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idesofrevolution · 2 years

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Never Enough

I wanted so badly to be like him. I’d stare at him from afar every day I commuted home from work. He was tall, he was stacked, he was dark, he was fuckin perfect. Each time I saw those arms, twice the size of my head, I had to stifle til the little moan I knew would escape my lips. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know anything about him except he must have lived nearby, since he was jogging nearly every day down the main strip. No shirt, beadlets of sweat glistening on that ebony skin, trailing down a set of washboard abs into a soaked pair of black shorts.

He was everything I knew I could never be. Surely a couple roid rages helped him along the way, but there’s something to be said about genetics. He had the genes I wouldn’t ever have. So I would sit there like creepy voyeurist every day and drool over this sweaty lug of a man I’d never met but so heavily admired.

I couldn’t tell you what the catalyst was for my google search that day. Maybe it was the fact I was bored out of my mind at work, or maybe that angst just kept compiling subconsciously until I finally did something about it. Either way, I found myself seeing what could be done about the way I looked, about who I was. A few pages down the line, well past 20 or so, I saw one result which piqued my curiosity.

“MelaSculpt” was the product. The little snippet of description on the search page described a fitness supplement for black men. I didn’t really think as I clicked the page that I would find anything of use to myself. After all, a black man I am not- but male is male right? And health supplements aren’t discriminative to my knowledge. The page for some company named VitaCorp opened quickly, and the page did take me back a bit. A studly mocha skinned man smirked back at me, flexing his vascular biceps while shoving a small orange pill into the foreground.

“MelaSculpt is the newest addition to VitaCorp’s growing list of nutritional supplements, which is aimed at improving the wellness and physique of men of color. Specially balanced for peak performance and quick results, this supplement will help YOU get the body of your dreams.” I scrolled past the ingredients list and disclaimers, much more interested in seeing the before and after photos of previous clients. The results were staggering. One man was easily 300 pounds overweight in his before picture, and after one treatment he was cut, lean, and healthy. Another was the opposite: gangly and paper thin before, ripped and bulked after. I kept swiping the pictures, before realizing the gallery was almost 200 photos. Before I could stop myself I had already purchased the bottle.

The rest of the day went by as normal, the draining, soul sucking grind of a day working had made me forget entirely that I had bought the supplements. So imagine my surprise upon arriving home when I saw a nondescript black package in my mailbox with a bright orange VitaCorp logo on it. It wasn’t possible! I looked, the company was out of Australia, I wasn’t even close. Unless they had a fulfillment center here in town, this couldn’t be it. Though, sure enough, as I ripped the plastic open, the matte black bottle rolled out into the palm of my hand.

I booked it inside, immediately rushing to my bathroom to examine the contents further. The futuristic font glistened the MelaSculpt name, teasing me as I ripped the plastic ring off the cap and twisted it open. The inside was full of cotton, and after pulling out what seemed like an inordinate amount of it, I saw two large orange pills in the bottom of the bottle. For a moment I was beyond pissed. What kind of rip off scheme did I buy into this time? I grabbed the package, shaking it upside down, hoping for a set of written instructions or a receipt. Luckily, a small card labeled “USER GUIDE” toppled onto the cold tile floor. I picked it up and began to read.

“Thank you for your purchase! We sincerely hope your experience with MelaSculpt enhances your life in every way you might hope. To begin your journey, take a test amount of a 1/4 pill to ascertain tolerance. Do not exceed 2 pills per person in totality.

WARNING: MelaSculpt is designed for use in men of color only. Side effects may include…”

I tossed the card aside, eager to get started. The orange pill glistened in my palm, presegmented into four doses. I broke off the first portion and swallowed it, washing it down with water from the tap. I stood a front the mirror, preparing myself to say goodbye to this corporeal prison and hello to a hunky Adonis like the jogger. It didn’t take long.

It had been merely second before I doubled over. I could hear the bubbling and groaning of my stomach, feeling it gurgle and pulsate. Immediately, I was convinced I was poisoned. Some random website I had found on Google supplied me Arsenic or Ricin… and I was dumb enough to take it. The first burp escaped my mouth, and I could feel instant relief. I stumbled into the bedroom, leaning on the dresser before actually looking down at my midriff. Beneath my shirt, which once was ill fitting and awkward, my stomach seemed to strain against the fabric. I ripped the shirt from my torso, buttons flying off it.

Beneath that cheap polyester were six little bumps vaguely protruding from my former gut. Another belch, and my swollen love handles seemed to collapse in on themselves. I was shocked, no, thrilled to see my waistline shift and bulk as two cumgutters started to balloon out. That was all fine and good, until my head began to spin. Yet another belch. I grasped onto the dresser, trying desperately to balance myself. But just as the world began to warp and blur, I thought I saw the slightest pinpricks of dark skin begin to cascade down my fingertips before it all went black.

I woke up on the ground. My head throbbed with a migraine straight from hell, rubbing my pulsating temples. Light streamed through the blinds, it was the next day for certain. As my throbbing eyes finally began to adjust, the world around me became clearer. Immediately, I saw them. Toes. My toes. BLACK toes. I wriggled my big toe, just to make sure they were in fact mine, before looking down at my hands. They were a dark ebony, tattoos sprinkled on my wrists and up my thick forearms. I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror.

What met my gaze were two meaty pecs, cobblestone abs, arms the size of a cantaloupe… a snaking bulge creeping further and further down my shorts. I hadn’t even looked at my face, I was too scared to look. No, scared wasn’t the right word, it was the mounting anticipation of just who I now was. I looked up, and my breath was taken away. My hair was a wild jumble of black curly locks radiating out into an afro. My chiseled jawline had a light stubble, the only two places on my entire body where I had hair. Every single inch of this sculpted, godlike body was smooth, chiseled, and powerful.

Taking a breath, the light scent of sweat emanated from my pits and feet. Just one whiff gave me a head rush as if I’d taken a hit of poppers. I panicked in the moment, refusing to believe this was who I now was. I pulled and prodded my face as if I were wearing a mask, but alas, this was my face. This was real. And a devilish smirk crept onto my face.

————

That was seven months ago. Truthfully, I’d adjusted pretty naturally into being Jabari. After a day or two of no showing at work, when the boss called the apartment I just explained I was the new tenant. I have no idea what happened to the guy before me. I was Jabari Jefferson, I’d just moved to town from Baltimore and was looking for a gig in personal training. The landlord just kinda accepted I was the new tenant, as long as the rent was paid she didn’t really care.

I started to get more comfortable going out in my new body, appreciating the winks and stares of those who passed. That kind of admiration changes a guy, you start to kind of believe it. I found my own new style, I found a gym to work at down the street from the house. I hit up the bars and happily took home any sexy adult I could find. They couldn’t get enough of that subtle, salty funk which seemed to linger around me; that testosterone laden musk which, admittedly got me and my 9 inch cock off after nearly every session on the basketball court. I made a name for myself around the neighborhood for being “that guy.” The one everyone wanted to be, the guy I always dreamed I’d become. That however, leads us to todays events.

The sun was beaming down on me, as I contently shot some hoops before I hit up my date at a bar down the street. The energy I felt every single day. It was so strong and powerful. That virility, that libido, that strength… it was addictive. I plopped down onto the bench, prying my size 13 LeBron 19’s from my damp, socked foot. Taking a not so guilty whiff of that sharp, satisfying scent of a damn good game, just as I did after every hoop sesh. I tossed the sneakers into the bag and pulled out my slides, only for something to roll right out of the bag as I did.

I looked down at my wet feet on the pavement to see the black bottle of MelaSculpt had fallen out of my bag. Truthfully, I’d forgotten where I put it months ago: out of sight, out of mind. But as I looked down at it, that little nagging voice in the back of my head began to pick at me. Those feelings I felt that day, that euphoric rush. The power of my flexing muscles, the taste of my sweat, the touch of my skin… it all came back to me at once.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. That sensation, that lust for power and strength more than ever before is as enticing as it sounds even now. I opened my eyes, and delicately grabbed the bottle. The pill and 3/4 rattled around the bottom of the black container, teasing me even further. I looked down at my glistening muscles, slick with sweat, and imagined just how much more I wanted. It wasn’t enough to be sexy and strong, I had to be the strongest. I had to be the one.

In that moment of irrevocable weakness, I twisted the cap off and swallowed the remainder of the pill I’d used the first time. I didn’t remember the instructions, I didn’t remember the warnings, I remembered that feeling. It was the only thing in my mind as a triple dose made its way down my throat. Just as the first time, I doubled over on the bench, my stomach rumbling audibly to even passersby. I groaned and let out a cacophonous belch, one that even surprised myself. My chest ballooned out almost comically as a cartoon. Veins bulged prominently out of my thinning skin as my necklace burst from the base of my throat, too fragile for the force of my widening neck.

I scampered and stumbled blindly into the locker room, fortunately empty at the time. I let out another cavernous burp, which echoed throughout the room. My thighs bubbled outward in grotesque disproportion to the rest of my musculature. I crawled on the floor toward a shower stall, making it in before just as the time before the world began to spin. I got one final glimpse of my biceps contort and spasm before it all went dark.

I awoke in that shower stall in agony. Every muscle felt stiff and stone like in the cramped stall. I couldn’t even fit my entire body in the stall, my feet stuck out from beneath the door. The smell, it was strong. I enjoyed that savory, delectable scent of masculine musk before, but this was different. The only word I could describe it with is pungent. Like high quality Gorgonzola, and it was pouring out of every crevice of my body. I pushed the stall door open, which nearly came off from the force of my strength.

Getting to my feet, I crept slowly toward the sink, feeling every contraction of every muscle, thinly veiled behind my hairless skin. I got to the mirror. I had tripled in size. Muscles bulged from every direction, built far past the natural threshold I even knew existed. My dreads had all but fallen off, leaving a buzzed hair which exposed veins protruding from even my own scalp. I could feel my heart pumping every single beat, and the blood flowing across my entire body. The power was incomprehensible, it was incredible. It was… far too much for me. I scrambled back to my bag, tossing my favorite sneakers across the room, never to fit my rank size 17 feet ever again.

The bottle seemed tiny in my massive hand, I strained to see the instructions printed on the card I’d left inside. The only thing I could make out was the final words at the bottom of the paper: “Effects permanent. Use with caution.” My heart skipped a beat, I looked at myself in the mirror, a roid-inflated version of the Jabari I had built, nurtured, valued, loved… this wasn’t me. It felt wrong. I looked down at my phone desperately trying to look up the VitaCorp webpage to no avail. I screamed and punched the wall, my fist going straight through the tile and plaster.

My breathing labored, heavy, and hard, I looked down at the bottle again, chucking it into the bin. I looked at myself in the mirror, accepting there in that moment that Jabari was gone. This walking muscle was who I now was. I now had to concoct an entirely new persona yet again. But the only thing I could think of, was how much I wanted what I had lost.

#male transformation #body transformation #original #transformation #jockification #musk #musky #bodybuilder #racial change #racial transformation #basketball #VitaCorp #muscle inflation

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thus-spoke-lo · 2 years

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Pain Management // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader // NSFW/18+

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Chapter 5: Emergency Visit

Chapter Summary: Much to your surprise and your chagrin, Law's unconventional "treatments" were working to provide you relief--until tonight. Out of pain medication and out of options, you drag yourself to your captain's quarters to beg for help.

