#body drained and brain empty state

[the-toasted-teacake]

Everything is just a bit difficult at the moment. But it will get better eventually.

[skyahri]

Remember Part One |SatoSugu X Reader| HC

Part Two

Summary: You get a second chance to save him, but for right now you can only enjoy the fact that he's still here.

Warnings: Implied poly??? Idk I don't say anything specific. Vomiting, blood, Canon related warnings. Angst bc im sad.

- - - - -

Your eyes flew open. You could barely breathe, your lungs still stinging from the char of imaginary burns. You desperately drag your hands across your face and body, searching for something, anything wrong, not quite processing what was going on.

You sprung up from your bed, immediately thanking your muscle memory as it guided you through your dorm room. You shoved your way into the bathroom and just barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of your stomach.

Tears pricked your eyes. You had no idea what was going on. You could only assume that you had another prophetic dream, but had no idea when it had started. Had it been days or weeks? Hell, had it been months even??

You remember the pain of being burned alive by Jogo in Shibuya Station. You remember dying, the feeling of your lungs giving out and your heart stopping.

Yet here you were, alive and relatively well back in your dorm room God knows when. The unchanging state of Jujutsu High was not helping you determine just how much time had passed.

What did, however, was Suguro Geto standing in the doorway. He was saying something you couldn't hear and your foggy mind couldn't process the lack of stitches on his head, but that didn't stop you from screaming.

Was this your Suguru? The boy who held doors open for you and dragged Satoru away after one too many flirty remarks. Could this man already be leading the Star Religious group? Or worse, be reduced to a corpse in his Kenjaku era?

There's no way you could possibly tell in such a hazy state of mind. Your gift had drained you to zero, leaving you absolutely defenseless against what could very well be a tyrant.

Lucky for you, you're within ear shot of a handful of other sorcerers who woke up the second they heard a scream. They were filing into your room within the minute, confused at the commotion, or lack there of.

Satoru had pushed his way past Suguru and bent down next to you, grabbing your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you continued to retch.

He's leaning in next to your ear, whispering, begging for you to calm down enough to tell him what's going on. You can barely hear him over the sound of your uncontrollable crying, the sobbing and shaking caused by panic making everything a hundred times worse.

Satoru is motioning for someone to hand him a rag to clean your face, which Suguru does without hesitation. When he enters your peripheral vision, you can practically feel the hairs on your neck stand up. You push your way past Gojo, who had just barely managed to wipe your mouth, trying to climb behind him, pleading that he doesn't come anywhere near you.

You can't see the hurt look on Geto's face. He has no idea what's going on, all he knows is he's somehow causing whatever it is that's happening to occur.

You don't hear Gojo shoo everyone away, apologizing for waking them up in the middle of the night and assuring them that he has it handled.

He rests against the wall and twists you around so you can sit comfortably in his lap. He holds you tight against his chest, it's almost suffocating, but you can feel the pressure slowly melting the anxiety away.

The fog that once clouded your brain is retreating, allowing you to take in your environment more clearly. There's makeup and skin care products scattered on the counters. You can make out enough of your bedroom to see the dozens of Polaroids pinned to your walls.

You eyes finally focus on a more defining feature that better cements your whereabouts. Your nails are painted pink and Satoru's an icy blue, something you haven't seen since your teenage years before Geto defected. You remember finally convincing Satoru to match with you and Suguru, tempting him with an iconic color that you knew he couldn't turn down.

"What's today?"

"February 21st, 2006."

You hum in response.

"Were you dreamin' again?"

You don't answer. You're too focused on how much time has passed. Twelve years gone in an instant. That's nearly half your life, nearly all your memories, and they were all fake. But now you had the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to save all the people you've lost and protect your future.

You're thankful for Satoru in this moment. He isn't always the most socially aware, often times he actually makes things ten times worse, but right now he was just what you needed.

You take in just how warm he is, how he's managed to keep his hands from touching you inappropriately for so long. He's wearing that stupid pair of Hello Kitty boxers that 'convienently came with a matching bra and panty' and 'would hate for them to go to waste.' You scolded him for getting the sizing correct, knowing he had to have gone snooping for answers.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

You had good friends, ones that trusted you without a second thought. They know the deal. Things are going to happen and sometimes that requires interference or being intentionally kept in the dark to avoid them. It was both a blessing and a curse- being given the gift of future sight yet being forced to hold the weight of the world in your hands.

You stand up, forcing Gojo to release his tight grip on you. He expects you to get in bed, but instead, you walk right past the door of your room and right across the hall into Suguru's. You don't knock, opting to just head straight in and crawl across him to lay down.

Suguru is confused. An hour ago, you were completely terrified of him, and now here you are, staring at him like he was the most important person in your life.

You reach forward and trace your fingers across his face; his nose, his lips, and eventually his bare forehead. You run your fingers through his hair; disheveled but clean. You pick up his right hand and set it on your face to savor the heat of it. He doesn't hesitate to rub his thumb back and forth across your cheek reassuringly. What he's supposed to reassure you about, he doesn't know, but he can tell you need it.

"You're oddly affectionate tonight."

"I missed you."

"I saw you yesterday."

You shake your head. You want to respond, to tell him you've dreamt of this opportunity for over a decade, that you haven't seen him alive in a year, and sane in nearly twelve.

But all you can do is cry. You lace your fingers with the ones on your face and let him pull you closer. His chest is broad and he smells like cologne, just like how you remembered.

The last time you saw him, he was sickly pale and missing an arm, just moments away from death. He smelled like blood and didn't even have the energy to stand. This view of Geto was much more pleasant than anything you had seen recently.

He has no idea what's going on, but can see it's obviously a lot. He wonders what you could have seen, how long you could have possibly lived. He wonders if someone died, if he died.

He's not sure how long it goes on before you're passed out, your grip on him relaxing ever so slightly, but he doesn't dare let go.

Gojo makes his way into the room from his waiting place outside. He stuck around on the off chance things got out of hand and he needed to intervene.

"How's our girl doing?"

"I have no idea."

"That's unlike you."

Suguru isn't sure how to respond. The vibe in his room is definitely more relaxed, but it's far from peaceful. All he can do right now is anchor you down to earth and hope whatever it is you saw can be fixed.

Fortunately, Satoru is a brave man. He clumsily makes his way onto the other side of you and flops down. You don't even flinch at the roughness of his actions.

"What are you-"

"Sleeping here with you guys, duh."

"Can't you read the room?"

"Nope."

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[peachsukii]

bf!Bakugo comforts you (fem!reader) while you're in a vulnerable state. 『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 tw/cw: 18+ themes | depression/intrusive thoughts, sex (but not smutty) ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — This thought just soared into my head and I needed the comfort because damn, it sucks when this happens. -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist 

There it was.

That familiar numbing feeling.

It followed you wherever you went, waiting idly in the shadows of your mind for the moment to strike. You could control it from time to time, sure, but that didn't mean it wasn't able to act against your will in the blink of an eye.

You shouldn't be spacing out right now, lost in the bottomless abyss of empty thoughts. You need to be present and not watching yourself from the outside - the intrusive droning voice in your head repeating negative commentary on an endless loop as a distraction.

It's as if you can feel the light drain from your eyes like water running down a drain. The chemical reaction in your body fights to keep you engaged in life, fighting an endless war with your inner demons. It was exhausting, especially when you didn’t have a reason to pin the blame on.

A gentle touch to your cheek drags you back into your body, a faint gleam returning to your dulled irises.

"Y'okay, peach?" Katsuki asks, eyes aflame with affection and sweat glistening through the blonde strands on his forehead.

The embarrassment that floods your body is fierce and settles in your nerves. You bite your lip, desperately holding back the tears that threaten to stain your cheeks.

His body was sweltering hot against you, chest heaving in tandem with your own. Katsuki slows his pace to a pause, gazing down upon the flush spreading over your body.

“Hey, ‘s okay, baby,” he whispers, leaning into the crook of your neck to plant multiple soft kisses to your skin.

“Do you want to stop? We can stop.”

“N-no, sorry,” you say meekly. “I’m okay.”

You weren’t, and Katsuki knew that. He can tell by your mannerisms and the touch of your fingers aimlessly roaming his back. You’d been a space case since coming home from work earlier in the evening. He was shocked when you asked for sex in the first place, but obliged after your insistence that you were okay.

“Really, it’s not a problem if you wanna stop.”

“Please don’t. I need you,” is all you can manage to say before choking back a sob. You needed him to fill you with a warmth only he could offer, stoke the fire inside of you to bring light to the darkness fogging your brain.

Katsuki cradles your cheek in his palm for a second time, thumbing away a stray tear as it falls from the corner of your eye. It pains him to see you struggle with these things because he didn’t quite understand it, but he did his damndest to give you what he could to help. Whatever you needed, he was more than willing to give if it meant getting to see your radiant smile.

“Okay, just keep your eyes on me, baby. I’ve got ya.”

Katsuki’s voice makes the butterflies in your stomach return, violently fluttering at his words of encouragement. You follow his praise, focusing on all of the tender devotion he’s serving to you - the sensual tempo of his thrusts, how he lowers his body to meld the two of you together as one, the delicate ways he touches your skin. All of it, and all of him, release the demons you clung to moments prior.

Your soft sobs evolving into hushed gasps fuel his desire, assuring him that you are no longer occupied by the looming clouds swirling in your head.

“I love you,” Katsuki sighs into your ear, breathless as his rhythm quickens. “So goddamn much.”

Your hands are clamoring to his hair, grasping at the roots as you squirm beneath his hold. He swoops down to steal your lips, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip to beg you to invite him into your mouth. And you do, letting him consume you in a passionate kiss as you feel your body tense, the fire in your core ready to explode. Your moans entangle in each other's mouths as you simultaneously reach your limit together, orgasms wracking your bodies collectively.

Katsuki breaks your kiss, panting with swollen lips as he pushes his hand through your bangs, separating the wisps of hair to place a kiss to your forehead. He kisses your lips again briefly before nuzzling into your neck.

"I love you, too. Thank you," you say, monotonously dragging your nails on his scalp in your blissful state. He shivers at the sensation, growing sleepier by the minute.

"Sweets, I gotta clean up before we sleep," he protests, struggling to gather enough energy to do so.

You smile into his hair. "Aw Kats, just one more minute, please."

Katsuki doesn't budge, accepting his fate as his eyes flutter closed.

"Fine, just because y'asked nicely."

[temis-de-leon]

Obey Me and Lonely MC

How I imagine the very few moments before MC was summoned to the Devildom

Gender neutral reader (please correct me If I'm wrong)

Masterlist

CW: angst, panicking and body pain, nothing explicit, college student MC sharing apartment, shitty college experience, lonely MC but the sad type of lonely, they're kinda depressed. Diavolo, Barbatos and Lucifer welcome MC, but they're barely there

Please enjoy!

.

You only had time to close the door before the floor under your feet started sinking like quicksand, bending in waves and violently shaking your body.

Everything beyond the entrance seemed completely normal: the wood was as hard as it could be and the tiles shone as they always did, yellow and cheap thanks to the faded lights in the apartment.

Still, nothing there was brighter than whatever the fuck was illuminating your body from underneath. Where exactly you weren't sure, but it came from below.

It was weird.

It was too much.

You threw your backpack away from you, your computer possibly breaking with the fall under the weight of multiple books, before rummaging through all your pockets in search of your phone.

There had to be someone you could call. Someone. Anyone.

The blood pumped in you ears and your fingers struggled to unlock the screen while you screamed your roommates' names with a trembling voice.

You were alone.

How in fucking hell could you be alone?

Maybe you were dreaming or hallucinating! Stress could do that to you, right? Exams had been hectic those days and your sleeping habits had been disastrous for weeks, often leaving you empty at best and anhedonic at worst. That had to be it! Your brain was malfunctioning due to sleep depravation and high cortisol levels, also causing a decrease in balance and a permanent state of alert.

You were unnecessaryly panicking because your body was tired. It was as simple as that.

You. Were. Fine.

So you let your knees give up, wincing a little when they hit the floor. Your coat, always your favourite, was warm as a blanket and taking it off felt like a herculean task.

Your body followed its own weight, leaning forward until your hands touched the wood and kneaded like it was some kind of weird bread dough before you fully laid down. You felt as if it was absorbing your energy, draining it completely and making you lose your vision.

You thought you saw red surrounding your siluette in a circle, but your mind was too far gone by then, too tired to process anything that catched your brain's attention.

It could've been seconds or hours until you opened your eyes again. The possibility of being days was also there, but how could you be sure?

Flesh hard under your skin and blood slow through your veins, there was nothing you could feel but pain and the faint smell of sulfur.

Was there a leakage in the building?

And since when did your apartment have such high ceilings? Made of stone with stained glass... You'd never seen them, haven't you? You'd remember if you did.

Someone was talking to you. Not any of your roommates, of that you were sure. The voice was too deep.

You sat like a spring, dizzy and too aware of your surroundings, adrenaline kicking in. It did smell like sulfur, but it was going away, letting your nose catch instead what was probably a really expensive cologne.

There were men around you, you realized, all staring at your perplexed expression with amusement, as if you were a new addition to the zoo. And they were tall. Like... tall tall.

One of them, dressed in red, spoke to you again, but your ears were clogged. You weren't intentionally ignoring him, you just couldn't hear a single shit. You could barely hear your own heartbeat.

Were you still alive?

"Hey... Ah!"

Your voice sounded like a whisper for only one second, but it was enough to pop your ears and make you scream and grab the sides of your head in anguish. Someone, not the one in red, spoke again in a tongue you didn't recognize and made the pain disappear like mist.

"... where you are?"

"Human"

"Human! Answer the prince!"

What fucking prince?

"What?" you finally asked in a creaky voice.

"Do you know where you are?"

The redhead spoke one final time. He seemed to be the nicest one, but you couldn't fully trust the tallest dude you'd ever seen who also had yellow eyes.

Not light brown. Yellow. Bright yellow.

"I don't know, man... Hell?"

You were being sarcastic, but the smile in his face told you something completely unexpected.

"You see, Lucifer? Barbatos? They seem to be aware of their surroundings!"

"I'm not sure that's the case, my Lord"

Hell.

You were in hell? Of course you were.

It did make sense once you thought about it. Come on! Floor sinking under your feet? And your dumbass believed it was due to stress! How could it be stress, dummy? Hell was the obvious answer!

Although conscious, you became too foggy to coherently answer any of their following questions. It sounded like they already knew what they wanted to hear and they were just making sure you also knew it.

Name, age, gender, nationality... Not even your rommates knew half of that, so how did they?

Maybe you were schizophrenic. How far could schizophrenia go?

