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saintsenara · 7 months ago

Note

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?” He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!” He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.” Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious. “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ” Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?” riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort #if wizards had the concept of safeguarding it would be a game changer...

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 month ago

Text

Angstober (day 10)

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Prompt: Humiliation

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Bucky is a jerk (he does have a sense of regret); reader is humiliated; mentions of self-doubt and insecurities; toxic and strict parents; hurt!reader; sad!reader; ending is quite open but not really happy

Angstober Masterlist

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the sheet of paper in front of you - the exam your professor just handed back, corrected. And it seems like there were quite a few things needing to be corrected.

82%

The number burns behind your eyes, but you don’t get your gaze to turn away. It sits there so innocently as if it doesn’t matter. As if there isn’t something at stake here. As if you could be satisfied with it.

Your mouth goes dry. You had studied days and nights for this exam, as you always do, buried yourself in textbooks, flashcards, anything to cram more information into your already overloaded brain. All for 82%.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your skin prickling with it, like embarrassment and dread decided to team up against you, merging into something gruesome, something you can’t escape.

Around you, students already started to pack up their bags, laughing, chattering, moving on. But you can’t move. You’re frozen on this bench, apprehension sinking into your bones and making them too heavy to lift your body.

Thinking that way over a grade - with it being objectively even a decent one - would perhaps be considered dramatic. Some fellow students had cheered at much lower numbers when the professor handed out the results earlier. And perhaps, you would have even been okay with this. Perhaps you could even allow yourself a tiny flicker of satisfaction if this were about you. But it’s not. It never is.

It’s about your parents.

It’s basically ingrained in them to scrutinize every part of you, every grade, every decision. They keep close tabs on everything you do, everything that may be a hazard for the path they laid out for you a long time ago. But you don’t walk this path voluntarily. You’re being pushed, forced to take steps closer to a dream you never claimed as your own. And that can only weigh a person down.

So maybe you’re not even that surprised about the grade. Pressure is a bitch. Especially when it’s boiling, simmering under the surface, until your mind can’t comprehend the simplest of information anymore. But they won’t consider anything like that when they find out. And they will find out. They always do. It’s like they have eyes everywhere, monitoring you, waiting for you to slip.

And 82%? You may as well have flunked the entire thing.

The last time you fell short of their expectations had been 86%. Funnily enough, it was the exam before this one, so that makes things even worse. Your parents had acted like you dragged the family name through the mud and intentionally smeared it all over just to spite them.

And every word they threw at you was laced with that cutting edge that usually ends up making you feel small, insignificant, stupid. Really, it doesn’t stop there.

You don’t live with them anymore. You took the chance and moved away for college the second you could, hoping for an escape, carte blanche, freedom, whatever the hell people like to call it.

But the distance wasn’t able to cut the ties. They’re still there. Their expectations, their rules, fighting for dominance in the back of your head and hanging over you like a dark cloud. And you know with chilling certainty that this 82% is going to rain hell on your head.

Your hands feel heavy, too heavy to lift, too heavy to even pack up your things like everyone else. You just sit, paralyzed by the weight of their disappointment that hasn’t even happened yet, but you know is coming.

“Y/n!”

Wanda’s voice reaches you through the haze, your thoughts had blurred into. Her voice carries hints of that teasing tone she loves to use on you.

“Pack up, slowpoke! I gotta catch my bus!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter, blinking yourself out of that numbness that had been creeping in. You snatch up that exam paper and shove it into your bag, crumbling it in the process but not at all caring. It’s better out of sight. You throw the rest of your stuff into the bag as well and rush to the door of the lecture hall, meeting Wanda there.

You two take different buses to get home every day but always walk to the bus station together after the classes of the day are over. And thank god this was the last one of the day, the last one of the week.

A weekend to drown yourself in your sorrows is what you need.

“Soo…” Wanda sing-songs, a hint of something in her voice. “There’s this party tonight…” she trails off, giving you a sideways glance, eyes wide with expectation and a bright grin on her face.

You sigh. Heavily. Deeply. “Wan-” you start, already shaking your head without turning to her, but she doesn’t let you get far.

“Come on, Y/n,” she practically begs, drawing out the words. “You’ve been working yourself to death for weeks. And now that the exams are over, we don’t have anything due for ages! We’ve got time. And, well, don’t punch me for this, but you need to come out, let off some steam.”

You don’t give her much of a reaction as you carry on with your steps, head turned forward, watching the bus station in the distance grow bigger. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’m not-” you start your usual rejection, but she is relentless, already prepared for your banter.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time. It’ll be fun, you’ll meet some new people, let loose a little,” she nudges you lightly, “forget about the dragons for a while.”

At that, a huff of laughter escapes your lips and you make out the triumph in Wanda’s eyes even though you’re still not looking at her directly. At some point, Wanda had resigned to calling your parents the dragons. You took offense at that for them for a while. Or you tried to at least but, honestly, it actually made your situation with them humorous to some twisted extent.

You want to argue. You want to dig your heels in and tell her no like you usually do. But you’re tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the accusations of your parents - the dragons - you will have to prepare for, tired of that weight that never really moves off your shoulders.

So you really can’t be mad at yourself for this.

“Alright, fine, whatever. But just this once.”

Wanda squeals.

****

Yeah, this was a mistake.

The moment you and Wanda put foot into the room, vibrating with music that leaves you stumbling, eyes move over to you.

Actually, perhaps, it aren’t even many. But receiving attention from a whole bunch of people isn’t something that happens to you on a daily basis, so having those few students turn in your direction, ogling your form as you walk into the life of the party, overwhelms you with an intensity that forces you to halt.

You had hoped you could use this night to finally forget, to get an escape where no one would notice you. That doesn’t seem to happen. Wanda also doesn’t let you retreat back into the night, and find solace in a bottle somewhere far from here - somewhere quiet.

“Hey!”

You know that voice. You hate that voice and everything that belongs to its owner.

“Took a wrong turn there, sweetheart. Library’s the other way!”

There’s a laugh in his voice, the exaggerated mocking he always uses to taunt you, perfectly edged into it and you pretend not to hear him, only gripping Wanda’s arm tighter. His friends sharp laughter isn’t ignored that easily though, and you feel that well-known shame boil over far too easily.

“Oh, how would you know, Barnes?” Wanda shoots back, her voice mocking, but lacking that same playfulness she used with you earlier. A few more snorts from Bucky’s group follow but you don’t turn around as Wanda pulls you passed them.

You hate this. Already.

Bucky is at every party, so you knew he would be here. And you had tried to mentally prepare for his presence, steeled yourself against the jibes and insults he usually throws at you. Well, at least you had thought you were ready. But no amount of preparation could ever arm you against the venom sneaking into your thoughts at every word of his. How they latch onto the darkest corners of your mind, feeding the doubts already planted there.

It’s always been this way with him. He has always been this way. Since the first semester, it’s as if he has a vendetta against you, and you’ve become his favorite target. It started with him noticing you sitting over a textbook in the library, in the mensa, in study halls, all over campus really, and he made sure to always point it out. To make fun of it. To make fun of you.

Perhaps there is some warped entertainment in your discomfort that he savors. You’re an easy mark - soft-spoken, non-confrontational. You don’t fight back. Instead, you bury your hurt, swallowing the insecurities he rises in you, without showing a soul. Your parents were good at teaching you how to do that.

He doesn’t see how deeply his jokes cut, because you never let him see it. But you don’t think he’d care if he did.

“Does this not ever get boring to you?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to remember you if you stay holed up in your books all the time”

“At some point, you gotta focus on the right things in life, sugar.”

Once they’re said, they never leave your head, always coming to the forefront of your mind in times you can’t handle them.

Now is one of those times.

“Wanda, I’m leaving,” you say, words holding the determination you needed all day, yanking your arm free from her grip, harsher than intended.

You need to get out of here, need to take a fucking breath, and get a taste of the cool air outside since the heat flooding your blood and skin makes it feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

You make for the door, but his voice finds you again.

“Now, hold on, where you goin'? Can’t leave yet, L/n. You just got here.”

You don’t stop at his bullshit, willing yourself to ignore him. But your fingers start trembling, growing slick with sweat.

“And hey, since I get the chance to talk to you… 82%?”

You freeze.

Your heart stutters, a cold shock icing your veins. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room leaving you to search for oxygen. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction, but you’re stuck. Glued to the spot, giving him and his words the power to anchor you in place.

“Really?” Bucky continues, voice still dripping with teasing mockery, unaware of your struggle. “With all those all-nighters at the library? I gotta say, Y/n, that’s actually impressive.”

The rushing sound in your ears devours everything else - the way Wanda jumps in to your defense, as always; the same menacing laughter of his friends - it’s all drowned out by the pounding in your skull.

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. You feel the burn of tears, that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, and you fight it. You fight it because the last thing you want is to cry in front of him, in front of all these people, all these damn prying eyes.

You turn around without even thinking, your gaze locking onto Bucky’s. He’s grinning that satisfied smirk, a gleam in his eyes but then, in a space of a heartbeat, his expression changes, falters. His smile is wiped off his face in seconds as his eyes widen. Shock enters his features, easing the lines and sucking out the color on his face as his lips part slightly, slowly.

You can’t place his reaction, but you figure it out when your body betrays you. Lips trembling, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth but you can’t do anything for the tears blurring your vision rapidly.

Bucky is still staring at you, frozen, gaping; his face a mix of something you don’t want to concentrate on. He’s not the one allowed to be in pain right now. He’s not the one allowed to feel the rising load of agony. So why the hell does he look like it?

You turn on your heel as the hot tears start gliding down your cheeks and your body doesn’t feel like your own as you hastily make your way to the door. Your hand flies to your mouth, hoping it will stifle the sound of the sob that emerges from deep within, trying to hold onto the last shred of control and dignity you have left as you bolt from the room.

You’ve never left a place this fast before.

Not even your parent's house.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

#angstober 2024 #angstober2024 #day 10 #marvel mcu #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky Barnes x reader angst #bucky angst #college!reader #college!bucky #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader

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thebramblewood · 3 months ago

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Helena's not a killer (yet)! Let's party!

Previous / Next

Lilith: What surprises me more is not that you’ve had it all along but that I had no idea. I thought I knew all your secrets.

Caleb: [under breath] Hardly voluntarily.

Lilith: Speak up, baby brother.

Caleb: [slightly louder] It wasn’t a secret. I simply never wished to revisit the memories. But the record seemed worth preserving, so I tucked it away for safekeeping and did my best to forget it.

Lilith: Until you decided to hand it over to her without my permission.

Caleb: [laughs bitterly] Cut the outrage, Lilith. If anything, you should be thanking me. I can already tell she likes you better because of it. I did you a favor by chipping away some of your hard edges.

Lilith: [amused] Maybe you should be thanking me. I haven’t heard so much force in your voice since-

Helena: [sudden frantic shriek]

Lilith: Is she all right?

Drusilla: [agitated yowl]

Caleb: Is she all right?

Lilith: Helena?

Caleb: Drusilla?

Helena: [breathlessly] Look! Look!

Lilith: What are we looking at?

Helena: My sister finally updated her feed. They’re alive! I didn’t kill them!

Lilith: Well, that’s certainly a relief.

