#i love writing him as being self destructive. however

[rodismancave]

. wanting 2 write stuff for bad ending rodimus but it scares me soooo bad

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your… gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Hope you're okay :D

First your writeing it's so good and i love it, and this is mu first time asking you for a request :)

So idk if you aleady did this, i don't remember reading it but i wanted to know how do you think Damian would react when he finally meet his brothers partner?

When JASON borough you home, Damian wasn’t certain whether he was seeing the same perpetually annoying Jason, especially when he watched him look at you as though you were the only one in the room.

It was something completely new, for as long as Damian could remember Jason was a man who held great resentment and anger within himself, which often resulted in making him prone to rash decisions and act out on his self destructive tendencies. So seeing him smile with you, laugh with you, joke with you was a side to him that only Dick had told him stories about.

Damian wasn’t fond of trusting anyone outside of his own family, but he’d be stupid to not see that you were an extremely positive influence on Jason, and soon found himself hoping that his brother wouldn’t be the one to fuck this up via self sabotage. However he didn’t have to fear that being the case when he saw the way Jason seemed more at peace by your side then he ever did in his entire life, his shoulders were no longer hunched and the furrow in his brow was less prominent, his jaw was no longer clenched and is more relaxed.

It was as though Damian was looking at a completely different person and he couldn’t help but find himself being thankful to you for having such unwavering patience with Jason and secretly hopes that you continue to do so for the nearby future. Damian could clearly see that you helped Jason through the moments that he wouldn’t dare bring up to his own family and while that hurt, he’s glad that Jason wasn’t alone with his thoughts anymore and was able to carve out a future with you.

‘They’re good for you Todd.’ Damian said once you were out of earshot.

‘I’ve known that since the moment they didn’t shy away from my scars and brokenness.’ Jason told his little brother.

‘You’re not broken.’ Damian corrected as he saw the look upon Jason’s face as he looks at you play with Titus, ‘ you’re healing.’

When TIM brought you home Damian didn’t know that he even got a partner, he didn’t bother to think that Tim was capable of engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone, given how co-dependant he was with that stupid laptop of his.

Damian understood that Tim and himself didn’t have the best of relationship, it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly ideal for two people who were meant to be considered ‘siblings’, but Damian didn’t want him to be mistreated by anyone regardless.

So when he began to take notice how you took care of Tim without it being overbearing or controlling in the slightest, you made sure he ate properly and took adequate rest whilst letting him uphold his responsibilities. You trusted Tim to take care of himself when you knew you were out of your element and he trusted you to keep ahold of his heart no matter what, and Damian could see that in the way you would boast about Tim as though he was gods gift to humanity; Which to you he very much was with a side order of sarcastic wit.

You reminded Tim that he was more then what he could give to other people, a lesson that Damian truly believed Tim needed to learn and if he learnt that through your relationship then that was good enough for him.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of being in a relationship.’ Damian told Tim and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Thanks Damian, much appreciated.’ He said sarcastically.

‘You didn’t let me finished Drake,’ Damian told him before continuing, ‘however I’m…glad that you found someone who makes you sees your worth.’

Tim smiled softly. ‘Thanks Damian.’

When DICK brought you home, Damian was quick to follow you throughout your visit to the manor in hopes of getting a good gauge of your character, he valued Dick as his brother and wasn’t just about let him date anyone he decided to pick up from the side of the street one day on a whim.

Damian wasn’t exactly trusting towards you at first -despite the many stories Dick had told him about you- genuinely thinking that by next week Dick would’ve dumped you and bring home another one of his short lived romances, and seeing as how commitment wasn’t exactly a thing Dick was well known for. So he wasn’t expecting much to come out of your visit but when he saw just how happy Dick was with you, holding your hand, practically glued to your side and just acting like an human version of a puppy dog whenever he was with you it was almost sickening; well it was but you get the point.

Not once did Damian see Dick’s adoring eyes wander from you, he was completely entranced by anything and everything you said as though it was gospel. You both were the epitome of lovesick and Damian didn’t know whether he should be happy that it seems as though Dick found someone whom he could be genuine with and no be judged, or be grossed out by how much pda you do.

It was a tossup between the two but Damian found himself gaining some form of respect for you throughout the day and soon would in your corner for most of your playful disagreements.

‘Oh come on Damian, you’ve barely known my partner for a day and now all of a sudden your pally pally?’ Dick whines as Damian stood by your side.

‘So? It’s obvious they’re the one in charge of this relationship.’ Damian replied and you could’ve busted out laughing at Dick’s expression afterwards.

[avocado-writing]

Hey there, if you’re still doing requests for BG3... I'm terribly angry about something big and outside of my control at the moment. Could you let me know what you'd think the BG3 companions do if Tav started self destructing? Like Tav passing harsher judgments, snapping at neutral NPCs, or fighting more dangerously and recklessly with bad guys?

Oooo the angst possibilities! Fun! Going to write like you’re self destructing due to stress, and you’re picking unhealthy coping mechanisms. Here we go:

Astarion

at first probably thinks that it’s quite funny. We know he enjoys seeing a little bit of suffering.

but, the more it goes on, the more worried you can see him become.

this isn’t like you. He knows you by now. You’re… kinder than this, damn it.

he takes you to the side one day after he’s seen you be short with a friend.

“whats the matter?” “Nothing, Astarion.” “If you’re going to lie to me, darling, you’d better do a better job of it than that.”

you go to snap at him, fire on your tongue, and then something inside you breaks. You just start sobbing. Everything which has been weighing on your mind has finally become too much.

he isn’t good at comforting words, but he does hold you. Runs his hand up and down your back, and lets you know you he’s here for you whenever you’re ready to speak.

helps you centre yourself again, eventually. He loves you. He’ll do what he can to make things better.

Gale

Makes a couple of snide remarks about how you’re acting, suggesting maybe you be a bit kinder, but then he stops to reassess how you’re acting.

there’s something wrong. You’re pent up. Furious, but not with the people you talk to. They just happen to be the ones bearing the brunt of it.

he sees the injuries you nurse on yourself after battles too. You used to be a clever fighter. Now you are a reckless one.

takes you aside one night at camp and presents his findings very matter-of-factly, concluding that there must be something the matter. When he puts it so astutely, you know you have no chance of hiding from him.

tears slip down your face and he is there in an instant drying your eyes. Telling you there’s nothing to worry about. Reassuring you that “the great Gale of Waterdeep is on your side, we’ll find a way to work things out.”

he puffs his chest out, you chuckle and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Yes. You will find a way to work things out.

Wyll

When he first sees you acting out, as it were, he immediately intervenes.

he knows what it’s like to be under great levels of stress. He made his contact when he was a teenager, after all, and had to deal with all the fallout that happened consequently.

he takes you to the side, holds your hand tightly in his, gets you to look at him.

“i love you, you know that, yes? If there’s something the matter, you need only tell me.”

you begin to crack immediately. Damn this sweet man and his emotional intelligence. Why is he perfect.

you let him know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately. You agree you’re not coping with it very well. He says he’ll help you however he can, but you need to stop being so unkind to yourself.

“you matter, my love. You deserve sweetness.”

holds you close, and you just stand there for a while, together. From then on whenever something is wrong, he is the first one you go to.

Karlach

Sees you snapping at a friend, jumps in.

“whoa, whoa, whoa! Soldier, where is all this coming from?”

you snap to tell her it’s none of her business, she wouldn’t understand… but then you see the hurt in her eyes and immediately feel awful.

“Oh gods, Karlach, I’m sorry…” your voice is wobbly, cracking a bit, and she cups your face in her warm hands.

“hey, hey. it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

you blurt out all your feelings to her in one, long, run-on sentence. She can’t help with a lot of the personal stuff, but she can listen, and she holds you to her chest and rocks you a little. Being engulfed by her embrace is very comforting.

”I’ve got you, babe, eh?” You know she does. For better or for worse.

Lae’zel

She sees the vicious way that you’ve been acting in battle. Strange, usually it’s her attempting to take the big hit, not you. She can take it, you can’t.

She finds you when you’re tending to your battle wounds. Sits down. Stares at you until you instigate conversation.

“what?” “You are not acting like yourself.” “Oh? And how would you know what that is?”

you’re just saying these things to be hurtful, but she’s stalwart. You’re deflecting.

She tells you she’s been enamoured with you long enough to see how you usually are. That you’re kinder, smarter. You’re lapsing into these feelings out of some sort of self-preservation, but you don’t need to.

”if there is something weighing on your mind, share it. I am here to help ease your burdens.”

you don’t love to cry in front of her but that is remarkably… sweet. It breaks you a bit.

You promise to stop being so foolhardy, especially in battle. She says that must be for the best, lest you get rended in half.

“Hey!” but she’s smiling. Your heart swells as you realise she’s trying to make you laugh.

Shadowheart

Lets you get quite far down the burrow of self-destruction before she does anything.

once again, she’s loyal to the lady of loss. Nothing you’re doing is exactly alarming to her.

but it does get worse and worse… she sees you snapping at friends, being harsher to passers-by, and she’s constantly having to patch you up after battle due to your wounds.

eventually one day you snap at her, and that’s her limit.

“I know something’s causing you stress but it isn’t me. I’m trying to help. So you can either pull your head out of your arse or I’m leaving this tent.”

the two of you have a little squabble, but it quickly becomes obvious your heart isn’t in it. Your anger turns to sadness. You collapse in tears and she pulls you to her without a second thought, holding you close.

despite her sharran devotion, she starts whispering how things can get better, how they will change. How the first step is letting people in.

her hand wound throbs as she comforts you. But in this moment she knows she’d pick you every time.

things are easier from then on, knowing she is with you.

[koqabear]

(Un)Professional

♫: te pongo mal, Kali Uchis

“When Soobin struck up the proposition to be friends with benefits, he did it under the guise of remaining single and focusing on his music, adamant on keeping things “professional”— god forbid anyone else tries to get with you though, because maybe he didn’t really mean it when he told you no strings attached.”

Soobin x fem!reader

Genre: fwb to ???, pwp, kinda angst, smut, rockstar!au

Word count: 4.5K

warnings: soobin is actually kinda mean and toxic but they have their little redemption arc idk TT… barely edited sorry

smut warnings: mean/hard dom! soobin, sub!mc, mc is kinda bratty, so also brat tamer soobin hehe, rough sex, unprotected sex, pet names, (pretty, baby, etc.) possessiveness, jealousy, degrading, thigh riding, dry humping, breast play, edging, marking, biting, oral (f. rec.), fingering, dacryphilia, hair pulling, dumbification, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: this is a mini series that was made simply because i am an indecisive loser. don’t ask why i was listening to reggaeton for a rockstar au, it just happened 😭 also i wrote all these parts after midnight bc that’s the only time i was able to write i guess— in other words… don’t expect too much from this. 

Soobin doesn’t do relationships. 

There’s no room for something as fragile as that in his life, at least not when he’s traveling to a new state every day for his tours— the last thing Soobin would ever do is fuck up what he already has just for something as fickle as love. 

However, he is a man with needs— needs that are gladly fulfilled by you, his pretty best friend that always travels with them. 

He’s known you long enough to have struck up this arrangement confidently; knowing there would be no strings attached, not able to form any feelings for someone he’s been content being just friends with for— well, forever. 

So this— his pounding heart, his brows that furrow together with frustration, his hands that grip his microphone a little tighter— is definitely new. 

There is no logical reason as to why he should be feeling like this; there’s no logical explanation as to why it’s been such an eyesore to watch Yeonjun interact with you the whole night, watching the way the man not so subtly sends winks and coy smiles in your direction, Soobin’s lips being bitten at as he watches the way you merely smile cutely in response. 

You don’t even act this way with him; every time you’ve come to their shows, you’ve always made it a point to act normal whenever Soobin comes around— just enough excitement to make you seem like a fan, but not enough to make it seem like you know him— you’ve learned this the hard way.

“Tone it down a bit next time, yeah?” Soobin told you once, as you laid in his hotel bed and surfed through the tv channels with droopy eyes, “If we’re gonna keep doing this, we should be professional about it.”

His words garnered a massive roll of your eyes— what the fuck did he even mean by that? It’s a concert, of course you had to seem excited— but it seems as though you took his comment to heart, watching the way your excitement dies down the moment Soobin approaches your side. 

No one’s watching you— no one cares about what faces you make or what you say when Soobin stands before you, but the thought of him telling you to keep it professional pisses you off so much that you decide to show him just how good of an actress you are; the difference of reactions is almost incredible, and you take in the way Soobin’s eyes narrow at the sight of you. 

There’s no reason he should get mad— after all, there’s nothing between you. 

Agreeing to this was a stupid idea. What kind of a self-destructive freak agrees to be friends with benefits with someone they had feelings for? A self-destructive freak like you apparently, because as you watch Soobin leave with one last glance at you, you can’t help but wish that he was just a bit mad. 

The two of you distract yourselves in your own ways; Soobin tries not to visit your section for the rest of the night, and you try to get the attention of the rest of the members in response— and the boys, surprised to see your excited attitude when they come around, are more than happy to oblige— and if the fans noticed that Soobin seemed to be in a bad mood for part of the show, well, that’s on him.

You feel a bit more tired than usual by the time the concert ends— you’re not sure why, but you find yourself trudging backstage because of that; maybe you should just go to the hotel instead of congratulating the boys for their show like you usually do. 

“Oh, hey ___!” Yeonjun spots you before you can turn on your heels and exit; you’re immediately putting on a bright smile as the said man throws an arm around you, still in his encore outfit as he drags you along the halls and undoubtedly to where the rest of the members are, “What’d you think of the concert? It was good huh?”

“As always,” you smile, nudging Yeonjun softly as he clearly waits for you to continue, “You were great out there, your energy was insane.”

“Why thank you,” he purrs, leaning in and watching as you scoff at him playfully, “Watching you enjoy yourself practically gave me all the energy I needed.”

You don’t find yourself surprised by his comment; Yeonjun is always like this, his flirty and suggestive behavior nothing out of the ordinary as you simply scold him to get out of your face— you’re so caught up in bickering with the man that you don’t notice the heated stare of another, brows twitching at the way you laugh and play along with Yeonjun.

After a moment though, you feel it— your head is turning before you can really process it, and you’re meeting eyes with Soobin, who looks… well, pissed off.

Before you can get a good look at his face, he’s standing abruptly; taking long strides to where you are, your heart beginning to pound at the sight of him slowing to a stop next to you. 

“Meet me outside.” His voice is gruff and on edge as he whispers the words lowly to you, walking off without another word as you simply turn to watch— because of course he wouldn’t try to get Yeonjun off you or outwardly ask for your attention, choosing instead to relay you a quiet message before he’s off, regardless of the way everyone sends him a confused look as they watch him leave. 

“He looks mad,” Yeonjun hums, watching as you shrug his arm off gently, “Gonna try to talk to him?”

You sigh, hoping he doesn’t see the way your hands grab at the hem of your shirt anxiously. 

“Yeah,” you say, then you’re off, barely able to turn the corner once you’ve exited before you’re harshly pulled by none other than Soobin.

“Ow— what the fuck—!” Soobin’s hold on your wrist is bruising as he pushes you into the room next door, a changing room that’s not meant to hold multiple people as he simply locks the door behind him and pushes you against the wall; he doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as he approaches you— the light that comes through the frosted window on the door becomes the only thing that allows you to see Soobin’s frustrated expression. 

“Had fun flirting with the others?” He asks, his lips so close that you’re able to feel the puff of his breath as he huffs in frustration— the room is so small as you press yourself against the wall, feeling as though Soobin is filling your senses and making you dizzy, “Was that your little way to try and get my attention? Because it fucking worked, you poor little thing.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you hiss, pressing a hand against Soobin’s chest as you feel him try to swoop in to kiss you, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt to trace shapes along your skin, “I’m friends with the others too, you know.”

“Have you always been this friendly with them? Hmm?” he asks, slotting a knee between your legs as you’re left to look up at him speechlessly, “What, gonna try to fuck them next?” 

“Dude, what’s your fucking problem!” you hiss, punctuating your words with a punch to his chest as you glare at him, not lost upon the fact that his thigh is pressed firmly against your cunt, your skirt fanning along his leg and hiding the way he’s flexing and pushing it against you.

