#also I don’t like rendering metal

[notefellow]

eeeyikes!!! I better all-mighty axle arc my way out of this one!!!!!!!!!!!

[em1i2a3]

The Dark Side

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Mutant!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: Bob is having a really bad depressive episode, and you have been unanimously voted to go and provide him with the comfort that he needs to pull him out.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of like…Oddly Fluffy but not much? Bob is going through it, Mentions of a Depressive Episode (in which Bob kind of destroys his room), Mentions of Blood/Bruises (descriptions are given of the injuries…Caused by the destroying of his room), Reader has the ability of Power Negation (rendering them unable to be Voided or sent into a shame room) and Telekinesis, Reader and Bob are very close, The Void is…In a large portion of this, like a huge portion of this…I need to write more Void tbh lol….Hinting at a part 2 possibly? I don’t know yet tho

Author’s Note: Someone requested Bob being the little spoon, and I truly loved the idea, so I took it and expanded it as much as possible to give it some…Bite. Hope y’all enjoy :) (also I’ve been literally waiting to use this song for something…And it’s so fitting)

Word Count: 7,652

The compound kitchen was too quiet for this many people. The silence thrummed with something unsaid, stretched thin and humming like a wire pulled too tight.

Ava sat cross-legged on the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing at the fraying edge of her gloved thumb. Every few seconds came the faint, squelching sound of wet leather between her teeth, rhythmic and uneasy. She didn’t seem to notice the sound–or maybe she did, and just didn’t care anymore. Her eyes were trained on the far wall where a few frying pans hung, staring at the one that was crooked and on the brink of falling.

Walker leaned against the fridge like a fixture, arms crossed so tight it made his biceps strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt. His jaw twitched once. His expression–stone-cold and unreadable–was that same military-grade stillness he defaulted to in times like this. Moments where concern might as well be weakness. Where admitting you were worried meant that something had already gone wrong.

Across the table, Yelena was perched in a chair like she’d rather be standing–back stiff, boot planted against the rung of the seat, fingers drumming out a frantic little pattern against the metal tabletop. It wasn’t idle. It was tight, and sharp. Like she was trying to match the tempo of her heartbeat and couldn’t quite keep up because it just kept changing.

Bucky stood with his weight braced against the sink, one hand wrapped around a chipped Thunderbolts mug–faded red and gray–but he hadn’t taken a sip in the last twenty minutes. Steam had long since stopped curling from the lip. His knuckles were white where they gripped the handle, and every so often, his thumb would twitch like he might lift it to his lips, but he never did.

Alexei was in the chair beside you, the wood creaking with every restless shift of his weight. Normally the loudest in any room, he was unusually subdued now. His thick forearms were folded across his stomach, and his eyes–usually wild and reactive–were narrowed, watching Walker with something unreadable. His fingers tapped once against the edge of his knee, then stopped.

And you…You sat stillest of all.

Watching, listening and waiting. Because you already knew what this emergency team meeting was about. Knew it the second you got the text. The second you stepped into this room and counted the people present. There was only one person missing–and it wasn’t like him to be absent for anything.

”We need to talk about Bob.” Yelena muttered, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, but firm. There was a collective exhale of something heavy settling into the room, like everyone had been holding the thought behind their teeth and didn’t want to be the one to name it.

“He hasn’t come out in two days,” Bucky added, voice hoarse from not talking in a while, “Knocked last night…No answer. Door was locked too.”

“I phased through the wall this morning,” Ava said, voice clipped, jaw tense “Couldn’t even be in there for more than a few seconds. Got thrown into the door…Had to get the hell out pretty quickly.” Walker glanced over at Ava.

”Yeah, cause The Void’s in there, it’s not Bob.” He mumbled grimly. You felt the words before you heard them. That faint pressure behind your sternum. Like something whispering from the edge of a black hole. Bucky’s gaze found the floor.

”Last time it was like this, he didn’t eat for a week, he didn’t sleep, he just sat on the floor staring at the wall until we talked him out of it…This time I heard him breaking things in his room…I truly don’t think speaking to him is going to work this time.” He stated, shifting from one foot to the other.

”So we send someone in.” Alexei suggested, his gruff voice cutting through the tension in the room.

“And what?” Walker scoffed, pushing off the fridge just enough to gesture with one hand “Get them sent to a shame room? I’m not going through that again.” The words hung in the air. Heavy and acidic.

And then the silence came again–heavier than before, only this time there was this sort of feeling like everyone was waiting for something.

That’s when you felt it.

Eyes. Not all at once. Not direct. Just quick, darting glances. One after another. Like everyone had the same thought, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Not until–

“Y/N…” Yelena’s voice was quiet and measured, like she was testing the water of a pool, “Would you be willing to try?” You looked over at her slowly. Her brows were pinched, mouth set, but her gaze didn’t flinch. Not from you, and certainly not from what she was asking. Before you could answer, Walker jumped in.

”Nothing happened to you when he Voided New York, right?” Your lashes fluttered a bit, and you could feel your face heat up. Your fingers twitched where they rested against your thigh, and slowly your gaze dropped to your hands–open, resting palm-up.

“Well…No,” You replied softly, “But I don’t think it would be the best idea to send me in.” Walker opened his mouth, but you lifted your chin and cut him off, voice firmer now, “I think I make The Void angrier…Because he can’t…Y’know–“

”Go through every bad memory you have, and make you relive every single one like it just happened?” Bucky interrupted gently, now taking a loud sip from his mug. You turned your head toward him, and his eyes met yours. Steady and understanding of your point.

”Yeah…Pretty much.” You murmured. Another beat of silence passed.

Then Walker let out a short, incredulous laugh, “Then why the hell do we even have you on this team if you don’t want to use your powers for something as small as this?” Your eyes snapped back to him, eyebrows lifting as your expression flattened into something cool and sharp.

”Last time I checked, Walker,” You started, “I saved your ass from a bunch of mutants in Slovenia.” He opened his mouth to say something, but you went on, “Remember that? The underground lab. The one where they lured you in with fake hostages? The one where Bucky’s arm got fried while you were too busy playing Captain Knockoff to notice the tripwire?” Walker blinked at you, his gaze dropping to the ground.

”And if I wasn’t there to dampen and take away their powers, you’d still be in that goddamn hole,” You stated, voice deceptively calm now, “So–kindly?” You leaned forward in your seat, resting your elbows on your knees, “Sit on it…And rotate.” Bucky let out a sigh, stepping in before Walker could say anything back in retaliation.

”You’re the only one who can technically get close to him without setting him off…I mean, yeah, it pisses him off. But you nullify him, Y/N…He backs off when you’re around…It also has a lot to do with the fact you’re close with Bob too.”

Bucky was right.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you were already close with Bob–closer than most, maybe too close–this would be impossible. And it wasn’t just proximity or shared downtime or familiarity on missions. It was that quiet, tangled closeness. The kind that took root when two people didn’t have to speak to understand each other. When silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but necessary.

Still, that didn’t make any of this easier.

Because even with that closeness…The Void knew who you were. What you were. And it hated you for it.

You’d only interacted with it directly a handful of times. Each one branded into your memory like scars you didn’t wear on the outside.

Once during a medbay blackout–Bob had been unconscious and bleeding, a psychic wound ripping through the space around him, and you’d been the only one able to get close enough to touch him. The Void had flickered into the room with a voice like cold static, dripping something ancient and endless against your bones. It didn’t yell. It didn’t threaten.

It whispered, and challenged.

“You take him from me.”

“He’s safer without you.”

“I could make you feel every moment of your worst night in under a second–want to try?”

Another time, on a rooftop in London, when Bob had collapsed mid-mission, shaking, breathless, clutching his skull with both hands like he was trying to hold himself inside it, The Void had poured through his cracks and stared at you through his eyes. You had been taken off guard, and in the split second that you weren’t aware he had made you see your mother, the way she grabbed you by your hair and slammed you against a mirror–which was how you got the scar above your eyebrow.

You didn’t even flinch, and that made The Void angrier with you.

You bit the inside of your lip, eyes flicking over the room again. Every face trained on you now. Some guarded, some silently pleading, but all of them were waiting.

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

“…Fine. I’ll do it.”

A breath seemed to pass through the team like a wave, though no one dared say thank you. They knew better than to treat this like a favor. This wasn’t a volunteer mission. This was a gamble.

“But don’t hover around the door,” You added quickly, pressing your palms to your thighs as you stood, “I don’t need backup. It’ll just make things worse.”

They all nodded.

Bucky was the first to step back, giving you space. He dipped his chin once in acknowledgment, slow and solemn. Yelena gave you a tight nod, eyes shadowed with concern, but she didn’t argue. Ava dropped her hand from her mouth, the glove damp with spit, and looked at you like she wanted to say something–but didn’t.

Walker crossed his arms again and stayed quiet, which, for him, might’ve been the most meaningful gesture of all.

Alexei stood as well, hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder as you moved past. His grip was steady. Warm. Protective in the way only he could be–loud without words.

You didn’t say anything else as you left the kitchen. Didn’t look back.

The hallway to Bob’s quarters felt longer than usual. The lights overhead buzzed faintly, the soft hum of the compound’s systems running like a heartbeat in the background. You could feel it–low and dull–the way his presence saturated the air even through the door. That pressure in the back of your head. The coil of unease in your ribs.

You paused outside the room.

No sound from within. No breathing. No shuffling. No glass breaking. Just…Stillness. Heavy and full, like a vacuum waiting to collapse in on itself.

You raised your fist slowly and knocked twice.

“Void…I’m coming in.”You announced, already knowing he probably sensed you from miles away. The lock clicked under the pressure of your mind–an old security latch giving a reluctant little snick as your telekinesis pried it loose with practiced ease. The door creaked open, just wide enough for you to slip inside.

And the second it sealed shut behind you, the weight of the room hit.

Not just silence.

Suffocation.

The darkness was thick���almost physical. It pooled in the corners like oil and clung to the walls, layered and unmoving. The blackout curtains were to blame for that–drawn tight, suffocating what little natural light might’ve softened the edges of the space.

But even the shadows weren’t still. They writhed.

You took a single step forward, and the crunch under your boot broke the silence.

Glass…There was so much glass.

Not just from a shattered mirror, but from everything else in the room–fragments of picture frames, broken mugs, shattered bulbs. Jagged teeth scattered across the floor like a warning. In the far corner, an old desk chair laid toppled on its side, two of its legs snapped clean through, the splinters of plastic jutting upward like a broken rib cage.

The dresser was no longer a dresser.

It was a carcass. Wood panels torn from their seams, drawers ripped apart like kindling. One drawer had clearly been thrown��there were impact marks on the opposite wall where the corner had struck and left a dent, now trailing with paint dust and something darker–blood or ink or both. The walls were pockmarked with fist-sized impressions. You counted at least six from where you stood, each one blooming out in spiderweb cracks.

The air smelled like sweat, iron, static, and something metallic. Burned electronics…The scent of a mind unraveling, and overtaken by something empty.

Though, through all the destruction, the bed–miraculously–remained intact.

Sort of.

The sheets were rumpled, tangled half way down the frame, one corner half-ripped from the mattress, but the structure itself held. Just barely. The headboard was dented. The mattress had dark stains near the middle, but you didn’t want to guess what they were.

But none of that truly drew your eyes…It was him…

The Void.

Curled like a gravitational wound at the center of the chaos. A black mass draped across the unmade bed in something that only resembled the fetal position. Shoulders hunched, limbs drawn in too tightly, like he was trying to curl into the concept of himself and erase what was left. The shadows rolled off his back in slow, deliberate tendrils–molasses-thick and ink-dark. They rose and fell in undulating pulses, brushing against the sheets, licking the edge of the mattress, curling through the air like they were tasting it. He was still, but not inert, like a storm brewing, but just beyond the horizon.

You took one careful breath and moved forward.

Crossing the room meant stepping around the wreckage–splintered furniture, broken glass, ceramics, and fractured memories from the Polaroids that were scattered on the floor from the broken frames. You moved with practiced precision, keeping your steps slow, measured, and balanced. No sudden movements, no sharp noises apart from the cracking and shattering beneath your feet, just you and your presence.

When you reached the far wall, you hesitated–just for a second–then reached for the curtain. Your fingers trembled slightly as it came into contact with the thick, light proof fabric.

You took a breath, and yanked it open.

Sunlight poured into the room like a floodgate breaking.

Warm and red and golden–the last gasp of a sunset bleeding across the compound horizon. It didn’t banish the dark, but it carved a space in it. Lit the motes of dust hanging heavy in the air. Made the wreckage shimmer like a battlefield caught in the golden hour.

And it lit him.

The Void didn’t move. Not fully. But you could feel the shift. The twitch of air. The smallest ripple in the fabric of the room.

When you turned back to him–

There he was.

The Void looked…Almost beautiful in the sunlight.

Not in the way people meant when they talked about beauty. This wasn’t gentle or graceful or soft. It wasn’t something that asked to be appreciated. It was arresting. Unnatural. Terrifying, yes–but stunning in a way that made your breath catch like it had stumbled into your throat and forgotten how to move.

The golden light cut a jagged angle across the wreckage–strewn room, carving past broken drawers and shattered glass and plastic, but it slowed when it hit him.

Not physically, but perceptibly. Like the light hesitated.

The Void’s form didn’t cast a shadow–he was the shadow. A humanoid silhouette, pitch-black and impossibly dark, draped in endless, shifting tendrils that shimmered faintly in the warm light. He wasn’t see-through, not exactly, but he wasn’t solid either. Looking at him felt like peering into the night sky from the bottom of the ocean–inky, infinite, and so far removed from the natural world that your eyes didn’t quite know where to land.

He looked like a silhouette made of star-drenched tar. The only consistent shape was his outline–vaguely human, impossibly still–and the shock of those eyes.

Pale white. Pupils like burning pinholes through reality itself.

And then there were the freckles. Not normal ones. They weren’t skin-deep or superficial, but scattered like constellations across his chest and shoulders and face, splattered in soft gradients of faint violet and ghost-light blue and shocking white. They moved. Barely. Like they weren’t actually part of him, but windows into something else. Into somewhere that didn’t obey the same laws of existence.

Like someone had cracked open the body of the universe and poured it into him until he took its shape.

You took another step closer, your boots crunching on a piece of ceramic that used to be a mug, and that’s when his head turned slightly–just enough for you to meet one pale, gleaming eye.

And then–he growled. Low and guttural. Less vocal, and more…Animalistic.

”…God.” The word rumbled through the air like it had teeth, “Not you.” You blinked, and then smiled. Not unkindly. Not smugly, either. Just…Knowingly.

You shifted your weight onto one leg, arms loosely crossed, letting your gaze roam over him again now that you were closer. It was always a strange thing, seeing him like this–in daylight. You’d only ever caught glimpses. In dreams. In flickers. In the strange reflections that warped when Bob was between states. But never like this. Never with the sunset warm on your face, and him laid out in the middle of it like a void-stained wound stitched into golden light.

It made him look unreal. Like something painted across the world and only half-belonging.

“I figured you knew I was coming,” You said lightly, voice quiet but firm as you took another careful step forward, your knees almost hitting the mattress. “I’m sure of it, actually…You’re all knowing are you not?” He didn’t respond. But he moved–barely. A twitch in his shoulder. A curl of fingers you hadn’t noticed pressed into the sheets. And then slowly, with the kind of irritated dramatism only a god-tier being could muster, he turned over.

Away from you.

It was such a petty, human gesture that you nearly laughed. He curled onto his other side like a sullen teenager pretending to be asleep, the tendrils of shadow snapping faintly around his limbs–like he was swatting the sunlight away.

You sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements, careful to keep your voice soft as you spoke again, “I’m not here to fight with you.” A pause. The air shifted again. Like the room was breathing for him.

“I’m just here for him,” You murmured. “You know that.”

No answer.

Just the shadows tightening around his form like a second skin. Flicking sharp toward the light, then recoiling. The silence didn’t just settle this time–it spread. Like a sickness. Like smoke crawling into your lungs, seeping under your skin, and clinging to the corners of your thoughts.

You stared at the pillow beneath his head, your brow slowly pulling into a tight line.

There–just beneath the crook of where his temple met the white cotton–were stains.

Tiny, deep red drops.

Not smeared, or splattered, but fallen and sunken into the fabric.

”…Are you bleeding?” You asked softly, the question curling through the air like the edge of a breeze that didn’t quite reach him. The Void paused for a moment.

And then–he laughed.

Short and dry. Low and splintered. It didn’t echo. It shook. Like the walls of the room didn’t want to carry the sound and were trying to drop it before it could reach too far.

“I do not bleed,” He said, the words scraping over the back of your mind like cold metal dragging across bone, “The shell does.” Your jaw flexed slightly, and your frown deepened.

“…Did he do all of this?” You asked, “The mess I mean…Or was it you?” At first, he didn’t say anything. There was not even the twitch of a shadow.

Then he curled in tighter into himself, the shadows drawing closer like blankets that didn’t warm.

”Mix of both,” He admitted, reluctantly, “I don’t understand why it matters to you.” You let the breath leave your nose in a quiet sigh and dropped your gaze.

“Well…” You murmured, reaching for the zipper of your hoodie, “First, we’re going to have to replace all of this stuff.” The hoodie came off in one fluid motion. You tossed it gently to the side of the bed and leaned forward to untie your boots, voice dropping just a little more casual as you added, “And second… I’d rather be ready when he comes back.” The last boot hit the floor with a soft thud. You stretched your socked toes slightly before curling them back under you and shifting onto the bed more fully, tucking one leg beneath you.

