#the CW is trying to give us brain worms

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring. 

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness. 

��I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation. 

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard. 

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this. 

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing. 

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road. 

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment. 

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands. 

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him. 

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers. 

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill. 

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head. 

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear. 

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left. 

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening. 

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough. 

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud. 

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him. 

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose. 

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods. 

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him. 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted. 

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke. 

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism. 

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can. 

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon. 

[astr0exe]

hi!! i hope you’re doing well<3 can i req maybe some bunny reader n owner price with also some owner simon n puppy Soap?? soap meeting prices sweet bunny boy for the first time?? please ignore if you’re uncomfortable with this!!

also have a great trip!! 🩷🩷

aghs eating this idea rn cause gdksgdkshis tysm for the ask darlingg !! 🩶🩶 I’ll try have a great trip but ima be so busy:(( its gonna be super pretty tho so thas good :))

would anyone want a pt.2 maybe ? :]

ALSO WTF THANK YOU SO MYCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS M GONNA SOB 🫶🏻🫶🏻

// CW : tm!reader , praise , doggy , lots of hair pulling , degradation , creampie , aftercare

Your ears twitch softly atop your head as you sit on Prices lap, slightly curled up with Prices large hands stroking your large floppy ears. The anxiety is radiating from you with your twitches, your nose, tail and ears give away your slightly hyperactive behaviour whilst you gaze at the duo in-front of you curiously. A large puppy hybrid with a mohawk called Johnny, who is grinning sloppily at you and his owner, Simon, who’s staring down at you curiosity is shown on his face slightly.

Soap can’t help it when his dick hardens in his sweats:( you’re just too cute bunny, so fucking sweet to look at with your soft ears and twitching nose.. Your eyes are glued to his crotch when you notice the bulge, Price smirks when he notices what your attention is on, moving to murmur in your ear “You like the look of Johnny’s cock bunny? What?.. What is it lovie.. You want it don’t you?-“ your blush is prominent which makes all the men laugh “Oh my little whore is so needy huh.. so flustered…”

Whilst John is talking both Soap and Simon make their way towards you, their smugness shown on their handsome faces as Soaps tail wags rapidly, his arousal and excitement showing as he basically vibrates with energy, just itching to get his hands on you, to taste you on his tongue and to feel you clench around his cock. His face is inches away from yours as he finally stops moving, his lips pulled into a smirk as his hands move to hold you, his large hands gripping your waist as his eyes gaze hungrily at your lips, “Soap, calm down..” Is all Ghost can bring himself to say, mesmerised and turned on by the obvious tension between you and his Johnny.

But Soap can’t help but disobey his owner.. his mouth meeting yours in a passionate kiss, filled with teeth and light biting. The soft assault on your lips makes your tail shake as you moan softly into Johnny’s mouth gripping his ears and tugging on them, your hips grinding lightly on Soap’s leg. The action makes Simon grin, inching ever closer, looming over both you and Price, who is just sat back lazily watching his bunny get used and played with. Simon’s hand moves slowly between your legs, as it touches your soft thighs you jump, goosebumps litter your skin due to Ghost’s cold fingers.

Your dumb bunny brain just completely shuts off as soon as you feel Simon’s fingers on your soaked hole and dick.. Whimpering into Soaps mouth loudly whilst Price tugs your ears and two of Simon’s massive fingers worm their way into your tight hole, your juices make the intrusion so much easier. Your whines are like music to the men, even with Soap’s mouth muffling them. The rhythm Ghost starts is surprisingly soft, but once he realises you can take it, his resolve shatters as he hears your sweet sweet moans and your quiet mumbles of “please.. harder.. can take it fuck… sir.. Please..” and something shifts in Simon, something primal. His fingers roughly slide in and out of your cunt, your tugs on Soap’s ears only grow harsher with the increased pleasure but Johnny only laughs and groans. His eyes flutter shut with every tug.

Your legs shake slightly, pushing away Soap softly as you grab Simon’s wrist, leaning against your owners body as your eyes roll back and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, Price holds your waist as your body shakes from the pure intensity of Simon’s fingers in you. As soon as your eyes are open again, Soap is on you, pulling you off Prices lap and onto the floor carefully, manhandling you until you are on all fours, your back arched and face pressed against the hard wooden floors.

Simon can’t help the appreciative groan that leaves his mouth from the sight of your bare arse in front of him, Price only gazes down at you pulling on your fluffy ears until you make eye contact with him. “You look so good like this bunny, perfect little slut for us to play with huh?” Price smirks down at you, the grip on your ears tight.

Your eyes widen as you feel Soap’s thick dick against your sopping hole, the eye contact with John is intense whilst Soap thrusts into you. Your breath is punched out of you with every thrust, Johnny’s tail whacks against the floor as he moans. The symphony of sounds the both of you are making is enough to get both Simon and Price rubbing their dicks through their pants. “Fuck bonnie.. good boy.. g-good bunny-fuck..” Soap mumbles, completely pussy drunk, chasing his pleasure with his fingers playing with your hard cock.

Your legs are quivering, your eyes rolling back as your arms give out, the only thing holding you up is Price’s hold on your ears. He can’t help but laugh at how fucked out and sensitive you are, already cumming around Johnny’s thick dick. Your cunt clenching around him tightly, causing his hips to stutter, his orgasm brought on by your own as his cum spurts inside you. Your eyes focus back in, your soul feels like its returned back to your body whilst you get wrapped up in Simon’s arms. He is just holding you softly as John grabs you and Johnny some water. “Just rest bun, me and John will have our fun soon enough..” He says, kissing the top of your head.

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 29 - Breathplay

Ghost x Soap - 2.3k (on ao3)

summary: Ghost gets rougher than Soap was ready for, but he finds he doesn't mind. (Johnny POV)

cw: choking someone until they pass out, somnophilia, dubcon because soap doesn't consent previously (but he's into it), light feminization, some degradation, use of the word "pup"

Johnny eyes roll back in his head when Ghost first nails his prostate, the sharp shock of unexpected pleasure sending him reeling. “Fu-fuuck,” he moans, drool falling from his lip.

“Yeah?” Ghost grunts from behind him, hands planted on Johnny’s hips as he angles his thrusts so they all hit Johnny’s prostate, sending the other man into a fit of moans and whines. “That the spot? That what feels good?”

Johnny scoffs as best he can with his mind being fucked from his body, face turned to the side on the sheets so he can catch sight of his Lt out of the corner of his eye. “Obv-obviously, c-cocky bastard.”

Ghost makes a sound that’s nearly a growl at that, ducking down to nip sharply at Johnny’s shoulder and forcing his back into a steeper arch. “Fucking brat. Can’t even speak without stuttering, but you still tryin’ to talk back?”

Soap wants to fight back, wants to push and push and push until Ghost gives him everything he’s got. The thrusts nailing that horribly sensitive spot inside of him leave him wanting to go soft, to lay limp for Ghost to make him feel good, but the parts of his brain that haven’t melted out of his ear yet whisper that he could make Ghost earn it.

So he tries to shove up, even with his arms shaking and moans spilling from his lips. “Some-someone has to d-do it,” he quips, trying to smirk and ending up with more of a half-drunk smile. “Need-need to keep you on your toes, o-old man.”

Ghost snarls at that, but Johnny spots the quick curve to his lips as he ducks lower to growl right in Soap’s ear. “Old man, huh? Doesn’t seem like you mind, moanin’ like a whore beneath me. My cock feel that good in your cunt?”

Johnny’s arms give out beneath him and he collapses back to the bed, eyes rolling back in his head. “Fuck, feels-feels so good.”

Ghost laughs above him, a sharp and mean sound. “I can fuckin’ tell, you’re clenched up so tight it’s like you never want me to pull out. That it Johnny? You want to keep me in your cunt for the rest of your life? Never gonna let me go, are you?”

“No-ooo.”

“Tha’s alright,” Ghost rumbles, giving Soap several slow, hard thrusts, pummeling his prostate like it’s a punching bag. “‘M not lettin’ you go either, Johnny. Gonna keep you in bed, just a perfect little cocksleeve for me.”

His plan of riling Ghost up feels so far out of reach with the pleasure drowning him, and he’s left unable to even try and goad Ghost further. Instead he shifts one hand below his body, grips his throbbing cock and gives himself a few rough strokes, biting a pillow to hide his moans.

“What’re you doin’?” Ghost asks, grinding himself deep inside of Johnny and running a hand up and down his spine. “No, no, stop that.” His voice is scolding, and he worms a hand between Johnny’s stomach and the bed to force him to stop jacking himself off.

“Very bad boy, Johnny,” he tsks in what’s probably feigned displeasure, the hand on Johnny’s back moving to grip him by the throat and tug him back. He goes easily, whining at the lack of stimulation as his dick is left bobbing in the air between his legs. He shifts on his knees, pushing back to try and get more of Ghost inside of him, get more of Ghost. “Tryin’ to get your pleasure from somewhere else? C’mon, isn’t my cock enough for you?”

Johnny chokes on a moan, shifting forward just enough to drop himself back down onto Ghost’s hips, trying to get a hand back on his cock. It’s batted away quickly, Ghost wrenching his hand to the small of his back.

“Gimme your other hand, c’mon.”

Johnny groans. “No, Ghost, please… need to get off, c’mon, just let me-”

“Hand, Johnny.”

He listens, puffing a frustrated breath through his teeth as he lets Ghost grip both hands behind his back, the other still collared around his throat. “C’mon, Lt,” he grunts, trying to fuck himself on Ghost’s cock. “Need it, need more.”

“More?” Ghost hums, using the hand around Johnny’s throat to hold him still while he pulls out and forces his way back in, starting a harsh but even pace to try and melt the last parts of Johnny’s brain. “Greedy boy. You’ll take what you’re given and you’ll thank me for it.”

Soap tries to nod, bucking his hips back to try and get more, always more. He can’t manage much but a few aborted thrusts in his position, and his knees spread a bit wider, sinking him a bit lower on the bed. 

Ghost’s hand flexes over his throat, a quick pressure, and Johnny can’t help but keen at the threat.

Simon’s hips pause at the sound, and Johnny can imagine him tilting his head a bit in that annoyingly attractive way he does - like a predator scenting blood. His fingers shift along the column of Johnny’s throat, finding a more secure hold, and gripping.

The noise that rips from Johnny’s throat is half-strangled and half-moan, the lack of airflow sending sparks straight from his brain to his dick. He can’t help but try to thrust into a hand that isn’t there, trying to find any extra stimulation as his eyes flutter shut.

“Like that?” Ghost rumbles, hips rolling slowly in long, deep strokes. “A hand ‘round your throat, cock in your guts? Want me to choke you a bit, Johnny?”

He tries to choke out a yes, can’t manage it with such little air.