“And if I wanted to, then what?” you ask, pretending as though you haven’t given in to the way Soobin’s hands are guiding your hips, making you grind against him as he feels the way you become wet by his actions, “What’ll you do, get jealous? Try to stop me? That wouldn’t be very professional of you— I might as well ask Yeonjun if he’s free after this.”

“Don’t get fucking smart with me,” He says, a hand coming up to grab your cheeks and tilt your head toward him, “I’m not letting any other bitch get with you, touching what’s mine.”

It’s just his arrogance and possessiveness talking again— at least that’s what you tell yourself, failing to hold back your weak whimper as you roll your hips against him, feeling him press against your hip and rut his hard cock against you slowly. 

“I’m not fucking yours,” you grit out, your words muffled as you try to speak through the hold that Soobin still has on you, “The only reason why we’re still friends is so you can get a good fuck, don’t lie—”

Soobin is kissing you before you can finish your sentence— if he wasn’t angry before, he definitely was now, his teeth clashing against yours as he kisses you roughly and without control, a mess of spit as he bites down on your lip, drinking in your pained moan before he’s slipping his tongue in to get a taste.

He’s noticed the way your hips have begun to move erratically; your hands are gripping tightly at his shirt, probably stretching it out as you continue to moan into his mouth, a hand guiding your movements as he flexes and presses his thigh firmer against you, his free hand letting go of your face to slip under your shirt and get access to your breasts as he begins to roll and pinch your nipples between his fingers. 

“Do you like it when I treat you like this?” he asks breathlessly, finally pulling away to watch the way a string of saliva continues to connect you— the sight is filthy and has your brows furrowing as you bite your swollen lips in hopes to muffle your sounds, “Like you’re nothing more than a fucktoy for me to use after my shows? A good little thing to take my stress out on?”

The pleasure is beginning to build up— there’s a tight knot in your stomach, making your brain go foggy as you feel the way your clit rubs against Soobin’s thigh every time you angle your hips a certain way, feeling as you soak your panties and his sweats the longer you rut against him.

Soobin simply watches you with a small smile; his eyes are lidded as he leans back, eyes glued to the way you roll your hips against him, weak whines becoming louder and more frantic as you begin to pull at his shirt with wide, teary eyes. 

But before you can finally cum, he pulls away. You’re whining softly at the loss, hitting his chest petulantly as you curse at him under your breath— before you can land another hit, he grabs your wrists, freezing you entirely as he sends you a sly look, leaning in so he can whisper in your ear.

“You’ll let me fuck you, right? You can always go to someone else if you need to cum,” he says, waiting for your response as he begins to kiss and suck at the spot just under your ear, knowing how sensitive you are as he feels the way you attempt to curl into yourself.

“Fuck you,” you whine out, attempting to shake his hold off you, only to fail— he simply laughs softly, sinking his teeth into the marked flesh as he listens to the yelp you let out. 

“I’m trying,” he huffs out, finally pulling away as he sends you a childish grin, “Now be good and turn around for me, okay sweet thing?”

The nickname catches you so off guard that you don’t protest the way Soobin turns you around without another word, your cheek pressed against the wall and your hands held behind your back as you continue to curse at him quietly— and judging by the way Soobin simply laughs softly, he’s definitely enjoying himself, shameless as ever as you listen to the sounds of shifting behind you.

You hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath hitches as you feel him push your panties aside, his tip brushing against your entrance— swiping at your leaking slit to gather your wetness, clearly teasing you as he takes in the way you try to push back against him, letting out a soft please as you feel his tip sink into you slightly, feeling the way you stretch around him before he’s pulling back out.

“Please? Why are you begging for me, baby?” he asks, slowly beginning to push in as he watches you rest your forehead against the wall, letting out a shaky sigh at the stretch, “I’m not here for you— you can go to another one of your toys if you’re looking for someone to worship you.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything as you feel him bottom out inside you— no matter how many times you find yourself in this situation, you can never get used to it, the size of him enough to have your eyes rolling back as you feel his tip prod at your cervix, hips flush against your ass as he begins to grind softly into you. 

It’s not enough— not for you, and certainly not for him, though he refuses to give you the pleasure of fucking you stupid so soon as he watches instead the way you begin to squirm, wanting more as you hang your head and try to fuck yourself against him— all attempts are quickly stopped as Soobin uses a hand to still your movement, firm on your waist and forcing you back against the wall as the other continues to bind your hands, pressing your fists against the small of your back and watching with a sly smile as you begin to arch in response. 

“Why are you so quiet?” he asks softly, leaning in to trail kisses along your neck, continuing his slow and agonizing pace, “Usually you’re so loud I have to keep a hand on your mouth.”

You refuse to give into him— refuse to let him hear what he wants, ignoring the ache between your legs and the fire in your stomach that just begs to be put out— but the way you’re leaking around Soobin’s length and clenching around him is giving you away, and it’s enough to have you turning away from him in hopes that he won’t be able to read your expression. 

This proves to be harder than you expected; Soobin’s hand has let go of your waist in favor to play with your clit, nimble fingers circling and pinching the bud as he begins to thrust shallowly, listening to the way you try to swallow your sounds and keep your eyes shut at the feeling— it isn’t long before he’s building you up again, taking in the way your legs shake and you begin to push back against him subconsciously, giving away just how needy you are as your fists tighten. 

You’re close, so fucking close, maybe if you stay quiet Soobin won’t notice— but, for a man who insists you two aren’t anything, he’s eerily aware of the way your body gets when you’re about to cum— meaning, all his movement immediately stops the moment you’re about to tumble over the edge, bottoming out inside you and laughing mockingly as he listens to the broken sound you let out. 

“Fuck, I’m so tired from today’s show,” Soobin groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder, beginning his slow, shallow thrusts again after a moment, “You don’t mind if I take it slow tonight, do you?”

You say nothing— you have yet to say anything that would irritate or please Soobin, and that in itself is enough to egg him on— because even if you refuse to talk, the way your body trembles from his touch and you bite your lips to suppress sounds is enough to tell him all he needs to know. 

The way you clench around Soobin when he begins to play with your clit almost has him cumming— he has to concentrate on not doing so as he takes in the weak whine you let out, your previous orgasms being built up once more as you let out a shaky sigh, listening to the wet sounds that come from the way Soobin fucks you. 

You’re trying so hard to remain neutral as he winds you up— but god, he knows you like the back of his hand, his hips rutting and rolling into you as he does everything to make you go insane, already feeling your high creep up on your from how up-tight your body is. 

“Feels good?” He asks, using your hands as leverage as he pulls you back into him for a particularly harsh thrust— the suddenness of it has you moaning loudly, your lips immediately pressing together as you feel your face grow hot— Soobin’s cocky laugh is both annoying and hot and you hate yourself for feeling that way. 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything,” he grins, picking up his pace as he watches the way you begin to break, weak moans and whines leaving you from how harshly he thrusts his cock into you, “I’ll do all the work, just stand there and look pretty, okay?”

You can feel your high approaching— it’s intense and fast, and you’re barely able to process the way your mouth falls open as you begin to chase the feeling, ready to fall over the edge and cream all over Soobin’s cock when—-

Like an absolute jerk, he pulls out. 

“You know what?” he says, talking more to himself than anything as he turns you back around and tucks himself back in, your back colliding with the wall behind you as your breath hitches, watching as he falls to his knees and sends you an innocent look, “I haven’t tasted you in so long, baby— fuck, I can’t help myself, I’ll be quick.”

Soobin is never like this— you’ve only ever experienced quickies backstage, so to say that you’re surprised to see the man dragging things out here is an understatement, letting out a shaky sigh as he throws your leg over his shoulder and scoots closer to you, burying himself under your skirt without hesitation. 

You’re practically dripping on the floor— it’s even worse when his fingers begin to prod at your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench wildly at the feeling and your hips thrust toward the sensation; Soobin’s tongue licks at your clit teasingly, taking his time to trace circles around it as he finally sinks his fingers inside you, curling them and pressing against all your sensitive spots as he takes in the way you squirm above him. 

Soobin’s face is practically suffocated by your cunt— you’re not sure how long he does this for, but he proceeds to bring you close to orgasm only to pull away a few more times, listening to the way you begin to cry and plead a bit more with each one. 

At some point— your fifth ruined orgasm, you think you’ve lost count— you find yourself pulling at his hair and begging, the words stuttered out through hiccups as you feel hot tears stream down your cheeks, pleading Soobin to let you cum as you grind your pussy along his face, feeling his tongue dip to your entrance before he’s back to teasing your clit, laughing softly at the sound before he finally emerges from under your skirt— his face is shiny and flushed as he looks up at you, sending you a grin that only has you pouting even more. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, feigning concern as he begins to run his hands along your thighs, waiting patiently for you to respond as he begins trailing kisses up your legs, hearing your soft sniffles as he reaches your inner thighs, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“Soobin,” you whine, shutting your eyes as you feel his swollen lips leave opened-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, already soaked with your arousal as he licks it up, only to begin biting and sucking at the area leisurely, “Soobin please—please let me cum, wanna cum so bad, please.”

The sound of your begging is welcomed to his ears— he looks up at you through his lashes, sparkling eyes a stark contrast to the filthy way he continues to mark your thighs, ignoring your soft whines that others will see them, please binnie…

“Others will see them?” he repeats, clenching his jaw at the way you nod frantically, a clear concern in your eyes— slowly, he stands, hooking your leg over his waist as he presses himself against you, hissing softly at the way you immediately soak through his sweats, “So what? Let them see. That way they know what happens when we’re alone.”

“But… we shouldn’t— you said we need to keep this hidden…” His words are nothing but confusing— you’re sure it reads on your face, because Soobin is aligning his cock with your entrance once more, chuckling softly at your expression before he shakes his head in exasperation.

“Did I? Well, I don’t wanna hide it anymore,” he says, eyes lidded and filled with need as he sinks himself slowly into you; your eyes are threatening to flutter shut at the sensation, only to be stopped at the feeling of Soobin cupping your chin, telling you softly look at me. before he finally bottoms out.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says, and you’re more than ready to respond with another mean comment before he continues, “And that I’m all yours. Don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

“W…what—?” your words are being cut short by the feeling of him fucking into you again, a hand coming up to grab his shoulder and your leg pulling him in closer in fear of having your orgasm ruined again— Soobin simply huffs, his hands going to hold onto your hips to fuck into you better, indulging in your fucked out face and dazed eyes as he smiles softly; slowly, he’s leaning in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. 

“‘m so fucking stupid for starting all this,” he laughs softly, holding back a moan at the way you clench around him, your nails digging into your shoulder slightly, “Told myself I’d never catch any feelings like this— fuck, look at me now…”

“Just wanna keep you for myself— maybe I’m being selfish but… fuck,” you think you’re getting the gist of what he means— your free hand comes up to tangle itself in his hair as you close the gap between the two of you, hoping that you’re not misinterpreting his words as you feel him fuck you faster, setting a rhythm that has your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open, so wound up from tonight that you think your legs might give out any moment now. 

“Soobin,” you whine out, pulling at his hair and shirt as you begin bucking your hips at him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock as you whine, “Please let me cum— please please please, need it so bad, just wanna cum, please?”

The way you’re whining and begging is more than enough to Soobin; he’s gripping your hips and fucking you harder, eyes widening slightly at the way your sounds increase in volume, too fucked dumb to even realize.

“Shit,” Soobin grits out, planting his hand on your mouth and telling you to quiet down, “You were really holding back, huh? There’s my girl, all loud and pretty for me.”

He’s cooing softly at the way tears well up in your eyes and spill promptly after; running over his skin, biting at his lip to suppress sounds of his own as he feels the way you become impossibly tight around him.

“You gonna cum? Pretty doll just wants to cream my cock, finally had enough of me using you, right?” The way you’re nodding mindlessly only spurs Soobin on, insanely turned on by the way you’ve become fucked stupid, “Come on baby, show me how good you feel, been waiting patiently to cum, such a perfect doll.”

He’s cooing softly and talking you through your orgasm— you don’t even realize that your legs have given out, and Soobin’s hands are flying to support you as he holds you up, pressing himself fully against you and grinding his hips into you as your head falls on his shoulder; your sounds are muffled by the fabric of his hoodie as you bury your head further into him, pressed entirely against the wall and left to Soobin’s mercy as you allow him to continue rutting into you slowly.

“Binnie,” you whine out, right next to his ears as you begin to speak quietly to him, “Want you to cum inside, fill me up please? Never wanted any other guys but you, just wanna feel you cum inside, please…”

Your soft pleas set Soobin off immediately— his hips are bucking into you so roughly that your body is jolting with every thrust, his head burying itself in your neck as he lets out a soft groan— you then feel the way he fills you up, warm cum staying inside from the way he continues to fuck you well after he’s calmed down, his shuddering breaths on your skin enough to know that how sensitive he is.

For a moment, you just stay there; pressed against the wall as Soobin slowly pulls his cock out of you, feeling the way his release begins to drip out from how much he filled you— your chest is heaving against his as you attempt to catch your breath, legs still weak as you take advantage of Soobin’s strength to help hold you up. 

Soobin’s arms wrap around your waist; he’s pulling you in even closer, your bodies melting together as he nuzzles his head into your neck, inhaling slowly as your own hesitant hands come up to embrace Soobin.

“Sorry I was so horrible to you,” he says, littering kisses on the exposed skin of your neck before he continues, “But I did mean that whole thing about catching feelings— the timing’s horrible, I know— but….”

You hum softly, as though lost in thought, “How long have you felt like this?”

“I… this whole time,” he admits, his face growing hotter at the confession, “I was just in denial half the time we did this whole thing— god, why do you think I suggested it in the first place…?”

You hold back a laugh— Soobin however, is nervous at your lack of reaction, pulling away from his hiding place to analyze your expression.

“I’m sorry. Is this weird? I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I’m really sorry if you felt uncomfortable with anything I did today, I seriously don’t know what I was thinking—“

You’re cutting him off with a kiss— but it’s gentle this time, and you really take a moment to feel his soft lips as you feel him smile against you, his cheeks warm under your touch as you finally pull away. 

“Soobin,” you say softly, smiling fondly at the way he lets out a soft hmm? in response, “I feel the same. But yeah, you were a fucking jerk with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, cupping your face as he sports the look of a kicked puppy, eyes filled with nothing but guilt, “I’m sorry, I seriously never meant to go that far, I should’ve just asked you out like a normal person instead of being so mean.”

“I don’t know,” you say, pouting softly as his eyes widen softly, seemingly afraid of what you might say; you simply peck at his lips chastely, unable to hold back your laugh at his expression, “I kinda liked it.”

Your words are horribly confusing to Soobin— but hey, at least he knows how you feel. 

[mayhemories]

Hi could you possibly write Neteyam x reader?

- Reader is best friends with Kiri and has feelings for Neteyam

- Reader sees herself as ugly, undesirable and believes Neteyam sees her as a little sister

- Yet Neteyam loves her and respects her

- Sexual tension between Neteyam and reader. linger hands and sneaking glances

- Kiri notices and secretly sets them up one night

Best Friend's Brother

Oh Jesus Christ I loved writing every moment of this, but I kinda strayed away from your last point in the request, I'm sorry! I still hope it satisfies <3

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Just fluff, some lowkey spice. No minors, get outta here! Reader is insecure and self-conscious, Neteyam puts a stop to that rather quickly. 

Words: 3.7k

Author’s Notes: 

Neteyam is 19, reader is 18 but only a few months older than Kiri. Lo’ak and Kiri are roughly 17, moving on to 18. Lil Tuk girl queen is the same age as the movie because I will protect her childhood. How old even is she? 8? Maybe im a fake fan. 

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read below the cut:

High Camp provided so much warmth, love and safety for its people. You were not old enough to remember Hometree or the destruction of it. But you could not imagine living anywhere else but in the densely protected cave systems of the Hallelujah Mountains. 

Everyone knows everyone, all the kids play together, live together, laugh together. The community that Olo'eyktan Jake Sully, and his mate, Neytiri had fostered here was against all odds. 

