#its like someone pulled out the thoughts in my brain and animated it THIS IS SO FIRE...THERES ACTUAL POOP IN MY PANTS RN

[bobosbillionsknives]

There's no fucking way.

Wanted to use this meme for lipsync practice but try and guess where and when I got freakin' tired)

[neonovember]

bucky barnes as a husband headcanon!

heavily inspired by my steve headcanons here, I wanna try my hand at writing more of james. he is the epitome of devotion, he falls first and falls hard.

this kind of takes part in an alternative au (think avengers are still together but its post the falcon and the winter soldier)

he is canonically good at cunnilingus

you think I’m joking? This man divulges into a rabid animal the second he gets close to your thighs. He is on his knees whilst your pressed up against the counter rubbing his face against your clothed crotch moaning and grinding in the air

he says if he could have gotten a taste of you while he was the winter soldier it would've required his brain and reversed the brainwashing

’to be alone with you’ - hozier is bucky’s song

like steve, he feels the isolation and ghost-like feeling of being lost in time. Brooklyn doesn't feel like home anymore, he constantly reaches for you, even in sleep because you are the thing he now belongs to.

you can never get used to how intense bucky just..stares at you. Every single moment of the day you'll just catch him watching you silently not saying a word. It wasn't creepy, no it had this protective almost darkness to it that was all consuming. At one of Tony’s parties, he’s watching you across the room with a glass in his hand or mysterious and shit. (probably thinking about when is a polite time to leave)

which is never because bucky just drags you both out of every gathering. Every goodbye is an Irish one

man bun bucky. That’s it.

lets you cut his hair when it gets to the point of covering his eyes. Sometimes his stubble too, thumb circling and grazes your thigh as you lean over him with a scalpel.

most of the team are still gobsmacked at how bucky justs..trusts you. Whether it be with a shaving, or jumping out of a corner. If any of the team tried to pull a knife on bucky he would probably (not) accidentally break their jaw

after missions all the Avengers know he’ll be offline for at least a couple days to be with you. What they don’t discuss is half of those days are fucking you bruised. He gets all pent up and irritated when he isn’t around you, it’s like you recalibrate his mood back to baseline regular bucky when he can finally sink into you.

doll, darlin’, honey

if you think steve is possessive…just exponentiate that to the power of 10 and you have husband bucky. Are we forgetting this man used to be the winter soldier? he's cute and adorable but also can be fucking horrifying. I’m talking blank face breaking a mans jaw cause he looked at you funny

very casual in his superhuman abilities to protect you. 

silky dulcet notes of etta james, the album sam had gifted you both playing as you cut up some root vegetables. It’s summer and the night is long and warm, and you and bucky are humming as you prepare dinner. You're twirling your hips, Bucky is leaning against the countertop, half trussing the chicken and the other watching you when he suddenly stops. You don't notice it at first, until he cocks his head to the side, kind of blinks and moves to turn the saucepan on low. You turn to him, and he grabs for one of the kitchen knives on the bench before reaching for you.

"there's someone in the backyard"

all nonchalant, like it had been a burrowing animal stuck under the floorboards. he motions for you to continue, turns up the record player a bit and walks into the backyard without a sound.

this man is touch starved, of course he is cock warming after. each and every time.

one of the things bucky loved about you is at ease he felt, he could talk to you and spill everything out in a way he never could with dr raynor or even steve.

there was a bit of distance from him when he first met you, he was awestruck, even more silent than he usually was. Just stared at you longingly, standing off to the side. he didn’t think he could be anything but feared, it genuinely got to the point where you thought he didn't like you or that you had done something wrong. when steve had told him this, he nearly died. no, i'd like to think he's heart stopped for a couple seconds seriously. than got up from fainting, took you aside, and kissed you against the back of sarah's backyard door on the fourth of july.

stations a few target practice posts in your backyard. teaches you how to shoot, chest pressed up against your back as he helps move your body in the right position. always make sure you know where the weapons are in the house

singing to records whilst he's cleaning said weapons at the table

takes you to all the places still standing he remembers in Brooklyn, you hold his hand and let him rest against your shoulder when the past gets caught in his throat.

Steve finds a place in the city with actual good music, where people actually dance, and it becomes your spot every Friday.

yeah, one thing bucky remembers would be his muscle memory of the dance floor, he’s goooood. Teaches you everything he knows in your kitchen of course, always ends up with you making out on top of each other though

dry humping like teenagers, bucky with his low hanging jeans, not wearing boxes and making a mess just from the taste of your mouth

actually, sometimes breaks down in tears when he realises you’re his wife. Like forever.

always thinking about you, what you're doing, if you've eaten. even if hes in the middle of recon you will be in the back of his mind.

leans over and loops his dog tags around your neck whenever he leaves for missions. kisses your eyelids when your sleeping and the fight calls him

the second time you and bucky visited Wakanda he had Shuri craft the ring to be fused into his vibranium finger..yeah I know.

bucky isn’t the extroverted talking type, but with you he is constantly just yapping..about anything and everything. Following you around the house like a puppy, coming to you for the answers about the new world and questions he always harboured even before the ice

bucky is hilarious, he's already an adonis, but he could laugh you of your pants

can’t bear fighting with you, he never yells. He just kind of goes quiet and takes a walk

you guys live in a house with a huge backyard and a wraparound porch

loves cooking, lets him turn his mind off sometimes and make you something hearty and warm. he has a frilly gingham patterned apron he wears and his curls are wrapped into a bun with your scrunchie. floor always ends up on his cheek, and you always end up on the kitchen bench with his mouth on you

night terrors had him sleeping in a sleeping bag next to the bed, he refused despite your attempts. Sometimes he'd wait till you fell asleep against him and make the heartbreaking quiet separation and sleep on the floor

sometimes likes to take of his arm around the house, especially sleeping. Keeps it near in case though, for you.

he’s thick everywhere…took an hour of foreplay minimum to get you ready for him. You both will never get used to each other, needing to take a moment of hushed gasps and groans when he first sinks in

the wedding was in Sams backyard in Delacroix, just Sam, Sarah, the kids and Yoshi and the team

fairylights wrapped around the spanish moss of hanging trees, soft jazz and hard liquor. Sarah’s seafood boil and a dance floor where bucky spends half the night with you there

dad!bucky on the other hand..now that is a different ballpark. wait no actually, just him when you're both expecting. let's not forgot when he stormed into the tower and broke through the office doors to ask why on earth tony had scheduled him a mission so close to the birth of your baby, tossing him his phone which was now crumbled heap of metal in the shape of his fists....(you were two weeks along)

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival part 9

Jazz has an itty bitty teeny weeny severe mental breakdown.

Credit once more to @keferon for starting this au.

———————————————————————

Jazz never thought he’d find himself deeply empathizing with the xenomorph from Alien, but here he was.

Doing freak shit.

A lone lifeform trapped on a spaceship with no idea how their technology works, no means of escape and no way to sustain themselves. Skittering across the ceiling and one wrong move away from murdering someone on contact.

Plus, I pop out of my mecha like an actual motherfucking chest burster. So I’m sure that’ll go over GREAT.

The parallels were compounding into existential crisis territory.

It got way too fucking close handling that checkup with the medic. Trying to keep his cool felt like he was trapped in an hours long quick time event. Every question had to be snap judged for the safest possible answer. Completely make shit up and risk getting caught in the act, don’t give away any information and they’ll know you’re hiding something.

Jazz juggled that damn Catch 22 like a professional. Thank you.

Case in point, while one of his mechas arms was still non functional, Jazz managed to maneuver his actual arm inside the cabin to grope around for some water to chug. Without disconnecting from the mecha.

That particular stunt felt like splitting his brain in half with a splintery wedge. The water was absolutely necessary, but the pressure inside his skull rang like an air horn zip-tied open.

Right now the only coherent thought he could form was the overwhelming animal desire to find a dark hidden hole and crawl up inside it. Then repeat that motion by disconnecting from his mecha, finding the most secure hiding spot inside that, and passing out for oh just a quick little 24 to 36 hours.

The pilot paused. Down the hall, mechas- giant alien robots- had noticed his disappearance. Even through the language barrier, Jazz would recognize the opening lyrics to his personal theme song anywhere: “Oh fuck where’d he go?”

Hidden behind rows of pipes, Jazz counted his inhalations until the thuds of metal feet passed him by.

Was the alien invader from The Thing scared? If it had finished building its spaceship would the Thing really have tried to take over the world? Or was it just desperate to go home?

Jazz was panting. Or maybe hyperventilating. He made a conscious effort to pull air through his grit teeth at an even flow. Even though he couldn’t actively feel his human body, the dull droning dread pressed through the disconnect to whisper “You’re running out of time.”

He didn’t know how long he had left before his stupid flesh sack would start giving out, but he needed to be somewhere safe when it happened. He’d make it. He’d make it because he had to to make it. He was the best goddamn pilot in the entire program and that was for one reason and one reason alone: Failure Was Not A Motherfucking Option.

If his options were do it the hard way or not at all, then the hard way was what the world got.

Once the guards passed, Jazz slunk along the wall, reaching upside down to fry another security pad, only for the door to open automatically.

Risking it, Jazz peaked into the room and not seeing or hearing anyone, slipped inside.

Once the door slid shut behind him, Jazz lowered himself to the ground one handed, scanning the room more thoroughly.

More screens, inactive. A chair and a couch. Miscellaneous wall kibbling, a table, cabinets. Windows.

Jazz gasped.

Glowing clouds of light, layered like sheets stretching into infinity. Star clusters like paint splatters on black velvet.

White and amber. A haze of something pink.

Unconsciously, Jazz moved towards the window, until he could lightly tap his visor against the glass. His field of view consumed by galaxies.

Back when they first launched him into space, Jazz had come to terms with the let down that all he’d get to see was a black slate and maybe a couple dots. The space station didn’t have many windows to start with, and all his space walks took place when the sun was “out”, so Jazz never really got to see as much of the Milky Way as his inner child hoped.

Now, the child was quiet. Face pressed against the glass, Jazz felt his throat closing up.

At least I got this. Even if I’ve got a half life, I got to see the stars the way they were meant to be.

He hovered. Wanting to find a song to match this moment, but couldn’t find anything more fitting than his own breathing. The rush of blood in his ears was still loud, but a white noise that could substitute for silence.

Like a marble rolling off a table, Jazz felt his stomach drop a moment before his conscious mind could follow.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it?”

Jazz had his arm cocked back to turn the poor fuckers face into a plate but locked himself mid swing at the last second. The mech had lifted a tablet to protect himself, and the move was such a Bullied Nerd cliche it stopped Jazz cold.

Now that his heart rate was breaking highway speed limits again, the angry radio static that was his racing thoughts drowned out any coherent thoughts of what to say.

The mech peeked out from behind the tablet and wow. That’s a guy. That’s just a straight up dude. Prowl and Elita were bulky enough that Jazz could at least imagine where a pilot could sit. But this guy? He looked like the only thing he could throw out was his back. Jazz didn’t even know “elderly twink” was a look possible for a giant robot.

Mystery Codger was staring at him. Jazz still had a fist raised.

Do something say something do something say something you fucked up you fucked up either kill him or start lying just do anything brain please.

“Could you help me find my glasses?”

Jazz faltered. “Wu- What?”

The mech uncurled from his brief defensive huddle. “My glasses? Spectacles? Ah, object-sight-improve-positive?”

The pistons in his arm faintly hissed as the tension released.

Maybe-

As if this was all normal, the mech gently set the tablet on the table, before squatting and squinting at the floor.

Maybe I just have actual brain damage.

Acting on mental autopilot, Jazz took the opening to behave like a normal person. Crouching and scanning the floor for giant alien robot spectacles.

“My name is Rung by the way. I actually don’t think we’ve met previously.” Rung said that last bit with an odd inflection Jazz didn’t have the brain power to think about.

“Jazz. We definitely haven’t met.” He couldn’t quite keep the exhaustion from making that last bit come out snippy.

Rung simply hummed and continued his search. For his part, Jazz was taking the moment to center himself, preparing the best mask he could on short notice.

How long could he keep faking it? Prowl had been with him since he woke up and he didn’t show any signs of needing to sleep. They had doctors. Prowl cared enough about his “health” to take him to one. If Jazz collapsed in front of anyone, they’d drag his sorry ass back to the medbay and it’d be game over. He couldn’t just ask for a place to crash or else he ran the risk of tipping them off he wasn’t one of them if they really didn’t sleep.

A faint tapping sound made him twitch in his stupor.

“Now where could the blasted thing have gone.” Rung was sat crossed legged on the ground.

With Jazz. Who’d vaguely crumbled into a kneeling ball under a table.

Jazz stared at Rung tapping his glasses against his chin. The orange mech made eye contact, and Jazz swore to god he caught him smile.

He reached out a hand, pointing, “Found ‘em.”

The smile came to fruition. Rung aha-ed and held his glasses before himself, inspecting them fondly.

“All that trouble for such a small problem. And all I needed was to ask for help.”

Jazz let himself sag slightly against the wall. Dully thudding the back of his head. “Okay. I’ll cop that was a good trick.”

“It did pull you out of your spiral didn’t it?” Rung said sounding way too smug. He pulled a cloth out from where-ever-the-fuck and cleaned his glasses with it.

He’d been seeing these mechs pull out and disappear objects all day like a bunch of Looney Toons characters. That kind of lapse in logic didn’t bode well for Jazz’s mental condition.

He let his eyes close, rationing his remaining focus.

“How’d you know that’d work?” He mumbled.

“You seemed afraid. You stalled out when you saw I was afraid.” Rung simply stated before he then asked rhetorically, “You’re a protector aren’t you?”

Jazz made a noncommittal sound. Lying was his first impulse, but he really didn’t feel like giving this guy more material to hook him with.