Chapter CW: afab reader; no specific pronouns used, but gendered pet names used [ex. "good girl"]; themes of extremely dubious consent [emotional and sexual coercion/manipulation, gaslighting, abuse of authority]; over the clothes stimulation [reader receiving]; reader experiences severe, chronic pelvic pain; Stockholm Syndrome-like behavior in reader

WC: 6.1k

There was a part of you—albeit one that was shrinking smaller and smaller with every passing day—that hated how Law’s treatments legitimately did seem to be working. Degrading yourself on his exam room table every few days, lying awake in bed at night and grinding against the heel of your palm with thoughts of his strong hands running over you until you were breathless—all of it seemed to be working effectively to lessen your pain, to keep you feeling productive and useful again, just like you’d wanted.

Except for tonight.

You held a pillow tightly to your abdomen, body curled in on itself, and pressed your face into your other pillow, a growing pool of tears dampening your cheek. You had barely made it through your shift in the boiler room, holding things together by a thin shred of willpower, before practically crawling back to your room, skipping dinner to lay in darkness and grit your teeth and hope the searing hot spasms in your abdomen and shooting pains running down your legs would go away on their own.

Unsurprisingly, they did not, and your condition deteriorated as the evening progressed; you napped feverishly, alternating between bouts of freezing cold that made your teeth chatter and your body tremble uncontrollably no matter how you buried yourself in blankets, and sweating so profusely that you soaked right through your pajamas.

As the evening trudged on, second by agonizing second, you finally gave in and rummaged through your bedside table, looking for the container of special tablets that Chopper made just for you, those special pills that managed to dull the pain without knocking you on your ass like everything else you had tried before. You grasped the bottle with shaking hands, and you heart sank as you realized there was nothing rattling around in the little glass jar.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You gripped your sheets as another wave of white-hot pain threatened to drown you. You needed sleep. You needed to be able to present yourself for your next work shift without being doubled over, balancing on the precipice of tears.

You needed Law.

The painful throbbing somewhere in the depths of your pelvis was making you sick to your stomach, but the idea of having to stagger down the halls of the submarine, preparing to plead your case to your captain—to beg your doting doctor for relief at this ungodly hour—was making you feel far worse. You crawled out from under your stack of blankets and got to your feet, clinging to every piece of furniture within arm’s length to steady yourself, throwing on whatever clothes you could find that weren’t saturated with sweat, and carefully made your way out of your room.

You padded down the halls, fuzzy socks doing the bulk of the hard work in masking each step; the ship was quiet, only a skeleton crew still active at the moment, but the last thing you needed was anyone questioning what you were doing wandering around doubled over, one arm held tightly over your abdomen as though you were trying to prevent your organs from escaping.

You tried Law’s office first—the cluttered room was mostly dark, illuminated by the soft glow of a small desk light, abundant stacks of papers the only occupants of the space at the moment. You closed the door behind you and considered going to the infirmary next—there had to be pain medication there, you assumed. The idea of clanging around and rummaging through copious cabinets and drawers, however, seemed far too troublesome a task under the circumstance, and the last thing you needed was to end up taking some poorly labeled tablets that would do who-knows-what to you. Sure, you could ask one of your crewmates to point you in the right direction—certainly one of them had to know their way around the medical supplies—but having to admit your illness to anyone but Law was frightening.

The whole point of this farce was to find a way to feel useful again, to not be a burden; the Strawhats never made you feel like one, never made you feel like anything but loved and cared for, but you had yourself thoroughly and completely convinced that they would have gotten sick of it eventually. At least here, you could pretend to be okay, pretend to be normal and productive like everyone else, and save all your weaknesses and imperfections for Law’s exam table, keeping them between you and him and the hum of the fluorescent lights.

You roamed the halls in silent agony, a few sharp twinges making their way down your inner thighs, until you reached the door to Law’s private quarters; this was the only way, you’d decided, that you could get help and still keep your secret to yourself. You breathed in slowly and steeled yourself before softly rapping on the door, ready to throw yourself at his feet if you had to (not that humbling yourself in front of him in the pursuit of relief would be anything new), as long as it meant you could obtain some sort of respite that would let you sleep and feel something adjacent to normal again.

“Captain?” you spoke into the doorframe, your voice hushed. You glanced nervously up and down the hall and waited a beat for any signs of life, but there was only silence. “Captain, are you awake?” This time you knocked a little harder, whispered a little louder, yet there was still nothing. You clenched your eyes shut for a moment, balled-up fist still pressed against the door, and fought back the urge to scream.

It wasn’t his fault—it wasn’t anyone’s fault except your accursed internal organs—that you were stranded yet again in a dark ocean of pain, waving frantically for someone to rescue you and pull you ashore, but you had stupidly held onto the smallest bit of hope that he would be there, condescending smirk and all, waiting to take care of you when you needed him most. You didn’t want to need him—at least you didn’t think you did—but god, did you ever.

Your thoughts were interrupted and you tripped forward as the door moved under you, creaking open just enough for you to glimpse Law’s face, partially masked by shadows.

“What’re you doing here?” he rasped, voice sounding thick with sleep.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered as you started to back away from the door, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’okay, I wasn’t sleeping.” The way the words came out mumbled left you unconvinced. “Did you—did you need something?”

“I, um.” You stopped, choking on a thick feeling in the back of your throat and trying to swallow it down, blinking away the tears that were starting to form at the corners of your eyes. “I’m just in a lot of pain, and—dammit—I, um, was wondering if maybe you had anything you could give me?”

His gaze settled on you, and his expression seemed to soften while you trembled, your arms crossed and held tightly to your body, your face fixed in an immovable grimace. He blinked hard, clearing the sleep from his eyes, before sticking his head a little further out the door to peer down the hall past you in each direction. “Alright, come in, before anyone sees.”

Law opened the door wider to let you in, stepping out of the way to make room, and you stifled a gasp as you had the opportunity to take him in fully. He was shirtless, the hardness of his tattooed chest and the corrugated leanness of his stomach accentuated by the shadows in the dim light of his small room. The v-shape carved into his lower torso led your eyes further downward, your deviant glare following a trail of dark hair to the waistband of the sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips. You hastily glanced at the floor, feeling your ears start to burn and your pulse thrumming in your ears, the sudden warm flood of arousal between your legs almost enough to distract from the profound pain that overwhelmed you.

Seeing him like this, his lithe body so casually on display, it was easy to remember why you held onto your silly little crush, the one that bloomed when you’d watched him board the Sunny for the first time. You were reminded of how you had practically vibrated at the sight of the dark-haired captain, his long jacket hanging open, revealing a smooth ripple of muscle beneath tanned skin. It was no wonder you fell under his spell so quickly, you thought—he’d had you in his grasp the moment you laid eyes on him.

“You should sit down,” Law insisted as he grabbed a shirt from a pile on the floor and threw it on, and you watched with indecent fascination as the white fabric stretched over his muscled form. You complied without protest and slumped down onto the ground, your back against the cool metal door, trying to gain some measure of composure.

“So what’s going on?” He knelt down in front of you, and grasped your chin in between his thumb and forefinger; he tilted your head up, then down, then from one side to the other, his eyes moving over you the entire time.

“It’s bad,” you answered shakily. “Really bad.”

He held his palm to your forehead and sucked in air through his teeth. “You’re burning up.”

“For now at least.” You offered him a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be freezing cold in a little bit, guaranteed.”

He sat back on his haunches, cocking his head to one side. “Is it always like this? You mentioned pain when we first discussed things, but nothing quite like what you’re describing right now.”

“Not always.” You chewed on your tongue as a sharp pain rocketed through you. “Just some months. Sometimes I go for a while with just regular pain. And then this”—you gestured at your lower half—“happens.”

“Tell me what you mean by ‘regular pain.’”

“Just—just regular pain. I don’t know what to tell you.” The frustration was building, the familiar exasperation at having to explain this one more time, just like you’d explained to every doctor you’d ever talked to, again and again, until you were worn down to exhaustion. “Most times I’m just in pain, and nights like this I’m in agony. Does that make more sense?”

“Unfortunately, it does.” Law’s eyes scanned your tense body as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “Can you tell me more about how it feels?”

“Right now? Like a hot knife being dragged through me, front and back.”

“You poor thing.” He held a warm palm to the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “It’s good you came to me. You know I don’t want you to suffer, right?”

You nodded, wanting to sink into this feeling forever if you could, wanting to drown in the gentle cadence of his voice and the way he tilted his head and looked at you like some pathetic little creature that needed to be saved. And you did need him to save you, to rescue you from the well of blackness that years of pain had kept you in, to fix what was broken inside you—even if you were starting to come undone in the process.

“Let me see what I have that can help.” He turned and reached over to the large black bag that was shoved under his desk, rummaging through it for a few moments. He pulled out a small orange bottle, and tapped two white tablets into his palm. “Give me your hand.”

You extended one arm out and opened your palm; he carefully set the pills in your hand, then gently closed your fingers over them, keeping his hand clasped over your closed fist for a moment.

“These are anti-inflammatories,” he said as he grabbed a canteen from the top of his desk and handed it to you. “They won’t make the pain go away, but they’ll help it to calm down, ideally. If you want to stay here, I can go to the infirmary and find something stronger.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want to be knocked out and just sleep all day. I have to work in”—you glanced at your watch and frowned—“well, not that long from now.”

Without hesitation, you threw the mystery pills in your mouth and washed them down with the room-temperature water, swallowing hard at the acrid taste of the tablets as they started to disintegrate. You made a start to get up and head back to your room and winced, a guttural groan escaping you before you had the chance to stuff it back down.

“Hey, hey, where do you think you’re going?” Law quickly reached out and pulled you back down, large hands settling on your shoulders.

“I—I should go.” Your eyes darted between his steel-grey eyes and his lips. “I should go back to my room now.”

“Not like this you shouldn’t.” He delicately gripped your upper arms, his thumbs massaging you through the thick fabric of your sweatshirt. “You’re too weak to go anywhere right now.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” he tutted in that familiar tone, the one that reminded you that he knew better, that he knew what was best for you, more than you ever would. “You don’t need to try to be brave for me, you’re in too much pain to be wandering around by yourself.

“I mean I—I guess you’re right.” You weren’t sure if that was entirely true—you had managed to get here on your own, though just barely—but you were tired, so very tired, and it couldn’t hurt to sit for just a moment longer, could it?

“Just stay here with me, okay?” He smiled softly, still looking at you like you were a wounded animal that required his undivided attention; you felt sick at how you reveled in it, how it made your brain tingle. “At least until the pills start to work. Then you can go back to bed and get some sleep.”

“Okay, if you think that’s best,” you murmured as you settled back down onto the floor.

“Just try to keep it down,” he said as he sat down across from you, his long legs stretched out in front of him. “I’d rather not anyone know you’re here.”

You smiled weakly. “Doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Something like that.”

You nodded in silent agreement, and leaned your head back against the steel door, trying to keep from staring at him any more than you already had, trying not to let the tingle of his palm on your cheek or the weight of his hands gripping your shoulders linger on your body any longer than necessary. There was something that gnawed at you, a warped little something that whispered to you how fortunate you were to have his help—how wonderful it was to feel cared for, to feel special. Wasn’t it just so lucky that he could treat you and give you the relief you’d sought for so long—even if it came at the expense of your dignity? Wasn’t it worth it to finally feel something other than pain for once, all because of his skilled hands and his relentless dedication to your care and well-being?

