your well-being wasn’t his only motive for suggesting that.

He continued through a faint smile, ‘and, y’know, I'd be pretty bummed if you left.’

‘Beautiful. Is that Shakespeare?’

‘You bet it is, doll-face.’

Without warning, he shifted over and swiftly flipped you onto your back, causing you to yelp faintly through a surprised laugh. The excitement sent you dizzy for a few seconds but, when it cleared, you felt his body pressed on top of yours, his face hovering just a few centimetres away. Your arms instinctively moved to circle his neck, feeling your stomach tremble when his grin grew wider. Time seemed to stand still as you gazed up at his soft face and the night sky hanging around it. His gaze flickered down to your lips. Brushing his thumb over them gently, he lowered himself, locking you into a passionate kiss. You adjusted your legs so that your thighs were squeezing his waist. His hand reached down to grab one of them, squeezing it firmly. He caught your faint moan in his mouth and chuckled in response, sliding his other hand underneath your shirt. His skin felt ice cold against yours but the sensation was incredible, like faint electricity was passing between you.

There, on the grass, underneath the stars and the bright glow of the moon, Bucky made love to you for the first time. Everything that’d happened, all the confusing emotions of the past few days, completely melted from your mind. For the first time in your life you felt completely free and completely loved.

You just hoped he’d still feel the same in the morning.

---

Part 5

---

87 notes · View notes

pglasses · 6 months

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zelphin124 · 1 year

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DISCLAIMER: I do not know much about Therapist!Sans, but I was bored so I thought I'd write a lil script with him giving therapy to Ink!Sans (which I think would be very chaotic)

Also, I've never been to therapy before so I don't know how this technically works 😅

Therapist!Sans belongs to @tehrogueva

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet

Enjoy!

The room was still. There was no breeze, no sound, and no darkness. Every part of the room was lit with a dim light overhead, erasing the shadows from all of the objects. There was only a wooden chair to the left of the room which was accompanied with a small desk by its side. In front of this chair was a maroon sofa. A rectangular carpet with a pine tree design laid between the furniture.

There wasn't much to observe. In fact, the tan walls of the room were quite barren. Occasionally, there were small papers with green and brown designs hung across the room. There was a small billboard above the desk with a few drawings on them. The door was darker than all the browns in the area. It reflected off the yellow-tinted light. The lights themselves were small lightbulbs hung by a single chain on the ceiling. The air would've been heavy and filled with stench if it wasn't for the air conditioner in the corner.

The dark brown door opened as Ink stepped inside. His eyes lit with curiosity as he observed the room. He wasn't sure why he needed therapy. Heck, he didn't even remember how he got there. Why was he here again?

He checked the notes on his scarf. He tried to make out what he wrote. Ah, there it was. He had gone to therapy because _____ told him to go. He couldn't make out the smudged word of who told him to come here. However, Ink trusted whoever it was; he wouldn't have written it down if the person wasn't someone he trusted.

Or did Error tell him to go to therapy as an insult and he wanted to remember it?

Ink patted himself down when he forgot what he was thinking about. Where was his sketchbook? Did he leave it in the doodle sphere again? He didn't like being bored and had no intention to stay bored. He would've started to draw on the billboard, but he couldn't find the right markers to do so.

The room reminded the guardian of the Anti-Void. He didn't care for big open spaces. He wanted to fill such empty expanses with light, color, and beauty. At least, that's what he wanted to do if he drank his vials.

To his relief, it wasn't completely barren. However, the walls were lacking any decoration. Maybe it was to keep people from being distracted, or it was a new office and it hadn't been decorated yet.

No matter! Ink loved making decorations. He could assist with drawing the pictures and hanging them up! This place would look more vibrant in no time. All he needed was his brush...

His brush that he left outside the office.

Why did he leave it out there again? Ink checked his scarf again. Something about it being too big and whacking things... As well as covering the area in paint...

He eyes glanced back down to the notes he previously read. Someone had told him to go to therapy after he burned down an AU.

Wait... I did WHAT?!

"Good afternoon," an unfamiliar voice said softly behind him. "I apologize for being late. Please, take a seat."

Ink spun around to find a skeleton he had never seen before. He was a variation of Sans like himself. He had large eyes and a genuine smile. Green glasses rested on his non-existent nose; Ink noticed they were taped to the side of his head. Ink could tell he was tired, but not the sleepy kind of tired. It was more the-past-week-has-felt-like-one-giant-day tired.

Ink loved the soft colors that bounced off the skeleton's attire. He wore an off-white wool cardigan and dark brown gloves. His green turtleneck shirt complimented his glasses. The blue shorts on his legs possessed green stripes and visually led onlookers down to his pink slippers. His small hands held a clipboard and a pen made from a small bone. Although Ink saw that he was more expressive than Classic, he could tell the skeleton's shoulders were tense despite his fatigue.

"Hello!" Ink greeted, waving his hand before extending it. "I'm Ink! It's nice to meet you, what's your name?"

"You can call me Doc, Ink," Doc shook Ink's hand before signaling for him to sit down. "Tell me a bit about yourself. I heard that you love art."

"Who told you that? Because loving art is a total understatement," Ink adjusted his clothes as he sat down on the sofa. "I adore it! It's one of the best things in the world! In fact, I wouldn't be here without art! Creativity is a beautiful thing that should inspire others and be shared!"

"Indeed it should," Doc nodded as he wrote something down on his clipboard. "What else do you like to do?"

"Well, I love to inspire others. When I'm not battling Error or chilling with Dream and Swap, I adore going to different AUs and observing people's creations! Sometimes I talk with the creators of the AUs themselves to help them out. Like one time I inspired my friend named XGaster..." Ink trailed off, glancing at the billboard with the small green and brown drawing. "What were we talking about again?"

Doc scribbled more things on his paper before giving a warm smile. "I'm asking some ice-breaker questions before we get started on your therapy," he answered. "I'm here to help you with your problems."

"What problems?" Colorful question marks glimmered in Ink's eyes. Why was it so hard to remember simple things today? He knew his memory was bad, but surely it wasn't always this bad. Is it getting worse? Ink asked himself in his head.

The therapist stared at Ink for a long time. To Ink's surprise, he didn't find the silence uncomfortable. He was perfectly content with the skeleton staring at him and not saying anything at all. Had it been anyone else, Ink would've started to become nervous.

"I have an idea," Doc set his clipboard down. "Why don't we draw something to hang up on my walls? I would love to display some of your art here. Plus, while we are drawing, you can tell me what's been happening in your life recently."

"Oh that would be great!" Joy surged through Ink's mind. "I was going to comment about the emptiness of the room. I wondered why it was so barren."