“What’s that?” Ghost shakes Johnny’s head by the neck, his eyes trying to open before they shut again. “C’mon, answer me, pup. You like a hand around the throat when you’re gettin’ fucked?”

Johnny nods as much as he can, managing to eek out a noise that sounds like affirmation. It’s the best he can do, and judging by the rumbly laugh over his shoulder it’s enough.

“Alright then.” Ghost pulls his hand away, dropping until his hand wraps around the base of Johnny’s cock, then a little lower to cup his balls. He thrusts a little faster now, starting to really fuck into Soap again. “How about this - you want a hand on your little dick, or a hand around your throat?”

Johnny can hardly think with the dragging against his walls, the stretch in his hole. His mouth is dropped open, little noises forced from him every time Ghost bottoms out. “Please- please, wanna come, Ghost, need it.”

Ghost hooks his chin over Johnny’s shoulder, forcing his back to arch so he’s presenting himself for his fucking. He feels unbalanced, held up only by Simon’s hands, and with one on his cock instead of his neck his top half feels too unstable.

“Soundin’ like a broken record, Johnny. Here, I’ll make it easier for you. One -” his hand wraps securely around Johnny’s balls, massaging them just in time with his thrusts and dragging a long moan from him. “Or two?” He moves back up, wraps his hand back around Soap’s throat and squeezes. His breath is cut off immediately, no matter how much he fights to get a breath in. 

“So? Which one, Johnny?”

He’s given just enough air to breathe back in, eyes flashing open as his vision goes a little hazy. “Tw-Two!”

There’s a pleased rumble over his shoulder, a stroke of a thumb over his Adam’s apple. “Attaboy.”

Ghost doesn’t waste any time - he pushes Johnny forward with the hand at the small of his back, begins to thrust far more quickly, harshly enough that Soap can hear the slap of his balls against his ass, and squeezes his throat tight.

Again, his airflow is cut off immediately. There’s a flash of panic when he’s suddenly incapable of doing something so natural, a privilege taken away that he’d never really thought about. He goes limp almost instantly, leaning further into Ghost’s palm.

“There you go, good boy, Johnny,” Ghost rumbles, squeezing his wrists. He’s panting over Soap’s shoulders as he hammers his way inside the smaller man, each thrust forcing Johnny to try and suck a breath in. 

The suffocation only brings him closer and closer to the edge, his cock red and angry. He can feel it creeping up on him, every second he goes without air bringing him closer and closer to that peak, just out of reach. If he had enough breath to make a sound, he’d whine for more. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been when he starts to panic. His vision goes splotchy, chest tight and almost aching from a prolonged lack of air. Completely against his own will, he starts to thrash in Ghost’s grip.

Simon grunts over his shoulder, muscling him over a bit so that he’s bent in half, held up only by Ghost’s hand and forced to rest his entire weight there. Johnny nearly manages to get his wrists free, but his fight is dwindling quickly.

“Fucking take it,” he hears Ghost snarl, thrusts quickening. “Thought this was what you wanted, pup? Practically begged me to fuckin’ strangle you, so take it.”

He’s- fuck, he’s so close, right there, just on the edge of coming, but he’s not sure he’ll even be conscious to experience it. His vision is almost entirely gone, heart racing as his lungs spams inside his chest. A prickle of true panic grows at the back of his head, something screaming to fight.

But he can’t get free. No matter how much he tries to thrash, Ghost holds him securely and doesn’t slow his hips.

In the end, Soap loses consciousness.

His eyes roll back in his head at a particularly deep thrust, the head of Ghost’s cock nailing his prostate in an almost cruel way. Johnny’s out like a light, the pleasure, the fight, and lack of oxygen finally doing him in.

It’s minutes later when he comes to again, Ghost’s hips grinding against his, his body limp on the mattress.

He groans into the pillow a bit, trying to shift and flinching at the sensitivity of his soft cock against the sheets. He blinks slowly, distantly registering the walls of Ghost’s room when the larger man pulls out.

Soap whines at the feeling of being empty, his hole fluttering around nothing, and Ghost grunts, gives him a sharp tap to the ass.

“You just woke back up and you’re already whinin’ again.”

Soap makes a small, confused sound. “L.t.? Did’ya… did’ya knock me out?”

Ghost hums an affirmative, falling to the bed on his back and contentedly tucking his arms behind his bed. “Sure did. You seemed to like it - milked my cock like a proper whore as soon as you were down.”

Soap shivers at the callous words, winces at the way his cock twitches beneath him. “You kept fucking me?”

Ghost looks at him like he’s insane. “Course I did. You got off, didn’t you? What’ve you got to complain about?”

Johnny’s brows furrow a bit as he scoots closer. He’s glad when Ghost doesn’t shove him away or roll over, allowing Johnny to rest his front to Ghost’s ribs, leaning against him. 

He’s glad he got off. Simon’s fucked him before and left him hanging - sometimes for days on end - and it’s a misery Johnny is never eager to reexperience. But he can’t help but wish he was actually awake to feel his orgasm, instead of passed out and used as a limp body.

Ghost sighs, dropping his arm to lay over Johnny’s shoulders. “I don’t know why you’re pouting, Johnny. D’you rather I didn’t let you come?”

He’s quick to shake his head. “No! Course not, it’s just…”

“Just what? Spit it out, pup.”

He sighs, buries his face into Ghost’s armpit to hide as best he can. “Wanted to feel it, that’s all.”

There’s silence for a minute, then Ghost laughs, low and rumbly. “You wanted to be awake? That’s what this is about?”

Johnny nods, just barely holds back a whine. Ghost sighs, affectionate but aggrieved, and throws his other arm over Johnny, effectively trapping the younger man beneath him.

“Shoulda known. Greedy pup like you, never wanna miss out on anything do you?”

He shakes his head, doesn’t manage to hold back the whine. A hand strokes through his mohawk and he relaxes a little bit further.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Johnny,” Ghost sighs, adopting a fake-pitying tone. “You wanted me to choke you, I wasn’t gonna just give you a little scare. Thought you’d appreciate it, way your always begging for more.”

“I do!” Johnny’s quick to correct, tucking his legs between Ghost’s. “I liked it! I just… just wanted to feel myself get off, Sir, that’s all.”

Ghost hums, scratches over his scalp. “Alright, I understand. We’ll see whether or not you deserve it next time, okay, puppy?”

Johnny nods, tucking himself into Ghost as deep as he can, until he’s not sure where his skin ends and Simon’s begins. “Course.”

There’s a sharp tug to his ear, sudden and painful. Johnny can’t help but yelp, looking up at Ghost with wide eyes.

“You forgetting something, Johnny?” Ghost asks, unimpressed.

He racks his brain for any rules he could’ve forgotten, quickly sees his mistake. “Thank you, Sir.”

“For…?”

Johnny swallows, tears his eyes away from Ghost’s. “Thank you for letting me come, Sir. Even if I couldn’t feel it.”

He gets another little tug to his ear for that, but Ghost hums and lets him tuck himself away soon after. They fall asleep just like that, wrapped around each other, both of them warm and sated.

[steddie-island]

Wiggly worm Wednesday🪱🖋️

I was tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson

There are brain worms today but they're pretty angsty ones-- with a happy ending, because I can't let something just be angsty!

CW for recreational drug use, talk about addiction, mention of canon character death, PTSD

This is another long one, these get away from me somehow.

No pressure tagging @runninriot @stervrucht @rozzieroos and anyone else who wants to do this. 😌

I keep listening to My Fault by Shaboozey and seeing Eddie, rolling in the fame and glory he fought so hard for. He wonders why that doesn't fix him, wonders why he still has dreams about Chrissy Cunningham dying in front of him, why he still wakes up in a cold sweat with a mob hot on his heels.

Even having the love of his fucking life there doesn't make it all better, doesn't make it go away. Besides, Steve has his own shit, his own nightmares, his own trauma he's still trying to work through. Eddie refuses to be a burden.

So he turns to booze, and to drugs. He parties harder and harder, until he passes out hard enough that he doesn't dream (at least, he doesn't remember dreaming).

Steve knows something's changed. He's not an idiot, he's lived with Eddie for a few years now. He's seen enough rock stars on a downward trajectory, has had a few who crashed on their couch. Eddie's going down and he's going down hard, and Steve is fucking terrified.

He talks to Eddie, who insists he doesn't have a problem, he's fine, Steve's just being a worrier the way he always is. Eddie finally promises to slow down when Steve breaks down in front of him and literally begs.

And it's a promise Eddie means to keep, only slowing down means the dreams come back harder, stronger. So he doesn't slow down for long.

Steve tries to stick around and help him, but he can't handle seeing the way Eddie starts to look like a hollow shell of himself. He's still a livewire on-stage, but there's something more manic to it. The rest of the band notices it, too. Eddie tells them all to get off his dick when they try to have the same talk that Steve had with him.

Finally there's a breaking point. They're at an aftershow party. Someone flirts with Steve (something they're both used to because, fucking duh, Steve's hot). Only this time Eddie snaps, and he ends up breaking this poor asshole's nose, getting his own ass kicked a little, and he leaves in cuffs.

Steve leaves that night. Calls up Robin, who knows how worried he's been, and she and Vicki come help him pack his bags and come back to their little apartment to stay for a while.

Eddie's mugshot is all over the tabloids, followed by news of Corroded Coffin cutting their tour short, taking a break.

Then Eddie disappears from the public. It was one thing for the band to be as pissed as they were, but coming home to an empty apartment (not empty empty, but empty of the only thing he really gave a damn about besides Warlock) almost did him in.

So Eddie, for the first time since he left Hawkins, goes home to his uncle Wayne. Wayne helps him detox. And it's fucking hard. Eddie wants to give up, almost does a few times. Wayne catches him leaned over the bathroom counter and doesn't stop him, just says he hopes the hit is worth losing Steve forever.

Eddie hates him for a few days, but when the worst of it is finally over and Wayne brings him hot chocolate in a chipped Garfield mug, he instantly melts.

That isn't the end of it, though. There are meetings to go to. Apologies have to be made, and not just to the band and Steve. Eddie makes his way down the list, saving the most important person for last.

Finally he does show up at Steve's (Robin's) door, though. He thought about showing up with flowers and candy and the notebook full of songs he's written to try to show Steve just how sorry he is. He doesn't do any of that, he just apologizes. Asks Steve out for coffee.

They get to sit and talk, and it's like old times again. Steve's still cautious, but he has the man he fell in love with in front of him again. When Eddie drops him off at Robin's again it's with a kiss so gentle, so tender, it nearly makes Steve cry.

He moves back in a week later.

divider credit

[ex-mortis-evie]

!!CW!! Metronome, call and response.

So let’s discuss another little tidbit about visuals and focus objects, if you wouldn’t mind.