“Any idea when these meds are gonna kick in?” you asked through the sleeves of your shirt, sudden searing pain interrupting your anxious thoughts.

“Just hang in there for me. Shouldn’t be much longer now.” He stood up and crossed the small space that separated you, and he settled in beside you. “Think you’ll be okay ‘til then?”

“I don’t know.” You continued to stare straight ahead at the empty space where he’d been sitting just a moment ago, trying to pretend he wasn’t so warm, that his strong body wasn’t pressed into yours, that you didn’t want him to consume you.

“Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?” His long fingers delicately stroked the top of your hand.

“I—I don’t think so,” you stammered, heat growing in your cheeks and an ache growing in your core. You were certain one of his treatments would, at the very least, take your mind off the pulsating pains in your lower half, his skilled hands coaxing pleasure out of you like it was nothing. But you couldn’t make yourself ask, couldn’t find the words to beg him to defile you here in his room, a place where you didn’t belong.

“If you’re sure,” he hummed. “Doesn’t have to be a treatment session, you know.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. “I’ll show you. Why don’t you go lay down for me? On your stomach, if you can.”

“I think I can, but what are you going to do, captain?”

“It’s ‘doctor,’ remember?” His voice dripped with sweet condescension. “And I’m just going to make you feel a little better while we wait, that’s all. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you answered, your own voice sounding far away from you.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked as he got to his feet, knowing those damnable words were like a drug to you, and you were eager to chase after your high. He leaned down and grabbed your hands, carefully pulling you to your feet, and held you by the hips as he guided you over to the mattress shoved into the corner on the floor.

“Do I need to, um—”

“Just pull your shirt up a little, you can stay dressed this time.”

This time.

You knelt onto the mattress, random bolts of pain shooting through you as you lowered yourself down onto your stomach, almost certain you could feel your organs twisting with every movement. You shifted cautiously and pulled your sweatshirt up, exposing your back to the cool air of the room, and laid your head on your arms, trying to calm your erratic breaths while you patiently waited for Law. The mattress unexpectedly shifted under you, and Law grunted softly as he positioned himself with one leg on either side of yours, kneeling down and resting some of his weight on your thighs.

“Is this alright?” he asked, placing a wide hand on your hip. “Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head. “No, not at all.”

“Okay, good.” He shifted a little in place. “Now try to relax, take some nice deep breaths for me. Breath in to a count of five, then out to a count of ten.”

You let your eyes drift shut while you timed your respirations, telling yourself over and over again that you could trust Law, that he only had your best interests in mind and wouldn’t bring you any harm. Your muscles tensed as you felt the sudden warmth of his hands on your skin, and he began to apply light pressure with his palms.

“See?” There was a hint of self-satisfaction in his tone. “I told you that you could trust me, didn’t I?”

“I know,” you sighed into your arm. You only want what’s best for me.

“That’s right, I’m only trying to help you. I just want to make you feel better.” He continued to manipulate your anxious body, digging the heels of his hands deep into your flesh. “This won’t fix everything, but it should relieve some of your discomfort. How’s that feeling?”

“S’good,” you mumbled, melting under his expert touch. Pain still wound its way through your abdomen, but it was dampened by his ministrations, each agonizing throb dulled with his every firm touch.

“Helping at all?” Law asked, his knuckles digging into a knot near your ribcage.

“It is, actually. Your hands feel really nice.” You quickly felt your stomach turn, embarrassed by your admittance, your brain too fogged from pain and the unexpected pleasure of his strong hands on your body to keep yourself from blurting out what was running through your mind. His hands—the ones you had fitful dreams about, the ones you brought yourself to climax thinking about—felt perfect molded to your body, as though they’d always belonged on you.

He stopped for a moment, resting his palms on the small of your back. “You think so?”

You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of you if you tried. “Yeah, you’re being so gentle with me, it’s… it’s actually really nice.”

“I told you I’d take good care of you,” he said quietly, a smile hidden in his voice.

Law leaned his weight into the heels of his palms and pressed down, pushing outwards from your spine to your hips over and over, kneading your tender back with precision. You tried to picture how his body must look as he moved over you—how the sleeves of his t-shirt must stretch as his biceps flexed with every movement, how the resilient muscles of his back must ripple under the strained fabric, how his powerful thighs must tense as he leans forward and drags his long fingers across your hips. You drifted and imagined how his body would flex and tense as he hovered over you, positioning his cock at your entrance, holding himself still as he teased you with it, making you beg for him to sink himself inside you. How would the shadows dance over the tensile magnificence of his musculature as he rocked himself against you, trapping you underneath him, claiming you as his?

As you waded out further and further into deep pools of depravity, Law’s elbow dug into a particularly tense spot in your mid-back; you let loose a moan that was far more vulgar than you intended, your brain still fixated on the image of his powerful frame moving in darkness as he took you. The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the submarine and the occasional sound of fabric moving as Law re-positioned himself over you, and your amorous sigh resonated in the small space.

Law exaggeratedly cleared his throat and continued to manipulate your body; his breathing became a little more labored as his hands moved down the outsides of your hips, his movements slowing, growing more measured and deliberate with every caress. He slid one hand across the small of your back, then dragged it leisurely over the clothed curve of your ass, letting it come to rest on the back of your thigh. He paused there, his fingers tapping you lightly, before finally asking, “How low would you like me to go?”

Your eyes opened wide and you inhaled deeply, held the air in your lungs until it started to burn. There was no performative request for permission, no declaration of consent that you had no option but to accept—this was a choice he was handing you with outstretched palms, yours to take and use however you desired. Your impatient longing answered for you: “Lower.”

He slid his fingertips down, slotting them in between where the lushest part of your thighs pressed together. “Here?”

“No,” you whispered through shaky breaths. “Up a little more.”

He slowly, teasingly, slid his hand further up, until the edge of his index finger was slotted against the warmth of your clothed cunt. “Here? Is this where you want me to touch?”

You nodded eagerly, the sensation of his hand pressed into you leaving you aching for gratification.

“That’s not good enough.” He held completely still. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” you whined into the mattress, your hips starting to move against him of their own accord. “Right there. Please.”

“Such a good girl,” he cooed adoringly as he shifted his weight and made space for you to part your thighs for him. “You even said ‘please’ for me.”

Law’s wide palm nudged against your heat, and you gasped as the tips of two fingers slid down to press against your swollen clit. You heard him chuckle under his breath as he leaned in, one hand propping himself up on the mattress while the other massaged your needy cunt, his face hovering close to yours. “Like this?”

You softly rocked your hips against him, small sighs flowing from your lips like water. “Just like that.”

“Poor thing,” he whispered in your ear as he quickened his motions, fingertips making firm circles over your aching bundle of nerves, your body pulsing and thrumming in response. “You needed this didn’t you? Needed me?”

You whimpered softly in agreement, rutting against his palm in quiet desperation, your body humming with an insatiable need for him.

“Will you say it for me?” Law asked in a low growl, his lips grazing your cheek. “Say you need me?”

“I need you,” you whine into the mattress, his hand pressing into your with more force, your thighs shaking around him, “need you so much.”

“I wanna hear you say it again.” His words vibrated with a hunger you’d never perceived before, an intensity that makes you feverish. It settled in your spine, took hold of your thoughts, whispered in your ear—he needed this, too.

“Oh fuck” —your eyes welled with tears as the tension built inside you, winding around and around until you felt like you could snap—“I need you, I need you.”

He let out a shivering exhale. “That’s my good girl.”

At once, his motions became more urgent, his fingers moving over your pulsing clit with a merciless intensity, your hips bucking and colliding against him with perfect rhythm as a warm sensation started to radiate from your core. He urged you towards your climax, murmuring sweet words of praise through quick and shallow breaths, his relentless resolve to make you spasm on his hand pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

You felt a sudden twinge of something unpleasant in your lower left side, but tried shut it out, focusing your attention on Law’s quick and forceful movements. Without warning, a searing pain ripped through your abdomen, slicing across your hips like a swordsman’s blow, and your thighs clenched around his wrist, your hips twisting as you sucked in a startled breath. You pushed your face into his pillow, trying to silence your pained howl the best you could, tears quickly spilling down your puffy cheeks.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He quickly retracted his hand and placed it on the small of your back, rubbing soft circles over your skin to calm you. “What happened?”

“Hurts,” you strained, holding the sleeve of your sweatshirt between your gritted teeth, an unbearable chill settling in your bones. “Bad pain.”

“Shit, okay.” He moved off of you and knelt next to the bed, scanning you up and down as you trembled and curled up tightly into yourself. “Here, let’s get you warm.”

Law quickly gathered up his blankets and diligently tucked them around you until all that was visible was your face poking out of the cocoon he had constructed. He sat down cross-legged next to the head of the bed and placed his palm on your forehead, applying gentle pressure. “Just try to breathe for me, okay?”

“You don’t have to do this.” You stared at him through cloudy eyes, pulling the blankets tighter around you with every piercing pain that ran through you.

“Of course I do,” he protested. “I have a duty of care for all my patients.”

You smirked at him from your blanket nest. “Are you always this sweet to all your patients, doctor?”

“Not all of them,” he muttered, a rosy flush beginning to settle on his cheeks; his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he tried to hide the subtle upward quirk of his mouth. He gently set his hand on the mattress, palm-up, motioning with his fingers; you reached your hand out from under the blanket and hesitantly placed it in his. He leaned his head back against the wall and held onto you delicately, softly stroking the tops of your fingers with the pad of his thumb.

The low mechanical humming and whirring of the submarine filled the air in the room, as you existed there wordlessly together: doctor and patient, captain and subordinate—and something else. Something else you didn’t understand yet, something you weren’t sure you even wanted to understand. You needed him, that was all that mattered right now—you needed him more than you ever could have imagined, needed his warm hands and his fucked-up ideas of appropriate medical care and his low voice ringing in your ears telling you just how good you were for him. You needed his hand in yours, and needed his warm body next to you, and it vibrated you in the marrow of your bones to think that he could—maybe, possibly—need you too.

You let your eyes start to drift shut, and your temperature began to even out, the warmth from Law’s hand spreading through your body. It had been a long time since you’d felt touch like this, tender and sincere—you wanted to smother yourself with it, even if it came with a heavy price.

“Can I ask you something?” Law’s voice cut through the stillness of the room.

“Sure, yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to say this exactly but, I’ve been wondering”—he paused to scratch at the scruff on his chin, before turning to settle his gaze on you—“you didn’t come here to learn about submarines, did you?”

The blood in your veins quickly turned to ice water, your pulse accelerating instantaneously. “…I’m sorry?”

He stared at you unblinkingly. “I’m just wondering why it is that you’re really here.”

You swallowed hard, the moisture all but evaporated from your mouth. It was abundantly clear that he knew you had lied—Law was not a dupe by any means, and you felt like the world’s greatest fool for thinking you could keep your secret safely held in your grasp forever. You didn’t want to consider how things would proceed from here if you let your lies snowball and tried to maintain your ruse, trapped down here with him, miles away from anyone and anything you’d ever known—but the idea of being transparent and explaining your story to him made you feel ill.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He half-smiled at you, a hint of disappointment in his tone, and carefully interlaced his fingers with yours. “It won’t affect your treatment plan either way.”

“If I told you I wasn’t entirely honest about why I came here, what would you do?” The air around you started to crush you as you waiting for the inevitable collapse of everything you’d constructed, waited to watch it crumble before you and turn to dust in your hand.