“Because I know I’ll have to bandage his hands now.” The Void shifted again. His back hunched tighter, shadows rippling sharp across his shoulders like hackles rising on an animal trying not to snarl.

“…He’s not coming back,” He replied, so quietly you almost missed it, “He’s in too deep.” You didn’t respond right away, you just tilted your head a bit, and let your eyes linger on the slope of his back, the way the light carved out the glinting star-patterns along his skin. You didn’t let your face harden. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t rush him. You just raised your brow slightly.

“Mm,” You hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

And then–slowly–you reached forward.

The tendrils noticed first. They snapped back from your approach like struck nerves. Sizzling faintly at the edges of your reach, shadows spiraling defensively around his form, curling between your hand and his body like they could block what was coming.

They knew what your touch would do.

But you didn’t stop.

You let your fingers slip through the whorls of shadow like they were ink in water–watching them coil and twitch as they tried, and failed, to recoil fast enough.

And then your palm met his shoulder.

Cold.

So cold your breath caught in your throat. Like placing your hand against dry ice, it was so cold it was…Hot in a way.

He flinched. Hard. The entire bed jostled with the sudden jerk of his muscles pulling tight.

“Ah–!”

The hiss tore out of him unbidden, guttural and strangled like it hurt. Because it did.

You could feel it the moment your skin met his–how the shadows shrank. How the hum of wrongness faltered in the walls. How the pressure around the room thinned slightly. You were draining him. Nullifying the divine static that clung to him like rot.

His body didn’t lurch away immediately, but his breath did. A sharp inhale. Like the pain was new. Like it surprised even him.

“…Don’t,” He rasped. “Don’t touch me.”

But you didn’t pull back.

Your hand pressed firmer to his shoulder.

The shadows hissed.

He jerked again, more violently this time, trying to pull himself away–but you didn’t let him. You didn’t even move. The only shift was in the air–your focus hardening, your mind expanding like a net, invisible but unshakable.

Telekinesis wasn’t always force. It wasn’t about slamming someone across a room or crushing metal with your thoughts.

Sometimes, it was about stillness. Weight. The kind of pressure that settled over bone and muscle like gravity, inescapable and patient.

And so when he tried to move again, the Void grunted–sharp, frustrated, restrained. The bedframe creaked beneath him with the effort of a god trying to disobey the very laws of physics you wove around him.

“I will kill you.” The words were low. Ragged. Meant to shake you.

But you…laughed.

Not loud. Not mocking. Just…Soft. A breathy, disbelieving thing that came from the hollow of your throat and made your shoulders twitch with the absurdity of it.

“If that’s what you truly wanted…” You murmured, your voice a ghost just above his ear as you leaned in close, “You would’ve done it already.”

There was a pause.

Heavy. Stagnant. Tense.

He tried again. You could feel it–his form straining against your hold, his shadows cracking through the air like whips, like rage incarnate, but they couldn’t touch you. Not really. Not with your powers blanketing the space between.

He growled. Animalistic. Teeth grinding, tendrils snapping.

You didn’t flinch.

You just moved.

Slowly, quietly, you climbed onto the bed fully. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, groaning with the shift, and he hissed again–but not from pain this time. From confusion.

And then…You laid behind him.

You felt it instantly. The temperature drop was jarring, biting into your skin through your shirt. It hit your chest first, then your bare arms as you wrapped them carefully around him, curling your body along the edge of his.

You let your arm drape over his side, your palm hovering at first, before pressing flat against his chest.

Gods shouldn’t feel like this.

Shouldn’t tremble. Shouldn’t shiver.

But he did.

His body didn’t accept the comfort–it reacted to it, violently at first. The moment your skin touched his chest, his muscles tensed, his breath caught, and then came the sound.

A broken, pained little gasp.

It wasn’t quite a growl. It wasn’t even a scream.

It was…A whimper.

Low. Raw. And filled with something deeper than pain.

The tendrils thrashed. A few brushed past your cheek, stinging cold, like frostbite in motion. One grazed your lips. Another flicked across your jaw, searching, tasting, confused.

But they didn’t strike.

They didn’t push you away.

In fact, slowly…They began to shift.

Curling, and looping, almost in a tender way. A hesitant winding around your arm. A slow crawl against your thigh. Brushing, nudging, and then stilling. Like they were learning you again. Like they remembered your signature and didn’t quite know what to do with it anymore.

“Just…” Your voice trembled slightly with the cold, but you didn’t stop, “Calm down, Void…Let him come back.” Your breath fogged against the back of his neck, warm in contrast to the chill that radiated off him like a dying sun.

He shuddered. Twitched. His hand moved to grab your wrist, but didn’t squeeze–just held it. Like an anchor. Or a warning.

Then he pushed against your arm once–sharp, desperate, useless.

And then…He sagged, letting out a frustrated, inhuman sound that didn’t belong in a throat. Something halfway between a hiss and a wounded sob. You felt it in his chest more than you heard it. A tremor under your palm. A ripple in your own ribs from how tightly you were pressed to him.

The tendrils wrapped tighter, and your cheek pressed gently to the back of his shoulder.

There was a long moment where neither of you moved.

Not a breath stirred the air between your bodies. Not a word passed your lips.

Your cheek stayed pressed to the curve of his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing the cool shadowed skin. You let your senses drift, quietly reaching–searching–for something deeper. Something alive. You tried to listen again. Tried to find it. That faint rhythm. That human thread. That flicker of Bob.

But there was nothing.

No beat. No pulse.

Just silence.

Like pressing your ear against something ancient and hollow. Something that had forgotten it was ever meant to hold life.

And still…You stayed.

Your arm slowly shifted under the pillow, tucking more securely around the Void’s form, locking him in tighter, folding yourself to him like an anchor trying to hold a black hole still.

He grunted–louder this time–when your hand slipped across his chest again. The heatless cold biting up your wrist, down to the marrow, but you didn’t let go.

“You are hurting me.”

His voice was fractured now.

Still sharp. Still foreign. But softer around the edges. Like something was fraying. Like he wasn’t used to stating pain—only inflicting it.

You shook your head gently, your breath warm against the shell of his neck.

“You’re not used to this,” You murmured, voice steady despite the chill leeching into your skin. “But this is the only way I can get Bob back.”

Your fingers flexed slightly, your grip never relenting.

“You’re not going to go away on your own,” You added, more softly now, “I know you well enough…”

The second the words left your mouth, he moved.

Fast.

The Void jerked against you, his shadows spiking like claws as he tried to break free from your arms with all the force of a universe unraveling. Your powers flared instinctively–holding him, grounding him, caging him without violence.

And then he snapped–

“You don’t know me at all,” He hissed. “You have no fucking idea who I am.” The room trembled. The broken glass shivered on the floor. One of the remaining lightbulbs overhead gave a sick little buzz and blinked out.

But you…

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t let go.

And you didn’t raise your voice.

Your reply was almost gentle.

“I know the person you live inside,” you said. “I know him.”

You let your forehead rest against the top of his spine, your hand smoothing softly over the cold, trembling surface of his chest.

“And you may not believe it,” You continued, “But you’re a piece of him. Whether you hate it or not.”

He stilled–but not with calmness–with a kind of rigid tension. The kind that only came before collapse.

You pressed on.

“And he…” You said slowly, voice like a thread stitching through the dark, “He likes being touched. And held. And wanted.”

A beat.

“Deep down inside that hollowness, I think you do too.”

The shadows tightened around your arms–an instinct. A warning. But they didn’t pull you away.

“That’s my little key to get into your head,” You whispered, “And bring him back.”

And with that, you pulled him even closer.

You melted into him–your arm cinched tighter under his ribs, your hand splayed flat against the void of his chest, fingers brushing those starlit freckles like they might ignite under the contact. Your thighs curved around the bend of his body. Your breath warmed the space between his neck and shoulder.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t hiss.

Didn’t growl.

But you felt the change.

His grip tightened on your wrist. Not to crush. Not to command. But to hold. Like he was waiting. Waiting for you to falter. Waiting for your guard to drop. Waiting for you to flinch–so he could shove you away and snap the thread.

But you didn’t.

You just held on.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” You breathed. “So go ahead. Try.”

Your voice was calm. Unshaking. Your hand moved without thinking now.

Slow, gentle circles against his chest. Fingers brushing the raised curve of a freckle, then flattening again. Just enough pressure to remind him you were there. Just enough heat to keep the ice from creeping back in too fast. Your thumb traced the faint starlit constellation scattered near his collarbone, following one mark to the next as if mapping a sky only you could read.

You didn’t know how long it took. Time didn’t work right in rooms like this–where the air tasted like static and silence stretched so long it warped.

But eventually…

The rigidness began to leave him.

Not in one dramatic exhale.

Not with a sigh or a shudder.

Just a slow, quiet shift. One vertebrae at a time. One tendon unwinding. His shadows still clung to your wrist and thighs like anchors, but their hold was less…tense. Less venom. More hesitation.

And then–you felt it.

A small, deliberate movement.

His head tilted down. Chin dropped ever so slightly toward his chest, toward your hand. Not fast enough to be startled. Not deep enough to retreat. Just…searching. Studying. Like he was looking at something he hadn’t dared examine until now.

And then–

“…You have a lot of beauty marks on your hands.”

His voice was quieter now. Duller at the edges. Like something inside him had collapsed just enough to let the words out.

“Bob looks at them a lot.”

The admission settled in the air between you like a stone into water–gentle, but heavy with weight.

You stilled for just a breath. Then resumed your tracing, softer this time, almost like you didn’t want to scare the moment away.

“He pretends he’s not,” The Void added. “But he memorized them.”

A pause. “One by one.”

Your throat tightened. Just a little. But you didn’t speak. You waited.

He inhaled once, shallow.

“…Folklore says they represent where your soulmate from a past life used to kiss you.” Your brows furrowed, caught somewhere between surprise and something warmer, softer.

You tilted your head just a little against his shoulder, trying not to let him hear the quiet thrum picking up in your chest.

A moment passed.

And then you said, teasingly–light but careful–

“Seems like a lot of soulmates have kissed you everywhere…” You nudged gently at his side with your fingers. “You’ve got marks all over your body.”

There was a pause.

Then–

A sound.

It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff either.

It was something between.

A sound from deep in his chest. Soft, strange. Like a hum unraveling. Like a thread pulled from a black tapestry and found to be made of silk. Not hostile. Not mocking. Just…Thoughtful.

“…It is not the same,” He murmured.

And the way he said it–

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t flippant. It was almost longing. Like he knew, with unsettling clarity, the difference between touch and intimacy. Between worship and warmth. You didn’t move your hand from his chest. Just kept brushing your thumb in slow arcs across the curve of one freckle, and then another, as your brow furrowed gently.

“How is it not the same?” You asked, feeling The Void shift beside you–not violently, but with something sharp in the tension of his shoulders, like the question had scraped a nerve. His chin dipped again, the shadows curling tighter along your spine.

“It’s just…” He muttered, clipped now, almost irritated, “…How it looks.” He rolled slightly, enough for the tendrils across his chest to shimmer faintly in the dying sunlight. The freckles pulsed there still–pale, slow-burning starlight in a galaxy of ink.

“You may interpret it as marks,” He added flatly, “But it is just…How it is. There’s nothing more to it.” His voice was distant again. Slipping back into that cold echo, like he was digging himself into a trench of denial. You hummed softly in response. Not convinced. Not arguing. Just…Thinking.

And then, after a beat–

“You’ve never felt love, or anything like that, hmm?” He stiffened entirely. Like you’d cracked a fault line that ran straight through him and threatened to split his chest open.

He didn’t reply.

So you continued–gently, but with a note of something more pointed.

”You just…Live behind Bob’s eyes, and whatever he goes through–whatever he feels–you get the little bites of it…Correct?” It was a truth you didn’t say to hurt him. But it landed that way anyway.

He groaned. Not out of pain. Not purely out of rage either. It was resentment. Pure and concentrated. Heavy in his chest and thick in his voice as he snapped–

“Listen…”

The tendrils twitched against your arms. Coiled with warning.

“I am already stuck in this position because you’re a succubus leech who drains me every time you breathe near me–” He spat, the words acidic and cutting, “I am not going to speak about what I experience through Bob. This is not a therapy session.” You bit the inside of your cheek, just barely, and sat with the sting of it. Let it pass.

“…Okay,” You said quietly, “Touchy subject. Sorry.”

Your voice didn’t waver. But it softened. Like you knew it was a wound. And not one you could cauterize tonight.

A pause fell over you both. He turned his face just slightly, half-hidden in the bend of his elbow, and the tension around him seemed to slow–not dissipate, not ease, but slow. A stalling breath caught in molasses.

And then, without even thinking about your next actions, you pressed your lips gently to his shoulder.

It was a soft kiss. Barely there. Just a whisper of heat against a body that didn’t carry it.

But the reaction was immediate.

The Void flinched–hard. But not away.

And just below where your lips touched his skin, you saw it.

A flicker.

A little fractal of a star.

Tiny. No bigger than your thumbnail. A fractured pinpoint of white-gold, like a nova caught mid-bloom. It shimmered once, flaring faint violet at the edges–like a nerve exposed. It appeared beneath the skin of shadow like light behind thin glass, and then…Stayed. Not fading. Not shrinking. Just there.

And the second your heart clenched–sharp and aching at the sight–he snapped.

“Don’t do that again.”

The voice was low. Cold, but not cruel. He sounded afraid.

You blinked. Sat up slightly behind him. Your hand still rested against his chest, but your expression shifted–watching the star pulsing softly.

”I knew you brought up that folklore stuff for a reason,” You murmured.

The Void twitched beneath your weight–tension returning, but not fury. Something more volatile in its vulnerability. He shifted, trying to roll, but the weight of your powers kept him still, your body pressed too closely against his for him to twist away.

“Jesus Christ,” he snapped, frustrated. “What are you? A rock? A boulder? I—I can’t even move.”

“Exactly,” you said lightly, settling your cheek back against his shoulder. “You’re trying to avoid the conversation… Maybe you should let Bob come back to handle this one.”

He growled low in his throat, shadows snapping once in protest, but nothing struck you.

“I’m not that easily swayed by a thing like you,” he bit out.

But there was hesitation in it now. Thinning resistance. A fracture in the spine of his anger.

You smiled against his skin.

And then—you started kissing him again.

Slow. Gentle. One after the other.

You placed a kiss at the dip of his spine.

Then at the base of his neck.

Then to the spot just beneath his jaw, where the darkness shimmered like ink floating over glass.

And each kiss—every single one—left another starlight bloom.

A pinpoint of white-gold.

A soft violet pulse.

A celestial wound that didn’t bleed—but glowed.

Tiny galaxies emerging under your mouth like his body had forgotten how to hide them.

“Are Bob and I soulmates?” you whispered against his skin, voice just playful enough to burn, “Is that what this is?”

Another kiss. Another nova. Another whimper. Not a growl this time.

He jerked again, but this time–not away.

Something loosened, and you felt it. The tension in the shadows began to stutter.

Their rhythm breaking.

Tendrils untangling.

The air around you shifted–less cold now. Less heavy. And then—you saw it.

Just a glimpse.

A slip.

A patch of pale, trembling skin where darkness used to writhe. Just beneath your hand, on the far side of his ribs, the black slid back like melting paint, retreating under your touch.

His breath hitched.

And then–suddenly–the shadows collapsed inward.

Like a tidal wave rushing in reverse.

Like the vacuum of space had just exhaled all at once.

They peeled off him in layers, the tendrils shriveling and snapping back like overstretched nerves, retreating into the floor, the walls, the bedframe. A vortex of absence pulling itself away from something it could no longer cling to.

And all that was left–was Bob.

He gasped like a man drowned. Choking on the air like it burned.

His whole body trembled–bare skin exposed now, sweat-slicked and shaking, his spine curved, arms drawn in like he was trying to hold himself together.

His fingers twisted into the sheets like he didn’t know where he was.

His eyes were wide. Unfocused.

And then–

They found you.

And the second they met yours, that glimmer of bright, beautiful blue–

You exhaled. All the weight in your chest collapsing inward with a relief so fierce it stung.

“Bob,” You breathed.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw clenched, shaking.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes–not falling yet, but close. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp.

You moved instantly.

Your hand came to his head–gently, reverently–fingers sliding into his sweaty hair, dragging softly over his scalp in long, grounding motions.

He flinched at first–then leaned into it, seeking the comfort that you had given him countless times before from outside of this context. You pulled him back toward you, tucking his head beneath your chin as your arms curled tighter around his chest.

“It’s okay,” You whispered, voice warm, threading through the cold air like gold wire. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His fingers clutched at your forearm with sudden, desperate strength.

A choked, broken sob tore out of him as his grip tightened like a vice—raw, panicked, trembling. He clung to you like the room might dissolve if he let go, like you might dissolve. And when you glanced down to where his hand gripped your arm, your breath caught in your throat.

“…Oh my god…Bob.”

His hands were ruined.

The skin across his knuckles was torn open–bloody and cracked like old leather stretched too far. Scabbed-over lacerations split in jagged lines across every joint, with dried blood crusted thick beneath his fingernails and ground into the creases of his palm. The bruising was almost violent in color–black and violet pooled beneath the skin in wide, uneven patches that traveled from the backs of his hands to the delicate tendons along the inside of his wrists.

His palms were the worst.

