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houserautha · 8 months ago

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These Destined Ends

Part 3

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of killing/death, naked concubines (man and woman), threats via penis manhandling

A/N: I have a vague idea of where I’d like the story to go because I love the fun in discovering different things when writing on a loose plan. This chapter ended up longer than I thought it would be but Feyd is just so damn fun to write😂

You tried not to linger on the implications of your shared quarters.

Angrily you strode after Feyd-Rautha. “What is going to become of my parents?”

“I don’t care.”

You wanted to grab his arm and spin him around, force him to face you. But you were afraid of touching him again, afraid that any little contact would result in an even trade — and you did not want to confront the flicker of attraction you felt when the Harkonnen dragged his lips across your skin. A second reaction would be indicative of something more, and you were determined not to let another scenario arise to find out.

The best you could do was stomp after him. “Well, I do.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just am.”

You mull over this response. Would he tell you differently? You sensed that Feyd-Rautha tended to be brutally honest. Probably because he never had to deal with any consequences in his life. How could he, as na-Baron?

You fail to think of anything else to say and lapse into silence, trusting that he is telling the truth and your parents will be fine. Besides, you comfort yourself, the Emperor would be furious if the Harkonnens just slaughtered one of the other Noble Houses like that. There were laws in place to discourage such atrocities.

Feyd-Rautha continues his unofficial tour, winding through a complicated series of interweaving corridors without speaking. You see several servants along the way, all who keep a cautious distance from you both. You couldn't ignore their curious looks. How strange you felt among them - pale and unblemished like stones smoothed over by a river's constant force. It didn't aid in your comfort.

"Do you not know any of them?" You ask. Feyd-Rautha is anything but a pleasant conversational partner, but at least if you're talking you don't have to listen to your rampant thoughts.

"Who?"

"The servants," you reply, brow furrowing.

He grunts in a noncommittal fashion. "Why would I?"

"Because they work for you." You were on friendly terms with the staff back on Caladan and trying to befriend the Fremen employed to you on Arrakis. The natives were untrusting of you, rightfully so. But you couldn't imagine just ignoring them.

"They're disposable," Feyd-Rautha comments with a wave of his hand. A pair of servants scurry by.

You watch them turn the corner and vanish. "They're afraid of you."

"Hm."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Disposable."

He casts you a sideways look. "Everyone is disposable once their use has expired. Thus is the way of the Harkonnen."

You contemplate this, frowning. "Even you?"

A dry, brittle laugh erupts from him.

"Are you planning on killing me already, wife? Perhaps you'll adapt just fine here."

That wasn't the compliment he thought it was.

You pointedly ignore him. "Are you telling me that there's not a moment that would make you disposable like the rest of us?"

"There is," he says, seemingly unbothered by the threat of his mortality, unlike you. "My uncle has promised the Baronship to me. If I am an unfit ruler then I would be challenged. Thus is the —"

"— way of the Harkonnen," you finish.

Feyd-Rautha flashes you a smile as sharp as the blade of a dagger. "You are quicker than you look."

"But what of the Noble Houses? The Emperor?"

Feyd-Rautha lifts a shoulder. "House Harkonnen has proved powerful for many, many generations. No one dares challenge us. Nor will they," he adds thoughtfully. He pauses. "Do you fret for our children?"

You inhale sharply, swallowing, and it sticks in your throat. You cough out an unconvincing, "I'm fine!" then set to composing yourself, confident that your sanity would be doubted by anyone who happened by. What a way to be viewed by your subjects. Feyd-Rautha just stares at you in poorly veiled amusement.

"I try not to think of our children," you say after you're sure you're done coughing. Something akin to embarrassment burns you skin.

"Pity," Feyd-Rautha says. "These are our quarters."

Feyd-Rautha's quarters are much more grand than your room on Arrakis. He leads you into an antechamber with a skylight, pouring the strange light from the black sun into the space. There's a sunken level in the floor furnished with dark colored furniture — two love seats and a sofa. A handful of glowglobes float aimlessly by.

Feyd-Rautha crosses the room, forgoing the sunken level, to the other side of the antechamber. You have no choice but to follow.

You don't know what you expected from his — your — room. Perhaps a chamber of torture. But it's not the sleek, elegant display before you, a full sized bed with plush bedding and tasteful curtains covering a bank of floor-length windows. It's impeccably neat.

And, to your abject horror, features three naked figures sprawled out on various surfaces. Two women and one man.

Feyd-Rautha ignores them, even as they slink from their positions to greet him, bodies slender and completely hairless, free of any visible blemishes. You feign an interest in the ceiling. It's not that you're naive to nudity or sexuality, but the sudden exposure to it roots you in your place.

"Do you need an invitation?" Feyd-Rautha asks.

When you force your gaze from the ceiling, you find him settled casually in a chair with a low-slung back, the two women kneeling on either side of him and the man behind. You follow their hands as they wander his body.

"No. No."

Where are you supposed to go? If he believes you will worship him like the others than he's sorely mistaken. You walk to the bed, ghosting your fingers over the bedding and confirming its softness. You hate the way that you can feel him watching you, clearly amused by your discomfort; you rally your courage to meet his stare, refusing to acknowledge the naked bodies draped across him.

"Are you quite alright, wife?"

"Fine," you grit out. "I didn't realize we would have company."

"Would you like me to tell them to leave?"

A loaded question, one that you were aware would set the tone for the rest of your life with Feyd-Rautha. A challenge. You control the slight quiver in your voice, "Leave. I wish to be alone with my...husband."

The concubines hesitate, obviously waiting to hear from Feyd-Rautha. He continues to hold your gaze. "Leave."

Uncurling themselves from around him, the women and the man are all white limbs and smooth skin, a multi-limbed creature. Whether or not they are disappointed by this development, they don't reveal, simply sauntering out of the room to wherever they go when they aren't waiting naked for Feyd-Rautha. A feeling of annoyance stirs.

"There's no need to be jealous," Feyd-Rautha says as the door closes.

You bristle. "I'm not."

“Then come here, wife.” Feyd-Rautha spreads his legs, indicating his lap and his powerful thighs. You resent yourself for noticing. “If you dismiss my concubines, then you must come to me now and offer me your warmth instead.”

Another challenge. You wonder briefly if he is playing with you, testing your boundaries, but just as you refused to show weakness in the throne room, you refuse now, crossing the carpeted floor. A surge of bravery — or maybe stupidity — prompts you to wedge your knees on either side of his waist, straddling him, the skirt of your dress hitched up to ensure mobility.

The look on his face is worth the cost of the heat reigniting in the pit of your stomach. You chase it away in pursuit of the heady high you receive from asserting your dominance. He might’ve had the upper hand but you were in control now.

“Warm enough?” You ask him innocently.

“Not quite,” he replies. He’s tipped his head back to examine you, leaving a blazing trail where his gaze goes.

Brazen beyond you imagination, you work the buckle to his pants just enough to slip your hand inside and grab his cock.

That bastard. He was already hard. Not fully erect, you observed with conflicting feelings, but clearly you had your effects on him. Feyd-Rautha showed no shame or guilt about this, however. Like it was expected — normal for women he’s just met to reach into his pants.

And it probably was.

Injured hand screaming in defiance of your actions, you grab the head of his cock and twist, slightly backwards and to the side. You apply pressure, hopefully enough to hurt him, he wouldn’t dare reveal it to you anyway.

“Do not,” you hiss, “embarrass me like that ever again. I will not tolerate looking like a fool.”

Feyd-Rautha’s throat bobs. Except instead of agony he looks totally enthralled. “Or what?” He mocks. “You’ll wrap your pretty hand around my cock?”

“You won’t have a cock for anyone to wrap their hand around.”

“Is that a promise?”

You release him and climb off his lap, figuring it would be more impactful to leave him wanting then lustful. His utter indifference, his arousal, gives you pause to just who you’ve been arranged to marry.

“You disgust me,” you spit out.

Feyd-Rautha’s mouth twitches slightly. Did he really have to find everything funny?

He says, “We’ll see.”

A month passes at Giedi Prime in a disconcerting blur. To your surprise, besides the first afternoon, you hardly ever see Feyd-Rautha. Always busy with important meetings or sparring sessions. Or whatever he did in his spare time. You didn’t ask.

Ever since that day when you’d straddled his lap, you’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had said clearly that you were even after the slap but then you’d unexpectedly turned the tables — did he intend on returning the favor?

You informed him that you would sleep on the couch in the antechamber until your wedding, to which he never remarked upon. That first night you lay awake, afraid and absolutely convinced that he would try something. But he never came.

The days passed without event and your anxiety dwindled. Besides, while Feyd-Rautha was busy with na-Baron affairs, you were forced to schlep through a mountain of preparations for the wedding ceremony. You didn’t care, frankly. You chose the first sample of whatever you were offered — tablecloths, menu items, decorations — until one of the servants accompanying you threw down the sample booklet and scowled.

“This will be the most horrendous wedding in the history of the galaxy,” the servant said in exasperation. “And all of them are too afraid of your husband to say anything.”

You had raised a brow, secretly thrilled by this confrontation. At least it broke the monotony of your life here thus far.

“Do you question my taste?”

The servant glared at you. “What taste?”

A moment passed. The other servants stared in horror, undoubtedly convinced that their demise was imminent. Perhaps that was one benefit to being betrothed to the na-Baron. He wielded a certain type of power.

You busted out laughing. In fact, you laughed so hard that tears stream down your face.

“You’re right,” you said, laughter weakening into an uncontrollable giggle. “It will be a horrendous wedding, but that has nothing to do with the decorations. Will you help me?”

The servant’s name is Asha, and in her you found a companion. She chased away the other servants that day and set to work rectifying your wedding decisions, weighing in on current trends on the planet and admonishing you for your Caladan tastes. “Absolutely not,” she deadpanned when you inquired about floral bouquets.

Out of everyone on Giedi Prime — well, really just the Harkonnen fortress, as you weren’t permitted to leave — Asha became your friend. No one else bothered or cared to talk to you, and now that you had bonded over wedding preparations, you spent infinite amounts of time together strolling the halls arm-in-arm and whispering about servant gossip since you had nothing to contribute.

Asha made your miserable new life interesting.

“Are you scared?” She asks you one day, plucking at your eyebrows.

You outright refused to shave them off in order to conform to the hairless style of the Harkonnens, but regrettably agreed to a touch-up. You kept one eye on a nearby mirror just in case she got any ideas.

“Of what?”

Asha yanks at an eyebrow hair, and you cry out in surprise. “Oh, stop, you’re fine — I mean are you scared of Feyd-Rautha?”

“No. Why would I be?” You avert your eyes from her probing stare. Asha, unfortunately, is able to read your expressions better than a trained Bene Gesserit. You learned that this stemmed from the combat trainings that all young children received on this planet.

“Because,” Asha stresses. You frown when she fails to elaborate, and your friend issues a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve heard things about him, you know, in bed.”

“Oh.” You twist your hands in your lap. “What kinds of things?”

Asha grins triumphantly. “I knew you were scared!”

You laugh and shove away her hands as she playfully jabs at your sides. “I’m not scared,” you say, fending her off. “I’m just curious. Aren’t all brides?”

“Just you. We aren’t all Noble daughters with arranged marriages. We fuck —”

“I get it,” you interrupt. “Consider yourself lucky.”

You’re about to prompt her again about the things she’s heard when there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. Asha shoots to her feet. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes — of course she’s respectful to Feyd-Rautha but not you. But you supposed it was the basis of your only friendship, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

“You’re back,” you say, standing up slowly.

Feyd-Rautha rests, hip and elbow, against the doorframe into the antechamber. He hungrily drinks you in.

“Indeed,” Feyd-Rautha replies. Last you’d heard of him he had left for an offworld obligation without saying goodbye. Something stirs in you at the sight of him after so long.

“I hope your trip was well.”

Feyd-Rautha scans the room before his gaze returns to you. “I would prefer to be here. The Baron seems determined to keep me occupied until the ceremony.”

Did you detect a trace of resentment in his words? And why would the Baron keep him from you? The heir wouldn’t exactly conceive itself; though he would have no way of knowing that you had been sleeping on the couch all this time.

“Retrieve the present I’ve brought back for my wife,” Feyd-Rautha suddenly instructs Asha. She secretly meets your eyes before dashing away.

You fold your arms over your chest. “A present? And I thought you’d forgotten I existed.”

If he picks up on your anger, he doesn’t show it. Feyd-Rautha crosses the room to you, replaces Asha in the chair across from you.

“It’s for tonight. The Baron has requested our attendance for dinner.”

You bristle slightly. “The Baron? Tonight?”

You had been exceedingly lucky to avoid the monstrous head of House since your arrival. But perhaps it was because you ran the other direction at the mention of his name, or the fact that you hadn’t strayed from your quarters.

“Yes. You needed something…acceptable to wear.”

“My clothes aren’t acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I have no doubt that my uncle has planned something magnificent for tonight. You will need to look the part.”

Your careful, fragile existence on Giedi Prime was crashing at your feet. From wiling away the hours to suddenly being thrust into the explosive political landscape that was House Harkonnen.

But no matter. Jessica had raised you for this very purpose.

“Fine,” you agreed coolly.

Both of you turn as Asha returns from her errand, a garment bag folded over her arm. She goes to deliver it to your closet but Feyd-Rautha halts her in her tracks. “I want her to open it here.”

Part 4

Tags:

@moonsoulk

@heartarianagran

@torchbearerkyle

@unicoreads

@taleah

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#dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic

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b1asho · 3 months ago

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Round one of the species introduction!!!!

Prectikar Master Post:

Here's some info on them, and if you want to see some other drawings I've done of them (albeit some occasionally older n crustier ones), check out my deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/blasho

Anyway let's get into a terribly long string of paragraphs about some of their info:

Prectikar are a large sentient species, usually standing at around 8-9 feet tall when fully upright and weighing anywhere close to or upwards if 1000 pounds

They are covered in feather-like fur (or is it fur-like feathers? They're occasionally branched like feathers, and all have quills, but some are more hairlike) due to the cold climate they evolved in, though length and thickness of it now varies by region.

They are omnivorous, and while they have many traits to help them hunt and kill, most of their diet tends to be plants.

Originally rush-down predators, they use their considerable strength to move in quick bursts and their specialized tusks to either ram prey to death or gouge into it as they grapple it.

Their jaw strength is also insane,with their skull actually sacrificing brain space in favor of it, which helps them eat pretty much anything they come across. They pay a lot of attention to food and cooking because of their high calorie needs and very sensitive nose/tongue.

They have manganese as an oxygen carrier is a result of the scarcity of other metals in their environment and potentially because of its general affinity for oxygen.

This causes their blood to be an amber/orange brown and shades of pink depending on its exposure to oxygen.

Through a network of cooperative bonding and other adaptations (like better oxygen retention in muscles and the easily carried size and longevity of the molecule) they’ve managed to bring this manganese transport molecule close to hemoglobin in terms of effectiveness, though they can also make use of manganese’s catalyst properties to temporarily push it to bring lots more oxygen to their tissues at a time (used for short bursts of speed and strength that allow them to take down large prey and plants for food).

their large body size (selected by their colder environment) lets them use their own high body heat to keep the O2 fixation and liberation going in their highly effective lungs.

An extensive understanding of their internal chemistry is unknown (aka gatekept by their colonizers/"uplifters" who ill get to later) but it seems like they also have a network of bacteria in their body just to manage the more reactive and damaging oxides that form, and to remove/convert the spent manganese into connective tissue and aid in bone maintenance.

They have higher calorie needs from keeping up the body temp and recycling/removing all that stuff, alongside just being big in general. Alongside a lot of sleeping, they also basically just eat all the time (compared to other species) to compensate, though their mammal-like fat retention and other metabolic adaptations for scarcity mean that they can handle long periods without resources(though this causes increasingly compounded problems for them)

Some other downsides include low tolerance of changes in oxygen levels (particularly low) and temperature levels, and poor adaptation to environments outside of their biosphere/without all the microorganisms since these things upset their delicate balance.

(part of why so many tribes were nomadic was/is to chase temperate and ‘warm’ seasons, even though to us that’s still cold. Prectikar living in human dominated areas often just take a lot of supplements with beneficial bacteria in them to cope with thr lack of that in their environent, and any food printers need an 'ink' cartridge containing these things or else theyre basically useless.),

They also experience faster general wear and tear from having constant complex and intensive chemical reactions(sometimes with dangerous chemicals) going on in their bloodstream and tissues.

( I’m not a biochemist, so if there’s any glaring issues with this then just explain it away to yourself with ‘they have a gland for that’ or ‘just don’t think about it actually’ which is what I did. I just wanted the fun color with a metal that can reversibly bond with oxygen :). )

They have one nasal passageway for smell/air and a second, bigger cavity for just vocalization (which they can’t breathe in from as easily).

This second cavity is between their first set of eyes, and has a phonic lip structure inside to produce higher pitched sounds.

The upper nasal opening has muscled nostrils that act as lips to further help control sound. The noise coming from here sounds very high to them, but to us it sounds like a nasally human voice, broken uobhere and there with squeaks, buzzes, and clicks).

They can pitch this nose voice very high, closer to dolphin-like clicking noises but not quite echolocation level.

Their throat vocal cords by their air sac are very long and thick, used for making very deep noises that carry long distances.