"This office is new, so I haven't had much time to hang things up yet," Doc answered before he informed Ink he would return with art supplies.

When the therapist returned, Ink wasted no time, grabbing the acrylic paints as quickly as he could. He had so many ideas on what he wanted to draw. He eventually decided he was going to draw a pine forest to match the aesthetic of the room. Doc sat his clipboard by his side as he watched Ink's brush fly across the paper.

Doc didn't even have to ask any questions. Ink started to ramble about his day... At least what he could remember of it. He talked about having tea with Dream and Swap before mentioning his battle with Error. He went on and on about how beautiful OuterTale was before he lost his train of thought.

Doc listened intently, drawing a cliffed landscape and taking notes. "You mentioned Dream and Swap, are these your friends?"

"Oh yeah. We are the Star Sanses. We fight for the AUs and their happiness. We work together a lot," Ink stroked the brown paint on the trunks of his trees. "Although we've been separating lately."

"How does that make you feel?"

Ink glanced away from his art up at the therapist. What an odd question; no one had asked him that before. He started to twitch with his fingers before replying. "I don't know how to answer that question, Doc. I don't really feel anything about it." He glanced down at his vials. "I don't have emotions. I'm given emotions through these vials, but they're fake. Nothing that I feel is actually real. I don't have a soul to feel things."

"I see," Doc picked up his pen and wrote it down on his paper.

"Me and Dream have different motives and intentions for the AUs sometimes. Swap wanted to go home and assist his brother more. I spend most of my time bugging Error about his love for chocolate and the truce he forced me to accept. Although we both kinda broke that recently."

"Tell me more about Error."

Ink told the Doc all that he could recall about the glitched skeleton. He described how they met, how they became enemies, and how the truce was agreed upon. He backtracked to find moments with Error and memorable fights between them. Ink tried to explain to Doc how Error was the only skeleton who could understand him, and yet they were complete opposites, driving them apart.

About an hour had passed. The therapist listened to the guardian closely, however, he stopped Ink when black tears started to run down his face. Ink had gotten emotional when he recalled how Error destroyed most if not all the AUs.

"I... I didn't feel anything at the time," Ink wiped his face. He glanced in confusion at his fingers. Am I crying? "I didn't drink my vials so I felt nothing when Error destroyed the multiverse. But now... It hurts to even think about."

The Doc sat his drawing aside and picked up his clipboard. "Why do you think that is?"

Ink's tears fell onto his drawing. They covered the trees in various patches. He wondered how he could incorporate them into his forest drawing. "I guess... Because I love the AUs and their creativity. I wouldn't want anyone's inspiration to be crushed. I wouldn't want to harm an AU..." He glanced at his scarf. "It says on my scarf I came here because I burned down an AU though..."

"What do you think about that?"

"It doesn't help my reputation..." Ink wiped his face again. "I'm portrayed as a villain now. A lot of people don't like me after certain actions-" He wiped his face again. He didn't like crying. He didn't even know why he was crying, let alone in front of a Sans he didn't know. He didn't feel sad on the inside, but it was as if something inside him had shattered. Did he regret his actions? Was he mourning for the loss of the AUs? Was all the talk about him being a murderous psychopath with no emotions getting to him? He couldn't say. His emotions were confusing as they were. If he couldn't figure himself out, how could Doc Sans figure him out?

"This is good for you to acknowledge all of this," Doc Sans broke his thoughts. His voice was soothing and slow. "There's a lot to unpack here. I would love to meet with you on a regular basis so we can work through all this. Can you meet the same time next week?"

The tears had stopped flowing from the guardians eyes. "Time is a little hard for me to grasp since I love outside of it."

"Oh, yes of course," the therapist replied. "In that case, I'll talk with the office to find a way to signal you to come back when it's time. But might I reassure you in one thing today?"

Ink shrugged. "Go for it."

"You don't just drink one of your vials, right? You drink all of them at once."

Ink glanced down at his paint vials. They glowed with intensity according to their designated color. All of them were nearly empty. "Yeah, I drink all of them."

"So that means you feel all the emotions and they can alternate your mood depending on the situation. I wouldn't call your emotions fake. You're not forcing yourself to drink one vial to feel that way. You drink all of them at once, making your emotions as real as anyone else's; constantly present."

"Really?" Ink exclaimed before he vomited a bunch of ink from his mouth. He stared blankly at the Doc before looking back at his drawing. Whew, the ink missed his paper entirely.

"I'll uh... call someone to come clean that up," the smile on the therapist's face faded. He glanced over at Ink's drawing. "You're very talented, Ink. Can I hang that on my wall?"

Ink nodded. Doc knelt down and picked up the drawing. The smile returned to his face. "Look at these black streaks across the trees that you made with your tears."

Ink was quite proud of how we wove his tears into his art. They created shadows across the forest and shade between the leaves. There were millions of shades of greens and browns in the pine forest that he drew. The painting would look lovely under the dim lights of the office.

"That's what we are going to do with everything you've bottled up," Doc explained. "We are going to take that pain and weave it into the beautiful story of your life. No story is complete without suffering. Here's your first lesson, Ink."

For the first time in his life, Ink had nothing to say. He wanted to listen to Doc talk. His fingers twitched as he waited for the therapist to continue.

"Suffering is necessary in our lives. Because without it, the happiest moments of our lives wouldn't be so sweet as they are," he explained. "Our lives will never be perfect. Just like paintings are never perfect. But our lives, like these paintings, aren't supposed to show us perfection. They reflect who we are, and the progress we made."

What an interesting take. It was as if Doc was talking like they had run out of time.

Wait... they had run out of time.

Was the session already over? Ink didn't feel like he spent an entire hour talking. Was that what therapy was? Just talking until stuff comes up?

Ink wasn't sure how to feel about the whole therapy thing. He enjoyed drawing and talking to the new Sans, but it was odd for him to feel things so raw when he recalled memories. He never felt such strong emotions about any memories before, why had it struck him now? What was all of that hidden pain Doc was talking about? Did he really have bottled up pain like all the rest of the Sanses?

He lost his trail of thought, only remembering what the therapist had said Ink grabbed a pen and started to write down what the therapist said on his scarf. "I bet all of that was important, I just don't understand it right now."

Doc chuckled softly. "You'll understand more as we work through your life together. I'll be in touch with you shortly, thank you for coming."

Ink finished writing down what the therapist had said. "Thanks for having me, Doc! I'll see you next time!"

The guardians gaze went from Doc's warm smile to the painting Ink drew within the hour. It wasn't perfect, no, but it reminded Ink about what the therapist had said before he exited the room.

It's not about about perfection... But about the progress I make.