The mech laughed once anyways, “You are. Unorthodox too. I can see why you have such a hold over Prowl.”

That got his attention, “I do?”

“Oh yes.” He heard Rung shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. “Even if he can’t recognize the feeling anymore, I think you give him hope.”

Jazz wanted to laugh and he would if he had the energy.

Instead Jazz sighed. “I’m kinda at rock bottom right now man. And currently? Lil bit fresh outta hope myself.”

And ideas.

Jazz was of the opinion that any problem was solvable if you were willing to get crazy enough, but this was like trying to solve treading water a million miles from shore with only sharks for company. He either drown slowly or get torn apart the moment the sharks realized he was there.

“Hopeless mechs don’t stop to stare at the stars in wonder, Jazz.” When he opened his eyes, Jazz saw Rung staring him down like he was insulted. “To be hopeless is to let yourself die. Do you intend to die today?”

“No.” He challenged back, body minutely tensing.

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything to keep living?” Rung poked him in the chest.

“Yes.” He responded just as quickly, but there was a rasp to his voice. Something small and quiet. Not easily caught. Not easily killed.

“Even ask for help?” Rung quirked his head at him, shit eating grin growing by the second.

Jazz deflated, groaning loud enough for his mecha’s speakers to vibrate his bones.

“Look, I appreciate the therapy session doc, but asking for help is legitimately not an option for me right now.”

Rung leaned forward, resting his chin on a servo, “Alright then. List your current alternative options that you alone can accomplish, devoid of any assistance whatsoever.”

Jazz didn’t respond.

The silence continued to linger.

“Go on.” Rung gestured.

Cornered, Jazz could feel his horns pin back and a burning sensation in his eyes. He rubbed a hand over his visor even though it didn’t actually help.

“Where’s Prowl?”

Rung chuckled, victorious. The scrawny orange mech scooted out from under the table and stood, offering a servo to Jazz to do the same.

The brief rest left Jazz jelly limbed, which was evidently bad enough to translate to a faint tremble in his mecha. Despite that, Jazz didn’t take Rungs hand because there’s no way in hell that guy could support him if he fell. Elita’s threat over harming her crew was still fresh and shiny in his mind.

“You’ll find his office down that way.” Rung pointed out the direction. “Down the hall, turn left at the first junction, pass by two more doors, turn right at that junction and then keep walking until you reach the end of the hall. His office isn’t labeled but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Rung opened the door and then took a seat in the chair next to the couch. “I’d offer to have Prowl come to meet you here, but I have another appointment coming up shortly.”

Oh uh. He actually is a therapist.

Jazz laughed humorlessly, “Why not invite them to join the party? Make it a group session.”

Avoiding eye contact, Rung fiddled with a stylus, “Ah, that would not do I’m afraid. My next patient recently figured out how to “bite” people by quickly jabbing his helm forward and I’d rather that not be your first encounter with him.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Jazz simply nodded numbly.

He paused at the doorway, running the directions through his head again, before turning back slightly. “Hey Rung? Thanks.”

“It’s Rung, and you’re… welcome?” The mech trailed off, looking at Jazz with surprise as the door slid shut behind him.

Walking away, Jazz got about thirty feet before realizing he couldn’t turn his head too quickly or else he’d start seeing double. Feeling the countdown drop into double digits, Jazz hurried along Rungs path.

And nearly crashed into another mech.

It had a head like an old school security camera, a single yellow camera lense cycling down to a pinprick at his appearance. The chassis was crazy long and pointed. Out of habit, Jazz tried mapping out what the interior would look like. The pilot seat would need to be horizontal but it was pretty doable. The limbs were definitely on the skinny side but sharp and fast looking. Bonus points for what was definitely front mounted guns.

All in all, solid design. 7/10.

“Hey.” The mech rasped.

Oh fuck right, Alien.

“Sup.” Jazz replied eloquently.

The camera lense eye loosed, upgrading to a coin sized pupil and clearly looking him over.

“Empurata?” The mech said casually pointing to his legs and visor.

“Uh, sure.” Jazz shrugged.

“Same.” Nodded camera-head.

“Cool.”

The two of them awkwardly stood in the hall. Camera-head seemed content to block traffic and Jazz was mentally banging rocks together in hopes of getting a spark of intelligent thought.

“Can I peel off your visor with a knife?”

The mech held a dagger pinched between its crab claws and Jazz had to bite his tongue not to ask why it didn’t just use those.

Instead, the brain rocks came through.

“Rung lost his glasses.” Jazz threw up a thumb, gesturing over his shoulder. “Needs help. Now.”

Good job brain rocks.

“What? He does?” The mechs head popped up like some kind of fucked up goose, before shoving past Jazz, knocking him into the wall.

“HOLD ON DOC I’M COMING!”

The mech folded inside out into a mother fucking helicopter?! Charging down the hall in a whirlwind so strong Jazz could feel it through his mecha.

Jazz counted to five, and crawled back up into the safety of the ceiling pipes.

He blinks, and he’s staring down another hall. Left turn, two doors, right turn. . . Wait. Was that a right or left he just did? He’s upside down so everything should be reversed right?

He doesn’t remember blinking but the hall is at a different angle. New hall? Or did he just turn his head?

Jazz wants to press the heels of his palms into his eyes until everything holds still but he can’t. So he keeps moving. Keeps hiding.

And then he sees the most beautiful goddamn mech in the universe marching down the hall. Followed by half a dozen substantially less impressive mechs with guns drawn.

Stilling, Jazz remained hidden behind the pipes. Evidently alien robots had the same peripheral blindness to ceilings that human security guards did, as none of them noticed him.

Except for Prowl.

Through the gaps, Jazz watched as Prowl gave rapid fire orders to the armed soldiers behind him. Six mechs. Six guns. Three too many for Jazz to take in his current state. Prowl went silent and his wings twitched. Shivering, Jazz got the deeply uncanny sense he was being intimately observed.

The lights were ringing in a tinnitus B flat. He had the audio feed from his mecha dialed way too high but he couldn’t afford to miss any detail of what would happen next.

Whatever Prowl was said next, it must have been in his native language. Which Jazz found deeply unfair after all the work he’d put into learning Common.

The black and white mech turned to his cohort, waving them down the hall ahead of them. Prowl did not follow, wings still minutely shifting position. Once they were out of sight, Prowl turned on his heel back the way he came. Flicking a single piercing look to Jazz.

Silently. Shakily. Jazz skulked along the shadows after him.

He mental map was fucked. Every time he blinked, Jazz lost track of the most recent few seconds of his life. If Prowl wasn’t stopping every fifty feet to not-so-subtly check that Jazz was still following him, the human didn’t know where he’d end up.

Finally, Prowl reached a door at the end of a hall and entered without any delay. Jazz dropped, moving inside before the door could close again.

“Please don’t freak out.” Jazz cut him off before Prowl could set the tone of this conversation. The mech closed his mouth and after a moment’s consideration, assumed a tense but mostly neutral stance.

“I will not ‘freak out’.” Prowl looked like wanted to say more, but Jazz couldn’t afford that right now.

“Awesome! Because right now I’m freaking out and I won’t be able to keep it together if you start freaking out too.” He was pacing back and forth, not really seeing the mech beside him anymore.

“Jazz.” A servo caught his elbow, stopping him in place. “Where have you been?”

“Oh you know. Here. There. Ceiling mostly. Shockingly unrelated, but I think a talking helicopter wants to wear my face as a hat.” Jazz nodded way too enthusiastically in a manner he hoped translated into an appropriately manic “Please god help me.” grit toothed grin.

Prowl was momentarily speechless before physically shaking off the latest deluge of confusion, “That sounds like Whirl. You would not have encountered them had you stayed in the med bay like you were supposed to. Now I’m asking you again: What are you doing and why are you doing it?”

Audibly cracking, Jazz tried to answer honestly but found his voice locked up. He couldn’t, why couldn’t he..? Why was talking suddenly so fucking hard?

Meanwhile, Prowl just looked defeated. He rubbed that spot between his eyes, not yet letting him go.

“If you cannot provide a reasonable explanation for your sudden shift in behavior, I will have to assume the worst. You leave me no choice but to-“

“I’M REALLY SHORT.” Great. Fantastic. Incredible work brain. Take five.

Prowls optics flickered. Brow furrowing as he looked up at Jazz’s clearly taller mecha.

“That’s not- I mean-.” Jazz clasped his head in his hands, switching back to English. “{I- I- don’t know if this is even real.}”

Something was gripping his arms. Black and white appeared in his vision. “Jazz, please. I can’t help you if I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Common was easy to learn but right now it felt like Jazz was playing Scrabble with a bad hand.

“Prowl, where do you go when you- when you change-body-shape?” He had to stop to breath midway.

Please, please, please this is the last chance for anything to make sense.

But instead the mech slowly shook his head in disbelief, “Where do I..? Nowhere Jazz, it’s still me, I’m not ‘going’ anywhere. My alt form is not a different person.”

The mech gently pulled Jazz’s hands off his head from where he’d been stressing the damage from earlier. “I understand if you’ve never seen an alt mode before but your behavior, your questions, they’re not making any sense.”

Prowl stopped. Optics going wide as placed his servos on Jazz’s wrists. “Jazz are you Crashing?!”

“What? What is that what you call a mental breakdown? Cause yeah I’m having one of those.” He said a little too breathlessly.

“Sit-“ Prowl pulled him down to the floor. “Sit down. I’m calling for a medic.”

“No!” Desperately, Jazz grabbed onto Prowl who was helpless but to join him on the floor. The floodgates opened and Jazz couldn’t stop.

“No no no no, please god no. They’re gonna find out. I need to to tell you. I need to tell you myself. Just, please I’m begging you don’t do it. Give me a chance. Just give me a chance to explain, I don’t want to wake up on a table, please Prowler.”

For his part, Prowl was handling the situation as well as to be expected. He didn’t try to leave again but did get into a more comfortable kneeling position next to the panicking mecha.

“Alright. Alright, I won’t leave. Speak.”

Jazz tried tapping an alternating rhythm on the floor, giving himself literally anything else to focus on. He swallowed back bile and his thrashing fight or flight instincts.

“I’m not-“ Jazz grit his teeth. Telling the truth felt like trying to pop a dislocation back into place. Actually no. Jazz had done that before and it had felt infinitely less unnatural than what he was trying to do now.

Prowl was patient. Bless his heart, motor, whatever he’s got in there. Remaining silent beside him.

The pilot forced himself to take complete breaths, “l. Am not. The same. As you.” One, one two, one two, one two, Jazz counted in time.

“I noticed.” Prowl stated flatly, then softening his expression, “You hadn’t realized you were an alien until now, didn’t you?”

Jazz laughed a little too hysterically, “No, no I Fraggin’ did not. Please don’t freak out.”

“Jazz, you are hardly the first alien species I’ve ever encountered. At least you actually look like a person.”

The pilot got very, very quiet.

“Prowl, what do you think of organics.” Resolutely, Jazz stared down the floor panels, refusing to look anywhere else.

Momentarily, Prowl opened his mouth to speak and shut it again. He shifted to kneel in front of Jazz. Sharp optics darting across his frame. Lightly, Jazz could feel him trace something along his undamaged shoulder. He shivered against his will.

“Jazz.” Prowl got down to where he had to look at him. He spoke so, so softly, “Were you created by organics?”

Well, when a mommy human and a daddy human love each other very much…

“You could say that.” Jazz rasped instead.

He hadn’t even moved, but the energy in the air just went burning cold. Prowl went from soft to deathly serious so fast Jazz visibly flinched.

“Listen to me. You do not have to go back. You do not ever have to go back. I swear on everything I stand for I will not let another one of those things anywhere near you again.” Unintentionally, Prowl was crowding into his space.

Despite himself, Jazz just kept drawing himself in smaller and smaller as Prowl closed in.

“No no no no you don’t get it, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I am!” He started quiet and steadily grew in volume.

Prowl wasn’t getting it. Instead, raising his voice to match, “No you are wrong! You have a choice now! You aren’t just your function and you aren’t just something they made to die!”

He grabbed Prowl by the shoulders, shaking him, “I DID CHOSE THIS. I KNOW I’M GONNA DIE, BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M FUCKING TALKING ABOUT.”

“Then what ARE you talking about?!” He shouted back.

“I’M ONE OF THEM.” His microphone peaked, and his voice broke.

The quiet hurt. Anything that wasn’t numb hurt. He gulped down air and couldn’t keep more than one eyelid up at a time.

Prowl ground his jaw tightly, practically steaming from reeling back a sense of calm by force, “You are not shorter than me. You are not thinking straight. And You. Are not. An organic.”

Jazz only semi involuntarily rolled his eyes.

“Fuck it.”

He disconnected, and everything hit at once.

Vision went and came back out of focus and way too close. His ears were ringing too badly to hear the sound of his mecha’s chest plates opening, though he knew that they were.

Every fiber of muscle in his body was torn and screaming, he’d throw up later if he had the strength. Jazz did not so much stand as he did lift off the pilot seat and then buckle forward. The hard shell of his pilot suit saved his knee from getting gouged by the corner of the platform he was slipping off of.

That’s fine. He’d land on the steps.

Except, his mecha had been leaning forward hadn’t it?

Like a rag doll, over the edge he went. A huge and blurry and black shape rushing to meet him.

———————————————————————

Is Jazz capable of telling the truth when it’s to save his life? No.

Will he do it out of spite just to prove someone wrong? Yes.

Also, secret props to @somerandomcockroach for showing how fun Rung is to write.

Bonus bit, Prowl finally let his EM field loose far enough for Jazz to notice! It was bad.

-SSTP

<- First Last ->

[treasureroffelines]

Poolverine, at the end of the world.

Wade: Hey, Wolvie~!