A moment passed as he turned his head away and stared at the ceiling. Then another. Then another. It felt like hours had passed before he finally asked in a hushed tone: “Does anyone else know?”

“No, no one knows.”

“Not even Strawhat?”

“No. Not even Luffy.”

“Fucking hell.” He exhaled a long, loud breath through his nose. “Well, I guess that’s that then.”

“That’s what then?” A sob threatened to escape your trembling lips, and you pondered how quickly you could run towards the door, if you could possibly escape him if you had to.

“Then I guess we’re in this together.” He wrapped both of his hands around yours, squeezing you firmly. “We’ll continue your treatment, and I won’t say a thing to Strawhat. Not unless you decide to first.”

“What?” You started to sit up, tried to wrench yourself from his grasp, but his grip only tightened. “I don’t understand.”

“You had your reasons, I’m sure.” He chewed on his lower lip. “I just wish you’d been honest with me from the start. I’m a doctor, I would have helped you.”

“Look, I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you, or anyone, and I should’ve just asked you if you thought you could do something for me before I ever came aboard. I just—I just needed—” I needed you, you finished in your head.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He let go of your hand and sat up, kneeling beside you, settling his large hands on you again, easing you back down to the bed. “You’re getting yourself too wound up. You’re don’t want to make things worse, do you?”

You felt a dull ache in your abdomen, as if on cue. “No, I don’t…”

“Okay. Then just rest for me.”

“Do you suppose I could ask you something now?” You pulled the blanket back over yourself and tried to steady your breathing as Law stroked your side, fingers dancing over your hip.

“Anything you want.”

“Would you have let me aboard if you’d known why I was really here?”

“Of course I would have.” He responded without hesitation, almost cutting you off at the end of your sentence; his gaze settled on your face, and you thought for a moment that you caught the slightest glint of longing in his half-lidded eyes. He cleared his throat and stood up, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his sweatpants. “You should get some rest.”

“I’m probably fine to go back to my room,” you murmured, extending one leg out from under the pile of sheets. “I’m plenty warm now. Pills seem like they worked.”

“I’d rather keep an eye on you, if you don’t mind.” He crossed the room and sat down at his desk, shuffling some papers around aimlessly. “I have work to do, anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he smirked. “Doctor’s orders.”

----------

You opened your eyes, surrendering to momentary bewilderment—you were somehow in your own bed again, bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed, wrapped carefully in your covers, but with no memory of ever leaving Law’s room. You slid your hand down to your abdomen—pain no longer threatened to drown you, and you felt only a sporadic dull throb now and again. The mattress felt empty with just you in it—though it was short-lived, you missed the feeling of Law’s weight on you as he pressed his hands into your sore muscles, the way his body shifted and settled, the sound of his breathing filling the room. You half-heartedly wondered if you could have convinced him to climb into that small bed with you—to drop the last pretenses of professionalism that he so desperately seemed to want cling to and wrap his sinewy body around you, holding you until drifted into dreamless sleep.

It was sick.

You were sick, and so was Law—the way he had you conditioned to crave his touch, the way he had trained your body to respond to him in ways you’d experienced with anyone else, the way he had invaded every corner of your mind and replaced your rational thoughts with depraved longing and a deep, insatiable hunger. It was as though he had dug deep into the recesses of your skull and found that little crush you’d had on him, the tiny sprout of affection, and had watered it, fed it, watched it bloom and grow into the feverish obsession that threatened to consume you.

You didn’t have time for this, you forcefully reminded yourself, pushing your depraved thoughts to the back of your mind once again, hoping they would sit quietly in the dark for the time being. You didn’t have look at the clock to know you must have overslept for your shift, and you extracted yourself from the tangle of sheets, looking around the room in a haze for your jumpsuit and boots. In the midst of your panic, you glanced over at your desk and paused, noticing a small pile of items that you were certain weren’t there when you had stumbled out of your room all those hours ago. You ambled towards the desk on unsteady legs, grabbing onto the back of the chair to keep yourself aloft. There, sitting on the corner of your work surface, was the canteen from Law’s room, and orange bottle of pills, and a note:

You’re excused from your work shift today so you can recover (don’t worry, your secret is still safe with me). When you’re feeling better, come to my office—we never finished your treatment.

You sat back down on the bed, the note clutched to your chest, pulse quickening with every breath. The thorny vines of desire had wrapped themselves around you again, tightening with every sinful thought that flitted through your static-filled mind, and you could do nothing but succumb.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar waterlaw x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #one piece smut #trafalgar d water law x reader #lo writes

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rogersideup · 1 year

Note

Here's my nice to be kneaded headcanon: Reader always brings him treats so Steve feels bad he's not returning something. Since he's now helping out some days a week, he starts doodling little things on post it notes and leaves it in the bakery for her to find. The first few times it's employees that find them and everyone's confused who it's from, till reader puts them all together and it's the spots she took Steve when she showed him the town. She saves them all and it looking forward to what's next on Steve's list to draw.

Nice to be Kneaded:

More fun stuff!

*Had to change up the request a bit as to not interfere with a future plotline that’s already been written.

Hidden Treasure

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series masterlist More Fun Stuff masterlist

Nomad Steve x Baker Reader

word count: 1,664

"Hey, look at this really cool thing we found!" One of your employees, Sabrina, told you enthusiastically while quickly approaching you at your spot on the desk.

You ripped your eyes away from the product order invoice on the desktop screen to take interest in her excitement.

"What is it?" You asked, as she handed it to you.

In your hand, she placed a yellow sticky note that was drawn on with a ball point pen. An immediate smile tugged at your lips when you recognized it. It was one of the espresso machines in the lobby.

On the sticky note was a drawing of the machine itself, sitting on the counter accompanying a fresh latte. The detail was sickeningly impressive considering it was on a 3 x 3 yellow square, and drawn on with a 75¢ ball point pen.

"I was doing a quick run to wipe down all the tables after morning rush and found that stuck to the small table by the espresso bar!" Sabrina enthused. "Isn't it incredible?!"

"It's amazing" You agreed with a smile.

"I wonder who did it." She pondered as you handed it back to her.

"Maybe a customer during morning rush" You shrugged, smile still invasive. "Have you guys found any more of them or was it just this one?"

"Nope, this is the first and only one." Sabrina noted. "Maybe they'll come back and leave more."

"Well whoever it is deserves a coffee and a cookie if we catch them." You noted.

"This work of art must be cherished forever" She noted, grabbing the roll of tape and tearing off a piece. She taped the sticky note masterpiece to the wall right next to the computer. "This is the new, official, Nice to be Kneaded art museum."

That post-it stayed on the wall for two days before Steve came back into the bakery to help out with the bulk supply delivery. That's when he caught a glimpse of his drawing taped to the wall, and knew he needed to leave more for you and your employees to find around the bakery.

Day by day, week by week, the scrap paper and pen art museum on the back office wall became quite an impressive display. So much so that you eventually became ignorant to the new additions on the daily because they started to blend in with the rest. But every once in a while, you'd catch your team talking about the most recent little pieces of art so you'd go to inspect the entirety of the collection.

One particularly quiet night in the bakery, you had texted Steven to see if he wanted to hang out with you. It wasn't usually a night he'd come by, but you missed his little antics and his stupidly handsome face.

Without question, he was walking through the door of the bakery 20 minutes later. His golden hair was still slightly soggy from the shower he was taking when you grabbed his attention, and he was dressed casually and comfortably as he always was.

"Hey there, honey!" You smiled big, happy to see your best friend.

"Hello, hello!" He greeted you with a smile just as big as yours, and gave you a big hug.

One thing about Steven was that he was of the same mentality of a Great Dane, he was a lot bigger and stronger than he was aware of, yet he thought he was a lap dog. Even his gentlest of hugs engulfed your entire body, and squeezed you comfortably tight.

"Thanks for coming! It was getting real quiet and lonely in here without you."

"You know I'd never miss a chance to spend time with you." He playfully exclaimed. “Need help with anything?”

“Nothing other than curing my boredom” You shrugged.

His eyes looked over to the wall of sticky notes he had drawn on, completely unbeknownst to you and your entire staff. “What’s all of this?” He questioned, interested to hear your take on the drawings.

“Oh, that’s our art museum” You smiled. “Some unknown person has been leaving these drawings around the store for us to find.”

“Oh really?” Steve cocked his head to the side, fighting a smile.

“Yeah, it’s really fun. We all love it so much” You smiled. “It’s like finding hidden treasure, then when we find them we add them to the wall.”

“Do you have a favorite one?” He asked.

He watched your eyes scan them all over, before your pointed to one of the post-it’s. “That one, but they’re all amazing. I’m going to save them forever.”

His eyes followed your finger to the drawing he did last week of the outside of the bakery, and he could agree that it was one of his favorites too.

You could see the inside of the bakery through the windows on the front, and shining through the reflective glass was the big neon sign that read ‘Nice to be Kneaded’. There were many days where pulling into the parking lot of your cozy bakery filled him with immense comfort, and that drawing made him feel just the same way.

“I like this one” Steve pointed to the drawing he did two days ago of the back of a kid up on his tippy toes, peaking into the case full to the brim with treats.

“Awwwww that one is so cute!” You cooed.

Conversation strayed but Steve’s mind stayed fixed on the little drawings. Much like every other aspect of his life, he didn’t want to lie or keep secrets from you, but he did want to make it fun.

So, he started making it increasingly more obvious that it was him every day he spent in the bakery just to clue you in.

If you were baking cookies, he would draw the cookies.

You cleaned the glass of the bake case? Surprise. The next drawing would be of the case full of pastry with little sparkling shimmers on the glass to show it was completely finger print free.

Oh and that cake you were decorating right in front of his face? Yeah. That was tonight’s drawing.

He got every last detail, down to the different piping tips you used for the princess style, the tiny pearled beads you carefully placed at every joint and peak, and the writing on top in your beautiful handwriting that he honestly struggled to recreate.

Steve really thought this would be the one that pushed it over the edge and helped you put the pieces together, but when he walked in the next day, you said nothing about it.

Even when you looked at it and taped it up in its respective spot, you still didn’t solve the little riddles he was leaving you.

Well, that was true until about an hour later when you walked over to the computer to confirm order details on the cake you were about to start. Making sure you got all the flavors, colors, and theming right was very important to you.

He watched your eyes go from the computer screen, to the drawing you just attached to the wall, back to the computer, back to the drawing.

“Oh my gosh…” You caught his attention. “I just realized this is the cake I made yesterday!” You said happily.

“Wait… don’t you think that’s a little odd?” Steve asked, trying to push you along further into the clue.

“Why would it be?” You questioned.

“Well, if you decorated that cake last night when only you were here, then put it in the fridge for pick up early in the morning, how would the artist have even seen the cake?” Steve continued.

“Wait, you’re so right. That customer picked up at opening.” You agreed. “Oh gosh, and the day before that was a picture of the bake case, I just cleaned it the night before…”

“See, now that’s really odd.” He egged you on.

“Who the hell could this be?” You thought out loud. “Do I have a stalker.”

“Well let’s think rationally about this mystery guy. Can you think of anyone who would’ve seen you clean the bake case and decorate that cake?” Steve asked.

He watched you think for a second. “Other than us two I have no idea… You were here too. Did you see anything weird?”

“Not at all.” Steve couldn’t even hold in the laugh he was desperately trying to conceal. “So if it was just you and I…”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you remembered one very important detail about Steven.