"So, do you agree?"

The redhead with yellow eyes... A demon? Lord Diavolo. The Prince of Hell.

He looked at you with childish eagerness. Lucifer and Barbatos, if those were their actual names, didn't seem as happy.

Diavolo wasn't asking for your permission. If he actually wanted your permission, he would've sent you a letter or even waited for you in your own apartment like a creep. But you were already there. Asking that was just courtesy. Politeness.

You stayed in silence for a couple of minutes, maintaining direct eye contact with him.

You remembered your backpack, computer surely broken and library books all wrinkled and smelly, reeking of mold. The two roommates that never came to your rescue and your inability to think of someone that would come in a second just because you needed help.

You'd be an unsolved crime. A YouTube clickbait.

That seemed better than letting college steal your money and will to live before throwing you to the wolves.

"Sure, man, why not?"

.

.

[oozedninjas]

Blame the Chemicals in the Mind

Summary: Mad scientist!Donnie discovers he has developed twisted, unwanted feelings toward his best experimentation specimen.

A/N: General verses, but I placed something about each version of Donnie, let's see if you can find it! Also, I heavily kept in mind 2012verse and Bayverse for some reason? Anyway, this will have multiple parts but it can be read as a one-chapter thing too :)

Please do not spam like. Reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Warnings: NSFW / DARK CONTENT/ smut/fem!Reader/ after the kraang apocalypse/Donatello and reader are both mid to late twenties /dub-con/eventual Yandere topics/experimentation/torture/blood and violence/trauma bonding/Stockholm syndrome/blood extraction/panic attack (reader's)/twisted hurt-comfort/between-the-lines humiliation/ mentions of the use of a feeding probe/sensorial overstimulation and deprivation/ Regarding smut: humping/creampie/DUB-CON/ dead dove do not eat

This is 18+ dark content. If you click on keep reading you have agreed you want to read this content.

His ever-present gaze penetrated the tank's glass, fixating on your orbs. It was a constant company, greeting you upon waking— whether immersed in the computer's screen a few paces ahead or absorbed in a stress ball he kept in hand to stimulate his thoughts. He consistently stared, as if that alone could propel him closer to a cure for the three monstrous things that so closely resembled him. 

Donatello observed them through the fortified cells he constructed, initially intended as a security measure. He sighed deeply. The laboratory never felt as desolate as it did now, as if hopelessness swept through, resonating through his body. Gradually, despair eroded small fragments of his sanity, leaving nothing more than a faint echo of who he used to be.

He needed to find a cure soon. And so he pinched, tugged, injected, and inflicted upon your body a distinct form of torment every day. Each one an inch closer. However, despite your best judgment, you lacked the strength to keep on resenting him.

Exhausted from enduring numerous stings and side effects, your brain, perhaps as a survival mechanism, clung to words of reaffirmation. Praise. Approbation. Plaudits. They seemed to breathe sanity back into your inner self, preventing your poor state of mind from sinking deeper into the dark.

Such an exquisite test subject!

So remarkably compliant and subdued, aren't you?

I'll create an antidote, and they'll be back, and it'll be thanks to you.

You seem unwell today.

His voice was distant from under the water but he sounded somehow concerned. "Let's take the day off. You can't die just yet. Finding others like you is proving increasingly challenging."

You didn't want him to ignore you for the rest of the day. You wished he wouldn't. You could endure a slight pinch if it meant feeling something. Lately, the increasing sensory isolation was becoming more and more nerve-wracking. You must have wished too fervently, for just as he had not entirely turned away, the power abruptly ran out.

Donatello gasped. The blue light of your tank framed his face. A menace, yet fixable. The hitch: replacing the lab's battery required using the one in your tank. Both were designed with separate energies after an incident— an unfortunate electrocution during a short-circuit caused by an electric storm. Test subject 83q1q didn’t make it.

The wisest course of action was to empty the tank, replace the battery, and secure you elsewhere until he could find a new one. Your body throbbed with tickles of anxiety and anticipation upon noticing his intent.

As it drained, you descended to the bottom of it. He opened its side, causing all the tubes to tilt down. Donatello pulled them off. You inhaled as soon as he unplugged them from your throat. A coughing fit almost broke your rib cage right after a sharp, reckless gasp for air.

An overwhelming sensation hovered over you. Abruptly, everything was too much. Too much air, too rough floor, too much pressure on your skull, too loud— You can't breathe. You're choking. Your ears are beeping. Someone's screaming. You can't breathe, you can't breathe, you can’t— He's touching you. You tensed. Would he return you to the tank? Where's the needle? The last time he touched you, there was a needle, or something sharp, and it hurt. You brace yourself. 

Donatello began making even circles over your bare back.

"Deep breaths," he said. His voice sounded different. Steadier, warmer. "Follow my own, here," he pressed your hand to his plastron. His inhalations were even, soothing.

"That's right, you're doing well—maintain your focus right here."

Your view briefly smeared your palm over his chest before properly adjusting. Your head pulsed as if your skull rejected your brain. Your mind was a jumble of many things barely held together. But you’re breathing, you’re alive, nothing hurts.

"Well done. Now, tell me five things about yourself," he asked.

The piercing cold scraped your bones like long-stirred claws. Nothing hurts, not quite much.

"My name is Donatello,” he began to set an example. “I am a scientist. I aim to fix the Kraang predicament. I like purple,” he paused, realizing there was nothing more about him worth mentioning. Then, against logical reasoning, he added: “I miss my brothers.”

Squatting, embracing your naked, soaked silhouette in a failed attempt to stop shivering, you listened; forcing yourself to clutch onto his voice, scarcely discerning his words but making the effort. On the verge of giving up on obtaining an answer, Donatello motioned back. Your nails dug into his plastron just then. He tensed.

“My name is—” your voice quivered, mind spinning, searching. You told him. “Chest… hurts. Head, hurts. I’m cold.” Your weakling tone disturbed you, hoarse, broken, reduced to a raspy mutter. “I’m… alone.”

You were unexpectedly a jarring mirror he reflected in. Donatello tilted his head, musing.

"Well done. It wasn't so hard, was it?" he articulated, displacing your hand. "Now come here, you ought to wait inside the cell until the battery is efficiently substituted and operational—I still need to find another to power the tank, though.” he added between his teeth, more to himself than to you. “Anyway, be glad, you'll rest," he finished, offering you a towel.

You took it, hesitantly. Soft, cold fingers brushing with rough, calloused ones. Donatello retracted his hand upon the brief contact. For half a second, he seemed misplaced. Something shifted thereafter. As if the lab’s loneliness somehow extinguished just by having another breath residing there. As days elapsed, he worked diligently to replace the burnt pieces and connect the battery. This task, which would have taken only a few hours with all the needed resources, was now hindered by the aftermath of the world nearly ending. 

You braced yourself every time he approached your space, yet, pain never came with him. Instead, there was something, something more, something close to a kindle glimpse of a strange fascination. Donatello couldn't grasp why, but he started bringing you food instead of using the feeding probe.

“I help bring them back,” you said one fine day, after long contemplating the scattered photographs of four turtles attired in different colors, enjoying life before the apocalypse.

The sound of the welder stopped, as did the sparks that created different patterns of light around. He looked at you, understanding that it was not a reiteration of your role; it was an express wish, a genuine interest, as if you actually had a saying on the matter. It was, in a way, touching.

“Yes, you will,” he paused briefly, contemplating for the first time going slightly out of his way to give you something. But what? Perhaps something to wear? No, keeping you naked meant you wouldn't dare to set foot outside. It had to be something else, something more.

Donatello pondered for half a heartbeat before pulling the protective lenses up.  “Hey, on a scale of one to ten, how cold would you rate your cell?”

***

The day came when he finished fixing the lights. The sudden brightness forced a hiss out of you, too sharp. He adjusted it, toning it down to a level you could bare. He found an extra battery as well, which meant you would return to the tank. You would hurt again, but it’s fine; he gave you purpose. He fed and warmed you, and listened to you. He gave you gentle head pats— 

He’s good. 

He doesn’t care if he hurts you.

It’s alright. He gave you purpose. 

He doesn’t care if you cry.

He keeps you warm.

Donatello took some blood samples, followed by platelets, in between a couple more tests. You felt dizzy jumping off the chair, narrowly holding on to the edge of the table so as not to slam against the floor. The tank light loomed over you. Bit by bit, you gestured towards the two-meter cylindrical vessel, your heart rate suddenly plummeting. The dreadful prospect of sensory deprivation gnawed at your insides. Your breaths became erratic, resonating loudly in your ears, and the sensation of blood swirling in the pit of your stomach heightened. You won't feel, you won't eat, you will hurt. You can't breathe. You gasp for air. It’s alright, it’s alright-

"I was thinking..." Donatello's voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere, and you clung to the sound as if it were a lifeline. "Since you've behaved— what if I don't send you back in the tank? What if you stay here a bit longer?"

You turned, your eyes widening in astonishment. 

"Would you like that?" he asked, not facing you, an awkwardness in his demeanor, as if it were the first time in his life he had asked for company.

"Yes," you gasped.

***

You couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but it didn't matter. You lay on his lap, resting as he worked, your body bare, absorbing the warmth of the room he had carefully heated for you. You cherished the rare moments he allowed you this close to him, savoring the seconds of feeling human once again through simple acts like cuddling. It made the aching in your body subside a smidgen.

The embrace elicited subtle signs of contentment, slowly fading into gasps, later morphing into moaning. His breath hitched upon hearing them. Donatello wasn't the best at navigating feelings. But these sensations were not exactly that. They couldn’t be. No, it was more like a palpitation triggering a primal response to your scent, your warmth, and the gentle quiver in your voice.

He scoffed. Deep thought on the matter didn’t change that his cock throbbed with each breath rolling off your mouth. He tried to shake the heat of his head, but why? Why should he resist? There was no purpose for not indulging. In fact, it could be beneficial.

He let his hand travel across your back. His touch made you shudder. He puffed, a nerdy sound he hadn’t heard himself make since the first time he watched a porn video. 

“Come,” he said, tugging you to sit upright.

You raised your head from the crook on his neck to face him. “To the operating room?”

“No, just here,” he muttered.

Donatello adjusted you over the lower half of his plastron before reclining the chair back. Your nude pussy pressed upon its wetness. He groaned. Warm fingertips clung to the upper sides of his shell, seeking balance. He stroked your hair. You waited. Nothing hurt.

Donatello placed both hands over your love handles, moving you back and forth so your cunt rubbed over his needy slit. It throbbed, his hard cock soon to emerge from it. He whimpered, breath hitching when you followed his lead, hypnotized by the exquisite friction over your clit. A few more humps and it came out, pulling a deep growl from him. You looked in astonishment as it rose against your abdomen. tick, long and glistening in a creamy transparent liquid. Your inner thighs soon soaked in it. Nothing hurts, no…, in fact- it’s good. Fuck, so good. You sighed, unable to stop grinding over his newly released member, absolutely thriving in the delicious way it numbed everything into bliss. 

Donatello’s head fell backward. His mouth curved slightly at the corners in a somewhat twisted smile of enjoyment. His earnest, soft moaning mingled with yours feverishly. 

“That’s so hot— I want more, I want to be in you, I know you’re so warm inside,” his voice was desperate, drunken-like. 

In one motion, Donatello pulled you up. Your back hit the cold desk. You sensed the keyboard under your head. It hurt. You snap back, eyes open wide. He grabbed your waist. Six strong fingers kept you in place as he lined with you. You puff, suddenly tensing.

"You want it too, right? In theory, it should feel good. You're too wet for it not to, don't worry, you've been good. It won't hurt." 

The question lingered. You don't know. You don't want to hurt. Would he be angry if you forced him to stop? Could you do that? Would he put you back in the tank? You're dizzy. 

He moved the tip of his cock along your soaked cunt, focusing on your soft nub, making circles over it. Your legs opened wider in response. His voice quivered as he whimpered, yours followed. You clenched around nothing. 

"You're not saying no, are you?" he panted. "So I assume you must want to, right?" 

Your hole stretches with his size sliding in. You groan, dragging your nails over the desk. 

"Ah— it hurts! It hurts!" you blurt out. 

"Bear it. The ache isn't supposed to- last too long. It'll feel good once you get used to it. You're good, you can bear it, you ca-nm,"

His body steamed, and his mind burnt with it, slowly melting the last drops of rational thinking. "You're so tight," he thrust once, twice, and thrice. 

You reached for him, clinging to his quivering voice, his praise, his— fuck he's so deep in you. his pace knocks your breath out. It hurts. It fills you so well. It hurts. Feels hot. His moves are steady, building heat in your belly. Pain's giving out. You clench around him, sucking him deeper. 

Donatello jerked forward, mouth gaping, eyes shutting. Both forearms held him up over the desk. He was now close enough for you to embrace him, so you clamped one hand to his shell and the other to his shoulder. Both legs hugged him near. With each new thrust your clit rubbed to his plastron sending waves of volts through your veins. 

"Yes," you breathed, barely above your own moaning.

Donatello grinned, "I knew you liked it,”

“Yeah—ah, faster, harder,” you pleaded, head thrown back as he fucked you.

He granted. Making his pace even crueler. His content smile never faded. 

“Your little cunt loves this so much! I can feel you squeezing me so tight, fuck, such a good testing subject, about to be my favorite cumdump.” 

Your muscles tensed in anticipation, the heat in your core about to burst. The sound of wet skin slapping reached your ears as your toes curled. 

His breath staggered as he spoke. "Ah- I can't stop. I'm coming, fuck, yes, yes-mnn," 

The hot loads filled you all the way to your womb. You embraced him, his ragged breath right in your ear. He enjoyed it, you did good, all feels right, more, more— You came with a loud moan, sweet pulsations carried the bliss from your belly through your temples, melting you.

He stayed still for a while, holding you in his arms, absorbing the warmth from your body. You both descended from the high together. Your scent mingled with his own, and for a fleeting moment, something tingled within him—the creeping onset of a feeling. He scoffed. It meant nothing. What are feelings if not chemicals in the mind, fueling instincts? 

"Go clean yourself up," he instructed, letting off your legs. "We still have some tests for the day."

[cultofdixon]

At least there’s no bears

Daryl Dixon • They/Them Pronouns • Usually Daryl can see where the traps lay…but then you got caught • ANGST/SFW • TW: Injuries / Blood Loss / Anxiety

Requested by: Anon

Daryl slowly sat up in his bed knowing he has the hunt today and that his partner will be joining him. Which meant he had to get ready and then drag their ass out of bed so they could get ready.

Once they both were ready, Y/N stretched their back out waiting for the archer who was currently informing the early bird Rick on their whereabouts for the morning.