Logan: Wade, I swear to god - if you ask me to repopulate the world with you one more time, I’ll-

Wade: Is that a no? :(

Cropped version:

ITS DONE!! It took forever but it was worth it :D I drew this for my half-baked poolverine au! It’s kind of a post-apocalyptic time skip, and it’s based on 616 Wade and Wolvie, so not from the Poolverine movie >•< I’m thinking of maybe doing a couple more pieces of them in this au :D

AU lore dump/intro (TL;DR at the end):

It’s been decades (maybe even centuries - who’s keeping track?) since civilisation collapsed, and there’s little left but ruins and bones. Shattered buildings, once tall and steady, litter the skyline.

By all accounts, it’s the end of the world.

And yet, Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett still live on. Their healing factors, although not as fast as they once were, still refuse to let them die. Everyone, and everything, they had once known though, is long gone. Taken by the collapse or just the quiet passing of time. But they’ve managed to find each other, and they’ve made it work.

Right after the collapse, Logan spent months alone, furious and hurting at the loss of the people he’d never been able to admit he cared for. He never stopped moving, tracking faint scent trails across near-empty countries, looking for someone, anyone, that he had known before. Looking for those that he didn’t yet know were alive or dead. ‘Ro, Kurt, Laura, Scott - anyone. Well- anyone but Wade Fucking Wilson.

Logan tries getting rid of Wade for a while after they meet. He yells at him, stabs him, threatens him - but Wade clings on like a damn limpet. A loud, overly affectionate limpet. And for the next few weeks, Logan does not know silence. Wade follows him everywhere.

Eventually, Logan just gives up and stops trying to abandon him in a cave somewhere. He even starts sharing his food and water when it becomes clear that Wade has the self-preservation skills of a newly born puppy. And now that he’s not actively trying to lose Wade, Logan starts noticing something weird’s going on with him. More so than usual, anyway. Sometimes he’ll just stop mid-sentence, confused, unsure of what he was talking about or what he was doing. Or he’ll miss a step while walking, and look around like he’s not sure when he’d gotten here. (Think Wade in the Deadpool and Cable comics prior to Nate using his funky telepathic powers to make it better). He asks Wade about it, and gets a messy answer about regenerative healing factors, cancer, and ‘people who keep fucking about with his brain cells’. Logan chalks it up to what happened in the collapse - no one got out of that unscathed.

Once it’s clear that it’s not something Logan can fix with his claws or his tools, he stops asking. Instead, he compensates. They make it work. Logan gets good at giving Wade the rundown of what’s happened that day when Wade forgets, and dragging him back when he wanders off. And Wade knows to pull Logan out of his thoughts when he notices his Wolvie being a bit too broody and standoffish. Wade understands what Logan’s lost, why he’s still looking so desperately for the ones he loved. Wade had lost his own people, though he has no reason to search like Logan. You can’t look for someone you’ve already buried.

And so Logan and Wade keep travelling. Weeks turn into months, months turn into years, and years turn into decades. The little outposts of survivors that they come across get sparser and sparser, until they disappear completely. Green starts taking over shattered concrete and brick, and the rubble of cities gets covered by a layer of moss and brush. Animals begin settling in on top of the remains of what was once human, and it becomes easier to think that maybe people had never walked the earth at all.

And soon, it becomes clear. They’re the only ones left.

TL;DR: A ‘would you love me if I was the only man left on earth’ situation but it’s not hypothetical.

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Baby Blurb #3

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Animal Kingdom Masterlist Pope x Hawk Playlist Well Enough Alone Baby AU Masterlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and J discuss turning his room into the nursery Word Count: 1.2k Content Warning: no warnings AN: this one is a little longer than the others. we get a further look into J and Hawk's dynamic. please comment & reblog :)

Once Hawk and Pope made it through that first trimester, Hawk had to have the slightly uncomfortable conversation with J about converting his room into a nursery. He hadn’t stayed with Hawk in over a year, and had his own place at this point, so she didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, but those hormones were working overtime. 

Hawk had been in hiding from the rest of the family, more or less, and they still hadn’t told anyone -other than Jane (obviously). 

So when Hawk opens the front door and J sees the bump for the first time without any kind of head's up? 

He felt faint. 

Lightheaded. 

Nauseous. 

His mouth was dry and his heart pounded in his chest. 

His ears rang and he swore he could taste metal. 

“Hawk.” He says, eyes still zeroed in on her stomach. 

“Mhm,” Hawk’s hand comes to rest on the curve of her stomach. 

“Is that-”

“-Yup,” Hawk pulled the door open, “come in before you pass out. We gotta talk about a few things.” 

He took it better than she expected, but J still had his reservations about Pope and now Hawk was officially tied to this family and it made J sick to his stomach. 

While Hawk yapped about seeing if there was anything he wanted to save from his old room, his mind was elsewhere as he watched her. Hawk’s skin was glowing and she looked happy, happier than he had seen her previously. He stared blankly at her when he noticed she was staring at him, waiting for an answer. 

“Huh?” He asked dumbly. 

“I asked if you were okay with this? This is still your room and I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you out for the baby, you know? If you still want to keep it, we can figure something else out. There are other areas we can convert.” Hawk always thought of him, even now as she was prepping for a baby she still kept him in her orbit of consideration. 

“It’s your house, Hawk. I think this room stopped being mine a while ago.” He said it as a way of moving on, but it still hit Hawk like a sack full of bricks. J noticed Hawk’s eyes watering as she quickly turned away so he wouldn’t see. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Hawk. It wasn’t meant in a bad way. I just meant that it’s been over a year since I’ve stayed here and you’ve grown your own family here with Pope and Lena while I’ve done my own thing out there, you know? I think the baby taking over the room is a good thing. It served its purpose with me and now someone else will get to experience what I did -the good parts.” He tried to explain rapidly, but Hawk just waved him off.

“It’s the hormones, J. Everything makes me cry, but that was actually a beautifully grown up thing for you to say.” Hawk sniffed, rubbing under her eyes. “I saw two bumblebees bouncing together on a flower in the yard yesterday and I lost it for over an hour, so anything sets me off these days.” 

“That actually sounds kind of cute.” He played along with a teasing grin -the same grin he used to send her when he’d drink straight from the orange juice carton just to piss her off. God, how the time flew. 

“Don’t patronize me, kid. I’m a lethal weapon right now.” Hawk warned, laughing through her tears. 

“Duly noted. So…you know what you're having yet?” J asked with a soft grin as he eased further into the idea of Hawk having a baby. His brain left the ‘with Pope’ part out, just to soften the blow, but it was progress. Hawks hand returned to her belly, rubbing it gently. J picked up the empty box that Hawk had on his bed and started to put some of his old keepsakes in it to put in Hawk’s garage for safekeeping. Everything else would either get donated or repurposed through the house. 

“We’re finding out next week.” Hawk said softly, watching J move around the room. The babbling two year old toddler she brought into this house, who walked those same steps through that same room, was now a man making his own way in life and here she was, sixteen years later, restarting her own journey all over again. 

The tears returned, but this time it wasn’t because of the hormones. Sure, they played a small part, but the memories that played through her mind in tandem with J in the present was a lot. So much had happened since he was a baby, since she bought this house when it was just the two of them, and Julia, for so long. Hawk never would've imagined that this is where she'd end up in the grand scheme of things. 

“What do you think it is?” J’s question broke Hawk from her thoughts. She cleared her throat and brought her attention to him. 

“Firstly, I’m hoping it’s human. Pope’s dad was a one-eyed dolphin, so who knows.” She cracked, making J bark out a laugh. “In all seriousness though, I’m leaning towards a boy. Pope’s convinced it’s a girl though.” He nodded. “Either way, I’ll be happy.”

“This’ll be a piece of cake for you. You’re good at this, you know? I’ve never outright told you, but I’m grateful my mom had you in her life. You took care of us, her, when no one else did, and you didn’t have to, but that’s who you are. You’ve got the heart for this. Now you get to do it because you want to, and while I may not be the first choice of a babysitter, I’m here for whatever you guys need, alright? If Pope needs a hand painting or anything to get it ready, just give me a call.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again, J.” 

“To be fair, I don’t think you’ve stopped crying since I got here.” Hawk smacked J’s shoulder as he laughed and it felt so close to how things used to be before Julia died. Their connection was still there, though frayed as it may be. They still loved each other, through and through. 

“You told anyone else yet?” Hawk shook her head, too choked up to answer. “Smurf’s been asking about you. She might come sniffing around sooner or later. My money’s on sooner. She's gonna flip when she sees you.”  

“Yeah…” Hawk sighed, “My pregnancy has been relatively stress-free up until this point and I’d like to keep it that way, so keep this between us until we’re ready, please?” J set the box down on his old dresser and came up to Hawk, who instantly pulled him into a hug. 

“Of course. And I’m happy for you, Hawk. Really. I already know you’re a great mom.” Hawk squeezed him tighter. 

“That means the world to me, J.” J let her go after a few moments and moved over to the dresser to pick up the box so he could take it to the garage. 

“You know Nicky is going to lose her mind when she finds out, right?” Sweet, good-intentioned Nicky. Hawk could already see the baby shower she dreaded looming in the distance. 

I'm not crying, you're crying (Hawk's crying).

[corpsekiller]

consumption of a heart unloved — dabi

PAIRING. dabi/touya todoroki x genderneutral!reader (sorta healer!reader)

WARNINGS. hurt/comfort, descriptions of scars and burns, slight gore, but i promise it's still sweet at the end

SYNOPSIS. dabi's body deteriorates after another mission, slowly meeting its inevitable end. you're able to offer him a fleeting sense of relief, an escape from the pain, even if it's just for a short while.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. so, this is one of the two fics i wanted to finish before i go on a two weeks break to focus on my upcoming exams! i've never written healer!reader before, but it just seemed to fit the plot of this fic... and with that, i'll officially log off for the next 14 days (besides reblogs and the other fic), so wish me luck on my exams🖤✨️

LENGTH. 2.072 words

MASTERLIST

It's getting worse.

He can feel it beneath his skin, breathing, pulsing, feasting on his churned flesh and brittle bones like a fuckin' parasite, consuming every inch of his sickly being with a lethal appetite.

The burns have started to spread across his torso and the staples at the seams of his discolored scars have burst open, barely able to piece his frail body together any longer as the fresh wounds tear him open from the inside out, crawling over what remains of his untouched skin with blistered heat that pulls a scream out of his throat — raw and utterly broken — like a dying animal writhing in the dirt.

It echoes through the abandoned building and fades into ever-lasting nothingness, a desperate cry that remains unanswered as he sinks further into the cushions of the old couch he found in the new hide-out of the League, hoping the cold leather might soothe the unbearable ache that keeps tormenting him.

It's a futile attempt that reminds him how pathetic he's become — unable to control his quirk and forced to suffer with the shame of it.

Dabi is convinced ripping his failing organs out of his own abdomen would feel more pleasant than this. It would be easier to bear, removing parts of this pathetic body that is causing him so much pain, dismantling himself into small pieces like a puppet — without a heart that feels and a brain that thinks — and putting them back together until everything fuckin' works how it's supposed to do.

Until his body obeys.

He's too delirious to remember when the pain started, doesn't recall what he was doing before it began to unwind in the pit of his stomach earlier that day, but he's still capable of noticing how his skin begins to feel like it has grown too tight for his bones — a prison of flesh he can never escape.

And it's not like he wasn't expecting this day to come. On the contrary, he was always aware of the ticking time bomb buried behind his ribs, the can of gasoline pulsing through his veins, waiting for the light of a burning match to blow everything up and engulf the entire world in a hailstorm of violent destruction.

That's how it was always supposed to end.

Dabi knows his fire will seal his inevitable demise in a blaze of cerulean blue, swallowing him whole and wiping him off the surface of this godforsaken earth. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the torture he has to endure until that day arrives.

His fingers twitch, blackened at the tips and trembling unsteadily, reaching towards the ceiling as if he'll find something to hold on to or perhaps someone who'd reach back and grasp his hand to pull him out of the delirium that fogs his usually so clever wit - he finds nothing but a shattered lightbulb hanging above his head, the lampshade covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, a single spider dangling from it in the corner.

He faintly wonders, if it feels just as lonely as he does.

The pain caused by his movement twists through him like barbed wire, slicing into every muscle and every nerve until his mind becomes a blur of feverish thoughts, jumbled together until he can barely form a word.

Oh, he's awfully aware he's burning out — a collapsing star on the verge of a supernova. He expected his life to end this way, should have made peace with the fact that he'd never get a happy ending, but—

The sound of footsteps pulls him back from the brink of his madness, light and deliberate, like whoever is approaching is trying not to disturb him as if he's a mere child slumbering innocently in his crib. The door creaks open, rusty hinges protesting as a figure silently slips into the darkened room.

Dabi doesn't have to look up to know it's you — he'd recognize your presence anywhere.

He always does.

"Hey," you whisper softly, your voice cutting through the haze of his pain, soft and steady, like the soothing caress of calm waves washing over his frayed nerves. Carefully stepping into his line of sight, your features deepen with a certain kind of concern — through his blurred vision he can still make out the fine line between your cinched brows, your lips curved into a small frown as you brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Though there's no pity in your eyes.

There's never pity.

It's the only reason he lets you stay.

Immediately, he grits his teeth and tries to sit up straighter, digging his fingers into the cushion for some kind of support, but the effort causes his skin to scream in protest. Before he can even realize what's happening, you're already rushing to his side and crouching beside him on the dirt-stained floor, your hand hovering near his face like you want to touch him but aren't sure if he can take it.

"You look like shit," you mumble as he catches his breath, a weak attempt at humor that coaxes a ragged chuckle from his coarse throat despite the searing heat pulsing through his entire being.

"Feel worse," he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. The corners of his chapped lips twitch into a half-hearted smirk, a ghost of the maniacal grin he wore earlier when he watched his flames consume another one of the inglorious heroes he always despised so much.