Torn in places. Split where skin had given out from striking too many hard surfaces–glass, wood, stone. Splinters embedded in the meat of his thumbs. Swollen pads bruised from impact after impact, the raw friction of knuckles dragging across floors and punching through walls. There was a fine tremor in every finger, shaking so subtly it made your chest ache.

You reached for him instinctively, your other hand hovering just under his wrist–

“Let me ge–”

But he cut you off.

“Pl–Please,” He gasped, voice wrecked with sobs, “Don’t–don’t leave me. I…I don’t wa–want to be alone.”

His fingers curled harder around your arm, pulling you in tighter, frantic and shaking. Your heart cracked clean in two.

You softened instantly, forehead resting against the back of his head.

“I can’t just leave your hands like this…” You whispered, barely able to get the words out through the thick knot forming in your throat.

But he whimpered again, voice splintering apart at the seams.

“Ye–Yes you can…I d-do—don’t want to be alone…”

The words hit like a blow.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just honest in the way only raw fear could be. His body was folded in on itself, back pressed to your chest, and you felt every tremble he couldn’t suppress. Every twitch of pain. Every fractured breath.

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly, letting your brow knit tight, letting the helplessness crest over you–but only for a second.

Then–gently–you shifted back into place behind him.

Your arm curled across his torso once more, anchoring him against you, your legs folding in tighter like you could protect him from the air itself. You kissed the crown of his head–once, then again, softer this time–your lips trembling against the tangled mess of his damp curls.

Your voice came quieter now, steadier, like you were afraid speaking too loud might break him again.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hand still clung to your arm, shaking, but you moved carefully–slowly–lifting one of his bruised fists with tender fingers. You brought it to your mouth, just above the worst of the dried blood, and kissed it.

One knuckle.

Then the next.

Then lower–across the cracked bend of his thumb.

Another kiss.

And another.

You didn’t flinch at the blood. You didn’t pull back at the bruises. You kissed through them like they were sacred. Like they were his and that made them worth kissing.

“I’m sorry,” He choked suddenly, the words tumbling out in gasps. “I–I’m sorry for the r-room, for everything–god, I ruined everything, I just–I–”

“Hey,” You whispered, cutting him off softly. You kissed his hand again. “It’s fine. Everyone will help you replace everything. You’re safe. You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”

He hiccuped a sob, still trembling, still cradled in your arms.

“Just breathe,” You repeated, your voice like silk threading through the ache in his lungs.

And slowly–painfully–he tried.

You pressed your cheek to the side of his head and spoke quietly against his hair.

“In through your nose…”

You inhaled with him.

“Good. Now out through your mouth.”

You exhaled slow and steady.

Again.

“In…”

He followed, ragged but trying.

“…And out.”

You felt his shoulders shake–but this time, they weren’t recoiling. They were easing. Piece by broken piece.

“You’re okay, Bob,” You whispered. “Just keep breathing with me. I’ve got you.”

[posh--bee]

Aaron Hotchner x Reader blurb

cw: smut (18+ only), handcuffing Hotch to the bed because that's what he deserves

a/n: just a little blurb that comes from a guest lecture I had the honor of holding over on @ssa-dado 's blog. Edited just slightly for this post. Enjoy ;D

masterlist(s)

Hotch is by no means a mean or unfair lover. Sure, he likes to tease you sometimes, move just out of reach so your desperate hands pull him back, slow down just to prolong your pleasure (and hear you whine a little). But he would never make you beg for him. Your pleasure is his pleasure too and his goal in the bedroom is, first and foremost, to make you feel good, feel cherished and satisfied.

But you suspect you might be.

There is no other explanation for it when you have him lying completely naked on your shared bed and bound to the headboard with his own government-issued handcuffs. He’s so beautiful like this, his strong arms and hands rendered useless above his head, his whole body on display for you, miles and miles of tempting naked (hairy) skin and it’s yours to stroke and caress and play with. Your hands and lips probably touched and tasted every single inch of him by now, except for the one part that is the happiest and most excited to see you. Your hand ghosts down his stomach, your fingers just barely avoiding his length that desperately jumps at the almost-touch, begging for attention, stimulation, anything.

It’s so cute you have to giggle, but the deep groan forming in Aaron’s chest is not nearly as happy. His brown eyes are fixed on you, silently pleading with you to finally stop teasing him. But you’ve decided that tonight you’ll only react to verbal requests, making him use his words and ask for it.

Is that a little petty of you, bordering on cruel?

Maybe. (Yes.) 

But a little taste of their own medicine never really hurt anybody and until now you haven’t heard him tell you what he wants, what he needs yet. So you wait, patiently. You have all the time in the world and you made sure Aaron also has nowhere else to go tonight as well.

His arms strain futilely against the restraints and for a moment you’re worried that the cold and hard metal leaves marks on his wrists that take days to fade. But then he opens his mouth and you actually want the handcuffs leaving marks on his skin, having to hide them underneath the sleeves of these stupildy tight shirts he wears to work.

“Fuck, stop teasing and just touch me already.”

You look down at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raising at his tone. You tut at him, slowly rising from his lap and kneeling next to him on the bed, your hand trailing up his chest where you can’t resist the temptation to pinch one temptingly pink nipple. The groan that follows goes straight to your center, your thighs clenching involuntarily but you stay strong, disappointment dripping from your words when you reply.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it, Mr. Hotchner? I told you I’d give you anything you want, you just have to tell me what that is exactly, and nicely.”

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate at your words, but it’s replaced by a dark look overcoming his eyes and you’re pretty glad that he’s currently incapacitated by his own handcuffs. Because otherwise he’d probably have you under him in .5 seconds at most. (Which isn't an unpleasant scenario at all, you just have something very different planned for tonight.)

But like this, all he can do is uselessly struggle against the handcuffs, and you playfully tap the tip of his nose with one finger before getting up from the bed.

“You know what? I think you need a few minutes to rethink that tone of yours.”

You see his eyes widening in what can only be described as utter and pure panic but you ignore him which is probably one of the most difficult things you've ever done.

With your hips swaying seductively, showing off the delicate lingerie set he got you (well, you got it for him, using his credit card), you simply leave the bedroom without looking back, not heeding his desperate voice calling after you.

Patience, after all, is a virtue.

[yuriisclumsy]

Greetings. I'm happy to see Cale x reader's request.. 💯

Can I request Cale x reader.. Where the reader is kidnapped, so Cale and the others try to help search her but Alberu, the reader's best friend already knows.. He be like : Yup, they didn't kidnap her but she kidnapped them.. Fluff and chaos .🤣🤣🤣

Thanks for reading.🫂🫂❤️❤️❤️

The Kidnapped Wife

[Authors Note]: Look! I updated again! Not my main muse, but I finally got a good idea for this one. Hope you all like this one! This request in back from June. PS. As you can see I don't have my iconic title. that's because of the limit in characters you can have per post. I hate it :D.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1084

»»►Getting kidnapped is something that would definitely happen to us, because, you know…we’re the wife of the most powerful man in existence.

»»►How did we get kidnapped? Oh, I don’t know…maybe it was because of the temptation of FOOD?

»»►Seriously, out of all the things they could have bribed you with, it had to be food? So uncouth.

…

“What do you mean [Name]’s been kidnapped?”

That was the first question Cale asked when he was informed his wife had been kidnapped.

Yes, you read correctly. You have been kidnapped.

And no, you did not take a nap. You’re no kid. I mean that bad people abducted you to an unknown place, far away from any village–hell, far away from any living soul.

“I received a letter from the letter’s boy under your name, Master Cale. When I grabbed it, I smelled the faint traces of poison coming from within it,” Ron explained.

There’s poison in this…?! Cale yelled in his mind, and let go of the paper instantly.

The butler smiled sinisterly, amused at Cale's actions of dropping the letter at the mention of poison. “So, to secure your wellbeing, I decided to open it and see if it was life threatening. But you needn’t worry, Master Cale. The letter only had a small amount of poison in it. It would only take effect if you were to hold it for a longer period of time.”

Bullsh-t. You knew it had poison, and didn’t bother warning me about it, you creepy old man.

“Right… Well, thank you for taking my health and well-being into consideration, Ron.”

“You are very welcomed, young master.” Bastard.

Cale turned his body to look outside the window. “Anything else regarding her?”

“Unfortunately, these foxes were more cunning than this old fool could have anticipated. They left no trace of their presence behind for us to possibly find.”

“...” Cale looked out where the children were playing, unaware of their ‘mother’s’ disappearance. “Call for Rosalyn and Raon. We need their magic for this, also…” he looked back at Ron, “get the crystal.” Ron’s smile widened. “We’re calling the imperial family. This could very well be an attack on the kingdom.”

…

Grunts and pants are the only sounds heard in a room turned upside-down from battling.

“You B-tch!” a man yelled.

“You’re calling me unpleasant?” The man went flying to the wall behind him at full speed. “Me?”

“Ah!” Another goon charged at you from the opposite side. You blocked it by grabbing his hand, going underneath, you punched him in the stomach. “Agh..!”

“Screaming your attack is very ineffective. Weren't you lot professionals?” You saw a small glimpse of the shining of a gun's metal. With quick reflexes, you throw one of the limited pieces of furniture from the palace you had been held hostage and threw it at him, rendering him immobile. “Cute try, but not good enough.”

You stood in the middle of the room full of bodies of men laying there in the ground either whining or crying out of pain. All this would have been avoided if they just decided to negotiate with you.

“Poor souls…”

…

“HAHAHAHAHA!” static cackling came from a ball on a table. It belongs to none other than the crown prince.

Cale looked at the prince like he had lost his mind. “...Why are you laughing?” Alberu looked up and stared at him through the crystal ball. Cale did not like that.

“Isn't it obvious?” He smirked, “clearly I think all of this is hilarious.”

Well no sh-t. Cale’s expression began to sour.

“Now, now, master Cale. Don’t look so distraught, [Name] is completely fine. In fact, I think she’s doing better than even I could have imagined,” he picture you beating the crap out of the kidnappers, much to his pleasure.

“Is that so…” Cale wanted to punch Alberu in the face. He just wanted to wipe that smirk off his mouth, even if it is a crime to do so. 

“Master Cale, if you would allow me?” Ron approached his master from the other side of the table.

“What is it, Ron?” Cale was as irked as he could be.

“I agree with the crowned prince,” Cale looked betrayed at Ron’s agreement on the situation. “Master Cale, [Name] is a talented individual. Surely, you should put some trust in her abilities.

“I’m also in support of this, [Name]’s prowess is no joke. She’ll make it home safe on her own,” Rosalyn commented.

“What the humans are saying is true,” Raon landed on Cale’s lap. “You can trust the Great Raon Miru’s judgment!”

“...” Cale closed his eyes. With all of this faith in you, he can’t ignore it.

“Fine.” He glared at Alberu. “But if she isn’t here by sunset, I'm sending Choi Han and Raon to get her.”

“That’s fine by me!”

With that, the call ended, and Alberu couldn’t stop from giggling at Cale’s worriedness for you.

“Ah… [Name], you’ve gotten yourself a worrywart as a husband.”

…

The sun had gone down a while ago, the birds went to rest, and the children had all gone to sleep on your shared bed. Yet, there was still no sign of you anywhere in sight.

Cale paced back and forth in the balcony, he did not enjoy worrying about someone's safety, much less yours.

“Master Cale.”

“Huh? Oh...Choi Han. Has there been any news?” He looked down and shook his head slowly. “I see… It’s getting late, you should head to sleep.”

“But, master Cale, who will–”

“I will.”

“...” Choi Han wanted to protest, yet he remained silent. He knew better than to argue with a stubborn man. “Yes, sir…” He left Cale with himself. 

Hearing a click from the door, Cale let out a frustrated sigh and scratched his head, annoyed at the situation at hand.

“...Where are you [Name]?” he whispered.

“I was gone for a day, and you missed me that much?”

“!” Cale twisted his body and faced the person that had spoken to him.

And it was none other than his lovely wife.

“Hi, Bo,” You smiled sweetly. “How are you?”

Cale sighted for what seemed like the 100th time this day. Only this time, it was out of relief. “I’m fine…” he said with a small smile.

“I’m glad…” You leaned and gave him a kiss on the check.

“Only there..?”

“Well, yes. I’m extremely hungry right now, and I want to eat,” with perfect timing, your stomach growled loudly.

“...” Cale’s eyebrow twitched at your response. He motioned his hand to look like a knife, and karate-chopped you in the head.

“OW–”

“I’ll go get Beacrox to prepare something for you. Wait here,” opening the door, he pointed at you. “And don’t. Move.” You giggled.

“Eye, eye, captain.”

With an approving nod he left in search of your meal.

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Master-List

[kazekagevi]

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE PART TWO

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k 

Tags: dark themes, indirect mention of r*pe, suicide attempt, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam, reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies. 

Summary: You, a competent researcher and writer, awoke from cryosleep a year ago, only to be imprisoned by the RDA—they intended to force you and many other women into a selective breeding program to kickstart human repopulation. However, you, the other prisoners, and allied wardens formed an escape plan; it was carried out, but you are the lone survivor. 

A/N and Disclaimer: This is my first x reader fic! This is also my first fic on Tumblr in years! I've been reading a lot of ATWOW fics and thought I would write my own. I am also challenging myself to write in present tense (I'm a past tense girly), so please forgive any grammatical errors. Hope you enjoy <3

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work. 

The tracking device beneath your skin feels like a ticking time bomb—although you’re certain it doesn’t have the power to detonate, should the RDA find your location before the prison sector’s power unit comes back online, it could still bring mass destruction to this region of the extrasolar moon. As if the RDA hasn't done enough of that already. 

As you walk barefoot through the unfamiliar forest of Pandora, you wonder if this is heaven. Surely, you must have died along the way—you survived the initial jailbreak, then the evasion at dawn, and managed to remain mostly unscathed from the chopper accident. On Earth, you’d feel compelled to buy a lottery ticket. The thought alone makes you chuckle, and your mask fogs in response. Your laughs, albeit quiet, turn maniacal. Maybe you hit your head hastily fleeing the first bunker, or got thwacked by metal shrapnel in the crash. 

If you live, the escape will count as a partial success. Living would make you a hero; but as darkness falls on this foreign planet, you silently wish you had become a martyr like the others instead. 

You’re completely defenseless. You have nothing more than your respirator mask that won’t stop fogging due to your panicked breaths, and the clothes on your back. You adorn an oversized jacket that you stole from the valiantly deceased helo pilot, and your prison uniform—it’s nothing more than a flimsy, green hospital gown. 

You should know more about this place. You were chosen among an elite class of writers to research alien life on Pandora. You loved traveling and writing about new cultures—studying language, customs, and history. It was your pride and joy, your life’s work. Yet, the nightmare started the day you woke from cryosleep and you were forced into a tiny cell with three other women. In your year of imprisonment, two of them had already been selected into the breeding program, while you and the other, Claudia, were awaiting that same fate. 

You almost slip on a patch of sludge and break your fall by grabbing a tree stump. 

You do know, however, that this hostile environment will kill you if you don’t find the tribe you’re searching for. Certainly, your luck will run out soon. 

So, you stop laughing, blink away the tears in your eyes, and regain your focus. You’d slap your own cheeks if you could, but your mask renders the act impossible. You have to survive, or else the girls’ and allied wardens’ deaths will be meaningless. 

As you continue on your path, the mud starts to dampen, coating the soles of your feet. You presume this is from a recent rainstorm, or perhaps you’re nearing a water source. You swallow hard—inevitably, you’re thirsty. But if breathing Pandora’s air will kill you, the water will likely do the same.

As you carefully wade through the soppy terrain, you repeat the same phrases under your breath like a prayer or mantra. Even if you suffered amnesia and lost all your memories like a slate wiped clean, you could suffice to lose it all, except a few words which you memorized in Na’vi. 

Using these phrases would determine if you lived or died, assuming you weren’t slain with an arrow on sight: after introducing yourself in the language, you must tell them you seek asylum with the Omatikaya clan at High Camp and Max knows you’re coming. Lastly, you needed to say there is a tracking device under my skin, please cut it out. 

You recite these phrases again, except this time you mess up the grammatical structure on the last part. You winge, correct yourself, and continue on your course.

The planet begins to dim as time passes. As you avoid tripping over tree roots and crushing delicate flowers, you notice Pandora’s subtle glow. The bioluminescent spots that dot the terrain look like freckles on skin. It’s the first time you’re seeing the real thing up close, instead of in a tiny photograph. You’re as enamored as you are terrified. 

Your feet hurt and your shins ache when night fully settles. You’ve been traveling by foot for hours. Imprisonment and preparation for forced motherhood meant there was little opportunity for exercise in the compound. Your body isn’t used to lifting heavy things or globetrotting long distances. 

As you use the last of your energy reserves to think—to consider stopping in a safe area for a break—a tremendous force stops you first. 

This is it, you think. You know you're going to die. 

The force is a Na’vi, whom you cannot see. From their position behind you, an arm wraps around your abdomen, lifting your smaller body off the ground like a doll. The Na’vi lodges their elbow into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you, all so they can wrap their large blue hand around your small, human neck. Despite the panic, you notice how controlled the Na’vi’s grip is—just enough to hold you still without choking you. It feels like a strange paralysis. Your oxygen mask fogs as you pant in distress. 

“Why I should not kill you?” The Na’vi asks in broken English. The timbre of the voice leads you to believe this one is male. 