Caleb: You could say it like you mean it.

Lilith: Of course I mean it! I would never advocate killing children — unless they were particularly nasty ones. How do you feel, Helena?

Helena: Lucky. Grateful. Relieved.

Lilith: That particular storm cloud has been hanging over your head for far too long. Now, we can all finally relax. In fact, we should celebrate, the three of us together for once! And I think I know just the place.

#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #sims 4 story #story: hzid #caleb vatore #lilith vatore #helena zhao #julia zhao #guy aoki #elli ball #alma nishidake #drusilla the cat #caleb has gone full cat dad #him being more worried about dru than helena 😭#oh lilith is going to steal her out from under his influence easily #the last shot 🥰🥰🥰#my precious baby angels who have never been wronged or done anyone else wrong in their entire lives!!!

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arcanesea · 5 months ago

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blossom

PAIRING: bang chan x f!reader GENRE: fluff WC: 0.9k WARNINGS: none, just kisses:] a/n. [based on this request ! my brain never worked so quick when i saw a prompt. everyone say thank you anon for requesting heheh. also, sorry for taking so long to get back to you, dear anon😞]

“A penny for your thought?” Chan asked, taking a seat right next to you, making your whole body shiver when his arms brushed yours. You turned your head slightly, eyes landing quickly on the thing under his nose. You blink before forcing a smile. Act normal, please, act normal.

You really can’t.

It’s not like you haven’t been kissed by him, who has been your boyfriend for the last couple of months. But it hits differently when you dream about a specific kissing scene. Maybe it was the influence of numerous romance dramas you watched, combined with the fact that you can’t get enough of his kiss. Maybe you’re going crazy. Crazy in love. Or it’s a mix of both.

“A penny is too cheap,” you replied jokingly, trying to not sound too nervous. You don’t dare to look at him again because your heart is starting to go thump-thump-thump under your ribcage and one look at Chan might just give you a heart attack on site.

The thing is you can’t get the image out of your head. The dream you had last night. Of you and Chan. Kissing. Under the rain.

It always looks so romantic on TV, but you hate that the majority of them always start after a heated argument. You understand the desperation, you understand the appeal of the angst, but the dream you had last night was just… so… sweet.

“A kiss?” he offered leaning in your direction with a playful smile. Your eyes widen and you can feel heat spread across your face. Chan laughed a little before teasing you even more, making you stand up from the sofa. “You’re blushing, you know that? Haven’t I kissed my beautiful girlfriend today?” he asks, following you to the kitchen where you take a glass of water and drink it hastily. Praying that it could cool you down.

You glance out the window. These days the skies have been a bit moody and then as if on cue, it starts to rain.

Chan’s hand snake on your waist, hugging you from behind. The gears on your head are turning. You had to bring that image to life even if that meant you’ll catch a cold afterwards. But how? You can’t directly say to him that you want to kiss under the rain… It feels so childish… Besides, it will just catapult his ego out of this planet and he'll bring it up to you on all possible occasions.

“Where are you?” Chan asked, pressing a kiss on the side of your temple. It feels like the contact of his lips and your skin turned on the switch in your brain.

You turned to face him, leaning in closer until your nose met each other. His eyes fluttered close, but you use that moment to escape his strong arms into the front door. In the back of your head, you can see him with a lowered head, hands on both hips, all while trying not to smile at your sudden prank. You let yourself roam the road, feeling the rain turn from a drizzle into a more constant shower.

Chan followed you out but made no movement to join you who started to run around in the empty road. It’s been ages since you voluntarily stand under the rain and actually enjoy it. The rain always does an excellent job of washing away your worries for a while.

You stopped, with hands outstretched to him. Inviting. Waiting. Please take the bait, please take the bait, you wished. “Catch me if you can,” was the word you half-shouted to him.

He raised his eyebrow, seemingly unamused. It’s a mental game, waiting around on who can stand being five feet away from each other. But like every other time, he loses this one too when he stepped out from the porch into the pouring rain.

You dodged him when he tried to trap you in a hug, laughing like a little kid. When you look at him, you swear that he’s the prettiest thing on earth. He’s like a flower who just gets watered; vibrant, full of colors. And his smile, God, his smile is enough for you to stand under the rain forever.

You give up at last. Letting him attack you with tickles all over your body.

“I admit defeat,” you try to squeeze in between laughs. He stopped tickling without taking his hands off your waist. Pulling you closer and turning you to face him. “Hi,” you said when you finally met Chan face to face.

“You’re having too much fun for someone who might complain about their cold and runny nose the next couple of days, babe,” he said. You just smile sheepishly before tiptoeing to give him a quick kiss. “That’s it?” he asks back. You nodded in reply. He tch-ed, head dipped to meet your trembling lips. You circle your hand on his neck as he lifts you up from the ground, spinning you around a bit. His lips taste like the honey chapstick he uses, warm against your own.

“That’s definitely better than my dream,” you admit with a wide smile. You’re cradling his head, forehead pressed against each other. Chan laughs earnestly, finally seeing behind the curtains.

“Next time you have some romance scenarios in your head, just tell me,” Chan offered. You roll your eyes, still holding the smile on your face.

What once woke you up from your sleep now becomes the image you see before you close your eyes. A thousand times better than any scenes you ever watch and definitely worth the cold that comes after too.

a/n. i wrote this in like 2 hours i didn't know how it got this long maybe i just missed him a little too much:/

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withacapitalp · 10 months ago

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Hurricane Joy

Written for the STWG Daily Prompt "applesauce". This is just a little snippet of a universe where Steve's parents left him with a little half sister, and he and Eddie are dancing around some feelingsssss

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“Joy, I’ll pay you five bucks to eat. You want five bucks? You can do so many things with five bucks!”

“Careful there, Harrington. Don’t all those parenting books say bargaining with children develops bad habits?” Eddie asked as he entered the kitchen, finding Steve sitting in front of Joy with applesauce absolutely covering both of their faces.

“They’ve never had to take on Hurricane Joy and the applesauce of doom,” Steve groaned, pouting in Eddie’s direction as he walked further into the room, pausing to pat Steve on the back as he approached the two.

“So how is our baby bean today?” Eddie asked, pressing an exaggerated kiss to the top of Joy’s head and listening to her squeal in glee as he did.

Sure, she had been named after Joyce, but a part of Eddie was honestly convinced that Joy had heard her name once and then made it her mission to live up to it every single second of the day. Even her epic meltdown moments ended up being funny to watch.

“Well she’s happy as a clam, but breakfast has taken,” Steve paused to look at his watch, sighing and shaking his head when he saw the time, “Over an hour. Applesauce is my enemy, Eds, I swear to god it is.”

“Well maybe if you stop making faces at her it would go faster,” Eddie suggested, barely holding back his laughter as Steve gave him the world’s bitchiest look before turning back to Joy with renewed vigor.

“I’m not making faces,” Steve said, continuing to make weird faces at the baby as he tried and failed to spoon applesauce into her mouth. Joy cooed at her brother’s antics, smiling a bright gummy smile as the applesauce dribbled out of her mouth.

“C’mon, Joy, work with me,” Steve begged, holding out the spoon, “Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Joy burbled, grabbing at the spoon and trying to yank it out of Steve’s grip, flinging applesauce everywhere as she did. Eddie dodged the bit that had been heading for his hair, trying not to burst into laughter as he watched a glob land directly in the middle of Steve’s forehead.

“Maybe her favorite babysitter should give it a shot?” Eddie offered, trying to act like he wasn’t dying from laughter inside. Most of the time Steve took things fine, but Eddie knew there was a deeply hidden part of his best friend that took every single ‘failure’ as even more evidence he wasn’t cut out to raise his half-sister on his own.

“Her favorite babysitter is Wayne and you know it,” Steve said with a sigh, voluntarily releasing the spoon and walking over to the sink to wash himself off.

“Yes, but Wayne was the one who used to get me to eat when I was in silly moods too,” Eddie replied, unable to keep from changing his tone to complete babytalk as he sat in front of Joy. It was just impossible to not want to make those chubby cheeks turn up into a big grin, “Yes he was. I was a silly boy just like you’re a silly silly girl!”

Joy wiggled in her high chair, slapping her hands down on the tray table as she babbled.

“And how exactly did he do that?” Steve asked dryly, wiping his face on a clean washcloth and tossing it over his shoulder as he leaned against the sink.

“Usually with pliers and a crowbar,” Eddie immediately shot back.

He waited for a few seconds, watching Steve get paler and paler until he was forced to put the man out of his misery.

“Kidding! Geez, Stevie, lighten up.”

“Sorry I guess I’m just nervous,” Steve said, flapping a hand as he walked closer, reaching down with the washcloth to clean up Joy’s face, “Since it’s the first time…”

He trailed off with a sigh, avoiding eye contact with Eddie and focusing on Joy. Completely unaware, she looked up at her brother, sticking her tongue out and cackling to herself as she did.

She truly was the world’s cutest baby, but Eddie had someone equally cute he needed to focus his attention on.

“Everything’s fine now, I promise.” Eddie said, putting down the cup and spoon and coaxing Steve into a hug. He held Steve tight, feeling the other boy clinging on just as hard, burrowing his face into Eddie’s shoulder as he released the tension that had been holding him hostage since the moment Eddie walked in.

It made sense that Steve was so frazzled. This was the first time he was leaving Joy home without him.

“You’ll go to your shift, you’ll come home with a VHS, we’ll put the baby down, and we’ll celebrate, just you and me” Eddie said, laying the day out in easy to follow steps and hoping that would ease some of Steve’s anxiety, “Me and Joy will stay here the whole day. The only place we’ll go is in the backyard, and I’ll make sure she wears a jacket and shoes if we do,”

“Starting to sound pretty domestic there Munson,” Steve mumbled, but Eddie could hear the smile on his lips.

“I’m a regular Lucy Ricardo,” Eddie declared, pulling away from Steve and gently pushing him towards the door, “Now shoo. Go bring home the bacon, Big Daddy.”

Steve turned red in a second, even the tips of his ears burning a dusty rouge as he shoved Eddie away and spluttered for something to say. It was a lot harder for Steve to think of snappy comebacks now that he had implemented a no cursing rule in the house, and Eddie was planning on taking advantage of that in every way he could.

Joy was amazing for everything she did, even the unintentional things.

“I love you, baby. I’ll be home soon. You be a good girl for Eddie,” Steve crooned, giving Joy a thousand kisses before he turned to leave, pausing for a second before walking back over and pressing a firm kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“Be home at five, Darling. You better have dinner in the oven and waiting,” Steve ordered, flashing Eddie a tricky little grin before he disappeared out the door. Eddie blinked rapidly at the air in front of him, as if he could will Steve back into existence so he could demand to know exactly what the fuck had just happened.

“Your brother’s trying to kill me, Joy.” Eddie moaned, hiding his face behind his hair as Joy continued to shout nonsense words in his direction

#steve harrington #stranger things #st #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie #st drabble #steve and eddie #Joy Munson #stwgdailyprompt

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tasteleeknow · 2 years ago

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ZIPPER TWO

PAIRING: minho x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. established relationship. minho pov. CONTENT: 18+ only. shy reader. desperation. mutual obsession. unprotected intercourse. body worship. grinding. subtle corruption!kink. possessive behaviour. WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: it’s minho’s turn to dress you up.