Your mother was one of the most talented hunters in the clan, this love of hunting easily transferred to warmongering, alongside the leadership (or maybe the leashing of your mother’s bloodlust) from Neytiri and Toruk Macto. Neytiri and your mother grew up together, so closely. Neytiri never forgets her friends and knows every name and face of the clan. You couldn’t help but admire her for this. Your father, on the other hand, was an irreplaceable healer and herbalist. He worked alongside T’sahik Mo’at, training younger Na’vi who showed promise in interpreting the ways of Eywa’s medicinal signs. With your family’s connection to the Sully’s, it was impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to. 

You grew up with the Sully kids, being a year younger than Neteyam, their eldest, and only a few months older than Kiri and Lo’ak, the four of you would always be playing. Running through the majestic forests of Pandora, swimming through creeks, lakes and rivers, kissing the dirt as you rolled down hills into meadows of wildflowers. The older you got the closer you got to Kiri. The sister you’ll never have. 

You loved your parents, you did, but they made it clear that one child was enough for them. Your father loved the Sully’s as you did, he thought with his entire heart that Jake was the best for the clan. He was Toruk Macto, after all. Your mother, however, made things harder. She loved Neytiri like a sister, and always wished for her happiness. 

“I remember when Jake was like a baby, you know.” She would say at mealtimes, your father would have a small smile. You could do nothing but roll her eyes. “He was trouble maker, still is.” She was grumpy. You knew that she trusted Jake and saw him as a good Olo’eyktan, but the disdain grew from your friendship with his kids. 

“His boys are the same, no different.” She would always say the same thing, with the same pointed look. 

You and Kiri had just finished your rituals of womanhood the week prior. For the both of you finding a mate was expected. For Kiri, nothing was ever expected in terms of mateship. In fact it was almost the opposite.

“You never have to do something you don’t wanna do, Babygirl” Jake said, smoothing down Kiri’s wild hair. The two of you sat in the middle of the floor in the Sully’s tented home. Braiding beads into your songchords to commemorate the recent transition from child to adult. 

“What about you, (y/n)?” Neytiri asked, watching the two young girls weave their cords, reminiscing on her own bead.  

You sighed, knowing your parents had been pushing the topic for a while:

“What about Tsu-wey? Or, Marek or Teyk’ah?” Your mother said, rattling off the names of warrior boys, flinging her arms around, exasperated. You shook your head, you weren’t really interested in anyone. 

Your father, always taking the approachable, personal angle, sat next to you, tucking your shoulders under his arm. 

“What about Aäna? She’s a lovely girl-” 

“Dad!” You shot up, crossing your arms over your chest, the blood rushing to your cheeks. “It’s not that Dad, I just don’t like anyone like that yet really.” 

“You’ve got to work it out, (y/n),” Your mother said harshly, “Soon.” 

“Uh no, no I haven’t really got anyone in mind.” You replied quietly. 

“Ugh come on, lets scram.” Kiri said grabbing your wrist and practically marching you out of her family home. 

“Ughh Kiri, I only just finished my chord-oof” Your complaints were quickly cut off as Kiri stobbed abruptly, your whole body coming in contact with her back. “You skxwang! What are you doing-” 

“Brother.” Kiri chirps, cutting you off. Neteyam stood in the doorway, leaning against the timber frame, smirking. His braids fell around his face, his high cheekbones and delicate features seemed to play with the soft golden lighting of High Camp, his tail flicked subtly from side to side, amused. 

“Sister, (y/n),” Neteyam replied, sounding almost bored. “Where are you two running off to?” his fingers fiddled with his waistband, running down to his songchord. You knew you were staring, tracking the motion of his large hands, rubbing each bead, shell, and stone in between his thumb and pointer finger. It was embarrassing, you couldn’t look away, and why should you? There was nothing inappropriate about the action. Just his large, capable hands and skilled fingers…

Oh Eywa, that is enough. 

“None of your business, big brother,” Kiri said, teasing as she often did. You swore she only knew how to convey her thoughts through sarcasm and hints. 

Neteyam chuckled, his fingers resting on his crossed arms once, more. Your plain eyes found his warm, deep ones, as he said:

“I think it’s my business where my girls run off to, no?” You knew he did not mean it the way your stupid little brain heard it, you know he meant it as a brother. Nothing more, nothing less. But god, you wished you were his girl. You always had, since you were twelve. All of a sudden, you woke up one day and Neteyam was cute. Cute turned into cool, cool gave way into hot, and hot turned into so incredibly sexy as you got older. And you stayed, well awkward and plain and not much to behold. 

But, you could pretend, that was something you were good at. Rolling your eyes, you broke the contact with Neteyam, shoving Kiri with your shoulder and righting the way of the world, again. 

“The meadow.” You said flatly. 

Kiri wasn’t as much of an airhead as you seemed to think she was. She knew her best friend, and she knew her big brother. Neteyam was a loser, a goody-goody with a desperate need to be the perfect son, the perfect soldier. Around you, he became this swaggering popular guy that Kiri knew him not to be, really. Maybe around his stupid Ikran Rider friends. But never around Kiri, or Lo’ak or Tuk. He never bought that facade into their home, save for when you were in it. 

You, on the other hand, Kiri knew you like the back of her hand. You were shy, sweet and just so obviously and painfully in love with Neteyam. She watched you watch him, and him in turn trying to memorise every freckle, scar and nick on your body. 

Neteyam cleared his throat, embarrassed that Kiri had caught him, once again, stealing glances at her best friend. 

“Just be home for dinner, before eclipse, yeah?” He questioned, the muscle upon his brow bone tilting slightly upward. 

“Of course!” Kiri yelled out as the two of you ran off, hand-in-hand, giggling as you did so. Neteyam watched your retreating figures flee High Camp. Pulling his attention towards his own songchord, his most recent bead was longer than the others, a hollowed-out green gemstone, mottled with white and silver patterning. The one he chose for himself the year prior at his own ceremony, welcoming him into manhood. Neteyam smiled to himself, remembering the bead you had obviously chosen for your own ceremony, made from the same little green stone. 

Neteyam didn’t know how much longer he could go on going like this. He felt like he was walking in circles, orbiting you, waiting for his gamut to eventually crash him into you. Sighing he opened the flap to his tented family home. Maybe it was time to ask Toruk Macto for advice. 

The long grass of the meadow was a deep shade of green, almost the colour of seagrass. Its long strands waved in the breeze, tickling your face as you lay on your back, watching the clouds, birds and everything that called the clearing it’s home. You felt connected to the place, like you were in the lungs of the world, simply floating in the breath of Eywa. 

Kiri sat at your feet in the long grass, facing you, but with her knees drawn close to her chest, playing with the end of her face-framing braids. She was thinking hard, hyperfocused on a thought that was so deep-rooted it took you multiple attempts to get her attention. 

“What’s wrong my Kiri?” You asked, finally catching her eye-line, sitting up to mirror her position. 

“Nothing is wrong, why would anything be wrong?” Kiri responded, trying to act nonchalant. 

“Do not bullshit me, you penis face.” You say, pulling a smile out of her distracted figure while nudging her leg with your foot. 

“You would be my sister if you mated Neteyam, you know that right?” She asked, like she didn’t say the craziest fucking sentence you’ve ever heard in the world. 

All the air left your lungs at once, she may as well have punched you in the stomach. You were going to retch. 

“What are you talking about!” You felt the blood rush to your face, fanning itself over your nose, cheeks, ears and shoulders. Your whole chest felt like Kiri had taken a flare to it. You couldn’t bear it, you felt hot all over. You covered your face with your shaking hands. 

Oh, mother Eywa I will die here, I will die here of embarrassment and pass through to you.

“Don’t be stupid, I know you loooooove him,” She said stretching out her o’s as she so often did when teasing, she poked you a few times too, for good measure. “He obviously is pining for you too, you skxwang.” 

Kiri was a tease, she was sarcastic and blunt and hilarious. But she was not mean. Which, is why you couldn’t work out why she was being mean to you now. About something so personal, too. You felt the hot tears start to form. 

“Why are you being mean?” You asked softly, pulling your hands away from your eyes, to try and read her face. 

Kiri was taken aback by how upset you were. She did not mean it to be mean, she was serious. She quickly took you in her arms, all jokes aside. 

“Ma (y/n) why are you crying?” Kiri asked softly. You sniffled, letting the tears fall freely now. 

“You know I love Neteyam, why would you tease me like that knowing it is like stones in my heart.” You began to ramble, as you so often did when you were emotional. “Neteyam sees me as his little sister, nothing more, nothing less.” You said seriously, vehemently. Lip quivering, you felt stupid and pathetic crying about it. But now that ball of thoughts had started to be unwound in your mind you could not stop, all the words you could not say since you were twelve just fell out of your little mouth. “And besides, if Neteyam didn’t see me as just a little annoying sister, I am ugly Kiri.” Kiri started to shush you, but you did not listen.

 “I am not unique in features like you, I am not as elegant as your mother, I’m not as alluring as Aäna, or as talented as Lor’ät. I’m so fucking boring.” Your tears fell so freely down your face and neck, you felt them fall behind the straps of your breast cover. You hated it. You hated everything about you and you would never be enough for Neteyam. 

You would never be enough for anyone, really. When you thought critically about it. 

Kiri held you close as you sobbed like her mother would, smoothing down your hair like her father would. She was beyond confused about how you could ever think this about yourself. Knowing fair well what a lot of the hunter boys Lo’ak was friends with say about you, what Neteyam’s Riders say in confidence, what the healer girls under Mo’at whisper about during Kiri’s training. Usually it makes her want to gag. But in this moment she wished she told you earlier. Maybe it would’ve given you more self-confidence in a perverse roundabout way. You were so wanted. If it wasn’t for Neteyam’s possessive nature of you, you could have anyone you wanted. Kiri reasoned, that if Neteyam wasn’t going to let anyone else have you, but not move on you himself, Kiri would have to set it up.

You and Kiri came back to High Camp, just before dinner and just after you finally stopped crying. You asked Kiri to never talk about the whole thing, preferring to just shove the whole thing into a little lockbox, throwing it away into the undercurrent of your consciousness. 

You stopped dead in your tracks infront of Kiri’s home, hearing Jake’s laugh and Tuk’s squeals. Neteyam was in there. No, you couldnt it was way to fresh. To have dinner with them would be the last petal in your funerary basket. 

“Come, lets eat.” Kiri whined, pulling on your arm. You stood firm like an island of stone against the tide. 

“I think I will eat with my parents tonight, I’m sorry.” You said in a low voice. “I’ll be back to normal tomorrow I promise.” You quickly added, to appease your headstrong sister. 

“Okay.” Kiri said softly, taking both of your hands into her five-fingered ones. “It’s all going to sort itself out, (y/n). I promise.” 

The usually short walk across High Camp to your family home felt unusually long, cold and dark.

Kiri flopped down on the woven mats around the firepit with a huff. Next to Jake and Neteyam, Kiri was hungry and angry and sad for her friend. 

“Hey , Babygirl.” Jake said, kissing Kiri on her forehead. Jake looked toward the door, confused. “Where’s my other beautiful girl?” Jake asked, confused. (y/n) always joined them for dinner, he couldn’t remember a night her presence had been missed since she was born. 

Kiri sighed, big and deep. “She’s having dinner with her parents.” 

“What has happened?” Neytiri asked, serving dinner on a leaf for little Tuk. 

Kiri felt internally conflicted. It was not her business to share, not her secrets to lay bare. But her best friend was hurting, and the skxwang next to her was the only one who could fix it. But (y/n) never begs for anything, and she begged Kiri the whole walk home to say nothing. 

She could not say nothing, but she did not have to say anything, either. 

“(y/n) was sad, about finding a mate. Her parents are really hard on her about it.” Kiri was not one to lie, and this was not a lie she convinced herself. But not the whole truth either. 

“Bro, that’s so stupid. Literally everyone is asking her mom for courting meetings.” Lo’ak piped up. His sentence muffled due to his full fucking face of food. Kiri screwed her face up.

“Courting meetings? What do you mean?” Neteyam looked panicked. The face he usually reserved for Lo’ak’s antics on the field. 

“I don’t know man, some of the guys were talking about it today during lessons. But her Dad keeps turning them away for now.” Lo’ak answered, shrugging nonchalantly, stuffing his face still, despite the family’s disgust. 

Kiri stared at Neteyam, reading every inch of his face as he calmed down. He was running out of time, she knew it. But, Neteyam looked at Jake. Jake raised his eyebrows at his eldest son, turning his head slightly and shrugging. It was a shared look, Neteyam knew exactly what Jake meant, though Kiri felt left in the lurch. 

The Sully’s did not talk about it for the rest of dinner, thankfully. 

Neytiri was putting Tuk to bed. Jake, in a rare moment was teaching Lo’ak how to properly clean a gun. Kiri sat, next to Neteyam, running her hands up and down her own songchord, anxiously. Neteyam was evidently anxious too, his legs pulled up close to his chest, he stared at the fire pit as if the answers were going to lash out and brand him. 

“She is in love with you, Neteyam.” Kiri said softly. Neteyam felt like he was going to pass out and bleed from his nose. 

“I don’t think so baby sister,” Neteyam ruffled her hair, trying to present himself in a lighthearted way, despite his creeping blush. Kiri smacked his hand away. 

“Listen to me, you idiot.” Kiri’s serious voice felt like a hot knife running through Neteyam’s soul. She never sounded this way, this upset. “She loves you. And, and she thinks that you only think of her as a little sister.” Neteyam chuckled at that, he never treated her the way he treated Kiri and Tuk. Surely, that was obvious, no? “I know. I laughed too.” Kiri said with a small smile. She took Neteyam’s hands into her own, like she did with you only a few hours prior.

“Neteyam, she thinks that she’s ugly, that she will never be enough for you. She thinks she’s not talented.” Kiri’s round eyes filled with empathetic tears for her best friend, thinking back on your small frame sobbing in the long grass. 

Neteyam’s blush soon turned to anger. His heart finding the possessive pit that he reserves only for his feelings for you.  “I do not understand, does she not know that everyone wants her?” Neteyam hissed in a low voice, Eywa forbid, Neytiri heard him talk about how the other boys of the clan view (y/n). Neteyam hated how they spoke of her body, her face, her mind. Her beautiful voice and nimble hands. Only he was allowed to think of you like that. And the Great Mother only knows how they think of you at night, how they think of you when they- 

Neteyam stopped himself before he went any further. He knew how he thought about you at night when he has a hand between his thighs. 

“She does not know.” Kiri said, bringing Neteyam back to the forefront of his mind. “I have never told her.” 

Neteyam’s heart swelled in a terrible way. You were so sweet, so innocent, you did not know that boys rutted into their own hands at the thought of the way your waist dips, or the mound of your breast. He needed to protect you, and Jesus, he thought he had by laying an unofficial possessive claim. But, it seems that the future Olo’eyktan has been ignored. 

A growl fell out of Neteyam’s mouth. To Kiri it looked like a dark light fell over her brother’s features. A man possessed. He stood, cracking his neck and shoulders, like he always did, but this time Kiri flinched. She had never seen Neteyam so…scary. 

“I will fix this tomorrow, sister.” Was all Neteyam said, as he retreated to the sleeping quarters of their home. 

(y/n) did not sleep a wink. All she could see in her mind’s eye was Neteyam. Neteyam laughing with other girls, Neteyam riding with other girls. How they wave to him when he walks past.

Neteyam. Neteyam. Neteyam. 

You felt so guilty, so, so guilty. As the night went on your thoughts went south, went dirty and wrong. You dreamt about kissing Neteyam; How soft his lips would feel against your own. His rough, calloused hands would hold your face in place and he would kiss you like he loved you, kissed you like he meant it. 

Simply, you did not deserve to hold romantic thoughts about Neteyam in your heart like that. He was not yours. He would never be. 

You quick hands made light work of the repair you were currently undertaking. You enjoyed your work as clan seamstress. Fixing, making loin cloths, beading breast covers and threading jewellery. You enjoyed the freedom to create things, but to also be useful to your clan. You could never offer them safety, food, medicine or freedom. But you could make sure they were warm in the cool rains, and protected from the glistening sun in the heat of the day. 

You folded the repaired loincloth, placing it to the side. Ready for its owner to pick it up when they had a moment to spare. 

The flap to the tent flew open, causing you to jump out of your skin. The last person you wanted to see stood in the entry way, ripped loincloth in hand. 

“Good morning, Neteyam.” You said softly, casting your gaze downwards. He quickly sat across from you, legs crossed like a child. 