However, the vocal control they have through their mouth is very poor due to this and the inarticulate lips and tongue they have, and due to the more limited air they can bring in and out of it, so when speaking only through their mouth they sound a lot like seals or dogs and can only really go in short bursts before having to refill the sac.

Most of their languages are spoken with the nose and mouth sounds in tandem, where the high and low mix to make a more even sounding voice.

It’s fairly easy to understand them, but nearly impossible for us to truly speak any of their native languages, and if they wanted to they could also just start making sounds we cant hear.

They see it as strange that humans and other species speak with a single tone without difficulty.

The red flaps pictured on the drawing of their mouth and nasal passages can be moved to seal off the passage and direct airflow elsewhere.

The big red one in their throat acts as a “diaphragm” to fill and empty the air sac (which is left over from when their digestive and respiratory tracts were more connected like ours, but time in the water heavily shifted it to a more ‘blowhole’ type outline to help them breathe and vocalize from the surface).

The other flap by the air sac and its vocal cords moves upwards to block off the digestive tract whenever the mouth or nose is opened to allow air to be drawn in by this diaphragm.

The two red flaps making a pinched shape can move independently or with the other red flap, but never at the same time with each other. The main airway is always separate from the digestive tract, though the flap to the middle, non vocal nasal passage can be moved so that it’s a part of either the vocal nasal passage to draw in air or the air sac part to act as another resonance chamber.

Air can be drawn in by the diaphragm via open mouth and through the nose via open top red flap at the same time, and can be released at the same time, resulting in their near continuous double speak sound they use for their own language.

Their characteristic large tusks are retractable and housed in a cone-shaped bony socket on the side of their jaw.

A muscle is attached to the bony root of the tooth, and pushes it out. As it slides towards the front of the mouth, the cone socket narrows and wedges a protrusion on the tooth into a hole in the socket, and then the muscle stiffens, locking it in there.

When the tusk retracts, the muscle quickly jimmies the tooth forward then draws it back to get it out of the hole, and then pulls it back into the wider part of the socket.

This is mainly because their tusks are ever growing (but very slowly) but not great at self sharpening, and are their main weapon in self defense and hunting,so it seems this just happened to keep them safe.

If a tusk is broken, as long as it was not cracked at the root, it can be regrown with extensive time in the socket, but otherwise they stay safely stowed in da socket where the majority of its sharp edge can stay protected from chewing and other mouth stuff. Tusks won't start growing in until their teenage years.

They are primarily bipedal/ quadrupedal and switch between the two occasionally.

Knuckle walking helps distribute their top-heavy weight and give them more balance for long and short distance, while walking upright gives them better visibility, less stress on their neck/upper back, and quicker but unsteadier movement.

Their gallop/sprint utilizes both arms and legs to propel them forward in a gait halfway between a bear and a gorilla (since their big mid arms are set like a bears) to overtake prey after an ambush or drive them into the rest of the pack waiting elsewhere. Quad walking also helps them get around in buildings meant for species half their size.

Their hands are some of their only places without hair, but as they age, they loose it on their arms and face too.

Prectikar have different uses for each of their pairs of limbs, and have for all stages of their evolution.

The front ones specialized for grappling prey and grabbing things, and so have a ‘sprawling’ shoulder position like humans and have hands with relatively nimble fingers, the outer two are angled inwards but can also move in a pamprodactyl ish fashion (which acts as their version of a thumb, and lets them switch from big to little grabbing motions) .

Their mid limbs used to be wings with hands, and still have a basically zygodactyl finger position that was helpful for holding onto branches (with the backwards facing finger), but over time they have been converted into terrestrial knuckle-walking limbs, with the one that swings back and forth being brought forwards to walk or swung back to adjust grip on big things they want to move or for balance on unstable terrain like ice . The fingers on this one are big and clumsy, pretty much only useful for digging, walking, or slashing.

Their back limbs also used to be for grasping but were mainly counterbalances, but have now turned into plantigrade walking limbs (and much like humans, that’s pretty much all they use them for). All have nonretractable claws.

Prectikar are viviparous and usually give birth to litters of up to 8.

They have a specific mating season, where their dimorphic traits will become more pronounced.

Males in rut will shed the feathers on their throat sac region and it will become a bright ambery yellow color, and they will also grow in longer feathers on their butt region (in a fan shape for display purposes. The dont have a true post anal tail like humans).

They will also develop some of that pinkish orange/yellow on their chest skin. Females go throguh estrus cycles and will also grow a more prominent butt feather crest, as well as some very long feathers around their neck, shoulders, and abdomen for babies to hold onto.

Their skin patches turn a much brighter shade of yellow to help direct newborns to where they can feed from. Once they give birth, they will start making an oily and thick secretion across the skin patch which is collected into a divot which the infant licks from. Part of why the babies hold onto them is so they can constantly lick the 'milk'so they can grow.

Newborns come out blind and hairless, but quickly grow in a thick down and open their eyes so they can climb on mom.

Once they're weaned, they'll drop off and use the muscles they gained hanging on and climbing to start moving with the adults. They grow very fast, and canes are a common sight in teens to help deal with the rapid bone and muscle growth.

Usually, it is only during this season where chest/skin related nudity standards change to be more conservative, since showing those colors means youre down to fuck and so doing that is usually restricted to in private with their partner or for bachelors.

They have very strict binaries for sex and gender based on this seasonal divide and religion.

Most tribes show gender identity through a piercing on their lower nose for male or chin for female (so dont worry, the main guy up there is showing some male presenting chest outside of the mating season, so hes fine).

Normally, only some cultures pierce their ears, which are like if owls had a little mobile flap of outer ear to swivel I stead of their whole head. Very little of it is actually flesh, and the sound is mainly captured by the feathers around it.

While they have a reputation otherwise, Prectikar are highly social within their tribal/family groups.

They regularly allogroom, greet each other with hugs, and usually travel in sibling groups. Households are multi generational.

They have a reputation as standoffish or irritable because they take things very differently and have other standards/specific body language truggers. also most other species treat them differently/with fear by default.

their upper pair of eyes is larger and focused on long distance vision while their lower pair is for close up vision, creatign a bifocal effect for them when using both at once.

Aaaaaand that oretty much everything, I think. I'll post some other arts related to them soon, but consider this the Master Post on the things you should know about them!!

#spec evo #worldbuilding #alien species #xenobiology #drawing #illustration #original species #prectikar #lore stuff

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realisticfanfictions · 10 months ago

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♥ 𝘽𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙂𝙁: 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙞 ♥

SFW | OPLA. I grew up watching the anime, and was disgusted to hear Netflix was doing a live adaptation of One Piece. But it's actually really good, and reignited my love for Sanji. Hope you enjoy!

𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘔𝘦𝘵:

You were out-of-work and desperate for a job when you stumbled across the Baratie.

Zeff, seeing your current state, offered you a free room that you would pay off by working as a waitress - just until you got back on your feet.

On your first day, you waltzed into the kitchen with your notebook in one hand and a pile of hastily scribbled orders in the other. But you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.

He was rushing around the kitchen getting out orders, his blond hair drifting over his eyes and his apron fluttering with him as he moved about. At first he was too in his element to notice you, barking orders at the other chefs and taking quick tastings of various dishes before sending them out. But when he did, oh boy he did.

He had to do a double take, and you were instantly entranced by his sweet and gentle smile that graced his face. His once intense blue eyes softened, and he approached the pass where you stood on the other side.

"You must be (Y/N)," He said as his eyes did a quick glance up and down your body, similar to how an artist appreciates a fine sculpture. He wiped his hand on the clean bit of his white apron and reached out to you. "I'm Sanji."

You took his hand and shook it, introducing yourself with a smile. You were taken aback by his charming chuckle. "I was reaching for your tickets," He clarified and you turned bright red, which only made his gorgeous grin grow. "But, it's nice to know you have such soft hands, mademoiselle." As he spoke, he reached for your hand again and brought your knuckles to his lips, placing a kiss against your suddenly flush skin.

Out of sheer embarrassment, you quickly shoved the tickets in his hand and ran out of the kitchen - not noticing the adoring look the suave chef had as he watched you run away.

𝘒𝘦𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 1#:

After a few weeks, you began to settle into life at the Baratie. The constant bickering which led to fighting, which led to forced public apologies became almost soothing. It was honest, real and natural - something you were lacking for the longest time.

Tonight was your first late night shift, and when you told the other waitresses they jokingly claimed that tonight was your "trial through fire." Whatever that meant. But, you soon found out why.

Drunk and rowdy pirates, the occasional marine looking for said drunk and rowdy pirates, and wart-faced men who whistled whenever you walked by. It was truly rough.

One particular man walked in with a pretty blonde on his arm, but he seemed obsessed with throwing in as many innuendos as he could before you left to attend another table. The one about wanting "your pudding" for dessert would've made you a murderer if you weren't working.

You stormed into the kitchen and ignored the snide comment from Pattie about your being mad, before slamming down the ticket onto the pass and asking a nearby cook to include a massive helping of spit in the guy's food.

Sanji, who was focused on sauteing, looked up in surprise. He was called in to help with the second dinner rush, and was still in his signature stripped button-down with his sleeves rolled up. At your words, he quickly crossed over and shooed the other chef away, taking his position of plating so he could be closer to you.

"What's wrong, my love?" He asked as he wiped a droplet of sauce off the plate he was working on with a white hand towel he almost always kept over his shoulder. "What has such a beautiful girl in such a fuss?"

You sighed and complained to the blond about the man who'd been harassing you all night. How normally you'd be fine with it, but his tone and disgusting comments left you, and his date, with a bad taste in your mouths.

His playful smile dropped to a thin line, and despite the quirked corners of his mouth, you knew it was forced. He nodded and looked over his shoulder. "Is that lamb ready?" When he heard confirmation, he picked it up, plated it without as much care as he normally would, and threw down his hand towel. "Lead the way, darling." He said with a polite tone that left little room to argue.

You had picked up a tray of drinks and Sanji had shed his apron by the time you both reached the table. You introduced Sanji as your co-waiter and he helped you set down the plates and drinks. But, of course, the man smirked as he commented on your ability to "balance such massive jugs", as you placed his drink in front of him.

You were about to finally snap, when a smooth voice spoke up. "Here's how this is going to go," Sanji gently guided you behind him and leaned forward toward the guy who'd been harassing you all night. "You are going to drink your Old Fashioned, eat your food, and the only words that should be coming out of your filthy, ogre mouth are compliments to your wonderful date here." He sends a smile and a wink to the blonde who had been sitting uncomfortably across from her date the entire time they'd been here. "What you are not going to do, is talk about any of the waitresses' breasts, or their 'pudding' in such a disgusting manner. And if I hear that you've so much as looked at her in any way that makes her uncomfortable, you're going to be dealt with." He forces a smile. "Enjoy your meal."

You didn't so much as get another look all night, and you got a nice tip out of it - which you, of course, tried to share with him, and he, of course, let you keep it.

𝘒𝘦𝘺 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 2#:

It was the twilight hours after the restaurant had closed, and you were leaning against the railing on the balcony out-looking the ocean. You'd been working here for two months and a part of you had come to terms with you never leaving, though you still asked the occasional stranger if there was any room left on their boat. The answer was always either a 'no', or only if you agreed to join as 'entertainment.'

Being stranded at sea on a massive wooden fish wasn't always easy. Sure, you got the best meals you'd ever taste for free, but you also missed out on so much of the world by being here.

You flinched when the door creaked open behind you, and turned around to see the man who had slowly wormed his way into your heart. Sanji stood there with two cocktails balanced perfectly between his fingers, and a smile. "Hey, beautiful girl. Can I buy you a drink?"

You shook your head and quietly laughed while he approached and handed you your favourite drink. You playfully chided him for making you drink this late at night, but took a sip and sighed in delight. You both leaned against the railing and watched the drunk boatmen stumble around, and laughed together when one would pass out on the front deck.

When you both settled back into silence, he plucked out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. "What's troubling you, my love?" He asked softly, as if he were afraid to break the tranquility of the moment. When you didn't respond straight away, he struck a match and lifted it to ignite his cigarette.

Instead of answering, you told him smoking was a bad habit and he smiled. "We all have vices," He simply replied and took a long, smooth drag of it. It had become part of his smell, the smoke. Normally, you avoided the horrid odor, and you didn't know if it was the brand, or the way he smoked them, but with Sanji it just... smelt like him. "Just like how yours is avoiding hard conversations." His eyes locked with yours and a playful smile graced his lips, as if he had just unearthed some hidden conspiracy and he awaited your reaction.

You rolled your eyes and leaned away from him, but was pulled back toward him when his arm wrapped around your shoulders and guided you against his body. You both weren't dating, but small, romantic gestures like this kind of made you wish you were. He knew you, and even in this short time, you knew him too. You knew that behind this playful and flirtatious front was a man who was genuinely curious about why you would escape up to the tallest part of Baratie away from everyone else.

When he raised a hand to push back a strand of hair behind your ear, you told him the truth. How you longed for adventure, and wanted to see the world. How you wanted nothing to tether you down, just be free without having to follow the rules of someone else's game.

He was quiet when you told him this. Without a word, he listened to your ambitions and when you were done, he whispered his own in your hair. The All-Blue... you hesitated for a moment, and asked if you could follow him to find it. He smiled and pressed himself closer to you, the stars twinkling far off in the distance as you felt pressure against your skin and realised his soft lips were against your temple.

"Of course." He muttered into your ear, before gently pulling you against his chest and placing another kiss on your cheek. The moment was interrupted by some angry, drunken shouts from below the deck. He pulled back and shook his head in amusement, his eyes reflecting the night sky above as he gazed into your own. It looked as though he struggled to find the words to say, before his shoulders fell and he smiled. "Goodnight, my darling."

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵:

You had many moments like that while working at the Baratie. Sweet, fleeting moments where both of you knew what you wanted, but neither had the courage to actually say it. To put it as simply as you could, you were scared to rock the boat - one wrong move and you would both drown. You, and Sanji, came with baggage. Heavy baggage. And to keep with the boating metaphor, you could only keep so much luggage on a rowboat before it starts to sink. Was it a depressing view of it? Yes, but it was also realistic. It was just better to keep things the way they were.

Unfortunately, a boy in a strawhat didn't exactly know that. From the second he walked in, he had decided that Sanji was going to be the cook of his pirate crew. And he wasn't going to take no for an answer. His determination was only fueled when you and Sanji helped fight off the fishmen that had tried to attack the Baratie.

Sanji said no. Well, it sounded more like a maybe to you. You knew this was the perfect opportunity for Sanji, and you followed him into the kitchen where he had began to prep for the next service. You told him he should go.

His smile from when you first walked in dropped, and he shook his head. "It's not a good idea," He replied, and went back to cutting. "There's too much here for me to just walk away from."

It didn't need to be said, but you said it anyway; were you the reason he didn't want to go?

He paused and stared down at the chopping board. "You are a reason," He said slowly, and finally met your gaze. "But not the only one."

"Are you worried about leaving her?" You both jumped when the pirate, Luffy, appeared almost out of nowhere. His smile was big and bright, and he confidently placed his hands on his hips. "She's strong, she'll be fine! You're alright with us taking your boyfriend, right?"

You and Sanji immediately broke into failed attempts at trying to explain you weren't dating, but Luffy just stared at you in confusion. "Well, then what's stopping you?"

Sanji didn't answer, and Luffy was called away by someone to cast off. You went with them to wave Luffy goodbye, when Sanji appeared with a packed bag. "I only have one condition!" He called out, and turned to smile at you. "I want to bring my girlfriend, if she'll have me?"

You blinked. Then blinked again. Luffy smiled. "Sure! She seems fun! And really strong too!"

You were still in shock, and a little confused at what was happening, but then Sanji leaned in. "No more being stuck. No more feeling helpless. No more playing by other people's rules. My darling- no. (Y/N), would you like to sail the world with me?"

Of course you said yes.

#one piece #anime #sanji x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x you #one piece fluff #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #opla #opla sanji #opla x reader #one piece netflix #one piece live action #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x you #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n

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dvchvnde · 4 months ago

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Your grogginess lingers in the days after. A side effect of the painkillers, he says, but when you check—tucking the pill against your inner cheek when he leaves to go fetch something from the kitchen—it's just Tylenol. Prescription, of course. Extra strength with codeine. It shouldn't make you feel this sluggish, this out of it.

Exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. One that doesn't quite fit; tight, constricting—an artificial veneer that leaves you feeling itchy and uncomfortable where it rubs into your flesh. Sinking anchored hooks into your consciousness that tug you down into a permanent state of hypnagogia. Suspended in a constant fever dream.

Threads of fatigue weave through each eyelash until keeping them open becomes an arduous task. It's easier when you just give in—

“Need tae rest,” Johnny says when you tell him about it. About how much it worries you. “Ye’ve been injured, doe. Need tae sleep an’ heal.”

Adds: trauma, maybe, when your skepticism shows over dinner of caribou burgers, rice pilaf, and more bannock. The way he says the word—so nonchalant for all its ugliness, cruelty—nudges inside your chest, and you waver. Flickering toward the striped scar on his temple. He'd know, wouldn't he?

Still.

The unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach lingers, mouldering inside of you. Festering. Fed by the stretch of days that bleed into each other; of waking up to the same sequence, a new routine, over and over again without any escape.