I got asked this by a friend recently, and it’s what objects or visuals are my favorite to use in sessions!

Now, okay I’m indecisive as hell when it comes to some of that stuff, but I think I’ve got my answer.

A metronome.

Simple? Yeah.

Distracting? Yeah.

Takes your attention away for just long enough to start that tick in your head?

You bet.

But, there’s a lot of nuance to a metronome.

It’s mainly around that double feature of visual and audio that I went off about in the post I’ll link down below.

Both sides are entrancing on their own, but together they make a duo that’s utterly irresistible for blank brains to fight against.

Now, of course you can always resist control and all, but a metronome’s focus is something that’s hard to pry yourself away from.

Take it from me, someone who owns two of them not even for hypnosis, but for music.

When I play, the metronome helps keep not only my fingers on the beat on my strings, but it keeps my mind in time.

That focus on your time, the beat of your heart with the best of the music you’re creating is enthralling, but it’s just another part of losing yourself in the music.

In hypnosis however, metronomes are much more of a tool to keep that mind in check.

After all, it keeps the rhythm of your heart in time with the rhythm of my words.

You can probably even hear it in your mind.

Tick.

There it is.

Tick.

And it may get louder as we keep talking.

Tick.

It may get a bit more distracting.

Tick.

And that’s alright, dear.

Tick.

Finding yourself in rhythm may draw that attention away from me, and I’d rather have it that way.

Tick.

I want you in time with my words, after all.

Tick.

It makes the process easier for the both of us.

Tick.

And I haven’t even gone off about the visual side of a good metronome.

So let that metronome tick in the background as we speak, alright darling?

Because I want you to visualize it as it ticks.

As the hand goes back and forth with each tick.

It’s the simple back and forth motion that seems to always capture you.

Whether that’s with a pendulum, pocket watch, or even a spiral’s motion drawing you into the middle.

Oh, spirals don’t go back and forth?

Everything does, sweetie.

When you stare long enough into a good spiral, that head gets all dizzy.

It goes back and forth from wakefulness to that deep and drowsy desire to drop down into desperation.

Your brain goes back and forth trying to figure out what’s going on when it’s staring.

You can even feel it shake back and forth all around that empty head when it’s in rhythm with the spiral.

But metronomes really have the best back and forth motion, if you ask me.

It’s such a quick tick with each back and forth, your mind can barely keep up.

I think that’s the best part.

You don’t really have a chance to follow it like a pendulum.

There’s no room for that brain to think about what magic is in front of your eyes.

No time to process the ticks as each seems to take away another thought.

And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?

Where there’s no chance to catch up.

You’re just forced to sit there, each tick and each back and forth taking away your thoughts and rocking you deeper down into drooly dreams.

That visual, that item in of itself keeps you at bay.

But that’s not even counting in what your hypnotist wants to do with it.

Take me for example.

If I were to have you in a chair, watching that metronome go back and forth and letting those eyes flutter more with each and every tick, there would be ample opportunity to work my way in.

You’d be too distracted to notice those words worming their way deep within your brain, each tick giving me more space to put any sort of programming I may desire.

And that’s the beauty of a metronome, darling.

It keeps you in time with me.

Just like how my fingers stay in the rhythm of the metronome as I play, your mind keeps in rhythm with each tick as I play with the strings hidden within your brain.

Each strum of my fingers is another dosage of the hypnotic drug that you so deeply crave, and as the metronome keeps you in time, my words weasel their way in, stuck within the lyrics of the song I’m playing with your brain.

A siren song of my own choosing, programming perfect relaxation deep within as the back and forth spins your mind further around.

And see, the rhythm of your mind with the metronome creates this almost magical experience, where it feels as if your mind is synced with the world.

And you’re just here, with me.

In the deep ticks of the metronome.

Each second ticks by, another thought ticks away.

And the emptiness washes over.

The relaxation, the simple satisfaction of having that mind emptied by the rhythm.

And it’s just perfect.

See why I love metronomes so much?

The double whammy of why hypnosis is so beautiful, the visual and audio creating this duo of deep desire for any mind to fall within, as it should.

Because as you float in that perfect rhythm, i want you to try and form a single thought for me.

Think about your favorite visual.

Your favorite hypnotic object.

Picture it.

Desire it.

And let the idea fuel you further into the wonder that is trance.

For my favorite may be fantastic, but the experience shared within hypnosis is not that of only one’s own wants.

Instead, it’s the mutual murmur of understanding what makes trance beautiful and compromising your conscious conundrum to fall deep and enjoy your float down into trance once more.

I will ask you to wake naturally now, take all of the time you need.

But do let me know your favorite object, I’m always curious to see what others enjoy.

Until then, stay cool and enjoy your slow wakefulness wash over you.

[xanaxspritz]

hi🥰🥰 i just saw your post about requests being open so here i am, brain filled with suguru worms🧎 i’ve been daydreaming sm about living a slow, romantic cottage-core life with this man. would you consider doing headcanons for that?🥹

an: wrote this in an aiport lol. set after suguru declares war on jujutsu high but doesn't die. escapes in exile with sorcerer!reader. this got a little dark sorry!

cw: a bit of tradwifery (sorry), possessiveness, vomiting, impregnation

you're still getting used to the country life. it's nice and tranquil. there's a few yuzu trees surrounding the cottage you and suguru inhabit and a strawberry field by the lake that's less than a mile away from the house. suguru moved you two to the japanese countryside after narrowly escaping death after the war against jujutsu high to lay low for a while, but his grip on you has only gotten stronger after leaving tokyo.

you made do with what you had. fleeing so quickly meant no time to pack. a part of you missed the temple, the people, the friends you made, and the huge master bedroom you and suguru shared (the cottage bedroom wasn't half the size). but suguru insisted that this tiny cottage would be the best chance from gojo or anyone from jujutsu high to find him, so here you were, bright and early fixing suguru breakfast.

"smells great darling," he says smiling as you pour the hot green tea into his teacup. "will you not have any yourself?"

"no, im not hungry," you shrug.

"hmm."

you sit in comfortable silence for a bit, looking out the window next to the table while he goes back to reading the paper. you knew you should feel lucky to be here, the village was so pretty and picturesque, and the villagers were so welcoming. you knew you should feel even luckier that surguru chose you, yes you, to run away with him. he fucks you harder now, rougher and more impulsively than the carefully calculated man that he was before. he cums inside you now, every single time as if he was trying to get you pregnant. maybe he's taking his frustrations out on you, or maybe he's just showing you how much he really loves you, and it would be a lie to say you didn't like it.

you feel his big hands rub your knee under the table, taking you out of your thoughts.

"you look like you're thinking about something," he raises an eyebrow.

"oh! it's nothing. just thinking about tokyo I guess," you say.

"I believe there's a festival in the village today. would my pretty girl like to get some sweets? we'll walk there together."

your ears perk up. "really?" you ask. maybe they'll have matcha dango you loved getting from the stand nearby the temple. maybe they'll even have candy apples. "I would love to go."

walking hand in hand, you stroll to the village center for the festival. suguru holds your hand tight, squeezing it, giving you a small, sweet, smile.

"I know it hasn't been easy for you," he begins "but you're doing a wonderful job. always so obedient, so caring of me. one day, I would like you make you my wife."

you're heart beats faster after the mention of "wife". this was the first time he's ever said the word. could this really be happening?

"I would be honored to," you grin unable to hide your excitement. for the rest of the day, you're elated and bubbly at the possible idea that one day you'll be suguru's permanently.

xxx xxx xxx xxx

he fucks you fast and hard that night, you take every inch of his dick a the good girl you are, leaving his dick inside of you overnight while you sleep in his embrace. the next morning you feel a wave of nausea, throwing up until you puke clear liquid from the depths of your stomach. it could be forming eating too many deserts, but you pull a pregnancy test form behind the mirror cabinet in the bathroom just to be safe, and wait the five longest minutes of your life to find the stick displaying two bright blue lines. your heart sinks.

"suguru...i think.. i might.." you say coming out of the bathroom finding him at the dining table, tears begin welling in your eyes. "I'm pregnant!" you blurt out, shoving the pregnancy test towards him.

he gingerly grabs the stick, taking a few minutes to process the news and then sinks down to his knees at your feet, peppering thousands of kisses at your navel.

"i've been waiting for this moment," he says rubbing your belly. "i cant want to see youre body grow with my child, youre gonna make such a good mama, i promise."

suguru stands up to wipe your tears away, giving you a big hug. you were finally bound to him forever. with his essence inside you and a baby on the way, you could never leave him even if you tried. he rubs your back, letting you sob on his shoulder. you are his for the rest of time.

[devilfic]

I just arrived after finding your delicious drabbled about Miquel where he ends up spareing with the reader and i-

I'm here looking directly at it 👀👀👀 it was soooo good and it's giving me huge brain worms!

Do you mind a small request? Somethkng along those same lines but reader and him end up facing an anomaly/enemy too dangerous that among has Reader killed, and that is where flight of right kicks in, and they are the one to bite the villain

And bam turns out they also have venom but... a more deadly kind of venom, and they never used it or told anybody because it happened something badnin their original world and had to hide it not to end up in danger

I see the vision, but walk with me

❝things we do❞

plot: you lost your husband in another universe. you wouldn't make that mistake again... even if it meant betraying the promise you made to yourself. pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader. cw: kinda dark!miguel, slightly ooc miguel, angst, established relationship, major character death (in alternate universe), takes place before atsv, dubious morals, murder, miguel brings a sort of "killing is ok under certain circumstances" vibe to the spider society that the spider society don't really like, happy ending? you decide. words: 2.4k.

The weight on his chest is unbearable, stronger than anything he's ever handled before, and he hasn't felt this kind of fear in a while. He's staring at the mauling dog of a villain that he's barely holding back and thinking that this might be it. The other Spiders are busy fighting off its minions, he's lost too much blood, and this thing—in its animalistic haze that has rendered its humanity an unwilling witness—wants him dead. And you, somewhere across the room... he won't even get to say goodbye. There'll be nothing left of him to do so.

His arm is broken, pinned under one massive paw, and the other is stuck between the gnashing teeth of his soon-to-be killer. The suit is breaking. He can hear Lyla's voice distort. She's calling out to him, begging him to get up.

Miguel looks into the violet eyes of the anomaly whose gigantic canines Miguel's fangs could be no match for. He's going to die alone. He'd bother to sob if the effort to do so wouldn't kill him first. He shuts his eyes when his arm slackens a little, struggling to hold the monster back, and lets himself make peace with it. Whatever there is beyond this, he hopes his little girl will be there.

He feels the drip of the monster's hot drool on his face and awaits death like a gift, but nothing happens.

Well, something happens, but not to him. He feels the spray of something hotter on his eyelids, so hot it's almost boiling, and then the weight of his killer swaying one way and another, no longer able to keep his arm in its grip. Miguel opens an eye.