He was an artist.

Steve could literally see the moment it clicked in your head, your face snapped into something between joy and annoyance. But you were smiling with big pink cheeks, so he really didn’t care.

“Steven!” You laughed joyfully, voice raising a few notches.

“What?!” He questioned gigging with you.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you!” You screeched, reaching forward and very gently play hitting his arm.

“I was seeing how long it would take you to figure it out!”

“Meanie!”

“…and you said it was making you and all your employees happy!” Steve continued explaining. “Leaving drawings around the store to make you guys happy is the least I could do in exchange for how happy you and the bakery make me.”

You cheeks only deepened their blush as his explanation sunk into your mind and heart. “Honey, you already do so much for us and they don’t even know you’re here helping out. You’re appreciated by everyone regardless, and what you do here goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but, I really like making the drawings” he admitted shyly.

“We all love them too. Thanks for all you do for me, Steven.” You said sincerely.

“No, thank you.” He said humbly, his cheeks were blushed pink just like yours.

“Okay, now I just have to get these all in a picture frame…” Thought.

He laughed. “Stop it! They’re literally just post it notes!”

“One man’s post-it is another man’s masterpiece!”

#nice to be kneaded #more fun stuff #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #captain america #captain america fluff #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #chris evans #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu x reader #chris evans fluff #Steve Rogers series #Rogersideup #ask isla

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darilarostarg · 2 months

Text

HOTD Season 2 Review

Now that we have the season in its entirety, I just wanted to put my thoughts down on paper - likes and dislikes. End of season yapping basically.

Things I Liked/Enjoyed

The acting this season was outstanding from all fronts, especially from our actors that were given some of the best material to work with - Emma and Rhys are my standouts for this season (Mentions also go to Matt, Tom and Jefferson).

I loved all our newcomers this season - Freddy, Gayle, Simon - They all did an incredible job and their characters had some of the best characterisation this season imo.

Production/filmography/lighting/costuming etc have all been either massively improved or have exceeded season one.

Both dragon action sequences (Rook’s Rest & The Sowing) were remarkable. They did a fabulous job in terms of visuals and the practical side - it makes me look forward to the battle and action scenes going forward.

I am very happy that the show runners ultimately did not hide away with dream sequences and gave us a haunted Harrenhal.

I loved Rhaenyra’s cult leader/messiah complex in episode seven and I hope they reintroduce that in season three and beyond - I think as it’s seemly confirmed that Nettles has been removed, this will serve as a great way to push Rhaenyra’s state of mind/paranoia when they dragon seeds betray her.

Matt Smith

Things I Disliked/Unsure Off

This is probably partly due to budgeting, but I honestly do think the writing team is having a really tough time coming up with meaningful arcs that push the story forward, given how much time/’nothing’ happens in between events in the books. A lot of this season was in limbo, and it did feel stagnant. A lot of events had no effect on the overall story, or did briefly, and then quickly forgotten.

As much as I hate to say it, I do believe it has fallen into the ‘evil men start wars, and women just want peace and are too gentle/delicate for it’, and by default it has made Rhaenrya and Alicent seem like incompetent rulers, that do not understand that their past actions have had there part in causing this to happen, or are completely naive to the realities of their current positions.

The Greens being in conflict with each other makes sense, but the conflict within the black camp did not. Showing Rhaenyra to so secretive and hostile towards her own faction (especially Jace), and so gracious toward the greens, the people that have genuinely harmed her, was a really bizarre choice. I really do hope not receiving Aegon when she arrives to KL will be the final blow.

I did not like that Daemon’s core journey this season was him deciding that he did not want to be king. It was a rehash of part of his season one arc that should have concluded with him crowning Rhaenyra. I don’t think there was an issue with him doubting Rhaenyra as a ruler I was at points honestly, but him wanting to be king was never on his cards. The visions could have been a shorter arc and the rivermen arc could have been bulked out more i'm not too up his ass I’ll admit when its not working. I could change my mind on this in season three, depending if they do show the growth Daemon has gone through via his relationship with his girls, Rhaneyra etc

Alicent was a struggle this season. I think she could have been so much fun, so it’s disappointing that they have watered her down so intensely. Perhaps they thought ‘a woman will do anything for her children, to keep them alive, no matter the cost’ was too similar to Cersei? But I wish they had gone that direction, and gave Alicent the guilt Cersei never had, that that ultimately is what drives her ‘mad’. I just think it is such a jarring contrast on the amazing characterisation they did with her in S1 episode six through eight. Going from forcing your son onto the throne in fear for his life, to giving his head on a silver platter to the person you usurped… is certainly a choice. By going and ending Alicent's 'arc' this season they way that they have, they have made her as a character, dare I say pointless? Where does Alicent go from here, if you really think about it? The war has barely started, all her children are alive and she has already given up? You cannot retcon the damage S2 has done to her, they have given her nothing to work with going forward. Absolutely nothing. And the rest of the story has and will suffer for it.

Just ultimately frustrated we will seemingly not get ‘bastard blood shed at war’ conversation - the impact a Rhaenyra and Alicent reunion would have had had they waited until season three, with two of Rhaenyra’s sons dead, would have been incredible and actually felt earned, and I’m sad we will not get it.

The fact that show runners, writers, directors and even some of the cast contradict themselves from interview to interview, really makes it seem none of them have agreed on characterisation or arc, and I feel I can see that within some of the writing and decisions. I feel like I could ask one of them, ‘Is Daemon in love with Alicent?’ and they would respond with some yes/no ‘don’t rule anything out’ answer.

They need to stop cutting pivotal moments to leave up to interpretation. This audience has proven time and time again, it cannot interpret the most basic scenes logically, never mind moments that are actually up for interpretation. It didn't work in season one, it didn't work in season two. It just comes across as the writers room could not agree.

I think I speak for us all when I say cutting Black Aly, Sabitha, the Lads, Nettles etc. is heartbreaking.

At this point I’ve decided ; HOTD as an adaptation of the book is awful - it’s a bad adaptation, “unreliable narrator” or not. But as a stand alone show, it’s fine. Not outstanding, not terrible. Season one had is small issues, season two had some bigger ones, but I am hopeful that they will stick the landing. Season three will be the real test.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd s2 #house of the dragon s2 #house of the dragon season 2 #daemon targaryen #rhaenrya targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #rhaena targaryen #hotd spoilers #hotd speculation

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jaykinarts · 10 months

Text

Takin' Over The Asylum Merch PRE-ORDERS NOW OPEN ⭐️

[ ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO DONNA FRANCESCHILD ]

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( Read the listings for more information and if you have any questions just ask! Im really nervous but excited and I just wanna thank everyone who has been following this project!! ENJOY YOUR MERCHENDISE ! ALSO I RECCOMEND TO BUY IN BULK SO THAT SHIPPING ISNT TOO AWFUL!!)

⭐️ Etsy Shop: https://jaykinarts.etsy.com

(I'll be reading some of the orders in a few or tomorrow afternoon as its quite late for me, again please bare with me and I will always keep you guys updated!! )

( for those who wanted to be notified when pre orders open: @finchyboo @randompajamaalt @graysonorson @payaliyaaaaaa @leon-swedfinqs !!)

#takin' over the asylum #taking over the asylum #takin over the asylum #takin' over the asylum fanart #taking over the asylum fanart #campbell bain #eddie mckenna #fergus mackinnon #francine boyle #rosalie garrity #fanart #TOTA #Jay's TOTA Merch #EEEK #PRAYING IT GOES SMOOTHLY

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pricegouge · 3 months

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my memory is so bad so if u’ve done this before just ignore but bear!price taking care of bunny on her period by snacks cuddles & orgasms :] & the sight & taste of her blood on him just makes him go a bit feral. sorry if it’s too weird😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Forgetful fighters unite 👊🏻

Sorry this took so long! Weirdly busy and then it turned out I actually needed this treatment too so uhh… hopefully it's not too late to bring you comfort, but at least it's a long one?

There actually is some of this in the actual fic (ch. 7? I think? Idk, I also forgot.) That being said, let's get you some fruit, bitch.

CW for period sex & oral. Tampon stays in for some of the foreplay, sorry. Pussy slapping, rough sex, breeding kink, light primal play, spit kink, mild dub con, and a spoiler for the main story if you haven't read it yet.

I think this'll have to be pretty early on in their relationship just because I like when Bunny's not used to being spoiled okay bye hope you enjoy :)

You're pretty sure he takes it personally, as if each cycle that passes is a mark against his abilities as both a man and a bear. John had yet to admit it but you knew he wanted to breed you, and every month marked by the arrival of your period meant he'd failed (you weren't even letting him try yet, really); worse, he'd let his mate suffer through another week of ill-designed resource waste.

He told you once he can smell it on you days before it actually started. It was weird, sure, but hard to complain when it always triggered some sort of pseudo-sympathetic response in him. He'd get grouchy because he was ridiculous, but never with you. Instead he spends the days leading up to your period doing some sort of nesting ritual comprised of overstuffing his cabinets with more pads, tampons, and snacks than you'd ever be able to use up in a single cycle. And towels. You're pretty certain no one has ever just happened to own this many towels.

"Maybe we should go back to pretending you don't know what my uterus is up to?" You'd teased him once while helping to unload his latest haul. You couldn't imagine him feeling obliged to buy you super plus overnight pads, an industrial sized bottle of midol, and what seemed to be an entire production run of your favorite Ben & Jerry's flavor was anyway to keep the romance alive after all.

But John had looked so dejected at your suggestion. "Why? Did I forget something?"

"Freezer space?" You'd laughed, shaking a bulk box of potato skins at him.

But it was no laughing matter the next day when you felt like you could've eaten him out of house and home if not for how thoroughly he'd prepared. You haven't teased him about it since, too scared to ruin a good thing.

That doesn't mean you've gotten used to all the ways he likes to spoil you this time of month, though.

John's always so good at taking care of you, it's kind of unfair. You never plan on leaving him but it's times like this - when you've been airheaded and confused all day, snapping at coworkers for no good reason and apologizing minutes later when you realize you were the problem all along; when you let yourself back into his apartment and curl up to rot on the couch, too tired to even make yourself dinner while you wait on John to wrap up at the bar only for him to stumble through the door hours later with a hot to go container of garbage nachos and a paper bag tucked under his arm full of pads and tampons and more snacks than you'd ever be able to eat in your life -.

It's times like this when you realize if you ever do leave him, you'll be totally fucked.

"Is that what's wrong with me today?" you ask, pointing your toe at the haul he's currently unloading onto the counter.

He sniffs the air pointedly just because he knows it'll make you scrunch up your nose in distaste. "Tomorrow morning, I'd say."

You groan as you sit up, preparing yourself for the trek to the kitchen to get sustenance, but John brings you the nachos before you can get much further than the edge of the couch. "Thanks," you mumble as he places them in front of you, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead.

Or at least he pretends to. When he lingers, mouth moving against your skin, you know he's checking your temp. "You're welcome, honey. How you feeling?"

"Fine. Just tired and kinda airheaded."

"Poor bunny."

You hum in agreement but it turns to pleasure as you open the nachos up and get hit in the face with the smell of pulled pork and melty cheese. It's still hot which means it was the last thing the kitchen made before cleaning, probably kept in the oven even after it had been shut off to help keep it fresh while he ran to the store. Sometimes it makes you want to cry how thoughtful he is, but you ask him if he'd like to share instead. John shakes his head, eyeing the jalapenos warily. You snag one off the top and eat it plain just to show off. It's fresh and crunchy, none of that pickled shit. Delicious. "You still gonna kiss me later?"