“Well, it’s good now.” He smiled brightly. You felt all the blood run to your cheeks. “Do you uh, do you mind fixing this for me?” He said, stumbling over his own words, handing over the dark green textile. 

“Of course, easy fix.” Your fingers brushed his and you felt like your hands had been set on fire. Shaking, you began stitching the fabric back together. You knitted your brows together as you worked, not wanting to see his face any longer, the more you stared at your hands, the worse they shook. This tear made no sense, it was cleanly cut with a knife. Neteyam had purposely ripped his own loincloth. “How did this even happen?” You asked. 

“I needed an excuse to come and see you, my (y/n).” Neteyam spoke softly, reaching out to take one of your hands, distracting them from their job. His eyes caught yours, and you knew you were done. So warm, so full of life and love. 

“Neteyam-” You started, but he cut you off. Something of which Neteyam had never done before. 

“I know you do not see yourself how I see you.” He started, his stare holding you to the spot, you sent a brief prayer to Eywa, that this was not some cruel trick. “You are the most beautiful creature that has ever walked these lands. You care so deeply for the people, the forest.” His hand ran the length of your arm, goosebumps rising in his wake. “I see you. I love you. I want you.” Neteyam said vehemently. 

You felt everything, everywhere, all at once. Everything you have ever wanted to hear had fallen out of his mouth like it was always meant to be. It sounded so right. It sounded natural and real. It was so out of character for Neteyam, to be so open, so raw and honest with his feelings. 

So, under the guise of love, you acted out of character too. Like for like. 

Taking his beautiful, soft face between your small, shaking hands, you kissed him. Pulling away for breath, you remembered what needed to be said.

“I have always seen you, Neteyam.” 

[writingoddess1125]

hiii, could you do a Sanji x reader in which the reader has an eating disorder and Sanji's food is the only one that the reader eats and when Sanji discovers this he tries to take more care of the reader's diet?

(I love your writing, it's so good)

So this does hit very close to home for me and it both made me feel good and cry while writing this.

I did twist this a bit as well, but I hope it's still okay!

I also made this GN since this can happen to Anyone.

Warmth

⚠️Warning: ⚠️ Mention of ED, issues with food and body issues.

Please support me in Ko-Fi

"It's called Shio Ramen, it's a lighter form of ramen made with a much gentler broth. It's not as heavy as normal ramen and doesn't have as much oil" He said calmly, watching your eyes look over it.

You should have realized he had been watching you- from the very beginning you should have known that the Nosey Chef would catch onto you sooner rather then later.

You had always loved food, but you felt like it just.. didn't love you in return. Especially when it was used as a weapon by your loved ones.

From people pushing that 'You're just picky' or 'Just wanting to look a certain way' since you were young at your... aversions. It all starting with your family and the lack of control you felt over your life... it had been a way to control something- even if it was as small as food and how you wanted to look physically.

You had been on the brink of self destruction when the Strawhats arrived on your island home, of course their swirling of chaos following them-

Needing a Barber for their crew, so you jumped at the opportunity to join them; running away from the shackles of your home and the onces youd once called your family to new adventure and freedom.

However some shackles still remained..

It had some weeks, close to a month on board the Strawhat Ship before you even ate Sanji's food, passing your plate to Liffy who would eat it up or not showing up to meals at all-.

If you did he'd often making you bowls which you would take single spoonfuls of before not taking more- eating only when you were sure no one was around and what you had been used to, if you decided at all.

But as time passed, you did gradually eat more of his cooking- trusting him more as you wouldn't skin meal times or take single bites anymore, while it tasted good- you always felt that anxiety rise up eventually..

You should have known he would have seen this all.. noticed your actions and ways. Planning his next move-

Which took place on a sleepy late afternoon.

Sitting in your quarters you were trying to read a book Nami had let you borrow, but your mind just kept drifting off in a daze as you watched the sea pass you by- as well as the memories of the past invading and poking your mind.

A soft knock snapping you from your whirlpool of thoughts as you look up to see Sanji, calmly staring at you. His coat off and only in a button-down, his nice pants and freshly polished shoes a unlit cigarette placed perfectly on his lip as he smiled softly at you.

"Hey (Y/N)- follow me for a sec?" He asked, you of course nodding as you rose and followed behind your peer down the corner- being lead right to the kitchens.

Anxiety hitting your chest then as he motioned for you to seat on one of the island benches in the kitchen.

Sitting down you nervously look at the chef as he calmly walked around to the stoves on the otherside of the island countertop.

You assuming he was going to scold you for not eating or put you on blast...

"How do you like it on the ship so far?" He asked innocently as he began to grab a pot. There ge had you watch him as he cooked- You watched the ingredients he picked, how he washed his hands with every step asking what things were to your taste which he cleverly hid in casualy conversation...

It was actually fun to watch, the care and time he put into cooking and talking to you- Truthfully it had actually started to look delicious and smell good as well as you watched him pour a light broth over Fluffy noodles you'd watch him make by hand.

Not a word had to be said after that, Instead he sat next to you calmly with his own bowl and began to silently eat. Tears welling in your eyes as you grabbed the spoon and took a sip of the hot broth- Warmth filling your stomach and chest- finally that cold anxiety started to ease away as the soft flavors of the warm Shio Ramen filled your senses.. like a blanket beging placed over your shoulders... it was just what you needed... what you'd always needed.

"You want to try some?" He asked, getting a hesitant nod from you. He smiled softly, setting the already prepared bowl infront of you before making his own.

Sanji glanced at you and held out his handkerchief to you, At first confused before realizing salty tears were rolling down your cheeks. Accepting the gift you cleaned up your face and set back into eating, smiling softly to yourself as you did so.

It finally felt like... someone cared- And what more could you ask for?

Maybe a second helping?..

[recursivetransformarray]

still working out if/what I want to do with these guys and their lore is pretty vague, but playing around with designs is a lot of fun either way :) writing under cut

LRTS and SI are part of the same local group (and are a very blatant reference to another video game, although mostly in name only). LRTS is directly over top a fairly popular entrance to the Void Sea, so his city ended up with a lot of religious foot traffic, a fact he loves to boast; after all, he was able to serve his creators till the very end. He still dutifully carries out his work despite this, as some sort of payback, perhaps. By the time anyone thinks to contact SI after hearing the Ancients died out, she's completely unresponsive, likely having circumvented the self-destruction taboo and lobotomized herself long ago with the help of a legion of purposed organisms. Ascension was not the goal, rather the ability to simply not think, and she seems to have succeeded. Unfortunately, two of these organisms are still active and one, the Legionary, is very eager to erase as much life as it can now that its primary purpose has been fulfilled. It's really not that smart. The other organism, the Vigilante, was designed to herd others to specific weak points in SI's system, but is likely too weak to ward off the other lone survivor.

LRTS and SI hated each other, primarily due to a complete and utter clash of ideals, and he was happy to see her gone. however, with their cans being the closest in proximity to one another, it's likely the Legionary has gone to him next.

Legionary's based on Miros Birds and Centiwings with a slugcattish base, and Vigilante is primarily a red centipede with a vaguely bipedal stance, they're both partially repurposed Overseers as well. I swear they were both slugcats until I decided it'd be more fun to fuck with their designs a bit, lol

IS is primarily just me fucking with a design, so I haven't thought about much for her, but I like to think of her as an iterator made by another iterator, perhaps as a proof-of-concept for them being able to take over the world as the next species, but it proved too time-consuming and costly. her can is small, and situated near an ocean.

[spacexseven]

Thinking about a lil au idea of DOA or Rats of the House of the dead being basically your cult in the god reader idea.

Of course, the other “members” of the cult don’t see you in that much of a big light as Fyodor does (he’s the only one to be THAT devoted to you, really). But they are still members, and little by little they just

Start to like the idea wholeheartedly.

(I love the god reader idea so much it has me in a chokehold rn)

!! anime only's, you have been warned! the following includes spoilers for 2/3 of the unknown (as of now) members of the doa, and other stuff involving the doa.

i'm not writing for kamui 'cos this was a little long as it was. also am sticking w doa 'cos im more comfortable writing for nikolai, sigma and my little vampire rockstar :^^

cw: its kind of a cult, yandere themes (near the end)

you had always known that the rats were only the beginning of fyodor's reign.

and maybe he knew that too—you could hear the soft smile in his voice when he asked you if you thought that the decay of the angel was a better-suited name for an organization that would carry out his plans and catalyze the great destruction you always said he would bring. you don't grace him with an answer, though even you have to agree that it was a name that, once uttered, could unsettle the bravest souls and fill them with trepidation. it was a fitting choice; symbolic, powerful, and ominous.

if anything, the other members were just as unpredictable and unnerving as fyodor was to you once. nikolai was the first you met. you later learned that he went against fyodor's words to come see you, seized by curiosity. bitterly, you realized that the reason why he stared at you so much was because he was studying you, like one would an insect. you almost wanted to seize some of that divine order you had and strike him down for being so blatant about his interest. but when you thought about how fyodor could never look you in the eyes, and how lonely it was as his god, you found yourself taking a liking to the eccentric clown.

there was a side to him, however, you're not sure you like at all. bloodied hands and a wicked grin to match, when anyone else seeks your time. fascination that was both lustful and violent in nature, and a possessive grip that didn't seem to let go of you.

"time for a quiz!" nikolai exclaims, "will the decay of the angel succeed?"

"of course," a wry smile plays at your lips, "who else has a god on their side?"

he laughs in response, loud and uninhibited. it's the most noise that's ever filled your room

sigma was a mystery that had too many missing pieces to be solved. a part of you could sympathize with him, having lost your own self to the blurred-together years and the exhaustion that came with being the only one with your level of sentience. however, you don't let yourself think about the book fyodor had used to create sigma, and what it meant to you. there are some things, you decide, that are best kept to yourself. some things that fyodor should never learn about.

sigma, in your first meeting, was slightly awkward; a perfectly natural response, but not in awe of your presence, not like fyodor. his voice was firm, but not unkind, and his words were respectful, but not...obedient. it was perfect.

in sigma, you found an unlikely friend. he told you about the mundane happenings in the outside world; a customer caught cheating, an employee that struggled to keep up, all the paperwork that was involved in the running of a casino in the sky. these things, as compared to your daily life, were nothing of the sort you would care about, but you listened all the same. regardless, you could tell sigma appreciated the sentiment.

you, however, don't appreciate his strange habits. recently, you think, he's been acting a little too much like fyodor. as much as you liked sigma for the natural ease that you felt by his presence, you couldn't brush off the ominous feeling that came with sigma seeking you out more and more. you start feeling like he's looking for validation of some kind from you, one you didn't wish to provide in fear that he may find this an encouragement. he reaches out for your hand often, something you might find amusing if not for the way his hand trembles.

"are you planning to leave?" nikolai, knowing the fool, must have said something to scare sigma.

"no," you say simply, "not yet."

"so you will leave," sigma frowns. you've seen that look directed to many a clumsy employee and messy files, but never to you. it's almost frightening, "don't you like it here?"

"besides, i..." he stops himself, "dostoevsky won't let you go. and...i don't want you to either. you should stay. we take care of you too, don't we?

unlike most people, you weren't surprised to see bram stoker. though in your memory, he was a lot more...whole and formidable of an opponent. more than that, you remembered him as a man turned into a monster that brought unimaginable destruction because of an ability he never asked for. it was a strange reminder of how much had really changed over the years. now, he seemed sullen, and defeated; it was a depressing sight.

now, he was exhausted. you could tell he didn't want to be here, with the decay of the angel. you could also tell that something was terribly wrong with the sword that was inside him and the pained look in his eyes. fyodor tells you of a kamui when he brings the coffin in, and just by the current state of bram and the utterance of his name, you know already you would not get along with him.

bram doesn't ask you questions, not about why you were here, or what you were doing for all those years. he doesn't explain his situation, and you don't pry. you can put the pieces together by yourself, and when it dawns on you what the kamui planned to do with bram, you realize that there were greater evils than fyodor.

there's a silent solidarity between you and bram, perhaps stemming from being something non-human. you get him the radio he's always wanted, insist that he be allowed to converse with you more often, and so on. these days, bram talks more, and it almost feels like you're talking to an old friend. bram's lived through some, though not most, of the things you have, and he remembers what nobody else does. you wonder, one day, if the two of you could have been friends had you met a lot earlier, and if you hadn't brushed off the news about the vampire ability user the first time. when you voice this out to him, bram has the most adorable reaction. your words make his eyes widen and, stupified, cause him to awkwardly change the topic, fumbling over his next few words.

ah, now you really wish you went to see him earlier.

it's that odd sensation of having a friend, caring for another, that urges you to offer your help to bram. you tell him you can get him out of here, out of the mortal angels' grasp; somewhere safe. you say you can help him regain his former state, help him survive within the shadows of humanity, like you had before. kamui, fyodor, or the doa; nothing will be able to stop you if you really wanted to make it happen, regardless of how complacent you were now.

at the very least, you thought, he might be pleased. grateful. maybe not elated, but, at the very least, relieved. instead, bram looked shocked. you can't tell if the idea horrifies him because he doesn't think you can do it, or because he believes that the decay of the angel was the only connection you had to him. perhaps he thought that saving him, freeing him, would also mean removing yourself from his life. you almost felt bad—you were very likely bram stoker's only friend in his miserable life.

still, you're not quite sure what to think when he extends his stay and starts contemplating, seriously, to cooperate with kamui. you can't wrap your mind around why he'd want to stay, and the possible loss of so many lives as a result unsettles you deeper than it does him, but he's steadfast in his decision. he tells you, with an unfamiliar tinge of scorn, that he was tired of trying to protect people, when all they did was try to kill him.

"if you're so sure, i suppose i'll have to stay here with you." concern weighs heavily on your mind, but more than that, suspicion lingers.

bram smiles, then, and seemingly relaxes in his coffin. an uncomfortable feeling seizes your chest. how had you not noticed?

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

I haven't seen it yet but full hc for the m6 with an MC on the ADHD spectrum

The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC who has ADHD

~ @themushroomgoesyeet hope you like these! I'm writing half from personal experience, half from what I've read and heard. Please let me know if there's anything that need correcting! ~

Julian

ADHD is a less familiar subject for him, if only because his areas of specialty so far have been contagious diseases and battle wounds

He's also not really one to judge you for difficulty keeping a sleep schedule, self-medicating with caffeine, or spending days on end obsessively learning everything you can about a specific subject

What's abundantly clear to him, though, is that you do not deserve to live with the guilt that comes from your own brain hijacking every commitment and interest that it doesn't prioritize

He knows what it's like to feel guilty for something that wasn't your fault, and he doesn't like seeing you live with it

The way he sees it, he's even more to blame for his shortcomings than you are, because you're actively working against your own brain and he's just ... sad (you'll have to tell him that this is not true)

This is going to become one of those shared challenges you tackle together as a couple

He'll write down all the bad effects of too much caffeine to motivate him to reduce your combined intake

You remind him to go to bed with you at a decent hour and call it "poetry time" instead of "bedtime" to trick both of your brains into not thinking of it as the end of the day

Asra

They love you. They love you so much. They never, ever want to get in the way of your preferences and vision

He enables you maaaybe a little more than he should

Staying up late is a great idea! Spending the entire day on your current fixation with no break to go outside or talk to people? Hey, don't let them ruin your fun ~

Thankfully, he cares about you far too much to leave you to engage in anything genuinely self destructive

Once the amount of caffeine you've consumed goes from "inadvisable" to "concerning," once your sleep schedule goes from "not ideal" to "dysfunctional", they'll step in in the gentlest way

Another cup of coffee? Let him get you some soothing tea. Another all-nighter? Snuggle him first, let him help you meditate a bit and see if you don't get drowsy

Nobody can combat executive dysfunction like this magician

All it takes is them feeling the slowly building dread through your bond, and they're lovingly poofing you off of the couch/floor/counter and into a very ticklish hug

His lifestyle is heavily ADHD coded as it is. He remains completely unfazed by the roller coaster that your brain can be

Nadia

To her, you are the best possible version of her opposite

She has a hard time changing between trains of thought. You reboot yours every time you walk through a door!