PART ONE | DRABBLE: SWEAT | PART TWO

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

He knows what to get you the moment you suggest he choose an outfit for you in return. He orders it from the floor, still splayed out on his back after you’d pecked his forehead and left to shower. Telling you that would ruin the fun, though. So he doesn’t. He enjoys the way you get more and more impatient, the way you struggle to keep your enthusiasm hidden from him. You want it; you want him to wrap you up in a pretty little bow of his choosing so he can unwrap you again. You're his to play with and you like it.

It wasn’t a revelation, how much you enjoyed the sex. He knew that. The new part was the extent of it, the news that you felt… something close to the way he felt about you. Obsessed was the word you’d used. He liked it, the idea of you being filled with him in this other way.

The package had arrived a few days earlier. He’d hidden it away until he knew you both had a day free. He wanted an entire day to enjoy it, to savour it.

“Do you wanna go see a movie?” you mumble from your position on his lap. You’re spread out on the couch, head on his lap as you scroll through your phone. The leg you aren’t resting on bounces as he anticipates his plans for the day.

“No.”

You lower your phone to look up at him. “What do you wanna do, then?” you question.

He smiles, tracing his finger over your face and ignoring your question.

He’s only slightly discomforted when you grumble at his lack of answer and pull yourself up from his lap. He’ll have his fill of you soon, he reminds himself.

“Answer me,” you insist.

“Okay,” is all he says, amused by the way your bottom lip pushes out in a small pout. He grabs your arm as you attempt to stand and pulls you back into his lap. “I have a present for you,” he mumbles into your shoulder, lips brushing your warm skin.

“A present?” you question, still a little grumpy before you suddenly pull back from him to see his face. “You mean…”

“It’s under the bed if you wanna—”

You clamber off his lap before he can finish, disappearing down the hallway and leaving him there to adjust himself a little in his shorts. Don’t get excited before you even start, he reminds himself. He chuckles a little to himself at his own anticipation. It was stupid really, to be this pent up when he’d been anything but deprived of you. Still, he was ravenous, never satisfied—and the idea of you walking out in minutes wearing what he picked out of you was like dangling a steak in front of a starved animal.

He holds his breath when you peek around the corner about 20 minutes later, big eyes giving away your nervousness. His fingers twitch where they rest on his thigh, itching to palm himself again. He fucking knew you’d get all shy on him. Perfect.

“Show me, baby,” he encourages, attempting to keep his coaxing gentle and calm.

“Is this really what you picked?”

“Let me see.”

You step around the corner hesitantly, looking down at yourself and attempting to pull the tiny white dress down your thighs a little. He drops his head back, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. Your sweet, shy voice is what forces him to face what he’d voluntarily brought upon himself.

“Is it alright?”

His lips pull into a lopsided smirk at the absurdity of the question. Alright? He drags his eyes over you, from the white sheer stockings pulled up to your thighs, the tiny dress that he’s sure barely covers you from behind, to the white feather wings peaking over your shoulders. He pulls himself to his feet and takes a few slow steps towards you.

“You’re fucking angelic,” he mutters when his eyes finally meet yours. You laugh, a small breathy one. Still shy. “Come here,” he says.

You take a small, hesitant step towards him. Then, when he holds his arms open, you practically leap at him—wrapping your arms around his neck and clinging to him like you hadn’t climbed off his lap mere minutes ago and were reuniting after a long separation. He squeezes you as hard as he can without taking your breath away, luxuriating in the feeling of you against him.

“Why this?” you murmur into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin.

“You’re my angel,” he whispers, nuzzling into your hair a little. “So sweet, mm?”

“Yours,” you mutter, clinging onto him tighter.

“Mm, baby. All mine.”

His hands run down your back to play a little with the hem of your dress, the tips of his fingers brushing against your warm skin.

“I think you should put the shirt on,” you whisper into his neck.

He pulls away a little so he can see your face. “Why’s that?” he asks, smirking a little at the innocent expression you’re managing to maintain. He’s surprised you hadn’t asked him to wear that thing everyday since you’d bought it, especially after the day you’d dropped to your knees when you’d found him working out in it.

“Don’t you think it’ll looking nice…” you don’t look at his eyes as you speak, fiddling instead with his collar. “If you wear all black… black and white…” you finish.

“You want us to match? Are you planning to leave the house in this?”

You shake your head slightly, mumbling something under your breath. He tilts your chin up with one of his fingers. “What was that?” he asks.

“Will you put it on?” you ask, sweetly. “I just—I… had this dream…”

“Mm?”

“You were in all black…. and I was in white… a bit like this.”

“When did you have this dream?”

“The day you… wore the shirt to work out.”

“The dream you were grumpy about?”

“I wasn’t grumpy,” you mumble. Then you look up into his eyes. “Please, Min?”

You know just as well as he does what he’s going to say next, what he always says when you ask something of him.

“Okay.”

You detach yourself from him quickly, turning to dash off. You stop after a few steps and turn back to him to press a soft kiss to his cheek. Then you’re gone. He watches you disappear around the corner and out of his sight before he collapses back onto the couch to wait. He closes his eyes, trying to preserve the image of your tiny dress swaying around your hips as you’d excitedly bounced away from him. He’d spent the last few weeks attempting to picture it, the way your soft thighs would look framed by the white stockings and the short hem. He hadn’t been able to do it justice.

You didn’t wear dresses or skirts often, and never this short. He imagines making you wear it around the house, keeping his eyes on you as you stand on your tiptoes to reach something in the kitchen. He could approach you from behind, press you into the counter and slip his fingers into your mouth. He keeps his eyes closed and his head back when he hears you reenter the room.

“I got it,” you announce as you climb over him, pressing your soft lips to his neck. He groans a little as your fingers slip under his shirt. “What is it?” you question, fingers stilling.

“Preparing myself.”

“Prepare?”

His eyes flutter open as he lifts his head and there you are, a little angel perched in his lap. He did this to himself. He pulls his shirt over his head, replacing it with the black shirt you hand him.

“Good?” he questions as you adjust the zip, ensuring a large portion of his chest is showing.

You nod, eyes fixed on where you trace over his chest with your fingers.

“It’s my turn,” he reminds you, amused with the dazed expression on your face. They’d sewn something into this shirt, he’s convinced; threaded aphrodisiacs or fairy dust into the stitching.

“I know,” you sigh dreamily, offering him a small shy smile before pecking his lips softly. He hums, wrapping his arms around you and tugging you closer—brushing his lips over yours. You aren’t kissing properly yet, just exchanging breath, tickling each other with your lips.

He’s the one to give in first, hand moving to hold the back of your head so he can slot his lips between yours properly. You’re sweet, sweet and all his. Then a tiny sound slips from your mouth and he’s had enough, enough of waiting and being patient and calm. He holds you tightly as he pulls you both up from the couch, refusing to remove his lips from yours for a single moment. You take small steps backwards as he guides you towards the bedroom, the journey made much harder by his refusal to detach from you.

“Stand here for me,” he says, desperation leaking from his voice. He pulls your arms from around his shoulders, leaving you standing at the end of the bed. He takes a few steps away from you, giving him the space he needs to take you in fully.

He can’t help but be proud of himself as he trails his eyes over you. He always liked when you got shy around him. It made him feel like you cared, like your feelings for him overwhelmed you. It gave him hope. Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your dress, pulling it down a little. He drops to his knees and shuffles towards you, hands reaching out to wrap around your thighs—just above where the stockings end.

“So soft,” he mumbles, leaning forward a little to brush his lips over your thighs, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash. He can’t resist flicking his tongue out, taking a small taste of your warm skin. “Angel,” he mutters.

Your fingers thread into his hair at the top of his head, just to play with the strands, not controlling him in any way. He’s grateful, because he needs to be in control this time. It’s his turn to play.

His nose brushes over your skin as he moves up your thigh until he reaches your dress. He knows you love his thighs, but he doesn’t think you know how much he loves yours. Do you know how soft they are… or how hard it makes him the way they get warmer close to your centre? It reminds him of how it feels to be buried inside you… how hot you are around him.

He takes a deep breath as he lifts the hem of your dress. Then he groans, dropping his head as he realises what you’ve done.

“There wasn’t any underwear,” you say innocently. “I just put on what was in the box.”

He lifts his eyes to your bare pussy and presses a kiss to your mound. He’d assumed you would wear some of your own underwear, and hadn't thought to buy any special. You’d clearly thought it was intentional, that he wanted you like this. A happy mistake.

“I should take you out like this. Let everyone see how fucking perfect you are, hm?” he says as he stands and pulls you into his body. “My perfect little angel. Only I’d know your little pussy is naked under here.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “They’d have no fucking idea.” Then the other corner. “You look so innocent… so sweet… they’d never imagine you’re not wearing panties, hm?”

Your big eyes widen a little, flicking across his face in an attempt to determine his sincerity. “It’s too short.”

“Mm? You don’t wanna?” he asks, untangling your hair from the feathery wings attached to your back. “Are you too shy, baby?”

You nod, pressing your face into his neck.

“Mm, I know, angel. It’s okay.” he soothes, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. “You’re mine, aren’t you? Just for me.”

You nod again, humming against his skin. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to put action to his words, to show you how much he means it. You’re his, you’re his in the way he looks down at his hand and considers it his hand. He imagines separating himself from either would be equally devastating. Obsessed, was the word you’d used.

“Can I have you now?” he whispers, lips brushing the skin behind your ear.

“Can’t lie down with the wings.”

He hums. “You’ll have to stay on top, then.”

You pull away from his neck, brows pulled together a little in confusion. “You want me on top?” you question. “For your turn?”

“Is it that unbelievable?”

“I guess not. It’s just—”

“It’s what I want,” he says, interrupting you. “I promise.”

He has to catch your wrist when you go to climb onto the bed. “Not yet,” he says, tugging you back towards him. “Wanna try something else first.”

You smile, a knowing smile.

“What?” he asks.

“I knew there would be something else.”

He pulls your mouth to his, unable to resist when your pretty lips are pulled into a tiny teasing smile. He knows what he has planned will test his self control, that this whole exercise has been a form of self torture. He’d dressed you up as a little angel, he was the one that forgot to provide you with anything to wear underneath, he was the one pulling you against him now and slipping his cock from his pants, he was the one lifting your dress up so he can slip his already throbbing cock between your thighs.

He groans as your warm cunt slips along his length, wet and ready for him. “Squeeze your thighs together, baby,” he instructs, barely pulling his lips from yours long enough to get the words out. You obey, trapping his cock in the tiny little gap between your warm pussy and soft thighs. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Just like that.”

You whine into his mouth, practically clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to get closer to him. He understands the feeling, arms around you tightening a little harder as he devours you. You’re so warm, so warm and soft, wetness leaking out onto his cock. All his.

His hand slip down to your hips, giving him the leverage he needs to start slipping back and forth a little against you, fucking into the little gap you’ve made for him. “My little angel,” he gasps. “Letting me slide my cock against you like this…”

You nibble on his top lip a little before responding. “Feels nice, Min. So nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm, you always make me feel so nice.”