Laughing quietly, John pulls you in for a quick, whiskery kiss. "Gonna take more than some greenery to stop me there."

***

Your cramps wake you up earlier than God the next morning. Despite it being only three in the morning, John's awake when you crawl back in bed, holding his arms wide for you to slide between. He could sleep through an earthquake, maybe even a robbery; but he always stirred awake if you left the bed for more than five minutes.

"Need me, bunny?"

You do, but you can't admit it yet. "Can you be big spoon?" You ask instead, knowing full well that wasn't quite what he meant.

He knew you knew it too, cocky bastard. Voice too thick to be properly chuffed, he still sounded quite pleased with himself when he rolled you over with a thick, "Of course, honey."

John always runs at a temperature you're fairly certain should've gotten him admitted to a long term care unit by now, but in the dead of night, when he's all sleep soft and blanket warm, his skin is positively sweltering. He uses it to his advantage now, sealing himself against your achy back and reaching around you to cup what he can of your lower belly in his wide palm, letting you dictate how much pressure he uses.

"Thanks," you grumble when he gets it just right, and you feel the bristle of his mustache when he smiles against the nape of your neck.

"Whatever you need, sweetheart."

Whether you admit it or not, he means.

He's patient enough to wait until you start wiggling in pain. He's not always. Sometimes the pressure of his hands turns groping, or his length grows against your back when he plants his nose to the hollow behind your ear, samples your scent with each breath. He'll tell you you smell good if you're lucky, some variation of 'delicious' if you're not. And now, while his actions are patient, his words aren't. "Smell good enough to eat, bunny."

Heat climbs up your throat, flames your cheeks. The problem is, he means it, and you're never sure what to do with that information.

"Wanna sleep, John," you breathe, lying. He drops it for the night anyway, letting you rest as peacefully as you are able with his body pressed up against your own.

***

He's lazy with you all morning, sitting you between his thick thighs and letting you lean against his chest as he sprawls across the couch. Officially, you're watching a movie together, but John does not seem at all engrossed in it; too busy running his hands up your thighs, middle finger following the seam of your bottoms far too high. It's embarrassing, your paranoia telling you you're leaking, growing damp under his palm. You know that's what he wants, though; wants you soaked, has never been too particular about the details of it.

Well, that's not entirely fair. John loves when you're soaked in blood.

"Never been one to turn my nose up at a nice juicy rabbit," he'd told you once, and something about his tone made it clear he didn't mean turning you down over something as trivial as blood.

"Should I be worried you're gonna eat me some day?" You'd asked, laugh slightly nervous.

"Oh, bunny," he'd leered, "I'm gonna eat you now."

It drove him crazy. Made him so hungry for you there were days you wouldn't even get cramps because he wouldn't leave you alone long enough for them to develop. Today wouldn't be one of those days - couldn't be, because he had to work later -, but the way he's actually bothering to take his time, building up your pleasure before he even technically gets his hands on you, you know he's planning on leaving you unwound for hours.

He doesn't bother slipping beneath the hem of your loose bottoms when he does finally give up pretenses, rubbing you through the thin material with the flat of his fingers. You know your concerns were valid when he groans.

"So wet for me, sweetheart." His hand comes away streaked slightly red, and you only squawk a little when he licks it clean.

This time he gets his fingers under your hem, eager as they explore your folds, seeking the font at the center of you. He grunts as if in disappointment when he feels the string of your tampon, but then laughs meanly, a low rumble in his chest which spills from him like springtime melt off over the gravel of a dry creek bed.

"Got you this wet even with this thing in, did I?"

"That's not how it -."

"No?" His free hand pulls your waist band down to your thighs. He shows you the mess he's made, sticky cum stringing between his fingers where it doesn't quite mix perfectly with the blood that stains his fingers. "What's this, then? Hm?" You feel like you might spontaneously combust when he licks his fingers again, groaning. "Tastes like cum to me."

"John," you whine, tummy fluttering in a way you're not sure you're completely on board with.

"You love it," he asserts anyway, and you're in no position to argue when his spit soaked fingers find your clit again.

He never fills you with anything more than you already have, makes you whine your dissatisfaction into the crook of his neck. You cum anyway, pussy throbbing the kind of womb-deep pain that comes easiest this time of month. He slaps you there, after, the sharp jolts making you clenching down hard enough to have your cervix aching deliciously.

When he deems you've had enough time to recover, John orders you bed.

"Gotta…" you point illustratively at the bathroom and he nods once in understanding.

"Don't bother cleaning up though, only gonna make more of a mess."

"You're a dog," you tell him, and then very much do clean yourself up, because it's a very heavy flow day and no one needs all that.

He's still in his sweats when you return to him, lounging across a towel-covered bed. He pouts when he sees you've cleaned up, but is easily soothed with kisses when he pulls you into his lap. You don't bother commenting on his sweats after he leans back and slides you up his belly, encouraging you to grind against the thick thatch of hair there. It's soft, doesn't provide enough friction to do anything other than make you leak all over him. John does not seem sympathetic, too engrossed in the way his hair darkens under your ministrations, gleaming wetly in the sunlight streaming through the window. When his thumb finds your clit, he's rough about it. He holds you in place with his free hand wrapped around to the small of your back, only letting you move enough to keep you rocking against him. He doesn't build up to it, just instantly starts in with the kind of tight, firm circles that make you buck in overstimulation, moaning when you find you have nowhere to go.

"Christ, listen to her." Embarrassment floods you when you realize he's not talking about the pathetic noises falling from your mouth. It's like he's commenting on some particularly nice weather when he continues, "Nothing better than the sound of a bloody, wet cunt."

You cum with a sharp cry when he switches his thumb out for a mean press of two knuckles against you, and it's like he hardly even notices, eyes still latched on where you stain his skin. He doesn't let you ride it out either, drawing his hand away the second he feels your pussy flutter over his belly, clenching around nothing. You watch him lick his fingers clean as he tips you over onto the bed. He doesn't take his eyes from your core when he follows, kneeling between your feet before lowering himself to his belly.

He looks starved. Looks more bear than man, honestly.

"If you lick your chops I swear I'm kicking you out of bed."

A single huff of laughter blows across your mons, cool where it meets your soaked skin. John does in fact lick his chops, an aborted little joke he's too focused to fully sell. It makes you squirm, the way he looks at you - a butterfly pinned before it's fully died. Part of you hates how much you love this, still feels dirty whenever you see him bloody down to his chest. Despite his eagerness, there's always a nagging thought at the back of your mind which wonders if he's putting on a show for you, if he feels like he owes you this because it's the best way to make you feel better. The fucking was one thing - half driven insane the way he is each month by the fact you're still not full of his cubs, you suppose the fucking makes sense. Still, there's no way he wants this, surely.

But John never looks more bear-like than he does in these moments, half starved and rabid as he stares down at you like his latest kill, and you know there is simply no faking how much he wants you.

"Pretty little cunt doesn't know what's good for her, bunny." John's voice is thick and dark as the blood that paints his lips. "Won't take my seed, keeps wasting all your energy on this bloody little cycle." He tuts, hands spreading your thighs so he can better fit between them. "Have to try harder, won't we?"

He doesn't give you a chance to respond, licking along the crease of your thigh and groaning at the salty mix of sweat and spend. It's all so hot, slick. The rough texture of his tongue barely even noticeable through the juices that coat it when he licks fat stripes across the whole of you. He's sloppy, huffing and groaning into you each time he finds some new reserve of slick hidden within your folds. Usually, John likes to get you sighing in pleasure before he gets his fingers on you like this, but he isn't patient enough today, it seems. After licking you clean, he moves onto your clit and gives it some sweet little kisses that smack horribly, his fingers finding your entrance and drawing out more blood and slick which he doesn't hesitate to lick up as well.

"Taste so fucking good, bunny," he growls; or at least, you think he does. Hard to be sure, the way he speaks directly to your pussy. When he does draw back to be sure you hear him, his beard is matted and soaked, his eyes wine dark. "Wanna split you open bunny."

You're not sure he means on his cock, but that's what you get anyway.

John doesn't bother rubbing your slick over him, just pushes his waistband under his balls and lines himself up, sinking to his root with a heavy groan; his head bowed forward like he doesn't have the energy left to support it. It aches but you're powerless to do anything but take it, loving the way he notches against the very end of you, cervix so sore and sensitive he puts you on the knife edge of pain and pleasure without even trying. Your hands grapple up his thick forearms and he finally seems to notice your presence underneath him, lowering himself enough he can lick into your mouth. His mustache is soaked where it presses against you, smell strong enough to flip your tummy a bit.

John notices. He chuckles, not giving you an inch to breathe. "Rabbits don't like blood, do they?"

You shake your head, hypocrisy burning your throat at the way you enjoy him eating you out despite the blood when you can't stomach the same.

"That's right, need your bear to take care of you like this, don't you?" His hips draw back in one smooth motion, accentuate his words when they snap back in.

"Yes, please," you stutter. Worked up and teased as you are, you know you won't last long.

"Don't worry, bunny. I'll take care of you." He pushes himself back up so he looms over you, forearms flexing under your fingertips. He shakes one of your hands loose, bears his hips into you to support his weight as he brings one hand up to your jaw, fingers staining as he tilts your face just so, hinging your mouth open. "I'll fuck you just like you need, but you're gonna let me use that mouth however I want."

Even his spit is blood stained and pink as he dangles a string of it into your mouth. You whine at the taste when it coats your tongue, rust and salt. Somehow more metallic than even the smell of it.

A predator sensing weakness, John snarls at your whine, shoves all four of his coated fingers into your mouth while his thumb strokes your jaw, too heavy to be soothing. "Suck," he orders, voice barely human. You wonder how close his other form is to the surface, if the fingers in your mouth will change shape if you can't appease him. Assure him you're his adamantly enough. The thought makes you clench on his cock, sucking the wide breadth of his fingers messily.

"Good rabbit," he growls. He adjusts your hips against his own, sinks impossibly deeper. He barely bothers to pull out when he fucks you, thatch of hair over his cock grinding against your clit as he rocks into you. When he speaks again, you're not certain you're supposed to hear.

"Drive me fucking crazy, bunny. Walking around smelling like my next fucking meal." His hips slap into you, pace increasing but depth never changing.

You whine around the fingers in your mouth, hands scrambling over his chest, down his belly. You remember how full he'd been after Phil, the way his skin had been drawn so taut. His words should scare you, probably, but his teeth are none too sharp when he sinks them into the fat of your breast.

"Shit, John," you hiss and he releases your flesh with a slobbery sound.

"Gonna fill you with my cub so I can drink from these too," he promises. You just nod dumbly, the thought of him feeding from you in any way he wanted doing things for you you never thought it would. "Get you full of my cub so you can stop. Fucking. Bleeding all the time," his hips accentuate his words and you groan, fingers finding your clit until he rips his hand from your mouth and slaps you away. Spit soaked, he rubs your clit deliciously, only getting more assertive when your hips fall open for him like a flower in bloom.

"Dangerous thing, bunny. Blood in the water. He leans over, weight pinning you when he takes your earlobe into his mouth with bloody force. "Tasty little thing, too. Gonna eat you right up," he snarls.