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but it isn't you. You're hanging off the anomaly's back with your face buried in its furry throat. He wonders what you could possibly be doing to it to make it whine for death the way it does. It almost hurts him to hear it.

The anomaly falls to its side, frozen from head to toe as if it had died from shock, and for a moment Miguel thinks that it had crushed you underneath its massive weight. He hasn't any strength left but he feels himself struggling to cry out your name, pushing against the gashes in his torso to try and crawl toward you.

He's on his side and panting when he sees you crawl over the beast and land beside him. Faintly, he's sure he hears your voice asking if he's alright, but his attention catches on red and white.

Gleaming, sharp, white fangs protruding from your mouth and dripping with the anomaly's blood. He's so stunned that he feels his own body seize up too.

He's known you. He's known you inside and out and over and over since you'd fallen into his universe, and he's never seen those.

You touch a hand to your mouth and freeze, and in but a second the fangs are gone as if they were never there. The blood of the anomaly you'd slain continues to dribble down the sides of your lips, though. It waterfalls down your chin, down your neck, down to the ring that hangs there—staining the gold band red. A reminder that it wasn't a trick of the light, what he'd seen. You'd bitten it.

In his position, he could see right into the anomaly's dead eyes. What was once a radiant violet had dulled, become lifeless. It stared back at him in horror. It hadn't expected to die. It hadn't had a chance to put up a fight.

Just what were you?

When Miguel comes to, he comes to violently.

The first thing he senses is the searing pain throughout his body. Every part of him is aching, begging for relief or numbness or amputation. He's never been beaten down this bad. The second thing he senses is the body beside him, propped up in a chair next to what he realizes is a hospital bed. He's... in the infirmary.

Jessica sits upright, her hand grasping for Miguel's but he pulls it away to free himself of the sheets his legs are tangled in. He knows he sounds frenzied and a bit slurred from sleep, but he's certain Jessica hears him asking where you are.

"Hey, whoa, sit back down," and Miguel doesn't have much choice against the full strength of her hand pushing against his chest, "you've been out for a full day. You're in no position to be moving right now."

A day had passed? That unsettled him. He demands to know where you are once more.

Jessica's brows knit together at that. He can tell there's something that's happened, but if there was anything he understood about Jessica Drew, it was that she always picked her words deliberately. Whatever answer she should deliver, she was struggling to.

She joins him on the bed bed, turned away from him, and rests her elbows on her knees. "Lockup."

His blood runs cold. "What?"

"They killed an anomaly, Miguel. You know the rules."

"It was going to kill me."

Jessica finally looks at him, "It?" Miguel swallows. He feels parched. "Miguel, it was a person. A person who wasn't supposed to end up mutated, let alone dead. We could have subdued them some other way. We could've brought them back to HQ, sent them back to their universe, let their Spider handle a cure-"

"Or it could've killed me in the process, which is why-"

"Which is why we've got Spiders working over time to fix the collapse in the wake of their death." Jessica sounds exhausted, and for the first time since waking, Miguel realizes that her marred skin is visible underneath the tears in her suit. "Look, the others don't know yet. They think it was a freak accident. And I'm glad you're alive. Over-fucking-joyed. But your partner... they messed up. Big time. Had it been anyone else, would you be reacting like this?"

Miguel says nothing. He knows the answer, and he's too tired to pretend he doesn't.

Then, the last thing he remembered hovers over his mind's better concerns. He wasn't sure how much Jessica (or anyone) even knew about how you killed the anomaly. You'd kept it from him and he was your lover. He knew everything about you.

Except this. "I want to see them."

"What did I just say?"

"Jessica, I don't care—I need to see them. Please."

"...That doesn't matter. I don't think they want to see you."

Miguel stills. He doesn't even feel the pain anymore, "What?"

"You think any of us were itching to throw them into lockup with you on death's door? They did it to themselves, and they won't talk to anyone. They just keep begging to be sent back to their universe."

Your universe. The universe you dreaded returning to. The universe where you lost your uncle and your aunt and your friends and your husband. He'd never been because you'd asked him never to come. And now you were begging to go back?

The heart monitor beside his bed starts picking up and Jessica places a hand over his. This time, he can't be bothered to pull away, "But maybe," she starts, like she's pushing through a bad idea, "maybe they'll talk to you."

It's hard getting into lockup with thousands of eyes on him, but most Spiders have enough sense to keep their distance. With Jessica clinging to his side and his hand guiding his IV pole alongside him, he's given a wide berth.

Some of the villains aren't so polite, and by the time he's reached your anomaly prison, his blood pressure has spiked enough to warrant putting him back in bed. Instead, he places a hand against the prismatic cage and speaks your name softly.

You look up and his whole world stops.

It's clear you've been crying, but worse than that, you look horrified to see him. You press yourself further away from him, as far as the bench inside will allow you. Your eyes dart to Jessica, "I told you to send me home." You sound betrayed.

"And then what? You can't run from this. Talk it out and see how you feel after." Jessica releases Miguel, giving him but a solemn nod before disappearing off into the main lobby.

"You were going to leave?" Miguel can't help the way his voice cracks. You almost look back at him, then.

It's silent between you for a while. Perhaps you're waiting for him to get frustrated and give up on you, or yell, or bang on the cage until you talk. You avoid his eyes and you keep to your side of the cage, head lowered, fingers trembling in your lap.

Miguel webs a nearby chair to him and takes a seat, "Does anyone else know?"

"No. Just you."

He about sighs in relief when you answer him. "Why did you never tell me?"

You make fists with your hands but they still shake all the same. A beat passes, "Because this isn't the first time I've killed."

Another beat passes. The shock of it is hard to wash down for Miguel. He feels his world teetering on its axis, a breath away from falling and shattering into pieces for the second time in his life. He tries to calm the flurry of thoughts—When? Who? How? Was it justified? Could you justify it to him? Could he justify it to himself, the Society?—and settles on one, "What happened?"

It physically pains you to recall it, and he regrets with everything in him that he had asked you to, "Back in my universe. When I was bitten, I was still learning how everything worked. I wasn't used to being this strong, let alone the venom and I... it was the night my uncle died. I saw the man that did it. And I found him. And I cornered him. And I was so..." You shudder, "I was so angry, Miguel. I wanted to hurt him but a part of me wanted him dead more. And it won."

Miguel and you sit with that. He can almost see it vividly, his own chest swelling with grief for you. For your uncle. For the burden you carry. "And?"

"And I swore I would never do it again. Never. But it... it cost me something, Miguel. And I never told you because I swore I wouldn't do that either. But, clearly, I'm all about breaking promises to myself lately."

Miguel frowns, leaning forward in his chair, wishing he could reach through the amber separating you both and just touch you, "You don't have to tell me. Not if you don't want to."

You finally look him in the eyes and he thinks you're thinking about it. Your mouth drops open anyway, "Remember my husband from that universe? The one I told you I lost because I was just a second too late?" Miguel nods. "I said I thought of every possibility but nothing would work. That was a lie. It wasn't entirely helpless. I could have saved him from that villain. But I would have had to kill to do it, and I just... froze. I just couldn't. And he died because of me."

Your lover shakes his head, warm tears prickling at his waterline, "No, no. No. Don't blame yourself for that. Don't... don't make yourself responsible for that villain's choice."

"But I wanted to, Miguel." You plead, and for the first time since he's sat down, you push yourself closer to him. "I wanted to do it to save him."

Miguel looks around. A nearby anomaly is staring on at the two of you, smirking, twirling a knife in between their spindly fingers. Spiders weave in and out of the room but it's a slow day. No one is around to hear what he says next, what he whispers to comfort you, "You saved my life."

Or what you say back, "I couldn't watch you die again."

It clicks into place. Why you never called your husband by name, why you never wanted him to visit your universe, why you almost walked out of the Spider Society the second you walked in. Why you looked at him, broken and beaten but safe, and recoiled. Why he'd always liked the look of that ring hanging from your neck. Like-

"I would've picked it myself. I can see why he chose it." His finger pokes at the ring with some feeling tugging between jealousy and sympathy. Knowing that it belonged to someone else, that it holds so dear to you even now, and that it was a part of the you that he never got the chance to know. "It's perfect."

You let your head fall to the side and smile into his pillow, "I thought so too."

It's quiet on the top floor. Not even Lyla intervenes. Miguel can't stop himself from asking, "What was he like?"

He half expects you to shut down but you don't. You stare into him, unblinking, somehow here with him and somehow far away, "Brave, kind, dashing in the heroic way and yet he preferred to be behind the scenes. He always supported me. Even before I lost him, he..." You choke up. Miguel's hand finds yours, "...he told me it was okay. That I'd done everything I could do. That he loved me. And that I should love again."

Miguel watches your chest heave with the weight of your confession, but more comes spilling out, "And you know what's funny? You... remind me so much of him. Like his love found me in you."

His mind flashes with images of Gabriella, of the man he'd replaced looking for home, and of the world that fell around him because of it.

And here you were. Telling him that you'd done nearly the exact same thing. Finding him in another universe. Tempting fate.

He should send you back to your universe. That's where you belong. You would have never killed again if it hadn't been for him, and keeping his distance could be the best thing for you.

The anomaly prison falls away. He issues the command to Lyla before he could even register the words leaving his mouth. You watch him in horror as he sits beside you, taking your hands into his own, and kisses your knuckles. His lips stay planted there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of your realness.

It is then that Miguel realizes he cannot bear to let go.

He keeps his head lowered, lips hovering a hair's length from your skin as his eyes lock onto you. You look like you've realized something, like you've been hit with the stunning clarity that you've done something terribly, terribly wrong, "And you won't have to."

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @honestlystop @yehet-moi-ohorat

[e-r0da]

A Strong Sorcerer

AN: First work so please let me know what you think! Don't really know where this came from tbh, just wanted to try my hand at writing :) Might make a part two if the inspo strikes!

Word Count: ~1.5k

CW: Mention of severe injury. Fluff hinting at a potential Yuuta x reader pairing.

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

You were never going to be the strongest sorcerer.

Perhaps that’s not what the doctor said, but it’s what you understood.

Your fingers trailed your face softly, inching above your cheekbones and around the bridge of your nose, mapping out the bandages that hid what came of your first solo assignment. 

Perhaps this is how it feels, you thought. To prove yourself.

It wasn’t your mission, at least not originally. But as a newly enrolled second-grade with an untested talent for handling shikigami, the sorcerer commission was curious enough to sub you in for Megumi, who was busy enough. So you took the mission. You just wanted to be of use.  

But no one anticipated a special-grade curse to be there to greet you.

Curious, you tried touching your right eye. A searing bolt of pain wormed its way into your brain as your hand jolted from your face, white stars blooming in your mind’s eye. Fuck. You felt a bit sick to your stomach, trying your best to calm your breathing and bite back a yelp.