You don't laugh.

Instead, you reach out and tentatively brush the tips of your fingers against his unscarred skin, right above the silver staples that glisten faintly in the dim light creeping through the wooden planks nailed across every window of the room.

It's the barest touch, but it sends a wave of something strangely comforting through him — something that seems to extinguish the fire for a split second and settles deep in his chest, cradling his stuttering heart like a fragile butterfly with broken wings.

You're using your quirk, he notices far too late, the realization crashing down like a sledgehammer to his skull, leaving his thoughts shattered and bleeding. His body stiffens beneath your careful touch, a primal instinct to recoil sparking somewhere deep in his aching limbs, though even as his pain screams for him to move, he stays frozen in place.

He's certain now because he can feel it — the subtle, almost imperceptible shift as your energy flows into him, soothing the jagged edges of his agony. It's not enough to heal him completely - nothing could undo the damage he's done to himself - but it dulls the worst of it, like a cool cloth pressed to his fevered brow.

You’re taking it from him. The pain that is meant for him to feel, the agony that is his to own (or perhaps it owns him).

Then Dabi sees it.

The faint crease of your brow, the way your jaw ticks and clenches to stifle a sharp inhale of breath as your fingers tremble against his mangled skin, ever so slightly, before you finally press the palm of your hand over his sweat-slicked forehead in a motion so gentle that it almost reminds him of a mother tending to her sick child.

"Shit," he croaks, his words nothing but a cracked brittle thing climbing out of his mouth as he tries to jerk back. "Stop, you're–"

"Don't move," you interrupt, quiet but certain. Your voice breaks just enough to betray the strain you're under, though your hand stays firm on his face, even as your breaths start to come out quicker than usual, shallow and uneven like your lungs have unlearned how to function properly.

He supposes that's what his pain does to someone who isn't used to suffering the kind of torment he feels every day.

"You’re feeling it," he growls, though the argument dies somewhere in the back of his throat when his eyes look onto yours and find a glimpse of what is going on in your head — determination, stubborn and unyielding, even as the pain he’s spent years burying himself in bleeds into you.

"I know," you murmur shakily and tight with effort. "Just let me... let me help."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at you. Dabi watches the thin sheen of sweat gather on your temple, the way your muscles twitch and your shoulders cave in like they're trying to hold back a scream, and he hates it.

More than that, he hates the way you’re looking at him. Not with pity, but with something far worse: care.

Fuck, he wants to tell you to stop — he needs to yell at you, push you away, do anything to make you let go, yet he can't, not when your touch feels like the only thing anchoring him to reality, the only thing keeping him from slipping into the abyss that’s been pulling at him for years.

"You can’t fix me," Dabi whispers after a moment, his voice trembling as his hands twitch uselessly at his sides. A certain kind of guilt cuts through his chest, sharper than any flame ever could and it's strange because he can't remember the last time he ever felt remorse for anything he's ever done, for anyone he's ever hurt. "You can’t—"

"I know," you cut him off again, your tone firmer this time. "But I’m not leaving you like this."

Your words slam into him harder than the pain ever could. Reeling for another argument, he swallows thickly around the stone that has settled in his throat, heavy and suffocating, as he feels the edges of something unfamiliar awaken in the depths of his mind- it isn't anger nor is it hatred.

No, it's smaller, softer, fragile like a flickering candle trying to survive amid a raging storm.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he mutters, his voice cracking with defeat and his eyes dropping to where your other hand has moved to rest against his collarbone. "You're gonna kill yourself."

"Not today," you reply, your lips twitching into that faint, stubborn smile he's grown to like so much. "And neither are you."

He hates how much he wants to believe you, how much he wants to let himself lean into you, let you carry some of his burdens even if it burns you, but as he watches you endure it — every stab, every flicker of heat and pain his body throws your way — he realizes something he’s never let himself think before.

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Not now, not ever.

"C'mon, stop trying to fight me," you mutter, tenderly brushing some tousled strands of hair out of his forehead before you lean forward to press a kiss to his temple, letting your lips linger there for just a moment. "I'm not going to leave you, I promise... Touya."

The sound of his name falling from your tongue so sweetly feels like a soft ripple across still waters.

It seeps into the cracks of his fractured soul, cooling the blistering heat beneath his skin and quieting the flames that have consumed him for so long. His shoulders drop, the tightness in his chest easing as he finally exhales a shaky breath. It’s not a miracle, not a cure — but for the first time, it doesn’t hurt quite as much.

He doesn’t have the strength to answer, so instead, he leans ever so slightly into you, letting your presence hold him together where his broken body and soul cannot.

Finally, Dabi allows himself to lose this battle, letting his muscles relax for the first time in what feels like hours, days, maybe even weeks as your energy shifts around the room and the burning pain has simmered down to a dull tenderness. Cautiously, your hand leaves his forehead to find his and he lets it stay there, lets himself savor the warmth of your touch.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, the thought of surviving doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like a promise. Something worth fighting for and it terrifies him.

He doesn’t say it out loud — he can’t, not yet — but the thought burns brighter than his flames and he silently wonders if maybe, just maybe, he can hold on just a little longer.

For you.

Taglist: @justwolosers @jaerang @dabislittlemouse

(@redr0sewrites tagging you because you loved my other fic so much, i thought you might like this one too <3)

[wchswift]

── 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬

pairing! logan howlett x fem!reader

→ summary! logan is obsessed with you and he can't quit this passion and need for you. ─ very inspired by the song animals from maroon 5. → contents! ex dynamic, toxic passion, feral lust, kind of predator-prey dynamic, 70s Logan, dark Logan, mention of sex, possessive behavior, feral obsession mdni 𖤐 18+ !! → word count! 945

linas note: sooo I know I've been off from here but I'm having trouble focusing while I write, I have the idea but it's like my fingers can't write. So today I had a little motivation and in a few minutes I wrote this. I don't usually write things in this style or with this kind of dynamic (I probably won't write something like this again lol). But I heard animals today and it came to mind, so I had to write it.

He finds you again, just like he always does—like it’s instinct, like there’s something in your scent that burns its way through the fog in his brain and drags him to wherever the hell you’re hiding this time. You’re always hiding. But it’s never far enough. Not from him. Not when you smell like sweet and skin and sweat he’s already memorized. The alley’s wet, neon bouncing off puddles, and you’re leaning against the wall like you’re waiting for someone who isn’t him—but your eyes flick up the second you hear his boots scrape asphalt and you know. You always know.

You don’t say his name. You don’t have to. Your eyes go wide, sharp, a flicker of fight behind them because you always want to fight when you see him again. It’s the only thing keeping your hands from clawing his shirt open and your teeth from sinking into his shoulder. “Logan,” you breathe like a curse, like a spell, like something old and carved into the back of your ribs. He doesn’t answer. He’s already in front of you, already pressing you to the brick, hands framing your face, breath hot and ragged. “Thought you could run,” he growls, low, not quite human. “Thought I wouldn’t find you?”

You shove at him, weak and stupid and desperate, because you want to hurt him for wanting you this bad. For you wanting him this bad. “You said it was done,” you spat, nails digging into his arms. “You said you’d leave.” He grins, teeth sharp, something feral dancing in his eyes. “I lied.” Then he’s kissing you, bruising and rough, all teeth and tongue and hunger, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to eat.

It’s always like this—explosive, filthy, dangerous. You cut him out. You leave town. You swear you’re free. But then the wind shifts, and there he is again, scenting the air, tracking you down like you’re his fucking prey. And maybe you are. Maybe you like it. Maybe you love the way his voice scrapes across your skin like claws, the way his hands grip your thighs like he’s anchoring himself to the only thing that ever made sense. You tell yourself you’re over it, you’re better off, but your body betrays you every time—melts under him, arches into his touch, begs for more.

You get him inside, eventually. Inside your apartment. Inside your bed. Inside you. And when he’s there—when he’s in you—it’s the only time you stop pretending. The only time you stop fighting and just feel. His breath stutters against your neck, and he says your name like it’s killing him, like it’s salvation and damnation in the same breath. “You’re like a drug,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “You fucking ruin me.”

You laugh, broken and breathless, and pull him deeper. “Good. You deserve it.”

And maybe he does.

You try to quit each other. You try. He disappears for a week, a month, sometimes more. You block his number, leave town, fuck someone else just to prove you’re not tethered to him. But it never sticks. No one else tastes like him, feels like him, wrecks you like him. No one else fucks like they’re about to tear the world apart just to stay inside you for one more second.

And when he comes back, it’s always the same. He doesn't knock. He doesn't call. He just shows up like a storm you thought passed, and there’s that look in his eyes again—that glint that says I smelled you, I found you, you’re mine. He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t need it. You meet him halfway, always, teeth bared, nails out, ready to devour and be devoured.

One night, you try to break it. Try to end it. You tell him it’s over, that you’re done being hunted, that he needs to leave and never come back. He just tilts his head, like a wolf trying to understand why the deer thinks it’s safe now. “You can start over,” he says, voice low and dark. “Run free. Find someone else.” He steps forward. You step back. “But you’ll never stay away from me.”

You shake your head, your throat closing, your fists trembling. “I can. I will.” You retort. Even though you know you don't want to.

He closes the space, fingers brushing your cheek, and it’s so gentle you hate him for it. “I can still hear you,” he whispers. “The sounds you make. The way you moan when I—” his lips graze yours, and you don’t stop him. You can’t. “You can pretend it was someone else, but it wasn’t. It’s me. It’s always gonna be me.”

And you break.

Because he’s right.

You’re not prey.

You’re not the hunted.

You’re just as fucked as he is.

You were made for this—the heat, the ache, the wild, the blood, the way your bodies collide like war and worship. You were made to claw at each other, to tear each other open and lick the wounds clean. You were made to crawl back, again and again, even when it kills you. Because he’s the high. The addiction. The poison you’d drink twice.

You’re both animals.

And you were never meant to survive this.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[disneyprincemuke]

the pet obsession * fem!driver

instances where max verstappen influenced her to get a pet

pairings: max verstappen x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver

warnings: -

notes: this took me forever to write BECAUSE? and, there will be more! i imagine she's sort of a pokemon collector like alex with all his pets LMFAO

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

-> australia, 2023

she never actually wanted a pet. never in her life did she find the responsibilities and inconvenience of owning a pet was for her. especially when she had her own — more important — things going on.

until max started gushing about his cats in the club, blabbering about how adorable jimmy and sassy were when he last saw them a couple of days ago.

the thought of coming home to barks and meows were never in your peripheral vision when becoming an adult. suddenly it is, seeing all your friends and colleagues having pets of their own. how cuddly and warm it looks to have an animal cuddle up to your side at the end of the day.

“you know, you’re convincing me to get a pet!” she screams over the music, body still moving along to the beat of the song. “you sold me on the cuddles!”

“seriously?” the drunk dutch asks, stumbling to keep his phone in his pocket. “a pet or a cat?”

“pets, in general!” she laughs, taking a step towards him. she beckons him towards her, the older driver bending down to put his ear by her mouth. “i used to be allergic when i was a kid.”

max raises his eyebrows, pulling away. “not anymore, though?”

“not anymore!”

that’s when max stands up straight, losing his balance slightly. he holds his arms up to regain it as a wide smile creeps on his face. “follow me.”

“what fo– okay,” she says, but not before max already has a firm grip on her wrist and is threading the crowd on the dancefloor with her.

she doesn’t ask questions, why would she when the two-time world champion is being so nice and friendly to her? considering this is one of the rare times he’s starting to really open up to her too.

“where are we going?” she asks softly, tiptoeing for max to be able to hear her. she tries glancing at his phone when they stop by the doors of the club, but he only shakes his head and moves the phone away from her sight. “okay.”

“trust me. you’ll love me after tonight.” max turns towards the door, grip on her wrist again.

but before she can follow suit, sebastian is now standing over the doorframe with a hand held up to stop them. “where are you going?” he glances down at their hands. “you’re not trying to eliminate competition, are you, max?”

max tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing as he follows the older man’s gaze. he gasps loudly and drops her hand, jumping a step away from her. “no, absolutely not!”

“then where are you going?”

“to find her a pet,” max points at the younger girl with an innocent grin. “she said she wants one.”

“what?” she exclaims, a soft smack landing on his arms. “i said i was convinced, not that i want one right now!”

“where were you going to find her a pet?” sebastian’s eyebrows furrow as well, the complexity of the situation not fully processing in his intoxicated brain. “it’s 2am, you guys. it’s closed everywhere.”

max presses his lips together. “i saw a stray cat outside before we came in.”

“oh, that cat is adorable!” she gushes, a hand coming up to cup her own cheeks. she remembers how the cat butted its head on her calves as they awaited for someone to let them in.

“right? if i didn’t have two territorial cats of my own, i’d totally take it home with me right now.”

“you’re right! let’s get the cat!”

sebastian holds his arm out, swiftly catching the girl stomping her way towards the door.

“hey!” she shrieks, a look of disbelief replacing her once ecstatic expression.

“you’re not taking a random stray cat back. your mother will kill me if you catch a disease,” sebastian sighs. he turns back to max with a stern finger point. “you should know better, max! come on!”

max drops his head, lips pouted. “you’re right. we’ll get you a proper, vaccinated cat, (y/n).”

“okay, let’s get back to the dance floor,” sebastian groans, pushing them gently further into the club. he shakes his head. “seriously, i turned my head for one second!”

“oscar,” she slurs, dropping her weight into her friend’s arms.

“get a grip, come on,” oscar mutters, hands wrapping around her torso to keep her from falling. “you didn’t even drink that much — why are you being like this?”

“seb wouldn’t let me get a cat,” she sighs, her hair falling to cover the sides of her face. she pushes herself off the australian and stumbles a couple of steps to the side, propping herself up on a lamp post. “so rude.”