#therapist!sans #doc sans #docs #DocSans #therapist sans #ink!sans #ink sans #therapy #i tried #fandom #this is not canon #ITS ELEVEN FRICKIN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT #Dont expect good writing from me at this hour :3

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sea-salted-wolverine · 1 year

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My God, this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I have a pair of prescription sunglasses now and life is wonderful. Do this for yourself. Not transitions. Sunglasses.

Go to zenni.com. stick your prescription and pupilary distance in there. Find some frames you like then pick literally any combination of tints and lense coating under the sun.

Frames start at 6.95 US dollars. The coatings and tints are more and shipping isn't free, (and it shouldn't because because that's someone's job) but I got myself custom anti smudge polarized prescription sunnies for under 50 bucks.

I am not getting paid for plugging zenni. I think everyone on earth who needs glasses should know about the widely available high quality low budget online glasses store. If you have 15 dollars and know your prescription you can get glasses. Your optometrist is legally required to give you a copy of your prescription btw, withholding it so you have to buy glasses through them is a crime, in the US.

#glasses #go get your glasses

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tails89 · 2 years

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My best friend who just got glasses: so I got the cleaning spray, the anti static microfibre cloth and the anti smudge wipes. Is that enough to clean my glasses?

Me (cleaning my glasses on my shorts): yep

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foxxydevil · 1 year

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Lace & Silken Shadows

So this is a lil something something I'm cooking up because I have mega brain rot. This should be a longer fic, maybe even pretty slow burn-y.

The basic principle is that Alexia, a young destitute female college graduate, gets accepted into the Alchemax bioengineering internship under Dr Miguel O'Hara. She struggles with her abusive home life, making ends meat, and her judgmental pain in the ass lab supervisor who stirs feelings in her she can not even begin to understand and he clearly has a few secret second lives of his own.

Fem!OC/Miguel O'Hara third person dark romance + superhero shenanigans

Word count: 8.6k

Content warnings ⚠️

Past child abuse, sexual trauma, prostitution, discussed current sexual abuse, mild injuries due to abuse, abuse denial, age gap, mentor/student relationship, BDSM

The Boomtown Rats droned a particularly fitting chorus in Alexia’s ear as she took the 9 train, shooting through the dim green pre dawn expanses interrupted by the bright concrete and glass structures of Nueva York.

Tell me why?

I don't like Mondays

Tell me why?

I don't like Mondays

I want to shoot

The whole day down

Grim, she thought and yawned into her hand, a wrist looped through one of the few loops hanging from the ceiling to anchor oneself with. And still, fitting. Nerves coil in her stomach, twisting her guts onto a winch with rhythmic efficiency. It wasn’t hard to feel like she was making the wrong choice, again, as hunger roiled in her stomach and she could almost feel the disgusting rubberized anti-slip flooring of the train through the thinning soles of her shoes.

Accepting the scholarships to go to college had been stupid, even if it had covered some living expenses, but an unpaid post graduate internship?

Alexia's mom's screams of how selfish she was still stung in her ears.

Her heavily pregnant sister-in-law's sneer burned into the backs of her eyes.

Somehow the bruises on her back and the way her shoulder ached as she held onto the wrist strap didn’t seem nearly as bad as the words that had bloomed just as deep on repeat in her mind when her brother had shoved her into the doorframe.

“Selfish little princess.”

“So you're just going to let us all starve for your useless BS?”

“I have done nothing but care for you under this roof since dad died. All you do is take and think you're so much better than us.”

Those memories of screaming and shoving from the last few weeks since she had told them the news about being accepted into the internship program crowded her mind, distracting her from the other morning commuters.

Their own little girl

Sweet 16 ain't so peachy keen

No, it ain't so neat to admit defeat

They can see no reasons

'Cause there are no reasons

What reason do you need?

I can give you at least 3 good reasons, Bob Geldof, she thought as the band launched into the repeating chorus once more and the train drove into a tunnel, transforming the window into a dim mirror.

Fuck, were the bags under her eyes always that obvious? And were the windows smudged or did her bun really have that many drab colored flyaways.

At least she was running a comfortable - more like overly anxious - hour early for the first day of her Alchemax internship. She could probably fix herself up a little nicer in a Starbucks bathroom if they didn't require a purchase. She couldn't afford the dollar menu for breakfast much less a 5$ coffee that would only turn her empty stomach gurgling into agonizing cramps.

And daddy doesn't understand it

He always said she was as good as gold

And he can see no reasons

'Cause there are no reasons

What reason do you need to be shown?

Sorry daddy, it's been a couple of years. You probably wouldn’t recognize me anymore. I had to sell all my gold to keep the house.

It was a bittersweet feeling thinking of her dad today. He may not recognize her, but she hoped he would understand what she had to do, that she had to do it for both of their dreams to come true.

Growing up, before she could even walk on her own, her dad had taken Alexia to work with him, boasting about how she was a junior engineer, and someday, she'll work there too.

And today was that day.

As she stepped off the train, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She glances up at the towering building that houses Alchemax and couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement at the prospect of starting her internship finally, after all the work she had done to stand there.

Of course it wasn't the first time she had stood in this very spot. Aside from the interviews for the internship, her father had been one of their top engineers. He'd even run his own lab.

Alexia grinned to herself as she walked across the plaza to the crowded chain coffee shop. A line snaked out of the building despite the early hour but she wasn't there to order. She walked to the front counter.

"Bathroom code?" Alexia asked the already tired looking barista and coiled the kinked white plastic headphone cord around her ancient, barely working, mp3 player before shoving it into her ancient canvas backpack.

He gave her a blank stare before reluctantly rattling off the code. Alexia thanked him and quickly made her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She washed her face with cold water and tried to tidy her hair as best she could. She looked in the mirror and took a deep breath. You can do this, she told herself. You can succeed.

She grimaced at the too small, too off white, button up shirt she wore, the very last button hole secured with a safety pin. One of her brother's friends had popped the plastic button off the other night while tearing at the cheap yellowing fabric with an urgency that still flashed through her mind accompanied with a surge of fear that made her want to heave her empty stomach into the sink.

Her skirt wasn't in much better condition. Despite being black originally it had a gray-ish worn out tinge from being washed a few too many times, having outlived its destined fast fashion lifespan. She knew she should have been wearing sheer tights under it, the expected clean look of a Nueva York business woman, but she hadn't owned an intact pair in years.

Alexia sighed and splashed some more water on her face, as if she could wash away the negative thoughts. She had spent too long letting her circumstances define her, elegant sheer tights or not she was making a new life for herself.

Even being 45 minutes early to her scheduled office hours she decided to head into the intimidatingly dark Alchemax building across the brick courtyard anyways. The front receptionist hadn't even laid out all the badges for new interns on the desk yet, a group of about two dozen hopeful headshots looking up at her from their plastic sleeves growing one by one in neat rows.