You forced yourself to think logistically.

You would never be the strongest. Fine. This was never about that, anyway.

Would the commission even name you a grade-one after this? Maybe. It was undeniable that you had potential. And even if they never did, well. That wouldn’t be what stopped you.

Most importantly, could you still do it?

Could you still kill that curse?

You sat silently. You didn’t know how to answer the question that mattered most.

Without your sight, how much longer would it take to do what was needed?

*

“We’re here. Hold still for a minute, I’ll grab your stuff first and help you in.”

“Thanks.”

You felt Megumi’s hand leave your shoulder, his warmth slipping behind you quietly, presumably down the hall where a duffel of your equipment and medical supplies had been set down at the dorm’s entrance.

He felt bad, you knew that. But you wish he hadn’t. Megumi didn’t need another burden to shoulder.

The sound of wood creaking distracted you. It sounded like it came from your upper left. Huh. He moved fast.

“Megumi, I should have it from here so you don’t ne—”

“Wait-no Rika I didn’t mean—!”

“YUUTA YOU LIAR!”

You couldn’t help but feel your eyebrows shoot up as the floor shook beneath you. You searched for a wall to keep you balanced. Wait...Rika?

“Please it’s really okay—”

“BUT YOU TOLD THEM NO ONIONS!!” The floor shook again. 

Oh yeah, yup. Yuuta was definitely back.

The corner of your mouth twitched as you piped up. “Did he at least get the ranch, Rika?”

“-oh my god...”

“—YUUTA WHERE IS THE RANCH??!?”

You heard Megumi quietly step to your left, a small sigh leaving him. “No ranch? Now that’s just wrong, man.”

Turning your head in the direction of his voice, you murmured an agreement.

A door creaked open, followed by the soft sound of Yuuta scratching the back of his head timidly. Even without your sight, you’d watched him do it enough in the past to picture it now with ease.

“...Hey.”

You began to smile at the sound of his voice. But then the air was squeezed from you in one fell swoop.

“EEEE!”

You clambered an arm around Rika’s bear-hugging form, trying to simultaneously give her a welcome-back pat and expand your lungs.

“I missed you too, girlie.” You breathed out.

“Rika, she’s injured.” Bless your heart, Megumi.

You were dropped quickly. 

Megumi quietly grabbed your shoulder once again before you could stumble.

“NOOOO! NOOO! I’M SORRY!!”

You laughed. “I’m fine, Rika. You did nothing wrong.”

You heard the special-grade curse whimper. 

“I MISSED ONEE-CHAN...” Sometimes, Rika reminds you of a baby sister. 

It was easy to forget what the small girl had become at times like this. You wondered a bit if soon it would be even easier, now that you couldn’t actually see her anymore.

“We both missed you.” Your head whipped around. 

Yuuta. It made your chest warm up a bit, knowing he sounded the same as ever.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Hungry, if I’m being honest.”

“WE GOT NUGGETS!!! YUUTA! YUUTA THE NUGGETS!!!”

You let out an excited gasp. “With—”

“—with honey mustard, yes. I’m on it!” Rika let out a satisfied hum as Yuuta went to find your nuggets.

“YUUTA WENT BACK FOR THE MUSTARD. HE WAS SO COOL!!”

“Wooow! How did he forget his ranch then?”

Yuuta let out a strangled sigh from inside his room.

And...did Megumi just snort? 

*

Licking the last of the honey mustard from the counter of your mouth, you took in the silence that filled the hall, jokes of the past hour or so fading into the walls. Megumi had left to help with a mission, but Yuuta was still here, sitting beside you, and now that he was sans Rika he was awfully quiet. 

You missed being able to read people’s faces.

He breaks the silence. 

“We should have been there.”

Ah. You grasp at the floor around you for a napkin before wiping your hands and face clean. It buys you a few seconds to conjure something logical to say.

“At least it's dead. It can’t hurt anyone else.”

“It hurt you, though.” Oof. Okay, we’re being direct today.

“…No use crying over spilt milk, Yuuta.”

“This feels more serious than spilt milk, y/n.”

Man. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“…”

This kind of silence–awkward silence–between you two felt foreign. You usually found peace in his company, even when it was silent. And even when things went wrong, you were usually the one trying to convince Yuuta to seek out help–whether it be in the form of medicine, company, or a break. Having someone fuss over you so persistently instead made you itchy all over. 

You wanted it to stop.

“...Yuuta.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I…” for a brief moment, you thought you wanted to ask him for a hug. 

“Can I have your onions?” That was equally as bad.

“...oh. Yeah, lemme put them on your plate.”

“Thanks.”

The silence now was worse than before, with the only thing filling it being your obnoxious crunching and the smell of raw onion (why oh why did you do this to yourself) making things even more acidic feeling, if possible.

He tries again, softer this time, if that was even possible.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” 

For some reason his words get the onions lodged in your throat.

You get up quickly mid-retch, trying to escape the fucking onions–and Yuuta’s aura of pity.

He pats your back firmly at some point (while apologizing because he seems to think that this counts as hitting you??) and it dislodges the vegetable, much to your relief. 

“This is all my fault.” Jesus christ.

“Ohmygod Yuuta please–”

“I really told them no onions this time, though.” Oh. Oh.

You let loose a cackle, at the absurdity of it all. And soon enough, Yuuta follows suit, hand still lingering on your back. Suddenly it feels like how things usually are between you two. Easy.

You breathe in deeply, taking a moment to recover from your laughing/choking fit before remembering what it is he said that got you in this state in the first place.

“I know I can talk to you, Yuuta. You’re probably the only person I would talk to...like that.”

The honesty in your voice somewhat surprises even you, making you a bit embarrassed. From the way his hand grips your shirt slightly, you would say the vulnerability shocked him too.

“–But! For now, can you take me back to my room?” you scratched the base of your skull. “I could really use a nap after all that yummy stuff.”

His chuckle is delicate, understanding. “I’d be happy to.” 

You don’t quite hear him move until you feel his warm breath fanning your neck, his hand softly holding your arm. 

“And...”

“Yeah?” Your cheeks feel hot.

“Whether I worry about you or not is up to me.”

At that you were quiet, brows scrunched together as your heart felt just a bit more heavy with every passing moment you spent together.

Yuuta was one of the few people who could still make you…uncomfortable. But not because he was mean. Never because he was mean. People like that had long since stopped bothering you. Rather, he reminded you of your mother’s hand in your hair, calming you between sobs. He reminded you of the freely-given ‘I love you’s’ of your baby sister. He reminded you of the only people you buried. Of tenderness.

He was probably the best friend you had ever made. It was just a shame that you had a death wish.

After a few moments of hobbling around together, he places your hand at the door knob of your room. 

“Here we are.”

You try to be honest. To warn him, inadvertently, as you step from your shared space in the hall to the one that was just your own.

“I still plan on fighting, you know.”

He doesn’t even miss a beat.

“Then I’ll help you train.”

[raindrop-21]

Tattoo/piercing Shop 141

a/n: this was brought along by this ask I sent to the lovely @littlebluespoon, and the brainworms started brainworming; also I know next to nothing about tattoo shops so bear with me; got a bit distracted and went a bit over board <3

cw: piercings, tattoos, fem!reader, nipple piercings, clit piercing

You walk into their tattoo shop, nervous for your first tattoo

When you walk in you see a bunch of burly guys, and that makes you even more nervous than you already were

You walk up to the front desk, to sign in and to meet your tattoo artist

You’re greeted by a man with very well trimmed facial hair and a warm smile, “Welcome, name?” he asks sweetly.  You give him your name and the time of your appointment and he leads you into the waiting room and says that your tattooist will come get you shortly

Around ten minutes later, a man with brunette mohawk comes in the room and calls your name

He introduces himself as Soap, but says you can call him Johnny if you want

As he leads you over to his station, you sit on the leather chair and he pulls up the design you wanted and makes sure it’s the right one

You take off your shirt, due to you wanting the tattoo on your shoulder

When you take off your shirt, Johnny lets out a low whistle, but cuts himself off when you look at him

He treats you kindly, and you think his kindness somewhat numbs the pain of the tattoo

After your visit, on their lunch break, Soap brags about you and how pretty you were (especially your whines and whimpers from the pain of the tattoo) 

They all secretly hope for you to make another appointment 

At some point, your friend had roped you into getting your nose pierced with them

When you walk in with your friend, the boys are all sweetly surprised with your presence

When they find out that you’re open to piercings, it’s like the flood gates had opened

The whole time you’re waiting to get pierced, Soap and Gaz are taking turns asking what kind of piercings your open to

You tell them you haven’t really given it much thought, but you think you’re open to any

While you’re getting your nose pierced, Simon is gently cooing at you as the needle pierces your nose

He’s talking about how pretty you’d be with other piercings

You come back for more tattoos and few more piercings 

After that, the boys come up with a game, a game to get you to get a more ‘exotic’ piercing

Gaz gets you to pierce your nipples, not just because you’ve said something about thinking about getting them pierced while he was tattooing you, but because he wanted to see your face flush as he touched your breasts

Price doesn’t care too much for this silly game of theirs but still wants a piercing of his own on you, so he persuades you to let him give you a belly button piercing

Ghost, who was worming his way into your brain the whole time, slowly convincing and persuading you to let him give you a clit piercing

The whole time, you’re holding Soap’s hand for moral support

Soap’s pouting because because he not only loses the game, he doesn’t get to get a close up or to look at your pretty pussy

Gaz and Price are holding apart your legs to keep you from closing them

While Ghost is getting ready to pierce you, he wants to tease you

He’ll purposely touch his cold, gloved hands to your thighs

While he’s piercing you, Price is using his (gloved) free hand to spread apart your folds

Ghost teasingly blows air on your exposed clit, making you shudder

When he finally pierces you, you let out a semi-loud whine that you try to muffle by biting your lip

Soap pats your head and gives your hand a gentle squeeze as all four of them coo at you and tell you how well you’re doing

[flowercrowngods]

Please a little peak of winter soldier or your ideas on it!! I need to expand on my obsession with your writing since I still need to mentally prepare for the time travel one 🤍🤍

hdhdhd please lower your expectations love 😂🤍 but here, as you wish, some kas!eddie winter soldier-esque thing 🫶 (cw blood and violence obviously)

Steve barely feels the impact when his body hits the floor, muddy and rotten and decaying as it is. He barely feels anything anymore, has gone numb even though he’s sure he’s still crying. There is not enough strength in his body to keep a hold of his bat, and watching it fall from his hand doesn’t feel real.

It’s a movie. This is a movie. A bad dream, a nightmare. One he can’t wake up from. One he refuses to wake up from. Not without Eddie.