“i can hear you,” sebastian scoffs, his hand around max’s arm to keep him upright while stepping out of the bar. “it’s just dangerous if it’s a stray cat. you’ve got to bring them to the vet for the initial check up and everything.”

“yeah, but i m- oh my gosh!” she shrieks, hands cupping her cheeks again. they all look at what’s caught her attention, the same cat that max was talking about earlier now at her feet once more. “oh, you’re still here! hello there!”

“(y/n),” oscar says, pulling her back gently. “seb literally just explained why you shouldn’t get a stray cat.”

“but he loves me, look at him!” she squeals, the cat rubbing its side on her feet. the cat makes figure 8’s around her ankles, its tail brushing past her calves while rubbing his head on her. “i have to take her home, oscar!”

“oh, he chose you!” max exclaims, eyes wide and pointing at the black cat. “that cat absolutely ignored the living shit out of me earlier!”

“max,” sebastian sighs, grabbing his shoulders. max cranes his neck, meeting sebastian’s eyes with a tired smile. “shut up.”

when he looks back at her, the girl is now bent down to the ground, reaching forward to take the cat into her arms.

“oh, baby!” she coos, juggling the willing cat in her arms as it meows at her. “seb, i have to bring him home! he loves me!”

oscar’s lips carve into a scowl, exchanging a worried glance with sebastian.

sebastian shakes his head and lets go of max, walking towards the girl. max stumbles, arms coming up to stabilise himself from the sudden loss of the man holding him up. “(y/n), the process will be long and crazy.”

oscar jogs on over to him, replacing sebastian to hold him up. “if she gets this cat, mate…”

“then that’s good. will give her more responsibilities,” max mutters somewhat soberly, pointing at the girl stepping away cautiously from sebastian. “it’s a good benchmark.”

“seb, no!” she shrieks, taking more steps back as sebastian continually approaches her with her arms held out to take the cat. “he already has a name — you can’t possibly take him from me!”

“your mother will shave my head if we go back home with some random street cat in your arms,” sebastian sighs, rubbing his forehead. “for all you know, it could be someone’s cat.”

she frowns, now carrying the cat over her shoulder like a baby. she looks around, the bouncer of the club looking straight ahead as if they hadn’t caused this much commotion.

“hey,” she calls out towards him. “excuse me, bouncer, sir!” he turns to look at her, a welcoming grin on his face. “is this anybody’s cat?”

he presses his lips together, glancing at sebastian’s impatient stare. alas, he can’t lie to the teary eyed girl hugging the cat for dear life. “no, ma’am. he’s a stray cat.”

“thank you!” she smiles, then turning to sebastian with a knowing grin. “i told you. this cat is mine now!”

“what’s his name?” max asks excitedly, stumbling forward to pet the cat on its head.

the girl stands proud and tall, adjusting the cat to face the rest of the group. “his name is kidnapper.”

“that’s gotta be some form of animal abuse,” oscar shakes his head disapprovingly. “why would you name your cat that?”

“because it’s funny,” she says, giving him a stare. “his nickname will be ‘kid’! like seb calls me!”

she grins at sebastian, the older man only folding his arms and breaking their eye contact. “i guess that’s kinda cute.”

“it is cute.”

-> monaco, 2023

“mate,” max looks up from his phone, turning to look at the younger driver sitting on his couch. “you know where we should go?”

she lifts her eyebrow, still patting the jimmy that sits on her lap comfortably. “what?”

“there’s a pet shop nearby. kelly and i walked past it the other day — there’s a really adorable puppy that i think you might like,” max grins, raising an eyebrow at her. “it’s a corgi.”

she pushes herself off the back of the couch, sitting up straight. “a corgi?”

“yeah, a corgi.”

jimmy steps off her lap, allowing her to stand up. “what are you waiting for? let’s go.”

max grabs her back, shaking his head before they make it to the door. “won’t sebastian get mad at us though? another pet from another foreign country. really?”

she lets her stare at him linger. on one hand, she already has a cat she managed to bring home from one race. what’s another?

she shrugs. “i’ll just name it after him or something.”

max raises his eyebrow. “you sure?”

“yeah, maybe i just won’t tell him until it’s too late.”

"seriously? another pet?" sebastian shouts, staring at the corgi sleeping at the edge of her bed. "you gotta stop adopting pets from other countries, you know. it's not cheap!"

"but how can say no to this face?" she coos, moving over to the dog, pouting while leaning her head on it. "you're a dog person, seb. i know you'd never say no to this face."

sebastian shakes his head. "you can barely keep up with kidnapper in your apartment. what are you going to do with a whole ass dog?"

she presses her lips together, before forming a grin on her face. "blythe will look after them while i'm gone. no big deal."

"not the point."

"totally the point. max helped me get this one!" she cheers, patting the corgi's head. "his name is stubby; we got him from the pet store near his apartment."

sebastian just sighs, shaking his head. he turns around and heads towards the door of her hotel room. "as long as you can get him back without any problems. this is no longer any of my business."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @love4lando

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

OKAY SO I HAVE THOUGHTS

There is definitely someone who's probably said this better than me but here's my two cents anyway

I've played this game like twice and never really though to pay attention to where people get shot/how they die... but then I saw a piece of art and something clicked in my brain. If this was a quick in the moment shot, the placement wouldn't really matter, but this is a) a work of art and fiction b) extremely deliberate on Milton's part

Milton lets Hosea walk off - there is a long moment where Milton could have shot Hosea anywhere (the leg, head, nape). What I mean is he had a clear shot. Yet, he waited until Hosea turned around. He aimed deliberately for his chest. He had enough time to think it through and he knew for 100% that Hosea had no weapon (since he was captured). Turning around wasn't a threat. Yet, Milton still chose to act. And the creators of the game had to fully animate and decide all of this - this moment would have had to go through so many hands, from writers to animators to supervisors (so let us assume any symbolism wasn't lost on them). So, I am treating this as deliberate.

Realistically, shooting someone in the chest is the best place to kill someone. Especially over the heart. While headshots are effective, its a smaller target and far easier to miss. But, hit the heart? All that blood is suddenly not going to the brain (or anywhere for that matter) and the victim is very likely to die. Painful too because you have nerves in your both but no pain receptors in your brain - meaning Hosea could damn well probably feel that bullet (if he was real). We even see how painful this is in game (his death is pretty brutal because he has a brief few moments where he is very much alive an d dying alone in the street). Milton, being a man of the "law", definitely already knew how painful this death was - he probably even killed people this way before - so combined with the deliberate intent, Hosea died suffering, choking out his last wilting breath in a gurgled cough. Brutality chosen over execution (heart-shot instead of head-shot).

Don't even get me started on the dying breath - given that Hosea had been coughing since the start of the game, his last breath wasn't even a moment of peace. It was probably utter suffering as he choked on the very air he had desperately been trying to breathe for months.

Symbolically is an entirely different story. Up until now Dutch has pulled some crazy schemes but there is a definite shift when they come back from Guarama - which happens AFTER Hosea dies. The heart is a symbol of compassion, of virtue, of love - of having respect for your fellow man and ultimately, morals. All of which Dutch seems to have lost post-Guarama; he is a changed man who burns the world around him with every step. We see this fire symbology a few times, but most especially when Dutch leaves Arthur in the burning warehouse. Almost as if the snow we start in at the beginning melts into water without Hosea to keep it cool (ie the ocean of chapter 5) until it evaporates in the wake of Dutch's spiral into firey insanity. This is implying Hosea to be the cold/ice to Dutch's heat/fire. The death of the companion leaves behind only the passion of compassion, as Dutch is left with only conviction and no withstanding moral compass. Micah and Dutch together are only fire with fire, while Arthur manifests into ice too late, with only enough time to save the rest of the gang from Dutch's fallout.

Hosea is also not the only one who dies during this mission, he is the only one to die of a shot to the heart. Lenny also dies, but he's shot in what I can best estimate to be the guts - his guts to join up with an outlaw gang and rob a back literally led to his death. Lenny's death doesn't seem to affect Dutch as much as Hosea though - like Dutch is like "Oh no! Anyway lets keep going". But with Hosea's death - Dutch gets SUPER PISSED - that whisper of "Hosea" to himself speaks volumes more than his reaction to Lenny. Dutch was close with Hosea; whether you want to call them friends or lovers, they were narrative parallels and each other's foils. THus, it makes sense that Hosea's death had a profound impact on Dutch, far more than Lenny, and since this is a work of fiction, Hosea's death being a shot to the heart should not be taken lightly.

Hosea being shot in the heart was the symbolic death of Dutch's heart. The world took the last piece of good Dutch thought he had left - the last reason to hold back and Dutch wanted to burn the world down around him. And its even more insane that this was a deliberate act on Milton's part - while he didn't know that Hosea specifically would hurt Dutch in this way, he is a smart man. Milton had been following and researching the Van Der Linde gang for a hot minute, he knew the members, he knew the history, he knew that Dutch and Hosea went way back than most other gang members. Milton knew what he was doing - this was a deliberate attempt to dismantle the gang by "cutting the head off the snake" (making Dutch desperate and isolated with the death of his oldest partner). Especially since Dutch calls Hosea his friend right before Milton does this. What better way to drive that message home than shooting his friend in the heart - making his last moments suffering alone in the street?

While Milton had no idea how well his plan would work, shooting Hosea in the chest was a deliberate choice intended to aid in the dismantlement of the Van Der Linde gang by getting to Dutch psychologically. As a work of fiction, killing Hosea in this fashion was a choice by the creators riddled with symbolism.

[mayasaurusss]

In your arms.

Contains: angst sprinkled with a little bit of fluff, dissection of animal that can be read as gore (not intended to be read as such).

A/n: I channeled my anger and sadness into this, I hope you'll enjoy it.

Her heels dig in the cold coat of snow that covers the earth, breath quick and laboured from the fatigue that heavies her body.

Natalie wields the gun in her hands, eyes closed against the force of the wind. Her prey has just gotten away from her, leaving it's footprints in the snow; but the dark is descending and with that goes away the last possibility of a meal. Her hunger precedes her thoughts though, and before she can stop herself from dying of hypothermia, she continues.

The snow pools at her ankles, making it hard to continue walking, but she's hungry. She's so, so hungry. A branch breaks, resounding in the dead silence of the forest.

'There it is' something screams in her brain, 'to the right' and before she could hear the sound of the bullet firing, the body has already fallen on the ground.

A stag, a young one. Good enough to feed them for three days. Heavy, too heavy to carry all at once. Could make something out of it's fur and bones.

All the information floods Natalie's brain, the cold calculating matter helping her understand how to move, how to plan.

She drags the deer's carcass on a nearby tree, posing it at its roots. With her knife she carves an 'x' on it's bark; she reaches for a rope and ties it to the animal's corpse, heavies it with rocks so it can't be taken away by other creatures or entities.

She wants to tell herself that she doesn't believe Lottie's bullshit, but begin alone in a dark unknown forest at night sure does make a shiver run up her spine. With her knife then she separates the femur from the pelvis and cuts, propping the leg up her shoulder.

It feels heavy on her shoulders, but she must continue to walk. They rely on her, you rely on her.

When she finally sees the lights of the cabin Natalie is almost prompted to fall back into the earth, to finally let her life be taken by the Wilderness, but she continues. It feels like ages but finally she steps inside. Snow melts at her feet and wets the wooden floor of the cabin. It's hot inside, a welcomed feeling on her tired skin.

"Natalie!" you are the first to notice her, as you always were. Natalie falls to her knees, her bish exhausted beyond imagination. She's quickly embraced in your arms as people around her move and she falls asleep.

Hours later she wakes up in your arms. You're near the fire, everyone else is asleep around you two. You are the only one who is still awake. Your hand is combing knots out of her hair, drying them of the snow as best as possible. "Baby..." she mutters, snuggling near you.

You immediately look at her as soon as you hear her voice. "Natalie!" someone near you stirs at the sound of your loud voice, so you whisper to her ears. "Natalie, how are you? Is everything alright?" you notice a blush spreading on her cheeks as your hands check everywhere for wounds of any kind. "Y-yeah I am fine" she whispers, looking at you with adoration and love in her eyes.

"How did everything go?" you ask her and at your words she remembers the left over carcass in the snow. "The... The body is still there. We got to-" she is already about to move from the safe nest that is your arms, but you pull her back within you. "No, stay here".

"But we have to-!" she tries to fight against your hold but you're stronger than her and she falls right back into you. She's about to protest but you interrupt her before she can say anything, "No one requires anything out of you, Natalie".

As soon as she hears your words, something snaps and she collapses, limbs heavy as lead and heart wounded. All the muscles in her body have become soft and moving an inch proves to be a far difficult task than she imagined.

You are so nice, so lovley to her, and she doesn't deserve this.

"For tonight you can rest". She presses her nose into the cavity of your neck, searching in any way to be as close to you as possible, to melt into you.

Her stomach grumbles and all at once she's hit with hunger. Now she's conscious enough to take in the state of the cabin and the others. Everyone is asleep, only the sounds of their snores echoing in the space. Wooden spoons and bowls are scattered around the floor, not one drip or crumb of dinner left. The mouthwatering smell of meat shimmering on a pot filling the cabin from the outside.

"Has everyone already ate?" you move so that Natalie can sit up on her own. "Yes, but I wanted to wait for you" her grey eyes peer into yours, darkned by the dim light of the room. She looks worried, scared.

Scared that you might put her in the first place, scared that you might die of hunger, scared of everything. And you can see that hurt, that fear in her. The mask she has created these months is slowly crubling, revealing a terrified and tired person behind it.

"You didn't had to..." once again, her worries are shut by your words, "Of course I did". It's almost like she can't fully comprehend why you do this. Why you act like this.