This new perspective hurts. Aches. But you adapt—change shape—until your days are spent languishing away in bed reading the books he gives to you, or listening to him putter around the house like a restive bird searching for an escape.

This cabin is too small for his wings, it seems.

But despite having a stranger impede in his space, Johnny cares for you with an intensity that makes you feel smothered. Claustrophobic. He tends to everything, rarely letting you lift a finger.

The embarrassment of that, of it all, fades at the end of the first week when he puts you in the tub, and slowly washes away the grime from your skin with a tender touch and eyes that bleed sin.

(“Ah’ll take care’a ye,” he rasps, voice thick in his throat. “Donnae worry about a thing, doe.”)

It's fine, you think. It's fine in the daytime—

Your nights, however, are awash in seafoam.

Clips, snippets; disjointed and broken. They flicker past like scenes of a movie you're unfamiliar with but never linger. Never stay long enough for you to find some form of comfort within the hazy silhouettes.

Moments of waking up on a bed with a hand on your forehead, murmuring to you. Words eliding together in the slurry of your mind, incompressible. Unknowable. A warmth against your skin. A rough hand on your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek.

The most jarring are the ones that come late at night when you remember the phantom weight of something slung over your waist, knotted tight between your breasts. Scorching heat glued to your spine.

You think he's been crawling in bed with you. The thought alone makes you want to sob—

“Pretty wife ah go’ fer ma’self.”

Morning comes, and the worry from the night before is dissolved into an uneasy pinch in your guts. He’s normal—intense, dizzyingly so—but. Just a man. An odd one with a white, jagged grin. All teeth. Charming, you know. The sort of thing you'd fall for back home in a bar. Boyish. Simple.

But he's—

Strange.

Touches you a lot. Fingers tucked in the crease of your elbow, hand on your shoulder. Your knee. It moves higher up, planting itself on your thigh. Much too high to be appropriate. To be anything else outside of—

Well.

No.

You can't think about that. Not when your safety is tucked between those even, white teeth. With a broken ankle, negligible survival skills, and no sense of direction—

Thinking about that will crush you down to fine powder.

You bury it around an unease smile. Polite and distant and edging slightly in hysteria when he leans down, eyes burning, burning, and murmurs something under his breath about his little doe. All his.

(wife—)

It's a mistake. His accent is thick. You've misheard what he said. Don't panic. Don't scream. Don't offend him. He's nice. Nice, nice, nice. Just a nice man in the middle of nowhere who has a scar on his temple that looks like a shooting star, and madness in the back of his eyes that blooms when you catch him staring at you. Always. Like he can't bear to tear his gaze away.

He's a puppy. A dog. A good fucking boy. Stop being so crazy—

He brings you bread with fresh, homemade jam. Blueberries that grow along his property line. Juice. Water. He sits in the chair beside the bed and eats with you, tells you stories of his life back home. Scotland. Where he played football (an’ no’ tha’ shite ye call soccer) with his friends when he was home from deployment. An avid runner. He'd pace the streets of Edinburgh until his belly ached too much to continue.

Tells you of this place he'd go to after. Eat his body weight in eggs, hash.

His life feels like an improbable adventure sometimes. Deepening into dangerous territory when he admits, at your gentle prodding, that he was in the military. Secret sect. A taskforce.

(“Need’tae know,” he wags his finger at you, a toothy grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. “Or ah’d ‘ave tae kill ye.”

You convince yourself he's joking, and offer a weak chuckle. It tastes of madness in the back of your throat.)

In these moments, there are three elephants in the room with you. So smothered are you by their presence, that thoughts of loneliness dwindle down to nothing. A faded memory haunting the hollow of your throat.

The most obvious one is the mangled scar on the side of his face, slashing across his skin like a shooting scar. He touches it sometimes. Fingers pressing tentatively to the lumpy, misshapen mess of pink flesh.

It's soft most of the time. A tender pat, like he's reminding himself it's still there.

But sometimes, sometimes, he digs his fingers in so hard, they turn white. Like he's trying to chisel through flesh to scoop out everything inside. These moments are usually accompanied by bad days. Ones where he disappears outside for hours on end, only slinking back inside when the sky turns black. Haggard, knuckles pulpy mess of red.

Or when he stays inside, despondent. Solemn. He stares at the wall without blinking. It takes him a long time to respond, as if the words are stuck inside his throat. And when he does, they're stilted and hollow. Monosyllabic. A broken amalgamation of incomprehensible colloquialisms and shattered English.

When you ask what he said, he gives you a strange look. Like you're the one speaking in tongues.

“Ahm jus’—” he makes a vague motion, and says nothing else.

The pity is intense. You ache for this odd, broken man. To suffer so much—

It draws your attention to the second elephant. The one who pushes back into the corners, trying to hide. This growing thing that crackles in the air between you. Unfathomable. Intense. You're not sure what it is, or why it's here. It feels intimidating. Infinite.

It crawls into your lap in the dark, this twisted, hideous babe, seeking comfort from the person who viciously pushes it away. A dog coming back to lick the hand that hurts it because it knows no better. Bad dog. Good boy. The wires cross, spark.

What else do you do when pain and comfort come from the same hand? It whimpers this question out as it cries itself to sleep curled up on the lap of a person who refuses to touch it back. Cold comfort.

You think of baby chimps and mothers with cotton skin and metal bones.

Loneliness, you find, makes you desperate. It aches, a pulsing wound, spread over the whole of your pericardium. What do you do when the armour that is meant to protect you breaks? Cracks.

You don’t like to think about it too much because this path, this looping trail, leads you right into everything else you refuse to acknowledge. Particularly, the third elephant.

Or rather—

The fact that the other side of the bed is always warm when you wake up in the morning.

Johnny tells you he sleeps on the couch.

Sometimes, when you press your face into the pillow, you can catch the lingering scent of pine, cloudberry.

(You fold it up into a square, and shove it between the metal bars of your mother's ribs.)

#Johnny was creepier in the og version but doe was too soft #sad #i loved the throughline of Doe's “ignore it until it goes away” mentality until it bit her in the ass #straw house straw dog

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stellarbit · 6 months ago

Text

New Arrangements

Word Count: 5.4k Pairing: fem!reader x tech and crosshair, light Tech nods Warnings: NSFW receiving oral, piv, dp, all that good jazz Summary: Tech thinks of a different way to please you, as long as Crosshair is up for it.

This was a request a WHILE ago (ya girl is a slow, anxious writer). And it's been rotting my brain. Working on Part 2 of Two Faces too

“You worry too much.” Crosshair snickered into your ear. You shoved him off with a hard elbow. His voice, that close, sent a rush of irritation and something more exhilarating through your veins.

He chuckled, not deterred, and gripped your chin, playfully tilting your head from side to side. “Keep making that face, and you’ll age faster than us.”

You pushed his hand off, “And you say Wrecker needs to grow up.”

Crosshair let out a low, amused snort. His demeanor was always a blend of mockery and challenge, yet you had learned to navigate these waters.

Meanwhile, Tech observed the interaction from across the campfire. The three of you were on duty, guarding the camp while Wrecker, Echo, and Hunter were away. Your constant inquiries about their safety had invited Crosshair’s teasing, yet Tech appreciated how seamlessly you meshed with his squad. The Jedi Council had assigned you to Clone Force 99 abruptly, a move that often led to friction in established teams. However, whether due to your trained Jedi patience or simply fortune, you had adapted well.

The longer you worked with them, the more comfortable you became. It wasn’t a word Tech would use but, in reality, you were getting attached.

That is, enough that you were able to coax out Crosshair’s more gentle side - if you could call it that. He interacted with you with a brusque familiarity he reserved for his brothers: never overtly kind, but his jabs lacked real malice. It always piqued Tech’s interest. Lightening Crosshair’s often grim demeanor was no minor achievement, and Tech found this development enjoyable.

Anything that brought light to Crosshair’s attitude was a rare feat and a welcome one.

It had taken longer than with Crosshair, but you eventually won over Tech’s tolerance as well. As Tech generally had the more focused tasks, the two of you were paired together often. Your role as a Jedi made it easy to guard him while he was engrossed in his work.

Your time paired together allowed you ample time to listen to his rambling, ranting, and info dumping. A habit you initially deemed mind numbing, yet these moments quickly became your favorite parts of the day. Tech, often engaged in some task at hand, grew to find your presence calming as well.

It seemed that Tech, in his own measured way, cherished your attentiveness. You relished you time with you and he you. Oh, he relished you thoroughly and every single chance he could.

Crosshair pulled on a strand of your hair, “I need to do a perimeter sweep. Keep your senses extended and comm me if you hear anything.” Tech didn’t miss the little flush his brother’s teasing brought you. Crosshair’s task was one that gave you Tech a slim window of opportunity.

Not long after Crosshair departed, you were splayed out on a cot in the tent with Tech between your legs.

“You enjoy it when I speak to you.” Tech said so plainly, as if he wasn’t squeezing three fingers inside you. He pushed them in deep, lowering his mouth to your clit as you whined back at him. He sucked on your bud, licking a few light circles around it, and felt you clamp down around him. Raising himself so that it was only his lips brushing you, he said, “Not being able to please you and speak to you is not the most ideal.”

He wanted to give you so much more, he wanted to push you farther every time. Singing he wished he had a second pair of hands for.

And a thought occurred to him.

“Tech,” his name was a breathy moan. You squirmed on his fingers, trying to catch his lips on your clit again. “Your voice alone can finish me. Please.” Tech didn’t miss the desperation in your pleaing.

He kept working his fingers into you, further angling his head to watch your expression. The times he spent with you were becoming a game of strategy to him. One that he recorded and re-lived, as often as his little free time allowed.

“And what is it you want to hear?” He swept a thumb over your clit, still aching for him, and sent an arch through your back.

Knowing he was in the midst of studying you, you threw your arms over your face to deprive him. If you were desperate and wanting, so should he be. “Read me binary code for Force sake. Anything.”

Tech thought he heard frustration in your voice, an unideal outcome considering his intentions. He unhooked the leg you had saddled over his shoulder and settled it beside his hip as he crawled over top of you. He gently moved your arms from your face and repositioned them above your head. Lining himself up with your entrance, he lowered his mouth to your ear. “Right now, I think I’d rather hear what you have to say.” Not making you ache another second, he easily slid inside of you.

It was a quick affair given the high risk of discovery. Tech completely worked you over just by whispering simple observations to you. Things like how you moved, looked, and felt around him. He took you right up to the edge of release, but cut you short. He was throbbing inside you, just as close to his orgasm, when he pulled out.

Typically, Tech never left you wanting or waiting. He took pride in timing himself in getting you off. This time, if he wanted his idea to succeed, he needed you wanting more.

He grunted, struggling for composure. “Crosshair will be back soon. We should continue later.”

For a moment, you thought you might cry. You were wound so tight the ache was painful. Panting and foggy brained you just nodded along. Clearing your voice you said, “I didn’t know you were so cruel.”

He sat back on his knees, raked his eyes over your body once more, and tapped his goggles to end his recording. “Trust me,” Tech said, extending his hand. “It will be worth the wait.”

Afterwards, while the two of you composed yourselves, Tech gave you a sideways glance.

“Do you?” Tech queried.

“Do I what?” You responded without looking.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, stopping your hands as your head tilted in confusion. Surely that was obvious to him.

A second pulsed between you and you leaned over to give his arma squeeze. “With my life.”

Tech pushed, “And you have faith in my skills of observation.”

“Now, you’re just being silly.” You gave him a pat and pushed off the cot to exit. Tech caught your hand, adding weight to his question. For a moment you were stunned, you didn’t know what called for such seriousness. With a smile, you sighed and squeezed his hand. “I have as much faith in you as I do the Force,” you said and bent forward to kiss his hand.

A barely there smile came to Tech. He sighed and stood with you. “I encourage you to keep that in mind in the future.”

When Crosshair returned you were still fanning the flush from your face. The ache between your legs had hardly subsided.

“Any word from the others?” He asked, setting his gun aside and discarding his helmet.

Tech tapped through his datapad, responding casually. “Negative and I suspect it will take longer now that the suns are setting.” Pausing momentarily, he brought his comm to his face. “Hunter, what is your status?”

It wasn’t immediate, but it was Echo’s voice that came back. “Hunter’s a little… tied up at the moment.” His inflection suggested that might be literal. “We still have a ways to go. Stay with the ship.”

Your head dipped back as you groaned, “That’s not good.” Swallowing your worry, you pushed off your knees to stand up. “In that case, I’ll be back.”

“And where do you think you’re going?” Crosshair asked as he sat adjacent Tech.

You waved your hand over your shoulder as you walked off. “Just stretching my legs, I’ll be fine.” Stretch your legs and walk out the ache.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you, particularly the sway of your hips. He swallowed a groan and looked back to the fire.

Tech, noticing the shift in Crosshair’s demeanor, glanced over his datapad at him, assessing. “Your concern is unwarranted. She will be fine.” He observed Crosshair for a moment longer as he placed a toothpick in his mouth, then ventured into delicate territory. “Is it safe to say you find her attractive?”

Crosshair sputtered, wide eyed he whipped to look at his brother. “Wha- What does that matter to you?”

“Currently—a great deal,” Tech adjusted his goggles, his tone turning investigative. “Are you aware that she and I engage in physical relations?” When Crosshair’s stare intensified, Tech added for clarity, “Frequently.”

Crosshair covered his face with his hand, cursing into his palm. He had noticed the way you gravitated towards Tech and even suspected you’d caught Tech’s attention. Though considering your nature as a Jedi, he imagine you hadn’t acted on anything. It was why he let his teasing border on flirting.

It’s why he let himself fantasize about you.

“Why are we even talking about this?” The sniper groaned, exasperation already showing.

“Because I’m fairly certain she finds you attractive as well, and I have an idea that might benefit all involved. But first, I need to know: have you ever fantasized about her?” Tech’s question was direct, his curiosity unabashed.

Just as you circled back to the camp, Crosshair’s incredulous response pierced the air. “What?” Hearing this, you quickened your pace, pushing through the underbrush to catch an early glimpse of the scene.

When you burst through the final swath of foliage, the camp appeared oddly tranquil. Crosshair was casually leaning against crates on the opposite side of the fire from Tech, who was positioned exactly as you had left him, seemingly immersed in his datapad.

Neither of them said anything as you took a few slow steps towards Tech, still assessing the situation. Crosshair almost seemed like he was pointedly ignoring you. The oddity of it all made you smile curiously.

Sitting next to Tech you leaned over to whisper. “What did you do to piss him off?” Crosshair’s eyes narrowed in on you, a clear sign he’d heard you.

Tech pulled his datapad away from his face, glancing at Crosshair. “He's not angry,” Tech clarified, setting aside his device completely. “If anything, he's nervous.” When Tech was fully present, more interested in a situation than his research, there was always a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, really?” You chuckled softly, nudging Tech playfully with your elbow. “And what’s got moody over there so nervous?”

Tech gestured his hand you, saying, “Most likely due to the anticipation of your reaction.”

Confusion briefly crossed your features as you gave a small shake of your head. “My reaction to what?”

Tech adjusted his goggles and cleared his voice, a small glimpse of his own nerves. “To learning I’ve disclosed the nature of our relations to Crosshair.”

Your cheeks went warm and, for a moment, you could only blink at Tech. “Tech.” You said in a cautious tone.

He began again with no hesitation. “Crosshair is now fully aware that you and I are involved.” You opened your mouth only to be met with Tech lifting his finger. “More significantly, I've proposed the idea of him joining us. As I see it, it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Mutually beneficial arrangement?” You parrotted a little louder. You were suddenly very aware of Crosshair’s eyes on you. From your peripherals you noticed Crosshair shift his weight off the crates and your mouth went dry.

Tech twisted to face you head on. “The way you and Crosshair interact suggests a mutual attraction and, frankly, seeing him somewhat content is a rarity.” Crosshair scoffed from across the fire, but Tech continued. “I believe expanding our dynamics will prove enjoyable for all parties.”

Your lack of response, brows lowered but eyes wide, caused Tech to pause. A moment of hesitation passed over Tech as he considered the best path forward. His eyes shifted around before honing back in on you. The look in his eyes kept you locked in place as he leaned over and reached across his body to grip your thigh.

Facing away from Crosshair, Tech brought his mouth to your ear. Just for you to hear, he said, “And I believe you would find an evening with the two of us... quite exhilarating.”

Remaining still, your eyes flew to Crosshair. From the distance you were sure he couldn’t have heard Tech, but he was waiting, almost holding his breath, for your response. The ache between your legs bloomed again. Your thighs squeezed together, trapping Tech’s hand between them.

Between Tech’s proximity and Crosshair’s staring you down, you couldn’t hear anything over your own heartbeat. Abruptly, you stood, disentangling yourself from Tech, and nearly stumbled over your makeshift seat. You fanned your face, letting out nervous laughs while your eyes darted between them.

Before you could gather your thoughts to speak, Crosshair’s voice cut through the tension. “Now who’s nervous?” His tone was taunting, yet when you looked at him, your nervousness seemed to have evaporate. Crosshair poised, nearly predatory, as if waiting for a signal to spring into action. Undeniably captivating.

For Crosshair. Seeing you flushed and breathless with excitement brought his fantasies vividly to the forefront of his mind. He raised an eyebrow, his typical smirk softening into something more tender.