Alexia was the only one of the group that had the designation "bioengineering" printed in an all caps cobalt font under her portrait. While Alchemax pursued many scientific fields, none were quite as selective as bioengineering, she had earned high marks in her college courses even with her unusual work schedule to qualify for the prestigious field and stand out among all the other applicants. She grinned as she snagged up the card, a renewed sense of pride warming her chest to push out the fear and anxiety.

“Dr O’Hara already came in a few minutes ago. You can head up to the 15th floor rather than wait. I’m sure he’s not preparing a presentation for you anyways,” the receptionist said, shaking Alexia from her thoughts.

Was that a sympathetic or pained look in her eyes? Oh shit-

“Oh- yeah for sure no point in the full production for just one intern,” Alexia answered with a lopsided grin, trying to sooth her nerves with some humor, give herself more of a chance to see if the receptionist was hinting at a far less dire reason she shouldn't bother waiting.

The look the receptionist gave her was definitely sympathy, that and pity. The look one gave someone who was terminal.

Alexia laughed nervously before turning to make her way to the elevator, not having to wait for the direction to go past the center escalator in the hall and to the row of silver doors hidden behind it. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pain in her gut again. She could only hope that she would be able to meet the expectations of her mentors and live up to her father's legacy and dreams for her. The elevator doors opened and she stepped in, her heart pounding in her chest.

While most of the other interns would be directed to a variety of conference rooms for their first day and introduction to the company, she was to go directly to the lab. Dr O'Hara, it would seem, did not have a separate office space or need for a larger room.

That sympathetic cringe the receptionist had given her set her mind spinning with worry again. She pictured a stern and intimidating figure, someone who would judge her based on her appearance and pedigree, not on her abilities and work ethic. As she walked down the hallway after a gut lurching short trip up, her footsteps echoed in the silence, the sound of her own breathing deafening as it crowded out every thought with beginnings of an anxiety attack lurking in the recesses of her mind.

A deep voice called out to her from a nearby room. "Hey- are you the new intern?"

Alexia looked over to see a dark haired man standing in the doorway, his suit neatly pressed and tie perfectly knotted. He stared at her, his eyes tired with dark bags that emphasized his already deep set eyes with thick brows hooding his narrowed eyes as if he was already over this interaction, annoyed at the inconvenience of her very existence.

"Yes! Alexia-"

"Uh," she realized her mistake almost immediately as the pause drew out just slightly too long to add her last name naturally, introducing herself by her first name alone. She narrowly avoided her legs tangling under her as she made the sharp stop and turn, walking with a confident proud stride that didn’t exactly match the restricted proper stride of most pencil skirts, the material too worn out to give her the ladylike gait.

Her hand stretched out in an offered handshake. "Alexia Gates."

The man stared at her hand for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out and gripped her hand firmly, his gaze returning to hers.

"Dr O'Hara," he answered, his voice low and gravelly. "You’re early, that's something. Let's get to the lab."

His voice had a rhythmic quality, a scripted practice that hinted at a cool ego he hadn't expected him to be so- large. She never thought of herself as short. Alexia stood a respectable 5'6, neither tall nor tiny. Dr O'Hara dwarfed her, not only because he was at least a foot taller than her but because he was twice her weight, pure muscle. His face wasn’t unfamiliar of course, she had looked him up in the college library almost as soon as she had received her acceptance letter with her program details, but his presence online had been limited to a short corporate bio along with a portrait that was only a few years older than the portrait that glowered at her from the badge clipped to his chest, clearly not one for social media or media engagement in general.

She nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek. It was a bad habit, one that sometimes led to the iron tang of blood in her mouth but people rarely noticed, not paying much attention to her face in her field of work.

"Right, yes. The lab," Alexia agreed.

As they started to walk her eyes assessed her new mentor, picking up any details she could glean from his movements alone. Dr O'Hara didn’t so much as walk as he prowled, his shoulders were massive and rolled forward. It wasn't quite in the same way that most tall men seemed to have a permanently shrinked hunch to their posture, used to training themselves into a less intimidating posture, but like Atlas balancing the sky on his shoulders.

They reached the lab without another word while Alexia considered if she was supposed to say something, to make a good impression on the man that the receptionist had seemed to regard as her executioner. She thought better of it as Dr O'Hara tapped his badge to the door lock and held the door for her, gesturing for her to take a seat at his desk at the far side of the room.

She walked ahead of him, feeling his strangely red eyes burning into her back.

Not red, she told herself. A weird brown like clay, people don’t have red eyes.

She slid into the chair, crossing her legs instinctively and placing her hands, one on top of the other, on her knees. It was a defensive position, closed off and protective of her core. Her green eyes followed him as he made his way to the mesh desk chair on the other side of the wide cluttered desk, too focused on deciding if he was a threat or not to take a good look at the rest of the lab.

Of course he was a threat in her mind, look at him.

Alexia launched into the empty pleasant words she knew most men with an ego liked. If she wanted to learn and drag herself into a new life, she could stroke some egos and make pleasant sounds at self important men. If she wanted to survive this world instead of rotting away on the streets, she had to stay on her toes. She couldn't afford Starbucks coffee, much less useless pride.

"I appreciate the opportunity to work with you-"

"Save the pleasantries, Ms Gates. We have a lot of work to do." Dr O'Hara cut her off mid-sentence, his tone sharp and biting,

Her eyes narrowed as her mouth slowly closed, forgetting those little niceties. Ok, maybe fuck not having pride.

"It's called manners, Dr O'Hara. Some of us have them," she answered, voice clipped, before she could stop herself. She knew her greatest downfall was her inability to shut up when annoyed. Even still, she didn't apologize or show any outward signs of regretting the words.

She could already tell the man in front of her wasn't used to getting any lip back, it would probably do him some good and humble him a bit if he didn’t fire her immediately.

Miguel, the name she had gleaned from his online bio since he hadn’t given her his first name, leaned forward in his chair, his eyes boring into her, "Ms Gates, let's be clear. I am not interested in your pleasantries or your opinions. I am here to work, and I expect you to get in line in my lab and not interrupt my day. I did not request an intern, nor am I interested in putting on a kids' lab day. You will stay out of my way and entertain yourself, making yourself useful whenever possible."

A shiver ran down her spine at his direct cold statement. His words had an almost rhythmic quality, the only hint at an accent that matched his tiger eye skin. She idly wondered why everything about him seemed hard as stone from his grinding voice, to his garnet eyes that definitely had to be a normal brown in a more natural lighting.