She sometimes forgets to slow down and appreciate the small things in favor of the bigger picture. You, on the other hand, are constantly pausing to notice them

And don't get her started on how much she admires your capacity to learn so much specialized knowledge in such a short period of time. It's truly astonishing and she adores it

However, she can tell that leaving it unchecked and untreated will make it difficult for you to function in the Palace's normal setup, much less follow regular routines

Quick to find a specialist in your condition and set up a few sessions with them, coming up with ways to work with your diagnoses and exploring medication options that you like

Insanely good at helping you keep your mind on track and regulate your attention and focus levels, even when it means pulling you away from a task that's about to eat up half your day

Likes to idly study the chaotic way you manage your personal spaces and try to figure out what the method to the madness is

Muriel

What, you think he's not used to living with a chaotic being that'll start three projects in a row before randomly walking out and not reappearing for several hours? Please.

Truthfully, there are some small things that annoy him. He likes predictability, and your base state of functioning is taking the next random tangent. That's not easy to not worry about

However, he knows that living with him takes plenty of patience as well. As long as you two can be patient with each other's quirks, and respectful when you lovingly intervene, that's what matters

He still loves hearing you ramble

He likes watching your eyes light up, listening to the excited lilt of your voice as you infodump all the new specialized knowledge you've gobbled up

That aside, he does love learning. Each of your new fixations is a new field of education for him by proxy

He's also someone who thrives on habit and routine and isn't afraid to put his foot down when your wellbeing is involved

He will scoop you up in his arms and lovingly carry you to bed when the bags under your eyes get too prominent and you start to nod off mid-sentence

Portia

Portia looks at you like you hung the moon. Portia thinks that every magical thing you do is mind-blowingly amazing. Portia assumes that all of your little quirks and non-habits are just you being you

Hey, if finding one specific food and eating it and only it for days on end is something you want to do, cool! Maybe it's secretly satisfying some magician's craving!

You're going to think about one thing and one thing only and learn everything there is to know about that thing? That's some badass scholarly behavior right there.

Well - except for the part where you forget something exists as soon as it's not in your hand anymore, or where time really does seem like a social construct, or where you somehow get physically and mentally stuck in one spot without being able to move

That looks ... miserable

Nobody can manage chaos like she can. She'll help you snap out of it, she'll remind you to eat and sleep and take your meds, she'll regularly ask when last you went outside or took a bath

And when you mess up - when you miss an event, or fall behind schedule, or leave things to pile up until they're too much - she'll be right next to you with an encouraging smile and plenty of grace

Lucio

This works either really well or really poorly, depending on the day, how he's doing, how you're doing, what you're both supposed to be doing, what the weather's like ...

It's unpredictable, but that's the fun of it!

Much of the time, your strong points support each other. There are few feelings Lucio hates more than boredom, but with a brain like yours around, there's always something new to try or think about

Few things cause the kind of bone-deep discouragement and guilt that constantly missing things does, but nobody values the importance of trying again like he does

On the other hand, sometimes you accidentally enable each other

Lucio's still learning the self-regulation involved with choosing to do something unpleasant and important over doing something enjoyable and completely useless

And if your brain decides that said pleasant thing is the only thing it's going to function for, well, not getting sidetracked is almost impossible. Good luck to you both

Thankfully, you both have a lifestyle that allows for unusual schedules and working styles. As long as you have each other to keep trying growing, you'll never get stuck for long

[ithebookhoarder]

Javier Peña req (and Steve as bestie). Y/n is their partner and is feeling extremely burnt out; running on empty, coffee, cigarettes and not much else. She’s barely sleeping or eating and constantly has a tight chest and racing heart. They both know something is up with her but she just shrugs it off until one day, Javi is out on a raid and she reaches her breaking point. Steve manages to get her home but can’t reach Javi until he gets back to the embassy etc. Also, please could you throw in a little Carrillo cause😍

Burned Out (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: I’ve missed Narcos and my DEA boys, so thank you for this prompt, whoever sent this in. I really appreciate it. I’ve been in a bit of a slump recently with writing for this blog, so it’s great to have something to focus on and pour myself in to - hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, alcohol, reference to depressive / self destructive behaviour, description of a panic attack, mild smut, canon-typical violence, death, reference to drugs / overdosing. 

Masterlist

You knew exactly when it started. When you began to feel yourself beginning to sink downwards into the quicksand that was your life. 

It was a bad day… well, a worse day, if you were being honest, given that life in general in Bogota was hard and full of bad days that left you feeling numb inside. Whereas you were normally able to banish the darkness by spending time with the friends you had collected since your arrival to the city, not even Javi’s gentle kisses or Steve’s dirty jokes or Connie’s homemade deserts could do the trick. 

The day had been bad for many reasons.

One, you’d lost a contact with direct links to Escobar, that you’d spent weeks working on. 

Two, you had lost them in a drive-by shooting that had killed not only them but countless civilians too. 

Three, some of your asshole colleagues decided to spill coffee all over your files meaning you were forced to work late to re-type them up for a briefing the following morning. Even though you had got it done, you knew you had likely missed some details, the ink far too smudge to even begin to try and understand what had previously been written. 

However, that day had only been the start of it. The start of the downwards spiral you found yourself tumbling into. 

Sure, the others had noticed there was a change about you. Yet, it wasn’t as if they knew what was causing it or how to fix it. 

Javi especially knew what you were like - you were like him after all. Spilling your guts wasn’t your natural reaction to handling things. You kept your emotions bottled up inside of you, cramming more and more in, forcing that lid to remain firmly screwed in place even as the pressure began to build. 

And if the lid did threaten to pop off? Well then, you lost yourself in him. In the love that existed between you, and the intimate knowledge you shared of one another. After all, Javi had said it himself, “who needed therapy when you had sex and good whiskey?” 

A night of passionate fucking was all it took to take the edge off… to let a little pressure escape, delaying your inevitable eruption… But that was just it; you would erupt. It was inevitable. There was no way on earth you could sustain the relentless routine of long hours spent at work, with coffee doing its best to act as a replacement for your bed. 

Hell, you could feel the toll it was taking on you both mentally and physically, from the way your hands shook slightly, to the way your chest felt too tight to breathe sometimes. Then there was the fact your clothes were starting to get baggy, whereas they’d once clung to your frame like they’d been tailored for you. 

“Here,” Javi had smiled one afternoon. You could smell the sandwich in his hand before he even set it down on the desk in front of you, accompanied by a packet of chips and a can of your favourite soda. “Grabbed that for you on our way back. Figured you’d forget lunch - again.” 

A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the kind gesture. “Thanks, Javi.” 

“Anytime, hermosa.” He said it so calmly and easily that you felt your heart skip a beat as you realised how lucky you were to have someone who cared about you so deeply. It was why you made sure to tear a corner off of the sandwich and pop it in your mouth. 

The relieved nod Javi granted you told you it was the reaction he’d been waiting for, as he took a step back to let you finish eating and working in peace. 

You knew he’d be back to check you’d finished it in a matter of minutes. So, you were quick to chuck the rest of his lunch in the waste paper bin behind you, burying it further under a pile of discarded documents you’d already finished looking through. 

It was fine. You’d eat later. Maybe you’d even try and cook dinner for you and Javi… an apology for being so distant lately… 

Somehow, despite lacking the gift of prophecy, you knew deep down that that was unlikely to happen. Just as you knew it was unlikely Javi would even make it home tonight. For the last week straight, both he and Steve had been called out on some last minute, late night errands by Carillo - not that you minded all that much. 

Not having Javi’s arms to fall into meant you felt less guilty about working late yourself. About only making it back to your empty apartment long enough for a quick shower and a power nap each night. 

It was ironic to think of Carillo, though, given that your brief conversations with the Colonel in question had been the closest you’d come to finally releasing some of the hurt and the pain inside of you. 

You didn't know what it was about him, but somehow, the Colonel had an ability to draw you out. To make you open up and share things you would never otherwise dream of. 

Maybe it was his candour? You’d noticed that about him since you'd started working together; he had a blunt demeanour, saying what he thought regardless of the affect it could have on another person. 

Now, it wasn't done with malice, per say, but rather as the result of a man who had the weight of an entire army on his shoulders and an impossible task. He just didn't have the time to bullshit anyone - especially when you both lived in a city full of people all too willing to lie and cheat. 

It also came from a weird sense of respect, of seeing people as equals, deserving of the truth just as he expected the same in return. No matter how painful it may be.

Needless to say, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to respect the man - and dare you even say, like. 

Still, when he decided to loiter on the other side of your desk, late one night, you felt yourself stiffen, as if suddenly all too aware of every little gesture your body made and what it gave away.

The Colonel missed nothing.  

“You look like shit.”

Wow. Don’t beat around the bush. 

“Jeez, your wife married a charmer, Colonel,” you scoffed, dragging on your cigarette, sparing him a fleeting glance. “Speaking of, doesn’t she want you back home? Or do you prefer my company that much that you’d rather stand at my desk at 11 o’clock at night?” 

“She’s out of the city, visiting her parents,” he rebuffed, clearly not taking the bait as he dropped into the empty seat opposite. In fact, he decided to reach across and steal one of the cigarettes from the packet on your desk, lighting it for himself in a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere for now.  

“Good for her.”

“Yes, it is. I think time away from this place is good for everyone.” 

You could feel the accusation lacing his words, as well as the heat from his continuous stare. “Then why didn’t you go with her? Not enough vacation days?” 

He scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips upwards. “You’re funny; I can see why Peña likes you so much. Like calls to like, as they say, even if you try and hide it behind that smile of yours.” 

You bit back a laugh. “What can I say? I lucked out in that department and got my Mom’s smile. My sister was not so fortunate. She always had my dad’s features - meaning she looked more often than not like she was sucking on a lemon.” 

“This is the sister that died from an overdose, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“The anniversary is this week, is it not?” 

He asked it so calmly and casually that anyone would have thought he’d asked you what the weather was like outside, or what your favourite record to listen to was. 

At least his concern now made sense. It was the kind of detail he would remember, and you were honestly more surprised by the fact it had taken until now for him to bring it up. 

He’d probably been itching to ask you about it all day, aware of the date even if your two partners were not. Well, they might have been, but neither had said anything which was your preference if you were being honest. Hence your rapidly cooling demeanour towards your colleague. 

“I’m fine, if that’s what you're trying to fish about for, Colonel,” you sighed, staring back down at your desk again in an attempt to dismiss him. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m good. Thanks. So can I get back to work in peace? Or did you have some other question for me?” 

Carillo sighed, simply choosing to smoke his cigarette, letting the tension linger along with the steadily growing haze around you both. 

He didn't need to say the words aloud; his actions did all the talking for him as he reached over and helped himself to a file off of you desk. 

He didn't buy this ‘calm, cool, and collected’ act you were pedalling. Not for a second - something his stare alone gave away, even if he refused to say it. Instead, he chose to read, and work, and smoke along side you so that you would not be alone. 

He had his eyes on you... watching and waiting for the moment that your carefully constructed walls came crashing down... the only question was would they crush you in the process?

It was about a month later that the inevitable happened; that you finally hit rock bottom. 

It had just been a causal remark that did it, of all things. A casual remark that sent you tipping over the edge. 

You had just returned from lunch and hadn’t even sat back down at your desk yet when you noticed that someone was missing.  

“Yo, Steve?” you queried, quickly glancing up at the empty seat next to you. “Where did Javi go?” 

Now, you couldn't be a hundred percent certain what Steve said next but you knew he’d said something about Carillo, a lead, and a raid ... 

“What?”

“I said, Javier went with him,” Steve repeated, staring at you with growing concern. You realised he must have already repeated himself. “What? Why? What is it?” 

“Javi went too? He… he’s there? On that raid?” 

“Yes, y/n, that’s what I just said - hey! Where you going?” 

You didn’t even realise your feet had started moving, not until you heard Steve’s confusion as he yelled after you. 

But you didn't stop.

You couldn’t stop, not until you were outside - not until you were far enough from that place that you could actually stop and fucking breathe. 

When did it become so hard to breathe? 

When had the room become so small? 

Why did your mind suddenly feel the need to go to the darkest place possible? 

It was just a raid... one of hundreds Javi had gone on since arriving here in the country, just as you had also gone on your fair share. So why was your head suddenly picturing him... lying there... injured, or worse... dead. 

The number of bodies you’d stared at, lying in the streets in a macabre tableau that had become all too familiar by now - all part of this fucking job. A job you signed up for, hoping to vanquish the bastards who had taken so much from you and those you loved… yet, every day, it seemed you had failed as more and more innocent people suffered… and to think, that Javi - the man you loved more than anything - who you had neglected terribly to the point you couldn't actually remember the last time you’d woken up next to each other - could be amongst them… 

It brought you to your knees. 

“Whoah, y/n. Easy. What’s wrong?” 

Steve’s voice sounded distant, as if you have been submerged beneath water. Yet, you could tell he was beside you, dropping down onto the kerb before hauling you close. The warmth of his touch was enough to tether you to him, to reality, as everything around you seemed to spin in dizzying circles.

You could feel it as his hands rose, cupping your cheeks, turning your head and trying to get you to look at him. 

When you finally did, he could see immediately that your eyes were glassy, like you weren’t really seeing or hearing him. 

He knew that look. 

“Y/N,” Steve murmured in a soothing voice. “Y/N, look at me. Look at me.” 

He paused, waiting until your eyes trained themselves on his face, some of the cloudiness starting to dissipate. 

“Good, that’s good. Now breathe. Just breathe,” he instructed, taking a few deep breaths himself to show you how.

It took you a moment or two, but you eventually became fully aware of your surroundings and what your friend was telling you to do. 

Following his lead, you took a few shuddering breaths, then a few more. You kept breathing until you could feel the racing of your heart slow and the fear that had felt crippling just moments before begin to ease.

You were exhausted.

Wiping at your face, you tried to banish the tears that had left a salty trail burning down your cheek.

Steve doesn't say anything for a long minute, instead choosing to pull you into his side and light up a cigarette, which he was quick to offer you.

“T... thank you.”

You sat like that for a while... just watching people and cars passing by, smoking like two people on a perfectly ordinary break.

No one bothered to stop and ask you two questions. Hell, no one even shot a glance in your direction, everyone too busy with their own business to stop and give a shit about yours.

So you sat. 

And smoked. 

And said nothing... not until the cigarette was nothing more than a stub.

Steve was quick to take it from you, before it could burn your fingers. Tossing it aside, it had clearly served its purpose. 

He stood and offered you a hand. 

His face left no room for debate as he stated calmly, “Come on, I’m taking you home. Now.” 

“Come on. A couple more steps, Y/N,” Steve urged, guiding you up the stairs to your apartment. 

His hand was warm, firm even, as it pressed against your lower back. 

He’d been like this since the moment you’d left the embassy, steering you and hovering over you like he expected you to simply topple over at the slightest breeze. 

It was touching, yet irritating all at once - a sentiment you were too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other to even attempt to unpack. You were also just too goddamn tired. 

“Here we are.” Steve’s words startled you. “Home sweet home.” 

You didn’t remember giving him the keys, but you must have as he opened the door a second later and herded you inside. 

There was emotion in your throat - threatening to spill from you. You were holding on by a thread and he knew it. Just as Carillo knew it, and possibly Connie too - 

Wait, Connie?

You blinked as you realised that at some point the woman had also entered your home, most likely having been summoned by Steve on the drive home. 

You wanted to feel guilty at the thought of her being dragged into your mess, but you were honestly too tired to feel anything other than grateful as she hurried over to you, offering you a cup of what you assumed was tea, as well as two pills. 

To help take the edge off, she explained, urging you to take them. Doctor’s orders. 

It was impossible to miss the way that they were both staring at each other - sharing anxious glances as you swallowed the tablets and dutifully sipped the tea. 

They were worried about you. Hell, you were worried about you, and Javi, and Steve, and everyone else you loved and cared about - that was what had got you in this mess in the first place. 

Damn it.

You heard them say as much as you marched yourself to your bedroom, claiming you were going to try and get some rest whilst you waited for news. 

If they bought it, you couldn’t tell, but neither protested as you left them. 

They simply let you go, allowing you the space and privacy to crawl into your bedroom, bury yourself in the unmade sheets, and lie down for a while. The medication had clearly started to work as you felt heavy... tired... 

Lying there, you could hear their voices... faint murmurs drifting down the hall. 