“Crosshair?” You managed to say with a small, flattered smile playing on your lips. “You want this?”

After a tense pause, he discarded the toothpick in his mouth and walked around the fire to where you stood beside Tech. With a steady voice Crosshair said, “I.. wouldn’t have agreed to discuss it if I didn’t.”

Eyes blown wide, your heartbeat throbbed between your legs. Holding Crosshair’s gaze a heartbeat longer you looked down at Tech with a nod.

A spark of excitement hit Tech’s eyes. “Excellent.” Tech smiled and pushed off his knees to stand. “In that case-”

You interjected quickly, “Right now.”

“Right now?” Crosshair repeated incredulously.

“That… would be my fault.” Tech walked past you and patted Crosshair on the shoulder. “You two head into the tent, I’ll be in shortly.” Without even having to see your shared confused expression Tech sighed, continuing to walk to the comm station. He clarified, “It would be wise to make sure we are alerted if the others are near.”

A hand settled on your lower back as Crosshair guided you away. “We’ll leave you to it then.” Crosshair said after him. He leaned down, ducking into you as you both crossed the tent’s threshold. As he pushed into you a breathy laugh kissed the skin of you neck. “Should’ve seen your face.”

You tried to shove him off with bump of you hips - a playful move you’d done dozens of times. With his hand still resting on the small of your back the movement slid his hand into place on your waist.

He remained close, looking down at you and his grip firming on you. “Since when have you…” He started saying but trailed off. He didn’t need to finish, you knew what he was asking.

“Since the day you caught me from falling in the river on Kuat.”

He craned his neck back, a smirk shifting his lips. “Didn’t I then drop you into the river?”

Even just his hand waist sent your heart racing. “It made me laugh,” you replied with a light shrug. Rising onto your tiptoes, you whispered close to his ear, “Or maybe the first time I saw you shooting from one knee.” Settling back onto your heels, you shrugged again, smiling slyly. “I like the way you pose.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, but his amusement was evident as he slipped his hand up to the nape of your neck moving to stand in front of you. Unable to think under the weight of his touch you stepped into his space.

You opened your mouth but Crosshair’s voice came first, “Don’t even bother asking.”

He wasn’t wrong -you were going to ask him the same thing. Instead, you reached up and gently guided his hand from your neck to your chest, pressing his palm against your heart. When the pace of your heart registered with him you said, “I was going to ask you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened and it was now Tech’s voice that rang out. “Oh good, at least you're somewhat comfortable.” Crosshair pulled away like you were too hot to touch. “I would not be shy if I were you, Crosshair.” Tech said as he started stripping a few armor plates off. “Otherwise this will not have the desired effect for you.”

Tech stood with the majority of his plating stripped from the waist down. He came to your back, hands slipping in front of you to make quick work of your belt. It clattered to the ground, and your tunics soon followed, each piece of clothing creating a soft thud.

Crosshair, still only a few feet from you, memorized every newly revealed patch of skin with an intensity that seemed to magnify the air between you.

When you were down to the bandeau, his breath hitched. When Tech released the bandeau, and you were finally exposed to him, a shudder ran through Crosshair. He’d been hard for sometime, but the sight of you now made him painfully harder. He grit his teeth as his cock pushed against his codpiece.

The flush of your chest, heaving in a mesmerizing way, matched your face. Crosshair extended a hand, gently grazing your nipple. Your eyes fluttered at the touch and Tech felt you shiver.

“You should kiss her.” Tech suggested as he trailed his hands down your sides, over your stomach, and to the buttons of your pants. “You must talk to her.”

Crosshair cupped your breast, running his thumb over your nipple before catching it in a pinch. You took a sharp inhale and Crosshair moved in on your parted lips. He was gentle at first, kissing you slowly and sucking on your lip, but when you moaned into him Crosshair matched the noise and deepened the kiss. He held your face in place moving his lips against you as if he’d rather devour you than breathe.

When he heard the sound of fabric rustling, Crosshair finally eased up. Leaving you panting and leaning into his touch. As Tech kneeled he pulled your pants with him, trailing kisses down your back as he went.

Crosshair stood back to let you step out of the pile of clothes around you. You were completely bare and squirming where you stood. His eyes roamed your body, snagging between your legs before meeting your gaze again.

Crosshair chuckled and said in a low voice, “I should’ve tossed you in a river much sooner.”

“Not exactly the time, Crosshair.” Tech said as he tugged you towards a cot. Crosshair followed at half the pace.

Sitting you at the edge of a cot, Tech positioned himself between your knees. He pivoted to look back at Crosshair who kept a distance. “Are you ready?” Tech asked.

Crosshair tipped his head to you. “Aren’t you going to ask her?”

Tech didn’t break eye contact as he took one finger and traced it up over your wet folds. A string of your slick trailed after him as he brought his finger back in front of him. “Oh,” He said as he examined his wet fingers. “I don’t need to ask.”

You hooked a leg over Tech’s shoulder and pulled his attention back to you. “I’m done waiting, Tech.”

Tech shrugged, quipping, “Told you.”

On his knees, Tech leaned in to place a kiss on your cheek and give you access to his goggles. Your finger traced the side of his goggles until you felt a button. A light tap and a soft beep indicated and you were recording. Tech pulled back to press a kiss to your lips. “Thank you, Sarad.”

He traced a hand from your neck, between your breasts and down to your thigh. Pushing your leg farther to the side Tech tucked his head in close to you and blew air over you. You hadn’t even shivered through the chill yet when Tech took your clit into his mouth. He gave your bud light, fast licks that deepened into slow rolling laps.

You lowered yourself onto your elbows and let your head dip back. You moaned softly, mewling your pleasure as Tech worked you up. He slid two fingers inside and your head snapped back up, eager to watch him work.

It took you a moment to remember Crosshair’s presence, but when your eyes met Crosshair’s you nearly came on sight. Tech felt you tighten and slowed his rhythm - you needed to last longer than that.

“Cross?” You panted, eyes dipping to see if you could spot any sign of his arousal. “Are you…?” You wanted to hear, see, and even feel more of him- but the words escaped you.

Crosshair never witnessed the look you were giving him, but he knew exactly what you wanted. He took slow steps forward, his hands dropping to the plating below his waist. The first to drop was his codpiece, revealing a large bulge behind his blacks. “Does that answer your question?” He drawled, his eyes caught on Tech’s movements.

“Show her.” Tech said in a momentary breath. He kissed the thigh you had over his shoulder, mumbling into your skin. “She wants to see.”

Crosshair flicked his plating to another cot. His hands gripped into fists a few times before he slipped his blacks out of the way and released his cock. Another burst of excitement rushed through you and Tech immediately eased off. He looked up at you, assessing how far gone you were, steadily curling his two fingers inside you.

Focused on Crosshair’s length, unsurprisingly similar to Tech’s, you bit your lip. “Show me.” You whined, your order sounding like pleading.

Crosshair stepped within reaching distance and did exactly as you asked. His hand slid down his shaft, lightly squeezing at the base and started a slow pace as he watched you quiver under Tech’s touch.

For a while you basked in the high of the two men worshiping you. Tech pushed you to the threshold of release once more before he stopped moving. Pulling your eyes from Crosshair you watched Tech sit back and wipe his palm over his mouth. Gently removing your leg he moved around your side to be face to face with you.

“Crosshair,” Tech said, brushing a knuckle over your cheek. He leveled a look at his brother and asked, “Are you or are you not going to participate?” Tech moved himself behind you, supporting you between his legs. He left the spot between yours as an open invitation.

Crosshair didn’t hesitate. He kept his eyes on you as he kneeled, hands sliding up your inner thighs. As he settled in, Tech used one hand to circle your breast and the other roamed the rest of your skin in search of sensitivity. “Gently licking her is the best to start.” Tech advised, his eyes consuming every reaction you made.

The sniper dragged his thumb over your pussy, making a noise when your wetness pooled over his finger. Catching your attention, Crosshair smirked and dropped his gaze. He couldn’t stop the moan he made at the first glimpse of how truly aroused you were. His eyes locked with yours again and he lowered himself to you. As he opened his mouth, a whine made it past your lips as you eagerly waited for his touch. When he finally pressed his tongue flat against your entrance he licked the entirety of you and ended with a flick over your clit.

The pressure he applied felt like electricity shot through you. Your hand flew to his head, gripping through his hair to gently push him back. His mouth was slightly open, his tongue still wet from the taste of you.

“Gently.” Tech said firmly. He pulled you back to rest against him, your head resting close to where his cock pressed through his blacks.

“She seemed to like it.” Crosshair countered with confidence, pushing out of your light hold to taste you. He ran his tongue over you again, but this time he finished with swirling around your clit. You rested a hand on his head, your thumb mimicking the motion of his tongue. Crosshair hummed at the touch and covered your clit, sucking gently on you until your hips bucked against him.

Meanwhile, Tech rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You do like that,” he pinched slightly harder. “Your chest is flushing and your thighs are quivering - it would seem you are close.”

You admitted to it in a quick hush as your eyes fluttered to look up at Tech. Crosshair’s mouth was faster and more desperate than you were used to, but his gentle pressure was driving you to delirium. Tech watched your eyes gain the familiar glossed over look he constantly sought after. You were indeed close, painfully so.

Writhing under Tech’s touch, you rolled your head to the side and pressed your cheek against the heat of Tech’s cock. You kissed the hard length, then ran your tongue over the fabric separating you. Tech hissed and you felt him throb against you.

“Ah, not yet.” Tech said, but didn’t pull your mouth away. When you tried twisting to gain more access, he finally moved you away. He looked down at you, angling his head to capture every inch of you. “I have a better idea.”

He said Crosshair’s name, who, recognizing the tone,immediately paused. Crosshair grazed your folds once more before pulling away while Tech slid his arms under you. You were used to Tech guiding you through positions and easily followed his lead until you were straddling him at the end of the cot.

Crosshair came up behind you, nestling his face into your neck. He deeply inhaled you and, on a strained exhale, saddled himself against your backside. You were so focused on the fact that Crosshair’s cock was pressing against you, you didn’t catch Tech pulling away his blacks.

Gazing up at you, Tech let his cock throb for a moment as he savored this view of you - panting, dripping, and blatantly pleased. He held your hip in place as he guided himself to your entrance. When his head glided over your slit, your focus dialed back in on Tech.

You felt the quiver inside you and couldn’t contain the way your hips gyrated in search of Tech. “You must lower yourself slowly.” Tech groaned as you did just that. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a breathless sound. The way Tech first filled you always took your breath away. This time you weren’t sure if you’d catch your breath.

Tech pushed up into you, testing your limits, before rolling his hips back and lifting you back up. The two of you moved together like that for a few motions with Crosshair moving against you in tandem. When Tech was completely coated in you and you were adjusted to his size, Tech moved a hand to your back to pull you forward. As you bent with him, Tech kept himself buried inside of you.

He throbbed inside of you, but held you in place. “Crosshair.” He strained to say.

Silence fell over you and Crosshair as you both realized what Tech wanted. Crosshair found you already smiling over your shoulder at him and knew you were going to be the death of him. You were so confident and - “So beautiful.” Crosshair finished his thought out loud.

Another part of him wanted to know just how hard he had to fuck you to wipe that confident smirk clean. He cocked his head and snorted at the thought. Another time.

Crosshair leaned over, spitting on his cock as he began stroking himself again. He gathered his precum and covered the head of his cock in it. Sufficiently wet, Crosshair brought his cock to where Tech sat inside you. He slid his cock up against you and used his thumb to guide himself in.

Each of you held your breath as Crosshair rocked his hips to slowly, inch by inch, work his was inside. He wasn’t even half way sheathed when you cried out.

Crosshair yanked you up against him. He was worried you were in pain, but was met with blissed out expression. Your leaned back into him, a hand reaching up for his face.

“We’ve hit her G-spot.” Tech explained as he took an exploratory thrust. When he slid back inside you, stretching you out with Crosshair, he felt the tell tale hip thrusts you made when you were about to cum. “Crosshair, hold her still.”

Crosshair fortified his hold on you, taking the moment to bury himself deep inside you. Suspended in the air, you were helpless against Tech’s touch. His thumb found your clit, pressing into you and he starting fucking you from below.

You and Crosshair moaned in a similar way, both of you at the point of no return. Tech saw the two of you trembling against your pleasure and knew exactly what to do. He gave two hard final thrusts and squeezed your clit between his fingers and you were finished.

Pleasure broke through you, sending your back into an arch and your legs trembling. Crosshair clamped his mouth down on the nape of your neck, while Tech bit his own lip - both of them breaking through their orgasms. The two men shuddered against you and spilled themselves inside you. Cum quickly leaked out of you and down their cocks, acting as lubrication for their final mindless thrusts. They were both spent and basking in the haze of their climaxes.

Their throbbing threatened to push your past your limits, but collapsing back into Crosshair you didn’t think you’d mind even if they did.

The three of you panted for a few moments before you tapped on Crosshair’s arm, a silent request. He left a kiss on your skin as he pulled out of you, cumming spilling after him. The sudden loss of him almost made you pull him back.

Tech relaxed underneath you. A pleased smile curved his lips and spread when he touched your face. “You were wonderful.” His praise warmed your chest.

By the time Tech helped you up, Crosshair was already cleaning himself off and retrieving his armor. You blocked his path, hands on your hips, a playful smirk on your lips. “Not even going to help clean up?” Though your tone was light, teasing, you enjoyed prodding him just to see his reaction.

Crosshair responded by placing a toothpick between his lips and tipping your chin up with a finger. His eyes locked onto yours, unswayed by the allure of your body below the neck. “When it is just mine,” he murmured, his voice low and enticing, “I’ll lick you clean myself.” With a tap to your chin, he stepped around you, leaving you slightly agape in his wake.

Tech came over with your garments and a towel, a slight smile playing at his lips as he handed them to you. He then sat back on the cot, his gaze lingering on you as you began to clean up. With a tap of his goggles, he stopped recording. “This will certainly be… interesting to review,” Tech remarked casually as he started to reassemble his armor.

As you wiggled into your pants, you hummed a laugh. “Don’t you mean exhilarating .”

A light blush bloomed over his cheeks. But he pointed a finger at you. “I was not wrong about that.”

“No,” you planted a kiss on the top of his head with a smile. “You were not.”

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cursedtransby · 6 days ago

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Ryoshu and Grief

Ryoshu as a sinner is defined by her lust for blood, art, and the beauty that comes with both. However I think a large chunk of people realize that this is not her only trait, and this is something that has slowly been fed out across the Cantos and Egos we’ve gotten for her.

Spoilers for basically all of Limbus.

Since her reveal, we’ve had some plenty of reads that PMoon is not taking her inspiration, Hell Screen, as mere setup for an insane artist. Her constant connection with Spider-Bud and family shows that she is at the bare minimum connected to the lore of the family torn apart by lust for a perfect painting of Hell itself.

Ryoshu’s identity in relation to Hell Screen and a traditional family setup is something that honestly deserves more attention in a separate post, but it’s clear something massive happened between her family and it’s caused her a massive trauma response that triggers grief quite often...even if it doesn't seem like that.

Most of Ryoshu’s behavior is opposite to how people usually think of grieving, but it’s still a form of grieving nonetheless. She tries to repress her emotions through increasing forms of ecstasy. As someone who has depression and has gone through losses of my own, one of the possible responses you can have is to try to chase some emotion, regardless of what it is and how unhealthy it is for yourself and those around you. You’ll do anything for that warm feeling of positivity about yourself.

Regardless of this though, that sadness still exists in Ryoshu. We know this thanks to her mood during Canto 7 being rather quiet aside from the betrayal of Hugo, where she immediately decides to cut off his arms due to it being “unoriginal and played out”. Otherwise she’s being bristly towards the concept of family, but not actively aggressive or particularly violent. In fact, the one time I'd say she has a strong reaction in this Canto is to Sinclair's interpretation of her usual acronym stuff.

Ryoshu and Sinclair honestly ALSO deserve their own post because there is a lot to go into, but to put a cap on it I'll simply state that Ryoshu has a lot of emotions regarding Sinclair. It's the only thing that can rouse her aside from the art of betrayal she sees from Hugo, because the concept of family triggers her that much. There's a reason that the ONLY Ryoshu ID to have Gloom in their kit is Spider Eyes, because she's having to directly confront the very concept of family and protecting others, and it's reflected in her giving out more support than most of her other kits and in story by helping calm Yi Sang.

This sadness and desire to care exists across the Mirror Worlds as well, she just does a far better job of hiding it under her usual veneer of "insane artist only pursuing ecstasy". Edgar Family Butler is all about taking the role of caretaker of things, and she normally helps take care of her fellow butlers, only changing her attitude when they are about to be raided by the Wild Hunt and die. Even in something like her W Corp or 7 Association identities, she still has her kit showing off some support by giving out fragility for the team or even giving out barrier in W Corp.

No matter what she does, it's inescapable for her, and something she is desperately hiding away in order to keep things moving. The very same way Yosihide continued his painting, Ryoshu keeps spreading violence to hide away her grief. But it will always be there, underneath the surface, if you look closely enough.

Overall, it's a fascinating take on grief and how one can cope with it, and PMoon has always done a wonderful job on not taking the typical route with things. They did it before with Roland's grief, and it's clear that they're doing similar things with Hell Screen's adaptation. Also thanks to @lu-is-not-ok for inspiring me to write up more about one of my favorite sinners, since their posts analyzing The Red Chamber and Hong Lu fascinate me to no end. Additionally thanks to @ryoshudoodles for making beautiful art themselves and showing off the duality of Ryoshu's lust and gloom beautifully.