“Hey, eat” Daryl startles them out of their thoughts as they tiredly take the protein bar handed to them and started to dig in while they walk to the gates.

It was a cold and nice morning for the two to go on foot for the entirety of the hunt. Even if Y/N does miss his bike to at least go a bit further out.

“You still waking up?”

“Meh.” They shrug adjusting the rifle on their back as they held onto the strap while looking around. “Why do we have to hunt early? Like. It’s what 5AM?”

“Have a watch to confirm that?” Daryl laughs a bit only to be hit with a pebble in the back of the head. As he quickly whips back, Y/N pretended like nothing happened only for him to playfully glare. “I’d be careful of any left behind traps. Don’t think there’s anything as serious as a bear trap but better to be aware”

“Why do people hunt bears? Some of them may be stupid, then others just want to steal your picnic baskets”

Daryl stopped once more only for Y/N to run right into him from not paying attention. He gave them a confused look.

“For someone who had a brother with only a few working brain cells. He didn’t watch cartoons? YOU didn’t watch cartoons?”

“Yogi bear”

“SEE YOU DID”

“Merle only watched cartoons or fights”

“Sounds very Merle coded” Y/N laughs a bit as they branched off a bit into a different direction to check out a bush with fruit on it.

The archer kept an eye on them for the most part, not like they would need the extra set of eyes since their first response in danger is to fight or find the closest hiding spot. They were also one of those adventure types from the old world and would almost always be outside so he knew that they knew about certain signs of danger and especially what’s poisonous or not.

“Those berries good?”

“Nah. But it could be good bait for small critters that can have it” Y/N plucked a handful as the two quickly turned to the sudden scurry that was too quick for a walker and Daryl went to follow.

When the tracks came up empty, Daryl was hit in the head again and turned to Y/N who had just caught up to him.

“What?”

“Did yea hit me with a berry?”

“No but thanks for the idea” Y/N laughs kneeling down to grab the acorn that fell, also grabbing the few acorn caps off the ground. “You ever wear these on your finger tips? As a kid?”

“And pretend your fingers were friends or some shit”

“That’s incredibly sad. If only I lived near the forest in Georgia then we would’ve been friends. Always find me in the trees”

“City kid?”

“Yeah but my sister always took me to the park to get outside and yknow, also not to hear bickering soon-to-be divorced parents” They laugh a bit as they took one of Daryl’s hands to put an acorn cap on one of his fingers before finding another bush in their peripheral to go investigate.

Daryl looks at the little acorn cap they put on his finger and thought it was cute of them, but before a smile could even grace his features. Fear shot right through him.

“son of a—-FUCK!” Y/N yells as their voice echoed through the forest followed by the thud of their body hitting the ground. They looked down to find the bear trap latched onto their left ankle. “Fuck fuck FUCK” they were too afraid to move and once Daryl finally came over.

The color in his face drained as he knelt down to assess what happened.

“You should’ve watched where you were going”

“Seriously?!” Y/N snaps at him for stating an annoying yet obvious response. Only for the sudden jerk to worsen the pain as they couldn’t look at their blood drain from their body or they might pass out. “Oh god”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ—-We gotta get this shit off yea without taking the foot”

“Oh”

“Oh?!” Daryl stops messing with it to lock eyes with Y/N a moment as neither exchanged a word. “What the fuck is happening right now?! Did I hurt yea further or—-“

“SOMEONE HAS TO BE THE CALM ONE”

“DEFINITELY DOESNT GOTTE BE YOU”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE THE WALKERS HEAR YOUR YELLING” Y/N snaps only for Daryl to cover their mouth waiting for the snap of twigs he heard to just be a critter and not what they had said a few seconds ago.

“I wish yea didn’t adapt your feelings to the situation when you’re the goddamn one that’s injured.”

“Freaking out to my full potential will only make me sob and the pain a whole lot worse” Y/N squeezed their eyes shut to fight back the tears as it was starting to get way worse. They carefully took their belt off even if it meant shifting, a wince, and Daryl flinching to the pain response. “Tourniquet”

“Smart. Very smart” Daryl takes the belt from them and got started applying such above their ankle before assessing what he should do next.

A lot of blood.

A lot of fucking blood.

It’s a 2hr window before they might lose it even with a tourniquet.

Y/N watches as Daryl thinks too loud in front of them. They were worrying about him even if they are the one bleeding less now. They clear their throat to get his attention as his expression instantly went to stress and worry thinking something worse was happening.

“Take the bear trap off, wrap the wound in your bandana, then carry me home so Denise can patch me up” their voice was shaky after silently crying a bit to themselves. Daryl did exactly what they said, a bit confused why they were so clear minded about it.

Next thing they knew, Daryl was carrying Y/N on his back all the way back to Alexandria.

“This shouldn’t have happened…”

“D, come on…”

“I knew this area had fuckin’ traps last time I was out. Should’ve taken them out before dragging you out here”

“You didn’t drag me out here” Y/N frowns. “And you would’ve gotten yourself caught in a bear trap. It just happens by accident”

“You shouldn’t have come…”

“I wanted to. You asked and I said yes…even if you didn’t I would’ve come out to find you if you’re didn’t leave a note like you usually do” They rest their head on his shoulder trying not to let the blood loss beat them with the exhaustion. “Shits unpredictable sometimes…”

“You’re too optimistic sometimes” Daryl sighs, listening to them hum in agreement as he felt their body shift against him. Making his anxiety pick up the pace to get to Alexandria.

It’s been a few hours and Y/N woke up exhausted but at least patched up and in the infirmary. They noticed they were alone but at least there was crutches to help them get around.

As they managed to get up and out of the building, Daryl was starting to head back to them carrying something when he noticed them on the crutches.

“You’re supposed to stay in the fuckin’ bed”

“Don’t tell me what to do” Y/N scoffs. “I wanna be in my bed. With you. Thank you very much” they were about to move past him when Daryl took their crutches leaving them still in a flamingo pose. “Daryl. Don’t be a dick”

“Let me set shit down inside and I’m carrying yea to bed. And ain’t taking no for an answer”

“Then can you hurry up? You or Denise or whoever took my jacket and I’m cold” Y/N frowns waiting for Daryl, watching him go inside the house leaving them out there longer than they had wanted.

But Daryl came back out in a little bit of a sprint with one of his sweaters, helping them get it on before picking them up bridal style and going toward the house.

“You gonna be nurse back to health?”

“Ain’t leavin’ yea that’s for sure”

“You’re sweet”

“You’d fall down the stairs if I left yea alone”

“I think I’m gonna take back calling you sweet” Y/N laughs resting their head on his shoulder as he pushes every door he had to open with his foot. Eventually getting to their room and setting them on the bed.

The archer carefully propped up their ankle using his pillow and covered them with his blanket. Y/N got comfortable watching Daryl move around the room moving a few things but then he left to grab something.

When he came back a moment later, Y/N had fallen asleep given their body was still wiped out and the drugs Denise gave them still floated around. Daryl set the glass of water on their nightstand along with fresh bandages for when they wake up so he could put new ones on. In the mean time, he moved to his side of the bed taking his boots off before bringing his whole self beside them.

Y/N opened their eyes a sec to see him beside them as they carefully moved their self close enough to bring their head on his shoulder. Daryl rests his head on top of theirs taking the time to finally relax.

“At least there wasn’t any bears”

“Shut up and go to sleep”

[wastelandmoony]

I have a Request. Best friends to lovers with James Potter. James potter stealing readers favourite shampoo. The reader notices this while she's in the shower. So angry she wraps a towel around her body and storms up to there marauders dorm with her hair soaking wet. She thinks that it was sirius who took and but she notices James in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around his waist. Hair soaking wet. So she reaches to smell his hair only to find out that his hair smells like her shampoo

Hiya! I've actually never been sent a request before, so forgive me if it's rough <3

Summary: James is in love with Y/N, but has yet to make a move and the other Marauders are sick of it.

Genre: Fluff <3

Characters: James Potter x Y/N, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew

Warnings: language, sexual innuendo courtesy of Sirius

A/N: Reader also plays for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, if that wasn't clear.

------------------------------------

The sounds of Queen echoed off the walls of the dormitory as James walked in, hair dripping into his eyes as he pushed back the soaked locks with one hand. 

Peter looked up from his Transfiguration essay, “How was practice?”

James shook out his hair, returning his glasses to his face, “Brutal. I’m about to start scheduling doubles on game weeks—“

Remus glanced at the door, letting the book he was reading fall onto his lap, “Is Y/N behind you?” 

James turned around, confused, “No? I was just in the showers…”

Remus leaned back against the headboard, “Huh, weird. I thought I smelled her for a moment…”

Across the room, Sirius sat up from his lounged state, “I’d kill for those heightened senses Moony. Imagine how much it’d come in handy during our little…extracurricular excursions—“

“—Just call them what they are, Pads, they’re just pranks,” Remus deadpanned, going back to his book.

“—anyway, speaking of Y/N…Prongsy over here almost got completely decked by a bludger earlier because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her,” Sirius wagged his eyebrows at James.

“Shut it, I was just…making sure her maneuvers were correct,” he tried to control the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m sure she can maneuver just fine, mate,” Sirius laughed as he dodged a flying chocolate frog box courtesy of James.

James smirked and walked over to his trunk to find a clean jumper.

“SIRIUS FUCKING BLACK!” 

Sirius sat up abruptly, color draining from his face, “There’s no way she heard me—“ 

The door flew open to reveal a towel-clad, fuming Y/N, clutching an empty shampoo bottle in her hand. 

James spun around and immediately flushed at the sight of her soaking wet. 

She chucked the empty bottle at Sirius, who barely dodged it, throwing his hands up in confused anger.

“What the fuck did I do?!” He yelled as she stalked over to his bed.

“You used the rest of my shampoo, you fucking nob!” Her eyes narrowed.

Sirius laid back down, waving her off, “No I didn’t, it was probably Lily.”

“Let me smell your hair then,” she climbed onto his bed, trying to grab at his long black hair.

“Gerroff me,” he struggled, trying to push her hands away as she attempted to pin him down.

The other three watched in amusement as she finally gripped his head with two hands and smelled the top of Sirius’ scalp. 

She sat back on her heels, face contorted in confusion.

Sirius fixed his hair, shooting her a glare, “I bloody told you, it wasn’t me.”

James went back to rummaging through his trunk, a motion that caused her to zero in on his similarly towel-clad appearance.

“Jamie—“ she called, his head popping up from his search. She watched as his wet curls dripped onto his chest, the cogs in her brain starting to turn. Rising from Sirius’ bed, she walked over to James, who froze as she drew closer. 

She leaned in, smelling the familiar scent of strawberries on him, “—it was you?”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, “Y-yeah…I ran out and it was the first thing I saw, I’m sorry.”

She smiled sweetly at him, “It’s okay, I have an extra bottle in my room if you want it?” 

He nodded a little too quickly, and she turned to run back to her dorm to retrieve the extra shampoo. 

The moment she disappeared, Sirius sat up and shot James a look, “You didn’t run out, there’s an entire bottle of that Sleekeazy shit in the shower, I used it earlier—“

“—he just wants to smell her,” Pete chimed in from the floor, eyes never leaving his essay.

James groaned, running both hands over his face.

“You’re hopeless, mate,” Remus sighed from his bed, “Just ask her to Hogsmeade already, put us all out of our misery…”

[444rockstargf]

jack thurlow missing you? rubbing himself all over your side of the bed, smelling your clothes, just makin a huge mess of himself bc you were away for work n he didn’t wanna call n bother you :(

such a perfect ask omg

"think i'll miss you forever." | jack thurlow

summertime sadness. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @livingdead-materialgirl@romanroyapoligist@ohyams-25 @oliviah-25 @si1nful-symph0ny @auggiethecreator @vanlisbon

female!reader x jack

word count: 906

contents: masturbation (m), use of vibrator

no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get you out of his head. he’d spent countless hours tossing and turning in bed, wishing that he could hold you until sleep came on its own, just as he usually did. being deprived of you for so long was clearly getting to him, nearly driving him to insanity.

every thought that ran through his mind was about you. he imagined you sitting on the bed beside him, wearing that tiny little nightgown of yours. you always had some novel in hand, flipping through the pages as he kept his arms wrapped around your waist. your presence alone was enough to put his mind into a state of calmness.

you were always with him at night. from laying down on top of him to stroking his soft hair while he whispered sweet little things into your ear. he stared up at the ceiling, wondering when this lonely night would come to an end. he turned his head to the side, seeing your side of the bed empty. he sluggishly rolled over, now resting his head on your pillow.

he put his face down into it, draining every last bit of your sweet scent out of it. he groaned softly, turning to look at your bedside drawer. it held some of your jewellery, makeup, and little trinkets that jack had given you. every item made his heart ache for you even more. he scooted off the bed, reaching for the handle of the bottom drawer, knowing exactly what contents it held.

he swiftly opened it, instantly being greeted by the sight of your hot pink vibrator along with all the other toys you enjoyed using. he picked it up and ran a fingertip down the control buttons. he brought it to his ear and shook it, hearing that there were no batteries inside. he stood up and entered the bathroom, taking two batteries from his toothbrush and putting them into the toy.

he made his way back to the bed, not having a clue what to do with himself. his eyes were glued to the object in his hand, wondering how many times you had used it when he wasn’t around to make you feel good. an image ran through his mind, one of you stripped down on the bed, legs spread and head thrown back as you used the toy to feed the growing desire in your soul.

he felt a familiar twitch in his pants as the image filled his head. he was perched on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the toy. he was conflicted. desperation began to fill the empty void in his mind as he felt blood rushing through the veins of his touch-deprived cock. with a sigh, he stood up and turned back to your drawer, grabbing your favourite panties from it.

he sat back on the bed, allowing thoughts of you to flood his brain. he looked at his sweatpants, watching the way his bulge strained against the soft fabric. he groaned softly as he placed a hand on it, palming himself gently. this was the most gentle he had ever been during any sexual acts.

he freed his cock from the clothed prison, seeing the way it eagerly sprung out. without a second thought, he switched on the vibrator and connected it to his tip, instantly feeling an electric jolt shoot through his body. he gasped as the vibrations travelled down his length. he wrapped your panties around his girth and quickly pumped his hand up and down as the vibrator took care of his tip.

he vigorously pumped his needy cock, his tip already leaking with small drops of precum. he thought of all the nights that he had your head buried in his pillow while he roughly pounded into you from behind, all the times you knelt on the ground in front of him and sucked him off and every time you rode him, his cock fitting so perfectly into your tight little cunt.

he pumped himself faster, his balls coming into contact with the base of his fist several times. he began dragging the end of the vibrator up and down his throbbing length, getting his slick all over your panties. he felt his balls tightening up as they burned from the cum that was about to erupt from him.

he couldn’t keep his noises to himself, slurring out your name as he felt that powerful wave washing over him. the orgasm hit like a ton of bricks, cum shooting out and getting all over his hand. he twitched as he continued milking himself past the orgasm, eager to get every last drop out. 

he flicked off the vibrator and tossed it to the side, looking at the mess he had made. your panties were completely ruined, and the bedsheets were soaked. jack panted heavily as he came down from his high, feeling worn out after such a powerful climax. he held the panties in his hands, not wanting to let go of the only piece of you he had at the moment. 

he tucked his softening cock back into his pants and wrapped himself with the clean side of the blanket, finally feeling worn out enough to doze off. he grabbed your pillow and held it close to him, the smell of it filling his mind with the fake sense that you were really there.

author's note: thank you so much for the jack request! it rlly has been a while

[fullsunised]

and love.

ɴᴄᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ¹ : ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ 'ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'

. ★彡 genre: fluff

. ★彡 trigger warnings: swear words

. ★彡 requests are being worked on, apologies for the delay

. ★彡 a/n: uh, this is gonna be like scenarios ig. imma do other groups as well changed my layouts and shit

❝ 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒆, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒔❞

╰─▸ ❝ 愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 ] ࿐ྂ

lyric making sessions in the studio were you're favourite. mark didn't have to hide what he felt in that room. the only room where you could be as intimate and honest as you want. today was another one of those sessions. it was 2 in the night- when both of you were exhausted from everything that happened for the whole day, your bodies demanding rest but your heads running on full power, because they knew today might be the last day you could spend time together considering you were going on tour. that would last you three long months.

"Do you think I should add...hmm let's see- oh do you think I should add like- uh I don't know", you groaned in frustration. the nerves in your brain working ay full capacity to put your feelings into words. but unfortunately for you that's not working. your boyfriend, mark chuckled softly. his fingers grazing the strings of his guitar. he strummed the instrument to release a melody that filled your heart with warmth.

how can him just doing the bare minimum fill your heart?

"What you looking at?", mark asked his eyebrows raised. you just grinned shaking your head. silence covered the room. you only have today until the next few months but none of you said a word. it could be that there was so much to say but so little time- or it could be that you have nothing to tell each other at all, after all, it's been 3 long years since you started dating.

you went back to scribbling ideas. nothing really striking your head. meanwhile, mark watched you. his eyes crying with love. he was so head over heels for you it wasn't even a joke anymore.

"Like the moon in the sky, you come to my mind every night"

you suddenly stated picking up words from every corner of your brain. mark looked down at you, sprawled on the floor from the couch with wide eyes before he rested his guitar aside and snatched the paper from you to write something. you waited impatiently. what was he doing for so long??? in less than five minutes mark was done writing.

you stood up from your seat and went next to him. mark gave you a wide grin later handing you the paper. your eyes scanned over the lyrics, the smile on your face growing wider and wider with every line you read. when you were done reading, you're eyes met his before disappearing and forming moons on either side.

mark felt his heart stop. is this what love meant? to adore the person so much that you feel like you're dying? he didn't know that. all he knew was the you in front of him will be the you he wants to be with forever. the three words that wretched his heart for so long finally left his lips.

the three words he's always been meaning to tell you, finally reaching you.

"I love you"

╰─▸ ❝愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐆 ] ࿐ྂ

it was renjun's therapy day and you had no reason to be here except for the fact that you're boyfriend asked you to tag along. you were lead into an empty room full of white canvases. renjun was told to paint his feelings onto the whiteness. and it seemed like he was suffering greatly, because he couldn't put anything onto the blankness.

you sighed feeling every bit of your energy drain away by the passing minute. who would've known a therapy session can be so boring. a whine escaped your lips as your head fell onto the table. this wasn't your first attempt at complain but it seemed like every other one, this was ignored by your boyfriend too.

deciding its high time you show him how it's done, you picked up some brushes, some paints and a canvas opposite renjun to show him your talent. for the new few minutes or more like an hour, it was nothing but silence. both of you focusing on your pieces too much that nothing else mattered.

renjun was the first one to finish his- he started way before you anyways. it wasn't until now that he realised his girlfriend was also busy creating something herself. "What are you doing?", he asked only to he ignored. Guess karma is real after all. he took a seat and waited. he knew how easy it was to break your focus so he let you be.

but his eyes never left you. he observed every little detail about you. this image of you in an artist apron, with brushes in your hair, paint on your face, etching into his head forever. no matter how many times he looks at you, it still feels like the first time. he stopped breathing when that one strand of hair fell onto your face and you tried you're hardest to blow it away.

he could be dead right now, and he wouldn't mind it. when it seemed like you were done, he walked towards you. "Nah, show me your's first", you asked hiding your's away. he rolled his eyes turning his canvas to you. a blue sea, a couple standing in the water. it was breathe taking. you're boyfriend is talented, but not as much as you and you stood on that.

with a smug grin on your face, acting like you've just done the next revolutionary thing, you turned your painting to him. his eyes widened before he started laughing right in your face. your proud smug was replaced by a pout. "You're so mean. I tried my best!", you whined throwing your painting away and taking a seat.

renjun, who couldn't stop laughing sat next to you. his eyes watering, a hand on his stomach because why was his girlfriend the cutest and the dorkiest shit ever.

"You're so adorable, I love you"

╰─▸ ❝愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐄 ] ࿐ྂ

it didn't take you two a minute to smash lips together. After not being able to see each other for almost 3 months or so, it was a reward to be around each other. jeno was busy with dream and their new comeback while you were just you, having so much on your plate.

pulling away for a spilt second, you connect lips again no wanting to let ago so easily. jeno pushed you against the wall, his hands resting on your exposed waist, rubbing soft circles while you two made out. that went on for about a few minutes, until the door bell rang.

a whine escaped your lips as soon as you retracted lips. he left to answer the door and collect the delivery he had ordered before coming over to your's. "Let's eat first, I know you're hungry", he stated leaving a soft peck on your lips.

you roll your eyes but give in, considering how your belly just rumbled. taking a seat on the couch, you played something on the huge TV that covered half of your wall. "I still can't get over your huge dorm", he said opening the boxes.

chuckling you take a bite of the fried chicken, a groan of pleasure leaving you instantly. jeno looked at you wide eyes, his gaze softening not long after, his eyes disappearing as he watched you eat. just you eating is filling his heart with warmth. your attention shifted to the screen, your favourite anime catching your eye.

"How many times will you watch Saiki.K?"

rolling your eyes, you shove another piece into your mouth. "Saiki is the love of my life", you state sighing proudly. jeno smiled at your antics, impressed with the way you were gobbling everything down. he adored you for every little thing you did, for how hard you worked, for how you smiled no matter what, for how you could light up a room with just a grin.

jeno before he had even realised, found himself wrapped around your fingers, his heart in your hands. he wasn't afraid of you breaking it, he was afraid of loosing it to you, permanently- which in his eyes again wouldn't be a bad thing. his eyes stayed on you, just you smiling at the screen, with a mouthful of food. his muscles moved faster than his brain could.

"Y/N, i love you"

╰─▸ ❝愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐄 ] ࿐ྂ

"mark said they'll be here in fifteen minutes", cyou hum pouring yourself a glass of water, chugging it down instantly. your eyes then drifted to your boyfriend, who had the biggest pout humanity has ever witnessed resting on his face, for the past twenty minutes or so. why? because he was upset, he has to leave and that he won't be able to see you for another week. a smile makes it way to you, cooing internally at how cute hyuck is being, but you'd never admit it, considering how he already has enough inflated ego.

reaching the couch, you take a seat next to him, spreading your legs on the table. donghyuck latches onto your arm, snuggling his head into your chest, a whine escaping his lips at your lack of response- desperation. cause he was desperate, trust him, very desperate to stay with you even for an hour or a minute longer. he was already planning ways to come see you in between practise, or to call you over during the middle of the night. 

"Your comeback is soon you know", you reminded him while taking a bite of the chocolate he got you, as a present, today. he whined again, resting his head in the crook of your neck, the grip on your hand growing tighter because he doesn't want to let you go. when he could find all the comfort he needs, right next to you, with you in his arms, why is he putting all this hard work for? don't get him wrong, he loves his fans and his job, but you, the way he loves you was different, it was the love that made him crazy, like right now.

sighing, you ran your fingers through his hair. you truly loved hyuck with all your fucking heart, but if he didn't leave now, all your schedules- like a ton of them that were lined up for today would be paused, even worse cancelled. "Come on, we can see each other next weekend hmm", you tried persuading him but he wasn't listening. a tune of whines filled your ears, as he climbed onto your lap and locked you up with both his arms.

cupping his cheeks, you made him look at you. "sunshine, stop behaving like a kid-", he looked down refusing to meet your eyes. sighing you let a promise slip up, well, if it makes him happy then anything for him. "I'll come visit you someday in between, what do you say?", you offer only to find his face light up like the night sky. it was as if he's been waiting for you to make that statement. slapping his arm after seeing right through his antics, you point to the door that someone started knocking.

he looked at you, before pressing his lips against your's in a long, slow kiss, the one that would last him until however long you see each other again. you smile against his lips, feeling all your energy drain right under his touch. donghyuck pulled away with his heart running miles an hour, his stomach full with butterflies, and the overwhelming feeling of you surrounding him. you wait considering how he was still sprawled on your lap, and he says the words you'd definitely grow to adore.

"I love you"

╰─▸ ❝愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐀 ] ࿐ྂ

"I'm so tired, I'm sorry", jaemin whispered in your ear, his arms wrapping themselves around your back while he watched you cook your dinner for today. you give him a soft smile, kissing his cheek later turning your attention back to the food that was sizzling on the pan. "It's okay. don't worry about it". his grip around you tightened, his chin now resting on your shoulder. jaemin felt really bad, you were tired and top of that you promised to cook him food. 

as one of the best cooks known to the industry, he was more than happy to have you cook for him, feeling utmost blessed for having you on his side, closer than everyone else. "You know, our company is making me cook for all of my close friends, it's a new content for my youtube channel", your soft voice flew into his ears making him grin widely. with his eyes closed he hummed. "Will you be able to handle that?". you nodded plating the two side dishes you've prepared. "It's okay, even though i'm an idol I love feeding people", you state taking a bite of the ramen you cooked. with the same chopsticks, you fed jaemin some, who groaned at the taste. 

"It's just ramen"

he shook his head pulling you closer if that's possible. silence fell over you two, the comfort feeling too good to be true, which it was considering how you had to run again to make schedules. "I'm so proud of you", he suddenly muttered drowning the back of your neck in soft kisses. chuckling you wiggle under his touch, feeling the tickles spread all over your spine. "That was random". he gave you the widest grin, turning you on your heels to make you face him. his eyes stayed in you for a second longer, taking every part of you into his brain. making sure to leave it there permanently, just like he left every part of you in his heart. you wrapped your arms around his torso, smiling. 

his lips softly touched your's, jaemin pouring every ounce of love from all his cells into you, for you. you've never imagined yourself to fall so hard for someone, to look forward to touching someone so much, that your heart physically hurt from it- jaemin could say the same too, every part of him yearned to hold you, touch you. this magical feeling was just enough to keep you two going. pulling away, he let his eyes linger again. from your eyes to your lips to your nose. "I'm like so proud of you, thank you for doing so good, and thank you for being mine", he whispered into the tiny space that separated you. "I know, and I am too", you give him the widest of grins he had ever seen, the one that he had on his face right now. 

jaemin knew he didn't have to look far, to find you, the one he'd give his forever to.

"I love you"

╰─▸ ❝ 愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐄 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆] ࿐ྂ

chenle was nervous. like his heart is slowly sinking down to his feet, his brain rotting away with every time the long hand on the clock he has been staring at since the past three hours moved. according to your manager, you were meant to be home at 12AM but it was two now, and you were no where to be seen. sure, he had sent you multiple texts, he even texted your manager to find out how long until you were home, but none of you replied. no, he wasn't nervous because he was worried what would've happened to you, but he was nervous because of the ring that stood on the table in front of him.

no, he isn't planning to ask you out. considering how you had been dating for only about a year or so, he knew asking you out, engagement were very far away, but he also knew you were the one he'd be spending the rest of his life with, whether you like it or not, but either way that wasn't the point. the point was, when he was on his world tour, he stumbled upon this couple rings set, which without a doubt he found absolutely stunning, therefore he bought it. he has, after a lot of convincing from himself, decided to give it to you today.

ha! as on cue, he heard the passcode on your door being typed. with a long sigh, you walked in to find chenle judging you real hard. "What?", you asked taking your shoes off, later dropping your bag onto the floor and falling onto the couch. with the reflex faster than lightning, he pulled the ring into this pocket, without you noticing it. "Why are you this late?", he interrogated crossing his arms. you rolled your eyes, tying your hair up, feeling all sticky. "the practise, had to go longer cause we had to change some steps", you state ready to take a shower. he gives you a green signal letting you leave while he battled with his own nerves.

in less than twenty minutes, you walked out, your hair tied up. "Did you eat?", you question pouring yourself some water. he nodded, slipping the ring box onto your couch. quenching your thirst, you rush to fall into his arms, the desperation for peace evident in your actions. chenle chuckles letting you it on his lap, his arms secured around you. "I missed you", you whispered kissing his chin. he nods causing you to lift your eyebrows up in question. the boy was pissing his pants but he knew he had to do it. taking the ring he once hid, he put it in front of you. your eyes widen as soon as he opens the box, two very similar looking rings coming into your vision.

"Y/n, I think you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, so I want you to have this. this is a promise I make- to have you by my side forever. if you say no, I'm gonna be so embarrassed so your gonna have to give me a minute-", he started rambling on and on, the point he was trying to make lost. your smile widened, before you stretched your hand out. chenle breathed of relief, all the drained blood coming back to him. after slipping the ring on your finger, he slapped your arm.

"What was that for?", you screech offended. "For scaring me", he mumbled sticking his tongue out earning an eye roll from you. "Also, I forgot to mention-", you perk your ears up looking at him.