"I am not here to be your simpering lackey. I'm here to learn hands on and earn my credits, the actual point of an internship. I expect to be respected as a graduate intern who is here on merit and not pay, not treated like a clueless brat," she pushed back, unable to help herself even though every instinct in her told her to shut up or he would lash out and do what men do, take what they desire regardless of what she needs.

Miguel's eyes narrowed as he considered her words, "I respect your determination, Ms Gates, but I will not stand for insubordination. Here’s your first lesson, don’t talk that way to the person who will decide whether or not you actually get a job in this company."

"I will be your lab intern, run any tests or data you like," she agreed, but her eyes were still hard, matching the gemstone hardness of his eyes piercing into her, still determined to lay down her boundaries and not be dismissed when she knew she was worth this internship. "- but I am not some secretary or personal assistant. I do not run around for coffee orders or your dry cleaning."

Alexia was stubborn to a fault, her foot tapping in the air to an anxious beat and flashing the worn-out bottoms of her soles, unintentionally drawing attention to her less than fashionable attire. Dr O'Hara studied her for a moment, his face the picture of exhaustion despite the day just beginning.

“Well, you actually will be doing that. That’s what an intern is. Or did you think we just hired some fresh out of school kids for the fun of it?” he scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“You take on fresh out of school adults to learn in the field so we can earn a paid position. I wouldn't call an unpaid internship employment, Dr O'Hara,” Alexia countered, holding perfectly still. She would stand her ground and not give him an inch, but she wasn’t relaxed enough to put on a confident swagger.

“Call it whatever you want, chica. I call it ‘being used’. Welcome to the real world,” he answered, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Oh, I am plenty experienced with how the real world likes to use people up,” Alexia scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I was under the impression that Alchemax cultivates brilliance, not wastes it.”

“They like the idea of cultivating brilliance. But when it comes to actually doing it- well, that’s a completely different ball game.”

“Maybe drop the bitter tone when you are the one refusing to cultivate. You have one intern, not a herd like the other departments, I'm sure there are far more useful things for me to help with than running errands,” Alexia countered, hoping a little reasoning would work on her reluctant mentor.

“You know, you’re exactly like every other intern. You think you’re so special, that you’re gonna change this place, but you’re just the same as all of the others- in over your head and going nowhere,” Dr O’Hara observed with cruelty and his latin accent became a little more noticeable as his annoyance grew, “I bet in a month’s time, your so called ‘brilliance’ won’t be worth a dime and if anyone remembers you at all it’ll just be as the office coffee girl.”

“I won't be changing this place, but my work will change the world. Not because I'm special, but because I am determined and unlike the other pedigree kids, I need this. They can drop out and cry to their parents. I need the paid offer after the internship,” Alexia spat out, vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be showing so much frustration even as she leaned forward in her chair.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, cure Huntington's disease? You think we take pity on kids who need this? You think we’re gonna hire you just because you have ‘need’ on your resume? That’s not how it works, chica.”

“There is a difference between need and want, Dr O'Hara,” Alexia said through clenched teeth. “When an animal wants, it makes big pouty eyes and begs. When an animal needs, it will chew off its own leg. Nothing stands in the way of its need. I need this and that's what sets me apart. I will do anything I need to to learn and rise above.”

“Sounds like you’ve got drive, which is more than most people,” Dr O’Hara admitted, his brows rising slightly. Was he impressed? “Maybe you’ll make something of yourself in this world after all. But if you want my advice? You’d better take that energy you’re putting into selling yourself- and put it into not pissing me off.”

‘Selling yourself’, that hit a little too close to home for Alexia and she just barely held back a wince.

“Show me an ounce of basic respect for a mentee, and I will respect you as a mentor,” she countered, hating the common demand for respect by men worth far less than the clothes on their back.

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those. You want respect? How ‘bout earn it?” he smeared, his full lips turning up into an amused grin that was closer to a snarl.

“Ah, so you mean ‘treat me like a God or I won't treat you like a person’ when you say 'earn respect’?” Alexia leaned back in her chair again with a roll of her eyes, any hope for finding something worthwhile in the man in front of her gone.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” the older man growled, clearly not enjoying the image she was painting of him. “If you want me to do something for you- like say, teaching you instead of letting you run and fetch- then let me see if you’re actually capable of doing things for me. You think I’m gonna tell my bosses and my colleagues that I should hire you because I feel bad for you? That’s not how things work here. So yeah, earn it.”

“Oh, I am more than ready to earn your recommendation,” Alexia said, standing up and placing her palms flat on his desk. “I am qualified for this internship, I can collect and compile data for you and make base analysis for you to review. I earned this internship by being at the top of my course. ‘Go and fetch’ unfortunately wasn't covered.”

“You know, you’ve got more spunk than any of these other interns I’ve had,” he observed, sounding near defeated or just exhausted. “Fine. Collect some data for me and write me up an analysis, and you can work with me in the field instead of doing coffee runs. You got 48 hours.”

Alexia nodded, a little self satisfied and victorious smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She felt proud for standing up to herself and, from all appearances, gaining an ounce of Dr O'Hara's respect.

Despite herself she felt a growing need for more than him simply relenting to her stubbornness. She felt a desire to make him proud of her as well. She wanted to be more than just an annoying student to him. Alexia wanted him to see her as a peer. As these thoughts swirled in her mind, she barely noticed Dr O'Hara walked around his desk and approached her.

"Now, let's get started on your training, Ms Gates."

She straightened her back as he walked up to her, feeling a tinge of nervousness at his approach. Standing straighter didn't exactly help all that much.

"What would you have me do, Dr O'Hara?" she asked, falling into the comfortable familiarity of referring to him just as she had her professors before graduating college. While she was now 23, it was hard to peg down exactly how old Miguel O'Hara was, though it was safe to say he had at least a decade on her. She couldn't help but feel intimidated by his height and presence, but she did her best not to let it show. Miguel looked at her, his eyes piercing and intense.

"Follow me, Ms Gates. I have something I need to discuss with you." He led her through the lab, his lack of hesitation showing his confidence that she would follow his orders.

Alexia did all but scramble after him, gritting her teeth in annoyance with his tendency to leave her behind and expect her to chase after him already. Within a few steps, she had caught up to him, so that she walked only a step behind him, glaring at the middle of his back, the pure white expanse of his lab coat annoying her.

As they walked through the lab, she could hear the sound of his leather shoes against the tiled floor, the sound echoing through the lab. Suddenly, he stopped and turned to her, his face unreadable.

"Ms Gates, I want you to lift your skirt." He said, his voice calm and collected, as if he hadn’t just made a demand so out of the blue, Alexia swore she heard a phantom record scratch. Maybe it was just the blade of disappointment that sliced through her mind, destroying the small inkling of hope that had warmed her only for a moment.

"What?!"