Your orgasm pulls his from him, the two of you moaning into each other's mouths between wet, sloppy licks. It's hard to mind the taste when your whole body is pulsing deliciously, a flood of blood and cum flowing from you when John pulls out. It feels like he's taken a whole day off your period when you see how much of a mess he's made.

He knows how your head can throb briefly, after coming with his cock lodged in your cervix. John lays you across the pillows while he starts cleaning up, bringing a wet washcloth out to wipe the worst of the mess from you. When you're ready, he joins you in the shower, lathering you both up until the water runs clear.

"Feeling better, honey?" he asks, nose buried in the crook of your neck. Innocent and sweet, like he didn't just threaten to impregnate and eat you by turns.

"For now." You're still rubbing soap into his hairy belly absently, so you grope the soft flesh there and laugh when he jolts. "You're not gonna eat me, are you?"

You feel his huff of laughter. He begins to shake his head and then thinks better of it, standing to his full height so he can tower over you when he says, "Depends on how soon you let me put a baby in you."

Next>>

#asks #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

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the-solarpunk-activist · 2 years

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Here's how my grandma and I try to live a low waste lifestyle in the city

First thing is we reuse everything. We have a portion of our shelves dedicated to holding plastic food containers we have washed and are waiting to be used to hold leftovers, dried foods, as seed starting pots, etc. We also save any and all jars to hold dried herbs and food products.

Actually reuse is a big thing for us. We shop at places that use paper bags, which I then cut up to use as scrap paper for grocery lists, etc and then compost after that. We also have a small container with rubber bands from products, bread ties, etc.

If you can afford the start up costs and have the space, preserving your own food is excellent. We have a really small garden that produces a lot of food every year. My favorites are dehydrating (using a dehydrator that is at least 30 years old from back when my grandpa was into making jerky), freezing, and canning.

Also, use every bit of food. Right now in the freezer I have bags of apple cores and peeling, pear cores and peeling, and peach peels along with bags of bones and veggie scraps for broths. The fruit scraps will go towards making big batches of jelly when canning season is over. I'll probably use the pulp leftover to dehydrate and powder to add to baked goods following a success with crabapple jelly pulp. I've also made spaghetti sauce out of tomato peels. Anything rotting or absolutely unusable gets tossed in the compost.

Reusables!! Obviously in today's world you can't avoid plastic but you can reduce how much you use. We use reusable produce bags that I made out of scrap Tulle, reusable grocery bags, water bottles, ziploc bags, etc.

If you have a yard or space, composting is a big one! My grandma says she never realized how much food we tossed until we started one. You don't even have to spend money on it! I know people who use totes they drilled holes into, just toss it In a hole in their garden, etc. The one I use is an old hose winder (one of those cube ones( that broke and my work was going to toss. All I did was cut out the hose winding part and paint it pretty and it's held up for 2 years and counting so far.

Hang dry clothes. In summertime we almost exclusively dry our clothes on a line or on a clothes drying rack I found at a yard sale.

Keep your heat or ac a few degrees higher or lower depending on the season. This helps save energy being used to heat or cool your house.

Wash clothes in cool or cold water. I've been doing this for years and haven't noticed a difference.

Repair. You don't have to be a sewing genius to quickly repair a small tear, especially if it's just for household wear. A great winter time hobby to pick up when gardening season is over.

Trade! This can be as simple as hosting a clothing swap all the way up until trading items u grew/made for items they did! I barter with my coworkers all the time, just talk to them! I never would have known my coworker kept bees if she didn't really like my jellies and proposed a trade. I also trade any of my soft produce I don't have time to do anything with to my coworker with rabbits in exchange for poop for the garden.

Try to be in season from local sources such as garden stands, or just a local grocery store. One of our local farms grew bell peppers and was selling then 2 for a dollar! So we stocked up and dehydratedand froze lots of peppers for winter stews

Blended pumpkin guts makes an excellent pumpkin puree, even if you're just adding little bits of it to your dog's food :)

You can freeze a lot of stuff! Leftover spaghetti sauce, pumpkin puree, etc can all be frozen in a muffin pan and then put in bags for future use!

Forage! I personally mostly forage for greens and a few mushrooms I am confident in my ability in but that still bulks up your food supply as well as medicine supply! I made a salve using bartered beeswax and spring purple dead nettle and summer plantain (and some tea tree EO) for cuts and scrapes and it works miracles! My coworkers love it as well as friends and family

We really try to live by the waste not, want not and use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without phrases. Just figure out what works best for the life you live! Be creative!

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little-noko · 2 years

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FINALLY after a whole year of struggle to get this print ready, the time has finally come ! Paper Crane’s Origin’s physical comic is on it’s way ! We had this whole issue with our previous printer where the print quality was less then favorable due to a paper shortage. Rather then printing it immediately and give everyone a lesser quality product, we actually found a proper printer !

The thing is, we will have to buy this in a large bulk and it is going to take some time to get printed and shipped. This Item is for now only available as a PRE ORDER for late Spring 2023

There will be special bundles available as well coming in small and large !

If you want to encourage me, or simply want Paper Crane’s merch in your life You can find everything on the Loading Crew Craft !

Small Bundle

Large Bundle

Paper Crane (c) @little-noko

#my art #Paper crane #paper crane's origin #comic #bundle

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howlingday · 1 year

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Here's a fun prompt!

Every time Pyrrha apologizes for something Jaune inexplicably gets kissed!

Pyrrha almost trips a mom dropping her kid off at school? Cross guard Jaune catches her and gets a smooch to the top of his head.

Pyrrha sorry for bumping into new transfers? A wet smack is heard, as one of the foreign girls gives Jaune a friendly kiss in greeting.

Pyrrha apologizing to Ren for forgetting to bring his sunscreen to the pool? Jaune almost drowns but wakes up to a smoking hot lifeguard lady giving him CPR!

How long until Pyrrha finally explodes (if at all)?

Pyrrha was... not okay. If she were okay, she was on the border between okay and not okay. If she were okay, she would be at her limit before reaching not okay. But that's not the case. She was not okay.

She was not okay.

Pyrrha must have been a mass-murdering racist who delighted in the screams of children in the past life, because it was the only logical explanation for this cursed life of hers.

She was beyond a mere school girl crush on her partner, leader, and best friend, Jaune Arc. What wasn't there to love anout him? He was tall, handsome, kind, sweet, and honest. All good qualities in a man. Unfortunately, he was also clumsy, which is where her curse begins.

Of course, Pyrrha wasn't perfect either. Aside from warped sense of self-worth after years of training in Argus to become an international sports star, Pyrrha was what her manager, her agent, her mother, her friends, and the janitor called "too nice." Jaune never believed such a thing, but even Pyrrha had to admit that she apologized a lot. And again, her curse begins there.

Maybe the curse did originate from a criminal past life. Someone who refused to apologize for their actions, so now her current life is forced to apologize at every slight thought made. And the curse caught Jaune in it's intangible web.

This morning, Pyrrha woke up and used the bathroom first. A quick, cold shower, but she used the last of the shared shampoo and she forgot to replace it with the bottle under the sink. Nora was next in and she was lividly screeching from inside the shower.

"I'm sorry!" Pyrrha cried.

"Don't worry, I got it." Jaune smiled as he walked in with his footie pajamas. Shut up. He looked cute in them. "Here you GOOO-!"

SMACK-POP!

"Oooh~! Leader~! Such a dirty boy, kissing girls while they're naked~. Why don't I scrub that dirt off~?"

"NO THANK YOU!" Jaune ran out, half-soaked from his shower encounter.

Pyrrha was grateful it didn't go further. The hairbrush in her hand was starting crack from the bending. She still had the rest of the day before apologizing to her mother for breaking another hairbrush.

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

At breakfast, it was the usually chaos. Ren was chattered at by Nora, while Weiss scolded Ruby for this or that. Yang told another terrible pun while Blake read her book. The non-smutty one.

Pyrrha reached for the butter for her toast when her hand briefly touched Jaune's hand. They were freshly calloused hands, a product of his late nights training with her. His thin frame noticably bulked from the exercises, and she was glad to see the physical progress. His hand was warm, and kind, and nurturing, and-

"Pyrrha?"

"S-Sorry!" She stumbled out of her daydream.

Her leg struck the underside of the table, causing a cup to leap and spill over. A cascade of orange juice spread far. Pyrrha reached over with napkins in hand, dropping fabric after soaking fabric for damage control. And each paper was dropped, Pyrrha unleashed a torrent of the accursed word.

"Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!"

"I'll go grab more napkins!" Jaune exclaimed as he ran from table to table. Pyrrha blindingly continued to pull and place napkins as he left.

"Oh, wow." Pyrrha looked up from her task to find a second-year girl kissing Jaune.

"Nice~." And then a third year.

"Seriously?" Even Velvet gave a peck to Jaune's lips in exchange for a napkin box.

"I'm, uh, I'm back." Jaune said, blushing.

"You sure~?" Yang teased. "Maybe we need some more napkins?"

"NO!" Pyrrha slammed the table, spilling more juice. "S-Sorry."

"I'll give you my napkins if you give me a smooch. Whattaya say~?"

"U-Um..."

Pyrrha internally screamed.

#rwby #pyrrha nikos #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna

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highonakuweeds · 6 months

Text

FLFM (Part 5)

(A/N: will be continuing this on ao3 for the other parts :33)

Feign Lust to Fool the Masses

TAGS: fluff, reader is overworked and stressed, Vox is bad at feelings (and so is reader), denial is a river in Egypt

“This should be here.” You ordered, pointing at the newest product in the store before doing the same to an empty spot. Many sinners hurried to carry the things and place it where you told them to, not even a single peep in them.

“That shouldn’t be there.” You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance; do people not know how to organize their damn shit? You glared at the crooked placement of one of the cardboard cut-outs of Valentino and the new love potion he had concocted with Velvette, your arms crossed. That was enough to make one of the demons that worked at Voxtek straighten it, fixing their posture as they looked at you for approval.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “That’s okay. Oh, dear,” your lips curled into a grimace, disgust clear in your eyes as you stared at one of the broken computers on display. “Is this really how things are run here? Dear God, you’re lucky you have many supporters, otherwise this would not fly.”

Vox entered the shop with his usual grin, his eyebrows shooting up at your modifications of the place. “Hello, my dear (Name).” He called out, his smile slightly straining when you didn’t respond to him immediately.

“Uh huh yes hello, Vox, mi amor.” You acknowledged mindlessly, leaning forward to face a worker as they showed you a clipboard with loads of papers clipped on it. “Yes, that’ll do nicely; thank you.”

“I can see you’re busy.” He commented with a tight voice, looking around the bustling atmosphere of multiple sinners running around, trying to accommodate all of your commands. You replied to Vox with a sigh, muttering the demon you were talking to to leave you two alone. They nodded, and started walking towards one of the shelves, barking out the commands you fed them.

“What do you need, Vox?” You raised a brow as you crossed your arms, placing your weight on one hip. He studied your expression, and he found himself amused at your irritated demeanor today. Though, the more he read into it, it hadn't just been today; it had been the whole week.

“What,” he grinned, snaking an arm around your waist, making your eyes widen. “Am I not allowed to visit my so-called lover?”

You tried your best to not let your flusteredness show. Your facial expression was filled with skepticism as you responded to him. “...What’s the occasion?”