An earth-shattering scream cuts through the dark, leaving Steve stunned and groaning as the creature’s cry sets alight his body, making him feel every cut, every bruise, every bleeding wound that start to make him feel lightheaded.

He tries to reach for the nail bat, his movements slow and sluggish, his head pounding, his body in agony, and his heart shattered and shattering still.

A foot lands on his wrist, making him cry out with a force he didn’t know he still had left in his body. A sign of life. A baby’s first cry; a terrified boy’s last scream.

The creature — Kas, as the kids call him, but they’re wrong, they’re wrong! It’s Eddie, it’s Ed, it’s—

Steve, he hears Robin’s voice echoing in his mind as he watches Eddie bend down to lift the bat, his face contorted with rage and determination. That’s not Eddie. That’s not the boy you—

I don’t care. If there’s a chance he’s still… It’s been months, Bobbie. He’s— It’s Eddie! I can’t… I can’t just… Let me try, okay?

“Eddie,” he rasps, bile rising in his throat as he does. Or maybe it’s blood. He coughs, attempting to roll onto his side but Kas only crunches his wrist underneath his foot, nearly overwhelming Steve with the pain that makes his vision go black for a second, two, three.

He blinks away the blood, sweat and tears, and looks up to meet eyes that used to be the prettiest, deepest brown he’s ever seen. Big, pretty doe eyes. But what he sees are the eyes of a predator.

What he sees is a face contorted with rage, with fear, with confusion. With pain.

Eddie’s hand around the nail bat shifts as Steve speaks, the nail studded shield falling from his other hand. Steve thinks about reaching for it, but what good would it bring?

“It’s okay, Eddie,” he rasps, wheezes, swallowing around the taste of iron. “The kids are safe. And you’ll be, too. They’re k— killing him. It’s okay. We’ll get you home.”

Kas screams again, his wail calling through the night, but there’s no one left to answer. No one but Steve, who whimpers.

He raises the bat. Ready to strike. And Steve knows. Knows that this is it. Distantly, he hopes that Eddie isn’t aware enough to witness this. Hopes that Kas’s memories won’t turn into Eddie’s when this is all over.

“It’s okay,” he croaks. “I—“

And then, with another pained, agonised scream, Eddie strikes.

🌷 credits go to @steveshairychest for giving me the brain worms for this scene way back when with this

[hammerbonk]

secaF railimaF | Familiar Faces

For @definesanity ! Love this sopping wet mangy old cat you’ve created.

CW for: Attempted descriptions of bodily decay and gore?

Regulus… try as Vertin might, had never really gotten used to Oneself being in the suitcase.

She supposed it was a bit silly when you have a personified celestial body, a bunch of ghosts, mathematicians and half a dozen killing machines walking around the place, but something about seeing Vertin, her best mate’s doppelgänger lingering in the doorways stopped that Pirate’s heart every time.

Speaking of doppelgängers, she was still trying to wrap her head around all that. But Kaalaa Baunaa and Matilda’s explanations of Realms weren’t much help, and neither were X’s addendums to his own theories of the Storm.

However, Regulus knew that Oneself had her own suitcase. And as much as she freaked her out, she was also horribly, terribly fascinated by her.

So on complete compulsion, the Pirate set out on what might be her most dangerous voyage yet - venturing into the depths of Oneself’s suitcase, alone! She waited for the one day her unsuspecting target would be out — with Vertin in the Wilderness, apparently — and quickly sprung into action.

Creaking open the door to Oneself’s room, Regulus was greeted by rather plain surroundings. Even though it had been months since she arrived, Oneself’s bed looked barely slept in, and her desk and was completely bare as well, save for the odd pile of papers and stash of toffees.

That, in a way, reassured Regulus that she was a Timekeeper through and through.

But this was no time for snooping, and the Pirate hastened to locate her treasure with natural ease: Oneself’s suitcase.

Stepping into a suitcase while inside a suitcase? She couldn’t wait to see what would happen—

“Regulus? What are you doing?”

Necrologist’s voice cut right through her, causing her to turn invisible on instinct.

However, it also did cause her to jump, which meant losing her footing and have one leg plummet into the depths of the suitcase prematurely.

The last thing she heard was hurried footsteps and a muffled shout before everything turned black.

———

The first thing Regulus noticed was the putrid smell. It crawled into her lungs, nearly suffocating her as it dug into both her brain and stomach.

The second thing she noticed, after she gritted her teeth and looked around with watery eyes, was just how off everything was.

It was definitely the suitcase lobby alright, but the cosy, warm ambience it usually possessed had been replaced by cold darkness.

The strange floating picture frames lay scattered and broken across the floor, as did the many memorabilia and other oddities that once sat proudly upon the lobby’s rows and rows of shelves. The vast windows that should’ve given light to the room every morning were now stained, and also covered by… were those Shamir worms? And there were no more plants to speak of, just dry husks that give a sickening crunch under Regulus’s foot.

Somewhere that should have brought safety and respite instead brought a growing dread settling in her bones.

All in all, it made HM Prison Holloway look like Buckingham Palace.

“Thank goodness you’re alright, Regulus.”

Necrologist’s voice caught her off guard again.

“Blimey! I know you hang around with ghosts, but are you one yourself?” Regulus retorted.

But Necrologist gave no response, gazing off into the endless corridors, her demure expression replaced with that of abject terror.

“Necrologist…?” Regulus’s toned softened as she came to her side.

Silence dragged on. As much as she was trying not to be a wet blanket, she couldn’t help but dart her gaze back and forth from her anguished companion to whatever was beyond that sprawling darkness.

“It’s so loud,” Necrologist gasped, as if every breath pained her. “They see us; they want us to see them.”

Suddenly, Regulus was being dragged into the unknown, out of the lobby and down the endless corridors of the suitcase. Wait, she was vaguely familiar with this route. Shouldn’t this be the conservatory?

The smell here was even worse than the lobby, with all sorts of critters littering the floor. If the stench from before crawled into her lungs, over here it dug its claws in deep.

What should’ve been clean, polished floors were cracked and stained with a red so dark it was almost brown or black — blood, to her horror.

“We’re all here now. They’re here. You’re here.” Necrologist choked out, her grip on Regulus becoming nearly painful.

“Wh— ‘course I’m here. What are you on about—“

Whatever Regulus was about to say in that moment died on her tongue, for what she saw was herself.

It could’ve been. It should’ve been, judging by the body’s tattered dress, with its vivid colours faded and muddied to time. A tiny, shrivelled up bow and collar lay beside it, no core in sight. Regulus was thankful that the worst for her Chief Mate was long over, because whatever happened to his Captain was far worse.

She had been carefully sat up against the wall — that was the only explanation, since there’s no way she could’ve propped herself up with the state of her limbs. Her arms were so mangled that the faint bumps of her dislocated bones stuck out against the puffy sleeves of her jacket, which had been eaten at by the critters.

So had her face, which still had some sort of content look on its face despite whatever the hell had been done to it. Funny how even in death, she looked peaceful. A rock-and-roller to the end. That’s how Regulus knew that was her.

Everyone else had suffered similar gruesome fates, and had also been granted some sort of dignity in final moments.

Druvis, Lilya, Sotheby, oh poor Sotheby…

Wait. Where was Sonetto—

“You found them.” Oneself cried hoarsely.

Regulus and Necrologist spun around at the same time, face to face with the looming figure whose property they had trespassed.

But instead of rage or betrayal, they were met with… misery. Years of repressed grief that writhed beneath a wrinkled face, watering hollow eyes.

“They were always here,” Necrologist gently replied. “They never left you.”

It didn’t matter how different Oneself was to Vertin. It didn’t matter how forsaken that saint was, for there would still be followers for their ark.

And Regulus, her first follower, or would’ve been, knew exactly what she needed to do for the Timekeeper.

Unapologetically, Regulus seized the gaunt figure before her in a tight bear hug, while Necrologist offered soft words of comfort.

“And we’re here now.”

[hollowedtime]

randomly appears because someone wants me to

twst characters x gn! violet baudelaire! reader. scenario format.

characters: adeuce, azul, jade.

@psychicpoetrybeard i am an AWFUL writer but hopefully u can tolerate the cringe. reader is of NRC age. ace and deuces part can be read as platonic or romantic. PLS TELL ME THE “READ MORE” WORKS IDK GOOGLE ISN’T HELPFUL

CWs: mentions of a house-fire.

♠️ aduece duo ♥️

the intelligent one among the useless cretins

the brains among the blockheads

riddle has requested you to keep them in check personally, it’s like they agree to anything because they KNOW it’s a good idea if it’s yours.

ace calls you a nerd 24/7 so you worked for a few hours to make a contraption that punches him in the side of the head everytime he sets foot in ramshackle

deuce is the favourite child. you ended up informing him that chickens just don’t come out of unfertilised eggs or whatever and the look on his face 😭

one day, you sort of let it slip that your parents died in a house fire and you lost practically everything, and how the fortune and a few other things were all that you had left. not to mention how this count olaf guy kept trying to steal it all.

you never saw ace that serious, and deuce that sad. they comforted you and genuinely respect your mental fortitude to keep going. you allowed them to use the spyglass when the three of you become very close, around when the scarabia chapter finished.

🐙 azul

you do NOT fall for his scam. in fact, you call it out. when he tries to send the tweels after you, you know how to evade them each time. you really piss him off, you know that?

chapter 3 goes by a lot quicker because of you. when you come up to him saying you’d like to rethink the contract, he assumes he has you entrapped. of course he’s suspicious, but you just seem so desperate. and it’s his job to help poor, unfortunate souls like you.

and then you proceed to Bamboozle his ass

when he overblots, he’s surprised at how understanding you are. he expected a sneer from everyone apart from the tweels, but it was just kindness.

that’s where a develops a “minuscule” “fleeting” crush on you

(spoilers, it is not minuscule nor fleeting. you can tell.)

maybe, when you finally get into a relationship, he’ll show you his octopus form willingly this time, and you in turn open up about all of your struggles back at home.

you make him these mini inventions sometimes. he loves everything you do.

🐬 jade

you didn’t interest him too much at first, but a magicless human from triton-knows-where was enough to get him investigating. however you seemed very on guard, which was inconvenient enough.

he supposed he’d have to result to more invasive methods to sate his curiosity when you signed a contract with azul, but you had this… look in your eyes. he keeps quiet, but he knows you may be much more entertaining than he thought.

okay, he’s VERY interested now that chapter 3 is over. bro shows up at your house.

he sees all your inventions, and realises how easily you manage to survive in such a run down house. of course he doesn’t directly ask you, but while he’s attempting to lull you into a sense of trust, he ends up slowly but surely falling in love.

he finds it inconvenient. honestly too cliche, but a small part of him, that hopeless romantic part of him that came straight from his mother, tells him that he better put “have a candlelit dinner with you” on his bucket list.

once he finally worms his way into your heart, you have the guts and courage to tell him about all your struggles. he listens intently, complimenting how strong you are. when you tell him about count olaf and his subordinates, a sort of danger flashes across his eyes. it’s gone the next second.

he finds all your skills very interesting. it’s become a game between you two where he hides riddles in things he gives you and you decipher them.

when jade sees how you react to the sea, he questions the forlorn look in your eyes. he’s super understanding when you tell him it reminds you of your aunt.

once again, he marvels at how tough and smart you are. you are simply perfect for him.