You caught only snippets as they tried and failed to keep their voices down, just as your parents had once done when you were just a kid. Still, despite their efforts, you caught enough to know that there was still no word from Javi, or about the raid he went on. 

“-called Javi- no reply.”

“Carillo - try again -”

“-worried about her - stressed.” 

Eventually, the words began to fade away, replaced instead by your body's sudden need to sleep. It was pointless to fight the drugs now in your system, or the comfort of being wrapped in the bed sheets that still smelled of Javi... not even you were strong enough to fight it as you felt yourself drifting off into sweet oblivion.

"Sweetheart?"

You must have still been dreaming - that was the thought that crossed your mind as you swore you heard Javi's voice.

"Javi?" you moaned, fighting against the grogginess that greeted you as you tried to open your eyes.

Despite the fact it was clearly now dark out, you could easily make out the face in front of you, illuminated from behind by the bedside lamp. The sight was almost angelic - as if some divine being had deigned to answer your prayers and return the love of your life back in to your arms.

“It's ok, I'm here, sweetheart,” Javi purred again, brushing your hair back behind your ear and pulling you close. “I’m right here, ok? In one piece - promise. The raid went off without a hitch. Even snagged ourselves a new asset for you to take a crack at.”

Your eyes shimmered with tears as you quickly burrowed into his chest. You didn't really hear what he was saying, too busy focusing on the fact that he was here to say it at all - here - alive - in your arms. 

The reality hit you as you began to let it pour out of you: how relieved you were, how much you loved him. You also grumbled something about fucking telling you when he next decided to run off on a raid without so much as 'goodbye' - else you’d shoot him yourself. 

“I’m sorry, carino. I am.”

And you believed him. 

"I love you, Javi. So much."

"I love you too," he purred, "and I'm so sorry, I knew you were struggling, but when Steve told me-"

He didn't get to finish whatever the hell he'd been about to say. You didn't let him.

Instead, your lips surged hungrily towards his and as only Javi could, he kissed you back, soft and slow... as if desperate to reassure you through actions alone.

You felt him chuckle into your mouth as you grew impatient, grinding your hips against him in a silent plea for him to fill you. To join you. To bury himself, and the day you'd both had, in a moment of bliss.  

It was a special kind of neediness, reserved for just him, and one that was only sated once he had fully joined with you, as one being. Safe. Whole.

Yes, in an ideal world he would have waited until after talking to you to lose himself in such a way. After all, Steve and Connie had filled him in on the troubling turn of events that his absence today had triggered - and he'd be lying if he said the idea didn't scare him shitless, that you had broken down so completely...

He could only thank God that Steve had been there for you - especially when he couldn't be himself.

But he was here now... and you had time to start trying to make sense of this mess. Together. Carillo had assured him of that, informing him in no uncertain terms that you both had the next few days off from work. He didn't want to see either one of you back in the office until you'd begun to sort through the mountain of shit you were buried under.

So, yes. If you wanted to lose yourself for tonight, to use him to forget the world outside for a perfect moment, then he was only too happy to oblige.

He’d wait until the morning to have a proper conversation. 

He’d go down and whip you up some breakfast before trying to get you to open up to him about everything that had happened today… about the worries and concerns you’d been keeping locked away inside of you. 

Then, after you’d fallen in to pieces in his arms, he could try and start to put you back together again. As a team.

[libertybri]

Fo4 companions + Maxson react to accidentally falling into worm hole and getting sent to the past for a week and end up meeting their younger self. (Danse meeting himself as M7-97)

So this was one super interesting, lol! I had to get a bit creative for some because I didn’t want to leave anyone out + I added Strong and Dogmeat!!

Cait

The moment her former self was in currently, was what Cait then believed was the peak of her life. She felt the strongest she ever was due to her own raw strength and the unmentionable addictions keeping her going at a hundred-percent all of the time. Being loved was a foreign concept and there were no thoughts of ever inheriting a real friend or someone who cared enough to save her. Even if she were to speak to that version of herself, Cait knew she wouldn’t be able to get through to her then. There was really no point of exercising the thought to her that there was good in the world willing to take her in. That was left up to Sole, for she believed only they could ever be the one to get through to her no matter her state.

Synth!Codsworth

“Oh dear, was I always floating about this rusty in the beginning?” The new synthetic-bodied Codsworth stands ashamed of his former self. The robot floated before him with his rusty exterior and only motive to try and rid the world of its new radiated filth.

“Um, did you say I? I do believe you are confused, sir. Perhaps all of this radiation is altering your thought process. My Sir and Mum should be back any minute now and they would love to help you!” The robot version of himself gleamed at the opportunity to help someone in need, not realizing the person before him was actually himself in another time and body. He was also mistaken about the timing of which only part of his family would return to him. The synth decided it wasn’t in his best interest to tell the robot all of this information, as he always remained hopeful.

Curie

The synth looked upon her former robotic self with two strong feelings; one of relief and one of sorrow. She was of course relived to be able to roam free among the world and view it as a human, for which she loved humans very much. However, part of her was longing for the former connections she had while in this state. The scientists she was built up with and the experiments she held while as the robot were dear parts of her past that she held closely to her synthetic-heart. Though with all of the reminiscing, she is able to remind herself of why the change happened and how she can move forward with her new connections and experiments that she also appreciates.

Danse

Danse doesn’t quite understand why he sees the synth with a blank personality, meant to take his own. He doesn’t remember his life before it was stolen, but meeting him, who took his own life. The version of himself now was standing before that same version. “You know you aren’t me.” He is still astonished with the entire thing, hoping this thing doesn’t yet have his personality.

“I am supposed to be Paladin—“

“M7-97.” Danse cuts him off sternly. “That’s who we are… We become Danse with time.” Though still struggling to understand himself after learning of his true identity, he doesn’t allow this to be a setback and instead finds satisfaction in seeing himself as a synth in an earlier stage of creation. It gives him peace knowing that he has the freedom to write his own story now.

Deacon

Deacon absolutely loathed seeing his past self. The younger leaving destruction in his path. He had no desire to speak to him or allow him to know of his future’s presence. Instead he only watched from the shadows intently, forcing himself to endure what he thought he deserved. Watching himself completing ravaging tasks was torture to his new role. He swallowed back all of the hate and anguish for that version of himself until this wormhole was done tormenting him with it.

Dogmeat

Dogmeat is overjoyed seeing himself as a puppy and immediately wants to play! He can’t even remember what it was like being that small, but that doesn’t matter now. He is content with just playing chase with his younger self until they’re both too tired to run any longer.

Gage

Seeing himself before the corruption of being a raider was like a punch to the gut for Gage. He saw optimism and light in his younger eyes, bliss from what he believed was protection then. What was soon to come for him was an awful awakening and the Gage now knew that, so he felt more sad than anything. He assumed anger would have been his first emotion, but he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with the past any longer.

“Things turn out alright for us… eventually, at least. You’ll meet so many shitty people ‘long the way, but one’s gonna come around and change all that.” Gage makes sure to tell his former self about his admiration for the Overboss, no matter their current relationship. He owed his newfound happiness to them.

“Thing’s get serious with this ‘one’?” His former preteen self giggled at the ‘old-man’, teasing at any hints of a relationship of some kind.

Gage chuckles and shakes his head, “They’re alright by us an’ that’s all that matters.”

Hancock

“Yeah, I figured the day’d come.” The smooth-skin John chuckled a his later state. His eyes scanned over the ghoulified version of himself dressed in historical attire, but wearing it with definite swagger. “Say, that brother of ours ever come around? This fight worth it?”

“McDonough’s a lost cause, but the fight’s always worth it. Lot’s a people come around for you because you never lose sight of what’s right.” Hancock smiles as he reminisces on the upbringing of his people. A lot was sacrificed along the way; his skin being part of that recklessness within the upbringing. In his mind everything happened in its place for a reason. He had to be the mortar for his people and for that, he absolutely held no regrets.

MacCready

There’s so many things MacCready thinks to tell his former self, but when it actually comes down to meeting him, he can’t bring himself to relieve the munchkin of knowing the future. Those unchangeable experiences couldn’t be passed through stories, so instead he interacted in the only way his 12-year old self knew.

“Hey butt-muncher, you got cave fungus all over your upper lip.” He chuckles, getting on his own nerves very easily.

“Can it, mungo! This is a mustache!” MacCready can’t help but to laugh at himself. Though he made plenty of bad decisions in his childhood, growing that ‘mustache’ was quite possibly his worst small mistake he ever made.

Maxson

Squire Maxson was quite the sight to the older; having only aged 8 years since then, however appearing to have fought many battles that physically aged him tremendously. The young boy was still in training by his predecessor Sarah, yet untouched by the cruel world. Two years to come for this boy before his entire world changed and he would become the war-machine that he now knows so comfortably. Elder Maxson was struggling to find the words to convey to him former self, knowing nothing would change. He cannot label feelings neither, for that was a difficult task. The younger fears the man before him but not because of appearance but instead his demeanor. There was a darkness that loomed over him and despite only being 12 years old, the younger knew things were not well for himself later in life. “I become Elder…” His voice trembles slightly only then realizing what that means for Sarah. “Oh.”

“I do what’s best for the Brotherhood. I know what’s best.” Maxson says to himself, though it comes out more as if he has to convince himself of that. There were a lot of battles in his life but none bigger than the self-battle he is always going through. He wish things could be different for the young boy, but with the greatest responsibility among his shoulders, nothing could ever change for him.

Nick

Nick’s former self is a prototype synth, factory fresh and one of the first of his kind. As a prototype, his personality still wasn’t fully there as the Institute were attempting to develop prewar people into their synths. Nick realizes he never knew himself as a separate personality then, he has no memories before Nick Valentine. The image before him didn’t feel like him, so he merely watched as the Institute performed more experiments on him. Experiencing this wormhole creates more doubt in his mind as he tries to understand himself as his own Nick of his time.

Piper

The urge to approach her younger self and warn her of upcoming events was very hard to fight for Piper. She knew no matter what there was no changing the past but part of her hoped if she could just spiel enough knowledge to her younger self in this worm-hole, she would be able to break through the wall and change the order of events. Solemnly, she decides to instead nurture the young Piper as she needs.

“How different are things in the future? Is the grass greener? Do we find love? What is Nat like?” Her younger self, full of ambition and curiosity bombards her with several questions.

Piper cringes at the truth and does her best to mask the truth; “Uh, well, things are actually a lot different, but it turns out alright. There’s people there for us and we take care of them too… We’ll be okay.”

Content with this answer, the younger Piper goes back to drawing a portrait of her little family with the newest addition of baby Nat. Piper was only happy the innocence still had a few years before it would be lost.

Preston

In a nightmare-like tone, Preston was sent to himself at his lowest point. Though it wasn’t too far into the past for himself to see noticeable changes in his appearance, he was able to instantly notice the change in demeanor. His past self held no hope for the future or himself, he was lost in all ways and ready to give up. “The good fight is worth all of this sacrifice.” He tells himself. Seeing the future and what it holds definitely brings a twinkle of light to his former self, however he was still at a loss in his current state. “Good people give their all so the Commonwealth can stand for the future generations. You give your all.”

“What other choice do I have? These people are counting are counting on me.” The past Preston chokes back on his words. They come out a lot more confident than he felt in himself at that moment. He knew in his heart it was the right answer, as his fight will always be for the good of the people. Finding the courage was becoming onerous, but he was finally willing to accept the help of those around him to guide him.

Strong

“So this is what I become…” Strong’s former self wasn’t as shocked at the sight of his future as he was now knowing what would eventually happen to the world. “They actually did it, damned us all.”

Strong studies this human timidly, still not fully convinced at one point this was him. He decided to instead lecture himself for being sad about his current state, “HUMAN SHOULD BE HAPPY. HUMAN STRONG AFTER BOMB.”

Human Strong crosses his arms, “Human was strong before. I, er, you worked out a lot before… this. At least you still take pride in your athleticism.” Though the human version of himself was glad that teeny bit of self-sense was still there, he was still deeply distraught at his outcome with life.

X6-88

Depending on the path Sole takes, X6 meeting himself in his early stages of creation could be broken down in two ways;

A) Sole “rescues” X6 from the confinement of the Institute and he lives at a settlement after the Institute is blown up.

—X6 is faced with a version of himself that is no courser to the institute, but merely just a test subject of a synth. This version has plenty of training to endure before he could ever be a courser. While X6 thought he would be disgusted, or even envy the given fresh start, he felt nothing but pity for his former self. “One day you will be freed of the Institute’s reign. Your savior is powerful and compassionate enough to forgive a synth like you for all of the trouble you have caused them.” He tells his younger self, stating fact of what he knows now. However, this version would hear none of it and he knew that.

B) Sole becomes director of the Institute.

—X6 feels nothing when meeting himself in the early stages of creation. He knows from that point to where he is now, things would never change for him. This was his destiny after all; A machine made to serve and kill.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

FOH/BOH pt 1/2 (M, cold)

I'm splitting this in two because it's going to be 2 fairly distinct parts. In this one, Elijah is sick - but I'll be honest, a lot of it is just Mark being introspective. I wanted to write out a little of his story, since my last story had a good amount of Matt's inner thoughts. Idk what else to say about this one, lol other than Elijah catches something from the servers and is his usual pissed off self about it. Next part will hopefully be out soon-ish. Hope you all like it :)

CW: male, cold, fever, light mess, contagion, coughing. 2.7k words.

FOH/BOH

As far as Matt was concerned, there were two types of people in this world: front of house, and back of house.

Matt didn’t believe in astrology; he thought the enneagram was stupid, hated personality tests, and nearly scoffed in Elijah’s face when he told the management team at Elliot’s they’d be analyzing management styles using one of those what-color-is-your-parachute tests during the slow season this year. He did, however, believe firmly, almost spiritually, in the FOH/BOH divide.

The differences, Matt knew, could be subtle or obvious, but they were always distinct.

“Elijahhh!” Greyson called from the kitchen at the top of his lungs. “We can all hear you from in here!”

The cooks whooped with laughter from their prep stations behind the line, and Matt bit his cheek to keep from joining them. Greyson turned towards him, a smirk painted on his face, and secured his hair at the top of his head with a sharpie while they waited for Elijah’s inevitable trudge into the kitchen.

When Elijah pushed through the kitchen doors, the cooks forced themselves into submission and strapped in for the dressing-down they knew was coming their chef’s way. Elijah walked straight to the prep table in the middle of the kitchen and made livid eye contact with Greyson, obviously ready to go to blows. Matt, entirely too close for comfort, took a tentative step towards the line to keep out of the path of destruction.

“Do you thingk,” Elijah said, his voice low and cracking, “that you could fucking cool it with the theatrics, just this once? Just for today? For mbe – hh – hhITZCH-ue! HTSHH-uh! HRRTSHH-ue! Hh-!”

Elijah was stuck in a sort of pre-sneeze purgatory for longer than Greyson had the patience for, apparently. “By all means,” Greyson said, leaning on the prep table with his head in one hand, “don’t stop on my behalf.”

The GM colored and lowered his arm from his face, casting daggers at the chef. “Do you really thingk it’s appropriate for us to fuckigg squabble around your staff?” Elijah asked, quiet enough that only Greyson and Matt could hear it. Greyson smiled, stood to his full height, and placed a hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

“I do,” he said at full volume. “They’re not our real kids, it’s okay if they see mommy and daddy duke it out.”

The cooks roared once again, and Elijah flushed, clearly annoyed. “Fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re on one today. Whatever. I have to go findish helping the servers set up for the night. Leave mbe out of your stupid little mood.”

“I’m on one because you have the server’s fuckin’ flu and you should be at home, not continuing the spread,” Greyson said to Elijah’s back as his boss started out the kitchen doors. “Mark is coming in in twenty minutes and you are leaving.”

Elijah didn’t turn back around, just flashed the kitchen the finger as he walked out into the dining room. Greyson turned towards his sous and rolled his eyes.

“Passive aggressive fuck,” Greyson said, picking his knife up and turning towards the line cooks behind him. “Don’t worry, guys, we still love you all, mommy and daddy just get frustrated with one another sometimes.”

Another round of laughter from the cooks. Matt shook his head, smiling until they all heard Elijah once again from the dining room – “HRRESHHH-ue!”

Greyson smiled devilishly at Matt, then his cooks, and held up his hand. “One, two,” he mouthed to the cooks, holding up the corresponding fingers. When he got to three, he pointed to the swinging doors that lead to the dining room. The whole kitchen, in tandem, called towards them.