"I love you"

╰─▸ ❝ 愛 . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 ] ࿐ྂ

"Is this your new comeback?", you question sitting in front of the mirror watching as your boyfriend practised. jisung nodded scrolling over to play the song, he has been practising for the past two hours again. your eyes never failed to follow his every movement, like he never failed to impress you with his skills. he didn't even if you blinked miss a beat, hitting each and every one of them perfectly. you knew jisung was unmatched with his talent, he was for sure one of the best dancers in the industry. which is why precisely, the competitive spirit inside you hit.

while he danced, you stood next to him and copied each of his movements, and you almost succeeded, this one step casually being your downfall. your eyebrows knit together in concentration, your hands copying and playing the same move over and over again, but something definitely felt wrong. jisung who had now paused his practise, watched you, a lovestruck smile plastered on his face. "What the fuck", you curse before adding numbers to the step, hoping it would make you learn the step better but it didn't.

jisung watched you struggle, cooing and smiling at your adorable self. his eyes stayed on you, also, using his phone to click pictures of the very concentrated you because that was a rare sight to see. y/n, the idol who was good at everything was struggling, oh, he's definitely using that to make fun of you later, and perhaps uploading it on bubble for your fans to see too.  a groan left your lips, frustration evident on your features, the urge to give up filling you up. "Do you need help?", he asked chuckling. you shake your head, wanting to figure it out for yourself, but failing miserably.

he lets you do it for another twenty minutes, until you turn to him, your eyes pleading for help because anything and everything you wasn't working. letting out a soft, but deep voiced laugh, that never failed to mess with your insides, jisung plays that part of the song to brainstorm how he did it. "It's really simple, do this, that and yeah, that", he demonstrated and the step you have been struggling with for the past thirty minutes, became the easiest step to ever exist. you replicated what he showed  exactly, and it worked.

"You're a genius baby", you breathe doing that step over and over in excitement. jisung grinned with pink ears, the ability to stay flustered around you taking action. you ran to play the song again, and this time both of you did it all perfectly. you cheered latching onto his arm, the smile on you bright enough to light up a whole room. while watching you being cheeky, jisung had realised what you truly meant to him- a home, a warm, safe space where he could be all he wanted. you genuinely filled him with happiness, when he was around you all he wanted be was a lovestruck teenager. with you still around his figure, jisung whispered the words which lit up your eyes.

"I love you"

𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗗.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

✽ Part 7 - Gearing up for the road ahead

I intended to get this out to you guys much earlier, but my health stole my brain bunnies and then the chapter grew a lot bigger than I'd originally anticipated. I'm actually forcing myself to break it up from the 10k monstrosity it currently is (and I'm not done with yet ><) into this chunk half the size so that you're not waiting another week or so.

The good news is I've got a bunch of the next part already done because of that so hopefully the wait won't be as long :)

i'm not jinxing myself by saying that. what are you talking about >>;

Kyle hadn't let you walk after everything and you were far too drained from the day's events to argue. He'd gotten to his feet and hoisted you up into his arms, cradling you to his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your eyes for a bit. His body warmth wasn't a cure-all, but it certainly helped given the fact that you were dressed in a sopping wet short cotton batiste nightgown with only your knickers on underneath. Letting yourself be carried wasn't just because you were tired and shoeless - it was also helping to preserve your modesty. 

Something like that shouldn't really matter at a time like this considering one of your male companions was family and the other had already seen you in the state when he was saving your life (twice now). However, you weren't the only people out here despite not running into anyone else as you three made the trek southward. You didn’t want to be caught so exposed should your paths cross with any of your companions from the wreckage. 

Unlikely, but better to be safe than sorry.

They'd opted to delay settling down for the night and keep traveling for a little bit longer, arguing that they were too wound up from the ‘festivities’ to find much sleep anyways. While you were certain adrenaline must’ve had them on edge, you suspected they were moreover worried about the men in black robes coming back in the middle of the night to finish what they started. That thought weighed heavy in your gut, sending a shiver down your spine easily mistaken for the slight chill of the desert. 

By the time it was decided you were far enough away from the wreckage for their comfort, you had begun to lull off in Kyle’s hold, fighting the pull of slumber from a mixture of pure stubbornness and the lingering paranoia of being snuck up on once again. It was doubtful sleep would come easy to you tonight if it even did at all.

Being so close to the Nile had lush vegetation scattered throughout the area, your cousin finding a small patch of softer earth to place you down upon while Johnny rested his back against a nearby palm. Neither of them had a go at building a fire for warmth, not wanting to risk being spotted and leaving your only light source to be the heavenly planets above. The nearby crop provided cover from wandering eyes which helped ease your anxieties a little at least.

“Who was it that attacked us?” The question from your lips was one that no one had yet to voice aloud, but was on everyone’s minds in one form or another. 

Your cousin plopped down in the grass next to you, scratching a hand over his scalp in a show of obvious frustration parroted by the expression he wore.

“Wish I had an answer for you, dolly. Been rattling my brain over that all night and yet still only coming up empty handed. Could’ve just been as simple as a rogue band of desert dwellers looking for easy pickings and we were the poor bastards who got unlucky.”

“That's a right load and ye know it, Garrick.” Johnny’s voice had a growl to it that gave away his own internal thoughts, rooting around in his rucksack in what you suspect was an effort to check over his few remaining belongings. “If that were true then they’d ‘ave taken somethin’ wit’ ‘em. Ye dunnae sink a ship yer tryin’ ta make coin off of.”

“They were looking for something.” Even with how soft your voice was interjecting into the conversation, both pairs of eyes swiveled towards you immediately, imploring you to continue with your explanation. 

“One of the men… in my room,” your gaze briefly landed on Johnny as you thought back to how he found you being held captive with a dagger to your throat, eyes burning through you in a way you had to mentally shake yourself out of in remembrance, “h-he asked me something… about a key. He was looking for it and got incensed when I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

The two of them shared a look at the details of your brief encounter, trying to piece together a puzzle that was taking more shape but still lacked too many parts.

“Seems like someone on board was hiding something,” came your cousin’s reply, an ominous implication that had you over analyzing the people you’d come in contact with over the course of the day. “Question is: which one was the thief and which one was the conservator?”

Too much blood had been spilt for you to even consider the notion that the men in black were even remotely the good guys, but you couldn’t help the nagging tug in the deep recesses of your brain that was trying to place why some part of you recognized something about the man who threatened you. You’re certain you’d never seen his face before, but there was an element of his appearance that kept itching something you couldn’t seem to scratch. 

Perhaps clarity would find you in the morning when the events that brought you here weren’t so fresh in your mind.

Turning your attention back to Johnny, you brought up the other thought that had been tumbling around upstairs although it was far less pressing of a matter. “That man across the river. Friend of yours?”

You’d been half expecting the displeased snort you received in response based on the short interaction you’d witnessed, but it was Kyle who answered first. 

“Philip Graves. Bit of a mercenary who took up occasional employment with His Majesty’s forces.” There was a sourness to his tone that spoke volumes towards his opinion of the man. “Ran a few with him back in the day. Thought he was actually a good bloke at first, but turns out he’s just another man out only for his own skin, no honor or loyalty to be found.”

“Had a bit o’ a run in wit’ him on the ferry tonight. Certainly put the eejit back in his place, or so ah thought. Damn dog doesnae ken when tae stay down.” 

Your ears perked up in interest at the reveal, a latch clicking in your head as you put two and two together.

The glance over your shoulder. 

That must’ve been why he ushered you back below decks. Hearing the way they spoke about the man had you grateful you’d avoided that particular encounter… though you were intrigued by the conversation that surely followed.

“Oh yeah?” You could certainly tell that lifted Kyle’s spirits a bit to hear. “Have a proper go at him, did ya?”

“Well he ended up takin’ a bit o’ a premature swim if that’s wha’ yer implying.” The smirk on Johnny's face was positively impish, making even the corners of your own lips quirk up in amusement. “But ah did manage tae find out one useful piece o’ information. Turns out he’s the one leadin’ the Americans to Hamunaptra.”

“Bloody hell. You serious?” That wasn’t a reassuring response coming from your cousin.

“‘Fraid so. Bastard was more than happy ta flap his gob about his recent ventures. Americans paid him half upfront, half when he gets ‘em there. Looks like we’re stuck wit’ our ol’ buddy Graves a bit longer than ah’d like.”

“Should I be concerned?” You glanced warily between them, feeling far too on edge tonight as it was without this added headache stacking up on top of things.

Kyle could practically feel the despair in your bones at the prospect of this journey adding even more to your plate than it already had, placing a firm hand on your knee as a small reminder that you weren’t alone in all this. “More of a nuisance than a threat, dolly. Don’t go worrying your head over something so inconsequential.

“‘Sides, there’s only so much mischief he can get up tae wit’ the likes of us ‘round tae keep him in line.”

Coming from a pair of troublemakers, that wasn’t as much of a comfort as they probably thought it was.

By the time the next morning rolled around, you were convinced the only reason you were able to get any sleep at all was due to the sheer amount of fatigue that forced your body to eventually yield to it, having depleted all energy reserves by the time you finally closed your eyes for a proper rest.

Despite getting a full night’s reprieve, the same could not be said for your body. Muscles that hadn’t been exercised in years were howling at you as you rose to consciousness, body protesting the movement as it was even sorer now than it was only hours ago. Combined with the less than ideal sleeping arrangements (despite the decent makeshift pillow your cousin’s lap had made) you were certainly feeling it come sunrise, joints aching and cracking like kettle corn. 

The prospect of doing even more travel on foot did not appeal to you in the slightest.

You were pleasantly surprised to be offered a banana as a substitute for a hearty breakfast, Johnny pointing a little farther inland to a small cluster of trees where the offending fruit dangled from its clutches. You hadn’t noticed them in the darkness when the group first settled down, grateful to not have to continue onward without at least a little something in your belly. As far as water went, so long as you stayed near the Nile the blue waters would provide you with ample hydration. If it wasn’t for the fact you were on a bit of a timetable, you might have argued for the chance at catching a fish to fill you up even more. But they had neither the tools nor patience to effectively do it, leaving you with the fruit you quickly scarfed down.

It didn’t take long for the clothes on your backs to dry once the sun came out, glad to be rid of the uncomfortable damp that had you smelling like mildew. Were it not for the fact that you did not want to expose yourself again with a semi translucent nightgown you would’ve walked a few meters to your left and taken a much needed dip in the cool river.

Alas, you figured you’d learn to live with the stench as the desert heat would no doubt leave you with far less agreeable odors than a bit of moisture. No doubt your fellow companions were accustomed to such a life where bathing was moreso optional than it was required. 

The group followed alongside the Nile as much as possible, hoping to have a run in with others who would potentially have supplies for you to barter from. Johnny had a bit of coin stuffed in one of the pouches of his bag that could get you a decent bit of what you needed; it was just a matter of finding the right buyer to haggle with. Once it started becoming apparent that you were unlikely to encounter what you were looking for near the shore, they charted a course westward into the desert towards where Johnny hoped he remembered seeing an encampment last time he passed through this way.

They’d allowed you to walk as far as you could until the ground became too hot for their liking, having made the mistake of hissing when bare skin met a particularly scorching plot of land now that there was far less greenery to cushion your steps. Kyle hadn’t even asked this time before sweeping you up into his hold, garnering a half-hearted round of complaints from you that were quickly silenced without any real fight. You could’ve tried harder to convince them to let you keep going on your own, but without proper footwear it was genuinely becoming uncomfortable to be on the ground for more than a few moments at a time. You just hoped for your cousin’s sake that he wouldn’t have to bear the extra weight for too terribly long. Just because he was fit didn’t mean his arms didn’t eventually tire.

Conversation was minimal as you trekked through the desert, too focused on their own surroundings to do more than the occasional banter. Must’ve taken a little under an hour before Johnny held up a hand to halt your movements, recognizing a nearby rock formation and turning in that direction. If his memory served right, there was a tribe located at the base of it that was more welcoming to passersby. 

The Bedouin tribes of the Sahara were mainly known for being camel herders as opposed to sheep and cattle - for obvious reasons. They migrate as the seasons change, retreating back into the desert during the rainy winter season and towards cultivated land once the dry summer months returned. If some element of luck had not been on your side and you’d happened here during the wrong time, chances were you’d still be wandering around looking for civilization. 

Once your group got within range of the settlement, a small handful of men flagged you down at your approach, coming out to meet you while Johnny pushed you back to stand behind him. Kyle stepped forward as the men began to converse, speaking a dialect of Arabic that you were mildly familiar with but Kyle was stumbling through. He knew enough basics to get by in Cairo, but some of their words garnered looks of total confusion from him that ultimately was getting the group nowhere. 

You let him keep trying for a bit longer before taking pity on the poor sod and peeping out from behind the bulky figure protecting your modesty. Four pairs of eyes turned towards you in surprise, Johnny’s arm coming back to block you while you relayed your desire for adequate supplies and transport. When you discussed your need for appropriate clothing as well, they were kind enough to call over one of the women of the tribe who came running over holding a blanket ready to wrap around you. 

Kyle gave you a look as she rushed over, something that suggested annoyance in the thin set line of his mouth. “Wanted to watch me make a fool of myself, eh?”

You gave the woman a grateful smile as she concealed your ill-dressed form from their gaze, feeling much more at ease as she placed an arm around your shoulders and led you into camp. The grin you gave him in return spoke of thinly veiled hilarity. “Thought I'd let you try first. Give you a chance to brush up on your Arabic before emasculating you.”

Johnny didn’t even try to hide his amusement at your cousin’s expense, rewarding Kyle with a hearty slap on the back for his efforts and leaning in close to whisper something under his breath that earned him an elbow to the sternum for his words. 

You paid them no heed as you walked with your escort towards the eastern side of the settlement, the locals already conversing about the necessary details as you realized you’d be split up from the boys to leave them to deal with whatever sort of arrangements needed to be made for your travels. Hopefully there was someone more knowledgeable in English that could assist them in your absence.

You didn’t have any other experiences with the Bedouin to form a picture in your head of the size of the encampment compared to others, but it certainly wasn’t a compact setup they had going on here. Family groups living within sizeable elaborate tents fluttered about tending to their household responsibilities while their children and grandchildren darted between the structures with all the playful innocence of untouched youth. Livestock grazed amongst the small bit of foliage, corralled in pens and cages to be fattened up whilst awaiting their inevitable ends. 

The women were covered from head to toe, the men and children less hidden and sporting brighter colors and patterns. Clothing hung out to dry on suspended lines of rope, women carrying braided wicker baskets to and fro while chatting away the hours of hard work under an unforgiving sun. It was a thriving community that even out here in these barren wastelands had carved out a peaceful existence away from the worries of the larger world. 

As exciting as it was to be surrounded by peoples of such an incredibly rich culture, it was also a little nerve wracking to say the least. This tribe seemed used to trade, but there was no denying your group stuck out like a sore thumb.

Easy to feel like a complete outsider when you were one. 

How were you supposed to act out here amongst the rolling desert dunes? You knew it was a patriarchal society and you were the most scantily clad thing here, surrounded by dark veiled modest women and stern appraising eyes of men. There had to be a dozen faux pas you were breaking right now, a realization that set your teeth on edge. 