You get up and get outside, where the wind is whipping at your skin. You fill two makeshift bowls to the brim with the remaining meat.

You give one to Natalie and sit back next to her, already dipping the spoon in. Meat floats above the surface of hot water, making Natalie nauseous.

"There were no mushrooms left, right?" she asks, reciving a small hum from you. She sighs, setting her hopes and complaints aside and digging her theet in the first bite of meat. It's cooked, no ounce of pink left inside, but flavourless. It tastes of wild, untamed animal. It's crude, it's hard, but she's hungry. The only source of flavour is the water, salted by the blood.

She would do anything right now to eat a god damned hamburger, or anything else for that matter, but her hunger is too hard to battle.

She could do with this. She has eaten worse.

"It tastes like shit!" you comment with a laugh, but neverteless continue to eat.

As the last drop of water falls into her mouth, Natalie sets the bowl aside, looking into the shades of the window. She can see the reflection of the dying fire outside, smothered by snow and wind. It looks so much like me, she thinks to herself.

Natalie would do anything in the world to be as far away from here as possible. She seeks refuge in her mind, in a made up world where there's just the two of you. She imagines a small house, in the countryside. It's just you and her, and maybe one or two cats. She'd name them after her favourite band's members. She's finally free from her addictions, no ghosts of the past haunting her or you. No father, no mother, no Jackie, no death. She can finally let that mask fall; she can finally feel like herself. She wakes up in your arms, hot and cuddled up against you. It's spring, there's no cold and the house is full of food. She is happy and safe.

"What a beautiful life would that be..." she sighs, running her hands over her eyes. It's surprising how quietly she falls, unable to stop the tears and hiccups coming from her. "Why isn't it true...?" the dark room is closing in on her, leaving her breathless and empty. But your touch becons her, like a warm light, like the north star guiding sailors into the vastness of the sea.

You look at her eyes: nothing needs to be said. Both of you know that the situation is dire, that it's unlikley you will see the end of winter. Natalie breaks when you kiss her, so tender and sweet that it makes her heart cry. She's the first one to talk; "I love you" she says, crying as you hold her face in your palms. "I love you too", it's the first time she ever heard you say those words, and even in the pain and hurt, she smiles. A feeling of relief, happiness, washes over her.

Maybe she will be okay. Maybe you will be okay.

"As long as we have each other, everything will be fine".

[nitrowyverine]

I thought playing Obscura would help me get rid of my brain worms. no, it just gave me new ones. For Obscura, specifically.

I'll be adjusting the format from my TOUCHSTARVED expanded thoughts post. Brain dump after the cut!

[Demo/CH 1 spoilers are included]

(Header Image from Itch.io page! All images in this post are either from there or the Rotten Raccoons tumblr page)

Design/gameplay thoughts:

In full honesty without fluff: this game fucks immensely.

The setting for Obscura might be my new all-time favorite, like, ever. Mystery underground scandalous marketplace??? Under a mountain???? it's a diverse and vast city that's still elegantly contained and claustrophobic, but in a spicy way. The worldbuilding and flavor is excellent. I really want to run a TTRPG in a similar setting now, since its an area with so many possibilities.

CH. 1/the "demo" has a LOT of meat on it. It's got different endings, variations, a whole soundtrack. Speaking of sountrack-

Obscura is also one of the few games I've put on the soundtrack to just to vibe to. The soundtrack is SO good, and sets such a strong mood/tone. I think it complements the game perfectly.

Allot of people have mentioned it, but I am also a fan of the Safeword pause menu. It's a nice and comforting touch, especially when the game can get so intense. It lets players take a breather if they need it, but also doesn't interrupt the intensity/mood of the game for someone who doesn't want a break from the narrative.

Now, onto character specific thoughts!

Cirrus:

IN MY HOUSE WE DON'T BELIEVE IN NOT STARTING OUT STRONG

Shout outs for having your asexual option in the dating sim be. The kinkiest guy there

Cirrus is a bit too intense for me, however, that is NOT a bad thing in the slightest. I think his route is well done for those who are up for his brand of intensity.

I might still play his route because. damn this boy's issues got me curious about his backstory. ($10 on mommy issues)

I had the hardest time getting to Cirrus's good end during my playthrough because having pretty much any self-preservation instinct around Cirrus gives you a bad/neutral ending. He's the only one I had to pull the guide out to get the best ending. (I think I'm just too sassy)

I get medusa vibes from Cirrus. The snake imagery is more likely tied to the lunar church, but his staunch reluctance to take his own mask off makes me wonder (this is mainly referenced in asks answered by the Rotten Raccoon studios). Refusal to let people see his eyes + snakes + power + slightly unnatural abilities to influence is, something.

I am shaking this man like a snowglobe WHAT IS YOUR DEAL I MUST KNOW MORE

(I am. metaphorically shaking him like a snowglobe. I would never shake this man im terrified)

CONCLUSION: Most likely to shame you for your anime choices. Least likely to be normal about it when you ask for help peeling an orange.

Keir:

HERE COMES BIG MAN

yeah he's tied for favorite right now. the slow burn in his plot is just too good? big man....freckles...secret soft side...im weak

he's so nice I keep forgetting. He kind of kidnaps you? not even kind of he just drags you off the street and goes "you live in my house now". Even Griff calls MC a stray early on. My man really said "Here's a convenient lost human I'm dragging them home now"

oh my GOD they were ROOMATES

I definitely was too nice to him in my first playthrough until I realized he does need (and want) to be sassed to death.

this man is like 6'6 and the canon-ish Vesper height from the CG is 5'4. THE HEIGHT DIFFERENCE. This kills the man (me)

The sprite of Keir's ears blushing SENDS ME INTO A FRENZY

I quite liked the gameplay style of Keir's route. I was so focused and invested as soon as I realized I needed to remember specific directions to save the heist group during timed decisions

Something I haven't seen discussed yet: I'm mega curious about the dagger Keir has on his outfit. It's specifically pointed out in text that it's high-quality, and I vaguely remember an ask that Rotten Raccoons answered that said it's a status symbol. (The dagger also just looks SO cool. and....it looks like Francesco's...?)

(My bet is that he either 1. stole it. or 2. got it from Oleander during their tryst (WHICH WE ALSO NEED TO TALK ABOUT-))

CONCLUSION: Most likely to be gifted a "WORLD'S BEST DAD" mug from his similarly-aged peers. Least likely to live down that one time he ate soap because he thought it was edible.

Francesco:

someone keep the "silver dust" away from this lad im scared

Originally, I was least looking forward to playing Francesco's route since I just wasn't interested in his initial concept. After playing his route though? It was excellently done, and I genuinely had fun. It was refreshing to have a character more naive than Vesper, so more cultural aspects were explained and we got a good alternate perspective on the marketplace. Also, it got REAL spicy in new and exciting ways the other chapters didn't. I'm really looking forward to the next chapters with his route!

I totally love the contrasts in his design and his character. He's got both bright red and blue highlights in his design, his outfit is very pointy and angular while his hair/smile is soft and flow-y.

And in his personality, he's both sweet and open, but extremely cagey about some information, and quite pragmatic when he wants to be. I think he's way smarter than he lets on.

that doesn't mean I don't want to bridal carry him and tuck him into bed at night after a all-nighter party

I do think Fran's slightly looser demeanor could lead to him being even more brutal than the other LI's. Remember that one anime clip (Found it, it's this one from Danshi Koukousei) where a group of friends wants to fight for fun, but one of the friends asks why they need rules in a fight? And said friend is shown like secretly holding a rock and was ready to use it? that's Fran. He would not have chill and does not heed the rules.

"Protect the boy", but mostly to prevent him from tasting blood. Because if that happens we're all fucked

CONCLUSION: Most likely to eat that M&M off the ground because you dared him. Least likely to beat the puppy allegations.

Oleander:

Oleander is tied for favorite with Keir. Oleander is just *chefs kiss* LOOK AT HIM. inscrutable......

Somewhere in an ask answered by Rotten Raccoons studio, they mentioned that for Oleander's route, they were going for a "Sexy boss situation that doesn't feel like a work safety violation". They hit that right on the nose; there's intrigue and a power imbalance, but in a non-restrictive or terrifying way.

I love being involved in the business part of his route. I keep making decisions like "Hmm yes my primary goal is to romance Oleander. But what would be the smartest business move here? How do we advance our agenda?"

Also, I do love playing a sexy evil secretary in a vn. love having a job and being evil at it AND being paid money. 10/10

That dance scene is everything I could have ever wanted no notes

I am fascinated to find out more about what he's been up to since his last trek into the marketplace. Seems like people are trying to kill him all the time anyway, so what would be enough to cause him to leave?

he's like an angler fish, but the lure is his booba

I relate to Oleander in that. I have too many online usernames because I can't stick with one. People get my 800 online names mixed up often. He has the same problem, we're basically twinsies

This man is pretending to be a himbo like his life depends on it (It probably does). He's too smart though, I know for a fact he has at least three different schemes going at any given time.

CONCLUSION: Most likely to be able to help you properly lace a corset (this man knows the boot-to-the-back necessity of the process). Least likely to be allowed to be banker during monopoly night.

Vesper:

black mask enjoyer 4 life

(all three are good I just wanted to say which one I picked. And to add my conclusion section)

CONCLUSION: Most likely to get their shit rocked by a falling piano. Least likely to survive an argument about pineapple on pizza.

Concerns:

With how separate the four routes are, the game could potentially feel like four separate visual novels all in one universe. Maybe I haven't played enough VN's, but there is a feeling of separation between the routes.

In the very beginning of the game, when you're picking your route, I wish there was a bit more heads up/information between who you're picking. For example, I had a rough idea that going into the church is where you'd find Cirrus, but only from information outside the game. I didn't know sticking around for the brawl would push you into Kier's route. It's overall pretty vague to which route you're going based on only in-game information.

Misc thoughts:

Vesper: "How are you going to keep me?? ;)" Keir and Oleander: "crimes" Vesper: "Wh-" Keir and Oleander: "you're an accomplice now congrats we're in this together. wanna get drinks"

catch my socially anxious ass wanting to be under the mountain and wear masks so I don't have to make eye contact with strangers all the time. at least its a fun thought to have when I mask for covid

OKAY FRANCESCO AND KEIR'S DAGGER MATCH? AND ARE RED/BLUE LIKE FRANCESCOS OUTFIT? DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING??? probably not but I do like the pretty knives....

For real, I got the brain worms for this game, I'm on the edge of making a big ol playlist. the headcannons? They go on my friend. they go on. I'm laying awake at night thinking about what each character would order at a coffee shop

by the time I publish this post. I did start working on the playlist

yes, I've also designed my own vesper, its such a prime opportunity for character design.

Obscura also may or may not have inspired me to get involved with an otome jam game team, more on that in the future possibly.....

OVERALL: I got the first chapter/demo of Obscura for free from Itchio/steam. High marks for writing, sound, art, game design, all of it! I am on the edge of my seat waiting for CH2.

TL;DR: If you haven't played it, and love spicy and dark stories, go play it! Part one is free! and fantastic.

Itch.io

Steam

[lucky-charmz1]

This is a little fic from one of my asks/prompts on @ghostbite0 page about their tiny 21 trio au, such a good au I literally bawl every time... anyways tadaaaaa (I will be posting more trust gang)

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Sanemi could feel something felt off when he woke up. Like a little pulling In the the back of the head. He sat up and pushed away the little puppy dog he'd been sleeping with (someone keeps putting it in his arms he swears). Sanemi looks around the room he and the other babies had been staying in trying to wake himself up. He realized they weren't here in the crib with him, he was confused but he preferred it that way (no matter what the little voice in the back of his head said).

He pushed himself up and got up holding the bars of his crib getting ready to yell at someone to get him out of this thing before he hears it. He knows that laugh. The tugging in the back of his mind overtakes his whole little baby brain. An excited scream breaks out of Sanemi's mouth when he sees a flash of purple go by. 

Genya freezes, was that Sanemi? He froze thinking he heard wrong but he knew he was right. Obanai was with Mitsuri who was trying to give him a bottle and Giyuu was with Tanjiro. Sanemi got put down for a nap after he dumped his food onto the floor. Genya's nervous, ever since his brother got turned into a baby his behavior toward him totally flipped. Sanemi used to avoid Genya like a plague and now its like the two are the best of friends. It was overwhelming for the poor teen. His big adult angsty older brother who acted like Genya didn't mean anything to him was now a little baby who wanted nothing more than to hang out with him (when he's in baby mode again). A whine breaks him out of this thoughts. 

Genya hesitates for a bit longer until the whining because sobbing. He rushes into the room, almost tripping on a stuffed animal (Mitsuri swears it's to keep the babies entertained but everyone knows it's all for Obanai). Sanemi giggles through his tears and bounces in his place. Genya pauses and tries to think of the last time his brother looked even remotely happy to see him. He guessed he took too long because Sanemi throws his stuffed dog at his face and whines with as much anger his baby body can muster (he looks like a kicked puppy with his watery eyes, chubby cheeks and tiny bit of drool on the right corner of his mouth).

“Alright Nemi I'm right here, it's okay”. Genya reaches over the crib bars and picks Sanemi up. A happy coo comes out of the baby and his brother wipes his snot covered face with a blue rag. Rags and bibs were an absolute necessity when the trio was in baby mode or eating. Sanemi has a bit of a dribble problem, Obanai is always suckling on his pacifier or little mittens, and Giyuu… he's something else. Sanemi squeals and shoves his face in his brother's neck, smelling the smallest hint of gun powder and mint. Genya chuckles, “You're such a little dweeb” and bends over to pick up the stuffed animal his baby brother chucked at him. His brother babbles out what sounds like “You're a dweeb”.