She had to skid to a stop, stumbling back a few steps. She realized they had gone around a corner, no longer visible from the only entrance in the lab. Her eyes burned with fury, her assumptions of him clear as day. She saw him as just another horny man who thought he could take from her.

But he pointed to a yellowed bruise on the inside of her thigh that was just barely visible under her skirt.

"I want you to show me the bruises on your body," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I need to know if they are a result of consensual... interactions, or if they are something else. As your mentor I have a vested interest in ensuring my employees are in a safe environment."

Alexia's face burned. Not just mortified but ashamed of how quickly he'd noticed, how careless she'd been. She was not about to admit to this intimidating stranger, a man she wanted to respect her, that there were many more and they had absolutely not been her choice. The absolute absurdity of this sudden shift sent her mind spinning.

"I think this is highly inappropriate, Dr O'Hara," she fumed, hoping her anger portrayed her as a woman who was embarrassed, not guilty of his assumptions. "I think what the state of my body is is none of your business."

Miguel eyed her as he considered her words. "Ms Gates, I am your employer, and I expect a certain level of professionalism and trust from you. I will not stand for insubordination or dishonesty." He stepped closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers.

"And I will not be exposing myself at my workplace," she hissed between clenched teeth, her fists balling at her sides and refusing to back down even a single inch.

"You will not touch me, Dr O'Hara," she sneered, assuming his approach was to force her compliance. "You will not touch me, do you understand?"

He cocked his head, his nostrils flaring and it was as if her words were a physical strike that he flinched back from.

"Ms Gates, I understand a situation like this could be misinterpreted, but I do not intend to touch you. I assure you that when you show me these bruises, I will respect your boundaries."

To Alexia's surprise he clearly seemed offended, possibly hurt, at the accusation she had thrown her way.

Her face heated as she looked down, her eyes burning into his chest without actually seeing him.

"That bruise is the only one, a clumsy accident," she tried to explain, blatantly lying through her teeth and hoping he would just back off even if she had to portray herself as a clutz. "I'm fine, really. You don't need to worry about it."

Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, his face pulled into hard lines of barely controlled restraint. "Ms Gates, this is a non-negotiable for my employment. That was the last time you will ever lie to me," he paused, and Alexia could hear the unspoken threat hanging between his words. “Tell me you understand. If you wish to be taught by me, I need you to show me these bruises, otherwise you can leave."

It was unexpected for her, the mere option of refusing his demand. Of course, she would lose her dream if she did not comply, but he wasn't going to force her. He was giving her a choice.

"I understand," she gritted out, feeling so much more like a chastised child than a grown woman being told to expose herself, and somehow, as absurd as it seemed, it helped. It made her feel like he genuinely wasn't just trying to leer at her, but was a protective figure trying to gauge her situation to see if she was safe.

"What are you worried about?" Dr O'Hara asked, his voice kept low but it was impossible to tell if he was trying to be soothing or if he was holding back rage, maybe both.

"You, Dr O'Hara- you worry me."

"Elaborate, Ms Gates," he continued to push at her, making her open her thoughts to him.

“You’re smart and strict like my previous professors, you clearly have the qualifications and experience to be a fantastic mentor in this program, but you have the approach and temperament of a barbaric di-” she suddenly cut herself off, realizing she was letting her own temper get her into more potential trouble.

“Language is permissible in my lab, Ms Gates,” he allowed, apparently not considering her words a sign of disrespect this time. “As long as it’s used constructively.”

She narrows her eyes right back. “I was going to say dickhead, but I’m not sure if that's entirely constructive.”

“Give me an example of my alleged behavior, and I’ll decide.”

"You just hauled me around to a private corner and told me to lift my skirt with no explanation or warning beforehand. Asking about the bruise first would have been the least you could do," she snapped, fidgeting with the stretched hem of her skirt with her fingers.

“This is just an examination, for your own good. Nothing inappropriate," he insisted instead, his sheer mass uncompromising. “I’m waiting.”

She starts lifting the hem of her shirt up to uncover her torso, just below her breasts so he could see the band of her black bra but nothing more. Around her hips, only a few days ago, there were more bruises, clear marks of a painful grip but they had faded, he couldn't see anything.

"See, nothing." She said, her voice strained as she tried to keep it together. "I'm fine."

He lowered himself into a squat, his gaze traveling over Alexia's torso, the low waistband of her skirt, then dropping to the knee-length hem. “Now raise your skirt.”

His bent position puts him eye-level with her pelvis, despite his hulking size, and she was momentarily distracted by the soft curls of his dark brown hair, as if her mind was trying to slip away from this dangerous situation rather than experience it.

Physically, he was in an unusual position for a man in her experience. He was lower than her, his face below her waist. More vulnerable, right? She tried to reason in her own mind. Yet he was still trying to take in a way. Alexia could knee him in the nose and run. But the need or want wasn't quite rising up the way she expected it to.

Alexia bunched her skirt up with both fists, lifting it only three inches above her knees, stubbornly refusing to expose herself any more as she kept her gaze lowered, not meeting his eyes.

"Ms Gates, please. This is not an interrogation. I just need to know if there are any other marks on your body that should not be there."

His voice whispered roughly into the foot of space separating his face and her thighs. His hands were there, too, dangling between them, close enough to grab her between the legs if that was his plan. A slight tremble twitched through his fingers, and her shoulders tightened. She shook her head after hesitating, a clear lie but she couldn't voice it. She'd promised herself she wouldn't show weakness.

"Alexia," Miguel said, his tone becoming more stern, as he took in her discomfort. "Keep lifting your skirt."

Alexia took a deep, shaky breath, forcing herself to look down at him. She tried her best to focus past her humiliation.

She lifted her skirt more, until the worn out blackish gray fabric was just barely concealing the purple cotton of her panties.

“Widen your stance.”

She slid her feet out, wobbling with the effort just to keep breathing.

“Just like that,” he breathed, his voice as low as sin. “Good girl.”

His praise wrapped around her like a warm hug. Alexia couldn't remember the last time someone embraced her without hurting her, but if Dr O'Hara spent the next nine months calling her a good girl, she might never need a hug again. The sensation of fear and comfort was dizzying. Who was this man, and why was she not running?

He dipped his head, angling closer. “I’m looking for marks on your inner thighs.”

There were in fact more bruises, some more obvious in their origin than others. Some teeth and some hands. Others were just angry splotches of sickly color.

Alexia's face stayed carefully blank, not revealing the nature of the marks on her skin as she digested her own whirlwind of emotions.

Miguel's eyes scanned her body, his expression remaining as unreadable as her own.

"Alexia," he said, his voice low and commanding. Was that the first time he said her first name? No, he said it before too. She was again distracted, this time by the sound of her name on his lips. "I'll remind you that I need you to be completely honest with me, at all times."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, fighting to focus.