He groans, pulling you hard against him. He can feel the air kissing his tip, his cock slipping all the way along your cunt to poke out between your thighs from behind. He imagines how it must look, how you must look in the tiny dress and thigh high stockings, being held up against him on your tiptoes, little pussy being used to warm his cock. Then you start sucking on his neck, little mumbled praises slipping out between sucks.

Your feathery white wings fan over him, making him feel like he’s enclosed in you, consumed. His fingers dig a little into your hips as he pulls you back and forth on his cock, balancing between letting himself go and holding back, being patient. Then he pulls back a little too far and when he pulls you towards him again his tip nudges your twitching entrance. He stops, sucking in a deep breath, maintaining control. He’s throbbing against you, tempted to slip the tip inside you and have a small taste. He won’t last, he knows he won’t. He holds you still for a moment, gathering the self control he needs to pull back and continue as he was, letting his cock slide against you again—spreading your lips to coat his cock in your slick.

Your suckling at his neck is messier now, sloppy. You’re whimpering between kisses and he drinks in the sweet sounds: nectar.

“Please,” you whimper. “Inside.”

You only need to ask once at the best of times, but like this? He has no chance. He reluctantly pulls himself from between your thighs and takes your hand, leading you onto the bed with him. Your eyes are watery, a clear sign of your desperation. He wants to make it better, make you feel nice.

He lies on his back, guiding you to settle over him. He can’t look away when you sink down, your wings spread out behind you. His little angel sinking down onto his cock, teary eyed and…. obsessed.. with him. So warm… so warm. He can feel you pulsing, clenching at his cock as you process him finally filling you. It’s everything and still, never enough.

“Okay?” he breathes when he’s buried, stuffing you full.

You nod, blinking down at him.

“Ride me, angel,” he encourages. “Bounce for me.”

You nod before rising off him, lace framed thighs working hard to lift yourself up. He holds you there, fingers brushing over the tops of your stockings. When you sink down, it’s with a pretty whine, pretty whine, pretty angel, pretty, pretty, pretty. He squeezes his eyes shut. You did this to yourself, he reminds himself.

You work yourself over him, up and down, and he lifts the dress up so he can watch the way he sinks into you, a visual to accompany the feeling of your wet warmth sucking him in. His breath hitches at the sight of him disappearing into you. He’d never be used to it, to being inside you.

“Minho,” you whimper his name just before falling over his chest, wings enclosing him underneath you.

“Got you,” he says, voice tight as you roll your hips into him—grinding down onto his cock.

He needs you under him. Needs to make you feel good. He tugs the bands holding the wings to your back down your arms, getting a little help from you when you realise what he’s doing. As soon as you’re free of them he’s flipping you underneath him, pinning you to the mattress.

“Thought you wanted me on top,” you breathe, blinking up at him.

“I did, I did. You were so pretty, baby. So good.” He presses into you again, dropping his head to your shoulder. “Need you like this now.”

“Mm, okay,” you sigh, wrapping your arms and legs around him. The stockings are a little scratchy against his skin, a reminder of how pretty your legs look with the transparent white fabric wrapped around them. He wonders if you’d be okay with wearing them out. Maybe with a skirt that was a little longer, a little less risky. He wants to run his hands up your thighs in public, trace his fingers over the spot where they press into your skin. He’s sure he’d catch people looking at you, running their eyes over you and wishing you were theirs.

He grinds into you, shoving you up the mattress a little. His. He pulls back, fucking into you a little harder this time. His. He licks a long stripe up your neck to your jawline. His.

“Min,” you whimper, prompting him to pull his face from your neck. “Kiss?”

You say it so sweetly he feels the kiss has to match, a gentle touching of lips that contrast with the way he’s bouncing your tits with the force of his thrusts. He cradles your face in his hands as he peppers your face with the same type of gentle kiss, consumed with the need to show you how sweet you are; how even before you’d ever put the feathery wings on he’d thought you were as close to a real angel as he’d ever seen.

You run your hands over his chest, pushing the shirt aside a little. “Love you,” you whisper as he’s pressing a light kiss to your temple.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #minho smut #minho x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios #x reader

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dumpsterfire-daydreams · 2 months ago

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TW: Rape, TW: Sexual Assault, TW: Knife play, TW: Groping, TW: Drugging, TW: Kidnapping, TW: Forced Sex/Orgasm

Authors note: This is the darkest chapter in this story by far. So, if any of the above are not your cup of tea, please don't read this chapter. I truly don't want to trigger anyone.

Ghost POV:

As he crept through the thick foliage of the forest, Ghost chuckled at how easy this was proving to be. It was almost as if she had left a trail of flashing signs in her wake, each one blaring "I went this way! Come get me!". Her tiny little footprints stood out so clearly against the fallen branches and leaves. And she had disturbed enough tall grass to make her trajectory crystal clear.

Ghost crouched as he approached a fallen tree limb, carefully inspecting the story its markings retold. A short streak of shredded leaves crested over its rounded edge. Two large indentations dug into the earth immediately beyond it. And a messy pile of scattered leaves and dirt was right just ahead, bearing a print that resembled an outstretched hand.

She'd tripped and fallen here. So focused on what could be behind her that she neglected to look ahead. Ghost could almost taste her fear lingering in the air. The sweat on her skin as she pushed herself to exhaustion. She was wearing herself out. Good.

Reader POV:

The forest was so dark, you had to squint to see anything at all. It took a while for your eyes to begin to adjust, and you had plenty of cuts and scrapes to prove it. But once they had, you continued your frantic sprint through the seemingly endless forest.

You were never much of an outdoors person. The idea of voluntarily abandoning the comfort and convenience of home was the opposite to fun in your mind. So, when your parents had once tried to talk you into doing a wilderness survival youth camp, you'd shot them down without a thought. Little did you know, years later, you'd be kicking yourself for not jumping at the chance. Knowing how to find your way would have been really useful at the present moment.

Regardless, you pressed on. Any direction was fine by you as long as it was away from Ghost. He was probably already on the move by now, tracking you like a nightmarish hunter. So you tried to be both as fast and stealthy as possible.

It didn't take long before your legs began to tire, though. You'd maintained a near full sprint from the second you'd gotten out of his car. But you still couldn't see anything but trees as far as you could see.

As frustration set in, you decided it was time to change strategy and switch from escaping to hiding. Slowing to a stop, you scanned your surroundings in search of any cover whatsoever. The forest had gone quiet. Too quiet. So, wherever you decided to hide, you needed to find it fast.

Off to your right, there was a small cluster of bushes. Their leaves looked thick enough to conceal your form just enough in the darkness. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. If you could just hang on until he wandered past you in his search, maybe you could double back and steal the jeep. Mind made up, you crept over towards your chosen hiding spot.

Out of nowhere, the steady silence was broken by the sound of a dislodged pebble bouncing off a nearby tree. You dropped to a low crouch, head whipping in the sound's direction. You couldn’t see anything, but that didn't mean he wasn't out there somewhere. It wasn’t until a full minute had passed without another sound that you moved again. You just had to get to those bushes.

Ghost POV:

Just as he'd anticipated, Ghost caught up with her in not much time at all. In her panic, she'd unknowingly zigzagged her way all over the place and likely believed she'd gotten much farther than she actually had. He moved like his namesake, floating through the darkness like a silent and deadly specter. The thought of having her to himself was plenty to speed him along his way. But the adrenaline rush of the hunt made it that much more exhilarating. When he finally spotted her, she was hunched over in a small clearing. He knelt into the brush and watched as she stood there, heaving for breath and clearly unsure of what to do next. Eyes now locked on his target, he switched his night vision goggles into thermal mode. He wanted details. Her silhouette came through in a bright collage of reds and oranges. Her body temp was high. And her respiratory and heart rates had spiked too. The numbers don't lie. She was nice and scared, as she should be.

After silently spectating for a bit, Ghost noticed her heart rate slow ever so slightly as she began moving towards a small clump of bushes. So she'd found a hiding spot. He smirked and grabbed a small rock. Without making a sound, he sent it flying through the air until it clattered against a tree behind her. The way she dove for cover and whipped her head around was quite entertaining. And just like that, her pulse spiked right back up again.

"Can't have you getting too relaxed, now can we?" Ghost mused, grabbing another rock. He patiently waited until she moved again. And as soon as she did, he took aim at a tree in an entirely different direction than the first and let it fly.

Reader POV:

Your head was on a swivel now as you fought the impending panic. Every time you thought the coast was clear, you'd hear something else. And every sound was coming from different directions! It couldn't be him. There's no way he could've caught you that quickly after such a head start!

But despite your logic, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somewhere just beyond your field of view. Abandoning the thought of hiding, you jumped to your feet and took off running all over again. But you had barely taken your second stride when something large and heavy slammed against your back.

A pair of muscled arms locked around your waist as your legs were roughly kicked out from beneath you. You landed on your knees, immediately clawing at the air behind you to grab any part of him that you could reach.

"No!" The word came out of you in a shrill cry of desperation. It was blood curdling. It was raw. "Ghost, please!"

Those words were all you could produce. You kicked and screamed as he wrestled you to the ground, forcing your face into the dirt.

"Don't be a sore loser now," Ghost chuckled, flipping you onto your back and forcing his body between your legs. "You had your chance. You lost. Game over."

You squirmed, arms flailing in a feeble attempt to hit him. But he was quick to respond, grabbing them both at the wrist and pinning them above your head. He effortlessly held them in place with one hand as he sat back, enjoying your helpless state below him.

"Now," he said, roughly shoving your dress up to your waist. "Let's see what I've won."

A muffled sob escaped your lips as the cool night air washed over your bare lower half. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze as his eyes flitted down to where your thighs met. Through his mask, he grabbed the fabric of his glove and slipped it off before tossing it away. Maintaining steady eye contact, he slipped his hand between your legs. His skin felt cold against your skin as he prodded at your exposed sex.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, running the back of his knuckles over your sensitive folds. "Look who's already nice and wet for me. Does König know what a dirty girl you really are?"

You snarled with fear and fury, twisting your legs to kick him. But you soon found yourself arching your back with a gasped whimper as his fingers plunged into your depths without warning. He met your eyes unflinchingly, almost defiantly, determined not to miss even the smallest detail of your response.

"I don't want this," you moaned, resisting the twinge of pleasure you felt as his fingers repeatedly curled inside you.

"You really think you can lie to me right now?" He smirked, lifting his thumb to torment your clit as his fingers began thrusting into you. "Your greedy little cunt was practically dripping before I'd even touched you. No, you want this. You want me to hurt you. And I'm gonna hurt you so good, princess."

You couldn’t fight him. And you couldn't stop your body from translating his heated assault into the beginnings of arousal. All you could do was tremble at his touch as his fingers drove into the most sensitive places with deadly precision. And every moan his actions produced only seemed to spur him on.

As his fingers continued pushing in and out of your core, he released your wrists and produced a small knife. You immediately tried and failed to inch yourself away from him, fearing he would use it to maim or even kill. But you froze as he leaned forward and pressed the blade against your throat. Never in your life had you been so still, afraid even the slightest breath would cause the blade to slip below the surface of your skin.