#analysis #ryoshu lcb #limbus company #project moon

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dollwrites · 1 year ago

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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!demon!reader, airhead!reader ( rono takes advantage of that ), stuck porn, compromising positions, reader is suspended mid air, :3 sensitive horns, mentions of rono’s bondage ( ball gag / bound hands ), thigh fucking, suggested free use post fic, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗱𝗼𝗹𝗹’𝘀 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗿𝗯𝘀 ∣ doll’s choice [ ronové + stuck ]

you were starting to think Ronové wasn’t really trying to help you.

he’d been so sympathetic to your plight when he first found you; the dainty, little chain that tethers your horns together tangled in the chandelier you’d been helping Glasyalabolas hang in one of the halls. of course, when you’d gotten stuck, Glas had simply laughed, and even went so far as to kick your step stool out from under you, and you’d been left, dangling by your delicate, little horns ever since, feet hovering just above the marble floor.

when Ronové happened to come across you, he’d crooned as he approached. an absolute mountain of a devil, you were grateful he’d been the one to find you in such a state. no doubt, even with his arms bound the way they were, he would have no trouble lifting you up until your horns were freed. “Aw, haha.” perhaps you didn’t notice the wicked intent in his dark chuckle as he approached, running his leather-bound forearms over your body as he seemed to take in your predicament. “You poor thing. You need some help getting down, so you?” you’d been certain that must’ve meant he was going to help you, so you nodded in desperation, smiling in relief. the pressure on your horns would be lifted soon. you wouldn’t be stuck like this anymore.

but now, as you stared down, watching Ronové’s cock slide back and forth in between your thighs, you weren’t so sure he was really going to free you. “Rono…” you whine soft, nibbling on your lip. “Are you still going to help me?”

“Mhm,” Ronové growls more than answers, a subtle bubbling in his throat as he drags his face against your shoulder. the ball gag in his mouth is wet with spit, as if taking advantage of you in such a state has made him foam with lust and depravity. “But… a beautiful, little devil all wrapped up like this? Well, I’d be a fool not to take advantage of your predicament. Now, keep those soft thighs clenched so I can fuck them.” his voice is always just a little bit altered by the crimson obstruction that his sharp canines bite into, but it was astounding how he’d adapted, and was able to form sentences, you thought.

the tip of his cock was swollen and pink as he rammed it into the fleshy, supple seal of your thighs as you tighten your muscles, obediently. you whimpered, feeling the rugged veins that spiderwebbed his manhood rub against your flimsy panties beneath your skirt. in a way, Ronové was a superior devil to you. a much stronger one, at the very least, so resisting him would be impossible.

the way his moans rumble against the gag in his mouth when he gets closer. “Good girl, just like that. Tighten those muscles for me.” as he purrs to you in praise, he smears his face over your shoulder, leaving a sticky, shiny layer of drool from his constant slobbering over the gag. “Ah, make it feel just like a nice, warm cunt and maybe I won’t have to rip those wet panties off and pound you out.” as if to exaggerate his threat, both of his arms, swaddled in leather, hook around your waist and gives your body a firm tug downwards, to force you to perch on his cock as he rams it between your thighs as they get stickier and stickier from his smearing of precum. you yelp, feeling the chains pull on your horns. the hundreds of nerve endings located there screaming with the intensity of his display. but you mewl, too. you can’t help it. his cock is snuggled flush against your panties, thrusting between your thighs at a rapid-fire pace, and you feel stimulated from the tip of your horns all the way to your throbbing clit, electrified. though your feet were falling asleep from dangling there, helpless, you didn’t even bother to think about them. your hands clenched into tight fists, your eyelids flutter, and Ronové chuckles, hoarsely. “What pretty, distressed sounds this silly little devil can make. You’re going to make me cum, just like this…”

panting, you try to turn to look over your shoulder, ��A-and then you’ll get me down?”

Ronové laughs, hoarsely. “What gave you that idea?”

“Y— you said you’d help me!” you cried, baffled by his seemingly sudden change of plans.

“Oh I will help, don’t you worry,” he explains, though you can hear the grinding of his teeth against the gag as he snorts in pleasure through his nostrils. “Once I’m done with you, I’ll be sure to tell the first devil I come across that you’re all tied up in here. I’m sure that after you’re used to your limit by however many more come across you, someone will get you down, sweetheart.”

#ronové #ronove x reader #ronove x you #whb ronove #what in hell is bad x reader #what in hell is bad #what in hell is bad x you #wihib #ronove #wihib x reader #wihib x you #wihib smut

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blackswan446 · 8 months ago

Note

Can i request for yan! fae jk who lured the mc towards the fae realm and decided to have kids with her but yeah no smut but just the mc (reader) trying to escape from time to time until she birthed twins

sealed fate.

→ pairing: yan!fae!jjk x reader

→ wc: 2895

→ cws: mc gets knocked out, kidnapping, implied non-con/forced pregnancy

→ notes: ahh another ask! i hope you like it and thank u for requesting :)

m.list

the rain poured down, hitting your hooded head almost painfully. the trees did little to protect you, barely stopping the rain from soaking through the thin fabric of your jacket. it was cold and dark, and no doubt dangerous, but even this was better than staying inside your house for a second longer. anything was better.

the cool raindrops soothed your hot and tear-stained face, and the wind provided some relief from the sweat that had managed to build up on your neck and forehead. though it was odd, you felt a strange sense of comfort when you entered the woods, even during a storm such as this one. this storm was no match for the hurricane that tore through your home, leaving shattered plates and a broken family in its path.

ever since you were a little girl, you felt an odd connection with the woods. you found solace in the trees, with their twisted roots and vibrant leaves, you felt most at home when you were amongst the serenity of the forest. whenever reality became too much for you to handle, you would go and just sit in the woods, and inhale the sweet, woody air of it. you envisioned yourself living here, in a cute little hut, where you drank plant teas and grew flowers and ate delicious soups by a roaring fire.

if you were being honest, the only reason you hadn't ran away to live out your dreams was because of your little sister. she was a tiny thing, only three years old, and you knew that if you left your house, then she would have the weight of your parents constantly fighting on her little shoulders. she would have to face the constant screaming, the blaming, the pain, all by herself. she didn't deserve that, and at her young age, it was likely that she wouldn't live long enough to be able to adapt. she couldn't protect herself from the harm that came to you, and one day, it was bound to be the end of her if you weren't there to protect her.

sure, you could take her with you, but it wasn't that easy. securing a job, a place to live, and staying in school would be impossible with a child to take care of. besides, the world was a dangerous and unforgiving place, and a young girl and her even younger sister would get eaten up by debt and injustice before they could even get their foot in the door. so you were stuck, and as soon as your father stormed out of the house, you knew he wasn't bound to return for days, so you took off for your safe space, just for the evening.

through your vision, obstructed and blurry from tears and rainwater, something caught your eye. it was a flower, a tall, purple flower. it was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and you would probably would have never seen it if the moonlight didn't hit the petals so perfectly. spikey, purple leaves sat in a bunch on the ground. these leaves surrounded the long stem, which had more pointy flowers blooming from it. aside from its unique appearance, there was something different about this flower. perhaps it was because of the alluring colors and remarkable shape, but something about it had you spellbound.

your body acted before your mind, and you felt your legs moving across the muddy ground towards the bewitching blossom, before you could think it through. of course it was beautiful, but there was another side of this. beauty was only skin deep. the flower could be poisonous, even just to the touch. another animal could have its watching eye on it, captivated by its moonlit glow, and might not take kindly to someone approaching it. but nothing was stopping you, nothing was going to stand in the way of it.

as you drew closer to it, you could see the raindrops roll off the velvety petals of the flowers, almost taking the violaceous fluorescence with it into the dirt. kneeling down to get a better look at the enigmatic flora that illuminated the black forest. just as you reached out to take the stem between your fingers, you heard the sound of mushy footsteps behind you. before you could do anything, a powerful force met the back of your head, and the violet radiance in front of you blurred before disappearing completely.

stirring from your state of unconsciousness, you immediately noticed how warm you were. the last thing you remember is being out in the frigid, pouring rain, and stumbling upon an mysterious yet enchanting flower, before everything went dark. as the remnants of oblivion started to wear off, the reality of your situation set in. panic struck in your chest as you sat up hurriedly, kicking off the knit green blanket that laid over your lap.

looking around, the place you were in enticed you almost as much as the flower from earlier had. it looked to be someone's home, and oddly enough, it resembled the same home that you had fantasized about spending your days in, and you couldn't help but feel weirdly comfortable in the unfamiliar place. it was tiny, but you didn't feel physically trapped inside. you were laid down on a small couch, adorned with wooden trim and a floral fabric, with two matching chairs on either side. on the other side of the room, opposite you, was a stone fireplace, which had a fire aflame inside, eating away at logs of wood. various little knick-knacks and clutter collected on the walls, the shelves, and the tiny coffee table, like books, and pictures, and even more plants.

looking at the light that flowed through the thin, white curtains, you could tell it was early morning, when the dew drops gathered on the blades of grass and the birds began to sing their songs. as you went to stand up from the couch, you heard some various shuffling and clinking noises come from another room, and you sank back down into the soft cushions. almost as if you were hiding from whoever or whatever had brought you here. you felt your heartbeat pick up as the sound of footsteps on creaky wood drew closer to you.

"is that you, my flower?"

whipping your head around, you scanned the once-empty room to find the source of the sweet voice. you found it, or rather, you found him. he was tall, much taller than you, and strong, too. his hair was sleek and black, and suited him well. the clothes he wore looked, well..worn. but not in a bad, falling apart way. in fact, they looked like they were high quality and comfortable. a brown leather vest, a soft, white shirt, and loose pants that matched the brown of the leather, hung from his rugged form nicely. he was handsome, his facial features were well proportioned and elegant. he smiled softly at you, and walked over, setting down the two mugs in his hand before sitting next to you.

"here," he said, reaching out an open hand and revealing a strange, vibrantly pink berry, "for your head. i know it hurts." you looked at him, confused, but took the berry from him anyways, fiddling around with it in your hand. "who are you?" you asked, the question coming out quiet and curious. he laughed shortly, shaking his head.

"you're asking me that in my own house?! you're a funny one, angel, i knew i'd like you." he chuckled. you furrowed your eyebrows at him, the questions in your mind growing stronger and louder as you got further away from an answer. "no, i'm serious! who are you, why am i here, what's going on here?!" you demanded, heart pumping frantically as he looked at you, amused.

"first off, my name is jungkook. i would ask your name, but i already know it, and you'll be changing it soon anyways, so i won't bother. besides, i think i'll stick to calling you angel, if that's alright. second-"

"wait, wait." you interjected. "why would i have to change my name? why am i here?!" you repeated, scoffing at the ridiculous words leaving his mouth. "i was getting to that, but then you interrupted me. and if that attitude keeps up, then you are in. for. it. got that, my angel?" he asked, facial expression not matching the sweetness in his voice. you nodded slowly, biting back from asking again what was going on here.

"good girl. now. the reason you're here," he paused, shifting himself to face you, your legs criss-crossed and back against the couch arm, "is because we're getting married, and we're going to start a family. it's that simple. and the reason you-"

"-what?! why the hell would we do that?! i mean-"

without saying a word, jungkook placed his hand on your knee, tightening his grip until you stopped talking. "you didn't already forget what i said, did you, flower?" he asked innocently, looking you in your eyes and smiling again, as if he was asking a simple question. "and the reason you would have to change your name is because it's a human name. human names are much too different than the names we use here. don't worry about it, though, i have plenty of name books if you need help." he finished, taking his hand away from your knee as you sat there, dumbfounded. first, you were trapped in this shed of a house. then you found out this stranger was all of a sudden, just going to marry you and have kids with you. and now, that stranger was suggesting that he wasn't even a human?!

you took a deep breath and blinked slowly. "what do you mean 'a human name'? are you..not..a human?" you asked slowly, nervous to trigger another one of his scoldings. he shook his head. "that's what they all say when they find out. i got lucky, though, it's not all of us that look this good." he answered cockily. "so, what are you then?" you inquired, speaking slowly once again. he sighed thoughtfully, looking around the room as if he would find the answer written on the lines in the green wallpaper.

"to put it shortly, i'm a fae. humans call us fairies, or pixies, and they compare us to tinkerbell. but i have a book that would explain it much better than i ever could. besides, there are more important things we need to do right now." he hinted, raising his eyebrows cheekily. a sick feeling arose in your stomach as you shook your head frantically.

"please, no. i'm too young to have children. i can't stay here. i need to go home, i need to be there." you beseeched, voice going low and desperate. jungkook shook his head. "you don't, though, is the thing. listen to me, [name]. i didn't just grab you randomly from the forest last night. i've been seeing you for years now, i've studied you, i know everything about you. i know why you come here, i know why you're so eager to get out, and i know that you don't really want to leave. don't lie to me, angel. if it weren't for that little, helpless sister of yours back home, you wouldn't be trying so hard to change what was obviously meant to be." he snarked, his voice firm and confident.

"if you know me so well, then you should understand why i can't stay here. she's just a child, for god's sake. she'll get killed if she stays in that house with them." you argued. he shrugged his shoulders unsympathetically, eyes cold and uncaring as you pleaded with him. an idea sparked in your head, a far-fetched one, but it could be the ticket to your escape and your sister's safety.

"what if she lives here with us? she's only three. we can raise her, and that way, she's safe, we're together, and i don't have to have children. that'll work, right? please." you suggested, practically begging as you clasped your hands together in front of you. he gave another thoughtful look, lighting a small fire of hope inside of you, only for it to be set out by the arsonist who started it. "it's a good idea, it really is, angel. you're smart, i like that. but it's a bit late for that. your parents have already been taken care of, and your sister was sent off to safety. nice try, though." he explained, speaking as if he were talking about the weather, so casually and normally.

tears dripped from your eyes, down your cheeks as your breath stuck in your throat. "what are you talking about? where is she?" you asked, barely able to get the words out as you choked on the grim thoughts that dripped their poison all over your mind. "don't worry, flower. like i said, she's safe. she's alive. i promise, she is not going to be stuck with your parents, all by herself. i love you too much to hurt you in that way. your parents, on the other hand..." he trailed off slowly. you knew immediately what had happened, and he knew you figured it out, so instead of continuing the story, he caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tears that dampened them.

"see how everything's falling into place? don't you see that, flower? this is your destiny. this is where you were always going to end up." he asked, looking lovingly into your eyes as he stroked your cheek. "why can't you just accept your fate?"

the various noises of spring filled your ears as you inhaled the clean, fresh air next to the open window. little birds chirping to one another, the rushing water of a nearby stream, and the occasional footsteps of an animal crunching the leaves and grass. the sky was a stunning blue, with perfect white clouds dotting it in all the right places.

you glanced over to the small cot, bedecked with frilly pink lace and a long, white piece of fabric wrapping around the bassinet and cascading down to the floors. the two infants inside were sound asleep, swaddled in pink knit blankets with various little toys sitting around them.

your heart swelled when you looked at them; similar to how it swelled when you looked at the land across the tiny stream, but for all the opposite reasons. when you looked at your children, your heart was warmed and overwhelmed with affection, with pure adoration. but when you looked across the stream, you felt trapped, and disappointed, almost as if the current washed over you and brought a storm of sadness and heartache with it.

of course you had tried to escape, twice, to be exact. the first time, you just made a run for it in the middle of the night. you didn't bother to plan ahead, or be cautious, so it wasn't really a shocker when you tripped on a rock and twisted your ankle. your cries woke jungkook, who came storming out of the house and picked you up by the torso, swinging you over his shoulder as you cried and pleaded with him. luckily for you, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a heavy warning.

the second time didn't turn out as well for you. and like salt in the wound, what made the fallout even worse for you is that you had a plan. you were careful, thorough, and even set up a distraction for jungkook, so you could slip away in the midst of chaos. if only the fire had burned a little brighter. a little hotter. even if it were just a little more powerful, you could be back with your sister where you belonged. but no, the measly flames were too weak to do any real damage to anything. so one pot of water and a missing person in the house led to jungkook catching up with you, just as you were about to cross the stream to freedom.

that time, he didn't play so nice. he threw you down roughly, spat venomous words at you, and did what he thought was necessary to put you in your place and cement you there, with him, forever. despite your prayers, and pleas, and everything in between, your fate was sealed as soon as he kissed you goodnight when he was done.

one baby would've been different. maybe with one baby, you still had a fighting chance to get out. not only was your fate sealed by the touch of his lips to yours, but you knew it, too. and everything fell into place as soon as you laid your eyes on the two babies in front of you. twins. jungkook was overjoyed, of course. and in a way, you were too. they were your children, after all, and all parents loved their children.

well, almost all parents.

sometimes you wondered about your fate. was this really it? even if you had no reason to go running into the woods, even if you had peace at home, is this still where you would end up?

was your one safe space playing against you this whole time?