“Bless you, Elijah.”

Within seconds, Elijah’s strained voice answered. “Oh, fuck off all of you.”

This time, the line cooks nearly collapsed with laughter. Greyson turned towards Matt, grinning ear to ear. “Think he heard us?” he asked. Matt couldn’t help but join in on the laughter this time.

***

At first, Mark hadn’t been sure that he bought Matt’s whole front of house person/back of house person bullshit.

“People have layers, babe,” Mark had said, coursing his fingers through Matt’s hair while they ignored the movie that was playing on TV. “No one is just… some caricature of ‘kitchen’ or ‘dining room’. This isn’t The Bear.”

“But that’s the thing, baby, it kind of is The Bear,” Matt said, sitting up straight and looking his boyfriend in the eye. “Did you not relate to The Bear? I don’t think this is going to work if you didn’t relate to The Bear, I’m not gonna lie to you.”

“I mean, yeah, I did but… I don’t know. I want to be more than just my job, y’know?” Mark pulled Matt back to laying on his lap – Matt allowed himself to be pulled.

“This isn’t about your job, it’s about your personality,” Matt explained. “Not everyone has worked in a restaurant, but that doesn’t mean they’re not a front or back of house person.”

“I’m so lost, honey. I thought this was about restaurants.”

“No, it’s about people.”

“Maybe you should look into getting your GED,” Mark said, elbowing Matt playfully. “So you can go to college for, like, sociology or something.”

“Oh fuck you,” Matt said, not unkindly. “You have to know what I mean. C’mon. You’re telling me you’ve never met someone and gone, ‘oh, that person’s totally a kitchen person’.”

“I can genuinely say I have not,” Mark said, placing a kiss on the top of Matt’s head. “Your mind is an enigma.”

They’d dropped it at that point, but Mark hadn’t stopped thinking about it all week. He’d thought about it when he’d talked to his dad on the phone and he asked Mark whether he’d gotten his oil changed lately, but didn’t say ‘I love you’ when they hung up – man, he’s such a back of house guy. He’d thought about it when he’d bought a coffee and the barista asked him about the entirety of his college career in England while a line formed out the door behind him – never met such a front of house person in my life. He’d especially thought about it at work, where the servers and bussers loudly complained all week about being sick.

“Maaaark,” Riley, their lead server, whined to him one day. “I feel like fuckin shiiiit.”

“Well, the shift is 85% over,” Mark replied as he replaced the silverware on an empty table. “Do you think you can make it another hour?”

Riley had pouted, sniffled, and shrugged. “I guess,” she said, opening her server book. “But, like, I’ve already made my money tonight, can’t you just cut me early?”

Typical front of house, Mark had thought to himself. So maybe Matt had been right; maybe there were just two types of people in this world. The problem was, despite having been ‘front of house’ most of his adult life, he didn’t know if he really… belonged there.

Mark had, essentially, fallen into working in restaurants; he’d been an English major in college – which basically guaranteed your life to veer towards serving tables or shaking cocktails – and when he’d graduated, he hadn’t felt the pull towards teaching or grad school or any of the typical ‘English major’ careers his friends had chosen. Instead, he kept his serving job; eventually, the resort that he worked at offered him a banquet captain position, which he did until he realized catering made him want to stab both eyes out with a cocktail fork. When he moved to New York on a whim, Mark had been sure he’d apply to grad school, or look for a copy-writing position, or apply to be a publisher’s assistant – but he didn’t. Instead, he found himself dialing the number on a flyer in the window of a soon-to-be-opened restaurant near the apartment he shared with four other recent college grads.

“Future home of Elliot’s restaurant, this is Elijah speaking,” the voice on the other end of the number answered on the first ring.

“Hi,” Mark had said. “I was wondering if you were hiring any front of house positions?”

It turned out that Mark was the first person to call Elijah in search of a job. Despite his only being twenty-one at the time, and despite the fact that he had no managerial experience, Elijah hired him on the spot to be the front of house manager.

“You have a good vibe,” Elijah said when they met at a coffee shop for Mark’s interview. “That’s all I really care about.”

And then suddenly, somehow, seven years had passed. He’d never found a good enough reason to leave Elliot’s; he was paid well, Elijah let him take tips when he had to cover for servers or bartenders, and the work, while demanding, felt mostly fun. He’d never felt like a front of house person, he was just… a person who worked in the front of house. Sometimes, Mark thought, he didn’t know what kind of person he was at all. A person who things just happened around. A background person. A person that no one could say much about, other than he had a good vibe.

That is, until Matt.

“Hi honey,” Matt said as Mark pushed through the back doors into the kitchen. Mark smiled wide when he saw that Matt was alone in the back kitchen; he pulled his boyfriend in for a long kiss, which Matt returned greedily.

“Hi,” Mark said, finally pulling away. “How have things been here this morning?”

Before Matt could answer, they heard a huge, “HRRTSHH-ue!” from the front kitchen. Mark whipped his head towards the sound, then back to Matt.

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” Mark said. Matt pressed his lips together, unwilling to be the bearer of bad news.

“Mbark,” Elijah said, rounding the corner with a hand held over the bottom half of his face, “you’re here, great.” The GM yanked a paper towel from the holder on the wall next to Matt and used it to wipe his nose before gesturing Mark to follow him, “Let’s go over the ndight, mbeet me in the office.”

“Right behind you,” Mark murmured to Elijah’s back. Before he followed his boss, he threw Matt a pained look, which his boyfriend returned with a mouthed, I’m sorry.

When the servers were sick, they were annoying because they complained constantly. They called out at the slightest provocation, they glommed onto one another and spread their illnesses like wildfire, and they always ended up sending their shit into the kitchen when one of them inevitably slept with a cook after a long night of drinking. When Elijah was sick, though, it was annoying for a whole other set of reasons.

Mostly, if he was honest, it was the blatant denial that he found obnoxious. “So, tondight shouldn’t be too heinous,” Elijah said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand as he sat at the shared desk. “It’s tomborrow we really have to – tuh… hhITZSHH-ue! HTSHH-ue!” Elijah folded in on himself to sneeze away from Mark, blearily rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, and attempted to continue. “To worry about,” he finished, coughing into the back of his hand.

“Uh huh,” Mark said, taking in the state of his boss. Elijah had been quiet yesterday, and quick to annoyance, but despite knowing the man for almost a decade, Mark still wasn’t able to decipher between ‘quiet, easily annoyed’ Elijah and ‘getting sick’ Elijah. The two were indecipherable from one another.

“Don’t sit too close, Mark,” Greyson’s voice called from the prep station near the line. Both Mark and Elijah looked over at the chef, who was butchering New York’s and smirking to himself. “He’s sick as a dog.”

“Greyson,” Elijah called, his voice cracking on the word. “Could you combe in here for a minute, please?”

Greyson rolled his eyes, but put down his knife and walked toward the office all the same. “Yes, dear?” he asked, toweling off his hands and leaning on the office’s door frame. “How can I help you? Some tea, maybe, or perhaps a drive home?”

Elijah stood, pulled Greyson into the office, and shut the door. “Stop fuckigg patronizing mbe in front of the staff,” he growled, poking a finger into the chef’s chest. Greyson huffed out a little laugh and slapped a hand on Elijah’s forehead.

“I’ll stop,” he said, “when you no longer have a hundred-and-two fever.”

There they stood, the two ultimate testaments to Matt’s theory, duking it out in front of a clearly-forgotten Mark. Greyson, the gregarious, heart on his sleeve, back-of-house guy who would just as soon scream at you as he would give you the shirt off his back, and Elijah, the subdued stay-together-for-the-kids front of house man, who knew everything about everyone and cared so hard he couldn’t see anyone else caring about him in return. Yin and yang. Front and back. Which are you, Mark? he thought to himself as the standoff continued.

“Mark,” Greyson said, breaking the spell, “can you handle tonight by yourself out front?”

Mark blinked, first at his boss, then at Greyson, and finally found his voice. “Y-yeah, I mean, of course I can,” he said.

“It’s a busy ndight, Grey, I don’t waahhh – ETSCHH-zue! HhhNGTSHH-uhh!” Elijah wrenched to the side to keep from sneezing in Greyson’s face – much to the detriment of Mark.

“Yikes,” Greyson muttered, watching Mark cringe against the spray Elijah directed, unknowingly, into his face. His boss flushed bright red when he realized what he’d done.

“Fuckigg shit,” Elijah murmured, yanking a tissue out of the box and handing it, lamely, to Mark. “Fugck, Mbark I’mb so sorry I didn’t meee – ETSCHH-zue!” This time, Elijah tented both hands over his face to keep from having a repeat of that incident. Greyson took his hand back then, shrunk away from the GM.

“Maybe, uh, give us a signal next time?” Greyson said, an attempt to break the tension. Mark would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so thoroughly...infected.

“Would’ve if I could’ve,” Elijah grumbled, pulling another tissue out and blowing his nose. “Mbark, I’m so -”

“It’s fine, boss,” Mark said, standing. “But, um, I do think Chef is right – maybe you should go home, sleep it off?”

Elijah swallowed, pain evident on his face, and finally gave up the charade. “Alright,” he said, curt. “Finde. I’ll go.” He turned back towards Mark. “You’re sure you’ve got this?”

“Of course, boss,” Mark said. Elijah nodded.

“Okay,” he said. “Take sombe Emergen-C or something, okay?”

“Okay, boss,” Mark said. Elijah coughed painfully into the sleeve of his shirt, grabbed his backpack, and signed out of the computer.

“I’ll drive you home,” Greyson offered, but Elijah shook his head.

“Thanks, mother, but I think I can handle a five-mbinute drive with a cold,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Just mbake sure your guys are ready for tomorrow ndight – it’s going to be a doozy.”

“And that’s how we know it’s really time for you to leave, when you start using words like ‘doozy’,” Greyson said, pushing Elijah out the door. “Go. You’ve infected enough people today.”

Finally, Elijah did as he was told and left. Mark and Greyson stood in the office avoiding eye contact with each other for what felt like a long moment.

“You wanna run to the store and get some Emergen-C?” Greyson asked, breaking the awkward silence. Mark laughed a little.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling a hand down his face, “I guess I probably should.”

On his way out the back door, Matt caught the back of Mark’s shirt. “The fuck is going on up there?” he asked, confusion written all over his face. “Where are you going? Did Elijah go home?”

Mark turned and embraced Matt, then pulled back to offer a small smile. “Elijah went home,” he said. “And I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Matt asked again. Mark just sighed and gave his boyfriend a defeated look.

“I’m going to try and ward off the stupid fucking front of house flu.”

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

The Light In My Darkness

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || The darkness has it’s hold on you. It’s tightness suffocating. It’s darkness numbing. You search the endless depths for salvation, yet you find yourself alone. But there will soon come a moment when a beacon of light shines it’s way for you to resurface from the pitch black depth.

Word Count || 1501

Contents & Warnings || Angst, light Fluff — mature content/language, depression, mental health, mention of suicide.

Authors Note || It’s been a few months since I last posted. I fell into a pretty dark depression that really fucked me up for months. I’m slowly starting to recover from it, and I’m excited to write and post again and also feel more like myself . Sorry to come back with such an angsty story. This is the only story that I wrote over those months, and I have put some real stuff that went through my head during those months. It felt good to put some of those thoughts into writing and combine them with one of my comforts which is Bucky. So please be advised that this story does contain some depression stuff and mention of suicide.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

The weight of emptiness pulls you deeper each day that passes, its grip on you tightening as it drags you toward the depths of its darkness. And you are so aware that its power will consume you entirely, eat you from the inside, leaving you weak and vulnerable to its insatiable hunger. The darkness so treacherous that escape will seem almost impossible.

You feel entirely shattered and numb. The once vibrant life you had, such as your job, responsibilities, friends, and most importantly, Bucky and Alpine, now feels almost lifeless. The once passion you had for your beautiful life is now reduced to nothing. All that remains is the desire to crawl into a deep, dark hole and disappear, hoping that the suffocating darkness will claim you quickly.

Despite the emptiness within, you still try to maintain a brave and normal facade for those around you. But your boyfriend, the one closest to your heart, senses and sees the cracks in the facade you’ve put up. He sees the destruction of your former self, reduced to nothing more than an empty shell.

Bucky, with his caring and tender nature for you, wants to help. But you push him away, scared that you may drag him down as well. You don’t want to darken his light with your darkness.

However, there comes a time when everyone breaks down into pieces, and it’s left up to the loved ones to pick up the fragile fragments and mend them with tender and loving care.

---

As you drag yourself up the steps to your front door, the mask of a fake smile and false happiness you wore for work fades away. Instead replaced by the overwhelming despair that haunts your soul. You can no longer keep it up, and you know that Bucky will shower you with his love in an attempt to ease your pain.

“Hey, doll. Welcome home,” Bucky greets you with a tender kiss on the forehead. His hands linger on your waist, gently squeezing as a sign of affection and protection. Alpine purrs in delight and welcomes you home by weaving and rubbing against your legs.

Bucky’s warm touch and a tender kiss would once have your heart flutter into a billion butterflies, making you jump him in excitement, and a cuddle session on the couch would ensure with loving kisses shared between one another as you recovered from your workday. But now, with the darkness holding its tight grip on you, you can’t fully enjoy and appreciate his gorgeous self, which fills you with guilt. Deep down, you know that you love Bucky with all your being. He’s the perfect individual, the kind anyone would be lucky to have. But you struggle to feel the love he so generously pours upon you now. The realization of this causes tears to well up, along with a profound sense of shame.

“How was work, baby?” Bucky’s eyes, once melting and soft, fixates on your empty and dim ones. His now somber ones scan you from head to toe, sensing you are far from your former self. He knows you are having difficulties, that you are tired, but he’s unaware of the full extent of it and doesn’t know how deep it goes. He does his best to help and reassure you daily, but you cannot sense his efforts. The darkness has buried your emotions so deep within.

“It was fine, babe. Just exhausting,” you respond, attempting to reassure him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He can tell that you are withholding the whole truth.

“Doll, what’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself recently. I’m here for you, baby. I want to help,” his voice rasps as he cups your cheeks, stroking your skin. His brows furrow, his gaze piercing deep into your soul, hoping to uncover the cause of your recent changes.

The love and care he has for you are so evident, making your heart skip a beat and you so long to throw yourself into his arms, allowing him to shower you with his affection and reassurance that everything will be alright. But the darkness is keeping you on a tight leash.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you lie, and he can so easily see through it.” “I-I’m just tired. I think I’ll take a nap.”

As you lie in the darkness of your bedroom, staring at the ceiling, your mind is empty of thoughts. You feel cold and empty, much like the air surrounding you. One terrifying thought, a whisper that lurks in your darkness, tries to surface: I don’t want to live anymore.

During the day, you try your best to suppress that thought, forcefully pushing it deep down. But with each passing day, it grows stronger. And now, in the confines of your dark and cold bedroom, it solidifies into a haunting possibility—an escape from the torment. I don’t want to live anymore. “… but I don’t want to die,” you whisper, turning to your side with a heavy sigh. It’s all so overwhelming and exhausting, and you have never felt so trapped and helpless before. How can I possibly recover from this? Will I ever recover from this? Am I doomed to this darkness forever until it eventually consumes me?

Sometime later, a knock on the bedroom door pierces the silence, and a sliver of light illuminates the room's darkness as Bucky enters, the chime of Alpine’s collar following close behind. Neither of you utters a word. He closes the door gently, ensuring the light doesn’t disturb you. In the room's dimness, you hear him navigate through it, going to the shared bed and settling in behind you. His warm, sturdy frame presses against your back while his arms envelop you, and his face nestles into the nape of your neck, inhaling deeply, savoring your scent before placing a tender kiss on your skin. Alpine joins the comfort, snuggling at your feet with a soft purr.

Even with these two beings, who love you unconditionally, nestled close to you, it barely dulls and heals the emptiness inside, but it makes your heart skip a beat again. A moment of silence ensues, the only sounds being your synchronized breathing and the gentle purring from Alpine.