Say the thing! your mind reels. You resist the urge to flail your limbs. The slightest movements make the Na’vi tighten his grip—at this very moment, you notice his other hand holds a dagger to your throat. The space between your skin and the blade is miniscule, as is your proximity to certain death. 

So you do it, you say the thing. Except, it comes out all wrong:

“My… My name is Asylum at High Camp,” you stammer in Pandora’s native language. 

The Na’vi makes a sound of confusion. You won’t know until later, but Neteyam thinks your pronunciation is mechanical, unpleasant, and downright horrible. 

Your chest heaves wildly and your heart thrums in your chest like a drum. The realization hits like a truck. “Wait… No, that’s not right,” you say in English. Your jagged breaths aren’t allowing oxygen to circulate in the mask properly—the same goes for your brain. 

The Na’vi growls against your ear. You’re running out of time. You gather the last of your composure. 

You tell him your name, properly this time, then continue with your monologue. “I-I seek asylum at High Camp, Max knows I’m coming,” you sputter like a dying engine. 

The Na’vi makes another sound of confusion, yet still seems dissatisfied. He gently presses the tip of the knife to your throat. 

“No! Please!” you beg. Your hands instinctively wrap around his glowing-freckled forearm, but you don’t tug. 

The Na’vi freezes. You can’t see it, but something is happening. 

Neteyam’s hairless brows furrow when a woodsprite lands on the edge of the blade he inherited from his maternal grandfather. The woodsprite lingers there, teetering on the edge. Then, it slots itself into the small space between your skin and his knife. You can’t help but cringe at the slight tickle of its tendrils against your collarbone. 

“Eywa,” Neteyam whispers to himself. His voice is so quiet that you cannot hear. 

The woodsprite travels over your clavicle and settles against the skin just below it. The woodsprite glows with vibrance. The light winks at Neteyam. He knows it's a sign. The tip of his knife drags gently against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. The woodsprite flutters away once his knife is over the spot where the tracker sits beneath the surface. His lips part—the area feels hard when he knows it shouldn’t be. 

Your eyes widen. You remember your lines, like an amateur actor taking the stage for the first time. 

“There’s a tracker!” you shout in English. Your shrill voice catches even Neteyam—the future Olo'eyktan—off guard. 

“A tracker?” Neteyam retorts, his voice laced with aggression and uncertainty. He doesn’t recognize that word, but your tone implies grave danger. 

You nod. “There is a tracking device under my skin,” you say in the Na’vi’s native tongue. “Please, cut it out!”

Fright flashes upon Neteyam’s face. Mentally, he’s reeling—were you sent here as bait from the sky demons? Is he falling into another one of their traps? Images of the tracker the Sky People lodged into the tulkun’s fin on the reefs of Awa'atlu flood his mind. His heart feels heavy when he thinks of Ro'a and her cub. 

Physically, however, Neteyam does as he’s told. He would never willingly take orders from Sky People, but he knows in this instance, it’s the only way to protect himself, his family, and his clan. He must abide by these orders for the greater good. 

Neteyam moves swiftly as he pins you against the nearest tree. He holds you there by your neck. Your eyes meet for a brief moment, then he zeros in on the neckline of your hospital gown. He uses his thumb to feel for the tracking device, raises his knife, and cuts. 

Pupils blown wide, you study his face in the moment of reprieve before he slashes at your skin. His eyes are bright yellow, like tiny suns or egg yolks. His lips are full, and as he grimaces, he reveals a shiny set of white teeth. His ears point backwards: he’s agitated. His tail swishes from side to side. He wears his hair in braids. Around his neck, he adorns an ornamental choker necklace. 

You howl through your teeth. Your jaw is clenched. The pain is unbearable, but at the same time, it’s the best kind you’ve ever felt. Even if this Na’vi should kill you right after, at least in your last moments, you’ll feel free. 

Blood pools around his knife as he cuts through the first layer of skin. He tries to ignore your cries as he presses his long fingertips into the open wound. He pulls when he feels a small piece of plastic; with a bit of effort, he dislodges it from your body. 

You sigh in relief when the Na’vi removes it, but the pain lingers—it worsens when you press your fingertips against the wound to stop the bleeding. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel lightheaded. 

The Na’vi removes his grip from your neck, only so he can destroy the tracker. Neteyam notes that trackers he’s encountered in the past tend to beep, light up, or some combination of both—this one has neither of those attributes. The uncomfortable knots in Neteyam’s stomach begin to untie, but he cannot give up his resolve. His work is unfinished. 

He presses the tracker against the tree bark, grunts, and he hacks away with his weapon.

Even as you’re bleeding—potentially to death—you continue to study the Na’vi’s physique and stature. This one in particular is muscular and athletic, and presumably taller than average. The way his muscles move under his blue skin is enchanting, and the way his freckles glow, you might as well be looking up at the night sky. You’re certain this will be your last chance to witness life on Pandora, or life at all—might as well bask in it. 

The tracker is chopped and diced into small pieces, like how you used to cut vegetables back on Earth. The Na’vi looks pleased with his work. Then, his hairless brows furrow again, he spits into his hand, and throws the pieces as far as he can into the Pandoran wilderness. He hisses. You think it’s some kind of power move, but you’re not quite sure, and you definitely don’t have the gall to ask. 

Neteyam stands still for a moment, bloodied hands on his hips. He has yet to face the elephant in the room—or in this circumstance, the tawtute against the tree. 

That blood is only yours. Your eyes roll into the back of your head; you see stars upon realizing just how much you’ve lost. 

---

You wake to the sounds of beeps and whirrs.

All is quiet. You’re in a small room with white walls. The lights are dimmed. Your breaths are slow and relaxed—but as the cogs start to turn, you begin to question if you’re safe or not. 

Pain shoots through your shoulder like a strike of lightning as you sit up in the cot you’ve been sleeping in. You wince loudly, and the noise echoes. 

Your mind briefly recalls the events of the last twenty-four hours, leading up to the encounter with the Na’vi. Evidently, it wasn’t a dream or figment of your highly active imagination. 

Your clavicle has been wrapped in a thick bandage. When you pull back the thin blanket that covers the rest of you, you realize the dirt and grime that covered your feet and legs has been washed away. 

You sigh in relief. You think you’re safe, until you discover that your old hospital gown has been replaced with a brand new albeit identical one—one with the Resource Development Administration’s logo on the tag. 

Your heart feels heavy. 

The escape was unsuccessful. The mission failed.

It makes sense now, as your vision swims through the confined space. This must be it—this must be where they took Seraphina, and Leah, and Clover. This must be where the girls who get picked go. Where they are prepared. Where they are taken. 

You sit there for a few moments, then begin to hyperventilate. The Na’vi male must have left you there to die, and the RDA must have tracked you down anyway. Given that they lost all of their prisoners in the jailbreak, it made sense. They would do anything to get you back. 

You shatter like glass.

Tears prick your bloodshot eyes like thorns. You pluck each wire from your arm like guitar strings, separating yourself from any machines. They continue to beep, but at a different pace, like a sounding alarm. 

You search the room for an escape. You spot a pitcher and sponge on the counter adjacent to the bed. 

In the laboratory across from the infirmary room, Max looks up from his microscope when he hears a loud crash. He jumps up from his swivel chair and dashes across the hall, opening the infirmary door. 

Max has no choice but to undertake—you have a large shard of glass in your hand, and you use all the force in your tired body to resist. He grimaces as you continue to aim for a critical slice on your opposite wrist. His words fail to soothe. 

“Norm!” the unfamiliar man calls. “We’ve got a cutter!” 

Footsteps thump down the hall, then another man enters. “Holy shit,” he says. “What the hell is going on?!”

“I don’t know!” Max shouts back. 

Norm, in his human form, hops over the pile of broken glass, and crouches to meet your bleary, downcast eyes. “Hey… Hey! Stop! You’re safe here!”

You can’t stop the tears from coming. You shake your head and continue to thrash in Max’s arms. “To hell with you RDA fucks!” you spit at him. 

Norm’s eyes fall shut when a glob of saliva hits his left cheek. He counts to three before responding. “We’re not with them!” He grabs your wrists. “Calm down! You’re at High Camp!”

You freeze. You choke on a loud sob. “What?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m Norm,” the one crouching before you says. “That guy, behind you, he’s Max. We’re scientists allied with the Na’vi. This is the stronghold. You’re in our laboratory.” 

You sniffle. The room goes silent. “But this gown?” you croak, showing him the logo.

Norm sighs. “We loot supplies from RDA… That’s all.” 

“Take a deep breath,” says Max. You do as you're told, and your muscles relax. Max docks the glass shard from your hand and eases his grip. Norm nods in approval. “One more,” Max adds. Inhale. Exhale. “You’re alright now.” 

Inevitably, you start crying again. But this time, your tears are joyous. The tension breaks like ice—it’s melting. You’re awash in relief you thought would never come. It’s euphoric. It’s blissful. You’re free. 

A year of suffering and imprisonment is released in your loud sobs. Max catches you before you can fall to your knees on the remnants of the broken pitcher. Neither of them know what to say, so they say nothing. 

Norm, the one on the floor, wipes his cheek with the collar of his shirt. Then he reaches into one of the infirmary cabinets, procuring a dust pan and small sweeper. He does his best to clean the porcelain shards quickly and quietly. “Get her an Ativan,” he mumbles to Max on his way to the disposal bin. Max swallows his nerves. 

---

You’re moved into another room in the facility after your incident in the infirmary. When you come to, you feel slightly embarrassed. You didn’t even check to see if the door of that room was unlocked, which it was. 

“I’m sorry about your pitcher,” you tell Max as he returns from the linen closet with the blankets you asked for. 

Max chuckles. He wants to say he’s more than sorry about all that’s happened to you. He was aiding and abetting the lead warden—the one who came up with the masterplan. “Don’t worry about it. That pitcher meant nothing to me,” he assures. 

You crack a crooked, uneasy smile. The Ativan is starting to take its effect. Max smiles back.

You feel grateful. The scientists here have been nothing but kind and patient. 

You can’t help but also feel grateful to the Na’vi male who presumably saved your life. You don’t know where he is, how to find him, or if you’ll see him again, but you feel indebted. You want to ask Max how you can show your gratitude, but that will have to wait. 

“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.” 

Max nods with a crestfallen smile. “If you need anything else, I’ll be around in the lab all day. Norm will be spending some time as his Avatar, so he won’t be around until later,” he says. “You were out for two entire days, I’m sure you’re hungry. Feel free to have anything in the walk-in or pantry. We don’t always have meals together as a crew, but tonight we’ll have dinner together,” Max explains. 

You’re left alone once Max is sure you’re settled and calm, and won’t break the vase on the coffee table that he does care about. 

---

A/N: Feel free to leave any and all feedback on this chapter! Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciate. In part two, Norm and Max will discuss your arrival with our king, Jake Sully. <3

NEXT CHAPTER: PART TWO

[theforbiddendraft]

Cotton Candy Fields

Summary: Yandere kidnapper x Y/N. Y/n, thought she had finally escaped the basement, but now her past is coming crawling back.

Warning: non/con, dub/con, abuse, kidnapping, slight age gap, cold yandere, manipulation (maybe).

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chapter 1 <5 [6] 7>

Support keeps me inspired, and reblogs help more than I can say.

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Chapter 6: Tired old tricks

Most of the journey passed uneventfully. Edward had been driving nonstop, not saying a word. I lay resigned and silent in my shame, misery rotting me. One after another, horrid thoughts plagued me. My own voice rang in my ears, the screaming and moaning as I had rubbed myself on him. 

‘No! no! no! It was because I hadn’t had sex in seven years, that’s all. I won’t give in to him like that again, I just won’t.’  I resolved.

Then my thoughts would wander to the people outside of this metal cage. 

‘I wonder if Mama ate anything.’ The smallest issues made her appetite disappear. Once, I hadn’t called her back in time because I was busy studying for a final, and Papa later told me she went to bed hungry. ‘I am sure he’ll look after her.’ He was always the more level-headed one. God, they must be so frightened. I wish I could tell them not to worry about me too much. Tell them I was ok, no matter, it was a lie. 

My chest knotted with anxiety. The thought of them suffering through this again was unbearable. The memory of the hospital haunting—their pale faces, the hollow eyes that had searched for me. They were unrecognizable, sunken, and worn by fear. Mama, thin as a reed. Papa, his hair whiter than I remembered. I had realized in that moment that Edward hadn’t only hurt me, but also the people I loved. Every time I thought of that moment, an unimaginable ache consumed me. I had to stop thinking about things that rendered my mind useless with pain.

I dialed back into reality when the truck veered off the freeway. ‘Were we done?’ He drove a while longer and pulled over, turning his hazards on. Shutting the engine, he used the keys to unlock the glove compartment. Pulling out a small case, he unzipped it on his lap. I couldn’t see what he was doing from where I was tied down. Curiosity deriving from concern had me speaking up. 

“Edwar-”

“It’s still Sir”, he said, “ I just wanted to hear ya moan my name, darlin’.” I could hear the smugness on his face.

“What’s going on?” He was still rummaging through the case.

“Nothin’s going on”

He was playing with me again, and his games never ended well for me.

“P-please,  just...” What could I even say. “ Where are we going?”

My question remained unanswered as he stepped out of the truck and came around to open the door by my head. I twisted my neck to look up at him. His hand pressed into my temple firmly, making my other cheek press into the seat cushion. 

“Just hold still, sugar.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw it—the cold glint of a syringe waiting in his grip. Panic consumed me instantly. I thrashed like a fish out of water, but I was caught in the netting of a master seaman. 

“No, please don’t!! I have been good! I didn’t do anythingggg. Why!! Why are you doing this?” 

“Dammit, hold still. This ain’t a punishment. I just need you sleepin’ awhile.”  

I tried to thrash my head, but his hold was too strong. 

“Fucks sake sugar, why ya gotta put up a damn fight ever’ single time?”

Nonsense scattered from my mouth, attempting to change his mind, “I don’t understand why! Please, I’ll do anything!!” 

The syringe pierced my neck, sinking deep; the pressure of the drug entering my veins felt revolting.

“You’ll be fine, only a couple o’hours is all.” 

The last thing I saw was his face leaning down to plant a kiss on my temple, right where he had held me down. 

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Just like every other time, consciousness after being drugged came slowly and painfully. Along with a body that felt anchored down with lead. It was a different kind of ache, like a fossil uncovered after a millennium had passed. Every muscle as unmoving as a rock. The only cause of relief was the fact that I awoke where I was put down. Being alone, however, wasn’t what I had anticipated.

“Hello?” I spoke more to check if I still had a voice. ‘Wtf is going on?’ 

I laid quietly, trying to gather my bearings. Once I felt capable of movement. I bent an elbow behind me to prop myself up. The strain on my shoulder was excruciating. Craning my neck, I peered out the windshield. In the distance, I saw Edward walking towards the truck. Trailing behind him was a man. Both were so engrossed in their conversation, neither noticed me watching.

Who was he? Why had Edward stopped with me still tied up in the truck? Did Edward assume I was passed out? I did wake up earlier the first time around, he had said so. God bless whoever cut this fucking bastard's drug. This was it. I had to try now. 

They were getting closer, so I unpropped my elbow before Edward could see me. Since I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I doubted screaming right now would do any good. I had to wait until they were closer. My whole body surged with electrifying adrenaline, vibrating, shaking. 

To my delight, they came to a stop right before the driver's side of the windshield. My kidnapper had turned away to talk to the man. ‘The stranger would definitely see me now. Oh god, I would get away.’ I didn’t dare to look away from my savior, fearing he would disappear like a mirage.

Not wasting a breath, I wailed louder than I ever had. My throat tore with effort. Despite the cramped space, I reared my legs to bang the door with my feet, ensuring he would hear me. The stranger's eyes met mine, and he… smiled? He smiled at me, the chummiest smile I had ever seen. The shock of his reaction froze me, my voice lost. Facing back towards Edward, he said something and they… l-laughed? 

H-how? Why? What is this? Who is he? 

“No, please.” The whispered plea escaped my lips only to die in the stifling air. I watched as they hugged like renewed friends, and the man walked away, not sparing a glance at the tied-up girl, like this were a regular occurrence. 

Edward turned towards me casually, but nothing about the look he gave was casual. ‘I was going to die,’ concluded my mind. 

He opened the door by my feet and started untying my bindings. “You’re up right on time sugar. Although, would’ve been’ easier to carry ya in, if you were still asleep... No matter, though.”

I kept silent, waiting for my execution. 

He tugged me towards him by my ankles. My whole body slid roughly across the back seat. The skirt I wore gathered around my waist, displaying the humiliating hole he had torn in my stockings earlier that day. Seizing me by the forearm, he pulled me out into the frigid night air. His brash handling of me terrified me.

“I am sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” I beseeched.

“When do you ever, huh!” he marched forward, dragging me somewhere. I tried planting my feet, but it did little to help; hell, it only made him more livid. 

Screaming out of desperation, I beg, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking—I won’t, I won’t do it again, please believe me.” 

He jerked his hand, clutching at my arm so hard that I thought it would tear from my shoulder. 

“Shut the fuck up Y/N!” he spoke. Not wanting to waste another moment, he tossed me over his shoulder.

I was a sobbing mess as he strode. 

“No, no, no, no, no! Please, no—god no” 

“F’r fuck’s sake, what d’you think’s gonna happen, foolish girl?”

“I don’t wanna die, sir pl-please,” We entered through a door, leading into a house.