Ghost pushed the blade down with measured pressure, stopping just after a drop of blood welled up at the knife's edge. But he didn't press any further. Instead, he trailed the knife down the length of your body. The blade cut through the front of your dress like butter, but Ghost still made sure to nick your skin every now and then along the way. And you didn't need clarification on his unspoken threat. He could kill you a million ways without remorse or hesitation. It wouldn't take much.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished back into his vest as he returned his full attention to forcing his fingers as deep into your body as they could go. He spread them, experimentally stretching you out. But he let out a hissed moan as your body instinctively resisted, clenching tightly around his fingers.

"Bloody hell, you're tight. I bet he liked that didn't he?"

Finally, he withdrew his hand and forced you to watch as he admired the way the moonlight made your wetness glisten on his skin. Lifting the bottom of his mask, he took his time tasting you.

"And so sweet, too. But don't worry, he won't be on your mind much longer."

Your breath picked up as he unfastened his belt, easing it out of its loops before unzipping his pants. As he eased his clothing down his thighs, his stiffened manhood came free from its confinement and bounced heavily against your inner thigh. And the sight terrified you. Though he was a similar length to König, it was the girth of his sex that frightened you. If you thought König was a tight fit, there was no way Ghost could cram all of that inside you without significant pain.

You whimpered, shaking your head as you tried to press your thighs together. But the rejection only earned a growl of warning from Ghost as he forced them open even wider. He raised his hips, rubbing the firm head of his cock against your delicate lips and moaning as your wetness coated him liberally.

"Do you know long I've waited for this, princess?" He panted, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. "How long I had to stand back and watch his hands on you, just waiting for a chance to do this to you?"

"Ghost, please don't do this," you pleaded, a startled gasp of pain quickly following as he began to push against your entrance. "It's not going to fit!"

"From where I'm standing," he said, voice gone rough with arousal. "It'll fit just fine."

With a firm and brutal thrust, Ghost snapped his hips forward and impaled you on his length. It hurt. It hurt a lot. And the searing pain carried on as you screamed for him to stop. But he just kept going, developing a steady pace as he forced your body to adjust to the intrusion faster than it was able. As you writhed in pain at the onslaught, Ghost gave no indication that he would slow down.

"Go ahead and scream," he taunted with a curt laugh before groaning as your walls constricted around him as if to push him out. "No one's gonna hear you, princess. There's no one out here for miles. Just you and me. Just like it should have been from the start."

Every movement of his hips sent white hot pain rippling through your body. Your back stung as stray pine needles embedded themselves deeper into your skin with each thrust. You had nothing left to convince him and no way to make him stop. All you could do was lie there and grit your teeth through the pain, hoping that your tearful pleas would trigger whatever meager scrap of mercy he had in him. But as he increased the brutal pace, you were certain he had none whatsoever. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out reality. Trying to dull the pain. Trying to stop feeling anything at all as the pain began to brush dangerously close to pleasure. But his hand closed around your throat, forcing you to face him as he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Eyes on me. I want you to know exactly who made you feel this good. I wanna pound every last memory of him out of your system until all that's left is me."

The very next thrust was all pleasure as his length made solid impact with your cervix. You couldn't stop the needy moan it produced. He knew exactly what he was doing. The choking, the roughness, all of it. You couldn't stop it from somehow feeling good. And the thought that such cruel treatment made you feel even the smallest bit of pleasure was beginning to break you. You wanted him to stop. You were still begging him to stop! But your body was now begging for the exact opposite. And you could tell from the cocky look in his eyes that he was well aware of that fact.

"Is someone getting close?"

"No," you gasped, despite the incessant moans you couldn't hold back. You looked away with a choked sob. "Oh my god! Oh fuck!"

He tightened his grip on your neck, leaning down to moan in your ear. "I think you're lying."

The punishing pace began to steadily increase as he pounded you into the forest floor with reckless abandon. With his thumb, he pressed down on the precise spot the knife had cut you and groaned as you hissed in pain. A steady string of curses rasped against your ear as he chased his own impending climax. And despite your best efforts, your own wasn't far behind. Short spasms tore through your inner walls, giving Ghost delicious tastes of what was soon to come as he grunted with pleasure.

"Tell me," he growled, panting against your shoulder. His voice was growing strained and desperate as his pace rapidly began to fall out of rhythm. "Tell me you've never been fucked this good in your life. Tell me I'm better. Tell me who owns this dirty little cunt."

You let out a strangled moan, feeling your body begin to tremble as your orgasm approached. But he wasn't satisfied. That wasn't what he wanted. He released your throat, and you gasped for breath as his hand seized your chin, enveloping your jawline nearly from ear to ear. His eyes were wild and the slightest bit unhinged as he pressed his face against yours.

"I wanna hear you say it! Tell me who owns you. Fucking say it!"

You sobbed as the unwanted pleasure overwhelmed you. You were in no place to resist him. You had no choice but to give him what he wanted if you wanted to survive.

Humiliated and afraid, tears streamed down your face as you spoke the words he demanded to hear, and your climax overtook you. "You do!"

His body stiffened above you as he clutched your hips, throwing his head back with a guttural cry as your walls spasmed around his length. And as your core increased in tightness, you felt him twitch deep inside you as the warmth of his orgasm was forced even deeper with each fading thrust.

Once he was finally spent, he pulled out. His chest heaved as he savored the rush of endorphins coursing through him, admiring his handiwork as he did. He liked what he saw. The tears that poured down your cheeks, the bruises that marked your body, the pale liquid seeping out of your abused sex. He liked all of it.

As for you, you couldn't move. Your body felt numb. You felt detached from reality, and you didn't want to ever come back to it. So you laid there, sprawled out where he'd left you. Dissociated and happy to remain so. Because anything else would be too painful to bear. You didn't even fight when you felt the familiar prick of a needle against your neck. And as the darkness closed in, you welcomed it. You hoped it would never lift. You hoped you'd never again have to hear the words Ghost was murmuring into your ear.

"Good girl."

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

#konig call of duty #konig x reader #simon riley x konig x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #cod smut #ghost x reader #yhsiw #simon ghost riley x reader #yhsiw ending 1

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tubbytarchia · 5 months ago

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Jimmy wing and wing clipping headcanons because I don't think I've ever written it down on here but. You guys ought to know by now how insane I am about his canary wings as symbolism so here goes yippee

Sometimes I like to imagine Evo Jimmy with little chick wings, all white and fuzzy and stuff because that's adorable. But moreso I stick with the idea that his wings very suddenly sprouted in Third Life (the canary curse did start with traffic) which alarmed both him and Scott. Jimmy would have been somewhat excited but mostly nervous. Scott wouldn't have shown too much care until he realized how fast the wings kept growing, serving as an unpredictability. And Scott doesn't like unpredictability. He needs to be able to pave his path the way he sees fit to fulfill the tragic love story he seeks. And so he starts to clip them, to halt their growth and keep them from becoming encumbering, and it doesn't take much for Jimmy to just let him because it's for his own wellbeing - what Scott claims anyway

Without Scott in LL, he keeps clipping them on his own, but it's hard and he never quite gets used to it. He very much accidentally cuts into blood feathers too

By DL, his wings are pretty neglected and he ultimately asks Tango to clip them for him, however hesitant he is to let Tango in on it or to request such a task. Tango is horribly nervous of messing up but he's willing to do it for Jimmy's sake. Every step of the way he'd ask for assurance that he's doing this right and I'd like to imagine that it's in that process that Jimmy's forced to grapple with the fact that maybe he doesn't like his wings clipped. They stop before he can break down too much and neglect to bring it up again much - Jimmy doesn't, and Tango wants to respect that. So he just walks around with one partially clipped wing for awhile, new feathers eventually growing back and his wings start to get decently bigger again for awhile

Some people like to imagine that the avians have their wings bound etc for fairness in the games. I like to imagine that their wings get magically clipped for the duration of each game - Grian's do, but Jimmy's never do, because he wouldn't be able to take flight anyway. Grian doesn't realize though, and is often too preoccupied, but when he and Jimmy team up in LimL and he learns that Jimmy would clip them voluntarily, he's appalled. This further encourages Jimmy to ditch clipping and Grian, the proud Avian he is, can't help but dump a bunch of wing care advice on him. Jimmy decides to try and follow it, and maybe eventually even be able to fly. But he'd fall to his death by the end of it anyway

This puts a damper on his confidence, but nonetheless he keeps trying in SL. He practises for hours on end at the Big Dogs' diving pool, but he ends up pushing himself so hard that, though no longer clipped, his wings get neglected again and his feathers poke every which way from the prolonged and frustration induced practise. He might let Martyn try and preen them but Martyn wouldn't be much good at it

Welp that's it for traffic though, for now... Jimmy's wings as a represntation of his mental wellbeing whoag!!! The way he's happier in DL with Tango - lets his wings grow for the first time. And how much Scott tries to get at them - reinforced by seeing Jimmy cease to clip his wings. How Jimmy remains in a good space with LimL but gradually gets both a little more hostile and anguished with SL (eg taking enjoyment out of hitting Scott around, trying to push Martyn into lava and then running away from home thinking he can never go back now. Contrast to LimL for example where he and Joel voiced a similar sentiment together in relation to Grian when they failed to get a kill with their Enderpearl tactic, but there, he had Joel by his side). How he's gradually dismissive of Scott's approaches in LimL, very straightforwardly so in RL (as debatably canon as that is to me) and other non-traffic instances - he no longer clips his wings. But he's wings still aren't in great shape because he's not yet content with himself

I'm a firm believer that things need to get worse before they get better but. Eventually... Eventually his wings will be well cared for again and he'll stop pushing them and himself and it'll be reflective of Jimmy's growth... dreamy sigh... one day

I also like to imagine that his wings involuntarily curl around himself when he doesn't want to be perceived etc. Like um like when he had to dance in a maid outfit in SOS. cough. The trauma. I drew it once before too but eugh he'd apologize too, for his wings doing that. Because he's prone to apologizing when he's the one being hit around or having disservice done to him. He's started hitting people back a bit though... I hope he keeps doing it. Please Jimmy please start murdering people

Also I ultimately don't take the canary wings as an actual sign of the canary curse. That's just psychological horror he and others around him subject him to in my head lol. His wings resemble his unworthiness - why he's at the bottom of this cultural food chain. Not only are they useless, flightless, but also have that canary curse label put on them, keeping him reminded of his tendency to die first any time of day. When really, those wings are no burden even if he never gets to fly... Still, they'd be his... Still, they'd frame his figure like a sun following him everywhere he goes. The moment he can accept and love them despite this is the moment he accepts and loves himself, too

Im tired eepy. If there's typos or anything, oops. Love Jimmy always. Pray for my son

#idk why I randomly wanted to write this down but wooo I love Jimmy's wings #woozy and sleepy aghhh with my Doc and Jimmy ideas too... Doc would know that avians take a lot of pride in their wings and get concerned #he knows people like Grian despise clipping so he'd be so gentle to inquire about it... learn wing care just for Jimmy's sake #sorry insanity taking over #blabber #Jimmisery

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 2 months ago

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'Nonetheless for all your valor, I say again: "what know ye of death?" To you it may be in pain, it may be bitter and a loss—but only for a time, a little taken from abundance, unless I have been told untruth. For ye know that in dying you do not leave the world, and that you may return to life.