"Ok, Dr O'Hara," she answered, her voice stiff, only robotic as she stood in front of him, her thighs completely exposed, staring him down with her steely green eyes. "I understand."

Miguel nodded, his eyes back on hers, the impossible dark red hue seeming to boil with some heat she could not place with confidence.

"I need to know if these bruises are a result of consensual interactions, or if they are something else."

"I wasn't raped," Alexia said firmly, defensively even as if she was insulting her for even insinuating that 'weakness'. Everything in her face said she believed that she was being honest. But the lack of elaboration was concerning. She hadn't said no. She hadn't fought back. She had allowed it to happen. She had allowed it to happen again and again.

Miguel's expression darkened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You don't need to be defensive, Alexia. I just want the truth."

She pulled her skirt back down, preferring the anger that boiled in her stomach to the uncertainty of not understanding his motives and the feelings his words stirred in her.

"None of this is any of your concern, Dr O'Hara," she repeated, emphasizing his name to put distance between them when he had slipped into using her first name. "I can handle my own probleMsms."

Miguel took a step towards her, his eyes still locked on hers. "Alexia, you can't handle this on your own. You need help, and I'm here to give it to you."

"I am here to intern in your lab," she shot back, teeth bared like a snarling wolf. "I would appreciate it if we could refocus this orientation on your work in the lab and not my personal life."

Miguel's eyes narrowed, his words turning cold once more, "Don't try to change the subject, Alexia. I won't allow it." He takes another step towards her, his body tense as if ready to fight.

"You don't have a choice in what is or isn't allowed," she answered, standing firm but crossing her arms under her chest, feeling cornered despite having the option to turn and run. "I am just an intern here, Dr O'Hara. I don't have to submit to your demands."

Miguel's eyes flash with anger, but he quickly regains his composure.

"On the contrary, Ms Gates. This is my lab, and you are my intern. You will submit to questions and my interest in your safety, or you will no longer be my intern."

Alexia bit her lip, her eyes darting around the room as she contemplated her options.

"Fine," she snapped, her eyes meeting his again. He wanted to ask questions? He could ask questions. It wouldn't be her fault if the answers made him uncomfortable.

"I wasn't assaulted. I allowed it to happen. I allowed it to happen again and again," her voice was cold and detached, as if she was recounting a grocery list rather than speaking about something so personal.

"Unfortunately I don't take coworkers or supervisors as clients, so you're out of luck," she sneered, needing the biting edge to sooth her own insecurity, bring her back from the dark pool of dissociation that drew her in with a different kind of comforting embrace.

Miguel's eyes widened slightly, his composure broken for the moment.

"That's not what I asked, Alexia," he said, his voice calm but with a hint of warning. "I asked you to be honest with me, and I expect nothing less."

"I am being honest. Are you fishing for proof? Trying to see how open I'd be to you toying with me?" Her question sounded like a taunt, another jab to get him to back off, but something in her eyes said that was truely what she thought of him.

Miguel shook his head, his expression softening slightly. "No, Alexia. I'm not fishing for proof. I simply want to know what happened so that I can better help you." He stepped closer to her again, his eyes locked on hers.

This time she did step back. His tenderness seemed to scare her more than his harsh words. Anger was easy and predictable, his kindness screamed of tempting manipulation. A facet of masculinity she did not see often and trusted less.

"Fuck off, Dr O'Hara." She spat, turning to leave.

Miguel caught her arm, his grip firm but gentle.

"Alexia, please. Let me help you." He pleaded, his voice low and earnest. "I care about you, and I want to make sure that you are safe."

She huffed, indignant, and turned to leave.

A man she barely knew, caring for her? BS

Miguel held her arm, his grip firm but gentle, stopping her from leaving. "Don't walk away from me, Alexia."

She whipped around to face him, her eyes blazing with anger. His strength was overwhelming, even just his arm on hers wouldn't budge an inch as she tried to yank away. Still, this was much more comfortable.

"Don't enjoy the view?" She sneered. "You should focus on your work, Dr O'Hara. I don't need your protection."

Miguel's grip on her arm tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he leaned in close, his eyes intense and focused on her.

"Here’s today's lesson," he erased the distance between them leaning into her space. "Don’t question me. Don’t lie to me. And never look away from me." He straightens. "Sit down."

He pulled one of the lab chairs towards them, angling it for Alexia to sit. They were ridiculous demands and yet she found herself sitting.

"If you slip up, I will punish you," he promised, his voice low and dangerous. "I do not accept excuses or sniveling. Any distractions, any problems in your life affect our lab work and I will leave my own welts on your pretty ass." He punctuated his words with an intensity and confidence that shocked her, had he really just said that?

Alexia swallowed hard, feeling a mix of fear and arousal. She hated being bossed around, but she also found herself drawn to the power in Miguel's words.

Her pupils expanded as she looked up at him. Approval shone in his face at whatever he saw in hers. He smiled, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Good girl," he said again, the two words sparking through her veins. His voice had softened again as he released her. "Now, let's get back to work." He turned as if to go somewhere, but paused to look back over his shoulder. "And make sure you wear a damn damn lab coat."

It was far from the first time she had been referred to as a good girl. Generally the words felt demeaning, more insulting than genuine. The warm tension in her stomach, the tension that shot further down, made her crave those words in a maddening confusing way.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling like a mutt shaking of the rain rain.

"I- I don't have a lab coat," she said, flushing with embarrassment.

"I didn't say you had to have one, you have to wear one," he said, his eyes holding on to her with a raised brow, not quite grasping what the issue was.

She felt the fire in her stomach lessen, but she still felt flushed.

"I don't have one-" she repeated.

"Get one," he interrupted her as if she answer was obvious and she was simply dull.

"Can it wait until the beginning of the month? I don't have the cash right now..." she clenched her jaw, muscles tightening. She'd been hoping to get a new pair of shoes now that she'd be on her feet all day again. Well, not new, just newer. She'd get lucky if she found a lab coat at goodwill with it not being Halloween.

Miguel sighed, his expression softening slightly but annoyance at this petty inconvenience pulled at his face, irking Alexia.

"Alright, I'll cover it for now," he said, pulling out his wallet. "But you have to manage your finances better. We can't have our brightest minds distracted by trivial matters."

Her pride choked her off, but not only her pride. In her life, there was only one reason a man did kind things, and that was to put a woman into debt to him so he could demand from her body.

"So kind of you," she said, sarcastically. "But I don't rely on charity, Dr O'Hara. I will keep your brilliant financial advice in mind."

Miguel narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening again.

"I don't give charity, Alexia. I expect something in return." He stepped forward, his body inches from hers. "And if you don't deliver, we will have a problem."