“Doll,” Bucky murmurs, his voice soft and delicate, squeezing you ever so slightly tighter to convey the depth of his love for you. “Please, tell me what’s wrong. Let me inside your pain. Don’t slip away from me. I’m here to help. I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

The desperation, sadness, and defeat in his voice finally shatter you, breaking down your defenses, making you finally release all that pain and sorrow, erupting into tears and sobs.

“I’m so fucking tired, Bucky,” you sob violently into the pillow. “I’m so fucking done with everything. I feel so empty, so lost. I can’t do this anymore. The darkness has such a tight hold on me, and I feel myself suffocating more and more each day that follows.” Your cries intensify, your body shaking in his embrace. “I don’t have the will to live anymore, but I don’t want to die either. Please help me. I’m so lost, Bucky.” You continue to weep and sob into the sheets while Bucky holds you tighter, tears streaming down his face as well, wetting your neck.

You don’t know how long you cry, releasing all that has built up over the past few weeks. Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Eventually, exhaustion takes hold of you. Your throat feels dry and hoarse, your eyes burn, and your body feels heavy and weak.

Throughout it all, Bucky remains silent, cradling and comforting you. The weight of your dark confession impacting him deeply, evident in his strained voice—a testament that he’s been crying alongside you.

“I wish I could take all your emptiness and pain away, doll.” His voice laced with vulnerability and determination. “I wish we lived in a fairytale where my words could magically heal your soul and restore your happiness. But this is reality, and I know my words alone will not heal and destroy that darkness. But I want you to know I’m here, baby, and I’ll always be here. I will fight for you, fight beside you. I’ll forever be the light that shines in your darkest moments. I promise I will help you. I promise we will get you professional help. I love you so much, my doll.”

Bucky’s words feel like the salvation you’ve yearned for—the help you desperately need. It’s the promise that gives you hope. Your hand, which has been searching in the darkness for so long, has finally found a lifeline—a beacon of light that shines bright in your darkness.

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[isa-beenme]

I'm currently writing three things at the same time, but I felt a need to write something sad, something to break my heart and break all of you along, I can't be sad alone, thank you

The plot is basically: every bat boy's mate deal with depression in a different way, or "three different approaches of depression to three different brothers" (I felt so funny when I thought about this one)

So... do we want a part 2?

Trigger Warning: Self-destructive thoughts, depression

Prompt: Prythian saw the way that Rhysand's mate fell into depression but tried her best to get better. They saw the way that Cassian's mate fell into depression and turned it into pure anger and self-destruction. But... what if Azriel's mate simply... doesn't care?

What Was I Made For?

Sometimes I wish I didn't exist.

Not in the sense that I want to die. Far from it. I dread the thought of my own death. If I stop and imagine what happens afterward, I feel on the verge of panicking. Not death. Never death.

However, I like to think about how everything would be so much easier if I simply didn't exist. The number of responsibilities I could just let go of. The countless times I wouldn't have to rush and cry out of despair for feeling so useless would simply diminish. I would be so happy if I didn't exist.

I started thinking about this when I was 14.

It's been 500 years, and I remain the same.

Five hundred whole years where I feel inclined to ask the Mother to not exist.

But I do exist.

And that's what intrigues me.

I don't know who I am, and I just can't find something I like. There's nothing that keeps me here. Really.

That scares me.

A lot.

I mean, I spent my whole life studying in the Day Court, participating in politics, and learning from the High Lord Helion himself. I was supposed to be his successor. But then Lucien came into the scene and I became his spare. Or second in command. Works the same.

My objective was easy enough, everything I knew, I should teach him. And I did. We had fun. I guess. And then his father made a party to invite his "friends" for a celebration. He told me they weren't really his friends. I understood that feeling.

The Inner Circle of the Night Court sat across from us at the table. It didn't take long for the mating bond to snap between me and the Shadowsinger. The celebration became even bigger when he smiled at me.

And I smiled back.

I mean, how couldn't I, right? He seemed gentle and caring and his face was very pleasant to look at.

He courted me. He flirted, sent gifts, and traveled to the Day Court's capital every often to see me. I'm not sure what love means but I'm pretty sure it's something close to what I felt inside of me every time he looked into my eyes and smiled.

And yet, I feel I could not exist and it wouldn't change a thing.

But if I could make him happy maybe I would understand everyone's desire to be alive. I would understand what it is like to fight for your own life with the necessity to live another day.

That's why I accepted the mating bond.

We had a party. A dinner. A house. Vacations. Damn, the tower of gifts we had to open after almost three weeks of pure sex took me a month.

And yet, I feel I could not exist and it wouldn't change a thing.

We moved to Velaris. My role in the Day Court was long forgotten. I mean, I just said I don't care about anything, how could I care about a job I had just because I was good at it?

Being good at something doesn't mean I really need to live for it.

If so, I would be a dancer. Because I'm amazing at it, I have trophies, experience, and talent. But I'm not a dancer.

If so, I would be an actress. Because I'm amazing at it, I participated in hundreds of pieces, and interpreted tons of characters. But I'm not an actress.

If so, I would be a cook. Because I'm amazing at it, I'm the one in charge of making every meal and every cake for people's birthdays. But I'm not a cook.

If so, I would be a warrior. But I'm not a warrior.

If so, I would be a painter. But I'm not a painter.

If so, I would be a singer. But I'm not a singer.

If so, I would be a seamstress. But I'm not a seamstress.

And when I came to Velaris, almost two years ago I became Azriel's mate. And I hate it.

We easily fell into a routine with his Inner Circle. And now, there's no family that makes me want to keep on living. In fact, most of the time I feel even more exhausted when I'm with my family. Or Azriel's family, if I'm being real.

I feel suffocated by an enthusiasm and freedom I can't keep up with. My family isn't bad, not by a long shot, and certainly not up close. They are great. They stand up for the right causes, love to have fun, and are very liberal about any topic.

Except when the topic is me.

I'm the newest but also the oldest among all the female mates. And that kind of put me on a pedestal I never asked for. Something like: "If she did it, you could too, Feyre"; or else: "Even she couldn't do it, Nestha, don't worry about it"; I'm not a unit of measurement, but sometimes it feels like I'm nothing more than that.

Except when I'm with Lucien. He is the exception to the rule of 'I feel suffocated within the family circle'. I'm his favorite friend, obviously, but that's not the reason why we are so good together. He understands me and seems to grasp the feeling of not wanting to exist, even though we've never talked about it. So, he just exists by my side. And that's exactly what I need.

I don't worry about depression.

Or should I?

I am happy. Truly happy.

Not that people with depression aren't happy.

They must be.

I hope they are.

But sometimes I imagine myself going to a healer's office and pouring out everything I feel. But I never know where to start. So, I stop imagining.

I'm usually happy. Very happy. And this happens with my friends. Or anywhere away from my family. Everyone annoys me in some way. Except for Lucien.

Even when I'm alone, I feel extremely happy. Especially when I'm alone. Whenever I'm alone.

I actually hate studying. Which is basically my job.

But if that means staying away from my family, I seriously consider doing volunteer work at the Library during vague hours. Get a full-time job. Anything to keep me away. And contrary to expectations, I don't feel bad about thinking this way. I don't care.

And that scares me even more.

I don't care, and I don't react. Sometimes, I fall into a vast abyss of overwhelming emptiness, unable to separate reality from what's happening in my mind. I don't feel inclined to react with jokes or anything else. I don't care if they argue with me, yell, speak ill of me in the room next door, or debate on how to 'punish' me when I'm three steps away on the sidewalk.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

I've made my friends cry trying to prove a point I believe is right. It doesn't matter.

I've cried in front of friends so they'd accept what I was saying. It doesn't matter.

I also have the terrible habit of always wanting to be right. In everything. It doesn't matter if I'm wrong, it doesn't matter if someone will get hurt. I ALWAYS have to be right.

Sometimes I imagine I'm going too far in this abyss to the point of hurting myself. Or others.

And here's another characteristic of mine. I imagine too much. Most likely, I have three or four books written somewhere in my room. But I don't feel inclined to publish them or continue writing. It was just a phase. Just like everything else.

Just like my mating bond with Azriel. I love him, but… I'm not like the High Lord's or the General's mates. They… live for them.

I mean, Feyre is an amazing person, she's such a sweetheart. But as High Lady? I swear, she's more like a city mayor than anything else, she can barely read a full sentence without getting a headache from too much effort.

And Nestha? What a fearless female. She's amazing! But being the General of the Valkyries? Come on. They can't possibly think that, just because they cut a miserable string, they are actually able to fight as a battalion. Right?

Maybe I'm mean for thinking like that. Maybe I'm stupid. Or hateful. Or fake. Or cruel.

So I never say anything.

I keep imagining them. Every day.

It's fun.

Sometimes I like Azriel more than I like myself.

But I like most people more than I like myself.

Sometimes I hate myself.

Sometimes I like myself.

There's a thin line between my two states of mind.

Sometimes I think it's my fault.

Sometimes I think it's my mate's fault.

I don't feel bad about hating him whenever I feel anger spread through me. He also triggers the emptiness in my chest sometimes. He can be annoying with all his senseless conversations. The way he lives his life annoys me even more. Because he can do everything.

He's Azriel, the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, the poor thing, the one who didn't grow up in a good place, the cute one, the funny one, the pretty one, the hot one, the smart one, the-

I don't know.

If I let the anger get me it will soon vanish. Just like every other feeling I ever let myself have.

You know the feeling of losing something you never knew you actually cared about? That's how I feel about my freedom. Not that Azriel took my freedom meaning that he restrains what I do or like I miss my single life (if I'm being honest I was never a lover to no one, Azriel was my second or third). But this bond took it from me.

I used to float around, doing different things every single day, but now I just fall down and down and down into my inner abyss. I could've been a dancer, an actress, a cook, a warrior, a painter, a singer, or a seamstress because I had the freedom to try it. Maybe I don't want to live for it but I want to live with it. Now I'm… his mate.

I used to know I was empty, but I'm not sure now that this bond keeps flooding itself with love and fear and pain and happiness.

I don't know what I was made for.

I don't know how to feel secure. But I wanna try. I don't know how to feel truly happy. But someday I might… Someday I might… try.

When did it all end? All the enjoyment. All the feelings.

It doesn't matter.

None of this matters.

Since I was 14, nothing matters.

And I wouldn't mind just not existing.

But I want to know what I was made for.

That's why I'm leaving.

[cartoon-buffoon]

I decided to read the Epic Mickey graphic novel—which by the way it's just chilling on the Internet Archive? Like you can read it at any time and I'd highly recommend doing so—but I noticed something very interesting in regards to the heart and the entire real plot point of Epic Mickey. I LOVE over analyzing stupid meaningless things in relation to my favorite characters so this is another stupid rant, sorry if someone has analyzed this before me it's just a neat thing I noticed.

WARNING: rant by someone who hasn't played Epic Mickey properly, sorry if the game contradicts whatever I say somehow. Also SPOILERS for the Epic Mickey graphic novel, I'd recommend reading it yourself because it's pretty cool.

Okay I'm aware the heart is a metaphor for fame, yeah the toons stuck in wasteland are stuck there because they are forgotten. However one thing I find interesting however is how the heart seemingly changes a toon's personality as well? It's for like a single panel where they show the heart does more for the toons than allowing passage in and out of wasteland. It at least affects them in some way.

This is right after Mickey gave up his heart to save Gus and Oswald who the blot had grabbed, now up until this point Mickey was very happy go lucky. Until his heart was stolen, and he suddenly lashes out at Oswald?

This is really random and out of character from what we've seen until now and in fact Mickey himself seems like he's aware he's not acting himself. As soon as the heart gets stolen we see Mickey who is generally jokey and happy suddenly get mad and outright confrontational. Look at how he gets up in Ozzie's face! Now Oswald did have a reason to be mad at Mickey, his reason was TOTALLY justified and idc if it was an accident Oswald had all the right to mistreat Mickey for ruining wasteland and killing his wife. Yet Mickey always just took on the chin, he felt remorseful yeah yet he just kinda took the insults, this is the first case of Mickey fighting back and Oswald wasn't even insulting him!

Later on when using the rocket we also see Mickey start writing his will when the plan to self destruct the rocket starts going up in flames.

Although comedic and funny this is pretty fucking grim if you look at the fact that he's just casually preparing for his death. After the rocket crashes we also see him give Oswald some slack and make a snarky remark.

Now not exactly out of character for Mickey to be funny it's still interesting how his way of being funny in this instance is taking a small jab at Oswald's piloting skills.

Later on we also see Mickey get serious and be really aggressive when fighting the blot.

Now this could just be of course Mickey deciding to right his wrongs and taking things serious, but I find it interesting that this comes AFTER he loses the heart.

This spring of sudden aggressiveness only awakens after he loses his heart and we see from the panel right after he loses it and Mickey seems dazed and discombobulated. AND THEY JUST GRAZE OVER THIS DETAIL! "I just... Feel so..." AND THEN BOOM! The comic just goes "alright keep it going, move the plot along we only got so many pages" and nothing comes of this. They never clarify what Mickey is feeling, this detail is just passed over, yet it seemingly affects the way Mickey acts for the rest of the comic (or at least until he gets his heart back). What I find so fascinating about this is Oswald and his character, we see him be pretty dynamic and go through a character arc, we learn he has resented Mickey and he built a eutopia for him and other forgotten toons until Mickey ruined it with the tinner. From there his resentment turned to full on rage due to his grief of not only losing his world yet also his wife, yet we see when Mickey tries to right his wrongs Oswald comes to realize Mickey isn't a threat and he acts a lot better. By the end of the comic we also see the two being best friends and relationship patched up.

We never really see Mickey go through a character arc though? Yeah he rights his wrongs and fixes the world he fucked up, yet that's the bare minimum and we see the wizard intended for it to play out like this.

I mean, I guess Mickey learned a lesson although I don't think "don't mess with magic and things that aren't yours" is a lesson, that's common sense. Mickey is the protagonist of the story and he fixes what he messed up and in the process rekindles his relationship with his lost brother, that's pretty much it. I find this really interesting as generally Mickey is just a tool to tell a story and he rarely shows his character. The time he DOES show character its usually not referenced by Disney or acknowledged, like Runaway Brain.

Fun fact, Runaway Brain which is one of the few instances Mickey is more of a indepth character is also referenced in this very comic!

Now of course this could be pure coincidence and I 100% think I'm reading WAYYYY to far into this, but it's still interesting to see this comic reference an instance of Mickey being a character with depth. I don't wanna talk about Runaway Brain too much as there's a YouTube video that does a better job of analyzing it better than me, but if you're unfamiliar with the movie it does something unique in the fact that it gives Mickey flaws, painting him (haha get it paint?) as a video game addict.

Got off track a bit but circling back around to my point: Mickey has never really had personality once he became a Disney mascot. In the classical shorts we see him be a lot different than the sterilized mouse we have now and it's only recently did we actually see Mickey get some of his actual charm back (I love the Wonderful World of Mickey Mouse so much and all the stuff related to it). Now as much as I love Oswald he ALSO didn't have much of a personality when being owned by Disney back in the silent era and it wasn't until Epic Mickey did we get to better understanding him and his personality considering he actually talks and he's in a setting with a genuine plot that's more than humor. Oswald in Epic Mickey is this actual character who changes as the plot happens, meanwhile Mickey stays constant UNTIL HIS HEART IS STOLEN. The games could be different or something idk, it's entirely plausible this theory is counteracted by the second game. But at least in the comics we see once that heart is snagged he acts more dynamically and becomes more than just a jolly cartoon character trying to fix his mistake.

I think the heart is more than just fame, it's also a reflection of character and a company's treatment of a character because of fame. Mickey is the mascot, he's flawless, he's the face of a corporation, his heart or aka his fame is what makes him him and it's the image Disney crafted for him. Without a heart toons end up like Oswald, old, bitter, and resentful, yet also dynamic and capable of change and I find this concept so cool yet once again in the graphic novel, IT'S A LIKE A SINGLE PANEL! This idea is kinda just discarded and left as an inference to be made and possibly entirely retconned or countered by the second game or the first game! I don't know, I haven't played either nor the awful 3Ds game.

Alright well that's all, I just wanted to make this little rant because I wanna procrastinate on some stuff I gotta do and I love coming up with theories or overanalyzing things. I don't know how to end this so have this screenshot from the graphic novel that made me go "what the fuck does that mean?"

(seriously wtf are gus and Mickey on?)