'Otherwise it is with us: dying we die, and we go out to no return. Death is an uttermost end, a loss irremediable. And it is abominable; for it is also a wrong that is done to us.'

i've seen takes that aegnor eventually departs from the halls after making peace with his parting from andreth, but imo it's so much more fitting that he chooses to never be reborn in aman and remains in mandos for all eternity (or at least until the end of arda marred). andreth here points out what she perceives as one of the differences between death for elves and death for men: that elves may be re-embodied and live their lives anew, while for men death is the absolute end, from which they have no chance to return. but aegnor voluntarily rejects the ability of the elves to live anew, he voluntarily refuses the chance to return, because to him life has no meaning without andreth whom he loves so deeply. in a way, his death -- being forced to leave beleriand and in doing so being forced to leave andreth forever -- is an absolute end for him

#they make me so sick #one of the best ships in the legendarium imo. the sweeping pain and inescapable tragedy and devastating inevitability of it all #andreth #andreth saelind #aegnor #aegnor x andreth #andreth x aegnor #finrod #finrod felagund #tolkien tag #tolkien meta #tolkien #athrabeth finrod ah andreth #jrr tolkien #lotr #the silmarillion

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anders-holmvik · 1 month ago

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something something noodling on buck and eddie and forced boundaries. this is word salad btw with no real argument but hopefully its a side that not too many people have written. (written before 8x03-06 airing. so if im completely wrong there will be egg on my face and that is okay because almost nothing is unequivocally true in creative media analysis world.) and also this is super long sorry

i keep thinking about the way they merge buck and eddie's storylines in 7x05, not just on screen in their encounter at the restaurant, but thematically.

first, a really important part of the buck and eddie dynamic is that the two are having an intense emotional affair, and have been since season 3. but, they've always operated across the lines of plausible deniability and they're both likely oblivious to this. they're both "straight." so, anything they do can be chalked up to normalbestfriendbehavior, because there's no way they'd ever physically cheat with each other. they both consider that to be the threshold for cheating, as evidenced by buck and eddie's agreeance that he is not cheating on marisol with kim because they haven't had sex.

7x05 is titled "you don't know me," and that's the central theme for everyone. the episode is mostly about hen and karen, but also continues to weave buck, eddie, and tommy together.

there's the "eddie doesn't know about buck's sexuality exploration and buck feels guilty about this" aspect, but this applies to eddie's solo storyline too.

eddie finds out that marisol used to be a nun. he claims that this has unearthed his catholic guilt, but we know that it never really went away for him, it just became easier for him to repress himself. eddie, even though he claims to not be actively a believer, knows that he is lying to himself about being into marisol, and thinks that god has sent him a reminder that he's watching him. even if he doesn't consciously understand that it's because he's not into women as a whole, he realized his tendency to stay in relationships where he's not happy from his breakup with ana. so he Has to know that he's not genuinely in it. this is also why buck's pointing out that she voluntarily left the convent doesn't bring him any comfort- because he's already decided that marisol is a direct link to god and His disappointment in eddie (as evidenced by his vision of marisol as the virgin mary)

eddie can't have sex with her anymore, the one activity that, to him, proves he's at least attracted to his partner. he's fully prepared to break up with marisol over this, and even hides out at buck's.

buck doesn't realize this at the time because he's too focused on his own guilt, but eddie is looking for his approval to break up with marisol. eddie always does what buck thinks is best for him. he makes the excuse that it's because they're best friends and he trusts his opinion, but i think he knows there's something more to it.

but buck can't give him his approval. because buck cannot fathom that eddie is offering himself up because the idea of marisol is standing between them. the two of them are similar in this way, and that's why they're so fascinating: they're both extremely passive in their romantic pursuits because they lack 1. self esteem and 2. awareness to pursue what they actually want. buck because of his childhood/past relationships and eddie because of his upbringing/grief/repression

buck (and also eddie, but specifically buck) is a huge flirt. however, he'll rarely cross the boundary of platonic activity before the other person does (i genuinely think the last time was abby, but that was his first relationship so its weird hybrid of active and passive tendencies).

he'll flirt and flirt until the other person makes a move, i.e. asking him out or kissing him. he wants them to prove they're choosing him. once they do, he clings. they broke this pattern with his breakup from taylor (even though i consider that a special circumstance) and natalia by having buck leave them, but T may be a return to form. more on that later...

eddie offers himself to buck by letting him choose if he should break up with marisol. buck is oblivious to it because he's too focused on his own guilt of keeping a part of himself "unknown" from eddie. buck confesses about tommy. eddie does not comment on buck's sexuality, he is only surprised at tommy's. buck looks for reassurance there: is it weird that i was on a date with a man? eddie, in his attempt to offer comfort, re-draws the line between them: "this doesn't change a thing between us." what he means is that he's not weirded out, but what buck hears is "i'm straight, so don't even try it."

so, when eddie, who is subconsciously looking for buck to step over the line, asks him about what he thinks he should do, buck doubles down on wanting tommy. eddie, hearing the message, encourages buck to try again. eddie goes home and hits the restart button on his relationship with marisol. he convinces himself that maybe if they start over, it'll work this time.

he tells her that he feels like he doesn't know her well and that they moved too fast. normally, people in this type of situation would just move on and find someone else. but instead, eddie is desperate to stay in this relationship with marisol because buck has stepped over the line of plausible deniability in their relationship, and drawn a new one. buck is officially attracted to men. if eddie's relationship falls apart and buck is not with someone else, the lines start to blur.

later, buck and T get coffee. tommy points out that the two of them don't know anything about each other. they agree to start their relationship and do it "right." the same way eddie and marisol agree to reset theirs.

and the two of them cling to these relationships. marisol ends her and eddie's relationship after finding out about kim. buck remains with tommy despite awkward dates, likely because he is also excited to explore himself (as he is one to do) but also likely because he walked close to that line when he came out to eddie, and felt like he was pushed back.

but i think the sentiment of "you don't know me" really applies for buck and T's relationship as a whole. again, they started with buck flirting and toeing the line until T stepped over it by kissing him, then asking him out.

there's a whole lot of discourse on here and twitter about t's awkward flirting, flippant attitude, and dismissive comments. the thing about this is, likely none of it is tommy purposely trying to hurt buck. tommy does not know buck. he doesn't know that these are things that he is sensitive about, or that hurts him. and buck doesn't communicate when he's uncomfortable. he just internalizes it and focuses on trying to make his partners stay. and tommy will not know buck. buck ingratiates tommy in his life by inviting him to family events, but he doesn't actually open up to tommy or tell him when he's misreading him. it gives both of them a sense of false intimacy.

they're three months in at least, and tommy and buck are still, as oliver said, "getting to know each other." but they both agreed to "get to know each other" and go for it at their coffee date, and here they are months later. not having moved... i hope that holding back his own baggage is going to bite buck in the ass just as much as tommy's past is.

(and by god i hope it is tommy's racist past that gets revealed because FUCK him. but based on what oliver said about buck weighing if he should make it work im not sure they're going to address it. bc if buck found that out i do think he'd end the relationship w little/no debate)

but this is all very interesting to me.. personally i want to see buck explore his sexuality on his own for a little because i think it would be beautiful and he deserves that but i do think he is going to be a little desperate to stay in this relationship if they don't go the gerrard/tommy past route.. but god buck and eddie are so awesomely freakish about each other sometimes

#this post is kinda nothingsoup #also important to clarify that eddies affair w kim was very much about his grief and relationship w shannon and not buck at all #but the kim of it all isnt my focus for eddie in this post #more his decision to stay w marisol despite it clearly not working before kim was in the pic #if you disagree with me fundamentally then. sorry! but its all on screen analysis and changes whenever new material comes out so #like if tim minear did an interview and said that's not it at all girl i would be like okay <3 love you #this isn't even that anti BT even tho i am buddienation. i do just think b and t fundamentally dont understand or know each other.#but i cant just ignore tommys past even if the writers want to LOL #9-1-1 #media analysis #buddie #buck and eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #long post #text #half baked idea from my twitter #very long post #sorry everyone #but i had shit to SAY!#911 on abc #911

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okkotsui · 1 year ago

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kozume kenma ⇄ by your side.

synopsis : kenma is always there whenever the world was turned against you, now you appreciate him more because of what happened to you.

tags / warnings : fem!reader in mind but no pronouns used, a little bit of angst to max fluff!

author’s notes : sorry for the absence, here is my short comeback of the century, love you all.

kenma is always there whenever the world was turned against you, now you appreciate him more because of what happened to you.

life is not always about sunshine and rainbows, it is sometimes about rain and thunders as you were being faced with so many life difficulties. you never gave up but when the world was turned against you, you were nearly letting go of life.

first happens when you are starting to struggle financially, you try to look for some income to help you pay your college fees as the coming midterms are coming thus after stressing over that, the three of your friends became very distant to you, when the two of them were initially together, they always ignore you as if you did not exist. and that just continues.

when kenma found out what you are going through, he voluntarily helped without anything in exchange, just his usual way of giving his love to you. well, spending a hundred thousand currencies won’t hurt his pocket especially when it is a necessity. he doesn’t mind spending just to help you and see you smile once again.

“kenma, you really don’t have to! wha—”

“no, i insist, really. stop being stubborn and let me help you once in a while. i promise this is not big.” he assured you, he always does. he’s not even bothered by it.

“are you—” “yes i am sure, don’t worry about me, okay? this is the only way to help you back.” he finally shuts you up.

kenma is always there to check up on you. he lets you open up in any way. he won’t speak or chat back until you’re finished telling how your day went or when someone got on your nerves, he is doing it all, just for you.

he is also your shoulder to cry on. he tells you that he is always by your side in any other way and he is always willing to do anything for you even if you are ugly crying or in the middle of a mental breakdown.

“you didn’t tell me that you’re financially struggling, i could’ve helped you. i hate seeing you cry.” he paused but added— “though, as i told you, you can tell me anything once you’re comfortable, i’m not forcing you to open up.” he caressed your hand while the two of you were seating on his couch.

first and for all, of course, you‘re wondering what is your relationship with kenma. childhood friends along with kuroo, but! kuroo believes that you should be more than friends because— because he knows it all.

kenma doesn’t even know that he likes you— well maybe at this point, he just loves you. kuroo always knows that kenma loves being with you by his side and he saw kenma’s future with you.

“i love you, i’m sorry.” you frowned as he shook his head. “you don’t have to say sorry, love.”

and what kuroo doesn’t know, you’ve been together since you both graduated from nekoma, he just needs to figure it all out by himself.

“i already told you many times, tell me everything when you’re comfortable. in this relationship, it takes two to function.” he kisses your forehead as you leaned on his chest, calming down after everything.

“i know adi, thank you again, i can finally relax mentally.” you wrapped your arms around his waist as he just lets you, cuddling into each other’s warmth.

“i know, i don’t want you to stress everything by yourself, alright? i love you,” he whispered against the crown of your head as you smiled, saying the three words back.

it’s always the two of you against the world, are there any arguments? of course, it won’t perish in any way. there are a lot of doubts mentally but the two of you stayed strong and here you both are, four years and counting.

the two of you are always there by each other’s side, thus it makes the two of you love each other even more. you always love the way he solve the problem— he doesn’t make you settle for less and he did what you really deserve in this relationship.

after a great talk and cuddle session with your boyfriend, kenma’s front door opened, see the familiar dark-haired senior and friend of yours entering your home (that what kenma tells you about what you should call when describing his house.), freezing his spot when he saw the both of you snuggling.