“I ain’t gonna kill ya, where do ya get these silly ideas?” he sighed, exasperated.

“I can’t be in a b-basement again, I can’t bear it. You-you don’t understand. I’ll d-die.” My speech was near incomprehensible from the hiccuping and hysteria. 

His tone shifted completely, soothing, pitying, “No basement this time darlin’, so stop cryin”. 

His words did nothing; my mind had already yielded, certain I was about to suffer something atrocious.

I was still a hiccuping, sobbing mess when he put me down. My eyes shot around, looking to see what my new prison looked like. The walls were painted in eggshell white, and there were wooden beams reinforcing the slanting, tall ceiling. Clearly, the master bedroom of the house. 

I didn’t notice Edward’s hand lift to wipe my tears, so when it came, I flinched hard. 

His brow furrowed at my reaction, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he instructed, “You’re gonna shower now, and I’ll fix you somethin’ to eat. There’s clothes in the closet for ya.”

I nodded, too afraid to speak. 

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I showered, I ate, I did as I was told. His lack of retaliation at my escape attempt had me on edge the entire time. Now I was cuffed to the headboard alone in a dark and foreign space. I was supposed to be sleeping according to the brutes' last order, but terror kept me awake. My mind was tainted with grim thoughts once again. 

What was going on, that man had seen me tied up and laughed. Did Edward promise him a go at me, to keep his mouth shut, would I be a whore for a group of men? It was only him in Carolina, so who was that man?

I had no idea where I was. When he had carried me, it had been too dark, and I had been too petrified to notice anything beyond my impending doom— which he would deliver eventually, because he had never been one to let things go. 

I waited endlessly—for what, I wasn’t entirely sure. Then came the heavy footfalls in the corridor. They were coming here. This was it. The stranger was back. The bedroom door opened gently, my breath caught in my throat. Expecting a stranger, but to my relief, it was Edward. 

Who would have thought seeing him would bring me relief.

“Edward?”I whispered into the dark, wanting to confirm it was him.

“Why’re you still up?”

“I c-couldn’t fall asleep.”

A grunt was his only response as he got into the bed. Immediately, He pulled me to him. His chest to my back, his arm around my waist. Each breath he took pressed into me as his chest rose, steady and warm. I waited for him to make a move, to do something indecent… but he just lay there, sleeping. 

Maybe it was the relief of being spared tonight, or the dread of not being helped by that man. But I knew I was going to start bawling again. My face clenched tightly, jaw trembling, the pain of stifled tears burning through me. I didn’t want his attention after I had been spared tonight. So, I found myself pleading to no one in particular. 

‘Please be asleep, please be asleep, please please please’

His arm around my waist tightened, and he inhaled deeply, planting a kiss on my hair.

“Ssh, I’m right here, nothing’s gonna happen.”

His words triggered a tremor of sorrows, the one I had been holding back. 

I cried out pathetically, “Please don’t let that man hurt me.”

“What man sugar?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“The one from b-before.”

“Oh, sweet girl”, sympathy laced his voice, “ain’t nobody gonna hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

“You Swear?”

“I swear.”

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I have most of the plot mapped out but writing this fuck ass chapter took forever. I edited it, but didn't give a final read. So there is a good chance the flow of words is shit. But I like how well the readers fear is displayed. pssttt 'Tired old tricks' refers to readers failing escape attempts and his repetitive drugging.

other works: Love like unpolished gold

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As always you can ask to be added to either of the tag lists. and if I failed to tag you LET ME KNOW <3

Series Taglist: @flow33didontsmoke @yandere-mischief @happythingtiger @lilyalone @prettyjay103, @suiana @hiscelestialmuse

Master Taglist: @hopingtocleaemedschool @aenishas @butterflyevans

[sugurusmoon]

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 16﹕✦﹕┈・୧

loki x f!reader -> çnç

event masterlist

warnings: çnc themes, slight choking, bondage, cunnilingus, loki being a menace but both the reader & loki break character in the end. mentions of aftercare and sweet fluff‼️

“running will land you in worse situations than this one, pet.” the echoing voice of loki reverberated through the shell of your ear, louder than your panting, your gasping as you tried to clutch onto your failing lungs for air. “how adoring of you to think you can outrun, the god, your god.” loki’s low, mocking chuckle followed soon after.

you were aimlessly running in the asgardian castle corridors, trying with all your heart and soul to escape the ruthlessness of your captor. getting almost dizzy when you forced your feet to take another step, almost falling down if it wasn’t for those metallic ornamented wrists laced with fine asgardian leather grabbing you by the neck. “oh, found you.” he grimly chuckles.

“please— your highness, i will never run again.” you clutched onto his wrist, scratching it up while loki lifted you up forcefully, your legs leaving the ground but you didn’t feel choked. of course— him and his theatrics. “i know you won’t run, little pet. because i will render those legs useless when i’d be done with you.” loki gritted his teeth, baring the green light in his eyes as you got tied up, teleporting to his bedroom and against his mattress. green silk bands tied your wrists and ankles apart, like a starfish.

you tried your best to struggle away, but the tug only got tighter until a painful whimper escaped your parted lips. “submission might aid. i might add.” loki’s words were like a silent warning & also a hint. you may comply and he might be merciful. “please your highness, i beg off you to let me go.” you crooned, glossy eyed.

“oh, darling,” loki feigns pity, and the next moment you find yourself naked in front of his feasting eyes. nipples hardening at the tender touch of colder air and cunt clamping around nothing now that you felt so drastically exposed. your eyed squeezed shut, heat radiating through your cheeks as you turned your head to the side. “you should pray to your god, no? pray to him to be merciful.” loki muses, leaning in and kissing your throbbing clit.

the touch alone sent jolts down your spine and core, pupils widening at his skilled tongue twirling around your needy clit. “you taste sinful.” he smirked, eyes glancing at your furrowed brows. “let me go.” you tried once more, meek whimpers erupting from your pouted lips.

“hmm?” loki contemplated, acting as if he might actually let you go. “alright.” he leaned back, glinting mischievously with a smirk. “if you don’t want me having my way with you, then you don’t cum. after all. it is all but torment to you is it not?” loki emphasises, knowing full well you’d lose yourself and cream the moment he goes hard on your cunt.

you pouted, while that was answer enough, loki still wanted to show you the control he has over you. spreading your cunt lips, he leaned in, taking a shameless sniff of your arousal. “how cute.” he smirked, leaning in and lapping at your juices. fuck— you were feeling so hot and bothered, every single vein in your body feeling the heat of his administrations. you reflexively rutted your hips against him, eager to please yourself over his tongue, eager to cum.

“your highness- AH loki- please- please i’m so close.” it was not before long your body had betrayed you & you were reduced to a mumbling, panting, begging mess. even so, you knew better than to cum without loki’s permission. “go on, little pet.” loki’s thumb ran languid circles onto your clit. “have at it.”

your orgasm tore through your body as you screamed out his name, rabid breathing echoing through the walls of your shared bedroom. “fuck- fuck- can’t can’t.” your moans reduced to pleas again, when loki didn’t want to stop at just one orgasm. “please loki- need a break.” you gasped out, normally you could give him two orgasms without break, but the situation you were in made you a little more sensitive than normal.

“need a break? or want a break, pet?” loki asked once more, a silent nudge for your surity if you wanted him to break his character.

“need a break, loki.” you whimpered back, struggling against the restraints. the use of his first name was signal enough. “alright darling.” he smiled, the restraints gone as he leaned in, kissing you passionately.

“oh what a man you make me to be.” he rolled his eyes when you hug him back, inhaling the comfort of his scent. “it was fun! don’t lie.” you pouted, smiling back when he nuzzled his nose against you.

“you do know that i would never do anything against your will, right princess?” loki reminded you again, while you nodded in approval. “yes, i do.”

“perfect.”

“lifting me off the ground was a bit much.”

“come on, little one, i am known for my theatrics.”

[jaylaxies]

KINKTOBER DAY 22 — HAND KINK

PAIRING: jeno x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, roommate au, fingering, praising, usage of nicknames.

WC: 0.9k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, angels! here i have soft dom!jeno as requested by my lovee @lunalovesstories! i hope you like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

✎ kinktober masterlist

“You’re staring, babe.”

His deep, soothing voice was enough to snap you out of your daydream, suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, and well, your eyes which were fixated on his fingers. 

Lee Jeno was your roommate, and it was normal for you guys to sit down and have a chat, or give each other company occasionally, yet you had never been invited to sit down next to him to do what, watch him play video games? 

The offer was sweet, considering you were bored out of your mind and had nothing better to do at the given moment, yet your whole perspective regarding the situation changed when you realized that you’ll be watching Jeno work his fingers on the keyboard to kill off the enemies. 

Now, the idea of staring at someone’s hands must sound creepy per se, however you weren’t at fault or to be blamed for staring when Jeno had such long and slender fingers. You were rendered speechless when you first encountered the said man in a sleeveless tank top, his muscles prominent, which was also the day when you realized just how buff he is. That same day, he helped you carry the groceries inside the apartment—the veins on his arms more prominent than ever. 

The realization of the fact that he had pretty hands only encouraged your mind to get indulged in the most lewd thoughts of him having his fingers buried deep in your cunt. It had you wondering just how heavenly it would feel if he’d let you suck on his fingers, if he’d pinch your nipples for being naughty and staring, if he’d wrap his fingers around your neck in a gentle squeeze. 

Jeno can’t lie, he’s noticed your stare on his hands quite a few times now, yet he hadn’t ever bothered to point it out before, until today that is, mostly because he found it cute how you had completely zoned out while your eyes were still on the keyboard. 

You panicked, wondering if he thought that you were crazy for staring, yet you only found him smiling at you with a gentle gaze, his fingers coming to caress your cheek, your heartbeat rising up at the feeling of his soft thumb pads on your skin. 

“You like them, hm?” He asked, voice deep and soft. 

You found yourself gulping and saying no mindlessly to prevent any more embarrassment, to which he chuckled, “is that so?” 

“Jeno,” you didn’t mean it to come out as a whine but it did, especially when his thumb brushed your lip, your mouth parting open on its own accord, mind fuzzy already. 

He only pulled you closer effortlessly, making you sit on his lap with a gasp, holding your waist and continuing his actions. You couldn’t help it, not when his fingers were resting on your lips, so you simply opened your mouth further, your tongue gliding along his skin before you started sucking on them. 

He looked at you, mesmerized. Firstly because he didn’t expect his roommate to be interested in him. Secondly, because you looked so beautiful just sucking on his fingers, your lips glistening with the saliva. 

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered under his breath, his other hand parting your legs, massaging your inner thighs, which was convenient for him as you had worn a skirt. 

The cool metal of his rings juxtaposed the warmth of your skin, and you fully gave up trying to conceal your moans when he started rubbing your pussy over the panties, setting your mouth free to hear your pretty noises as you hid your face in his neck. 

“Still don’t like it, baby?” He whispered, cupping your cheek with his free hand to make you look up at him. 

“I do,” you breathed out, “I really do,” you confirmed, making him pull you in a sweet kiss, your knees weak with how effortlessly he got rid of your panties before stuffing you full of his fingers, your back arching with the sudden stretch. 

“That’s it, baby. You’re taking it so well,” he praised, pressing butterfly kisses all over your neck, as you held on to his arm for support, squirming and shaking with how good he made you feel, thrusting his fingers and abruptly picking up the pace when you started rolling your hips to meet his two digits, clenching uncontrollably while doing so. 

“Shh, baby. Calm down,” he whispered, pecking the side of your lip when you felt yourself breathing hard, “take a deep breath, yeah?” He kissed you all over your face. 

It felt too good, the unadulterated pleasure which had your nipples hardened, a tear escaping your eyes, which he kissed away, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze and fondle your tits, veins visible on his hands as he did so. 

“Go ahead, princess. Make a mess on my fingers,” he holds you gently, helping you reach your climax, patting your folds softly, pushing the wet fingers in your mouth to clean him up, “that’s my good girl,” he whispered, hugging you close to him which made you smile. 

You couldn’t believe that your roommate had you falling apart on his fingers, and praising you through it all.

All you knew was you didn’t want it to stop, and neither did Jeno because soon, he was picking you up and helping you get on the bed, pulling his T-shirt up and removing it before he got on top of you with a smirk, “are you ready, princess?”

It was going to be a long night. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[rini-yaki]

Writing fanfics related to music and song lyrics? Thats so awesome and absolutely my niche, I love the idea. The song I want is Victoria Monet’s Experience, and a rendered pop art scenario with Jinu and a gn reader going on a summer night drive together, because this song is on my playlist for him, and I always imagine it everytime I listen to it. Just him and the reader laughing and racing along somewhere like Busan late at night, next to the beach in the summer sunset as they drink soda together. (Although I do wonder if he would have a drivers lisence since he’s technically a 400 year old demon, would he know how to drive?) anyways thanks for putting together such a lovely event!

Experience

ꕥ Rendered Pop Art Request!

Gn!Reader x Jinu (fluffy oneshot)

extra: thanks for the request! i don't think i'm great at dialogue so this was a bit of a challenge, but i tried my hardest to make it seem fluid, we're just gonna assume that he does know how to drive- ALSO THIS SONG IS SO GOOD- I WILL CRASH A CAR FOR THE VIBES

i feel like this isn't my best work so i feel really bad because this is ur niche and all.. but i hope you like what i have to offer..

100 Follower's Event

It wasn’t often that the feeling of freedom graced the nerves of Jinu. After all, he’s doomed and been doomed to a fate worse than death- being a soul collector, being tortured by his past actions- you get the point.

And falling in love didn’t make anything easier, but he couldn’t resist- it was you. And when you kept inviting him out on joy rides across Busan, how could he say no?

Out in the early morning hours when the moon was still high in the sky, you both drove in a car that neither of you owned. Jinu stole one of those hoodless cars to impress you, and at this hour, with a charmer like him, didn’t bother questioning anything.

You shrugged and hopped in, grinning from ear to ear as the engine revved with a tune, you picked a song to blast and suddenly, the world didn’t matter to either of you anymore. The man with jet black hair wished he wasn’t driving just so he could admire fully how your hair blew back from the wind.

From the fresh winds to the peaceful atmosphere, nothing but your favorite songs playing along with a man you adored driving past scenes people would die for, everything said sounded more funny.

The both of you laughed so hard at every little horrible joke, your cheeks hurt from grinning, who knew the leader of the Saja boys had humor? There was nothing to be stiff about, just you and him under the starry skies.

“Wait wait! Turn here, I wanna see the bridge,” You requested, turning to him, Jinu didn’t have an idea of what you meant, but nonetheless, he obeyed, what you wanted to see is what he needed to see.

“A bridge?” He asks lightheartedly, but you take it as a playful challenge, “You don’t know? The Busan harbor is just beautiful, the bridge lights up at night, and gives you a glorious sight of the city.” Your eyes shine as you described it, sure, you’ve been before when you were younger, but now you could see it again with Jinu.

Jinu could feel that admiration brimming in your voice, that soft sigh as you laid back in the car seat, it made his heart swell, and silently, he stepped on the gas pedal. He wanted to experience whatever this scenery is, even though deep down in his heart he knows he’d rather look at how the lights looked on you as you stared with big eyes and an amazed expression.

Eventually, you both see it, and you weren’t wrong. 

How the big tower at the center glowed with a bright pink, the metal pipes that acted like strings that held the bridge up were illuminated with gradients that were so well blended, he understood why you wanted to go now. 

He drove on the bridge, and while you were taking pictures and admiring this lightshow from all angles, even taking some badly angled photos of the driver. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You ask, leaning your head towards him, that breathless tone in your voice makes Jinu's spiritual heart flutter, and while you were on the edge of his peripheral vision, his entire focus was on you.

“It’s ethereal.” He whispers like a prayer, trying to not make it obvious. You smile at the glittering lights of the city, then you turn to him and that curl in your lips grows tender. 

Now you both head over to the beach to end off the night, buying some carbonated drinks, sodas of both your liking, Jinu felt greedy and bought his own drink of Soda Pop, you smacked him on the back.

Relocated to the sand by the sea, you sit on the soft ground. Both of you looked up at the shimmering sky, chatting about more intimate things- shitty exes, glossed over family history, first or recent partners, gossiping about those that’re in your life.

Cracking immature jokes that only teens could get away with, you both were rolling over with laughter. 

“So that son of a bitch basically did all of that, just to fucking avoid me- seriously, they didn’t even look me in the eye when I confronted them about it!” You raged, taking another drink of the fizzy drink, it 

You rolled your eyes up to the moon, mood souring at the talking of your ex. “That fuckass pressured and gaslit me to do anything and everything romantic while they sat on their ass the entire time we were together.”

“Yeah well, love’s no pressure when they actually care and tend to you.” Jinu rolls his eyes, while he kept that cool guy persona, inside he was disgusted at what your ex partner did- or didn’t do for you.

“If only that hoe tried- wasted so much on them.” You groaned, resting your head on Jinu’s shoulder for support. Inside, Jinu’s pulse picked up, that soft and tired look on your face, glinting in the moonlight- you were really enchanting.

“Love is an experience, and it seems like you got the short end of it,” he brushes it off. You scoff and playfully rolled your eyes. You mutter under your breath about something about him playing the smart guy role.

“Yeah well, bitches ain’t shit these days.” You cuss, disregarding how many curses that were flying out of your mouth right now.

Jinu raised an eyebrow, “Well, I think you’ll find someone to enjoy experiences with, someone with lots of love.” A small, jokeful lilt in his voice, it prompts you to say, “Like who? You?”