…hopefully nobody can tell i accidentally played favourites 😃😃

it’s gonna take me 5 years to have the courage to post this 💀

[0xeyedaisy]

Tragibox 2 Electric Boogaloo All Polos is here, so here's my reaction, cuz why not :3 Long post ahead (cw for blood and gore cuz it's a bit more detailed this time around, which makes me think that this version will get taken down at least once)

I love this, they literally performed a heart surgery on a wrong person AND failed at it, the most competent hospital ever

This is so funny, I need to know who this beautiful person is, can I get their number

What a 16 y/o could possibly do to deserve this? Be cringe on the internet???? (I mean, considering what they did to Kaski, I guess the cult does just not like cringey kids) Also, Dave keeping this guy as a replacement for his antique clock??? Just get a new one

Hi Sarah 🥰

There he is, our little fucked up guy!!! Looking very slay, love his earrings, also he owns some company/hospital now? Who even let this guy near a hospital, and he has a tumor too? Cool

Who let a person with a shotgun into the hospital??? Dave you need to get it together, man, get better security or something

This one's just funny

Oh? A clone?

He forgor

Got nothing to say abt this guy, he's alright (He does look like Melody 1 (aka Stanlee or Stannley), but I don't think they are supposed to be the same person)

This one's interesting

Unfortunately, uncovering the text doesn't give us much, I'm assuming that they do some kind of expirements on this guy, and he's okay with it? Idk Also (from the orin ayo lore doc)

Cratz!!!! I feel bad for him, the guy is not having a good time, also Box of Four is Lilac's band! He was a fun of hers, aw <:]

Another clone! First one at that! I'm assuming Dave is doing this cuz of his brain tumor, but like, what is his goal exactly? To just clone himself and when the og Dave croaks the clone can live out his legacy? Perhaps he's trying to find a cure for the tumor by experimenting on clones? Is he trying to transplant his memories and conscious into a new body??? Who knows, ALso to me this clone is alive and well, he just got neck problems now, cuz I'm pretty sure it's him in the thumbnail

He just can't get the teeth right

Oh Worm?

Rip to this guy I guess

Hello 👀

Seems like this kid had something to do with why Dave left the cult, wonder what he did/say to convince Dave to quit, and also why does he look like that? Like, did the cult do that to him orrrr....?

And the last one, another clone! You're perfect to me bbgril <3

And that's it folks, this was quite a fun and funny read, can't wait to see what the full mod will sound and look like 👍👍👍

[tteokdoroki]

KEEP HIM, HE MAKES YOU FEEL LOVED. | E.KIRISHIMA.

ʚ♡ɞ SYNOPSIS: when the stresses of upcoming college exams keeps on piling up, your boyfriend eijirou kirishima takes matters of making you feel better—into his own hands.

ʚ♡ɞ PAIRING: eijirou kirishima x gn + afab!reader.

ʚ♡ɞ WC: 1.8K.

ʚ♡ɞ RATED: mature, 18+, mdni.

ʚ♡ɞ GENRE: college!au, smut.

ʚ♡ɞ CW: please read ! soft smut, ( characters aged up to twenties ),  soft dom!kirishima, fingering, breeding, light!cumplay, light!praise, unprotected sex, dumbification.

ʚ♡ɞ A/N: hello everyone!! today i bring you the good old kirishima brain rot! this is a short little piece that a lovely person commissioned and has allowed me to post!! i hope you all enjoy and have a lovely day <3

ʚ♡ɞ masterlist | requests | kofi

eijirou kirishima makes you feel loved, even on your darkest days. 

he’s a good boyfriend, caring for you with all four corners of his heart, always. even now, when you’re snug in his arms after a stressful day— the pressure of exams sitting like weights on your shoulders, leading to sleepless nights hitting the books for college tests that wouldn’t matter afterwards.

your stress was evident; in your sunken posture and the new bags under your eyes and once kirishima had caught wind of it— he’d forced you to take a break from the brain melting books and roped you into a cuddly movie night, letting scenes of the twilight saga flash across his laptop screen. 

kirishima knew it was your favourite. 

now, you’re nuzzling his side, beefy arms wrapped around you like a safety blanket, but the parasite of stress worms it’s way into your thoughts and eats at you like black necrosis, inking your veins with poison worries about your education. 

“you named my daughter after the lockness monster,” 

kirishima mouths the line, one he’s heard a thousand times, smiling at it, but frowns when you don’t quote the line too—his red crystal gaze drops to your face in concern. 

“what’s the matter, baby?” he squeezes you and reads you like an open book. 

you hate that he catches on so easily, “s’nothin’ ei, you’re missing the movie.” you mumble into his skin, eyes darting to the screen, hoping that it’s glare doesn’t reflect the tears building up.

“not true,” kirishima hums, attention diverted from the movie and focused on you, “you’re upset, it’s not nothin’ if you’re upset.” 

you take a deep breath before speaking, scared that his worried expression— brows creased and sharp teeth sinking into his lower lip, will make you burst. “i know you said tonight was supposed to be about relaxing,” you stumble over your words as he listens patiently. “but i’m still thinking of the work i’ll have to do tomorrow—“ 

“whatever you have to do, can wait, you need to take care of yourself, first,” kirishima can tell you’re about to lose it when he shushes you, his warm hand wiping away the few tears already escaping your galaxy eyes. “don’t do that baby, don’t cry,” he coos, when your bottom lip starts to wobble at his gentleness. your head shakes as you try to hide it, but your boyfriend isn’t having that. “baby, i know you’re upset, so tell me what you need and i’ll give it to you, okay?” 

“o-okay,” you sniffle tearily, overwhelmed by a weird mix of love and strain. “i dunno ei… ‘m just…” 

“just what?” eijirou prompts, cocking his head down at you. he doesn’t mean to do it, but the gesture makes you feel small. you shake your head again. 

“c’mon, i know you heard what i said, y’not gonna use the rest of your words?” shaking his head fondly, your boyfriend pushes you to lay back— lips stretched into soft, barely-there smile. “that’s okay, you don’t have to know angel. jus’ lemme take care of it all for you, alright?” eijirou’s mouth presses against yours before you can agree, slotting perfectly against your own as if it was made to kiss you and only you. he licks over your lips in slow and sensual strokes that make your tummy warm and tears burn against the corner of your eyes but it’s when his tongue laps at the deepest heat of your mouth that a small whine escapes you. 

amused and pulling away, kirishima nips your bottom lip— groaning at the string of saliva that connects you before you’re yanking him back down by his baby hairs for another wet kiss. “funny...” he pants into your mouth, “y’got so much energy to kiss me but none to tell me what you need,” 

you know he’s teasing, but still makes needy butterflies tickle the lining of your tummy. “need you ei, wan’ you to make me forget!” you whimper, missing his mouth moving along with yours.

“yeah? i’ll make you forget, fill your pretty head with thoughts of me?” kirishima says to himself more so than you, slipping his tongue back into your mouth as his hazy eyes flutter shut and a large hands drop to the cusp of your neck. he grips it between his rough fingers with enough pressure to make you mewl— reluctantly pulling his lips away from yours to draw dark marks against your throat with his pointed teeth, causing a veil of lust to cover the sanctuary of your brain. 

your body arches into his touch as eijirou’s hands start to explore every dip and curve belonging to you— pinching and pulling at whatever he can with his lips and teeth never too far behind. the temperature of his dorm room rises, heat prickling along your skin at the anticipation of being ravaged and the movie you have on becomes lost underneath kirishima’s hearty groans along with your stressors for the day. 

you’re so caught up in the sloppy kisses and the saliva trails eijirou works into your collar bones that you lose the path of hands to your cotton shorts as he peels them back with your underwear— moaning out for him desperately. “ei, please...need somethin’, do somethin’,” you chant, twisting underneath his weight when cool air hits your freshly exposed cunt.

kirishima grins, ear to ear as he blows warmly over your glistening slit— quirking a brow up at you. “see you’ve found your voice, baby,” the redhead makes his way back up your body with a trail of smooches along your tummy— stopping only at your chest to bite your nipples over your shirt. however, the hand remaining on your inner thigh starts to dance over your folds, middle finger turning over your soaking entrance. “gonna use my fingers today, okay? know how you get when i eat you out, don’t want you forgetting too much, now,” 

he chuckles lightly, but kirishima’s eyes darkened with lust— slipping one, then two fingers into your welcoming cunt— shuddering at the lewd squelch it gives at his intrusion. you nod, a whimper brewing on your wet lips when he pulls back from biting you to spit onto your sex, drawing his fingers in and out, calloused thumb circling your puffy clit. they curl inside you next, thick digits stretching you out and bearing down on your g-spot. your brain fizzes with arousal, sweet nectar leaks from your mound and with newfound motivation, eijirou’s pace picks up. 

it’s an obscene, yet passionate pattern. you moan or whine and eijirou speeds up his fingers until the sheets below are soaked through. “so needy for my fingers but just wait until i get you on my cock,” he tells you, golden skin shining with sweat, red hair mussed from your wandering hand as he grinds into the bed from watching you. 

you can’t help but cry for completely different reasons now, your boyfriend’s fingers making you shake with desire— hips unable to escape him as he fingers your pretty pussy to his heart's content and pins you down. “fuck, you’re so wet down here, haven’t even made you cum, is this all for me?” eijirou smiles, watching your eyes cross and your consciousness slip away.

“f’you eiji!” you squeak in response when he hits your pleasure spot after scissoring his fingers, making your cunt grip him hard. only for him, he’s the only one to get your body to act like this— hips running away from his brutal pace, toes curling from an impending release you know will take you out. 

“all for me? god, i must really make you feel good, huh?” he asks, the teasing lilt to his words dragging you by the ankle towards release. he feels your sex spasm around him, laughing breathily against your skin. “such a cutie, my baby likes gettin’ talked dirty to. just makes you wanna cum, doesn’t it?” 

you nod your head fast, feeling the coil in your tummy start to unwind. “uhuh, c-can i cum, eiji?” 