“this snuggle is not normal...” he spoke, slowly but surely, his eyebrows furrowed and he gasped.

“NO, HOW LONG DID THE TWO OF YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME?"

you both just stayed silent as usual, not minding his rants and issues in life— as if shrugging him off. of course, silence means yes. he’s already smart to figure everything out.

#[ kenma ] — ♡#kenma x you #kenma x reader #kozume kenma x reader #kozume x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fic #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x poc!reader

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trekmupf · 4 months ago

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maybe the way we treat mentally ill people and prisoners is still not fixed huh

Pro

Super suspicious package is suspicious of becoming plot relevant

McCoy hanging out on the bridge again. Also he is absolutely incapable of standing without holding onto something in this episode (did I make a screenshot collection? Of course)

The way Kirk handles Van Gelder with the weapon on the bridge

McCoy being a good doctor! Also gives further insight into his character: scientific curiosity, gut feeling, good patient care. Also his close ups are so beautiful, He's so expressive, 10/10 Bone's face

Kirk and McCoy dynamic! McCoy having him investigate, Kirk implying he doesn't have great psych personnel, McCoy sending a woman he has history with to annoy him and it absolutely working

That weird dove, hand and rainbow sign screams danger cult

So many scenes between Spock and McCoy. When they properly work together it's beautiful (jk they're always beautiful even whenthey're verbally bashing each other's heads in)

Van Gelder's pain and suffering while trying to tell them what's going on is terrifying and sad, but it tells us a lot about who he is

Kirk like I can totally try the crazy people device on myself!

At first voluntarily but who could have known, it escalades

Dr. Noel is great! She has things to do, is a good doctor in her field, an actual character with ethics and a moral compass (not letting Kirk kiss her as he's not himself despite clearly being into him), and she gets shit done! I'd argue so far the most a female character gets to actually do in an episode

Spock's face when he sees them kissing is gold (also Spock's face when Noel first says “We've met”);

Another “he's dead, captain” by McCoy

Love the last conversation between McCoy and Kirk

More of Kirk's character: Is a very mentally strong person who to a degree can shake out of the machines manipulation twice, and is very resilient – it's that this trauma is still with him, McCoy and Spock are worried and he reassures them he WILL be fine with a slight smile (but he isn't yet) (Shatner's acting is SO good here)

The horrors of psychiatry / mind manipulation (conversion therapy, shock therapy, forced medication comes to mind), in the 60's extremely relevant but looking around now, still relevant today (sadly)

Van Gelder calling out Kirk: “You smug, button-pushing brass hat! Wash your hands of it. Is that your system?” is a great callout to the people in power ignoring the people in the system

The absolute horrific death of the bad guy by his own device – even though it was his own design, instead of turning the narrative towards “he deserved this” it's made clear that this was a terrible death that no one deserves. Shatner's acting of grief here is great, and this mood stays until the end of the episode

The set up of Dr. Adams being a great man in his field who revolutionized health care for the better having turned to the dark, experimental side and being dangerous – achieving great things or doing good should never stop people from questioning what a (famous) person is doing later on and McCoy was right to do so

Introduction of the Mind meld!

The tension and pacing of the episode are excellent; especially the scenes with the machine are horrific and hard to watch

I cannot overstate how much I love everyone's acting in this episode, but especially Morgan Woodward's depiction of pain, mental illness & urgency and Shatner's suffering & pain at the end

Cons:

Noel making Kirk think they had sex when he was vulnerable was and uncomfortable ( I think it can be sooort of excused by neither of them taking the machine seriously and her having to think of something they both know didn't happen - she clearly wouldn't have taken advantage)

Counter: Fake womanizer Kirk (non con due to hypnosis) Quote: "To all mankind, may we never find space so vast, planets so cold, heart and mind so empty that... that we cannot fill them with love and warmth" - Dr. Adams

Moment: When Kirk uses the mashine for the first time and the viewer realizes how invasive and terrifying this is – he doesn't even know it happened Summary: Great episode with an open political commentary still relevant today, interesting and well acted one time characters and more characterbuilding for the trio – Kirk as Captain putting himself front of the line to find out the truth while Spock and McCoy support him from the ship and swoop in when he needs them to (and them teasing each other a lot!)

Previous Episode - Next Episode - All TOS Reviews

#star trek tos #star trek #dagger of the mind #star trek the original series #wewatchtos #wewatchstartrek

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resident-idiot-simp · 5 months ago

Note

Price being ready to murder Riley was NOT what I was expecting but I'm here for it. Are we allowed to ask for hcs for this au? Because honestly im curious what Riley thinks of Price and such.

- Kidney Anon (who is wearing their nametag with pride)

Not expecting Price to want to kill Riley? You must be new here lmao

Me and Az-

Omegas are very much dominant in this universe

Az-

(about Price) at first he's like meh, another alpha but quickly doesn't like his attitude to Tav

Tav loves how Riley is protective but also so bemused at someone being protective over him

The moment Riley realised he had a real chance with Tav he started a whole 10 year plan

(how they get together) So shit goes real south on a mission, Tav's injured and the meds and stress and timing all fuck up his hormones/suppressents. So its just them and they need to get it under control, etc, becoming fwb. Riley's like "chance!" and Tav is happy to have a decent alpha around who doesn't make his teeth ache

Me-

Riley goes into rut and starts begging for Tav. Tav sees it him but it's actually something deeper so that's how they get together

Also Price helped with his heat a few times (before MW2) so he thinks he's entitled to something more with Tav

Also with them being made Price can't take advantage of Tav so it prevents everything that goes wrong (essay on what I mean)

Az-

Riley going on leave for rut only to have his neighbour call up Tav because "your alpha won't shut up, come and deal with him!" It works tho since Tav expected Riley to find another omega

(more will come)

Price staring to say dismissive things about his chosen alpha, ignoring their mating bond to suggest he could be better. Imagining he says this infront of other 141 who all share a look and slowly start backing away

Me-

Roach is their son in this universe

Also all the 141 alpha's/Beta's sniff after MacTavish like he's the holy Grail

Price trys so hard to separate them and he's doing double time and trying to convince Tav to drop Riley. Price is convinced that if Riley dies the bond will break.. and normally it would but maybe there's something deeper tying them together

(Az) alternatively, he steps a little to out of line at some point, like just before they're about to set out on that mission, and Tav just snaps. is he hormonal and preggers? maybe.

It's all going fine until MacTavish just freezes and just start screaming at him. He has been putting up with his BS for far too long. He drags him through the mud. Pulls out every insecurity Price didn't even know he had. Gloats that he'll never be with Price that he needs to get over it. He wasn't a good alpha no matter how much he thought he was

Az-

"I've ripped out the throats of alpha Generals who were more useful than you are."

"You couldn't get me to bend as a rookie SGT without pushing me down, I voluntarily go to my knees for Simon"

"You don't want me, you don't want a strong omega, you want someone you can dominate. You want me because having me come to heal for you would be the biggest ego stroke there is."

Tav leaning in to whisper into a shocked Price's ear: "he prefers getting on his knees for me"

(me) And you don't know him. You don't know what an honor it is to have that alpha to trust you with his life. I've killed alphas for less then what you are insinuating now. But that alpha he has never wanted anything more than I would give him. And he thinks me for every scrap I throw him

Price looking around expecting some support from all the alphas standing around gawking except they're all basically enthralled with Tav

Roach shipped it from the start now he's doing everything he can to ensure he gets those sibling in year 6 of the plan

I also like the idea of Tav either ripping his throat out or like shooting/stabbing his arm and basically forcing his retirement

(preg Tav) they only find out a while after the fallout tho, when Shepherd tries some shit and he does rip his throat out, its not heat related and he didn't attack tav or riley so they have to investigate. A pregnant omega killing an alpha is pretty much the same

Tav also 100% gets even more mean when he's pregnant. It's like a switch flipped man is outright hostile and Riley loves every minute of it

People confuse Riley for the pregnant Omega because of just how much he smells of Tav and it makes Tav irrationally happy.

Tavs mentality while pregnant is, 'If I can't be more pregnant I'll make him pregnant' so the sex is wild

Az-

riley, shocked, sitting at the table: "...."

soldier: "aren't u gonna celebrate? bout time honestly, thought with the way u 2 got at it the cap would've been bred long ago"

riley: "if it were that easy, i'd be the one pregnant"

soldier: "...."

#call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #soap x ghost #ghoap #captain mactavish #09 soapghost #resi responds #kidney anon #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #a/b/o #Resi's shorts

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zoeykallus · 1 year ago

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Okay so

What if smuggler s/o runs into IMPERIAL!Hunter on the job?

Like s/o smuggler is just minding her own business on the job when she is forced to stop for the moment by some imperial punk only to realize that it was Hunter but… notice the change in him probably?

And yes, let there be smut…

Aloha!

Okay, that's an interesting take. Just so we understand each other, this is an imperial Hunter, not the 'nice guy' Hunter we know 👀😁

Imperial Hunter x Fem!Reader One-Shot - Little Smuggler

Warnings: Tension/Angst/Imperial Hunter/Strong Language/Smut/Dub-Con!!!/Nothing Fluffy Here/Menacing Hunter/Hair Pulling/Knife Play (No actual cutting)/18+

_________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_________

>Master List<

_________

AC:

Well, I am writing this one-shot, however, I have a fundamental problem with the scenario, in a way.

In my opinion, or in my imagination, the chips do not make the clones evil per se, but obedient, just stoically obedient. Carrying out commands, a bit like a machine, without caring about the possible consequences. Almost without any real will of their own.

And there's the hang-up; If Hunter is now with the Imperials, I can't blame that on the chip, not entirely, not in this scenario. Hunter would strictly follow rules, follow orders. He certainly wouldn't flirt or engage in hanky-panky.

So this must be an alternate asshole Hunter, or an entirely different form of control Hunter is under.

Because without the chip, Hunter would never voluntarily join the Empire, and with the chip, Hunter would be an obedient soldier machine, not a sexy half-villain. Does that make sense? I have no idea how to express this thought, my brain has gone to sleep without me at some point. 😂

Well, it's fan fiction, and I like the idea so... let's gooo

__________

Until now, this route had always been safe for smugglers, which is why you took it. But times seem to have changed. Two scout shuttles of the Empire appeared as soon as your shuttle left hyperspace. One of them told you to let it dock, otherwise they would destroy your shuttle by bombardment. You are alone on your smuggler route today, so combat is out of the question, you have no gunner and your old shuttle is too slow against the new scout shuttles of the Empire. So you agreed and are waiting for the Imperial Scout to finally come through the airlock, he's already docked. You hate this guy already. He takes extra time to make you nervous, a simple but mostly effective tactic you've wittnessed it before. "Move it, Imp," you grumble quietly to yourself. You go over in your head where your goods are hidden, whether everything is well secured. The average Imp certainly wouldn't find it. But when the hatch opens, you hold your breath for a moment. The man climbing into your shuttle is no ordinary Imp. You blink several times, as if sure that your eyes are playing a trick on you.