The man shrugs and turns to you, “To be fair,” suddenly he’s holding your chin in his hands, a tilt in his head that, with the moonlight, made him look more dreamy.

“I’m all out of love because you took it away.” He confesses in a voice and tone that you’d love to experience over and over again.

im doubting my writing skills so much

IM SO SORRY ANON IF I DIDN'T DO IT JUSTICE :((

[daydreams-after-dark]

Star Student: Part 2

Professor Minho makes you stay after class to fix the problem you caused.

This is Part 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: professor/teacher Minho x adult female reader

MDNI // SMUT WARNING // ADULT CONTENTS

CW below

CW: sexual touch with stationary, unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, slight dom / sub / teacher / student dynamics (everyone is an adult). Chance of getting caught.

The students file out of the room, absolutely unaware that you just got off in front of your professor.

The room is deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop.

It’s just the two of you now.

You cross your legs and fold your arms across your chest and wait. Will he be angry? Will he report you? Will your grades suffer? Right now you really don’t care.

Professor Minho says absolutely nothing as he stands from his chair and slowly, silently, walks to the door locking it securely, and turning towards you with an unimpressed expression on his face. There’s an erection in his pants. You did that to him.

Your breath hitches as he approaches your desk. Like a man on a mission he aggressively shoves your desk to the side, grabs the chair from the desk next to you, and sits himself down in front of you. Legs wide, caging yours in, almost touching you.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he leans his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands. It’s like he’s fighting an internal battle.

After what feels like an eternity, it seems he’s decided what will be the best course of action.

“Show me what you’ve done to yourself.” He says quietly.

You hesitate and suck in your lower lip.

“I need to see.” He presses.

A heat washes over you. Suddenly you’re nervous, but you do as you’re asked and slowly uncross your legs. If looks could set someone on fire you’d be an inferno.

Professor Minho’s lips part as you part your legs, opening them and pulling your panties to the side for him so he can inspect. He looks at your face incredulously and then drops his gaze to your dripping core.

“Jesus Christ.” He clicks his tongue like he’s disgusted with you. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“Do you like my puffy pussy Professor?” You look at him innocently, blinking your eyes.

He rakes his hand through his hair and shakes his head disappointingly. “What a shame.” His eyes are glued to your pussy. “It’s fucking soaking. So wasteful.”

He reaches across to your desk and picks up your pen. “So much…” he slides the pen through your puffy lips, gathering your arousal on the end, and pops it into his mouth, then pulls it out with a loud pop. “cream.” He locks eyes with you. Your cunt clenches.

“All this wasted on your tiny little fingers.” He drags the pen through your folds again. You whimper and spread wider, wanting more. “When what it really needs is a cock.”

You moan and throw your head back at his crude words. Yes you need a cock. So fucking bad.

“But, you see.” He pops the pen in your mouth this time, and you suck your own creaminess off it. “You’ve put me in a bit of a predicament.” The pen is back at your pussy. “I’m not allowed to touch a student” he lazily drags the pen up to your clit. “But I’m also told I’m not allowed to waste resources.”

“So what are you going to do Professor?” You choke. Excitement courses through your body and you rock your hips in your seat.

He throws the pen back on the desk and reaches into your pencil tin, retrieving your scissors. “Well…I haven’t touched you with my hands.” He states as he drags the cold metal up your inner thigh. He hooks the scissors around the fabric of your panties and snips through them rendering them absolutely useless.

“And I’m not a wasteful man.” His dark, deadly eyes bore into you and you know he’s serious.

“So I’ve decided.” He sits back in his chair. “You’re going to fix this problem you’ve created. You’ve got a prepped and ready little cunt that’s craving to be filled with cock. And I’ve got a cock that needs to get wet. And because I’m not allowed to touch you, you’ll have to do all the work. I’m just a facilitator.”

Fuck.

Professor Minho waits for you to begin “fixing” the problem. You suck on your thumb for a moment, staring at the bulge in his pants and slide to your knees in front of him. He thrusts his hips up ever so slightly and places his hands on the back of his head.

Once his trousers are opened enough to free his cock, your mouth waters at the sight. You wrap your fingers around his length and bring it close to your lips, opening them ready to take him in your mouth. You can’t wait to taste him.

“Pop quiz.” Minho interrupts, halting your movements. You look up at him pathetically. “Do you think your mouth is the best tool for the job?” He raises an eyebrow.

You suck in a deep breath and rise to your feet. “No Sir.” You whisper shyly.

“Try again.” He demands.

This time you do exactly what he wants. You hold onto his shoulders and straddle his lap and grind your bare wet pussy on the length of his cock.

Professor Minho bites his lip and watches your face with a glimmer in his eye. You feel like such a slut right now, grinding your juices on your teacher’s dick like this.

“You didn’t answer my question Professor… from earlier.” You roll your hips a little harder causing the him to moan softly and you to smirk. “About my pussy… do you like how puffy my lips get when I’m turned on?”

His hands come to ghost along your hips and your legs, doing his best not to touch you, even though his dick is most certainly touching you.

“I do. You know I do.” His lips are so close you the skin on your neck that you feel his hot breath against you. “That’s why you wear short skirts and see through panties.”

“Oh so you’ve been looking quite some time, hmm?”

“You know I have. Yet you keep showing up like that. You want me to look.”

“Of course I want you to look.” You say lifting up enough to reach around and line his cock up with your entrance. “But I want you to feel it too.” You sink down over your professor’s cock until he’s completely inside of you. You whimper slightly as you let your entire body weight impale you on his cock. “Fuck, that’s so deep.” You say shakily, taking a moment to adjust.

“You’re going to have to do this quickly if you want to cum again.” He reminds you there’s not a lot of time.

You nod frantically, wrap your hands around his neck and start fucking yourself on him. He really did mean you would have to do all the work. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t thrusting or grinding, or touching you. He was practically being a human dildo at this point.

Your cunt squelched around him and there was bound to be juices running down to his balls, and probably all over his pants too. You’re determined. Determined to get yourself off. Determined to milk his cock, drain him of every drop he has.

“Professor… please….I’m tired… can’t…help… please!” You sob against his neck. He feels so good but you need….

“Fuck it.” Professor Minho growls. His hands cup your ass hard. Standing up with you still speared onto his cock, he carries you over to his desk and lays you over it.

He’s lost control. His lips are all over you, catching your mouth desperately, hands absolutely everywhere. Your thighs, waist, your jaw. Your hands are threaded through his hair as he pounds into you hard, fast, and so incredibly deep. On each thrust you feel his cock head pressing against your cervix, undoubtedly bruising it.

“Look at you. My star student.” He stands up, holding your legs open and fucking into you forcefully. “Such a messy, slutty little student. You have no idea how much I wanted to lay you on the desk, like this, and fuck your brains out.”

You can’t speak, he’s fucking you so hard. He feels so good using you like this.

“You show up, teasing me. And today… making yourself cum in front of everyone.” He turns your head, holding it in place so you’re looking out at the desks. “You’d love it I fucked you like this with everyone here watching, wouldn’t you?”

You moan.

“I knew it.” He snapped his hips faster.

He’s right. You love the thought of him bringing you up to his desk and ruining you in front of a class full of people. All eyes on you. The Star Student. Yes. Yes…. Yes!

“Professor… I’m….”

“That’s it. That’s it. Squeeze my cock like that. Good girl. Come on your Professor’s cock.”

You cum hard around him. You begin to cry out but he’s quick to cover your mouth with his hand to muffle your scream.

He doesn’t wait for your orgasm to die down, he keeps going until suddenly he pulls out and hurries to the side of the desk near your face. “Don’t let any go to waste. Open up.”

You obey, opening wide and catching the ropes of cum in your mouth and swallowing every last drop.

“Such a good student.” He strokes your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Now quick. You’d better get ready for your next class.”

You hurry to make yourself decent, gather all your belongings and leave the classroom just as the bell rings for the next class.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itshannjisung @chansbabyg @sunshinesquokka @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @newhope8 @queenmea604

[balo-badartist]

You've probably been asked this a million times, but how do you render? Or I guess a better question is how do you decide where to put colors because it's always so masterfully done!!!

For rendering, firstly: what is the mood I’m going for? For my Hero’s Shade piece, I kept the rendering rough, relying on rough brushstrokes and brushes with color jitter to create colored texture, and then leaving it alone before it becomes too refined. For my Zelda illustration, I kept it clean and dewy. I render based on intent, mood, and characterization.

To master rendering, I would suggest doing in depth texture studies. Below is an example of my student’s work where she’s in the process of doing this:

Mastering how to render different textures by doing exact studies from photographs of things such as: metal, fabrics, rocks, wood, etc will excel your rendering abilities.

BUT AND THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT: the thing I notice about most artists with like godly rendering skills is that their rendering sometimes excels beyond their drawing abilities. Then they use their rendering as a crutch to carry their poor drawing skills: the drawing is like the bones, the architecture. If you have a poor drawing with excellent rendering, the piece will look good to the average enjoyer, but it will unfortunately fall flat to artistic peers.

In saying all of this: it’s super duper important to note that, when trying to make objectively appealing art, it has hierarchies of importance and I’ll tell you the order:

Perspective placement and proportion are the first part. It’s basically the drawing part! The architecture and bones of the artwork. The anatomy, the form, the silhouette, negative space, and overall design of the sketch, composition, lineart, etc, they all sort of fall under this.

Value is below this, and to master value I suggest master shading the sphere.

Highlight, direct light, core shadow, reflective tone, cast shadow, etc.

Color is below all of this. You can be wrong with color but not wrong with value is what’s usually said.

As for coloring, it’s a lot harder for me to explain other than to refer to how I use grays a lot. Color is a lot less step by step to explain you see, so I’ll try to explain, but I’m sorry if it lacks much sense! The reason why I’m able to get away with using strong/bold saturations without it being overwhelming is that I use the grays to carry the strong saturations. It’s important to remember that the human eye can get tired; it’s why we blink even when our eyes don’t feel dry. It’s a moment of pause, a moment lacking in stimulation. You have to have areas of high stimulation (high saturation, texture in rendering, sharp edges) paired with areas of low stimulation (low saturation, smooth rendering without detail, and lost or fuzzy edges). This is why I argue that art does indeed have rules, but only so much as our own brain and eyes have rules; it’s our brain and eyes that perceives the art, and our brains have a very broad and universal mode of operation. Same with art. That’s why art is objective and yet also subjective! But this is a tangent.

As for color, it’s again with mood, but I usually rely on contrasting colors more than anything: warm or cool for light or shadows, one is super saturated while the other is typically desaturated. Hope that makes sense! It’s all about balance: one element/color must have a foil to counter it. And when you chose your main colors, if you wish to add a few extra colors for dynamism, it’s your best bet to chose the colors right next to the main color you’re using on the color wheel. For instance, if you choose red and green as your color scheme, and you need more details in the green shadows as an example, use a combo of blue-gray variations to add more color and saturation variation. In contrast, for your red lighted areas, maybe I would use a light gray orange to introduce new colors in.

Idk if any of that makes sense, I’m not exactly the most gifted teacher when it comes to trying to break everything down, which is why I’m trying to learn how to teach 🤣 I’ll get the hang of it one day maybe 😆 Hope some of this helps answer how I personally approach it, and mind you it’s important to learn from actual masters who have been doing this for decades!

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Interrogation - Ino x Reader

cw: 18+, interrogation kink, degradation, scissoring, slight Inoichi x reader in the beginning, pussy slapping, slight bondage, orgasm denial,

a/n: I SWEAR I DON'T HAVE A WEIRD INO KINK this is a total coincidence - ands this was also supposed to be for femslash feb 2024, but then I was gonna post it for kinktober, and now its a femslash fic again sdfghfds. I just love Ino's mean girl persona and combined with one of my favorite kinks it just HAD to be done lol.

“My daughter won’t be nearly as kind to you as I am,” Inoichi said. “You realize that, don’t you?”

You enjoyed his definition of kind; two long, thick fingers buried inside your cunt. Your legs spread open to allow him easier access — not like it was of your volition; the straps made it impossible to bring your legs together, thereby rendering you somewhat decent. 

“Where is the scroll?” Inoichi asked for the nth time. “What did you and your associates do with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about — oh, god,” Your sentence died at the same time those fingers of his curled upward, tapping — one-two-one-two — against your g-spot. You writhed in the chair members of the Interrogation Force had strapped you to, throwing your head back to observe the white light pinholed in from the ceiling.

“I’m just buttering you up for her,” Inoichi said. His fingers inched out, only to plunge right back in as far as they could reach, finger pads skimming against your g-spot’s rigged skin.

“Fuck, I don’t know anything, okay? I — aah …” Inoichi’s fingers had withdrew properly to run slow, languid circles over your clit, the prominent little nub having been neglected for hours. You bit your lip at the attention given, long overdue. “Fuck, yes — I don’t even know — oh — what the scroll even looks like!”

Inoichi appraised you, your contorting face, your teeth baring down on a bottom lip, threatening to draw blood. “Very well.”

You whined with the official withdrawal of his fingers. Inoichi took a step forward, and once you opened your mouth to speak, drowned your mouth in question with his moist digits.

“If you’re lying,” Inoichi said, pressing his wet fingers onto your tongue, letting up only so you could swirl the appendage around the wrinkled, salty skin, “Ino will get the truth out of you.”

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and left you, naked, legs spread, light beaming down on you, no dignity at all. A fact that both infuriated you and made you wetter.

“Fuck you!” You cried as the door shut with a creaking, metallic clamp. You slammed your head back with a frustrated yell. 

You were nowhere close to coming, which was somehow worse, this lukewarm fashion of edging. You ached for touch. For stimulation. Having received none, you laid in wait for your next tormentor. 

The door opening brought you a pathetic sort of relief. 

“Well, well, well,” came a feminine voice, presumably the notorious Ino Yamanaka. “I’ll have to thank dad for leaving me with such a fun doll to play with.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what I told him,” You said impatiently. “Which is I don’t know anything. I don’t know where the hell your precious scroll is, and I’m glad I don’t!” You thrashed against your constraints, ceaseless in your protest. “This whole stinking village can burn to the fucking ground, and I’d kick the ashes!”

Ino clutched her chest, feigning offense. “My, what strong words!” she said, positively scandalized. “I suppose I’ll just have to test that conviction of yours.”

Ino sauntered over to you. Your eyes were drawn to the way her long, feminine fingers grazed the desk leagues from your chair. Despite your so-called convictions, you couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit intimidated. She was extremely beautiful. 

And also, according to hearsay, extremely dangerous. 

“Look at you.” Hands on her hips, Ino leaned over your exposed frame. A small smirk quirked the edge of her lips, blue eyes roving over you from the neck down. “You were so ready to put up a fight before, but now you’re shaking like a leaf!” Her smirk grew wider at the pun. “Figures you were all talk —“

You didn’t know what came over you — maybe it was being tied up all day, maybe it was the multitude of ruined orgasms — but you had come to the split-hair end of your patience with all this, and spit in the face Ino had leaned over and offered you.

She gave a startled cry. A second to register what happened, then —

Smack! Your cheek stung. 

“You disrespectful little bitch,” she said. You faced her just in time to see her swipe the saliva off her face. “And to think I was gonna go easy on you —“

“Oh, cut the crap,” You said. “In no world were you ever gonna go easy on me. Let’s just get this over with.”

A beat and Ino’s smirk returned. You felt as though you had passed some test.

“You’ve got at least some brains.” Ino sauntered past you, and your heart hammered with ill-concealed fear of what she would do, heightened by the fact you could no longer see her. You hollered as she gripped your hair, yanking your head back. “I mean, besides that little stunt you pulled.”

You were forced to look up at Ino now. She cooed, eyeing the red patch on your cheek. 

“Ohh, did it hurt?” She crooned. “Don’t like getting hit there? Aww, it’s okay. I know a place where you might like it better.”

She released your head and it bobbled stupidly toward the chair’s arm as she came back around. She gripped your ankle to shove your already aching leg aside and —

Smack!

“Ah! You fucking bitch!” Your voice held hysteria, the sting concentrated on your pussy almost primal. “What —“

Smack!

You gasped, but otherwise stayed quiet.

“She’s learning,” Ino said with false pride. “Very good. Now, tell me what I want to know.”

Your chest rose and fell with heavy breathing. “I don’t know any —“

Smack!

“Fuck …!” You bit your lip against the pain, beginning to thrash against the restrictive snakes of leather again.

“You’ve got such a pretty little pussy here.” Ino ran fingers over your v of pubic hair before grazing them over your folds, threatening to insert them. “I would hate to ruin it. Now, let’s try again. Where’s the fucking scroll?”

“I don’t —“

Smack! 

“Ah! I said I don’t —“

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Ah — okay, okay, okay!” Your last relent came out as a squeal as Ino’s hand hovered threateningly over your abused cunt. “Enough … Okay, I can tell you what I do know —“

“Wait,” Ino said, gaze focused downwards. Her brows drew together as she leaned away from your chair. “It can’t be …”

You blinked, unsure of what to expect from her now. “…What?”

And she laughed. High-pitched, positively mean girl. So much so you turned your face to hide your blush in the crook of your shoulder. 

“I can’t believe it!” she cried. “You’re actually getting wet over this!”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, yeah?” And it was not a threat this time; Ino inserted two fingers into your cunt. “Then why’s this so easy, huh?”

You had no argument, remaining silent as she tauntingly probed you.