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #asks

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paper-mario-wiki · 8 months ago

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hi, i'm not the person who asked you about the life update, but could you elaborate on how being a creator means to live in a world of ideas instead of the real world? i'm just really curious about your reasons for quitting, specially because i want to create things in the future (not necessarily streaming, but anyways), hope you have a good day!

i'll be talking mostly about streaming for the sake of this answer, but this is similarly applicable across a wide range of platforms:

the job of the streamer is, effectively, to be the life of the party every single day. your goal is to be the person that has something interesting to talk about, and is quick with a joke, and has nuanced understandings of certain things, without actually obtaining any sort of "expertise" in anything lest you alienate viewers. short of having a stated goal for a stream, the only goal of the streamer is to let people relax with a voice they enjoy, saying things they like hearing. you can become very strong in different aspects of streaming, like in the production, or as someone who focuses more on a skill they've honed like art or speedrunning, but the demographic of streamers which pulls, by far, the most significant viewership, is personality based streamers.

this becomes more complicated when, for example, you are very interactive with chat, or you stream with multiple people at once. now, to maintain this charismatic sway you have (the one that got you the job in the first place), you must be able to adapt to and bounce off of other people, as you are now no longer performing alone. naturally, there's a need to not only manage your own flow of consciousness, but also to be at least partially in sync with someone else's.

beyond these complications, you must also consider drawing in new viewership. when i was a streamer, i was quite successful, relatively speaking. pulling 300 viewers consistently is something a very slim amount of streamers can actually do, and even then i was still making under 50k a year, which is not bad, but also not good. in paying for my apartment, my insurance, my travel fare, and all the other stuff that living independently draws money out of you with, i was more often in the red than i was in the green. hence, the need to draw in new viewers, which cannot be done without something eye-catching.

think about this: there are, at any given time, TENS OF THOUSANDS of streamers live in your native language on twitch, and they are all FREE TO WATCH. the attention market is sparse because the streamer market is oversaturated. and considering all of THEM want new viewers too, everyone is constantly refining and improving their craft, which requires everyone to move creatively in tandem with each other lest they get left behind.

if you are a streamer making ass-dollars and ass-cents, it becomes easy to begin resenting people like jerma, solely because everything he touches seems to turn to gold. i personally found it easy to feel very disappointed in myself when peoples projects that seemed so simple would take off. it was a constant "why didn't i think of that!" situation, at least for me. and when you don't have the energy to keep that up, or the social stamina necessary to figure that all out while also being upbeat and happy in front of people near daily, it can become very draining.

what i mean specifically when i say the "world of ideas", is like. there would be times where i could schedule out my failures weeks in advance. i'd be so in my own head about the process, i could see the exact path i could see myself taking that would lead me directly to ruin. how playing games i actually enjoyed would steadily drop viewership, or how focusing on my studies would make people forget about me. and of course this is augmented by my anxiety, i know this is absolutely not the case for every streamer, but that overwhelming feeling of needing to find a new game to play, or a new gimmick to use, or a new ploy to get money that doesn't make you feel guilty even though your source of income is mostly queer and mostly poor young adults and your rent is coming up and you're $200 short but you also just had a fundraiser last month about a DIFFERENT emergency but you cant make it a bummer or else people wont want to tune in so you have to make it something fun like "you laugh you lose!" or "$1 art request streams!" while feeling nothing but anxiety while youre trying to sound like youre enjoying yourself even when youre asking 250 people to donate every 30 minutes or so and nobody seems to want to and chat is moving slowly and. and and.

well, it starts to eat away at you.

#anon

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nyeddleblog · 3 months ago

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Unrequited. [Part 2]

Pairing:Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader. Warnings: Mentions of masturbation, mentions of Peter's past encounters, reader works for a Fashion Magazine and drives a car, reader is attracted to women too. Summary: It was a normal day in your life until you were haunted with the memories of last night. A/N: There's a reason why I prefer writing OCs, and not reader inserts, but I'm trying very hard to edit this x oc fic, to make it an x reader fic. Please be gentle if I slipped some corrections...

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 2: Daily.

The morning after was quiet, almost too quiet. You woke up to your alarm making you groan and listened attentively for any sign of life. Nothing. No clatter of dishes as Peter made breakfast, no shower running as he sung, no low whistling coming from his bedroom. Your apartment was invaded by an eerie silence.

You grinned then; not to be cruel, but it felt nice to be peaceful for once.

As you stood up, getting ready for a shower, you took a good look at the few hickeys you were going to have to cover up for work. There was no way in hell you were going to let Peter see them after what happened last night, so you peeked out of your room to check if he was anywhere to be seen, but no, just your usual disarray.

Empty cereal bowls and coffee mugs littered the coffee table, clothes were strewn across the living room floor, and your roommate was nowhere to be seen. A wave of relief washed over you. At least you didn't have to deal with his post-coital charm, his teasing or his endless apologies.

You took a long shower then, feeling completely sore. Your muscles ached from training, your back was starting to show signs of aging and, dear god, your fingers were cramping. You really needed that hot water, and the silence.

Thank you, Felicia Hardy, for leaving that boy wordless and ashamed.

You took the time to dry and do your skincare before even coming out of the bathroom. No annoying knocking? Not a single one. You were going to look so good that day. 8 hours of sleep, full make-up, pretty outfit and you were ready to prepare breakfast.

You weren't soulless, however, you were starting to get a bit worried.

As you prepared some scrambled eggs, you made sure to leave some hot cakes for Peter to eat and a hot cup of coffee in the counter and, by the time you were ready for work, you went over to his room and gently knocked on the door.

"I left you some breakfast on the counter," you called out, hearing some kind of groan in response. That was good enough, "Try not to burn the place down while I'm out."

You grabbed your bag and headed out, welcoming the cool air of New York city as you drove. Your office was still impeccable and a fresh stash of papers awaited for you on top of your desk. You smiled, letting yourself fall on the chair. Fuck, that chair was so good.

Your morning went by between answering emails and phone calls. You had mastered the art of multitasking when you had started as an intern and by then, being the Fashion Editor of the company, you could admit that you enjoyed it. It was a fast-paced environment that demanded constant attention and adaptability, but it was comforting.

When you heard your phone buzz, at around one pm, you chose to take a small break. You greeted the few colleagues that you hadn't had the time to see during the morning and picked your bag to get lunch on the cozy coffee shop across the street.

You had a few messages from Peter, thanking you for the meal; but there was the one message that made your heart flip and created a smile on your face. MJ.

hiya, sweetheart.

It was casual, a fling. They'd agreed to no attachments. MJ was just very fun to be around, that was all. And well, she ate pussy like she was starving. But seeing your texts was always the part of your day when you forgot about everything and everyone.

You wrote back and they were already settled for a bit of fun that evening, right after work. That made your evening, until you heard buzzing again.

"Peter" you answered.

"Huh, someone's happy..."

"That's none of your business" You told him quickly, but you were smiling and you knew he could hear it in your voice, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just wondering if you'd like to have some take out tonight. You know, as an apology."

You scrunched your nose, remembering the day before. Yeah, it happened often. You understood why, too, you would definitely bang Peter yourself if you hadn't known each other since high school, but one thing was fucking him and another completely different was listening to him groan and whine for another every night, when you needed to work the next day.

That was annoying.

"Don't worry, champ" you shrugged, "Besides, I'm probably not going back home tonight."

"Oh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No 'oh's, Peter. Just going to a friend's house..."

"Is it Iris?"

You pressed your lips together and, just as your food arrived and you gave the waitress a small, thankful smile, you said, "No, it's not Iris."

That still hurt.

"That sucks. I liked Iris."

You liked Iris too.

"Well, anyways" you grabbed a piece of your sandwich with your hand as you tried desperately to change the subject, "If you bring anyone over, make sure to let me know. I may come back tonight..."

"Noted"

"See ya', Pete."

"See ya, Gabby."

Peter wasn't a bad roommate, despite his late night habits.

After living with him for seven years, you got used to his antics and once you did that, only good things were left. He always washed the dishes when you were too tired, even if it wasn't his turn, he'd also remember your favorite foods and the brand of pads you bought. He'd get the spiders for you and he'd try to set you up with other people. He cared for you and you cared for him.

But hearing him have sex was an issue.

The first time an incident like the night before's happened, you weren't brave enough to let him know. You both must have been around twenty, it was back when you were just an intern.

You remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by bed creaks and obscene moaning. When you got a hold of your surroundings, you were jumping out of your bed getting as far away of your room as it was humanly possible inside your apartment, meaning getting inside the kitchen.

But it was bad timing, horrible timing because they were finishing and, being the king of aftercare he was, Peter went over to the kitchen to give the lucky girl a glass of water.

And you made eye contact.

And you could see in his face that he knew then that you'd heard them.

It was so awkward.

You didn't want to hear them, you wanted to sleep. But your first year living together was back when you were too quiet and too shy to truly set boundaries, so that kept happening.

It didn't help that Peter was as vocal as he was, even when he tried not to be. He stammered and cursed, and sometimes he'd say some pretty dirty things. It sucked, but you'd already made out the pattern in his voice when he was about to finish.

After seven years of living together, you two grew closer and you were able to let him know that the walls were too thin in your own unique way. You'd hint the hours you'd be out, stay over with friends, blast some music in your room or you'd simply give him a small knock on the wall to warn him when you heard him come in.

Last night, however, was the first time in a long time that you'd heard him be this loud. You heard everything, from the ragged breathing to the sloppy wet sound their lips did when they kissed. And it would have been fine if Peter hadn't surprised you with his midnight activities while you were in a middle of a self-love session.

You tried to ignore it, putting on your headphones and keeping it up, but then you heard what he was saying and you were going to be haunted by the memory of reaching your climax with the voice of your best friend in the background.

You finished your sandwich feeling dirty.

NEXT PART.

TAGLIST: @marcspectorondeeznuts @slutfortheblog let me know if you want in or out of the taglist<3

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askinkiskarma · 1 year ago

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ꜰᴀʟꜱᴇ ɢᴏᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ: ɪ'ʟʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏɴɪɢʜᴛ

pairing: dilf!Jake Sully x (f)human/avatar!reader

synopsis: It took a lot of time and advancements, but, with the humans' return to Pandora 8 years ago, and thanks to the constant raids of the Omaticaya, the scientists managed to make you and Spider an Avatar. Unlike him, though, you know nothing about and want nothing to do with it, and when your struggle to adapt becomes too overbearing, Jake decided to take matters into his own hands.

this story will contain an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship, and dark themes (smut, mental health, death, violence, infidelity), so pls read at your own discretion.

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, angst, age-gap (23 vs 43), pet names.

wc: 4.5k words

a/n: hi besties, and welcome to my first jake series! i have had this series in my mind for so so long, and it feels good to bring it to life finally. i am excited to get back into writing - i needed a little time to recharge after monster in me, and take a break and actually sleep and live my life hahahaha. anyway, i hope you enjoy this story, i'm so excited to write it and see where it takes me! xx

ps: this story will move perspectives and timelines a lott, so i hope it's not too confusing but pls do let me know if it is and i'll figure something out xx

replies and reblogs are massively appreciated, i loveee to hear from you so much!

na'vi compendium: tanhi - bioluminescent freckles, tsamsiyu - warrior, tawtute - human

series masterlist (x)

I want you to know, I’m a mirrorball I’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

It was excruciating, the pain. It was never-ending, never relenting, it was enough to warrant the current position you found yourself in, curled up on your bed, knees brought close to your chest, hands grasping at your worn-down pyjamas, that much like everything else in this room, smelled like him, felt like him, was imbued with his presence and the memories he’s left that you’d never be able to forgive or forsake. Glossed-over eyes moved slowly through your room, at all the little trinkets you now had that you didn’t just a few months, all of them sharp and painful as they felt like they were digging painfully in you, leaving cuts and bruises in your already broken heart. Eventually, your gaze settled on a feather you were given the first day in your Avatar body, and it was an appropriate place to stop, as this was when it all began - this whole mess, that you were still debating whether it was worth it, worth all this, but which, at the time, was a pure and innocent new start, in a new body, in a new life.

I'll get you out on the floor Shimmering beautiful And when I break it's in a million pieces

“Come on, honey, it’s late already. You know life in the village starts early.”

The dragging of your feet did very little to make you appear more enthusiastic than you were feeling currently, and Norm sighed as he took it your deflated predisposition. It should be a happy time. You knew that. How many people can say that got a new chance, at a new life, on this planet that felt weirdly in between a home and a prison? A new chance to belong - the first one, actually. A chance to thrive and to experience this world the way it was meant to be experienced, the way that the natives experienced it. And yet, a few weeks in, you still felt like a complete stranger in a body you couldn’t recognise, in a culture that has never been your own, in a village that has never accepted you, that never ceased to look at you and see through you, right to the flimsy core of insecurities and self-doubts that plagued you constantly, that followed you everywhere you went, like a shadow in a dimly-lit room.

You looked across the room where the other neuro-link pod was being prepped, and next to it stood the only other young, human, adult on Pandora - your brother for all intents and purposes, the boy who you loved always, but hated in the moment, as you watched his lively and animated body language, practically beaming with anticipation. Spider, unlike you, settled in his new taller, bluer, shinier body almost immediately - a born acrobat, a made warrior, even before the Avatars were complete. He had no such compulsions, no shame or guilt, no embarrassment or anxiety, no feelings of inadequacy or imposter syndrome, just a pure, unadulterated joie de vivre and unquenchable fear of missing out. He got everything he’s ever wanted with that Avatar, and unlike you, he didn’t seem willing to squander the opportunity. You knew you should be more like him, and you were trying. The effort just wasn’t enough to overthrow the paralysing fear you felt every time you stepped foot in that village. You wondered if it ever will.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, doing your very best to ignore the racket coming from just a few pods over, you allowed Norm to close the lid on top of your caged body, doing your very best to clear your head of the screaming voice that got louder by the second, the harder you tried. You’ll never make it. You will never be one of the people.

Hush When no one is around, my dear You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

Life in the village did indeed start early, and while you walked away from Hell’s Gate and through the thick forest that surrounded you, you could already hear faint sounds coming from the general direction of the Omaticaya settlement, a dead giveaway people were preparing for what the day would inevitably bring, from training in the healing practices of the Tsa’hik or the warrior skills of the tsamsiyu, it was the relentless will to improve and contribute to the overall wellness of each other and their planet that fuelled Na’vi every day.

Soon enough, the carefully crafted tents came into view, each one unique to the owner, with pieces of bone or hides that gave it a personal, intimate appeal, and it was easy enough, once you knew the people, to be able to tell who each tent belonged to. You smiled as your eyes fixed on one tent in particular, small and understated, despite who it was inhabiting it - Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, never found any use for unnecessary embellishments, be it on his person or any of his belongings, always preferring to keep the showing off to the actual battle or training, his impressive skill set and his ability to thrive in every challenge his brightest adornment. When he came out of it, like he could sense you were near, your smile widened taking him in, in all his tall, blue, muscular beauty. He was a handsome young man, the perfect mix between Neytiri and… him. He used to look more like his mother when he was younger, but now, all of 23 years old, he was more and more Jake with each passing day, and the thought both intrigued and scared you, almost in equal parts.

It intrigued you because, well… because there was something special about Jake, there always has been. Not just because he was the first and only human to do the consciousness transfer, to be accepted into the clan, to become one of the people, or that he was Toruk Makto, one of only 6 to have ever existed; not because he was Olo’eyktan, and a revered warrior and leader… but because he was him. He was kind and patient, he was sweet and caring, he was funny and fun… he was everything.

On the other hand, it was for the exact same reasons that Neteyam’s resemblance to his dad scared you. Because every time you looked at him, you saw Jake, and the feelings you harboured for him since you were old enough to pay attention, that dwindled in time, were mingled with the deep familial affection you felt for Neteyam, who has been your best friend since you were old enough to... well, have memories. You didn’t want your relationship with him to be marred by feelings you couldn’t, wouldn’t ever feel for him, you didn’t want your history erased by the possibility of more, not when it would be wrong - not when, at your core, you would just settle for him because you couldn’t get the person you really wanted.

“Oi! A little late for the mighty warrior to be coming out of his tent, isn’t it?”

Neteyam snickered as he noticed you and Spider approaching, and shook his hand in Spider’s direction.

“Why is she this mean only to me?”

Spider shrugged and patted Neteyam on the shoulder simpathetically.

“Girls, man… Am I right? Anyway, going to find Lo’ak and Kiri. See you guys on the training grounds.”

Hush I know they said the end is near But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes Spinning in my highest heels, love Shining just for you

As Spider took his leave, almost skipping to the Tsa’hik’s tent, where he knew Kiri would be, you started walking quietly, anxiety rising in your chest with each step taken towards the grounds, where you’d once again, as you have for the past few weeks, prove to yourself and everyone around you that you weren’t made for this - the fighting, the battles, the wielding of death machines, be it a gun or a bow, none of it was yours to take, yours to concur. You were made for the labs, for the quiet, analytical lifestyle. You were made for wielding a guitar, and playing it until the strings broke, you were made for daydreams and illusions and fantasies you could only fathom yourself part of, for a happier, easier world that would allow you to be all of those things without incursions. Alas, the world was not what you envisioned for yourself when you were younger, and with this great opportunity, came sacrifices you hoped time would lessen and sweeten, and turn them into blessings in disguise.

“Are you ready for today?”

“Does that make a difference?”