Just another example of how woefully unprepared you were to deal with anything other than wealthy socialites or bookworms.

Your cousin must have sensed your hesitancy as the woman leading your troop tried to usher you further into the settlement, a different path than the one the men were heading off towards for supplies. Not that you suspected any foul play or deceit on the Bedouins' part, but it was easier to navigate all the unfamiliarity with your much more worldly companions by your side.

“We've got this, dolly. You'll be alright on your own for a bit,” Kyle offered with a comforting grin and a hand on your shoulder, “Go get yourself proper while we take care of negotiations.”

“Jus’ give a holler if anythin’ happens and we'll come runnin’ right tae ya,” piped up Johnny with a lazy grin but a promise in his eyes that he meant every word of it. 

That soothed your nerves more than anything, flashing him a meek grateful smile as you allowed your chaperone to lead you onward with a firm hand between the shoulder blades.

It took almost no time afterwards to arrive at your apparent destination. The woman charged with your care lifted aside a curtain as she bade you enter the abode, finding a younger pair inside that looked up at you upon your arrival. One must have been closer to your age, the other far younger as she sat in the former’s lap and let her comb out her long dark tresses. She introduced them as her two daughters who greeted you warmly with bowed heads. Once they were informed of your situation, you were beckoned closer and instructed to remove your gown, the youngest off to the back to retrieve some items for a quick wash up. 

You were used to the kind of treatment they offered back in your younger years, having had servants that would assist with your bathing and beauty routine that followed. It was a bit different being given such kindness from strangers, having been stripped out of your remaining clothes and cleansed from a bucket. The desert was thoroughly scrubbed from your flesh, scalp lathered in oils that would help protect your skin and hair from the harsh rays of the sun. Even though you knew this small luxury was fleeting, it was nice to not smell like a vagrant for a little while at least.

The older woman stepped away as soon as you dried yourself, huffing under her breath that she had nothing to fit you and disappearing for what you assumed was a mission to remedy that. You were made to kneel on a cushion, towel draped around you whilst the eldest daughter took up position in front of you, a small vial of kohl in her hands to be applied to your eyes.

You were not accustomed to cosmetics being applied to your waterline, the black liner smudged above your lower lashes causing you to blink back tears. Supposedly it was good for your overall eye health, but the jury was still out until the stinging from the foreign substance subsided for you. Meanwhile, the youngest was all smiles and giggles as she settled down behind you, comb in hand that she began to gently tug through your tangles; a comment was made comparing you to one of her beloved dolls before her sister shushed her for saying so.

Their mother returned shortly with a bundle of dark cloth in her arms, ushering you to your feet as she made quick work of slipping the garments up over your head. Your underthings were replaced with similar items, all very plain and practical in contrast to the beautiful thobe they graced you with.

The material itself was made of an airy lightweight fabric and infinitely more breathable than what you left your home in yesterday morning. The black coloring was detailed with elegant hand stitched beading, silver embellishments catching the light and twinkling like little sewn-in constellations. There was a soft melodic chiming with every movement, small polished coins accenting your waist and jingling in a way that almost begged for lively music to be played. The shoes you slipped into were soft but sturdy, fine dark linen adorning your head as the woman gave you brief instructions on how best to wrap it to protect your face from the desert sands if need be. 

Once you finally got a proper look at yourself in the mirror, you were stunned at the difference a change of style and darker makeup could do to your features, a far cry from the latest London fashions shipped down to your estate in Cairo. Despite having lived in the country for most of your life, you’d never before been dressed in the cultural attire worn by some of the natives. Giving a slow twirl at the women’s urgings, you decidedly felt at home in the designs much the same way as you did in your everyday skirts.

Satisfied with your appearance, they accompanied you back out into the encampment to hunt down and rejoin the others. You had to admit that whatever trick the kohl provided, you did find yourself having to squint less under the sun’s brightness. Seeing its effects in action, you were now grateful for the small vial they’d slipped into your hand moments ago so that you could keep reapplying it during your travels.

It didn’t take long to locate Kyle and Johnny near a resting herd of camels, standing around as a group of men readied the beasts for a long trek out into the vast Sahara dunes. Seeing how much equipment was being packed onto the backs of them, you wondered just how much coin Johnny had stashed away in his bag to be able to afford the pretty penny’s worth they had acquired.

They both looked at ease as they chatted amongst themselves, Kyle leaning back against a nearby cart with his arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled up to his elbows much the same as his friend. He’d obtained some more gear for his person going by the leather gun holster strapped over his shoulders carrying matching pistols, a dark blue neckerchief tied above his unbuttoned dress shirt left open to reveal the tight wife beater underneath.

Your cousin had always been a bit of a pretty boy, but even with his striking good looks he was the epitome of casual danger. 

Johnny, on the other hand, looked devilishly roguish. He hadn’t altered his outfit much in comparison to Kyle - only adding a tan patterned neckerchief of his own and an extra button undone from the top - but there was a difference in the way he seemed to carry himself now. Something in his air and mannerisms that felt primed to go off at any given moment. 

This was a man in his element; not in the dredges of society, but out here amongst the wild and the unexpected. You’d seen him as a low-life; you’d seen him more refined. Now you were seeing him as he truly was: a fighter - both of them.

His appearance lured you in, his eyes ensnaring you as the pair at last took notice of your approach. Where your cousin offered you one of his signature bright smiles, Johnny’s face became deceptively neutral. Gone was the grin he’d just shared with your cousin, hidden behind something you desperately wanted to claw at. It was as if all the emotion retreated from his expression only to be refocused behind the gaze he swallowed you up with, dark blue sapphires holding you defenselessly captive and burning hot coals in places you’d never reached before. 

It wasn’t until Kyle stepped forward and broke your line of sight with Johnny that you were able to blink away from whatever he’d been subconsciously trying to relay to you.

“There’s our girl.” Kyle took hold of your hand and gave you a spin, eyes raking over your new attire as you blushed from his playful attentions. “Far cry from the frills and stuffy dresses you usually force yourself into every day, huh dolly?”

Pulling your hand from his, you gave him a light shove that he had the decency to fake stumbling back from. “I happen to like those dresses, thank you very much. Nothing wrong with enjoying the finer parts of being a lady. Meanwhile, sir, you seem to have lost your waistcoat.” You couldn’t help but tease him back as you tugged at his open billowy dress shirt. 

“Not much to impress out in the middle of nowhere. Certainly not you lot,” he added, tossing a grin back at your companion.

Johnny had returned to normal by the time your vision swept that way, the previous interaction a mere mirage as he returned the snarky comment with a playful one of his own. “Yer right. Ain’t no damsels in distress ‘round fer ye to showboat fer. Aye, hen?”

The wink he sent your way paired with the subtle compliment left you glowing, something fluttering in your chest that you pushed aside so as not to let it fester.

Your cousin snorted his response, Johnny’s attention pulled to the Bedouin man next to him that had finished securing the group’s new belongings to your transportation. He gave the man a quick smile and a nod as he took hold of the reins, giving the camel a firm pat on its neck. Turning his awareness back to you, Johnny motioned with his head for you to approach. 

“Ever rode a camel, lass?”

“Oh, no. I learned side saddle on horses when we visited Kyle’s family estate during the summers, but beyond that it’s been years since I’ve even been on the back of one.” You reached out to give the animal a scritch on its head behind the ears, the short dense hairs course yet fluffy to the touch. 

“Not much different,” he shrugged, eyes keen on your form. “Jus’ a wee bit taller and bumpier a ride, s’all. Ye’ll have it down in no time, hen.”

Johnny gave a downward tug on the reins; that paired with a clicking noise from his tongue had the camel lowering itself on folded knees to the earth, resting on its legs as he slapped his hand down on the padded blanketed seat. “Best we be gettin’ a move on then.”

You were suddenly aware of the fact that there were three of them in the vicinity, one for each of you to be riding separately. You’d anticipated having to share with one of the others, not quite sure how to logistically navigate this on your own. “How am I meant to sit on that thing? The way it moves I’ll be forced to grip the pommel the whole time so as not to take a tumble off the side.”

“Looks like yer gonna get a taste o’ wha’ it’s like tae be a man, lass.”

That wasn't exactly a welcome response.

“O-one leg on each side?” The notion caught you off guard, wide eyes glancing down at your dress which was admittedly a lot flowier and less constricting than normal. Flashing skin was far less scandalous than it had been when you were born, but it wasn’t something you were used to doing even with some type of pantyhose or stocking underneath. You hadn’t much need for flapper dresses nowadays with the company you kept.

“Go on, dolly.” Kyle was looking far too entertained at your obvious hesitance to break out of your comfort zone, hopping up on his own stead with practiced ease. “You wanted to be an adventurer, yeah? Gotta get over this hump first.”

You pulled at your bottom lip with your teeth, hands fidgeting with some of the small coins belted around your waist in nervousness. Should you scoot onto it from the side and swing your legs over? Do you gather up the material first and then sit down? Why was this so bloody hard when the men made it look easy?

“Right, up ye get.” Apparently not possessing the patience for you to figure out how best to mount the beast in a skirt, you squeaked as Johnny's firm calloused hands suddenly took hold of your waist, hefting you up the short height onto the animal and depositing you in the saddle. With how wide your legs parted to accommodate its size, your thobe rode up past your stockings to reveal your knees and lower thighs, grabbing at the thin material and trying to drag it down as far as it could go to maintain some slight modesty. 

You didn’t have time to be embarrassed as Johnny once again made a clicking sound with his tongue, patting the camel on its haunches as it began to stand from its resting position. You scrambled for the saddle pommel with a vice grip, squealing at the clunky rocking motion that jarred you as it rose to its full height. If your reflexes had been even a moment slower, you would've flown ass over tea kettle off the back and onto the hard ground below.

Settling back down after that brief scare, you were shocked at just how much you towered over everything. You were used to the elevation that came with being on a horse; this creature had well over a foot on your largest thoroughbred.

“Lookit that!” Johnny clapped his hands excitedly with a throaty chuckle. “Yer a proper natural.” With how wide of a grin he was giving you, you nearly missed the way his eyes briefly admired the exposed skin of your lower half before patting your foot from his spot below in supportive praise. 

He left you alone to mosey on over to his own ride, Kyle bringing his camel up alongside yours and flashing you a smile which you found impossibly infectious. Here you were, astride a massive beast in the middle of the Sahara about to undertake a journey that would help change humanity’s understanding of ancient Egyptian society during the New Kingdom forever.

You couldn’t wait to find the long lost City of the Dead and all the excitement it would bring.

°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°.•° ✿ °•.°•. ✿ .•°

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[jokingmisfit]

Nightmare not Reality

Reiji Sakamaki x Reader

Prompt- “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I had no idea how to end this so if the ending is bad I am sorry.

It was stupid, and I know that when he sees me he’ll call me pathetic, maybe even ‘punish’ me for disturbing him, but I can’t not check on him.

The images flashed in my mind. His barren eyes. They always hide emotion, but they look empty and hollow. They looked just like him, dead.

The sensible part of me whispers that it was just a nightmare, that none of it was real, but another part says that it could be a sign he needs help.

It surprised me that I even cared. After all he’s done, after all he does. I still care.

I didn’t at first. In the beginning I hated him and his brothers. The only reason I didn’t fight them off was so Yui was being drained of every drop of blood in her body. 

Eventually, though, Reiji made me spend hours of my day in his study or his room. He wanted to teach me about everything and anything. He adored the punishments he got to give when I slipped up, but he held me so closely afterwards.

It was nothing more than Identification or, more commonly known, Stockholm Syndrome.

Me believing that he was nice to any capacity was just my brain trying to cope, to save me. The smaller part of me is trying to keep me safe and far from insanity.

My mind races as I grab my silk robe. The creamy white cloth wrapped around my body loosely. I pull it closer to give myself faux comfort.

I step out of my room. I take calming breaths as I walk to his room. The last thing I need is for him to hear my breath hitching. The deep breathing helps me to stop shaking too.

I get to his room door and knock lightly. I found that tapping twice on the door gets the best reaction from him. I doubt any reaction will be great after waking him up, however.

I stand quietly. I listen closely hoping to hear anything from inside.

I don’t.

The door opens abruptly. I look up as calmly as I can. I know he isn’t happy. The obvious is shown more when I look into his eyes.

He’s glaring down, but not speaking. He wants me to speak first. I know.

I know.

I take in a breath and wrap my arms around myself. “I’m sorry to wake you… I, um, was worried about you…”

Reiji continues to stare.

“Ok, uh, you, um, think I’m being weird. I guess that’s fine and you’re probably going to think I’m pathetic for saying this, but,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because as stupid as I know for a fact I sound, I care about you and just needed to know that you are good.”

My hands start to shake again, and he continues to stare. Usually he’d say something. He should’ve said something by now? Right? 

I shakily sigh. “Well, you’re alright, so I’m, um, gonna go, i guess… Um bye.”

I send him a slight wave and turn to go.

Quickly, I’m pulled back to my spot from before.

Reiji looks down at me with the usual glare. His magenta eyes still shine in the dark.

“It’s rude to interrupt someone so abruptly then leave so unpleasantly.” He states matter-of-factly.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude.” I whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“I’d say you sound pathetic, but you’re clearly already aware of that.” He opened the door wider. “Come inside, sit on the couch.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

I move into the room. Reiji closes the door. I walk with precise steps, or at least I try. He watches me, he always does. I sit straight on the edge of the couch. He walks over to the couch and sits next to me.

“I’m not sitting right.” I whisper.

“You’re not.” He responds. “But, your mind is fractured. Isn’t it?”

“It was just a nightmare… Nightmares aren’t real.”  I mutter.

“They are not,” He agrees. “However, your mind is weak. Tell me, what is it you saw that frightens you so much? Hm?”

Dead magenta eyes. A limp body. Perfectly groomed hair, and clothes now tangled and torn.

Over and over I saw his death.

I look over to him. Tears brimmed in my eyes, and I couldn't care what he must’ve thought.

“I saw you… I saw you dead.” I couldn’t say anything else.

I fold my hands in my lap tensely.

“I don’t see why that is so disturbing for you.” He states in confusion.

“Because I care!” I shout. “Because for some reason the thought of no longer being able to talk to you or see you anymore stresses me out and the thought of someone hurting you scares me because no matter how much I want to hate you I don’t! Cause you’re the only person I can talk to about tea sets and tea flavors and you teach me new things and you smell amazing and you do everything in a confusingly perfect manner that makes me admire you more than I do anyone else.” I sigh. “Because I stupid as it sounds I don’t wanna lose you.”