“You like pain, is that it?” Ino inferred. “Like when pretty girls smack your pussy around?”

You shrank to the sound of her wicked giggles. At last Ino withdrew in a way that seemed merciful, but you knew better.

“Well, I don’t know how to punish you if you’re such a creep you get off on it.” Ino sighed, closing her eyes as she scratched the back of her head, a gesture that didn’t feel altogether hers but learned from someone else. “S’been a while since this’s happened … What a drag.”

“Then …” You blinked, hopeful. “Then that’s it? You’ll let me go?”

Ino cracked an eye open at you. “Hm. Nice try. But no.” She stepped away, forgoing her drab interrogation coat and letting it pool to the floor behind her. “I’ve got a better idea.”

You wished you were less of a goon, but you’d be lying if you didn’t stare, mouth agape, as Ino stripped in front of you.

“Like whatcha see?” Ino wiggled her hips back and forth. “Most people do.”

Your eyes were glued to her undulating figure — and your heart raced as she approached you, unsure of what she would do next. 

She toppled you, entangling her legs and yours, before pressing her cunt against your own.

You shrieked as she dropped onto you without aplomb, eyes widening and mouth dropping as she swerved her hips, rocking her clit against yours —

“Wha — oh! What the fu —“

“You know what you have to do,” Ino said, her smirk wicked under the blinding interrogation light. She groped your tit, her thumb massaging the pink nub still risen and eager for her touch.

You bit down on your lip; the sensation, compounded by moments of impact torment, was marvelous. Ino’s cunt slipped and slid over yours, commingling slick and juice. Her pubic hair grazed over your clit, fully assault now as her hips rocked you against the leather of your chair.

“You’re really sick, you know that?” Ino lifted her mons to expose more of her clit, kissing it to yours. Her movements were more precise now, less jerky and more languid, sweetening the pleasure. “Getting off on all this. Anyone else would be begging me to stop, but you? I could probably try and kill you right about now and you’d thank me. Go on. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Any vocalization from you at this point would melt into a moan or a “please please more more.” And you did not need her degradation right now — degradation that was now only driving you closer to the edge.

You closed your eyes shut, hoping the lack of visual stimuli would delay the inevitable — but you opened them again when Ino’s weight fell over you. She smiled sweetly in your face, her gyrations ceaseless now and endlessly erotic. 

“Stop.” You thrashed, the movement aiding your predicament. “Stop, stop —!“

“Or what?” Ino’s tone was pointedly oblivious, as was her expression; brows raised innocuously, lips pouty — and so close. “You’ll come?” 

She thrashed harder, all languidity gone. Her breasts pressed against yours, your pebbled nipples brushing against her perfect skin. 

“Do it,” Ino said, and at your hopeless whimper she chuckled. “Let me see how you look when you’re fucked dumb.”

Her clit grazed over yours, applying the most exquisite pressure over yours —

“Ino!”

She withdrew from you. 

You blinked, flustered and on the edge. “Wha ... What?”

Risen inches above you, she smiled, victorious. “Tell me what I wanna know.”

“This is sick!” You were more wild animal than human now, denied orgasm dozens of times. You thrashed, set to spit in Ino’s gorgeous face a second time. “You and that pervy fucking dad of yours —!“

“You wanna come?” Ino spoke over you. “Do you part. Tell me.”

You breathed hard. Tears grew at the corner of your eyes. You looked around, helplessly, nether regions begging for release. You clenched around nothing, clit abandoned.

“… Okay,” You said. “… It’s in the fucking — fucking Mist village, all right? I gave it to a friend and …”

Your stupid snitch mouth couldn’t stop rambling off, giving Ino every minute detail she and her personnel would need to find what you had claimed. 

All the while Ino looked down at you, expression inscrutable. Once you were finished, catching your breath, she was quiet for a few seconds still. 

“Pathetic,” she murmured, and sat down over you again. 

You howled out a moan. You wiggled against her best you could, but you couldn’t possibly hope to match her rhythm. She grit her teeth, eyes closed, but that was your only indication she felt anything at all as she burrowed into you. 

“Oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck.” This was never going to last long and you knew it, but the euphoric rise of your climax was all you cared for, and more than that: the fall from the cliff that had been denied you so many times.  

So when Ino rocked her hips, hard, against you one final time, you felt drunk with release. Your eyes rolled as you arched your back best you could against your restraints. 

“Thank you …” You were babbling now, to no one. “Oh, gods, thank you …”

“Hmph!” Ino removed herself from you. Through lidded eyes you watched her redress, unsure if she had even come at all, if the blossom-pink fluster against her sweet skin was any tell. “Whatever, sicko.”

As she draped her trench coat over herself, she looked your wrecked form over. “Well, this was fun. My people will come to put you behind bars shortly.” She winked. “See ya never.”

And that was where she left you, as she had found you, only worse. Messied and aching everywhere, you sighed and thudded your head against the chair’s base. Pathetic. Absolutely. And screwed. Definitely.

But tell that to the wonderful ache soaring through every inch of your body.

[lululandd]

wrong;

pairing: könig x f!reader

wordcount: 2.5k+

warnings: fluff?

note: ngl i had fun making this and i hope yall get a laugh from this or something (also on AO3)

summary: 

of all the kortac members you’ve worked and hung out with, you try to avoid könig the most. the austrian man comes off as normal and even endearing at first, masking his anxiety with comedy, always being thoughtful of people's needs and personal space. but the more you hung out with him the more you realise he might actually have a woman held hostage in his house. he likes to talk about her, mostly innocuous comments about her new hobbies, but from time to time könig lets out insane comments in such a casual tone that rendered you and other kortac operators speechless.

bunny doesn't like men so when my kitchen was renovated i had to put her in the basement..

—sometimes she misbehaves so much i want to hit her but i can't so i had to leash her.

no one dares to talk about his bunny, you notice everyone skirting around the subject and never asking him directly about her even though he’s actively bringing her up in conversations. you don’t mind being around him during assignments, since he’s usually too busy saving people’s lives and covering his teammates backs to think about his ‘bunny’. but outside of combat? at the base? at karaoke or bars? you avoid him as much as possible.

until you slipped up, of course.

you were tired; unwashed, thinking only of the food in front of you and the long luxurious cold shower you’re going to have right after.

hearing the word ‘sick’ somewhere in your vincinity you immediately went into worry mode and asked follow up questions before your brain could determine who was talking.

horangi lets out a cough next to you, and only then you realise who said the word ‘sick’ and about whom.

the usually boisterous man looked so downtrodden, barely eating his dinner, moving his food around his metal tray. 

“it’s bunny..” he whined, his hood blowing forwards for a moment before settling back in place.

“i’m sorry to hear that.” you offered, curtly. you thought of the least offensive thing you could muster that wouldn’t evoke any other bunny related tidbits. “how long until your assignment’s over?”

“two months.”

“i’m sure she’ll be fine.” you assured him, “hope she feels better soon, könig.”

he rested his chin on his open palm, “she can’t take care of herself, i had a friend stay at my house to take care of her.” 

you glance at horangi, hoping he’d steer the conversation away. he halfheartedly shrugged as he dug into his food, unwilling to help. you dug your own grave, the shrug seems to imply.

“your friend is probably doing their best, you just have to trust them.”

horangi raised his brows and smirked at you. you poked him with one of the corners of your metal tray playfully when you two were done eating. laughing as he bumps your hip with his, saying something in korean before answering, “you have to learn to evade the bunny topic yourself. you did good.”

perhaps this is the nicest, or the only thing anyone has ever dared to say about his captive, because he turned up at your shared bunk that night. stiletto immediately fiddled with her butterfly knife when she saw who was at the door.

“may i talk to you?” his gaze jumped from your eyes to something behind you before looking at you again quickly and looking away again.

stiletto snarked at him from her bed, “you can talk over there with the door open.”

thankful for her caution, you see könig doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“i’m worried about bunny.” he lowered his voice, bending a little so his head was closer to yours.

“oi! three feet apart!” you hear her yell alongside the soft clitter-clatter of her butterfly knife.

könig straightened up immediately, it’s so funny seeing him obey stiletto without question even though he’s her senior in age and rank.

“your friend is with bunny, no?” you tried reassuring him.

“ja.” he squares up to his full height, making you step back to even be able to look at his face. “she is taking care of bunny but she is no doctor.”

“neither am i.” you shrugged, turning to look at stiletto for reassurance. 

to your relief she grumbled at the colonel, “get to the point, könig.”

the austrian threw a look at your bunkmate before looking back down at you.“i want you to go see her.”

your heart gave a little jolt, and you’re sure your whole body did too.

what.

blinking slowly, you turn your head to give stiletto a wide-eyed stare before looking back at him. “you want me to go see… your girl?” 

his expression shifted, you could see the twinkle in his eyes hearing you’re not outright rejecting his proposal. “ja, ja, i want you to see bunny. you seem like a nice person. i want you to check up on bunny, and maybe stay with her until i come back.”

“stay?” you repeated. “at your house? where bunny is?”

nodding excitedly, he stepped forwards, “ja, exactly. i’ll pay your tickets.”

you want to look back and make faces at your roommate but out of respect you just look as confused as you could and tell him you would give him an answer tomorrow.

as soon as the door closed and könig’s footsteps can no longer be heard, stiletto hissed from her bed, “ma che cazzo, he is crazy.”

plopping down next to her, “i feel sorry, though.”

she slapped your upper arm, “his crazy is catching. what the fuck?”

“i mean, if he wants me to visit then how bad could the situation be, right?” you try to make sense of his actions. “if bad comes to worse i can always call the police.”

stiletto groaned, “the police could be in on it, idiota.”

she’s right.

but,

he’s your co-worker. if you go missing during your planned trip to austria on könig’s dime, there would definitely be an investigation, right? there’s paper trail and receipts and everything.

you voice your thoughts to your roommate and she sighs in defeat.

“your funeral, bunny number two.”

—

you arrived at könig’s little countryside (remote) house, with its dilapidated (creepy) looking roof and peeling windowsill. a gigantic rabbit greeted you in his lush front garden, happily chewing on a celery stalk and hopping away from the iron gate as you approached.

hop? that thing looks like it could gallop. there must be something in the water here that makes everything grow so large. how far is chernobyl from this place, again?

staring at his front door an embarrassingly long time, you took a quick and deep breath before knocking. his front door felt so foreboding you instinctively step back right after.

the woman greeting you with a smile looks a little bit older than you, with a charming smile that would definitely make you feel safe if you’ve never heard of the way könig talks about his girlfriend.

“hi, im here to see……” your eyes dart around your peripherals to make sure there’s no one that could ambush you, “..bunny?”

she gestured at the rabbit in the patch of sunlight behind you.

the world as you know it crumbled before your eyes. the sun shone brighter, the dilapidated windows look fine, and did you call his cabin creepy earlier? you meant cosy.

you blinked slowly. “that’s.. bunny?” you reiterated, turning halfway back at the rabbit while pointing at it.

“ja, bunny is rabbit in english? yes?” she sounded a little impatient, “are you a vet? she is all better now.” its clear from her tone and the hard stare she gave you that she’s offended of könig’s distrust in her ability to take care of his pet rabbit.

putting your hand up, “no, i’m his friend.” you stared back at the rabbit again for a little longer, making sure its actually a rabbit and not a woman in a realistic rabbit suit. you’ve seen the $15000 collie suit that went viral a few years back, “so…. könig’s girlfriend doesn't live here?”

crossing her arms, it was her turn to blink slowly. “girlfriend? i’ve only seen him bring men home.”

as much as you wanted to laugh out loud at the second big misunderstanding this poor man has in his life, it makes complete sense why she would think that way. “i see.” was all you could muster.

“come in, then.” she offered.

taking note of where the basement is as she points at things while giving you a tour, you opened the door to be immediately greeted by a well lit space, with a little rabbit enclosure at the back, a waist high fence separating the space from the rest of the basement. it had one of those hamster wheels although a much larger size, a pet bed, and neat stack of hay just outside the fence gate. you took careful steps further down in the basement, and you do see a little clasp and a leash hanging off the wall by the pet bed.

the first thing you after your brain process the whole information is run back outside and update the group chat.

stiletto had to personally call you fifteen minutes later because you weren’t active in the group chat. 

könig came home to bunny sitting on what looked like a little trampoline with an umbrella on top of it, munching on some hay with pieces of flowers and fruits strewn about. seeing him, bunny hopped off her little perch. his little fluff of happiness is coming with her ears all perked up to flop on her side by his feet. here are little bows on both her ears and as he crouched down könig could feel all his stress melt away from the sight. picking bunny up, he walked in to find your bags packed and ready by the front door, your socks neatly placed inside each of your shoes.

bunny wiggled as könig roamed his house to look for you, presumably wanting to go back to her feast of hay and flowers and fruits that you set up for her. but when he opened the front door and set her down, she instead hopped further into the home, towards the basement door.

“there’s no man around for you to fear, häschen.” he coos, before looking at the direction bunny is heading.

first thing he saw was you had gathered more hay; könig notes its the expensive one he only gets when he receives his yearly bonus, the old pet bed looks cleaned, and there’s a new even bigger one by the wheel. he spots you in the corner fastening the leash hook.

“you want beer?” he offered in lieu of a greeting. you could hear the smile in his voice.

bunny punched the gate, signalling that she wants to go in the enclosure to possibly use the wheel or be with you. he unlatched the gate and watched with fascination as she hopped over to you, standing on her hind legs to see what you’re doing.

“oh hey könig, i’m just about done.” you pointed at the little sand pit next to the stairs, “careful of the sand pit.”

you heard him shuffle around behind you. the man is lazy and drags his feet when he’s not in combat. “you built this for bunny?” he sounded surprised, the sound of sand being played with grabbed your attention so you opted to stop fiddling with the hook and come see what he’s doing. 

bunny followed you as you walked towards him, “yeah, we pitched in for a lot of the stuff. there’s a card upstairs.” 

the tall man was grabbing some sand visibly stiffened at your reply. könig turned his head slowly towards you, “we?” the casualness dropped off his posture at that moment. “card?”

hearing the scepticism in his voice, you nodded and pointed at the door to usher him upstairs.

he stayed, looks down at the sand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world for him. bunny filled the long pause with her little clucks and chatters as you absentmindedly pet her. “i thought you guys didn’t like bunny..” he said weakly, returning to playing with the sand, slower this time.

oh no.

looking at it from his perspective, you saw how shitty you all must’ve looked. he had mentioned how sick his pet was and no one asked a single question nor seemed to care.

at this point bunny has sensed his distress and made her way towards him to cuddle. she’s really good at that, sensing peoples moods and coming over to offer comfort.

you think you will just rip the bandage off, or maybe at this point it’s more like giving him a surprise brazilian wax. “könig we thought bunny was your girlfriend. and you chain her up in the basement and everything.”

“WAS? WAS MEINST DU???” he turned your head to you so fast you could see little beads of sweat coming off his hair.

you think he’s yelling WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? so you continued on, swallowing thickly. “none of us were ever sure if you were talking about an animal or a person and we just…. yeah…” the look of horror in könig’s eyes was reflected in his overall disposition which prompted bunny to snuggle into his chest deeper. “i’m sorry könig…”

as you can see his world unravelling before him, you decided this would be the perfect time to leave him and his little rabbit alone.

a text in the big group chat popped up later that night.

[bumblekastclips]

Happy Throwing Him Thursday!

KYLE CROUSE: Next question is from @rabbithaver. “In 2018, you wrote IDW Sonic #14, which contained panels of Silver being thrown by the ankle by Metal Sonic. On May 19, 2022, tumblr user @catgirlkirigiri posted those panels with the caption, 'Happy Throwing Him Thursday.' Now, every Thursday, Sonic Tumblr celebrates by partaking in throwing Silver. Each week, participants render their followers' dashboards unusable by reblogging those panels dozens of times in a row. People have drawn fan art. There are multiple videos of people throwing their Silver plushies, including one of him being hurled off a five story balcony. In celebration of the two year anniversary of the first Throwing Him Thursday, would you both please rank Sonic characters based on how far you think you, personally, could throw them?” [TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: The balcony mentioned was seven stories, not five, which is much funnier.]