Genya tucks the toy in Sanemi's arms and the boy screams in delight and babbles random unintelligible words. Genya caught maybe the word puppy and his name but you couldn't tell with the way Sanemi was shaking his head back and forth. Genya tickles his brother's side and soaks in all the happy laughter he gets as a response. The teen looks around the room for something to do before deciding to go to the comfy corner covered in pillows and blankets. It was made after Giyuu smacked his head on the floor trying to find a comfy spot to lay down. It also doubles as a playpen and calm down corner/time out corner which was very effective for the baby Genya was holding who was prone to meltdowns for whatever reason.  

Genya steps over the makeshift gate and settles in between the pillows and blankets with his brother on his lap. The babbles continued with Sanemi smacking the puppy on his big brothers tummy. Genya smiled softly at Sanemi smiling little face and sparkling eyes. “Be gentle Nemi, don't be mean to your puppy okay?” Sanemi crawled off Genya with a little pat to his puppy and picked up a dragon plush for Genya. Genya chuckled as he realized his brother wanted to play with stuffed animals. When his brother got like this he especially enjoyed playing pretend, it was really cute. “Alright Nemi, whats our little story?” Genya smiled as he sat up across from his brother with the dragon in his hand. 

The two played for what felt like hours and Sanemi began to yawn again. Genya wiped his mouth again and laid down with him. His baby brother laid on his chest sniffling softly with one arm curled around his puppy and a hand clutching his brother's clothes. Genya rubbed up and down Sanemi's back until his breathing slowed. “Goodnight Nemi, I love you so much…” Genya pressed a kiss to his brother's forehead before laying down to think about how his life had totally flipped on him.

Genya woke up to angry babbling and things being thrown at him. “Nemi what are you doing? Come here let's get you dressed and fed”. He stood up and cracked his back before turning towards a pouty and red faced Sanemi in the corner of the room, the puppy laid nearby. When Genya tried to pick Sanemi up, the boy exploded into angry babbles with hateful eyes. Genya sighed and left to go get Gyomei to calm his chihuahua of a baby brother. So much for bonding time. 

[koszmarnybudyn]

This is painfully self indulgent but SU malevolent au. Will get to coloring these later. Also the lineups go: pre earth John, pre earth Arthur, current Arthur, current John (or earth/human disguise Arthur and John), then Kayne, Jarthur/dies ires once they become a stable fusion and Jarthur/dies ires when they first fused.

Now onto au stuff: (this is barely holding onto su canon, again incredibly self indulgent)

Arthur's an Amber (considered pearl cause musicial but decided against it cause i dont really see Arthur as a pearl), i choose amber because of the sea connection and for me they are kinda fire-y, and they are hardened by hardship tree sap which idk seems very fitting for our Arthur who is someone hardened by circumstances. And they aften have rock or animal fragments and i think the being inperfect really fits. He was suppose to be a Kiy (whose a yellow diamond here) court musician but because of the imperfection of his gem he's slithly corrupted and breaks away from homeworld (probablly also sees the error of gem ways), and somehow lands on earth where he meets Bella a human and they connect, they form a close bond that isnt romantic love but both being quite young and amazed with the other think it is. They try to have a kid, it nearly works but last second Arthur pulls away (he doesn't want to die this isn't right etc) which unfortunetly means Bella died and Faroe not reciving a gem dies in childbirth, Arthur didn't realize that would happen he blames himself heavily. He spends a lot more time on Earth meets Parker, when Earth is suddently began to be colonized, with John (not yet with his name) being the one tasked with it. Unfortunetly or fortunetly John ends up crashing badly, which nearly caused him to pop, he crash lands near to where Arthur now resides, he kills Parker, in turn Arthur nearly shatters him, then John force fuses with him. His nearly shattered state, or maybe something ekse leads to some kind of reaction where the fusion is semi permanent now they have to figure out how to unfuse and to solve a mystery, of it all.

The kiy is as mentioned before a yellow diamond. John is kiy fragment thus also a yellow diamond but with some gold bits in it, so not completly pure (he is kinda like Pink dismond here) with being the one to get Earth as a colony, he is how he is in canon personality wise, very clueless to earth while Arthur is very used to it.

Kayne is idk what, im kinda thinking some lab grown gem abomination or maybe not a gem at all but he defintly has shards of other gems/kaynes permanentky fused to him, his main gem is specificlly heart shaped, with all the other gems kinda being blood splaters, he usually has his shurt buttened until the reveal of his state.

Jarthur/dies ires is also im not sure what, gold maybe? But at first the fusion is way less stable thus the 3 eyes, 3 hands and 3 feet (also a not to Johns posssesion in canon, with him also controling all the eyes 2 feet and a hand (one of the three arms being semi numb)) and is suppose to wear a combination of their outfits that is also suppose to look like a travelers garb, with still some performer intertwined. The more permanent version is what they become after, i think they were unfused for a while (Arthur was nearly shattered/shattered then resurected by kayne, and John was dragged back to homeworld/dreamlands), and is wayyy more stable, with each of them having about 50/50 control of it, and the brain being way more alighned tho they still become less fused sometimes when they fight and become unstable. The stable outfit having of course fire and piano motifs with its outfit being way more showman esque.

I have other thoughts and ideas but that's it for now, hope someone enjoys it because well i love su and the au potential of it and i live malevolent and making aus for it and this has been stuck in my brain recently.

[hanafubukki]

Hello Hana, I hope you're doing well 😊 so recently I've been reading Sherlock Holmes and read some good scenes that fueled something in my brain.

You and Lilia have been pretty good at covering up the series of crime you two committed. Unfortunately, due to some technical errors, the police was already on the way here before you two could. You swear that he did it on purpose, when you saw him smiled, as the police car's siren becomes closer and closer.

"It took them quite a long to catch us in the act, but I'm not one to undermine someone's effort."

You almost smacked him in the head, when he walked to a nearby window, giving his location the police below. You grabbed his shoulders and pulled the curtains to cover yourselves. "Lilia! What were you doing?!" you hissed.

He just laughs, "You worry too much sweetcheeks. We'll be fine."

You shake him in hopes to fix his loose screws in the head. "What do you mean fine?! We're surrounded!" you stopped shaking him and looked at the stairs when you heard footsteps, hastily going up the stairs.

"Seems like you've given them an aid while you were scolding me," he chuckles.

"It's completely your fault why I screamed! I've already had plans to escape, but were foiled when they were able to pinpoint that were still here!" you scolded him as both of you ran up the stairs.

He almost escaped, if only he didn't help you when you trip on the carpet on the floor. The police men eagerly handcuffed both of your hands together, guiding you two out of the building. Reporters were outside, sharing to the world that both of you were finally caught and that the citizens don't have to worry anymore.

As you two reach the car, and they were about to shove both of you inside, Lilia squatted down, bringing you along as you two were chained together. He then uses his legs to kick the policemen behind, and grabbed the gun using his free hand. You almost would have kissed the floor, if it weren't for your reflexes with how fast he moves. He stands up, bringing you along, and hugged you closer to his chest (re-using that scene from my general lilia ask 😆 lmao when will I experience this in real life). You heard several gun shots, and you crumpled his vest under your free hand from worry.

Both of you opened the police car and went inside. He sat on the driver's seat with you beside him, locking the door with your free right hand. He uses his right hand to pull the-stick-thing (I forgot what its called 😭), and you glared at him with how harshly he did so as your left hand was tied to his left. As you guys left the scene with the police car, you broke the silence between you two.

"Lilia what the hell was that? We could've gotten shot or died! We can just escape the cell with their help, considering we were just aired on live TV."

"Here I thought you'd finally praise me. I save you, you know?" he rolled the steering with only one hand and smirked at your annoyed face.

"You mean using me as a shield, so you don't get shot?" You rolled your eyes.

Lilia sighs as his advances were once again thwarted by you. He will soon definitely soften that rock hard heart.

---

Dayum almost 500+ words in under 10 minutes? Sheesh, my mind and fingers works fast when that old man is involve- I used the endearment sweetcheeks because I'm sure that his cheeks are tasty and sweet, once you bite into it 😋

Hello Aqua 🌸💚🌷

I’m good thank you 🫶💞 Sherlock you say 👀 are you going to watch any of the live action adaptions? I recommend reading the moriarty the patriot manga/anime. It’s really good 💞💞

Bat dad just has a way of inspiring us 😌🥰

“His cheeks are tasty and sweet” reminded me of this meme I have saved 🤣

…Lilia, that is not the way to get to someone’s heart 🤣😅

In fact, it’s perfect way for you to get kicked in the shin and then maybe a kiss…if we are nice about it.

Next thing we know, you’re going to try to fake your death for a kiss or confession or something 😆😅

This scenario kind of reminded me of this song, have you heard of it? But the song was more of a…bad ending. Lilia and us got lucky compared to the couple in the song.

[chaotic-iguana]

Tease

Based on this ask here. Here’s my masterlist and ao3 link.

Summary: Reader teases Joel all day, seemingly getting away with it until a few days later when he decides to get his payback, with a little bit of angst and plot sprinkled in. based on above request. (no/pre-outbreak AU.)

Pairing: husband! joel x reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 4k (yeah i know. i know)

Warnings: bondage, dacryphilia, edging/denial, overstim, mean daddy dom! joel basically just fixing your attitude, smut and fluff, a little angst but its ok he takes care of it, implied/referenced age gap, husband! joel, soft joel but also most importantly malewife! joel ofc. MDNI please

A/N: so i went way off the prompt here and fleshed this out into a whole fic (my longest one yet actually); i hope you dont mind. i did change some elements, but it is still a pre-outbreak fic with an established relationship, and joel does technically punish reader for the pool party. i sprinkled some (~2k words) plot in to sort of have the forgetting about it element yk? and also im just feral for husband joel so this was an extremely experimental fic. i really hope you like it! 

——————————————————————————————————

So far, it had been a really good day.  Your newly-moved-in next door neighbors invited you, Joel, and Sarah over (along with half the block) for their housewarming party. For the first two or so hours, you sat on a reclined chaise next to the pool, watching Sarah splash around with the kids down below while Joel sat next to the grill with the other men, drinking a beer and in a seemingly animated conversation with someone. 

You wanted to laugh at the scene, witty comments about white men crowding to gossip about one of their three common interests - football, grilling or women - sitting just on the tip of your tongue while you chatted with Mia, your long-time neighbor and friend. Lying in the sun with a mimosa in hand, a book on one side of you and a companion on the other made something itch in your brain; a need to break the comfortable lethargy that had set in your bones. 

You were just this close to melting into the lawn chair out of boredom - lifting your head to scan your surroundings for Joel again, squinting underneath a furrowed brow when you can’t seem to find him. He was just there. Huffing, you grabbed the overshirt you had on-his flannel, actually, and pulled it up over your head. Gesturing for Mia to pass over the sunscreen, you took some out in your hand before starting to rub it in circles all over your arms, chest, stomach and legs. 

You were about to turn and try and get some on your back as well, when a man you don’t remember meeting before walked up to you and asked if he could “help you out”. You stuttered and told him it was alright, your husband would do it for you, swiveling your head to find him but gritting your teeth when once again, you couldn’t find Joel. Growing increasingly irritated, you turned to your friend, rolling your eyes at her teasing grin. “Where is he?” you mused, equal parts irritated with Joel for going MIA and with the creepy man you could see still hovering just a few steps away. “Why don’t you go find him? I’ll look after Sarah and yell for you if something happens,” she offers, smiling with a knowing glint in her eye. 

He’d been busy with some big construction contract these past two weeks, and the one morning you thought he’d be able to spend with you was spent with him passed out on the couch; apparently Tommy had needed to be bailed out late the previous night and he’d slipped out while you were sleeping. You missed Joel. He should have been the one helping you with sunblock, not some random guy-John, you’d learned, from two streets down with a chihuahua and a dentistry clinic not too far-who also evidently lacked the ability to shut up, because now your head was swimming with useless things about him he’d offered up to catch your attention, obviously thinking your “husband” was an excuse to end the conversation. 

So maybe you conveniently forgot to put the shirt back on and decided to find Joel in your skimpy swimsuit. Maybe you even batted your lashes at a few of the men gathered on the other side of the pool, and laughed a bit too sweetly and easily at their terrible jokes and obvious flirting. Just as you were about to ask if they’d seen where Joel went, the man himself materialized behind you. You felt a possessive hand grip your waist as he peered at the guys you were talking to with something in his gaze  aggressive enough to suddenly make all the men stuttering, bumbling fools who were instantly unable to meet your eyes, sheepishly muttering excuses before turning back to each other. Suppressing a grin, you turned to him and brought a hand up to his cheek, peering up at him through your lashes. “So evasive, Mr. Miller. I was having such a hard time finding you, I had to settle for spending some time with other people, instead.” You watched his gaze get darker, hardening as he trailed it over your form. Got him. 

“Let me introduce you to my new friend, John. He’s a dentist and he has the cutest dog,” you grip his wrist and tug him behind you before waving at John enthusiastically and walking up to him. John, you found, was also a complete idiot, because he choked on a greeting when he caught sight of your nipples through the swimsuit. Nevertheless, you persisted. “Meet my husband, Joel.” You point at John, explaining to Joel “Y’ know he’s also really kind? Offered to help me apply my sunblock without me asking. I was struggling with my back and chest, wasn’t I John?” you turn back to the man in question with another deceivingly charming smirk, watching him wither under Joel’s scowl and nod meekly; mumbling an apology and slinking towards the drinks. 

Catching sight of Joel’s thunderous expression, you innocently raise a brow at him before stretching exaggeratedly, palming his bulge subtly as you move your hands over your head. “Sitting around in all this heat, think I need to cool off for a bit. See ya later” is all you offer to him, slipping into the adults’ side of the pool before he can retaliate, biting your lip in an effort not to snicker at the frustration teeming from him: clenched fists and tightened jaw, narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. He let out a long, shuddering breath before waving back to Sarah and stalking back to his friends. 