Neteyam’s sigh was answer enough for you. He tried to help, he really did. He went above and beyond for you and you were grateful. He was a patient teacher and a great friend, and his determination, as always, came at a cost, the cost of another burden he had to carry, another person he had to parent and take care of, and while it was not lost on you, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“You’re going to be okay. You just have to give yourself time to grow. You can’t compare yourself with Spider, who’s been in the village with us his whole life. It’s going to take you time and effort, but you can do this, Tawte. And I’ll be here, at every step, ready to catch you if you fall.”

You smiled a little, slightly distracted, as you always were, by his sweet nickname, and your thoughts flowed gently at the memories that stirred in you whenever he said it, at the way the first word he ever uttered as a babe was a slurred version of a word he heard all the time from his mother: tawtute... human. From her mouth, it was laced with poison and disdain, but not from Neteyam's, who loved you, ever since you were young, who accepted you for who you were. Tawte was a gentle reminder of how far you've come, and how the familial love between the two of you hasn't faltered through time, but only blossomed and deepened, much to your eternal gratitude.

And they called off the circus, burned the disco down When they sent home the horses and the rodeo clowns I'm still on that tightrope I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me

Your eyes, hidden behind a sea of glossy tears settled on the next item, the broken tip of an arrow, that you kept since that day, when you somehow did so poorly in bow practice, you managed to break an incredibly sturdy arrow, much to Spider and Lo'ak's amusement, and much to your deep dismay. You thought how about your feelings of inadequacy were exacerbated by the Olo'eyktan's watchful eyes, who observed you intently the whole time, and how that inadvertently set everyone's gaze on you. So many eyes - watching, judging...fearful; so many words - whispered and snickered, and it hurt. It all hurt. But then... he changed everything, not just in that moment, so far removed from you now, but for the rest of your life, with just a few simple words.

“What?” the shock couldn't be shaken off your face, no matter how hard you tried. You knew you needed to get a grip of your emotions, but that was always easier said than done for a girl who was aptly described her whole life as "wearing her heart on her sleeve".

“Ouch, kid. You’re hurting my feelings. I would have liked to think anyone would be honoured to be personally trained by the Olo’eyktan, but I think I’ve been humbled.”

“No, Jake… of-of course I am, I just think… your efforts are better spent on someone else, someone… who’s worthy of it.”

It was minuscule, the change, but it was there - his eyes, his smile had an edge to them, that wasn't there before. He wasn't happy with your words, and yet, he remained calm and maintained the easy, outgoing, friendly nature of his tone.

“How about you let me decide what my efforts are better spent on, kid?”

That was enough to shut you up, but when he noticed the purple tinge in your cheeks, and the way your gaze dropped in shame, his expression softened. He brought a hand to your face, his thumb grazing your chin so that you'd look up at him, and you hoped the shudder that tried you went unnoticed to him, and to the rest of the clan.

“Here’s the deal. I think part of the reason you are having such a hard time is because you’re here, in this village you’ve never truly been a part of, with so many watchful eyes on you. You feel the pressure of performing well in front of the people, in front of my kids… in front of Spider. You shouldn’t have to do that. So, my solution is simple: you and I go for a few days’ hunt. I will teach you the basics, like I learnt when I first joined the Omaticaya. This way you get to relax a little, get to remove yourself from this place for a while and enjoy the beauty of Pandora, and who knows, kid? Maybe you'll find it's easier to be a part of us than you ever could have imagined. What do you say, mm?"

I'm still a believer but I don't know why I've never been a natural All I do is try, try, try

How could you have said no to such an offer? Even now, with all this hindsight, standing on the edge of a cliff with so much room beneath you to fall, with one foot on the ledge and the other on a banana fruit peel, able to look at the situation from a vantage point you only got with all the months of history you've amassed, even now... you still would say yes. Because no matter the pain and the hurt that now seeped into you like rain through the cracks in the withered, dry ground, soaking into every facet of it... just like the rain, his presence and memory also gave you life, a purpose, a way to go on. And you wouldn't give that up, not while there was still breath in your lungs.

So you said yes. And you left, that same day, on the back on his beautiful ikran, for a long ride that would take you somewhere deep in lands you've never experienced before, away from whispers and prying eyes, away from the doubt and the fear. As you were flying far above the world you've known and loved your whole life, that scared you your whole life, you couldn't help but think of what Jake was doing, and feel grateful for it. You thought about how it only consolidated the way you've always viewed him, as a great warrior, a great father, a great mentor... a great man. You thought about your crush, and how it embarrassed you as a teenager, and how you couldn't look him in the eye whenever he came to the lab and asked you a question, how you couldn't be around him without thinking you're gonna catch fire. That was long ago.

It passed, you thought. The crush, slightly weird and completely unattainable, passed through time. Yet here you stood, bare back, yet another foreign feeling you were trying to get used to, flush against his muscular chest, his palm protectively wrapped around your abdomen, and somehow, you forgot to take in the beauty of this world you’ve never seen from such a high vantage point, forgot to enjoy the fact you were literally flying, the air flowing through your luscious, thick hair… you forgot to breathe.

“You okay there, kid? Tell me if this is overwhelming, we can take a break.”

“N-no. I’m alright…Thank you.”

“Good girl.”

I'm still on that trapeze I'm still trying everything To keep you looking at me

Jake struggled to rationalise how things could have ever ended up this way. How did this happen? A few short months ago, it seemed, his life was... normal, or as normal as life could be in the middle of an ongoing territorial war with a species that was once his own, that he now disowned, that he now despised most days. Still. Normal. The same way it had been since he arrived on Pandora, since he mated with Neytiri, since he had one kid, and then another, and another...

He's known you since you were born. He took pity on you, much like he did Spider, for the cruelness of the Universe, for whatever it took for you to be born on this planet he loved, but knew was inhospitable to those who weren't made for it. Aliens. That was about the extent of your similarities to Spider, though. Unlike him, you were sweet, docile, quiet. You never came out to the village, and the few times you did, you just stood in a corner, on some tree stump, clinging to Neteyam like a little lost puppy.

How did it end up this way? It was wrong, it was all wrong. He knew it in his heart he had to stop, and he's been trying... so hard, it was all so hard. In these months, despite his mind telling him otherwise, urging him to consider all he stood to lose, he still ended up putting his life, everything he's built up on the line for you, doing things that frightened him, ashamed him, embarrassed him, but that he couldn't stop doing because it was you. And you were everything, and the way you made him feel was everything. And it all started that night.

The training was not necessarily any less painful than it had been, but he was right - it was easier. He was a good teacher, you told him. You say you understood now where Neteyam got it from, his penchant for imparting wisdom in a calm, collected and patient manner. He went through all the basics, and after a good few hours, he felt like you were almost... relaxed. By eclipse, you were hunched over food that he was preparing over fire, while practicing your Na'vi - the only thing you felt comfortable enough to call yourself good in, and for the first time since you got your Avatar, you looked... happy. You needed this and he knew it. You didn't even know it for yourself, but he knew. And thinking about it, and him, made you blurt out a secret you held in your soul for years and years, before your mind had enough time to talk you out of it.

“I used to have a crush on you, you know?” You chuckled a little, and Jake was fascinated by the sound, which sounded less like a laugh and more like bells chiming in the wind, and by the purple tinge of your cheeks as you confessed something that he couldn’t believe his ears, that were now pushed back flat in shock.

“You used to have a crush on me?”

His tone amused you even further, it seemed, because you brought a hand to your mouth to stifle the sound Jake felt a sudden desire to continue hearing for the rest of his life.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know, kid, just… never thought out of everyone in this village, and the labs, people your own age, including my kids and Spider, you’d ever have a crush on an old man like me.” He chuckles his own rugged, awkward laugh and looks over at you, the way he couldn’t stop himself doing, it seemed, to gauge for a reaction that he didn’t know whether he wanted to see.

“I think that was part of the charm, actually.” As you catch yourself talking, you stop and turn, the tinge in your cheeks no longer a tinge but a splash of violent colour as you pat yourself aggressively with both hands, to release some of the heat that pooled unwelcome in your face. “I… I really should not… say things.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused and intrigued at the new development. “So you like ‘em older, huh, kid? Always the shy and quiet ones, ain’t that so?”

You retreat further in yourself at the way he just called you out, unconsciously making yourself smaller by bringing your knees in and wrapping your arms around them, your face buried in between your legs in embarrassment and you let out a small groan. You couldn’t believe this was happening to you. First time in your life you were fully alone with this great man, this man that is a legend, that will have history books written about him even back on Earth, this man that knew so much and achieved enough to last lifetimes and instead of learning from him, instead of doing what you came here to do to begin with, here you are, running your mouth faster than your brain could catch up, making sure you would never be able to look him in the eyes ever again.

“Are you still playing that guitar of yours? You used to drive Neytiri crazy with that thing when you were young.”

“Yeah, I still play, just, I keep it to the rec centre mostly.”

“Why?”

“I just... don’t want to bother anyone.”

You sounded sad, too sad. He saw your eyes swimming with tears and he cringed at the way he was unable to make you feel fully comfortable around him. This shouldn't be this hard.

“Ah, kid… you can play in the village. The Omaticaya love music, they’re called the Flute Clan for cryin’ out loud. They just need time.”

“It’s been 23 years.”

Jake didn’t push anymore, not when you were right. It’s been a long enough time, but some things… some things don’t get better with time. Jake’s always hated that stupid old saying anyway.

“Y’know… I play a little guitar, too.” He scoffs a little as he thinks more about it. “Well, used to play. Probably not any good anymore, but at some point, I used to be.”

Your eyes shoot to him and the glimmer in them makes Jake’s mind come to a standstill - they were so beautiful. You were so beautiful.

“Really? That’s amazing!” And just like that, your previous outburst was swiftly forsaken and forgotten, the new piece of information far too exciting for you to dwell on anything else. “How come I’ve never heard you? You should play for us sometime.”

Jake smiled a sorrowful smile that stopped short of reaching his eyes. “Just… haven’t had the chance.”

There were a lot of reasons Jake hasn’t done so many of the things that used to bring him joy when he was human. But ya win some, ya lose some, that was always his philosophy for life anyway. He had so much to be grateful for in this life, so much more than he ever thought possible for a grunt like him. The Universe has been more than generous in compensating him for a lifetime of resentment and regrets, and so if he had to give certain things up, that he did so without thinking twice about it.

“So how did you learn?”

“My old man taught me, probably the only thing he ever taught me, unless you count how to run a backdoor draw while high off your ass.” Jake lets out a humourless laugh, enjoying the look of confusion plastered all over your face, and the way your tanhì seemed to shine brighter when you ruminated over something in your head. Your nose crinkles a little, as his words register fully in your ears and they twitch, and the humourless laugh quickly evolves in a warm, inward smile.

You were beautiful, he ends up acknowledging yet again, taking in all the mannerisms that somehow escaped him all these years.

“A what?”

Jake chuckles, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Did you not… get along with your dad?”

Jake finds himself, for the first time in years, too many years, thinking about his dad and his life as a young kid back on Earth, and all the shitty memories that came along with that thought, memories he’s tried to repress most of his life. He catches yet another sigh before it escapes him, a habit he’s seemed to have quickly picked up in your presence, as you asked questions most people never did, questions he didn’t want to answer, questions he wanted nothing more than to be asked.

“My dad was a mean ol’ dog, who liked women and booze more than he ever liked Tommy or me. I could never find it in me to care when he died.” That was morbid, he recognises, but it needed to be said. Something about you just makes him want to just… confess things he shouldn’t be feeling, and shouldn’t be saying out loud, and yet here he was, heart thumping and palms sweating almost nervously, and the word vomit didn’t seem like it was anywhere close to over.

“He made mean sloppy joes, though. And he played the guitar like he was born with a six-string in his hands.” There were some good memories. The memory of his dad teaching young squirt Jake Future Days, his old, cigarette-imbued hoarse voice singing the lyrics that still had the power to bring tears to his eyes… that was one of the good ones.

You smiled as he spoke, a warm, inviting smile, that made the breath catch in his lungs and begged him to spill all the secrets that he tried so hard to bury deep inside, and he feels his stomach drop when he realises the feelings you invoked in him, for the first time in his life, were no longer ones he could justify or explain, but ones that demanded to be felt.

The silence was heavy and awkward after that, or so he thought, and he watched you as you ruminated over his words, as you nibbled at the fish he managed to catch while teaching you the basics of fishing. He shouldn't have said it, any of it. What the hell does he think he's doing, going around confessing the depths of his somewhat bitter soul to a kid who knew nothing about life, and who shouldn't have to carry his burdens to begin with. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Maybe being alone with you... was a mistake.

"You should go to sleep, kid. There's a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and the sooner we're done, the sooner your life can go back to normal."

You nodded gently and obliged.

“I think you’re lying.” You say, as you turn your back to him, closing your eyes and preparing yourself to return to your human body, as soon as sleep would find you. “I think you cared. I think you still care. And it’s ok to care. Sometimes… people are horrible and they suck… and we love them anyway. And I think that’s what makes humans special… and good.”

Jake was too stunned to be able to say anything else, as he stared mouth-agape at your back.

“Sleep well, Jake.”

Maybe he did lie. Maybe life will never go back to normal again and the thought... the thought terrified him.

Because I'm a mirrorball I'm a mirrorball I'll show you every version of yourself Tonight

taglist: @yagirlheree @mashiromochi @deepdarktower @tojisleftarm @childofgod-05 @youngpersonaathletebear @cinetrix @hinataashoyos @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @misscaller06 @v1l-ismissing @legendarynoodlebowl @analuw @imjustcal @the-fractured-eye @pandoraontop @sweetirilly @kouyoumarryme @blxkstar @ok-boke @myheartfollower

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rain0tes · 9 months ago

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I'm thinking about Hazbin Hotel with a Suguru Geto like reader.

Entering the hotel with two teenagers in tow, panic etched across your face, you plead with Charlie to allow your daughters to stay, at the very least, to provide them with a safe space to hide during the extermination.

You knew you could handle yourself; after all, you'd survived in Hell for a few years now and always navigated the yearly purge with ease. However, upon discovering that your two adoptive daughters were spawned in Hell just before an extermination, you were desperate to find shelter for them, willing to go to any lengths to ensure their safety.

Bless her soul, Charlie took you and your daughters into the hotel, where you've been staying ever since, grateful for the refuge and safety it provided amidst the chaos of Hell.

With a constant smile on your face, you exude genuine warmth and kindness, easily making you one of the kindest souls in the hotel, second only to Charlie. Unlike Alastor, your demeanour feels sincere, radiating a sense of genuine care and compassion.

You naturally take on a fatherly role over the other residents, offering guidance, support, and understanding to those who need it most.

When Charlie would ask what you could have possibly done to deserve a spot in Hell, given your genuinely kind nature, you would simply smile in response, choosing not to delve into the details of your past.

The downward spiral, the lives you've taken with your own hands, the very same lives you once promised to save— it all still haunts you, a constant reminder of your past mistakes. Yet, you strive to push through it all, clinging to the hope of redemption that Charlie keeps preaching about.

You don't really believe you deserve forgiveness, feeling as though you've delved too far down to ever swim back to the surface again. In your eyes, Nanako and Mimiko have a better chance at redemption; they deserve another chance. So, you strive to keep it together, if only to support them and ensure they have the opportunity to find the redemption you feel is beyond your reach.

Nanako's accidental slip of calling Charlie "sister" once has since become a cherished term of endearment, one that has stuck and been embraced by everyone in the hotel. Mimiko, ever accepting and adaptable, casually accepts the addition of a third sister into their familial dynamic without hesitation.

Gradually, you also begin to see Charlie as a third child, influenced by your adoptive daughters' insistence on referring to her as their sister.

The rest of the hotel residents hold you in high regard; it's difficult not to like you.

Angel Dust holds a special appreciation for you. You offer him a safe space to rant and confide in, providing the much-needed comfort and support he craves. Your non-judgmental attitude and genuine concern help him navigate the challenges he faces, allowing him to feel understood and accepted in a way he rarely experiences elsewhere.

He often describes it as you "fathering so hard you start mothering."

Vaggie finds that she can truly relax when you're around, feeling a sense of ease and comfort in your presence. As the only other voice of reason, she trusts your judgment implicitly and relies on your calm demeanour to navigate through challenging situations. Your steady presence serves as a source of stability and reassurance for Vaggie, allowing her to let her guard down and find moments of respite.

Pentious finds you a bit intimidating, not because of any unkindness, but because of the confidence you exude. In his opinion, you're just as kind as Charlie, but you possess a certain assurance and composure that comes with experience, something he feels Charlie lacks. Your presence commands respect, and while he admires your kindness, he also can't help but feel a bit in awe of your self-assuredness.

Nifty's fondness for you was evident from the start, as she frequently left out little gifts for you to find, even if they were admittedly a bit peculiar, reminiscent of a cat bringing their owner a dead mouse. Despite their unusual nature, you graciously thanked her for each and every one, appreciating the gesture and the sentiment behind it. However, you discreetly disposed of the gifts without her ever knowing, understanding that some things are better left unseen.

Alastor views you as competition to a degree. While you maintain friendly terms and often engage in pleasant conversation over drinks, he senses that you're hiding a lot of things, particularly the extent of your power. Despite the amicable facade, he can't shake the feeling that there's more to you than meets the eye, and he's wary of the potential threat you may pose.