Vox’s smile dropped ever so slightly when you didn’t give into his flirting, whether it be fake or not. But just as he was about to sigh and complain about that like a baby, you slid your arm up from his chest to his shoulder, your eyes traveling around his vest. “Seriously, what’s the occasion?”

He seemingly froze at your fingers playing with the lapels of his coat, before clearing his throat. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around.”

You blinked at him, slightly shocked and in disbelief that he noticed your absence. “...I’ve been busy doing my job.” You narrowed your eyes faintly so that only Vox could see it. Your hand was a contradiction to your look, though, as it slid to rest against the junction between Vox’s shoulder and neck. You didn’t even have to do it; you just liked seeing Vox squirm.

His shoulders stiffened at your hand before he rolled his eyes. “I know that. But why are you so busy?”

You pouted your lips at him, edges of your lips curling into a small mocking smile. “Aw, does someone miss me?”

“Very funny, (Name); answer my question.”

Your smile faded quickly into a frown of annoyance; this man has no humor. “Ever since the new edition of headsets dropped, people have been buying it in bulk, and I have no idea why. And other than that, the people working here are so incompetent—” You cut yourself off with a deep sigh, regaining your composure. “Just some problems stacking up on each other, nothing I can’t handle.”

Vox believed you could handle everything given to you with no question. Your words were as smooth as his when convincing the masses, possibly even a bit better. You were always calm and professional; he liked that about you.

But just that. Definitely. Probably.

“Get a room!” Someone who had just stepped inside the store exclaimed, making their friend nudge them, and mutter, “it’d be better if they did it right here.”

“Oh, my fucking god you’re so right; that would be so hot.”

What the hell were they talking about? You wondered before you realized just how close you and Vox were, your bodies pressed against each other tightly. With slight heat on your cheeks, you quickly let go of him, and he hesitated to do the same. “Jesus.” You huffed out, an awkward smile adorning your face.

“Yeah.” Vox nodded, glancing around. He cleared his throat once more, the signature charismatic smile on his screen. “Well, I must get going now; I have to calm Val’s ass again.”

You let out a short cackle before nodding, shooing Vox away. “Go, then, and good luck.” He turned his head to look at you, scoffing at your words. “You’re going to need it.”

“Bye, babe.”

“See you later, darling.”

Those call signs rolled off your tongue so easily with how many times you’d had to call Vox that over the course of now 8 months. His little nicknames for you used to get you so flustered, but now you really couldn’t care less. It was a part of your daily life now; might as well normalize it.

Dear God, he better not be a part of your daily life forever. You would hate that. Despise it, even. Right?

—

“Uhm, Ms. (Name)?” Peppermint called out from outside your door after knocking, making you look up from paperwork. “Yes, Pep? You may come in.”

He did as he was allowed to do, holding a cup of iced coffee. You smiled warmly at him, confused as you tilted your head. “I didn’t order coffee.”

“Sir Vox ordered it for you.” He informed you, placing it on your desk, far away from the papers. “Vox?” You echoed, shock clear on your face. “Did he tell you why?”

Peppermint shook his head. “No, ma’am. He only told me to give it to you, and according to him, ‘under no circumstances can she refuse’.”

You glanced at the iced coffee, and scoffed; that sounded like Vox alright. “Thank you, Pep. And send Vox my gratitude.”

He nodded his head, and quickly left your room quietly. As soon as Peppermint closed the door, you whined, your forehead slamming onto the desk. What was Vox trying to do to your mind?

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t give you lavish gifts all the time. But this coffee felt different, somehow. It was from your favorite cafe in Hell (it was rare to find such a beautiful and cozy place in the underworld); you weren’t sure how Vox knew you liked the place, to be honest. It had been a while since you paid it a visit.

You gingerly held the cup, the condensation wetting your palms. He even knew your usual order there, too. You took a sip of it, immediately sighing in relief when you tasted that familiar feeling of comfort. It was quite funny to you, how expensive bracelets and dresses didn’t phase you but a singular coffee made your undead heart flutter.

Maybe you were experiencing palpitations from the coffee; it had been ages since you’ve drunk your last cup.

“Did she take it?” Vox asked, turning to look at Peppermint. His assistant glanced quickly at the cameras behind Vox; he was watching Alastor again. “She did, sir.”

“Good.” He turned back towards the mass array of cameras that showed the events of Hell in every angle, specifically towards the Hazbin Hotel (did they really think that would work? Fucking stupid.) After a couple of beats, Vox spoke again, his voice softer this time. “How is she?” “Still doing paperwork, sir.”

“It’s been 6 hours since she locked herself in her room.” Vox mumbled, using his hand to tell Peppermint to go away. He obliged and quickly left.

Vox had noticed the way you worked yourself to the bone, and it was beginning to concern him. Why the hell were you doing so much work? Fuck, why did you even have so much work? There are people in Voxtek for that reason! You didn’t have to do everything.

—

voxypoo

wear a comfortable dress later

go to the third floor in an hour

You heard a notification ping from your phone, making you rip your eyes away from the countless amount of paperwork you had on your desk. Jesus, even in Hell you can’t escape it.

You tapped on the screen to check who it was: Vox. He was telling you to basically dress up and meet up with him. You rolled your eyes, typing:

You

im busy

voxypoo

i dont care

see you babe

Your mouth went agape at his boldness; who the fuck does he think he is, bossing you around like this? And why were you actually going to follow him?

You stood up from your desk, wincing when your whole lower body pricked from you sitting down for too long. The paperwork can probably wait. Sure, you’d have to spend approximately another hour or two on it if you neglected it now, but you can sacrifice a bit of your time; you had all the time in the world.

Literally. You cannot die naturally since you’re already dead.

You slipped on the most comfortable dress you could find: a simple maxi dress with sleeves draped down and hugged your wrists.

You tied the bow that acted as a belt around your waist, its color the same as the dress as a whole: a deep teal. You had it even before your whole charade with Vox, and you figured it was the best fit for this surprise occasion.

You took the elevator to the third floor, your high-heeled foot tapping on the floor of it. You had to admit, you felt like you were about to vomit at the anxiety this stupid surprise was giving you.

With a ding, you reached your destination. The doors opened to a dimly lit room, the main focus of light being a candelabra situated in the middle of a relatively large dining table. Soft jazz played all across the room, making you feel so disgustingly fuzzy inside.

You almost laughed when you saw Vox not in his usual outfit. It was something a bit more formal, the red and black vest of his daily suit replaced by a deep blue waistcoat and a red and black tie. At least he still had his signature color palette.

“What’s all this?” You asked, skepticism thick in your voice as you walked slowly towards him, taking in the whole atmosphere. Vox rolled his eyes when he heard your doubt, putting his hand out in front of you for you to hold.

“You need to relax,” was all he told you, practically forcing you to sit down on the seat across his. Vox nodded at someone you couldn’t see, and in a snap, multiple waiters swarmed your table, one filling your glass with red wine, another placing a napkin on your lap, and one more laying down a plate of steak in front of you.

You furrowed your eyebrows in alarm and shock at the sudden actions, your eyes darting to Vox. He had such a cocky grin on his face; what would happen if you grabbed the fork that was to your left and stabbed his screen? You’ve always wanted to do so.

Vox had probably noticed the way your fingers itched towards the fork, and he showed you his hands as a way of telling you to calm down. “Relax.”

You let out a short laugh at his words, sighing in relief when the waiters left you two alone. You leaned against your chair’s backrest, tilting your head. “Why do you want me to do so so suddenly?”

Vox seemed to be at a loss of words, his brows twitching as he tried to formulate a sentence where it didn’t sound like he was in love with you. He wasn’t, and there was no reason for him to act when it was just the two of you. He only arranged this “date” to help you destress, and to not possibly blow up on random people.

“You just looked like you needed it. Now,” Vox started to slide into his steak, looking down at it before glancing at you. “Tell me about your day.”

What the fuck?? “Uhm,” you’ve never really done this before. Talked to someone about your day. You always deemed it to be just a boring way of small talk. “I had to restock the shelves again, so that was a good thing. What wasn’t a good thing, though, was the fact that one of the newer interns literally fucking made a whole shelf fall down on themselves! I made them pay for it before immediately killing them; what I did was mercy, really. They would not survive outside. And…”

Vox nodded along as you passionately talked about your day like it was word vomit. He liked hearing your voice, how sometimes when your emotions were at a high, it would do the same; it was cute— entertaining. It was entertaining.

The minutes turned into hours, and your rants turned into conversations, Vox having to gasp for breath at how hard he was laughing. Without even knowing, the two of you had finished a bottle or two of wine in a snap.

As you spoke, you slurred your words, giggling without any real reason. Vox noticed how your eyelids drooped every now and then before they snapped open, your mouth saying some nonsense.

“(Name), dear.” Vox called your attention, his voice soft and low. You blinked quickly, tilting your head a bit too much. “Hmmm? Yessss?”

Fucking hell. “I think you should go to bed now.” He grinned, standing up and walking towards you to help you. You groaned loudly, your breath smelling of wine. “I’m not tired, though!”

Vox rolled his eyes playfully, a soft smile on his lips. “Sure. And you didn’t just go through a bottle and a half of wine.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did. Now, let’s get you to your room.”

You smirked at him, pressing your body against his. “Oh, and what are you gonna do t’ me?”

Vox stared at you, not even stunned by your comment. The elevator dinged and he practically dragged your ass inside. “I’m going to help you to your bedroom,”

“Yes…”

“I’ll lay you down on your bed,”

Your eyes gleamed in excitement. “Uh huh?”

“And then I’ll tuck you in; you need sleep. I haven’t seen you go inside of your room in a week.” Vox watched the numbers go up as the elevator did the same thing. He grinned when he saw you pout and whine, slightly stomping your feet.

“Don’t raise my hopes up like that!” You gripped onto his arm for dear life. The last amount of control you had over your mind was screaming at you to not let go, otherwise you would fall down.

Vox scoffed, his vision following the opening doors. “I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re drunk.” Not without your previous consent.

“Why not!?” You whined, yawning afterwards.

He just laughed, shaking his head. “You are in desperate need of some rest. Did you know you haven’t stepped foot in your bedroom for around a week now? I’m concerned for you. I’ve…” Vox sighed, wrapping an arm around your waist before averting your gaze, glancing around your bedroom. “I’ve missed you.”

You stayed silent for a couple of seconds before laughing, using your pointer fingers to poke his waist. Fuck, how did you still remember the fact that he was ticklish there? “Ooooh, you missed me!” After a few bubbled laughter from you and a couple of “stop it”s from Vox, you sighed, staring into nothing that particular. “I missed you, too.”

Vox’s smile faltered. You were just drunk; you didn’t mean that. He laughed softly, sweeping you off your feet. You yelped at his action, huffing when he threw you on the bed.

“Rest, my dear (Name).” He told you, and you suddenly felt the need to do so. Or maybe it was just because he reminded you of your sleep-deprived schedule.

You sighed into the pillow, nodding. “Okay…”

You closed your eyes, only realizing now just how heavy your eyelids were. Vox’s chuckle echoed in your mind as he pulled your covers over your shoulder. His hand hesitated every so slightly as you felt its warmth hovering your cheek before he cupped it, his pinky grazing over your jaw. “Good night, (Name).”

You could’ve sworn you said it back, but at that point in time your consciousness was already slipping away from you. Oh, well; it’s the thought that counts.

#vox x reader #vox #hazbin hotel vox #fluff #literally how tf do I tag

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