Overall, the party was pretty boring. But holding Joel’s gaze every time you bent forward just a littlemore than necessary, giggled at someone’s musings more than was warranted, or bit your lip in that way you knew drove him crazy before turning away from him and back to whoever you were speaking to? Priceless. You’d be willing to pay to do it again. 

His breaking point was when he saw you get out of the pool, water dripping from your hair and mascara smudged just enough to send images of you with his cock down your throat flashing in his mind - him slamming his beer bottle down before smiling tightly at his companions and thanking the hosts, grousing something about an early morning before his hand was around your wrist and Sarah bundled in his other arm - barely giving you any time for goodbyes as you were being dragged behind him in the direction of your home. 

Laughing at his desperation, you cocked a questioning brow at him before feighning naïvety to the situation. “What’s wrong? I thought you were kept plenty busy at the party, no? Why’re we leaving so soon?” you questioned, capturing your bottom lip between your teeth as you frowned at him and searched his face. “Not early. Been five hours, sweetheart. ‘S a school night, remember?” was all he remarked to you before opening the door and carrying Sarah up to bed. 

You honest-to-God waited for him in bed, but the fatigue from such a thrilling evening caught up quickly after the adrenaline faded. Before you knew it, you’d fallen asleep in your new set of lingerie, blinking awake when your alarm went off at 5 am the next morning. Blearily pulling yourself out of bed, you groaned in frustration at the fact that you still hadn't gotten time with Joel and it was Monday again. Which inevitably meant he'd be caught up in his important contract this week too; coming home late, leaving early, the whole spiel.

The week passed by in a monotonous blur, and you got increasingly snappier with Joel in the short minutes that you did see him, frustrated with the distance that had developed between you two. On top of everything at home, work had gotten more stressful lately as sales didn’t meet the quotas and your boss decided to take it out on all of you. Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered you; he was a dick to you most of the time, but you couldn’t even rant about it to your favorite person because you barely saw him. You needed Joel - not just on top of you - holding you, talking to you, comforting you as before. 

Friday rolled around, and turned out to be extremely shitty while it was at it. Your alarm didn’t go off, thanks to which you reached work thirty minutes later than usual after dropping Sarah off. Some intern had fucked up paperwork, and the fallout was promptly handed to you with a jeering tone and sharp glare as if it was somehow your fault. You’d forgotten lunch at home, so you had to spend the day on stale coffee and somehow bitter biscuits, and when you reached Sarah’s school to pick her up as usual they told you Joel had done it already. Feeling tears of frustration build up in your eyes, you dialed his number while climbing back into your car. Was it so difficult to communicate simple things like ‘I’ll pick her up today’? A text or quick call would have worked; saved you the trip and your boss’s biting remarks about your “priorities” while you walked out of the office to get to Sarah’s school in time. 

When he didn’t pick up, you drove straight home. Fuck going back to work. You needed your bed. And Joel, but he clearly was too busy to so much as pick up a fucking phone. Wiping your eyes, you slammed the car door shut and started trudging to your bedroom, too overwhelmed to notice that the door had been unlocked. Jumping, you gasped in surprise when you walked it and saw Joel sitting on the bed, holding two wine glasses and looking up at you. “What the fuck, Joel? What are you doing here?” you bit out at him. He blinked up at you, frowning at your anger and the tear-stains on your cheek while you glared at him with eyes red from crying. 

“Told the boys to handle it today, thought you looked a bit rough lately, wanted to spent the evening together. Dropped Sarah off at her friend’s house an’ was just about to call you to take the day off. You okay?” his tone was so gentle, concern evident in his voice as he reached a hand out towards you. 

“Call me? Oh, so suddenly you’re capable of using a phone?” you bat his hand away and continue “And I’ve been looking rough?” your laugh is bitter, but your anger morphs into something sharper. “Maybe I’d look less rough if I saw my husband more often or if he could just pick up the damn phone and text me when he’s picking our daughter up so I don’t get into deeper shit with my stupid fucking boss!” You’re yelling by the end of it, but you can’t stop the words tumbling out now. “And I’ve missed you so much, tried so hard on Sunday, but you just didn’t come to bed. This week has been absolute dogshit-fucking interns messed everything up and somehow it’s on me-and you’ve been so distant,so I’m so sorry for looking rough, Joel.” Your tears return with a vengeance, and you turn away from him as you feel them spill over your lashline, pressing your hands into your eyes as your shoulders shake.

And suddenly he’s in front of you, solid and warm and there again, crowding you into his arms and holding you tight against him. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been here, and it’s been tearing me apart too. Missed you every damn day, shoulda seen how I’ve been at the site all week. Been snapping at everyone left and right. And I’m sorry I didn’t pick up - my phone was chargin’ an’ Sarah was telling me a story the whole way there so I didn’t see you’d called till just now.” His hand cradles your head under his chin as the other strokes your back, and he’s so gentle you want to cry harder. 

You stay there for a while until you feel calmer, pulling back to look up at him. His eyes are wide, swimming with worry as he wipes your cheeks with his thumb. You sniff, bringing a hand up to swipe your nose, and grimace apologetically at the wet patch of snot, tears and makeup on his chest. At the quizzical way he raises a brow, you clarify, with a grin: “I’ve completely ruined your shirt.”

“Could think of better ways to ruin shirts, baby. An’ don’t think your effort on Sunday went unnoticed either. Was so damn ready to rip that lacy set off ya, but some idiot kid told Sarah a ghost story an’ I had to check under the bed n’ in the closet every two minutes till she fell asleep. By the time I crawled into bed, you were asleep and looking so peaceful I didn’t wanna wake you. ‘M sorry, honey”. His thumb was rubbing circles on your cheek now as he looked down at you, regret written all over his face. 

Softening, you reached up to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. And another on the other side. And another, until you were just ghosting your mouth all over his face and jaw, giggling when his lips twitched into a smile. “There’s my girl” he whispered into the kisses, making you beam as your kisses got more feverish, more urgent. All the need from the past few weeks came rushing back, making you dizzy with desperation as you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged, moaning softly at the hitch in his breath. 

Suddenly, your wrists were caught by one of his hands and he was stepping back. “Then again, honey, found it really fuckin’ difficult not to notice you at that party when you were teasin’ me all evenin’. Did ya enjoy putting on a show for our neighbors, hm?” his thumb trailed your jaw, fingers curling under your chin as you nodded. “That’s not something good girls do, is it now?” And then he was ducking his head, sucking bruises into your neck and soothing them with his tongue. He chuckled at the whimper that escaped you, his hand coming down to swat your ass. “Answer me, sweet thing. Do good girls go around begging for attention when they know daddy’s gonna take care ‘f them?” the rasp of his voice cut through the haze building in your head as you gasped when he nibbled your ear.

“N-no daddy. Plea-please take care of me,” you whined, trying to pull your hands from his unrelenting grasp as you felt him swat your ass again. He just gripped them harder, nipping at your neck before he pulled away completely, chuckling at your alarmed whimper. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Course ‘m gonna take care of you. But I gotta punish you, too, remember? Didn’t think I forgot John and his adorable dog so quick, did ya?” His smirk became animalistic as he nudged you to the bed, pawing at your clothes to guide you to take them off. 

“Wouldn’t know how it works at your age, old man. Thought your memory mighta started to go by now,” you coo up at him, eager to see him undone. His answering snarl prompted your smirk to widen before he looked down at you with a tight set to his jaw. 

“Got such a mouth on you, babygirl. ‘S okay, I’ll take care ‘f it,” was all the warning you got before his hands were everywhere, groping and grabbing at you while his mouth resumed its assault on your neck. His bites got harsher, making you yelp, and he grinned against your skin before lapping at the near-broken skin before trailing his lips downwards. 

He pinched your nipples harshly, rolling them between his thumb and forefingers before ducking down to catch one between his teeth and tug cruelly, making you release high-pitched moans as your back arched into him. Switching sides, he starts flicking the other one and smoothing over it when you whimper before trailing hot open-mouthed kisses into your sternum and moving down your body to settle with his head between your legs. Turning to the side, he started nipping the inside of your thighs; rolling the flesh between his teeth and sucking at it till they were matted blue and purple. Leaning back to admire his handiwork, he brought his mouth down to press kisses just above your mound, moving back to your thighs before you huffed and bucked your hips. His eyes glinting dangerously, he smiled up at you before tilting his head. “Need somethin’, baby?” his voice was laced with amusement as he drawled the question up at you, watching you buck under him. 

At the stubborn shake of your head, he laughed before dragging a thumb down your folds, holding it up for you to see the slick coating it. "Y'sure, pretty?" you could hear the cockiness creeping into his voice and it just made you needier, whining down at him to do anything. His mouth ghosted over your clit, stubble scratching right there before he moved down to your thigh again, making you wind a hand into his hair and pull, albeit harshly. Tutting, he pushed up onto his elbows. "Wasn't very nice, now was that?” his lips quirked to the side at the sight of your frustration before you stuttered out a pathetic "t-touch me, please", at which he laughed again. 

“Needy little thing. Let’s fix that attitude, hm?” and he pushed off entirely, stalking to the closet and pulling out a tie. Looming over you, he weaved the strip of fabric between your headboard and secured your wrists to it. “Too tight?” he checked, looking down at you to sense any discomfort. When you pulled experimentally to check and showed him it was alright, he went back to his earlier position. Blowing a breath over your cunt, he relished in your squirming before grazing your clit with his teeth and pressing down softly before lapping at it. Pressing kisses against you, he slid a finger inside you and began pumping it at an agonizingly slow pace. Feeling your orgasm approach embarassingly fast, you opened your mouth to warn him, but just as you began clenching against his finger, he pulled away to pull the hood of your clit back and blow on it again, making you keen. 

Smiling, he inserted three fingers into you roughly before using his teeth on your clit again, your sensitivity making you mewl and rock your hips away, but his other hand attached itself to your hip to pin you to the mattress before his fingers began fucking into you in earnest. Pulsating in his mouth, you felt yourself about to clamp down again before he pulled out and away once more. Whining and kicking your legs out in aggravation, you frowned down at him and watched him smirk at your tantrum. 

This time, he kept his head up to maintain eye contact with you while he ground his palm against your clit and squeezed three fingers into you again. Bringing you to the edge once more, he answered your devastated whimper at the denial by slapping your clit in rapid succession, each hit harder than the last and making your thighs twitch. 

He continued for what felt like hours. The sun went down, and with it the lingering scraps of your pride and expectation to come. He edged you until you were a mumbling mess, babbling broken pleas down at him; till your clit was painfully red and swollen and your slick was running down your thighs. Tears were flowing down your face as you bucked your hips in search for his fingers, but his merciless chuckle taunted you again as you sobbed. “P-please, please, ple-please, gonna be g-good, please…” Your voice broke with every word you wailed, and he contemplated for a second before nodding and entering you in a single thrust. 

You could feel the tip of his cock kissing your womb, overwhelming you to the point of pain. A wince marked your features, making him pause and strum your clit  before starting to fuck into you at a brutal pace. You were yanking against your restraints now, eyes rolling back into your head every time he entered into you - hitting the spot that made your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably. 

Your babbles were reduced to mono-syllabic moans, rendering you unable to warn him of the release you felt coiling in you. When you started clenching against him, he just doubled down the force of his thrusts and the movements against your clit, delighting in the way you twitched at the oversensitivity as he drew out your orgasm. “D-daddy, nnh-D-Da-Daddy” was all you could get out as the oversensitivity consumed you, making you go limp as his pace didn’t falter. 

He gripped your chin and leaned forward to spit into your open mouth, eyeing the drool dribble down your chin as your jaw hung slack. “What is it pretty girl? Use your words.” Another thrust. You opened your mouth to answer him, to beg him to slow down, but all that came out was a pathetically shrill “ca-can’t” as he rolled his hips into yours halfway through your word, making you choke. “Eager enough to whore herself out in public, but when she gets what she needs she can’t? Too bad, pretty girl, you’re gonna get it now.” He stopped for a glorious second, reaching down to rest his forehead on yours before planting kisses on your face and forehead to give you a second to breathe. Glancing up at your straining wrists, he pulled at the knot of his tie to free them, then resumed his previous speed. 

Raking your fingers down his back, your eyes fluttered shut at the continued drive of him impaling you on his cock, meeting his mouth in sloppy kisses as his fingers came down to flick over your clit again. “Again.” His command sent a jolt through you, pulling you taut as every cell in your body pushed itself to overdrive to obey and every sensation seemed to multiply tenfold. Joel was everywhere, consuming your entire being, and you felt your joints lock up as your hips arched off the bed before you were cumming devastatingly hard, soaking him with the force of your release. His fingers kept abusing your clit, your whole body jerking with the force of the hypersensitivity. He pressed in impossibly deeper, sobs hiccuping from you and weak hands pushing at his chest. He pressed into you languidly, in slow, deep strokes that left you ruined before gasping in your ear and cumming deep inside you. 

Going limp on top of you, he pressed his face into your neck and lay on you as you both caught your breath - ruining the peaceful moment by looking up at you with a boyish grin and a twinkle in his eye, glancing down at your joined forms and snickering like a child finding much-coveted candy. At the furrow in your brow, he elaborated - “Who knew all it took was a little edgin’ to make you squirt, huh?” And judging by the tone of his voice, you knew it wouldn’t be long before he was going to test that theory. And he did - twenty minutes later. And again. Over and over, until your cunt was convulsing and throbbing with oversensitivity - only then did he pull away, gathering you in his arms and holding you to him before suggesting softly, “Sarah wanted to stay over for the rest of the weekend. Let’s pick her up on Sunday, and how about you and me take some time to ourselves, hm?” You nod into his chest, voice too hoarse to reply, and hum in contentment as he starts stroking your hair. You needed to act out more often. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @breakfastatjoels