Husk is the only one who truly sees how burned out you are, recognizing the exhaustion weighing on you emotionally. Initially, you resisted opening up, even when he made efforts to encourage you to do so. The irony of being the therapist of the hotel in need of therapy yourself wasn't lost on you.

However, over time, you began to slowly share what was bothering you with Husk. While you didn't reveal too much, simply being able to express some of your feelings was a relief. Knowing that someone understood and cared enough to listen provided a small measure of comfort amidst the turmoil of your own emotions.

When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel, he's immediately passive-aggressive toward you, seeing in you exactly what he wants to be with Charlie: a father figure who's there for his daughter. Despite his initial animosity, he can't hold onto his resentment for too long, especially as you both naturally fall into a co-parent-like relationship.

You catch him up on what Charlie has been up to over the years, serving as a key component in patching up their fractured father-daughter relationship. Over time, Lucifer begins to appreciate your genuine care and concern for Charlie, and despite his pride, he acknowledges the positive impact you've had on their relationship.

The first time anyone in the hotel witnessed you engage in combat happened during Lucifer's visit, while he and Charlie were engaged in conversation. Suddenly, you felt your surroundings shake, signalling the onset of a confrontation.

A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you at first, but one thing became clear: your daughters and friends were in danger, and you would not let it slide.

By the time everyone emerged outside, you were already in the midst of the carnage, your clothes and face stained with blood. Despite attempting to wipe the liquid off with your thumb, it only served to smudge further into your skin. Turning to face the group, a grim determination etched across your features.

Maybe there was a good reason you were in Hell after all.

Note: I love hacker!reader but I wanted to do something else for once. This was more so because I wanted to give the hh cast a "mom friend," and the first person that always comes to mind is Suguru for some reason? Idk. I hope you enjoyed!

(Masterlist)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #male reader #hazbin reader insert #🌧Rain0tes

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astroboots · 2 years ago

Text

Don't they know it's the end of the world

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Summary: There are many things Joel would like to forget, you hope you're not one of them.

Rating: Explicit. I just want to fuck old man Joel.

Content: hurt/comfort, explicit sex-town, cowgirl position yee-ha, post-apocalyptic angst and jazz. Mentions of death, blood and gore, but the real warning all along was emotionally unavailable men.

Word Count: 3.5k

Astroboot’s Masterlist

The thing that nobody warned you about living in a post-apocalyptic world (to use the dramatic phrase) is that when the world as you know it has ended. When an unprecedented catastrophe transforms the very fabric of your reality. In the midst of abandoned cities, dilapidated high-rise buildings overrun with moss and ivy, and rusted cars forsaken on the highway. This horrific new world of unending horrors, at some point, with enough days gone by, becomes common place.

After the first and second year, you're no longer bothered by the constant aches and how everything hurts, everywhere all the time. The new bruises that spring up overnight to replace old healing, because sleeping on concrete and dirt will do that to you, isn't as overwhelming. You barely mind the constant blunt ache in your lower back from unloading crates anymore. Or the way your feet are always blistering and covered in callouses that crack and split and bleed. It's all background noise.

After the third and the fourth, you're no longer dry-heaving at the burnt metallic smell of charred flesh and human hair that reminds you of melted and burnt plastic when they're tossed into fire. Your sense of smell dull to it.

After the fifth year you think that hollow feeling in your chest of missing home, is no longer a constant. At most it comes to you in glimpses. Because sure, there are a million and one things you still miss. The sweetness of cereal soaked in milk. The lingering smell of peonies from your shampoo after a steaming shower. The way your cat used you as a headrest while watching TV.

You miss cupcakes. You miss the cinema. You miss pumpkin lattes. You miss the forest ground covered in auburn leaves in the fall. You miss your mom. You miss--

You miss a lot of things. Small little things, and you remember each one of them despite the years that passes.

But the mind adapts. It doesn't consume you with a hollowness that makes you burst into tears at any given moment anymore. Humans are nifty like that. Our brains rewire to accept the new realities and life just goes on somehow.

You accept the military surveillance. Of men in vests and gear, wearing blank expressions, with rifles slung across their shoulders like it were backpacks, ready to use them at the slightest provocation if you so much as dared to cough in their presence.

You get used to cracking jokes about priests walking into bars, while burying your dead, not because you're unfeeling, or not understanding of the graveness of what you're doing, but because the human mind cannot be relentlessly scared and sad and depressed and unhappy without reprieve.

Instead like much else, that seems horrific and world-ending at first, it becomes background noise.

---

"Uno," you announce as you drop the last card in the pile of red, blue and green cards in front of him.

Joel scowls, that furrowed wrinkle between his brow carves deep with displeasure.

"You're cheating. I've never played this game where stacking is allowed. The correct rule is no stacking."

This again. You scoff. This topic of conversation comes up every now and then (everytime he loses in fact) because the two of you has solely been relyng on your memory to reconstruct the rules given that the manual to the pack of cards were lost long ago.

"I'm not having this argument with you again Joel, I've told you. The rules allow stacking, you're misremembering it."

You shake your head at him and smile. He doesn't smile back. He never really does. Instead he folds his arms across his wide chest, leaning back as he appraises you with skepticism.

"What if you've forgotten the rules?"

"I don't forget things, I'm not you" you say lightheartedly.

He's already passed out when you let yourself in through the front door tonight.

It's a sparse apartment, like all the other accommodations in the area. The mismatched dining chairs and fold up table is not much to look at, but there are still hints of the family who had made this place their home before they had to leave it. The feminine touch of flowery rose wallpapers. Scribbled markers of their children's height year by year. The claw-marks of a dog by the front door.

If Joel left tomorrow, you don't think it would tell much of a story of him or the life you lead together. The only thing that's his besides the radio and music catalog is the blue butterfly sticker that sparkles on the window.

And even with that, you don't quite know what story it is meant to tell or why he'd put it up. You only know it wasn't there when he moved it because it appeared out of nowhere after Tommy left. It clashes with the rest of the decor. Something that belongs to a young girl's bedroom and not a grumpy former veteran addicted to painkillers. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put one plus one together and deduce it's something of sentimental value to him.

It's always confounded you, because that is so unlike the man you know.

Unlike you, Joel forgets. He makes it his mission to forget. Expired opioids from god knows how long, you're surprised they don't crumble into dust when they're exposed into open air.

There are horrors in his memories that Joel wants wiped clean, and he doesn't care if the good memories go with them, as long as he doesn't have to look at them in the broad daylight.

You never said anything about it, don't pry and you don't ask questions. You don't ask him for anything period. You just let him be and take him as he is. You suspect that that's why he's allowed himself to keep you around for so long.

The room is dimly illuminated from the night light has been left on for you, and you try to be quiet as you make your way to him on the bed. He's lying curled up on his side, back turned to you.

Broad shouldered as he is, with a build that reminds you of a bear at times, in this position, there's something vulnerable about him right now that's reserved for your eyes only. His face is no longer tense, against the amber hue that bathes the room. The specks of grey and white in his beard, soft to the touch.

He's half-dragged into consciousness as you dip your knee into the mattress, as he lifts the tattered, moth-eaten quilt and makes space for you.

Reaching behind you, you kill the light. Then you wrap your one arm over his waist, tucking one leg between his thick and firmer ones. He sighs into his pillow and leans into your touch.

There are things that you know Joel wants to forget, you would like to believe that this won't become one of them.

"Are you awake?" he murmurs against the nape of your neck. His voice is gravelly and worn with sleep.

You open your eyes and the world greets you with darkness. It's too early to be awake at this ungodly time.

His chest is pressed up against your back, warm and firm, and you hum in reply. "Barely."

You nuzzle into the scratchy linen of your pillow, inhaling deeply to relax back into sleep. But Joel isn't turning back around. He's still behind you, almost hovering above you as if he wants to tell you for something, but doesn't.

You raise yourself slightly, reaching over the nightstand to flicker on the small lamp there.

Turning back towards him, you observe him for a moment. The slight sheen of sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. His eyes wide and alarmed, hands closed into a tight fist into the sheets. His whole body is wired for a fight, even though he's just woken up and it's dead quiet in the still of the night without a threat.

"Did you have a nightmare?" you finally ask.

His jaw tightens at your question, which is as good of an indicator as any that he doesn't want to answer. Also a good indicator that he did have one.

You sigh, reaching your hand back to trail the soft hairs at the back of his neck. Flattening the curly ends with your fingers, and trying to comb it down in a gesture to soothe him the way others used to do for you in a different life and another world. It's a mistake.

He flinches at the touch, and stiffens awkwardly in front of you. Like he's trying to decide what's the right next course of action. To apologize or to turn back around and pretend he didn't do what he just did.

You frown at him, but say nothing. You give him the time to find his words.

"Can we just--" he starts, but his words trail off, eyes barely meeting yours. Silently pleading for you to know what he's asking for so he doesn't have to put them into words.

Joel doesn't really do softness. Doesn't accept comfort. Doesn't trust it.

But there are things that he wants, because he's only human after all. A touch, a warm body to lose himself in, a human connection. It's what everyone of us wants.

But he can't ask for it. Can't say it.

The moment he puts words it, he would have to name it. What this thing is, between the two you that you have. Where at the end of the day you return to his apartment. Where you sleep in his bed. Where he worries if you don't.

If he asks you for this, then he can't pretend there's nothing there anymore.

So you don't say anything. You don't needle him into finishing his sentence. Don't ask him what he means. You don't ask him for anything. Instead you nod.

His face shifts, the stiff crease between his brows smooths in relief and he scoots forward, chest draped flush against your back. He's already hard, the familiar thick girth pressed to your tailbone, like it's trying to carve a permanent dent into you.

"Is it okay?" he asks again, rolling his hips and the newfound pressure against his denim-covered cock has him breaking off with a gasp.

"Yeah Joel. Yes it's okay."

His fingers come to the hemline of your jeans, as he roughly shoves at it in the dark. It catches at the dip of your hips, and you can hear the gruff impatience of the man from behind, as he yanks it down further. As if sheer brutal strength is going to be the solution in here, the way it is outside these walls.

You lift up your hips to help him, long enough for him to slide the jeans off your legs and you can kick them to the floor. Vaguely you try to estimate the distance to where they landed. Because that's where you'll have to pick them up in the early morning before he gets up. But that doesn't matter right now.

There's a scuffle behind you of rustling denim and the metallic clink of a buckle being undone. You reach back with your hand against the softness of his belly, down the sparse trail of fine coarse hairs until you can wrap your hand around his hardened cock.

He shudders in relief. A soft sigh into the back of your neck as he grinds against your back, demanding more. You indulge him, swiping your thumb in a circle over the head of him. There's a sharp intake of breath from him, similar to the sound he makes after taking a swig of shitty whiskey that burns his lungs too sharply.

The indication that it's too much, and therefore just right, because it's only then that it's a relief. An escape from the current reality.

You squeeze down again, fingers wrapped firm around the thickness of his girth not allowing him any reprieve, and he thanks you not in words, but with the way he bares his throat as his head throws back in ecstasy.

For Joel, the old world never ended. Never left. He's still trapped in it. His existence now is a purgatory. He treats it like he's just sitting in a waiting room, as the days and years go by. Everything and everyone in it are transitory. Nothing in the room matters.

His hand shoots out, sliding down the bare skin of your stomach and wedges underneath your panties. One broad thumbs presses down on your clit perfunctory, and still it feels so good. Sharp heat licks your spine at the touch, and your eyes flutter close as you lean back into him.

It's brusque, the way Joel's hand comes to your thighs and spread you open for him. Unrestrained the way his fingers parts your slick folds to collect the wetness he finds there, pressing into you and curls with a familiarity when he knows he's reached that perfect spot that makes your vision whiten. Rough in much the same way he is in every other part of his life.

"Fuck, get up here," he orders gruffly.

You roll over and he wastes no time to roughly grip onto your hipbones and dragging you up his body.

Bracing your arms on his firm chest to steady yourself, you settle yourself with your knees pressed into the sides of his ribs. They're dipped into the worn-out mattress and you think you can feel the springs of the bottom of the bed dig into your kneecaps.

It's a bit uncomfortable, but you don't mind. Because you get to straddle him this way. Get to see all of him, underneath you, on display. His bare skin made golden and soft by the dim light of the night lamp.

He doesn't look like the movie-stars of old. But Joel is handsome. There's no doubt about that.

Despite his rough masculine features, there are details that don't quite match up. His lips are plump and soft, inviting. A deep crease in the curve of his bottom lip that is just begging to be kissed.

Even with the significant grey in his thick hair, and the white in his beard, the weathered look suits him well. As does the fine lines on his forehead, and the ones around his eyes.

Smile lines, an old friend of yours had called them. Does that mean he used to smile? You imagine how he must've looked like in those days. Not constantly frowning or scowling. But smiling so hard that it would make his eyes crinkles. How beautiful and carefree he must've been.

In front of you, there's no trace of that man. His jaw is set, grinding his teeth, with gritted impatience as his hands grips onto your waist and pull you forward, towards and over his cock, positioning you right where he wants you.

His hand reaches behind you, and even though you can't see it from this angle, you've seen it plenty times before to know how good his cock looks fisted in his hand, as he uses your slick, still wet on his fingers to spread it over the length of him. Then you feel it, the fat tip of him nudging against your entrance as he slowly slips inside.

A heady anticipation fills you. It shakes the core of you until it makes your thighs tremor visibly as you straddle him.

Joel is rough. He is unrestrained and brusque, but he is not unkind. Or at least you'd like to think, not to you. He steadies you, one hand still on your hip, the other a flat palm against your lower belly, as he slowly lifts his hips as you sink down on him in unison.

The first thrust always knocks your breath away. Pleasure that warms you inside out in a way that standing in a fire fails to. It fills you anr nourishes.

You drop down the rest of the way until he's as deep as he goes, until he hisses sharply again, in that tell-tale sign that it's, too much and just right.

Your chest glows with pride, and you grind down against him to elicit another noise, this time a chocked grunt that's not nearly as satisfying. But the buzzing warmth that spikes your veins more than makes up for it.

You stay there for a moment, savoring the pleasure that simmers along your spine, until Joel opens his eyes, his fingers digging a bit deeper into the plump flesh of your thighs.

"Fuck," he grumbles, "please move."

You don't deny him, you never do. Not with this, not with anything. Rising on your knees, you feel his cock drag inside you and close your eyes at the sensation until only the tip of him rests inside you. It's a slow, dragged out pace. One that Joel doesn't seem to have any patience for.

His hand around your hip wraps firm and he pushes down at the same time as you can feel him thrust upwards, until he's buried as deep as he goes.

Fuck, you feel like you can't breathe. Didn't know you could fit so much of him.

Your eyes fly open, to the sight of him, thick brows knitted in pleasure. He looks gorgeous like this. Lost in pleasure, no longer buried in a grave of regrets he can never climb out of. Mouth parted as he gasps out at the feel of you wrapped around him. You stare at his spit swollen lips and all you can think of is how you want to kiss this man. Press your lips to his and feel the full weight of intimacy of this shared moment with his arms wrapped around you.

You anchor your arms on his chest, leaning down closer to his face, hovering above his lips and it's like he can sense you. His eyes flutters open as he meets your gaze.

You wonder what it is he sees in your eyes. If the want and depth of your feelings for him are so plain to see. Because he looks at you like he's terrified.

You don't kiss him.

You drop down your hips again, as far as he goes, and his eyes squeezes shut again, both of you choosing to forget what preceded it. An unrestrained moan rips out of him and to your ears, and though he's not saying any words, it's almost like he's thanking you for forgetting.

You ride him and it's rough and there is no rhythm. He meets you with every thrust, deep and fast, like he's racing for the end.

The hand on your belly, pushes down firmer, and the pressure does something to you. The simmer of pleasure turns to an inescapable heat. It climbs up your veins and invades your ribs with it.

You come around his cock and the pleasure is punishing, a slam to your ribs that squeezes down on your very lungs. It flattens your vision, until you're disorientated with it and you nearly fall off. But Joel doesn't stop. Continues to fuck up and into you. Harsh and reckless thrusts.

Pleasure is written over every line of his face, teeth gritted as he keeps his eyes closed to you. You feel him swell thicker in you, and you know he's almost there.

With a harsh hiss, his hand on your waist, lifts you up and off of him. His freed hand comes to his cock and wraps around it. Swollen and glistening with your wetness, as he fists himself with frantic strokes.

The chords of his neck strains, and then he comes. Line after line after line of his release, coating your stomach with the warmth of him.

You're both breathing hard and fast, made louder by the silence of the room at this hour.

Joel doesn't say anything and neither do you. Instead you reach over to the nightstand to kill the light, enveloping you both in the familiar darkness.

You lay back down against the mattress and roll to your side. There's rustling noise besides you and then Joel's hand comes to your stomach, cleaning up the mess he made of you with a corner of the sheets.

---

You wake up before dawn breaks. When it's no longer dark but the sun has not had time to rise above the skyline.

Dipping your foot onto the grimy wooden floor, you walk towards the very spot your jeans had been tossed aside last night, and put them on, as quietly as you can so as not to wake Joel.

You cast one last look at him where he's lying in the same position you found him when you'd let yourself in last night. On his side, curled up, vulnerable.

Then you gently pad across the length of the living room and let yourself out of the apartment, closing the door slowly until it gently clicks.

Someday, when this version of the world is over and one of you leaves. You hope that you get to miss him.

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