“go ahead ‘n cum f’me baby, tonight’s all about you,” kirishima whispers, never slowing down his hand as his palm grinds into your clit. your high follows not long after, crashing over you like stormy waves and drowning you in divine pleasure— flooding your brain with nothing but him. black spots paint your vision, body shaking violently while your high rolls over you, kirishima guiding you through. “need you to stay with me baby, ‘specially if you’re gonna take my cock,” 

kirishima grips your face, squishing your cheeks as you fall in and out of consciousness, spasming from the aftershocks of your orgasm. it’s not until you feel his fat cockhead prodding against your entrance that you come to, the familiar burn setting your nerve endings on fire. “‘m here, wan’ it please,” you babble, hips lifting up to coax more of his cock into your tightness. 

“there you are, angel—ah, fuck— gave me a little scare there,” eijirou simpers, eyes crossing as he sheaths himself fully inside your gummy cunt— all veins on his cock pressing against your squishy insides. neither of you will last long, not with how fresh your last orgasm was and how hard he got from watching you cum.

but the stress melts from your body as kirishima takes you, slow strokes smooshing his pelvis against your swollen nub and your cunt gushing while you wriggle beneath him. he’s never failed to make you feel like heaven, his hot red tip leaking angrily against your ribbed walls and jamming up against brand new pleasure spots with every thrust. your joined bodies grow slicker and slicker, dancing together in a passionate grind while kirishima buries his hot face in your neck— speaking whatever dirty words come to mind.

“you’re so good,” he tells you, hiking your leg up high on his waist, “does that feel good for you, angel?” he adds, panting against your salt licked skin and grinding the meat of his girth into your hole. you’re tight around eijirou when you come close to cumming a second time, tears loose in your eyelashes and choking the life out of his milky cock, dripping down his balls, sharp thrusts pushing more of his precum into your hot cunt.

“eiji, ei… ‘m so close!” you mumble, dazed from the drag of his dick along your velvet walls— seconds away from seeing stars. 

“i know,” kirishima’s skin slaps heavily against your own, cock bulging in your lower tummy. “can feel it baby, the way y’suck me in like that,” he chokes on a moan, bed rocking beneath you as he pulls you to orgasm. “so tight you’d almost think i didn’t fuck you enough.” eijirou’s words make you squeeze him once more, sending you both hurtling into your highs, i love yous are thrown into the air as you cream on his cock for the last time— hot spurts of his seed filling your sex as stress seeps out of your relaxed body.

eijirou’s still cumming in spurts after you’ve both collapsed, eyes searching your face. “feelin’ better, now?” he breathes, softly pushing his cum through your abused folds. 

you only have the energy to nod and smile.

how could you not be, when he loved you like this?

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

If you do Toji, I beg for some toji chubby chaser headcanons. I'm STARVING here😥

*dusts off shoulders and rolls up sleeves* alrighty, let's get to work

Tbh i lowkey don't like Toji's personality but i tried my best to make some general headcanons for you babe 🤧💕

CW: chubby fem reader, smut, not beta read bc im just a lil worm and i dont do that skskksks

Ok let's one thing straight

Mans is the biggest chubby chaser on the planet sksksk

He loves some extra cushion to grab onto so if you're curvy/plump/fat/whatever you wanna call yourself, he is THERE, he's right next to you asking for your number sksksk

Like if you've got a curvy milf bod, he's already looming over you and callin you mommy which? um? Hello? Police??

No but he loves thicc girls with his whole heart

There's so much to squeeze and grab and you best believe he's pawing at every inch of you like he's about to fall off a ledge and he's holding on for dear life

You're gonna be COVERED in marks babe, im sorry if you have somewhere to be, your best bet is to just cover yourself up

He is absolutely RUTHLESS in bed good LORD

He's gonna beat your pussy up so bad that they'll need dental records to identify her

I'm talking slapping, biting, smacking, gripping you so hard you get BRUISES jesus christ dude, if you don't chill out imma have you arrested for domestic violence i swear—

He rarely has soft moments

He's probably a fuck buddy at most bc let's be honest this man is not built for a relationship

It's not you babe! He's just trash sksksk please do not let him be any more than that bc he is gonna leave and break your heart and come back three months later to fuck and raid your fridge alexa play aint shit by doja cat sksksk

But by all means, keep him around for a good time every now and then bc you deserve to get your back blown out 😌

ANYWAYS

He's v good in bed and he's cocky about it too

He's way too good for a crusty nobody like him 😤

He finds your clit v easily and just plays with you until you're begging for his dick

And even then he doesn't give you want you want, he's a MENACE

Wants that pretty chubby pussy to squirt all over him before he fucks your brains out

He's obsessed with watching his dick push past your plump lips and slip into that ushy gushy pussy that he loves oh so much

He's got one hand on your chub at all times

Could be titty, ass, love handle, belly: he's just gotta hold onto you while he rails that pretty pussy

Likes pressing down on your belly and saying "im right here, baby. Ya feel me?"

Fav position: mating press are yall really fuckin surprised sksksks

Cmonnnnn, just let him push your knees up to your shoulders

He just wants to see your chubby bits fold up, your pretty plump pussy soaked and twitching helplessly :(

He's not gonna use a condom, don't even try to convince him bc he refuses

He wants to stuff you so full of cum that he can't fit his cock inside anymore 🤧

He mayyyyyyyy have a breeding kink sksksk like he loves creampies, the baby's just an epilogue

Shit, you already look like a milf, might as well give ya a baby pls don't have a baby with this man, take your birth control

Stretch marks make him hard sksksk

He sees those sexy tiger stripes and he's ready to risk it all

Tosses you over his shoulder way too often sksksk

Like "ayyyyyy babayyy, wanna see how strong i am? Ayee, want me to hold you up while we fuck? No? Too bad"

He's annoying and selfish most of the time but he's actually a pretty decent cook and makes you something most of the time before he dips

He acts like he doesn't care most of the time, but he still makes sure that you're alright after yall have sex

He'll pick you up if you're too weak to walk and keep you steady in the shower may or may not go another round if you're able to stand on your own

Usually jumps ship when yall are done fuckin, but over time he starts sleeping over, holding onto you tightly for at least a couple hours

He starts coming over to your place not just for sex, but to rest and recuperate, bringing along takeout and some drinks

He even invited you to the races (you said no bc who wants to go watch their fuck buddy lose all their money betting on horses?) which was weird bc he's never invited you anywhere before

He's protective of you too, always questioning who you're texting, mumbling something about how you shouldn't get involved with random guys bc they could be dangerous

You always brushed his actions off as normal "aLpHa MaLe" behavior, but you started questioning his intentions when he started grunting strange phrases during sex

"Look at you, so sweet and precious for me, my good girl"

"You love my dick, dontcha? Best dick you ever had, right? You don't need nobody else when I make you feel this good"

"Fuck, love this hot fat cunt. It's all mine, all mine."

"God, I love your body, you're so fucking good fer me. Fuck, I love you"

You never brought it up afterwards, pretending like you didn't hear anything he said or just didn't care

He's not a perfect man: he's reckless and cruel and selfish, but maybe if he grows up a bit and realigns his morals, you might join him to one of those lil races he's so fond of

[bunny-rambles]

BUNNY BUN BUN CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE!!

Milestones + events are always so much fun :DD But but but but- (unsurprisingly) I would like to request mmm #11 with Albedo + fluff!

ehehee

11 - “I’ve dreamt about this.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

characters; Albedo, gn reader

cw/tw; vague mention of children, slightly surreal in the beginning, but otherwise it’s just fluff

word count; 800+

notes; Ahh hi Basil !! I actually wasn’t expecting you to even see that I had reached 200, but I’m so happy you requested something !! I’m actually pretty nervous about this, your writing was definitely a huge part in inspiring me to create my own blog, so I really hope you like this heh,,, enjoy !! (also, ofc i had to put a tiny sprinkle of papa bedo in there, just a tiny oneee- your brain worms get to me, give me more papa bedo content pls pls) @dourpeep

event; 200 milestone

Please reblog if you liked this !!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Albedo.”

A disembodied voice calls him.

He turns his head, looking left to right, but he could never find the source, even with the amount of times he’s been in this situation.

“Albedo.”

It calls once more and he takes a hesitant step in the direction he believes it was coming from. The voice is one filled with warmth, comfort and… He couldn’t quite put his finger on the third emotion it elicited from him. It draws him in, like a moth to a flame. Something blooms in his chest the louder the voice gets, his footsteps quickening. Who are you? He thinks. They sound so familiar, but he’s certain he’s never heard them before. He goes through the list, like he always does. It’s not Klee, they sound far too mature. There’s no teasing lilt, so it’s not Kaeya either. Sucrose? No, not her, rarely does she refer to him by his name without a title. Just as he’s about to give up, turn away to another direction, he spots it.

A shadowy figure, facing away from him. They seem to be holding- no, cradling something. His name is clear in the air now, louder than it's ever been. He feels like he belongs here, with this voice, this stranger. The rational side of him is telling him this is dangerous, it could be a trap, but it doesn’t stop his curious fingers reaching out to them. But just as he was about to confront whoever had been calling for him, the vision fades.

He blinks. Once. Twice, for good measure, before sitting up slowly. The book that had been resting on his chest falls to the floor with a quiet thump, but he pays it no mind. It's been years since he’s had ‘the dream’. It used to happen every night, always the same. A voice would call out to him, and he would try to follow it. Sometimes he’d wander, and never find what he was looking for. Other times, he’d see shadows. One figure, sometimes a smaller one accompanying it. But he had never been able to catch a glimpse of anything but apparitions. Why now? The dreams only stopped when he-

“Albedo.” A gentle voice calls him.

He tilts his head up to look at none other than you, and something vaguely familiar begins to grow in his chest. The third feeling he could never summarise: love. You gently move some of the strands of hair away from his eyes, fingers moving to run through his golden locks. He leans into the touch, and lets your name slip past his lips. The sound makes your lips curl, and you lean forward to press them to his forehead. “Why don’t you come to bed, dear?” You suggest quietly, softly against his skin. His fingers reach out to you once again, as he had done so many times, and finally made contact. Slowly, after he circles your wrist with delicate fingers, he brings your hand up to his lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment.

They stopped when he met you.

He was yet to meet the other, smaller figure, but that was another mystery for a later date. Soon, he hopes. As he rises from the couch, hand in hand with you, his hold tightens. Yes, he thinks.

This is what I’ve dreamed about.

Being by your side like this brought back the pleasant memory of that faint feeling of belonging. Now, he does not need to cling onto the memory. He feels it so strongly. The dream, the shadow, it could not hold a candle to how you made him feel when he was wrapped up in your arms like this. His own pull you in closer, his head resting against your chest.

“Albedo?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

The small bud growing in his chest finally blossoms. His head raises, your lips touch. He places another sweet peck before he pulls away, then he breathes his reply.

“I love you, too.”

The dream doesn’t follow him again. Instead, another takes its place.

“Albedo!”, your voice calls.

“Papa!”, another one follows.

He prefers this dream instead.