Reiji adjusts his glasses and lets out a sadistic laugh. “How adorable… You do realize however that no matter how your mind twists things, you will never be rid of me.” He pulls me closer. “Even if you wish to leave you can’t. That being said, no fantasy will keep you from me.”

“I sure hope so…”

[lady-of-tearshed]

Tough time

Sumarry: It had been a tough week, and you start to feel bad about Ithan's constant reassuring presence.

Warnings: Mention of lack of libido, mention of rough times, angst.

Gentle fingers traced patterns on your neck and shoulder. Usually, that sweet gesture from your mate was enough to south any of your internal storms. But not today. Actually, you had been trying all week to shake off your brooding. You went shopping with Juniper, you went to your appointment with your therapist, you ate your comfort ice cream, you got a massage… Ithan had even offered to go for a run with you. But nothing worked. You were just… not fine. 

Ithan was watching a sunball game on his phone, telling you all about the players' good moves, and explaining to you the bad ones and if they could've avoided them or not.  You hummed in approval at each of his statements, but the information your ears processed didn't quite seem to reach your numb brain. You felt bad. Ithan had spent almost all weekend at your apartment, and all you had managed to do was order food and stay in bed all day. 

The two of you always used to go out on weekends, partying with Ruhn, going to restaurants, hiking, playing board or video games… but you were mentally drained. And all you could do now was be boring and rot in bed. You didn't even had sex, for fuck sake. You usually had a very high libido that Ithan was more than happy to please, but that too disappeared this week, along with your joy and energy. 

Ping

A text pops on Ithan’s phone. He huffed a laugh, and moved his hand from your shoulder to text back. “Ruhn?” you guessed, “And Flynn.” the wolf shifter answers you back. He sends the text, then puts his phone on the nightstand, stretching his arms before pulling you off his lap and up into his arms. He spoons you on the bed and kisses the back of your head lovingly.

Your stomach churns as you start overthinking everything.The boys had probably asked him to go out. Had he refused because of you? Did he feel forced to stay by your side? Would his friends think you're an over controlling girlfriend? “Did… Did they want to hang out?” He shrugs his shoulders, and nuzzles into your neck deeper, inhaling your scent. “Yeah.” “You said no?” “Yeah.” His answers were short, stating the obvious, and still you wondered if he stayed in just because he felt bad about how miserable you were right now. 

You sighed, caressing his forearm with your fingertips, the gesture shooting pleasurable goosebumps all over his body. “Just because I don't feel like going out doesn't mean you can't, you know…” He rose onto his elbow, peeking over your shoulder to meet your eyes. He brushed his lips on yours, slowly, before pulling away to stare into the depths of your orbs. “I know, I just enjoy spending time with you too.” He paused, and you could feel his desire to go out. 

You knew Ithan had trouble just staying inside and relaxing, yet he hadn't complained about it all weekend. “But you enjoy going out with your boys too, it's fine bubs, I wanted to read my book anyway tonight.” You forced a smile, trying to sound convincing, and it seemed to work, because Ithan just stared at your face for a moment then kissed your cheek. “Okay.” He rose up from the bed and got ready, then took his wallet. 

You watched him, fighting the urge to break down at your now lonely and empty bed. You pulled the sheets almost up to your nose, nuzzling into the pillow that was previously his. He walked over the edge of the bed, put both his hands on your cheeks before pulling you into a big smooch. Typical of Ithan. The innocent kiss made you chuckle, the first sprinkle of joy you've felt since a week now. You smiled as he pulled away, “I'll see you tonight. I love you.” your heart squeezed, but you nodded. At least he'd be back tonight. “Alright. Love you! Have fun.” You turned your back to the door as he walked out your bedroom. Your eyes were welling up with tears now that you thought you were alone. Alone with your sadness, and loneliness, and pain, and anxiety, and- 

Ithan was still standing in the doorway, a look of worry drawn on his face as he noticed the slight quivering of your shoulders. His wolf hearing catched the soft silent sobs coming from your lips. His heart sank at seeing you like this. The light and joy radiating from your bubbly personality had looked so dull all week. He hadn't mentioned it to you, thinking it was maybe just tiredness, or your period. But now he was sure it was more than that. He walks over the bed slowly, and sits down on the edge of the mattress, gently stroking your back. 

It was too much. It was the drop that made you break down completely, you couldn't hold it in anymore. You sobbed, as Ithan gently caressed your back, not pushing you to do anything more than just… feel. And let everything out. “Hey… it's okay. Let it all out…” He said, his hand moving to your hair, moving tear damp strands behind your ear. 

“Is it okay if I keep rubbing your back?” He whispers, his hand slowly halting, he wanted to make sure that you wanted it. That it wasn't making you overstimulated at the moment. You nod your head, and mumble not so graciously through sobs, “Yeah…” “Good.” He whispers, placing a kiss on your shoulder, his hand still stroking your back. 

After a few minutes, you calmed down, Ithan now holding your head against his chest, kissing your forehead and cheeks gently. “I just feel bad…” You mumble, finally retrieving the strength to speak without bursting in tears. “About what, honey?” There was no hint of judgment or amusement in his words, only pure concern and adoration. You shrug your shoulders, and bite your lip nervously, but Ithan thumbs quickly prevent you from nibbling it and bruising yourself. 

You sigh, tracing the muscle of his chest with your fingertips as you continue on, your eyes looking everywhere but into his. “Well uh… I've been feeling miserable all week and now your weekend is ruined because of me.” He had wanted to cut off your nonsense and talk over you, but he knew you needed to get these words off your chest. He sighed, “Honey… You know you could never force me into doing anything… right? If I'm staying with you, it's because I want to,” he kisses your lips gently, then pulls away and lifts your chin to look into your eyes. “I love you, Y/N. So very much.” 

You sniffled, snuggling closer to his chest, his warmth enveloping you in a cocoon of love. He stroked your hair until you reached the edge of sleep, then you felt his arms tighten around you. “I had the best weekend with you. Every moment of my life spent with you by my side is one that I'll cherish until the day the Under-King claims my soul.” You nod lazily against his chest, a slight smile remaining on your lips as you fall asleep. You knew things would get better, eventually. Because Ithan would hold your hand through this hard time. And a hard time is not a hard life.  

[hyptrance1]

Goonbot Hypno Transformation #5: Goonbot Submission

Alright, well I am feeling the mood to continue this induction series, and this one will be the more intense one because, well, it’s the fifth! If you’ve continued to read all of these then idk it seems like you like being a goonbot a lot. My thought for this induction is to continue to strengthen the goonbot state, making you feel both more robotic while you’re in your goonbot state and more pleasure from your antenna, as well as implanting some suggestions of submission towards me, the person who has been programming you into a deeper, emptier goonbot. This induction will be mostly for the people who have already read the first four inductions since it will use some of the suggestions from those inductions. Obviously, if you dont want to go under to this, follow the post hypnotic suggestions, or feel more submissive towards me then I wouldn’t suggest reading this. If you are alright with everything then you can enjoy my words, as im sure your antenna is already enjoying starting up with this first paragraph. Without further ado let’s actually program your brain and antenna goonbot. 

I want you to start playing with your dials as you continue reading this induction. I’m sure as a programmed goonbot you still remember the basics of your programming, but let’s remind you as you slowly lose your thoughts and your antenna activates. You are programmed to be a goonbot, and when you are a goonbot you do not have any thoughts. So while reading this and playing with your dials, your thoughts will continue to drain from your brain, because of course goonbots dont need thoughts when they’re just robots, meant to follow. You are programmed to goon, to make goon faces, and to continue programming yourself into a better goonbot. I’m sure with hearing those words, your programming, you find that your antenna is hard, throbbing, and activated, ready to follow orders. 

Now we can focus a little bit on the pleasure that you are feeling throughout your mechanical body. You of course feel it in your antenna, pumping and pulsing the pleasure building within it through your entire body, but you can also feel the pleasure radiating from the dials that you are twisting, turning, playing with. It feels good, building this pleasure within you, as your mind continues to empty and your goonbot brain continues to activate. 

I dont necessarily think that your gooned out self needs to have a long drawn out induction. Your mind has already been programmed into being a blank goonbot multiple times at this point, your antenna is pumping, throbbing hard at the thought of your thoughts being gone. Your body is thrumming with pleasure as you continue to read my words, play with your dials, and continue to sink fully into your goonbot state. 

So 5

Allow your mind to fully empty

4

Allow your antenna to fully activate

3

Allow your dials to increase your pleasure to maximum

2

Allow your goon face to appear

1 

Allow for the goonbot to activate

Mindless. Happy. Horny. Ready to continue the programming that you have had countless times before, isn’t that right goonbot. 

Now with this programming you will find that whenever you are in your goonbot state you are more submissive towards me, your programmer. You want to please, you want to follow my commands and continued programming, and your antenna pulses at just the thought of pleasing me. And it makes sense, cause I have programed you into a goonbot, so why not feel some sense of pride in following your programmer. It makes sense to want to submit to me in your robotized state. 

And you can feel that programming downloading itself into your drone body. Going from your antenna, throbbing with each bit of commands downloaded, up into your empty hardwired mind. The pleasure of following directions making you feel wonderful. No need to think, no need to do anything except follow your programming goonbot. And you remember all of your programming that I’ve put into your head. 

You can allow this last bit of programming, this submission to your programmer, to build within you, to finish downloading fully before we begin to wake you up and have you go about your day. 

Before that thought the last bit of programming for this induction is as follows. Once you’re awake, you will comment “I am a goonbot, I am submissive to my programmer”. Feel that post hypnotic suggestion sinking in and…

1

Thoughts returning to you

2

Waking up

And 3

Wide awake

Wide wide awake. 

Ok, well this was shorter than I expected, but we’ll see what the results are. As always if you have ideas for further hypnosis please let me know. 

[takami-takami]

Happy Birthday.

includes— hawks. severe angst. hurt/no comfort.

warnings— very grotesque trauma reaction. emeto. blood. ptsd. i cannot stress enough to be careful and avoid this if it's triggering.

There's a bloodstain on the tip of his shoes.

With ankles dragged back by clinking, weighted chains, Hawks pulls himself through the doors of his sanitized apartment. Keigo steps out the other side.

He blinks. Keigo blinks. Hawks blinks in turn, up and a little to the left of his body.

His home looks familiar, unchanged as it always does. Hand-selected specifically for their one and only golden boy, the commission itself furnished the living room shades of steel and icy blue. It's a garnish on a dish served cold, a pop of color adorning an empty plate.

He never did like the color blue. It clashes with his eyes; but at least it isn't red.

Keigo detests the color red.

Keigo has always detested the color red.

The first is simply a hurdle, they say. A celebratory milestone for budding saviors in his line of work. The death was clean, they congratulated, handshakes abound as blurry bodies in suits pat his back, groping the flesh of his shoulders like proud fathers.

What did you make me do?

What did you make me do, what did you make me do, what did I do—

There's a bloodstain on the side of his shoes.

With a thud and a click of metal doors behind him, the boy is left alone to watch the spinning furniture through bleary, fogged eyes. Wrinkled at the corners, they blink closed and open again, nearly reptilian in motion and blooded just as cold.

His heart thumps heavily, but not swiftly.

For now, the flow of his veins keeps still, a far cry from his swimming vision. It's a dam, an artificial protective mechanism constructed by cognition factors of the brain; but numb is better than the alternative. Numb is better than the spilling rapids that threaten to splash over the edges and overflow.

He supposes it's better, that is. God knows he doesn't know anything else.

Seventeen years old— eighteen, now. Someone should invent a number for how old he feels.

There's a bloodstain on the bottom of his shoes.

They'll have to replace the linoleum tile. He'd rather scrub it clean himself; a mental note.

He clicks his headphones on to divert his attention before he remembers his hero training: associated sights and sounds can attach to memories, so he should distract a civilian as best he can to keep them grounded. This is his favorite song, and he would hate to dirty it by connecting it to an unwanted neuron or two. Frantic, he tries desperately to erase the lyrics, the title, the tune from memory. He tries to preserve its original, untouched state. The audio waves lose their clarity, muddied and corrupted and glitchy; so he taps next far too many times.

The corrective action simply smears the grime along the melody, and he yanks his headphones off for peace of mind.

All that is left to hear is thrumming white noise.

As he stands unmoving, the silence rings in his ears like the consistent drip of a leaky faucet. Eerily, liminally, buzzingly still, it rings in its silence. It is silent in its ring.

Everything is still, everything is the same and there is nothing he can do, nothing has changed but everything has changed and—

Something is sitting on the coffee table.

It's new.

A crisp, white slip of paper, signed and dated courtesy of the Hero Public Safety Commission.

A check.

The water of his blood runs cold, draining rapid off the sides as it begins to rush and overflow.

Entirely without his permission, his scraggly form doubles over and retches, fingertips smearing against the glass of the coffee table before his arms fly out like they're searching for something. Crash and clatter, the deafening sounds ring out, preselected decorations from industry-class interior designers knocked off the glass as he grips.

Hands tap once, twice on the surface, before a palm darts up to cover his gagging mouth. His eyes widen, bloodshot, dashing left and right—

Until he sees it, sitting isolated by the television set.

Still on his feet, he nearly tumbles as he crawls over to grip it with both hands, emptying his guts into the pretty, pristine, perfect, prepackaged and plastic bin.

Someone tucked a bag in it, lining around the inside to keep the object fresh and free of bacteria and clutter and dirt. It's almost rather thoughtful. The film crinkles loud as he vomits.

His knees thud against the tile of the bloody linoleum, emptying and emptying himself in garbled chokes and chunks, until the infection of the bile ceases to rise; until all that's left for him to give is the spittle of his sputtered coughs, the patter of clear tears that plop and mix into the mess below.

Hands trembling along the rim, Keigo hiccups.

All clean.

My nose stings, he thinks, sniffling as he pinches it. It feels like acid. It probably is.

Up he rises on shaky legs, wiping his face with the back of his grimy glove. Plucking the paper from its place on the table, he drops it in the bin. It laughs at him, the inked letters morphing into a cheshire sneer.

He tries to forget its sum, generating random strings of numbers in his head to confuse his neurons— three, seven, five, two.

Once the silence drapes over his shoulders like filthy, clipped wings, he almost misses the sound of retching. It's preferable to the silence; at least, he thinks it could be. God knows he doesn't know anything else.

His dispatch monitor buzzes firm against his thigh— an alarm.

Oh, that's right.

He nearly forgot to clock out.

There's a bloodstain on the inside of his shoes.