This time she did lean back, her hackles raised.

"That is exactly what I was worried about. I have no interest in delivering on any of your disgusting demands," she snapped back. It was maybe presumptuous of her to imagine his expected payment as lewd but that was her experience with life, the evidence of that were in the bruises under her clothes that he had seen. She couldn't afford to be naive.

Miguel's expression darkened, his jaw clenching with anger. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, Alexia," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"I think we both know that I have a very good idea of what I'm dealing with, Miguel," she shot back, matching his tone. If he was going to insist on using her first name then he would get the same, regardless of his preferences. "I will not be put in the position of being indebted to a man who thinks he can take what doesn't belong to him."

Miguel's eyes narrowed, his expression cold. "I will make you an offer, Alexia," he said, his voice low and calculated.

"Enlighten me," she ground out, too curious not to hear his offer though it was clear from the tension in her shoulders that she already planned to reject it.

Miguel took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly. "I will give you a clean slate," he said. "No more debts, no more bruises. I will help you rise above your circumstances and become the successful woman I know you can be." He paused, his eyes holding hers.

"I will be doing that regardless of your help," she answered stubbornly. It was a tempting offer, as Alchemax's top bioengineer Alexia had no doubt he was living comfortably. "What would you require for your generous offer?"

Miguel smiled, his expression confident. "Simple," he said. "A little obedience, a little respect. I will train you to become the best version of yourself." He stepped closer, his body inches from hers.

"Bullshit," she answered, standing her ground and squaring her shoulders. "You would require that regardless. Why would you give me a 'clean slate' for something that's already expected?"

Miguel shook his head, his eyes holding hers. "Because I know your potential, Alexia. I see it in your eyes when you talk about your work. And I want to help you realize that potential," he said, his voice earnest. "And I won't take anything that doesn't belong to me."

Alexia's sharp green eyes considered him for a moment. She still deeply distrusted him, had no reason to trust any man, but the offer was so tempting. She knew she was worth it, that she had things to offer this lab and the world as a whole that only she would be able to accomplish. She had no doubts about her abilities, only the chances of her surviving long enough to realize her potential.

"And what exactly does a clean slate entail?" she asked, the hesitation in her voice already giving away that she would cave and agree. She still believed Dr O'Hara would take advantage of her body, but what difference would it make if it was him or some guy off the street? She needed a chance to prove herself, and this seemed to be her best option.

Miguel smiled, his expression smug as he saw her stubbornness start to give.

"It means a new beginning, Alexia," he said, his tone condescending. "A chance to start over and achieve your goals. It means becoming the best you can be, free from any distractions." He stepped closer, his body inches from hers.

"I know what you're trying to sell," she retorted, annoyed. He sounded like a car salesman, raving about the features of the car when you asked for the price.

At least that's what she imagined a car salesman would do, she had never bought a car before.

"What are you giving? Clean slate? I'm not going to magically be able to pay my bills and be 'distraction free' just because you said so with an unpaid internship. If I had better options for a job I would have taken them."

He stepped even closer, his face only inches from hers. "You will work for me three nights a week, in exchange for room and board," he said.

"You want me to abandon my family to the streets so I can be an in-house prostitute?" She sneered, his assumptions about this 'work' he was offering clear.

Miguel's expression darkened. "Do not insult me, Alexia," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I have offered you a chance to change your life for the better. And you will not turn it down."

"I do not need your help. All I am here for is this internship under you. I will sort the rest out myself," she decided, stubbornly.

Refusing his offer was hard but she was far too proud to give in to the one person who's respect she wanted. All she could see now was that he was just like every other man, ignoring her true potential for a chance at her body.

Miguel shook his head, his expression twisting with disappointment.

"I warned you, Alexia," he said, his voice cold. "If you don't accept my offer, you will be nothing more than a used up, forgotten whore for the rest of your life."

Alexia's shoulders rolled back, stretching to her full height that was nothing compared to his. Despite her confidence and strength of will she was still small. She knew she should back down, but couldn't.

"That's where you're wrong, Dr O'Hara. My name will go down in history. I will far surpass any measly legacy you leave behind with your step stone findings or as my mentor," she answered, her eyes alight with that passion, a confident promise her father had whispered in her ear before he died. "My name will be in every textbook for the next 150 years."

Miguel's eyes narrowed, his expression a mix of annoyance and admiration.

"You are one stubborn woman," he said, his voice a mere mutter of frustration at her words. "But I admire your determination. I will give you one more chance to reconsider my offer."

"I am not interested in being your free use slut in exchange for a place to live. I don't need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself."

Miguel's e eyes filled with a dangerous intensity. "What is giving you the idea that I want you to prostitute yourself to me? Is that how you make money now?" he asked, his voice a low growl. He had assumed that she had an abusive boyfriend or something similar. Her immediate assumption of sex in exchange for his help opened up other possibilities.

"What I do outside of this lab is none of your concern," she repeated her earlier words, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. He didn't just deny her allegations, he was disgusted. If that wasn't his intent then what was? Was he really different? "I will not be in debt to you."

Miguel shook his head, his expression unreadable. "You are far too proud for your own good, Alexia," he said. "But you will learn humility under my care. You will learn to respect those who help you, and be grateful for what they give you." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you will earn my respect."

"And I can do all that the normal way, without you demanding to see my skin or forcing me to live where you want me to live," she stood her ground.

"You don't truly understand what I'm offering you, Alexia."

This time, Alexia finally took a step towards him, refusing to let him intimidate her.

"Then explain," she demanded, eyes cold. "Stop being vague and threatening and explain exactly what you're offering me and what you expect me to give as payment for your generosity."

Miguel took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly. "I'm not asking for anything in return, Alexia," he said, his voice calm and reasonable. "I simply want to help you get to where you want to be in life. And I can offer you the resources to do so." He gestured towards the lab around them.

Alexia looked around, her eyes gave away her thoughts. She wanted to believe him, she wanted his words to be true and to finally have a little help in the world.

"I can't trust that," she said, her voice surprisingly soft, even in her own ears. It felt like a confession more than a rejection. "Nothing is free."

"Go home, Ms Gates," Dr O’Hara ordered, but there was none of the expected rejection in his own voice.

Alexia looked up at him, her eyes wide not in confusion but fear that he was firing her, judging her not worth his time. Why did this man have to be the only one alive who's approval she sought?

"Think about what I'm offering, get yourself a lab coat, and come back tomorrow morning," her mentor listed another few orders, his voice and the sheer exhaustion in his shoulders hinting at some line of thought that Alexia couldn't begin to guess at. "8:30 am, sharp."

#fanfic #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv fanfiction #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel smut #atsv smut

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