IAN FLYNN: [in exaggerated horror] Two years?! KYLE: [laughing] IAN: My poor boy has been yeeted for two years?! KYLE: He’s getting yeeted! He’s getting yeeted like crazy! IAN: I feel bad! KYLE: [laughs] IAN: I’m glad folks are enjoying themselves, but… what have I done to the poor boy? KYLE: [still laughing] Ah, well, I mean, the fandom got a— the fandom got attached to it. To be fair, you know. You did it once. [chuckles] IAN: And really, the credit should go to Tracy Yardley and the other artists for rendering it, but hm… KYLE: True, true. [chuckling] IAN: Half-tempted to sneak in a panel somewhere. [as Sonic] “Happy Thursday, Silver!” [as Silver, panicked as he’s being reminded of his trauma] “WHY?!” KYLE: [erupts into laughter, then as Silver] “What is this?!” [laughs] Man, if you made a reference to Throwing Him Thursday, I think the— I think there’s a lot of Tumblr people who would melt down. In a— you know, in a good way. IAN: [chuckling to himself] Shadow just puts him off a— puts him out a window. [as Shadow] “Huh, is it Thursday already?” KYLE: [laughing] Oh, man… IAN: Anyway, characters that we could throw on a Thursday — or any day, really. KYLE: Any day. I could throw— I could throw— I could take Charmy. [chuckles] IAN: Yeah, Charmy, Cheese… KYLE: But then I’d have to contend with not being able to throw Vector and Espio as they murder me. [laughs] IAN: [chuckles, then as Vector] “Nice arm there, Kyle! Wanna see how [unintelligible] it is?” KYLE: [laughs] Oh! IAN: And I imagine Cream, but only because she wants to, like, take off, so she’s already got her ears ready, and you’re like, out in an open field, and it’s like throwing a kite into the air or something. She’s having a grand time, just, “whee!” KYLE: Yeah, she can fly. [chuckles] IAN: Uh… how heavy is Tails, actually? KYLE: Eh, I don’t think Tails is very, uh, heavy, and he’d fly, so… you know IAN: I’m gonna look this up real quick. KYLE: You could throw Froggy a little bit— [stuttering unintelligibly] a little bit far. You know. IAN: [as Big] “Once.” KYLE: Once. [laughs] IAN: Huh! Actually Tails is like, over forty pounds! KYLE: Okay, he’s a… IAN: That’s not really a throw, that’s more of a heft. KYLE: He’s a beefy— he’s a beefy boy then, huh? Wow. [chuckles, then reading chat] I’m being told that Ray was born to be yeeted. [laughs] IAN: [chuckles] You know that’s what he and Mighty do all the time. KYLE: Of course! IAN: It’s kinda like— it’s like with Cream! KYLE: Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. IAN: [as Mighty] “Ready, little guy?” [as Ray] “Ready!” Woosh! KYLE: Yeah, pretty much, exactly. IAN: How much does Orbot weigh? KYLE: He’s pretty small, but he’s also a robot, so who knows how dense he is? Uh… IAN: If he even has an official weight… [Googling] Uh, he is— holy crap, he’s over sixty pounds! KYLE: Yeah, I was gonna say, he’s probably real dense. He’s got a lot in him. [chuckles] IAN: [sigh] I could probably pick him up and hmph, but yeah, I ain’t throwin’ that. Goodness. KYLE: The irony is that you’d think Cubot would be the dense one! IAN: [chuckles] Well, now I’m curious, if Orbot is sixty-six point one pounds… KYLE: He would be one really heavy bowling ball, at least. [laughs] IAN: Self-steering, no less. KYLE: Yeah! IAN: [Googling] Oh, wow. Cubot’s, uh, almost eighty-six pounds. KYLE: Oh! He’s dense— he’s even more dense! IAN: He’s a hefty boy! KYLE: [laughs] IAN: So, yeah.

KYLE: Nice. [chuckles] Yes. Ah, yes. [reading chat] Cubot, the honorable— or, Orbot, the honorable Whipple. IAN: [snickers] KYLE: Welcome to the Whipple family. [chuckling] I don’t know if we could really throw any of them? I mean, sure, a giant mech could throw Jewel, as we’ve established previously, but I don’t know if I could. She’s pretty— she’s pretty big for a bug. IAN: Yeah, I… she might need to be hefted, not really thrown. KYLE: Yeah, yeah. You could throw a chao. IAN: Yeah. KYLE: You can throw Marine, maybe. IAN: Well, now I’m curious, uh… Charmy’s like twenty-two pounds. KYLE: Why is he so freakin’ huge? He’s a bee! [laughs] IAN: And I would imagine Jewel’s at least that weight, so… KYLE: Y-yeah…? [stuttering] How heavy are pounds on Sonic’s world?! IAN: [laughs] I mean, you could still maybe throw Charmy, but you’d have to put your back into it. You’d have to, like, limber up first. KYLE: Yeah! IAN: And just because we brought it up, you know, the idea is Cream’s just kinda using this as an excuse to be thrown, but— [Googling] she’s twenty-six pounds. She’s barely heavier than Charmy. What in the world? KYLE: [chuckling] What? What?! IAN: But yeah, I could definitely pick her up over my head and kinda, fwoop, and then she’d flap and she’d fly, and she’d have a fun time. KYLE: Yeah, yeah… yeah, yeah, I think they’re all a bit too heavy. It’s that— it’s that dang Beach Ball Head Syndrome they got going on. [chuckles] Those giant heads, you know?

EPISODE THUMBNAIL by @kiimeranova (lines) and @nintendoni-art (colors)! Exclusive Throwing Him Thursday Variant HERE!

—— TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It’s just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don’t like an answer, you don’t have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It’s all just for fun!

[owlespresso]

dogged pursuit. dr veritas ratio. part 6 of ? / other parts summary: you’ve been appointed as the bodyguard of one doctor veritas ratio after a failed attempt on his life. he’s easy to get along with, so long as you learn when to plug your ears and focus on his washboard abs. tags. violence. filth below the tag. not beta'd.

When they assigned you the post of Veritas Ratio’s bodyguard, you expected a light workload. But it’s still been kind of boring. You can’t outright say you want your charge to be attacked by the enemy, but you feel like you’re missing out on chances to impress him. He lets you into his bed but the truth is, you are at your core a slavering beast. There’s no higher privilege than to commit violence in his name. In his honor.

So, when the chance does come, can anyone fault you for being a little too enthusiastic?

It’s a bustling night on Orchestron-IIV. The pleasure district is the last place he wanted to go, but you badgered him into it. The luxury villas and safe streets of the expat district are stagnant. They don’t hold a candle to the chaotic thrumming of the Magnolia–the part of the island where locals and tourists alike come to get in touch with their inner animal. 

It’s also a valuable opening for the opportunistic little weasel that’s been eyeing your villa for the past few weeks. You’re not sure who sent him. You don’t care. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d show himself tonight. 

He does, of course. You’ve got good instincts. The blood in the water can be miles away, but you’ll still hone in on it. 

It happens in a dark, cramped alleyway. You taste the metal of the knife on the air before you see him, hear the slight twitch of his boot against the gravel. The fight lasts for less than thirty seconds. Ratio watches you kick his blade far into the dark with an air of practiced neutrality, languid in the way he inspects the cretin you’ve pinned to the wet pavement. 

You wallop him twice on each side of the head for good measure, watch his eyes roll like water spirals down the train, feel the softness of his temple against your eager fists. Then you get him turned over with a few good kicks to his ribs. He shouts, but it’s cut off as you force his face into the cold concrete. Once you’ve had your fill, you stand with one of your boots on his wrist. You’re kneeled over him, his other arm caged by your knee. The fine silver of your hidden blade kisses the unblemished skin of his throat. Maybe you should have choked him for good measure. Given him a good shake. 

“I assume you’ve learnt your lesson?” Veritas’s voice breaks you from your careful contemplation. “...So, who sent you?”

“Call off your dog,” the man chokes. 

“Mm, no, I don’t think I will,” Veritas answers, the coldest you’ve ever heard him. You grind your heel into the man’s wrist, feel the bone creak in protest under your boot. He hisses out in pain, fingers curling, legs twitching as he debates whether a continued struggle would be worthwhile. “I’ll ask again—who sent you? Think very carefully before you answer.”

“Fuck you,”

“Incorrect. Zero points,” Veritas sighs, “If this is the best they could send, I doubt we have much to worry about,” He looks at you meaningfully. You give him a smile full of teeth, wind your leg back, and sail the metal tip of your boot into the bastard’s skull. Not enough to break his neck. Just enough to render him an unconscious, bloodied heap. You like it when you communicate without words. It makes you feel closer to him.

You absentmindedly kick some pebbles around while Veritas dials a number and has a quick discussion–probably contacting his IPC goonies. They’ll come collect this poor scrap of a man and work the information out of him real quick. Nothing you couldn’t have done, but you like to think he’s sparing you the effort. 

The encounter is over but your blood still rushes in your ears, and your hands twitch. Veritas is wearing a darker number, today. 

As soon as he hangs up, you’re on him. You cage him up against the wall, lips attached to the pale column of his throat and he sighs, like he’s annoyed. His big hands find your hips, but he doesn’t push you away. He only squeezes in warning.

“Control yourself,” he says, and you know he’s grimacing even though you can’t see his face. You lovingly retread old ground with your teeth, gnaw a new bruise into his skin. He makes a shaky sound at that, hands gripping you tighter. “You are not some rutting animal and we are not doing this here!” 

“Doc, c’mon,” you whine, desperate fingers tugging his shirt free from where it’s tucked into his belt. You don’t like him in suits. You like him in the flowy, free things from his homeland. “Didn’t I do good for you?” You shove your hands beneath his shirt and feel the strong wall of his abdomen twitch under your greedy ministrations. He exhales. You nose the spot where his jaw meets his ear, draw the smell of him deep into your lungs. “Tell me I did good, Veritas. I don’t ever ask for anything.”

His cock springs free from his trousers, flushed and pink and perfect. He’s already erect, the slight curve of him standing tall against his clothed tummy. The broad head already weeps with precum and you coo, hopelessly endeared. You cup him in your hand and he hisses, but doesn’t try to stop you. 

“You insatiable beast. If you’ve done any good, you are ruining it with this behavior.” He glares, but it’s a watery kind of look that’s just for show. A token show of resistance because his pride won’t let him admit that this is what he wants. That’s fine, because you know how to read him by now. As close as a bodyguard can be. 

“Wow. Did you get hard watching me beat that guy up?” you ask, and don’t wait for an answer before putting your mouth on him. Maybe, if you were more patient and less single minded, you could have teased him a little. Pressed kitten-soft kisses to his tip. But you aren’t possessed of a delicate touch.

You pull half of his length into your waiting mouth and hollow your cheeks. He gasps, hips making an aborted little thrust. His fingers curl into your hair, desperate for any form of purchase. Your eyes flutter shut as you taste the salt and sweat of his skin, humming low in your throat as you work him deeper. He’s weighty on your tongue–you have to really open up to fit him. 

If you were in a better place, you’d hold him there for a few minutes, maybe. Just to see how whiny and desperate he’d get. But the evening crowds are still milling around only a few yards away. 

“Hurry up!” he hisses, and you reward his brattiness by hollowing your cheeks. He makes a helpless, punched out sort of noise as you work him, wet mouth milking his thick, throbbing cock for all it has. His inner thigh is warm against the flat of your palm. You want to feel his skin. You want to shove his trousers down and feel the soft backs of his thighs over your shoulders. 

He’s getting impatient, though. He’s kind enough to keep a steady, mild pace as he fucks your mouth in earnest. You slick your tongue along the underside of him, coo and hum around his erection like you’re praising him. Like you’re proud of him. His back arches, nice tailored suit grinding into the wall behind him. 

You look up, and admire the forming, shapeless blues and pinks that mottle his skin. You just barely hear his nails scratching at the exposed brick behind him. He starts to lose all that good sense he’s so proud of, hips jerking helplessly into your waiting mouth. The muscles of your forearms flex as you pin his hips in place. You take him in deep, take him in relentlessly and press the flat of your tongue hard against his cock. The friction has him bucking, smothering soft sounds into his sleeve.

You can’t see it, but you imagine his stomach tensing and feel his knees begin to shake. It’s so cute, cute, cute–you can’t stand it. You want him cumming, you want him ruined. White hot adrenaline seizes you as you grab his hips and drag him forward. He nearly toppled, his shout ringing down the length of the alleyway. He catches himself with a hand on your head, gritting his teeth as he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. 

His pace loses sync as he gets hot on the heels of his orgasm. That scholarly composure shatters. He cums with a pathetic, watery keen. Rivulets of warm release fill your mouth and stream down your throat. You swallow around him, let him fuck your mouth through the thick of his peak despite the way your throat aches and protests. 

You only let him go once he has nothing left to give. You pop off of his flagging cock with a lewd, wet sound and rise to look at him close. There’s a visible sweat along his brow, his pupils blown wide. He’s dazed. It takes him a full second to realize you’re here, and you’re lookin’ real close at him. He presses his back against the wall and schools his face into that irritated glower. The typical dignity associated with that expression is lost, considering the obvious flush painted across his pale cheeks. 

“T-there. Are you satisfied now?” he harrumphs, but his voice shakes. like you didn’t just give him the best blowjob of his life.

You’re not annoyed. You feel feverish, kind of, looking at the handsome planes of his face with a newfound, and perhaps manic kind of concentration. And oh– “Are you cryin’?” you ask, incredulous. ‘Cause there are tears on those pretty lashes of his. Pretty as morning dew. He opens his mouth, likely to deliver some sort of fuming retort, but you shove even closer, pinning him bodily to the wall. He could toss you off if he wanted, easy as cake. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you with rabbit wide eyes. “Seriously,” you whine, hands coming up to cup his cheeks. “When did you get so cute, Doc? It’s not fair, it just ain’t!”

“If I am crying, it is because I’m mourning all the time we’ve wasted here!” he fumes, finally finding the gumption to give you a hearty shove. You stumble backwards as he redoes his belt and fixes his slacks, unable to suppress a slight shiver. It takes a saintly amount of patience and restraint to not surge forward and put your hands on him again. “The pickup will be here for him in a few minutes. Wait for them. I’ll meet you back at the villa once you’ve finished.” He kicks off the wall, stomping down the alley. To the unaccustomed passerby, he might look undeniably upset, peeved even. But you’re not too worried. 

You can tell he’s not mad, ‘cause the tops of his ears are totally flushed. 

[mjrtaurus]

Okay, I gotta dig out my Society of Tinfoil Hattery credentials from the junk drawer for this one piece business, so strap in and get ready for some flow of conscious yapping.

And just to be clear: ELBAF SPOILERS

Okay. So the triptych(?) mural. I’m gonna be very insufferable about the mural because that feels like THE center point of this arc. Not so much the poems, because as far as I know, the translations are still unofficial and I can give my thoughts on them then.

Okay, so, the first third. The “First World”

We see people- we can assume slaves- coming out of complexes with machinery beneath and steam billowing from above. Is this a refinery? A power plant? A reactor, maybe?

We see these people go down deep, and come back up carrying something starlike that they bring to a crowned figure on top of the hill. Ore? Precious stones and metals? Some sort of fuel source? It looks the same as the stars depicted, so… nuclear energy?

We also see beneath the ground- perhaps hidden?- a winged figure (sky islander?), next to a very large ship with animals trailing towards it (Noah??) pointing skyward (to the moon???).

Above the crowned figure at the top of the hill, we see a ship in the sky sending a lightning bolt to the feet of the crowned figure and towards the roots of the tree centerpiece (Uranus? Something like the Ark Maxim and Enel?)

And the central piece to the first world portion of the mural… this “Serpent of Hell” coming up from beneath the earth where the slaves are going down into getting into a conflict with the bird-like creature at the top of the second world’s tree (Nidhogg and Hraesvelgr imagery? Who would be the Ratatoskr of that?). It seems from the fire the two are spitting at each other, that the whole world has become enveloped in war and- if the bit about the Earth God becoming enraged is translated correctly- rendering it uninhabitable (the reason why the sky islander is taking the animals to Noah? The reason why the sky islanders went to the moon to begin with? Was the land irradiated?)

This one is the most dicey for me, but bear with me.

The Second World is a tree with the Hraesvelgr-esque figure perched at the top, warring with the Nidhogg-esque figure going down into the earth beneath the roots. We might assume, though I’m not exactly certain about it, that this tree could be symbolic of this eight hundred year reign of the world government? Its branches don’t stick out very far from the trunk, so this could just be to keep the image from being cluttered, just something that wasn’t thought about, or because the tree is giving shade to only a select few.

This Hraesvelgr looking beast seems to have won the conflict with the Nidhogg one. So the Nidhogg beast might have been symbolic of a rebellion coming up from where the slaves toiled away? (The x marks on the serpent’s sides do make me think of a certain tattooed someone with a certain ophidic moniker with certain unsavory opinions on the Celestial Dragons…)

And then we see the last portion of the triptych. Nika leading the charge with an army at his back against a winged demon holding the sun.

I see Nika and Imu (or maybe even Teach…) depictions here, obviously. I see a whale with two people on it’s back (Laboon, Crocus, and that one dude who was drinking with him that one cover art (that might be the man marked by flames))? I see a Lunarian (King and/or the Seraphim?). I see Emmet. I see Dogstorm and Catviper. I see Shirahoshi and the Megalodon. I see Leo. I see Loki! We see several ships, too! All of these people fighting against one big demon and one tiny ship with just a handful of people. The world has turned on the powerful few.

In conclusion… I think this is a sort of history-prophecy thing like with Alduin’s Wall in Skyrim. These aren’t “worlds” per se, but Ages. It just gives that illusion because it feels like how humanity speaks of bygone eras as totally different worlds. I think this is the Void Century, Imu’s reign (specifically Imu, because clearly something or someone was calling the shots before them. Perhaps the Nerona were ruling? And Imu formed the alliance of the 20 Kingdoms when the Nerona family was being threatened by this “Serpent of Hell”? Maybe Imu was the only survivor of their line and refused to let go of their power?), and Imu’s downfall respectively.

I… really don’t think Nika brings the end of the world. I think he just brings in a new Age.

I’m going to go on my “Imu is an eternal child” soap box when I say that I think Imu is embodying a sort of foil to Nika (a moon god/dess mythical zoan, maybe?). Both Nika and Imu seem… childish to me. Nika is all the positive things we associate with childhood. Play and laughter and imagination. While Imu… Imu is all the negatives. Selfishness and moodiness and “I’ll break my toy so I don’t have to share it” mentality. You get what I’m saying?

Again, this is by no means a comprehensive thing. This purely just me spitballing things.

Thoughts are absolutely welcome.