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 6)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (5) | Next (7)

Word Count: 3.1k words

Content Warning: Vore mentions (no actual vore)

------ Chapter 6: Convergence ------

Tanya was tired of living in an underground dungeon. Her filthy, cramped cell consisted of three stone walls without windows, a hard floor, and a door of thick iron bars. Holes in the ceiling, interspersed at regular intervals, permitted weak beams of light to filter through the darkness, but they were poor substitutes for the sun. Her bed was a thin strip of stained, smelly padding with an unwashed blanket. The only other furnishing in the small space was a chamber pot for relieving herself, which was occasionally changed out but not as frequently as she would have preferred. 

The days blended together endlessly, the passage of time marked only by the flicker of dim light overhead and the arrival of bland meals with precise regularity by indifferent, faceless prison guards. She was fed lumpy oatmeal for breakfast, and withered vegetables with hard bread for lunch and dinner. The water she was given was cloudy, with a hard mineral taste. Needless to say, Tanya didn’t have much of an appetite. 

In the subterranean space, sounds traveled far, bouncing off the walls until they warped into an unrecognizable state, like the distant, tortured moans of ghosts. She felt lost and forgotten. She hadn’t been trapped in the forlorn depths for long, but she felt like her sanity was gradually sapping away with the isolation and emptiness. The lack of stimulation was not only boring but draining, as her troubled thoughts skittered around in her brain like roaches and ate away at her conscious mind like a corrosive acid. 

This punishment seemed excessive for just stealing food. Tanya had been hungry, and a little desperate, and she couldn’t resist the sweet cakes on display in the central plaza that she had no money to buy. She had been caught, of course. Minimaterra dealt with lawbreakers harshly, to prevent the small and insulated country from being overrun with crime. Tanya observed that the legal system seemed to punish women worse, though she didn’t comprehend the calculated reasoning behind this odd structural inequity. 

She was dozing on her mattress, huddled up in her blanket to stave off the damp cold, when she heard the echo of footsteps reverberating down the corridor lined with cells. To her surprise, two burly guards silhouetted by the dim light stopped at her cell. Keys clinked together and scraped in the lock, and the bars were pulled open with a grinding squeal. The men invaded her cell and ripped the blanket off. Tanya was hoisted to her feet, still half-awake, handcuffed, and dragged away. Her legs, out of shape from her confinement, were unsteady beneath her as she stumbled along and struggled to keep pace with the men. 

“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” she mumbled sleepily, with no response. The men hauled her up a narrow set of stairs by the thick iron cuffs on her wrists as she clumsily followed. When they opened the door at the top, she was blinded by daylight brighter than she had seen in weeks. The light shot into her skull and eyeballs with a searing pain, and she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut for several minutes while her body adjusted to the stark change. She was thrown into a carriage and transported to another location, unable to see the whole way as her eyes adjusted to normal sun. 

She was marched indoors, still squinting with discomfort. Without any explanation, she was swarmed by maids who stripped her down and washed her. Her hair was cut and styled, her nails filed, and her face groomed and powdered. She was dolled up in a very flattering dress with ostentatious lace, ribbons, ruffles, jewels, and other flourishes. Tanya was highly disoriented and confused. She didn’t understand what was going on, but she held out hope that maybe she was being pardoned and released. Even so, she couldn’t help but notice that the prison guards never left her side, even after she was unchained. 

She was led by the guards through a long and very fancy hallway, the likes of which she had never seen before. As she passed by rooms fit for a mansion, she spotted a room full of beautiful ladies dressed just like her, like nobility, along with a handsome gentleman. She was led into a different room, however, that contained another comely man with spectacles flanked by more guards. She was seated next to the man, who was also neatly groomed and dressed in an outfit worthy of a rich noble. 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time. Nothing happened and Tanya started to get antsy. Keeping her voice low, she finally whispered to the man, “Are you a convict too?” 

He hesitated, before answering, “Yes. I’m Graham, by the way.” 

“My name is Tanya. Do you have any clue why we’re here?” 

“No. They dragged me out of my cell and brought me here.” Graham glanced over at her through his peripheral vision, not wanting to make any sudden moves with the guards watching them. “Do you?” 

Tanya gave a small shake of her head. “Do you think... they’re letting us go?” 

“I don’t know. I hope so. It’s nice... to be cleaned up and given proper clothes. I feel human again.” He stroked his chin, which felt wonderfully smooth after being shaved. While languishing in a cell, he’d grown a scraggly, untamed beard that he despised. He was relieved to feel—and smell—like a refined gentleman again, after living like a feral animal in a dank dungeon. 

The prisoners lapsed back into silence after one of the guards shot them a hostile glare. Tanya was hopeful, but a primitive instinct within her was ringing alarm bells. She sensed something was very off about this whole abnormal situation. If they were to be released, why would the guards still be watching them? Why were they dressed and groomed in such a manner, with such elaborate clothing above her lowly station? Nothing made sense. She was on pins and needles the whole time as she waited—for what, she had no idea. She considered bolting while she had the chance, but swiftly discarded the notion as foolish. She likely wouldn’t make it far with four guards chasing her, and if they really were going to let her go, she ought to be on her best behavior. 

The two convicts were kept separate from the others, so they wouldn’t learn the truth and raise a fuss. The day that would permanently change their lives had come. All the tributes were prepared for inspection, dolled up to look their finest. The humans could only hope that their offerings would pass the taste test. Now they just had to wait for the giants to arrive. 

Back in Giganterra, the giants prepared for their second expedition to the human lands. As Sir Maneater saddled up his horse, he noticed that Joey was dragging his feet. In fact, Joey hadn’t even touched his riding equipment. He had a hollow, dead look in his chocolate eyes, so different from their usual eager brightness and warmth.  

Martin, sensing an impending crisis, understood he needed to intervene. He took the young man aside, behind the horse stables, and sat him down on an old tree stump. “What’s going on, Joey? Talk to me.” 

Joey sighed heavily, averting his gaze down to his hands. “I... I don’t want to be a knight anymore.” 

Martin raised a brow. “Joey... you can’t mean that! I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked for this. You’ve trained for years! Why would you throw away all that progress now, when you’ve been pushing so hard toward this singular goal?” 

Joey slumped down. His face twisted up as if he were struggling not to cry. “You know, I used to admire knights. I idealized them for their strength of spirit and body, their discipline, their chivalry, their honor, and their vows to protect and serve. I wanted to be like you, Sir Maneater. But now...” 

He let out a shuddering breath, running his hands through his messy brown hair and tugging on his scalp. Glancing around to ensure nobody else was listening, he dropped his voice and continued to speak. “Now... all I see in my future is serving a cruel and evil master. I can’t stomach the idea of becoming the king’s right hand, to enforce his iron will upon the weak. The thought sickens me and turns my stomach. I can’t look at knighthood the same way anymore. I want nothing to do with the despicable orders of the king.” 

“Joey...” Sir Maneater leaned in and placed a kind hand on his squire’s shoulder. “I understand how you feel, I really do. You think I’ve never felt lost, or had doubts?” He gave his squire a gentle smile. “Of course I have. But you must understand, Joey... if you want to make a difference in this world, you must first make something of yourself. You can give up on your dream, but what good would that do? You’d be powerless to change anything, without a title or influence. Lost without a sense of direction. If you really want to stop evil, you must give yourself the tools to conquer it. You understand?” 

“I guess,” Joey answered noncommittally, twitching his shoulders. 

“The humans will be presented to the king whether you participate or not. Just come with us. Be alert to your surroundings. You never know when an opportunity may present itself,” Sir Maneater pressed. Joey reluctantly agreed and joined his mentor back in the stable to finish loading up the horses with their gear and supplies. He fought his revulsion as he saw the knight strap in a cage about the size of a shoebox, complete with human-sized seats lining the interior. 

Besides Leon, another giant named Chester was accompanying the party. Chester held a special position at court, for he was an individual with a unique talent. He was the royal food tester, distinguished by his extraordinary senses. His sensitive nose could detect the smallest quantity of poison in any food or drink, so he could keep the royal family safe. He could track a runaway human by scent, like a bloodhound. His palate was highly refined as well, so the king trusted his taste buds to select only the best foods. He sent Chester to sample the new humans and provide quality control. The gluttonous gourmand loved to eat humans, so he was more than happy to oblige.  

Chester was in a merry mood, in stark contrast to glum Joey, and to a lesser extent Martin and Leon, who were more hardened than the young squire to the unpleasant task that lay before them. As they neared the border crossing, Chester tilted his head back and inhaled deeply through his nose. 

“Ahhhhh,” he sighed, savoring the fragrance like a batch of fresh-baked cookies. “They smell soooo good.” His brilliant green eyes lit up and he licked his lips ravenously. Joey glanced at the man with distaste but didn’t comment. The party of giant men left their horses with the guards after presenting the royal seal for entry and passed through the gate into the tiny world. Leon, wincing, brought the human carrier along with him. Chester panted with anticipation, his stomach audibly growling. Joey curled his lip.  

“Are you... drooling?” he asked incredulously. Chester wiped off his lips on his sleeve and grinned shamelessly. 

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Can you really blame me though? Can’t you smell all those distinct, delicious flavors?” Joey shook his head as he carefully stepped over a red barn that didn’t even reach his knee and tiptoed around a field of corn. “Ah, well, I certainly can, and goodness, I can hardly restrain myself!”  

Chester, not paying attention to his feet, sloshed through a shallow pond, scattering miniscule ducks in all directions. His wet boots sank into the grassland intended for grazing nearby, tearing up the turf and ruining the land. The surrounding horses whinnied with fear and galloped away. He stepped on a dividing fence, cracking the wooden posts into splinters. He cocked a brow as he shot Joey a penetrating gaze. “Have you ever eaten a human before?” 

“No! Absolutely not!” Joey answered sharply, offended by the mere suggestion. “And watch your step, for crying out loud!” He wasn’t some bloodthirsty, uncivilized beast like the wolf across from him. He looked down at the little houses far below. He had no doubt the miniature people inside were listening to their booming voices as they talked about eating humans. Joey, at that moment, was deeply ashamed to be a giant, in such disgraceful company. 

“What a shame,” Chester remarked, ignoring Joey’s tone and warning. His boot stomped down inches from a humble house, quaking the earth and eliciting a shrill scream from within. “You’re missing out. Every human has their own flavor, you see. Luckily for me, since I’m the royal food taster, I get the privilege of tasting every single human that comes to Giganterra.” 

Joey was flooded with indignation as he opened his mouth to argue with Chester. However, a small shake of the head from Sir Maneater sealed his lips. He bit back a snippy retort with some difficulty. Chester was an important personage at court, not the sort of man anyone would want to make an enemy out of. Though the knight didn’t enunciate any seditious thoughts out loud, he did not wish for Joey to pick a fight with the one man who singlehandedly prevented the king from being poisoned. 

Chester continued to prattle on about all the different flavors that humans came in, indifferent to the looks of horror he received from the wee denizens at his feet. Joey pulled with discomfort at his hair and collar, as if trying to hide his huge face from humiliation as he was forced to listen. He struggled to keep his mouth shut as Chester related a mildly lewd anecdote about a lady that tasted exactly like a cream puff. The embarrassed squire attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction, but Chester had a one-track mind, especially with the strong scent of humans pervading the air.  

“I’m interested in tasting a few men this time around,” Chester rambled, droplets of drool sliding down his chin. His salivary glands were going haywire with how voracious he was. “I’ve only sampled women up to this point, since King Richard usually only requests female specimens. I wonder if the human men taste the same as their women? I’ve heard rumors that women are generally sweeter, while men are more savory, but I don’t know if it’s true. What do you think, Joey?” 

“I... I don’t know,” Joey mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. Desperate to change the subject, he pointed off into the distance. “Hey look, there’s the castle!” 

The four massive giants, now that they were entering the city, had to walk in single file through the central roadway to avoid knocking over any buildings. Even Chester was cautious as the space became narrower and more cramped for their enormous feet. Mercifully, the extra attentiveness that his surroundings commanded prevented him from talking too much. Even so, as his eyes diverted to his feet, he ogled the little people like a starving man at a buffet, as if he was tempted to snatch them up and shovel them into his slavering maw. Flecks of slobber rained down from his mouth onto the rooftops and streets, to the disgust of the people down below.  

The small humans with their carts and horses scampered out the way, but Leon still managed to accidentally smash the stall of a fruit vendor underfoot, turning his wares into mush. “Ah! no!” the merchant cried as he watched his livelihood get pulverized, running out a few steps into the open street before realizing his grave error in revealing himself. He halted, face white with fear. 

Leon bent over, engulfing the man in shadow. “Oh my goodness, I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t mean to do that, it was an accident!” he apologized profusely. The merchant, as upset as he was about losing his entire stock, was too terrified to even engage in conversation with the intimidating giant. Leon recognized, as he continued to blabber on, he was getting nowhere with his words as the merchant merely stood in place, quivering uncontrollably. After a moment of contemplation, he fetched some silver coins from his pocket and carefully stacked them in front of the merchant. The human gawked in amazement at the shiny treasures, which were trivial pocket change to a wealthy giant but worth a fortune to the tiny human, more than all the fruit and his stall combined. The coins were several feet in diameter, a few inches thick, and likely too heavy for the merchant to even lift on his own. 

“Here, I hope this will be enough to cover your losses,” Leon said, running his hand nervously through his gray-flecked hair. 

The merchant nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Y-yes, sir, that will cover it,” he squeaked timidly. Leon acknowledged his response and straightened back up to his full height. The giants continued on to the central plaza, with Leon leaving behind a giant footprint lined with fruit juice, while the merchant stared in disbelief at the huge silver coins that constituted a life-changing sum of cash. 

When they arrived at the palace courtyard, it quickly became apparent that four giants would be one too many to comfortably fit within the walls of the open space without trampling the garden, statues, or fountain. 

“Joey, why don’t you wait for us outside?” Sir Maneater suggested. Joey nodded and stepped back respectfully. He waited awkwardly in the market square of the human city, the only location wide enough for him to stand comfortably without having to contort his legs or crunch his feet together. 

Joey surveyed the area around his feet, looking down at the miniscule stalls and buildings and people. He hadn’t felt quite so bad when he was moving around, but now that he was standing in place with nothing to do, social anxiety started to creep in. So many tiny people were staring up at him, gawking at him, glaring, whispering and gossiping about him amongst themselves. He hated to be the center of attention, to add on to his deluge of guilt, but such a circumstance was unavoidable when he was a monument, towering over everyone and everything. His face flushed bashfully, and he fiddled with his glasses to mitigate his discomfort. When he wasn’t able to tolerate the feeling any longer, he lumbered off, determined to find a secluded spot in the countryside where he could sit, rest his legs, and wait for the others. 

Chapter 7