You know this armor, the physique, the way this man moves. This can only be one particular person. You stare at him in disbelief. You can't see his face because of the helmet, but you're sure he's looking right at you, you can feel his gaze. "Hunter?" you ask, perplexed. The voice under the helmet sounds a bit distorted by the modulator, but unmistakable as he answers, "The one and only" You haven't thought about him in a long time, but now that he's standing in front of you so unexpectedly, you don't quite know what to feel. Finally, he takes off his helmet and you see a familiar face. Your first impulse is to smile in relief, but a feeling deep in your guts stops you. The way he looks at you seems anything but friendly, and not at all like the Hunter you knew from before. You two used to have a thing, for quite a while even, secretly, not even his brothers knew about it. But at some point you parted ways through work and then Order 66 happened and the Empire took over the reins. It's been quite a while since you two have seen each other. You think about the chips Rex told you about and wonder if Hunter has one, a chip that modulates his behavior, his obedience. "You're scouting for the Empire now?" you ask coolly.

Hunter slides his gloved fingers over a panel behind which some of your contraband is hidden, and you realize Hunter knows all your hiding places from before, if he remembers them. He hits it gently with his fist and the panel slides down, exposing some of the contraband. "And you're still smuggling, I see". Your heart suddenly races, his voice, the way he talks is anything but friendly, calm to be sure, but clearly the way a superior predator would speak to his prey. "Old habits," you say quietly and swallow. He takes his comm and says to the other scout shuttle, "Got everything under control, I'll take care of things here, you can move on" "Alright, I'll meet you back at the station later". "Roger that" You look at him, surprised, for a moment you are almost relieved. "Thanks" you say softly. Hunter snorts, his smile almost snide.

"Just because I sent the colleague away? That doesn't mean you're off the hook, not at all. It's like I said, I just have everything under control here, I can handle you on my own." You get hot and cold, cold sweat breaks out, and you automatically take a step back towards your cockpit. One of your blasters is hidden there. Hunter has drawn his blaster so quickly and points it at you that you hastily hold still and even hold your breath for a moment. "You're not going to get your blaster out of the cockpit, are you?" he asks teasingly. You shake your head as he comes closer. He gets so close you're almost touching, and you recoil against the back of the pilot's seat. "I just wanted to get the cargo papers," you say, so softly it's almost a whisper. Hunter smiles, and it seems anything but friendly. "Don't bother, I know the papers are fake, I know how you work". He puts the blaster away and pulls out his vibro knife, twirling it deftly between his fingers. You used to watch him do this sometimes, for a brief moment you feel something like nostalgia welling up inside you, but then your eyes meet again. You sigh softly, take a deep breath and collect yourself. You are already aware that this will not be a joyful reunion. That's not your Hunter in front of you.

You lean back against the back of the pilot's seat, fold your arms in front of your chest, and adopt a less tense posture. You don't want him to think you're afraid of him. "What happened to you, Hunter? What happened to you that made you join that filthy club?" He smirks and actually looks amused. "I got my priorities straight. I could go on and on and explain everything to you now, but honestly, I don't see the point." He's still playing around with his knife, his gaze keeps wandering along your body, the skin-tight flightsuit you're wearing seems to please his eye. You blink, feeling your pulse quicken. One thing hasn't changed, that covetous look he gives you, you know it, and it still gets under your skin, tingles every fiber of your body and gradually releases pulses in your system. The smile he shows you sends a shiver down your spine. "Your pulse is pretty fast, isn't it?" he asks with amusement, putting the knife away again, leaning towards you and taking a deep breath, "Hmm, hormones. You smell incredibly delicious when you get sexually aroused. Nice to know I still have that effect on you."

You don't know what to say, a defiant reaction is on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it. You can't really predict this new Hunter, but you know you'd lose a fight against him in any case. It's probably smarter not to piss him off. However, he is right, for some reason he still has the same effect on you, his intense eyes, the striking face, his posture, his voice. You sigh softly, deciding not to say anything for now and wait to see what he's up to. "Still a little smuggler," he says with a chuckle. You shrug your shoulders. "So?" "Smuggling has become especially dangerous since the Empire has been in charge of the balance of power." Feeling braver than you are, you say to Hunter, "Get to the point, you're starting to bore me." He laughs and says, "Just as bold as I remember you." Hunter comes even closer to you, so close that his chest armor touches your chest. You suddenly feel the flat side of his knife under your chin, the cool metal, and hold perfectly still. "You're so quiet all of a sudden," he teases you, "What's wrong?" You stare at him and growl softly, "You know damn well" "The knife?" he asks, playing innocent.

He takes the knife from your chin pulls back a few inches to reach for the fabric of your flight suit and cuts it open with the knife, slowly, carefully, so as not to hurt you. You ask, "What's this going to be when it's done?"

You are not really afraid, but you don't feel too confident either. This situation feels strangely surreal. There is a part of you that wishes, or longs for him in a way, but for the old Hunter, the one you actually had a crush on. But this wasn't him. Not really. Hunter smiles, unperturbed, and cuts the suit wide open, so he can pull it completely off your body, leaving you standing there in just your underwear. "I think you already know that," he says calmly, "As I said, smuggling has become dangerous, and you should always have a way to bribe at the ready." You say dryly, "The suit would have had a zipper too". Hunter grins, "I know, but that's boring". His hand grabs the back of your neck, he turns the pilot seat around and pushes you in. He doesn't bother taking off your panties, he puts the knife away and rips the fabric apart with both hands, eliciting a small startled noise from you. Before he can destroy the bra as well, you hastily pull it off yourself. "Good girl," Hunter says with satisfaction.

His eyes wander along your body, you feel his gaze glide over your skin, hot and demanding. A hand grips your chin, he bends over you, his lips crash onto yours, his tongue forces your mouth open and begins to hunt for yours, to dominate it. Each velvety collision is a firework in your neural pathways. Hunter lets go of your lips, takes a deep breath, shakily expels it, his pupils already dilated to the point where his eyes seem almost black. "Been a while since I smelled that." He thrusts his knee between yours, pushes your thighs apart and squats in front of you, the chair, your pussy right up at the level of his face. Hunter takes another deep breath, shortly after a growl is heard, deep from his chest. You guess what's coming, he liked to do that before, taste you. There's already a pulse between your legs, your folds are wet. He pulls you down in the chair some more, closer to him, closer to the edge of the seat. Hunter wastes no time in hinting, or teasing, his mouth immediately descends on you, eliciting a surprised exclamation. "Fuck!"

His tongue, hot, fast and deft, twitches through your wet folds, finds your expectant, sensitive hole and thrusts greedily into it, swirling around inside. You've almost forgotten how good it feels. He moans and growls, you know how much his senses are singing from the scent of your pussy and your arousal, the taste of you. His hands reach into the back of your knees to hold your legs further up and apart. His nose nudges your swollen clit again and again as he licks you greedily, thrusting his tongue into you again and again, but never long enough to bring on an orgasm. He sucks on your folds, thrusting his tongue into you again, over and over. You can see him melting the taste of you on his tongue, gleefully thrusting into your pussy again and again. And the sight is sexier than you remembered. He lets go of you very briefly to look into your face, his eyes dark with desire and greed. You see a brief smirk, then his tongue flicks over your clit, and a hoarse moan crosses your lips, your hands reaching up, behind you, clawing into the back of the seat.

His tongue glides over the little bud, faster and faster. Your whole abdomen trembles with sexual tension. You know he wants to make you cum, so he can taste and smell even more of you, he liked to do that in the past. His lips enclose your clit while his tongue dances wildly on it, flicking that little bud again and again, in rapid fashion. You feel his stubble on the sensitive skin in your private parts and on the insides of your thighs, but you don't mind it. The play of his tongue is so intense that everything inside you tenses and tingles. Your moans grow louder, faster, the intensity increases, the pressure in your abdomen, dissolves in a sudden surge of tingling heat, pulses tickling through your most intimate regions, down to your curling toes. Your legs tremble in his grip, and you try to catch your breath, after you held it for a long moment of intensity. Hunter doesn't give you time to enjoy the ebbing orgasm. You let out a startled little cry as his tongue thrusts greedily into your wet, dripping opening again. You flinch every time his nose touches your oversensitive clit, but he keeps you with an iron grip where he wants you, on the edge of your seat.

He licks, tongues, sucks on you, unabashedly smacking, moaning, as if you are a feast. His face is full of your juice. At the same moment you wonder how he even breathes, he lets go of you and takes a deep inhale. He laughs, grinning at you. "I missed the taste" Things run through your head, words you want to say, but you can't sort them out right now, and he doesn't give you time to either. He stands up, grabs you by the neck, pulls you up out of the chair, turns you around and demands, "Get on your knees in the seat." When you don't immediately comply with the request, he gives you a slap on your bare bottom. "Go on, be a good little smuggler". Finally, you comply with the request. You hear Hunter take off his codpiece and drop it to the floor. You hear the sound of it clattering to the metal floor of the cockpit.

You know what's coming next. Hunter doesn't dally for long, his tip nudges you, he guides his hard cock to your entrance and pushes your folds apart, shoving it into your pussy. He is impatient, penetrates quite fast. Your pussy is so wet, his hard length between your slick walls makes a loud squelching noise. You feel the stretch, Hunter is well endowed, but it doesn't hurt. His hands grab your hips hard, hard enough to be leaving marks. He instantly starts thrusting you, pushing your abdomen towards his thrusts. Slowly at first, but he gets fast, faster and faster. You hear him gasp and growl. "Fuck, that feels good," he presses out. He fucks you hard and fast. He has no interest in doing you any good, Hunter is just looking for his fun, his relief. When he brought you to orgasm with his tongue and lips, it was only so he could taste and smell you more intensely, and so your pussy would be relaxed enough to receive his cock. All just a means to an end.

It used to be different. But actually you don't expect anything from him at the moment, the whole situation is so strange. His pelvis bounces loudly on your butt again and again, with every thrust. Naked skin meets naked skin, the sound pairs with the wet smacking of his cock in your wet pussy, his gasps and the soft creaking that the pilot seat gives with each thrust, in protest. Hunter takes you pretty fast, but suddenly his thrusts become irregular, you feel the tension in his body, the slight trembling of his thighs. You hear a half-swallowed moan from him, then he presses himself deep inside you, his pelvis pressed against your ass, his fingers digging into your hips. You feel his cock pulsing inside you, his warm seed filling your pussy. He continues to pulse for quite a while, holding you in this pose, deep inside you. Suddenly you hear him laugh softly, "That wasn't so bad as a bribe".

He leaves your body, dresses again. You suddenly feel strangely empty between your thighs, feeling his cum and your juice drip out of you and mess up your seat.

You wince in shock as Hunter gives you another slap on the ass. He reaches into your hair and pulls your head backwards, toward him. You draw in a sharp breath as you feel a slight sting from the tug on your hair. His mouth comes up to your ear, you can smell yourself on him. "Clean yourself up, little smuggler, you can move on. But always have a good bribe ready, maybe we'll meet again". He lets go of you again, and you almost fall off the chair, but just manage to grab the back of it. You look over your shoulder and see him leaving the cockpit and going back to the hatch. He disappears into his own shuttle without looking back.

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